by Julia Quinn
“Do you need assistance walking to the garden?” Mr. Siddons asked. “I would be happy to accompany you.”
Elizabeth jumped a few inches. She’d completely forgotten his presence.
“Not at all,” Lady D said crisply. “I don’t move very quickly these days, but I’m not dead. Come along, Malcolm.” Then she hobbled away, Malcolm trotting along at her side.
Elizabeth just stared after them, one hand clapped to her cheek in shock.
“It’s truly remarkable how well she’s trained her cat,” James said.
Elizabeth turned to him, a stunned look on her face. “Does she seem ill to you?”
“No, why?”
She waved her arms awkwardly in the direction of Lady Danbury’s retreating form, completely unable to verbalize the extent of her shock.
James regarded her with an amused expression. “Is it so very odd that she might wish to take a nap in the garden? The weather is fine.”
“Yes!” she said, concern making her voice overloud. “This is very strange.”
“Well, I’m sure she—”
“I tell you, it’s strange.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”
He cocked his head and gave her an assessing glance. “What do you propose we do?”
She squared her shoulders. “I’m going to spy on her.”
“You’re going to watch her sleep?” he asked dubiously.
“Do you have any better ideas?”
“Better than watching an elderly woman sleep? Well, yes, actually, if hard-pressed I believe I could come up with one or two pastimes that would be—”
“Oh, shush!” she said irritatedly. “I don’t need your assistance, anyway.”
James smiled. “Had you asked for it?”
“As you so kindly pointed out,” she said with a lofty lift of her chin, “it isn’t so terribly difficult to watch an old woman sleep. I’m sure you have other, more important duties. Good day.”
James’s lips parted in surprise as she stalked off. Hang it all, he hadn’t meant to offend her. “Elizabeth, wait!”
She stopped and turned around, probably more surprised by his use of her given name than she was by his outburst. Hell, he had surprised himself. It was just that she had occupied his thoughts for days, and he’d begun to think of her as Elizabeth, and—
“Yes?” she finally said.
“I’ll come with you.”
She gave him a rather annoyed look. “You do know how to be quiet, don’t you? I don’t want her catching us spying on her.”
James’s lips began to twitch, and it was all he could do not to burst out laughing. “You may feel confident that I shall not give us away,” he said with full gravity. “I pride myself on being a rather good spy.”
She scowled. “That’s an odd statement. And—I say, are you all right?”
“Right as rain, why?”
“You look as if you’re about to sneeze.”
He caught sight of a floral arrangement and mentally latched on to it. “Flowers always make me sneeze.”
“You didn’t sneeze yesterday in the rose garden.”
He cleared his throat and thought fast. “Those aren’t roses,” he said, pointing at the vase.
“Either way, I can’t take you along,” she said with a dismissive nod. “There are flowers all along the perimeter of the garden. I can’t have you sneezing every two minutes.”
“Oh, I won’t,” he said quickly. “Only cut flowers do this to me.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I have never heard of such an affliction.”
“Neither have I. Never met anyone else who reacts the same way. It must be something in the stem. Something that…ah…releases into the air when the stem is cut.”
She gave him another dubious look, so he embellished the tale by saying, “It gives me a devil of a time when I’m courting a lady. God help me if I attempt to offer her flowers.”
“Very well,” she said briskly. “Come along. But if you botch this—”
“I won’t,” he assured her.
“If you botch this,” she repeated, louder this time, “I shall never forgive you.”
He let his head and shoulders dip slightly forward in a small bow. “Lead the way, Miss Hotchkiss.”
She took a few steps, then stopped and turned around, her blue eyes turning just a little bit hesitant. “Earlier, you called me Elizabeth.”
“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I overstepped.”
James watched the play of emotion across her face. She wasn’t certain whether to allow him the liberty of her given name. He could see her naturally friendly nature battling with her need to keep him at arm’s length. Finally she tightened the corners of her mouth and said, “It is of no great import. We servants are not terribly formal here at Danbury House. If the cook and butler call me Elizabeth, you may as well, too.”
James felt his heart fill with a rather absurd satisfaction. “Then you must call me James,” he replied.
“James.” She tested it out on her tongue, then added, “I should never refer to you as such, of course, if someone asked after you.”
“Of course not. But if we are alone, there is no need to stand on occasion.”
She nodded. “Very well, Mr.—” She smiled sheepishly. “James. We should be on our way.”
He followed her through a maze of hallways; she insisted on taking a circuitous route so as not to rouse Lady Danbury’s suspicions. James didn’t see how their presence in the ballroom, breakfast room, and hothouse all in one morning could cause anything but suspicion, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Elizabeth was clearly taking a quiet satisfaction in her position as leader, and besides, he was rather enjoying the view from the rear.
When they finally emerged in the open air, they were on the east side of the house, close to the front, about as far away from the garden as possible. “We could have exited through the French doors in the music room,” Elizabeth explained, “but this way we can make our way behind those hedges and follow them all the way around.”
“An excellent idea,” he murmured, following her around the back of the hedges. The shrubbery stood twelve feet tall, completely shielding them from view of the house. To his great surprise, as soon as Elizabeth turned that corner around the back of the hedges, she started running. Well, perhaps not running, but she was certainly moving somewhere between a brisk walk and a trot.
His legs were much longer than hers, though, and all he needed to do to keep up was lengthen his stride. “Are we truly in such a rush?” he inquired.
She turned around but did not stop walking. “I’m very worried about Lady Danbury,” she said, then resumed her hurried pace.
James viewed this time alone with Elizabeth as an excellent opportunity to study her, but his pragmatic sensibilities still forced him to comment, “Surely life at Danbury House is not so mundane that the oddest occurrence of the summer is a woman of six and sixty taking a nap.”
She whirled around again. “I’m sorry if you find my company dull, but if you recall, you were not forced to accompany me.”
“Oh, your company is anything but dull,” he said, flashing her his smoothest smile. “I simply do not understand the gravity of the situation.”
She skidded to a halt, planted her hands on her hips, and leveled at him her sternest stare.
“You’d make a rather good governess with a stance like that,” he quipped.
“Lady Danbury never takes naps,” she ground out, positively glaring at him after that comment. “She lives and breathes routine. Two eggs and three pieces of toast for breakfast. Every day. Thirty minutes of embroidery. Every day. Correspondence is sorted and answered at three in the afternoon. Every day. And—”
James held up a hand. “You’ve made your point.”
“She never takes naps.”
He nodded slowly, wondering what on earth he could possibly add to the conversation at that point.
She let out one final hmmphing sound, then turned back around, charging ahead at full speed. James followed, his legs moving in a long easy stride. The distance between them widened slightly, and he had just resigned himself to having to increase his speed to an easy trot when he noticed a protruding tree root up ahead.
“Mind that—”
She landed on the ground, one arm stretched out like an elegant winged bird, the other thrust forward to break her fall.
“—root,” he finished. He rushed forward. “Are you injured?”
She was shaking her head and muttering, “Of course not,” but she was wincing while she said it, so he wasn’t inclined to believe her.
He crouched beside her and moved toward the hand she’d used to break her fall. “How is this hand?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, pulling her hand back, and picking off the bits of dirt and gravel that had embedded in her skin.
“I’m afraid I must insist upon ascertaining that fact for myself.”
“Somehow,” she grumbled, “this has to be your fault.”
He couldn’t hold back a surprised smile. “My fault?”
“I’m not sure how or why, but if there is any fairness in this world, this is your fault.”
“If it is my fault,” he said with what he thought was the utmost gravity, “then I really must make amends by attending to your injuries.”
“I don’t have—”
“I rarely take no for an answer.”
With a loud sigh, she thrust her hand forward, muttering a rather ungracious, “Here.”
James flexed her wrist gently. She made no reaction until he gingerly bent her hand back. “Oh!” she blurted out, clearly irritated with herself for showing her pain.
“It didn’t hurt very much,” she said quickly. “I’m sure it isn’t sprained.”
“I’m certain you’re right,” he agreed. There was no indication of swelling. “But you ought to favor the other one for a day or so. And you might want to go back to the house and get some ice or a cold piece of meat to put on it.”
“I haven’t time,” she said briskly, rising to her feet. “I must check on Lady Danbury.”
“If she is indeed, as you worry, taking a nap, then I tend to think your fears for her escape are somewhat exaggerated.”
Elizabeth glared at him.
“In other words,” he said, as gently as he could, “there is no need for you to risk your own life and limb by rushing.”
He could see her weighing her words, but she finally just shook her head and said, “You are free to make your own decisions.” Then she turned on her heel and dashed away.
James let out a groan, trying to remember why he was tagging along after her, anyway. Aunt Agatha, he reminded himself. This was all about Aunt Agatha. He needed to find out if Elizabeth was the blackmailer.
His gut was telling him that she was not—anyone who exhibited the sort of concern she did for an overbearing and more often than not vastly annoying old lady surely wouldn’t blackmail her.
Yet James had no other suspects, and so he trotted along after her. As she rounded another corner, he lost sight of her, but his long strides soon found her standing utterly straight and perfectly still, her back to the hedge, with her head twisted so that she could look over her shoulder.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she admitted, “but I do seem to have developed the most awful crick in my neck.”
James held down the smile he felt bubbling up within him and kept his tone serious as he said, “Would you like me to take a look?”
She turned her head back to the front and then, with an uncomfortable grimace, tilted it to the side and back up. James winced as he heard a loud cracking sound.
She rubbed her neck. “Do you think you can do it without being seen?”
Images of his past missions—in France, in Spain, and right here in England—flew through his mind. James was an expert at not being seen. “Oh,” he said offhandedly, “I think I might manage it.”
“Very well.” She stepped back. “But if you suspect— even for a second—that she can see you, draw back.”
James grinned and saluted her. “You’re the general.”
In that moment, Elizabeth forgot everything.
She forgot that she had no idea how she was going to support her younger siblings.
She forgot that Lady Danbury was acting very strangely and that she feared her employer might be terribly ill.
She even forgot every blasted edict in Mrs. Seeton’s little book, and most of all, she forgot that this man made her stomach flip every time he raised his eyebrows.
She forgot everything but the levity of the moment and the rascally smile on James Siddon’s face. With a little laugh, she reached forward and swatted him playfully on the shoulder.
“Oh, stop,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice.
“Stop what?” he asked, his expression almost ludicrously innocent.
She mimicked his salute.
“You have been issuing orders with great facility and frequency,” he pointed out. “It is only natural that I might compare you to—”
“Just check on Lady Danbury,” she interrupted.
James smiled knowingly and crept around the corner of the hedge.
“Do you see anything?” Elizabeth whispered.
He ducked back. “I see Lady Danbury.”
“That’s all?”
“I didn’t think you were interested in the cat.”
“Malcolm?”
“He’s on her lap.”
“I don’t care what the cat is doing.”
His chin dipped down as he shot her a vaguely condescending look. “I didn’t think you were.”
“What is Lady Danbury doing?” Elizabeth ground out.
“Sleeping.”
“Sleeping?”
“That is what she said she’d be doing, isn’t it?”
She scowled at him. “I meant, is she sleeping normally? Is her breathing fitful? Does she seem to be moving about?”
“In her sleep?” he asked doubtfully.
“Don’t be a nodcock. People move about in their sleep all the—” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling?”
James coughed to try to cover up his traitorous lips, and tried to remember the last time a woman had called him a nodcock. The ladies he’d met on his recent jaunt to London had been the simpering sort, complimenting him on his clothing, his face, his form. When one had actually gone so far as to compliment the slope of his forehead, he knew it was time to get away.
He’d never guessed, however, just how amusing it would be to be insulted by Elizabeth Hotchkiss.
“Why are you smiling?” she repeated impatiently.
“Was I smiling?”
“You know you were.”
He leaned in far enough to cause her to catch her breath. “Do you want the truth?”
“Er, yes. The truth is almost always preferable.”
“Almost?”
“Well, if the other choice is to needlessly hurt another’s feelings,” she explained, “then—Wait a moment! You’re supposed to be answering my question.”
“Ah, yes, the smile,” he said. “It was the nodcock comment, actually.”
“You’re smiling because I insulted you?”
He shrugged and held out his hands in what he hoped was a rather charming gesture. “I’m not often insulted by women.”
“Then you’ve been keeping company with the wrong sort of women,” she muttered.
James let out a hoot of laughter.
“Be quiet,” she hissed, yanking him away from the hedge. “She’ll hear you.”
“She’s snoring loudly enough to summon a herd of sheep,” he replied. “I doubt our little antics are going to rouse her.”
Elizabeth shook her head, frowning. “I don’t like this. She never takes naps. She always says it’s unnatural.”
James flashed her a grin, prepari
ng to tease her yet again, but he held back when he saw the deep concern in her dark blue eyes. “Elizabeth,” he said softly, “what is it you really fear?”
She let out a long sigh. “She might be ill. When people suddenly grow tired…” She swallowed. “It can be a sign of illness.”
He held silent for several moments before quietly asking, “Were your parents ill before they passed on?”
Her eyes flew to his, and he realized that she had been completely surprised by his question. “No,” she said, blinking. “My mother was killed in a carriage accident, and my father…” She paused and looked away, her expression growing heartbreakingly strained until she finally said, “He wasn’t ill.”
More than anything he wanted to question her further, to find out why she wouldn’t discuss her father’s death. In a shocking flash, he realized he wanted to know everything about her.
He wanted to know her past, her present, and her future. He wanted to know if she spoke French, and did she like chocolates, and had she ever read Molière.
Most of all, he wanted to know the secrets behind every tiny smile that crossed her face.
James almost took a step back at that. Never had he felt this kind of burning need to reach into the farthest corners of a woman’s soul.
Elizabeth filled the awkward silence by asking, “Are your parents still living?”
“No,” James replied. “My father died quite suddently, actually. The doctor said it was his heart.” He shrugged. “Or the lack thereof.”
“Oh, dear,” she blurted out.
“It’s nothing,” he said with a dismissive twist of his hand. “He wasn’t a good man. I don’t miss him and I don’t mourn him.”
The corners of her mouth tightened, but he thought he saw a hint of something—perhaps empathy?—in her eyes.
“My mother died when I was quite young,” he added abruptly, not entirely certain why he was telling her this. “I barely remember her.”
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said softly. “I do hope it wasn’t painful.”
James feared that he hadn’t been successful in keeping the answer from his eyes, because she just swallowed and said, “I’m sorry,” again. He nodded in recognition of her sympathy but didn’t say anything.
Elizabeth’s eyes caught his for a brief moment, and then she craned her neck to take another look at Lady Danbury. “It would kill me if Lady D were in pain. I just know she would never tell anyone. She can be insufferably proud. She’d never recognize affection and concern for what they are. All she’d see is pity.”
