Rescued by Love

by Joan Vincent

  “I seek nothing,” Sarita blushed. “It is but a duty, gladly done.”

  “And you are keenly tied to duty,” Dunstan returned softly with sudden intuition.

  Sarita stared at him questioningly. “Should it not be so?”

  He bowed, then went to the small bedchamber and closed the door behind him.

  His curious expression troubled Sarita. What could he have meant? she asked herself. And why does his mere look disquiet me so?

  * * * *

  A crescent moon hung in the sky as Lord Dunstan gingerly worked his way along the stone ledge outside the window to the trellis and down the wall. Dropping to the ground, he crouched, awaiting any sign that he had been detected. None came, and he quickly slipped past the garden.

  Hurried steps took him deep into the woods and, by a prearranged plan, he found a saddled mount awaiting him. The dense forest muffled the steed’s steps as they made their way to the main road. Once on it, Dunstan set his spurs into his mount’s flanks. The gelding, fresh and long limbed, ran smoothly and quickly. In good time Dunstan reined to a halt outside the small village of Runnet, not far from Hastings.

  Three times the earl gave an owl’s hoot, pausing after each reply. A signal came after the last call. Easing his mount forward, he pulled a pistol from his waistband, cradled it gently in his hand.

  A tall, thin man slowly stepped forward from behind a huge boulder. He stopped at hearing the pistol being cocked. “No need fer that,” he spoke hurriedly. “It be Billy.”

  “Alone?”

  “Aye, like I were told.”

  “Do you have anything for me?” Dunstan still held the pistol loosely pointed in the man’s direction.

  “This.” Billy held up a pouch. “If ye can prove ye be Henry Edward.” His coastal twang dropped away. “And how am I to know you are he?” He lowered the pouch.

  “Caeteris paribus,” Dunstan returned, lowering his pistol. “Other things being equal.”

  “Bonus,” Billy returned and approached the earl as he dismounted. “I dare not stay long. All we have learned is in this.” He handed over the pouch. “Have you a message in return?”

  “Tell them Lord Dunstan has been wounded but will recover.”

  “Lord Dunstan,” the other repeated in surprise.

  “Just give the message. What have you learned in Hastings? Has the name Mandel come up?”

  “So far only rumours about the usual smuggling. No one has spoken of a Mandel as far as I know, but there has been little time. When shall we meet next?”

  “1n a fortnight, unless you learn something important. Has Pergrine been mentioned?”

  “Pergrine? It is odd you speak of him. I saw him just two days past. Overheard him talking with two sailors. He is a harmless-looking man,” Billy shrugged.

  “Did you hear what was said?” Dunstan asked impatiently.

  “Something about a cargo. Didn’t think we’d be interested. Probably more French brandy. Why this concern?”

  “A feeling. Keep your ears keen on it. If you need to contact me. There is a bog on the secondary road between here and Pordean. A large limb now lies on the east side of it. Move that limb to the west side, and I will meet you at the bog on the next night. Be wary. I fear we may be watched.”

  The thin man nodded assent. “Jervy’s here. Says to tell you he’ll be handy if you need him,” Billy said lowly. “A safe return,” he added and disappeared into the darkness.

  Dunstan mounted and turned back towards Braitlathe. The attempt on Lin’s life had made this a personal matter, one to be resolved quickly. He mentally raced through the dabs of information he had. He prayed that the pouch contained something helpful.

  Chapter 12

  “Deborah—Miss Durham—and I have concurred,” Lord Dunstan said, entering Lin’s bedchamber. “Today you shall have an outing.”

  “But Dr. Simpson said I was to remain abed two days more,” his cousin threw back plaintively.

  “Not you, my lord. Sarita—Miss Durham—is to have the outing,” the earl corrected himself archly, gazing at the wan girl seated beside the bed with an open book on her lap.

  “And I will care for you, my lord,” Deborah added, looking around the earl’s broad shoulders.

  “But Lady Brienne—oh.” Sarita threw aside all guilt. “I am certain Deborah will attend you very well,” she assured Lin, giving the coverlet a straightening tap. “His lordship needs to remain quiet,” she told her sister. “Perhaps you could read to him,” she suggested.

  “We shall manage very well,” her sister answered, taking her hand and leading her towards the door. “You enjoy your walk with Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Unless you prefer to sit in the garden,” Cris said, his eyes teasing.

  “A walk will do very well,” Sarita said before Deborah pushed her through the doorway.

  With a wink at Lin and a low bow for the eager young woman at his cousin’s bedside, Dunstan sauntered into the corridor and found Sarita gone. “Could it be the lady disliked my interference?” he murmured. “Where could she have gone?”

  Snapping his fingers as an idea blossomed, he hurried down the stairs, ran through the Hall, and out the front doors. “Just what I thought,” he allowed, seeing Sarita on the path to Mandel’s. “Miss Durham,” he called after her, his hurried stride quickly closing the gap bet3ween them.

  Glancing back, Sarita flashed a challenging smile, gathered up her skirts, and took off running. Two weeks of being confined for most of the day with Lord Dunstan had often made her want to bolt, and she did so now.

  “A race it is,” Dunstan shouted, laughing.

  Sarita ran nimbly, easily hopping over small branches on the path, but Dunstan slowly gained on her. Seeing he was almost upon her, she sprinted forward. In her hurry, a corner of her petticoat slipped from her hand.

  When he saw this and realized she was headed for a tumble, Dunstan leaped forward and grabbed Sarita about the waist, swinging her off her feet.

  The sudden stop was a surprise, but finding herself cradled in Mr. Sullivan’s powerful arms, his laughing eyes and smiling face so close, silenced her protests.

  For a long moment they gazed at one another. The laughter slowly left the earl’s eyes, replaced by something Sarita refused to read. Spellbound, his lips were about to close on hers when she awakened from her trancelike state, and drew back in alarm. “Mr. Sullivan,” she protested breathlessly.

  “I only wished to keep you from tripping.” He forced a bantering tone and reluctantly set her upon the ground.

  “That was—well, thank you.” Sarita straightened her skirts, kept her eyes lowered. She realized that she still wished to be in his arms and her confusion grew.

  “It is not oft I find a near match to my speed,” he laughed lightly. “Especially among a member of your fair gender.” Dunstan bowed with a slight flourish.

  Red flared to Sarita’s cheeks as she misread the gesture. “Perhaps you should turn around at once and inform the dowagers that their selection of a nursemaid for the earl is far too unladylike for his lordship’s sensibilities. I am certain he would agree,” she said hotly, her dark eyes flashing in anger.

  “I would gladly do as you suggest if it were true, for it would free you.” His strange look held Sarita fast. “It is not easy to visit with one who is attending a wounded man,” Dunstan explained.

  “Visit? You should have to care for one such as Lord Dunstan. The last two weeks have been—” she blurted, halting with a true blush on her fine features. “I—I apologize. Though you do not know what it is to care for his lordship,” she said weakly, then added hastily, “no one is in good form when not well.”

  “His lordship a trying man? I cannot see it,” Dunstan said in a very serious tone, a mischievous glint in his eye betrayed him.

  Reading the tease, Sarita threw her hands in the air and burst into laughter. “I don’t know which of you is more trying,” she gasped, drawing a deep breath.

  “No, De
borah has drawn the harder lot, I dare say. I don’t know how you tolerate the earl's constant fussiness. Oh, pardon me again. I fear my words are too quick.” She looked at him apologetically.

  “Oh, I agree with you completely,” he smiled, offering his arm. “Shall we continue—at a walk?”

  Sarita laid her hand lightly on his arm. Her heart lurched tremulously as he laid his own over hers. “We—we had better go on,” she said softly.

  With a smile, Dunstan removed his hand and stepped forward. They walked silently, deep in thought until Mandel’s greenhouses appeared before them.

  Halting, Sarita removed her hand from his arm. “I would like to see Monsieur Mandel alone,” she said, a hint of reluctance in her tone and regret creasing her smile.

  “Pierre Mandel?” Dunstan asked, more than half serious.

  “Pierre? Never. What can you be thinking? I promised Monsieur Mandel—”

  “Ah, his secret project,” the earl said, recalling the younger Frenchman’s words.

  “Yes,” she said with obvious relief. “It is very important to him.”

  “Then I shall await you here.”

  “Oh, no— I know how busy you have been," Sarita paused as he cocked an eyebrow. “Lady Imogene tells me what transpires during the day when she comes to relieve me in the evening. Who has come and gone and such,” she explained, her colour rising beneath his smiling, knowing eyes.

  “I do not like to think of you returning to the rectory unescorted,” he said, looking thoughtful.

  “But I have always gone about alone. There is no one who would harm me.”

  “Perhaps not, but I prefer to be assured of your safety,” Dunstan insisted lightly.

  “I will be here for a very uncertain length of time. But perhaps I have a solution. Today is Tuesday, is it not? Clem, Mr. Traunt, delivers a cart of manure on Tuesday of each week for Monsieur Mandel’s gardens. He shall be happy to walk me home,” Sarita ended. Pleased that she had kept him from the inconvenience of waiting for her, she was perplexed by the hint of questioning reluctance she saw.

  “You cannot think Clem had anything to do with Lord Dunstan’s—”

  “No. As you wish it to be.” The earl bowed slightly. “May Monsieur Mandel’s project prosper,” he added with a smile.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Sullivan. Till this eve.”

  “Assuredly.”

  Sarita walked a few paces, then turned back to him. “Thank you—for rescuing me from the sickroom. I believe Lord Dunstan and I would have come to blows had we been forced to go on together, except that he is too much a gentleman for that,” she added.

  “Till this eve.” Dunstan tipped his hat and watched her petite figure lithely run to the greenhouse. At the door she waved to him. Dunstan chuckled. The more he thought about what Sarita had said, the higher his spirits rose. He whistled gaily as he returned to the rectory.

  * * * *

  “Why, Mr. Sullivan, how cheerful you sound,” Lady Phillippa greeted Dunstan as he entered the Hall.

  “And how lovely you are today.” He bowed.

  “Flattery. Excellent.” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “But someone in your questionable position needs such a grace.”

  “Now what could I have done?” Dunstan grinned. ”I almost think you are Irish, Mr. Sullivan, the blarney rolls so easily off your tongue.” The marchioness studied him with folded hands.

  “But Sarita did need an outing, I suppose. Though I must admit I had hoped to see more interest between the two.”

  “Do I detect a hint o’ the matchmaker in ye?” he teased in an Irish brogue.

  “By sure and by golly,” she countered in like tones. “What better way to cement a relationship than nursing. Why, Enoch will be much easier to deal with once he is wed. You will see.”

  “That could be.”

  “And Sarita is just the wife for him.” Lady Phillippa’s eyes grew dreamy. “What a lovely countess she will make.”

  “That I must agree with,” Dunstan said with a wink and sauntered off, leaving the marchioness with the oddest feeling that he was thoroughly enjoying a jest.

  * * * *

  “I must go now, monsieur. I promised Mr. Sullivan that Clem would walk me home. Some foolishness about my safety,” Sarita explained as she took off her work apron and hung it up.

  “A wise young man, that one,” Mandel noted.

  “You know Mr. Sullivan?”

  “He has visited me once or twice since that unfortunate affaire with Lord Dunstan. Beneath all his jesting there is a knowledgeable young man.”

  Sarita smiled with pleasure and nodded her agreement.

  “Are you ready, Miss Sarita?” Clem stuck his head through the entrance. “Unloaded as usual, Mr. Mandel.”

  “Merci, Monsieur Traunt. Remember, mademoiselle, this eve.”

  “I could not forget, monsieur,” Sarita assured him. “I have not been able to help you as much as I wished and am glad for this opportunity.”

  “There will be no problem about your coming?”

  “I will manage it.” Sarita smiled. “Good day.”

  “Hurry, Sarita,” Clem called. “I must return to the farm quickly. My best cow is about to calve.”

  “Till this eve.” She waved at the old Frenchman and hurried out.

  “An odd man, Mr. Sullivan,” Mandel murmured, watching Sarita go, “to wish her escorted by another.”

  “I can go on alone, Clem, if you think it best you return now,” she told the long-stepping, burly young farmer as she half ran to catch up with him.

  “No, Sullivan is right. No one is safe until we learn who is behind the murders. I’ll walk with you to the edge of the woods. You should be safe enough once in the open,” Traunt said brusquely and slowed his steps.

  “What do you think of Mr. Sullivan, Clem?” Sarita asked, still running every third step to keep apace.

  “He’s a smart enough sort. Don’t strike me as a secretary or whatever he says he is,” Clem snorted.

  “But he’s been so busy seeing to the earl’s affairs.”

  “Here you be." Traunt halted at the edge of the woods. "Hurry to the rectory now.”

  “But—Thank you, Clem.” She raised her skirts and ran across the meadow, his statement about Mr. Sullivan troubling her.

  * * * *

  It was near ten in the evening when Sarita and Deborah retired to their bedchamber.

  “Father seemed grim this eve—more so than usual,” Sarita noted as she sat at her dressing table brushing her long black hair. “I wish he would confide in someone. What do you think, Debs?” She turned to her sister, who was dreamily pulling on her nightdress. “Debs?”

  “What were you saying?”

  “Didn’t you notice Father at supper? He hardly spoke a word,” Sarita repeated, surprised that her sister had not noticed.

  “Was something wrong?" Deborah blinked innocently. "I saw nothing unusual.”

  “I don’t think you have seen anything since you left Lord Dunstan’s chamber,” the elder snorted.

  “Lord Enoch,” Deborah sighed, hearing nothing but the name. “Such a gentleman. One would think it would be very uncomfortable being alone with a gentleman, but he was so— kind. And he bears his wound so bravely.”

  “Did she sit with the same man?” Sarita muttered to herself.

  “Do you think I could sit with Lord Enoch again on the morrow?” Deborah pleaded.

  “Nothing would please me more, but Lady Phillippa—”

  “Just tell the marchioness that you do not care for Lord Enoch. You don’t, do you?” she asked fearfully.

  “Heaven forbid it.”

  “How can you say that?” Deborah challenged contrarily.

  “Do you want me to care for him?”

  “No, but the ladies do. I overheard Lady Phillippa tell Mr. Sullivan what a perfect countess you would make.”

  “She didn’t,” Sarita gasped.

  “I don’t see why you are upset. They want you to w
ed the earl.” She flounced angrily upon her bed. “I suppose all you care about is that Mr. Sullivan you’ve been mooning over.”

  “I have not.”

  “An ordinary secretary,” the younger taunted.

  “What matter a man’s station in life if he is doing the best he can,” Sarita countered. “If you truly loved Lord Dunstan you wouldn’t care what he was, earl or not.”

  Deborah shrugged, pulled back the bedcovers, and climbed in. “I don’t care if you prefer Mr. Sullivan, Sarry, even though he is a secretary. Lord Enoch is an earl,” she ended archly and turned her back.

  Grimacing at her, Sarita rose, laying down her hairbrush. Blowing out the lamp by her bed, she lay down and waited. Soon Deborah’s breathing sounded slow and easy, bespeaking sleep. Silently, Sarita rose, pulled her long-sleeved dressing gown over her nightdress and stole from the bedchamber.

  Feeling her way in the dark, she found the stairs and stole down to the kitchen. There Sarita pulled a carriage lamp she had hidden earlier from beneath the cupboard and lit it. Dressing quickly with the garments she had also placed there, she soon hurried out the back door and across the meadow.

  Upstairs, the earl gazed out the east windows as he endured the third repetition of Lin’s praises for the younger Miss Durham. A flicker of light caught his eye. “I am certain Miss Durham is as charming as you say, Lin,” he cut him off and turned to the bed. “But you should be asleep. Even I feel fatigued. Good eve.”

  Lin watched open-mouthed as the earl strode across the chamber to the connecting room and shut the door.

  * * * *

  “There, the work is done.” Mandel surveyed the plants they had worked with. “It is silly, I suppose, to be so careful, but this is tres important to me. Merci.”

  “I didn’t mind, monsieur,” Sarita told him sincerely. “I regret not having been able to help you these past weeks, but I must go now, before I am missed. Mother sometimes awakens.”

  “Oui, I shall walk with you.”

  “I would appreciate that. All this talk of danger has begun to make me hear things. You know, I even thought I was being followed when I came.” Sarita laughed lightly,