His lips twisted. Well, he should have known, should have listened to Belcher’s warnings that the cliffs surrounding Sidmouth were none too safe this time of year. Gideon had thought Belcher had referred to something more clandestine than a mere search for fossils; this stretch of coastline held a number of interesting crags and coves less scrupulous men might like to use. Regardless—he glanced at the sack lying limply on the sodden grass—he should have paid attention to those locals who had looked at him askance as they answered his questions about Sidmouth’s surrounds.
Pushing to his feet, stumbling upright, he gazed down at the treacherous froth of white below. Guilt soared within. Was his quest so very necessary? What if the unthinkable had happened, leaving Emma all alone? How would she cope? What would become of her?
“God, protect her,” he muttered into the wind.
Was it so very reckless to have left all they knew for his search of the as-yet unknown? He suspected their brother believed so, but he’d prayed and felt reassurance that hiding in plain sight could still work. And surely this yearning inside was not completely self-centered, was about more than wanting to derive personal attention and acclaim?
“God,” he addressed the heavens, “You know I do this to understand You more.”
He felt assurance wash within, and released a breath, but soon sensed the familiar discouragement lap his soul. Perhaps God wanted Gideon to know He could not be brought down to the level of a man, that His ways would forever remain incomprehensible to those formed from the earth’s dust. Was that why Gideon remained find-less still?
The rain eased, the fog shifting to permit study of the shoreline, the white cliffs of Beer Head shining in the distance. Intense examination of William Smith’s map A Delineation of the Strata of England and Wales had convinced him this section of coastline could hold the same mysteries as those farther east. The geology was not so very different, after all. Indeed, William Buckland’s recently published table of strata suggested these cliffs held similarities with certain sections of the Continent, sections which the French naturalist Georges Cuvier believed held species entirely lost to the modern world.
So why had his expeditions proved fruitless? Yes, he had found the odd specimen here or there, but nothing yet wondrous. Logic suggested that this stretch of coast would hold treasure similar to that found in Lyme Regis just seven years ago. His heart burned. If only he could be the one to unearth it.
After wiping the worst of the mud from his hands and sleeves and straightening his apparel, he collected his belongings and turned toward home, following the grassed path that led from the cliff edge to the tamer village surrounds. He knew his appearance might come as something of a surprise.
He strode up the last of the rough-hewn steps to the cottage atop the hill. A smile quickened to his lips at the sight of the well-wrapped young woman sitting in a chair in the garden of their new abode.
She looked up. “Gideon!” The lines of suffering marring her face smoothed as her eyes lit. “You finished far sooner than I expected.”
“And far sooner than I had anticipated.” Or wanted. He hid the disappointment with a grin. “But such things permitted my seeing you the sooner.”
“You are sweet.”
“Although I must confess I did not expect to find you sitting out of doors.”
“I have been here but a minute,” she assured him. “I simply needed some fresh air.”
Gideon glanced at the middle-aged woman standing behind Emma. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. His heart eased, and he nodded dismissal.
“So, what exciting discoveries did you make today?”
He sighed, sinking into the chair beside her. “Nothing too dramatic, I’m afraid. A few fish bones, I believe, but nothing to warrant the term exciting.”
“New discoveries still await you.” She patted his hand.
He smiled at her. “And this is why I love you. You are always so quick to see the positive, eager to encourage. You are a true blessing.”
“Now you are being silly. How can I not be enthused when we are so fortunate as to enjoy such a situation?” Emma motioned toward the sea, now tinted with silver, reflecting the leaden clouds above.
“Still, you should not be outside—”
“Oh, pooh!” she said, waving off his concern with a surprising energy. “I had no desire to remain indoors, despite what Mrs. Ballard might say.”
“She’s only looking out for you.”
“I know, but I am stronger than I appear.”
“It is just that I am worried about you.”
“I know. But really, you know you should not.” Her smile grew a little crooked. “Do you not remember what Father used to say? Are we not supposed to present our worries to the Lord?”
“I try.”
“I know you do,” she said, green eyes gleaming. “And I also know you are very trying.”
A chuckle pushed past the tension, his heart gladdened by her return to the air of mischief he remembered from long ago. “But that will not stop me from doing all I can to preserve your health for as long as possible.”
A trace of pensiveness crossed her features. “Just escaping to come here has done that.” Her gaze grazed his upper cheek, marred by the raised, red scar inflicted two weeks ago.
He shook his head at her, willing her to banish the guilt he knew hovered on her tongue.
“Every day I have to pinch myself that this is real. Oh, Gideon, you cannot know how glad I am that you brought me here.”
“I have some idea,” he said, forcing up his lips, even as a strain of sadness stole within. He would do all in his power to ensure Emma’s days were filled with as much brightness as possible. For a world without her in it—
“Please don’t,” she murmured, as if sensing his spiraling thoughts.
“I cannot help it,” he muttered. “I wish there were more I could do, more that the doctors could do.”
“Which is a form of worry, is it not?” Her hand squeezed gently, too gently. “Believe me, I know of your concern. And I am simply thankful that you cared enough to bring me here, and we can spend more time together.”
His throat tightened, and he shook his head, willing the emotion away, willing the tease and banter to return. “You are good to say so, especially when I leave you for hours on end every day just to explore cliffs and coves.”
“I am so very understanding, aren’t I?” She sighed. “I suspect that if I did not allow such things, then you would pace the house like that caged lion we saw years ago at the Royal Menagerie, and I would be forced to suffer the pain of listening to you espouse for the hundredth time the importance of scientific discovery, all the while pretending interest in something I dare not admit bores me silly.”
A chuckle pushed past his earlier melancholy. “Yes, I’ve seen exactly how bored you are, asking me question after question. You, my dear, might profess to all the world to be a pious young lady, but I know just what a liar and a schemer you can be.”
“Me? Scheme?”
“You. Scheme. No, don’t go widening your eyes at me like I might not actually know you. I know you wrote letters to potential benefactors and sought funding for an expedition to France. I can never forgive you, you know.”
“Never?” A smile tilted her lips.
“Never!”
She laughed. “Yes, well, I have seen just how much you have hated being here, being beholden to me.”
He drew closer and gave her an affectionate hug, kissing her brow. How good it was to see the return of her spirits.
“Oh! Before I forget: a letter arrived for you.”
“Do you know from whom it is?”
“Well, seeing it was addressed to E. Carstairs, I might have just happened to examine the return direction, especially as it had a seal and all.”
Interest flickered. “A seal, you say?”
“A seal, I say.” She nodded solemnly. “And naturally, I could not let such a piece of correspondence pass into your hands
without first assuring myself it did not belong in my hands—”
“Naturally.”
“—so I felt myself obliged to open it, whence I discovered it most properly did belong in your hands, so here it is.”
He received the letter stretched towards him and flicked it open, scanning through the closely written pages. “It is from Lord Kenmore.”
“Yes.” Something about the way she said that made him look at her closely, but her dark green eyes only stared back benignly. “Well? What does he say?”
He should have known, despite her teasing words, she would adhere to the code of honor they both had clung to since they were small. He quickly scanned the contents, releasing a low whistle. “Well.”
“Well what?” She eyed him avidly.
“It appears our Irish friend wants to visit in the spring.”
“Really?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, but her gaze remained composed. “This is not more of your doing, is it?”
“Why, Gideon. How can you ask such a thing? Surely you cannot think me so underhanded as to invite your closest friend to a short stay on the beautiful Devon coast?”
“I don’t know what could have given me such an idea.”
“And surely you cannot think I have lost all propriety as to write to an unmarried man?”
“You are certainly not the poor innocent you like people to think.”
“Again, you make me sound like I’m a schemer, when I am anything but. Now don’t look at me like that! If you must know, I might have mentioned the potential for an invitation in my letter to Lady Cardross, and if she happened to mention it to her brother, well, I cannot be held responsible for that. Nor for any inclination of his to want to see you. Nor for the fact Aidan might find your work here of great interest.”
“Aidan, is it?”
“That is his name. Really, I do think you are most unkind to your poor Emma.”
“Poor Emma indeed,” he said, flicking the letter back and forth.
“Well, if you don’t like the idea, then write and tell him no. It makes no difference to me.”
“Does it not?”
A trace of color filled her cheeks. “It does not, and casting aspersions to the contrary does you no favors.”
“Well then, there is only one thing for it.” Gideon held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “We best return inside before those clouds resume delivering the rain they appear to promise, so I can write my reply.”
Her hand grasped his forearm a little tighter. “And that reply would be?”
“That I prefer he arrive at his earliest convenience.”
The hand clutching his arm relaxed. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he said, escorting her inside just as spits of rain recommenced.
For why shouldn’t he want his fellow scientist and closest friend to assist him as they sought to unravel one of the greatest mysteries in the natural world?
CHAPTER TWO
Aynsley, Somerset
December 1818
THE SNAP AND hiss of the fireplace drew Caroline’s attention, tugging a smile to her lips as she slowly stroked the sleeping pug on her lap. Mittens uttered a low snore. Really, there was nothing better than being warm and comfortable at home, and now, with the bluster and flurry of London behind them, they could look forward to a lovely Christmastime before the true social season began again next year.
She leaned back against the sofa, the slouched posture something she would never let her mother see, on account that she might rail at Caroline like she always did at poor Verity, who did not seem to care a whit for social niceties. Why, just yesterday her youngest sister had returned from school without a word of hello for her family or their guests, insisting on greeting her horse instead! Her smile flickered. Mama had been so cross, but Verity did need to learn to control some of her madcap impulses. How ever would she get a husband otherwise?
The door opened, and Caroline straightened as her mother sailed into the room, Cecilia following like a little stray pup.
“Ah, here you are. Well, my dear, it appears dear Lady Heathcote is about to be our guest. I spied the carriage coming up the drive.”
Caroline nodded. “I’m sure she will have the latest news.”
“Yes. It is good, is it not, to have a neighbor we can rely upon to share what is truly important in life?”
“Truly important” was a euphemism for society gossip, or so Verity would say. But if one was truly to care for others, as Reverend Poole preached, then surely it was important to know all one could about one’s neighbors. And if one truly cared, then one was obliged to share. It was, indeed, only the right thing to do. Caroline exchanged a speaking glance with her sister and smoothed down her skirts.
Minutes later Lady Heathcote was escorted in, and the two matrons exchanged greetings and said all that was proper.
Caroline enquired after Lady Heathcote’s children, Stephen and Sylvia, and learned that they were in good health. Stephen was her age, and quite good company, even if inclined at times to a certain childishness which led him to provoke those younger than himself to absurd and silly pranks. Why, once he convinced Verity to ride her horse up Aynsley’s back staircase! Mama had been furious, not believing Verity’s protestations about her innocence as to the origins of the idea. Granted, Caroline had not believed it either, until Stephen imbibed a little too much at a ball soon after and admitted it was his idea and dare. Of course, by then it was far too late to cause further ructions, so she had let it pass and not said anything to Mama. Otherwise her mother would be sure not to permit such a gentleman into her house, and Stephen could be very amusing …
“Well, it is good to have you all back,” Lady Heathcote said eventually. “The neighborhood felt desolate without you.”
“I’m sure,” Mama said complacently.
“I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to hear the latest news?”
“That is what we count on you for, dear Lady Heathcote.”
“Well, I know this might come as a surprise, because I understand he was in London with you not a few weeks ago, but it concerns our dear friend and neighbor Mr. Amherst.”
“Really?” Mama’s eyes widened with interest.
“Indeed it does. I understood from your letters, Lady Aynsley, that he was quite the favorite with some of the young ladies in town.”
This last was said with a tilted head and such a fixed smile at Caroline that she was forced to acknowledge the truth with a nod, even as unease pulled within.
“Yes, yes, but what has happened?” Mama asked.
“Apparently”—Lady Heathcote paused as if awaiting the moment of greatest dramatic impact—“he was shot!”
Breath sucked inwards. What?
“No!”
Caroline glanced at Cecilia, who had suddenly paled.
“Yes, I’m afraid so, Miss Cecilia. It is in this morning’s newspapers. And as he’s a man whom we all know and care for so deeply, I knew I had to come immediately, knowing that we are so fortunate as to receive our papers a fraction earlier than you do here. Stephen spotted the item but an hour ago.”
Caroline couldn’t help but wonder about his feelings on the matter. It was well known in local circles that there had never been any great love lost between Stephen and the man he seemed to regard as something of a rival. She shook her head at her cynicism and returned her attention to her sister, who still had not quite managed to cover her shock.
“Apparently,” Lady Heathcote continued, “he might die!”
Cecy gasped.
Oh no! How very dreadful! A frisson of fear rippled over her. “I’m sure he cannot be that bad,” Caroline said, as much to reassure herself as Cecilia.
“Well, I don’t know if you can be so sure, my dear,” Lady Heathcote said. “It appears a bad case of it. The magistrate is after the villain.”
“This is terrible. Simply terrible!” Mama said.
“I know,” Lady Heathcote affirmed, bu
t no sign of horror lingered in her eyes. Rather, she had adopted an almost predatory aspect, like one of those vicious crows that tormented the Aynsley estate dogs, one of whom had even gone so far as to peck out the eye of poor Bunty.
She blinked. Truly, she must be growing as fanciful as Cecy to think such things.
But Lady Heathcote did seem a trifle too glad to have a meaty item of news to dissect, leaning back in her chair, her eyes and teeth glinting. “One can only hope and pray that he will live.”
Caroline glanced at Cecy, whose face had taken on a whitish hue, and shot her a frown. One did not create a scene, especially not in front of Lady Heathcote, who needed no enticement to speculate further.
“Yes, we should pray for him,” Mama said agreeably. Caroline knew she said it only because it was the proper thing to say. Her parents held no stock in prayer, and had always disdained those who went about advertising their personal beliefs. Imagine, telling the world you found comfort in an invisible being! Such things were the crutch of the poor and weak, of no use to those of sound and strong mind.
“It appears that the young man had been escorting a certain Mrs. Hale around Hyde Park. Mrs. Hale! Who is this person? And here I was thinking he had something of a tendre for you, my dear.”
This was said with a sidelong look at Caroline that forced her to fight a blush as she said stiffly, “I’m sure there is an innocent explanation.”
“Oh, I’m sure there is, too,” Lady Heathcote agreed quickly, yet her voice held a note of doubt. “It, well, it makes a person wonder, that is all.”
“I met Mrs. Hale in London,” Caroline continued. “She seemed all that was virtuous.”
“Well, she cannot be that virtuous if she’s permitting a gentleman other than her husband to escort her. Never would I have imagined Amherst doing such a thing, carrying on in this jingle-brained way. But there have been rather wild whispers of other activities he’s been involved with, too. Something about a bet that sent a poor man to his grave? I don’t know the specifics, so dare not speculate, but really, can you imagine? And he, an earl’s son! Poor Lady Rovingham.”
“Hmm.” Mama looked at Caroline with slightly narrowed eyes. “I would never have countenanced such a thing, either. His behavior is quite beyond the pale.”
A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh Page 2