Along Came a Lady

by Christi Caldwell

  Blessed silence.

  After her incessant chattering, Rafe would never, ever take that state for granted again.

  The minute she’d gone, Hunter drew the panel shut a fraction, and looked to Rafe. “Who the hell is she?”

  “The duke’s latest.”

  “As in, he sent that pretty little thing to fetch you?” And that managed to bring his usually humorless brother to a laugh. Giving his head a shake, Hunter glanced over his shoulder and then back to Rafe. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here playing nursemaid to her.”

  No, it didn’t. And what was worse . . . Rafe had no good reason to explain it. For there was none. “Will you just get her out of here?” he snapped.

  And this time, his brother must have heard something in Rafe’s tone, for Hunter hurriedly backed out of the cottage. Of course, his brother hadn’t been wrong in puzzling as to why Rafe, who had run off every other man the duke had sent his way, had personally escorted the young lady away from the mines and himself seen to her injury.

  Perhaps that had been the game the duke played this time. Perhaps His Grace had expected he could send an innocent young miss and yield different results. Rafe tightened his jaw. He may have helped care for the injured woman, but that was a load different than agreeing to accompany her back to London and taking his place among Polite Society.

  Whatever it was didn’t matter. She was gone and he could get back to his work at the mines, free of interruption.

  Hopefully, this had been one last, desperate attempt on the duke’s part, and Rafe would now be left alone.

  For good.

  * * *

  • • •

  It took a complete and total stony silence of approximately eight minutes per the timepiece affixed to the bodice of her dress for Edwina to determine her chaperone back to the inn, “Mr. Hunter,” was in fact Rafe Audley’s brother.

  Of course, that determination had nothing to do with the gentleman’s physical appearance. In fact, the two men could not be any more different from each other. Though both were tall, each man approximately several inches past six feet, that was where all similarities ended. Mr. Rafe Audley was broad and heavily muscled, with hair blacker than sin and several days of equally dark growth upon his stubbled cheeks. The man beside her now may as well have been an archangel counter figure on a shelf, with not a scrap of growth upon his sun-bronzed cheeks, and a halo of tightly cropped golden curls.

  Equally brusque, and from what she had been able to ascertain in the brief exchange of moments ago, possessed of the same droll sense of humor as Mr. Audley.

  And the same flinty stare. They both had that, too.

  Edwina favored him with a smile. As Mr. Hunter Audley’s hard gaze was fixed firmly ahead, she needn’t have bothered, if not for one indefatigable truth she’d carried all these years in her work: always be smiling. Invariably it improved something, even if it did not seem as such at the time one offered said smile. “I wanted to thank you,” she said, breaking the stony impasse. After all, it really was something of a waste to have her charge’s brother at her side, and not gather up something useful to help her along with her lessons and plans for him. And not using every moment on her charge’s edification was decidedly not a sin she’d ever be charged with. “It really was most gracious of you to offer to bring me to my abode.”

  “I didn’t offer,” he said, with what she was coming to recognize as the Audley bluntness. “It was a directive. I followed it . . . ma’am.” The gentleman did not take his focus off the graveled path when he addressed her.

  Hmph. Very well, then. That taciturn reply, with that reluctantly tacked on “ma’am,” was still a shade more polite than Mr. Audley’s early ordering of her to silence, and as such, she knew bringing around this gentleman would be a good deal easier than bringing around his older, colder counterpart.

  Gathering her parasol, she popped the article open, and dangled it artfully over her left shoulder, so that it shielded her from the bright Staffordshire sun, and also allowed her to look freely, if she so chose, at Mr. Hunter Audley. “You must be very important for Mr. Audley to summon you.”

  Still nothing.

  So he didn’t respond to false flattery, and he’d be cautious of confirming his identity as Rafe Audley’s brother.

  Tapping a fingertip along the ivory handle of her parasol, she searched the catalogue in her mind for ways to deal with one such as he.

  Edwina sighed and lowered her parasol. Snapping it closed, she let her favorite—and now ruined—piece hang over the side of the wagon, as they went. “I must apologize. It is hardly fair for a skilled miner such as you to be saddled with the task of bringing me to my inn. You hardly want to go about playing nursemaid, to me . . . or anyone. Regardless, I am grateful.”

  From the corner of her eye, she detected the faintest easing of tension in his broad shoulders. Not that he released it so easily, or entirely. But enough to know she was on the right track.

  “Wasn’t working today anyway.” It was a gruff admission, but also confirmed that, one, she had taken the correct approach with him.

  And two, he would reveal far more than his brother ever would.

  Success.

  Tapping the muddied parasol at her side, Edwina kept back a smile. “Your brother also proved inordinately generous in his assistance, though I know he was put out at having to see to the task,” she ventured, keeping her tone disinterested and conversational.

  “He’s put out when he has to deal with anyone and anything that isn’t the mines.”

  This time, she couldn’t keep her lips from curling in their corners. Success. He’d confirmed his identity . . . whether intentionally or not, she could not say, but it was just further evidence that the information she needed to glean about her charge might be best served from . . . his brother. “I confess to not understanding how such work should inspire such devotion.” And why a duke’s son, whose father wished to include him in his life, and give him every opportunity, should prefer to stay here. If her own father had acknowledged her in such a way . . .

  Edwina pushed back that wishful musing that had been with her since she was a girl.

  “I don’t expect you would. Only a miner understands the miner’s ways . . .”

  “And it is something you and Mr. Audley know a good deal about?” she murmured.

  “We’ve been miners since we each reached the age of eight, older than most.” Older than most . . . Every part of Edwina’s heart squeezed at that matter-of-fact revelation from Rafe Audley’s brother. “And yet, early on, Rafe proved himself, and did the work that men two decades his senior weren’t doing. He rose up to what he is now. We both did,” he added, as if he himself were an afterthought to his brother’s accomplishments, and it spoke volumes of the respect he carried for Mr. Audley.

  Mr. Rafe Audley truly had no desire to return with her, and reclaim his rightful place. He would rather toil in mines that any sane person would leap at the opportunity to escape. It was . . . nothing short of madness. With the backbreaking work he was responsible for, and the peril he faced, why should he ever, ever wish to hold on to it?

  And the irony of that wasn’t lost on her . . . she’d spent the whole of her life in search of being accepted as he so was. And he’d just . . . throw away that gift the duke held out? It was . . . unfathomable. And also something she’d not accept.

  Unfortunately, any further hopes of gathering information from the gentleman before her were at an end.

  They crested the small rise and proceeded the remaining twenty paces that led to the inn she temporarily called home.

  The moment the horses stopped, Mr. Hunter Audley jumped down. He came around the makeshift carriage, and then reaching up, he gripped her by the waist and set her down.

  She sank into a curtsy. “Many thanks to you, Mr. Audley.” For everything he’d sh
ared.

  As if her silent thoughts had given her away, he scowled. “I told you what I did so you know it is an absolute waste of your time coming here to attempt to sway him into giving this up,” he said bluntly, revealing that she’d been less subtle and he more aware than she’d believed. “He’ll never do that. Ever. More persuasive men tried to convince him to go to London. They all failed. And that isn’t because of them, just as it isn’t because of you. It’s because of who Rafe is and what he wants.”

  “I . . . see,” she said slowly, filing away everything he’d revealed. Proud. He was too proud to give up his work as foreman, overseeing those in his care.

  “The mail coach comes at four o’clock every day.”

  It took a moment to register that abrupt shift away from talk of Mr. Rafe Audley. The mail coach. The mail coach. What reason did she have to care about . . . ? And then it hit her. “I thank you for that. However, I have the benefit of His Grace’s carriage.” Even as she said it, it registered belatedly that the man before her, was, in fact, that same duke’s other son. Perhaps . . . he could be persuaded? As soon as the idea came to her, she squashed it. It was abundantly clear that he deferred to his older brother. “And I’m not leaving.”

  “You’re not?” he asked flatly.

  “Not at all. That is, of course, not until your brother, the other Mr. Audley, is prepared to make the journey on to London.”

  Mr. Audley’s younger brother strangled on something that sounded very much like a laugh. With nothing more than a wry shake of his head, he cracked the driving reins and urged his mounts on, riding off.

  For a long while, Edwina squinted against the bright Staffordshire sky and peered after that departing crude conveyance. Yes, he might laugh at her as his brother had. But that was fine. They still had yet to realize they had greatly underestimated their opponent—Edwina. That was invariably the case. People formed one immediate opinion of her and then inevitably found out . . . invariably she triumphed—over her charges and assignments. And over any negative opinions that were held of her.

  The one person whose opinion she’d been unable to alter had been her father. But this? Venturing into his world and proving herself capable of assisting a duke? It filled her both with hope and an even greater resolve to succeed.

  Nay, before she’d been motivated by the prospect of venturing into the world of Polite Society and establishing herself there. Now, it was about something else, as well. As unlikely as it was, a kindred bond had been forged between her and Mr. Rafe Audley—both of them bastards. Both of them self-made people who’d risen up, despite the circumstances of their birth. But only one of them was too afraid to take his proper place when granted that opportunity. Using the tip of her parasol as an improvised cane, she limped onward to the inn.

  Nay, over the course of her carriage ride with Mr. Hunter Audley and the consideration of her charge, something had shifted. It was about helping the stubborn lummox see the gift for what it was.

  Whether he liked it . . . or not.

  Chapter 7

  He was amused. And Hunter, since he’d come scowling and silent into the world as a babe, had never been smiling.

  Ever.

  That, coupled with the fact that Hunter now stood in wait, was enough to send warning bells chiming loud in Rafe’s ears as he entered his family’s cottage.

  What in hell was happening here?

  Judging by that crooked half grin, however, Hunter was enjoying this, and just waiting for that question to be put to him.

  Still wearing the apron from the work she’d done to prepare the evening meal, Cailin swept out of the kitchen, her thin cotton dress stained and bearing marks of the day’s work, and the previous ones before it. “You’re late,” she said with the stern disapproval likely more impressive than the military generals barking orders at their brother Wesley. “Later than usual.” Her threadbare garments stood in stark contrast to the finer ones worn by the lady who’d been intent on getting him to accompany her to London. Cailin’s dress also highlighted just how much his sister toiled. Details he never really paid much attention to given how most people in Staffordshire lived. Until today, when Miss Edwina Dalrymple had arrived . . . a woman who’d served as a visible reminder of how the other half lived. That, coupled with the earlier requests Cailin had put to him, forced Rafe to think about . . . things he’d not allowed himself to think about—his sister’s existence here in Staffordshire.

  Vastly different than the one their mother had enjoyed and not the one he’d have hoped to give his siblings. And he alternately hated himself for not having focused on that overmuch before now, and for questioning the existence he’d provided his family with.

  “Where have you been?” She reached past him and pushed the door shut. As she did, he followed her fingers, callused and rubbed red and raw.

  Over the years he’d regretted that Cailin didn’t have more, but he’d also been mindful of the fact that neither did she have to live the life that most women did in Staffordshire, working the coalfields.

  “There were problems at the coalfields, today, that put Rafe behind with his work. Or should I say ‘one problem’?” his brother supplied, with a teeth-grating level of humor.

  Cailin instantly paled, and the cloth she held sailed through her fingers and fluttered to the floor, forgotten at her feet. “Another fire,” she whispered.

  Rafe cast a warning glare their brother’s way. “There was no fire,” he said, and stalking over, he retrieved the cloth and handed it back to her. “Everything is fine.” This time. That wasn’t always the case in the coalfields. Inevitably, some tragedy struck. Two years earlier, Cailin’s sweetheart had been trapped in one—on Rafe’s watch. Severely hurt and burned, Alfie Carter had severed all connections with Cailin . . . and the living world, and Cailin wore the sadness of that still.

  Some of the tension left his sister, but the worry remained etched in the corners of her mouth and eyes. “A cave-in? Was someone injured? What—?”

  “Rafe had company from London,” Hunter interjected, and this time, he ignored Rafe’s glower. Nay, he wore that same pleased, entirely too amused expression, and perched a hip on the arm of the upholstered sofa that had once belonged to their mother.

  When neither man said anything more than that, Cailin glanced confusedly between them. “And?”

  “And,” his brother said with apparent relish, “it was a lady.”

  Cailin shook her head slowly, revealing the same level of confusion Rafe had felt throughout the day where Miss Edwina Dalrymple was concerned.

  And, having had enough of his brother’s games, he denied him the remaining satisfaction of sharing more than he already had. “The duke sent another in the hopes of retrieving me. This time . . . it was a woman.” A fancily dressed, bright-cheeked lady with impressively luscious buttocks. That latter detail, he’d really had no place noting. Considering the matter at an end, Rafe started for the kitchen.

  Alas, it appeared both of his siblings were determined to deny him any peace that day.

  “What did she want?” Cailin pressed, hurrying into the kitchen, close at his heels.

  The evening meal had been set out. Three bowls filled with—he peered at a mashed concoction with a potato-like texture, and some charred bits that had traces of orange within, marking them as possibly once carrots. “What is this?”

  Cailin swatted at his arm with her kitchen rag. “Do not go about attempting to change the topic.”

  “Yes,” Hunter said as he seated himself. “Let us not change the topic away from the pretty thing who visited you at the coalfields.”

  Her eyes forming slow, round circles, Cailin claimed her usual chair, drawing it out and seating herself. “She . . . paid you a visit at the coalfields?” Yes, because everyone knew you didn’t disturb a miner in the coalfields. And you never did it to Rafe Audley, foreman.

&
nbsp; “Indeed she did,” Hunter answered for him, ripping a piece of bread off with his hands, and adding it to whatever monstrosity their sister had cooked this time. “The lady is hoping to bring him back to London.”

  “And you are still determined not to go,” she said, exasperation rich in her tones. Yes, because just like Wesley, she’d been the only other one of the Audleys who’d actually entertained the possibility of them venturing to Town.

  Rafe grabbed the hard breadloaf his brother had already torn into. “And I’m determined none of us will ever go.” Without another word, he ripped off a piece with his teeth and chewed. Or attempted to. His jaw ached from the effort it required of him. Abandoning his efforts, he reached for his spoon, but Cailin slid it out of his reach, seeming determined to keep this unwanted conversation going.

  He scowled at his brother. Damn Hunter. Hunter, however, sat there, happily eating away, watching as Cailin debated Rafe.

  “You are no coward, Rafe.”

  “Thank you,” he cut into his sister’s latest lecture.

  “I’m not done,” she went on. “Or you haven’t been one, before now. But you’ve never really heard any of them out. You have not listened to what the duke has to say.”

  “Because it doesn’t matter.” There was nothing the old nobleman could say now that would undo the misery he’d brought to their mother. Or undo the years of neglect. “I already know what he wants. He wants us to come to London. And we collectively don’t want to go.” Rafe made another attempt to collect his spoon. To no avail.

  Cailin grabbed the wooden utensil, moving it out of his reach. “Collectively was,” and she jabbed the spoon at him, swirling it in a circle, and overemphasizing that word, “the three of us . . .”

  Was.

  Implying—nay, stating clearly—she was no longer of the same opinion. He scrubbed a hand down his jaw. Bloody hell.

  “And then there were two,” Hunter murmured.

  Rafe sluiced a glare at his younger brother, and then shifted his attention to the latest Audley defector. “I said it’s done. I sent her on her way, and that is the end of her and Bentley.”