Otherwise Engaged

by Joanna Barker

  And though I’d never thought of myself as self-important, the fact that neither of them had thanked me for stepping in—or rather, diving in—to save her life was somewhat irritating.

  “Pardon me,” I said stiffly as I stood, crossing my arms over my shivering body. The man turned suddenly, as if he’d forgotten I was there. “But delightful as it has been to make your acquaintance, I’m afraid I will be going now. I wasn’t anticipating a swim today.”

  The man stared at me, taking in my soaked habit and dripping curls. “Curse it. I am sorry. I am being terribly rude.”

  He was certainly correct about that.

  He faced me fully for the first time. His broad face was tan, his eyes crowded by lines, as if he’d spent his childhood staring too long at the sun. “Please forgive me, Miss . . . ?”

  “Rowley,” I supplied with some reluctance.

  He squinted. “Rowley, you say? Related to a Mr. William Rowley?”

  “Yes. William is my brother.” How did this man know William? I really shouldn’t even be speaking to him without a proper introduction, but we were far past that now. “And you are?”

  “Avery,” he said. “Nicholas Avery.” I’d never heard of him. He waved at Olivia, still shivering and still scowling. “This is my sister, Olivia Avery,” he said, grimacing as if he’d sipped particularly sour lemonade.

  “Half-sister,” she muttered.

  Half-siblings, then. That explained their similar coloring and strange interactions, not to mention their age difference. Mr. Avery had to be nearly two decades older than his sister, though he was younger than I’d first thought. Even with the lines around his eyes, I placed him near to five and twenty years. Likely, he spent a great deal of time out of doors—with wild animals, judging by the angry white scar running down his left cheek and disappearing beneath his cravat. His clothing was soaked from carrying Olivia, and his white shirtsleeves and fawn waistcoat clung to his rather well-built arms and chest.

  He looked up and caught me staring. My face heated, and I said the first thing that rattled through my head. “Am I correct in my assumption that you are rather new to the neighborhood, Mr. Avery?”

  “Lieutenant,” he said immediately.

  “Pardon?”

  He cleared his throat. “That is, you may call me Lieutenant Avery, as I’m still on half-pay.”

  Lud, a military man. No wonder he had such an air of authority, even with a woman he’d barely met who had saved his ungrateful sister from a horrible death.

  “And yes,” he went on, “we’ve just arrived in Millbury. I’ve let Linwood Hall for the time being.”

  Unwelcome news, indeed. Was my quiet, secluded meadow part of Linwood’s estate? I did not know the boundaries well enough to guess.

  “Will your sister often be wandering without proper supervision?” I asked in a clipped tone. “I cannot be rescuing her every time I ride.”

  The lines around his eyes tightened. “Olivia is eleven years old. She hardly needs constant observation.”

  Eleven? She couldn’t be. She was such a tiny thing. But Olivia raised her chin as if daring me to question her age.

  “I would say she very plainly needs supervision,” I said. “Or have you forgotten why we are all so wet?”

  “An accident.” He brushed me off with a wave of his hand. “And in any case, I was following her and was not a minute behind you.”

  “You were following me?” Olivia stood, red climbing her pale cheeks.

  A muscle ticked in Lieutenant Avery’s jaw. “I wanted to ensure you would obey my instructions, which you obviously did not.”

  Olivia glared at him and then shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the mud. “You are not my father. You are barely my brother. I needn’t obey you.” She darted off, the loose ribbons in her hair dangling behind her as she disappeared into the trees.

  “Olivia!” Lieutenant Avery shouted after her, and his booming voice carried easily. Obviously he had a great deal of experience barking orders. “Come back here!” But his only answer was the rustling trees and lapping water.

  “I do not think she is coming back,” I said dryly.

  He turned back to me, staring as if I were a tenacious weed that had sprouted in his perfect garden.

  “Well, this has been just lovely,” I said, not particularly keen to prolong our conversation. The Prussian blue linen of my habit stuck to my legs and arms like the stubborn mussels I’d seen on the rocks at Brighton. “I do hope we meet again on slightly better terms.” Or never, if I could manage it.

  I stepped back, but he stepped forward. “Miss Rowley, please wait.”

  I paused as he scrubbed a hand over his face. The fellow looked exhausted. Not surprising, really, with such a shrew for a sister. “I am sorry for all that happened and for the way I acted. I hope you will forgive me.”

  It was not a particularly eloquent apology. Not to mention he still hadn’t thanked me for saving his sister’s life. Although, perhaps he wasn’t grateful I’d saved her, if she was always this awful.

  I sighed. Now who was the shrew? I ought to forgive him and put this whole mess behind us. I brushed a damp lock of hair from my face. My hand froze. My head was bare. “Dash it all.” I stalked to the edge of the lake in the vain hope that my hat would be floating conveniently within reach. But I saw no sign of black wool or ostrich feathers. Botheration. It had taken the milliner ages to get my hat fitted exactly right and had cost me a good deal of pin money besides. Mama had urged me to use a hat pin or ribbon to keep my hat in place, but I hated the feeling of securing it to my head. I wanted to be free of restraint, especially when riding. She would undoubtedly laugh at me now.

  “Did you lose something?” Lieutenant Avery joined me at the water’s edge.

  “My hat,” I said, my words curt. “I daresay it is at the bottom of the lake by now.”

  “Oh.” He winced. “I am sorry for that as well. Perhaps you’ll allow me to replace it.”

  Now he decided to try to act the gentleman. Edward would never have treated me such. He was all that was chivalrous and attentive, and I could easily imagine myself tucked into his warm jacket, his blue eyes filled with concern. Lieutenant Avery would do well to take a page out of his book.

  Then my breath choked in my throat. My letter! I clawed at my pocket, though I already knew it was hopeless. I pulled out a wad of soaked mush, ink disappearing as it dripped onto the muddy rocks below. Edward’s words—his sweet, romantic words. Gone.

  “Is it too much for me to hope that this wasn’t terribly important to you?”

  I glared at him. “No, of course not. I am mourning the loss of my shopping list.”

  “Ah,” he mused. “It was something important.”

  “Irreplaceable.” I tossed the sodden lump into the lake and spun, marching to where Stella waited for me as she chewed absently on a mound of grass.

  The dratted lieutenant followed me. “Please, let me assist you up—” He stopped when he caught sight of Stella completely bare. “Do you . . . not have a saddle?”

  There went my long-kept secret. Months of careful practice wasted. Mama would likely never let me ride again once she heard. And William . . . I’d rather hide in the hayloft than face him.

  Perhaps if I acted as though this were the most natural thing in the world, Lieutenant Avery would think nothing of it. Perhaps he would assume this was how girls rode horses in Millbury.

  “I do not need a saddle.” I moved to Stella’s side. “But thank you all the same.” I hoped my hard tone revealed how very unthankful I was.

  I’d mounted only a half hour before, so I did not hesitate as I gripped Stella’s mane. Unfortunately, that practice reminded Stella of her favorite joke to play on me. As I began to throw my leg over her back, she jolted forward a quick step. I slid off her like rain on a duck’s feather, bar
ely managing to keep my feet beneath me.

  “Stella,” I hissed as I resisted the urge to smack her shoulder.

  A soft cough came from behind me, a sad attempt to hide his chuckle. “Are you certain you do not need help?”

  “Quite certain, thank you,” I said through gritted teeth. Then I lowered my voice and leaned toward Stella’s ear. “If you move again, I’ll not ride you for a week. A week, I swear.”

  I reassumed my mounting position, and this time when I pulled myself up, Stella did not move a hoof. However, I had underestimated the difficulty of mounting in a wet habit. I somehow managed to get my ankle over Stella’s back, but the soaked fabric of my skirts restricted my movement. Awkwardly—oh, so awkwardly—I wriggled and pulled until I sat myself upright. I arranged my wet skirts over my boots and sent the lieutenant a superior look. He watched me with crossed arms and a badly concealed grin.

  “Good day, Lieutenant Avery,” I said. Then I kicked Stella’s flanks, and we bounded away without a backward glance.

  Chapter Three

  The stablemaster stared when I returned Stella, both of us covered in dust and my hair a veritable bird’s nest. He took my reins as I slid off my saddle.

  “Are you all right, Miss Rowley?”

  “Perfectly well, thank you, Mr. Mullens,” I said briskly. There were far too many listening ears in the stables.

  “I see.” He scratched at his temple. “I’ll just take Stella, then.”

  “Do give her a thorough brushing.” She had earned it. I’d had a great deal of frustration to work off. After retrieving Stella’s saddle, we’d raced the entire way back to Havenfield, the cool wind doing nothing to temper the heat trapped inside my chest.

  Mr. Mullens nodded and pulled on the reins. I patted Stella’s flank as he led her away. It wasn’t her fault the ride had gone so terribly wrong. I stood for a moment, hands at my hips, trying to steady my breathing. The stables always had a calming effect on me. My friend Marjorie claimed horses smelled horrid, and although she normally had good judgment, I knew she was wrong in this case. Stella smelled of all that was wonderful: fresh hay and warm earth, oats and sunshine.

  It was good that I’d returned from Brighton, for Stella. The grooms never exercised her like I did. They didn’t know her potential, her spirit. But I’d seen it from the moment I’d laid eyes on the beautiful mare, with the sleek and refined build of the Arabian lines that dominated the race tracks.

  I made for the arched door, and my stockings squelched in my boots with every step. Two stable boys watched me over one of the stalls. They ducked as I passed, but not before I heard their stifled laughter.

  I ignored them as I left the stables and started across the vast green lawn. Havenfield rose before me, the two stories of gray stone almost completely covered in ivy, save for the countless windows that reflected the afternoon sun.

  Home. That was what Mama had called the estate when I’d arrived yesterday. Welcome home, she’d said with a smile. And perhaps for her and William, it was home. Havenfield was lovely, yes—cheery, with its bright, airy halls and high ceilings. But Sir Charles and Lady Rowley, our distant relatives, had ruled the estate for so long before William had inherited. Their touch was everywhere still, subtle yet obvious at the same time. The library was precise, each book organized by subject and then author, as Sir Charles had preferred. The butler and housekeeper, hired and employed by William’s predecessors, sometimes gave me odd looks that made me feel like an unwelcome mayfly at a picnic. Lady Rowley’s flower garden, while not forbidden, was her domain, and I always felt as though I were an intruder there.

  Such feelings of disjointed belonging were to be expected, really. Especially as Lady Rowley still lived here, at William’s behest, though she was presently away visiting family. But I still could not bring myself to call Havenfield home. That title was reserved for another house, another time.

  At least I had the stables, Stella, and the warmth and welcoming that always greeted me there. Although today’s incident somewhat dampened my enthusiasm.

  Lieutenant Avery. His face pushed back into my memory, and I kicked the grass beneath my feet as I walked. I’d never met a man with worse manners. He clearly did not have much experience in proper society, or he would have thanked me profusely, offered to accompany me home, and made his sister apologize to me for ruining both my dress and my day.

  How could a man like him be in the position to let a house like Linwood Hall? If he had family money, I assumed he would also possess decent comportment. More likely, he had amassed a small fortune during the war, like many naval officers, and intended to establish himself in Society.

  So distracting were my thoughts that I did not notice the barouche waiting at the front steps until I’d nearly reached the house. I frowned. The carriage likely belonged to an associate of William’s. They came by at all hours of the day, my brother in a constant state of busyness as he ran both our family’s shipping business and the large estate.

  Exhaustion pulled at my bones. I hadn’t ridden in weeks, and that exercise, combined with my unexpected swim, was enough to protest my circling the entire manor house in search of a more discreet entrance. Besides, William and his guest were no doubt tucked away in his study near the library. No one would see me.

  I mounted the low stone steps and pushed open the front door a few inches. The entry was empty. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, blessing its well-oiled hinges.

  As I crept across the sunlit marble floor, I looped the skirt of my riding habit over my wrist. Voices echoed into the entryway, and I froze. The door to the morning room stood open, Mama’s white cap floating above the back of the settee, her dark curls peeking from the edges as she poured tea for her guests.

  “Where is your daughter today, Mrs. Rowley?” a hefty female voice said from inside the morning room. “I heard she returned from her visit to Brighton.”

  Of course it was the awful Mrs. Follett. With my luck so far today, I should have expected this.

  “Indeed,” was Mama’s poised reply. “Rebecca arrived home yesterday.”

  “Does she not realize you have visitors?” Mrs. Follett sounded personally affronted, but as she generally sounded that way, I could not tell if it was me in particular who offended her. “My daughter has been anxious to renew their acquaintance.”

  That motivated me to begin moving once again. The younger Miss Follett only ever had criticisms and unhelpful observations to offer, though I could hardly imagine who she had inherited such inclinations from. The two of them were the worst sort of gossips. A secret around them was no safer than a handsome, rich bachelor on the Marriage Mart.

  Still, I could not stop my wicked grin. What would they say if they knew about Edward?

  I inched my boots forward, raising the train of my habit higher to ensure it did not cause any untimely stumbles; then I squinted as I crossed into a bright stream of sunlight. A familiar itching entered my nose. Dash it all. I turned away from the sun and squeezed my eyes and mouth shut. No, no, no.

  But there was nothing for it. Sneezes erupted from my nose and mouth like gunfire during the shooting season. I lost count after five. When the sneezes finally ceased, I managed a desperate prayer that no one had heard.

  “Who was that?” Mrs. Follett demanded.

  Now would be the perfect time to use the first-rate curses I’d often heard my sister-in-law, Juliana, muttering.

  I threw a hasty glance over my shoulder. Mama turned on her seat and peered out the open doorway of the morning room. When she spotted me—a dripping, unkempt statue trapped halfway across the entry—her mouth dropped open. I offered a sheepish smile, hoping to communicate that although I looked a mess, I was unharmed. Her lips twitched. Of course she would find this rather hilarious.

  “Is that Miss Rowley?” Mrs. Follett was not to be deterred. “Do invite her to join us
.”

  Mama raised an eyebrow, and I silently pled with her. Surely she wouldn’t give me up, not in my current state. Besides, she knew how much I disliked the Folletts; indeed, she disliked them even more than I did.

  In the end, Mama winked at me. “Just a maid, Mrs. Follett.” She turned back to her visitors. “I’m afraid Rebecca has gone riding this afternoon, though I am certain she’ll be distressed to have missed your visit.”

  Thank heavens for Mama. I let out a long breath as I moved across the floor once again, careful to keep to the shadows.

  “Now tell me,” Mama went on as I reached the bottom of the stairs. “I have heard lovely things about your drawing room renovations. You chose a sage green, did you not?”

  Mrs. Follett would talk for hours about her new drawing room. I owed Mama showers of gratitude.

  I managed to navigate the creaky stairs and escape to my room. Fawcett drew me a bath and helped me scrub the lake scum and mud from my hair; then after dressing in a white silk evening gown and pinning up my still-damp hair, darker than its usual golden-brown, I returned downstairs for dinner, knowing I’d have an audience waiting for me.

  I entered the drawing room, and sure enough, my family all looked up expectantly. My sister-in-law, Juliana, reclined on the fainting couch, one hand resting atop her protruding belly, while William stood near Mama’s armchair.

  “Finally,” he exclaimed, his blue eyes mischievous. “We have been taking wagers.”

  “On what, precisely?” I asked with no small amount of suspicion.

  William began ticking off his fingers. “I myself am of the opinion that the lake was too much of a temptation for you in the summer heat, while Juliana is certain you were caught in a sudden storm that somehow skirted the rest of the estate.”

  “I’ve seen it happen,” Juliana said solemnly, her chestnut hair arranged simply in a low chignon.