by Rebecca King
“Oh dear,” Hugo murmured, running his hands wearily through his hair. “Are you sure she has been collecting the information we need?”
Jemima nodded. “Harriett is nothing but determined. She won’t stop until Scraggan either kills her, or I arrive to tell her to stop.”
“Can’t you just send her a letter?” Peter demanded, knowing where this was going and not liking it one bit.
Jemima shook her head. “She is naturally wary. She won’t trust you or believe the letter unless she sees me or Eliza in person.”
“Eliza isn’t going,” Edward snapped, lunging forward in his seat, all defensive and argumentative. He glowered at Hugo. “She has been through enough over the past few days. Rogan nearly hanged her, for God’s sake. She is not heading to Padstow.” His tone brooked no argument, and caused Hugo to study him warily.
“I wasn’t about to suggest she did. Jemima is the one who used to help her father with his papers. I understand there are more papers hidden in the house?”
Jemima jerked and stared cautiously at him.
“Your father told me. He told me that he had a secret compartment hidden in his room in which he kept his papers and had made copious notes about his suspicions. He assured me he would send them to us on his return home, only -”
“He never returned home,” Jemima whispered softly, staring absently at the bright pattern on the rug beneath her feet. She knew without a doubt that this was the man her father had met in London.
The memory of her father was enough to bolster her courage to make the decision she needed to, and remove the threat of Scraggan once and for all.
“I have a plan,” Jemima said hesitantly, glancing at Peter. Meeting his cautious look, she continued. “It involves Peter.” She watched his brows shoot up with alarm.
“I think it is inevitable that I have to be the one who goes to Padstow, but I cannot agree to being escorted into the village by the Star Elite, or some of them.” Her gaze turned to Hugo.
“They are not all Star Elite, Jemima. Some of the men here are soldiers hoping to join the Star Elite. Some of the Star Elite members are already undercover and in Padstow, and have been for some time.”
“But you want to escort me down there with this band of men. A group of people will certainly attract attention, especially the closer we get to Scraggan’s patch.”
“What are you suggesting, Jemima?” Peter frowned, not liking the careful way she was picking her words. “You seriously cannot be considering going there alone!” His tone warned her that she would incur his wrath should she even try.
Jemima shook her head. “I think it would be best if we went undercover ourselves,” she said quietly.
“We? As in you and me?” His voice was incredulous, but not angry. There was a spark in her eyes that reminded him of the way she had been in Devon, and it intrigued him. It called to a deeper part of his masculinity that he couldn’t ignore.
Jemima nodded. “As a couple, we can move around without drawing too much attention. Scraggan thinks I am dead, so won’t be looking for me. If we can disguise ourselves, we can go to Padstow and visit Harriett, and I can persuade her to bring the papers and come and stay with us for a while: at least, long enough to get her away from Scraggan, while Hugo and his men arrest him and bring him to justice.”
“You are not traipsing around the country wearing breeches!” Peter shouted, jumping out of his chair and pacing around the room like a caged tiger. Although his sister had needed to wear breeches to escape the brutality of her uncle, he was not going to sit back and allow Jemima to traipse to Padstow wearing them!
“I never suggested such a thing,” she replied.
Peter ignored Dominic’s sniggering, and smacked Sebastian on the back of the head when he commented that Isobel’s breeches would fit Jemima very well.
Despite his anxiety, Peter’s interest was piqued at the thought of Jemima in tight breeches that covered the gentle curves of her derriere. Shaking his head, he blanked out that thought and continued to pace.
He had to admit, her plan had a very good chance of succeeding. Moreover it would give them considerable time alone together, which is what they needed to allay Jemima’s fears that they were compatible; and banish the ghosts of the past.
Crossing his arms, he paused beside the window and studied her. Sitting in the glow of the flickering flames, her hair shone like a golden halo. The dark circles beneath her eyes belied an exhaustion she refused to give in to. By rights, after the events of the past two days, she should be a quivering wreck. Any other woman would still be in bed, but not Jemima.
He could understand her reasoning behind her reluctance to become an idle housewife, spending her days discussing menus and very little else. Jemima was too – well, too alive – for that kind of monotony. If he was honest, it was what appealed to him about her.
“You could adopt a disguise of father and son,” Sebastian mused, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees in case Peter sought to smack him about the head again, and ignored the epithet Peter threw him.
“Boys,” Hugo chided in a fatherly manner, the humour completely lost on him.
“Man and wife,” Peter grumbled, shaking his head. “We can disguise ourselves suitably well. If we go to Padstow using a circuitous route -”
“You cannot go anywhere near Willowbrook, or go anywhere you have been before. You cannot risk being recognised. I can send someone to follow you and make sure you aren’t being watched and followed, but if you are challenged in any way, you will be on your own,” Hugo reminded them, wondering if they were prepared for a life of subterfuge. They were certainly an eccentric family. It hadn’t escaped his attention that nobody seemed to bow and curtsey, and there was something about the ladies wearing breeches that the men found hilarious. Shaking his head at the oddities of the aristocracy, he turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand.
“I understand, but I have considered the options and there really is no other way we can get her there with less risk to her life,” Peter reasoned.
“How do you plan to get back out of Padstow with two ladies?” Edward murmured, thinking through the journey.
Peter eyes met Hugo’s. “You will have to meet me and Jemima in Padstow somewhere, and accompany us out of town.”
“I can escort you out of the village before Scraggan realises we are even there.” Hugo’s statement wasn’t a boast, just a calm reassurance.
“It will have to be in daylight, though,” Jemima added, thinking of Harriett’s fierce bodyguard. Although she had made his acquaintance on more than one occasion, she didn’t want to incur Harold’s wrath in the middle of the night. “Harriett won’t even open her door, even to me, at night. We will have to go at first light,” Jemima argued, unwilling to give in to his dictates too much. After all, she didn’t want to set a precedent where Peter thought he would order her around and she would just meekly follow.
This journey was about more than helping her friend out of Padstow now. It was about cementing her relationship with Peter, and deciding if there was enough there on which to build a marriage. For her sake, she had to start as she meant to go on and get him to understand that she wasn’t going to be a meek and mild-mannered miss he could order about.
“You need to go back to your own home as well, Jemima, and retrieve the papers your father hid,” Hugo added gently, watching the flicker of sorrow on the woman’s face.
She really was a truly remarkable woman. Anyone else would have had the vapours, but not Jemima. She had earned his respect while he had stood beside her in the corridor on the morning of the executions. Her calm fortitude had been humbling to witness. It didn’t sit comfortably with him that they were asking her to do this, but at least he could go to Padstow knowing Peter would protect her, probably better than the Star Elite could. Peter was an incredibly lucky man.
If Hugo was ever inclined to marry, which he was not, then it would be to
someone like Jemima.
“We can go to the house in the middle of the night, and be at Harriett’s house by dawn. It depends on how close Scraggan has got to her, and how much of a threat she feels she is under. That will influence how much persuading we have to do to get her out. We may have to stay overnight,” Jemima cautioned, knowing they didn’t know how stubborn Harriett could be.
“We could stay throughout the day, and leave as soon as it got dark,” Peter agreed, having accepted that it was inevitable they were both going to Padstow.
Although it rankled – a lot, if it helped to vanquish Scraggan once and for all, and eased Jemima’s fears about settling down, then he would go along with it.
But if anyone posed any threat to her, or she made noises about not getting married at the end of it, then he would bloody well drag her up the aisle by her hair if he had to, and the entire Star Elite wouldn’t be able to stop him. Peter squared his jaw in determination.
God knows he was a bloody fool for agreeing, but their kiss had reawakened all of the love and desire that had been slowly burning within him through the long, harrowing months since he had last slept with her. Nothing would get him to simply turn his back and let her leave now.
He wondered briefly if his accompanying her on this journey had been inevitable. As soon as Hugo explained his involvement in Jemima’s escape from gaol, it was evident he wanted something in return. If Peter was honest with himself, he had made the decision back in the corridor when he had found her alive that, whatever she did, wherever she went, he would be right beside her.
“What about me? Harriett knows me just as well as she knows you,” Eliza added from her position beside the doorway.
Everyone jumped and turned toward her, watching as she sauntered across the room to stand beside her sister.
She glared at Edward, silencing his protests with a look before turning to Jemima, effectively cutting the men out of the conversation.
“It would be best if you went to retrieve Father’s papers because you know what you are looking for. I can go to Harriett’s and persuade her to leave with us,” she ignored Edward’s attempt to interrupt, and continued describing her involvement in their plans as though it had already been decided she was going.
She continued. “When you have the papers, you can come and join me at Harriett’s house. You can go one way, and Harriett and I can travel together. It wouldn’t look all that odd for two women to be travelling together. If we split up and go our separate ways, we can make circuitous routes and meet up at Willowbrook.”
Hugo glanced warily at Edward, who was clearly fuming and refused to remain silent any longer.
“What about me? Am I supposed to just sit back and do nothing?” He stared, aghast, at Eliza, wondering if she could really expect him to wave her off happily. It had only been yesterday that she had agreed to remain at Haverstock while he went after Scraggan. When had everything changed so radically?
“Well, you could come with us. Another pair of eyes and all that,” Eliza replied casually, knowing there wasn’t any chance he would remain behind. “Or you could stay here.” She didn’t bother to answer Edward’s snorted epithet.
“Eliza, if I might have a word with you?” Edward lunged to his feet, grabbing hold of Eliza’s elbow and practically dragging her from the room. The door closed on the sound of Eliza scolding him for being so rough.
Jemima winced and screwed her face up at the sound of shouting coming from the next room.
“Should we plan for her to come with us or not?” Hugo asked Jemima warily. Suddenly he was very grateful he wasn’t married and had no plans to get married.
“She’s coming,” Jemima declared ruefully, ignoring Peter’s soft chuckle beside her.
“It seems as though there will be three couples to find their way back to Willowbrook,” Jemima added, settling back in her seat.
“Three?” Hugo’s brows rose in question, before it suddenly dawned on him that he would be paired up with Harriett Ponsonby. “Great,” he muttered ruefully. Edward and Peter get the beautifully spirited sisters and I get the eccentric old witch.
CHAPTER SIX
Two days later, Jemima found herself seated on an old cart, barrelling down the rear driveway of Havistock Hall. A small, tattered bag holding a few of their personal belongings and a couple of changes of clothing was securely tied to the back.
Although the cart had been thoroughly checked and made safe, the hard wooden bench had little padding against the deep ruts in the service road that ran from the back of the house to the rear of the village.
Jemima glanced across at Peter, who held the reins in a casual grip. He looked so unlike the Peter she knew and loved, she couldn’t keep the smirk off her face as she studied him.
His dark brown hair had been streaked with boot polish, making it completely black. Although there was little they could do about his broad shoulders and height, his elegant, and very expensive, clothing had been cast aside and replaced with well worn but serviceable servants’ clothing.
They had agreed that they would remain in disguise and would keep off the main roads as much as possible. Dressed as they were, anyone they passed would be less likely to remember them. They were simply a working couple, travelling in an old, worn-out cart.
Jemima was wearing one of the maids’ oldest and most worn dresses, which was too short in the sleeves and tattered around the edges. Her dark blonde hair was drawn back from her face, giving her an almost severe look. Her hair had also been liberally streaked with boot polish. They almost looked like brother and sister – almost.
Even the horse had been dressed for the occasion. Dominic had chosen one of his best horses, which had excellent breeding but clearly wasn’t a thoroughbred. Until this morning, Maverick had been happily munching grass in a field, not having seen a brush or a comb for several long weeks. His mane was tangled and his coat caked with mud. He looked like any other hard-working servant’s horse as he plodded along, effortlessly pulling the cart.
For the first time in a long while, Jemima was able to sit back and enjoy being out in the sunshine and fresh air, and she listened to the clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves with a sigh of contentment.
“All right?” Peter murmured, having heard her sigh.
Jemima looked at him with a smile. “You know, I rather think I am,” she replied thoughtfully, wondering if it was the carriage ride she was enjoying or knowing that she was going to spend the next few days alone with Peter.
Havistock Hall was a wonderful house, if large. Yet it amazed her that, despite its size, there was very little opportunity to be alone.
“I wonder if Eliza and Edward are speaking yet,” Peter mused, throwing her a smile.
Jemima chuckled, remembering the fierce looks that had passed between the couple earlier that morning.
Eliza had opted to travel in the most inopportune manner, making it nearly impossible for Edward to spend any time alone with her without causing censure among the people they were likely to meet.
Although they had also decided to travel in disguise, rather than travelling as servants, they had opted to travel as a middle class couple.
Albeit, upon Eliza’s insistence, as brother and sister.
Despite Edward’s objections, Eliza had chosen an outfit suitable for a middle-aged spinster who was rather po-faced and stern. The neckline of her dress was so high that it nearly touched her chin and was of a dark, nondescript colour that was anything but flattering. Her shoes were block-type shoes with a solitary buckle on each. Her hair had been darkened using a cocoa powder mix that had turned her hair a murky, muddy brown colour. Unfortunately, it had also given it a slightly sweet, chocolatey scent that reminded Jemima of their old aunt Agatha: old and fusty, and somewhat cloying.
Jemima began to chuckle at the memory of Edward’s curses when he had first clapped eyes on the woman he was going to marry.
He had stared at her for several moments, before slowly walking aro
und her, eyeing her from head to foot as though she were a horse. His brows had gone up, then down, then up again as he tried to decide if he was prepared to accept her new appearance. Then he had sniffed, before moving closer and sniffing again. After several moments of quiet contemplation he moved to stand before her and took a deep breath. He then looked at her in horror.
“Good God, woman, they will think I like necrophilia!” His outburst had caused everyone to burst into fits of laughter that Edward had found far from funny.
Eliza had merely lifted her chin, glanced at him from the top of his head to the tips of his boots, and told him that was excellent news, as it was just the look she was aiming for.
Edward had been left to wear Manver’s old suit and tie. With his hair neatly combed and lightly greased, he looked like a middle-aged doctor.
The atmosphere in the house while they had been packing and making last-minute preparations had been frosty, mainly because Edward was angry at Eliza, not only for insisting she was going with them, but for making it nearly impossible for him to protect her in the way he wanted to. Jemima wondered if his annoyance was mostly because it would be impossible for them to share a room together.
Their carriage was more lavishly furnished than Jemima and Peter’s, but was still aged, and would do little to protect them should it start to rain, as it was starting to now.
Jemima tipped her head back, enjoying the soft tickle of raindrops on her face. It wasn’t heavy rain, more of a fine mist, and the moist coolness on her face felt wonderful.
Her eyes abruptly popped open and she stared at Peter’s hair in horror. “Oh no,” she gasped, eyeing the rainclouds in trepidation.
“What is it?” Peter asked, scouring the area around them, his senses on alert.
“The rain; the boot polish,” Jemima replied, studying his black hair for signs of betrayal.
“We’re all right, the boot polish won’t wash off that easily,” Peter reassured her, before bursting into laughter.