And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,97
hand?
But Henry soon found out that he didn’t know Daphne Dale all that well.
She whirled to the innkeeper. “That carriage, the one outside—”
“Yes, miss—”
“It’s for hire, isn’t it?”
“Yes, miss, but—”
“Then I would like to hire it.”
“You, miss?” He glanced up at Henry as if he didn’t know what to do first. Other than toss his romantically inclined stable lad down the nearest well.
Henry straightened, a terrible suspicion knotting in his gut. No. She wouldn’t.
“Yes, I would like to hire it,” Daphne told the man, drawing out her reticule and pulling out the necessary coins. “I’ll need the fastest set you have so I can overtake Mr. Dishforth.”
Oh, yes, she would.
“You want to overtake him, miss?”
“But of course,” she replied.
Henry got to his feet. “Miss Dale, you cannot think to go after him—”
“But I must. There has been a terrible mistake, and I must save him.”
“Save him?” Henry and the innkeeper said at the same time, like a disbelieving chorus.
Henry’s Shakespearean comedy had taken a horribly tragic Greek turnabout.
Miss Dale gave them both a look of utter indignation. “But of course. Who else can save him but me? Someone must tell poor, simple, misled Mr. Dishforth that he has eloped with the wrong bride.”
Chapter 14
Miss Spooner, I have never been in love before. You’ll excuse me if—at some point—I make a terrible muddle of all of this, won’t you?
Found in a letter from Mr. Dishforth to Miss Spooner
Owle Park
Eight hours later
“I’m coming with you.”
Preston found Hen, valise in hand and jaw set, blocking his path to the front door. He looked over her shoulder to where his traveling coach waited in the drive beyond and frowned.
Hen’s expression was just as grim and determined. “He is my brother and I will see his reputation put to rights.”
“His reputation?” Preston shook his head. He didn’t have time for this.
Suddenly Zillah came marching up and took a stand beside Hen. “Well, of course, Henry’s reputation! He’s obviously been lured. Perhaps even drugged.” The old girl glanced up at Hen. “I’ve never believed that nonsense that Cornelius Seldon went willingly with that mad-as-a-hatter Doria Dale.”
Tabitha looked ready to leap into this squabble, if only to defend her bosom bow, but Preston cut her off. They would all need each other in the coming days and weeks, and this sniping didn’t serve anyone.
“You two,” he said, wagging a finger at Hen and Zillah, “need to reconcile yourselves to the fact that Henry is in love with Miss Dale—”
When they both looked ready to erupt in a bevy of protests, he summoned his most ducal glare.
Which, to his shock, actually worked. At least for now.
“Be advised that the only course for Henry and Miss Dale is to see them married. To each other,” he finished, making sure to close any loopholes.
“Married?!” This might have been a duet of protest, but a third voice had chimed in.
For there on the front steps had suddenly appeared none other than Crispin, Viscount Dale. “Married?” he repeated. “Over my dead body.”
“That can easily be arranged,” Zillah muttered.
Out from behind Tabitha came Mr. Muggins, who, spying his former adversary, let out a warning growl.
“Now what is all this?” Crispin demanded. “Where is my cousin?”
“Gone!” Hen told him. “She lured my dear brother to his ruin.”
“Lured? Daphne?” Lord Dale sputtered with indignation. “More like she was kidnapped!”
“Kidnapped!” came yet another protest from behind Crispin. “Where is my dearest niece?”
This was probably the first time Damaris Dale had ever uttered that phrase in reference to Daphne, but it wasn’t something the Seldons would know.
The tall, willowy figure of a matron came up the steps and took her place at Crispin’s side. In her wake hurried a slight young woman in the plain hand-me-down gown of a companion. She maintained a respectful distance a few steps down.
“I said, where is my niece?” the older woman repeated.
All three Seldons stilled, chilled to their marrow.
“Damaris!” Zillah hissed.
The Dale matriarch flicked a glance in her direction, then sniffed. Loudly. “Zillah. I didn’t think you were still alive.”
The pair eyed each other like old sparring partners, until Damaris’s gaze wavered over toward Mr. Muggins.
“Still breeding mongrels, are we?” She sniffed at the overgrown terrier. Then, having had enough of the Seldons, Damaris turned her attention to the viscount. “Where is our Daphne?”
“Gone,” he bit out. “Stolen by Lord Henry.”
“The ruinous, evil fiend!” she announced before she turned to her companion. “Summon Bow Street. Send word to Derby Dale in the Home Office that we have need of him. I’ll