Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway

by Wendy Soliman

  He transferred his gaze to Miss Cantrell’s face, deciding that the dusting of freckles across her small nose suited her. Her creamy complexion remained pale, but her skin was otherwise smooth and unblemished. Her piercing blue eyes regarded him with a combination of curiosity and anxiety but she met his gaze without blinking, a defiant half smile playing about plump, rosy lips.

  “Miss Cantrell.” He extended a hand and clasped hers in it. “I’m pleased to see you looking so much better.”

  She curtsied and almost toppled over. He’d been told that she had a sprained ankle but had forgotten everything he’d learned about her—which was precious little—the moment she walked through the door looking so composed, so unexpectedly sophisticated, and yet unable to completely hide her apprehension. He reached forward and steadied her.

  “Thank you, Lord Gabriel. I’m almost completely better and I ought to—”

  “Shush, later.” He turned his attention to Tobias and ruffled his ears with the hand not supporting Miss Cantrell’s elbow. “Good evening, Tobias.”

  Tobias woofed, wagged his tail and licked Gabe’s hand.

  “Allow me to present my neighbour, Mrs. Grantley,” he said.

  Miss Cantrell blinked. Clearly she hadn’t seen the small woman dressed in dark colours seated on the opposite side of the fire. Cautious by nature, Gabe had considered it wise to have another female present, at least until he got to the bottom of Miss Cantrell’s unorthodox arrival at the Hall. He was grateful to Mrs. Grantley for answering his plea at such short notice.

  “My dear, how are you?” Mrs. Grantley’s kindly eyes sparkled with concern. “Lord Gabriel told me you almost froze to death.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” she replied, curtsying again. “Everyone has been so kind, and I’m feeling much more like myself.”

  “It doesn’t do to go gallivanting about the countryside in such weather. No good can come out of it.”

  “No, ma’am. Indeed not.”

  “Mrs. Grantley is our neighbour and now also part of our family since my sister Flick is married to Darius Grantley.”

  Miss Cantrell blinked. “The famous barrister. I’ve heard of him.”

  Mrs. Grantley preened. “Well, his name does seem to appear in the newspapers quite frequently nowadays.”

  Gabe led his guests to the small table laid for three in an alcove by the window. Munford, the footman who waited on Gabe since Hal’s butler was in town with the family, sprang forward to help Mrs. Grantley with her chair. Gabe provided a similar service for Miss Cantrell.

  “We shall dine immediately, Munford,” Gabe said.

  “Very good, my lord.”

  “I don’t know about you, Miss Cantrell, but I’m sharp set, and I’m sure Tobias is too.”

  The smile that had threatened ever since she’d entered the room broke loose. “That I can guarantee.”

  She appeared to be conducting some sort of inner battle with herself, probably scared half out of her wits to find herself in such surroundings. That was why Gabe had ordered dinner to be served in the small sitting room.

  He entertained her with light conversation, never once asking for the explanation she must be aware was overdue. It immediately became apparent that she was familiar with dinner table etiquette, which implied a good family, or a good education. Gabe was curious to discover which, or both, applied to Miss Cantrell.

  “I’m anxious about my mare,” she said almost as soon as they sat down.

  “Ah yes, you’ve both sprained your fetlocks.”

  Her spontaneous smile hit Gabe squarely below the belt. “Yes, I suppose we have. How is Bianca?”

  “My manager’s taking good care of her. I suspect you’ll both heal at the same speed. You’re welcome to check her for yourself tomorrow, if you wish.”

  “Thank you, I do wish.”

  “She’s a fine mare.”

  Miss Cantrell’s eyes glowed. “Thank you. She’s pure Arabian.”

  “I thought as much. How old is she?”

  “Eight.”

  “A perfect age. Have you considered breeding her?”

  “Yes, I’ve been toying with that possibility.”

  “I have a Trakehner at stud here. It occurs to me that their respective lines might make for interesting progeny.”

  “Trakehners make elegant carriage horses,” she mused, her eyes alight with interest in a subject she clearly knew something about. “But mixed with Arabian lightness and speed, you could produce wonderful ladies’ saddle horses.”

  “My thought precisely.”

  “I hadn’t planned to crossbreed, but the idea has merit.”

  Gabe had known as soon as he looked at her mare that the beast was exceptional. Miss Cantrell was clearly aware of that, too, and he was gratified by the extent of her knowledge and enthusiasm. It gave them an interest in common that kept the conversation flowing while they ate. Miss Cantrell relaxed her guard as she enthused about her mare and seemed to forget where she was.

  And why.

  “If you’re so keen on horses, Miss Cantrell,” Mrs. Grantley remarked, “you and Lord Gabriel will have much to talk about. Horses are the only thing that’s interested him ever since he was in short coats.”

  Gabe smiled, even though he was annoyed by the remark. He hadn’t yet decided what to make of Miss Cantrell and didn’t wish to excite her expectations. He was slightly pacified when he saw from her expression that she was as embarrassed by Mrs. Grantley’s lack of tact as he was.

  “Have you owned Bianca for long?” Gabe asked.

  “Since she was a foal. She was a gift from my father.” She sent a defiant glance across the table. “I broke her myself.”

  “Good heavens!” Now she really had surprised him. “Forgive me, but if Bianca is eight then you must have been very young yourself when you broke her.”

  “Papa and I started backing her when she was two. I myself was twelve at the time.”

  “Astonishing.”

  “Not really.” She lifted her shoulders, as though they couldn’t stand the weight of the compliment. “I can’t really take any credit. Bianca and I connected right from the first and it carried on from there.”

  Gabe wanted to ask a great deal more. There was a wistfulness in her expression when she mentioned her father than persuaded Gabe it wasn’t him she was running away from. It also made him more curious than ever to hear the reason for her reckless behaviour. Half an hour in her company was sufficient to persuade him that she wasn’t some flighty miss escaping from a doomed love affair or tyrannical parent. But explanations would have to wait until the meal finished and the servants had withdrawn.

  Gabe changed the subject, stifling his amusement when she attacked the cream trifle placed before her with relish. For such a slim creature she had an astonishing appetite and, clearly, a very sweet tooth.

  “Have you had sufficient, ladies?” he asked, valiantly trying to keep his lips straight.

  “Thank you, yes.” Miss Cantrell glanced up, presumably saw the amusement in his expression and offered him an impish smile. “I was very hungry.”

  “Obviously.”

  “It was delicious,” Mrs. Grantley agreed, even though she had the appetite of a sparrow.

  Gabe stood. Munford helped Mrs. Grantley from her chair. Gabe offered Miss Cantrell his arm to lean on as they crossed the room and the three of them took up the chairs on either side of the fireplace.

  “Perhaps you will be more comfortable if you elevated your sore ankle.” Gabe placed a footstool before her and she lifted her leg onto it, giving him a brief glimpse of what he judged would be a well-turned ankle when the puffiness around the joint had completely subsided. “Is that better?”

  “That you, much.”

  “Tea for the ladies, please, Munford. And I shall have brandy.”

  The footman bowed and left to comply with Gabe’s orders. It wasn’t long before Miss Cantrell and Mrs. Grantley were sharing a pot of tea and Gabe was nursing a bra
ndy snifter.

  “Thank you, Munford, that will be all.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  The door closed softly behind Munford and his fellow footman. The only sound in the room was now the crackling of the logs in the grate and Tobias’s soft snores as he stretched out full length in front of the fire and made himself at home. Mrs. Grantley finished her tea and appeared to be having trouble keeping her eyes open.

  If Miss Cantrell found the silence unsettling, she gave no sign. That was unusual in Gabe’s experience. He had yet to meet a female who didn’t feel the need to fill silences with unnecessary chatter. He examined her countenance, her features a combination of light and shadow in the flickering candlelight. Her brow was slightly creased and he could tell from the elevated rate of her breathing that she was nervous to find herself virtually alone with him. Mrs. Grantley lent respectability to the situation but already her eyes had fluttered to a close and her breathing had slowed, indicating that she’d fallen asleep.

  Gabe leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. Then he took pity on Miss Cantrell and offered her an opening.

  “Is there something—”

  “Lord Gabriel, I ought to—”

  They both spoke at once, and broke off equally abruptly.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Cantrell. Was there something you wished to say to me?”

  She sat forward, still with one leg on the stool, and fixed him with an intent gaze. “Firstly, I wish to thank you for your kindness. You undoubtedly saved my life.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  “But I think a very great deal about it, that’s my difficulty. Had it not been for you I…well, I doubt I could have survived for much longer.”

  Gabe agreed with her but didn’t consider it necessary to say so. “Then it’s fortunate that I happened to find you when I did.”

  “Also, I’m not a thief. It’s important to me that you understand that. I planned to pay for the things I…er, borrowed before I quit your grounds. I was going to leave coins in the tack room.”

  A smile broke through Gabe’s guard.

  “I was! I have money.”

  That was true. Over fifty pounds was in her bundle of possessions—a small fortune for an unaccompanied girl to be carrying about. She continued to glare defiantly at him but said nothing more.

  “Perhaps you should start at the beginning, Miss Cantrell. Tell me who you’re running away from and why.”

  “You’ve already done more than enough,” she replied guardedly. “I won’t take up more of your time.”

  “Then humour me.”

  *

  Miranda was unsure what she ought to do or say next. She did owe him an explanation for what must seem like very bizarre behaviour, she knew that very well. But it was so hard to arrange her thoughts into any sort of coherent order when he looked at her with such droll amusement in his expression, as though he considered her an irrelevant diversion. More distracting yet was the way in which he moved, with such natural elegance and compelling charm. It fascinated her because she’d never seen such a display of easy manners before. He was perfectly comfortable in these grand surroundings, simply because they were his birthright, reminding her of the differences in their situations.

  He was just the sort of young gentlemen she and her fellow students had sat up at night inventing. Miranda hadn’t supposed she would ever meet such a man, much less sweep him off his feet, something all her companions were confident they would achieve as a matter of course.

  Miranda was in no position to do sweeping of any sort. Even if she’d been attractive enough to interest Lord Gabriel, it still wouldn’t have served. She was several steps beneath him in the strata society set so much stock by. The practical side of her nature knew it, and it saved her from making more of a fool of herself than she already had. She would give Lord Gabriel an abbreviated account of her situation, enough to satisfy his curiosity, and be gone from here just as soon as Bianca was fit enough to be ridden.

  “I was making my way to stay with my friend Charlotte,” she said. “I took a shortcut, hoping to bypass Denby, and Bianca caught her foot in a rabbit hole.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Cantrell,” Lord Gabriel said, fixing her with an indolent glance. “But I’d prefer it if you’d either tell me to go to the devil, or give me a true account of your actions. I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

  Miranda wanted to jump to her feet and protest. Then she remembered her swollen ankle and made do with placing her hands on her hips and expelling an indignant huff. “Why do you suppose I’m being untruthful?”

  “I don’t suppose it, I know it.” He waved an elegant hand in her direction. “You’re a young lady of some quality and as such wouldn’t go anywhere unescorted. Besides, you had no luggage.”

  He said nothing more, but his expression told her that she’d disappointed him, which made her feel wretched. Why it should matter Miranda couldn’t have said, but his good opinion mattered to her very much indeed. Her difficulty was, if she told him the truth, he’d send her straight back to Mr. Peacock, assuming he knew what was best for her. Everyone seemed to think they knew better than she did when it came to her own wellbeing. She found it most vexatious to be treated as if she didn’t have a mind of her own when, in actual fact, she had brains enough to outwit most of the men of her acquaintance.

  She owed Lord Gabriel her life, which counted for something, but dare she trust him with the truth? She glanced up at him and the intensity in his expression gave her pause. Reckless sensuality, compassion, concern—there was something in his intelligent eyes that persuaded her to trust him.

  “I was running away from my guardian,” she said, addressing the comment to the flames flickering in the fireplace.

  “Your parents are dead?”

  “Yes. My mother died when I was an infant. I have no memories of her. My father passed four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I could tell from your expression when you spoke about him earlier that you and he were very close.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, brushing away tears with the back of her hand. “We were.”

  “My parents are dead also. I know how painful the loss can be. But, unlike you, at least I can remember my mother. I will always have that.”

  “It was Papa and me against the world. We had no need of anyone else.” She managed a wan smile. “Then he contracted a silly fever and was gone within the week.”

  “When you were only fourteen?”

  “Yes. In some respects it was fortunate that I was at school and so I didn’t feel the loss as acutely as if I’d been at the Wildes, where I would have been surrounded by constant reminders of him.”

  “The Wildes?”

  “Our home in Cornwall. Just outside Looe.”

  “I see.” Lord Gabriel adjusted his position and took a sip of his drink. “Where did you attend school?”

  “Miss Frobisher’s Academy for Young Ladies in London.” She pursed her lips as she pronounced the name of the renowned establishment. “Papa thought it would be good for me to mix with other girls. I’m an only child, you see.”

  “Miss Frobisher’s has a good reputation. My half sister was enrolled there at the start of the new year. We live in expectation of it improving her character,” Lord Gabriel said, sounding as though he didn’t hold out too much hope of that ambition being achieved.

  “Miss Frobisher specialises in character improvement,” Miranda said, grimacing.

  “So my brother was led to believe.”

  “I just missed your sister then, since I finished in the summer.”

  “Did you enjoy your time there?”

  She flashed a mischievous smile. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but I enjoyed learning. I have an enquiring mind, you see, but I believe it’s not something I’m supposed to boast about.”

  “It would probably be better to keep that information to yourself when addressing strangers.”
With his elbow resting on the arm of his chair, he tilted his head and rested his cheek against his splayed hand. Hair cascaded across his brow, hiding his eyes from her view. She enjoyed looking into those eyes and had to discipline herself not to reach forward and brush the hair aside so she could continue to do so. “And you made friends?”

  “Oh yes. And I was going to stay with Charlotte. I was with her for several months after school finished but was summoned back to my guardian’s house for the Christmas celebrations. I left most of my belongings with Charlotte, which is why I had so little luggage.”

  “Where does Charlotte reside?”

  “Her family has a country seat just outside of Brighton.”

  Lord Gabriel sat up straight and glared at her. “That’s over sixty miles! You couldn’t possibly cover that distance unescorted. Whatever were you thinking?”

  She shrugged. “I had little choice in the matter.”

  “You couldn’t ride that distance in one day, not even on a horse as fine as Bianca. You would have needed to break your journey at a posting inn for at least one night, if not two.”

  “I had sufficient funds to take a room and remain out of sight.”

  Lord Gabriel shook his head. “Even so, someone would have seen you.”

  “I had no choice. Besides, the inn was the only awkward part. Other than that, Bianca wouldn’t have let me down. It was my fault that she sprained her fetlock. I wasn’t paying proper attention. I wanted to avoid Denby, you see. It’s close to my guardian’s home and one of the first places he would have looked for me when I was missed. A woman alone on a distinctive horse like Bianca, with Tobias, who isn’t exactly inconspicuous—”

  “Yes, I can quite see your difficulty. What I don’t understand is your desire to escape your guardian.”

  “The man’s an ogre,” she cried with passion.

  “How does this ogre make his living?”

  Miranda sniffed. “He imports commodities into his warehouses in Dover. Silk from India, tea from Ceylon, anything that’s competitively priced and which he thinks he can find a market for. He and my father were in partnership for many years. Papa found the merchandise, Mr. Peacock imported it and sold it on. I never knew him well, but on the rare occasions that he came to the Wildes, he seemed unremarkable. At least there was nothing about him that excited my dislike.” She scowled. “He agreed to be my guardian in the event that anything happened to Papa, but none of us ever supposed that situation would arise. Papa was indestructible, you see, at least in my eyes.”