by Tuft, Karen
Last night, a gray-faced woman of middle years had thrown herself into Lucas’s arms and called him husband. She’d been alternately wary and bold, timid and defiant. She’d held her own with him even though he’d known she was intimidated by his size. She’d also been considerate. In the brief time she’d had to herself when he’d left the room, she’d still managed to make up a bed for him on the floor.
But the heart of it all was that she was the most dazzling creature he had ever beheld. Who in blazes was this woman?
She was currently sitting in front of him atop Hector, and Lucas had an arm around her waist to hold her steady. She remained silent, her head facing forward as they rode, the top of her ugly bonnet all Lucas could see of her, which was undoubtedly a good thing for them both.
He was feeling lighter this morning, he realized as they made their way along the streets, his dread over returning home having been replaced by diversion and a sense of curiosity.
“Who are these friends of yours you are meeting?” he asked her, wanting to learn more about her to put some of the puzzle pieces together. “I take it they aren’t family.”
“They are as near to family as one can be without actually sharing blood ties,” she answered, still facing forward.
Interesting reply. “You’ve known them for a while, then.”
“Yes.”
“Are they childhood friends?” he asked.
“No,” she answered.
Hmm. He wanted more from her than yes and no answers. He would try a different tack. “Perhaps you could tell me their names, for a start, and a little about each of them,” he said.
She was silent for a time, and Lucas wondered if she was going to answer him. What could be so secretive about a few friends, especially when she’d allowed him to accompany her to them? He was just opening his mouth to prod her further when she finally spoke. “There are three: Arthur Drake, Delia Weston, and Hannah Broome. Hannah was my nurse when I was a very young child. Ah—I see the sign for the White Hart up ahead.”
Lucas nudged Hector to a quicker gait. Lavinia had provided only the barest of bones for details, but it appeared he would now have to wait to question her further.
She straightened up and pointed. “There, over there. I see them.”
Lucas looked in the direction she pointed. A plump, middle-aged woman was hurrying across the courtyard toward them, flapping her apron and clutching her bosom. Behind her, a gaunt elderly man and tiny elderly woman with fluffy white hair followed more slowly.
Lucas brought Hector to a halt, and before he could offer much assistance, Lavinia wriggled out of his arms and off the horse and went into the middle-aged woman’s open arms. Lucas dismounted, tossed the reins to the stable boy who’d dashed over, and followed her.
“I’m that glad to see you; I was that worried, luv,” the woman said as she hugged Lavinia. “I weren’t sure what we was to do next, and poor Artie has been fretting and Delia too, but we couldn’t leave you behind. We just couldn’t, even though you told us to go on! And here you are now, and I fretted the whole night long. I thought, ‘What if my girl has trouble and that terrible man—?’” The woman abruptly ceased her emotional rambling when she spotted Lucas. “Who’s this?” she asked Lavinia in a low voice.
“This is my hero, Hannah, Mr. Lucas Jennings. It is quite a story, which I will share with you in a moment. Lucas, may I introduce my friends. Hannah Broome”—the woman begrudgingly bobbed a curtsy—“and Miss Delia Weston and Mr. Arthur Drake.”
Mr. Drake offered Lucas a bony hand to shake. “Mr. Jennings, how pleased we are that our dear Lavinia appears to have been in safe hands all this time.” The man, in Lucas’s opinion, looked as if his next destination should be the church graveyard rather than Lavinia’s little farm.
Delia Weston, the tiny white-haired woman standing next to Mr. Drake, looked as if she’d blow away in a puff of wind. “Yes, indeed,” she said. For such a tiny thing, she had a clear, surprisingly resonant voice. “We don’t know what we would do without our dear Lavinia.”
“I told you all would be well,” Lavinia said. “You needn’t have worried.”
“Of course we should worry, and rightly so,” Mr. Drake said. “You were on your own at night in a strange place—a dangerous situation for any young woman, even one as capable as you, dear girl.” He raised his fisted hands into boxing position and mimed a few good jabs. “I should have liked to be there though, you know, to defend you should you have required it.”
Lavinia smiled affectionately. “You are a dear one, Artie. But it wasn’t necessary after all, was it? I’m here now, safe and sound.”
“Are you, luv? Safe and sound, that is?” the woman, Hannah Broome, asked. She had not stopped glaring at Lucas since their introduction. “And when exactly did this here gentleman decide he were going to be your hero, pray tell?”
“I’m willing to answer that question, madam,” Lucas said, “if you will allow me to escort you all into the inn for tea. I’m sure we would appreciate some refreshment, and the discussion might be better suited away from the bustling courtyard.”
“Excellent idea, Mr. Jennings,” Miss Weston said. “I would enjoy a cup of tea after all this excitement.”
“Come, Delia, allow me to escort you back inside,” Mr. Drake said, offering her his arm. “Hannah?” He offered his other arm to her. “Since Mr. Jennings has brought our girl to us safely, we can trust him to escort her a few steps farther.”
Hannah shot Lucas a dark look before begrudgingly taking Mr. Drake’s proffered arm. Lucas watched Lavinia bite her lower lip in an attempt not to smile. He winged his elbow out for her to take.
“I have a suspicion, my dear Miss Fernley,” Lucas said in a low voice, “that, once again, there is more to your story than you are letting on.”
“And I find I must thank you once again, Mr. Jennings, for it is my suspicion that my friends have not broken their fast this morning. Your offer of tea was generous. Thank you.”
“On the chance your suspicions are correct, we shall have food sent in with the tea,” Lucas said. “Your two elderly friends in particular look as if they could use a hearty meal.”
They were the oddest group of traveling companions he had ever seen: a devastatingly beautiful young woman with a cranky nurse and a doddering old couple haring off to live on a farm, of all places. It seemed absurd. How had this motley group been formed? Why were they so intent on going to the country when it was obvious none of them—except, perhaps, the maid—had ever set foot on a farm before, at least in terms of understanding the harsh physical demands of farm life?
Lucas realized he could not, in good conscience, leave them to their own devices yet, nor was he ready to part ways with the intriguing young woman who’d landed in his lap the night before.
Home could wait for his arrival a bit longer.
* * *
“Ah,” the elderly Miss Weston said after taking a sip of her tea. “This is just the thing to soothe our anxieties away, Mr. Jennings. And ham and eggs too. Such a feast.” She cut off a minuscule piece of ham from the slice on her plate and chewed delicately. With her wispy white hair, which was refusing to stay in its knot on her head, and her diminutive size, Lucas thought she looked unearthly, like an ancient wood fairy choosing to associate with humans for a time.
“Delicious,” the elderly Mr. Drake added, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “Dashed sporting of you to order breakfast for us all, Jennings, when some of us were less than grateful for your service to our dear Lavinia.” He shot a speaking glance at the nurse, Miss Broome.
“Men has been all alike when it comes to our girl, Artie, as you well know,” Miss Broome muttered back. “Who’s to say this one’s any different?” She glared accusingly at Lucas again.
“I am, Hannah,” Lavinia said. “And I told you before, it was I who imposed upon Mr. Jennings, not the other way around. When I reached the White Horse late last night, there were complications, and Mr. Jennings came to my assi
stance. You owe him an apology.”
“Thank you for helping our girl, sir, and I’m that sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you,” Miss Broome muttered, flushing red with embarrassment at the mention of the other inn.
“Apology accepted,” Lucas replied as seriously as he could.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door before it opened. “Beggin’ your pardon,” a spotty-faced youth said, looking decidedly at the floor in front of his feet. “But I been sent to ask when you be plannin’ to be on your way.”
“Inform Mr. Grimes we shall be ready in a half hour’s time and I shall be speaking to him directly, Garrick,” Lavinia said. After the youth tugged on his forelock and left, she turned back to the others at the table. “Mr. Jennings and I broke our fast before we arrived, so if you’ll excuse me, I am going to make sure everything is in order with the coachman; you can join me once you’ve finished eating. It will be a long journey, so a hearty breakfast is important. That means you, Delia.”
The wizened fairy sighed and sliced off another minuscule piece of ham.
Lavinia set her napkin down and left the room. Lucas excused himself from the others and followed her.
“Lavinia,” he said when he caught up to her again. He took her by the elbow and led her down the corridor toward the back of the inn and around a corner, away from listening ears. “I know it isn’t my right to pry, but you are clearly no less vulnerable with your friends than you were last evening on your own. Who are they? And where is this farm you intend to take them to? You do understand that farming is hard physical labor, don’t you? The only person among you who looks suitable for such work is your sour-looking Miss Broome.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” she said. “And Delia and Artie can certainly help in small ways. We shall be fine.”
“I applaud your determination, but do you even have farming experience? Do your friends? Who are these people?” he asked again. Her loyalty to them was obvious—and admirable too, of course—but their association with her was baffling. “And where is this farm you say you possess?”
“I do possess it,” she said. “I inherited it from my grandfather’s spinster sister.”
“Where is it located? What is its name? Have you even been to this farm of yours?”
She sighed. “You will not cease, will you? Very well. Primrose Farm, in Lincolnshire. And no, I have not been there yet, but—”
“Lincolnshire?” he asked. Here was a stroke of good fortune. He could legitimately continue toward home and still have an excuse for delaying his arrival there by playing the gentleman and escorting Lavinia and her friends. “As luck would have it, I am traveling to Lincolnshire myself. It would be my honor to accompany you and your friends on your journey and see to your safe arrival.”
Her eyes were silvery slits as she studied his face. “Where precisely in Lincolnshire are you going?” she asked.
“Alderwood, my family seat, located northeast of Stamford. My father is the Viscount Thurlby. And where is Primrose Farm to be found?”
“The illustrious son of a viscount, hmm?”
“Indeed.” More soldier than noble son, however.
“I’m not precisely sure where Primrose Farm is,” she replied, grimacing. “The letter I received from my great-aunt’s solicitor said only that it was near Sleaford.”
“Sleaford is but a half day’s journey north of Alderwood,” he said. “I’m quite familiar with the area, although I’ve not heard of Primrose Farm. But in all seriousness, Lavinia, how do you plan to shepherd your eclectic little flock from London all the way to the northern part of Lincolnshire? No offense to Mr. Drake, but any highwayman you meet along the way would be more frightened of Miss Broome.”
“I’m sure Mr. Grimes and his postilion will see that we are safe,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said, although he didn’t really think so. The coachman would be more concerned about himself and the horses, and that spotty young postilion, Garrick, looked afraid of his own shadow. Accompanying Lavinia and her friends to Sleaford would put him a few days behind schedule—a welcome few days behind schedule.
“I would feel much better if I were to stay with the four of you on your journey,” he said. “Truly, Lavinia, as a gentleman.”
She tapped her foot in thought. “Perhaps,” she eventually said. “It might reassure the others to have someone—a tall and strong someone—join us as an escort. Hannah will not be pleased, but Delia and Artie will be, I daresay.”
“Excellent,” Lucas said, rubbing his hands together. “That’s settled, then. Now, back to my other question: who are these people? Ease my curiosity just a bit for now.”
She sighed. “Very well. Delia and Artie were associates of my father before his death three years ago. I have known them all my life. And Hannah took care of me when my mother left and has been with me ever since. Will that suffice?”
Her mother had abandoned her when she was young? That was the first real bit of information Lucas had gotten out of her.
But before he could respond, Artie interrupted them. “Oh ho! There you two are, hiding around the corner, having your own little tête-à-tête, eh?” he said as he made his way toward them. How a man could move at such a slow, stiff pace and still appear jaunty, Lucas didn’t know. “We’ve been looking for you. The coach awaits.”
“I have good news, Artie,” Lavinia said brightly. “Mr. Jennings has agreed to accompany us on our way to Primrose Farm.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Drake’s grizzled eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well, well. An interesting development, I must say.” He looked back and forth between Lucas and Lavinia several times.
“We will continue our conversation later,” Lucas said under his breath as he offered his arm to Lavinia. “Let us be on our way, then, Mr. Drake,” he said more loudly.
He’d given himself three, maybe four, additional days to organize his thoughts and plan for the future. Three days to find his purpose in life and save face, especially when it came to Isobel.
I yearn to see you too, my dear brother and friend.
“Is everything all right?” Lavinia asked him.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, frowning at him before returning her attention to Mr. Drake as they continued on to the courtyard.
He was returning home a former soldier, emphasis on the word former. He had no career upon which to build a life; he had no wife, no family of his own. Nothing to show for his years in the army, fighting Bonaparte. Nothing at all.
I shall miss you dreadfully while you’re away, Isobel had said when he’d left for Cambridge. You must write me every day, or I shall die of loneliness.
And Lucas had written to her every day of Michaelmas term—until he’d received his mother’s letter in late November.
You will be pleased to learn that Thomas proposed to Isobel Hewlett, and she has accepted him. She has spent so much time here at Alderwood over the years, I feel as though she is a daughter already.
The one time he’d returned home, he’d endured it because at least then he’d been a soldier—he’d been something the others would have viewed with a level of respect.
But enduring the terrible siege at Badajoz, the one that had nearly taken Anthony’s life, had changed his mind regarding a career in the military. He was done with war. Done with death. But that had left him with a future of few options—precisely not the way he’d wished to return home this time.
* * *
“Such a nice man,” Delia said to Lavinia as their carriage approached the village of Hatfield. “And a fine-looking one, as well. I don’t blame you one bit for watching him through the window that way.”
Artie chuckled, and Hannah narrowed her eyes and shook her head. After a lifetime in the theater, Lavinia wasn’t a person prone to embarrassment, but she could feel herself blushing. “I’m not watching Mr. Jennings, Delia,” Lavinia said primly. “I merely find I tolerate the mov
ement of the carriage better when I look out the window.”
“I’m sure that’s the reason, dearie,” Delia said with a twinkle in her eye. “It was very kind of him to arrange for additional cushions. My old bones are not feeling nearly so rattled as they usually do bumping along on these country roads.”
“After so many years of riding in a dogcart from town to town, it’s pure luxury to be traveling this way,” Artie said, patting the cushion tucked comfortably between his arm and the side of the carriage.
Lavinia turned away from the window and the view of Lucas upon his horse. “Did you eat enough at breakfast, Delia?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, although Hannah shook her head and Artie’s buoyant mood dimmed noticeably.
“We shall take tea in Hatfield, nonetheless,” Lavinia said.
“Excellent plan!” Artie said, patting Delia’s hand. “Isn’t it, Delia? A little more sustenance will do us all a world of good.”
“Before we reach Hatfield, however,” Lavinia said, “I want to stress once again the importance of down playing our connection to the theater. Mr. Jennings doesn’t seem to know anything about Ruby Chadwick, and I would prefer it remain that way.”
“I won’t be talking to the likes of Mr. Jennings,” Hannah said. “So you got nothing to worry about from me, luv.”
“I’ll certainly try to do my part, dearie,” Delia said. “Although it will be something of a challenge. The theater is all Arthur and I know. Fifty years in the theater a piece, give or take. It’s how we met your father, of course, and you know Mr. Jennings is going to ask about our connection to you sooner or later.”
“Perhaps we should take the time now to invent a story, Lavinia,” Artie suggested. “Something believable—not too exotic—that would explain how we all ended up together. It could be rather jolly, like acting without the limits of the stage. I rather like the idea.”
“Oh, Arthur, how ingenious!” Delia exclaimed. “Let’s think, shall we?” She tapped her forefinger against her chin in thought.
Artie’s face brightened. “I’ve got just the thing. Delia can be an Austrian princess, sent to live in an English convent at birth to protect her from her evil uncle—”