Chapter 13
They’d arrived in Sheerness a couple of hours before the sun set after a quiet journey across the breathtaking English countryside. While Kent was a lovely enough part of England, Sissy much preferred the Southwest shire of Somerset—her true home. Her quaint dwelling, a mere manor house compared to many country estates she’d visited, had been named for her after her birth, Sissiela Hall. Her father, the previous Duke of Abercorn, had been so proud of his first child that he’d purchased the land and manor home to bequeath to her and her bridegroom when she wed.
She’d visited the home, not far from Tintinhull, many times in her youth. It was absolutely perfect.
Yet, Sissy’s piece of happiness had been stolen from her before her fifteenth birthday.
Heavy in debt, her father had lost the property and the land surrounding it. She’d even heard the Earl of Coventry had renamed her home, Hawke Manor.
But she was very close to having it returned to her.
And Sissy would relish Sissiela Hall being hers once more.
Currently, she pushed around her evening meal at the only Inn in Sheerness; a drab establishment not suited for noble guests. They’d spent an hour questioning shop owners and residents to find the best place to search for what she sought. She’d allowed Francis to do most of the talking as she played the innocent female relation. It had been unnerving to stand by and allow her brother to blunder through his half-hearted inquiries. However, she bit her tongue and permitted him to speak for her.
“Are you not satisfied with your sole?” Francis asked, his own plate emptied of the savory fish. “London severely lacks fresh sea fare.”
Sissy kept her eyes trained on the room around them. Any of the customers—or even the servants—could be a relation of Molly or Porter Parnell. They need be careful what they spoke of and who they spoke to.
“Do stop sulking, dear sister.” He pushed his plate away, waving to a servant to remove the dish. “You pleaded for me to bring you to Sheerness, and we are here. We will continue our search tomorrow, though it baffles me what you think to find after all these years.”
Of course, he had no clue as to what resided in Sheerness. The bloody man did not realize the many things that occurred under his own roof—the acts Sissy had undertaken to keep her brother safe from his own bleeding heart. And if all worked as she’d planned, he’d never have need to know.
“I am only anxious for the morrow, Franny.” She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes to gauge his mood. “My entire life may very well change drastically with our return to London.”
“And if all remains as it has been my whole life, we will not be the worse for it. You will always have me, by your side, to protect and take care of you.” His tenor was calm and reassuring. It was the voice of the brother who’d pledge to Sissy that he would seek vengeance from all those who’d harmed her. Yet, that promise had been made by a fifteen-year-old boy…and forgotten not long after the words were spoken. “You trust me to care for you, right, Sissy?”
She eyed him from across the table. He’d aged in the last year since his wife’s death, his hair had greyed, and his face had wrinkled from strain. His once smooth, golden skin was now marred by age spots—matching her own. His eyes, once alight with mischief and excitement, were now dulled by loss. She wondered if hers mirrored his…
“Of course, I trust you, Franny,” she insisted.
However, Sissy saw nothing wrong with working herself to ensure her future—and the downfall of the Dowager Lady Coventry.
Ophelia grasped her travel bag where it sat upon the single bed as Colin moved into the hallway to settle the account for the room. The bed was barely large enough for one person but was neatly made with a light green coverlet. The chamber was sparsely furnished with a washstand, armoire, and two straight-back chairs with a small round table between them. Only a glimpse of Sheerness could be seen through the tiny window set high in the wall above the table.
Unfortunately, it was black outside, which halted her from climbing upon a chair to gain a view of the seafront town.
What the room lacked in furniture, it made up for in charm; the coverlet was hand-sewn with a landscape of the coastline about the edges, a glass vase full to brimming with sea shells on a side table, and a ceramic washbowl with ships sailing from port painted inside on the washstand.
Tiny but spotless, the room would do for one night.
She exhaled softly. The journey had been tiring, made even more exhausting as she’d feigned sleep for nearly the last three hours. Her neck ached from the impossible angle she’d held it, with her head against the side of the carriage. She hadn’t taken a decent breath since she’d slipped—rather, tugged, squirmed, and shimmied—into Luci’s daringly low-cut traveling habit. She glanced down at the swell of her breasts over the top of the bodice, and a flush overtook her. The sight of her was utterly indecent. It was a wonder Lord Hawke had agreed to bring her along with her dressed in such a provocative manner; however, Ophelia had reveled in his gaze upon her the entire journey.
It had been her belief that he’d have settled on the ride and read Fair Wind’s journal, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off her except to glance out the window every hour or so. He’d thought they’d be followed—and hadn’t she been responsible for giving him that exact impression?
She’d known full well what she was doing when she told him that she’d left word that she was off to Gretna Green. What she’d kept to herself was that her two dear friends were headed there.
It had been great fun to see him twist with worry. For those scarce moments, Ophelia knew what if felt like to possess Luci’s and Edith’s great beauty and wit. It had been an exhilarating start to their adventure together.
Until she’d misguidedly agreed to share a room with Lord Hawke.
She’d sought adventure, not complete ruination.
She inhaled as deeply as her gown would allow and placed her hand on her lower back where a twinge of pain had started when she alighted from the traveling coach. If there were any night she needed a restful, rejuvenating sleep, it was this one.
The thought of sleeping in the same room as Lord Hawke banished all thoughts of deep slumber from her mind.
“Well, Lady Ophelia,” he said, entering the room behind her. “Caruthers promised our meal would be brought up shortly. I will dine with you—if that is agreeable—and then find lodging in the stables with my men.”
His decision should have brought her relief. “You cannot sleep in the stables, my lord.” She turned to face him, the door open at his back.
“It is only one night,” he replied. “Tomorrow, we will set out early to find what we came for and, with any luck, be on our way back toward London by midday.”
“As you said, it is only one night.” Why was she arguing with his decision to keep her reputation intact? “There are plenty of blankets. I shall sleep on the floor, and you may have the bed.”
“I would never allow a lady to sleep upon the ground,” he scoffed, shaking his head.
“All right, I will sleep in the bed, and you can take the floor. Is that more agreeable?”
“Certainly, but—“
“Then it is settled.” Ophelia gave him a curt nod. She hadn’t given him the opportunity to renew his efforts to sleep in the stables. “Besides, we may very well have a tiring day tomorrow, and we need to be rested with our minds ready. Otherwise, we may be forced to spend another night in Sheerness.”
He avoided her stare as he looked about the room, and she knew she’d won this battle.
They would share the room.
Why did Ophelia suspect this was the first step to her losing the war?
A light tap at the door signaled their meal had arrived. “Good evening, m’lady, m’lord.” The maid, a young woman, likely a relation of the proprietor, hurried into the room, balancing a tray with two covered plates. “The cook here be one of the finest for miles. We be have’n fish caught this morn with p
lum rice and bread.”
She quickly set the meal out on their tiny table and bobbed a slight curtsey before she departed the room, closing the door behind her.
The click of the latch and the girl’s footfalls down the hallway echoed through the space.
Ophelia had never been alone in a room with a man. Why did the mere presence of a bed make this seem bolder than the previous six hours in the coach together?
“The table does not appear large enough for us both to dine,” he said, as if the size of the table were the only thing to focus on—and not the fact that Ophelia had made a huge mistake by thinking they could share the room without lasting consequences. “I will remove my plate and eat on the bed.”
“Then I will join you.” Ophelia collected both plates and returned to the small circular rug between the door and the bed. She eyed the neatly made cot as Lord Hawke took his seat. “Besides, we have yet to discuss how we plan to go about finding information on your grandpapa.”
She sat beside him on the bed, each of them perched on the edge with their plates nestled on their laps. The fish, a translucent white piece of meat, smelled divine, and the rice appeared well seasoned. The bread was not as fresh as the chunk her maid had packed for her, but neither was it stale.
They sat in silence, picking at their meals, and Ophelia feared she’d set out on this adventure with him without so much as questioning their actual course of action. She was unfamiliar with the area, she hadn’t the slightest clue where to begin looking, nor did she know what Lord Hawke and Molly thought to find in Sheerness.
Her positive outlook thus far became somewhat diminished. If Edith were here, she’d know what to do and where to look for answers. Lucianna could question someone without them even suspecting they were being questioned.
“Lady Ophelia,” Colin said, looking up from his plate. “I realized I do not know much about you. Why did you so readily agree to come with me? Do you seek to anger your father? If we are discovered, you would be compromised.”
This was the exact topic Ophelia had tried her best to not think about since she’d hurried into her townhouse and gathered her belongings. She hadn’t thought of the consequences if they were caught alone together, nor had she meant to incite her father’s wrath. If she admitted any of this to Lord Hawke, she’d appear the senseless girl everyone thought her to be.
However, if she avoided acknowledging at least a bit of the truth to him, she would be abandoning her own integrity. Perhaps a compromise—just enough to satisfy his question without baring her soul about her friends leaving her behind when they traveled to the Scottish border. Odd that she hadn’t thought of Tilda or the muddled, unresolved mess with Abercorn all afternoon. She had lived with the events of that night, they’d weighed upon her every day since her friend died; however, a few hours with Lord Hawke had drawn her thoughts in a completely different direction.
“I truly did not consider my father or my reputation when I agreed to accompany you,” she admitted. “It seems I am always the woman to wait around for directions, to be present but still go unnoticed, always part of another’s exciting moment but never feeling like I fully belong. So, I saw an opportunity and grasped at the chance to embark on my own adventure.”
“You left word that you were departing for Gretna Green?” When she nodded, he continued. “How did you expect to get there?”
“Stagecoach.” Her tone held too much bite. It wasn’t Lord Hawke’s fault that while Ophelia craved adventure and excitement, she hadn’t taken any time to think though…well, anything.
But he nodded politely as if silently agreeing to overlook her less than ingenious plot or his earlier mention of the most common reason for traveling to Gretna Green.
“Well, it appears your adventure has turned into a misadventure of sorts.”
“How so?” Ophelia knew exactly how but was unaware why he’d think things had gone awry.
“Well, you speak of wanting your own adventure, but alas, we have departed London on an excursion that has little—or nothing—to do with you.” His brow rose in challenge.
“Not so. Not so at all.” Bother! Lord Hawke was correct, but Ophelia would rather stuff her entire rice portion into her mouth and swallow than admit it. “The book you need belongs to me.”
“What do you think of Fair Wind and his past as a smuggler?” At any other time, she would have felt the question was offensive and insensitive.
Lord Hawke’s lips pressed into a straight line as he pondered the question. “He died before I was born, and since my father insists on acting like grandpapa never existed, I have only heard tales from Molly.” He paused to take a bite of bread, and swallowed before continuing. “As you can assume, her stories of Fair Wind’s heroics have only become grander as the years passed, but I do believe there is a measure of truth hidden within each story. The fact that my father rebuffs everything, tells me Molly’s stories are far closer to the truth than the current earl would ever want to admit.”
“But if your grandfather had assisted the king, it would be a great honor for your family.”
Lord Hawke nodded. “Yes, that has always been my view, as well, but my father believes the harm to our family name would be irreparable if it were determined Fair Wind had been nothing more than a smuggler who’d been granted a title and lands for no purpose.”
They fell into a companionable silence as they finished their meal, and she pondered what he’d said. Ophelia was aware of the risks involved, better than most young women. She, Luci, and Edith had been tarnished by their accusations against Abercorn the year before, and even now, with both her friends betrothed and in love, there were scarce invitations bestowed upon the trio.
Her family had been like Luci’s and blamed Ophelia for speaking out against Abercorn, yet she knew they all suffered. Ophelia had four siblings whose futures were affected, and she hadn’t considered that at all.
Much as she had impulsively absconded from London with Lord Hawke.
“Lady Ophelia,” he whispered, taking her empty plate with his and returning them to the table. He stood tall and glanced out the high window. He stared for so long, she wondered what could have captured his notice no fully that he seemed almost in a different place entirely. “We do not know much about one another, do we?”
His inquiry took her by surprise.
“I suppose we do not.” Yet, his loyalty to Molly showed him to be a man brimming with heart. His defense of Ophelia, despite Molly’s claims to the contrary, showed he was a champion of the unjustly accused. He was above reproach, and not a speck of her felt the least bit hesitant in his company. What more did she need to know? “What will you do if we find no proof of Fair Wind’s honorable dealings?”
The mettle of a man was not found in their successes but in their failures.
Ophelia had never understood the deep-rooted meaning of that until now, though her father used the phrase often.
Many men, her father explained, gave up, or worse yet, they pushed their failures off on others. They blamed everyone and anything besides themselves.
“I will keep searching,” Lord Hawke sighed as he turned to face her. Sorrow was etched on his downcast expression. “If it gives Molly any measure of happiness and continues to be important to her, I will search until the end of my days.”
“That is a long time.”
“Not so long as an eternity endured with a shadow cast over oneself.” He returned to sit next to Ophelia on the bed. “What will you do if we return to London and our adventure together is exposed?”
She shrugged, clenching her hands in her lap to stop herself from reaching out for him. “It will not matter overmuch.”
“A woman who so easily disregards her reputation.” It was Lord Hawke who reached out first, laying his hand upon hers. “I would be most aggrieved if our adventures caused you any hardship.”
Chapter 14
He stroked her clasped hands lightly, afraid his slight movements might frighten h
er. The way she leaned toward him, her head bowed a fraction of an inch, spoke volumes. He’d been wrong about her—wholly incorrect. She was not the innocent debutante he’d believed her to be since their first meeting, nor was she worldly. Her nature hinted at something darker, however—more than the modest and demure figure he’d known thus far.
It had struck him as a whimsical flight of fancy when she’d so readily agreed to accompany him to Sheerness.
But now, he wondered if she sought more than just adventure.
Or, more accurately, if she ran from something.
“As the daughter of a duke, I would think your reputation would matter greatly—especially to you.” There must be something he was unaware of, some information that, had he been one to dabble in societal gossip, he would know. “Has your marriage been arranged already?”
Her stare finally left her lap and settled on his as he held his breath, not at all prepared for her answer. He would be a thousand times a scoundrel if he’d been fool enough to not only leave London with an innocent woman but also another man’s betrothed.
She had spoken of Gretna Green earlier. Would her parents assume she’d run off with another man?
Colin cursed Molly’s outlandish demand that Ophelia—Lady Ophelia—accompany him. He should have dismissed the entire thing completely in that moment.
“Of course, I am not betrothed.” She pulled her hands out of reach. “It is just that not all debutantes, even the daughters of dukes, are vigorously sought after. And you, the son of an earl and a baron in your own right, why are you not wed?”
Her face flushed, and Colin chuckled when she covered her mouth.
“Do not be embarrassed,” he said. “That is by far the easiest question to answer.”
She looked up at him from under lowered lashes, and he was reminded how angelic she’d appeared in the carriage. Even now, with the candle on the washstand behind her, a soft glow surrounded her. The pale expanse of skin revealed by her low-cut gown was not as enchanting as the guarded look in her eyes, or the way she clutched her skirt with nervousness.
The Misadventures of Lady Ophelia (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 3) Page 12