Sometimes a Rogue

Book 5: Lost Lords

by Mary Jo Putney

Genres: Regency Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

"Romance at its best!" --Julia Quinn "Exquisitely and sensitively written." --Library Journal, starred review "Intoxicating and not-to-be missed." --Romantic Times (4 Stars, Top Pick) Sometimes. . . Even the most proper young lady yearns for adventure. But when the very well bred Miss Sarah Clarke-Townsend impulsively takes the place of her pregnant twin, it puts her own life at risk. If the kidnappers after her sister discover they've abducted Sarah instead, she will surely pay with her life. . . A Rogue. . . Rob Carmichael survived his disastrous family by turning his back on his heritage and becoming a formidable Bow Street Runner with a talent for rescuing damsels in distress. But Sarah is one damsel who is equal to whatever comes. Whether racing across Ireland with her roguish rescuer or throwing herself into his arms, she challenges Rob at every turn. "You can't go wrong with a Putney romance!" –Sabrina Jeffries

Release date: September 1, 2013

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 432

Sample

Sarah Clarke-Townsend caroled the song to the heavens as she guided the curricle into a green lane leading away from Ralston Abbey. As she drew her breath to start another verse, her very pregnant twin sister, Mariah, Duchess of Ashton, burst into laughter, pressing one hand to her abdomen. “Did you compose that song, Sarah?”

Sarah grinned. The sun was just rising over the horizon, and she was wearing a daffodil-colored dress in honor of a glorious spring day. “I altered the words of a sailors’ song I heard once. The original asks what to do with a drunken sailor.”

“A drunken sailor would be more graceful than I am at the moment,” Mariah said ruefully as she brushed back the golden hair that was the exact same shade as Sarah’s. “Don’t make me laugh so, or I might have this baby right now!”

“Don’t do that!” Sarah said with alarm. “It’s bad enough that I let you talk me into taking you for a dawn drive. Everyone in Ralston Abbey will have strong hysterics when they find out even though Murphy is following us at a discreet distance.”

“That’s why I wanted to get out,” Mariah said with exasperation. “I feel so restless! My back aches and my temper is on edge because everyone fusses over me as if I’m made of porcelain. It’s driving me mad!” Which is why the Duchess of Ashton had dressed herself and tiptoed through dark corridors to tap on Sarah’s door and beg for an early morning drive on the estate.

“That’s the price you pay for having a husband who adores you,” Sarah said, her tone light to disguise her envy. She didn’t begrudge her sister having a wonderful husband; Mariah had endured a rather irregular childhood and deserved her happiness. But Sarah regretted having lost her own chance for such happiness.

“True, and I count my blessings!” Mariah winced. “Ow, the little devil is kicking! Adam has been a saint about my moods. I was never this volatile before.”

“Soon the baby will be here and you will once more be the serene and laughing Golden Duchess.” With one hand, Sarah pulled her soft wool carriage rug close. She and her sister were both warmly dressed and the curricle’s hood was pulled up to block the wind, but the morning air was still cool.

“I hope you’re right.” Mariah hesitated. “I’ve been feeling a . . . a cloud hanging over me. As if something dreadful is going to happen.”

Sarah frowned, then quickly smoothed her expression. “That’s natural, especially with a first baby. But women have been doing this since time immemorial, and you’ll manage with your usual efficiency. Mama isn’t much taller than we are, and she had twins with no trouble.”

“So she claims now, but she may just be trying to cheer me.” In a swift change of mood, Mariah grinned. “I look forward to being all calm and sensible when you’re wildly moody with your first child. And don’t give me any of that nonsense of how you’re doomed to spinsterhood. Half of Adam’s friends would marry you on the instant if you smiled at them.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are absurd. I have no desire to be an imitation Golden Duchess.” She slowed the pair of matched chestnuts as they approached a junction. “I don’t know the estate well. Which way should we go?”

“Take the right fork,” her sister said. “The lane leads up to an abandoned church on the highest hill of the estate. It’s very, very old and not conveniently located, so eventually it was abandoned as Ralston village grew down in the valley.” Mariah looked wistful. “Adam and I enjoyed riding up there when I wasn’t the size and shape of an overfed cow. I look at you to remind myself what I used to look like.”

“And will again. Mother said that even though she had twins, she regained her figure very quickly, so it’s in our blood to be beautiful.”

“I hope she’s right.” Mariah squeezed one of Sarah’s hands. “I’m so glad you’re here! I resent all those years we were apart.”

“We have years ahead in which to become gossipy crones,” Sarah assured her.

The lane had been climbing. As the curricle approached the crest of the hill, they rounded a bend and a plain stone church came into view. “Marvelous!” Sarah exclaimed as they approached the structure. “It looks Saxon. That would make it over a thousand years old. It’s in very good shape.”

“Adam maintains the church. During the winter when there isn’t much field work, this is a project to keep laborers employed.” Mariah frowned as she rubbed the great curve of her abdomen. “They even cleaned out the crypt and built oak pews. When the church is all repaired, he’ll have to find them something else to restore.”

The wind was sharp on the exposed hilltop. Reminding herself that it was spring, not summer, Sarah said, “Shall we head back now? We can’t have you catch a chill. With luck we’ll be back at the abbey before people wake up and realize you’ve escaped.”

Mariah started to answer, then gasped and bent over, wrapping her arms around her belly. “Oh, Lord, I think this baby wants to come right now!”

Sarah’s heart congealed as she pulled the carriage to a halt. “Oh, please, no! Wait until we get back to the abbey! Less than half an hour.”

“I . . . I can’t!” Mariah clung to the edge of the curricle, her brown eyes wide with panic. “Julia explained to me all the stages and said sometimes birth is quick and sometimes it’s slow, and I’d probably be slow since this is my first.”

“But being impatient, you decided to produce this baby quickly.” Sarah tried to keep her voice light, but she was terrified. She tied off the reins and leaped down to ease Mariah out of the curricle. Blood and fluid were staining the back of her sister’s skirts. What to do? What to do?

The groom. Murphy had rounded the bend and could see them, so Sarah waved her free hand frantically.

Murphy kicked the horse to a gallop and was with them in seconds. “What’s wrong, miss?”

“The baby is coming!” Sarah said tersely.

Murphy’s face showed a flash of the horror most men felt when confronted with female reproduction, but he’d been a soldier. It took only an instant for him to collect himself and ask tersely, “Shall I carry the duchess back to the house on my horse? That would be the quickest way to get her home.”

“No!” Mariah straightened, her face strained. “I need a . . . slower way. And—oh, God, I need Adam!”

It would be dangerous for a pregnant woman to be carried across a saddlebow, and the curricle was too small for Mariah to stretch out in. What would be better? Mind racing, Sarah said, “I’ll take her into the church and make her comfortable. Bring Ashton and a large wagon with a lot of padding—straw and feather beds or some such. And bring Lady Julia, since she’s the duchess’s midwife.”

“Yes, miss.” Murphy wheeled his mount and set off at top speed.

“Can you walk?” Sarah asked her sister, trying to sound calm.

“I . . . I think so.” Mariah closed her eyes for a moment as she composed herself. “The contractions have passed for now. Help me inside so I can lie down.”

With her free hand, Sarah grabbed the carriage rugs from the curricle before guiding her sister into the old stone building. The door, like the roof, looked new and it swung open easily.

Inside a dozen pews faced the chancel, which was a step above the nave and held a simple stone altar. An arched opening on the far side of the nave led to a small room, probably the Lady Chapel. Narrow arched windows made the interior dim, and since there was no glass, the church was cold. But at least they were out of the wind.

Sarah said, “I’ll use the carriage robes to make a pallet for you on the dais.”

Mariah nodded with mute agreement. Sarah folded one rug in half to soften the cold stone floor, then helped her sister lie down. As Sarah covered Mariah with the other carriage rug, her sister cried out as more contractions wracked her small frame.

Hiding her fear, Sarah held her sister’s clenching hand. “Impatient little fellow,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “But labor takes time. Adam and Julia will be here before you know it.”

“It will take close to an hour for them to get here.” Mariah closed her eyes. Her face was white and damp with sweat. “I should never have persuaded you to take me for a drive! If I don’t . . . make it, please look out for Adam and the baby.”

“You’re being morbid,” Sarah said, doing her best to sound calm. “There is nothing wrong apart from the baby choosing an inconvenient time and place to make his appearance. Just think, you may give birth to the next Duke of Ashton in a hay wagon! That will give him something to flaunt before the other schoolboys.”

Mariah made a face. “More proof that I’m not a proper duchess. If I were, I’d have stayed home in my own bed to have this child.”

“Since a proper duke insisted on marrying you, I think you’re fully qualified.” Sarah brushed the damp golden hair from her sister’s forehead. She always thought it strange that she and Mariah looked so much alike, yet were different in so many ways. “Steady on, my dear. Adam and Julia and a nice soft wagon will be here soon, and you’ll be back in your own bed by midmorning. This will all be just a bad dream.”

“I hope you’re right.” Mariah’s hand tightened on Sarah’s with bruising force. “Damnation, another contraction!”

Sarah held her sister’s hand, wishing she could do more. The contractions were so close together that the baby really might be born at any moment. Now that it was too late, she recalled that Lady Julia, an experienced midwife as well as Mariah’s best friend, had said once that women were often restless and full of energy just before their time. Exactly as Mariah had been.

The sounds of wheels and hoofbeats came through the empty window. “They’re here!” Sarah exclaimed with enormous relief. “They made good time. I’ll go out and meet them. Adam must be frantic.”

She rose and headed to the door, then froze in her tracks when she heard strange voices outside. Not Adam or Murphy or Major Alex Randall, husband of Lady Julia, but a hoarse, uneducated voice. “A bloody good stroke of luck that groom left,” the fellow said gloatingly. “He looked like trouble. Now he’s gone, we can kidnap the bloody pregnant duchess without having to kill anyone.”

Horrified, Sarah wondered if she was hallucinating. But the voices continued. Another man grumbled, “I don’t fancy kidnapping a woman who’s increasing, Flannery. We’ll need to travel fast to escape and if she bounces around too much, it might kill her.”

“If she dies, she dies, Curran. We’ll go plenty fast with me driving,” a third man said. “Mebbe we can take the duchess’s curricle and her two fine horses with us.”

Dear heaven, why would they want to kidnap Mariah?

The answer was immediately obvious: Mariah was married to one of the richest men in Britain. Adam would pay any price for the safe return of his wife and newborn child—and then he’d kill the kidnappers with his bare hands.

As the men continued to admire Adam’s horses, icy fear swept through Sarah. Dragging Mariah off when she was in labor would surely kill her, but what could the two of them do against three or more men? This hilltop was open and grassy, so even if they escaped, they’d be easily spotted.

An idea struck. It was outrageous, but Sarah could think of no other solution. She spun about and raced back to her sister. “Several rough men are outside and they’re plotting to kidnap you! You must hide while I convince them I’m you.”

“Dear God, kidnappers?” Mariah’s shocked eyes flew open. As she absorbed Sarah’s words, she exclaimed, “If you impersonate me, you’ll be kidnapped instead!”

“If they find us both, they’ll either take me with you, or kill me because I’m a witness,” Sarah said grimly. “The trick is to convince them that I’m alone here, and I’m the duchess. They might not know you have an identical twin, and with the hood raised on the curricle, they probably didn’t see that two of us drove up here. So you must hide while we pray they think I’m you. Hurry, there’s no time to waste!” She seized her sister’s hand and helped her struggle to her feet.

“You should be the one to hide,” Mariah said unsteadily. “If it’s me they want, they won’t look for you.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Sarah snapped as her gaze swept the small, plain church. The altar wasn’t much of a hiding place, and neither were the pews. “If you won’t consider your safety, consider the baby’s. You can’t risk him!”

Mariah’s face turned gray as she ran a shaking hand over her bulging abdomen. “You . . . you’re right. But please, if they take you, be careful! Adam will send men to rescue you, but don’t wait for that if you have a chance to escape.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Knowing they were running out of time, Sarah said, “You mentioned a crypt. Where is it?”

“In the Lady Chapel.”

Sarah scooped up the carriage robes and they headed into the chapel. When they stepped inside the small room, she glanced around and saw nothing.

Mariah pointed. “There. Behind the altar.”

The entrance to the crypt was a plain wooden trapdoor that wasn’t visible unless one circled the altar. Sarah lifted the trap to reveal a flight of stone steps leading down into damp darkness. She cringed, thinking it looked like a gateway to hell. “Can you bear going down there?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Mariah started down the steps, leaning heavily on the wooden railing. “I’ve been down here with Adam. At least the bones have been removed and buried outside.”

Sarah shuddered at the thought of hiding in the crypt if it hadn’t been cleaned. Thank heaven the bones were gone!

“Wait!” Mariah halted halfway down the stairs and sank onto a step, pressing her hand to her belly as a new contraction convulsed her. Fighting the pain, she yanked off her glove and painfully wrenched off her wedding ring. “You’ll need this.”

Their hands caught and held for a moment as the ring changed hands. As Sarah gazed into her sister’s brown eyes, so like her own, she faced the agonizing knowledge that they might never see each other again.

She couldn’t afford such thoughts. Releasing Mariah’s grip, she slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. She wore no rings herself, so it was a good thing Mariah had thought of this.

The door of the church opened and the men entered. Pulse spiking, Sarah threw the carriage robes after her sister. “Keep silent!” she said under her breath.

As she lowered the trap soundlessly, she heard Mariah whisper, “I love you, Sarah. Take care.”

Sarah straightened and closed her eyes for a moment to summon calm and aristocratic arrogance. If her impersonation of a duchess failed, she, Mariah, and the unborn baby were doomed.

A voice in the nave said indignantly, “Where the devil is she?”

Sarah was small, blond, and would have trouble intimidating a basket of kittens, but she’d observed her share of commanding countesses and domineering duchesses. Telling herself that she wasn’t Sarah Clarke-Townsend but Mariah, Duchess of Ashton, she raised her chin and sailed into the nave. “Have you gentlemen lost your way?” she asked coolly. “This chapel is private.”

Three tough-looking men stared at her as if she wasn’t what they expected. The darkest man asked, “Are you the Duchess of Ashton?”

“She is, Flannery, I seen her once from a distance,” a heavyset man said.

Sarah heard a barely audible groan from the Lady Chapel. Raising her voice so they wouldn’t notice, she said, “My identity is none of your business. I belong here and you don’t.” She raised her brows. “Who are you? Apart from being trespassers.”

The man with the hoarse voice said, “We was told the duchess is pregnant.”

“Babies get born,” she said frostily. “My darling son came early.”

The dark man gave a raucous laugh. “So her high and mighty ladyship was spreading her legs for the duke before they wed! So much for being a lady.”

“You forget yourself,” she said in a tone so icy that the man unconsciously retreated a step. “Please leave.”

“Where’s the baby?” the hoarse one asked, his eyes cunning. “I’d like to wish the little fellow luck. Did you bring him up here for a bit of fresh air?”

“Of course not. He’s with his wet nurse.” Sarah’s tone delicately implied that only peasants would nurse their own infants.

One of the men swore. “We’re too damned late, Flannery.”

“She’ll have to do, then.” Flannery stared at Sarah with narrowed eyes. “Come along, your ladyship. We’re taking you for a ride.”

Refusing to flinch, she said, “The correct title is ‘your grace,’ and I have no desire to go with you. I suggest you leave quickly. I sent my groom to summon my husband and our guests to join me for an impromptu breakfast. Several of them are military men. It would not be wise to challenge them.”

“I expect not,” Flannery said with some regret. “We’ll be long gone by the time they arrive. We’ll have to leave the curricle and horses so they’ll waste time searching around here.” He reached out to take Sarah’s arm. “Move your pretty arse, your bloody grace.”

“Don’t touch me!” she said with such ferocity that his hand dropped.

The hoarse man swore and pulled out a long, vicious-looking knife. “Then get a move on, or I’ll carry you. In pieces if that’s what you want!”

Terrified by the blade, Sarah pulled her cloak around her, raised her head, and stalked toward the door. The sooner she got these brutes away from Mariah, the better.

After that—God help her.

Ralston Abbey was hardly the shortest route from Glasgow to London, but Rob Carmichael decided to avail himself of Ashton’s open invitation to stay at his family seat for a few days. The duke was always easy company when he was in residence, and if he wasn’t, the Ralston Abbey servants knew that Rob was to be treated as an honored guest. Since Rob was feeling unsociable, he rather hoped Ashton was in London.

That hope was shattered as he approached the impressive entrance to the abbey, where a small riot was taking place. As he spurred his horse to investigate, the movement and noise resolved into a flat hay wagon surrounded by worried people, some of them on horseback.

As Rob reached the group, a harrowing cry shattered the morning air. The cry came from the woman writhing on the thickly padded bed of the wagon.

Good God, the Duchess of Ashton! Her husband knelt beside her and held her small, white-knuckled hand as she writhed in agony. She was in labor, Rob realized, and from the blood saturating the feather bed, it wasn’t going well.

Kneeling on her other side was a petite, dark-haired woman who was also very pregnant. She spoke calming words to the duchess while servants and others churned around the wagon.

The head Ashton groom, Murphy, was the wagon’s driver. He and Rob were old friends, so Rob moved close enough to the driver’s seat to say quietly, “She was taken suddenly while driving on the estate?”

Murphy looked ill, and it took him several moments to identify Rob. “Carmichael. ’Tis much worse than that. The duchess and her twin sister were taking a quiet morning drive when several villains caught up with them. The sister hid the duchess and pretended to be her grace, so the bastards took her.” He nodded to the wagon behind him. “On top of being in labor, the duchess is frantic about her sister.”

Brave sister to protect the duchess like that. Rob switched his gaze to the wagon. Rob had briefly met Mariah, Duchess of Ashton, in better times, when she was a laughing, golden-haired charmer who lit up a room when she entered and who had a smile for everyone.

Now her face was red and tearstained as she gasped, “You must rescue Sarah, Adam! Every minute those brutes are farther away, and if they discover Sarah isn’t me . . .” Her voice broke as she bit her lip through another shuddering contraction.

Ashton said soothingly, “I’ll send men after her as soon as possible, but now I must get you inside so Julia can take care of you properly.” Though his voice was calm, his eyes showed a man in hell.

Two strapping servants approached the wagon carrying a litter. They were directed by a lean blond man who looked as tense as Ashton. Major Alex Randall. Randall and Ashton had been classmates at the Westerfield Academy while Rob was a year behind. The school had been small, so students all knew each other.

Lips tight, Randall said to his friend, “Hand her to me.”

Ashton slid his arms under his wife and gently lifted her over the edge of the wagon into Randall’s arms. As Randall turned and laid her on the litter, Ashton leaped to the ground and took his wife’s hand again.

Randall reached up to the dark-haired woman. “You have your day’s work cut out for you, my love.”

So this was Lady Julia Randall, duke’s daughter and experienced midwife. She went into her husband’s arms and clung to him, her face white, after he set her on the ground. As she pressed a hand to her belly, he said with horror, “Dear God, are you going into labor, too?”

“False labor,” she assured him, though her face was strained. “But send for the local midwife who visited here. She’s very good and she can help me with Mariah.”

Randall nodded, but he looked worried.

Rob called, “Ashton! I gather you’re in need of my services?”

Ashton looked up, startled, then relieved. “Divine intervention! I can’t think of a man I’d rather see, Rob. Mariah’s sister Sarah has been kidnapped, and someone needs to rescue her as soon as humanly possible.”

The servants were about to carry the duchess away, but she exclaimed, “Rob Carmichael? The Bow Street Runner? God be thanked! Please, find Sarah for me!”

“I will, your grace,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “What does she look like?”

“Exactly like me.” The duchess managed a wry smile as she waved her free hand at her swollen body. “At least, when I don’t look like this. We’re identical twins.”

“Can you tell me about the men who took her?”

“I didn’t see them.” The duchess closed her eyes as another contraction wracked her. “She said they were rough looking, but that’s no help.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find her. They can’t have gone far.” And finding people was Rob’s specialty. “I’ll need to see where the kidnapping took place.”

Ashton flinched as Mariah gave a low cry. “Murphy knows more than I do,” he said swiftly. “Take him along if you need help on the hunt.”

Rob hesitated a moment. Murphy had been a soldier and was a tough, capable man. Then he shook his head. “I’m used to working alone, and it will be safer to extract the young lady quietly rather than in a pitched battle. I’ll keep you posted as I can.”

Ashton gave Rob’s shoulder a quick, hard clasp. “Bring Sarah home safely, Rob.” Then he turned and headed into the house, holding his wife’s hand as the litter bearers kept her as steady as possible. Behind them walked the Randalls, the major’s arm around his wife.

Rob spared a swift prayer for a safe delivery, then turned to the head groom, who was still on the driver’s seat of the wagon. “Do you hear that?”

Murphy nodded, casting an expert eye over Rob’s mount. “Your horse has been working hard. Bring him around to the stables and I’ll get you fixed up with Strider. He’s the best we have for stamina.”

Rob nodded, knowing his own mount, Sultan, deserved a rest in the lavish Ashton stables. He followed Murphy’s wagon around the sprawling abbey to the stable yard. In a matter of minutes, Rob’s saddlebags were transferred to Strider, a large, relaxed chestnut.

Murphy swung onto a sleek dark bay and the two men headed out into the sweeping Wiltshire Downs at a fast trot. Rob asked, “How long since the kidnapping?”

Murphy glanced at the sun. “Going on three hours. The duchess woke feeling very restless and persuaded her sister to take her for a drive. I followed, of course. When they reached that old church on the other side of the estate, her grace went into labor. I came back to get help. When we returned, the duchess was hiding in the crypt and her sister had been taken.” He swore viciously. “I never should have left them!”

“It sounds like you didn’t have much choice,” Rob said. “Any idea how the kidnappers had such good timing?”

Apparently Murphy hadn’t thought of that. He frowned as he turned his horse into a lane leading up a long hill. “The duchess doesn’t like being shut in, so she went out whenever the weather was fair. Ashton generally drove her and a groom would ride behind. There are several public paths through the property, so someone watching the stables would see that she went out almost every day.”

“That suggests several men and a lot of patient waiting,” Rob said, thoughtful. “Well disciplined, not common criminals.”

Murphy’s face tightened. “The ransom for a duchess could pay for a small army of watchers.”

“Was a ransom note left in the church?”

The groom looked chagrined. “Didn’t think to look, not with all that was going on—the duchess begging for help for her sister and the duke trying to get her safely into the wagon so we could drive her home.”

“With luck, we’ll find a note,” Rob said. “If it’s ransom they want, they probably won’t take her too far and they’ll have prepared a safe place to go to ground.”

Noticing his wording, Murphy asked, “You think it might be something other than ransom?”

Rob shrugged. “A duke makes enemies. Ashton has had trouble with those who disapprove of his Hindu blood.”

Murphy frowned. “Aye, but this was aimed at the duchess.”

“True. Tell me about the sister. What’s her name?”

“Miss Sarah Clarke-Townsend. She and the duchess are nieces of Lord Torrington on the father’s side and Lord Babcock on their mother’s.”

“What’s she like?”

Murphy hesitated. “I’ve not seen much of her. She’s a pleasant little thing. Not so outgoing as the duchess, but she’s always polite and cheerful. The sisters were like as peas in a pod before the duchess began increasing.” After a pause, he added, “Miss Sarah is a good rider and driver.”

And brave enough to put herself into danger for the sake of her sister and the unborn child. He wondered if she was regretting that now.

Rob would have called the old stone building a chapel rather than a church. It stood on a high point of the downs. Nearer to God, but closer to the winds.

After tethering their horses, he and Murphy searched the chapel. Even with the newly built pews, the stony interior offered few places of concealment. Rob didn’t envy the duchess her time in the crypt, but the dank hole had saved her.

There was no ransom note. They headed outside so Rob could search the area around the church. Rain during the night had left the ground soft. He pointed to a deep set of wheel tracks. “This would be the wagon you brought up for the duchess?”

Murphy nodded. “The lighter tracks over there were made by the curricle Miss Sarah drove.”

“A curricle, not a pony cart? As you said, she’s a good driver.”

“I doubt she’s strong enough to manage a coach and four, but she handles the curricle as well as I do,” Murphy said.

Rob’s brows arched. “Surely you exaggerate.”

A hint of amusement showed in the other man’s eyes. “Yes, but only a little.”

Rob began pacing around the chapel, studying the grassy soil. On the western side, he found what he was looking for. “A carriage with a team of four stood here for a while. Not too long.” He pointed down the hill, where a subtle trail of crushed vegetation could be seen. “They headed west. Did they follow one of the public pathways you mentioned?”

Murphy shaded his eyes with one hand. “Aye, the tracks join up with a public way at the foot of this hill. The path continues west to the back of the estate and crosses the Bristol road.”

Rob swung onto his horse. “Any chance a field hand or tenant might have seen the coach?”

“Possible,” Murphy agreed as he mounted.

The coach tracks were easy to follow in the damp earth since no other vehicle had come this way recently. Rob scanned the quiet green landscape, looking for any signs of the kidnappers. Nothing. The estate was vast and empty.

They were nearing the Bristol road when Rob spotted a flock of sheep grazing the fresh spring grass on a hill to their right. “Shall we see if there’s a shepherd?”

“There should be one.”

The sheep were grazing peacefully under the watchful gaze of an efficient herd dog, and the less watchful care of a carrot-haired boy drowsing under a tree nearby. Hearing horses approach, he scrambled to his feet and tried to look alert.

Reining in his mount, Rob asked, “Did you see a carriage traveling along the public pathway earlier this morning?”

“Aye,” the boy said. “Noticed it, I did, because I never seen a. . .