“Edana, I know all aboot Lord Hamilton. He eats dinner here so many nights that he has his own bedchamber. But back to Her Grace. You were saying?”
Edana sniffed. “It seemed to me, over the last few days that— Well, I began to wonder if Natasha wasn’t mistaking Hamilton’s kindness for something more. I feared she had begun to care for him.”
“Did you mention this to Lord Hamilton?”
“I had to warn him. He was much struck by my observations, and asked me several times why I thought such a thing.”
“So you think in the space of the last two months that Her Grace has transferred her feelings for Lord Lyon to Lord Hamilton?”
“A move that was bound to leave her open to heartbreak yet again. I know Daffyd, and the type of woman he admires is nothing like Natasha.” Edana gave a delicate laugh. “Besides, why would any man pay attention to a woman who doesn’t take care of herself? Natasha cannot be bothered with doing her hair to her benefit, or using the correct lotion on her face, or keeping out of the sun to prevent freckles and wrinkles, or wearing something that fits, just like you—” Edana suddenly stopped. “I’m sorry, my dear. I’m not criticizing you, but—well, you know my feelings on the subject.”
“Aye, I know them quite well. When did you have this conversation with Lord Hamilton, telling him of your suspicions aboot Her Grace?”
“ ‘About,’ dear—not—” Edana caught Ailsa’s expression and hurried to add, “I spoke to him yesterday afternoon, after luncheon. I thought it best to say something right away so he could let poor Natasha down gently.”
“And you think that happened? That Lord Hamilton turned Her Grace away and that’s why she’s missing?”
“What else can it be? She must be devastated—two men in a row rejecting her.” Edana threw up her hands, her kerchief fluttering. “I cannot even imagine!”
“Hmmm.” Ailsa considered this, toying absently with one of the letters on her waiting pile. “What you say makes sense, but I wonder if . . .” She pursed her lips. “When you asked MacGill if any of the coaches and carriages were missing, did you inquire after Lord Hamilton’s coach and horses, or just our own?”
“Just our own, of course. Why would I ask about—” Edana gasped. “Surely you cannot be suggesting that Daffyd and Natasha left together?”
“It’s possible. Do we know where Lord Hamilton is? He stayed the night, for we played cards quite late.”
“I haven’t seen him today—but then, he never rises before noon, so I’m sure he’s still in his bed. Besides, he would never do anything so foolish.”
“Let’s find oot, shall we?” Ailsa turned in her seat and tugged the bell pull that hung behind her desk.
“This is ridiculous. I’ve known Hamilton since we were both seventeen, and I’d know if he were interested in someone who—”
A soft knock heralded the entry of the housekeeper, Mrs. Attnee, a plump, motherly woman. Her beaming smile dimmed on seeing the dowager countess. “Guid morning, my lady.” The housekeeper dipped a quick curtsy. “Lady Ailsa, you rang?”
“I understand you assisted in the search for Her Grace.”
Concern creased Mrs. Attnee’s forehead. “Aye. She is nae to be found. We searched the house top to bottom, even the cellars.”
“Did you happen to see Lord Hamilton when you were searching the house top to bottom?”
“Och, nae. Lord Hamilton left early this morning, almost at dawn.”
“What?” Lady Edana blinked. “Are you certain?”
“I saw him with me own eyes, I did. I’d just sent the char maids aboot their dooties when he came sneakin’ doon the stairs.”
“Sneaking?” Ailsa asked.
“I would nae call it other, fer he was bent o’er and walkin’ like this—” She hunched her shoulders and mimicked someone tiptoeing.
“That’s ridiculous,” Edana announced, her neck a mottled red. “Lord Hamilton would never move in such a-a-a subversive fashion!”
Ailsa ignored her. “Mrs. Attnee, did he say where was he going?”
“Nae exactly. He just said he was waitin’ on his carriage. He sometimes leaves early fer his home, but he’s never walked so strangely.”
“Did you see him leave for Caskill Manor?”
“Nae. I offered to bring him some breakfast, but he refused and dinnae seem to wish fer company, so I left him waiting for his carriage. When I came back through the foyer a few minutes later, he was gone.”
Ignoring the strange hissing sound coming from Edana, Ailsa said, “So you dinnae know if he left with someone else, then.”
“Nae. I dinnae see anyone else aboot the house but his lordship, but I suppose someone could have joined him and—” The housekeeper pressed her hands to her chest. “Lord love ye, ye dinnae think he’s run off with Her Grace?”
Edana made a strangled noise.
The housekeeper pursed her lips. “They have been spendin’ a lot of time together, now that I think on it. Just last night they were in the corner of the landin’, gigglin’ and whisperin’, and I thought tha’ perhaps there was some courtin’ goin’ on—”
“That is quite enough!” Edana snapped, her eyes blazing. “Mrs. Attnee, I will thank you for not spreading gossip about the house.”
“Gossip? I was jus’ sayin’ what I’d seen and—”
“Stop! Do not say another word.” Edana turned to face Ailsa. “I will not believe it!”
“The truth does nae always come in a neat box. Sometimes it’s a messy package, best opened when fortified by drink.” Ailsa sent the housekeeper a meaningful look.
Mrs. Attnee nodded. “I’ll pour some sherry.” She went to the small stand near the window, poured some sherry from a decanter into a small crystal glass, and brought it to Edana.
Edana sipped the sherry. “I cannot believe that—that harpy would steal away with Daffyd. It’s—”
An abrupt knock on the door heralded the butler’s entrance. MacGill looked pale, his eyes wide. “My lady, a message came from Caskill House.”
Edana paled. “Do not say Lord Hamilton has eloped with Her Grace!”
Mr. MacGill looked shocked. “Nae, my lady.”
“Thank heavens!” She fanned herself with her kerchief.
“What’s happened?” Ailsa asked.
“Mr. Grant, the businessmon at Caskill, said Lord Hamilton had sent word that he and a guest were to be expected, but they never arrived.”
Ailsa’s heart sank. “And?”
“An hour ago, one of Lord Hamilton’s men found his coach. It was abandoned, stopped on the road by a felled tree, and there were pistol shots peppered across the whole side.”
“Guid lord!” Ailsa said in a shaky voice, “The duchess and Lord Hamilton? Were they . . .” She couldn’t say the words.
“Nae, miss, but ’tis still grim,” Mr. MacGill said in a doomsday voice, “There’s a bit of blood on the carriage seat, and—my lady, I dinnae know how to tell ye this, but there’s more. Under one of the wheels was found a wee scrap of tartan.”
“Tartain?” Ailsa exclaimed. “Whose?”
The butler met her gaze. “’Twas Mackenzie tartan, my lady, the same as yer father wears on dress days. The Hamiltons believe you’ve kidnapped his lordship, and Her Grace along wi’ him!”
Chapter 2
Holyroodhouse
Edinburgh
October 25, 1821
“Here. You take it to him.” Count Fyodor Apraksin handed the letter to the head of the royal guard.
“Me? Do I look like I wish to die?” Vasily Repnin promptly handed the letter back. “I’d rather face a hungry black bear than deliver that to the prince.”
“Someone must do it.” Since Apraksin was a courtier, delivering a letter was usually his responsibility. But not this one. He held it like it was a snake about to strike.
Repnin eyed the letter as if he felt the same. “Every time the prince gets a letter from that Scottish harpy about his grandmother, he snarls
for hours.”
“I know,” Apraksin said. “He has been in such a surly mood of late already.”
“No doubt because we’re stuck in this damned frigid country, when we could be in Italy where it is warm and the women—” Repnin kissed his fingers to the air.
“Don’t remind me,” Apraksin said sourly. There was a widow in Milan he remembered very fondly. “He won’t admit it, though. He plays close to the vest with this mission.”
“He is not a talker, our prince. Perhaps we can get Menshivkov to deliver this missive? He’s always bragging that he’s the prince’s chief aide-de-camp, a title he made up in his own mind.”
“Good idea! Menshivkov’s the perfect one to give His Highness the letter—”
“What letter?”
The deep voice sent Apraksin and Repnin spinning around on their boot heels.
Prince Nikolai Romanovin closed the study door behind him. Taller than most men, with broad shoulders, thick black hair, and deep green eyes so dark they appeared almost black, he was an impressive figure. In public, he took the character of a man of town, a womanizer, charming and easily amused, which was quite different from who he really was—hard, unyielding, and a brilliant tactician.
“Your Highness.” Apraksin clicked his heels and bowed sharply, Repnin following suit.
“We did not hear you,” Repnin added unnecessarily.
A single black brow rose at this. That, combined with the icy stare of its owner made Repnin and Apraksin both gulp.
Apraksin cleared his throat. “Your Highness, I’m sure it is nothing that cannot wait until after dinner. A missive about your grandmother, nothing more.”
The prince’s mouth thinned. “Bloody hell, I thought that damned trunk would be there by now.”
“Perhaps Her Grace has discovered another missing case?” Repnin suggested.
Apraksin said, “The envelope is marked ‘urgent,’ but that may only be a trick to get you to respond sooner.”
“ ‘Urgent’? Let me see it.”
Biting back a sigh, Apraksin handed the letter to the prince.
Nik opened the letter and read it quickly. Written in now-familiar neat handwriting, the note had been dashed off in obvious haste.
To: HRH Nikolai Romanovin
Holyroodhouse
Edinburgh
Sir,
Your grandmother has gone missing. She left this morning to visit Caskill House but did not arrive. We are currently searching for Her Grace, and—while it pains me to deliver this news in such a way, it is best you hear it from me rather than rumors—I believe she has been abducted.
I will explain more when I have news. In the meantime, I am doing what I can to find her, and quickly. Rest assured that if she is not soon found, I will alert the local militia. I will leave no stone unturned in our search. We will find Her Grace and return her to you hale and hearty.
Yours sincerely,
Lady Ailsa Mackenzie
Castle Leod
October 21, 1821
P.S. The trunk arrived this morning.
Nik crumpled the letter in his hand. “Ehta prost nivazmosha. We must go to Castle Leod at once.”
Repnin blinked. “Now?”
“Immediately.”
“I’ll send for the carriage.”
“No carriage. We ride. My grandmother has gone missing, and Lady Ailsa believes Her Grace may have been abducted.”
“Someone took Her Grace? On purpose?” Repnin said in obvious disbelief.
“I daresay they regret it now, but da. We must be quick and quiet.” His jaw hardened. “God help the men who have taken her. If I find so much as one hair upon her head has come to harm, I will bring a justice that will not be forgotten.”
“We will assist you, Your Highness.”
“Good. In the meantime, we must stop this Lady Ailsa from alerting the militia, which she has sworn to do if Her Grace is not found.”
Who would take Tata Natasha? She knows nothing of why I am at Holyroodhouse. But perhaps someone else does and is using her to derail my efforts. But who? He looked at the letter now crumpled between his fingers. “This Lady Ailsa is obviously of a strong spirit—annoyingly so. I cannot have her raising an alarm of any kind. I cannot have a scandal right now. Oxenburg cannot have a scandal.”
Apraksin’s dark eyes gleamed. The slender courtier was at his best when a scheme was at hand. “You are on a mission, then. We thought so.”
“Da, and it is very tenuous. I cannot have a distraction now or all would be ruined. So I will go unofficially. Very unofficially.”
“What does that mean?” Repnin said uneasily.
“If I go to Castle Leod as the prince, word would get out that I’m not here, and I cannot afford that. So I will travel incognito. I will need to stop at a certain inn on the way. Someone is expecting me.” He flicked a glance at Apraksin. “No one must know I’ve left Holyroodhouse.”
Apraksin nodded. “We will announce you’ve fallen ill, perhaps from the food from last night’s ball. Many were complaining about it already.”
Nik nodded.
“I’ll set a guard at your bedchamber and Menshivkov can stay in your bed, covered by blankets when the servants bring food, in case someone is watching.”
“This is good. See to it.”
“We’ll take a dozen guards,” Repnin added. “And perhaps a—”
“Nyet. There will only be the three of us. More would attract attention. Gather supplies. I will need clothes that do not announce my presence.”
Apraksin looked thoughtful. “The head groom’s brother, who has been breaking in your new mare, is close to your size. I will buy some of his clothes. Repnin and I will find other servants and do the same.”
“Good. We leave within the next half hour, so make haste.” His men left the study and Nik, his thoughts dark, threw the crumpled letter into the fire, watching silently as the flames licked at the strong handwriting.
He had to find his grandmother and stop this Lady Ailsa from alerting the militia. There was too much at stake to involve any one else—including the sharp-penned woman who managed to convey disapproval with every stroke of her pen. He watched, glad to see the final bit of the letter curl into ash.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Karen Hawkins
This title was originally published in What Happens Under the Mistletoe
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