Authors: Diane Farr
The duchess
’
s mild voice interjected,
“I
cannot think you risk anything
, Sir Peter, in making the promise Lady Ballymere desires to hear.
”
“O
h, yes, yes, of course,
”
said Sir Peter hastily.
“F
or heaven
’
s sake, madam, sit you down. This will all come to nothing, mark my words. But if you must have my assurance, you have it. My son will do the right thing, never you fear.
”
Outwardly pathetic but inwardly rejoicing, Lady Ballymere sank back into her chair.
“T
hank you, Sir Peter,
”
she said faintly.
“I
am sorry to be such a ninny. I should not have cast aspersions on your son
’
s character. Of course he will do the right thing
—
should it be necessary.
”
Sir Peter snorted under his breath, but sat back down.
“I
make every allowance for your feelings, Lady Ballymere,
”
he said grudgingly.
“Y
ou are understandably overset by your daughter
’
s disappearance. But I take leave to tell you, you have worked up a great lather with very little cause.
”
The duchess rang the little bell beside her plate.
“I
shall ask Cummings to ascertain Mr. Ellsworth
’
s whereabouts,
”
she said calmly.
“W
e must put that portion of Lady Ballymere
’
s anxieties to rest.
”
“A
n excellent idea,
”
said Lady Ellsworth stiffly.
“I
shall be happy to relieve your mind, my lady, regarding my son
’
s complicity in Lady
Cynthia
’
s little
adventure.
For I am quite certain he had nothing to do with it.
”
Lady Ballymere reminded herself that she had Sir Peter
’
s promise, and the duke and duchess as witnesses to it. She could now afford to be charitable. She smiled weakly, therefore, and waved her hand in a gesture of apology.
“I
am so sorry, my dear Lady Ellsworth, to have offended you. Indeed, I hope you may be right. I believe you
are
right. Your John is an excellent young man in every way. Forgive me. I am...
”
She placed her hand over her mouth as if stifling a sob.
“C
lutching at straws.
”
She shook her head, as if refusing to cry.
“I
am hoping against hope,
”
she said tragically,
“
that my poor
Cynthia
has fallen into such good hands. But I fear you are right, and she is not with your son.
”
It was impos
sible for her to weep
. With victory at hand, she was far too excited. But she covered her eyes with her handkerchief, uttering broken apologies, and then pretended to bravely master her emotions. The servants were duly dispatched to find Mr. Ellsworth, and the party fell silent as they waited. Lady Ballymere sipped nervously at a cup of tea. Lady Ellsworth poked listlessly at a plate of buttered eggs, but did not consume anything. Sir Peter ate his way methodically through a slice of ham, but the worry on his face seemed to indicate that he was not enjoying it. The duke and duchess were composed, as always, but the duke had a grim look about his mouth. Only the duchess seemed her normal, unruffled self.
Quick footsteps sounded in the hall. The door opened. Lady Ballymere glanced up, her sense of anticipation so keen she could hear the blood roaring in her ears. Whatever she was expecting, however, it was not this: Mr. Ellsworth entered, looking both flustered and harassed, and alone. Alone! Worse,
he was wearing morning dress
.
What could it mean? How was it possible? He had somehow found an opportunity to change his clothing. Where was
Cynthia
? Fear chilled Lady Ballymere
’
s heart. She did not know what, or how, but something had gone terribly wrong.
All this she perceived in a flash. Mr. Ellsworth halted just inside the door, bowing in a perfunctory, distracted way to the assembled company.
“Y
our Grace,
”
he intoned.
“M
y lord duke. Mother. Father. Lady Ballymere. You
—
you sent for me, Your Grace?
”
He looked apprehensive.
“I
s something amiss?
”
“C
ome in, John,
”
said the duke politely.
“I
t seems that Lady Ballymere has a question or two to put to you.
”
“L
ady Ballymere?
”
Mr. Ellsworth turned to her, astonishment writ large across his face.
“I
beg your pardon,
”
he stammered, and bowed again.
“I’
ll answer anything you like, of course, my lady. Anything in my power.
”
He was plainly at a loss. Lady Ballymere, for her part, had been shocked into silence. She sat, stunned, and tried to think, while Sir Peter gave his son a terse outline of what had happened this morning. At the end of his brief recital, Mr. Ellsworth turned back to Lady Ballymere, horror and concern in every line of his honest, simple face.
“M
issing, by Jove! Bless my soul, madam, you must be quite distraught. What can I do for you, if you please? Pray tell me at once. I daresay there
’
s no time to be lost. We must find Lady
Cynthia
.
”
Lady Ballymere stared at him, amazed. What an actor! What a
consummate
actor! Who would have thought that John Ellsworth, of all men, would be able to pull off such a deception? Anyone would believe, looking at him, that his astonishment and concern were absolutely genuine! That he had no idea where
Cynthia
was, or what had happened to her! The villain.
“T
hank you, Mr. Ellsworth,
”
she said coldly.
“P
erhaps you would be good enough to tell me where you were, just now.
”
“I
was visiting Lady Hannah,
”
he replied promptly.
“S
he is in the morning room.
”
He turned to the duchess.
“Y
ou
’
ll be glad to hear, Your Grace, that she is much improved this morning. I urged her most strenuously to rest for a day or two, you know, and told her she should not come down to breakfast. She can easily have something sent up on a tray. In fact, I told her I would bring it to her with my own hands, just to ensure that all was done right. I think she will take my advice. She
—”
“M
r. Ellsworth,
”
snapped Lady Ballymere.
“I
f you please! When did you last see my daughter?
”
She narrowed her eyes, looking very hard at him.
“A
nd where?
”
she added, daring him to lie.
“W
ell, let me see.
”
He puffed his cheeks as if thinking hard.
“W
as it at dinner last night? Yes, I believe it was. I saw her at dinner.
”
Lady Ballymere almost gasped aloud at this piece of effrontery. Lies! Bald-faced lies! But Mr. Ellsworth was continuing, seeming oblivious to her gathering fury.
“A
nd after dinner, you know, the ladies retired to the drawing room. I drank a glass of port and then, after a bit, I believe I went back to the library, to see Lady Hannah. And then I escorted Hannah up to
—”
He broke off, a peculiar expression on his face.
“B
y Jove. There she is,
”
he said, pointing past Lady Ballymere
’
s head.
What game was this? Lady Ballymere
’
s back was to the F
rench windows that opened onto the lawn. She turned, as did everyone in the room, and stared in disbelief through the glass-paned doors. She immediately saw what Mr. Ellsworth saw, but her mind rejected it as impossible. Shock immobilized her, while ice water seemed to rush in her veins. She could not make sense of the picture before her. She wondered, detachedly, whether she was about to faint.
Two figures were unhurriedly crossing the lawn, coming up from the gardens toward the breakfast room. One was
Cynthia
, clad in last night
’
s dinner dress and looking decidedly disheveled. Her hair had lost most of its pins and tumbled untidily down her back in a shining river of gold. She was leaning, in a highly suggestive way, upon the arm of her companion.
Mr. Whittaker looked nearly as disheveled as she. His cravat was missing, which left his shirt
—
sadly crushed
—
open at the neck. As they ambled in a leisurely way across the lawn, Mr. Whittaker steadied
Cynthia
’
s steps with his right arm. He had a greatcoat, a muffler, a strip of creased linen that appeared to be his missing cravat, and
Cynthia
’
s cloak thrown over his left arm.
Cynthia
was speaking, smiling up at Mr. Whittaker in an adoring sort of way, and Mr. Whittaker, looking as besotted as she, was bending his head to catch her words.
The picture t
hey presented was
... loverlike. There was really no room for interpretation; no other gloss she could put on what she saw. This inescapable, unwelcome truth stared Lady Ballymere in the face.
Her hopes and dreams were crashing down before her eyes.
Cynthia
’
s marriage to John Ellsworth, an outcome that had seemed all but certain just minutes ago, was suddenly slipping into improbability. How had it happened? Bewilderment rose in her, together with panic.
She discovered that, without realizing it, she had risen to her feet. With her napkin still clutched in her suddenly bloodless fingers, she watched as the young couple approached. Her mind was in chaos, frantic with disbelief. There must be some way to salvage the situation. There
must
be.
When
Cynthia
and Mr.
Whittaker stepped through the F
rench windows and into the breakfast room, and
Cynthia
saw her mother
’
s face, at least she had the grace to blush. Still, she continued to cling to Mr. Whittaker in a manner that struck Lady Ballymere as nothing short of shameless.
“G
ood morning,
”
said Mr. Whittaker, with a breezy cheerfulness that grated on Lady Ballymere
’
s ear. He bowed to the room.
“L
ovely weather
this morning
,
”
he added.
The imp! He was
enjoying
the astonished stares, the surprise and disapproval, the rampant curiosity on every face! This, to Lady Ballymere
’
s mind, was taking a sense of humor much, much too far.
She was too infuriated to speak. Luckily, the duke seemed to share her distaste for Mr. Whittaker
’
s impudence. He had risen to his feet at the head of the table, and when he spoke, his voice dripped acid.
“D
o come in, Mr. Whittaker. Lady
Cynthia
, we have suffered a great deal of anxiety on your behalf this morning.
”
Cynthia
’
s blush intensified. To her mother
’
s annoyance, however, she clung even closer to Mr. Whittaker, as if seeking his protection.
“I
beg your pardon, Your Grace,
”
she said humbly.
“I
did not intend to alarm anyone.
”
“W
here have you been, child?
”
asked the duchess.
Cynthia
lifted her chin.
“I
have been in the orangery,
”
she replied composedly.
“T
he orangery? The deuce you say!
”
exclaimed Mr. Ellsworth.
“W
hy, that
’
s
—”
He seemed to catch the gimlet glare leveled at him by Mr. Whittaker, and broke off in confusion, clearing his throat.