Page 3 of Much Ado about a Widow

Georgie settled herself in the forward-facing seat, drew Lulu across her lap, and stroked the long silky fur. That always had a calming effect on both her and her pet. The soothing motion together with the slight swaying of the carriage relaxed her until she fell into a doze, not quite sleeping, not quite awake. Just peaceful and warm.

A low whimpering slowly brought Georgie back to the edge of consciousness. Blinking, she gazed about the carriage. Clara had fallen asleep as well, but Lulu had her ears raised. Growling softly, the spaniel padded across the tufted leather seat and raised her paws to rest on the edge of the window. Her growls changed to barking, and Georgie yawned, then slid over to her.

“What is all this fuss about, Lulu? You can’t need to go out again so soon.” Peering over the dog’s head, Georgie looked at her father’s outrider cantering beside the carriage.

“Goodness.” The maid stretched and stifled a yawn. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“That’s quite all right.” Georgie’s attention was fixed on the rider. “Look at the man riding alongside us, Clara.”

The maid glanced out the window and shrugged. “What about him?”

“He’s not one of my father’s outriders.” Frowning as she pressed her face against the cold window pane, Georgie moved her head this way and that, seeking a better look.

“He’s not?” Clara slid over to gaze out the window as well. “Then who is he?”

“He’s the man I told you about, the one with the flattened nose who was watching me in the inn yard.” Georgie bounced over to the other side of the carriage, panic rising at the sight of another unfamiliar outrider. “This one too. Folger!” She leaped to her feet and banged on the trap. “Folger! Who are these men? What is going on?”

The chilling silence that ensued was punctuated by the high crack of a whip. The carriage shot forward, throwing Georgie back into her seat, where she narrowly missed Lulu, who was barking wildly.

“What’s happening, my lady?” Eyes wide and wild, Clara clutched her arm.

Georgie’s composure slipped, and dread threatened to engulf her, but she took a deep breath to steady herself and announced, “I am very much afraid we are being kidnapped.”

Chapter Two

Whistling a rather bawdy drinking song, Robin Kerr, Marquess of St. Just, smiled as he strode down the crowded streets of Portsmouth. It had been good to be out on the water again after all this time. The last day of his journey had dawned clear and cold, wonderfully bracing as his ship cut through the choppy waves just off the shore. The brisk air did a man’s heart good. He’d made the run from Cornwall to Portsmouth countless times during his life, more since his grandfather’s death two years ago. Not that he had to captain the ship, but he liked to. Fetching equipment and supplies for the family’s tin mining business wasn’t strictly the duty of a marquess, but Rob had always enjoyed sailing the sea, especially with his grandfather when he was a young lad.

He’d taken to sailing like a young hawk takes to the skies. Good thing too, as the remote location of the family’s primary seat, St. Just in Cornwall, meant a certain amount of isolation, save for journeys that could be made by ship. His present trip had been of utmost urgency, else he would not have attempted it in the rough January waters of the Channel. But the package he had sent his crew to fetch could not wait.

Turning into a tavern he frequented when in town, Rob strode to the counter and motioned to a pleasantly plump barmaid. “A pint of your best, mistress.”

Her smile growing, the lass gave him a thorough look, taking him in from the top of his tall hat, dark brown unruly hair likely sticking out from beneath the brim, to his well-worn black Hessians, the only footwear he’d wear when shipboard.

“Right away, milord.”

Rob smiled, then sent an appreciative look at the retreating figure, her round hips swaying seductively as she headed through the doorway to the kitchen. He sighed and shook his head. Time enough for such distractions after his package arrived.

Waiting for his ale, Rob gazed out the window at the busy docks, then rummaged beneath his frock coat and withdrew a letter from the breast pocket of his blue superfine jacket. A letter he’d read several times since it had arrived at Castle St. Just last week. His great friend, Lord Brack, had asked his opinion in regard to the dilemma facing Brack’s youngest sister, Lady Georgina Kirkpatrick.

The lady, a widow he’d met last autumn at a house party given by Lady Cavendish in Kent, had been betrothed by her father to a certain Lord Travers. No one else of Brack’s acquaintance liked the match at all, including the lady herself. Nor did Rob, if anyone had asked his views on the subject. Travers was a bad apple, rotten through and through. What the woman’s father was thinking passed all understanding.

The barmaid set his tankard before him, and Rob tossed a coin down on the bar. “Much obliged.”

“Anything else you’d be wanting, my lord?” The girl’s gaze had fastened on his chest, then strayed quickly downward.

“Nothing at the moment, thank you.” Another time and he might have taken her up on the obvious offer. Today, however, he must keep his wits about him.

The maid’s downcast expression made him briefly regret his answer, as did the sudden swelling in his groin. But the lass turned and hurried off to her work, allowing him to cool his ardor in the cold ale. He had a duty to perform, and nothing, no matter how tempting, would keep him from it.

* * *

“Kidnapped!”

Clara’s face turned so pale Georgie feared she would swoon. She opened her reticule in search of her smelling salts.

“Why would you say that, my lady?”

“Because unfortunately that is the only thing that makes sense.” Despite an icy trickle of fear down the back of her neck, Georgie managed to keep her voice steady. “Drat it. Are you about to faint, Clara? Because I simply cannot find my vinaigrette.”