Then Hazelmere spoke again. ‘Now for the loose ends. You and I, Tony, are shortly to leave for Tadworth to remove the young ladies from Buchanan’s hands and from there we’ll proceed to Hazelmere and Eglemont. Lady Merion, you remain here and ensure we have no more rumours. Ferdie, you are the final player and you’ve probably got the most vital role.’

At these words Ferdie looked highly suspicious. Long acquaintance with his cousin made him wary of such pronouncements. ‘What am I to do?’

‘First, I want you to place a notice of my betrothal to Dorothea in tomorrow’s Gazette. There should be time. Then you must very subtly ensure the story of our romantic escapade is broadcast throughout the ton.’

‘No!’ groaned Fanshawe, pain writ large on his countenance. ‘We’ll never be able to show our faces at White’s again!’

Hazelmere’s smile broadened. ‘Even so. If everyone is exclaiming over our idiotic behaviour they’re unlikely to go looking for other explanations of tonight’s doings.’ Turning back to Ferdie, he asked, ‘Have I missed anything vital?’

Ferdie was running the whole tale over in his mind. He brought his gaze back to his cousin’s face, his eyes alight. ‘It’s good. No gaps. I think I’ll drop in on Ginger Gordon tomorrow. Haven’t seen him in ages.’

This was greeted by another moan from Fanshawe. Sir ‘Ginger’ Gordon was an inveterate gossip, Sir Barnaby Ruscombe’s chief rival. Even a few words in his ear could be counted on to go a very long way.

‘Good! That’s settled.’ Hazelmere glanced at the clock and rose. ‘Come on, Tony. We’d better go.’ Taking Lady Merion’s hand, he smiled confidently down at her. ‘Don’t fret. We’ll bring them off without harm.’

Turning to Ferdie, Hazelmere noted the smile of pleasant anticipation on his face. ‘Don’t get too carried away, Ferdie. I do wish to live in London, you know.’

Startled out of his reverie, Ferdie hastened to reassure his cousin that everything would be most subtly handled. As Fanshawe had finished taking his leave, Hazelmere merely threw him a sceptical glance as he moved to the door.

The friends strode rapidly across Cavendish Square. As they reached Hazelmere House Fanshawe said, ‘I’ll go and get changed. Pick me up when you’re ready?’

Hazelmere nodded and entered his house. Moments later his servants were flying to do his bidding, and inside ten minutes, attired more suitably for driving about the country at night, he mounted his curricle behind the restive greys and swept out of the square. Taking Fanshawe up at his lodgings, they made good time through the deserted city streets. Once clear of the suburbs, Hazelmere allowed the horses their heads and the curricle bounded forward.


* * *

Edward Buchanan’s master plan began to hiccup from the start. The first phase was the abduction of Cecily Darent from Vauxhall Gardens. Having assumed that she was no different from the usual débutante, he was unprepared for the spirited resistance she put up when he grabbed her on one of the shadowy paths. Assisted by his valet, he had secured her hands and gagged her, but she had managed to kick him on the shin before they had bundled her into the carriage. Thus warned, he had kept her bound and gagged until he had been able to release her into the parlour, the only one in the Castle Inn, and lock the stout oak door on her.

The Castle Inn was a small hostelry. Not far from the major roads, it was sufficiently removed to make interruption by unexpected guests unlikely. The front door gave directly on to the taproom. Edward Buchanan stayed by the fire in the low-ceilinged room, sipping a mug of ale and smugly considering the future. It had finally dawned on him that the desirable Miss Darent, she of the Grange, Hampshire, as nice a little property as any he had seen, had ripened like a plum and was about to fall into the hand of the Marquis of Hazelmere. And his lordship didn’t even need the money. It was grossly unfair. So he had set about rectifying the error of fate. But Miss Darent seemed possessed of an uncanny ability to side-step his snares. His attempts at the masquerade and the picnic had both come to naught. This time, however, he prided himself he had her measure. To save her young sister, she would, he was certain, deliver herself, and her tidy little fortune, into his hands. Her fight with Hazelmere and his lordship’s absence from town had relieved his horizon of its only cloud. He smiled into the flames. Then, bored with his own company, he rose and stretched. Miss Cecily had been alone for nearly an hour. It should, therefore, be safe to venture in and discuss the beauties of the future with his prospective sister-in-law.

Opening the door of the parlour, he sauntered in. A vase of flowers flew at his head. He ducked just in time and the vase crashed against the door.

‘Get out!’ said Cecily in tones reminiscent of Lady Merion. ‘How dare you come in here?’

He had expected to find her weeping in distress and fear, totally submissive and entirely incapable of accurately throwing objects about the room. Instead she stood at the other end of the heavy deal table that squatted squarely in the middle of the chamber. On its surface, close to her hand, were ranged all the potential missiles the room had held. Eyeing these, he assumed an authoritative manner.

Waving his hand at her ammunition, he said in a confident tone, ‘My dear child! There’s no cause for such actions, I assure you!’

‘Gammon!’ she said, picking up a small salt cellar. ‘I think you’re mad.’

A frown marred Edward Buchanan’s contentment. ‘You shouldn’t say such things of your future brother-in-law, m’dear.’

It took Cecily all of a minute to work it out. ‘But Dorothea won’t marry you.’

‘I assure you she will,’ returned Edward Buchanan with calm certainty. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat, a wary eye on the salt cellar. ‘And why not? Hazelmere won’t have her now, not after she cut him in the Park. And none of her other beaux seems all that keen to come up to scratch. And after she comes down here to spend the night with me-well, just think of the scandal if she doesn’t marry me after all.’

‘Good lord! You really must be mad! I don’t know what happened between Dorothea and Hazelmere in the Park, but I do know he’s only gone out of town to his estates. He’s expected back any day now. If he finds you’ve been trying to…to pressure Dorothea into marrying you, well…’ Words failed Cecily as she tried to imagine what Hazelmere really would do in such a situation.

But Edward Buchanan was not impressed. ‘By the time his lordship finds out, it’ll be too late. Your sister will be promised to me and Hazelmere will never stand for the scandal.’

‘What scandal? If he killed you it would be simple to hush it up. Tony told me there’s little Hazelmere couldn’t do if he wished it.’

A niggling doubt awoke in Edward Buchanan’s stolid brain. Memories of the tales of Hazelmere’s prowess at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon reverberated in his head. And Desborough’s warning flitted through his consciousness. He shook such unhelpful thoughts aside. ‘Nonsense!’

But Edward Buchanan was to find, as Tony Fanshawe already had, that Cecily’s mind was of a peculiarly tenacious disposition. She continued to dwell longingly on the possible outcome once Hazelmere learned of his plans. No amount of persuasion could shake her faith that he would find out, and that sooner rather than later. As her description of the likely punishments in store for him passed from the general to the specific Edward Buchanan found himself totally unable to divert her attention. She was trying to recall what drawing and quartering entailed when she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

With enormous relief he rose. ‘That, I believe, will be your sister, m’dear.’

Dorothea had spent the journey to Tadworth more in consideration of the possibilities of her next morning’s encounter with Hazelmere than in worry over her imminent encounter with Edward Buchanan. She had no real fear of the bucolic Mr Buchanan and did not pause to question her ability to deal with him. She planned to march into the Castle Inn and, quite simply, walk out again with Cecily. If Edward Buchanan was so Gothic as to believe he could bend her to his will by such melodramatic tactics he would shortly learn his error. Her only worry was that her grandmother would bow to Ferdie’s exhortations and inform Hazelmere. Hopefully, Lady Merion would hold firm. That way she could get Cecily and herself safely back to London and meet his lordship in the morning, having lost no further ground, bar the lack of a few hours’ sleep.

Lang found the inn without difficulty. Entering, Dorothea saw at a glance that this was a respectable house. Reassured, she left Betsy and Lang seated in the taproom and knocked on the parlour door. When it opened she swept through, head held high, without so much as a glance at the man holding the door. She advanced towards her sister, stretching out her hands in greeting. ‘There you are, my love.’

The sisters exchanged kisses and Dorothea pulled off her gloves. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip down?’ she enquired.

Moving back to his chair after shutting the door, Edward Buchanan began to feel that all was not proceeding as it should.

Cecily took her cue from Dorothea. Ignoring their captor, they happily conversed in the most mundane manner, as if nothing at all untoward had occurred. Dorothea moved to the fire to warm her chilled hands.

Suddenly Edward Buchanan could stand it no longer. ‘Miss Darent!’

Dorothea turned to look at him, disdain in every line. ‘Mr Buchanan. I had hoped, sir, that you would by now have come to your senses and that I would not be forced into conversation with you.’