“What do you mean ‘get you through college’?” he asked. “What sort of college could you have attended?”
She hesitated. “I went to . . . school. You must realize our education system is different from yours. I probably am more educated than most women you know, but that’s beside the point. What I’m saying is, at least your father doesn’t resent you. You know, fathers are never perfect anyway. Down deep, I know my father loves me, and I’m sure Lord Solebury loves you. I can see it in the way he looks at you. Have you noticed that he watches you all the time?”
Did Solebury truly pay him inordinate attention? David shrugged off the reflection and guided the horses down a dirt lane. “This is the Browns’ cottage. Our first stop.”
He jumped off the box and retrieved one of the baskets from inside the barouche. By the time he circled the vehicle to help Leah, she had already climbed down on her own.
“This is where they live?” she asked, gaping at the cottage.
He glanced at the tiny shack, which appeared ordinary in every way, except, perhaps, that the roof had been thatched more recently than most tenants’ homes. “Yes.”
A woman came to the door, a babe in her arms and two smaller children at her apron strings.
“Mrs. Brown?” Leah stepped forward and offered her hand, an unexpected courtesy that David respected. “I’m Leah Cantrell. I’ve offered to deliver Lady Solebury’s food baskets for her today, so she can have some time to rest.”
“Goodness, I hope her ladyship is well.” The woman curtsied to Leah’s outstretched hand. “The babe ain’t comin’ yet, is it?”
“No, not yet.” Leah hunched down to smile at Mrs. Brown’s youngest, who gurgled in return. “She’s precious. She is a girl, right?”
David looked on with interest. Whatever doubts he held about Leah, he had none about her professed belief in equality. He liked the easy familiarity she showed to this poor family--to him, for that matter. She had known about his birth from their first meeting and never demonstrated a hint of disdain. Even if she had told the truth about her parents, she had still been born legitimately. He had not.
“Yes, she’s a girl, ma’am. A handful, though.” Mrs. Brown recounted some of the troubles she had caring for her other children with her newborn crying whenever set down.
David listened to Leah express her sympathy with a complete lack of reserve. His admiration heightened as she turned to tying shoelaces, wiping noses and prodding the older children to the well, where she helped them wash their hands and faces before sitting them down to a luncheon of bread and cheese.
When they returned to the barouche, he told her, “You certainly exceeded your duty to the Browns. One does not often see an elegant young lady tending the rather inelegant needs of poor children.”
“They’re no different from any other children,” she said with a dismissing wave of her hand. “And ten minutes of my time is nothing compared to the lifetime that woman will spend running after those kids.”
He shook his head. “Your views are so unusual. American society must be rather more extraordinary than I imagined.”
“I do come from a different world. Not that the society I’m from doesn’t have some major wrinkles in need of ironing out, but I hope the wrongs are slowly being righted. And I think you personally might find some advantages there.”
As he stopped in front of the next cottage on their route, he assumed she meant his birth would be better accepted in her country, and he supposed she had a point. In a land where titles meant nothing, missing out on one would have little consequence. He would still be illegitimate, of course, but with his family thousands of miles away, who would know or care?
Over the course of the next few stops they made, the idea of emigrating to America began to take root in his mind. As he watched Leah chat openly with tenants, he found himself intrigued by the concept of a land where all were regarded equal. He wondered why he had never before considered that he might find greater acceptance overseas.
Furthermore, if Leah represented the typical American, he had to admire the self-reliance of the people. He stood amazed at cottage after cottage as she voiced strong, sensible opinions. At one sickbed, she forcefully discouraged the practice of bloodletting--a view he shared, after witnessing many soldiers die from the procedure. At another house, she prescribed oranges, lemons or limes for prevention of scurvy, an idea new to him, but somehow one he trusted when expressed so confidently. At another stop, she penned a letter in crisp handwriting, more lucid than any he had ever before seen, for an illiterate woman with a brother fighting on the Continent.
By the time he brought the last two baskets up on the box of the barouche, his mind whirled. He made an effort to concentrate on the task at hand, consulting a list that Phoebe had given him. “We seem to be finished. The only house left is the Banfields, and they are the family with smallpox. The other basket must be a spare.”
“There’s a note on the handle.” Leah plucked off a folded paper and opened the message. She grinned and said, “This one is for you and me. Lady Solebury urges us to picnic at the grove beyond Oxhead Stone. Do you know where she means?”
“Yes, she refers to a secluded creekside clearing that is a favorite of the marquess’s.” David’s stomach rumbled at the thought of eating, and he privately commended Phoebe for providing extra food. “The creek is not far past the Banfields. Would you like to stop?”
“I’d love to.” She sighed and looked up at the clear blue sky. “The weather is perfect. But about the Banfields–I can still deliver their basket. I’ve been exposed to smallpox before, and I can’t catch the disease.”
This show of courage topped all the other strengths she had demonstrated already. Naturally, he could not agree to her suggestion. “Your courage is commendable, Leah, but just because you escaped infection once does not prove you immune. This time, you could be less fortunate.”
“Actually, in a way, I have been infected.” She lifted one of the short, puffy sleeves of her dress and revealed a starlike scar on her upper arm. “This is a pock mark.”
“That cannot be,” he said, affording the scar a mere glance. “Survivors of smallpox are always severely disfigured.”
“This is the only mark I have, but I know I am immune.”
He looked at her with skepticism. Surely, she did not believe that single mark represented survival of smallpox. Did she have a death wish? His mind flew back to the suicide theory.
“I cannot allow you to risk your life,” he said. “If you won’t think of yourself, think of Phoebe and the baby. If you fell ill, you could infect them. In any case, I recall that one of Solebury’s grooms has had the disease. He can deliver the basket.”
“Okay,” she said. He recognized the strange term as a concession. “That would probably be best.”
They rode past the Banfields and on to the grove. After they had spread out a cloth they found in the basket, they pulled out the picnic fare. Phoebe had supplied fresh-baked breads, cheeses, fruits and wine. They attacked the feast, eventually settling back to enjoy the peacefulness of nature. To David’s astonishment, Leah had no scruples in stretching out on the ground like a young lad might. Her resemblance to a boy ended with the curves accentuated by such a posture.
He wrenched his gaze from the rise of her hips, reminding himself that he had pertinent questions for her. Still, he could not seem to think about espionage. Instead, his mind kept returning to the admiration he had felt for her all morning.
“You were marvelous today.” His own words sounded alien in his ears. He had sometimes commended soldiers on their conduct but never a woman. “Are all Americans so self-reliant?”
“You’d consider me self-reliant?” She propped herself up on one elbow, her raised eyebrows registering wonder.
“Decidedly,” he told her, surprised by her surprise. “You are confident in your opinions--and rightly so, for your judgment is very sound. To speak as frankly as you do, you are by far t
he most self-assured woman I know.”
“Are you serious?” A smile alighted on her lips. “I’ve always considered myself meek. But, you know what, I’m resolved to live up to the strength you give me credit for. The events of the last few days have made me take a look at several areas of my life that I’ve left stagnant for too long. If I ever get back to . . . back home, there are some major changes I plan to make.”
“You aren’t certain you will return?” he asked with a sinking in his gut. Surely, he hadn’t been thinking he might visit her in America--had he? He must have simply hoped she would share his new enthusiasm for her country.
“No.” She sighed and mustered a smile. “But if I don’t return, my life is already changed, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. You reveal so little about your life.”
She pursed her lips. “I have my reasons.”
“What atrocities can you possibly need to hide from me?” Once again forced to ponder her involvement in espionage, he sat up. “What could you have to fear from me?”
She sat up, too, rubbing her temples. “You did once threaten to lock me up in Bedlam.”
He winced at the smallness of her usually confident voice. Reaching forward, he lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “I only said that to keep you from trying to leap into the spring again. I never intended to commit you to an asylum.”
“If not, you still might, after I tell you everything.” She moved free of his grasp and began packing up the leftover food, plates and utensils. Only when she had folded the cloth and returned it to the basket did she look at him again. “If I confide something that sounds crazy to you, can you promise to keep it to yourself?”
“Of course.” He tried not to show the excitement that surged in him.
She pressed her lips together, studying his face. “I’m really at your mercy, David. If your family throws me out of the house, I have nowhere else to go.”
“I promise,” he said, his mind racing, “as long as what you tell me entails no harm to them.”
“I would never harm such nice people.” She stood and took several steps away before turning back to face him. “I’m from the future.”
Her abrupt statement made no sense, but the gravity of her expression unnerved him. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t really understand either. I’m not even sure how to attempt an explanation.” She chewed her lower lip. “Before you found me at the spring, I lived in the future--at the beginning of the twenty-first century. The other afternoon, I took a tour of Solebury House that ended with a visit to the spring. I found that gold coin . . . well, the details don’t even matter. In short, I fell into the little pool but felt as though I’d been sucked into an abyss. I thought I was going to drown. Then you pulled me out, and suddenly it was 1825 . . . almost two hundred years in my past.”
He stared at her, clinging to a thread of hope that her solemn face might dissolve into laughter, revealing the story for a jest. As seconds ticked by with no change in her expression, nausea began gnawing at him.
“Just before I fell in the water, I had tossed a coin into the spring--a coin from this time period. I think that’s what instigated my transport.” She frowned when he didn’t respond, her voice quavering. “I know the story sounds crazy.”
Crazed, indeed, but she showed no other signs of madness. On the contrary, she appeared all sense and intellect. Was she lying then? Only the worst sort of fabricator could come up with a tale so fantastic. And for what purpose? To hide spying activities? To conceal her identity because of some crime in her past? He turned away from her, thinking, for a minute, that he actually might be sick.
“I can tell you all about the future, if you want to know,” she said quietly. “Maybe if I reveal enough, you’ll realize I couldn’t have made everything up. I’d have to have a very active imagination to--”
“Enough,” he erupted. He took a minute to breathe deeply, quelling his chagrin by exchanging it for rage. How stupid could she think him? He stalked toward the barouche, tossing back over his shoulder, “If you want a ride back to Solebury House, you had best step lively.”
“David, wait!”
He could hear her snap the basket lid shut, then her footfalls as she ran up behind him.
“I know this is hard to believe, but I think I can convince you if you’ll give me a chance.”
“Have you not insulted my intelligence enough?” He couldn’t bear to look at her. Turning away, he opened the carriage door. “You can ride inside.”
For a moment, she stood still, then he listened to her climb into the carriage.
When she spoke again, her tone sounded high-pitched and urgent. “When you calm down a little, I want to talk to you, David. Please.”
He let the door bang shut and climbed onto the box. On the way back to Solebury House, the horses could not gallop fast enough for him. He passed the whole ride agonizing for the moment he could rid himself of his deceitful passenger.
Unfortunately, he could only avoid her for so long. She could scarcely be trusted enough to leave her on her own.
CHAPTER NINE
“Thank you again for delivering the baskets, Miss Cantrell,” Lady Solebury said, enveloped in a pile of pillows. Eyes clear and cheeks tinged with pink, she looked reassuringly healthy after her day in bed. “And thanks, too, for coming up to chat with me about the tenants. I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed our little coze.”
“My pleasure.” Leah shifted her position in a well stuffed armchair beside the bed, thinking just how much a pleasure it had been to escape to her ladyship’s room. If a barreling ride home inside the carriage hadn’t been enough to make her regret trying to explain the truth to David, his constant glares during dinner certainly had. She still didn’t know what to expect from him ultimately. This very moment, he might be telling his father that he thought she should be committed.
She swallowed and tried not to expect the worst, refocusing her attention on Lady Solebury. “I’m happy to be of use to you. I feel bad for imposing on your hospitality so much, but for the time being, I’m afraid I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
The marchioness smiled. “You are welcome here for as long as you like, dear. Now that I am confined to this bedchamber, I am doubly pleased to have company--not that I want you to feel you must pass all your time with me. Indeed, tonight you have entertained me far longer than you should have done. I ought not to have kept you from the gentlemen.”
“I’ve enjoyed our talk,” Leah assured her. Her ladyship’s accounts of nineteenth-century life had been fascinating--and she hadn’t missed David’s stony looks one bit. “Besides, I think your stepson had his fill of me this afternoon.”
Lady Solebury gave her a crooked smile. “I rather doubt that. My husband told me David brooded all through dinner, but you must not imagine his sulking is directed at you. As bright a young woman as you are, you cannot have missed the tension between him and his father.”
This evening all the tension had been between him and her, but Leah chose not to enlighten her on that point.
“I’ve noticed it, all right,” she said, “and I think David’s bitterness is a shame. He really should try to lighten up. I told him as much this morning.”
“Did you, indeed?” Her ladyship pulled herself up into a sitting position, stuffing pillows behind her back. “I don’t imagine he accepted your counsel graciously.”
She let out a short laugh. “Not at all. He told me to mind my own business. I suppose I should have.”
“On the contrary, I believe your words may already have had an effect on him. David has spent this entire evening with his father, an event I have unsuccessfully tried to orchestrate since marrying into the family. In fact, last night was the first time since his childhood that he has sat down to dinner with his father. Until this current visit, David has confined all his calls to an hour at most.”
“Really?” Leah was surprised but didn’t delude herself about he
r powers of influence. If David’s staying longer this time had anything to do with her, it was only because he wanted to keep an eye on her. Still, if his distrust forced him to deal with his father, maybe her presence did some good. Bringing the two men together might even be her “purpose” here in the nineteenth century--if she had one.
“Really.” Lady Solebury grinned. “I suspect the two of them have even concocted some kind of conspiracy between them.”
Leah couldn’t share her amusement. She could only see David colluding with Lord Solebury if he had a very good reason . . . to protect Phoebe from an insane houseguest, for example.
“What makes you think they are conspiring?” she asked, every muscle in her body tense.
With a glance toward the open hall door, the marchioness lowered her voice. “When I remarked to Harold about David’s unusual willingness to spend time with him, he told me they had specific business to discuss. I asked what sort of business, but he put me off, claiming it didn’t signify. Now, if the matter weren’t important, I am certain David would not tolerate his father’s company. Clearly, they are scheming together.”
Leah’s anxiety rose to panic level. They had to be discussing her. What other matter would concern them both so deeply? Right now, David was probably relating everything she’d told him, recommending that she be locked away forever.
She looked at the doorway, half-expecting the men to charge through and drag her out of the house. But they wouldn’t want to upset her ladyship, especially after last night’s scare. They would wait at least until Leah left the marchioness’s room. Did that leave her a chance to save herself somehow--to come up with a better story? Or maybe run away?
“I think I comprehend their game,” Lady Solebury continued, her lips curving upward. “They are plotting to construct a priest’s hole. Do you remember David’s mentioning he wanted to speak with Harold this morning?”
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