by Sara Portman
“I think we are clear,” Lucy said, suddenly very conscious of the role she had agreed to play. “We are married and we have had a carriage accident.”
“Correct.”
“I should caution you that I do not lie well,” she told him. In truth, she detested lying, though she could of course see the greater good in this particular circumstance. The only situation worse than lying was to be discovered in one’s lie, she supposed. “Do you think they shall send a man out to inspect the carriage?” she asked, consternation at this thought causing her to sit upright. “I can’t help but think this was poorly thought out on our parts.”
Bex looked quizzically at her. “It’s already been addressed,” he said. “Of course, we cannot declare a carriage accident that is miraculously resolved by a short rest and a round of tea, can we?”
“No,” she said. “We cannot. Perhaps we should reconsider our intent altogether. There must be some other way to get a message to Annabelle Maris, don’t you think? I’m sure we can come up with something.”
“There is no need to alter our plans,” Bex said reassuringly. “I have already considered the matter and decided we shall have to tamper with the coach in a way that may be believably repaired. If they send someone, that man can assist our man in the final repair. All will be well.”
Lucy’s concerns regarding discovery of an undamaged carriage had been firmly replaced by her concerns upon learning that he intended to actually disable the carriage in some manner. It would not do to actually be stranded in the countryside. “Tamper how, precisely?”
“We will loosen the wheel. We cannot continue with a wheel that has come loose from the axle, but it can be reattached simply enough.”
Lucy eyed him with uncertainty. “What experience have you in loosening or attaching carriage wheels?”
He raised his hand, one finger pointed upward. “Ah. You forget, I have not always been such a model example of genteel uselessness. Oakwood Lodge was not a grand manor teeming with servants. We were all required to be useful—even me.”
Lucy considered him. She hadn’t forgotten. And yet, even knowing his upbringing had been in the country, she couldn’t quite envision him there. “I have only ever known you in London,” she said, as though that somehow explained it. “Did you spend most of your time in the country when you were younger?”
He nodded. “I had never been to town until five years ago. My father felt we needed to establish ourselves in society.”
He said the last part as though it were a rehearsed set of words, oft repeated.
“Were you not already established in society?”
“Not the sort of society that interacted with anyone in the House of Lords. My great-grandfather was the younger son of the fourth duke, which was”—he paused in mental calculation—“three dukes ago. We are several generations removed from any connection to the title. My family are simple gentleman farmers.” His smile was oddly bitter. “That is to say, we were gentleman farmers. Now we have elevated ourselves to the status of idle gentlemen.”
Lucy couldn’t help but notice the bitterness in his tone.
“The salient point,” he continued, the bitterness fading just as quickly as it had come, “is that I am quite capable of believably tampering with a carriage wheel.”
“Very well,” Lucy answered with a nod, sensing the need to continue away from the topic of his family’s history. “To where shall we say we are traveling?”
He shrugged. “We are on our way to Watford from London to examine my business interest there. It’s true enough.”
Lucy nodded. She rather preferred the idea of a lie that was not entirely false. Then she asked, “But we are not on the direct road to Watford, are we? Shall we say we have gotten lost?”
Bex’s chest puffed indignantly. “I resent the implication, wife, that I have misdirected our journey. Surely, if I have regular business in Watford, I should know the way.”
She lifted her eyes heavenward and sighed dramatically. “You are too proud to admit to a stranger that you may have gotten lost, but not too proud to claim you are useless in the event of a detached carriage wheel?”
He put a hand to his chest. “No man can sacrifice pride entirely, not even in the aid of a worthy cause.”
She shook her head and eyed him reproachfully. “What else would explain our being away from the direct route between London and Watford?”
He sent her a crooked grin. “My persuasive and impractical young wife desired a tour of the scenic Hertfordshire countryside.”
Lucy folded her arms and tried to look imperious. “What if I don’t want to be impractical?”
“My dear, if I must be ignorant of the workings of a carriage, you can be demanding and unreasonable.”
Lucy leaned back in her seat. “As a couple, we sound like a pair of fools. I can’t imagine we have any friends who genuinely prefer our company.”
Bex laughed. “I should think that makes us a very authentic married couple. We should have them completely convinced.”
Lucy could not help but laugh with him, though she retorted, “I think married people are quite nice, provided they were nice to begin with.”
“As all good husbands must humor their wives on occasion, I will defer to your expertise on the subject.” He made the statement with a grin and a wink and Lucy found she was rather enjoying the game after all.
“And as all good wives must placate their husbands from time to time, I will endeavor not to reveal that I only suggested touring the countryside after realizing we were already lost,” she said with a triumphant tilt of her chin.
He laughed and leaned forward, resting one forearm across his knees, his bright smile filling the small space they shared. “You little minx, you wouldn’t dare.” His eyes twinkled with green and gold light that warmed her better than the summer sunshine. She had the sudden thought that she could be rather daring where he was concerned.
She felt herself leaning inward, her eyes shining up at him, and she saw the change in him—the moment his gaze lost its teasing light but none of the warmth that held her.
There was an officious rap and the carriage door swung open, spilling brilliant summer light into the shadowed interior of the vehicle. Lucy sat back abruptly and turned to the source of the light.
The coachman’s head appeared to fill the opening. “I believe we are at the arranged location, sir.” His head disappeared again and the folding step was lowered.
Lucy glanced quickly back at Bex. Whatever she had read in his expression was gone. His sardonically crooked smile had returned. He held a hand toward the door, inviting her to exit.
“I would suggest you wait inside, out of the sun,” Bex told her, “but I’m afraid disengaging the wheel from the axle may cause the whole thing to tip if you are inside.”
“I like sunshine,” Lucy said, then chided herself for the inanely enthusiastic comment. She averted her eyes and scrambled toward the opening. The firm hand of the coachman aided her descent and she stepped out into the warm day. The carriage had halted in the middle of an empty lane bordered by a copse of trees on one side and an expansive field on the other. It seemed they were plunk in the middle of nowhere in particular.
Bex descended from the carriage after Lucy.
“We’re less than a mile from Sunningham Park, sir,” the man said, standing in wait of further instruction.
Bex nodded, then proceeded to unbutton and divest himself of his frock coat, leaning back into the carriage to toss it onto the cushioned seat.
Lucy coughed delicately and turned to look out into the field of what appeared to be green wheat swaying in the pleasant breeze. When curiosity dictated that she turn back—solely to understand the goings-on with the carriage, she told herself—she discovered Bex crouched beside the vehicle, his brow knitted together in concentration on his task. His shirtsleeves were rolled t
o his elbows, revealing strong, sinewed forearms, and his shoulders, outside the confines of his frock coat, were surprisingly substantial. The coachman—who was rather young for a coachman, she realized—crouched beside him, watchful and uncertain.
“Hold the wheel here,” Bex instructed in an efficiently sharp but not unkind manner. Lucy realized she had never seen Bex behave in quite this way. He was authoritative, confident, and not at all teasing—as though he had everything well in hand.
And from the looks of it, he did. Lucy was standing a fair distance away, but she saw he had a tool of some sort and appeared to be loosening a bolt. Bex leaned further in. Both men grunted. At once, the wheel wobbled. Bex lifted a hand, closed it firmly on a spoke of the wheel, and pulled, wobbling it again. The wheel was not fully detached, but riding upon it would no doubt be perilous.
Bex rose from his crouched position in one lithe, easy stretch and brushed his hands together. “We’ll walk up the road to Sunningham Park while you wait here,” he told the younger man. “No doubt someone will come to assist you. When they do, you can make a show of retightening the bolts. If they ask what has taken so long, say you were attempting to determine what caused the bolts to become loose in the first place.” The coachman looked uneasy, but Bex clapped him on the back with a congenial smile. “You’ll pull it off without any trouble, I’m sure. I promise, we’ll try to be quick about our business.”
Bex reached into the now-unstable carriage and collected his frock coat. As Lucy watched him slip his arms through the sleeves of the coat and refasten the buttons, she marveled at this difference in his manner. He seemed comfortable in a way that he had never been before. From the time she had met him, he had always done whatever he pleased, but at the same time there was an edge to him, as though he were an amused and slightly jaded spectator who held himself apart from the others. She couldn’t find even a hint of irony or cynicism in his easy manner with the coachman, or his handling of the coach.
Now we have elevated ourselves to the status of idle gentlemen. She considered his bitter comment from before. He did, it seemed, prefer to be useful. More than a preference, usefulness seemed to be his natural element. Bex had never displayed the slightest disappointment at the reappearance of his cousin or the fact that he would never, after all, be in line for a peerage. The loss of his more modest, actual inheritance, however, was obviously the source of considerable dissatisfaction. The basic need for an income by which to support oneself was in no way foreign to Lucy. She couldn’t help wondering, all the same, as she watched Bex now, if there wasn’t more to it than that. The way he spoke of being useful, the distaste with which he referred to his present idleness. He wanted more than a reliable source of funds to cover his expenses. He wanted—had expected—to have a purpose, and that purpose had been summarily stripped away, with no opportunity for him to prevent it. In that moment, she wanted it for him—even as she couldn’t define what it was. She hoped he would have something to replace the future that would have been his, had things not gone awry. She wasn’t sure what that something would be. A life, she hoped, as opposed to just a living.
“Shall we be off, Mrs. Brantwood?”
Lucy snapped from her mental wanderings to realize Bex was offering his arm for her to take, waiting for her so they could proceed with their charade and deliver Lady Constance’s message to her niece. She was very aware of his strength and proximity when she took the proffered arm and proceeded with him down the dusty lane in the direction the coachman had indicated.
Chapter Seventeen
Lucy and Bex had walked for only a few minutes before they came upon a stone drive marked with a tidy wooden sign identifying Sunningham Park. They turned down the drive together, as though taking in the fine weather on a leisurely stroll through the countryside to call upon friends.
“It is so peaceful here,” Lucy observed. “I have quite forgotten how quiet the country is, compared to the constant sounds of London.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling down at her in a way that warmed her beyond that which the temperature could explain. “Very serene.”
Lucy was quite comfortable meandering up the gravel drive on the arm of Bexley Brantwood—so much so, in fact, that she thought she should not dwell upon it.
Intent upon ignoring how the sunshine illuminated in a new and attractive way the increasingly familiar features of the man walking beside her, Lucy instead looked ahead to the house they had come to infiltrate. It was quite lovely. Three stories of white-painted Georgian elegance with rows of windows like perfectly uniformed soldiers. At the front of the house, the stone drive ended in a loop, the center of which boasted a fountain of weathered stone. Tidy hedges formed neat lines below the wall of windows, and pretty pink blooms grew in evenly spaced clumps at the front of the trimmed green wall.
She glanced aside and caught Bex gazing down at her. “What is it?” she asked.
“You have the peaceful look of a woman enjoying a pleasant stroll in the quiet countryside. Much as I hate to disturb your serenity, may I remind you that we have just had a dreadful scare in our carriage and are distressed by both our harrowing experience and our uncertainty as to how we shall continue on our way?”
Lucy halted. “Oh, yes! Yes, of course.” She looked again at the house. “Do you think they are looking out the windows at us even now and we’ve already ruined things?”
Bex laughed. “There you have it,” he said. “That’s quite good. You look very distressed indeed.”
She tugged his arm. “Do not laugh,” she hissed. “They will see you.”
Bex patted her arm. “I think it is entirely believable, even if my wife is a frightened miss, that I might be able to keep a good humor about the circumstance, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lucy cast suspicious eyes upward. “Are you suggesting that I play the frightened mouse while you are cavalier? I find I like us less and less as this ruse develops.”
“It is not entirely unbelievable, however. Men are so often cads, don’t you agree?”
Lucy tried valiantly not to return Bex’s teasing smile. She truly did. “I have very little patience for women who are fluttering and fainting all the time.”
“You are without question an admirably practical woman,” Bex said, “but what is the fun in playacting if we cannot be someone other than ourselves?”
“This is not parlor charades, Mr. Brantwood. We must be believed or we shall be turned out before we have accomplished our task.”
“You are, as always, a fount of wisdom and practicality,” he said, but the gleam in his eye was a warning. “And since we must play our parts convincingly,” he added, halting their progress toward the house and turning to face Lucy, “may I tell you, my dear, that it is my great desire as your loving husband to always protect you from harm or even the slightest mishap.” He set his hands upon either side of her waist and gazed upon her with an expression so convincingly earnest, she had to remind herself of the game. “Though, to my great chagrin, I failed to provide you a safe conveyance for our journey, I shall not rest until I have remedied the situation.” Then he leaned forward and placed the gentlest and most comforting of kisses upon her forehead.
The contact was not suggestive of passion in the least, but the featherlight touch of his lips nevertheless caused a tremor of sensation to course through her.
She stepped back. “You are being ridiculous,” she accused with a nervous laugh, not certain whether she intended the admonition for herself or her coconspirator. If she were not careful, she would appear the lovesick newlywed without even trying.
“We are both in a ridiculous circumstance, my dear,” he said with a wink. “We may as well embrace the absurdity.”
Absurd, indeed. Lucy could no longer tell if her heart pumped with anxiety for the scheme she must commit, or the man who was her partner in committing it.
Bex’s decisive knock upon the front d
oor of the house was answered by a plump housekeeper with rounded cheeks and a kindly smile, causing Lucy to yearn even more strongly for life in the country. Imperious butlers were certainly distinguished and impressive, but formality was a bit exhausting at times.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Bex said with a engaging smile that managed to be both charming and apologetic. “I do beg your pardon for the unexpected intrusion, but my wife and I have had a minor incident with our carriage just down the road.”
The woman’s gentle countenance immediately registered alarm at this news. “An incident? Oh, my. Is everyone all right, then?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you for your concern. We are quite unharmed, I assure you.” He patted Lucy’s hand where it lay upon his forearm. “Only a bit shaken up I would say. Our carriage, on the other hand…well, that remains to be seen.”
“Well, I should think you would be a bit out of sorts after such a thing,” the woman said with a vigorous nod. She stepped back from the door and ushered them inside. “Come have a seat in the parlor,” she said, closing the door behind them and bustling back around to lead them down the hall. She led them to a prettily decorated sitting room with a floral-pattered sofa and ruffled drapery. “If you’ll just wait here, then, I’ll be off to find Mr. Maris and see what can be done.”
Once alone, Lucy turned uncertain eyes to Bex. “Do you think we did all right?” she whispered.
He smiled and lifted a quieting finger to his lips.
She took a deep breath. How could he be so calm? She had been terrified from the moment the door opened. She wasn’t certain she could have spoken if he hadn’t done the speaking for them. It was lowering, that, after all her bluster about women who could do nothing but flutter and faint.
As though sensing her thoughts, Bex winked down at her again and squeezed her hand.
Heavy bootsteps sounded in the hall and Lucy looked up, feeling suddenly caught. Bex wrapped one arm protectively around her shoulder, making her feel small and indeed quite comforted, which was absurd given she had not actually endured any distressing carriage accident that morning. She began to pull away, but Bex’s arm only tightened around her, tugging her more firmly into the protective crook of his side.
