And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake - By Elizabeth Boyle Page 0,99
elopement.”
With that said, the old girl turned and stormed over to her carriage, Crispin and Philomena in her wake.
Roxley had come down the steps to stand beside Preston, most likely to gain a better vantage point. He leaned over and asked, “Whatever happened to this Kendrick fellow?”
Preston told him, though not loud enough for anyone else to hear.
But the meaning of his words were clear as Roxley blanched, then flinched, his hand going to cover the upper part of his breeches, as if to ward off such a fate.
The Hornbill & Cross, Manchester Road
Twenty-four hours later
“And that’s the whole story,” the posting lad told the overflowing room at the inn in Bradnop. He had arrived from Swinescote with the tale, having heard it from the lad who rode between Swinescote and Mackworth. “There isn’t a soul up and down the road who hasn’t heard of them. The runaway lovers. They say the lady is ever-so-pretty. She has eyes like June bells.”
There were sighs from some of the ladies, guffaws from the old duffers with their half-filled tankards.
“I don’t get them toffs,” a gruff old drover said from his stool near the fire. “Why doesn’t he just tell ’er there is no other fellow? That this Dishworth—”
“Dishforth,” the lad corrected.
“Eh, Dishworth, Dishforth, what does it matter if the plain truth is he don’t exist?”
“Oh, but Sulley, he does,” the serving girl told him. “Didn’t you listen to Timmy’s tale? Dishforth is this Lord Henry, and he must love his lady ever so much to go to such lengths to win her heart.”
Spitting into the fire, Sulley shook his head. “Well, this lady is going to find out the truth soon enough, that she’s been right deceived, and see if she doesn’t toss this fellow into the nearest ditch.”
There were nods about the room, including a solemn one from the innkeeper’s wife, who swung her ample hips easily through the crowded room as she refilled pitchers. “Right you are, Sulley,” she agreed as she topped off his cup.
Sulley grinned at the crowd and raised his tankard in triumph. Such a sight was a rare thing to see, considering Sulley had always been one of the most cantankerous coachmen on Manchester Road.
“Don’t you be taking on airs, John Sulley,” she scolded. “It is as fine a tale as I ever heard. And deservin’ of our help.”
“Help?” he sputtered, sending froth all over the front of his coat.
“Yes, help,” she said, casting a firm glare about the room. “We are going to help this gentleman win his lady love.”
“How can we do that, Mrs. Graham?” the lad asked, sitting up straight on his stool, eyes alight with the promise of mischief.
“By getting Mr. Dishforth to Gretna Green.”
“I think you’ve been drinking a bit too much of your own brew, missus,” Sulley told her. “There is no Mr. Dishforth.”
“There is now,” she said. And then she explained exactly what needed to be done.
Simple. Miss Dale thought Dishforth a simpleton.
Lord Henry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the seat of the hired carriage, glaring at the countryside whirling past.
To make matters worse, he had the sneaking suspicion she was utterly correct.
Dishforth was a simpleton. Which meant in actuality that he—as in Lord Henry Seldon—was a fool.
For what sort of man would find himself dashing toward Gretna Green with the woman he loved, but not, as one might suspect, with the intention of making a runaway marriage but to stop a man who didn’t exist from eloping with the figment of a stablehand’s overly fertile imagination?
The entire scenario was giving Lord Henry a severe megrim.
But obviously not one painful enough to get him to confess the truth.
For God’s sake, tell her everything, he could almost hear Preston’s stern voice saying.
Lord Henry blew out a breath. Oh, yes, that would be sensible. Miss Dale, you are chasing after a phantom. I know this because I am your beloved Dishforth. I have led you on this merry, ruinous adventure in hopes of your coming to your senses and realizing that I am the only man for you.
She’d kick him out of the carriage. Most likely on a blind corner. With some sharp object imbedded in his back—if she was feeling merciful.
Worse, he’d end up like Kendrick Seldon.
Henry flinched and then shuddered.
However had he gotten so mired into this tangle?
He glanced across the carriage to where Daphne sat, serene and calm, hands folded in her lap and eyes bright as she looked out the window.