Scandal And Miss Markham

Except purpose.

He thrust aside that mocking voice, even though he was unable to deny that restlessness had also played its part in persuading him to travel up here to Worcestershire.

Miss Markham had continued to read her brother’s letter, a frown knitting her forehead.

‘Henry Mannington? Who is Henry Mannington?’ Her voice was unusually deep for a woman and slightly gruff—quite at odds with her petite figure and luxuriant curls.

‘You have never heard of him?’

She shook her head and two of those springy, copper-coloured curls of hers bounced over her forehead. She pushed at them absentmindedly, her gaze still fixed on the letter.

‘No. Never.’

‘He is not a friend of your brother’s? A customer? A rival?’

‘No. None of those. I told you,’ she said, with a hint of sarcasm, ‘I have never heard of him.’ She paused, white teeth nibbling at her lower lip. Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘But you know who he is. Or you would not have come all the way up here to speak to Daniel.’

Impressed by her quick uptake, Vernon decided there was nothing to be gained in concealing the little knowledge he did possess.

‘Henry Mannington is a distant cousin of the Beauchamp family, but none of us has seen him or heard of him for several years. He is a classics scholar with a passion for exploring ancient sites and even as a young man he had no interest in socialising in our circle.’

‘The upper ranks of society, you mean?’

There it was again. That hint of disdain in her tone, but recognisable for all that. Miss Markham clearly did not approve of the aristocracy.

‘Yes.’ He would neither apologise for who and what he was, nor feel guilty for it. Her prejudices were her problem. ‘He is my age and we were at university together. Our paths have not crossed since then.’

Miss Markham thrust the letter back at Vernon. ‘I cannot see how this will help me find Daniel.’ She crossed her arms.

‘Find him?’

Her cheeks reddened, clashing with her bright hair. Her lips compressed.

‘How long is it since you have seen Daniel?’

For the first time her composure wavered, her nostrils flared and her hazel eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, sheened.

‘Come.’ Vernon gentled his voice. ‘You are upset. Tell me what has happened. I might be able to help.’

‘I do not need help.’

‘How long?’

‘F-five days.’

Vernon checked the letter. ‘Three days after this was written.’ He re-read the missive. ‘By its wording, Daniel had suspicions about Henry Mannington, but what manner of suspicions? It must be more than Henry claiming kinship with Cheriton, for that much is the truth and easily verified. And Henry is a decent chap, not the sort to become embroiled in matters dastardly enough to drive your brother to beg help from a peer with whom he has no acquaintance.’

Miss Markham stood up and resolutely smoothed down the skirt of the peach-coloured gown that skimmed her petite frame. The colour should have clashed with her hair, which was the colour of an autumn leaf, but the combination put Vernon in mind of the brilliant sunset of the evening before and he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. She glared at him as he also rose to his feet. She really was a tiny little thing, barely reaching his shoulder. She put him in mind of a cornered kitten, fur fluffed up and claws out, ready for a fight.

‘There is no need to stand every time I do,’ she said, placing her fists on the desk and leaning on them. ‘I am not one of your fine ladies, ready to take affront at imagined slights.’

‘Maybe you are not,’ Vernon said, quashing down the laugh that tickled his throat. That really would infuriate her. ‘But I, you see, am a gentleman. And I therefore stand when a lady does. Whether she considers herself a lady or no. And...’ he added, tweaking his neckcloth and smoothing the wrinkles from his sleeves, merely to irritate her and to see those remarkably fine eyes flash fire again ‘...as for taking affront, I quite see that particular emotion is alien to your sunny nature.’

He smiled at her scowl and her muttered imprecation. Fortunately, perhaps, he could not make out her exact sentiments. She was indeed a little hothead, hardly surprising with that head of hair. His own hair had reddish tones, but it was more of a dark chestnut colour than the fiery hue of Miss Markham’s. He would warrant his temperament was less fiery than hers, too.

‘Have you made enquiries as to your brother’s whereabouts?’

‘Yes... That is, I sent the grooms out to search the countryside around, but I instructed them not to make enquiries. Not yet. I did not want to raise a fuss only to find there was a simple explanation for his absence.’ She sucked in a deep breath and his eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts. ‘They found no trace of Daniel or his horse. And so I waited. I kept hoping he would return. Or that he would write to me.’

‘In other words, you have done nothing to find your brother. You shut your eyes to reality and simply hoped for the best.’

She flashed a look of daggers at him. ‘I did not wish to stir up a wasps’ nest of trouble for him if there was no need for it.’

‘Trouble? Why should you suspect he was in trouble?’

She stared down at the desk, fingering the stack of papers in front of her. Then she subsided into the chair.

‘He was preoccupied...upset...in the days before he went missing.’

Her voice was low and husky with a hint of vulnerability and it stirred within him a peculiar urge to protect her. To help. She was nibbling at her full lower lip, her tawny brows creased in a frown as she stared past Vernon, into the distance. Vernon tore his gaze from her mouth, disconcerted by the slow but undeniable tightening in his loins.

‘I knew he was worried,’ she said, ‘and yet I did not make him tell me what was amiss. I allowed him to fob me off.’

‘I doubt you could have compelled him to confide in you.’

Her gaze met his, a glint of humour in her eyes. ‘Oh, I think I could, had I tried. I should have forced him to tell me where he was going.’

Vernon felt his lips twitch. ‘You have piqued my interest, Miss Markham. How, pray, do you imagine you could have forced your brother to tell you?’

‘I could have threatened to follow him.’

‘And he would have believed you?’

‘Of course.’ She tilted her chin. ‘He knows I never make empty threats.’

His lips twitched again, but he held back his grin. ‘I shall have to remember that,’ he murmured. ‘Do I take it you are older than your brother?’

‘Yes. By three years.’

‘That explains much.’

Her brows snapped together. ‘This—’ Her lips tightened. ‘I am doing it again. Allowing myself to be diverted, because I am scared... I fear...’ She bent her head.

Vernon waited.

‘You were right... I have been waiting. And hoping. But no more.’ She pierced him with a fierce gaze. ‘You have spurred me into seeing what I must do. I shall go myself and I shall make enquiries. I shall find out where he went, all those days when he was out for hours upon end, returning home to eat and sleep and then leaving again at first light. He must have left a trail. He would have been seen. He had to eat.’ She was on her feet again, pacing. ‘Oh! Why did I not go out that first day? Immediately? What a fool I have been, waiting at home like a...like a...ninny...when Daniel had need of me.’

‘And where do you intend to make your enquiries?’

‘Oh! I do not know.’ She waved her arm as she paced, brushing aside his query as though it were an irritating fly. ‘His usual haunts. The Nag’s Head, in Stourbridge, for a start. He often went there for a drink in the evening. Someone there might know where he went. And they will know of other places he frequented.’

‘The Nag’s Head? A public house?’

She slammed to a halt, staring at him. ‘Do not—’ her voice throbbed with warning ‘—tell me I cannot go there because I am a woman.’

Vernon felt his eyes narrow. ‘That is precisely what I am telling you. Such scandalous behaviour is completely unacceptable. Your reputation would be ruined.’

‘Scandal! What do I care for scandal? My brother is missing and I must—’

‘You should care about scandal. Your good name, once lost, will not be easily recovered.’

‘We are not in your overprotected and rarefied world now, my lord. As I said before, I am not—’

‘Not one of my fine ladies. Yes, you have already made that point.’

Her mouth set in a mulish line and the dogged determination upon her face reminded Vernon of his niece, Olivia, when told she could not do something she had set her heart upon. But Olivia was eighteen years of age. Miss Markham should...must, surely...have more sense.

He’d had enough of this, she was not thinking rationally. She must realise how dangerous such places might be and not only to her good name. He changed tack. Demanding her obedience would not work, that much he had already learned.

‘Promise me you will not go haring off on such an ill-advised crusade.’

‘But I must, for if I do not, who will?’

‘Your father?’

She turned her head aside, but not before he recognised her anguish. ‘He is not well. He must not be upset.’

‘Other male relatives?’

She shook her head, freeing even more of those fascinating curls to bounce around her face. Her hair appeared to have a life of its own, the curls like flaming corkscrews.

‘I am not a fool,’ she said. ‘I would not go alone. I would take a groom. Or even two. For protection. So, you see, there is no need for you to be concerned, or even to stay here any longer.’ She tilted her chin. ‘You said yourself you do not know Daniel and neither do you know the area. You would not know where to begin looking.’

Vernon eyed her with exasperation as he pondered the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance and how, if at all, it was connected to Henry. He should, probably, return to town and wait for Markham to make further contact. But...he considered that option. What was there to return to? Leo would be fully occupied with his new bride and, soon, most everyone would be leaving London to spend summer on their estates or in the seaside resorts.

There was little enticement there to lure him home in a hurry.

And here, in Worcestershire...his blood stirred. All kinds of emotions swirled within him and chief amongst them was intrigue. Not only was there a mystery to solve, but he was needed, whether Miss Markham admitted it or not. That thought gave way to another as he realised, with a sense of shock, that to be needed was a rare feeling in his life thus far. The Beauchamps were a close family, but he was not needed...he was just there.

The spare, of the ‘heir and a spare’ fame.

He had learned the lesson that he would always play second fiddle to his older brother as a young man on the town for the first time. He had fallen in love—or so he had thought—with the Incomparable of the day, but although Lady Pamela had happily flirted with him and even encouraged his attentions, she had made it perfectly clear she wanted a man with a peerage, not a duke’s second son with a mere courtesy title. Had Leo not been married to his first wife at that time, she would doubtless have set her cap at him.

Vernon’s heart had not been broken, although it had been bruised. It was his pride that had been battered.

He loved Leo and he loved his nephews and his niece but he had to admit he still found it hard to find his own place in the world. They ran many businesses in partnership—the estates, their horse-breeding enterprises, the mining interests in Cornwall and the coal mines in the north-east—but, with Leo being the older of the two, as well as the Duke, Vernon was outranked for ever.

He did not want to walk away from the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance. He wanted to be involved, to take action, to help.

‘There is still the question of why your brother wrote to mine,’ he said. ‘You cannot expect me to leave without finding out how my Cousin Henry is involved and it is both senseless and unnecessary for you to risk either your reputation or your safety when I am better able to make the necessary enquiries. So, Miss Markham, I shall be your flagbearer: I shall visit the Nag’s Head and make enquiries on your behalf. And—’ he raised his voice as she opened her mouth...to argue, no doubt ‘—I urge you to remember that other men will tell me things they would not say in front of you.’

‘What sort of things?’

He wagged his head at her, stifling another grin at her clear frustration. ‘You cannot possibly expect me to divulge such secrets, Miss Markham. Suffice it to say that I have a better chance of prising information from them than you.’

The tiniest wobble of her lower lip reminded Vernon that, however brave the face she presented, beneath it, she must be devastated.

‘Do not despair, Miss Markham. I shall find Daniel.’

Hope lit her eyes and, having raised it, he was not about to dash it by voicing aloud the thought that followed: Alive or dead, I shall find him.

Footsteps clacked along the hall outside, getting nearer, and then the door behind Vernon opened. Miss Markham’s expression blanked and she tensed.

‘Dorothea.’ A woman’s voice. ‘There you—oh!’

Vernon looked around. A middle-aged woman, her greying hair bundled into a cap, had entered the room.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said to Vernon. ‘I was not informed we had visitors.’ Annoyance lent an edge to her tone and the look she cast Miss Markham—Dorothea—was...bitter.

Dorothea, meanwhile, had hurried around the desk, but halted before she got too close to the other woman. To Vernon’s eyes, she appeared to stand at attention, her hands clasped at her waist, her fingers twisting together.

‘Mama! There was no need to inform you of L... Mr Beauchamp’s visit. He called in on a matter of business and is about to leave. I am sorry. Did you have need of me?’

This was her mother? Vernon looked from one to the other, wondering at those noticeable cracks in their relationship.

Mrs Markham gave a tight smile, but ignored her daughter’s question.

‘I trust my daughter was able to satisfactorily answer your queries, Mr Beauchamp? It is unfortunate my son should happen to be away from home at present. He is on urgent business, but Dorothea is familiar with every aspect of the manufactory.’

‘She has proved most satisfactory, ma’am.’

‘Good. Good.’ He was clearly of little interest to the woman, for she turned her full attention to her daughter. ‘Your father feels well enough to sit in his chair today, Dorothea, so I shall stay with him. Have a small repast sent up around noon, if you please. Now—’ she flicked a glance at Vernon ‘—I must return to my husband, Mr Beauchamp. I am sure you will excuse me?’

Vernon bowed again as Dorothea walked with her mother to the door. There was no further exchange of words between mother and daughter. Mrs Markham left and Dorothea shut the door, muffling the tip-tap of her mother’s rapidly departing footsteps. She turned to face Vernon.

‘Mr Beauchamp?’ He raised his brows. ‘Might I ask why?’

‘I do not want my parents to wonder why a lord is calling upon Daniel. I cannot allow them to be worried; they have enough to cope with. They believe Daniel is in Birmingham on business—that is another reason I asked the grooms not to spread the news that Daniel is missing, for it would be sure to reach the house servants’ ears and they would tell my mother.’

‘What is wrong with your father?’

‘He had a stroke. Six years ago.’ Her face twisted: grief, guilt. ‘He cannot walk or talk properly. Mama devotes herself to him.’

‘He must require a lot of care. Your parents are fortunate to have you here to help.’

‘M-Mama says my visits agitate Papa; she d-discourages me from attending him.’ For the flash of a second, a bewildered child stared out of those huge hazel orbs. Then it seemed as though a shutter closed and the brisk, efficient Dorothea Markham returned. ‘Daniel took over the running of the business when Papa...when it happened. I help as much as I can, but now Daniel is missing and, somehow, your cousin is involved, and I—Mannington!’

Her voice suddenly rang with excitement and she captured Vernon’s gaze, her eyes sparkling, sending a jolt of heat sizzling through his veins. He could barely concentrate on her words, so taken aback was he by his unexpected physical response.

‘I recall... I am sure I have seen...’

She ran past Vernon to the desk, leaving a trail of floral scent wafting in her wake.

Roses. A summer garden. Quintessentially feminine.

She snatched up a handful of papers from the pile he had noticed before and began to leaf through them. After a few minutes she exclaimed in triumph, extracted a sheet of notepaper, and waved it in the air. ‘It did not resonate with me at first, but then... I remembered.’

‘May I see?’ Vernon reached for the sheet of paper.

Her gaze flicked to his outstretched hand, but she made no move to hand it to him. ‘I thought it was the name of a place,’ she continued. ‘It never occurred to me that Mannington was a person. At last, I have a definite clue.’

Vernon did not retract his outstretched hand, merely waited until she capitulated and handed him the paper.

‘Thank you.’ He scanned the sheet. It took no time at all, for there were only two words, separated by a pair of initials.

Mannington—R.H.—Willingdale?

Vernon frowned. ‘What...or where...is Willingdale? And who, do you suppose, is R.H?’

‘I have no idea.’

Silence reigned. A glance revealed Dorothea seemingly deep in thought as she leaned back against the edge of the desk, her arms folded as she gazed unseeingly past Vernon, a vertical groove between her brows.

Vernon reread the words written on the paper.

Willingdale... A village? An estate? The name of a person?

He was torn from his thoughts by a muffled whimper.

Chapter Three

Thea tried so hard to hold back her tears, but she simply could not. She dropped her chin into her chest, hand pressed against her lips as her sight blurred. To her horror a single tear plopped on to her bodice, leaving a damp splodge as the fabric absorbed it. Then another tear fell, and another. A large handkerchief was pressed into her hands. She dabbed at her eyes and forced herself to look up. The sympathy in Vernon’s green eyes almost set her off again, but she gritted her teeth and cleared her throat.

‘I am sorry. I was just thinking...if only I had paid more attention...’

‘You must not blame yourself.’

Thea swallowed her bitter laugh. Blame herself? She had done nothing but blame herself for the past six years.

‘Where is he?’ The words burst from her. ‘Why has he not even wr-written?’ Her voice choked in her throat, and she buried her head in her hands. ‘I fear the worst...’ A sob broke free. Then another. ‘B-but I must know. I c-cannot bear this...this ignorance. I f-feel so...so alone.’

Two arms wrapped around her and her head was pressed to a strong chest, the thud of his heart steady and reassuring in her ear. He held her, and stroked her hair, and she gave way to the storm of tears she had dammed up ever since the morning she had discovered that Daniel had failed to come home.

Finally the tears slowed, leaving empty shame at having succumbed to such womanly weakness. What must he think of her? Her breath hitched as she battled for control.

‘Do not despair, Miss Markham.’ Vernon’s deep voice rumbled into the ear pressed against his chest, reverberating through her entire body. Words he had spoken before but somehow, this time, of even more comfort. ‘You no longer carry this burden alone.’

Thankfulness and hope floated into her heart. Her need to confide, to have somebody on her side, was so strong it almost overwhelmed her innate caution. She felt torn: she wanted so much to believe him...to follow the instincts that told her she could trust him, but...he was a stranger. She could not be certain of what was in his heart.

As she grew calm again a single thought clarified in her mind. She cared not how she managed it but—if Vernon was going to search for Daniel—she was going, too.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, mopping her eyes again with his handkerchief, as she wriggled free of his arms. She blew her nose. ‘I am not normally given to such displays.’

She crossed to the table near the window to finish off her glass of Madeira, then squared her shoulders and turned to face Vernon. It was time to stop moping and take action.

‘Shall we discuss strategy?’

‘Strategy, Miss Markham?’

The laughter lines at the corner of his eyes deepened although his lips remained perfectly straight. Thea scowled at this spoilt lord who clearly found her an object of fun.

‘I have no need of strategy. With this information...’ he picked up the discarded note from the desk, folded it and tucked it inside his jacket ‘...and a quick chat with your grooms, I have everything I need.’

He swung around and strode for the study door and panic swamped Thea.

What have I done?

‘Wait!’

She had handed this stranger information that might help him trace Daniel, but could she trust him? What if he meant Daniel harm? This was happening too quickly. He might have decided he needed no strategy, but she needed time to think. To plan.

Above all, she needed reassurance that this man was precisely what he appeared to be: a charming, cultured gentleman. She recalled her fanciful notion that she had glimpsed a wolf beneath his surface: a wolf that watched and waited. What if he had a hidden agenda? What if he was like Jasper Connor who, for months on end, had duped Thea and her entire family into thinking he was something he was not?

Vernon had halted at her command and he slowly rotated to face her. He raised a brow, the epitome of aristocratic arrogance. An idea started to form in Thea’s brain. If she could but delay his departure a short while...

‘You will stay and have luncheon before you set out?’

‘I thought time was of the essence?’

‘It is. But a few hours will not make much difference. You must eat.’

Doubt—and masculinity—radiated from the man: his booted feet planted a yard apart, his arms folded tight across his chest, his lips compressed.

Inspiration struck. ‘You cannot go to the Nag’s Head dressed as you are.’

He glowered. ‘What is wrong with the way I am dressed?’ He unfolded his arms and took a pace towards her. ‘I’ll have you know this coat is by Weston. It is—’

‘It proclaims you for what you are,’ Thea said. She stepped closer, and held his gaze. ‘A wealthy gentleman. Places such as the Nag’s Head are not patronised by members of the aristocracy, but by ordinary men: businessmen, tradesmen, farmers. They will not speak openly to a man of your ilk. A stranger.

‘Why don’t you go to the stables and speak to the grooms,’ she went on, ‘and by the time you return to the house there will be food ready for you to eat and, after that, I shall find you something appropriate of Daniel’s to wear.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You are of a similar height and build to him. His clothes will help you to blend in.’

That should buy her time to put her plans into place.

‘Very well.’ Vernon paused as he was about to leave the study. ‘I just wish I could be certain Daniel’s disappearance is connected to Henry Manning. If the two things are coincidental, I might end up on a wild goose chase.’

And that proves I am right to be cautious. If the two enquiries lead in different directions, I make no doubt Lord Vernon Beauchamp will go chasing after his cousin and consign poor Daniel to the Devil.

* * *

Vernon strode back to the house half an hour later, not much wiser about how he might discover what had happened to Daniel Markham. The grooms could not tell him who or what was Willingdale and nor did the initials R.H. mean anything. None of them had ever accompanied Daniel on his more recent daily excursions—although they confirmed Dorothea’s story that her brother had been troubled—and nor could they offer any reason for this change in Daniel’s behaviour. They were frustrated that they had been stopped from making enquiries—and Vernon had learned that was mainly due to Dorothea’s concern that any worries about Daniel’s welfare would damage confidence in Stour Crystal—and they had scoffed at the notion that Daniel had run up gaming debts.