by Liz Tyner
His eyes softened. In that moment, she knew he was going to kiss her. His mouth was nearer and her breasts warmed. She waited, lips parted, the moment bringing her body alive with yearning.
But he stopped and his mouth moved into a rueful smile instead of a kiss. He stepped back, his hand releasing hers. ‘Forgive me, Governess. We’ll have time to sort this out when we arrive in London.’
The sensations he caused didn’t completely melt. But he’d called her Governess for a reason. He’d wanted to erase the attraction between them.
He looked into the distance. ‘The magistrate will gather as many constables as it takes. I have the means to hire an army of men.’
It was as if he warned her.
All the warm sensations he’d given her evaporated.
Now, she just had to hope he never found her grandmother, or discovered their relationship. Not that her grandmother could keep anything quiet. A woman, who from the best of Miranda’s recollection, never hid in the shadows and enjoyed calling attention her way.
Her grandmother had even complained when she’d had to stay inside the house, blaming the walls, the weather and, again, the stars...even in the bright of day—for bringing such a curse on her. The stars got credit and censure for everything that happened. But no magistrate would ever go after the stars.
Chalgrove would not take it well that her grandmother had abducted him and he already understood they had some connection.
She’d not forgiven her grandmother either. Hardly. But the old woman had once kept her fed and clothed. Plaited her hair in the mornings.
Miranda wanted to keep her alive. And she didn’t want to see the woman in a gaol. She was tougher than all the other criminals and would likely be playing her tricks on them, but still...her leathered skin wouldn’t be a match for a rope.
She followed his movement, reaching out to his coat, grasping one of the buttons and gazing up. ‘You must know I would never have wanted this to happen.’
‘I do.’ He brushed his knuckles across her cheek and gave a soft shake of his head, and the power of the touch infused her.
She smoothed at her dress and avoided his eyes, then realised, by doing so, she raised more questions in his mind. But her mother had tried and tried to impress upon her that women of quality told the truth. Impure women’s words were glossed and shined, and arranged for their own use—their words like pictures on the walls of their minds. For decoration and display and to capture attention.
She didn’t want to ruin her reputation, cast aspersions on her dead mother for taking in a waif, then lose Willie and Dolly at the same time if her employer judged her a risk. Even the children’s reputations might be hurt because she’d lived with them and been in their father’s employ.
‘I don’t want to see her hanged.’
‘You should.’
‘She is daft.’
Suddenly, a memory she’d hidden eased into Miranda’s mind. Of her, and her grandmother, setting out, walking on that very road, a bucket with bread in it, and going to the fair and, on the way, sleeping in a carriage stall beside a tavern, smelling the sheep dung from the pasture nearby.
A grand adventure and they’d returned with a pack slung over her grandmother’s back full of purchases bought with the money made telling fortunes.
Miranda lugged the refilled bucket home, dirtier, more tired, and feeling just as big as her grandmother.
That had been a glorious day. She’d felt richer than she’d ever been since, knowing about the purchases in the pack and knowing that they’d all be eating well for some time.
Her grandmother could spin any thread of conversation into a fine feast, but she’d pushed her luck too far this time.
Miranda quickened her steps, not wanting to linger in the past.
Chimney smoke filtered through the trees, the burning wood aroma mixing with the scent of the wet woods around them. They both stopped at the same time.
‘We’ll be back in London within hours and justice will follow.’
He took her hand and turned her so that their eyes met. It was as if he gave her one last chance to tell him what she knew.
But she couldn’t speak.
The kiss was a whisper against her lips. A whisper of goodbye. An end of their time alone.
Then, still holding her hand, he strode away and she could barely keep up with him.
Chapter Ten
They’d taken less than ten steps when she heard a dog bark. ‘I can see the smoke.’ She raised her chin.
‘Walk in the woods alongside the road,’ he told her. ‘Follow me from a distance, so if we aren’t greeted well you’ll still be hidden.’
She hesitated, but moved to be covered by the trees, and the rain and mud scent of the road was lost among the smells from the chimneys and stoves from the morning meal preparation.
As they rounded a curve, they came upon a clearing with a larger house and two smaller ones further along, plus a church barely big enough to hold more than a dozen people.
She saw Chalgrove stop and study the woods until he located her, but instead of waiting, she ran towards him.
‘Wait,’ she called out.
She touched his arm and pointed to the next house. ‘That one has a child who’s already spotted us. A boy with a dog is watching us.’
‘I see the dog, but no child.’ Chalgrove put a hand to shade his eyes.
‘He jumped behind the tree and now he’s running into the house.’ She could see the little boy dart away, trousers too short and barefoot feet.
‘I guess since we’ve been announced, we should visit there.’
She nodded. ‘The grass is worn away under the tree from children playing. A family who lets their children play instead of working all day would be gentle.’ When she heard the words she’d spoken, she realised she’d been repeating something her grandmother had told her from long ago. Words she’d never thought of since her grandmother had abandoned her.
Together they walked to the house, following the worn path.
Before they could get to the door, a thin woman opened it, with two girls at both sides of her faded skirt and a little boy propped on her hip, and a whiff of their breakfast surrounded them. The woman nodded briefly to them.
Chalgrove smiled at her. ‘I’m Lord Chalgrove, and I hoped we might talk with your husband. I’ve been robbed and we escaped our captors on foot. We’re needing assistance to return to our homes in London.’
The woman clutched her children closer, fear flashing across her face.
‘Don’t worry. They were after me. They’d planned this for a long time and I will be able to have them apprehended quickly once I return home.’
She stepped back so they could enter. This house was half again bigger than the cottage, but still small. Surprisingly, a homemade sofa sat at one wall, but Miranda surmised the furniture had been made so it could also be used as a bed.
The woman called to the boy, ‘Get Papa.’
He nodded, eyes wide, and was out the door before she’d finished speaking. ‘I don’t know what we can do for you, except take you to London.’ She gave them a tentative smile while she wiped her hands on her apron. ‘My husband has to work from daylight until dark in the field because of last night’s rains. One of the fields is under water and they’re hoping to open up a dirt bank they’d built because it’s causing a flood.’
She indicated two chairs, then picked up the youngest girl and held her on her hip.
‘I’ll see he’s paid.’
‘Oh, no.’ She shifted the baby. ‘We must assist you. It’s our duty. We would want someone to do the same for us. Just last season, Elbert Daddle broke his leg right before harvest and my husband worked to cut his hay as well.’
While Miranda waited for the husband to arrive, Chalgrove reassured the woman that the culprits were af
ter him, most likely in the hopes that they could steal more money.
A few minutes later, a man entered the room, hay sticking to his clothing.
In seconds, he’d agreed to arrange travel to London.
As soon as she reached London, she’d get back to her post. She’d explain to Mr Trevor that she’d not been able to return as quickly as she’d hoped and he’d understand.
No one could trace her back to her grandmother. Only she knew the connection. She’d treat this as a nightmare, best forgotten, except...
She stole a look at Chalgrove. He still talked to the woman and he had her entire attention.
Even the children watched him. Rapt.
Unkempt, he still had the confidence of a king, and charmed like a fallen saint.
Her grandmother had chosen well. Miranda couldn’t take her eyes away from Chalgrove, but she’d have to forget him. And soon.
* * *
The surprise in the driver’s face amused her when he stared at all the fine homes as they trundled along, travelling closer to their destination.
Then she realised the servants in the houses had bigger living quarters than the wagon driver was used to.
After Chalgrove directed him to stop in front of his house, Miranda glanced at him, but she didn’t have to commit Chalgrove’s face to memory. It would always be there.
‘I’ll travel by hackney to my post.’ Miranda stared at the ducal residence, regretting the moment of saying goodbye to him.
‘No need.’ His voice could have lulled the wind. The words were too calm, showing nothing of underlying emotion, yet hinting of tempest beneath them. ‘I’ll see you’re taken care of.’
He jumped from the cart and told the driver to wait.
Chalgrove secured funds from the butler for the driver and the man took the money after a few refusals. Miranda knew it would be more real coin than the tenant would see in a year.
Before she knew what he was doing, the driver was leaving without her. She turned to Chalgrove, again feeling lost beside the road.
He must have sensed it or seen it written on her face. ‘You’re not alone...’ He paused, taking time with his words. ‘No matter what you’ve done, you’ll still have me. I’ll make sure you aren’t harmed.’
She clung to the words and the compassion in his eyes, but she could also see the mistrust.
He swept the back of his knuckles against hers, spending a moment longer than was necessary, giving her strength.
‘You must come inside,’ Chalgrove said. ‘My mother will see to your care and you’ll have the best. This is much more comfortable than an old cottage, I promise you.’
Chalgrove offered her his arm, seeming to know she needed support to enter his home. In that second, a smile teased his eyes. ‘You won’t need an ale bottle, or even a duelling pistol, but I’m sure Mother can find a pair for you if you’d like. Father once had to get rid of the powder because she’d been reading novels again and she’d been begging him to let her learn to shoot.’
She hesitated.
‘You’ll be safer with me,’ he said. ‘No matter what has happened in the past.’
She bolstered herself with his words, understanding that he could help her grandmother better than anyone else could once the magistrate was involved. But she would have to win him over.
Wearing clothing she’d slept in, she walked through the doorway of the finest home she’d ever seen.
A high-pitched screech from a woman’s lips sent shards into Miranda’s ears.
‘What has happened to you?’ An older woman hurried down the stairs, squinting, feet moving as fast as her delicate shoes and tight corset would allow. In a quick appraisal, Miranda could tell this woman never sacrificed fashion for comfort. Even the weight of the dress should have hampered the woman’s movements, but she didn’t slow as she rushed towards him.
He stepped forward and she stopped in front of him, clouding them both in scent.
‘Your face?’ She put her knuckles to her lips, while staring at her son. ‘What dire circumstances have you been in? Were you thrown by a horse? Knocked unconscious?’ She put fingertips over her lips. ‘And has your valet seen you? I hope not. This would terrify him.’
She patted his cheek. ‘I didn’t realise you could grow a beard,’ she mused, eyes teary. She let her hand rest on his arm, holding on to reassure herself.
He bent to give a kiss to her cheek. ‘Since I was a young man, Mother.’
‘What happened?’ She appraised him again. ‘Your clothes are destroyed.’
‘I was detained...’
‘Detained?’
‘Locked in an old cottage. Have you received a ransom note?’
The older woman swayed and Chalgrove caught her, keeping her upright.
‘A ransom?’ he repeated.
Her eyes fluttered. ‘No. No note. You cannot be serious?’ She clasped him in a hug, then moved away, stretching her arms, holding him back so she could examine him.
‘Very much so.’
‘Send for the magistrate and constables,’ she called, suddenly alert, running to the stairway and bending over the banister. ‘And a physician.’
The sounds of footsteps running up the stairs were followed by a woman calling out, ‘A physician as well?’
His mother put a hand to her heart. ‘Yes. I may need one.’
The maid rushed away.
His mother’s chin quivered as she turned around and rushed back to her son. She noticed Miranda for the first time. ‘And was this miss...abducted with you?’
‘By coincidence, we shared an ordeal.’
‘Oh, my dear.’ His mother seized Miranda’s arms, studying her, now completely taking her in. She trapped one of Miranda’s hands in both of hers.
She examined Chalgrove. ‘How could this happen?’
‘I was walking to see Edward and fell in with the wrong crowd, face first. A man had crouched in the shadows, with a club to knock my feet from under me.’
She appraised Miranda, but chose her words. ‘Was—Were the two of you taken together?’
‘We’d never met before we were captured...individually,’ Chalgrove answered. ‘We came here because I wanted to be certain Miss Manwaring had your chaperonage immediately so that no aspersions are cast on her character. She has been my sustenance during the ordeal.’
‘Sustenance?’ His mother’s eyes widened.
‘A friend. She helped me find the way back to London and I don’t want her to be inconvenienced in any way.’
‘No one would dare insult a guest in my house,’ the Duchess reassured Miranda.
Then she focused on her son again. ‘I cannot... I simply cannot accept that you were taken and I did not get a premonition. Of any sort. My life went on as if everything was as normal. What if you’d not escaped? What if you’d been buried alive? What if you’d been thrown in the Thames with rocks tied inside your clothing?’
‘Rocks, Mother?’
‘Yes, I read about it in a novel. You must put rocks in a bag along with the poor soul you wish to dispose of. Dreadful. Or you could have been sold into some sordid group. Gift to the Egyptian Princess explained how such things happen.’
‘Mother, you must start reading poetry. Something soothing.’
She clutched her chest. ‘I cannot be soothed knowing someone could have hurt you.’
‘I was detained, Mother, but all is well now.’
‘Your coat is dreadful, and...’ she carefully examined his clothing ‘...your hat?’
‘Sadly, it’s gone. The criminals took it.’
‘The hat? You’re sure?’
‘Yes. Taken.’
Her voice rose. ‘By thieves?’
He nodded.
The older woman’s shoulders sagged. ‘Such desperation.’
&nbs
p; She moved to touch his cheek and her eyes softened. ‘Chalgrove, I am so happy you are well.’ She sniffed.
Then she continued, putting on a brave front, even though her lip trembled. ‘You must tell me exactly what happened.’ Then her eyes darted to Miranda, and one eyebrow raised. ‘You’re sure the two of you weren’t captured—together?’
‘No, Mother. I was near Gentleman Jackson’s. She was taken from another location.’
‘The world is a sad place. I told your father it would come to this.’ She took one of Chalgrove’s hands and one of Miranda’s. ‘But you’re both safe now.’
‘Mother...’ his voice held a patience which suggested years of practice ‘...I’m home. Happy. Hungry. And with a guest. Let us show her the best hospitality. I’m sure Miss Manwaring would like a room and a maid to attend her.’
‘Well, I’ve sent the servants scurrying, but I’ll find someone for her.’
His mother placed a hand on Miranda’s upper arm, giving a light squeeze of support.
‘Miss Manwaring, my personal maid will attend you. I’ll also see if we can find a suitable gown for you to wear while your clothing is cared for. It will be an honour to have you.’
Then she bustled away.
Chalgrove whispered so close to Miranda that his breath brushed her ear, filling her with warming sensations. ‘We’ll speak later. After you’ve had a chance to get settled.’
The sound of footsteps on the stairway caused Chalgrove to pull away. He spoke to the servant who arrived. ‘See that Miss Manwaring wants for nothing and that she does not even have to lift a finger to summon anyone. Let me know of all her requests because I want to be certain she has the finest care.’
His voice lowered, almost caressing, and he said. ‘She’s very dear to me.’
Miranda’s heart thudded. She didn’t know if he meant the words, but her traitorous body accepted them as if he’d had them engraved in stone.
The servant’s shoulders straightened. Then she gave a brisk nod as she led Miranda into the hallway.
They moved up the stairs and stopped at a room, and the maid opened the door for her.