The Deserted Heart by Mary Lancaster

Author:Mary Lancaster
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 2018-12-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

ALVAN’S RETURN TO the manor did not cause quite the stir he had imagined, largely because Frank Cornell had miraculously appeared and was now the center of attention in the drawing room as he spun the tale of his capture and release, and the debt he owed his friend Dunstan.

For an instant, Dunstan glanced up and met his gaze. He looked curiously defiant, perhaps because he knew in his heart that Cornell was not telling the whole truth. Or because he had done something else he knew was wrong. If it concerned the Overtons… Alvan took an impulsive step toward him before Lacey cried, “Your grace! What news?”

“I think the soldiers have the culprits,” Alvan said casually, “along with the stolen horses and, I hope, the rest of the items they took from the house. My lord,” he added to Overton who was striding toward him somewhat grimly, “I took the liberty of bringing your horses here to enable as many people as possible to go home. I don’t know when or how the stolen animals will be returned.”

“And my daughter?” Overton murmured so quietly that it didn’t sound anything like the demand Alvan understood it to be.

“I took her home, sir, quite unharmed. She was… eager to see what happened to the robbers, since we connected them to what happened at the Hart last week.”

Overton’s shoulders sagged, the only sign of relief he revealed. He must have made an excellent diplomat. And card player.

“Excuse me.” Alvan walked deliberately across to the group surrounding Frank Cornell. Cornell was a smoothly handsome man of medium height and stocky build. Under normal circumstances, he was always dressed impeccably in the first stare of fashion, although tonight, he wore somewhat grubby day clothes. Clearly, he had washed his hands and face and borrowed a clean cravat. For the rest, he seemed to be recovering from his adventure with gentlemanly ease.

As Alvan approached, the other guests parted for him, and Cornell fell silent.

“Why, your grace,” Dunstan mocked. “Are you the hero of the hour? Did you singlehandedly fight to the death the gang of ruthless thieves who captured Cornell and caused such outrageous havoc across the county?”

“No,” Alvan replied. “I merely shut them in a barn. Glad to see you alive, Cornell, and no worse for your adventures.”

“Not much worse,” Cornell replied bravely.

“Did they let you go in the end? Or did you escape?” Alvan asked.

“A little of both. They’d got the ransom money Dunstan paid them, so they relaxed their vigilance. I still think they meant to kill me, so I hobbled off along the road with my hands still tied.” He rubbed his wrists somewhat theatrically. They did show angry red rings where rope had cut into his flesh, though to Alvan’s critical eye, the weals looked too healed to have been recently afflicted. He thought, cynically, if anyone searched his coat, they would find at least some of the money Dunstan had left for his captors. But that was between Dunstan and Cornell.

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