by Tuft, Karen
“I don’t think there were any convents in England when I was a girl, Arthur,” Delia pointed out. “Church of England and Henry the Eighth and all that, you know.”
“Well, perhaps not a convent, then. Raised by an English friend of the Austrian royal family; that’s the ticket. You’ve got the elegant manners of the royal, my dear. Best to keep to our strengths, I always say.”
“Thank you kindly for the compliment, Arthur, but—”
“And I shall have been your childhood friend and, like the knights of old, swore to be your protector all your days.”
“Oh, Arthur,” Delia said, patting his gnarled hand. “How sweet you are, and what an imagination you do have. But, my dear, Mr. Jennings has already heard me speak and will recognize that I have no Austrian accent.”
“Easy enough to explain,” Artie said. “You’ve lived all your life in England, after all.”
“Good point. Austrian royalty, then. What fun! Let’s say I was reared in Devon, since that’s the truth anyway.”
“I’m not playing a part,” Hannah said, crossing her arms over her bosom. “No princess or knight or nothing else. I am who I am, and I do what I does—and that is to see my dearest girl safe and happy.” She looked at Lavinia.
“No princess or knight, you will be happy to hear, Hannah,” Lavinia said. “Nor any other part as well. We are to be honest in our dealings with Mr. Jennings . . . just perhaps not completely forthcoming. If he presses you, tell him the truth—that you were formerly with a theater company and that is where you met my father . . . and me. But don’t elaborate. If he asks if I was an actress, again tell him the truth. But you needn’t inform him of every detail—the breeches parts, for example, or my stage name.”
“Very well, Livvy,” Artie said. “Though you would have made a lovely princess, Delia.”
“I played a queen once, you know,” Delia said, a faraway look in her eyes. “Titania, queen of the fairies, back before you joined us, Arthur, or your father either, Lavinia. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We played to sold-out crowds outside Cheltenham for three weeks straight and then another week at Swindon. My fairy costume was a vision, Hannah, although I daresay you could have created something even more impressive. Unfortunately, our success encouraged three of our most talented young actors to leave and try their luck in London. And that was that.”
“I should have liked to have seen you as Titania,” Artie said.
“You would have been perfectly cast as Titania back then, Delia,” Lavinia said. “You are every bit the fairy queen, even to this day.”
“Thank you, dearest.” Delia patted Lavinia’s arm. “You’re such a sweet girl.”
“I guess we shall simply have to play Delia Weston and Arthur Drake for a while longer,” Artie said to Delia with a wink.
“Precisely,” Lavinia said. “For that is who you are.” The ironic and sad thing about it all was that Lavinia had been Ruby Chadwick for so long, she wasn’t entirely sure she remembered who Lavinia Fernley was.
Through the window, Lavinia spotted the spire of a church, which meant they were approaching Hatfield, their first stop on the way north. The carriage rolled to a stop, and Lavinia saw Lucas dismount and walk toward them. “Remember what I said now,” she whispered.
“Don’t worry, dearie. Ah, Mr. Jennings,” Delia said cheerfully to him when the carriage door opened and Lucas stood ready to assist them from the carriage. “You are a sight for sore eyes and such a handsome devil too. Perhaps you would care to accompany me on a stroll around the courtyard.”
Lucas’s eyes briefly lifted to Lavinia’s before returning to Delia. “I do find I have a need to stretch my legs after our journey thus far, ma’am. I would be honored to be your escort.” He handed Delia down from the carriage and then turned to assist Lavinia and Hannah, who sourly placed her hand in his.
“She’s up to something, and that’s certain,” Hannah grumbled as Lucas and Delia walked away.
Artie tutted. “Don’t fret, Hannah,” he whispered. “Delia is as clever as they come. She won’t go off script; you can rest assured of that. Perhaps you would care to join me for a stroll, Lavinia?” Artie said, changing the subject. “And Hannah too, of course. These old bones of mine could use a bit of a stretch as well—although the cushions helped immensely.”
“I’m going inside to order tea,” Hannah said. “I’m already going to get my fill of the great outdoors today. I don’t need extra, thank you very much.” She turned and stalked off in the direction of the posting inn.
That left Lavinia to walk slowly with Artie while he gallantly tried to appear as though every joint in his body hadn’t ceased to function during the carriage ride. He kept up a stream of chatter about nothing in particular, but Lavinia knew they were both watching Delia and Lucas, who had walked far enough ahead to be just out of earshot.
Delia’s laughter wafted back to them on the breeze. “‘With mirth and laughter, let old wrinkles come,’” Artie remarked. “The most beautiful sound in the world, her laughter, in my estimation.”
“Indeed,” Lavinia said, although she actually feared Lucas was charming Delia so she would speak more freely to him.
She was mightily glad when she and Artie finally entered the inn, where Hannah was already seated at a table with a tea service awaiting them. A hot cup of tea and a biscuit was just the thing to distract Lavinia from fretting. Lavinia wouldn’t be completely at peace until they were well and truly settled at Primrose Farm.
Chapter 6
The weather, which, up to this point, had been cooperative, took a shift toward the inclement late in the afternoon, with storm clouds rolling in from the west.
Since Lucas’s clothes were en route to Stamford and he was essentially limited to what he was wearing and what few items he’d stuffed in his saddlebag, he opted to ride in the carriage with the others when the rain began in earnest. After a bit of shuffling, he ended up sitting next to Mr. Drake, facing the ladies, who were pressed closely together on the forward-facing seat.
It was not a spacious carriage.
The elderly Miss Weston was seated in the middle between the two other women.
“Otherwise,” the ever-grumpy-looking Miss Broome said, “I’ll be constantly bumping into you with all the jostling that’s bound to occur, Delia, and you’d be squashed like a bug against the side of the carriage, as sure as anything.”
As a result, Lavinia had ended up seated directly across from Lucas.
He’d much rather it be Lavinia than Miss Broome, who had only ever glared at him since they’d met. He could appreciate Miss Broome’s protective nature, especially after learning she’d essentially raised Lavinia, but, blast it all, she was making him feel like a villain when he was nothing of the sort. After all, who’d rushed into whose arms and begun this entire situation? Not he. He had been a perfect saint all night long—and would have been even if he’d known what an attractive guest he’d had—and perfectly amiable and gentlemanly the entire time since.
The downpour was making the roads muddy and slick; Lucas could feel the wheels of the carriage slip in the ruts along the way. The coachman, Grimes, had slowed the horses considerably as a result. Lucas had gotten his fill of mud during his time on the Peninsula—marching in mud, digging in mud, fighting the French in the mud. Blood and mud. Mud did not generate pleasant memories in his mind, but today’s mud meant something entirely different—it meant they would, of necessity, be adding extra time to their journey. And that was entirely fine with him.
He settled into his seat, with his shoulder resting in the corner of the carriage, then adjusted the brim of his hat to cover his eyes. He hadn’t slept well lying on the floor the night previous. He’d been too aware of the strange woman sharing the room, not to mention the hard floor.
He’d almost succeeded in nodding off when the carriage suddenly lurched to one side. His eyes shot open, and he instinctively braced himself. Old Arthur Drake nearly flew into Lucas’s lap; Miss Br
oome was thrown against Miss Weston, who cried out as she was crushed against Lavinia by the force of movement. Lavinia flung one arm against the side of the carriage and the other arm toward Miss Weston for balance.
The carriage rolled to a stop—upright, thankfully, but at a definite tilt. Not a good sign. Dealing with a carriage mishap in this weather meant trouble, especially when he could see that Miss Weston, contrary to the stoic look on her face, was in a great deal of pain.
“Goodness, is everyone all right?” Lavinia asked, pushing her bonnet back into place, while Miss Broome settled into her seat again and started fussing over Miss Weston.
“We all took quite a tumble there, Livvy,” Arthur Drake said, checking himself over, “but I daresay poor Delia got the worst of it.” He looked worriedly at Miss Weston.
“I’m fine, Arthur,” Miss Weston said, although her voice trembled a bit. When she attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, her eyes fluttered and she moaned.
“Delia!” Miss Broome cried.
Lucas caught Miss Weston just as she slumped forward in her seat. He eased back carefully, cradling the elderly woman in his arms.
“Here, let me help,” Mr. Drake said, gently arranging Miss Weston’s legs across Lucas’s lap so he could hold her more securely. Lavinia started fanning Miss Weston’s pale, wrinkled face with her hands.
The carriage door squeaked open. “Everyone all right in here?” Grimes asked. Water poured off the brim of his hat onto the shoulders of his greatcoat.
“No,” Lucas replied. “One of the women was injured in the mishap.”
“Dash it all. Was afraid something like that might have happened. You’re best off keeping her here in the carriage, guv, whilst I sees to the damage. We’ve a broken wheel, blast the luck and the weather.”
Lucas was inclined to agree with the coachmen’s assessment of the situation, including his colorful language.
“I’ve sent Garrick to the next town for assistance,” Grimes continued. “Biggleswade’s not too far from here—two or three miles, by my reckoning. Shouldn’t take long, him all alone on a horse, like. An hour or two at most.”
Mr. Drake began wringing his hands. “Oh dear,” he muttered. “Oh dear, oh dear.”
“All will be well, Artie,” Lavinia assured him. She was now fanning Miss Weston’s face with an actual fan Miss Broome had located somewhere. “We’ve been through worse. Look, she’s coming to. Delia, my dear, you gave us a scare. How are you feeling?”
Miss Weston had indeed opened her eyes just a bit. “Where am I?” she asked faintly. She laid a limp hand on her forehead as though in pain and then realized she was lying across Lucas’s lap. “Oh,” she said. “Mr. Jennings.” She reached up and patted his cheek, of all things, as though she was comforting him. When she tried to sit up straight, however, she moaned and looked as though she might faint again.
“Careful, now,” Lucas said. “I’ve got you steady, so there’s no need for you to move. Where does it hurt?”
“My neck, a bit,” she said weakly. “And my side.”
“Got you right in the ribs with my elbow, no doubt,” Miss Broome said. “I’m that sorry, Delia. I was supposed to be cushioning you, not the other way around.”
“It takes more than an elbow to get me down, Hannah. I only need a moment to recover; you’ll see.” Delia wheezed out a chuckle, but the effort made her wince in pain.
“I thought we was leaving all the drama behind us when we left old Hinchcliffe behind,” Miss Broome replied.
Lavinia shot her a startled look, and Miss Broome’s mouth snapped shut with a surprisingly loud clacking noise.
Hmm, Lucas thought. Miss Broome’s slip of the tongue afforded the first real bit of information he’d gotten. Now he at least had a name: Hinchcliffe. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
The interior of the carriage had felt cramped enough before—and was even more so now that it tilted toward the broken front wheel. Lucas wasn’t of a mind to sit holding elderly Miss Weston for the next hour or so while they all waited to be rescued, although he certainly would if the situation called for it. He decided on a different plan, though it meant his only suit of clothes was going to get thoroughly wet and muddy.
“I believe I’ll step out of the carriage for a while so there will be room to lay Miss Weston on the carriage seat,” he said. “She’ll be more comfortable that way.”
“Oh dear,” Miss Weston said.
“Thank you, Lucas,” Lavinia said. She stood and moved out of the way while Miss Broome placed a cushion at the end of the seat for Miss Weston to use as a pillow. Thank goodness for the extra cushions he had obtained for the journey. They would provide Miss Weston with a bit of comfort for the time being.
Then Lucas stood, slouching due to his height and the low ceiling of the carriage, and held Miss Weston against his chest, an arm under her knees. As he moved, the others all shifted positions in the cramped space—Mr. Drake into Lucas’s spot, Lavinia next to him, and Miss Broome in the corner previously occupied by Mr. Drake. It all took a bit of squeezing and shuffling, but they managed it without bumping Miss Weston too badly in the process. When they were finally in place, he laid her gently on the seat.
Mr. Drake found space to place a cushion on the floor of the carriage and then managed to fold himself up and sit on it cross-legged, giving Lavinia and Miss Broome the entire bench to themselves. He patted Miss Weston’s arm reassuringly with a solicitousness that bordered on affection.
Lavinia reached out and laid her hand on Lucas’s arm.
“Thank you again, Lucas,” she said. “It was indeed fortunate that you were here to assist.”
A few strands of vivid red hair that had escaped their confines of the cap and bonnet during the mishap now framed her face, a perfect oval of fair skin. And her eyes . . .
For the briefest of moments, her eyes were luminous with something Lucas had not seen there before. She had beautiful eyes—large gray ones that were hard to ignore. He had already begun to wonder if she used her eyes as some sort of tool. He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that, precisely, except that he’d observed her arch a brow, narrow her eyes, or shoot glances that seemed intended to elicit particular responses from others.
But just now he’d seen something deeper expressed in them. Honesty? Authenticity? He wasn’t sure, for as quickly as he’d seen the look, it had disappeared.
He nodded to her. “At your service, ma’am,” he said and then left the close confines of the carriage and stepped out into the deluge.
Chapter 7
Lavinia watched Lucas tromp through the mud, his wide shoulders hunched over in the downpour. The rain drummed constantly on the roof of the carriage and slashed at the windows.
He wore no greatcoat, only the traveling clothes he’d been wearing yesterday. He was going to be soaked to the skin in no time.
“Where is he now?” Artie asked from his position on the floor of the carriage.
Lavinia leaned closer to the window, using her handkerchief to clear away the moisture that had formed there so she could get a better glimpse of Lucas. He’d nearly reached Mr. Grimes, who had already unhitched the horses, including Lucas’s, and had led them off to the side of the road where they could calm themselves and graze after becoming agitated by the mishap.
“He’s speaking with the coachman,” Lavinia replied, reluctant to drag her eyes from his receding figure.
“That’s good, then,” Delia said.
Lavinia heard shuffling and turned away from the window to look. Delia was propping herself up on her hands so she could sit up.
“What’s going on?” Hannah asked.
“I say, brilliantly done, Delia,” Artie said. “You were always the best, my dear.”
“Hardly that, Arthur,” Delia said, patting her fluffy hair back into place as best she could. “Although I do pride myself on producing quality work, if I must say so myself.”
Hannah shook her head.
> “Delia, what are you up to?” Lavinia asked.
“It should be obvious, Livvy,” Delia replied. “I was ensuring that our escort remain with us until we arrive at Primrose Farm.”
“She always was the best fainter onstage,” Artie exclaimed proudly. “You are just as impressive a fainter up close, my dear. I was thoroughly convinced you were in agonizing pain, even though I was fairly certain I knew what you were about. Well done!” He clapped.
Lavinia rolled her eyes. “Next you’ll be telling me you planned for the carriage to break a wheel.”
“Don’t be foolish, Lavinia,” Delia said. “That was merely an opportune moment.”
“Perfect dramatic timing,” Artie added.
“I would have found another reason to faint if that carriage wheel hadn’t broken as it did.”
“You weren’t injured at all, were you?” Lavinia said accusingly. “Mr. Jennings had already agreed to accompany us. I don’t see that this little antic of yours was called for in the least.”
“It wasn’t any different than what you did,” Artie said. “You threw yourself in his lap and called him your husband. In public.”
“That was entirely different. I hadn’t planned it ahead of time and only did it when it appeared I was about to be recognized by one of Cosgrove’s nasty little minions.”
“Now, dearie,” Delia said. “It isn’t as if I didn’t get jostled and bruised a bit. I’ll be sore for a day or two; Hannah does have a sharp elbow, but a good actor takes his—or her—lumps. It’s all part of the craft. But have you taken a good look at that fellow, Lavinia? He’s a tall, brawny, utterly splendid specimen of masculinity. And he’s a gentleman with all his manners intact. These types don’t show themselves very often, especially lurking backstage after performances, I’m sorry to say. Perhaps he did agree to accompany us to Primrose Farm, but a little insurance never hurt anyone.”
“You’re the cleverest girl I know, Delia, and your performance was first-rate—but surely he’s too young for you?” Artie asked a bit anxiously.