Page 17 of Entrancing the Earl
“Only because so many men are weak,” Winifred retorted. “If you find those children, I insist that you bring them here, where we can assure they’re safe. Children do not normally run away without reason.”
“They may have been abducted,” the marquess insisted. “We don’t know yet.”
Ignoring any suggestion that a Malcolm might be abducted, Simone spoke. “Has anyone inquired of the ladies at the School of Malcolms? Edinburgh is much closer to Craigmore than here.”
“I’ve wired Max and his librarian wife for more information,” the marquess said. “They’ll inquire at the school.”
So much for hiding in plain sight, Iona thought, mind racing. Could she disappear into the company and hope whoever searched here wouldn’t notice her? Surely, they’d be looking for twins?
“But you rode for Wystan instead of finding out the details—why?” the earl asked, finishing his soup.
“Rain’s sisters were on the way,” one of the other gentlemen answered.
Beside Iona, the earl snorted inelegantly. In his starched white shirt and formal attire, he looked the part of imposing earl—or what Iona imagined one should be. Her stepfather did not count.
“Do you hide your sisters from your friends or protect your friends from your sisters?” Ives asked in amusement.
“Both, most likely,” Rainford admitted in resignation. “My youngest sister wishes to have a séance. I trust that will not be the evening’s entertainment here?”
“We have ghosts,” Mary Mike declared. A tall, tastefully tailored lady in her thirties, her dark hair more brutally cut than Iona’s, she did not often speak. “The original keep is six hundred years old. It’s unavoidable.”
“But the old ones mostly wink in and out,” Simone said reassuringly. “Only Ceridwen still speaks, and that’s only in emergencies. Really, after millennia of human habitation, the world is an ocean of spirits. Hunting for just one is foolish.”
“Malcolms have come to Wystan for centuries to ensure the safety of their childbirth and in hopes the infant will be born with the spirit of their ancestors,” Grace, the spinner, said with odd formality.
Lady Alice wasn’t a Malcolm. Iona glanced in her direction, but the lady sipped her wine with a jaded air of disinterest.
“Oh yes, Ives, that’s how the legend says your great-grandfather finally sired a son,” Mrs. Merriweather chirped. “Your great-grandmother wrote that a spirit entered her, and she bore the first Malcolm boy in a century.”
“Because my grandfather was an Ives, and Ives only had sons at the time,” the earl said in boredom. “I know the legend well. It doesn’t appear to have carried forward since I have only sisters. I doubt spirits have a great deal to do with conception.”
“Enough,” Winifred declared. “Our concern should be for these missing children. We should have a plan.”
The discussion of spirits and childbirth and conception rendered Iona uneasy, but listening to the company plot her capture put her off food entirely.
Seven
Rainford’s grouphad ridden hard all day and planned to ride on in the morning, so the dinner party broke up shortly after the ladies left the table. Even then, when the men joined the ladies to say their good-nights, half of the ladies had already gone to their own beds.
Gerard didn’t see the little beekeeper among the women who remained—but Lady Alice was waiting like a spider to pounce. He excused himself and left Rainford to her delicate claws.
The beekeeper—Nan—had been remarkably quiet all evening. He supposed she might be unaccustomed to dinner parties. He would ask about her, except that would indicate interest—always dangerous in this crowd. No, he should ride with Rainford in the morning and make his escape while he could.
But he had the appointment with Avery to hold him back. He’d wait for additional information before searching for heiresses. If he’d been told they were the daughters of one of his servants, he’d be out all night searching. But these were the wealthy daughters of an earl andMalcolms. They’d most likely be found in the house of friends or family a thousand miles from here. He remembered one of his cousins, at six, following some whim, catching a ride with a neighbor, and ending up almost fifty miles away by sheer force of personality.
He wasn’t terribly worried about heiresses, but the talk of ghosts and ancestry had left him restless. He was past thirty and aware that his duty was to settle down, marry, have children, and run for one of his father’s minor boroughs.
He had no particular interest in children, but the thought of conceiving them...
Made him restless. He needed a willing woman to work off his frustration, but not here. Lord help him, but the family legends would put him off even bringing abridehere. He should be back in London in a week or so. He could wait.
Silver moonlight spilled across the courtyard, illuminating a slender figure gliding through the garden gate. Gerard halted to watch her vanish to the other side.
What did a beekeeper do in the middle of the night? Didn’t bees sleep? Without giving thought to what he did, Gerard strolled past his tower and followed.
She had changed into a more sensible gown than the one that had kept him distracted all evening with the sight of creamy, rounded shoulders. For someone so slender, her breasts mounded nicely above the bodice.
He had no right to be thinking like that.
