Patricia Wynn (3 page)

“No,” she said simply, rising to her feet and facing the baron. He could see that she was not angry, but rather distressed to think herself a burden. “That is absolutely absurd! I see no reason why you should be involved in my ridiculous predicament.”

Lord Harleston suppressed a smile. This was much the reaction he had anticipated and for which he was prepared.

He allowed a wounded look to cross his features. “But Miss Johnstone, you must understand. This puts me in a very awkward position. To be denying your father’s last request of me... A man who once saved my life... Why, it’s unthinkable!”

Clearly struck by the awkwardness of his situation, Susan became more distressed than ever. “I am so sorry, Lord Harleston, but surely you must see. I cannot let you become involved. It would be quite wrong of me!”

His hurt look stiffened slightly. “I see. I should be interfering in your plans. You have other friends, perhaps
—others who are more trusted, with whom you are more intimate... ?”

“Oh, no!” she said quickly, hoping to soothe his wounded feelings. “There is no one else. That is, Monsieur Rénard is doing what he can to find me a position in a school or a household, but there is no one else I had rather turn to.” She blushed confusedly. “Surely you can understand.”

“That you had rather stay in France amongst strangers than return to your home?” he asked gently.

Susan’s eyes met his and then fell, overcome by the sudden sympathy. “No,” she answered quietly. His kindness demanded honesty. “If I could have what I truly wish, it would be to return to my old governess, Miss Irons. She runs a school now and I could help her with her pupils. And we are good companions. But there is no way for me to go back, Lord Harleston,” she said calmly, raising her eyes again in a determined fashion.

Feeling, nevertheless, that he was beginning to break down her resistance, the baron allowed his enthusiasm to creep into his voice. “No way? Surely not, Miss Johnstone. Why, how can you say that
—you— when you acted with such courage on your father’s behalf?”

Susan flushed uncomfortably. “Did he tell you that? But that was different,” she protested. “It was necessary. I could not leave Papa in the Fleet Prison to die in discomfort.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Lord Harleston agreed. “He was your father.”

Susan looked even more ill at ease. “It was not
that
precisely,” she said. Then, in answer to his puzzled expression, she explained, “My father and I were never close, you see. In the past many years, I had scarcely seen him. It was just that he looked so old, and sick, and pitiful... in that dreary place....” She allowed her voice to trail off, looking to him for understanding.

“Naturally,” he said, hoping that his fascination with her unreasoning heart was not evident in his expression. If fleeing the country with a fugitive was a reasonable action to her, then getting her back into England by a slightly unorthodox method should not be so unacceptable. “But you must have disguised yourself somehow to have dealt with the smugglers? How was it done? A mask? Or veils?”

To his surprise, Susan’s skin turned a rosy pink and her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Not exactly,” she said, and then reluctantly admitted, “I wore men’s clothes.”

Harleston’s mouth fell open, but then tactfully snapped shut. “Admirable!” he said, struggling to keep a straight face. “Much the best plan! You were much safer that way amongst such a desperate gang. Well, then, you see, what could be simpler than to do it again? I should accompany you this time, however,” he said as he saw her bristle.

“I’m afraid not, Lord Harleston,” she answered crisply. “Despite my clearly outrageous behaviour on that occasion, I take no particular pleasure from such masquerades. And I absolutely refuse to participate in another.”

“Oh, naturally,” he said again. “I mean, of course, it would be distasteful to you.” He felt slightly disappointed, but then brightening, said, “But fortunately, I have my own plan which is much simpler and much more conventional. Please let me explain it.”

Susan was still looking ruffled, but she did not refuse to listen, so he went on.

“Do you speak French?”

She frowned anxiously. “Yes, but not particularly well.”

“But enough to get around about town?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That will be sufficient.” He threw her a measuring look before continuing. “What I propose is for you to assume the identity of a Frenchwoman, a widow. But of an Englishman, you see. You will be returning to your husband’s estates in England. Your widow’s status will allow you to arrange things more to your satisfaction and will give you reason to wear a veil.”

“But...”

“I can arrange for all the papers you will need to enter England. It will be just a matter of days.”

Susan hesitated before posing more arguments. “But won’t it appear strange, even so, for me to be travelling alone?”

“Oh, you will not be alone,” he assured her. “I have plans for your retinue. And there will be no trouble,” he added, watching her anxiously as a look of suspicion crossed her face.

Something about his innocent expression seemed to tickle her, for she finally laughed. “Very well, my lord. And of whom shall this retinue consist?”

“Well,” he said, “first of all
—and this is quite a bit of luck, really—there will be your personal maid. You see, I have had my man ask about and he has found a young person, an English girl, who was discharged recently by her employers. She has been stranded here ever since and cannot return to England unless someone engages her for the return.”

“Oh, the poor girl!” cried Susan. Her own problems were forgotten at the thought of the wretch’s difficulty. “By all means, we must assist her!” Her brow furrowed in absorbed concern.

Lord Harleston suppressed a gleeful chuckle. Captain Johnstone had given him the perfect key to winning his daughter’s agreement. “Yes,” he agreed earnestly. “I feel it to be imperative, too. And, of course, you will need a groom, as well.”

“A groom?” she asked vaguely, still deep in thought about the poor serving maid.

“Yes, for your carriage. I have made arrangements for one to be there when we get to Dover. We must get the girl
—Peg, I believe her name is—to London before we discharge her again.” This he added as she looked at him anxiously.

“Of course,” Susan agreed. “It would be cruel to discharge her before she gets as far as London to speak to an agency. But who is this groom? And did you say we?”

Lord Harleston took a deep breath. “Yes, I did,” he admitted. “You see, I shall be the groom.”

Susan’s eyes widened in horror, but before she could protest, he added in firm tones, “I’m afraid I must insist upon it, Miss Johnstone. You see, it was your father’s last request, and I could not reconcile it with my conscience to create a hazardous situation for you and then not be there to guard you from any consequences of my errors. I must insist, I repeat, on being there with you, and obviously I cannot travel as myself under the circumstances.”

“But as a groom...!”

“There will be no difficulty. In fact, I think I shall enjoy it. Unlike you, I rather like this sort of masquerade. And remember, travelling as myself I would be likely to call undesirable attention to you. What possible reason could a peer have for travelling with an unattached lady that would not excite curiosity? But your groom
—what could be more normal?”

Susan opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again. The plan was outrageous, but Lord Harleston appeared to be quite eager to place himself in jeopardy. And then there was the maid. The girl must be got home to England, and she herself had no money to give her. Looking up at Lord Harleston, she noted his firm expression and reflected that he would probably refuse to help the girl without her compliance. But suddenly something else occurred to her which loomed larger than all her other objections.

Susan folded her hands serenely before her and spoke in a calm but final voice.

“I am very much obliged to you, Lord Harleston, for offering to take these risks on my behalf, and I confess, the thought of returning to England was so tempting as to make me consider your rash proposal. But I have no money, and I will not accept further charity.”

She looked at him. In spite of the delicacy of her features, there was a firmness about her which took him aback. An impartial observer watching these two at that moment might have said there was no way to tell which would come out the winner. But Lord Harleston had not come to this campaign with the intention of losing and he reentered the battle with barely a moment’s hesitation.

“If that is your only objection, Miss Johnstone,” he said with an assumption of grave sincerity, “then I must consider the point resolved. Your father entrusted me with a small sum to accomplish your safe return. I should have mentioned it earlier, but I did not regard it as a material consideration.”  Awaiting her response, he did not allow his glance to waver.

Susan stared back at him incredulously, but the steadiness of his expression at last had its effect.

“How much?” she asked suddenly.

“Fifty pounds.” She opened her mouth again to question him, but he continued. “He kept it concealed upon his person with the intention of having it sent to you upon his death. Then, when you brought him here, he decided it should be used to return you safely to your governess.”

Susan was frowning with confusion. “But Monsieur Rénard... We are so much in his debt
—”

Lord Harleston shook his head. “No. This was your father’s wish. The knowledge that his own excesses were responsible for your not being better established weighed on him heavily at the end.”

Pain crossed her features, but her smile was quite tender. “I did not know he thought of my welfare at all,” she admitted shyly.

Right then and there, Lord Harleston vowed that never, even if they submitted him to the rack, would he ever divulge that he had invented the said fifty pounds. He watched her for a moment more, noting with a peculiar elation the softness of her black lashes against her pale cheeks. Then he stood up and started to pace briskly about the room as he spoke.

“Good. Now that we have that settled, we can plan our voyage. Have you a black veil to use along with your mourning?”

Susan started at the sudden turn in the conversation, but answered automatically, “Yes.”

“Excellent! What I propose, as I said before, is that you assume the role of a Frenchwoman, widow of an Englishman. I have already set the plan in motion and will have your papers for you as soon as we decide upon a name.”

“A name?” Susan had been thinking, fondly and regretfully, about her scapegrace father, and was not keeping up with Lord Harleston’s rapid planning.

He smiled. “Yes. You must have a name. Something English, of course. Your first name, if anyone should ask, may remain Susan, although you must remember to say it the French way
—Suzanne.”

“Yes, of course.”

He was facing her now and his voice had taken on a note of eagerness. “Is there a surname you’ve always fancied, something you would remember to answer to if called?”

“No, not that I think of.” Her mind had suddenly gone blank.

“Well, then, let’s see. The best way to go about choosing a name would be to pick a location
—from the map. Have you got one?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly and stepped to a small escritoire. She was happy to be able to provide something instead of standing about like a dazed fool. “I do have a map of England. I used it to guide the coachman to the coast,” she explained as she produced it.

“Wonderful! Now, let’s see.” He opened the map and allowed his eyes to roam over it. “What a lot to choose from! Well, I suppose anything will do. I’ll just point to a spot at random and see what it says.” Susan suppressed a smile as Lord Harleston, abandoning all his dignity as a peer, closed his eyes tightly as though fearing to cheat and jabbed a finger at the map. He opened them and looked closely at the spot beside his finger.

“Barton-upon-Humber,” he read carefully.

Beside him, Susan giggled, and he looked up with an answering grin. “Not very likely, is it?” he admitted.

“I can see how it might lead to all sorts of uncomfortable questions,” Susan agreed. “Besides, I don’t think I could pronounce it with a French accent.”

“No, by Jove! I suppose not. Then, I shan’t suggest Stow-on-the-Wold or Newcastle-on-Trent, either. Let’s give it another try, shall we?” He closed his eyes again and this time Susan smiled broadly.

“Husbands Bosworth,” he read when his finger had fallen again. Susan hooted with laughter and covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to smother it.

“I suppose,” she volunteered, “that my lamented spouse’s name was
Mr.
Husbands Bosworth.” Lord Harleston laughed.

“Now look here,” he said finally, struggling for a note of reason.’ ‘Why not just drop the Husbands part and be Mrs. Bosworth? It’s a perfectly good name.”

Susan shook her head with comic regret. “No, I’m sorry. It is too late. I shouldn’t be able to think of Bosworth without giggling now, and if you happened to call me Mrs. Bosworth, pulling a forelock or something, and looked at me as you are doing now, I should just dissolve.” She could not keep herself from smiling, and Lord Harleston thought privately how much laughter became her lovely face.

“I see. Yes. That’s a reasonable objection,” he agreed. “I am glad to see that I shall be in the employ of someone with her wits about her. Well, perhaps the random method is not the best.” He turned back to the map. “Let’s just look at the next town along the way. Hmmm...Market Harborough. Not very likely, I suppose.” He glanced up with a comical expression of defeat. “I really thought this would be a good method.”

Susan took pity on him and moved closer to his side. “Here,” she said. “Let me see what there is. Perhaps I’ll see something I like.” She leaned over the map and dragged her finger gently across it.

“Chapel-en-le-Frith,” she murmured. “Much Wenlock.” She declined to meet his eye. “Amazing, isn’t it, how many are completely unsuitable. Ashby-de-la-Zouch.” She smiled again. “Perhaps another direction would be better.”