The Passion of the Purple Plumeria

by Lauren Willig

  “But—” William looked from one woman to the other. “I’d thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow.”

  “A change of plans,” said Miss Wooliston briskly. The doll-like sweetness was gone. She was all business. “We can give you the direction if you would like to follow along behind, once your business in Bristol is done.”

  “But then why—” William looked to Gwen for explanation, but she was watching her charge, her brow furrowed, her lips pursed. Ah, he thought. This had to do with the Chevalier. He remembered the scene in the opera last night, Gwen’s obvious distress.

  “My business in Bristol will wait. I’ll come with you,” said William, on an impulse. “It shouldn’t take me more than half an hour to set my affairs in order.”

  “There’s not enough room in the chaise,” Gwen said brusquely.

  To William’s surprise, it was Miss Wooliston who came to his aid. “It seats three,” she said. “There should be plenty of room for us all. If the Colonel doesn’t mind being a bit cramped?”

  “I can ride if it would be an imposition,” he said, sneaking a sideways glance at Gwen. Was it last night? Was that what this was about? He’d tried to make things right with her, but with Gwen, he wasn’t entirely sure what right might be. After that last kiss, he had thought—well, it didn’t matter what he had thought. “I just need your man to show me the way.”

  “No imposition,” said Miss Wooliston blandly. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to our trunks.”

  “Wait.” William caught up with Gwen before she could do the same. “Do you mind so badly my coming along with you? You look like you could outstorm a storm cloud.” His voice softened as he said, “If it’s to do with what happened last night—”

  Gwen shook her head. “It’s nothing to do with you. I swear.”

  William didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “Your ward, then?” he asked, and knew he had hit home when her lips pressed tightly together. He took a step closer. “Is there anything I might do to help? I’m told I’ve a good shoulder to cry on.”

  Now that he knew Lizzy was safe, he felt like he could carry the world on his shoulders.

  “I— It’s complicated. William—”

  A series of emotions passed across her face. For a moment, he thought she meant to confide in him.

  “Never mind,” she said, and pushed away from the wall, brushing past him. “You’d best hurry. We leave in half an hour, and the coach waits for no one.”

  Her straight back forbade further discussion.

  She hadn’t exaggerated. When William returned from the White Hart with his campaign bag beneath his arm, the carriage was already loaded with trunks and the coachman perched on the back of one of the four horses pulling the chaise. The seat was generous for two, narrow for three.

  “Would you mind sitting in the middle, Colonel Reid?” Miss Wooliston asked sweetly. “The jostling can be a bit sick-making if one isn’t by the window.”

  “Certainly,” said William.

  He climbed in next to Gwen, who pulled her skirts out of his way with more speed than finesse.

  “It’s sorry I am to force my company upon you,” he said softly, as Miss Wooliston spoke to the coachman outside. “I wouldn’t have but for—”

  Gwen presented him with her profile. “I know. But for Lizzy.”

  “No.” A smile played around William’s lips. “If it hadn’t been for Lizzy, I would have dragged you off to Bristol with me. Perhaps not dragged,” he said hastily, seeing Gwen’s brows begin to draw together. “Let’s just say I would have done my best to persuade you to go with me.”

  Gwen folded her gloved hands neatly in her lap, those same hands that had made such inroads across his body last night, grasping, scratching, stroking.

  “You are not entirely unpersuasive,” she said primly.

  In the past, William had been called charming, eloquent, even glib. But none had pleased him so much as this grudging accolade.

  William grinned at her, feeling like he had the world in his palms. “Are you sure you wish to pay me so large a compliment? It might go to my head.”

  “Your head is quite large enough already,” Gwen said repressively. She contemplated a speck of dust on her skirt. “Now that your daughter has been found, I imagine you will wish to take her away with you.”

  “I’m not letting her go back to that Miss Climpson’s; that’s for certain. That woman gives new meaning to the word ‘ninny.’” He’d thought of renting a cottage somewhere, making a home for his daughters. He smiled at the image of Gwen in the middle of it, keeping both of his daughters in line. “She’d do better with someone like you.”

  “A sensible spinster of a certain age?” Gwen pronounced the words as though they left a nasty taste on her tongue.

  “A pillar of good sense and fine swordsmanship,” William corrected her ebulliently. Lowering his voice so Miss Wooliston wouldn’t hear them, he said, “You can’t blame a man for trying to find an excuse to keep you by.”

  He could tell she was taken aback, but she recovered herself quickly. “Are you offering to hire me?”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” he said cheerfully. “But I’m looking forward to your meeting my Lizzy.”

  “There we are!” Miss Wooliston picked her way up into the chaise, seating herself delicately on William’s other side. “Do forgive me. I hope I’m not crowding you.”

  That had felt like a deliberate hip bump, nudging him towards Gwen. William regarded Miss Wooliston’s serene face, innocent under a bonnet lined with pale blue silk. No, he must have imagined it.

  The carriage lurched forward, the luggage chained to the back rattling.

  “How long a trip have we ahead of us?” William asked.

  “If we don’t run into difficulties, we should be there by tomorrow afternoon,” said Gwen, glancing back through the window.

  Before William could ask just what kind of difficulties she meant, Miss Wooliston said, “According to my cousin, it took the girls a full three weeks to make their way to the Hall, walking most of the way.”

  William thought of the cozy room at Miss Climpson’s, not luxurious perhaps, but certainly better than sleeping under a hedgerow. “What possessed them to do such a thing?”

  “I imagine they didn’t think it would take them that long,” said Miss Wooliston.

  She spoke so matter-of-factly that it took William some time to realize that she hadn’t answered the question at all.

  Gwen moved restlessly in her seat. “Do you think they also learned of the Chevalier’s horticultural activities?” she said, looking pointedly at her charge.

  “It might have come to their attention,” said Miss Wooliston noncommittally. “As a simple matter of deduction.”

  William was beginning to suspect that he was missing something. Horticulture was obviously a euphemism. For attempting to seduce the young ladies at the school, perhaps?

  “Are you saying the Chevalier was doing a spot of gardening at the school?” he said heartily.

  “You might say that,” said Gwen, but she was looking at her ward, not at him.

  Miss Wooliston said nothing.

  The carriage moved briskly through the early morning traffic, away through the outskirts of the city, leaving the shops, the baths, the assembly rooms, behind. The silence in the coach could only be termed frosty. William took matters into his own hands, saying loudly, “And who is this the girls have gone to?”

  “My cousin Amy,” said Miss Wooliston. “She lives with her husband at Selwick Hall in Sussex. The girls are most attached to her.”

  She looked through the window, not the casual glance of a lady admiring the scenery, but craning her neck around, watching the road.

  “Are you looking for something?” William asked.

  “Hmm?” Miss Wooliston looked at him as though she had forgotten he was there. She shook her head. “No. Nothing. Just a—rare plant by the side of the road.”

  “More li
ke a weed,” sniffed Gwen.

  Ah, that was it, then. Miss Wooliston must be looking for the Chevalier’s coach, also on the road from Bath to Brighton. And Gwen—well, it was clear to see she didn’t approve. A weed indeed. She didn’t mince her words, his Gwen.

  William’s lips twitched. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just that he was ridiculously, euphorically happy to know that his daughter had been found. Something about Gwen made him smile. And it wasn’t just the memory of last night, although that in itself was certainly enough to bring a reminiscent grin to his lips. No. It was Gwen in all her prickly cantankerousness. She’d fight for the last word on her deathbed and probably win it, too.

  She reminded him, in an odd way, of Maria. Not in looks, although, if truth be told, it had been long enough that Maria’s image had faded and blurred in his brain, like a watercolor left out too long in the rain. Maria’s voice was a soft Welsh burr, so different from Gwen’s cut-glass tones, but there was beneath it all a certain similarity of spirit. Maria hadn’t stood for any of his nonsense either.

  William found himself thinking again of that cottage, but it was Gwen he saw beneath the apple tree in the yard, scribbling furiously away at that notebook of hers, spinning her tales of Plumeria and Sir Magnifico.

  It was a far cry from a Sir Magnifico to a weathered old East India Company army officer with a handful of children and only a small competence to his name. He hadn’t much to offer her, certainly nothing so elegant as that house on Laura Place, but she didn’t strike him as a woman with a need for luxuries. She had dealt with that primitive room in the inn in Bristol like a seasoned soldier, making the best of what they had.

  A sudden jolt of the carriage shook William out of his reverie and back to his senses. When had he started thinking about—well, about honorable intentions? It was madness. He’d known her all of three weeks.

  Admittedly, in those three weeks, they’d known each other rather better—in every sense of the word—than he had after a full year of courting his Maria in the accepted and acceptable way, teas and walks and chaperoned outings.

  William snuck a glance at Gwen’s profile, the long line of her nose, the curve of her jaw, the surprisingly long sweep of her lashes, as black as her hair. She was all bundled up again, primly braided and buttoned, but he knew that beneath that stern exterior was a lifetime’s worth of adventure for the man brave enough to win her.

  If he could talk her to a standstill first. Or kiss her into confusion.

  The carriage swerved again, more violently.

  Miss Wooliston turned from the window, a frown marring her fine features. “We have company.”

  William twisted around to look out the tiny back window. Even through the wobbly glass, half-blocked by a trunk jolting up and down, he could make out ten riders behind them, all with hats pulled down low, coming up fast behind them. William didn’t like the looks of them.

  The carriage speeded up, the horses giving it all they could. The riders followed suit, and the man in the lead drew something from his belt, something dark and metallic that created a little puff of smoke.

  A bullet whizzed past the window, past William’s shocked eyes.

  “They’re shooting at us!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, and we’re going to shoot right back.” Gwen didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. If anything, she seemed happier than he’d seen her since the previous night. Her color was high and her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Hold my legs,” she commanded.

  “What?” Admittedly, her legs had featured rather prominently in his reverie a moment ago, but not in quite this way.

  Gwen gave him a frustrated look. “Do you want me to fall out the window? Hold my legs.”

  And with that, she squirmed out of the window, not just head and shoulders, but all the way to the waist. William hastily clamped his arms down across her legs. The position provided him an excellent view of her rear end, draped in thin purple muslin, which waggled distractingly before William’s eyes.

  A muffled voice came from the other side of the window. “Hold tight!”

  William held tight. The carriage hit a bump. There was a ladylike but vehement curse from outside and some scrabbling about the window frame. Another shot thudded into the back of the chaise.

  “All right out there?” William yelled.

  “As well”—more scrabbling noises, a thud, and a click—“as can be expected.”

  There was the report of a shot and the echoing sound of a faraway cry. William slid hastily to the side as Gwen scrambled in backwards through the window, landing with a thump in his lap.

  William risked a look through the back window. One of their pursuers was clutching his arm, his horse veering erratically.

  “Were you aiming for the man or the horse?”

  “The man, of course.” Gwen gave him a superior look. “I wouldn’t shoot the horse. That would be unjust. It’s not the horse’s fault he’s being forced to chase us.”

  “Right,” said William. “Of course.” He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that.

  “They’re still gaining on us,” said Miss Wooliston.

  “Highwaymen?” guessed William. He hadn’t realized they traveled in packs.

  “Someone doesn’t want us getting to Selwick Hall,” said Gwen grimly. She looked over him at Miss Wooliston, her gray eyes glittering. “I’ll just open the special trunk, shall I?”

  Wiggling her way off William’s lap, she jammed herself back through the window. “Legs!” came an imperious voice from outside.

  William’s arms automatically clamped down on the backs of Gwen’s knees. “The—”

  “The special trunk,” said Miss Wooliston serenely. She was calmly loading another pistol.

  They seemed just a little too well prepared. “What in the blazes is going on?” William demanded. “Why would someone want to stop us going to—wherever this place is?”

  Before Miss Wooliston could answer, a hail of hard projectiles pounded down the back of the carriage, bouncing off the back of the coach, ricocheting off one another. There were billiard balls, dozens of billiard balls, streaming down from the now open trunk onto the road.

  Gwen wiggled her way back into the window, plopping down onto William’s thigh. The exertion had loosened her coiffure, which straggled down on the right side of her face. She shoved her hair back behind her ears, saying breathlessly, “That should hold them. For the moment.”

  Behind them, horses shied and riders cursed. A shot went wide, nearly hitting one of the other riders.

  Miss Wooliston turned to William. “Can you ride?”

  Was she really asking him that? “I was a cavalry officer,” said William. “Over thirty years in the cavalry.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Miss Wooliston turned back to her chaperone. “I say we take two of the horses, send the chaise off as decoy, and ride to Bunny-on-the-Wold. We can stay the night at Darlington.”

  They were speaking a foreign language. “Bunny on the what?”

  “It’s a small town in Hampshire,” said Gwen helpfully. Which, to William’s mind, explained nothing. “If Dorrington is in residence, we can pick up reinforcements there.” She turned back to William. “Are you ready to ride?”

  “What I’d like is for someone to tell me what the devil this is all about!”

  “Later.” A bullet ricocheted off the side of the carriage. “Blast! I knew we should have packed more billiard balls!”

  William looked back through the window. “It’s only the one man.”

  “The others will be up and following him soon enough,” said Gwen with authority. The coach swerved dangerously as they went around a corner. “I’ll see him off and then we’ll take to the horses before the others get close enough to follow.”

  This road was less traveled, rutted and bumpy. However much he liked her legs, William wasn’t fond of the idea of her doing her window trick again.

  “Let me,” said William quickly. He di
dn’t stop to wonder what he was doing. Snatching up one of the pistols, he used the butt to break the glass on the back window, leveled, and shot. He’d been aiming for the man’s shoulder, but the erratic nature of both platform and target meant that he hit the man’s leg instead, causing the horseman to veer wildly.

  “Nicely done,” said Gwen.

  “Thank you,” said William, and decided to pretend that he’d meant it. Deadpan, he said, “I wouldn’t hit the horse.”

  The two of them grinned at each other like fools.

  Miss Wooliston leaned forward. “Just around the next corner,” she told the coachman. “That copse over here.”

  The man responded with an alacrity that made William wonder exactly how many times they’d performed this maneuver before. The coachman unharnessed the two leaders. They weren’t saddled for riding, but that didn’t deter either of the ladies. The coachman gave Gwen a leg up onto the horse’s bare back. She bunched her skirts up to the knees, revealing a pair of rather fetching silk stockings embroidered with small purple flowers.

  She held out a hand to William. “Well?” she said. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Nothing,” said William. He snapped his gaze away from her legs. “Nothing at all.”

  He swung up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and they were off, riding hell-for-leather down a road that was little more than a track, while in the other direction, the chaise rattled away, pulled by two horses now rather than four, a decoy for their pursuers.

  Which put William in mind of the one crucial detail he was missing.

  “Why doesn’t someone want us to reach—wherever it is?” William bellowed in Gwen’s ear, above the rush of the wind, the pounding of the hooves, and the crackles of fallen twigs. But she just shook her head and urged the mount on faster, following Miss Wooliston’s horse.

  “—not clear of them yet,” he heard her say, the words carried away by the wind.

  Behind them, pounding down the road, came one of the riders who had escaped the billiard ball ambush. His horse hadn’t been winded by pulling a chaise. He was fresh and gaining. William hadn’t a pistol of his own. He hadn’t thought to come armed.