by Cindy Anstey
Not surprisingly, Juliana had an aversion to the cliff-side. She was reluctant, in the extreme, to approach the eroding precipice unless such an action proved absolutely necessary. She decided to begin with the road instead; the rut and the general vicinity of the overturned cart were as likely as any other to conceal her locket.
However, when that site proved to be unproductive, Juliana returned to the majestic oak from beneath which she had watched the blue-eyed stranger struggle with her cart. She smiled at the recollection of their lively banter, sighed deeply with an unformed regret, and then returned to her search.
The only object hidden among the grasses was a neatly folded playbill for Hamlet at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane in London. The program was covered in circles and squares, and the curt scribbled order, do not fail. Juliana sighed. It must have fallen from the gentleman’s coat. She refolded it and consigned it to her pocket. She had no idea if she would encounter the gentleman again, but if she did, she would return his souvenir.
Juliana drew a very deep breath and exhaled slowly between her pursed lips. She had no choice; she would have to approach and examine the cliff-side after all. She could hear the crashing of the waves so very, very far below her.
Juliana slowly inched toward the eroding brink that had held her life in balance less than a day ago. The nearer she came to the edge, the faster her heart beat. She looked, in a studied, nonchalant manner, all around. No one was in sight. She dropped to her knees, thanked the heavens for her foresight in wearing old, stained gloves, and crawled slowly to the edge. It was most undignified, and had Aunt seen this demeaning posture, she would have fainted dead away or become apoplectic. Both were good reasons for Juliana to be on her own.
The ledge was alarmingly small when viewed from this height. The miraculous discovery of it while sliding down the cliff had been nothing short of, well, a miracle. As she had told the gentlemen yesterday, her aunt would never have forgiven her had she plummeted to her death. More important, neither would her father.
While Juliana pondered the incredible event that would be etched permanently in her memory, she swung her head back and forth, scanning the rocks. At last she was rewarded for her diligence and tremendous bravery.
A glint. A metallic shine. Could it be her locket?
Unfortunately, Juliana could not reach it. She needed a little more length. She lowered her trunk and slowly pulled herself half over the cliff’s edge.
She could almost reach it. It was just at her fingertips. Juliana dug her toes into the ground and with a great lunge grabbed it.
“Miss!” a voice barked.
The surprise and consequent start pitched the silver coin from her hand. Juliana watched it bounce, roll, and clatter against the rocks until it dropped soundlessly into the waves below. She was rather glad that it had turned out not to be her locket.
Suddenly, Juliana was seized by her booted ankles in a completely improper manner. Before she could protest, she was unceremoniously dragged across the thatch and jerked onto her feet.
“Did you not have enough excitement yesterday?”
It was the handsome, blue-eyed stranger, with no hint of his friendly smile.
“Sir, while I appreciate your interest in the well-being of my person, I was not in any peril whatsoever.” Juliana was both embarrassed and piqued. This man shouldn’t be gadding about the country hauling young women off cliffs without so much as a by-your-leave. She was neither a sack of potatoes nor addlepated, with no sense of propriety. “I knew what I was doing. I was not in any danger.”
“I believe your aunt may be correct in accusing you of heedless behavior.”
Juliana did not appreciate that in the least. To hide her discomfort and shaking hands, she brushed off her skirts, pulling bits and flecks of straw from the material with great concentration.
“What were you about? Trying to finish the job that you had begun yesterday?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Trying to do yourself an injury?”
“Of course not. I thought I saw something.”
“What, pray tell?”
“It was only a coin, and I lost it when you startled me.”
“I see. You were seeking your fortune.”
“Hardly.” Juliana laughed without mirth. “It was merely one coin.”
“Then not worth the effort.”
Juliana felt foolish, naive, and unworldly. It was amazing that this stranger could do all this with so few words. He was quite adept at it, for she was sure that had been his intent.
“I lost something yesterday and I thought I saw it on the cliff.”
A frown flashed across his face so quickly that Juliana was not really sure she had seen correctly. He turned a troubled expression to the Channel but almost immediately turned back to her with a calm mask.
“I did not mean to be judgmental. It was most ungentlemanly.” His tone was conciliatory, and a smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth. “I believe it was the possibility of your pitching over the side that caused my tongue to acquire such an unreasonable edge.”
Juliana faced him, her furrowed brows smoothing. She was not one to hold grudges. “I do not believe I would have gone for a tumble. I was trying to be cautious. I will, however, thank you for your concern.” She smiled at him in an effort to encompass all those sentiments in her countenance. She had the pleasure of seeing him grin. It should have done much to calm her racing pulse, but somehow it didn’t. Instead, she discovered a strange connection between his expression and the fluttering in her stomach.
To hide her momentary discomfort, Juliana seized upon the only other subject clanging about her misty brain. “Now that we have settled our differences, pray tell me, is your friend about? Is he not in your company?”
The grin fell slightly. “No, I believe him to be still abed. It is rather early. In fact, I was surprised to see you about at such an hour.”
“Even without any knowledge of yesterday’s … incident, Aunt Phyllis forbade me from tramping about the countryside unescorted. I was not likely to get away any other time.”
“You should listen to her. Your reputation is at risk.”
“That is of little consequence.”
“My dear Miss, there is many a gentleman who will be scared off by a whisper of scandal, and it takes very little for it to become a roar.”
“I care not, truly, sir. I am not in the market for a husband.”
“That is a most peculiar statement coming from a young lady on her way to London for the Season. What other motive can she entertain but the desire to have a bevy of suitors flatter her?”
Juliana laughed. “Yes, well, that would be most entertaining. I would quite enjoy the novelty, but, while I am going to see the opera, dance at balls, and eat odd delicacies, I am not husband hunting.” The need to visit Dagmar & Sloan Publishing was on the tip of her tongue. But that was, perhaps, more information than one should share with a stranger, no matter how open his expression.
The fellow was still not convinced. “Whyever not?”
This was the second time in as many days that Juliana had been asked to explain her lack of interest in matrimony, and yet it gave her pause. Carrie had not been listening—not really. Yet this stranger gave every indication that he was truly interested. And still, it was hard to articulate—perhaps because there was no one definitive reason.
When her father had first encouraged her to waste a summer in the frivolity of a Season, she had reluctantly lifted her head from her studies to evaluate the purpose of this enterprise … and consider the results. She had observed the marriages around her and determined that few couples were well suited. A lifetime of disappointment was more the order of the day. Certainly not enticing, no matter how many pretty dresses came with the occasion. No, to enjoy all that the Season encompassed while doing something productive—finding a publisher—was all the excuse she needed for the journey. A trip to the altar need not be included to make the enterprise
worthwhile.
Besides, dearest Father, as much as he urged her to put aside their research—temporarily—he could not proceed much further without her assistance, even if it was simply to wield the net.
A puzzled expression stole onto the stranger’s face, and Juliana realized that her silence had been overlong. “My father is a widower and has need of me.” Her bald statement had the advantage of being true and being an explanation that didn’t expose her innermost thoughts.
“Still, most fathers would want to see their child happily settled.”
“Yes, indeed. He would be one of the first to wish me well … but…”
“But?”
“Change is not his ally. Father doesn’t realize it, of course, but he falls into a decline whenever there is the slightest deviation of his routine. He leans on it most heavily and would tumble if the prop disappeared. Even my summer away will be detrimental to his well-being.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, indeed, most heartily. I have reports that he has not been eating as he should. Needs my cajoling, I suspect.”
“Still, your papa would not want to see you sacrifice your happiness for his.”
“No more than I would want to sacrifice his happiness for mine.”
“Dear me, that is quite the quandary.”
“Yes, quite.”
“He might be more adaptable than you think.”
Juliana held up her hand to stop his continuing protest. “Do not believe it is in any way a hardship on my part. I have other interests that keep me well occupied.” She could safely allude to her research without actually tipping her hand.
“Such as watercolor and arranging flowers.”
“Not to mention walking around with a tome on my head.”
“Yes, I can see how that would keep you busy.” He paused and glanced at her bonnet, as if the imaginary book were sitting on it. “Would you read said tome?”
“Of course, especially if were something truly fascinating like Latin verbs.”
“Or how to grow grass.”
“Exactly.” Juliana laughed, quite enjoying herself.
“There are some that have no choice.” The stranger’s expression had turned serious.
“You refer to the security of a well-heeled purse.”
“I hesitate to be indelicate, but yes.”
There was no missing the glance that traveled up and down her old riding costume.
Juliana shook her head and tried, unsuccessfully, not to grin. “I have no concerns in that regard.”
He was silent for some moments. His gaze swept out to the gray waters and then back to her. “Well, are we not a pair?”
“I do not take your meaning.”
“I, as well, have no intention of entering the stormy seas of matrimony.”
“No need to feather your nest?”
“None at all.”
“No lineage issues?”
“My cousin has already produced three boys and two girls as well as chosen a new color for the morning room of my manor.”
“My, he is well prepared to take over your estate. Your mother does not harass you? Beseech you for grandchildren?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then it would seem that we are, indeed, kindred spirits.”
“If I knew who you were, I would promise to visit you in your dotage.”
“Most kind of you.”
“No trouble at all.”
They stared at each other in a relaxed, friendly way. Juliana had been more open with this stranger than she had ever been with anyone. Being incognito certainly had its rewards.
“I must say that I am glad to learn that your leanings are not in the direction of my friend.”
“Really? How so?” Juliana’s brow puckered.
“I am afraid his interest is engaged at the moment.” He glanced toward the large, ancient manor in the distance, home of the Pyebalds, particularly the delightful Miss Vivian Pyebald.
“That is marvelous.”
“I am not sure that it is, as I cannot be sure that his affection is returned. And believe you me, I have nursed him through enough broken hearts to know that it might not be pretty.”
“Another reason for my rejection of the condition.”
“Quite right.”
“I will be making a call there later today.” Juliana turned her head slightly but obviously toward Ryton Manor. “I might be able to observe if there is an impediment.”
“Would you, indeed?”
“I cannot say rightly, but I have found observation to be an excellent tool.”
The stranger smiled. A warm wind flushed Juliana’s cheeks and sucked the air from her lungs. She should have worn a lighter coat.
“Are you planning an early ride again tomorrow?”
“One can never tell.”
“It would give you the opportunity to give evidence of your observation skills.”
“Indeed, it would. If it is not raining.”
Juliana loosed her horse and brought him forward. The stranger cupped his hands to support her foot, and she lifted herself into the sidesaddle.
“So perhaps we will meet again, sir.” Juliana inclined her head and urged her horse forward.
“Until then,” he called after her.
Juliana turned as she entered the tree line just as she had done the day before. This time, however, she was rewarded. She raised her hand in reply to his wave and then straightened, watching the road ahead once more.
The path was much shorter on the way back to Grays Hill. She had barely enough time to contemplate the exquisite elegance of the gentleman’s cutaway coat, his embroidered saffron waistcoat, the sophistication of his knotted neckcloth, or the breadth of his shoulders. It was only as the stable came into sight that she began to puzzle as to why her blue-eyed stranger had been at St. Ives Head at dawn.
* * *
SPENCER NORTHAM WONDERED WHY THE PRETTY MISS had been at St. Ives Head at dawn. She had mentioned looking for something. Was it the locket? The French locket? Her moves had been furtive, from her close scrutiny of the land to her dangerous observations off the cliff. Her motive could be suspect; she was behaving in a most irregular fashion.
If Spencer’s better nature had not overcome his need to lie low, he might have discovered her true purpose. He could look to no one but himself for that folly. He should not have rushed to the rescue. Thank heaven there was none here to judge. No one need know of his error, least of all the War Office.
Raking his hands through his hair, Spencer returned to the fallen tree that had provided him a seat for the past two hours. It was concealed behind the evergreen leaves of a common boxwood, back far enough from the cliff that he could see in either direction but forward enough to include the water in his vigil.
The young lady was an unusual package. She exuded innocence, but with such independence of spirit that he almost doubted his own ears and eyes. Was she in earnest in regard to marriage? That seemed almost impossible to believe.
And then, what had she to do with the traitorous activities that had brought him to this particular spit of land? Why had she offered to observe the situation in Ryton Manor? Was that part of her scheme? Was she involved?
Spencer considered the evolution of his mission, how he had been assigned to infiltrate the lair of the enemy only to discover that French spies were using smugglers to pass messages. It was a great discovery, for they could now beat the French at their own game—feed Napoleon … Boney … false information. Yes, Spencer just had to be patient—wait for the ship to land, for the communiqué to reach London, the traitor exposed, the lies passed … patience for a long process.
Spencer shifted in an attempt to get comfortable. He would stay only an hour more. By then the sun would be far enough into the sky that he could be certain that no ship would approach for fear of discovery.
The hour passed quickly and easily—much faster, in fact, than the previous two. Spencer kept his mind busy. T
o ensure that his faculties were honed sharp in observation, Spencer tested his memory on the enigmatic personage of the pretty cliff-side miss. He recalled her eyes: sparkling green; her hair: rich brown with reddish highlights; her figure: enticingly round in the right places and firm in …
Spencer stood up. It was time to return to Shelsley Hall. Bobbington would soon be stirring. Spencer would not want his friend to suspect that his stay was anything other than the escape from a randy widow that he had claimed it to be. It was an exaggeration, of course. Lady Rayne had no more than fluttered her eyelashes in his general direction, but her reputation was such that Spencer’s evasion required no further explanation.
Years of familiarity had taught him that Bobbington was a tried and true friend: supportive, loyal, and obliging. But Bobbington was also completely inept at keeping his thoughts and feelings from his face. A friend like that was not an asset in Spencer’s line of work, when all could be exposed with a careless comment. As it was, Spencer had had to be inventive with his excuses; Bobbington was always asking questions. Inquisitive fellow—his curiosity could place Spencer in a bind.
As Spencer placed his toe in the stirrup and pulled himself astride his black stallion, a recollection of white petticoats and lace flashed through his mind. It had come unbidden, and it rested uneasily in his mind. He began to wonder if Bobbington would have a better idea of who their miss could be, now that the aunt had acquired a first name. She had said Aunt Phyllis; surely there could not be too many ladies with that name in the exclusive society of Lambhurst.
Perhaps he would approach their miss on the morrow with a more thorough knowledge of her true character. He might be able to catch her in a lie. It might give him an edge, an opening. And a seemingly guileless means to inquire after the object that she had slipped into her pocket.
CHAPTER
4
In which Miss Telford encounters a bevy of Pyebalds and is in need of rescue yet again
THE EXCITEMENT IN THE REEVES FAMILY’S COACH was palpable. Aunt Phyllis had dressed to the extreme. Her new sapphire-blue carriage dress of corded muslin accented her fine figure and matched to perfection the ribbons in her high-crowned bonnet—decorated with an excessive profusion of peacock feathers. Carrie was an intentional foil; the simplicity of her gown accented her mother’s elegance while at once declaring her own refined innocence. Her bonnet was small and demure, sitting on her neatly upswept coiffure. Not a tendril was in sight.
