Well, she had been intending to leave, too, although part of her plan had been to somehow let him know, to say farewell. It seemed there was no need.
Had he forgotten their conversation last night? Had he imbibed rather more than she had guessed?
Or was he on the same mission as herself?
Had Henrietta already spoken to Philip? Had Philip then sent Sir Marcus after his errant stepdaughter? Such a request would surely be unthinkable…unless he was actually betrothed to her.
“No,” she said aloud, appalling herself by the wealth of pain in her voice. Especially as she had no proof of any of this. He could be going anywhere, and he owed Helen precisely nothing. If she had been reading more into his words than he had intended, then more fool she.
She strode across to the door, calling rather desperately to Eliza to be quick.
Chapter Seven
Driving at full tilt into the Hart Inn yard just before dark, Marcus’s heart was heavy for any number of reasons. He knew at least he should be grateful he had learned of this before he spoke to Helen.
He thrust her from his mind, and concentrated instead on reining in the horses before they crashed into something. Pausing only to issue instructions to the ostler, he strode up to the inn and banged the door shut behind him.
He opened his mouth to shout for Villin and, to his astonishment, beheld the apparently paralyzed figure of Miss Anne Marshall at the foot of the stairs. She stared at him with more than her usual horror at his presence.
“You!” she uttered in accents of loathing and fled into the private parlor, slamming the door.
It would have been funny if he hadn’t already had too many other things on his mind. As it was, he couldn’t help the hiss of laughter between his teeth as he turned to face Villin at the taproom door.
“Welcome back, sir!” beamed the innkeeper. “What is your pleasure today?”
“First of all, take me to Mrs. Robinov, if you please.”
“Oh, certainly sir. She is just here in the private parlor.”
Marcus had time to pity poor Dorothea Robinov sharing a parlor with the Marshall family before Villin threw open the door and announced happily, “Sir Marcus Dain, ma’am.” Marcus walked into the room to find chaos.
Dorothea Robinov sat by the fire, instantly recognizable. Still beautiful at forty, with that same slightly untidy, distracted air. Physically, she had not changed, save for a few extra lines and rather dark circles under her eyes.
Anne Marshall knelt at Dorothea’s feet, clutching her hands in some plea he had not heard. Dorothea, looking bewildered, glanced up at Marcus and jumped to her feet, almost knocking over Anne, who was caught and helped to her feet by a fair youth in a dark coat and an equally fair young girl little older than Anne herself. Both glared at him, stepping protectively in front of Anne.
At least Dorothea was smiling, rushing toward him with both hands held out. “Marcus! My dear friend! How kind of you to come so quickly!”
Sir Marcus kissed both hands and her cheek, then stood back, frowning to examine her face. “I’m so sorry, Dorothea.”
Tears, which he guessed were never far away, filled her eyes but did not spill. She nodded. “I know,” she whispered, squeezing his hands before releasing them. “But let me present my children whom you have not seen since they were tiny! This is Kenneth and Carla. My dears, your father’s great friend, and mine, too, Sir Marcus Dain.”
“This is Sir Marcus?” the youth blurted.
“Yes, it is,” his mother said indignantly. “If you don’t remember him, you might at least remember your manners!”
The young man flushed, bowing with slightly jerky grace. “Forgive me, sir, I do remember you, now I look more closely. I think we muddled you with someone else.”
The girl, a pretty young woman with Dorothea’s eyes, curtsied to him also, with a similar mixture of bewilderment and relief.
Until Anne declared. “No, it is he. He has come after me!”
There was a stunned silence, which Marcus broke. “Why the devil would I do that? Where are your parents?”
“I think we still have some misunderstanding here,” Dorothea observed. “Miss Marshall, I believe you will find Sir Marcus is here in answer to my request. I can see that you know each other, but he clearly had no idea of your presence at the inn. Marcus, Miss Marshall has run away from her family, and to be honest, I am at a loss what to do for the best, for the girl is clearly terrified.”
“I’ll speak to her father,” Marcus said grimly just as the door opened again and the three Overton children spilled into the room.
“She’s here!” George shouted cheerfully over his shoulder, and Helen hurried in behind them.
Her gaze fixed on Marcus for only an instant, though long enough for him to read the hurt and disappointment lurking behind her stern expression. Shocked, he watched her glance around the rest of the room and take in the presence of Anne, which seemed to relieve rather than surprise her.
“Miss Milsom,” he managed. “What brings you here?”
She ignored him, going straight to Anne. “I am so sorry, I never meant you to actually escape and come here! But everything should be well now. You must come with us to Audley Park.”
*
Arriving at the Hart, Helen prayed she would find Anne Marshall within and Sir Marcus Dain nowhere near.
“I am looking for Miss Marshall,” she told the innkeeper, although if Anne was in hiding, she would probably have given a false name.
However, Mr. Villin seemed to know exactly who she meant. “In the parlor, ma’am, with…”
Helen heard no more, for the children flew past him to the parlor, Helen in their wake. In his haste, George barely knocked at all, and he barged through the door almost at the same time, the twins at his heels. She would have told him off in no uncertain terms for such hideous manners, only Sir Marcus’s voice was tearing her apart. Not only present but announcing, “I’ll speak to her father.”
Lies. Everything he had told her was lies. While she seemed to be crumbling inside, she dragged her gaze free of his and found Anne, and here at least she could be wholeheartedly grateful to find the girl apparently unharmed.
He said something. She barely heard, concentrating on Anne. “I am so sorry, I never meant you to actually escape and come here! But everything should be well now. You must come with us to Audley Park.”
But as she approached the girl, she was surprised to find another woman in her way. A tall, somehow dignified lady whose eyes were anything but friendly. In fact, they held considerable contempt.
“Madam, I have no idea who you are. Only the fact that you appear to be known to Sir Marcus prevents me from having the innkeeper show you immediately out of my private parlor. I have been away from England a long time, but I cannot believe it is now customary to barge unannounced into other people’s rooms as you and your children just did. For the rest, Miss Marshall has thrown herself upon my care, and I will not allow any rude stranger to take her away.”
Helen blushed to the roots of her hair. Her only defense was her distraction, her worry for Anne and her pain at Sir Marcus’s…disingenuousness. None of which were reasonable excuses for her rudeness.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” she said, utterly humiliated. She glanced at Anne, who was looking confused. “We will be at Audley Park, where you may communicate if you need me.” With an effort, she turned back to the rigid, angry lady and curtsied. “I apologize for my unforgivable intrusion. Children.”