Closing the bedchamber door softly as he left his sleepy charge with instructions to lock it after him, Sinclair, instead of seeking his own repose, once more descended to the ground floor. He stood for a moment outside the taproom door before pushing it wide. Due to the lateness of the hour, the dimly lit room was almost deserted. Only a few hardy individuals remained to sit over their ale. He scanned their faces as each looked toward the door to see who entered, but none seemed familiar. Taking one last look, he decided that he must have been mistaken in thinking he knew the man on the stair, and, returning to the parlor, he ordered a bottle of brandy to be brought to him.
The hour was quite advanced before the earl forsook the parlor and, taking a candle from the hallway, once more climbed the stairs to his own bedchamber. Entering the darkened room, he placed the candle on the small table beside the bed and, in its flickering light, prepared to retire.
Taking the portrait from the valise, he climbed between the sheets. Lying back against the pillows, by the candle's soft light, he examined the beauty's features, his mind taking a fanciful turn. However, his tender musings were brought to an abrupt end when he heard a soft footfall pause outside his door and saw the light of a candle halt there. Pushing the miniature hastily beneath the pillows, he watched as a shadow appeared to move tentatively in the corridor, and the thought of the man on the stair once more crossed his mind. He'd been unable to identify the half-hidden features, but it left him with a feeling of unease.
He pushed aside the covers and, leaving the bed, stepped quietly to the door, seeing the handle move noiselessly. Immediately he reached for his breeches, which lay on a hard chair by the hearth, and, pulling them on as best he could, he sprung wide the door. The hallway appeared empty, only shad ows inhabiting the poorly lit corridor. Hearing a door close in the darkness, he reasoned that it must have been a like visitor who, in the ill light, had mistaken his door for his own. Trying the latch but finding a resistance there, his fellow guest must have realized that he mistook the door and in so doing had found his own.
Berating himself for having allowed his imagination to overrule reason, he once more returned to his bed, extinguishing his candle and seeking repose.
It was barely dawn when a tapping on his door woke him and Jenny quietly but insistently called his name. When he gave a mumbled reply, her voice became more imperative in tone.
"Let me in, Ned. Please let me in."
"What is it?" he asked, quickly leaving his bed and reaching for his breeches, cursing himself for his clumsiness as he hastily dragged them on.
"Just let me in," she pleaded urgently, and, without thinking, he reached and turned the key in the lock.
Immediately she pushed open the door and came into the room, closing it noiselessly behind her. She came to an abrupt halt. Observing him in the half light, she momentarily froze, seeing for the first time the scarring to his upper body.
He heard her sharp intake of breath and desperately tried to pull on his shirt, but in his haste he fumbled, and it fell to the floor. Immediately she was before him, eager to assist.
"Leave it alone," he demanded in an awful voice. "Leave me. I don't need your help. I'm no puling infant."
"Ned, I .." she began, a catch in her voice, but he pushed her roughly aside.
"Turn your back. I will not have your eyes on me," he commanded, desperate that she should not see his injuries.
She did as he bid, but he could see her shoulders shaking as she gave vent to tears.
Full of remorse, he roughly pulled the shirt over his head and forced his arm into the sleeve.
For a moment he hesitated. He regretted his actions, but it affected him so that she should see his disfigurement. As her distress became more apparent, he went to her, putting his arm about her shoulders.
"Come, sweeting," he cajoled, drawing her to his side. "I do not wish to wound you, but you must not see me like this."
She turned to him and buried her face against his chest, clutching at the ill-used shirt.
"I was frightened..." she offered in explanation, tears still sounding in her voice.
"Of me?" he asked sharply. "Am I so hideous?"
"Oh, no, Ned, no," she cried. "Never that. Someone came to my door a few moments ago and tried the lock. I thought it was you and called your name, but whoever it was laughed softlyhorribly-and left. It terrified me, and I needed you"
He held her tightly to him to comfort her, and she heard the steady thud of his heart and felt the comforting strength of his embrace, and her fears calmed.
"My lock was also tried in the early hours," he said, frowning. "I know not who it might be or what their intentions, but I believe we should leave immediately. If there are thieves abroad, we won't present them with opportunity. Remain here while I finish dressing, and then together we will go to your room to collect your bag. I will order the coachman to put to immediately."
Perched on the ladder-back chair, Jenny waited while Sinclair completed his dressing. Perceiving the difficulty he had in carrying out this task, she would have gone instantly to his aid, but she knew he would not welcome her intervention. Indeed, she knew that any offer of assistance would only result in rejection.
As the coach drew away from the inn, Jennifer was conscious that a certain reserve remained in the earl's manner and was only too aware of its origins. He made no attempt at conversation. Instead, he turned slightly away from her, as if studying the passing countryside.
They traveled some miles in silence before, unable to stand the discord any longer, she forsook her seat to sit at Sinclair's side. He turned his head briefly, giving but a slight smile in recognition before continuing his contemplation of the passing scenery. His dark brows were drawn into a heavy frown, and his face appeared pale in the morning light, and her heart went out to him.
Hesitantly she slipped her hand into his elbow in an attempt to gain his attention, but he resisted the temptation to turn toward her.
Unwilling to let the matter rest, she said in a small voice, "We've never spoken of your injuries, Ned."
"Nor shall we. There's no need," he replied in a harsh voice. "My disfigurement is plain for all to see. It will not improve with discussion."
"You wrong me if you think I see it as a disfigurement," she said earnestly, tightening her hold on his arm. "I see not the injury but the man. You've no wish for pity, and I do not offer it. You are as strong and vital as you ever were, and that is how you are perceived. You are no object for sympathy."
He gave no answer, but she saw that the tension about his lips relaxed slightly and the thunder seeped from his brow. Eventually he turned toward her. "You must forgive me, Jenny," he said softly, taking her hand. "I've so long feared what would be the reaction to the ravages wreaked on my frame. I am no longer the man you once thought me, and it's abhorrent to me to evoke either fear or pity."
"I don't see you as a candidate for either," she said, her fingers tightening on his. "Indeed, you are no less a man than you ever were. The loss of your arm is nothing to me; I see only your goodness and vigor and-"
Suddenly the coachman rapped on the roof. "We are nearing Ashbourne, sir," he announced as the earl opened the hatch.
"Then we will make a stop before continuing to Buxton," replied Sinclair, thankful for a diversion from the intensity of their conversation. He found it a conversation hard to pursue, deciding it would serve no purpose to examine their separate emotions too closely. Aware that his own lay too near the surface, he feared that in an unguarded moment he would find them too difficult to suppress.
Returning his attention to his companion, he said, "As soon as we arrive at the inn, I will arrange for a bedchamber to be put at your disposal."
"You still wish me to change?" said Jenny, her chin firming.
The earl grinned ruefully, his eyes lighting with amusement. "As delighted as I've been to see you in schoolboy garb, my dear, for the sake of your reputation I do believe it is necessary for your metamorpho
sis into a young lady once more"
"Must I, Ned? Is it really necessary?"
"Imperative, Jen. Your entry into Buxton will be as a young lady of quality."
In answer she once more removed herself to the seat opposite, folding her arms defiantly across her chest.
"Why the long face?" queried the earl. "Freddie is within your reach, and all will be put to rights."
"It means the end of our adventure, Ned."
"'Adventure'? Is that what you would call it?" He laughed. "You will find it less of an adventure when we are forced to face the comments upon our return"
"I'd quite forgotten about that," she said, sitting upright in her seat. "Do you think it will be very bad?"
"Undoubtedly," was his only reply.
Once installed in a bedchamber at the posting inn, Jennifer cast aside her jacket and breeches and lifted the pale blue dimity dress from the bed. At any other time she would have been quite happy to wear it, deeming it most suitable as a day dress to be worn in the country. However, today it found no favor with her, and it was with a reluctant sigh that she stepped into it and arranged a white lace fichu about her shoulders.
Taking a hand mirror from the cloak bag, she attempted to brush her shorn curls into a more feminine style, which only served to make her look even more elfin. She had not thought of the consequences when she'd taken the scissors and cut her beautiful dark locks so short; it had not occurred to her that she would appear most strange when going about in society. However, now that she was not obliged to brush those locks severely back from her brow to fit her boyish role, she could see that the style became her, and she smiled at the thought of what the tabbies would say of it.
"Now we will see what you make of me, Edward Thurston," she whispered to her reflection before placing the mirror once more into the bag.
"There, do I now have your approval?" she asked, stepping into the inn's wainscoted private parlor and executing a neat little curtsy before the earl.
Sinclair rose from a chair by the hearth and made a profound leg. "Lady Jennifer-Jenny." He smiled, coming forward. "It would now seem that I must treat you with the respect due your station." Taking the hand she proffered in salute, he raised it dutifully to his lips. "My dear, the transformation is complete. You look enchanting, though how we will explain the shortness of your hair, I know not"
"Do I look a fright?" she asked anxiously, her hand going automatically to her curls.
"Not at all, Jen." He chuckled. "A little unconventional, but a delight, I assure you. Within a week you will have society paying homage and emulating your daring new look. I will lay odds on it."
"Does it find favor with you, Ned?" she asked, watching his reaction from beneath lowered lashes.
Smiling, he tweaked her curls. "Have I not said so? But I will not feed your vanity. It's not, after all, with me that you need find favor but with the many beaux who prostrate themselves at your feet"
This was not at all the reply she'd been looking for, and it drove her to retort haughtily, "I wish I could reply in kind, Edward, but you seem to show not the slightest interest in attaching any young lady's affections."
"I've no time for petticoats," he mocked, retreating to the settle once more. "I am quite content with my lot."
"You, sir, are a misogynist," she snapped, stamping her foot.
"There you have the wrong of it, Jenny." He laughed. "Quite the wrong of it."
Congratulating himself on his perception of the matter, the coachman gave a knowing smile and winked meaningfully at the postillion as he assisted his passengers into the waiting equipage.
As he took up the reins to commence the final few miles to Buxton, he thought of the tale with which he would regale his wife upon his return, for he had suspected the young sir of being a girl-and a very pretty one to boot. However, he saw that the miss seemed less than pleased when she emerged from the inn, and he diagnosed a lovers' tiff. He noted that the gentleman appeared somewhat amused by the whole, and he predicted the gent's downfall, finding nothing loverlike whatsoever in his manner. A very strange matter indeed.
The coach rolled out of the inn's yard at a spanking pace. The newly hired team was fresh, and the two travelers knew that their journey would soon be at an end.
Jennifer, retaining her air of resentment, sat erect in the forward-facing corner of the coach, while the earl sat at his ease on the opposite seat. Silence reigned for the first mile or so, a silence that begged to be broken.
As his companion appeared disinclined to set up a dialogue, Sinclair made an attempt at polite conversation. "Is this your first visit to Derbyshire, Jenny?" he asked.
"No," came her short reply, as she refused to be drawn into conversation.
"Then as it is mine, perhaps you would be so obliging as to point out any places you deem of interest."
"There are none"
"The views are quite remarkable," he persisted, attempting to hide a grin, but the light in his eyes betrayed him.
"I would prefer it if you did not speak to me, Edward Thurston," said Jennifer in an indifferent voice. "For when you do, it is merely to mock me"
"Behold, a penitent man," he teased, hanging his head. "If in some inadvertent way I have offended my lady, I offer her my profound apologies."
She laughed in response. "No, you don't. You know you don't."
"Perhaps not," he replied, grinning boyishly. "But dare I mention that it brought about the desired results? You no longer scowl at me. Possibly now would be a good time for you to inform me about the hapless individual upon whom we are about to descend. You've said very little on the subject. I take it to be a school friend of Freddie's?"
"Dear me, no. Have I not explained?" she said. "How remiss of me. 'Tis Mrs. Rutledge, a friend of my mother's who lives just on the other side of Buxton with her son, Phillip. She is a widow, and Freddie and I went to stay with her when Mother died. We were made so welcome that, had it not been for Arthur's insistence that we return to London, we would have happily remained there. Freddie and Phillip became firm friends and have remained so. As no other destination presented itself, I naturally assumed Freddie to have fled there"
"And if he has not?"
"I know of no alternative. If he isn't to be found there, I'm at a loss as to where else to look." On a sudden thought she turned anxiously toward Sinclair. "You don't think he could have run away to sea do you, Ned?"
"I think it highly unlikely. If it were Perry, then it could well be a possibility, but Freddie lacks his impetuosity and possesses a more sensible turn of mind. I agree that Buxton seems the more probable choice. We shall soon know."
Derbyshire's glorious vista spread before them as they drove through Dovedale Valley and the adjoining countryside. Both in their own way regretting that the end of the journey was in sight, they each sat lost in reverie. Occasionally Jenny cast a glance at her companion, but his averted countenance told her nothing, as he appeared absorbed in their surroundings.
Eventually they descended into Buxton, and as they drove through the modest town, she pointed to a large house situated on the rise that overlooked its cobbled streets.
"Berry House," she said, as he came to sit beside her. "That is where Mrs. Rutledge-Judith-lives"
He gave it but a cursory glance before turning to face her fully. "I've been thinking," he said, "about our return to London...."
She grimaced dolefully. "So have I, and I don't see how it can be achieved without causing comment"
"Then I'm sure you'll see the sense of what I'm about to suggest "
She looked at him hopefully. "Can you see a way around it, Ned? For I'm sure I cannot."
"We will leave Buxton separately. I will return to London while you and Freddie go to my sister's house and explain all to her. I am sure Flora will need little encouragement to state that the two of you have been on a visit to her the whole time. She likes nothing more than the role of conspirator. I will send Perry to you, and he can add credence to you
r story. I will attempt to allay rumors in London. If it's seen that I return alone, I can say that I've been on an expedition to the races. None will dare query it in my presence. Some may have their suspicions, but none can provide proof that we've been within fifty miles of each other."
"Do you think it will serve?" she asked doubtfully. "Are you sure Flora will go along with the ploy?"
"I think I can safely put your mind at rest on that score. I know my sister well enough to guess at her reaction. She will see it as a very romantic escapade and read all manner of hopes for our future into it."
"Then I will certainly put her right on that score, Ned. Though if I do, she might be reluctant to help us"
"Not Flora. She is ever hopeful of a reconciliation between us"
"What a severe trial we must be to her." Jenny chuckled. "She seems forever destined for disappointment."
The earl dropped his gaze, studying the toe of his boot. "I hate to mention it, Jen, but what of Hawley?"
"Oh, Lord, I'd forgotten about him," she groaned, raising a hand to her brow. "How am Ito face him? When we set out on the journey, I gave no thought to the fact that I would have to return. Indeed, the consequences of my actions were the furthest thing from my mind. I saw only the need to find Freddie."
"Perhaps it would be appropriate for me to pay him a visit," said Sinclair, patting her hand as it rested in her lap. "I will explain all to him, and I'm sure he'll see the sense of our arrangements."
"He won't believe our story. Even though it is the truth"
"Do you think that he should also be told that you and Freddie have been visiting Flora? Will he believe that?"
"If that were the case, why would I have felt the need to abscond in the middle of the night and not make proper arrangements? No, I don't think he'll believe it."
"You don't make life easy, do you, my dear?" He chuckled, squeezing her hand. "Then it may become necessary for me to tell him all, and you must be prepared for his reaction. I will do what I can to defuse the situation."
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