Chasing the Heiress (20 page)

And then there was Lucy. He looked across the carriage at her, her face calm in sleep. She had found a way past almost all his defenses with her gentle eyes and kind heart. That made her dangerous. Until the end of this mission, at least, he would have to be more cautious. Then he would confess all and hope that, when she knew what he had done, she wouldn't walk away.

But could he really confess all when the truth was something he couldn't admit even to himself, except in those hours before dawn when he woke sweating to the phantom smell of Octavia's perfume? It didn't matter that his orders had been clear. He had loved Octavia and he had killed her.

Chapter Nineteen

Lady Emmeline Hartley held Colin's letter before her, decoding it onto a sheet of scrap paper to her left. She'd known from the cover that she should read it slant: Colin had written her address in his second hand.

In childhood, both she and Colin had developed multiple writing hands, a neat copperplate for general correspondence, and two others, one a household italic, and the other, a completely different copperplate hand. They used the second copperplate only with each other, and only in conjunction with a code they had developed long ago.

She'd known for years of his work for the war office and later for the home department. When he'd returned from the wars, she'd demanded all of his stories, and he'd spared her none of them. He'd told the stories so readily that at first she'd thought him to have come through the wars unscathed. Until Brussels. After that, his demeanor had changed: her loyal, kind, old friend had become reclusive and diffident. He'd shown up unannounced, not merely sad, but haunted, and she knew he'd done something terrible. But each time she'd asked, he'd turned away, his face a grim mask.

She'd intended on his next visit to offer her own secrets in exchange for his, secrets he might very well find unacceptable in other women, but which he would forgive in her. Yet even as certain as she was of his forgiveness, she'd held back: she hated to sacrifice even a small portion of his good regard. Colin had been her only true friend for her whole life.

Decoded, Colin's message spoke of refuge, secrets, and something more significant: a woman named Lucy he asked her to welcome.

His arrival and stay needed to remain a closely guarded secret. There would be little trouble there. She kept a small staff at Hartshorn Hall even when her stepbrother Sam was in residence as now. And the servants were used to the house being used for private political meetings.

The only problem could be Stella, who came and went as she pleased. Luckily, Stella had left disgruntled only that morning.

Rooms for three, one in the nursery, and two sturdy footmen to guard a child.

The house would be ready.

Chapter Twenty

Lucy would have liked to watch the countryside as they traveled. She had seen so little of England since her return after Waterloo, only the post road from London to her aunt's home and the roads she had taken on her escape. But she'd given the window seat to Jennie, hoping that the air from the open window and Lucy's supply of peppermint leaves—replenished from the porter's garden—would ease the girl's uneasy stomach.

As a result, Lucy had spent the trip seated in the middle of the carriage, facing backward. Colin and Jennie faced her, looking forward, and William's basket sat in between them and across from her. With Jennie so miserable, it seemed unkind to converse playfully with Colin, so the lovers subsisted on long glances and private smiles. Several hours into the trip, however, Colin had rested his knee against hers and left it there, solid and comforting, for the better part of the afternoon.

She took his touch as a reminder that she was not completely alone in the world. As soon as they had a private moment at their destination, she resolved to tell him her story and ask for his help in fulfilling her aunt's commission. She'd grown to trust Colin in the past weeks, and she knew he would help, if she asked it of him.

A mile from their destination, Fletcher—according to plan—stopped the carriage, and Jennie, dressed once more as a stable boy, climbed up beside Bobby. The moment the carriage door shut behind Jennie, Colin held out his hand. “Take my seat. You have been looking longingly at the windows since we left this morning. I anticipate you haven't seen much scenery.”

“Not much, but there's no need to move. Jennie's window will serve as well as yours.” She rose, but stumbled as the carriage began to move. Colin took the opportunity to pull her down into his lap.

“But on this side, you will have the best view as we approach the hall.”

“Your wound,” Lucy countered, but he silenced her objections with kisses to her neck. She placed her palms on his cheeks and turned his face up to hers. She kissed him deeply.

“My wound heals better with kisses, sweet star. But I wish for you to enjoy the landscape.” Holding her into his chest, he gently pushed William's basket toward the opposite door, then sitting her beside him, he slid closer to William's basket.

“That was deftly done.” Lucy pulled the curtains apart to their widest extent. “Watch with me.”

He angled Lucy's back into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “Together is best, though I fear Hartshorn Hall will not afford us the same privacy we have enjoyed these past few days.” He nuzzled her neck, his warm breath sending lovely sensations up her spine. He stopped, pointing her gaze out of the window. “But for now, you must watch: I wish to hear your reactions as we arrive.”

She rested against him, sighing. “As you wish.”

The forest outside her window was thick with oak, sweet chestnut, and beech, alongside evergreen pines, firs, and spruces. Though it was not yet fully evening, deer lifted their heads from the verges, and more than one rabbit hid in the underbrush. But what Lucy noticed most were the birds, so many different varieties, most of which—having grown up on the Continent—she could not name.

“On the other side of this bend, the forest ends, and you should see Hartshorn Hall.”

The carriage turned once, then twice in a tight switchback, and the land opened up in front of them past the forest edge.

Lucy gasped in pleasure. “It's a castle!” She laughed, examining its square turreted corners and its crenelated walls. “Not a real one, it can't be!”

“Well, the building itself is quite real, and the castle equally so. You can place your hand on its walls to see it is not an illusion,” Colin mocked, pulling her more tightly against him.

“I mean
real
as in a castle built in the Middle Ages.”

“Then no, it is not real. Lady Emmeline's great-grandfather was obsessed with the glorious history of his ancestors and, displeased that they had no castle remaining, he built one. He was, however, enough of a pragmatist to ensure all the conveniences were present—or at least the conveniences of a hundred years ago. I loved it here as a boy—Sam Barnwell, Lady Emmeline's stepbrother, and I went to Harrow together. It's always been a second home to me.”

In the distance, a petite woman in a riding habit with a dog by her side stood next to a tall man in livery.

“That's Lady Emmeline and Jeffreys. Don't mistake Jeffreys: he has been Em's butler, estate manager, and trusted advisor since her father ran off to the Continent to live with his French mistress.” Colin's voice turned hard.

“You don't like her father.” Lucy caressed his hand where it rested on her belly.

Colin paused long before answering. “When Em was six, she was badly hurt in a carriage accident that killed her mother and elder sisters. But instead of caring for Em, her father ran away. He's never come back.”

“Tell me the story. I would hate to make a misstep in the home of your friends.”

“It's horrific. Em's sisters wished to return home early from a visit, and her mother accommodated them. It was almost a full day after the accident before Em's father realized something was wrong. By the time they found Em, she had spent two moonless nights, both legs broken, trapped in an overturned carriage, with the bodies of her mother and sisters.”

“Poor child.” Lucy shook her head in sympathy, wondering at what grit it took for a child to overcome such an experience.

“For years she refused to travel in any carriage, and later, she would only travel distances that allowed her to go and return before nightfall. On the rare occasions that she agreed to remain somewhere overnight, she would inevitably awaken screaming. And nothing helped . . . until she found Bess.”

“Bess?”

“Her dog. With Bess by her side, Em is her natural self, vibrant and charming and confident. She runs the estate better than her father ever dreamed of doing.” Colin's voice was proud.

“How old is Bess?” Lucy asked gently.

“Not so old, yet. But Jeffreys, Sam, and I already fear what will happen to Em when Bess dies. But don't tell her you know.” Colin kissed her neck one last time. “She would skin me alive. And you would miss me.”

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Colin shifted to put a respectable distance between them.

* * *

At the estate office door, Colin and Lucy played the part of guests just arrived, acting as a distraction while Jeffreys directed Fletcher and the carriage boys to unload the carriage directly into his office. From there, Jennie and Bobby used the servant's stairway to whisk William to the nursery.

Em flung herself into Colin's arms. “It's been too long, you devil. You promised to come for Stella's house party, but you abandoned me, and I had to entertain her witless crowd alone!”

“I'm certain you have concocted an appropriate penance.” Colin offered a formal half bow.

“Concocted is right—you will see.” Em, grinning extended both hands to Lucy in greeting. Colin offered the introductions, giving no explanation of his relationship to Lucy. At Em's side was Bess, a big black dog with a white ruff, white feet, and a white blaze at her chest.

“What a beautiful animal! I've never seen one like her.” Lucy held out her hand, palm toward her body, for the big animal to sniff. “What breed is she?”

“A St. John's water dog from Newfoundland. I won her in a bet from the Earl of Malmesbury, who has brought them to England. He raises them in his kennel.” Em scratched Bess between the ears.

“Malmesbury is usually picky about who gets one of his water dogs,” Colin baited.

Em batted playfully at Colin's arm. “I was very persuasive.”

“Oh, yes, persuasive. Tell Lucy what persuasive means.”

“Well,” Em laughed, “I simply refused to give her back. When I went to the kennel to see the pups, Bess stayed at the back of the stall. All the other pups came forward, but she hung back. I bet Malmesbury that I could get her to come to me.”

“What did you do?” Lucy asked, intrigued.

Colin leaned in conspiratorially. “Knowing Em, she secretly tied Bess to the back of the kennel, then untied the lead to win the bet.”

Em glared at Colin. “I did not, though”—she shrugged her shoulders—“that's close. In any event, Bess has been beside me ever since. I took her to Malmesbury a couple of months ago to be bred, and her litter is all black with white noses just like their mother. Malmesbury's already chosen his pups, so the rest are mine.” The dog lifted its head to nuzzle Em's hand. “She's my good luck charm. I always get a rabbit when Queen Bess comes along.”

“Queen Bess?”

Em looked sheepish and pleased all at once. “She rules the estate, so I thought she should have an appropriate name. If you'd like, I can show you Bess's pups.”

The three followed Fletcher and the carriage, as it moved toward the stable yard.

Though there were stray dogs aplenty on the battle trail, Lucy had never been allowed to keep one. Most would stay, then disappear, likely killed. Lucy had especially loved one, a scraggly brown dog with a broken leg. She'd begged the doctor to set the leg, but he'd refused, so she'd torn up her shift, made bandages, and done the job herself. The dog had followed her around the camp until its leg was healed, but soon after the splints were gone, he'd disappeared, and she'd missed him for years. But the doctor had noticed her, her skill, and her instincts, and from then she'd been allowed to help with the wounded.

Em's pups were black, roly-poly balls of fur. Crawling over one another in a tumble of paws, they reached the front of the stable quickly. The stable gate had been removed and replaced with a low fence, so that Bess could enter and leave freely. The great dog leapt over the barricade and stood proudly behind her pups.

“Oh, they are adorable!” Lucy bent down and stuck her fingers between the fence slats. The pups licked and gnawed on her fingers.

“I know. I can't imagine how I'm going to part with them. But they're spoken for, their new homes approved by Malmesbury himself. I'm keeping two: the one with no markings, and the headstrong one over there.” Em pointed at the pup gnawing on his brother's leg.

“How did you choose?” Lucy scratched the white belly of a pup that had rolled over beneath her fingers.

“The all-black one reminds me of Bess when she was a pup, all good-humor and deviousness. And the headstrong one seems oddly most devoted to Bess: he watches her constantly and misses her most when she isn't in the stable yard. I'd held one back for you, Colin—the best of them in fact—but then you didn't come when expected.”

“Guilty as charged, Em.” Colin lifted his hands out to his sides. “What did you do with my pup?”

“He's still here, the sleek one Lucy is scratching. He already shows the instincts to make a fine hunter.” Em turned to Jeffreys, who approached from the house, leaving Colin and Lucy to play with Bess's pups.

Colin stepped into the stable and picked up the white-bellied pup with a thick white ruff. Holding him up, Colin looked the pup in the eyes. The pup looked soberly back.

“You really do hold babies and puppies alike. Give him to me.” Lucy held out her hands, and Colin gave her the animal. Immediately, she snuggled the puppy to her bosom, and he began to lick her chin and face. Lucy giggled, a light, young sound that lifted Colin's spirits. “Are you a clever pup? Are you? Of course you are.” And the pup licked her on the nose.

Em returned to Colin's side. “Your companions are well settled in the nursery, and we have locked the servants' stairway as well as the stairway from the family wing. Your man Fletcher has one key.” She held out a heavy iron key. “Here is the only other.”

Colin stuck the key in the side of his boot, then leaned forward to kiss Em's cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Em looked seriously into Colin's face. “Is this part of the business from before?”

“No, but it's important,” Colin responded with equal seriousness.

Lucy watched as the two shared a private communication. Em made a motion with her hand, and Colin nodded. Suddenly, Lucy felt ill at ease. Something in the manner of the two toward one another made her feel like an interloper. But then the moment passed, and Colin's face shifted to a playful pose.

“So how much will it cost me to buy my dog back?”

“You will find Malmesbury unwilling to negotiate. He was quite smitten.” Em laughed. “Losing the pup might simply be your punishment for broken promises.”

* * *

Em had graciously had a bath drawn for Lucy before dinner, and Lucy had luxuriated in the hot water until it became warm, then tepid. She had pulled herself from the tub unwillingly. The maid who had accompanied the hot water also brought fine linen towels and a heavy brocaded dressing gown, suitable to the season, scented with rose water.

Wrapped in the luxurious gown, Lucy reviewed her two choices for what dress to wear to dinner: the worn blue wool and an equally worn grey muslin, neither fitting her figure. Now that Colin had discovered how she had altered her shape, it seemed foolish—at least while she was in the safety of his company—to continue the ruse. But she had no other options. Having seen Em and her closeness to Colin, she wished suddenly that she had not refused his offer of new clothes so decisively.

It would have to be the grey, she realized. The wool was wholly unsuited for a dinner at a country manor. Though faded and worn, the grey still showed signs of having been a fine walking dress once long ago.