Page 33 of The Vagabond Viscount
He had said he was going to confront his father and have the betrothal called off, but Flynn’s continued silence and unexplained absence spoke of a very different outcome from his meeting with the earl.
“What are you going to do? I mean, are you planning on calling in at Bramshaw House to find out where Flynn is?” asked Victoria.
If a medal for sisterly loyalty could be struck, Lady Victoria Kembal would have been its first recipient. She was asking all the questions that Augusta herself wanted to pose but was too afraid to ask.
I feel awful about all this. Oh, Flynn, where are you?
Doing her best not to appear too anxious, Augusta gave a supportive nod in her sister’s direction. “Yes, it makes sense to see if he is alright. Perhaps he has come down with a cold or something. You never know, he might be staying at home to rest and recuperate.”
Gideon slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t think that is what has happened. Flynn has the constitution of an ox. He has barely been sick a single day in his life. Something else has occurred.”
Her brother’s words added to her growing fears. What if Flynn had gone home and confronted his father, and things hadn’t gone well? That he had been forced to finally accept the truth of his sire’s financial mess and do what had to be done in order to save the Cadnam name and estate? If that was the case, then more than likely Earl Bramshaw would have quickly bundled his son and the young woman from Hyde Park into a coach and sent them to his estate in Southampton.
Even as she and her siblings discussed his fate, Flynn could very well be waking up this morning with his new bride sleeping in his arms.
Please, Lord, not that. I couldn’t bear to see him with another woman. Flynn is mine.
Augusta screwed her eyes shut as panic welled up inside her. She dared not break down in front of her brother. Turning, she headed for the stairs. “Excuse me, I don’t think my breakfast has agreed with my stomach.”
With Victoria following close on her heels, Augusta dashed upstairs. She had barely made it to their room before the tears overcame her. She collapsed to her knees and sobbed. Flynn was missing, and the only logical explanation was that he had left town and gone back to his family estate in order to marry the woman they had encountered in the park. A woman he didn’t know. A woman he had not wanted as his wife.
“What am I going to do?” she cried, getting to her feet, and throwing herself into the comforting arms of her sister.
They had been so close to finally seizing their happily ever after. But Flynn’s spiteful father couldn’t even let him have that—he was determined to control his son’s life, from the coin in his purse to the woman who shared his bed. A woman who would never be her.
No matter what Gideon discovered, the hard and cruel truth was that she was going to have to find a way to move on with her life. A life she couldn’t share with Flynn. Her hopes and dreams of them being together were gone forever. Crushed into dust, along with her heart.
ChapterSixteen
Early March 1817
The front steps of Bramshaw House
“Do you think this is a good idea? I mean, what will people think if they see you standing on the doorstep of Bramshaw House in the middle of the day?”
Augusta ignored her sister’s concerns. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to anyone who had a different opinion to hers about why she was knocking on Earl Bramshaw’s door.
“What else am I to do, Victoria? I can’t just sit at home and wonder what happened to Flynn. I have to know.”
She had waited long enough. Gideon had shared with her the developments in the ongoing search for Flynn, but the details had been few and far between. He, like the rest of London, had little to go on. With Earl Bramshaw still not cooperating with anyone who requested details of Flynn, there had been no real progress in weeks.
Coming to Flynn’s home and demanding answers seemed the only logical thing left for her to do. It may well transpire to be a fool’s errand, but it was something. Sitting at home worrying over what had happened and where the man she loved might be was slowly driving Augusta mad.
The Mowbray House footman who had accompanied them stood a respectful distance away at the bottom of the steps, but he was under strict instructions to leap into action should anything untoward happen to either of the Kembal sisters. The extra coin in his pocket would buy his silence, but it wouldn’t save him if Augusta or Victoria came to harm on his watch.
After taking the front door knocker firmly in hand, Augusta gave it a hard rap. She waited for a minute or two, then tried again. It was only after the fourth knock that the door finally swung open.
On the other side stood a surly old man who looked Augusta slowly up and down. She sensed he would love to tell her to clear off, but from the manner of her dress and the footman who lurked nearby, only an idiot would choose that course of action.
“Yes,” he snapped.
She straightened her spine and, after taking a deep, courage-gathering breath, addressed the butler. “I wish to speak to Earl Bramshaw. I am a friend of his son.”
The butler slowly shook his head. “If you have come asking where the viscount is, you are wasting your time. His lordship has nothing to say on the matter.”
Augusta moved forward, placing her foot strategically in the doorway. Her actions were clear in their unspoken intent. She wasn’t going to leave until she got some answers.
“Wait here,” said the butler. He returned a few minutes later with a huffing, snorting Earl Bramshaw close on his heels. Flynn’s father took one look at Augusta and turned up his nose. “When did it become socially acceptable for the young women of noble families to come knocking on the door of good homes without an invitation? Does your mother know you are here? What would she say?”
