A Pursuit of Home

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  She stepped away from him to cross to the window, and his hand dropped back to his side. Nearly pressing her face to the window, she gasped and said, “Is that a lake? Every grand room should have a view of a lake.”

  Before the housekeeper could answer, Jess flipped the latch and pushed open the window in order to stick her head outside. The wind whipped at the ribbons of her bonnet, and she untied it and took it from her head before leaning a bit more out the window.

  The housekeeper rushed over and pulled the window in, forcing Jess back into the house. She pouted for a moment, then gave a shrug and a smile and glided back to the family portraits. “Is this the current owner, then? Lord Bradford?”

  “Yes, madam,” the housekeeper said stiffly. She was probably debating whether an afternoon spent with this nitwit was worth the coin they’d given her.

  “Is he home? Will we see him?” Jess bounced on her toes like an excited child. What was going on? Jess had suddenly gone from empty-headed to downright annoying. What part was he to play? What would he do if he were her husband?

  He hadn’t a clue. Not in his wildest imaginations would he marry someone with whom he couldn’t hold an intelligent conversation. He could pretend she was his sister, though. Derek’s youngest sister, Jacqueline, was nearly this excitable, silly, and exasperating.

  Of course, she was also twelve.

  “Dear,” he said, crossing the floor and trying to look like he loved her inanity. “We talked about this. We came to see the house, not the people.”

  She gave another pout. “It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  The housekeeper stepped closer and inclined her head. “As it happens, his lordship is in the area, though not expected home until this evening.” She flattened her lips in what might have been an attempt at a smile but fell horribly short. “Perhaps it would be best if we cut this tour a bit short. Maybe the drawing room before you depart?”

  Derek opened his mouth to protest. They needed to see as much of the house as possible. Before he could speak, though, Jess said, “Oh, that sounds lovely. Is the dining room near that? I’d love to see where he eats. And then we would have time to walk the grounds, wouldn’t we?”

  “Yes, the dining room is at the bottom of those stairs,” the housekeeper said quickly. “And the grounds are absolutely where you want to spend your time. The distant views of the house from the parkland are splendid.”

  Jess grinned and nodded before looping her arm into Derek’s and pinching him hard above his wrist, sending him from confused to worried.

  What he’d seen was concerning, but whatever Jess had noticed clearly implied the problem was more pressing than Derek knew. She felt the need to get them out of this house sooner rather than later, even if it meant not seeing the painting.

  They’d talked about the danger and he’d believed them, but this was the first time he’d felt it. Thus far it had been all silly disguises and sneaky subterfuge. Trickery, but not danger.

  Blood crackled in his ears as the housekeeper led them down the stairs and into a large dining room that could more aptly be termed a sort of banquet hall. High ceilings and a large chandelier over a broad, long table gave the room a dominating presence.

  On the wall at the head of the table was the painting.

  The Feast of Future Fortune.

  The assembly of people in the painting wore crowns, and jewelry dripped over their velvet robes and shiny slippers. A banquet table ran along one wall of their assembly room, but all the silver and gold dishes were empty. Each person held cups of gold aloft as they danced. Upon closer inspection, Derek saw their crowns and belts were without jewels, though the spaces for mounting gems remained.

  Derek moved toward the painting, his eyes eating up every detail. There was nothing distinguishing about the room, but on the wall behind the party was a painting. Or perhaps it was a window? He stepped around the table to get a better look.

  Jess didn’t follow him to the painting. Instead, she moved to the glass doors and looked out. “We really must look at this garden, my love.”

  Derek blinked. My love? After her distance in the carriage, the words jarred against his ears and sent a choking stab from his middle to his throat.

  “Mmm-hmmm,” he managed to get out. He didn’t trust his voice. Jess definitely wanted them out of this house.

  “Would we be able to go out these doors?” She gave the housekeeper a bright, happy smile. “We could work our way through the gardens and back to our carriage.” She pouted. “Since we don’t get to see the bedchambers, we might as well look up at the windows of the private salons.”

  “Whatever makes your tour more pleasant,” the housekeeper said as she rushed to open the door for them.

  Jess stepped immediately through the door and lifted her head to the sunshine. Derek’s confusion grew as he followed. They were on the back side of the house now. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to continue to the drawing room and the front door to get to the carriage faster?

  She took her sneaking about to extremes sometimes, but until now she’d always seemed rational.

  The door closed behind him so swiftly it almost hit the heel of his boot. He jumped out of the way and followed Jess across the stone terrace and down the steps into the garden.

  She took an immediate right, keeping them close to the foundations of the house instead of strolling farther into the garden. Her childish persona was gone as she folded the edges of her bonnet back and tucked her gloves inside the bodice of her gown.

  “What are we doing?” he whispered.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Leaving.”

  They crept along the back of the house, staying close to shadows and shrubbery. At the corner, she peered around the house and stiffened again. One hand pushed against his chest, flattening him to the wall, while the other slid up her back and underneath her short spencer jacket. A moment later, it emerged with a knife clutched between the slim, delicate fingers.

  Had Derek seen it in a painting, he’d have admonished the artist for not making something more believable. There it was before his eyes, though. A woodland nymph with a knife, ready to defend him against their foe.

  Whoever their foe was.

  Then, suddenly, the knife was gone, slid up her sleeve with her hand curved slightly to keep it in place.

  After a moment, she whispered, “Those trees over there. We’ll cut through them to the lane. Jeffreys will meet us there.”

  “How will he know?”

  Jess didn’t answer him, just continued with her instructions. “If something happens, go on without me. Tell Jeffreys. Whatever you do, don’t try to be a hero. I can’t rescue you and myself.”

  They were going to need rescuing? Did they already need rescuing?

  Derek’s heart started to pound as if he’d already taken off running. A chill permeated his skin, despite the sun shining down from the cloudless sky.

  Part of him wanted to protest, to insist that he would step between Jess and the apparent imminent danger. The ease with which she’d pulled that knife—the fact that she even had that knife—was proof that her competence outweighed his gentlemanly honor in this particular instance.

  He nodded his agreement, unable to get his tongue to unstick from the roof of his mouth. She nodded in return and adjusted her bonnet once more, leaving two fingers curled around the knife while she retied the ribbons.

  Obviously, she’d done this before.

  She nudged his side with her elbow and gave him a wink. “Let’s go.”

  Then she started to skip.

  He walked after her, staying close but trying to look like the weak husband he’d portrayed inside the house—not through intent but by confusion. She didn’t look anywhere besides the wood, but he couldn’t manage to do the same. He snuck glances to his right, where she’d peered before leading them across the section of open lawn.

  Part of the front drive was visible, as was an older carriage with a faded crest on the door. A
t one point, it would have been considered an extremely nice carriage. Like the house, it spoke of money long past but now gone.

  Did it belong to Lord Bradford?

  A groom stood at the head of the horses, staring their way and shaking his head before saying something to a nearby footman.

  The footman started toward them.

  Derek did a quick guess on whether they would reach the wood before the servant reached them. It was going to be close.

  Jess simply skipped on. She lifted her head to the sun and spread her arms out, looking carefree and in love with life. What would it be like to see her truly that happy?

  The immediate concern of the approaching footman kept him from contemplating that possibility for long.

  “Ho there,” the footman called. “What’s your business here?”

  Derek waited a beat to see if Jess would say anything. She stumbled to a halt but stayed silent. Derek took a deep breath and tried to match her apparent lack of concern. “We, er, petitioned the housekeeper to see the house and the grounds.”

  The man gave a cold smile and glanced at the house. “And she let you?”

  “Only a few rooms,” Derek said, not wanting to get the housekeeper in trouble, though he wasn’t sure why. If she’d let people in when she wasn’t supposed to, she should be let go.

  Jess snugged up against him, her face carefully tilted so the brim of the bonnet obscured her face, the hand with the knife tucked up her sleeve hanging loose at her side. “I want to see the trees.” She held the last word for a long time and with a slight whine.

  The footman winced. “How did you get here?”

  Jess stuck out a foot and wiggled her boot. “We walked. Now we’re walking home.”

  “You live near here?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Oh no,” Jess said with a giggle.

  “The, er, inn in the village,” Derek said, and Jess pinched his arm.

  “I suppose you’ll have to carry on, then.” He looked like he wanted to tell them they couldn’t leave, but he also didn’t want them there.

  The woods was five steps away. In another ten, they could be out of sight.

  Derek would very much like to be out of this man’s sight.

  “What’s going on here?” another voice called from the drive.

  Jess began pushing at Derek as the groom turned. “Visitors, my lord. They were just leaving.”

  Derek walked just fast enough that he barely felt the pressure from Jess’s hand, assuming she would know how quickly they could walk without someone chasing them. At the edge of the woods, she pushed harder and he stepped faster.

  There were voices behind him, but he couldn’t make them out. All he could hear was his harsh breathing and his heart pounding.

  Another few steps and Jess shoved him into a run. Soon she took the lead and led them to a turn in a country lane where their carriage waited, Jeffreys perched on top with a blunderbuss aimed at the woods.

  “No one to shoot,” Jess said as she threw open the door and clambered in, Derek diving in after her. She reached out to close the door. “Get us out of here.”

  The carriage lurched, throwing Derek onto the floor, since he hadn’t quite gotten himself situated on one of the benches.

  The trapdoor in the roof of the carriage banged open.

  “What happened?” Jeffreys called down.

  “I know Lord Bradford, though not by name,” Jess said, her face pressed against the window to look back at the woods they had just emerged from. “He worked with Napoleon.”

  Jess flopped back onto the seat and twisted to replace the knife in the holder beneath her jacket. “He took my father.”

  Chapter Twenty

  There weren’t enough words in any language to describe Jess’s emotions upon seeing that portrait and realizing just whose house she was in. Darkness had crept along the edges of her vision until looking up at that portrait had been like looking up through the floorboards.

  Childlike terror competed with the resilience of the woman who had learned to fight. She’d wanted to run, wanted to grab her knife and slash through the painting until the image was gone, wanted to cry, wanted to . . . wanted to . . . There were so many warring desires she didn’t even know what she wanted to do.

  Fortunately, she’d known what she needed to do. Before anything else, she’d needed to get Derek away from that house.

  He sat across from her now, thoroughly shaken by the entire experience, if the fact that he was allowing her to ride backward was any indication. He shoved his hair off his forehead and resettled his spectacles.

  The rattle and noise of the carriage clipping along the lane filled the space, thanks to the open hatch in the roof.

  “I’m not seeing anyone,” Jeffreys called down. “No one followed me when I left either, though I got some strange looks. More than one gardener will remember it.”

  “How did you know to go to the lane?” Derek asked, shifting so he was perched on the edge of the seat and yelling to be heard over the horses.

  “Jess gave me the signal,” Jeffreys called back.

  Jess sighed, peeking over at Derek to find the accusatory look she’d expected. If he wanted to know all the safety measures she and Jeffreys had put into place for this trip, it was going to be a very long conversation. Even now, they weren’t headed to the original next destination but to a nearby village, where an old associate of Jeffreys would likely grant them a place to stay without asking too many questions. It might be a barn or an empty crofter’s cottage or even an attic. Jess had utilized all sorts of places in moments like this, and she and Jeffreys had determined several options when they’d set out the path.

  She’d hoped Derek would never find out about it.

  “There’s a signal?” Derek said, lowering his voice enough that Jess knew he was talking to her and not Jeffreys.

  “Yes, there is a signal. I would never walk into an unknown situation without some established form of communication with my partner.”

  His eyes narrowed and his mouth flattened. “I thought I was your partner.”

  Jess resisted the urge to squirm. Thankfully, the noise outside prevented Jeffreys from hearing anything beyond yelling, or he’d be chiming in, making this discussion even more of a mess. “You were with me.”

  “And apparently in some danger I had no idea about.” He crossed his arms and glared at her, saying nothing but obviously thinking.

  He was always thinking. He’d claimed she was, too, but she didn’t think like he did.

  The more he stared, the more the desire to squirm built in her and the more she pushed herself to remain still and appear nonchalant. Never give the enemy a sign of weakness.

  Not that she considered Derek her enemy, of course. She thought of him more as a . . . as a . . . Heat speared across her cheekbones, and she turned to look out the window, even pressing one cheek against the cool glass in an attempt to battle the threatening blush.

  “The window,” Derek said, tilting his head to consider her new position. “The whole business with the bonnet at the window. That was when you knew we needed to leave.”

  Her skin once more feeling normal, she turned back to face him. “Yes. Fortunately, the portrait gallery faced the front of the house.”

  “And you simply took for granted that I would follow your lead? That I wouldn’t insist upon seeing more of the house or ask about your odd behavior?” He planted his feet wide and leaned toward her, hands planted on his knees, elbows jutting outward. “That’s quite a risk. Am I your docile pet, then, trotted around at your whim?”

  “Your job is to look at art. Mine is to keep us safe,” she said stiffly. The man had no right to be angry. “Just because I haven’t had to do anything until today doesn’t lessen the importance of that. I could have handled any normal reaction from you, whether exasperated or docile. Neither would make the housekeeper blink. Nervous fear, however, would. We’d have found ourselves searched for stolen trinkets.”

&n
bsp; “Are you saying you believe I’d be foolish enough to put us in even more danger?”

  “I’m saying you’re a liability.” As soon as she said the words she wished she could take them back. She didn’t mean them. Not really. He wasn’t a liability. If anything she was impressed with the way he’d handled himself thus far—the heavy travel, Jess’s various characters chosen the moment she got an impression of the housekeeper, and even the way he’d remained calm and followed directions as they fled the house.

  She could probably have sent him on this journey with only Jeffreys and he’d have been fine. Her presence was the only reason they’d been in significant danger today.

  No matter what she told herself, though, she couldn’t form the words to take the sentence back, to apologize or claim it was said in the heat of the moment. She wanted—no, needed—to be necessary. If Derek saved Verbonne, where did that leave her? She would still be the child in the floorboards, useless and helpless and unable to save her family.

  “I see.” The tension drained from his body as he slumped back in the seat, but the anger remained on his face. “What a shame I can’t simply loan you my brain, then, so you could do this without me.”

  “That would make it easier,” she agreed, hating herself just a bit more. She had a reputation of easily telling people they were wrong or acting a fool, but this was a level of nastiness she didn’t recognize in herself.

  He took three deep breaths through his nose, arms crossed over his chest. “And the dining room?” he asked, his voice surprisingly even, if a bit lower than normal. “How did you know the painting was there?”

  “The title had the word feast in it, so it seemed a reasonable gamble,” Jess mumbled. She knew that was ridiculous, that artistic-minded people didn’t think that way or make those sorts of connections, but she hadn’t been willing to allow a further search of the house. Once more, she could thank her instincts, or what Ryland claimed was the prodding of the Holy Spirit, or whatever it was that had guided her over the past years.