Page 68 of Against the Wind

No wonder she was upset. If she was married to John Onion, her husband might not have come home. “Mrs. Onion, I am looking for a man. Lord Rutledge. Might he have been a recent guest of the inn?”

“Aye,” she said. “We don’t get many gentlemen like that. I’d not be forgettin’ him. His lordship stayed with us several weeks, though he was gone much of the time. He left a few days ago.”

“This is very important, Mrs. Onion. Do you know where he went when he left?”

“I did ask him,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest and drawing her brows together as if pondering. “I recall only that he said he’d taken a house nearby.”

“He didn’t say where?”

“Nay. At least, I cannot recall if he did.”

Martin started to thank her for her time, but another thought occurred. “Would you by chance know from whom he rented the house?”

“Why, there be only one man ye can rent from in these parts, sir. That would be His Grace, the Duke of Devonshire hisself. He’s landlord to us all.”

Of course! Hadn’t Ormond said the duke owned the lands of Pentridge?

Martin returned to the White Horse and hastily explained to John what he’d learned, then sent him to South Wingfield to get a report from the magistrates. Martin hurriedly changed from his muddy clothes, donning those more appropriate for the road north to Chatsworth and an urgent call on Ormond’s friend.

After twelve miles of hard riding, Martin was relieved to finally cross the stone bridge spanning the Derwent River to Chatsworth House. His raw anxiety for the terror Kit might be experiencing was the only thing keeping him in the saddle. His fear was a stark contrast to the calm picture of sheep grazing on the grass-covered grounds in front of the majestic stone estate the young Duke of Devonshire called home.

He could feel some of the tension ease from his body when the duke’s butler told him His Grace was in residence and could be found in one of the gardens undergoing expansion. Martin was not surprised, as Ormond had told him the duke had a reputation as an accomplished horticulturist.

Martin wasted no time in bringing his desperate errand to the fore when he found the duke. “Your Grace, I am Sir Martin Powell, a friend of the Marquess of Ormond. I believe he sent word I might call without notice.”

The duke held out his hand to shake Martin’s. “Ah, yes. I recall the mysterious message. I must get to London soon to visit him and his lady. In the meantime, would you like to see the latest additions to the gardens and then stay for luncheon? We can dine on the terrace.”

“On another day I would gladly accept your invitation, Your Grace, but I’ve come on a desperate errand and must return immediately if I am to prevent disaster. A man to whom your agent leased one of your houses in Derbyshire has abducted my wife, and I believe he is keeping her there to evil purpose. I do not know which house, and that is why I’ve sought you out. When it comes to my lady, the man is obsessed and has previously threatened her with violence.”

The duke’s face twisted in puzzlement. “Obsessed? I daresay. Who is this man?”

“The Earl of Rutledge.”

“Rutledge…?” The duke drew his brows together as he considered the name. “I cannot recall the man’s face. But I do know the name. Seems I recall he has a bad reputation.” He looked up and, as if catching the energy rolling off of Martin, gave him a quick glance and began to stride back toward the estate indicating Martin should follow.

“Let us return to my study where I keep the estate books. My agent can tell us what property he rented to the earl and when.”

The duke spoke briefly with his agent, who handed him a ledger. He turned to Martin and said, “The house Rutledge leased is one of several I reserve for visiting members of the nobility and gentry.” He pulled a map from a file and spread it on his desk. “It’s near the village of Cromford, south of Chatsworth and about eight miles north of Pentridge. It was vacant only a short time before Rutledge arranged with my agent to take it.”

“I thank you, Your Grace. I must leave immediately.”

“Seeing how the man may have sequestered your wife in one of my properties, it seems only fitting I should accompany you, Sir Martin.” The duke looked again at the map. “I know the house well, and since Prinny is a good friend and you’re on his business, it is the least I can do.”

“Are you certain, Your Grace? The task will be dangerous. He has stooped to violence more than once.” In fact, he had already attempted rape, but Martin wouldn’t mention that. Kit would be thought less of in the eyes of some if others knew she’d been subject to Rutledge’s barbarity. It was one reason he’d been glad she didn’t have to face a trial for the man’s death. Today he would have to risk that the duke could be trusted.

“I’ll not let you go alone,” said the duke. “Oh, and do call me Hart. I prefer it. Ormond knows the name well and uses it most freely.” The duke was already striding out the door and toward the stables when he shouted over his shoulder, “We can take one of my footmen with us. I’ve had the usual training with pistols myself, of course.”

Martin caught up and, on the way to the stables, explained the uprising that had delayed his learning of his wife’s abduction, so he was half-expecting the duke’s next statement.

“The people of Pentridge are my responsibility, and if there have been crimes against the Crown I must know which of my tenants has been involved. These are difficult times for the people of the Midlands but I cannot tolerate those who would rise in revolution.”

“I doubt if they would have done so without prodding,” Martin said as they reached their goal. “They were urged on by Sidmouth’s spy, and his protégé Brandreth.”

The two men mounted horses made ready for them. A footman joined them and, as the duke settled himself in his saddle, he asked, “Sidmouth’s spy?”

“With your permission, Your—Hart, I’ll explain as we ride.” Martin wanted to tarry not a moment longer.

“You will need to speak up, then, as I’m not likely to hear all you say with the pounding of the horses’ hooves. My hearing sometimes fails me!”