Down the Rabbit Hole

Ian shook his head in sympathy. “It’s hard to know where to start.”


Weston felt for the locket in his pocket. He had thought marrying Alice would be the first step toward the future. With her by his side, anything seemed possible. Now he was almost glad she had refused him. Debt was the last thing she would want in a husband.

The less noble part of him missed her. Missed her quite desperately. How could she say no when he knew her heart was filled with the same love and longing as his?

“Wes, what is it? What has you looking so stricken? Truly, there is a way out of this.”

“Stricken? Did I? It was nothing, just a moment of grief.” Let Ian think it was for his uncle. Move on, he told himself. Thinking of Alice only led to an endless circle of anguish that squeezed his heart and made his head ache.

“I will go to Westmoreland and start there.” Weston stood up. “I can close up this house and reduce expenses until next Season, at least. I can sell some horses, and there are some paintings not entailed. The Rembrandt, for one.”

“Dear God, Wes, that would be like announcing to the ton that you are on the verge of bankruptcy. Have you thought of marrying an heiress?”

“An heiress? Never!” Weston answered, more sharply than he intended.

“Very well.” Ian held up his hands as if in surrender. He stood up. “Feel free to call on me anytime, Wes. I will help you in any way I can. Indeed, I may even know someone interested in the Rembrandt.”

“Thank you, Ian.” Weston took the hand his cousin offered and clapped him on the shoulder. “No need to rush into it. I will think on it at Westmoreland. Who knows, something miraculous might happen. Yes, a miracle. Something that neither of us can imagine.”

Within a quarter hour, Ian was off to his lodgings and Weston was bound for the country. Eight hours more and the earl was less than ten miles from Westmoreland. The carriage rumbled on in the moonlight.

He wouldn’t be traveling in the dark much longer. Only a few miles more. The moon was full, the roads were safe, and he had a pistol if he was wrong about that.

He spent most of the trip leaning against the cushions, pretending to himself that he could doze off, but he’d spent the whole of the trip considering ways and means of righting the accounts. In a half-dreaming state, his head was filled with ideas from sensible to bizarre.

Weston fingered the round locket in his pocket and wished the future had a different look. One where he and Alice faced it together, with enough money to make her every wish come true.

He drew a deep breath and a sudden lassitude overcame him, dragging him to sleep just when he thought he might never sleep again.





CHAPTER ONE




“What the blazes is going on?” A hard thump had awakened him.

Weston’s first thought was to have a word with the coachman, but when he opened his eyes he wondered if his last visit to deal with the estate’s debt had done the job and he was ready for Bedlam.

He was not in his coach at all, but in the library of his town house in London.

He’d left London. He was sure he had. Weston could recall his conversation with Ian and his final words to the majordomo. “Send the overdue bills to Herbert.” His man of business knew what to do, and it would not be wise to let the staff know how much to let he was. Not with his sister’s come-out within the next year.

Now that seemed to be the least of his worries. As he straightened, he realized he was seated on the sofa, and that there was someone next to him.

And another man stood nearby, wringing his hands in a way that was not at all reassuring.

“Answer me, man. What the devil am I doing in London after riding in my carriage for ten hours?”

“I can explain, my lord. Truly I can. You must calm yourself and allow me to see to the lady. She should be awake by now.”

Weston turned to the person beside him. He’d assumed it was a man, given the clothes worn. Pantaloons. Dark blue pantaloons of some coarse material. He leaned forward a little to see her face.