Stages of Desire

by Julia Tagan

  “Yes. Everything was in there. Including his lordship’s carriage.”

  “And all my belongings.” Lord Abingdon stared into his cup.

  The man didn’t have a penny to his name here in Chipping Norton. Harriet bit her lip, not knowing quite what to say. She should apologize for dragging him out here after her, but she hadn’t asked him to do so. Thanking him for his help in putting out the fire would be a start, but she was overcome by a strange shyness and reluctant to speak up.

  The door to the cottage opened and Adam and the rest of the troupe appeared, looking haggard. She got up, guided Adam to a seat at the table, and poured him some tea. No wonder her father was drinking himself to death. Running the company was a difficult job. And now, with everything lost, her father would fall deeper into despair.

  The right thing to do would be to return to London with Lord Abingdon and let the Farley Players disband. Her brother had mentioned he was headed to London, which would mean they could get to know each other again, this time as adults. She’d have family nearby for the first time.

  But their father was still at risk.

  The words of the sonnet echoed in her mind. He had done what he believed was right, and she couldn’t shake the idea she owed him for ever doubting his intentions. If anything, she was even more determined.

  “We must go to Birmingham,” she announced.

  “But how?” asked Freddie. “There’s nothing left. Honestly, Harry, you can’t be serious.”

  “I agree with Freddie,” Lord Abingdon said. “We should return to London.”

  “I refuse to give up.” Harriet took in the tired, worn faces of her friends. “I have an idea. If you’ll trust me, I promise I’ll do everything I can to put this right.”

  “Yes!” Miss Entwhistle raised her hands in the air.

  Lord Abingdon gave her a sharp look and she dropped them to her sides.

  “Most of us have lost everything,” Harriet said. “Which means we have nothing more to lose. I know I don’t. Freddie, please come with me. I’ll need your help.”

  Freddie smiled at her. “Let’s have some breakfast and think this through. I believe that’s something we can agree on.”

  “Yes!” cried Miss Entwhistle again.

  Lord Abingdon slowly nodded his head. “Very well. I will agree to breakfast.”

  As they dug into the food Freddie had cooked, Harriet vowed she would win this battle, no matter what it took.

  * * * *

  “For God’s sake, I’ve got to take off these boots for a moment.”

  William sat on a low stone wall at the side of the road. Earlier that morning, when they’d set off from Chipping Norton for the estate of one of the theater company’s patrons in Stratford-upon-Avon, the idea of walking north seemed like a good idea. At least the way Miss Farley had presented it. But three hours later William couldn’t believe he’d agreed to her plan.

  “Can I help, my lord?” Miss Farley knelt at his feet.

  “No. You can’t help. I can manage myself.”

  She dropped into the soft grass and propped herself up on her elbows. Much to William’s dismay, Miss Farley had insisted on wearing an old pair of breeches and a white shirt she’d found in the cottage, which was not much better than the nightgown she’d worn during the fire. At the time, he’d been shocked by the sight of her sensuous curves under the flimsy material, and now, with her lolling about on the side of the road with her legs so, well, leggy, he was equally uncomfortable. And her manner had changed from the woman he’d met in London. Her body and face were more elastic, more expressive, and, at times, awfully appealing. He’d been watching her hips as she sauntered ahead of him for the past hour, and the blister proved a welcome distraction. “I find this entire journey ridiculous. In fact, the events of the past two days have been utterly unreasonable.”

  “Once we make it to the Earl of Warwick’s estate, you can explain who you are, arrange for a suitable chaperone for me, and we’ll be on our way. We’re only two hours away.” She placed a piece of grass in her mouth and nibbled on it.

  “Two hours.” William had only agreed to head north in order to be one step closer to his apothecary, Mr. Urswick, with Miss Farley’s assurance that Lord Warwick would be sympathetic to his situation. He was dressed like a common laborer, wearing an old shirt and coat of Adam’s whose sleeves left a good four inches of his forearms exposed, and a scuffed pair of Adam’s boots, which were far too tight. He carried only his black leather medicine bag, which he’d luckily grabbed without thinking on his way out of the burning barn.

  He took a swath of bandage from his bag and wrapped it around his foot where the boot had rubbed it raw.

  “Two hours isn’t long at all,” she said, picking a buttercup from the grass. “Look at Miss Entwhistle, she seems to be doing fine.”

  Indeed, she was practically skipping along the road. “Perhaps one of the blessings of losing one’s memory is you don’t remember having slogged for miles already,” he said. “She’s also wearing her own pair of slippers.”

  “She’s sweet. And I think she’s sharper than she appears.” Miss Farley sat up and crossed her legs under her. “I gather you don’t take many strolls, being Earl of Abingdon. No hunting for pheasant on the estate and such?”

  “I’ve hunted and strolled many a time. But these days I’m far too busy to wander about.”

  “Busy doing what?”

  “My work.” He declined to elaborate further, as her questions were becoming impertinent. “And what about you, Miss Farley? I don’t imagine Lady Marianne would be able to keep up with you.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I enjoy walking about London. Lady Marianne prefers to travel by carriage.”

  “A more acceptable means of transportation for a young lady than going on foot.” He regarded the long road ahead of them. “I prefer a carriage myself. If it hadn’t been burned to a crisp in the night.”

  She jumped to her feet and brushed the grass from her backside. “Then we should be off to Lord Warwick’s. Only two hours, my lord.”

  The woman was maddening. She had a single-mindedness that drove him crazy. After her rousing speech, given as they finished breakfast, the rest of the group proved eager to be on their way to Birmingham, fire or no fire. Not that they had many alternatives, from the way she framed it. When she spoke with passion, everyone around her seemed to melt.

  William and Miss Farley resumed walking but didn’t converse again for some time. It was a perfect English day, with a bright blue sky and a light breeze. The soft hills in the distance were crystal clear. Perhaps she had a point. He hadn’t enjoyed any time outdoors the past year, always holed up in his study or his laboratory. The rich, loamy scent of tilled soil drifted on the breeze and a herd of cows lowed softly to each other from the fields. He wondered how Jasper was getting on at Poundridge. When he saw him next, he’d insist they ride out together in the mornings.

  “So what’s your plan, once you arrive in Birmingham?” he asked.

  “I will speak with my father and find out why he’s given up everything he’s worked so hard for.”

  “You said he was ill, back in London, when in truth Freddie’s said he’s turned to drink.”

  “I did. And I’m sorry.”

  “You’ll need to apologize to the duchess, not me. She’s the one who’s tended to you all of these years.”

  “I didn’t ask for them to adopt me.” Miss Farley’s voice was brittle and she refused to meet his gaze. “My father meant well, he was hoping to give me a better life. Yet I’m fully aware I was given away because I was a burden on my family. Now I’m a burden once again, to Her Grace.”

  “You made yourself a burden by running away. If you go back and marry Mr. Hopperworth, she will be satisfied.”

  “Hopplehill.” Miss Farley stopped in her tracks. William expec
ted a fiery response, but her voice was quiet. “You’re right. I apologize for dragging you into this mess. And thank you for everything you did to help with the fire last night. I promise once my father is taken care of I’ll return to London and marry whomever you and Her Grace want me to marry. I know she is counting on you for help and I won’t stand in her way.”

  Her unexpected capitulation surprised him. “I appreciate it, Miss Farley.”

  “Call me Harry.”

  “What? I couldn’t.”

  “Why not? That’s what everyone else does. For the next couple of hours, there’s no need to be formal. And I’ll call you Billy.”

  William rolled his eyes. “I am not a goat.”

  “You certainly don’t look like the Eighth Earl of Abingdon at the moment.”

  “Fifth.” He extended his arms out in front of him and the sleeves crept even further up toward his elbows. Her giggle was low and soft, more of a vibration in her throat, and hearing it pleased him. “You’re right, I don’t look like the earl of anything this morning. Call me whatever you like. But when we’re in London, we will not speak of this again. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  The ragtag group passed through a small village, where a couple of women eyed them suspiciously and a wiry man strode out of a dry goods shop to inquire what they were up to. In response, Harriet burst into song. In a deep alto, she recounted the history of the Farley Players and the other members joined in with haunting harmonies. When they finished the last note, the small crowd that had gathered around them burst into applause and handed around mugs of ale from the pub.

  Afterward they all carried on and William had an unexpected burst of energy, the tune ringing in his head. His feet still ached, but his stride grew longer and he swung his arms freely by his sides.

  He and Harriet found themselves walking together once again, as their paces were of similar gait. He couldn’t help but bring up the subject that had first drawn them together. “So your passion for the theater never ceased while you resided in London?”

  Harriet’s eyes glimmered. “I tried to see everything at Covent Garden and Drury Lane I could. Particularly if it was Shakespeare.”

  “Do the duchess and Lady Marianne enjoy the theater?”

  “Not much. They talk through most of the performance, and Lady Marianne teases me. But when you have a passion, you do things others might not approve of. You ought to try it.”

  “Try what?”

  “Having a passion.”

  William smiled. “I already do.”

  “Of course. Lady Marianne.”

  Her response stunned him. Not only the audacity of saying such a thing out loud, but the fact he hadn’t meant that at all. “Lady Marianne is a sweet girl. My first passion, however, is medicine.”

  “Medicine.” She laughed. “Is it possible to feel strongly about something so scientific?”

  “Perhaps. What we studied at Oxford was dry and factual. But to work with patients, like a surgeon does, is quite different.”

  “So you’re a surgeon?”

  “No. Of course not. My father would roll over in his grave if I did anything as common as actually treat patients.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  “For me, it’s to find cures. I enjoy doing research.”

  “And what are you researching these days?”

  “The ague. My sister is afflicted.”

  Harriet’s tone grew serious. “Yes, Marianne had mentioned that. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  After an awkward silence, she stared up at the sky. “‘All the infections that the sun sucks up, from bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall.’”

  “What’s that from?”

  “The Tempest. It’s about the ague.”

  “Your man Shakespeare puts it so nicely. Too bad the actual disease isn’t as pretty. Chills, pain, fever. In any event, I’m close to a treatment.”

  “I thought there already was one.”

  “Yes. Powdered bark of the cinchona tree mixed with some white wine. But it’s not all that potent and tastes terrible.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “I’m trying to locate the source of the bark’s power. By extracting the individual elements, I hope to isolate the exact substance that stops the fevers.”

  “And the purified substance will be even more effective?”

  William opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. She was one of the first people he’d discussed this with who intuitively understood. “Yes. That is the hope.”

  “It sounds perfectly logical.”

  William was surprised how good it was to speak with Miss Farley about his work. “Well, to be honest, I haven’t been successful at figuring out the proper extraction method yet.”

  “If it’s your passion, you’re sure to find it.”

  She smiled up at him. William instinctively smiled back but caught himself. He was being far more intimate than was proper. “Perhaps.”

  Luckily, the boy Martin ran up to Harriet and asked her to lead them in another song. William welcomed the distraction as they completed the final miles.

  Chapter 7

  Nothing pleased Harriet more than the astonished expression on Lord Abingdon’s face as they approached the Earl of Warwick’s estate. The medieval castle loomed high above a quiet stretch of the river Avon, its gray stone facade topped with multiple turrets and chimneys. The solidity of the building was only slightly softened by its reflection in the river. The water rippled gently and was dotted with water lilies.

  “Have you never visited here?” she asked.

  “No, I have not had the pleasure.”

  “I have. Quite often, in fact.” She couldn’t help but tease him.

  “Is that so?”

  “The castle dates from the 13th century. Richard III once owned it. He’s the king with the hunchback.”

  “I know Richard III,” he grumbled.

  She was undaunted by his churlishness. The way he’d spoken earlier of his sister and his love of science had surprised her. The man seemed intelligent and dogged in his pursuit of a cure. For a moment, she was envious of Marianne, who’d be able to have conversations like the one they’d shared whenever she liked, once she was married to him. Perhaps he was less of a pompous ass than he’d first appeared on the evening of the ball.

  “It’s astounding, isn’t it?” she asked. “Couldn’t you picture Richard III marching across the parapets, looking out into the distance for the Duke of Buckingham’s men?”

  “He’d be staggering along, more like it. With the hump and all.”

  “All right, yes. Staggering. But imagine the history this place has been witness to. I spent many a summer evening here with my father and the rest of the company and learned William the Conqueror built the original moat and a wood fort. The hilltop has been fortified and expanded upon ever since. ‘Layers upon layers of history,’ my father used to say.”

  “It’s enormous, I’ll give you that. Can’t imagine how much coal is required to warm it in winter.”

  “There’s a marvelous courtyard around the other side, where Lord Warwick allowed us to perform.” She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m surprised you’ve never paid a call on him, being an earl yourself and all.”

  “We don’t run in the same circles.” He gestured toward the enormous wooden door. “How do the likes of you lot gain admittance? Knock? Or is there some kind of dance you have to do first? Singing for your supper and all that.”

  She led the group to the gatehouse, where a guard eyed them nervously.

  “Are you lost?” the man asked.

  Harriet piped up. “We’re the Farley Players and we’re here to see Lord Warwick.”

  The guard scowled. “Sorry, no one is to be admitted.”
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  Harriet lowered the pitch of her voice, hoping to sound more officious. “We perform here regularly. His lordship specifically requested we entertain him whenever we’re in the county, and we went out of our way to comply with his request. I believe he’ll be quite angry if he learns we were turned away.”

  “No one’s allowed in.”

  Harriet glanced around at her ragtag troupe. Normally, they’d dress in showy attire before entering a village or courtyard, the women wearing ruffles, Adam in his gold-laced hat and scarlet frock coat. The carriage, even in its sorry state before the fire, would lend them some credibility as professionals. Surveying her friends’ faces now, weary and dirty after the long journey, she wasn’t surprised by their reception.

  “Look, mate,” she said. “We’ve come rather a long way and it’s important we see his lordship. At least pass along a message from me.”

  “And what might that message be?”

  “Tell him the offspring of Mr. Sam Farley are here.”

  The man’s stony expression remained unchanged. “His lordship is in London. No admittance.”

  Harriet almost stamped her foot. “If he’s in London, why didn’t you mention that right off?”

  “Get on with all of you. I’ve had enough. We get beggars here every day asking for favors or money or whatnot.”

  He marched back into the guardhouse and slammed the door behind him. Harriet pulled aside her brother and whispered, “What will we do now? We have nowhere to sleep, no clothes, and little food left.”

  Freddie wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Honestly, Harriet, you don’t know what we’ve been through the past year. It’s not like when you left. Best not to anger this man any further.”

  Lord Abingdon brushed by them and before she could stop him, knocked hard on the wooden door.

  The guard opened it and sneered. “I told you to take your business elsewhere.”

  “We will not.” Even though he was dressed like a pauper, Lord Abingdon stood tall and his fine accent rang clear and strong. “You’ll do as I say or Lord Warwick will hear of your laziness and dereliction of duty.”