Chapter Eight
"Zat th' pretty chit, there?" Artie asked his companion, pointing over to where Victoria stood looking around.
"Yeah, I think so. 'Least 'tis what the master said she look like. And, boy, is she a looker! Wouldn't mind gettin' a piece a that one meself!" Henry answered.
"Yeah, me too. But we have ta do what we was hired for."
Henry nodded. "I got the gag. You ready?"
Artie nodded. "Yep. I got the rope right here."
"Good. Let's get her."
Victoria looked all around her, watching for him. She knew it had be past noon. The bells of St. Paul's had rung at least five minutes ago. She spotted a bench nearby and sat down, careful not to wrinkle her new ivory day gown. The lace had been imported and had cost her father a great deal. She tucked a loose strand of hair back beneath her bonnet and twirled her parasol nervously. What would she say to him when she saw him? How would he react? It had been four years after all! Why had he waited until now to contact her and not at the ball? She knew it had been him at the ball! Wait until she brought him home to her father. He would be so surprised. It was unfortunate that he had had to return to Wilfordshire because of his health. The London air was just not good for him.
At some distance she saw a gentleman approaching who bore a great resemblance to Tyler. She opened her mouth to call out to him, then thought better of it. She would just wait until he reached her. She stood up and smoothed out her dress, adjusting the intricate lace around her wrists and neck and straightening her bonnet.
Henry looked over to Artie, who was crouched next to him behind the shrub that stood on the left side of the bench, the opposite end from Victoria.
They both watched as Victoria primped herself. Satisfied that she was distracted enough and with a mutual nod, they carefully stood up and moved around behind her.
Victoria never heard the two men approaching and by the time she realized what was happening, they already had the gag in her mouth and the rope around her hands.
"Now, now, pretty one, ya jus' keep quiet and come wit me and Artie here and ya don't have ta get hurt or ruin yer pretty dress,"
Victoria wanted to scream and kick until she felt them shove a derringer in her side. A suffocating fear spread through her limbs. Did no one notice her distress? The two men carried her to a waiting carriage that was partially hidden by trees and shoved her inside, onto the floor. A lump grew in her throat and hot tears stung her eyes. Would she ever see Tyler or her father again? It took all her strength to keep from breaking down into a fit of sobs. Tears streamed uncontrolled, down her cheeks, onto her collar.
She tried to free her wrists, but they were bound securely. There was nothing she could do and now she was missing her reunion with Tyler!
Tyler. Could he be responsible for this? Of course not, she immediately chastised herself. Tyler would never subject her to this. Never.
Victoria huddled herself to a corner to avoid being jostled around so much and fervently prayed all of this was a dream.
* * *
Adam strolled through the center of Hyde Park, enjoying the feel of the warm sunshine on his face, wondering if the young man had located Victoria yet. He was impatient to discover something about his past. All these weeks of not knowing troubled him. The doctors had promised the memory loss was only temporary. Now he questioned their diagnosis. What if he never found out who he was and had to live the rest of his life as Lord Adam Danbury? He quickly turned his thoughts from that unpleasant possibility.
Down the lane, amidst a small manicured beds of hyacinths and tulips, he saw a young girl attired in all her finery clearly waiting on someone. He envied the girl and the young man he was certain she was waiting for. At least they had each other. He turned his head to watch all the other young lovers strolling through the park. A sudden pang of loneliness washed through him. He made an instant decision to find a companion; a mistress. After all, it had been so long since he had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh; since that girl he had visited at Lady Barbara's, a very discreet house of lust that gentleman from the propertied classes often visited. His new acquatainces from the club gained him admittance.
Ah, but she had been the worth the coin he had paid for her services. He knew prostitutes wouldn't help him overly much. He wanted someone he could trust, and who would be there for him during the lonely evenings. He chuckled to himself. Where had those thoughts come from? If his newfound cronies at the club heard about this, they would certainly think him mad. Young men were not supposed to want to settle down. And here he was talking about love and marriage. A laughable idea. What quality girl was going to marry someone without a title or money? Even if he found an heiress, her father would not let her marry an unpropertied man.
He looked down the lane again. The girl was gone. Her lover must have shown up. As he moved closer, he could see that she had left her parasol behind. That was odd. Most women went nowhere without their parasols. He looked around to see if she was still near, but didn't see her anywhere. Very strange indeed, for her to have disappeared so quickly. He hadn't realized how long his digression of thought had lasted. He picked up the parasol, studied it for a minute and then placed it back on the bench where he had found it.
He put his hands in his pockets and began whistling an unfamiliar tune, but one he knew he had heard and whistled many times before. Strange. Pity it was just a song and not a name that he suddenly remembered.