by Diana Lloyd
…
“And where are you bound, miss?”
The man who spoke didn’t look entirely reputable, but in the close quarters of the traveling coach, Julianna was obliged to face him for many more tedious hours. The coach sat four passengers comfortably. She was the fifth. Still, she was probably better off than the poor souls sitting up top with the luggage. She opened her mouth to reply when she was cut off.
“That would be none of your concern, Mr. Hickson. You’ve no reason to be speaking to her, what with her being unmarried and in my care.” The matron her uncle’s coachman had hired to be her companion along the forced journey threw both Julianna and Hickson a disapproving scowl. She’d crossed the ocean with a reputable family, without so much as a whisper of impropriety but couldn’t make it through one Society event without trading kisses with a man others considered a beast. She’d been given little choice but to behave on this journey.
Julianna closed her mouth and focused her attention back to her lap. Mrs. Bunratty, dressed head to toe in black bombazine, with an onyx brooch of a mourning wreath pinned to her ample bosom, had eagerly accepted the few coins the coachman pressed into her hand in exchange for her services. With her dark clothes, snow-white hair, and hawkish features, she reminded Julianna of a squawking magpie.
“I beg your pardon, Ma’am. I thought only to make pleasant conversation.” Mr. Hickson nodded a silent apology to Julianna and turned his attention back to his newspaper. Bunratty squinted her dark eyes and cast a judgmental frown toward Julianna.
Hustled out of bed before dawn and spirited out of her uncle’s house like contraband, Julianna found herself wedged into the rearward facing seat of a coach jouncing and bouncing down a rutted road on her way to Scotland. Besides Bunratty and Hickson, her other companions were a pair of spinster sisters, Anne and Ruth Potgetter. Julianna wasn’t quite sure which one was which, but she didn’t suppose it mattered. They spoke to no one but each other and, at the rate they were knitting, seemed hell-bent on crafting a shawl large enough to cover a barn.
Sent off with only a small traveling bag and one clothes trunk, Julianna hadn’t been afforded so much as a proper companion or pin money. She never even got a chance to see her father’s letter. The Dunwoody coachman had done nothing more than load her trunk atop the coach and press a few coins into the magpie’s hand before disappearing into the morning mist without a backward glance.
For those few coins, Mrs. Bunratty took her duties seriously. At least she took the coin seriously, because she refused to part with so much as a penny of it so that Julianna might have purchased a bit of breakfast. Apparently, it was either her aunt’s or Mrs. Bunratty’s wish that she starve to death along the road to Scotland.
How foolish Julianna had been to agree to a journey to London in the first place. Selfishly, at the time, her personal heartache over Eldridge’s betrayal had overshadowed all reasoning. A journey far away from the pain had seemed a grand adventure. Looking back now, she recognized her father’s growing desperation, recalled the concerned and frightened faces of their neighbors, and the tension in the streets of Boston building like a pot coming to boil.
Eldridge! Whatever was he doing in London? Her breath caught in her chest and her hands fisted in her lap. Foolish, she quickly chastised herself. He wouldn’t be any help. Eldridge had made it very plain back in Boston that they would no longer share an acquaintance. He was betrothed to another. Julianna’s lips curled into a guilty smile as she recalled the sight of his dance partner sailing face first into the potted palm.
And the kiss. That unplanned, unexpected, and unequaled kiss with Lord Winchcombe. There had been so many unspoken words in their too-brief exchange, promises she’d never hear from a man she’d never see again. If only…but she couldn’t think of that. She’d hold the memory of that kiss close to her bosom.
Her smile faded slowly as she clung to the memory of Winchcombe’s lips against hers as long as she could. Reality, in the form of her Aunt Hester’s hatred, stunned Julianna and hurt her still. Once unleashed, the woman’s bitter hate had been exposed for the ugly festering ulcer it was. At least her aunt hadn’t discovered who’d delivered the note to Winchcombe. The footman’s favor and her cousin Edwina’s small kindnesses now shone more brightly in her memory. They had risked much for her. Could she expect any such kindness where she was going? Scotland was a wild place, harsh and unsettled as far as she knew. As soon as she could, she had to get a letter to her father. He would know what to do.
Sweet cousin Edwina, who scurried around her father’s house like a frightened mouse, was cut from finer cloth than her older sister, Udele. Plain-faced, tall, and willowy, Edwina was neither clever enough to be cruel nor dull enough to be oblivious. She’d been quietly gracious to Julianna even though she must have been aware of her mother’s true feelings all along. Bundled out of the house like a common criminal, Julianna hadn’t even been allowed to bid her cousin goodbye.
Uncle Edwin hadn’t specified the length of her banishment, and she’d been too stunned to ask. He’d told her that her father had allotted funds for her care, but he had not released them to her. She still held the letters of introduction, but, under Bunratty’s watchful eye, didn’t dare break the seals to read them. They would have to wait for now.
The first thing she would do was write her father. Edinburgh was a port city. With any luck, she’d come across a kind soul from the colonies who would agree to transport a letter home. Although luck, at least the good variety, hadn’t been much help to her lately. She was due for some good news.
As the coach rocked back and forth, Bunratty’s eyes began to droop, her chin drifting down to her chest. If the magpie would doze off, Julianna could ask Hickson to see his newspaper. Surely any news of war would be on the very front page. Another few minutes of patience should ensure the old bird’s slumber. Julianna counted off the seconds timed by the snick-snick of the Potgetter sisters’ knitting needles.
“Mr. Hickson, sir,” Julianna leaned forward and whispered as Bunratty let out a loud snore. “If I might trouble you…” Her request was left unspoken as the carriage suddenly jerked, sending the occupants listing to the right. Julianna grabbed the seat cushion to keep from sprawling into Bunratty’s lap.
One of the Potgetters called out a salty curse as her sister’s knitting needle jabbed her arm. They all leaned left to compensate just as the coach came to a shuddering halt, sending Julianna and the Potgetters sliding to the floor at Hickson and Bunratty’s feet.
“Hullo, the coach. Stop and hold.”
Julianna crawled back onto the bench just as shouts of alarm sounded from outside.
“Who goes there? State your business!” the coachman demanded as Julianna jostled for a look out the window.
“We’re being robbed!” Bunratty, jolted awake by the commotion, proclaimed with horror. “Brigand!” she cried, pointing out the window. “He means to rob us!” She ripped the onyx brooch from her breast and tossed it out the window. “Give him the paste and hide your jewels,” she ordered, shoving her reticule under her skirt.
Julianna clutched her small bag to her chest. She would not give up her letters of introduction without a fight. They may yet prove to be her salvation. All went silent as the latch shifted and the carriage door was wrenched open.
“Fiend!” Bunratty screamed again and the Potgetter sisters recoiled in horror. Even Hickson covered his eyes as if the sight at the doorway was too terrible to behold.
“There you are,” a familiar voice behind a silver domino proclaimed. “Do you have any idea how many carriages I’ve had to chase down today?”
“No, my lord.” Julianna shook her head, hardly daring to believe her eyes.
“Too many. And, it’s the oddest thing, people keep heaving cheap baubles at me.” He held up Bunratty’s brooch. “I believe this belongs to you, madam.” As he handed it back, he smiled wide. B
ut, rather than a dashing bit of mockery, the scar on his face pulled his smile into that of cruel delight.
“Take what you’ve come for and be gone with you, sir.” Hickson spoke up. “You are frightening the women.”
“Just the women?” Oliver turned back to Julianna with a wink and offered his hand. “A word, miss?” She thought about it for all of half a second before taking his hand and rising from the seat. Whatever the man was up to had to be more promising than a penniless exile to the wilds of Scotland.
“I came calling this morning only to find that you’d left without so much as a goodbye,” Oliver quickly explained.
“You chased down carriages all morning just to say goodbye?”
“Mostly. Well, that and an apology.”
“Giving or getting?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you here to give an apology or to receive one?”
“Am I due one?”
Julianna shook her head. “Not to my knowledge.” Winchcombe was trying hard to be either cheeky or charming, but he’d hardly come all this way just to be amusing. Still, it was hard not to be touched by the gesture. She was accustomed to being left to fend for herself. Lord Winchcombe could help her get a letter to her father. He might even be able to advise her on how to procure the funds sent for her care to return back to Boston.
If they could avoid each other’s lips, Winchcombe just might be the answer to her problems.
“Hmm. Then I must owe one, and I’m thinking that I might owe it to you.” Offering his arm, he led her to the side of the road, out of earshot of the other passengers. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s it?”
“I am truly and deeply sorry.”
“For?” After what she’d been through that day, he deserved to squirm just a little.
“For being…untimely.”
“Apology accepted, my lord.” There was no point in pretending her aunt and uncle hadn’t simply been looking for a convenient excuse to exile her to Scotland and hold a grudge against someone who might help her. They had gone to no great lengths to make her feel welcome, and she’d played into their true intentions by behaving outrageously with Winchcombe at the ball. Now, she would turn fate back to her favor.
“Please, call me Oliver.”
“That would be most improper, my lord.”
“We are in a rather improper situation, are we not?”
“It would seem so.” Looking back toward the coach and the impatient hovering of the coachman, the now-armed postilion, and the other passengers gawping at them, a mad plan began to take shape in her mind. She was not getting back on that coach.
“A question occurred to me recently.” Winchcombe turned his back to the coach before continuing. “A question so vexing that I realized I could not wait another day for its answer.”
“What question might that be, my lord?” Hoping her fellow passengers would accept that Winchcombe posed no danger, Julianna waved at their small audience. He’d be no good to her if he managed to get himself shot.
“Why did you kiss me?” Oliver asked. He looked around, uncomfortable, and shuffled his feet before looking at her once again. “The other day, in the library, you kissed me, and I have been wondering ever since why you did so.”
“I didn’t kiss you,” she stated flatly, and his eyes widened in surprise.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, to my thinking, it was more that we kissed each other.” It was impossible to explain that his first caress to her lips had left her aching for more. How would she begin to describe how they’d tingled from one simple touch?
“Hmm. Why do you suppose we did that?”
“Because it was the right thing to do, of course.” His expression shifted from surprise to contemplation as he pondered her response. If he hadn’t felt the rightness of their kiss in that moment, he wasn’t the man she imagined him to be. “Isn’t that why you chased down my coach?”
“No,” he said, smiling while he shook his head. “This is quite possibly the most insensible thing I’ve ever done.”
“Did my uncle put you up to this or was it a matter of your honor?”
“My honor and yours. Your uncle has no idea what I’ve done and would likely heartily disapprove. There is something both peculiar and wrong about the events of the last few days. I don’t know what it is yet, but I need to get to the truth of it.”
“Am I a clue or a pawn?” Her gut urged her to trust him, but Winchcombe might yet prove to be more dangerous to her than her uncle.
“Neither,” he answered without hesitation. “Equal partners, I should hope.” With his last words he held out his hand to her.
“I’d make a poor pawn, and I have nothing of value as a clue to my uncle’s schemes,” she said, thinking of the three unopened letters still clutched to her bosom. His outstretched hand beckoned, offering a way out of one unknown future into another. After another moment’s indecision she slipped her hand into his. “I’ll do what I can for as long as I am able.”
“I see.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but both the coachman and his postilion started making impatient noises. “Do you wish to continue your journey, miss?”
“I don’t think so.” Julianna mentally weighed the offer. Scotland was a vast unknown, but Winchcombe was a man who could get a letter to her father. Eldridge’s betrayal, the war, the sea journey, her aunt and uncle’s indifference, her cousin’s perfidy, it all crashed over her with a dark wave of melancholy, and her eyes filled with tears. “No.”
“Then don’t.” He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Turning to their audience, he shouted new instructions. “Her baggage, if you will.”
“I’ll not be returning the coin,” Mrs. Bunratty screeched out. “I’ve earned it, don’t think I haven’t. You’ll have no chaperone now, you stupid colonial pumpkin. Run off with a highwayman and see what trouble it gets you.”
“I am the Earl of Winchcombe.” Oliver pulled the silver domino from his face. “And this woman is—”
“His cousin,” Julianna supplied, placing her hand on Oliver’s arm. “I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Bunratty, but I assure you, I’ll be much more comfortable traveling in the bosom of my family.” The Potgetter sisters yelped and scurried back into the coach at the sight of Oliver’s scarred face while Hickson, shivering like a newborn lamb, raised his hands to the heavens. Even Bunratty flinched and clasped a hand to her bosom. “Keep the coin.”
“Perhaps this will help you forget this entire incident,” Oliver said, taking a step forward, holding up a gold guinea for all to see. As the postilion lowered his pistol, Oliver approached and tipped him and the coachman for their patience. That done, he bowed and offered a coin from his purse to Mrs. Bunratty, Hickson, and each of the Potgetters as well.
Once coin changed hands, Julianna’s lone trunk was quickly unfettered from the coach and carried to Winchcombe’s curricle. Oliver waited until the Edinburgh coach lumbered its way back down the road before putting the rein to his horses.
“The old hawk was right,” he said as his carriage took them farther and farther from the coach. “I relieved that coach of a precious jewel after all.”
She smiled. “You know…Jewel is the pet name given to me by my father when I was born,” Julianna explained. “My full name is Julianna Ruby Latham, but if you like, you may call me Jewel.”
“It’s appropriate. You shine like a precious gem among the paste and tarnish of the rest of the world.”
“My father used to say something like that.” Such poetic words from a man who barely knew her. It was leaps and bounds nicer than anything Eldridge had ever said. And Winchcombe had no idea how much it meant to her.
“Then I shall call you Jewel, because it makes you smile.”
“I’d like that.” She’d worry about pr
opriety later, for now she was relieved and hopeful.
“What?” He held his hand to his ear.
“I’d like that, my lord?”
“Oliver. Please call me Oliver.”
“I’ll do that.” A desperate giggle escaped her mouth. While only late morning, she was already bone tired. She had no idea where she was now headed or what was to become of her. She may have just jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
Julianna straightened her hat and smoothed the skirt of her dress just to give her restless hands occupation.
“I had meant to mention last night and again today, how very fetching—how lovely—how nice you look. I mean your dress is quite—is that puce?”
“No,” she replied with a small smile. “Cerulean.” As Oliver arched his unscarred eyebrow it occurred to Julianna that he might be one of those men whose eyes could not perceive colors. It could even be a consequence of the injury that scarred his eye. Either way, he was clearly unaccustomed to showering females with compliments. About as unaccustomed as she was to receiving them.
“Where, exactly, were they sending you?” he asked after a long pause.
“Not home. Where are you taking me?”
“Scotland.”
“What?” Julianna grabbed for the reins, but Oliver pulled them from her reach, urging the horses to the side of the road.
“Calm yourself before you get us both hurt. You are much more excitable than I gave you credit for. We are alone, far from either of our homes, and, as your former companion already pointed out, you are without a chaperone. We can make a dash for the border and procure an irregular marriage in Scotland over the anvil.”
“Marriage? Are you mad?” Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She’d never make it back home to her father.