This brought the host’s lady to investigate, and the sight of Prudence’s pale face so wrought upon her that there were no more questions and they were shown to very pleasant chambers. Within ten minutes, Prudence was in bed. She slept like one dead, and awoke next morning to the delight of a stationary room with sunlight flooding through the open casements. She lay drowsing for a few minutes, reflecting gratefully on having been spared to set foot on dry land again—even if it was England. It was a pity she had missed her anticipated opportunities on The Maid o’ Moidart, but she had today, at least, before Geoffrey could rush her off to Aunt Geraldine’s great house in Richmond. She smiled faintly, wondering what that crusty old lady would say if he really did deliver to her doorstep the niece she had seen twice during her lifetime. Her most fervent prayer was that he would change his mind and ask her to become his bride. He cared for her, she was very sure, for how many gentlemen would have stayed by her while she was so horribly sick? How many gentlemen would have held the basin so heroically, or cradled her in their arms while the vessel was hurled about the surface as though kicked by some capricious giant? He loved her. Perhaps he did not realize it himself as yet, but he loved her, and somehow, soon or late, she would manoeuvre him into offering. Poor doomed soul. She smiled at the flirting window curtains, then rang for hot water.
She had enjoyed a steaming cup of hot chocolate and was getting dressed when a maid scratched at the door and delivered a large bandbox and three parcels. The bandbox contained a demure cap of white lawn, the edges ruffled and trimmed with fine lace. Also in the box were two sprays of silk flowers, one scarlet and one blue. Prudence touched them lovingly, but was amused by the realization that her gallant gentleman knew little of the ways of women if he fancied she would wear scarlet blossoms against her “red poll.” She opened the parcels. One, long and flat, contained the hoops for a pannier skirt. The second held petticoats and a charming shawl of pale green silk. Eagerly opening the last package, she stared, then burst into laughter. The gown was lovely; and pink. Bless his heart, she thought, he had tried.
Half an hour later, wearing the pink gown, a dainty cap fastened over the crown of her head, and scarlet blooms nestled in her curls, Prudence adjusted the green shawl about her shoulders, and tripped along the corridor.
Delacourt awaited her in the vestibule. He looked very well in a maroon velvet coat, with snowy lace at throat and wrists, his curling hair powdered and tied back with a black riband. His dark eyes bright and eager, he hastened to take both her hands and kiss them tenderly. “You look the spirit of Spring,” he told her.
“If I do, ’tis because of your thoughtfulness. Oh, Geoffrey, my very dear friend, thank you so much. My poor gown was in rags, and the dress Mrs. Nutthall made for me was badly torn when I climbed into The Maid o’ Moidart. However did you find these pretty things?”
Delighted because he had pleased her, and because she looked almost her usual bright self again, he said blithely, “By rising at an ungodly hour and riding into Bath. I had some business to attend to there, so do not reproach yourself. Besides, it was worth every minute, just to see you so bonnie!”
She laughed at the Scots term. “And you also, sir. How fine and grand we are. I expect Cole and MacLeod are fitted out in livery.”
To her surprise, he took the remark seriously. “Never be able to find it on the spur of the moment, least of all in MacLeod’s size! They both have new rigs, though, and only wait till you see MacLeod. Gad, but he’s impressive. If he wasn’t a Scot, he’d make a dashed fine Horse Guardsman!”
“Ye’d best not tell him that, Captain Delacourt,” she said, smilingly.
“No. And you’d best not name me so any more, m’dear. I am Geoffrey Delavale now, and also—” He checked, then said quietly, “Well, never mind that. Come on, little lass. You’re thin as a rail after all your jauntering about the Seven Seas. It is past time I was fattening you up!”
He led her to the coffee room, where they enjoyed an excellent breakfast, to which Prudence did full justice. Delavale was pleased to see the return of her appetite, and said he feared she must think the selection poor compared to what she had been used to at Lakepoint. Sorrow came into her eyes, and he cursed himself for a fool and said remorsefully, “I am sorry, Prue. We will bend every effort to find out what happened, I do promise you.”
“If they reached the other side of the Loch and your friends found them they will be safe—no?”
“Absolutely safe. So, eat up, lovely one.”
“Oh, no, thank you. This huge meal was only to, er, to make up for—”
“For lost time?” he suggested with a grin.
“Horrid man! No, truly, I have to be very careful, Geoffrey. I am so short, you know. If I ate as I would like to do, by the time I am middle-aged I would be a dumpling.”
He laughed and declared that he loved middle-aged dumplings. “For they are always so happy and contented. The thin ones are very often scratchy, and I do believe ’tis only because the poor dears are always half starved!”
Prudence smiled, but her thoughts still dwelt on an earlier topic. “Sir,” she said mildly, “you did say that Highview is not a very large house?”
“True. Shall that disappoint you? I’d not meant to imply it is a cottage, exactly, but compared to some like—well, there’s an estate we’ll be passing this morning that is quite large, and I do assure you my home is nothing to it.”
An hour later, as Cole guided the team along the rather precipitous road that hugged the slope of a hill, Prudence gazed in awe at the great red-brick mansion spread across the brow of a lower hill. “Oh, but it is magnificent! To my mind, that is exceeding large, Geoffrey!”
“There are larger, little lass, but certainly few lovelier. I fancy Lac Brillant, the Chandlers’ place in Kent, may rival Dominer for beauty, though. If you judge the exterior large, you should see the inside. Do you notice how the wings curve back? It tends to diminish their true size. Jove, but I wish we’d the time to stop, I’d show you through. But, as it is, we’re trespassing. This is an estate road.”
She eyed him in alarm. “Good gracious! We’ll not have the troops after us again, I hope?”
“No, no.” He patted her hand, amused. “Marbury’s a very good old fellow and was a bosom bow of my father.”
“Marbury?” She knit her brows. “It seems I’ve heard the name.”
“Likely you have. Thaddeus knows the Duke, and—”
“And the Duke was a very good friend of your papa?”
“Yes. You’d like him, I think, though he can be quite a tartar when he chooses.” He leaned forward and pulled on the check string.
The trap opened and Cole peered down at him. “Yes, sir?”
“I don’t want to go through Bath, Cole. Swing southeast at the next crossroads and take the Trowbridge road.”
“Trowbridge? But I thought— Aren’t we going home, Master Geoffrey?”
“Yes. But I’ve to make a stop, first. We’ll change teams and take luncheon in Trowbridge. Oh—and, Cole, I will use my own name from now on.”
Cole looked puzzled, but said only, “Yes, sir,” and closed the trap again.
Prudence asked anxiously, “Do you fear patrols, Geoffrey?”
He did fear patrols, for he had no identification of any kind and in the event they were stopped things might go badly, especially with Stuart MacLeod to be accounted for. He gave no sign of this, however, slipping an arm about her and kissing the end of her little nose while telling her not to look so scared. “It has gone quietly enough up to now, has it not?”
It continued to go quietly. Delavale was determined for several reasons not to lay any further siege to Prudence’s heart, and beyond keeping her hand tucked into his arm, behaved with propriety. Prudence, still rather weak, was pleased by this southwest countryside and viewed with interest the peaceful, prosperous hamlets, the tidy farms with their neatly laid out fields, the richly wooded valleys, and the emerald velvet folds of th
e hills. The sun shone, the birds sang, her love was beside her and, except for the worry for her family that lurked ever at the edge of her mind, she was content.
They reached Trowbridge at half-past one o’clock, and Cole pulled in to the yard of a prosperous-looking posting house named The Black Lion, that unlikely beast snarling ferociously from the gently swinging sign, more as if to frighten travellers away than welcome them to alight. Glancing at Delavale to comment upon this, Prudence surprised a frown on his face. When MacLeod, resplendent in a brown velvet coat and knee breeches, swung open the door, Delavale hesitated momentarily, then gave a somewhat resigned shrug and descended, turning back to hand Prudence out.
Ostlers were already busied with straps and buckles and Cole was dickering with them regarding the acquisition of another team. Delavale called that he had changed his mind and they would likely overnight here, and asked MacLeod to bring in the luggage.
Prudence felt a little twinge of anxiety. “Are you feeling not quite the thing, sir?”
He smiled down at her and ushered her into the vestibule of the posting house. “I feel very well, thank you, Prue, but we’d better stay here, for I—”
“Del! Why, you dashed rum touch, I thought you was dead!”
Delavale stiffened and swore under his breath, but put out his hand cordially enough. It was taken by a slim young exquisite with a round, guileless face, brown eyes, and a very large nose. He was impressively clad in an awesome wig, an elaborate buff coat trimmed with gold lace, fawn small clothes and stockings, and shoes of Morocco having amber buckles and extremely high heels. “Gad, but you look a rail,” quoth this paragon of fashion. “Saw your carriage—no panels, dear boy. Are you—er”—he slanted a shrewd glance at Prudence and grinned—“travelling incognito, perchance?”
Having coped with the long nightmare of battle, illness, and the horrors of war, Delavale had quite overlooked the matter of what people down here would think of his journey with Miss MacTavish. ‘My God,’ he thought, aghast, ‘he fancies she’s my mistress!’
Prudence, waiting fumingly for him to introduce her, was shattered by his silence.
Before Delavale could recover from the shock of his own stupidity, his friend stepped into the breach. “How do, ma’am? Permit me to make m’self known t’you. I am Bertram Crisp—known to m’friends as Bertie.” He swept her a low bow. “Now come on, dear old boy. Introduce me to your lovely lady, or I shall pos’tively—”
Cole came hurrying to murmur softly that there were no rooms available.
“’Course there are,” exclaimed Crisp, incensed. “Host! You certainly can find suites for Lord Delavale and his party! Bestir y’self, silly creature!”
A gentleman of portly habit, who was stretched out in a corner armchair with a newspaper over his face, roused sufficiently to peer at them from under a corner of his cover, then restore it again. A wispy-looking man, poring through the pages of The Spectator, did not look up at all.
Prudence, much shocked, turned to find Delavale watching her apprehensively. Before she could say a word, the host ran up, beaming and rubbing his hands together. Certainly, there was room for milor’. The foolish clerk had misunderstood. If milor’ would only step this way …
Mr. Crisp, his admiring gaze still travelling Prudence, made as if to intervene, but was suddenly engulfed by a party of vociferous friends who surged in from the tap to sweep him, protesting, away.
Her head held very high, her face red, Prudence followed the host upstairs.
Taking her elbow, Delavale said sotto voce, “Alas, ma’am, I’d not planned sufficiently far ahead.”
“How unusual of you,” she said tartly. And she thought in anguish, ‘So he is a peer! And he was horrified when that silly fribble recognized him, because he did not want to be seen with me!’ She was still weak, and her nerves on end, so that she had to fight the grief and hurt pride that threatened to overwhelm her.
The host swung open the door of a sunny bedchamber. “There is a connecting parlour, ma’am,” he said, and looked questioningly at Delavale.
Very aware of the question, and even more mortified, Prudence swept into the bedchamber, glanced blindly about, and went on into the neat parlour.
Delavale had noted the fierce jut of her small chin, and with sinking heart knew he had made a proper mull of things. Fixing the host with an icy stare, he said, “This will do very nicely for my betrothed. I trust my room is not too far away.”
The host looked relieved and said that there was a nice room just down the hall that would be made ready immediately.
“Very well,” said Delavale. “I shall wait in your parlour if I may, my dear.”
“By all means,” said Prudence with an indifferent shrug.
Hurrying downstairs, the host crossed the vestibule just as the gentleman who had been snoozing there wandered from his corner, yawning. He was a large, florid-featured man, with small hard eyes and a lower lip that drooped petulantly. “Did I hear someone say that young Delavale has come here?” he enquired.
The host, a garrulous individual, waited to admit this was so. “And travels with his affianced bride. A rare pretty lady, if I may say so.”
“Is that a fact? Egad, but his family will be overjoyed. He was given up for dead a year since. The Jacobite business, y’know.”
“Good gracious me. I thought he looked rather wan. What a happy homecoming lies ahead of the poor gentleman. Well, if you will excuse me, sir, I’ve to find him a room, and a pickle I’m in, for it means putting off someone else, but it’s more than I dare do to fob off a earl, or whatever he is, with a small back room.”
“A baron,” said the portly guest absently. “And he may have my room.”
Startled, the host exclaimed, “No, do you mean to leave us so soon, Mr. Beasley? I’d thought you planned to overnight. I hopes as nothing has upset you here. If I can make things right—”
“No, no, my good fellow,” said Thomas Beasley with an affability that would have caused several of his acquaintances no little astonishment. “Truth is, I interrupted my journey because I was feeling out of sorts. Stomach, y’know. Feeling better now—thanks to your good food, I’ve no doubt. So I think I’ll push on. Must be in London tomorrow.”
He reiterated his delight with The Black Lion, and everything about it, and sent a maid to tell his valet to pack at once. Directing his steps stablewards, he paused and called softly, “Oh, by the bye, be a good fellow and do not mention my name to his lordship. I fancy he means to surprise us all, and I’d not wish to spoil things for him. Especially in view of his, er”—he winked, man-to-man fashion—“his betrothed.”
Somewhat taken aback, the host agreed and watched Mr. Beasley saunter into the outer sunshine. So that lovely little damsel was not the future Lady Delavale. It would explain why there had been no crest on the door of that shabby carriage and why my lord had simply signed the register as Geoffrey Delavale and party. No wonder the girl had been so red in the face. He frowned, his honest heart troubled to have hanky-panky dealings in his house. Still, with the Quality one had to be careful. Sighing, he went into his own quarters to tell his good wife that they’d have a baron under the roof tonight. The rest of the tale could wait until milor’ had taken himself and his lightskirt off. And the charges, he thought grimly, would reflect the price of sin!
Meanwhile, with a briskness foreign to his nature, Thomas Beasley crossed the yard and went into the dim fragrance of the stables. Here, some moments later, his valet found him, with ostlers scurrying to pole up a team to a luxurious travelling coach.
“I thought the maid must have made an error, sir,” murmured the valet.
Taking care to keep out of sight of the inn windows, Beasley said irritably, “Did she not tell you to pack up and bring the bags down here?”
“Yes, sir. But I’d understood we was to stay here tonight, and—”
“I suppose I may change my mind,” said his employer arctically. “Perhaps you would oblige me
by hastening. I want to be away within ten minutes! Well, never stand there, gawking! Move, damn you!”
The valet ran.
Within the prescribed time, Mr. Beasley was seated in his speeding coach. At the crossroads, the direction To London was on the sign pointing to the east. Mr. Beasley’s coachman did not turn his team to the right, however, but continued northwards on the road that led to Chippenham and, eventually, to Oxfordshire.
* * *
As soon as the host closed the parlour door, Delavale turned to Prudence. Her nose had an upward tilt, her vivid mouth drooped at the corners, her brows arched with studied nonchalance. He reached for her hand. “Little lass, I know—”
She pulled away and dropped her reticule on the sofa. “La, sir, but I believe you. Certain it is that you know more than I do! I vow, you’ve more identities than a bird has feathers.” She sat down in a high-backed chair and arranged her draperies meticulously. “My lord, no less! I canna wonder ye concealed it frae me. Ye likely feared I’d be drrropping the handkerchief did I suspect ye’d a title tae be captured!”
He flushed darkly. “As if I would think so of you. And I did not conceal it from you, exactly. Elizabeth was so repulsed by Thad’s title, and—”
“Really?” Despite the frigid interruption, hope had begun to burgeon in her breast. Was it possible that he’d fancied she would refuse him for fear of having to take on the duties of a baroness? Her accent less noticeable, she asked airily, “Why should it matter to me whether or not you have a title? You need be bothered wi’ me no longer once you’ve conveyed me to my aunt’s house.”
She gave a gasp as she was jerked from the chair and slightly shaken. His eyes glinting with anger, he grated, “Gad, Prue, but I could throttle you when you talk so. Of course you are not a bother! And before I take you to your aunt’s home I want to show you Highview, and…”
She was looking up at him in frightened fashion, all great eyes and shrinking femininity, and his words died away, the anger in his face replaced by a tenderness that made her heart leap. She said quaveringly, “Please—do not throttle me … Geoffrey.”
Journey to Enchantment Page 30
