As Luck Would Have It

by Alissa Johnson

  Feeling uncomfortable under his watchful eye, she nonetheless ate every last berry and licked her fingers clean.

  “There’s a bucket of rainwater outside if you like.”

  She nodded and rose, avoiding looking him in the eye.

  She took her time cleaning up, letting the sun warm her face, and settle her mind and body. She’d spent the night in a man’s arms. Alex’s arms. She wasn’t at all certain how she felt about that—touched that he’d taken such care of her, amazed that his presence, his voice, his smell, the feel of his strength, had kept the worst of the fear at bay.

  And she felt embarrassed. Mortified, really. She’d spent the whole of the night crying and shivering like a frightened child. What must he think of her?

  He’d want an explanation, of course. He deserved one.

  She tilted her head back and let the sun shine on her a moment longer then went back inside.

  Alex watched her cross the small room to stand in front of him. He remained quiet as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “It was dark when my mother and sister died,” she whispered.

  He brought a hand up to rub the path of freckles arcoss her nose. She was still so pale, he thought. He’d seen the echoes of last night’s fear in her clear blue eyes before she’d closed them.

  “You don’t have to explain. Not until you’re ready. I can wait.”

  She let out an enormous sigh of relief and her lids fluttered open. “You don’t think me a coward?”

  The hope in her voice broke his heart. “Sophie, of course not. How could you think that? How could anyone think that?”

  “I think that. You saw me last night.” She laughed without humor. “I was fully mad, wasn’t I?”

  “No. You were terrified. I’ve seen men in the grip of madness and men in the grip of panic. They may look similar, but I assure you, they are two very separate states.”

  Sophie was momentarily taken aback by his reasoning. She had never thought of it that way. She had always viewed her terror as a kind of transient insanity, a weakness she couldn’t fight.

  She looked up at him with gratitude, with longing.

  If only he would agree to go with her to China. If only, for once in her life, she could just be lucky without having to pay for it later. If only Alex loved her and nothing else in the world mattered.

  And when “if onlys” were pound notes she’d hire a team of lawyers and send her cousin to debtors’ prison on his way to hell.

  At least the sun was shining, Sophie mused as she climbed over yet another fallen tree. They’d hiked across the countryside all morning and well into midday. It was hard going, but she could only imagine how much worse the trek would be if they had foul weather rather than a clear fall day.

  Alex seemed to have some idea of where they were headed, insisting that they were following some sort of trail after she pointed out that they were no longer traveling east. She tried in vain to detect any sign of an intentional path through the roots and brambles, but eventually abandoned the effort in favor of simply putting one foot in front of the other. He’d never given her any reason to doubt his navigational skills, and England was a fairly well-populated island. How long could they possibly travel before finding civilization?

  Three hours later, Sophie was beginning to consider the possibility that they had left England behind—and were now well into Scotland—when they stumbled out of the thick woods and onto a road.

  “Thank God,” she panted, letting her legs collapse ungracefully beneath her until her rump was settled comfortably— relatively speaking, of course—in the dirt. She very nearly leaned down and kissed the gravelly earth, she was so delighted to see it.

  “You sound awfully pleased for someone sitting in the middle of a rural road with no help in sight,” Alex commented suspiciously.

  “Just thrilled to be out of the woods,” she replied. And so very, very relieved that he had actually found a road. Even if it was in Scotland.

  Alex didn’t look convinced, just gave a “hmm” and turned to take in their surroundings.

  “Should we just wait here for someone to come by then?” she asked hopefully and was more disappointed than surprised when he shook his head. The road was in terrible shape, with large ruts and grass growing down the middle. Clearly, it wasn’t a major thoroughfare.

  “We could be here for weeks,” Alex answered. “Which direction would you like to go?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Alex pointed down one end of the road and then the other. “North or south? Your choice.”

  “My…? Don’t you know which way to go?”

  “How on earth would I know that?”

  Confused, she stared at him a moment before speaking.

  “Well…you knew which way the road was.”

  “I can follow a trail, not see across miles.”

  “Oh.” She probably would have thought of that if she hadn’t been so tired. She looked down both directions and frowned thoughtfully. “It’s silly, of course, but this road looks familiar to me somehow. It can’t be the one to Haldon, I know, but….”

  “You’re tired,” Alex said sympathetically taking a seat next to her. “It’s perfectly understandable—”

  “Please don’t patronize me, Alex,” she said without any real anger. She simply hadn’t the energy for anything more than a token annoyance at his tone.

  “My apologies. I’m tired as well.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, too. We’ve been at each other’s throats for almost a full two days now, haven’t we?”

  He gave her a small smile. “We haven’t argued the whole time,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, and thank you for last night Alex, and this morning,” she said sincerely. “I should have thanked you earlier. I…what you did for me…”

  “It was nothing.”

  “It was something to me.”

  He crouched down and squeezed one of her hands. “Then it was my pleasure. Now, pick a direction while we’re still in each other’s good graces. With any luck, we’ll find assistance before I learn firsthand if you know how to use that knife.”

  “Oh, I’m a master,” she said baldly, knowing he wouldn’t believe it and finding a kind of perverse amusement in that. “Best you keep it with you, lest I feel compelled to prove my skill.”

  “An excellent suggestion.” He held his hand out and helped her to her feet. “Shall we try the north route?”

  “Oh, no, south. Definitely south.”

  To England.

  Twenty-five

  Sophie couldn’t shake the feeling that she had been on the road before. There were no definitive markers to either support or dispel the suspicion, but every now and then they would pass a meadow that looked familiar, or come upon a bend and she knew, just knew, there would be a steep incline on the other side.

  As the sun began to lower in the horizon, however, she lost interest in the peculiar feeling. If they didn’t find shelter soon, they would be stuck outside at night, in the dark. Sophie didn’t think she could take another night like the previous one. Don’t borrow trouble, she admonished herself silently. The sky was clear. If it stayed that way, and if the moonlight was bright enough, she would be all right. Just keep moving, she told herself. Just keep moving. She fixed her eyes on the horizon and forced her protesting legs into longer and faster strides.

  “That tree is enormous.”

  Sophie snapped out of her self-imposed trance and followed Alex’s gaze to a towering elm, its thick branches shading where they stood.

  And she suddenly realized why everything seemed so familiar.

  She made a slow turn in the road.

  She knew this road, this spot, that tree.

  Alex, who had moved on, stopped and turned back. “Sophie?”

  She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t speak at all, just stare at the tree. Numbly at first, as memories flooded her so fast she couldn’t sort one from another. And then with a kind
of growing wonder she would never have expected to come from this place.

  “Sophie?” Alex said again, reaching her side. He followed her gaze to the elm. “It’s impressive, I know, but we need to keep moving if—”

  “I have been here before,” she whispered.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I know where we are. This road leads to Whitefield,” she said still looking intently at the tree.

  “That would explain a great deal,” Alex commented, thinking that it didn’t do much to explain her odd fascination with the tree. “What is it, Sophie?”

  “This is where it happened.”

  Her voice was so soft. So soft, he had to lean down to catch the words. “Where what happened, sweetheart?”

  “This is where they died.”

  Feeling helpless, he brought a hand up to stroke soothingly down her dark locks. “Your mother and sister, you mean?” he asked gently.

  She nodded, but there was more than sadness in her eyes. There was a quiet awe. And, he realized with dawning horror, there was memory.

  “Were you there, Sophie? Did you see it happen?”

  She nodded again and pointed at the tree. “I remember that tree.”

  Alex felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. No one had told him she had been in the carriage. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.”

  “We lost a wheel, I think, or maybe we just slid off the road. I don’t remember. I don’t remember much of anything except that tree and how cold it was.”

  And the dark. Oh, how she remembered the dark.

  “They said later that the driver had died instantly. Mama must have known, because she got out of the carriage for a bit, and when she came back she said we just needed to be patient until Papa came to get us. I thought everything was fine….”

  “Your mother got out? I thought…”

  She turned to look at him for a moment. “That the accident had killed her?” She shook her head and looked back at the tree. “Mama and Lizzie weren’t hurt at all, that I know of.”

  He waited a minute for her to resume talking. When she didn’t he said, “I don’t understand, Sophie.”

  “It was snowing,” she said softly. “It was a blizzard, and Papa’s men couldn’t get through to us until morning. Mama and Lizzie fell asleep.”

  “But you didn’t,” he guessed. “You stayed awake, didn’t you?”

  A sad smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “It was the tree,” she said, motioning toward the massive elm. “I could just make out its outline through the snow and darkness. I was old enough to know better, but every time I tried to close my eyes all I could see was its gnarled branches reaching out for me, and the vision would scare me awake. I watched it the whole night—I thought it was a monster.”

  Alex regarded the tree with something akin to gratitude. It had saved her life. “What do you see now?” he asked.

  She turned and caught his eye. “I see life,” she said simply. “I don’t know why that is. Perhaps, it’s simply because I’m older now, or perhaps because it’s so different in daylight.”

  Alex took her face in his hands and kissed her. Kissed her with the desire he felt every time he looked at her. Kissed her with the gratitude he felt but couldn’t express to a tree. Kissed her with the sorrow he felt for the loss of two people she loved so dearly. But mostly he kissed her with the joy he felt of being alive.

  When he was done, she looked suitably dazed.

  “We need to get moving,” he said, placing one last smack on her forehead and dropping his hands while he still had the strength of will to let her go.

  “Right,” she croaked.

  He smiled smugly. He couldn’t help himself. He loved knowing he could do that to her, loved thinking of all the things he would do to her as soon as they were married.

  “Are we close to Whitefield then?” he asked over his shoulder as he headed down the road.

  Sophie hadn’t moved yet. “Sorry, what? Oh!” She jogged a bit to catch up. “Whitefield. Right. It’s not far, I think. Two to three miles? My memory of the area is a little fuzzy.”

  The portly man eyed the two miscreants in front of him with open disgust. “How did you let her get away?”

  “Best we can figure, the chit ’ad a knife. Ain’t that right, Sam?”

  “That’s what we figured all right. A real clean cut—”

  “Did I not specifically instruct you to check her for knives!”

  “And so we did guv, the both of ’em. We found one on the toff, and the one the girl was holdin’ when we grabbed ’er, but she weren’t carrying one of ’em bags fings…what’d you call ’em, Sam?”

  “Reticules,” Sam offered knowingly.

  “And on her person?” Portly man ground out.

  The men looked taken aback. “You did’n say nofink abow stickin’ our ’ands up a lady’s skirt!” the first man cried accusingly, his accent becoming more pronounced in his indignation.

  “We was hired to kidnap the girl, not paw her,” Sam pointed out.

  “An the toff weren’t suppose to be there a’tall,” the first man grumbled. “We’ll be wantin’ double for that.”

  The portly man was struck dumb for a moment with shock and fury. Finally, he found his voice and began bellowing. “You’re common criminals, thieves, murderers—!”

  “I ain’t newer killed no one in my life,” the first man stated promptly.

  “I have,” Sam admitted sadly. “But it were in the army. I suspect the good Lord might see fit to forgive me for it, if I spend my days repentin’ for what I done.”

  The first man gave his friend a reassuring pat on the back. “True enough, Sam, true enough.” He turned a hard eye on the portly man. “He can’t rightly maul a girl and atone for what he done at the same time, now can he?”

  “You kidnapped her!”

  “Aye, we did,” Sam replied in that same resigned tone. “Got mouths to feed at home, don’t we? ’Spect God’ll see fit to forgive me that too.”

  “Some of those mouths be wives,” the first man commented pointedly.

  “And daughters,” Sam added, “and sisters.”

  “Nieces.”

  “Got a grandbaby on the way, might be a girl—”

  “Yes, I get it! For the love of God, where does he find you people? I can’t decide if you’re mad or merely stupid!”

  Two sets of eyes narrowed at that comment, but the portly man was too intent on his own anger to notice the danger he was in. “It’s a damned good thing Heransly had the foresight to hire another set of men!” he yelled. “They’ll have no trouble cleaning up the job you two idiots—”

  “Don’t seem right he set competition on us, does it, Sam?” the first man asked quietly.

  “Not right at all,” Sam replied.

  The first man began cracking his knuckles. “Someone might ’ave gotten ’urt in the mix-up, eh Sam?”

  Sam rolled his shoulders. “Aye, they could have.”

  The first man clenched and unclenched his hands. “Seems like backstabbing to me.”

  Sam twisted his neck from side to side, effectively emitting a loud popping noise. “Aye, and me.”

  The portly man watched the antics of the two ruffians with dawning apprehension. Perhaps he had been a little free with his comments. That happened on occasion when he’d had too much to drink. He gulped nervously and eyed the distance to the door. “Remember your immortal soul, Sam,” he croaked. “What would the good Lord think?”

  “Expect he’ll understand,” was Sam’s only reply.

  Whitefield was deserted. Sophie wasn’t surprised to find the old manor house devoid of residents, but it was disturbing to see that it had been stripped of most of its contents. No doubt her cousin had sold everything of value. She wondered about the tenants. She knew some worked the land. The estate was highly profitable, but who did they look to for guidance, or in time of need? She hated to think what state their homes might be in. She couldn’t imagine
Lord Loudor was a generous or responsible master.

  Sophie wandered the halls and rooms in a kind of stupor. There were so many memories, so many of them lost to her until now…. The nursery where she and Lizzie had done their best to torment their first nanny, that priggish Mrs. Carlisle. And the orangery where her mother could most often be found in her spare time, lovingly tending her myriad roses and orchids. Sophie smiled fondly at the memory. For all the enjoyment her mother took in the work, she had never been a particularly adept gardener. More than once, her father had replaced dead or dying plants in secret to avoid seeing his wife disappointed.

  And Sophie had forgotten that window seat in the library, where she and Lizzie used to sit for hours, curled up in blankets on cold winter days, reading to each other, speaking of their plans for the future. Lizzie was going to marry a foreign prince and spend her time writing scandalous novels. Often they would just sit in comfortable silence watching the snow fall, needing no words to communicate their happiness.

  “Is it difficult to return after so long an absence?” Alex asked, coming up behind her with an armful of blankets and pillows.

  She turned away from the window. “A little,” she replied. “But I’m not sorry to be here. Where did you find those?”

  “The beds are gone, but the linen closets are still intact,” he answered. “I noticed there are quite a few candles left in the dining room, and a positively enormous table.”

  “A gift from King George,” she explained, following him out of the library. “I suppose its regal origin wasn’t incentive enough to convince a buyer to invest in the cost of its removal.”

  Alex set down his burden a little way from the dining room fireplace, and arranged the blankets into a makeshift bed. “This fireplace is the only one in the house that looks reasonably clean,” he explained. “I doubt we’ll need it, but one never knows, and I’d hate to have gotten this far only to burn Whitefield down around our heads.”

  “Especially after all the work I’ve put into saving it,” Sophie muttered to herself as she began to light the candles randomly about the room. The sun had already set, and she wanted the place well lit before night set in.