Free Anne Barbour by Escapades Four Regency Novellas Page A

Coppersmith’s tale.
    “What?” came the blank reply. “What do you mean? She—”
    “Never mind.” Bran put a hand to his head. “What is this about a note?”
    “Yes!” Mrs. Coppersmith snatched up a screw of paper from a nearby table. “See, it has your name on it. I did not read it, of course.”
    Bran stared blindly at the little piece of paper. He contemplated his name. scrawled on the outside. Strange that he did not recognize the handwriting, when every facet of her had become so familiar to him. But then, he reflected bitterly, he really hadn’t known her at all, had he?
    Dear Bran, she had written, and he was seized by a momentary rage at the use of the name he’d offered her in his deluded affection.
     
    I am sorry. I can no longer continue the falsehood I began so many months ago. I am not Felicity Marshall. I can tell you only that I know that she perished in the shipwreck. She is truly lost to you. I can only apologize deeply for the pain my deception will cause Lord Canby—and perhaps, you as well. I am leaving London and I shall not return.
    Martha Finch
     
    “Does she really think,” were Bran’s first words, “that she will escape so easily—with a simple, ‘I am sorry’? By God, she shall not!”
    He tossed the note to Mrs. Coppersmith, turned on his heel, and ran from the room.
    Once in the lobby, Bran hurried to the desk. Here he was doomed to disappointment, for Simmons was absent from his post. He was about to turn away, when the sound of voices drifted to him from the little office behind the desk.
    “But, ma’am,” said one of them, immediately recognizable as Simmons, “there has not been time to contact the Grand Vista in Harrogate. I am sure there will be no problem, for Mr. Williston is looking for help there—and you would be eminently suited for the position of assistant housekeeper—but it would be wise to—”
    “I’ve no doubt you’re right, sir,” a woman answered, in obvious distress.
    Bran halted, his eyes wide. Spinning about, he hurtled around the reception desk and into the office.
    “However,” Martha Finch continued, “I do not wish to stay—
    She looked up, startled, at Bran’s abrupt entrance. She whitened, and her attempt to rise was thwarted by his heavy hand on her shoulder.
    “Of course, you do not wish to stay,” snarled Bran. “I do regret thwarting whatever plan you have concocted to escape your just punishment, Mrs. Finch, but you will come with me—to Canby House, for now.”
    All but jerking Martha to her feet, he turned to Mr. Simmons, “And as for you—sir, I shall have something to say to you later.”
    Mr. Simmons, pale but composed, stood and placed himself between Martha and Bran. Bran stepped forward belligerently, but at Martha’s gasp, he swung instead to face her.
    “Madam,” he said icily, “you will do me the goodness to come with me. Now.”
    Gazing into Martha’s stricken gaze, Bran became aware of an appalling urge to pull her into his arms. To comfort her—to tell her that none of it mattered. Good God, what was the matter with him? He had the adventuress in his grasp, and by the Lord Harry she was going to pay. Grasping her arm, he pulled her toward the door.
    “My lord,” Mr. Simmons said, stepping forward once again. “It appears the lady does not wish to accompany you.”
    Bran did not deign to answer, merely putting up an arm preparatory to pushing Simmons out of the way.
    To his surprise, the manager resisted—and in a surprisingly forceful manner.
    “I am very sorry, my lord, but I cannot allow you to bully a defenseless female,” he said resolutely.
    “Bully!” Bran returned explosively. “Look here, my good man, you are no doubt unaware of the crime this ‘defenseless female’ has perpetrated. In any case, it is none of your concern. You will remove yourself from my path, or I’ll—”
    “Please,” Martha whispered. “Lord Branford, please let me explain to you first. I will do