“M-mrs. M-milbourne, m’lord?” Bram swallowed so hard Connor could hear the effort. “Never heard of her.”
Aye, he’d said as much before. They all had, though Connor knew differently now. “Och lad,” he snapped then lowered his tone to a kinder, gentler level once more. “Mrs. Milbourne told me all about it.”
His eyes widened. “She did? I…er, I mean…”
His verbal gaff sent the lad bolting for the main stable with all the speed of Aylesbury’s finest Thoroughbred out of the gate. With a sigh, Connor followed, unwilling to let the progress he’d made slip away. The lad was young and green. And as he’d already determined, an oaf when it came to lying. That made him Connor’s best bet in finding Piper.
He meant to persist until he got what he wanted this time. Granted, he should have gotten it the previous night. God knew, he’d had plenty of opportunity. Hours of conversation and not one about where he could call on her. True, he could have offered to escort her home, but he’d already been tempted to the brink and hadn’t trusted himself to think only of her safety.
Connor ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t basic protective inclination that drove him. He wanted to see her. Talk to her without waiting days or months to do it, making her location compulsory to that primal need. Was that so wrong?
“Bugger it, lad!” Connor swore, impatience edging his voice as he entered the dim stable. He scowled at Bram, who stood poised like a statue at the end of the aisle with a row of stalls on either side. He visibly vacillated between running left or right before scaling a ladder to the loft like a seasoned sailor climbed a mast. Damn. “I’ll have an answer!”
“Go away, m’lord! I’ve nothing to say.”
“I’ll go away the moment ye tell me where Piper lives, lad. No’ before.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the lad protested, his voice carrying from directly above Connor and fading as the force of his footfalls shook hay down through the loft’s floorboards.
Connor dusted off his sleeves. “Enough of yer hemming and hawing.”
“Pardon, m’lord, what did ye say?”
Connor pivoted on his heel to find Albert exiting one of the stalls nearest the door. A rosy-cheeked maid followed him out, eyes downcast as she tucked a few stray locks of hair back into her cap. Clearly, the groom had been snogging the lass when he ought to be working.
A fact that Connor was willing to ignore if it got him the answers he needed. Not that he expected the groom to suddenly be more forthcoming. The man had refused to meet his eye since he’d loosened Connor’s cinch and watched him fall on his arse. “I said I’m trying to find Mrs. Milbourne.”
Albert shook his head, his gaze watchful. “Nay, you didn’t.”
“Aye.” Connor rolled his eyes. The men of Buckinghamshire were a difficult lot. “I did. I said if he tells me where…”
No, he hadn’t said Mrs. Milbourne. He eyed Albert, who returned his scrutiny in equal measure. Waiting. Bram’s head appeared over the edge of the loft, eyes wide.
“I said Piper.”
The groom nodded and the lass at his side blinked at him with a wide, owl-like expression. “You said Piper. She’s told you, then?”
“Aye.” Connor offered no more than that. Presumably her name was the key to unlock some hidden door. Best to not give away what level of information he’d been given until he knew what it took to get a foot through it. “Will ye tell me where she lives now?”
Albert rocked his head from side to side, considering the request. His jaw likewise shifted from one side to the other, then set into a disappointing grimace. “If she didn’t tell you herself where she resides, I’ll not be the one to do it. I’ll not be the one to betray her confidence.”
Eyes again to the heavens, Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. Aye, a blasted difficult lot. Seeing his frown, Bram scurried out of sight.
“I will tell you where she is, though,” Albert conceded. “And leave the rest up to her.”
Connor gaped at him, torn between astonishment and relief. Relief that this evasive nonsense was over. “They are two different things? Where she lives and where she is?”
Lips compressed, the groom offered a thoughtful nod. “Often enough and at the moment, at any rate.”
As he was in no mood to wax philosophical, Connor got to the point. “And where would she be? At the moment, that is?”
“She’s gone to the village, m’lord.”
For the first time, the titular courtesy didn’t raise a brow. The admission did. From what he’d seen, Piper had embraced the secrecy of her residence with a vengeance. Disguising her identity. Enshrouding her location so thoroughly even someone who been hunting for her for months hadn’t been able to unearth her.
“Surely she wouldn’t be that reckless.” Especially if she truly believed Connor wasn’t the only one seeking her out.
“She’s gone before. Careful like, with her face covered. And she didn’t go alone. She’s with…er…” Albert cast a glance at the lass at his side who shrugged, then contrarily shook her head. “With a special friend of hers.”
“A special friend?” Jealousy jabbed at Connor’s chest. The thought that Piper had a lover both pained and maddened him. Granted, she’d given him no reason to think she cared for him by word or deed. Other than a few rare smiles and a hint of laughter, she’d never gifted him with another moment of intimacy beyond a pair a kisses.
He had no claim over her, hence no reason to entertain the tiniest hint of jealousy. Nevertheless, he was.
Piper roused something in him he’d never experienced before. Something unique, deserving of exploration. True, he didn’t know her well as yet. He wanted the chance to learn each detail, hear every story, nonetheless. He wanted her for his own. To be the one to shelter her from harm. To make her laugh. To bathe her in affection and kisses.
To help her live again.
He was willing to stand toe-to-toe with any special friends to argue his case.
“Where can I find her?”
If a facial shrug were possible, Albert managed it. “Now that I don’t rightly know, m’lord. I’ve escorted her into the village but once and that to the butcher. I doubt her…er…”
“Friend?” Connor supplied at something close to a growl when the groom cast another inquiring glance at the maid for confirmation.
Albert nodded. “They wouldn’t be there.”
Where then? Connor hadn’t been into Aylesbury much himself other than to knock back a few pints at taverns no lady would frequent, no matter the type of friends she kept. The population wasn’t a large one, however, he had no desire to scour the streets for her.
“I might know where they’ve gone,” the still-blushing maid piped up. “I’ve gone with them before.”
That raised Connor’s brows and a few questions more. Those he didn’t want an answer to. “Where?”
“Could be they’ve gone to the milliners,” she told him. “Or the lace maker. Or that pastry shop on High Street.”
Albert grinned down at her. “Right tasty scones.”
The maid flushed vermillion and ducked her head with another smile.
Inside jokes. “Bloody hell.”
“They’ve a regular fondness for the King’s Head,” she told him. “They end up there most every visit.”
The King’s Head? Same one Larkin had mentioned being questioned at by some random merchant? He didn’t like the coincidence.
“Where is this pub located?”
“Off Church Street where it crosses Market,” Albert directed.
The maid shook her head. “No, it’s off Market past Church. Then down the alley between the—”
Connor held up a hand. “Never mind. Ye’re coming wi’ me to lead the way. Saddle up a horse and mine, as well…” He eyed the groom with a frown, recalling the last time he’d been near Connor’s horse. “Scratch that. I’ll do it myself.”
* * *
The multiple layers of l
ace draping from the wide brim of Piper’s hat floated up and down like a ballerina’s tutu as she passed under the portico separating the alley from the cobbled courtyard of the quaint Tudor era pub beyond. The cold breeze tugged at her hat and nipped at her nose and cheeks. Rather than leaving her chilled, she felt invigorated. Happy. Odd that the emotion should seem so foreign.
“I hate that hat,” her friend groused, not for the first time that day.
“No more than I,” Piper concurred. She wore the heavy veils to disguise her identity when she was in the village. The King’s Head offered a private room where Piper could relieve herself of them without the worry of being recognized. One day, she would be free of the black and when that day arrived, she swore she’d never wear it again. “At least it keeps the breeze at bay, thus my nose doesn’t look like a cherry.”
“Oh!” Jane gasped and covered her nose with her gloved hand while Piper laughed. Her friend always presented a picture of fashionable perfection, as if she belonged in one of Monet’s idyllic paintings. “I suppose you’re teasing is preferable to Mother’s fussing. You would think we’ve never removed to London before.”
“I’m glad to provide an excuse for you to get away.” Piper squeezed her hand, grateful for one last visit with her friend. Everything would change by the time Jane returned to Aylesbury.
“I wouldn’t mind a pint on such a cold day.” There was a hint of laughter in Jane’s eyes, though Piper would wager she wasn’t entirely teasing.
“How shocking, Miss Langston! A lady never has ale with her tea,” she protested, then added in a reasonable tone, “she has whisky in it.”
Jane laughed aloud and lifted her shopping bags meaningfully to her groom awaiting them in the courtyard. The adolescent had been sitting on the back of her pony cart with his legs swinging to some silent tune. At her pointed gesture, he leapt off to take their bundles and secure them. Jane’s large and plentiful, filled with things she could not do without before she traveled to London in the morning. Piper’s single small one held a pair of white linen handkerchiefs she thought to embroider with Connor’s initials. A gesture of thanks for his gentle nudge, as it were.
It had been months since she’d set foot off the estate. With Jane leaving in the morning and winter upon them soon, not to mention her undecided future, there was no better time for an adventure. Why, she hadn’t browsed any of the shops since…
What would life be like now if Harry had approached her that last time she’d come to the village in June instead of turning away? She would have been forced to confront him, putting her freedom in jeopardy. Or perhaps liberating her all the more. She’d never which until she took that leap of faith of her own free will.
There was no chance of it happening today. Aylesbury was a long way from Paris.
Her pleasure in the day dimmed slightly, but Piper refused to let the memory completely extinguish her happiness. And anticipation for the future.
“I have a plan…more of an idea really, where I might be able to rid myself of my veils permanently,” she told her friend after they left the groom to watch their bundles while they took their refreshment inside.
“Revealing yourself to your brother?”
“No.” She dashed her friend’s hopes but was eager to relay newfound ones of her own. “Something a little more adventurous. I wonder what the weather is like in America this time of year?”
“America?” Jane gaped at her as she opened the door. “What madness are you considering this time?”
“I’ll tell you all about it inside.”
In contrast to the cold albeit sunny day, the interior of the King’s Head was dark and warm. Darker still from beneath Piper’s veil. Few patrons filled the tables at this time of the day. Out of habit, she studied them one by one. A man and a woman she didn’t know personally, though she vaguely recognized from the church services she’d attended before her mother had wed her stepfather. They acknowledged Jane with a polite nod.
At a table near the window was a man who had the mien of a clerk, thin and pale with slicked back hair and spectacles, a felt bowler on the table next to a pot of tea. Another solitary man occupied a table by the fireplace with a tankard of ale in front of him. He was bigger with a thick mustache and wore a faded suit she’d wager was his Sunday best. He had an aura about him that left Piper wary.
Both men acknowledged them with nothing more than an absent glance. Comforted by their disinterest, Piper turned to the tavern owner. Mr. Hughes stood at the end of the bar, a mug of in ale in hand, ready to gossip with whoever dared sit in his general proximity.
A habit he was well-known for. She’d never seen him stand or sit anywhere else. Just as she’d never seen him wear anything other than a thick canvas apron over his wool shirt. Or run a comb through the white tufts of hair that stood out from above his ears on an otherwise round, bald head.
He greeted them with a smile of welcome on his ruddy face. “Miss Langston, what a delight. The missus said she thought ye’d gone to Lunnon.”
His inquisitive gaze darted from Jane to Piper, as they tended to on their infrequent visits. They knew he’d taken to trying to guess who was swathed in heavy mourning each time they came. Mrs. Hughes, who was in their confidence, told them of his many failed attempts and her continued amusement on the matter.
“Father’s there already, Mr. Hughes,” Jane announced gaily. “We’re to follow in the morning, however, I found I couldn’t leave without another of Mrs. Hughes’s lemon cakes to sustain me while I’m gone.”
He nodded with enthusiasm. “A private parlor for ye then?”
“Yes, and a tea tray, please. Thank you, Mr. Hughes.”
The barkeep disappeared around the corner to prepare their usual room and inform his wife of their presence. And perhaps take another guess only to be misled if he came too close to the mark.
“No whisky?” Piper teased in a low voice.
“Perhaps Mrs. Hughes can slip us some on the sly.”
Obscured by her veil, Piper cast another glance around the taproom, her grin fading away. How she managed to reach a level of confidence a few months ago to walk about town without a disguise given her anxiety in the presence of strangers, she had no idea. As if he felt her scrutiny, the larger of the two men peered up again over the rim of his tankard. His stare passed over Piper’s obscured figure to Jane, who was greeting Mrs. Hughes with her usual animation.
His cup returned to the table with a low thunk. With the back of his hand, he swiped away the foam clinging to his mustache. When he stood abruptly, his head nearly grazed the low, blackened beams above. Piper’s heart gave a lurch. It stalled completely when he stepped forward.
“Miss Langston, is it?”
Jane faced him with her customary amicable smile. “Yes?”
The man cocked his head to the side and scrutinized her. “You wouldn’t be Miss Jane Langston, daughter of Mr. Reginald Langston of Meadowcroft by any chance?”
A quiver of ill ease snaked through Piper and she slowly grasped her friend’s hand with a cautionary squeeze. “Don’t,” she whispered under her breath.
Jane cast her a frown before leveling it on the stranger. “Why, yes. And you would be?”
“Quite pleased to have you and your friend join me.”
He swept a hand to indicate the other chairs at the table. The corners of Jane’s mouth curved down further as she drew herself up with all the hauteur of a lady with two London Seasons under her belt. A loftiness Piper could never manage, but admired nonetheless.
“You overstep yourself, sir.”
Her reprimand garnered a mocking smile. The man took a trio of slow, deliberate steps forward before he paused with a raised brow.
Jane shrank back against Piper, as if she didn’t know quite what to make of such insolence.
“How ‘bout now?”
Chapter 13
Mother truly believes that what ‘we’ will gain through this marriage supersedes any sacrifice. If the
prospect didn’t terrify me so, her ambition on my behalf might be heartwarming.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, January 1893
“What is this?” Hughes blustered, returning to the taproom. He scowled at the stranger. “Sir, these are ladies and friends. You would do well to let them be and be on your way.”
“I wish to have a word with Miss Langston,” the man announced, his jaw set stubbornly. “I tried to call upon her father at Meadowcroft today but was told he was not at home.”
“I don’t know you, sir. Nor will I condescend to converse with you,” Jane shot back over Hughes’s shoulder when he moved between them.
The man’s lips twitched, sending his mustache off keel. “Just like your father. Think you’re too fine to speak with me? Bloody nobles.” He spat on the floor between them.
“You may send a letter to my father in London,” Jane told him. “Good day, sir.”
“How would another letter help me when it seems your father is too high in the instep to pay his bill?” he raged. “I’ve got mouths to feed!”
The fear building in Piper slipped to sympathy. For all his bullish demeanor, the man seemed genuinely troubled.
Jane relieved Hughes of his protective stance with a light tap on his arm. “What work did you do for my father, Mr…?”
“Wilkes,” he grumbled. “Reshod his team of four when he passed through Amersham last spring. Only lost one bleedin’ shoe and insisted the lot be reshod. Promised to pay me on his way here after the session was over but never showed.”
It was a common enough practice for noblemen to live on credit for goods and services alike and stretch out repayment indefinitely. Celeste had made a habit of it over the years. Buying whatever she liked and waiting until her quarterly allowance to pay a portion of it off. Never all of it. Be that as it may, Jane’s father wasn’t the sort to take advantage. He’d worked hard for his money and understood the value of every pound.
Jane, too, appeared surprised. “There must be some mistake.”
A Question for the Ages (Questions for a Highlander Book 7) Page 12
