A Secret Passion (25 page)

“Let’s see if the little lady needs a bit more protection from the hooligan,” the first added with a toothless grin. As the two started to rise, a tall figure stepped in front of them. “The lady has no desire for your company. I would suggest you enjoy what is left of your meal,” the earl said in a deep baritone.

Harry stood up, his chair falling backward at the same time. He came up behind the earl and peeked sideways. “His lordship is right, mates. My, er, sister does not need any help from you. I thank you for your concern, but we just want to be left in peace.”

The men settled back into their chairs, eyeing Lord Graystock with deference and ignoring Harry completely.

The earl turned his back on the laborers after a final dark look and pulled up a chair to sit uninvited with the pair. The sour-faced maid bobbed several times and asked him if he cared for any refreshments. He waved her off without a glance.

“I took the liberty of commanding the last room in the inn for you, Mrs. Lovering. I thought it wise, as I knew we were traveling the same route.”

“You are very kind, my lord,” Jane responded. “However, I cannot rob you of the last room. Mr. Thompson and I will do very well here. We shall leave before first light, in any case. Perhaps we shall even leave as soon as the storm abates.”

“My dear Mrs. Lovering, I knew your pride would not allow you to accede to my wishes readily, and that you would prevail to try to change my mind, and so I shall tell you my plans,” the earl said. “I shall retire to the luxury of my coach, which is far superior in comfort to the attic room of this modest inn. Mr. Thompson is welcome to join me, as there are two long well-padded benches and adequate room. Or he may choose the dampness and conviviality of this… ale room.”

Much to Jane’s surprise, Mr. Thompson accepted the earl’s gracious offer. He was a young man who did not look gift horses in the mouth. Jane guessed that the small amount of pride Harry possessed was often swallowed because of his less fortunate birth and his easy humor. She was horrified that he had acceded to Lord Graystock’s plans so readily.

“But we will be…”

The earl, looking as aloof and as confident as ever, interrupted her. “Surely you are not going to waste our time discussing this ad nauseam, when your husband-to-be has already agreed? Have you forgotten the vows you will soon he making, those of honoring and obeying?” he said in mocking tones.

“I have not forgotten. However, I am not married at present, and it is unseemly for us to accept your generosity.”

“But, Jane, dear, you must admit it is the only solution,” Harry said. “I for one must thank you, Lord Graystock, for your attention and generosity.” Harry shook the earl’s hand.

Jane lifted her chin a fraction of an inch and narrowed her eyes. The earl stood up abruptly and bowed to her. “I shall see you when you are ready to retire, Mr. Thompson,” he said as a manner of leave-taking, and he turned away.

The evening had passed as uncomfortably as the day had begun. Jane had escaped from the creeping glances of the common laborers in the tavern soon after the earl’s departure. She had resigned herself to going to bed early in an effort to put as much distance between herself and her father as possible on the morrow. It was an easy decision, as the innkeeper had grudgingly provided a single tallow candle half spent. They would leave an hour before dawn, and she had left strict instructions with the innkeepers to awaken her.

The coarse gray sheets of the bed itched. She noticed the bed was nothing more than compressed old straw that smelled moldy in certain places. It was the first time in her life she had suffered these conditions, and she almost felt sorry for herself. After two hours of tossing and turning, she rose from the tormenting bed and pulled open the latches of her small trunk. She dug out her ink and quill, as well as some precious paper. If nothing else, the time spent wrestling with the covers had at least inspired her with a solution to the mess the heroine faced in her manuscript. She wrote without pause until the candle guttered and she lay exhausted on the foul-smelling bed.

Chapter Twelve

THE hour before morning was cold and damp, a harbinger of the day ahead. Jane wore her warmest undergarments and prayed for clear skies. She and Harry decamped in good time, with only the mud slowing their progress.

Harry’s ankle had swelled, so Jane insisted on taking the ribbons. She urged the pair on with a sense of dread and excitement. From time to time she turned to see Harry’s patched and rumpled form sprawled on the old leather seat. He seemed to be in a brown study, without hint of his perpetual happy nature.

This was finally it. She would marry him in just a very few days. For love and for a lifetime of harmony. She had Harry’s family as an example of the kind of domestic bliss she craved. A bit uproarious at times, but warm and happy. His parents adored one another and their entire brood. Of course, Jane was sure she didn’t want a brood quite as large as that of the Thompsons, but dreamt of the deep well of love reflected in the reverend’s and his wife’s eyes each time she saw them together.

Her parents had been the opposite. They had fought for years before her mother had stopped crying during every loud argument. Jane had asked her mother about the change. It was simple, she had explained. One stopped crying when one stopped caring. She had tired of her husband’s controlling, bullying ways and had learned to avoid him as much as possible. She had refused to live in London, the city her husband loved. She had insisted on remaining at Pembroke with her two children, amid the animals and nature she and her children adored.

Jane turned to see Harry swat at an invisible gnat and belch. Mumbling an apology, he laughed and told Jane to direct her attention back to her driving. At just that instant, the wheel caught a deep, muddy rut at an awkward angle. A crack, signaling breaking wood, filled the air. The left side of the carriage sagged, and Jane gripped the reins in one hand and the underside of the seat in the other as she calmed and stopped the pair. Harry popped up from his slump and looked over the side.

“It’s done for,” he said.

“As I guessed,” she said with a sigh.

Jane pulled on the brake and descended from her perch. The wheel lay next to the rut, which concealed two jagged quartz rocks that had caught and twisted it. It could be fixed, but not without time, labor, and more precious coins.

“I’ll ride on ahead to find help,” Jane said.

“It will be faster to go back to the smithy near the inn.”

“How do we know that? Besides, I didn’t particularly like that village. No, I’ll ride on ahead.”

“We’ll go back together. I can’t let you go alone, you know that, Duck.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

Harry looked at her and scratched his head. Suddenly Jane was reminded of her brother’s angry words. That she would always control Harry as much as her father had always controlled her mother. That Harry would always be under the cat’s paw. “Why don’t we ride together, then, to the next village?” she asked.

Harry nodded his assent as she unhitched the horses. A rotted fence nearby provided the leg up they needed for each to ride bareback. Jane’s black gown barely concealed her knees, let alone her ankles. She shrugged and sighed. She prayed no one would see her. In her heart she knew she wanted to avoid the other village because it would entail an encounter with Rolfe, as they had departed before the earl.

Harry and Jane alternated between walking and cantering the next several miles. Her horse’s prominent withers dug into her body until she was forced to stop for rest. Under the shade of an oak tree, Harry leaned over and massaged his leg.

What she had forgotten was the earl’s superior equipage. Just as they turned their horses’ heads toward the road once again, she heard the rumble of a conveyance behind her. The team of four was going almost full out, just short of a gallop, when they rounded the corner. The carriage’s tall coachman pulled the horses to a stop as they neared. Jane’s eyes widened when she saw it was Rolfe who drove the team. A short, embarrassed coachman with compressed lips sat beside the earl.

Rolfe vaulted off the seat as Harry moved closer to her.

“Are you hurt?” Graystock inquired with urgent concern.

“No, no, we are both unhurt, my lord,” Jane responded. She watched the earl’s eyes trace the shape of her leg from her exposed knee to the tip of her slipper. She felt herself blush and raised her chin a notch higher.

“We would be grateful if you could inform the smithy in the next town of our predicament, my lord,” Harry requested.

“Better yet, I shall convey you both there posthaste.”

Jane was about to insist that it was unnecessary and they could see to themselves, when Harry for the second time interceded on their behalf and accepted the offer with a grin.

Jane snapped her mouth shut and turned the horse away from the prying eyes of the coachman on the ducal carriage. But no matter which angle she tried, she knew it would be difficult to dismount without exposing more of her person. Suddenly, strong hands grasped her waist and eased her descent.

“Here, Mrs. Lovering, do allow me to help you from your perch,” Lord Graystock said. His powerful arms lowered her to the ground, his face half a foot from hers. Gray eyes revealed an arch expression.

“We meet again, my lord,” Jane said, looking at the ground.

“It seems we are ill-fated in our good-byes, Mrs. Lovering.”

Jane raised her eyes to the snowy folds of his cravat and blinked, avoiding his discomforting gaze.

He removed his hands and Jane felt bereft.

“Come, let me escort you into the coach,” the earl suggested. A groom had already helped Harry dismount and remove his tight boot. The liveried man placed pillows under Harry’s leg on one bench of the coach while Rolfe and Jane were forced to sit beside one another on the other side. Lord Graystock leaned forward and asked if he could be permitted to examine the ankle. Harry acquiesced and admitted it seemed more swollen than the night before and the various shades of purple were spreading instead of fading. Jane looked at Harry’s strained face and then at the earl as he manipulated the ankle. Lord Graystock descended the steps of the coach, and the two occupants heard murmurings from the earl and coachman outside.

“Harry, this looks much worse than the last time I saw it,” Jane said in a shocked whisper.

“I know.”

Harry looked tired and defeated. Jane silently chastised herself for pressing on.

“We’ll call for a doctor and rest in the next town,” Jane quietly insisted.

Lord Graystock’s powerful frame filled the doorway as he stepped inside. Little was said on the journey. Harry was in pain, Jane’s mind was filled with a necessary revision to her plans, and the earl stared at Jane’s profile or at the passing scenery in the window beyond her. It was hard to tell which. Each time a bump in the road caused Jane and Rolfe to jostle together, they moved away from one another with a rapidity of motion indicating heightened awareness of each other’s person.

A scant two hours later saw the equipage turning from the main road onto a narrow lane. The spent blooms of horse chestnut trees littered the ground as the graceful arc of the branches provided blessed shade from the hot sun. Rolfe was at least glad the heat would help dry up the cursed mud that had been their undoing. He failed to draw Jane’s attention away from a gatekeeper’s house as they passed through a large set of stone columns with crested black wrought-iron gates. The gates swung open with precision as the earl nodded to the keeper. A large brick Palladian mansion stood at the crest of a long hill.

“Where are you taking us, my lord?” Jane asked in a mild, shrewish tone.

“To a place where Mr. Thompson can rest in comfort.” He looked at her, challenging her to refute the wisdom of his words.

“But where are we?”

“Seaton, the estate where my brother resides.”

Jane looked as if she was about to protest, but instead she swallowed the retort and looked at the immaculate floorboards of the coach. Lord Graystock suppressed a smile. He could imagine how bitter a pill pride could be when swallowed. And obviously, Mrs. Lovering had rarely, if ever, found herself in circumstances where such medicine must be taken. He was relieved he would not have to argue the point.