The Lass Who Kissed a Frog

by Lee, Caroline

  “Ye really are remarkable, ye ken that?” Bonnie whispered.

  Before Vanessa could think of a way to answer without blushing, her sister continued.

  “Now, I suspect Mother would absolutely forbid ye to go on this journey, aye?”

  “Of course. I have enough of my own money saved in my top drawer for two train tickets and accommodations, but I ken she’d still rant about wasting money.” Or maybe, if Mother knew about the potential to earn so much money, she wouldn’t object at all. “Besides, I dinnae want her kenning of it, because surely she’d object to my plans for the windfall.”

  Bonnie chuckled dryly. “Of course she would. I’ve never fit her idea of what a perfect young lady should be. Can ye imagine her reaction if we told her I wanted to buy a publishing house?”

  “Nay.” Vanessa mock shuddered. “Nay, she cannae ken of our plan.”

  “And it cannae be our plan, sister, although I love ye for thinking of it.” Bonnie squeezed her again to soften the sting of her admission. “We cannae both go, because one of us has to stay and lie to Mother about the other’s absence. And that will have to be me, because I cannae find the correct site to dig at Fangfoss.”

  It was Bonnie’s easy acceptance of the scheme which had Vanessa pushing herself upright once more, almost bouncing with excitement. “Ye think it will work?”

  “I think it is worth the cost of a train ticket. But, Vanessa, ye cannae travel alone. Ye ken that, surely? Is there anyone we could ask? Mrs. Oliphant, the cook, perhaps?”

  “Nay, Mother would surely notice her absence.” Vanessa frowned thoughtfully. “I could wear a disguise—maybe borrow some clothing from Annie or one of the other maids?”

  “Ye’re far too beautiful to go unnoticed, even in homespun.”

  “Well then, I’ll—I’ll rub dirt on my face or something! And I’ll find a companion to travel south with me who willnae draw attention! We’ll be just two travelers, booking passage to York, then a stay in a hotel. It shouldnae require more than a few hours of digging to locate the sphere. Maybe allot an extra day for travel once we’re there, so one more night in the hotel, then we’ll return. Surely ye can cover my absence for three days, nae more.”

  In her excitement, as she spoke, Vanessa had swung her legs off Bonnie’s bed, stood, and scampered across to her slippers, which she could now see in the dawn light. As she pushed her arms into her dressing robe, she turned back to her sister.

  “I can do this.”

  “Ye certainly can.” Bonnie pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. “Ye can organize and plan like a general.”

  “It was what Mother raised me to do: be a lady in a grand household.” Dinnae think of Roland. “And besides, it isnae so hard.”

  “Well, ye ken I’ll no’ object to ye traveling. I think it is a wonderful idea, and I dinnae ken how I’ll contain my curiosity, waiting to hear if ye’re successful! Just imagine…having enough money to buy my own publishing house!”

  It was the wonder in her sister’s voice which had Vanessa beaming. “I’ll do everything in my power to help ye achieve yer dream, Bonnie.”

  Bonnie nodded smartly. “And I’ll love ye all the more for it. Now, I will help ye plan and pack, sister, but ye must be the one to find a traveling companion.”

  Smiling, Vanessa gave a happy little twirl, knowing she was making the right choice. “I will.”

  * * *

  When the rear door of the inn opened into the little garden, Roland found himself sinking back into the shadows, which felt strange to him. But he didn’t want to be caught out here by anyone other than—

  Ah!

  Vanessa practically skipped down the steps, wearing a blue dress which complemented her eyes so beautifully. Eagerly—and just why the hell was he so eager to see her? He’d have to examine that later—Roland stepped forward.

  “Oh!” She stopped short when she saw him and held up a finger. “I was wondering if I’d see ye today!” On that cryptic remark, she spun back around and ducked into the kitchen, emerging a moment later carrying a plate. “Here ye are. It isnae much, but I had Mrs. Oliphant put aside some buns from this morning, just in case. Did Annie bring out some food yesterday as I asked?”

  Dear Lord, she was like a little ray of sunshine, wasn’t she?

  Roland had to swallow twice to make his throat work. “Aye, milady,” he croaked, although, truthfully, he’d already gone before any food may or may not have been delivered. “Thank ye.”

  He hobbled forward—pleased with himself for remembering to do so—and took the plate from her hands. When he did, his fingers brushed against hers, and that spark traveled up his arm and settled into his chest.

  He smiled.

  Easy lad. Ye dinnae like her, remember?

  Nay, it was getting harder and harder to recall, when she smiled and acted completely opposite of how he thought she should.

  But now she was studying him, her hands on her hip and her head cocked to one side. “Ye took my suggestion and bathed, I see.”

  Roland, figuring he’d be a fool to pass up one of Mrs. Oliphant’s buns, even if he had only eaten breakfast not two hours before, already had the pastry in his mouth, and hummed in question. When she gestured at his face, he felt himself blushing.

  Blushing! Like a lad in leading strings!

  Ye’re wearing a kilt, ye idiot.

  Aye, kilts were likely worse than leading strings, weren’t they?

  He managed to swallow and tried for a nonchalant shrug. “Nae use being dirtier than ye have to be, aye, milady?”

  “I dinnae ken. I dinnae have to be dirty at all.”

  Ah, there was the haughtiness he’d been expecting. But she was smiling when she said it, which seemed to take the sting out of her words.

  Before he could decide if he should be offended by her words, she’d nodded politely and slipped past him.

  “Enjoy yer buns,” she called over her shoulder, “then please leave. I dinnae have time to banter with ye today, and as I’ll soon be leaving as well, I cannae be in charge of feeding ye each day.”

  The last was almost hard to hear, as she was hurrying away so quickly, obviously intent on her mission. Roland glanced down at the plate of buns beside him and rubbed at his jaw for a moment.

  The beard felt strange, but he assumed it did a good enough job masking his true appearance, along with the eyepatch he wore over his right eye. She hadn’t seemed to guess who he really was, and he hadn’t had to rub dirt and horse shite all over himself.

  Although the kilt was still quite drafty.

  Well, he hadn’t worn the damn thing to just sit around her garden and eat buns, had he?

  Making up his mind, he tugged his tam down and hurried after her.

  “Wait, milady!” he called.

  When she slowed and turned an exasperated look on him, he remembered to limp pitifully.

  “Aye, Sir Interloper? Mr. Trespasser? The buns werenae enough?”

  “How could they be, milady, when all I was hungry for was the opportunity to bask in yer presence?”

  To his surprise, she rolled her eyes, apparently not appreciating the compliment. “No’ ye too?” she muttered, as she turned back on her path and picked up her pace.

  Roland hobbled after her. “Where are ye going in such a hurry, milady?”

  “To the vicar’s cottage. I must speak to his sister, Willa. I’m going to ask her to accompany me on my journey and— Why am I telling ye this?”

  Knowing he was safe as long as she wasn’t looking at him, Roland’s smile flashed. “Because I’m easy to talk to?”

  They’d reached the village square, and suddenly there were a dozen new distractions, but Vanessa didn’t slow. Instead, she hurried on, and Roland slammed into a horse.

  Well, not a full horse, just the horse’s flank. But still, it was deuced embarrassing.

  “Damned depth perception!” he muttered, as he rebounded and bumped into a merchant of some sort. “Och! Ter
ribly sorry, sir.” He doffed his cap as he managed to stay upright, but then a dog—they just allow dogs to wander around the square, shiteing as they went, these days? What were they, barbarians?—brushed up against his knee, and Roland spun around to catch himself once more.

  And then she was there.

  Vanessa clamped her hand around his elbow and gently tugged him out of the path of traffic. “There. Are ye alright?”

  It was the concern in her eyes that was nearly his undoing. He wanted to tear off the tam and the eyepatch and declare himself, just so she’d stop looking at him with so much pity. But he reminded himself he wanted her to think he was pitiful, so he ducked his head and mumbled, “Aye, milady. My thanks.”

  “Market day can be overwhelming if ye’re no’ used to it,” she said gently. “Especially if ye’re blind on one side. And—”

  When she bit off whatever she was going to say, he was curious enough to glance up at her. She was looking at him strangely.

  “Wasn’t yer eyepatch on the left eye yesterday?”

  Was it?

  Damnation, it was.

  “Nay,” he blurted, then ducked his head once more. “Nay, ye’re mistaken. milady.”

  He saw her shrug, then she released his arm.

  And damn him if he didn’t feel…lost.

  It took him a moment to realize she was leaving him, and all Roland knew was he couldn’t allow that to happen. “Where are ye going?” he blurted.

  She frowned at him. “To the vicar’s—”

  “Nay. I mean, on yer journey.” He hurried to walk beside her, and when she glanced down at his feet—just the once—he exaggerated his limp. “Ye said ye would be gone for a few days, and ye’re off to ask the vicar’s sister to go with ye.”

  To his surprise, she stopped and glanced around, as if checking to see if they might be overheard. She stepped closer to the stone front of the shop they stood before and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

  “I’m going to York.”

  “England?” he blurted, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Nay. York, Pennsylvania.”

  He blinked, surprised. “Ye ken American geography?”

  “Aye, I’ve read a book or two. And so have ye to ken it as well.”

  Hell, he’d almost given himself away, hadn’t he? He tried for a disarming grin. “I’ve picked things up in my travels. And soon ye will be a traveler too. York is no simple jaunt.” And why in damnation was she going to York?

  Her chin rose stubbornly. “After visiting Willa—although I’ll have to ensure she can keep this journey a secret, even from her brother—I’ll buy two tickets for tomorrow’s train. I ken we’ll have to change trains a few times, but I’ll no’ be gone for more than three days.”

  “And yer sister cannae go with ye?”

  Suddenly, she looked downright guilty, glancing around the square.

  Of course. She is ashamed to be seen with someone like me.

  But why would she look guilty about that?

  “My mother…doesnae ken about my journey.”

  Roland sucked in a breath. If her mother didn’t know, then her sister would have to stay to deflect suspicions. So Vanessa couldn’t bring anyone else in her household, lest Baroness Oliphant discover her missing. But she couldn’t travel alone.

  “I’ll go,” he blurted, then winced when she turned incredulous eyes his way.

  “Ye?”

  He shrugged and tried to cover his gaffe. Tried to make it sound as if he weren’t desperate to sit beside her in a train for two whole days. “If ye are keeping it a secret from yer mother, then ye cannae risk anyone else in town kenning yer real purpose, aye? I am a stranger but”—his brain worked frantically to come up with arguments—“ye’ve helped me, and I’d like to help ye in return.”

  Her snort of laughter was tinged with derision. “I cannae travel with ye. Ye are a stranger! I dinnae even ken yer name!”

  Rather than being offended by the way she’d sneered that bit, Roland understood she spoke the truth. For all she knew, he was a dirty beggar. But suddenly, he was frantic to make her see him as trustworthy so he could go with her.

  He told himself it was because, if he didn’t, he’d have to wait around three full days for her return, wearing this ridiculous beard.

  “No’ kenning my name is easily remedied, milady.” He offered a slight bow. “I am”—he grasped the first word he could come up with—“Monsieur Grenouille.”

  To his surprise, she burst into laughter. “Mister Frog? Aye, I should’ve expected that.”

  Straightening, he tried to look hurt. “Ye would mock a man’s name, Miss Oliphant? A crippled, poor, ugly man who—”

  “How do ye ken my name?” she snapped, her eyes wide, and he realized she hadn’t listened to the lesson he’d been trying to impart.

  So he shrugged. “Everyone here is an Oliphant. Surely ye’ve noticed how many Mrs. Oliphants there are around? I assumed ye were also a Miss Oliphant.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded jerkily. “My name is Vanessa Oliphant.”

  “Milady,” he offered again, knowing full well that, since her father was a baron, she wasn’t exactly a lady..

  “I think, on this journey…” She turned and looked over the square, speaking almost to herself. “I think I should like to be just Vanessa. I’m going to borrow a different dress, and perhaps a cap, and I will just be…myself.”

  It wasn’t until she glanced at him with a frown that he realized he’d snorted derisively out loud, and not just in his head, but he made a point of raking his one-eyed gaze over her. “It’ll be like trying to hide a candle under a bushel, milady.”

  Instead of preening from his compliment, she rolled her eyes. “That, Mister Frog, is a good way to catch a bushel—and thus yer home—on fire. A bit of friendly advice: Dinnae set yer home on fire.”

  “Och, thank ye,” he replied in seriousness. “But ye’ll need more than a different gown and a cap to hide who ye are.”

  “Or maybe”—she turned to him with her chin raised—“that’s exactly what I need.”

  “If ye plan on traveling to York incognito, ye’ll need a better disguise. And a traveling companion who can no’ only keep ye safe from the dangers of the road, but complements that disguise.”

  Like me.

  “In what way?”

  “Maybe ye could rub some dirt on yer cheeks,” he offered, completely innocently, knowing full well how much cleaner he was today.

  To his surprise, she glanced at his knees. “Ye seem to have some to spare. Since ye’ve bathed, I mean. Could ye no’ find any trousers? Or were gowns the only thing available at the tailor?”

  He could see the teasing light in her eyes, so he drew himself up and thumped his chest. “Och, lass, this is the Oliphant plaid! A proud tradition—”

  “From last century. Nay, longer! Are ye no’ aware we’re in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, sir? We have trains and flying balloons and the telegraph. Certainly ye could find some trousers?”

  She was demeaning his appearance again, but it didn’t stoke the fires of Roland’s anger. For one thing, he’d thought the same thing, whenever Lyon had appeared dressed like an elderly shepherd in one of these kilts, and two…he liked the way she smiled at him.

  “Aye,” he croaked. “I must look quite the barbarian.”

  The teasing light in her eyes blinked out, and she looked away. What had he said to alarm her?

  She called Lyon a barbarian, did she no’?

  Ah.

  “Well, milady? Will ye accept my help on yer quest?”

  Surprisingly, he didn’t care why she wanted to go to York. Likely to pick up a new bauble or piece of jewelry her mother wouldn’t approve of her spending money on. He told himself it didn’t matter; he just wanted the chance to force her to understand how poorly she’d treated Lyon and him—

  Except, she hadn’t treated him that poorly, had she?

  Frowning,
Roland tried to work through the implications of his plan, but was startled when she suddenly wheeled on him.

  “Ye’ll have to quit calling me ‘milady’.”

  He blinked. “Ye’re seriously considering allowing me to accompany ye?” Him, a stranger, accompanying a lady on an overnight journey?

  She shrugged. “I dinnae want to be a lady. I have a mission, and I want to be…just me. Ye’re right; everyone here would know who I really am, and I want to forget that for just a few days.”

  He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Or her poor judgement, to be willing to be alone with a strange man like him.

  And to think, I’d once considered marrying her!

  But part of him felt guilty for judging her so harshly for wanting to be free from her normal life. After all, wasn’t that what he was doing?

  That was the thought which convinced him.

  Solemnly, he nodded. “I’ll keep ye safe, mila—Vanessa. Ye’ll no’ come to harm under my watch.”

  She cocked her head at him, then nodded. “I believe ye. I dinnae ken why, because I dinnae ken ye from Adam, or Prince Albert, but I believe ye mean what ye say.”

  His smile flashed. “Interestingly, those are my names.” Roland Albert McAdam Gregor Prince. But she couldn’t know that, so he clarified, “Adam Albert Grenouille.”

  And she rolled her eyes. “Well, I certainly believe that,” she muttered sarcastically, shaking her head. Her lips pulled into a frown as she considered him. “What will ye ask for in return?”

  He blinked, still considering how plump her lips were, even while frowning. “What?”

  “Ye’ve promised to keep me safe on this journey and to help me, but what will ye ask for in return?”

  The answer came immediately to his lips, likely because he was still staring at her lips and remembering how alluring they were when she chewed on the bottom one in consternation. “A kiss.”

  It wasn’t until her beautiful blue eyes widened that he realized what he’d said, but he didn’t take it back. Nay, now that he’d said it, he realized that was exactly what he wanted. So instead of giving her time to argue, he nodded once, authoritatively.