Cecily turned and hugged her tightly. “I wish I could stay to see you made happy too. I cannot bear to think of you in Surrey. When I return a married woman, you must come live with us.”

Arabella could never do as Cecily wished. She could not live off their charity since the pair would have so little to live on with a lieutenant’s pay. So she made no immediate answer in order to avoid the likely argument now. Time was of the essence. When she stepped back, Lieutenant Ford assisted Cecily inside. He joined her a moment later, and a groom jumped down from the rear of the vehicle.

As the carriage rolled away, the groom came closer. The man was tall and narrow, well dressed and with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now they’re on their way, I’m commissioned by Lord Rothwell to ensure you return home in safety, my lady. He had a feeling you’d follow the chit to this meeting and wanted to be sure you returned home unharmed.”

Arabella frowned and glanced around her. “If he thought it so dangerous, then why did he not come himself?”

“Wouldn’t do, my lady. Wouldn’t do your reputation any good to be seen alone with him. If you’d be so good as to return the way you came, I’m to follow at a discreet distance and ensure you’re sweetly tucked up at home again before the hour has passed.”

He stepped back, hands lax at his side. Why would Rothwell care for her safety and the continuation of her good reputation? He was the one to kiss her senseless and not even apologize for mistaking her for someone else. Perhaps he routinely kissed the wrong women. She shrugged aside her irritation at the idea and squared her shoulders. She was thinking irrationally to worry about that now. She had thought Rothwell uncaring of propriety in the beginning, but that wasn’t true so far. He had sent his own servant to make sure she returned home safely. That had to count for something.

Confused, Arabella hurried up the street, ducking through the dark mews. Now she was alone, she was a little unnerved by the shadows, but she drew comfort from the servant who followed. When she gained the rear square of her London home, a whistle sounded behind her. She turned but detected no sign of Rothwell’s servant lingering in her shadow anymore. “Thank him, please,” she called out but received no reply.

The first servants she passed were silent and watchful as she entered the house alone. When the butler stepped into her path, her pulse raced.

“May I ask if the young lady is on her way?”

Arabella glanced around, swallowing her worry that they would send word to Farnsworth immediately. She nodded slowly and was pleased when the butler and every other servant grinned, though they quickly stifled the expression. They were on her niece’s side about Parker, it seemed. Their reaction gave her hope that she had done the right thing in helping the girl flee the arranged marriage and that they might help delay the discovery of her disappearance by Farnsworth for as long as possible tomorrow morning.

She returned to her bedchamber and removed her cloak and gloves, satisfied that at least her niece might have a chance for happiness, if there was such a thing. She rubbed her arms. Come morning, Farnsworth would be furious. She’d be blamed and very rightly, too. She’d been a very poor chaperone. Arabella added that to her secret list of failures—wife, mother, lover, chaperone.

A miserable tally if ever there was one.

With nothing to do for Cecily anymore, she snuggled into the chair placed before the fire and tried to picture a life in Surrey again. Mind you, if Farnsworth didn’t wash his hands of her entirely over Cecily’s elopement, she might never see even that place in the future. What would she do then? Her portion from her marriage was pitifully small. She had no relatives that might shelter her if Farnsworth kicked her out. She’d be destitute, forced to rely on the charity of others to keep a roof over her head. Arabella pressed her head to her knees and hugged her legs as she tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve a hermetic lifestyle in Surrey. The only one that came to mind was remarriage. But who would want her, and at such short notice? Could she even bear to be a wife again?

CHAPTER NINE

Merrick paused just inside the doorway of the coffee house and surveyed his surroundings. At this hour the business was booming, and there were very few chairs left unoccupied in the establishment. An arm rose at the back of the room, blue wool sleeve, gold lace stripe, and buttons at the cuff. That was sure to be Captain Hastings, his cousin’s commanding officer, waiting to meet him as arranged.

Merrick eased through the crowd, stopping when he reached the table. “Hastings. Thank you for coming.”

Pale blue eyes met his, the kind that reminded him of a windswept sky and hours of solitude. Hastings and Merrick had met in a Southport tavern some ten years ago when Hastings had been a lieutenant on leave from his uncle’s command and Merrick at loose ends. They had been friends ever since, with one short period of estrangement that they both preferred not to talk about.

 “How could I resist such a cryptic and urgent message?” Hastings shifted his bicorne to the side of the table. “I’ll have you know I left behind a very comfortable bed that does not rock with the tide, so I hope our business does not delay my return to it for very long. It’s quite a novel experience.”

Hastings had become something of a lone wolf in the service, and if one believed the rumors, he was utterly ruthless in war. No quarter given, no prize beyond reach. Some might call it ill luck that he was not on good terms with Merrick’s Ford relations, but that had not stopped his rise through the ranks to captain of one of the fastest frigates in the service. That made Hastings an indispensable ally. He did not back down from a fight and had superb sense save for one notable occasion.

Merrick slid into a chair opposite him and signaled for a coffee. “How much do you like my cousin?”

“Which one?” Hastings’s gaze sharpened and then his shoulders slumped. “I suppose you could only mean my lieutenant. As well as any man under my command, I suppose.”

Merrick smiled and sipped his coffee, rolling the flavor in his mouth before he continued. “I was hoping perhaps you liked him more.”

Hastings nudged his coffee cup to the edge of the table to be refilled. “What has he done?”

Merrick waited till the cup had been replenished and the servant had departed before answering.

“Run for Scotland to be married,” Merrick told him honestly, lowering his voice so his words would carry no farther than his friend. “The family does not know that yet and don’t need to be informed until the lad comes back.”

Hastings rubbed one hand through his dark hair and then shook his head. “You helped him? Damn it, Rothwell. When are you going to cut all ties with them? You know how they are when they believe you at fault. They always make you do something rash you’ll regret later. He could have waited out the bans, surely.”

Merrick shook his head. “By then he would have been back at sea, and her father had said no.”

Hastings at least took a moment to consider before responding. “I thought him a brave lad from the start. Yet I still do not understand the rush.”

“If the woman you loved was about to marry a much older and undeserving man, wouldn’t you try everything in your power to keep her for yourself if you could, even turning to the black sheep of the family for help?”

As Merrick had hoped, Hastings’s sympathy shifted in Laurie’s favor immediately. “I see why you meddled and why you came to me. This situation has a ring of familiarity about it. I, too, have stood at the crossroads before with only your support at my side. You are a good man. What do you want me to do?”