A Reason to Rebel (12 page)

“My dear Lady Crawley, do not spare me a thought, I beg of you. I shall be quite comfortable here. Of course you must go.”

Lady Crawley left Estelle alone after they finished their tea but came to check on her after she had taken her dinner alone with her son. She sat with her for over half an hour, chattering away, fuelling Estelle’s guilt. When, yawning discreetly behind her hand, her ladyship declared that she too would retire early, Estelle was at last satisfied there would be no further interruptions and set her plan in motion. She placed the most serviceable gown she possessed in her valise and packed the other few items she could not manage without, including, naturally, her favourite shawl.

She stared out of the window, impatiently tapping her fingers on the sill. She was not surprised to notice that even nature had conspired against her, providing only a miniscule amount of moonlight by which she would have to navigate her way towards the long driveway and thence to the village. She shuddered, aware that her fear of the dark was about to be tested for the second time in one day.

All was in readiness and she must wait now until she was sure the household had settled for the night. Her only remaining task, and a crucial one, was to pen a few lines to Lady Crawley to account for her sudden departure. Easier said than done. Half an hour later she had still had not written a single word. Compounding a falsehood by committing it to paper was so much more difficult than merely living a lie. But eventually it was done. A sudden summons to a new post received late the previous day was a wretched excuse and one which would not stand up to the mildest scrutiny. But she could think of nothing better to account for her sudden disappearance. She added that she had left the house at first light, walking the short distance to the village in order to catch the early mail coach, since she had no wish to give further trouble by requesting transportation. She ended by offering warm thanks to her hostess for so diligently restoring her to health but avoided any mention of where she was headed.

Estelle could imagine Lady Crawley’s distress when she read this most inadequate of letters. Picturing her kindly face wrinkling with confusion and concern, she had never liked herself less. She sighed and propped the missive on the mantelpiece in her chamber where it was sure to be seen and handed to Lady Crawley by the maid.

Dressed in her warmest travelling attire, Estelle slipped from her room, valise in hand, and crept down the stairs in the direction of Lord Crawley’s study. It had been very obliging of him to mention that the secret passage had two wings. She had not noticed that it split off in different directions and was grateful that she happened to have chosen the correct route earlier. It also meant that her escape from the house would now be expediently achieved.

As expected, his lordship’s study was devoid of human presence, only the embers of the dying fire lending it any light. But that was sufficient for Estelle to make her way to the concealed doorway and slip behind it. Only then did she appreciate that she should have thought to bring a candle with her. She told herself it was no gloomier now than it had been this afternoon. The darkness of the night could not penetrate these hidden passages. But the thought did little to reassure her and she hesitated, suddenly unsure of which direction to take.

Only the sight of a pair of inquisitive eyes staring beadily up at her compelled her to gather up her skirts with a shriek and move her feet. She shuddered, her skin crawling with repulsion. Where there was one rat very likely more were lurking. She was so appalled by the thought that for a moment she considered giving up her bid for freedom. But only for a moment. She had come too far to turn back now and told herself not to be so pathetic, aware that she must now move quickly if she was not to lose her nerve altogether.

She sped along the dank passageway as fast as she dared, touching the walls on either side with her valise and reticule respectively. She spoke aloud in the hope that the commotion she was making would scare off the more inquisitive members of the rodent population. Only when she sensed a change in the draughty atmosphere did she slow her pace. Aware that she must have reached the point at which the paths divided, she stared straight into the eyes of the one rat which had refused to be deterred by her noisy intrusion into his territory.

“Which way do I go now, then?” she asked him, strangely comforted rather than alarmed by his determination to accompany her.

The rat regarded her with an air of complacent superiority and a twitch of his whiskery nose but offered no opinion.

“You are no help at all,” she admonished, shaking a finger at him.

She forced herself to take several deep breaths as she waited for the confusion that was clouding her mind to dissipate. As it gradually did so her powers of reasoning were restored to her. She decided that if she had approached from straight ahead this afternoon, and she was sure that she had because she did not recall turning any corners, then her path on this occasion must lay to the right. Blindly stretching out her hands she turned in that direction, cursing as she struck her head on an overhang which knocked her bonnet askew. She ducked beneath the offending rock and followed the path as it turned sharply to the left, fervently hoping that her subterranean journey was coming to an end. Instead she was almost blinded by the light glowing from a wall scone.

“Ah, there you are at last!” The owner of the rumbling male voice levered himself from the wall against which he had been sprawled. “I was beginning to think you must have taken a wrong path.”

Estelle gasped, her heart pounding against her rib cage. This was simply too much for her fragile grasp on reality to cope with. She had defied her father; overcome her fear of the dark and her repulsion for rodents, only to be challenged by some nameless male figure of authority before she had even escaped the confines of Crawley Hall. Her head was swimming and she staggered backwards a few paces, dizziness rendering her actions ungainly, as she struggled to come to terms with her spectacular failure.

Her last memory before her world went completely black was of a strong pair of arms catching her, preventing her from crumpling to the floor in a dead faint.

Chapter Eight

Alex cradled the unconscious Estelle against his chest and carried her back through the passageway into his study. All the while he cursed his stupidity. He should have kept his temper in check and devised a less dramatic means by which to challenge her contention that she was a stranger to Winthrop. He should also have realized that these passageways would be a daunting enough test for any lady’s sensibilities, and that one weakened by illness was bound to be especially susceptible to their terrors. His confronting her in such a crass manner could have resulted in her injuring herself.

She weighed nothing at all. Carrying her and her bags, Alex was not even out of breath when he regained his study and laid her gently on the settee in front of the fire. Rekindling the flames, he was soon rewarded by the sight of them chasing one another up the chimney. He removed her bonnet and loosened her pelisse, gently tracing the line of her deathly pale face with his palm. Opening her valise he found what he was searching for almost immediately and placed her beautifully embroidered shawl across her knee. Perhaps the sight of it would soothe her when she opened her eyes. He sat on the edge of the settee and removed her fine kid gloves, taking her hands and rubbing them together to infuse some warmth into her.

Alex felt great admiration for her courage. She was heartrendingly beautiful yet virtually defenceless against her brute of a father who treated her more as a possession than a person. The man terrified her to such a degree that she was prepared to venture alone into an uncertain future rather than live beneath his roof. Her vulnerability brought out his protective instincts in spades.

But there was more to her dilemma than a domineering parent, he would wager his fortune on that, and would not be satisfied until he knew precisely what she sought to evade. If he was to make recompense for his boorish behaviour by being of service to her, he must first persuade her to place her trust in him and reveal the precise nature of her difficulties.

Alex cursed himself for being the cause of her current anguish and would have given much to be able to relive the evening. How differently he would have managed matters then. He had been angry with Estelle and had wanted to teach her a lesson for doubting his integrity. But he could now appreciate the situation from her perspective. The growing attraction he entertained towards her had made his offer of assistance sound clumsy, open to misinterpretation. In retrospect he could scarce blame her for all but accusing him of dishonourable intentions. It was an insult of the first order for a gentleman of his ilk—one which rankled, causing him to temporarily lose his grip on reason and making him desirous for a modicum of revenge. He had deliberately mentioned the other passageway, knowing by her haphazard attempts to pack her belongings that she was intent upon escape and that she would swallow the bait.

“It was you!”

The sound of her voice jolted Alex out of his introspection. He looked down into eyes which were clouded with confusion, her lashes sweeping repeatedly across her translucent cheeks as she struggled to reclaim her senses.

“I apologize for startling you. How do you feel?”

She ignored his restraining hand and sat up, carefully twisting her head from side to side. “I have a mild headache, which is hardly to be wondered at. Still, having survived your juvenile prank, I ought to be thankful that I am still in possession of a head at all, I suppose. Whatever did you imagine you were about?”

“Here.” He handed her a glass of water.

“Thank you.” She took several sips. “Where did this come from?” She fingered her shawl and cast a suspicious glance at him.

“I thought you might find it comforting.”

“That was thoughtful but would not have been necessary if you had not scared me half out of my wits. And you still have not explained why you acted in such a manner.”

“I apologize once again.” He bowed his apology, to which she made a derisive sound at the back of her throat. “Shall we start again, Mrs. Travis?”

“Please do not call me that.”

“I doubt, having witnessed your father’s unconscionable behaviour, you would find Winthrop any more acceptable.”

She inclined her head, a ghost of a smile playing about her lips. He could not tear his eyes away from them and stared, mesmerized, wondering how they would taste if he were to kiss them. “True.”

“Then I shall simply address you as Estelle,” he said, relieved to see that her temper was subsiding and she had ceased pressing him for explanations. She clearly was not one to bear grudges, a discovery which heartened him.

“As you wish.”

Distant haughtiness had returned to her tone, reminding him that he would likely have to undertake a vast amount more grovelling before she would even consider trusting him. And since being of service to this indescribably endearing creature was currently of vital importance to him, grovelling it would have to be.

“I think it is time you told me what is going on, Estelle, so that I might make recompense for my behaviour by helping you out of your difficulties.” He held up his hand when she made to interrupt him. “And the truth this time, all of it, if you please.”

She was quiet for a long time, staring into the fire as though seeking inspiration in its embers. Alex did not speak again, knowing this time that whatever she chose to tell him would indeed be the truth. The only question was, how much of the truth would she be prepared to reveal?

“Susanna Cleethorpe and I are not strangers to one another. In face we have been friends for years,” she said at last.

“You met at school?”

“You knew that?”

“I surmised it. You gave yourself away when you first arrived by almost referring to Mrs. Cleethorpe as Susanna.”

“I did not think that anyone noticed the slip.”

“I did.”

“And then my father arrived and confirmed the fact.”

“Your father made a great many assertions, none of which I was prepared to take at face value.”

“I daresay that he did, and I thank you for not being taken in by his bluster.” She paused. “I should have admitted to the truth when we spoke of his visit earlier. I can see that now, but I thought, well, you know…” Her words trailed to an embarrassed halt. Then she turned her remarkable eyes upon him, all artifice gone from their expression. The naked vulnerability they now displayed fired his passionate desire to act as her protector. More significantly, they fired his passions as a man. Never before had a woman affected him so comprehensively. He hid the discomfort of his reaction by shifting his position and inclining his head, an invitation for her to continue speaking. “I apologize for dissembling but I was not sure, that is to say…”