The Duke And His Four Wards

Chapter 11.2 (Part 2)

   As it transpired, Henry already knew. As he strode into the library, he was scowling furiously. He barely waited to shake Felix's hand and exchange nods with the other two men before asking, "Have you discovered which road they've taken?"

   Felix blinked and waved him to the armchair he had vacated, moving to take the chair behind the desk. "How did you know?"

   "It's all over town," said Henry, easing his large frame into the chair. "I was at Brown's when I heard it. And if it's reached that far, by later this morning your ward is going to be featuring in the very latest on-dit all over London. I'm going to wring her neck!"

   This last statement brought a tired smile to relics face. "You'll have to wait in line for that privilege," was all he said.

   The brandy decanter, replenished after Francis's inroads, had twice made the rounds before Gibson again slipped noiselessly into the room. He clears his throat to attract Felix's attention. "A coach carrying a gentleman and a young lady wearing a rose-pink domino put in at the Crown at Action at two this morning, Your Grace."

   The air of despondency which had settled over the room abruptly lifted. "Two," said Felix, his eyes going to the clock. "And it's well after eight now. So they must be past Uxbridge. Unless they made a long stop?"

   Gibson shook his head. "No, Your Grace. They only stopped long enough to change horses." If anything, the little man's impassive face became even more devoid of emotion. "It seems the young lady was most anxious to put as much distance as possible behind them."

   "As well she might," said Felix, his eyes glittering. "Have my curricle put to. And good work, Gibson."

   "Thank you, Your Grace." Gibson bowed and left. Felix tossed off the brandy in his glass and rose.

   "I'll come with you," said Henry, putting his own glass down. For a moment, his eyes met Felix's, then Felix nodded.

   "Very well." His gaze turned to his brother and Daniel Hammington. "Perhaps you two could break the need to the ladies at Twyford House?"

    Francis nodded.

   Daniel grimaced at Felix over the rim of his glass. "I thought you'd say that." After a moment, he continued, "As I said before, I'm not much of a hand at elopements and I don't know Finley at all. But it occurs to me, Felix, dear boy, that it's perfectly possible he might not see reason all that easily. He might even do something rash. So, aside from Henry here, don't you think you'd better take those along with you?"

   Daniel pointed at a slim wooden case that rested on top of the dresser standing against the wall at the side of the room. Inside, as he knew, reposed a pair of Mr. Jerome Barton's duelling pistols, with which Felix was considered a master.

   Felix hesitated, then shrugged. "I suppose you're right." He lifted the case to his desk-too and, opening it, quickly checked the pistols. They looked quite lethal, the king black barrels gleaming, the silver mountings glinting wickedly. He had just picked up the second, when the knocker on the front door was plied with a ruthlessness which brought a definite wince to all four faces in the library. The night had been a long one. A moment later, they heard Rickshaw's sonorous tones, remonstrating with the caller. Then, an unmistakably feminine voice reached their ears. With an oath, Felix strode to the door.

   Margaret fixed Rickshaw with a look which brooked no argument. "I wish to see His Grace immediately, Rickshaw."

   Accepting defeat, Rickshaw turned to usher her to the drawing-room, only to be halted by his master's voice.

   "Maggie! What are you doing here?"