A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

by Carolyn Miller

  Her heart hollowed, and a lump wedged in her throat. She was such a bad person. But sometimes it felt rather too hard to be nice, to pretend hurts didn’t sting. She would be better off returning to Aynsley at once.

  A squeaked floorboard announced a visitor, and Caroline sat up on the bed and hurriedly brushed her wet eyes.

  “Young lady, I have never been more ashamed in my life.”

  Her chin tilted. “Grandmama, I am sorry to disappoint you, but you did not hear what he said the other day.”

  “I do not care what he said! You, a daughter of Aynsley, have no right to behave in such a manner. Those people might be below us—although the Irish one might be your social equal, I’m not sure, as I found it hard enough to listen to him let alone understand much of what was said—but regardless, that gives you no excuse to speak in such a way.”

  Caroline’s gaze faltered before her grandmother’s hard one. “I know. I am sorry. I should return to Aynsley—”

  “You are going nowhere until you apologize to them.”

  “They are still here?”

  “I have instructed Dawkins to show them the gardens. We shall perhaps posit your earlier removal as a chance to change your attire rather than as the snub it appeared to be.”

  Guilt panged again, and she nodded.

  Grandmama exited, and the door closed gently, with the restraint befitting an Aynsley.

  Caroline quickly exchanged her walking dress for something a little nicer, and made her way downstairs to find the others at the end of the garden, in the place overlooking the beach where she had spied Mr. Kirby last week. Trepidation filled her. How would they respond?

  She swallowed. “Hello again.”

  Three figures started, then turned, their movements so identical it raised a small smile.

  “Miss Hatherleigh.” Miss Kirby smiled warmly. “Thank you for condescending to see us.”

  Caroline’s cheeks heated. “I am sorry about …” She waved a helpless hand.

  Mr. Kirby bowed. “I fear my ungracious words have hurt you more than you allowed before. Please forgive me.”

  He was apologizing to her? She shook her head. “You must forgive me, Mr. Kirby. My ungraciousness just now was entirely my own doing, and something for which I must apologize.”

  He offered her a look halfway between wry and understanding. The hard knot in her chest eased a fraction.

  “Well! I’m glad to see this little misapprehension has been cleared up,” Mr. Kenmore said.

  Caroline glanced at Miss Kirby, whose nod suggested it had indeed been resolved.

  “I wonder if perhaps I might be so bold as to propose a little excursion,” the Irishman continued.

  What? “I am sorry, but I do not see …”

  Her words faltered as he held up a hand. “I must beg for your patience, Miss Hatherleigh, and ask that you hear my reasoning. Truly, I feel the only way Gideon here can make it up to you is if you agree to a tour of some of the local sites where his precious fossils may be found.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “Are you perhaps not so keen on such things? I can understand that the discovery of tiny creatures from long ago might not suit everyone’s tastes, so perhaps another venture could be arranged. I know! I have heard mention of a set of caves nearby, where once there was a hidden chapel.”

  “A hidden chapel?” Caroline repeated blankly.

  “I have heard of it also,” Emma said. “Mrs. Baker was telling me of some of the local sites, although she said such a place was simply used now as a quarry, and held nothing of interest save some bats.”

  Caroline shuddered.

  “Bats,” Mr. Kenmore echoed. “Well, I don’t mind admitting that I am quite partial to the little creatures. They always seem to be misunderstood, something I find myself rather prone to also.”

  Mr. Kirby made a noise that sounded like a snort of disbelief. “Your trials are heavy, my friend.”

  “I’m so glad you understand,” Mr. Kenmore continued. “It has been a sore trial to me these past years thinking that perhaps you did not.”

  “Aidan,” Emma voiced in soft reproach.

  “Forgive me, my dear,” he said, sending her a warm smile. Just how well did they know each other? “Well”—his attention returned to Caroline—“I believe I am heartily in need of visiting such sites myself, and I have high hopes that Emma here may be persuaded to accompany us.”

  “But if you have been warned not to go …” Caroline said doubtfully.

  “Was it a warning, my dear?” Mr. Kenmore turned to Emma.

  “I … I could not be sure.”

  “If so, I wonder why such a warning might have been given.” His upraised brows at Mr. Kirby were met with a firm shake of the head. “Ah well. Perhaps an excursion to another interesting locale might be in order. I’ve heard talk about the ruins of a Roman fort?”

  “It is near the western end of the village,” Mr. Kirby confirmed.

  “Excellent! Now, if only Emma might be persuaded to attend with you, we can make arrangements for a grand adventure.” He shot Emma a glance which was met with her soft rebuff. Disappointment crossed his features, and was quickly smoothed away into the geniality Caroline had by now assumed was his usual mien. “No? Well, I am sure we can find someone else to say yes and thus offer their chaperonage. Do you think your grandmother might be so inclined?” He raised his eyebrows at Caroline.

  “I’m afraid not.” Why the idea!

  “Her companion?”

  “No.”

  “Your maid?”

  “Somehow I do not think caves or ruins in line with Mary’s interests.”

  “Ah, but we never know what can interest us unless we search to see. Why, you may find yourself developing an intense enthusiasm for a time long past. Such a thing can be most liberating indeed.”

  “I’m sure it can,” she offered. But for all his friend’s enthusiasm, Mr. Kirby still had not offered to sponsor any such excursion, and she could not—would not—be presumptuous with him. She had no intention of being misled by foolish emotions again.

  “Miss Hatherleigh,” Emma said, her brow knit, “I would be most happy to accompany you on a journey to the fortifications, if that would make you feel better, but I must admit to a certain degree of fear in entering confined spaces, should there be anything of that nature.”

  “Dearest Emma,” Mr. Kenmore said with a smile. “You are truly the most excellent of women.”

  Emma blushed, averting her gaze.

  “Oh, but …” Caroline faltered.

  Mr. Kirby’s head inclined. “Please, Miss Hatherleigh. We would truly appreciate your company on such a venture.”

  Her smile of politeness froze. We would? Did that imply he had no pleasure in her company himself, save for what she could offer his sister?

  “And if another expedition could be arranged, I would enjoy the opportunity to show you where certain fossil specimens have been found so far.”

  Oh! She relaxed as the warmth in his gaze sent heat through her chest. Perhaps if he could be gracious so should she. “I will speak with my grandmother.” She offered a small smile. “She seems to think it quite marvelous that the local free traders have not taken issue with your searching near their caverns.”

  He exchanged a look with Mr. Kenmore over Emma’s head that made her think perhaps issue had been taken, but he had no wish to alarm his sister.

  “Really?” Emma said, looking between them. “Is smuggling a problem here?”

  “I do not believe the smuggling is the scourge we are sometimes led to believe,” Mr. Kirby said.

  “I personally do not think it a scourge,” murmured Mr. Kenmore.

  “How can you say such a thing?” Emma said, eyes widened.

  “Quite easily, if I believe the government demands brutal taxes. I mean, really, do you believe exorbitant taxes on liquor justifiable? No, the free traders have my sympathies, as all good Irishmen would agree.” He gave a decided nod.
>
  “But surely you cannot approve their means?” Caroline ventured. “I have heard some are cutthroats, and deal with those who oppose them most ruthlessly.”

  “Please do not misunderstand me, for of course I do not support their methods of intimidation. It is simply that I can understand why they feel they must resort to illegal means.” He smiled. “But I’m sure our excursion need not involve the lairs of smugglers. What say you, Gideon?”

  “I thought you were only here for a short time,” said Mr. Kirby.

  Mr. Kenmore shrugged carelessly. “I find I am able to extend my stay, provided my hosts are amenable.” He glanced at Emma with such candor in his eyes that she blushed.

  “I … have no objection,” she finally managed.

  “I am glad,” he said in a low tone, that seemed meant for just the two of them.

  Caroline watched Mr. Kirby curiously. How would he feel about this very obvious demonstration of partiality, especially when his sister was still married? How could such a thing ever work? She had heard that divorce was incredibly difficult and expensive to obtain; so how could this attraction blooming between them ever end happily?

  Mr. Kirby met her gaze, and in his gray eyes she found a wealth of emotion: understanding, frustration, despair.

  Sympathy tugged within, and she offered a small smile which elicited a similar response from him. Conscious of a growing awareness, she glanced away, to where a small boat listed in the dark sea. “Do you think that might be a smuggler’s vessel?”

  Three sets of eyes swiveled to look. “I cannot see smugglers being fool enough to risk being spotted in the daylight,” Mr. Kenmore scoffed.

  Mr. Kirby glanced at her, warm humor hovering around his mouth. “I do not think you need to concern yourself with free traders, Miss Hatherleigh, not if you would be so good as to accompany us on a visit to one of the local fossil sites.” He grinned. “I promise to protect you should any smugglers make an appearance.”

  “And do you always keep your word?”

  “Yes.”

  His look grew serious, intentional, his eyes warm as he said in a lower voice, “Please Miss Hatherleigh, I would be honored if you deigned to accompany us on an excursion this week to see the Roman fortifications. Please say you will come.”

  Her heart fluttered, for in his look she could read intention far beyond mere introduction to fossils. Had he indeed lied about his interest in her? The fluttering became more agitated, her nerves pulling across her midsection. For despite the interest she recognized in his eyes, she knew that, just as with Emma and Mr. Kenmore, this attraction had no hope of succeeding, not with the very likes of Grandmama and her parents sure to lend opposition.

  But something within her begged to see how far this attraction could go, to dare to participate in life beyond the role of observer that society dictated.

  Conscious he awaited her answer, she dared. “Yes.”

  Gideon glanced at his companions as they clambered through the fortifications of the Roman Age. Whilst he knew his time would be much better put to use examining cliffs, he understood today’s outing was necessary for a number of reasons.

  Emma needed opportunity to enjoy some fresh air, and time to further connect with her new friend. Aidan, like Gideon, was also reveling on this unseasonably mild day in the chance to be out of doors, as they explored the ruins from long ago. And, Gideon thought, watching the two young ladies chatter, he didn’t mind the opportunity himself to observe Miss Hatherleigh in such relaxed surroundings, albeit under the eye of the maid that Lady Aynsley had insisted attend her.

  Miss Caroline Hatherleigh remained a mystery. Her manner vacillated from careful propriety to something more relaxed and charming, as evidenced earlier with her exclamation of startlement when they had visited the harbor to collect supplies, and a boatload of mackerel had been dispersed at the dock. The shiny fish, their colors gleaming in rainbow hues, proved a most rustic and charming picture, something Miss Hatherleigh herself had noted, exclaiming with an expression of delight. Yet contrast this to the stiff manner in which she at other times held herself and it was enough to make him wonder. Was her agreement to accompany them borne from the wish to escape her own boredom, or did she, like him, long for something more?

  Regardless of her motivation, he could not complain about her company; she was as good for Emma’s spirits as she was for his own eyes, eliciting quite a few chuckles from Emma as they ate their picnic lunch on a cloth spread on the grass. The donkey that had brought their cold provisions was tethered nearby, his occasional hee-haw drawing smiles. The view over the ocean agreed with the travel guide to Sidmouth that Emma had borrowed from the library, a view that “defied the most sumptuous edifice created by the hand of art.” He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.

  “Miss Hatherleigh is proving a charming companion,” Aidan said quietly. “I am glad for your sake that she chose to acquiesce to our expedition today.”

  “For my sake?” Gideon asked.

  “Aye,” Aidan said. “You cannot know how concerned I have been about you, my friend. And now for such a personable young lass to have piqued your interest …”

  Gideon’s eyes narrowed.

  Aidan chuckled. “Don’t look at me with such daggers. I am pleased for all our sakes. You may even find she is amenable to other excursions. It is good for your sweet sister to have something to distract her these days.”

  “Something other than a certain Irishman you mean?”

  “No, I do not mean that at all. I would quite happily distract Emma for the rest of my days if I could, but I suspect the Church might frown on such a thing.”

  “Not to mention James.”

  “I try to make it my policy never to think on him, I’m afraid.”

  A moment, weighty with the past, stretched between them.

  “Tell me, dear Gideon, what do you plan to do about Pratt? Forgive me, but I cannot think it best for your sister’s health if she is dragged from pillar to post as you try to elude notice. And while I do heartily applaud the inclusion of such ladies as Miss Hatherleigh to the Carstairs circle, the more who know Emma the more likely it is that someone will say something that will let her secret out. And I do not like the feeling of the unknown hovering, vulture-like, waiting to pounce.”

  “Very descriptive,” Gideon said, in an attempt at lightness. But when Aidan said nothing more, obviously waiting for Gideon to continue, he was forced to finally admit the truth that kept him awake at night. “I do not know what I would do if he was to suddenly appear. I live, half in dread, half in desperate prayer, wracking my brain for what to do should that happen. I long to know she will be safe.”

  “You had put it about that you were overseas. Could you not take Emma and escape to someplace far away? While your disguised names might be some protection, I cannot think it will prove quite enough to hide your true identities forever.”

  “I could not alter things overly—” he began.

  “No, I know why you chose it so, but I do think it best to consider what your strategy should be if Pratt arrives in town.”

  For the next few minutes they talked quietly, discussing stratagem, making plans, discarding them, before Aidan finally sighed. “I do not envy you, my friend. But I trust you know you can always find refuge at Kilgarvan if you require. Or even if you don’t,” he added, that sparkle of mischief back in his eye.

  “I thank you most sincerely,” Gideon replied, heart touched. “But I would not wish to further jeopardize her health by taking her so far from the specialists in London. It is a comfort to know we can be there within the day, if necessary.”

  “I understand,” Aidan said. “It is as I expected.”

  “Gideon!” Emma called. “Would you come and look at this? I believe it to be most interesting.”

  “Of course,” he said, getting up, and moving quickly to the ladies. He smiled at Miss Hatherleigh, then turned to his sister. “For someone who purports to be bored by matters of
science it is surprising just how often you draw my attention to these specimens.”

  “I am a most dutiful sister,” she said in a tone of innocence, but with a sly look at her companion that gave lie to her words.

  “Now, what is it you wanted me to see?”

  “This.” Emma produced a small shell and dropped it in his hand. “Caroline was very keen to hear from the resident expert about such things.”

  “Oh! I—that is, no, I—”

  He smiled inwardly at Miss Hatherleigh’s rosy confusion, smoothing his expression to approximate something appropriately scientific. “Look, Miss Hatherleigh,” he said, drawing closer. “See the pale pink ridges here? They tell something of the age.”

  She shifted closer, so he could smell her sweet scent, like the lily of the valley flowers he remembered hidden in the woodlands of home. “And how old would you say this shell might be?”

  “It is difficult to say. Perhaps hundreds of years.”

  She touched the shell gingerly as it lay in the palm of his hand. “It is very lovely.”

  The whorl of her ear, the scent of her hair, the very softness of the appearance of her skin wafted tendrils of desire within. He tried to speak. Was forced to clear his throat. “It is.”

  She glanced up at him, her gaze capturing his in the way it had several times before, but this time they were so much closer. So close that he couldn’t help but notice the violet lines that circled her iris, a color so intriguing he felt he could easily gaze deeply into her eyes for days; a closeness that lent itself to an intimacy he only wanted to prolong.

  She blinked, the moment dissolved, and he cleared his throat again. “I believe this type of shell was recently inhabited by a tiny crab.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “He has probably grown too big for such a small house, and has moved to somewhere bigger.”

  “Is that a common practice?” Her look grew wistful. “You might think me foolish, but it seems a shame that a pretty place be abandoned in the hope of something bigger. Surely that which is bigger is not necessarily better.”