The Gentleman's Deception

by Tuft, Karen

  He had done everything in his power to suppress any thought of her during his years in the army. Isobel, with the golden, blue-eyed looks of a porcelain doll. She had gazed at him adoringly when they were children; she had made him feel strong and manly, even as a boy. Their childhood friendship had blossomed into youthful love, and they had vowed to love each other forever.

  Oh, Isobel, he thought as his eyes drifted shut. And then he thought no more.

  * * *

  “What on earth were you thinking, Artie?” Lavinia stopped pacing the small confines of the room long enough to direct the question to him with a good deal of emphasis. “We’re supposed to look like normal people, and a normal person does not allow ladies to enter a room where gentlemen are . . . are . . .” She waved her hand up and down, trying to come up with the proper word and failing—not that it mattered. They were all perfectly aware of what Lucas’s state had been.

  “I already got an earful from the man himself,” Artie said morosely. “No need to lay it on further, Livvy.”

  “Don’t be too hard on Arthur, Livvy,” Delia said from her seat by the fire. “It is difficult to change one’s habits after a lifetime in the theater. You know what it’s like. Fifty years of backstage costume changes may have muddled Arthur a bit, but it’s those same years of theater experience that got us out of the room without stumbling all over ourselves.”

  “You may think we extricated ourselves smoothly, Delia,” Lavinia said, “but I’m absolutely certain our smoothness only served to raise questions in Lucas’s mind. We should have been aghast and blushing and excusing ourselves. Instead, we were all politeness, as if nothing whatsoever was amiss. And then we took his only clothing with us.”

  “That part was your doing, dearie,” Hannah pointed out.

  Lavinia ground her teeth. “Perhaps so, but I was hardly expecting to find myself in such a situation, was I? The entire scene was absurd.”

  “How are his clothes coming along, Hannah?” Artie asked. Hannah was busy polishing Lucas’s boots while his clothing dried. She was nearly done with the first one. “He was especially insistent on getting them back within the hour.”

  “A little polish and brushing and he’ll be right as rain,” Hannah said. “P’raps an hour and a bit.”

  “Closer to an hour would be better for my mortal existence, Hannah.”

  “Coat and breeches need more time to dry before I can brush them neat. His shirt and neckcloth could use some starch, but we can’t have everything, now, can we? At least the innkeeper had an iron we could borrow. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “That’s all a fellow can ask.”

  “There. You see, Livvy?” Delia said. “An hour and a bit. Perhaps less. Tempest in a teapot, if you were to ask me. Mr. Jennings doesn’t seem the sort to hold a grudge for long, and once he sees what our Hannah can do, he’ll be over it in a trice.”

  “‘And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury,’” Artie said.

  “Rather out of context, Arthur, but I do believe you’re onto something,” Delia said. “Very observant of you.”

  Lavinia had no idea what Artie meant by his reference or what Delia meant in reply, and she refused to speculate. “Enough with the Shakespeare, at least for now, Artie. Normal language for normal people. Besides, the Bard doesn’t have an answer for everything, you know.”

  Artie and Delia both looked at her as though she’d uttered blasphemy.

  “Artie could try the Bible instead,” Hannah suggested. “It would do him a world of good.”

  “I know the Bible as well,” Artie replied archly. “‘Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.’ There. You see? The book of Job.” He gazed off into the distance. “I should dearly like to play Job sometime. Such depth of character.”

  “You would make a wonderful Job, Arthur, but I think I still prefer Shakespeare, if you are to quote from anything, despite what Livvy says. Much less guilt attached overall,” Delia said.

  That led the two of them into a general discussion of the dramatic merits of the Bible versus Shakespeare, completely losing the thread of the original conversation, which was, ironically, how their behavior needed to be more normal and reflect less obviously on their theatrical background.

  Lavinia began pacing again. This was the reason she’d put Hannah in charge last night. And Artie and Delia continued to prove her decision right time and again, despite their ending up at the White Hart.

  Lavinia herself had reacted too theatrically by not reacting as a young lady would. How was she ever to find her way to a normal life if her ingrained instincts let her down?

  She crossed to the window and looked out at a view of the inn’s stable yard, although there wasn’t anything to see. Had it really only been last night she’d sneaked away from the theatre and Mr. Hinchcliffe and Lord Cosgrove? It seemed a lifetime ago.

  They needed to appear normal. How were they ever to be accepted by their new neighbors when they reached Primrose Farm otherwise? The people in all the towns and villages they’d performed in over the years had enjoyed their theatrical productions but had tended to be suspicious of them too, fearful that the theater troupe might be of a dishonest nature and steal their goods or their spouses or sons or daughters.

  The suspicions hadn’t been unwarranted in many cases. Her own father was an example of that, at least when it came to the daughters of the townspeople.

  The same types of suspicions might arise when they reached Primrose Farm if they weren’t careful. And then, there they’d be, relying on only themselves, with no practical knowledge about farming and no friendly neighbors offering advice and assistance.

  A soft knock at the door heralded the arrival of their supper.

  “‘Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon,’” Artie said, rubbing his hands together.

  His Shakespeare repertoire was already back in full force. Lavinia sighed and turned away from the window.

  Hannah ate quickly and resumed her task. In just over an hour, she had Lucas’s clothes ready to return to him. She instructed Artie to carry Lucas’s boots since she intended on carrying the other garments herself. “Livvy told the man his clothes was going to look even better than usual, and I intend for them to be that way. Artie would have them all wrinkled if I was to leave it up to him.”

  “I daresay I know how to carry a man’s garments,” Artie replied, all indignation. “I am a man, you know. ‘For the clothing oft proclaims—’”

  “Just grab his boots, Artie,” Hannah said, carefully placing Lucas’s neckcloth on top of the other garments she’d laid out and then sliding her hands under them all to lift them. “And let’s be off. Tomorrow will arrive sooner than later, and I’ve a mind to sleep before then.”

  “I’ll accompany you so you don’t have to return alone, Hannah,” Lavinia said. She opened the door, allowing Artie and Hannah to precede her out into the corridor, leaving Delia in the room to prepare for bed.

  “That Mr. Jennings, he’s a clever one; you mark my words,” Hannah murmured as they walked down the corridor. “He’s taking in all we say and sorting the wheat from the chaff.”

  “I agree with you, Hannah, but so far, he has also kept a respectful distance. His presence can provide us protection and even respectability if we remember to play our part correctly. I don’t agree with Delia’s tactics—my own actions were purely a result of finding myself recognized and in need of a quick escape—but I can forgive her motives.” Having a strong male presence around had given Lavinia a brief respite from the responsibilities she felt for the others, a chance to breathe before they encountered the next challenge upon their arrival at Primrose Farm.

  “He’s going to put the puzzle pieces together, and soon. You need to decide what you’re going to tell him when he does,” Hannah said.

  “He most likely already has,” Lavinia said. “But hopefully he’ll be well on his way before he discovers he was playing escort
to The Darling of Drury Lane.”

  “It’s a right good thing I took my supper with you ladies,” Artie grumbled as they approached the room, pointing to the serving tray on the floor outside the door, its dishes thoroughly emptied of their contents. “What if I hadn’t? What if I’d returned to the room expecting to find my share of food, and it’s gone? What then?”

  “Then we would have sent to the kitchen for something more, Artie,” Lavinia said soothingly.

  “Still, you’d think a fellow would know it was a sharing thing we were about. And he ate every morsel.”

  “Never mind about that, Artie,” Hannah said. “You aren’t hungry now, are you? Open the door. These clothes is getting heavy, what with me trying to hold them careful-like and keep them from wrinkling.”

  Artie did as commanded and then stopped in his tracks just inside the doorway. “Well, would you look at that!” he exclaimed under his breath.

  “No, thank you, Artie, considering Hannah has the man’s clothes in her arms,” Lavinia whispered back.

  Artie shushed Lavinia and tiptoed into the room. “It’s all right, Livvy. It’s safe enough, after all,” he whispered and proceeded quietly into the room.

  Lavinia maintained her distance, despite Artie’s assurance. She’d nearly given herself away when she’d been in the room earlier. She would be extra cautious this time.

  Hannah peeked around the doorjamb and then followed Artie inside.

  If cautious Hannah was willing to go in, it must be safe. Lavinia warily stepped inside. “Well, goodness,” she whispered.

  Lucas had taken a blanket and pillow from the bed and had made a place to sleep on the floor, and he was sound asleep, his torso and legs covered by the blanket, one muscular shoulder exposed by the light coming through the open door from the corridor. He lay facing the door‚ undoubtedly more evidence of that soldier training he’d mentioned to her, although it had failed him this time, as he hadn’t moved a muscle at their entrance.

  He’d left the bed for Artie to use.

  “Come, Hannah,” she whispered. “We have a long day of travel ahead. Let’s get some rest.” They bid Artie farewell and returned to their room.

  Lavinia didn’t know what to think. Lucas Jennings was proving more and more that he was different from all the other men of her acquaintance. Seeing him on the floor, leaving the bed for Artie, had stirred something inside her, and she found herself truly wanting to trust him.

  If only she hadn’t learned so early in life that wanting didn’t necessarily make it wise.

  Chapter 8

  Lucas awakened, his muscles stiff from sleeping on the floor for the second night in a row. He sat up and stretched, taking a moment to knead a spot on his neck that was particularly tight. As he turned his head, he noticed with relief that his clothes had been returned, as promised, and were neatly laid out on a chair near the tables, clean and pressed, his boots polished to a decent shine. Miss Broome had done an excellent job, as Lavinia had assured him she would.

  He rose from the floor, washed, and donned the clothes, all the while listening to the lump huddled under the blanket on the bed snore in a whistling, snuffling sort of way.

  A quick peek through the window curtains showed the rain had stopped and the clouds didn’t look threatening, which boded well for getting back on the road. The first order of business, then, was to find Grimes and determine the status of the broken wheel.

  He nudged the lump on the bed. “It’s time we got on our way, Mr. Drake.”

  The lump groaned and rearranged its shape a bit, then began to whistle-snore again.

  Lucas nudged him less gently this time. “Wake up, Drake. Morning awaits.”

  “If you say it is morning, I’ll believe you,” a gravelly voice uttered from beneath the blanket. “But my bones are inclined to argue the point.”

  Lucas drew the curtains back, letting the early morning light into the room. “The roads will be muddy today, so we need to be on our way in order to make decent time. Please inform the ladies of this as soon as you can. I’m off to see if the carriage wheel has been mended.”

  Mr. Drake’s head emerged from beneath the blanket, his thin gray hair mussed, his eyes puffy from sleep. “Haven’t been the proverbial early bird for more than half a century now. Give a man a moment to wake up.” He rubbed a hand over his grizzled face. “I’ll tell them, assuming they haven’t already figured it out for themselves.”

  “Good man. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Lucas grabbed his saddlebag and left Mr. Drake struggling to an upright position and sliding his bony legs over the side of the bed.

  Much to his surprise, Lucas found all three women already in the dining room, eating breakfast despite the early hour. Miss Weston seemed in good spirits, and even Miss Broome looked a bit less sour of countenance this morning. And Lavinia . . . Now that he knew what she really looked like, he wondered at the fact that he’d not noticed before.

  Her traveling clothes were the same, and she still wore the cap, but she seemed to be making an incremental transformation as they made their way north. Anyone who’d seen her arrive at the inn yesterday would see the same woman, but Lucas detected more of the real Lavinia beginning to emerge. After two days—had it been only two days?—she looked fresh and exquisitely lovely to him, and her gray eyes had flashed with intelligence just now when she’d turned her head to glance at him upon his arrival in the dining room.

  There was something conspiratorial about the women’s behavior, however, that made a particular spot on Lucas’s sore neck throb anew. Their heads were drawn close together, and they spoke in low tones as they drank their tea and attacked their breakfast.

  “Ah, Mr. Jennings,” Miss Weston chirped when he approached. “Come and join us, won’t you? I hope you slept well.”

  “I did, thank you,” he replied. “But I must refuse your kind offer. I am off to learn the status of our carriage.”

  “The carriage wheel is mended, and we can leave as soon as we wish,” Lavinia said, dabbing at her lips with her napkin. “I have already spoken with Grimes.”

  What an efficient person she was.

  Lucas was surprisingly irked that she’d already seen to the task. “Excellent,” he said. “Then I shall be pleased to join you ladies after all.” He sat in the vacant chair next to Lavinia while Miss Weston motioned to the serving girl, who quickly returned with a hearty plateful of eggs, kidneys, beans, and toast and set it in front of him.

  “When shall we arrive at Primrose Farm, do you think?” Miss Weston asked him. She sighed gustily. “Primrose Farm. Was there ever a more idyllic-sounding name? I can hardly wait to get there and spend my days walking through the gardens and sewing and reading for enjoyment and not out of necessity.”

  “It won’t be long now, Delia,” Lavinia assured her. “A couple more days at most.”

  “In answer to your question, Miss Weston,” Lucas said, “with any luck, we’ll reach Stamford by this evening, assuming the roads have dried sufficiently. By the end of the following day, we should arrive at Primrose Farm, assuming you are prepared for two long days of travel.”

  “Oh, I am,” Miss Weston assured him. “We have traveled in much worse conditions than these, Mr. Jennings. Why, I remember a time—” She jumped a little in her seat. “Well, it doesn’t bear repeating, now does it? But rest assured, Mr. Jennings, I am a hearty traveler, as are we all.”

  Lucas and Hannah both glanced at Lavinia, who was calmly sipping her tea. She set her cup back on its saucer. “I daresay you won’t find any group of persons more eager to reach a destination than you find us, Lucas. I do wish Artie would hurry so we can be on our way.”

  As if on cue, Mr. Drake entered the dining room. “Fried kidneys, my favorite,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together after viewing Lucas’s plate. “I daresay it looks to be a grand day for travel.”

  “It took you long enough to get down here,” Hannah said.

  “Didn’t want to wake up,” Mr.
Drake replied. “Haven’t slept that soundly in years—all thanks to you, Jennings, my good man. These three can put a man to fretting, what with their headstrong ways. ‘Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, / And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.’ Nice to have a fellow gent to share the burden for a time. Restful.”

  “Indeed,” Lavinia said briskly as Lucas stood so Mr. Drake could take his seat at the table. The serving girl removed Lucas’s plate and set a fresh one filled with food in front of Mr. Drake. “Now, eat quickly so we can be on our way. It does us no good to be sitting here waxing poetic if we are all so intent on getting to Primrose Farm.”

  “You have no worries on that score, Livvy,” Mr. Drake said before picking up his knife and fork and putting action to his words.

  Once again, old Mr. Drake had tossed a Shakespearean couplet into the conversation, and Miss Weston had assured Lucas they were old hands at traveling. The pieces all supported Lucas’s theory that they had been involved to varying degrees in theater. But they weren’t thieves or scoundrels; he’d been around enough of those types in the army to read a person’s character well enough.

  It was Lavinia who intrigued him most. She was the central figure in their charade, and it was more than obvious the other three were dependent upon her.

  Who was Lavinia Fernley, the ravishing young woman traveling incognito from London to Lincolnshire? How could her countenance blend a look of innocence with one of such world-weariness? Where was the family that should have taken her in after her father had died?

  He would find the answers, he resolved as he walked to the stable. He would see Lavinia and her friends to their new home, and during that time, he would put the remaining pieces of the puzzle together.

  * * *

  The roads were still muddy when the coach came round to collect Lucas’s four traveling companions, but the clouds had cleared, leaving a blue sky that promised sunshine. Lucas opted to journey on horseback; the roads would be much better by midday.