Page 44 of Unmasked by the Marquess
She ran upstairs to where Louisa’s gloves still rested on the table in the vestibule. Underneath the gloves was a folded square of paper. With shaking hands, she opened it.
Dear Robbie,
By the time you read this, I’ll be well on my way to Scotland. Aunt Agatha told me not to risk leaving you a note, lest you try to stop us, but I couldn’t let you think that we had been harmed. I hope to see you soon. Wish me happy, dearest!
Your own sister,
Louisa Selby
She folded the letter and slid it into her coat pocket. An elopement was far from ideal, but she had no doubt that Gilbert would marry Louisa, rather than leave her compromised and abandoned at some dirty inn. More troubling was the idea that Louisa would spend the next days or weeks believing herself to have gone against Charity’s wishes, to have broken Alistair’s heart, to have destroyed their fortunes and their futures. And the more time passed, the more she’d work herself up and become thoroughly miserable.
There was nothing for it but to ride out and explain matters to her. Over Charity’s dead body would Louisa have weeks of unnecessary guilt and sorrow.
She stepped outside and sighed at what she saw. There were black clouds looming in the north, which surely was the direction the pair of young fools had gone. They would have headed for Scotland.
What Charity needed now was a fast horse, and she knew of only one place to get one.
Alistair decided that today was an excellent day to meet with his solicitor. A hangover was bad, and meeting with solicitors was inevitably trying, so combining the two seemed an efficient way to minimize the number of unpleasant hours.
Also it would give him something to do besides rush over to Robin’s house and say a dozen things she wouldn’t want to hear.
“I have the papers you asked me to draw up, my lord.” Nivins slid the papers across Alistair’s desk. “This gives Lord Gilbert a life interest in the Kent property. I think you’ll find no surprises.”
The only surprise was that Alistair was going through with this. The Kent property was profitable and comfortable and Alistair would miss its income. But if his brother wanted to try his hand at agriculture, this would set him up. And even if he didn’t, it would give him an income and a place to live.
It was also an apology. He shouldn’t have tried to strong-arm Gilbert into taking up an unwanted career. He wasn’t even twenty-five. He had decades ahead of him, and might as well live them in a way that brought him some joy.
Alistair scrawled a note to Gilbert and rang for a footman to deliver it.
“While we’re waiting for my brother to come and sign these papers, I do have another matter of business. I need you to investigate a foundling named Charity Church. She was born in Northumberland around 1794 and subsequently lived at the Selbys’ estate, Fenshawe. I’d also like you to find any records pertaining to Robert Selby, also born around 1794, possibly earlier.”
If Nivins was at all surprised, he didn’t show it. After all, the man had been Alistair’s father’s solicitor and had likely handled matters a good deal more risqué than investigating foundlings and country squires.
He and Nivins had tea and discussed the resolution of a border dispute in Shropshire, and then the footman returned.
Gilbert was not with him.
“If you’ll pardon me, your lordship, but he wasn’t home. And his man, Lord Gilbert’s valet, I mean, said that he had gone away for a fortnight. He seemed to be under the impression that Lord Gilbert had headed to Scotland with the utmost urgency, my lord.”
“A fortnight?” He had seen his brother only last night. He remembered those mortifying circumstances only too well. Surely Gilbert would have mentioned having plans to leave town for two weeks without his valet? “Scotland?”
Slowly and horribly, the exact nature of their last conversation began to seep into his muddled brain. How had he not seen it at the time? There was nothing like drink and solipsism to blind one to what ought to have been obvious.
The damned fool had run off with Louisa Selby and it was all Alistair’s fault for having behaved in such a way as to convince Gilbert that he intended to marry the lady whether she liked it or not.
Damn and hell. He excused himself, trying not to betray any signs of the urgency that he felt. The last thing he needed was servants’ gossip. Quietly, he ordered his valet to pack an overnight bag, then walked as nonchalantly as could be across the mews to the stables.
“I’ll need the curricle readied immediately,” he told the head groom. While waiting for the horses to be put in the rig, he paced up and down the aisles of the stable.
He noticed the empty stall straight away. “Where is Queen Mab?” That was the mare he had let Robin use, what seemed like five years past but was no more than six weeks ago.
“Mr. Selby took her out not two hours ago,” the groom answered.
“Mr. Selby? I was under the impression that he no longer rode any of the horses here.”
“He hasn’t for the past few weeks, but as your lordship hadn’t given any other instructions, I saddled up Mab and he rode right off.”
“And he hasn’t come back yet?”
