Never Trust a Rebel(26)

‘Dr Hall said you must rest for a few more days.’

‘We have been here long enough.’

‘But you have not left your room until today. You are not strong enough for another journey yet.’

‘I thought you would be eager to reach your new family,’ he challenged her.

‘I am.’ The words came quickly and she refused to think deeply about the matter. She was only concerned for his well-being, wasn’t she? ‘But surely we can spare one more day for your recovery?’

‘My father would not think so. He would not spare me one hour, if he had his way.’

Her heart went out to him when she heard the bitterness in his voice.

‘That is not true,’ she told him. ‘Sir Edward insisted that Dr Hall should be called to attend you as often as was necessary.’

‘Only because he does not want the embarrassment of my dying here.’

‘Drew!’

‘Do not sound so outraged, my dear, I expected nothing else. If it were not for you he would have thrown me out already.’

‘I do not believe that. Whatever you have done you are still his son.’

‘Has he said so?’

‘Well, no, but—’

He stopped her with a wave of his hand, saying impatiently, ‘You cannot mend everything, Elyse. Do not forget there is a price on my head. I should not even be in England.’

‘Then I should go on to Bath alone, as we discussed.’

‘No, we discussed it when I thought I would be too ill to come with you. That is no longer the case. I promised your father I would see you safely delivered to the viscount. Besides, I want to assure myself that the marriage settlements are in order.’

‘But after Michaelmas you will no longer be my guardian. I could do that myself.’

‘You could, of course, but I wish to look them over carefully.’

‘Do you not trust Lord Whittlewood?’

‘I am acting on your father’s behalf. He would want me to make sure everything was arranged to your advantage. After all, you will now be taking to your new husband a considerable fortune.’

His remarks barely registered with her. She said, ‘But will it not be dangerous for you, to be in Bath?’

‘Not really, unless you disclose my real name.’

She squeezed his arm.

‘I would never betray you, Drew.’

He covered her fingers, where they rested on the sleeve of his borrowed shirt.

‘No, I do not think you would, but you must see that the sooner I get you to Bath the better.’

She did see it, but the thought of the momentous change that was about to take place in her life was also a little daunting.

‘I still believe you should rest as long as possible, and we can spare another twenty-four hours. If we leave early on Michaelmas morning we can still be in Bath before noon. Pray, sir, humour me in this.’

He sighed. ‘Very well, one more day, but we dare not leave it any longer.’

‘Dare not?’ She cast a glance at him. ‘Do you truly believe that if I am not delivered to the viscount by Michaelmas he will call off the wedding?’

‘I do.’

‘And…do you think that the viscount might be so opposed to the match that he would deliberately try to stop my getting to Bath?’

‘What makes you say that?’

She did not answer immediately.

‘I have been thinking,’ she said at last. ‘About the wording of Lord Whittlewood’s letter, and the fact that the family had left London before we arrived. Also, there are the circumstances of the attack upon our carriage.’

‘We were travelling a road that is notorious for its footpads and brigands.’

His reply was guarded and she guessed that he, too, was suspicious. She continued thoughtfully, ‘Does it not seem odd to you that Mr Settle should be taken ill and leave us to travel on alone?’

‘Yes, that was a little odd, but it proves nothing.’

‘But there is more, Drew. “Pops” is a slang word for firearms, is it not? I thought I heard the coachman cry out “No pops!” after you had fired at the robbers.’

‘I daresay he did. It is a common enough expression.’

‘But you do not understand. He then said,’ she wrinkled her brow trying to recall the sequence of events. ‘He shouted out, “You said there’d be no shooting.” Or something of that sort. Did you not hear him?’

‘No, you imagined it.’

‘I did not, I promise you. I have been thinking and thinking about it. At first it made no sense, but then I remembered that the coachman and his guard had been sent out from Bath to meet us, and when you told me the viscount had given you an ultimatum, I thought, perhaps, he had arranged for the coach to be held up.’

‘That is merely fanciful nonsense.’

‘If that is so, then why was the coachman allowed to drive off unmolested?’

Drew frowned. ‘Did he do so? I had taken the bullet in my arm by then and confess I did not notice much at all.’

Elyse nodded. ‘Yes, he did. And the robbers seemed quite startled by your shooting at them.’

‘Not too startled to shoot back.’

‘I realise that but what if,’ she moistened her lips. ‘What if Mr Settle was a party to the deed? What if, when you decided to accompany me to Bath, Mr Settle panicked and feigned illness rather than be found out?’ She saw Drew’s black frown and added quickly, ‘Oh, I do not think they intended to murder me. Perhaps they merely wanted to frighten me into returning to Scarborough.’

‘It sounds very far-fetched, Elyse.’

‘I know, but we are agreed the viscount does not want me to marry his son.’

‘Perhaps not, but—’

‘It is possible, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it’s possible. ‘

‘Oh, how can he be so cruel, when it is what William wants, as much as I?’

‘Are you sure it is what Reverson wants, Elyse?’

‘Of course.’ She turned her dark eyes up to meet his. ‘I have his letters, telling me so.’



Drew did not answer immediately. If Elyse had heard the coachman correctly then there was some mystery here, but he was not as convinced as Elyse that William Reverson was completely innocent. And if not, then what harm might come of forcing the marriage?

Quickly Drew put aside such thoughts. Harry was no fool; he must have been assured of his daughter’s happiness when he arranged this union  . And it was a chance in a lifetime for her, she would marry into the nobility and never want for anything again.

Still, he determined to meet the viscount and make up his own mind before he abandoned Elyse to her fate.



The light was fading fast when they returned to the house and Elyse needed her bedroom candle to light her way to her room. She did not go to bed immediately but took out the letters William had written to her. Thank goodness she had put them in the large pockets beneath her travelling gown when she had set out, rather than packing them in her trunk, which had been stolen along with the carriage and all her other belongings.

She untied the green ribbon that she had fastened around the bundle. There were barely a dozen letters, far less than she had written to him, but William had told her he was no letter-writer. She read through them all again now. They were not fulsome, but neither was there anything in them to make her think that he had changed his mind about marrying her. With a sigh she closed her eyes and clutched the letters against her heart. The viscount might be doing his best to keep them apart, but she was convinced that William was sincere.

She tried to conjure his image, but it was impossible. Instead all she could see was Drew’s darkly brooding countenance. But that was understandable, thought Elyse. It did not mean that she loved William any less, only that she was concerned for Drew. She wished that he and his father would make up their differences. Slowly she began to pack the letters away. Drew had said to her that she could not mend everything, but she could at least try.



Elyse found Sir Edward in the little parlour, his chair pulled close to the dying fire and a decanter and wineglass on a small table at his elbow. He glanced up as she entered and pushed himself out of his chair.

‘Miss Salforde. Is anything amiss?’

‘No, sir, I came to speak with you.’

He waved her to the chair on the opposite side of the fire.

‘What is it you wish to say to me?’

‘It concerns Andrew. Please, hear me out.’ She put up her hand as he made to rise from his chair again. ‘Do you know anything of his life these past ten years?’

‘No.’ He sank back, frowning. ‘And I do not want to know.’

‘He was very young when he left Hartcombe, sir.’

‘He made his choice. He must take the consequences.’

‘And he has done so. After he fled to France he had no money, no friends, so he became a mercenary, fighting for foreign armies. Then he met my father and they made their money at the gaming tables of Europe.’

‘Hah!’ His white brows snapped together. ‘Scoundrels, then, the pair of ’em.’

She shrugged. ‘Quite possibly, but Andrew assures me they won by fair means, and took care not to ruin anyone.’

‘You may believe that if you like, madam, although I take leave to doubt it. Yet it does not alter the fact that he was a traitor to his country.’