Page 57 of Rescuing a Tantalising Heiress
“Better that than this. I feel so guilty,” Edward said, for he could not help but blame himself entirely for what had happened.
Benjamin shook his head.
“You don’t mean that. Besides, if you get yourself killed, we’re all vowed to avenge you, and I, for one, don’t want to die just yet,” Benjamin replied.
Edward paused, glancing at his friend and sighing.
“Do the others know? There’s no point in keeping it a secret any longer. I’m tired of having a cousin. I love Isabella, and I want to get her back. And I don’t care who knows it,” he said.
The baron nodded.
“I’ve dispatched messages to all the members of the society. They’ll be atThe Cross Keysinn by tomorrow evening. You know what it means to be summoned,” Benjamin said.
Edward nodded. The Order of the Restoration was an ancient and venerable one, having emerged during the English Civil War as a means of secret aristocratic cooperation during the troubled times. An ancestor of Edward’s had been a founding member, and membership was open only to those who proved themselves worthy.
Both Benjamin and Edward had been members since their coming of age, but Victor, and one or two others, had come to membership by less worthy means. There were those in the society who believed money to be a precursor to membership, and with Victor Radcliffe—himself, the son of an earl—a hasty decision of admission had been made.
“All of them?” Edward asked, but Benjamin shook his head.
“I know you don’t trust Victor. He’ll hear about it, though—he and Lord Carlyle are close, and if you don’t trust Victor, I don’t trust the Marquess of Blythe. There’s something about him. But you know the oath,” Benjamin said, and Edward nodded.
“Brothers in secrecy, brothers in fidelity, brothers in all things,” he said, and Benjamin nodded.
“Fratres in abscondito, fratres in fidelitate, fratres in omnibus,” the baron said, quoting the Latin words Edward had sworn on his admission to the society.
Theirs was no longer a subversive organization—the restoration of the monarchy had achieved their original goal. But the necessity of aristocratic cooperation remained, and there had been many instances of members of the society helping one another in good times and bad.
Edward could not have hoped to build the hospital without them, and he, in turn, had done favours for the other members, too—most recently hushing up a scandal over the daughter of the Duke of Westmorland’s affair with a sitting member of Parliament.
“And will they help us now, do you think?” Edward asked.
“They will, but what of Victor? Why don’t you trust him? You can’t think he has anything to do with this,” Benjamin said.
“As I told you, I don’t trust him. I’m certain he’s siphoning money from the hospital funds, though I’ve no proof of it,” Edward replied.
“I don’t know about that…” Benjamin began, but Edward was tired of debate and distraction.
“We’ve got to find them. We can’t just sit here doing nothing. I can’t bear to think what’s happening to them. Where are they, Benjamin? Who has them? And for what reason? This isn’t just about the Duke of Burlington anymore. When Isabella arrived here, I imagined how I’d feel if it was my sister this had happened to. Well…now I know,” Edward said, sinking down into a chair with a sigh and running his hands through his hair in despair.
***
Like her first ordeal in the back of the carriage, it seemed to Isabella as though the journey took many hours. She and Augusta were jolted and bounced around, unable to keep their balance with their hands and ankles tied, and for much of the journey, they sat in silence, lying back on the seats in the small compartment, until, at last, the carriage came to a halt.
“Where do you suppose we are?” Augusta asked as Isabella heard the men jump down from the board and speak in hushed voices to one another.
“I don’t know—they’ve probably brought us to a house somewhere. They’ll keep us hidden until the ransom’s paid,” Isabella replied.
The carriage door was now opened, and one of the men peered inside. He had a scar running across his cheek and wide, blood-shot eyes. Clambering up and reaching forward, he grabbed Isabella by the arm.
“Let her go,” Augusta exclaimed, kicking out with her bound legs at the man, who gave an angry cry.
“Help me with them!” he snarled, and the other man climbed into the carriage.
He was brandishing a knife, and he pointed it threateningly towards Augusta, who shrank back in fear.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be!” he snarled.
Isabella and Augusta were pulled from the carriage, and Isabella found herself outside a large, red-brick house, not dissimilar to Howdwell Heights itself, with seven tall chimneys lining the roof. A high wall ran on one side of the flagstone forecourt, whilst a hedge shielded any view to the other side, where the tops of trees could be seen above. A driveway lay behind, passing through a gate, now closed, and flanked by iron railings.
