The Bride Thief

'She's told me no such thing.'

The color drained from the Major's florid face. 'Egad, surely the chit doesn't claim we're still betrothed?'

Cordelia was certain she detected a shudder run through the Major's large frame. Then he glanced down at his Hessians and wrinkled his nose. Such odd behavior. Perhaps the man was daft.

'My daughter has made no claims of any kind, Major. I've not seen her nor spoken to her since dinner.' She turned to her husband, who sat in his favorite wing chair in the corner. 'Charles, have you spoken to Samantha this evening?'

When silence greeted her question, Cordelia pursed her lips and for the second time in minutes considered coshing a man. Men. They were going to be the very death of her. 'Charles!'

Charles Briggeham's head snapped up as if she'd jabbed him with a stick. His glazed eyes clearly indicated he'd been dozing. 'Yes, Cordelia?'

'Has Samantha discussed her betrothal with you this evening?'

'There is no longer a betrothal…' Major Wilshire's voice trailed off when Cordelia shot him her most glacial glare.

'Haven't seen Sammie since dinner,' Charles said. He turned to the Major. 'Excellent pot roast, Major. You should have-'

'What have you to say about the Major's outrageous claim, Charles?' Cordelia cut in.

Charles blinked rapidly. 'Claim?'

'That he and Samantha are no longer engaged?'

'Rubbish. I heard nothing of the sort.' Charles turned toward the Major with a frown. 'What's this about? All the arrangements are in place.'

'Yes, well, that was before Miss Briggeham paid me a visit this evening.'

'She did no such thing,' Cordelia stated, praying she was correct. Lord, what sort of mess had Sammie conjured up now?

'She most certainly did. Told me she didn't think we made a good match. After some, er, discussion, I agreed with her assessment of the situation and took appropriate action.' The Major cleared his throat. 'To put it bluntly, the wedding is off.'

Cordelia eyed the sofa and decided it was too far away for her to properly swoon. Damnation.

No wedding? Lud, this presented a ticklish mess. Not only might there be a scandal depending on what Sammie had done to dissuade the Major, but Cordelia could just hear that odious Lydia Nordfield once she got wind of this debacle. Why Cordelia, Lydia would say, batting her eyes like a cow in a hailstorm, how tragic that Sammie's no longer betrothed. Viscount Carsdale has shown an interest in my Daphne, you know. And Daphne is so very lovely. It seems like I'll have all my daughters married before you do!

Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut to banish the horrible scenario. Sammie was worth ten of that vapid Daphne, and Cordelia's blood all but boiled at the injustice of it all. Daphne, whose sole talents lay in swishing a fan and giggling, would capture a viscount simply because she possessed an attractive face. While Sammie would remain on-the-shelf, forcing Cordelia to listen to Lydia harp about it for the next twenty years. Oh, it was simply not to be borne!

She'd arranged for Sammie to marry a perfectly respectable gentleman-and now Major Wilshire thought he was going to ruin all her plans? Humph. We shall see about that.

Tightening her jaw, Cordelia inched closer to the sofa in case she needed to employ it, then turned her attention back to the Major. 'How can a man who calls himself honorable disgrace my daughter in such a way?'

Charles rose and tugged on his waistcoat. 'Indeed, Major. This is most irregular. I demand an explanation.'

'I've already explained, Briggeham. There will be no wedding.' He fixed a steely stare on Cordelia. 'You, madam, led me astray when describing your daughter.'

'I did no such thing,' Cordelia said with her most elegant sniff. 'I informed you how intelligent Samantha is, and you well knew she wasn't fresh from the schoolroom.'

'You neglected to mention her fondness for slimy toads and other assorted vermin, her predilection for crawling about on the floor, her frightening lack of musical talent, and her habit of setting up laboratories and starting fires.'

Cordelia made a beeline for the sofa. Emitting two breathy, chirp-like oohs, she dropped down in a graceful swoon. 'What a dreadful thing to say! Charles, my hartshorn!'

Waiting for the hartshorn, Cordelia's mind raced. Ye gods, the Major must have met Isadore, Cuthbert, and Warfinkle. Of all the rotten luck! Oh, Sammie, why couldn't you have simply brought along a book? And what was this about crawling about on the floor? Of course, she'd known the lack of musical talent and the laboratory situations could prove troublesome, but whatever did he mean about starting fires? Great heavens above, what outrageous tales had Sammie told the man?

Heaving a sigh, she wondered what was taking Charles so long with the hartshorn. There was much to be done to remedy this debacle-she couldn't lay about on the sofa all night.

'Here you are, my dear.' Charles waved the hartshorn under her nostrils with an enthusiasm that brought tears to her eyes.

Pushing herself upright, Cordelia thrust his hand away. 'That's quite enough, Charles. The idea was to revive me, not put me in the grave.' Settling her features into her most forbidding frown, she glared at the Major. 'Now see here, Major. You cannot-'

The study door burst open and a wild-eyed Cyril rushed into the room. 'Missus Briggeham! Mr. Briggeham! 'Tis the most awful thing wot's 'appened.'

'Good God, man, I can see that,' Charles said, taking in the coachman's disheveled appearance. 'Your cravat's completely unraveled and you're sporting grass stains on your breeches. And are those twigs in your hair? Why, you're completely undone. Whatever has happened to put you in such a state?'

Cyril attempted to catch his breath, then mopped his forehead with the back of his hand. 'It's Miz Sammie, sir.' He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. 'She's… gone.'

'Gone?' Charles asked with a puzzled frown. 'You mean from the house?'

'Yes, sir. On returning from her visit to the Major-'

'Ooh! Ooh! It's true, then,' Cordelia chirped, swooning back onto the sofa. 'My baby! She's ruined!'

'No, Missus Briggeham. She's kidnapped,' Cyril intoned, bowing his head.

Cordelia jumped to her feet. 'Kidnapped? Oh, you're daft. Why would you think such a ridiculous thing? Who on earth would kidnap Sammie? And why?'

For an answer, Cyril held out a bouquet of flowers.

Cordelia fought the urge to roll her eyes. 'That's very sweet, Cyril, but this is not the time for posies.'

'No, Missus Briggeham. This 'ere's wot the kidnapper gave me. Tossed it to me, 'e did, right after he plucked Miz Sammie up like a weed from where she were gatherin' insects for Master Hubert, and raced off with 'er on a big black 'orse.' He handed her the flowers. 'There's a note attached.'

Cordelia stared at the bouquet, rendered utterly speechless for the first time in her memory.

Charles pulled the note from the flowers, then broke the wax seal. Scanning the contents, the color drained from his face, and Cordelia wondered if she'd need to apply the hartshorn to him.

Somehow she managed to remain standing on her watery legs. 'What does it say, Charles? Has she truly been kidnapped? Is there a ransom demand?'

Looking at her over the top of the ivory vellum, Charles regarded her with stricken eyes. 'She has indeed been stolen, Cordelia.'

For the first time in her life, Cordelia's knees folded without a thought to where she would land. Luckily she plopped onto the sofa. 'Dear God, Charles. What fiend has taken our Sammie? How much money does he want?'

'None. Read it for yourself.'

Cordelia took the note from his shaking fingers and held it away from her like a snake. The words she read staggered her.