by Cindy Anstey
“Alteration?”
“Yes, you now appear to have a hole in your jacket.” She met his look with a raised eyebrow. Then gesturing toward his shoulder, Juliana indicated the cotton padding and bullet-sized tunnel that had passed through mere fractions of an inch above flesh and bone.
“Oh, that is disappointing.” Spencer glared at the offending threads. Then, he took Juliana’s arm, crooking it through his. “We’ll have to talk about this some other time.”
Juliana smiled affably. “In private, of course.”
Spencer nodded and led Juliana back into the park toward the main gate, where the Reeves carriage awaited.
* * *
JULIANA STIFLED A YAWN AS SHE FOUND HER WAY TO the morning room of Grays Hill Park. After having been on the road for two days, it was expected that the ladies of the household would need some time to recover. However, dawdling in bed, when she would much rather visit St. Ives Head—where there was a possibility of a handsome young gentleman waiting in the vicinity—was practically criminal. After all, it had been … well, two days since she had seen Spencer last.
Not long after returning from Vauxhall Gardens, Juliana had broached the subject of returning to Lambhurst. Uncle Leonard and even Aunt Phyllis agreed that Town had lost its vibrancy; no mention was made of the rescinded invitations, but there was no need. Having been cast aside by society, Carrie was quite prepared to walk away with chin held high. However, upon being told that Lord Bobbington was going to remove to Lambhurst as well, she couldn’t pack fast enough.
With an inkling of the reason for Juliana’s enthusiasm for the countryside of Dorset, not Devon, Uncle Leonard sent a letter to Compton Green. If Papa joined them at Grays Hill Park, there would be no rush for her to return home. They could while away the summer breathing in the fresh ocean breezes. Juliana’s greatest fear was that Papa would not be stirred from his studies and that she would be forced to continue her journey, leaving St. Ives Head—and private spaces—behind.
Juliana slipped across the threshold of the morning room, her hunger heightened by the delicious aromas of kippers and bacon. Juliana needed to feast on a hearty meal before disappearing into the thicket. Calling for a horse was out of the question after having just arrived the night before. As such, she anticipated a lengthy ramble—with the reward of Spencer’s person at the end. A perfect way to begin the day.
Juliana had yet to work out why Spencer found the need to visit St. Ives Head regularly, but she liked to flatter herself that she might be part of the reason. Where else could they meet without overly interested parties interfering, or judging, or generally mucking about in her affairs? Though … that would not explain why Bobbington might accompany him. It was a puzzle, and one best solved in a direct manner. She would ask him—perhaps today.
With Spencer on horseback while Juliana was confined to a carriage, there was no doubt that he would have reached Lambhurst ahead of them—in Bobbington’s company, of course. And while there was no guarantee that the gentlemen would be whiling their morning away on the cliffs of St. Ives Head, it was her only option. She could hardly walk over to Shelsley Hall.
“Good morning, Juliana.” Seated demurely across the table from her father, Carrie looked bright-eyed and … ready for a jaunt, if one looked closely at her gown.
“Carrie dear, you are up. What a lovely surprise.”
“Yes, we have places to go, people to see.”
Uncle Leonard lowered his newspaper and glanced from one girl to the other. “We do?”
Carrie laughed, waving her toast at him. “Not you, Papa. You may sit here and revel in the joy of being back in Lambhurst. No, Juliana and I have plans to take our exercise this morning up on St. Ives Head.”
They had arranged no such thing, but Carrie—sweet Carrie—knew Juliana planned to make a beeline for the cliff. Carrie also knew that visiting St. Ives Head for the express purpose of seeing Spencer was most improper. And while Aunt Phyllis was still locked in her own misery, she could insist that Juliana stay within the grounds of Grays Hill Park or be sent back to Hartwell. Though Uncle Leonard would likely veto that threat.
There was, of course, another possible purpose to Carrie’s early rise and eager anticipation of a long ramble: Lord Randolph Bobbington. Had her cousin reasoned that Bobbington would accompany Spencer to the cliff? It seemed quite likely. And if it were so, then Carrie would prove to be an excellent distraction … perhaps even allowing a private conversation.
The slight lift of Uncle’s lips, his casual nod, and his return to The Times revealed his awareness of her ruse. “You could ask Cook for a basket. Might want to take a small repast with you.”
Juliana laughed, whispering to Carrie as she made her way to the sideboard, “Already done.”
“Splendid. Most splendid.”
“Hmmm, what was that?” Uncle didn’t bother to look up this time.
“Nothing of concern.” Carrie glanced in Juliana’s direction and smiled.
Taking her laden plate to the table, Juliana saw that Carrie was ahead of her by a fair margin, if one was to take into account her nearly completed breakfast. Amazing. Carrie had risen early. Bobbington’s presence was calling to her just as Spencer’s was calling to Juliana.
Calling to her … yes, someone was calling to her. Not Carrie or Spencer but—
“Juliana! Juliana!”
Surprise left Juliana’s mouth agape for a moment, perhaps two. “Father?” Standing, Juliana rushed to the door and would have hastened into the hall had she not collided with the man running toward her. “Father?” she said, her voice muffled as her face was now pressed into the man’s shoulder.
After allowing a moment of calm to settle back into the room, Juliana pushed the figure away, far enough to ascertain that it was, indeed, he. Juliana observed a worrying change in her father’s countenance. His person was somewhat more unkempt than she would expect; his thick white hair was wild and pulled about, his chin covered with gray stubble. “Father, are you well?”
Rather than answer, her father laughed, tightened his hug, and dipped her from side to side. It was rather disconcerting.
“Um, Father, could you, please, release…? Thank you, that’s better. Now, what is this about?”
“About? About? My dear girl, your news, of course. I had it from your uncle.” He shifted to the right to look around Juliana and nodded, presumably to her uncle seated at the table.
“News?” Her uncle had told Father about Spencer?
“Yes, yes, of course.” Father reached toward her, seemingly intent on another dipping session.
Juliana stepped back, away from the circle of his arms. Oblivious, or simply unconcerned, her father danced to the other side of the room.
“Good morning, Carrie,” he said, giving his niece’s fingers an affectionate squeeze. “Enjoy London?” Again, the answer seemed of little consequence, for he immediately turned back to Uncle Leonard. “Sorry for the early arrival. Couldn’t help myself. Been too excited since getting your letter. I mean, well, look at me. Here I am! This is so exciting. Couldn’t imagine leaving Compton Green, ever. But this news, I just had to see my girl.” Meeting her gaze, Father rushed back to Juliana. “Well done, my dear. You are a marvel.”
“Father, I don’t understand. Why am I a marvel?”
“Our research, of course. You found a publisher. I will admit to you now that I never thought it likely—so few are interested in natural sciences, let alone research of an insect as observed by a young lady. Thought that there might be some issue over your gender … yes, terrible to think so, but there it is. No, no. This is beyond my expectations.”
Juliana laughed and shook the thoughts of Spencer from her head. “Father, you never said so.”
“Didn’t want to discourage you, my dear. What kind of father would I be to extinguish your hopes and dreams? No, no, couldn’t do that. And so this is all the more satisfying that you proved me wrong … even though you did not know it. Oh yes, what
an outcome. Thought London would be good for you … you know, the dancing, the theater, and glittering people. But this, well, now we can start the second stage of our research. Yes, yes.”
“I am very glad that you are happy. I am just so surprised to see you here.”
“Well, it certainly got me out of Hartwell in a rush. Haven’t you been saying you wanted me to travel?”
Juliana smiled and patted his arm affectionately. “And now that you are here, might we not stay awhile? There is a diverse array of insects to study as well as a plethora of Coccinellidae. A few weeks of rest and relaxation in the balmy breezes of Lambhurst will do us all the world of good. Don’t you think?”
And, it would give Juliana the opportunity to introduce Spencer to Father.
CHAPTER
17
In which Miss Telford and Mr. Northam deal with boredom and peril in quick succession
SPENCER STIFLED A YAWN AND STRETCHED HIS right arm in front of him. He swatted haphazardly at the fly buzzing between the oak branches and lifted his eyes to assess the position of the sun halfway up the eastern sky. A breeze blowing across the land from the south brought warmth with it and the spicy scent of daylilies. Spencer was disinclined to abandon his vigil, though there seemed little reason to remain.
“Not today, I would guess,” Bobbington said—not even bothering to hush his voice.
Looking toward the shrubbery opposite, Spencer watched Bobbington’s head appear as his friend got to his feet. “No smugglers this late in the morning, especially as Lady Deceiver is not yet in residence.” He glanced out over the rolling fields to the Great-House looming and formidable in the near distance.
Spencer followed his gaze and squinted. There was still little movement at Ryton Manor—none of the hustle and bustle that one could associate with the return of the family.
It was a concern.
Had the Pyebalds gotten wind of Stamford’s incarceration? Winfrith would try to keep the news from leaking, but there would be cracks—there always were. A whispered word in the right ear and the Pyebalds would stoke the fire with the communiqué and take a long holiday in Italy.
“I’d want to get rid of it as fast as possible,” Bobbington addressed their shared foreboding. “But she’s as cool as a cucumber—fancies herself protected by her position in society … ancient lineage and all that.”
“Protected by the very thing that she is trying to destroy.” Spencer shrugged—more from habit than resignation. “Winfrith will let us know if they make any sudden moves. All we can do is wait and watch.”
They stared in silence for some minutes—listening to the rumble of the waves pounding at the base of the cliff.
“We could vary our vigil a little,” Bobbington snorted. “Tonight, I could take the tree and you could sit on the ground.”
Before Spencer could dissuade his friend of the notion, they heard a twig snap, leaves rustle, and the unmistakable swish of material. Skirts? Bobbington glanced at Spencer and then lowered himself into the grass. Spencer slowly sat back, hiding behind the cover of the gnarled oak.
Staring in the direction of the irregular sounds, Spencer relaxed into a motionless state and waited. Two pretty girls in flowered dresses and bonnets skipped out of the woods carrying a basket, looking lovely and fresh and most appealing. With a grin, Spencer stepped out of the shadows.
“Mr. Northam.”
Spencer quite liked the sound of his name as articulated by Miss Juliana Telford. It somehow seemed more rounded and infinitely more enticing than when pronounced by anyone else in the world. Bowing with solemn formality, he ruined the effect by grinning and staring overlong into her beautiful hazel eyes. Unfortunately, his gaze wandered to her mouth, and he was transfixed. The sound of a throat being cleared—noisily—brought Spencer out of his stupor.
“Should I take the basket?” someone asked.
Juliana started, looking down at the object in her hand; it was listing severely, threatening to spill its contents. “Oh dear.” She righted the basket and then laughed. “No, no. Not to worry, Lord Bobbington. Thank you all the same.”
Prying his eyes away from Juliana, Spencer looked across to where Bobbington and the diminutive figure of Miss Reeves stood, fairly close together. He greeted her with a more casual bow than the one he had just offered Juliana.
“And what brings you ladies to St. Ives Head on this lovely morning?” Bobbington truly looked puzzled.
Spencer smiled, fairly certain his whispered comment in Vauxhall Gardens had done the trick.
“Why, this is the very best place for a picnic,” Miss Reeves replied with a wide grin. “It is not surprising to find it occupied.”
Catching Juliana’s eye, Spencer winked. As expected, she winked back.
Gesturing to a small clearing nearby—well away from the cliff’s edge—Juliana placed her basket on the ground. “A little early for elevenses, but we can soldier through, don’t you think?” There was no dissent among the ranks, and soon the four were sitting comfortably and close as they enjoyed their alfresco meal.
While Spencer was distracted by Juliana’s presence, he was not so far gone that he was oblivious to the amorous glances being shared between Miss Reeves and Bobbington. He thought it an inestimable match. He sincerely hoped that Mr. Telford would feel the same about his imminent proposal to his daughter.
As if she knew where his thoughts had wandered, Juliana addressed the source of his discomfort. “Father has arrived in Lambhurst.”
“Pardon?”
“Yes. Papa wrote to Uncle Andrew about Juliana’s successful search for a publisher.” Miss Reeves nodded in a jerky staccato. “And asked if he wished to join us here in Lambhurst.”
“I didn’t think anything could pry him away from Hartwell … but it would seem that I was wrong.” Juliana lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “It is a most advantageous event—for I will be able to visit Carrie longer … perhaps most of the summer. And you, Mr. Northam? How long are you planning to stay in Lambhurst?”
Spencer could feel the weight of the question; though stated in a light tone, it was laden with meaning. “It’s hard to say at this point.” His eyes slid to the building in the distance and then back again. He couldn’t make plans, or proposals, until the situation with the Pyebalds was resolved.
Juliana glanced over her shoulder toward Ryton Manor and sighed, “Yes, of course.” Turning back, she stared for some minutes at his coat. Then she leaned closer, and Spencer could no longer consider anything other than the smell of roses and the heat of her body. All clear thought disappeared completely as she lifted her hand toward him and he waited completely befuddled … waited to feel the touch of her fingers. On his coat lapel?
“What a lovely specimen,” she said just before capturing something between her cupped palms. “Look, an emperor dragonfly.” She spread her fingers for Spencer to see, apparently oblivious of the disappointment in his expression.
“A what?”
“An Anax imperator. You know, of the Aeshnidae family.” She looked up with a smile. “Isn’t he a beautiful bright blue?”
“Dragonfly, Mr. Northam. Don’t worry about the Latin. It’s a dragonfly.” Miss Reeves laughed.
Juliana looked over to her cousin and nodded emphatically. “Do you want to see? Oh—”
Following her gaze, Spencer saw that she was staring at Ryton Manor. “Oh?”
“The Pyebalds will be here soon.”
Bobbington shifted, looking over his shoulder. “Why do you say that?”
“The drapes in the drawing room have been opened.”
Spencer frowned. “How can you tell? It’s too far away.”
“The draperies—the red ones in the drawing room. You can barely see any red now, just the smallest line—see. They are no longer pulled across the length of the windows. A good house steward will direct the maids to keep them drawn, you know. To keep the sun from fading the material when the room is not in use. But now they are open �
�� yes, and you can see by the reflection that the windows have been thrown open—to air it out no doubt. Yes, I expect the Pyebalds will be back … tomorrow at the latest.”
Spencer smiled, impressed with Juliana’s observation skills—she had declared this to be an unequivocal truth on this very cliff, and Spencer was quite prepared to believe it.
“It’s rather strange,” she continued. “I would think that they would have stayed longer in Town. After all, their unwarranted expulsion was placed entirely upon our shoulders.”
“Perhaps their new address in Cheapside was not up to their standards.” Miss Reeves laughed with hidden meaning. “Not enough silver.”
The conversation lapsed for some minutes as looks were shared between the girls, and Spencer nodded to Bobbington. There was now purpose to their vigil.
The game was on.
* * *
GLANCING AT THE SUN, Juliana heaved a sigh. Soon, it would be at its zenith—time to head back to Grays Hill Park. As Juliana packed up the basket, she tried to devise an elegant and surreptitious way to sequester Spencer. Privacy was still in short supply.
She might meander to the cliff-side—ostensibly to enjoy the view. No, she was still uncomfortable about getting too close to that treacherous abyss. Could she ask Carrie to go ahead? That might be pointless, as Bobbington was still within earshot. Could she…?
“Might I speak with you a moment, Miss Telford?”
Juliana lifted her head from her labors and her scenarios. She took Spencer’s hand as he assisted her to her feet. Yes, well, the direct way would also work. She allowed him to hook her arm through his, and they began to stroll along the path—away from Carrie and Bobbington.
The silence between them was companionable, their gait matching perfectly, and yet there was a sense of discomfort in the air. Juliana turned to see that Spencer’s expression was clouded, his mouth tight.
“Is something amiss, Mr. Northam?”
“No, no. Just lost in thought is all. Trying to figure … the best time … well, I am heartily glad to learn that you will be abiding in Lambhurst for a while.”