Buried Secrets by Anne Barbour Read Free Book Online

London for any duration. However, he might have taken a ride and met with an accident.”
    “Surely he carries his cardcase with him,” responded Corisande colorlessly. “You would have been notified if anything untoward had taken place.”
    “Not necessarily,” interposed Wilfred. The marchioness cast him a grateful glance. “He might have fallen in a ditch and nobody’s found him yet.”
    The grateful glance was extinguished, to be replaced by one of exasperation. “That hardly seems likely. He would not have set out on his own, certainly.”
    “Mmm.” Lord Binsted again entered the conversation. “Told you he was in a strange mood. Seems to me he might well have hared off by himself.”
    Wilfred glanced at Corisande and cleared his throat. “I don’t see that he would have done that,” he said tentatively. “He was scheduled to ask for Corrie’s hand. How could he have got up to something that would jeopardize that?”
    Corisande cast him a grateful glance, and Wilfred’s thin cheeks reddened momentarily.
    Lady Binsted drew a sharp breath. “In any event,” she said bracingly, “the thing to do is find him. We’ll assume for the moment that he actually did leave Town suddenly, and something prevented him from returning in time for the dinner party.”
    She gazed around at the group as though waiting for argument. When none was forthcoming, she continued. “I think we might assume that he went to the Park.”
    “Cordray Park!” expostulated her husband. “What the devil would he go up there for?”
    “It is the family seat, after all. He did say he had business to attend to. He might have received word that he was needed for ... for ... something.”
    Lord Binsted eyed his lady dubiously. “Mmp.”
    The marchioness, apparently accepting this less than enthusiastic response as acquiescence, moved to the bell-pull. “Good. We shall send to Cordray Park to see if he is there, or at any rate to see if a message was sent to him—and I think we might try Rushmead and Cotsburn, as well. They are lesser estates, but they are closer to London than the Park, and Cord might very well have simply dashed down to one of them for reasons of his own.”
    Lord Binsted pulled on his upper lip. “It shall be as you say, m’dear, although I must say, I don’t think we’ll be any the wiser. If you want my opinion—”
    “Yes, dear,” interposed his wife hastily. “I may be very wrong, but I want to get something in motion. We cannot remain just sitting on our hands when Cord may be in dire straits.”
    At this, Miss Brant rose with a sibilant hiss of skirts. “Now that that is settled. Lady Binsted, I really must be going. I have an appointment for which I am already late.” She pulled on her gloves, which she had removed and replaced and then removed several times during the course of the discussion. Smoothing them over her hands, she moved to Lady Binsted. Wilfred stood as well.
    “I’ll take care of sending out the bloodhounds, if you wish,” he said. Ignoring Lady Binsted’s frown at this remark, he strolled across the room and took Corisande’s arm. “May I escort you home, Corrie?”
    “That would be very nice, Wilfred,” she replied coolly. She kissed Lady Binsted on the cheek and bowed slightly to the marquess. Then she looked up into Wilfred’s face and proceeded with him from the room, gliding over the carpet like a swan moving over a tranquil lagoon.
    “Whew!” The marquess pulled a voluminous kerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his face. “What a piece of work she is! No more emotion than if she’d just been asked directions to the Tower. You’d think she’d show a little concern.”
    “Nonsense,” replied his wife sharply. “Corisande is always all that is proper. It would be most unbecoming of her to wail and wring her hands, after all.”
    Again, Lord Binsted’s guffaw sounded about the room. “0’ course. No sense in broadcasting her humiliation to the