Clara glanced up at her. “Not things easily accomplished then?”
“I wouldn’t think so. Being the lady captain of a pirate ship or leading an expedition to find lost treasure in the jungles of the Amazon or traveling through the heavens on a comet are things that can only be accomplished between the pages of a novel of adventure rather than real life.”
Clara laughed. “You do have a point there.”
“Still, I have always found the idea of adventure, even mild adventure, to be extremely exciting. I have never had even the tiniest adventure at all.” Lucy reached forward and tapped the book with her finger. “These adventures of my great-aunt’s are quite tame compared with those I longed for in my youth, but unlike mine, hers are eminently achievable.”
“And?”
“And since I have absolutely no idea what I wish to do with my newfound freedom, with my life, and no ideas about adventures of my own that aren’t completely absurd, I intend to honor my great-aunt’s life by doing those things she never did. I suppose if I were to make my own list now, it would simply be to accomplish something in my life. To have some sort of purpose.” Lucy shook her head. “I keep thinking how dreadful it would be to reach the end of your days with so much undone.”
“But when it comes right down to it”—Clara snapped the journal closed—“these are not your adventures. Nor are they your regrets.”
“No, but if I don’t accomplish them, they will be.”
Clara studied her for a long moment. “You aren’t really a puppy, are you?”
“Good Lord.” Lucy laughed. “I certainly hope not.”
Clara glanced back at the book in her hand. “This is why you didn’t want a watchdog.”
Lucy nodded.
“And why you intended to discharge a companion as soon as possible.”
Again Lucy nodded.
“And . . .” Clara drew the word out slowly. “Why you were so pleased that I had never been a companion before.”
“Exactly. A real companion, or rather, an experienced companion might well be hesitant to wholeheartedly support my quest, which I do think will be an adventure in itself.”
“That is a possibility with a real companion.”
“I would think so.” Lucy grimaced. “I didn’t really plan this. I’m still not sure why I brought Great-aunt Lucinda’s book along to England in the first place, but I’m fairly sure it all has to do with fate. Life is unfolding in remarkable and completely unexpected ways. Ways that I find delightful.
“You see, until I came to England, in spite of the fact that I told Jackson before he left New York that he was under no obligation to me, there was still the possibility that we might end up together. I know that’s what his mother had hoped and mine expected.” That she was not going to marry Jackson was another fact she had been distinctly vague about in her letter home. “As I said, I have never gone against my family’s wishes. Jackson and I might well have continued to postpone our engagement until we were both too old to care.”
“I very much doubt that. In spite of what you say, you don’t strike me as the kind of young woman who would marry a man she didn’t wish to wed.”
“Thank you, Clara.” Lucy smiled. “That may well be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“So this desire of yours to make up for your great-aunt’s regrets is relatively new.” Clara handed the book back to her.
“Yes and no.” Lucy’s gaze drifted to the book in her hand and her voice softened. “I have wanted to do this from the very moment I read these pages. But my life was all laid out for me and I knew it was impossible, so I did nothing about it. Looking back, I see my life as nothing more than drifting from one expectation to the next. But now, I am free to do as I please and I fully intend to do exactly that.” Lucy looked up and met the other woman’s gaze directly. “With your help, I hope.”
Clara paused, then nodded. “I don’t see why not.” She turned her attention back to the journal. “As you said, some of these are really quite simple. Why do you think she never managed any of them?”
“It was a different time, of course. And she did marry at eighteen, which didn’t seem terribly young when I was eighteen but now seems extremely young. After that, her life was probably too busy to concern herself with things a husband would most likely not understand or allow.” She thought for a moment. “Through the course of her life, she endured two wars on American soil. I suspect when one’s life is filled with, well, living, the desires of one’s younger days are simply forgotten.” Lucy paused and held her breath. “You will help me, won’t you?”
“As I am in your employ, and I am not a real companion—”
Lucy winced.
“I daresay I can do nothing else. Besides . . .” Clara smiled. “I find I have to agree with you. I too do not wish to reach the end of my life with regrets. And I quite like the idea that, should I leave a journal filled with regrets, some well-meaning young woman would want to make up for them.”
“Wonderful.” Lucy grinned. “But I knew it the moment we started talking. Why, I already feel that we have known each other forever. Odd, isn’t it?”
“You’re not exactly reticent to reveal information about yourself.” Clara shook her head in obvious amazement. “And I’ve never met anyone who has learned so much about me in such a short span of time.”
Lucy laughed.
“However.” Clara’s expression sobered. “While ours might not be the usual sort of relationship between a companion and her employer, I do feel there are some duties that are inherent in the position.”
Lucy frowned. “And they are?”
“I don’t intend to be your watchdog, but part of my responsibility should be to act as chaperone. Which really is as much a question of safety and appearances as anything else.”
Lucy nodded. “Of course.”
“I suspect things in England are done far differently than they are in America. I understand, well, the rules here—for lack of a better word—and you do not. We can be quite stodgy, especially about public behavior. As your companion, as your friend, I cannot allow you to do anything that might cause you irrevocable harm, to your reputation or your person. If I judge that to be the case, I will do all in my power to stop you, even if it results in my dismissal. I need you to trust that, in that event, I am only acting in your best interest.”
“As any good friend would.” Lucy smiled. “Thank you, Clara.”
“Furthermore, I need your assurance that you will heed my guidance in such situations.”
Lucy hesitated.
“If you cannot agree to that, then I cannot, in good conscience, remain in your employ.” Clara’s tone softened. “And I would very much regret that as I do think you are indeed embarking upon an adventure and it would be my very great honor to accompany you.”
Clara’s condition did make sense. In her excitement Lucy might well be plunging ahead too hastily. After all, while the idea of accomplishing those things her great-aunt wanted to do had been in the back of her head for years, she’d never considered exactly how to go about it. Even now she had nothing specific in mind. Without someone to temper her enthusiasm, she could get into all kinds of difficulties. For one thing, she inevitably thought well of people until they proved her wrong. And while she did consider herself sensible and not the least bit impulsive, she had long had the tendency to reach unwarranted conclusions.
“I can agree to that.”
“Excellent.” Clara raised a brow. “I assume you wish to get started immediately?”
“Absolutely, especially as I have no idea how much time I really have.” Lucy opened the journal. “Where do you think we should begin?”
“I don’t think we should go in order of your great-aunt’s list.” Clara thought for a moment. “Rather we might start with those things most easily accomplished.”
“I have already copied her regrets onto my own list—regrets set to rights. I intend to check them off as I acco
mplish them. I’m not silly enough to think I can do everything she hoped to do but I do intend to complete as many as possible.”
“It seems to me you have already achieved one of your aunt’s desires.” Clara refilled both their cups from the teapot and handed Lucy hers. “You have already made an unexpected friend.”
Lucy laughed and raised her cup to her new companion. “Indeed, I have. It’s a most promising beginning.”
Poor dear Jackson. He hadn’t found her a watchdog but an independent woman, a new friend, a confidante, and what Lucy was certain he never expected, a coconspirator.
Chapter Three
“Come, now, Phineas, surely you have something I can use?” Cam stared hopefully at his old friend. “Something I can write for the Messenger as well as expand for a book.”
“Nothing I can think of. Besides . . .” Phineas Chapman leaned back in the chair behind his new desk. A desk that was half the size of his previous one, necessitated by the fact that there was now yet another desk in the corner of the front room of his flat, the room that served as his main living quarters, library, and office. “You know full well my reputation rests on my discretion.”
“I’m not asking you to tell me anything about an actual client.” Cam scoffed. “I would never wish to jeopardize your business.” He leaned toward his friend and lowered his voice. “But you and I both know you hear all sorts of things that have nothing to do with whoever is paying your fee at the moment.”
“Which has served you well in the past.”
“And I am most grateful.” This wasn’t the first time Cam had turned to Phineas for an idea.
Although Phineas was a few years older, the two men had been fast friends since their school days. Both were the youngest children of prominent families, which was perhaps what drew them together in the first place. Phineas too had had a period of trying to find his place in the world. He had flirted for a time with a life of scholarly pursuit and, even though he was unquestionably the most intelligent man Cam had ever met, he found the life of an academic too sedate and dull for him. Quite by accident, he had turned his brilliance to investigation, to the ferreting out of secrets or the locating of that which was missing, be it a person or an item of value. Phineas’s reputation was such that he was now the investigator much of society turned to when time was short and discretion was called for.
“I know.” The corners of Phineas’s mouth curved upward slightly in the superior smile that was as much a part of him as his dark hair and sharp green eyes. “But I fear nothing of interest comes to mind at the moment, old man. You’re the writer. You think of something.”
“If I could think of something, I wouldn’t be here asking you.” Cam pushed himself up from the upholstered wing chair, one of two that sat before Phineas’s desk. “I am trying. While I have any number of ideas, none of them are developed enough to be of any use. And I don’t have time to waste on idle thought.”
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Phineas murmured.
Cam clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room. “One can’t just pluck an idea out of the air, you know. It needs to simmer as it were, in the back of your mind.”
“Until it blossoms into literary brilliance?”
“Something like that.” He resumed pacing. “I haven’t the time to fabricate a story completely from nothing. All I need is a fact or two that I can build a work of fiction from. Kindling as it were. Something I can nurture and . . .” Cam paused in midstep and looked back at the chair he’d been sitting in. His gaze slid to its mate. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t those chairs mismatched and extremely worn the last time I was here? And hadn’t the leg on one been replaced with a stack of books?”
Phineas heaved a resigned sigh. “They’re new.”
“You’re not overly fond of new,” Cam said slowly, glancing around the room and wondering that he hadn’t noticed the changes upon his arrival. But then he’d had other things on his mind.
It had been no more than a few weeks since Cam’s last visit, but he now noted a startling change in Phineas’s sanctuary beyond the replacement of the decrepit wing chairs. The walls were still covered by floor-to-ceiling shelves, but while they were usually crammed to overflowing with books and papers and anything Phineas thought of interest to himself or to an investigation, all the shelves were now tidy and well organized. The shabby, faded velvet drapes of a nondescript hue that had long hung on the tall windows at the front end of the room had been replaced with fabric of a rich wine color. The rug on the floor was either new or had been thoroughly cleaned. Regardless, it did not look the same. Indeed, there was much more floor to be seen, which in and of itself was shocking as Phineas’s reading materials, research, and collections of whatever struck his fancy, along with everything else he happened upon, were usually in disorganized drifts piled here and there. In spite of the fact that Phineas had a woman, a Mrs. Wiggins, who came in daily to clean and cook, she was forbidden to touch anything in this area. The room had always looked to be exactly what it was—the domain of an unencumbered bachelor who was more concerned with comfort than appearance. The very fact that Cam was now able to pace without dodging constant impediments should have signaled something out of the ordinary had taken place, although Cam was too caught up in his own problems to notice. At once the answer struck him. “And where is the lovely and charming Miss West today?”
“You mean the meddlesome, annoying, persistent creature I have been so foolish as to allow into my life?” Phineas snorted. “I’ve gotten rid of her, but only for the moment.”
“She doesn’t strike me as either meddlesome or annoying. And persistence can be something of a virtue.”
“One would think,” Phineas muttered.
“One would also think persistence is a good quality to have in a partner.”
“She’s not my partner,” Phineas said a bit quicker and sharper than was necessary. “She is more in the manner of, oh, an employee, I would say.”
“An employee who has invested in your business, who is not paid unless you are, and receives a percentage of your fees rather than a specific salary sounds very much like a partner to me.”
“I’m still not sure how that came about,” Phineas said under his breath.
“Would you like me to remind you?”
“As the fault can be placed entirely at your feet, that’s neither necessary nor desired.”
Cam bit back a grin. He had been looking into a story about an alleged haunting and had met Miss West, a friend of the owner of the building in question. At Cam’s suggestion she had then engaged Phineas’s services. While the two strong-willed individuals had clashed immediately, they had also found a commonality of purpose and an odd meshing of their intellects. In fact, they had worked surprisingly well together. Phineas said Miss West had one of the finest minds he’d ever encountered—male or female. The rest of her, Cam had pointed out, was every bit as impressive as her mind. A detail that Phineas appeared to ignore.
Cam wasn’t entirely sure what had transpired between them, but the next time he visited his old friend, he found Phineas’s enormous, beloved, battered desk had been replaced by something more in proportion with the room, a second desk installed, and Miss Clara West diligently examining and reexamining Phineas’s haphazard records. She was apparently quite good with figures. That was several months ago, and it seemed the lovely and clever Miss West had proven helpful to Phineas on every investigation he’d undertaken since then. He may deny that the woman was his partner all he wished, but the simple fact of the matter was that they made an excellent team. And Phineas knew it.
Now it appeared she had been setting to rights more than his receipts and records but this room and possibly the rest of his life as well. Interesting, as Phineas did not like change, and one did have to wonder why he was permitting it. In spite of his complaints about Miss West, if he didn’t want her around, she wouldn’t be. His old friend might well be smitten with the lovely blond
e but, as Cam had never seen Phineas smitten with any woman, it was hard to tell. He would wager Phineas had no idea either.
“On a case, is she?”
“Not exactly.” Phineas heaved a resigned sigh. “I was recently contacted by a client I have worked for in the past who wanted to hire me to keep a watch on an unmarried American heiress on her own here in London. Surveillance is one thing, but this was something else altogether. I am not a nursemaid nor do I have any intention of becoming one. However, the lady who approached me has been an excellent client in the past and has recommended my services on more than one occasion.”
Cam grinned. “So you didn’t want to offend her by refusing this commission.”
“And, as I am not an idiot, I didn’t.” Phineas smiled a slow, smug smile. “Nor did I accept it.”
Cam raised a brow.
“My client had no interest in actually knowing the day-today activities of the American, she merely wanted to make certain the woman was kept from harm. I told her I would make a few inquiries to see if I could find someone willing to take the assignment.”
“And?”
“And it might have slipped my mind because, as it happened, she was also charged with arranging for a companion. I told Miss West about it and . . .”
“And you’ve turned Miss West into a lady’s companion?” Cam stared.
“Temporarily. The American is only expected to be in England for a few months. There is no one I know, and certainly no female, in whose hands she would be safer than Miss West’s. She is a woman who can take care of herself.” Phineas shuddered.
The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress Page 5
