A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

by Carolyn Miller

  “You are a visitor, too?”

  “My family originates from the Midlands.”

  She nodded. “I have heard my father speak of visiting near Leeds, though I have never been.”

  Her father, the viscount, who must be well-to-do if he could travel and his daughter was afforded a personal maid and such fine clothes. Not a peer forced to nip-farthing measures. His chest tightened.

  “And you are from … ?”

  She shrugged, and looked suddenly coy. “A little place in the west of Somersetshire.”

  He nodded. Was that a little place called Aynsley? He dared not reveal his interest and enquire too closely.

  “And may I ask what brings you to this part of the country?”

  “I am staying here with my grandmother,” she said. “And if I returned the question?”

  “I would say I am staying here with my family also.” What half remained of it, anyway. A twist of sorrow curled within.

  “You would say? Is that not true?”

  He bit back a grin and inclined his head. “As sharp-witted as she is beautiful.” She gasped.

  His cheeks heated. Had he truly just said those words aloud? “Forgive me, I did not mean—”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I … I would never normally …”

  “I quite understand.”

  “I appear to have had all reason knocked from my brain, and as a result I am struggling to make sense, and I … I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She suddenly smiled. “It is simply the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  His heartbeat scampered as her eyes lent assurance to her lips. Warmth flooded through his chest.

  They exchanged a few more trivialities, during which he learned that she was finding her time in Devon not especially exciting, that in fact she seemed a trifle lonely, which determined him to introduce her to Emma as soon as possible. But as grave a breach of etiquette as it was for him to speak to her, it would be even more so if he were to invite her to his accommodation. But perhaps …

  “Would it be terribly forward of me to express a wish that we will meet again soon?”

  She shook her head, her blue eyes dancing. “I don’t believe so, although”—she leaned forward and said in a hushed tone—“I believe Mary might think so.”

  “Well then, it’s probably best I don’t speak with her if she feels that way.”

  She gave a tinkly laugh, a response that gladdened his heart, but which at the same time seemed to induce her maid to shout a warning that they best get back.

  Miss Hatherleigh sighed. “I suppose I should return.” She held out a hand. “Thank you for being so bold as to speak with me.”

  He carefully grasped her gloved hand, wishing for the boldness he’d seen Kenmore use on more than one occasion in lifting a young lady’s hand to his lips. He settled for a murmured, “My pleasure.”

  “I am so glad, and somewhat relieved, as it quite removed the need for me to come speak with you.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh, something which seemed to make her look at him with wondering eyes. He grinned again, and determined to persuade Emma to the benefits of paying a social call as soon as possible.

  He waited, watching as Miss Hatherleigh turned and walked away, exchanged a few words with her maid—who cast him an acidic look—before peeking over her shoulder one last time and smiling. He lifted a hand in farewell.

  Gideon exhaled. Who would have thought today’s expedition would result in the discovery of a young lady with whom he seemed to share such a disconcerting bond? He was supposed to be looking for fossils, not finding that he shared a sense of humor with a most unconventional miss. What would Emma say? What would Lady Aynsley? A sinking sensation filled his chest. He could just imagine her expression of distaste, what she would feel it necessary to say to him, just as she felt it necessary to speak to the church minister about the content of the sermons. His lips twisted. He could just imagine what choice words she would have to say if he dared lift his sights to her granddaughter, dared assume such pretensions as the man he currently presented to the world.

  There was no point in further speculation; it was obvious Miss Hatherleigh was possessed of a tidy fortune, and any guardian would sneer at his pretensions just as the uppity maid had. Who was he trying to fool? Hadn’t history taught a man of humble birth not to aim for the stars?

  And he returned to his examination of the cliff’s geological layers and forced himself to concentrate, albeit with an oh-so-foolishly distracted heart.

  CHAPTER SİX

  THE NEXT DAY was brighter, the sky making a welcome return to patches of pale blue, as if yesterday’s winds had blown away the gray smudge she had come to associate with this part of Devon. If only it could now blow away the misgivings that smudged her soul.

  She had been foolish. Irresponsible. Mary had been right to admonish her, both yesterday, and now with her rigid silence of affront. Who was she to act in such a manner, almost like one of those poor misguided damsels she had seen in London last summer, damping down their muslins to draw attention to themselves, before acting all coquettish and coy in their assumption of surprise at male attention? She now saw her moment of impetuosity to be exactly that: she had known herself to desire his notice, and had succumbed to her baser self and allowed herself a free and easy manner she knew to be wrong, and definitely not what Mama would approve. So far she had managed to keep Grandmama in ignorance, but with Mary’s thinly concealed threats she knew she could not count on her maid’s silence.

  No. She would have to remember her rank, that she was a daughter of Aynsley. She raised her chin. Mama’s lessons had not been for naught.

  “Caroline, here you are.”

  Caroline turned away from the drawing room’s bay window to greet her grandmother with a smile. “Here I am.”

  “Hmm.” Grandmama’s brow lowered. “I wondered if today we might make a short visit to Lady Dalrymple. She is a friend of mine, and I think it would do us all some good to get out of doors now the weather had improved. Miss McNell can come, too.”

  “That would be very nice.”

  “Well, I don’t know if very nice is how I would describe a visit to Lady Dalrymple, but it is sure to prove enlightening. That lady knows nearly all that is worth knowing in local affairs.”

  Caroline’s heart quickened. Perhaps this friend of Grandmama’s might know something about the young gentleman on the beach. Although—No, she spoke to herself sternly. That was foolishness. He was married, and would be as nothing to her. “And when would you like to go?”

  “At once if you please.”

  Within the hour, Caroline was in a many-gabled stone house, sipping tea as she listened to the flow of conversation about her. For the most part, her role seemed to be that of spectator, merely observing polite niceties or offering the odd comment when addressed by one of the older ladies. Her ears quickened when she heard mention made of a Mr. Kirby.

  “I understand he is of a scientific persuasion, that he is often seen examining our shorelines in hopes of the next big find. I believe his inclinations run akin to that strange Mary Anning person of whom we hear such stories.”

  “So peculiar,” Grandmama said, with a visible shudder.

  “Miss Hatherleigh.” Lady Dalrymple turned to her. “I’m not sure if you have heard the stories about Miss Anning. I understand she is something of an amateur fossil collector, someone the residents from Lyme are always boasting about. Apparently she found the bones of a sea dragon.”

  “A sea dragon?” Caroline asked, swallowing the temptation to laugh. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who indulged in strange fancies.

  “Something of that sort. No, don’t look at me like that, my dear. One cannot argue with facts. Apparently the bones may be seen in some London museum. And here is another piece of local lore: the girl, Miss Anning, is revered by the villagers as something of a miracle. Seems she was struck by lightning whilst just a babe in
arms. Three women with her were killed, but she was spared.” She nodded. “Quite miraculous.”

  “Indeed,” Caroline said, wide-eyed. Were miracles not merely the stuff of biblical legend after all?

  “Yes. She is most peculiar. As seems to be this Kirby fellow.”

  “Such an odd person,” murmured Miss McNell. “And very unattractive.”

  “Yes, well, I cannot think that certain members of our community would be particularly thrilled to know he is interested in combing the beaches so carefully. Indeed, I believe there were some who suspicioned him to be an exciseman!”

  “And we all know such a man would never be warmly received in these parts,” Grandmama said with a sly chuckle.

  “Indeed not,” agreed Lady Dalrymple. “Just why a man from out of town would choose to settle in our part of the world is a strange thing. Perhaps it has something to do with his wife, poor thing. She holds such an air of fragility she must be here for the sea air—although it is an odd time of year to visit, to be sure. No one ever seems to see her, apart from at services, and even there they never stay long enough to learn anything.”

  Caroline swallowed a smile. Was it any wonder they did not linger to satisfy local curiosity?

  “I’m sure there must be something wrong with her. The only person she ever spends any time talking to is the apothecary and his wife, but trying to find out information from him is like asking a clam to talk. One learns simply nothing at all.”

  Feeling like poor Mrs. Kirby’s health had been talked over long enough, Caroline cleared her throat. “Would you know where they are from?”

  Her grandmother looked at her rather hard but said nothing, as Lady Dalrymple said she did not know, before asking, “Why do you wish to know?”

  “I just wondered,” Caroline said airily. “I happened to notice him last Sunday, and thought he possessed rather an interesting face.”

  “Yes, that big scar on his cheek gives him such a fearsome aspect—” Miss McNell began.

  “That may be the case, Caroline dear,” her grandmother interrupted, “but it is most unlikely that they be of our class, and therefore they are not people we should waste any energy in speculating about.”

  “Of course not, Grandmama,” she said in as meek a manner as she could, stifling another smile at the absurd request from someone who had made her own interest in the young man and his wife very plain indeed.

  But the conversation merely reignited the interest from before. Even if Mr. Kirby was not of their class—and hadn’t his forward behavior in talking to her without previous introduction proved that?—he was still the most interesting person she had met since her arrival nearly two weeks ago.

  Hopes of putting her interest to one side was further challenged on the return journey, when they neared the churchyard and met an approaching gig containing two persons.

  Mr. Kirby touched his hat, Grandmama inclined her head regally, and Caroline fought the blush heating her cheeks. Why his merest attention should draw such a reaction from her she knew not; it was only to be hoped that neither Grandmama nor his wife noticed at all.

  His wife.

  Caroline peeked up from under her lids as the gig passed, stealing another look at the young lady seated beside him. She would never be classed by the ton as pretty—red hair was so unfashionable, after all—but her features were even, and her countenance, though pale, possessed a gracious calm. Her heart writhed. Regardless of her appearance, it didn’t change the fact that the young lady was still his wife, and as such, Caroline needed to force her thoughts away from him, from them. She withdrew her gaze and looked determinedly at the crescent-shaped bay stretching away to the side.

  “You seem very interested in that young couple, my dear.”

  “I am not used to seeing many scientists, I’m afraid,” Caroline hedged.

  “Why you would be interested in this one I do not know.”

  She could not answer.

  But still, that absurd something deep inside tugged at her to get to know him. Despite her conscience. Despite all the obstacles. Despite all her misgivings. She sensed that somehow, this man held the keys to her future.

  Gideon hurried up the stone steps gracing the garden’s outermost corners. He had been away too long, the plans he had mentioned to Emma this morning having unexpectedly altered after a most unnerving encounter on the shore near the village of Beer. He hadn’t expected to see Peter Wilmont venture quite so far in this direction, and the sight had filled him with dread-laden anxiety. It was foolishness, he knew, but Gideon felt he’d laid claim to the surrounds of Sidmouth, and that Wilmont was an interloper, trespassing on his territory. He’d had to fight feelings of possessiveness, fight his insecurity, as he mustered up an expression he hoped conveyed pleasantness, and not what he truly felt.

  To his credit, Wilmont had been amicable, although surprised to learn Gideon had based himself in Sidmouth and not where so many of the other fossil hunters were in Lyme. They had even exchanged a few observations about the stratifications along this section of cliffs, before Wilmont had ended their discussion rather abruptly, with the words, “I’ve wasted enough time as it is. Good day to you.”

  The disconcerting feeling that farewell had left him with—was Gideon truly wasting his time hunting in this region as opposed to farther east?—had only been compounded by his noticing a group of men huddled around the base of the cliffs. He had tried to look uninterested, but he was sure they would have noticed his foraging along the shore, even as he tried to avoid eye contact with fellows he suspicioned were not strictly on the up-and-up. Were they members of the local free-trading community? The somewhat hastily obscured marks of what must surely be a dragged rowboat suggested so, as did the way they paused what they were doing and sent flinty-eyed glares in his direction until he passed. But as he had no great interest in their doings, and did not halt to speak with them, he hoped they knew him not to be a spy for the excisemen who sometimes visited these parts.

  Still, the encounter had left him uneasy. He’d felt himself being watched as he bent to examine the rocks and scattered stones, and he struggled to focus on the task at hand.

  The grayness of the skies and chill wind that scarcely let up made it near impossible to know how much time had elapsed, which made him doubly anxious now. Emma had been alone all day, no doubt wondering where he was, seeing as he’d been unable to send word of his changed plans, let alone inform her of any delay.

  His heart quickened, much like it had the previous day when he’d once more seen the lovely Miss Hatherleigh, but instead of being tinged with something joyous, he felt something more like apprehension riding his steps. Was it truly best for Emma’s health that he had brought her here? While cold, Devon did not hold the same vicious bite as Leeds tended to, and her winter cough did seem marginally better than what he recalled last year. And—he reminded himself—the most important thing was that Emma was safe. He would do all within his power to ensure she remained safe for as long as possible.

  He pulled himself up and hurried along the cockleshell-lined path. From here he could see the cottage, could hear the sound of—laughter? Feminine and masculine laughter?

  His steps slowed, paused. Who could be here? He had wondered sometimes if she might ever laugh again. Surely she would never laugh like that with her husband?

  Gideon picked up his pace, pushed open the front door, moved to the sitting room, and flung open the door. The scene greeting him drew a relief-tinged bubble of laughter from his throat. “You!”

  “Why certainly it is I, though why my dearest friend should think it necessary to greet me in such an uncouth manner I will never know.”

  The Right Honorable The Viscount Kenmore pushed from the sofa to his feet and held out his hand. “It is good to see you, Gideon.”

  He drew close and hugged him. “Not nearly as good as it is to see you, Aidan.”

  “Well, that is to be expected,” the Irish peer’s son said humbly.

&nb
sp; Gideon chuckled, smiling at Emma whose face had taken on a glow. She had always enjoyed Aidan’s company. “What brings you here so soon?”

  “Why your note, of course. You may be surprised to learn that even such a superior being as myself lacks supernatural intelligence, and cannot pluck from the air the name of a village where you might be. I have tried; it is impossible.”

  Gideon gestured to where the cut glass decanter stood poised, ready to give their infrequent visitors refreshment. “Would you care—?”

  “None for me, I’m afraid. Your good sister here has already ordered tea.”

  A certain sense of gratitude stole through him, which no doubt aligned with Emma’s relief, signaled by her relaxed shoulders. No wonder. Since witnessing the extremely unfortunate consequences of Pratt’s ruinous propensity for drink, Gideon had refused to taste another drop, unwilling to ever give his sister cause for alarm. He smiled. Between his beliefs and such actions, he was almost finding himself worthy of the Quaker-like name his father had given him.

  Gideon settled into a chair. “As I recall, your note said something about spring.”

  “Yes, and I do hope you don’t mind my arriving a little earlier. I’m afraid family matters necessitated my removal from Ireland at this time.” A shadow crossed his face.

  “Your father?” Gideon asked gently.

  A dip of Aidan’s chin. “He is not fully recovered as yet.”

  “Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” Emma said, sympathy tweaking her lips. “He must find this illness a great burden.”

  “Sweet, compassionate Emma. I knew you would understand. Yes, he has carried this illness for some time now. But I am pleased to report the doctors believe he is on the mend, which was enough for me to be released to London. He wanted me to attend to some estate business on his behalf.” His grave expression lightened. “One of the joys of being the son of Lord Kilgarvan.”

  Gideon smiled. “You are so heavily burdened, my friend.”

  “Well, I’ll admit I do not have it quite so hard as some, but I do appreciate your kind consideration.”