He’d known when the cousin described her as a giddy young miss who didn’t know her own mind that there was more to the story. No giddy miss would choose to go so far out of the way when alone and pursued on the roads. No, this miss had either friends helping her or a better head for strategy than her relative. He bet on the latter. If she had friends, then he would let the job go. No need to attract enemies when there was so little money in it.
He’d only agreed to the task because Marner owned a property that fit into his plans. If he didn’t pay—and Charters was sure he wouldn’t—Marner would be pressed to surrender a large unused plot of land with a well-forested private road, well-maintained but rarely traveled. The next best spot for Charters’s purposes was forty miles south. He didn’t want the money; he wanted the access. Others would call it blackmail, but either way, it served his other ends.
Chapter Seven
Looking out the window, Lucy heard the key turn in the lock. She flung herself to the fireplace, lifting the poker like a cricket bat. If it were Ox or one of the other men who had been searching for her, she could at least give herself a chance to run. She positioned herself behind the door, ready to strike.
The door opened a crack. “Lucy, girl?”
Lucy set the poker against the wall and stepped to where she could see Alice peering through a polite crack between the door and its frame. “Yes?”
“Ah, there you are. Ye are wanted in the sick lord’s room.”
“Has his wound turned?” Her stomach twisted, and her throat grew tight. Lucy opened the door wider until she could see Alice holding a tray stacked with the remains of a meal. “He was mending when I left him.”
“No, la. He’s ate a fine meal this morning.” She lifted the tray in confirmation. “Told me to send you to him.”
“Thank you. I’ll go to him presently.”
Alice turned toward the staircase, but stopped briefly before descending. “I think he wished to speak to you without his relations present. He was alone when I left him.”
Lucy rushed the four steps to the washbasin, pouring water into the bowl to wash her face and hands.
It was foolish to be pleased. She brushed her hair into an unruly bun before she tucked its curls under her maid’s bonnet. She looked at herself in the hand mirror, then smoothed her skirts with her hands.
She wished she had some other dress to wear, but the same grey-blue wool he’d seen every day would have to do. She’d never thought it a dour dress, just a workmanlike one, the kind of dress she imagined servants wore to avoid attention. Of the dresses at the used clothing seller’s shop, she’d deliberated traded for the one most likely to make her look unattractive, even buying one that fit so ill that she had to bind her breasts to fit into the bodice and had to wear pads to fill out the waist and hips. She’d needed to change her shape as well as her station to avoid being recognized, but now she lamented that decision.
She thought longingly of the wardrobe of dresses at her great-aunt’s house; she’d never been too attached to them, thinking them altogether too fine for an officer’s daughter. But now, she wished she could wear just one beautiful gown for him before they parted.
If he was well, she could slip away this afternoon.
* * *
“I wish the Home Office had chosen someone else for this escort duty. Colin’s been distant for months, and the events of recent days can’t have helped.” Sophia sat opposite her fiancé, the duke, at a table in the small drawing room between their bedrooms, while Seth paced. The couple maintained the proprieties, but Seth was certain that only one of the beds had been slept in.
On the table lay a portfolio of parliamentary reports. The top one offered an assessment of which nobles were in line to inherit the throne in various petty Habsburg principalities in Europe. The Princess Marietta and her late husband appeared in a lesser branch of one of the genealogical trees.
“Walgrave underestimated the danger,” Aidan said with all the casual authority of a duke used to having his words accepted.
“Or he didn’t tell Colin,” Seth objected “The fact that he gave you that report a week ago but not Colin suggests . . .”
“That I am a member of the House of Lords.” Aidan held the report up, then let it fall on the table. “Nothing in the report indicates any real danger. Yes, the prince was heir to a crown, but until some fairly recent deaths, he wasn’t a near enough claimant for anyone to want him or his child dead. In fact, news of the closest heir’s death only reached London after the attack on the princess.”
“Walgrave should be informed about the attack.” Seth refused the chair Aidan pushed out, preferring to pace to and from the fireplace.
“A letter should already be on his desk.” When Seth raised his own eyebrow, Aidan added, “There’s a fast post from the town.”
“Whatever the Home Office knew or didn’t know, Colin must feel the princess’s death strongly.” Sophia looked up from her sketchpad, where she was finalizing a series of architectural drawings of the same room from different angles.
“Colin was to protect the child, and, despite the attack, the child is alive.” Aidan picked up one of the architectural drawings Sophia had finished and marked a change. “At this point, all that remains is for him to deliver the child to Prinny. I have ample men and resources to ensure that happens without any additional danger to Colin or the child.”
“I understand your fear for your brother, but taking responsibility for delivering the child isn’t the best course of action.” Sophia laid her hand on his elbow.
“Sophie is right.” Seth picked up the succession report and scanned through its pages. “Colin will insist that he must see it through. But—don’t glare at me, Aidan, until I finish—that doesn’t mean we can’t help. You can use your influence to get better information and protection from the Home Office. I can stay here and investigate to determine if the conspiracy drew its highwaymen from local stock.”
“Nell would likely welcome the trade,” Sophia suggested.
“Nell?” Aidan leaned forward assertively.
“The innkeeper’s wife. The midwife.” Sophia looked into Aidan’s eyes. “Quite charming, she reminds me of my Aunt Clara. But there’s something about Lucy she hasn’t been willing to tell me.”
“Let me confirm: you were talking to the midwife about the scullery maid?” Aidan shook his head in disbelief.
“Lucy might work here as a scullery maid, but I don’t believe she is one. Something about her bearing, her knowledge, her willingness to oppose you.” Sophia picked up a new sheet of paper and began to sketch window curtains, followed by a series of designs for chairs.
“If she did grow up in the camps, then her father was an officer.” Seth looked over Sophia’s shoulder, tapping one of the designs to show his preference. “Only four or five officers in each regiment were allowed to keep their families with them.”
“How long has she been working as a scullery maid?” Aidan asked.
“A bit more than a month,” Sophia answered, drawing a chaise longue with similar lines to the chair Seth liked.
“Then we need to find out who she is.” Aidan strode to the window and back. “The attack happened not far from here. Any survivors would have come to this inn. She might have been sent here to ensure the attack was successful.”
“That would have required knowing Colin’s route well in advance of his even leaving London,” Sophia countered, still sketching. “Besides, Lucy never helped with the princess or the birth, only with Colin.”
Aidan raised one eyebrow in question.
“A new servant seemed suspicious to me as well,” Sophia conceded. “More importantly, with her knowledge of plants, she could have killed Colin a dozen ways. No one would have given much thought to the death of a stranger set upon by highwaymen. But she kept him alive. We should be rewarding her, not locking her in her room under threat of hanging.”
“Whoever she is, Colin’s noticed her in a way that he h
asn’t noticed anything in months. Not his club, his friends, women. I don’t even know if he’s been to Hartshorn Hall.” Seth took the chair he had earlier refused. He leaned back, his arms behind his head.
“Perhaps Lucy might prove useful, then.” Sophia took a shallow bowl from her painting box.
“Even if she is part of the attack on the princess?” Aidan put his hand on Sophia’s shoulder as she began to prepare her watercolors. “We know too little of her. I don’t like it.”
“If she is part of the conspiracy, Colin might wish to keep her close, to find out the information she knows.” Seth took a pencil and changed the line of one of Sophia’s chair legs.
“Then how about this? We stay for a fortnight to ensure Colin’s recuperation, with my men guarding the inn as my retinue. Then, when Colin is well enough to travel, we’ll send my men out on the roads ahead of him, while Sophia and I return to London to meet with Walgrave. Seth, you will remain here.” Aidan gathered up the reports, placed them in a leather portmanteau, and locked its clasp.
Seth rubbed his chin with this thumb and forefinger. “I can let it be known that I’ve stayed to investigate new agricultural methods and purchase goods for the estate. But I’d rather not meet Colin’s highwaymen alone.”
“Aidan’s men will be needed here and on the road, but I can send you some men from the estate,” Sophia offered.
“Perkins is a good man in a fight, if you can spare him. After him, Barkley and Tyrrell.”
“I’ll send for them by the morning post coach.” Sophia took a piece of drawing paper and neatly split it in half to make a piece of stationery, then pushed aside her watercolors to write her note. “And Seth, see what you can discover about Lucy.”
“If that’s even her name,” Aidan interjected, unhappily.
* * *
The corridor outside Colin’s door was empty. Lucy could hear the voices of his relatives, animated but indistinct, from the drawing room beside her. She hurried past, having no wish to see any of them. It would make it too easy for them to recognize her if they saw her again.
The door to his room was shut, and she almost knocked. But she didn’t wish to attract the notice of his family, and if he were sleeping, she didn’t wish to wake him. She would rather sit beside him until he awoke on his own, but she couldn’t wait for him to rise. She would need to find shelter before dark.
She looked down the hall. Finding no one watching her, she turned the knob, slipped into his room, and eased the door quietly closed behind her. She released the knob slowly to keep the catch from clicking as it returned to its place.
She leaned her back against the shut door and watched him. Illogically, she hoped both that she hadn’t disturbed him and that he was already awake. No movement. She sat beside him.
His hair had fallen over one eye, and she lifted a hand to brush it to the side, but stopped. In a sickroom, such ministrations were a kindness; but alone in a bedroom, they were inappropriate and forward. Perhaps if his family were not in the drawing room across the hall or if she knew how deeply he was sleeping, she might risk it, but, as it was, she had to settle for being near him.
She would miss him. She would wonder if he were improving once she’d left. She wished it could be otherwise. He might be the one man still alive who could understand her nightmares. But she had lived too long with her secrets to let them go so easily. And she still had her obligation to her great-aunt to fulfill.
* * *
When Colin heard the knob turning, he reached for the loaded pistol he had hidden under the covers at his side. Aidan would have objected, saying he and Seth would be close enough to protect him, but Fletcher had seen the wisdom in such a precaution. The coachman nursed a grudge against the postilion who had hit him in the temple with the butt of a gun.
Colin’s hand found the polished wood of the handle. He waited. He timed the click of the primer to match the click of the latch against the door frame.
But it was his Lucy, slipping into the room, her dull grey dress a salve to his spirit. He watched her through lidded eyes, making no movement to indicate he was awake. He didn’t wish to underestimate the deviousness of his opponents, even if that meant that his ministering angel had come to kill him.
When she slipped quietly into a chair, the tension in his chest released. He hadn’t wanted to believe she was part of whatever scheme Walgrave had gotten him caught up in, but he hadn’t forgotten being fooled by Octavia either. Time and again, Lucy proved she was trustworthy.
“Ah, my sweet nurse.”
“You are awake.”
“Yes, and I have another proposition for you.” He opened his eyes and searched her face. “His Grace is insistent that I cannot leave here until I am well. I am equally insistent that I must discharge my obligation to deliver my friend’s child safely to its relatives.”
“Could your brothers take on that task?” she asked, even though she knew he would say no. She understood his sense of duty.
“No, it’s my responsibility. However, the duke will object less if I take along someone who knows about wounds and healing.” He paused and took her hand. “Come with me.”
“Which way are you going?”
“If I were to say that I’m obligated to keep our route secret, would you trust me?” He held his breath, waiting, hoping she would agree to his offer. He wasn’t ready yet to say good-bye. “I can promise to return you here after our journey, and I can pay you well for your time.”
“However foolish it might make me, I do trust you. As for returning me here, I only stopped here on my way to somewhere else, and Nell gave me a temporary home.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “If I go with you and you aren’t traveling in the direction I need . . . when we are done, will you take me where I need to go?”
He breathed again. He knew she had her own secrets, but she showed no interest in the route. Whatever she was hiding, it likely had nothing to do with Marietta’s child. “Certainly, I can take you to your destination—unless you were planning to travel to India or the American states. That would be a bit far in return for the trip I have planned.”
She laughed, a light, honeyed sound that he wished to hear again, “I promise I won’t take you outside of England.”
“England. Not Britain?”
She smiled. “Nor Wales nor Cornwall.”
“That seems acceptable.” It was almost as if a great weight lifted from her shoulders.
“I should tell you that the child is in danger, and it’s my obligation to make sure he remains safe,” Colin said, still watching her face intently. “Traveling with us may place you in danger.”
“I’ve seen danger before, and I’m likely safer with you than traveling by the post coach.”
“If, when he is home, you wish to remain with the boy, I can negotiate a position for you. Nursery maid or governess. You wouldn’t have to return to the kitchen.”
“No, I have plans of my own, but I will be in your debt if you see me to my destination.” She ignored his offer of money. Another way she was intriguing. And another indication she was not a scullery maid or likely even a servant.
“And your destination is?” He was sure she wouldn’t answer, but he wanted to try.
“We are both under constraint: you can’t tell me where we are going, and I can’t tell you where I need to go. It seems we must trust one another.”
“It does. For now, we will keep our own confidences.”
“Then I would be happy to be your nurse on a journey to somewhere after which you will accompany me on a journey to somewhere else,” she said lightly.
“Tell me: I won’t be taking you to a husband . . . or a lover?”
She paused for a long moment before answering, “No husband, no lover.”
He’d watched her eyes and knew she had considered lying to him. How he knew, he couldn’t say: it was something in the way she’d paused. But she had not told him everything, and he wanted everything.
�
�But you’ve had a husband or a lover.” He made it a statement, not a question.
She pulled away from him, withdrawing into herself. Her voice when she answered was soft. “Did my desire for a kiss in the garden make me appear a wanton?”
“No! I only wondered how you could have lived in the camps, be so beautiful and still unmarried.”
“A fiancé. He’s dead.”
“In the wars.”
“Waterloo.” She looked away.
He wasn’t sure why he had pressed, why he’d needed to know. He wasn’t sure why she had told him, except that somehow between them there was a desire for trust. For the first time in months, he felt that someone might understand what had happened in Brussels, someone who could offer him real absolution. Perhaps he would tell her what he’d done—but not now. Instead, he chose to offer her his own absolution.
“I lost a brother in the wars, and brothers at arms. Whoever your fiancé was, I’m glad he had you with him. There was precious little good, particularly at Waterloo. We all needed a ministering angel.” When she looked back at him, her eyes were wet with tears.
“I thought I’d die when he didn’t return, and then I didn’t.” She looked into her lap, and her thumb rubbed a circle in her knee.
“I felt the same way when my brother disappeared,” Colin said.
She reached out and touched his face. He touched her hand. They shared the moment, each understanding the other’s losses.
Then she dropped her hand and sat back in the chair. “And now I’m here,” she said, with a playful shift of voice to change the mood.
“With me.” He smiled the same mischievous smile he had offered the first night.
“Yes, with you,” she said softly.
“This will be, I think, a very interesting trip.”
Chasing the Heiress Page 10
