Emily Hendrickson (5 page)

Mr. Small frowned, rubbing his chin until he brightened, appearing to have thought of something.

“Do you remember that smallish property your grandmother left you? A neat little manor house down at the tip of Wiltshire somewhere if I make no mistake.” He rose from his desk to cross the room, where a wooden cabinet provided a plump file containing the most current papers dealing with the Hawkswood properties.

“Wiltshire?” Alexander queried softly. “I recall something to that effect, but I confess I’ve not had the time to go so far from the other estates. A smallish house does not command the attention Hawkswood Abbey does,” he concluded, referring to his principal seat.

“Here it is,” Mr. Small said cheerfully. He spread out a map and a few other papers on his desk.

Alexander rose to examine all before reluctantly assenting to the opinion voiced by Mr. Small. The village of Woodbury appeared to be the ideal place for a bolt-hole in which to hide until Camilla Shelford decided to turn her attention to some other poor chap.

“To think I should be reduced to this!” Alexander said with a grimace.

“It would appear to be as good a solution as any, my lord, and a good deal cheaper, not to mention easier on your reputation,” Mr. Small suggested.

“I shan’t inform anyone else of my plans, and I rely upon you to keep me informed of Miss Shelford’s whereabouts,” Alexander offered lightly. “I leave immediately, as soon as my man can pack. Remember, utter silence—unless there is need for communication of a sort, and in that case contact Harry Riggs. I’ll leave his direction with you.” Alexander immediately jotted down Harry’s address, then turned to leave.

“Good luck, my lord,” Mr. Small said as Alexander left the room and clattered down the stairs with great haste.

It took but a little time before Alexander saw his banker, acquired all he needed from that source, then informed his valet that they would be taking an extensive journey to the south of England. As that worthy valiantly suppressed a shudder, Alexander offered the details while gathering a few papers he wanted
.

“The hinterland, I expect one might call it,” he confided with a sigh, thinking of all the delights of the Season he would be forced to forgo. That brought to mind the number of engagements that perforce must be canceled. Once his regrets were written, he handed them to his butler with instructions to send them out the following day.

Within two hours he was on the road, his curricle racing from the city quite as though he fully expected to see Camilla Shelford behind him with an archbishop in tow.

The greater distance he achieved, the more at ease he became, enjoying the lovely early summer scene as he passed green fields and patches of primroses and wild campion. Here was England at its best, fields sprouting, apple trees coming to blossom. The very air smelled of freedom.

Rather than stay at the best inns as was customary for him, he settled on quiet country hostelries, clean and respectable, but not apt to be frequented by his cronies or anyone he knew. The food proved to be filling, and often the home brewed was most splendid.

At Salisbury he felt sufficiently relaxed to spend some time prowling about the local sights, picking up a number of items he suspected might not be found in the village of Woodbury. Egads, the place was so small it was not even found in his copy of
Patterson’s,
and he had thought every spot in the country was listed therein. It was a good thing he had Mr. Small’s direction as a guide or he’d never have found the place.

Ultimately, he felt the urge to move on to the south and would have set off immediately had he not bumped into an old friend and accepted an invitation to visit a race course not far from Salisbury. The Downs were famous for their racing courses, and this one promised to offer excellent diversion. Once Alexander explained his predicament, Giles Dodsworth was only too happy to offer shelter and quiet anonymity.

“There is no one awaiting me; my time is my own.” It occurred to Alexander that he possibly ought to drop the housekeeper a line to warn her of his coming, but figured that a single gentleman ought not cause that much of a stir. Besides, he didn’t trust her not to let the surrounding gentry know of his coming, and he wanted to test the local waters on his own. He wanted no predatory females if he could avoid them. When the day inevitably came that he had to marry,
he
would select his wife.

* * * *

“What a glorious day this is,” Juliet cried in delight as she left the house to inspect the newly redone gardens. “Look, the wallflowers are doing well as are the aquilegia you brought me,” she exclaimed to Mr. Wyllard. “Soon there will be blooms from one side of my garden to the other. And I owe it all to you,” she concluded shyly with a demure glance at her companion. The sun gave a splendid glow to the garden as well as to Mr. Wyllard’s ruddy countenance—the result of many hours spent supervising the planting.

In spite of his high color, he was a well-looking man, with darkish brown hair and thoughtful gray eyes. True, his hair receded a trifle and his face was a bit longish, but his excellent character more than made up for these slight defects. And character was important to Juliet. She desired steadfastness and decency in a man. Her stepbrother had revealed the other side of a man’s character far too well to please her, and she wanted none of it.

However, Juliet was beginning to wonder if this masquerade was such a wonderful idea. She considered George Wyllard a very nice gentleman. He enjoyed music as did she, and his knowledge of gardening surpassed that of anyone she had ever met. Mrs. Ogleby had let it drop that he was tolerably well to grass, possessing an acceptable property and sound investments.

Juliet had not intended to look for a husband while in concealment from her stepbrother. That had been the last thing on her mind when she fled Winterton Hall that chilly morning. What a pity if Juliet came to love Mr. Wyllard and was trapped in an arrangement from which it would be near impossible to extricate herself. Why hadn’t she thought of such a possibility? Pansy had warned her that trouble would undoubtedly follow from her foolishness, but Juliet had never considered what form it might take—certainly not falling in love with a gentleman such as Mr. Wyllard!

* * * *

“Trouble, is what they are, my good fellow,” Alexander exclaimed, lounging back in his chair in the Dodsworth dining room while studying his glass of excellent port. “Women are nothing but trouble. Take my word for it, you do not want to get involved with the lot of them.”

“Oh, come now, there must be one or two who merit your attention,” Giles laughingly declared.

“Attention, indeed,” Alexander said with a sudden grin. “My name in marriage, I think not. At least, not at this time,” he amended. “I imagine there is a fair charmer out there somewhere who might possibly capture my heart and hand.”

“But you give leave to doubt it,” Giles inserted, continuing the line of thought.

“Precisely,” Alexander agreed.

“Perhaps I might put a wager on your chances—and then perhaps not,” he amended at Alexander’s sudden frown. “But I will suggest that you may find life unpredictable at best, my good friend. You never know what is around the corner.”

“Indeed,” Alexander mused. “Who would have thought a mere chit like Camilla Shelford could send me into hiding! Which reminds me, I had best continue on my way. Tomorrow I’ll head south to Woodbury and seclusion.”

“Never heard of the place myself,” Giles said with a frown.

“A mere village by all accounts. It will be as dull as ditch-water without a doubt.”

* * * *

“Another party?” Juliet said with delight. “Life in these parts is scarcely dreary.” That the local gentry had decided to do more than usual entertaining because of the presence of the supposed Hawkswood viscountess crossed her mind. What didn’t occur to her was that they all felt sorry for her, sent to live quietly in the country by a heartless and very blind husband. Stupid as well. Stood to reason he must be shatter-brained to ignore such a nice girl.

The gentlemen of the area were all captivated by her, developing fatherly interest, so they claimed. The good ladies of Woodbury and that surrounding area had taken the modest girl to their collective hearts. Oh, if they could just get their hands on that viscount, the rake.

* * * *

It was on a cloudy afternoon that the strange, dusty curricle entered the village. The driver, a handsome gentleman dressed in the first stare of fashion, seemed hesitant, certainly unacquainted with the area. He looked about him with a curious and searching gaze. At last he paused before the inn, the very same one where Juliet had met the Oglebys. He entered, then shortly left with a purposeful stride and an awesome frown. The children and old Widow Barnes took note, but didn’t relay this uneventful tidbit to anyone.

“I must say,” Alexander said to Randall, his valet, “this is a most unfriendly place in which to rusticate. I asked the way to the manor, and the man looked at me as though I were a poacher. Had a devil of a time persuading him to part with the information.”

Randall, who had no high opinion of the countryside to begin with, looked suitably disgusted and murmured a sympathetic comment.

It was not long before they negotiated the lanes that led to the manor. Alexander was agreeably surprised when at their approach to the charming old house he saw sparkling windows and fresh paint. He must commend the housekeeper and caretaker—a Mrs. Bassett, by Mr. Small’s notation. A lazy spiral of smoke proclaimed that the kitchen oven was in use, and, indeed, he could detect the aroma of freshly baked bread in the air. His nose twitched appreciatively at the smell, as did Randall’s.

He entered the drive to the property and took note of the well-raked gravel, the abundance of late spring flowers and well-tended beds. Unusual to find such care for a never visited property. Truth to tell, he had expected serious neglect, even mildew and rot.

“Randall, take the carriage around to the back, I would enter the house before anyone knows I have come.”

Seeing the wisdom of the element of surprise, the valet did as bid.

Alexander strolled along the graveled path, observing the neatly pruned trees and shrubs, beautifully planted beds, and knew a feeling as though someone lived there, resided permanently.
Amazing!

He opened the front door without knocking first, wanting to examine the rooms without a housekeeper hovering at his elbow. The first thing that struck him was the vase of fresh flowers on the commode in the entry hall. He proceeded to the drawing room to note that everything had the same fresh look to it, as though the owner had just stepped from the room. There were flowers here as well. And his grandmother’s harp looked as though she had just finished a tune. Then he espied the small worktable, a piece of needlework tumbling from the opening with the air of having been cast down but a moment ago.

Greatly puzzled, he decided that without any of the family about Mrs. Bassett had taken the house as her own, which was quite agreeable to him if she kept the place in such excellent condition. He returned to the hall to be greeted by a small exclamation of surprise from a short, plump woman.

“Lawks, sirrah, and who might you be?” The woman drew herself to her full height and held a mixing spoon as though it were a sword.

“Might you be Mrs. Bassett?” he queried before replying.

“Indeed, I am, sir. And you? I do not know you.”

“No, you do not. I am Hawkswood, you see.” He assumed his usual pose when announcing himself to a servant or one who was of an inferior position.

His statement brought a strange reaction. Mrs. Bassett gave him a suspicious look, then seemed to freeze. “It is about time you came,” she said with a sniff. “Your wife is in the garden.”

Alexander stiffened at her words. “My wife?”

“Indeed, my lord, and a sweeter lady never lived.”

Stunned, Alexander turned at a sound from the end of the hall, where a door opened to allow a young woman to enter.

She was slender, with a halo of chestnut curls peeping out from beneath a scrap of a muslin morning cap, and wore a yellow morning gown of recent style. She hurried down the hall, a question on her face.

Alexander drew a sigh of relief that it was not Camilla Shelford, then noted that his supposed wife was a little beauty, her arms full of flowers and her cheeks gently kissed with the sun of past days.

“As you see, my lady, your husband has arrived.”
At last
was unspoken, but the words hung in the air. Mrs. Bassett bustled off from the highly intriguing scene she would have loved to witness, but she knew her place.

“My husband?” the young beauty said in a breathless whisper as though she hoped it would be denied.

Furious, Alexander contained his anger, replying, “I am Hawkswood, madam.” He was about to demand an explanation when she rushed forward to pluck at his sleeve.

“Hush,” she cautioned. “Come into the library, where we can be private. I must explain.”

He caught the scent of heliotrope as she hurried along at his side. She was a nice height and possessed no obvious defects. Her figure seemed excellent, and she dressed well if the yellow morning gown was any indication. Why was she here pretending to be his wife? He knew he’d never seen her before in his life.

Thrusting the flowers into a convenient vase only partly filled with flowers, Juliet turned to face the man who claimed to be Lord Hawkswood.

“I must explain.” She clasped her hands before her, lacing her fingers together in a nervous gesture. “I never thought you would come here, you see. They said you never had and probably never would. I needed a place to hide.”

“To hide?” Startled at these words, Alexander gestured to a pair of chairs by the window and drew her over to one, observing as he did her delicate bone structure and air of fragility— misleading, no doubt.

“I had best explain all. My name is Juliet Winterton, daughter of Viscount Winterton. Please know that I never intended to trap you into any sort of marriage, my lord. The last thing I want is to marry, especially one who is a rake.” She gave him a pleading look, one that begged for patience.