Her meeting with the earl had been accidental. Had she returned home a few minutes earlier, or later, they wouldn’t have met on the trail and her life wouldn’t have taken such an awful downward turn.
Now she was overwhelmed with women. They were arriving daily. Every time she spun about, she tripped over a new one.
Truthfully, their kindness and endless chatter kept her mind occupied and off darker thoughts. This in itself was a blessing.
“We shall let Laura choose.”
The sound of her name brought her attention back around. She looked up to find Mariette and Bess holding up two gowns, one rose with cream lace trim, and the other pale blue with white ribbon woven through the bodice.
At her questioning glance, Bess smiled. “Which dress do you think Mariette should wear to the party?” She pointed to the blue in front of Mariette while she held the rose up. “She wants to make a positive impression on her future husband.”
Mariette flushed. Two years working as a courtesan and she was still painfully shy. Impoverished, her mother had taken advantage of her daughter’s dark beauty and had arranged for Mariette to take a lover—a married man with a dozen children and still enough energy to enjoy a mistress.
Looking at her now, it was impossible to imagine the young woman as a seductress.
“Hmm.” Laura lifted her clasped hands to her chin and frowned. Both gowns suited Mariette nicely, but one more so than the other. “I think the rose. It goes well with your coloring and brings out the delightful pink in your cheeks.”
Bess, Jane, and Mariette agreed and began the process of picking out fripperies and slippers to match their gowns. Soon every surface of the parlor was covered with discarded frilly items.
Miss Eva made a brief appearance in the open doorway, smiled sympathetically at Laura, who was nearly buried behind the open boxes, and escaped to another part of the house.
When the conversation turned to wedding nights and lacy nightwear, Laura excused herself. She felt the overwhelming need to remove herself from that conversation.
Walking aimlessly through the house, Laura tried to find something to occupy herself. The bread was baked, the washing was finished, and the mending was completed yesterday. She ran a fingertip across a gleaming picture frame. The house was well kept by a small staff, so her skills with a dust cloth were not needed.
Sitting down on the stairs, she sighed. It had been two weeks since her escape and the town house had begun to feel cloying. Miss Eva was wonderful, but the lack of purpose lost its charm as the days passed slowly by.
Desperate to venture out, well covered, of course, Laura felt the tug of freedom beyond the town house and its tiny garden. But where could she go?
She dared not wander about London for fear of the earl and his henchmen. It was too soon. Truthfully, there might never be the right time to do so. Perhaps an outing outside of London would be acceptable?
Eventually, she would settle deep in the country to begin her new life. Until then, it was imperative she remain hidden. It was impossible to gauge what the earl would do if he discovered her whereabouts, and London was right under his patrician nose. It was a peril she couldn’t risk. She’d have to leave the city to find her adventure.
She wandered into the kitchen, explained to Sophie her intention to take the gig out, and assured her new friend she’d be careful.
“I promise I will not speak to anyone and will remain covered until I am well away from London.” Laura picked up a fig and popped it into her mouth.
“You should take Thomas,” Sophie urged. “You will not be safe on the roads alone.”
Laura claimed a second fig. “It is daylight and the roads are well traveled.” She sent Sophie a pleading glance. “I have been cloistered for months behind locked doors, my every movement watched dare I try to escape. I need to see a field, a hill, a hawk, something other than plastered walls and fenced gardens.”
Sophie twisted her mouth disapprovingly. “You would take a risk just for a few hours outside?”
“I promise to be careful,” Laura said and ate the fig. “If it eases your fears, you can ask Thomas to escort me out of town. Once we are free of the city, I shall be safe as a babe.”
Clearly Sophie wasn’t convinced. Still, Laura was twenty-three and capable of making decisions for herself.
She walked over, pressed a kiss on Sophie’s cheek, and squeezed her hand. Cook watched the exchange, a large wooden spoon gripped in her fist. Cook’s eyes showed that she, too, wasn’t confident with Laura’s plan.
“Truly, you two needn’t worry,” Laura said. “I shall return to you the same as when I left.”
With the countryside calling, Laura changed into a borrowed white day dress that hid her shape beneath heavy adornments of lace and bows. Then she collected her shawl, her bonnet, a borrowed cloak, and a picnic basket Cook pressed into her hands. She found her way to the stable, met up with the stern-faced Thomas, and soon left the bustle and noise of London behind.
The two-wheeled gig squeaked and rattled as the fat pony, Muffin, ambled slowly down the road, as if piqued that she’d been pressed into service. Still, Laura had been informed that the pony was a dependable sort and perfect for a daylong adventure.
Sometime later, she’d waved off Thomas with the promise to return to the school well before dark. A useless vow, certainly, as she suspected he’d be following behind her, at a discreet distance, to make certain she came to no harm.
That suited her just fine. If he wanted to waste an entire day dawdling, it was up to him. She planned to think of nothing but sunshine and green meadows.
Since the day was warm, she shucked off the hot hooded cloak, her disguise, and tossed it over the seat beside her. The sun prickled delightfully on her bare forearms as the oversized bonnet kept her nose from freckling—and prying eyes from a close examination of her face.
There was no one to hover or tend to her needs. Nothing would keep her from running pell-mell across meadows like a wild thing if she wished. She had no destination in mind or a set time frame for which she had to be back. She had a few coins in her pocket, stolen during her planned escape from the earl. She’d brought them with her in case she stumbled across a village and wanted to make some purchase.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, a genuine smile graced her mouth and she tipped back her head. The sun spilled over her cheeks and she sighed happily.
“Onward, dearest Muffin,” Laura said and clicked her tongue. The pony shook her head to dislodge a fly and snorted, her tiny hooves thumping on hard-packed earth. Laura grinned and eased her around a rut. “I promise to have you back in the stable by evening for oats, if that suits your mood.”
With persistence, Laura managed to get Muffin into a trot. She kept her head down when passing other conveyances and spent an hour or so enjoying the sweet fresh air of the countryside without incident. It had been too long since she’d breathed anything but London soot. The scent of wildflowers and mown fields was a rare treat.
Eventually, the grumbling in her belly won out over exploration and she began a search for a place out of the sun to eat. She glanced longingly at the picnic basket.
A young girl leading a brown cow on a rope came into view. Laura eased Muffin past them and then quickly edged back to the side of the road to allow an oncoming horse and rider to pass.
In an instant, she realized there was something familiar about the dappled-gray horse as it trotted by. It took another second or two to realize the rider had turned the beast around and was pulling up beside her. She lifted startled eyes to his face and jerked the reins at the same time. The gig stopped abruptly and she was nearly pitched from the seat!
Thus began an awkward scramble to recover her balance. A burning flush stained her cheeks as she righted herself. Gads.
There was no point pretending not to notice him, or that she did not recognize his face. She had a feeling Mister Harrington was not the sort of man who would be ignored. And
he certainly wasn’t the kind of man whom women easily forgot.
“Imagine my surprise, Miss Laura, to discover you out here, alone, and quite some distance from London.” He peered at her from beneath the brim of his hat and leaned down to brace an elbow on his thigh for a better view of her. “Are you lost?”
She felt a tingle of annoyance. Her day had been perfect and all her own. Until now. “No, Mister Harrington, I am not lost.” Then a worrisome thought rushed into her head. “How did you recognize me? I thought I was well disguised.” She put her hand to her mouth and scanned the road behind her. The girl and cow had vanished.
“You needn’t worry.” He followed her gaze before turning back to point to Muffin. “It was the pony. She belongs to Eva. I matched her with the way you carry yourself and came to a correct conclusion; the woman buried under the large bonnet was indeed Miss Laura.”
Laura narrowed her eyes skeptically. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect he’d followed her. However, he had come upon her from the other direction. She concluded that their meeting had to be by chance. She settled back and stared.
“I thought it would be safe to venture out for a few hours.” She looked at his face, really noticing his striking features for the first time. He cut a fine figure on his grand horse. “I promised to be back before dark.”
Continuing her perusal, she noted that his hair was lighter in the sunshine, not quite black now, and was a bit long where it brushed the collar of his charcoal gray coat. His white breeches skimmed his thighs casually and left little to the imagination. His blue eyes were amused, and she knew it had to be her graceless near fall from the gig that brought his humor.
“Excellent plan, this adventure,” he said, tightening his grip on the reins. “I think I shall join you.”
He started to urge the horse forward, but drew up when she held Muffin back. “I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but this journey involves one woman and one pony. Now if you will excuse us.”
Laura flicked the reins and clicked her tongue. The gig jolted into motion. The pony managed a full dozen steps before the gray moved up alongside them with a dancing gait. Laura stopped again, planting her feet so not to commit a second almost-tumble.
The man lacked the good sense not to grin at her vexed glare. “I think it best you have an escort. These are dangerous roads for a woman alone.”
Her gloved hands tightened on the reins. “In spite of recent events, I am not entirely helpless and am very handy with a whip. I can assure you I am quite safe.”
The saddle creaked as he adjusted his seat and held her stare. “Still, you cannot begrudge me an afternoon spent in the delightful company of a lovely woman?”
This argument was getting her nowhere. He had made up his mind to accompany her and wasn’t about to be put off. Hopefully, he’d quickly become bored with her aimless wanderings and leave her alone.
“As you wish,” she said with a sigh and urged Muffin onward. “But let me assure you, if you expect an exciting frolic around the countryside, you’ll be disappointed. Muffin, and I, do not frolic.”
She could feel the weight of his gaze on her. Oddly, though, she wasn’t uneasy with him, in spite of the way he’d quickly subdued her attackers. With evil footmen, he was a clear threat. The two men were likely still licking their wounds. With her, he was well contained and nonthreatening.
If he planned to drag her off into the bushes and violate her, there was no hint of that darkness on his face.
“The excitement will come from spending time in your charming company,” Mister Harrington said. “I believe we two will not suffer a single dull moment.”
Laura tried to look at him askance, but the brim of the bonnet proved an effective barrier. She impatiently pushed it back, then squinted under the attack of sunlight in her eyes.
“You, sir, do not know a thing about me.” She lifted one hand to shade her eyes. “I could be very, very dull.”
His smile was wide and disarming, the sort that made women swoon.
Thankfully, she was immune. There wouldn’t be any swooning today, or any other day.
“Are you really dull, Miss Laura?” He asked the question with mock sincerity. “Please tell me that you are not dreadfully dull.”
She shrugged. “If I say yes, then you will think I am dull and my womanly pride will not allow it. And if I say no, then I am filled with conceit for thinking myself a fascinating creature. I cannot win either way.”
He fell silent for a moment, and then smoothed down his artfully knotted white cravat before cocking up one brow. “Can I offer my opinion on the matter?”
“Would it gain me anything to say no?”
“I fear not.”
“Then proceed.”
Truthfully, she wanted to know his opinion. At the same time, he was much like the fly currently buzzing around Muffin’s pointed ears. If she waved him away, he’d keep coming back with equal determination to pester her until a swat ended the matter.
They came upon a split in the road and he headed left. Laura reluctantly followed. Once they were again side by side, he picked up the conversation.
“When one thinks of a person as dull, there are usually several reasons on which to base such an opinion, don’t you think?” He waited for her nod. “A person’s lack of conversational skills or endless pontificating on one especially dull topic can breed a dullard. Perhaps even a crushing shyness that makes lively conversation impossible. All of these do a person discredit when socializing. One, or even the whole, can lead one to become reputed to be dull and therefore avoided in social situations.”
“I suppose that is correct.” Laura couldn’t fault his reasoning thus far. But what did this have to do with her?
To Laura, this conversation itself was growing tiresome. “Sir, you really must get to the point. Am I dull or am I not?”
There wasn’t a need to look up to know he was smiling. Her impatience would only add to his wry humor.
“I have seen you face down footmen with fierce courage, half-frozen with fear and cold. You forge ahead with your life, in spite of having no family support or a clear path to follow. And today you have given me glimpses into your sharp and fascinating mind.” He shook his head. “My Lady Laura, you are most certainly not dull.”
Laura sat in the bobbing seat and thought about his observation. She once considered herself witty and carefree. There had been friendships and young men to flirt with and a father who taught her to enjoy books and lively conversation. She’d laughed and danced and was hopeful of her future. Unfortunately, her father’s illness had worsened. Everything had changed once he realized he was dying.
The frivolity of her life had vanished.
Her chest tightened as the bright sky seemed to darken around her. “Sometimes it is safer to cling to dullness. It allows one to go through life without notice.”
Simon heard an underlying current of something in her voice—a deep sadness. It notched up his curiosity about her.
“Perhaps.” He let his eyes drift over her hair and noticed there was a hint of red in the sable. Her lashes were long and dark and effectively shaded her eyes. From his position above, he could see the graceful curve of her neck and the straight line of her pert nose. But it was the upward press of her full white bosom against her modest neckline that caused the most interest. She possessed delightful curves.
Beneath his breeches, he felt a stir, and silently cursed his reaction. If he wanted her to trust him, openly lusting after her was not the way to go about earning favor.
“I see you have a basket,” he asked, changing the conversation. He needed to lighten her mood. “Dare I hope you are in possession of food?”
She looked at the basket and frowned. She was clearly nearing the end of her patience. He should ride away, but found he couldn’t. He was curious to know her better.
“I suppose I could share with you….” She let her voice trail off, leaving him the perfect opening to excuse himself.
Instead, he nodded toward a nearby copse of trees. “Then I think that field yonder is a perfect spot for a picnic.”
Simon ignored her exasperated sigh and nudged Horse off the road. He dismounted and tied both Horse and the pony to a crooked fence post.
The two animals regarded each other warily before the weeds waving near their muzzles proved more interesting than each other. They both settled down to eat.
Holding out his arm, Simon led Laura across the meadow to a pair of oak trees. The light scent of flowers drifted up from her and he grinned. If he could soothe her annoyance, then perhaps the picnic would be a success.
He shucked off his coat and smoothed his gray-striped waistcoat into place. They didn’t have a blanket, and her white dress wasn’t practical for sitting on bare earth.
“Allow me.” He spread the coat out for her. She murmured her thanks and settled down on the makeshift seat. Simon sat on a patch of prickly grass and lifted the lid of the basket.
“Are those tarts I smell?” If the delightful scent was any indication, the cook at the courtesan school possessed excellent culinary skills. But it wasn’t food he found first. Brows aloft, he closed his hand over polished steel and lifted a pistol to the light. “Someone is expecting trouble.”
Laura gasped, screwed up her face, and shook her head. “Sophie is very protective. Clearly she expected me to be overrun by highwaymen and thieves.”
Simon turned it in the light. It was loaded. “These are only useful when one knows how to use them.”
Laura smirked. She reached for the pistol and he reluctantly put the weapon in her outstretched hand. It took him a few seconds to realize she knew exactly how to handle a pistol as she skillfully examined the piece.
At his surprised look, she shrugged. “My father always hoped for a son. Sadly, my parents had no other children. So he taught me everything a son should know.”
Simon grinned and reclaimed the pistol. “I am impressed.” And he was. She was quite an interesting puzzle. “Now we eat.”
The Scarlet Bride Page 4
