Page 20 of Unmasking the Earl

During that entire, never-ending, terrible ride through the darkness, he had cursed himself for allowing Georgiana to stay with Claudette. The Duke of Paxton had invited them both to spend the month at an extended house party, but Georgiana had said she would feel guilty coming to Oxford but not keeping Claudette company, and his sister could be very determined.

Ned had toyed with the idea of joining her, but he knew virtually nobody in Oxford. At least at Highmore House, he knew the Duke of Paxton and the duke’s immediate family, and would doubtless make new friends as the month wore on.

And because of that fateful decision to let Georgiana have her way, she was now gone. Possibly forever.

He had tried to share Aunt Claudette’s optimism that night, tried to make himself believe that Georgiana had somehow escaped the roaring flames, that there was a perfectly logical reason she couldn’t be found afterward. But he hadn’t been able to bear the sick dread, and even though the firemen and constables advised him against it, he’d tied his cravat over his nose and mouth, borrowed someone’s garden hoe, and started raking through the smoking rubble.

What had he expected to find? A fragment of charred nightgown, or the melted remains of the locket containing a portrait miniature of himself? Or worse, a blackened skull with a mess of singed hair?

The dishwater had long since gone cold as he stared out through the scullery’s tiny window now, remembering. Disconsolate, he watched a swallow dipping and diving for flies, swooping masterfully between the low bushes in Wycherley’s back garden. He wished he could become that swallow, flying free with the wind beneath him, having to think of nothing but feeding, nesting, and bringing up young.

But that was not to be. Not until he’d learned the truth of his sister’s fate.

He needed to keep busy, needed the punishing routine of a servant’s work in a household, dealing with visitors, helping to lay the table, cleaning and polishing the pewter and silver, maintaining the candles and lamps, purchasing and collecting goods for the household, dusting the books, and lifting heavy furniture so the maids could sweep beneath. He needed that feeling of satisfied exhaustion which came after a hard day’s honest labor, granting him a dreamless sleep.

How he’d clung to the hope that night that Georgiana was alive! He had raked desperately through those ashes for hours, until his boots were cracked and hard and burning his feet.

New boots had been found, and by dawn he was at it again, this time with the assistance of some of the Oxford students who lived nearby. But in all the broken and melted glass, the splintered wood, and the singed and blackened remains of the furniture, he found not one thing which might have originated from a human body.

Georgiana was not there. Somehow, she had escaped the inferno.

But where had she gone?

Posters offering a reward had been put up on every lamppost, every set of railings, every college notice board. To no avail. With growing apprehension, he had made investigations, asked questions, put requests in the newspaper. With only one result—it had come to light that it was not one of Claudette’s household who first raised the alarm about the fire.

So, who had? Georgiana herself? Had she seen the blaze and gone to fetch help? If so, why had she not returned?

Ned had made it a priority to discover who had raised the alarm.

Captain Wycherley’s name had eventually come up. Ned had heard mention of him before, but had no recollection when or in what connection. Had Georgiana herself mentioned Wycherley? But the gallant captain had vanished, too, and could not be questioned.

Ned had persuaded his aunt to move back to Yorkshire with him. Eventually, racked with grief, he’d followed her northward to bury himself in the business of his Scottish and Yorkshire estates, hoping thus to mend the broken pieces of his life. At length, one of the inquiry agents he’d hired informed him Captain Wycherley had resurfaced in Oxford where he’d commenced a life of dissipation and pleasure, an instant favorite with the ladies.

Ned could have just taken a carriage and traveled down in person to beard the lion in his den. Or he could have instructed his agents to make more thorough inquiries. But a part of his mind had urged him that it would be better to use subtlety.

So he had come down to Oxford wearing a Rifleman’s tattered jacket, in hopes of gaining Wycherley’s sympathy for a fellow veteran down on his luck.

Ned had engineered a minor carriage accident, making sure he was there to rescue the captain from the wreckage, then asked if he knew anyone who could use a strong back and a firm pair of hands. A grateful Wycherley had employed him on the spot, Ned’s friend, the Duke of Paxton, having supplied references to support his subterfuge.

Which was how Lord Edmund Talbot, Earl of Stranraer, had come to be working at Captain Francis Wycherley’s residence, disguised as a domestic servant.

Chapter Eleven

The ruse had meant considerable sacrifice on Ned’s part over the past few months, as well as an inordinate amount of self-restraint.

But he was convinced the captain knew something about Georgiana’s sudden disappearance. It was too much of a coincidence that, having raised the alarm about the fire, he then vanished completely for several weeks. An innocent man would have stayed to give his version of events to the investigating authorities.

As much as he despised the man, Ned could not, however, believe the captain had done Georgiana deliberate harm. Abducted her, abused her, or outright killed her? No. Wycherley was a rogue and a philanderer, but he had never been violent in any way that Ned had uncovered, not to any woman.

Therefore, Georgiana and Wycherley must have had some kind of understanding. The man must have persuaded her to run away with him, and set the fire to delay any pursuit. But the conflagration had become more serious than the lovers intended, so Wycherley had raised the alarm before they fled, lest anyone get hurt. It made sense, if terribly inconsiderate and risky.

Unfortunately, it was turning out to be devilishly difficult for Ned to prove any of his suspicions.

Once he had the proof, though, he would use his fists on Wycherley’s handsome face in a way that would make the blackguard confess Georgiana’s fate. He intended to render the man unrecognizable. Bereft of his good looks, the bastard would never be able to seduce another woman the way he had Georgiana. For good measure, Ned would announce to the ton that Wycherley was a cheat and a liar. His comfortable income from gambling would evaporate, and his shares and investments would lose their value as the honest investors withdrew their support. He would be thrown into debtor’s prison, left to eke out the rest of his days in misery.

Which was better than the villain deserved.

Ned was determined to find Georgiana and to utterly ruin Wycherley for what he’d done to her.