An Arrangement of Sorts

by Rebecca Connolly

  Well, at least half of that was true.

  Still, she was very happy for them, and she had always intended on coming to Preston for a wedding. It had been a lovely, and very short, service, which was all she could have hoped for. The lovely part had been watching Maggie and Charles together, and practically feeling just how much they loved each other. The short part had been additionally wonderful, as Maggie’s quite extensive family was not conducive to remaining still for much longer than fifteen minutes, and that was only after Moira had bribed the youngest with the promise of sweets afterwards.

  But it was done now, and the couple was delighted, so everyone else was as well. All was as it should be.

  Almost.

  She sighed a little at the too-familiar ache, and shook her head. It was far too happy an occasion to dampen with thoughts of Nathan. She could do that tomorrow.

  She had no doubts she would.

  “Miss Dennison!”

  She looked up at hearing her name called and saw Mrs. Farrow waving at her from the boarding house, standing next to a man in livery Moira did not know, and only then did she see the coach standing out in front.

  “Miss Dennison, I’m so pleased you have come at this moment,” Mrs. Farrow gushed, wringing her hands a bit. “This man here has been looking for you. He says he is your coachman.”

  Moira’s brows shot up and she turned to the man, who bowed to her. “Mr. Jackson, at your service, Miss Dennison. And whatever you may think, I am to be your coachman for however long you and your husband have need.”

  “Husband?” she asked in abject confusion. “I haven’t got a husband, Mr. Jackson. Nor do I have any need for a coach, or a coachman, if you will forgive me.”

  He chuckled good-naturedly. “I’ll forgive you, Miss Dennison. But, if you will in turn forgive me, that makes no difference. I’ve been well paid to take you and your husband wherever you would like to go.”

  What exactly was going on here? There were far too many questions to ask, and her mouth worked to try and ask them all at once. Gradually, she managed, “Say that again?”

  He smiled and she was somehow able to notice that he had quite a good set of teeth on him, for a coachman. “I have been well paid to take Miss Dennison, as was, and her husband wherever they have need of going, or wherever they would wish to go.”

  “Wherever? How far exactly is wherever?”

  He squinted up at the sky, as if a map were written in it. “As far as the land will take us anywhere, I suppose. Don’t travel very well over water, now do I?” He laughed at his own joke, paying no mind to the fact that she was not laughing at all.

  “How well paid?” she asked suspiciously.

  Mr. Jackson gave Moira a very serious look, in spite of his smile. “Miss Dennison, I could take you all the way around England, Scotland, and Wales, and back again twice over, if you wanted.”

  That was rather well paid indeed. She swallowed back more questions, and went with just one more: “Who?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Mr. Jackson asked, leaning a bit closer.

  “Who paid you to take me and my imagined husband all the way to France and back again, if we so desired?” she asked in a very clear, more than slightly agitated voice.

  “Ah, that I cannot say, Miss,” Mr. Jackson said with a sigh. “He also paid me very well not to say.”

  Of course, he did. “If I paid you more, would you tell me?” she asked in a hard tone, getting quite fed up enough with these anonymous games.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps, but it would take a pretty penny to top his offer.”

  “If I guessed the identity,” she tried, her mind whirling, “would you tell me if I was right or wrong?”

  “I might,” he said slowly, his eyes amused. “But I might not.”

  Throat suddenly dry, Moira swallowed again. “The-the Earl of Beverton?” she asked, not sure if she was hoping for a positive or negative response.

  Mr. Jackson looked away. “Could be,” he replied evasively with another shrug, but his smile told her she was correct.

  “Why does he think he can do this?” Moira muttered, stomping her foot a little, knowing as she did so how childish an action it was. “I don’t even know him.”

  “He knows you, Miss,” Mr. Jackson assured her, still smiling.

  “Yes, so I’ve been told,” she sighed as she rubbed her brow. “He’s in love with me, am I correct?”

  “Well, that I don’t know, Miss,” Mr. Jackson admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “My wife says I don’t know anything about romance or that sort, but she is of the opinion that no man extends himself in such a way unless he is either very much in love or completely daft as a loon.” He shrugged again, which seemed to be his trademark. “I’ve never been able to tell much difference between the two.”

  Moira glowered at the man, who chuckled. “Thank you for that, Mr. Jackson.” She sighed, still very much troubled indeed. “I haven’t got a husband,” she said again, mostly to herself.

  “As I said, that makes no difference to me. I can still take you wherever you want to go, and can bring my wife for a chaperone for you.”

  “Well, I have no need of you right now, Mr. Jackson, but I…”

  “Moira!”

  She whirled at the sound of her name, and saw, to her great astonishment, Uncle George walking towards her at a rapid pace. She allowed him to take her briefly in his arms, but looked up at him in confusion.

  “Uncle George? What in heaven’s…?”

  “I came to inquire about the reward money,” he said, overriding her. “You wanted to anonymously donate some funds to this Younge family, which I applaud you for, but you have yet to withdraw the funds for the reward you requested. The moment I received your note, I came straight up to see to the matter.”

  “What do you mean, the funds were never withdrawn?” she asked slowly, an odd choking sensation starting in her stomach, of all places. “I spoke with the bank manager, and he…”

  “I do not know, child, but the funds are still there.” His furry brows snapped together and his eyes were troubled. “This is worrisome.”

  “No, this is suspicious,” Moira said, a glower forming on her own face.

  Without a word to him, she turned and marched to the bank, where the manager was found in his office, and seemed rather wary at her appearance.

  “M-Miss Dennison,” he stammered, trying to bow and get up from his chair at the same time. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Why have the funds for the reward not been released yet?” she demanded, throwing all pretense of politeness aside. “When I came here, you assured me that the moment my friend came in to retrieve it, the money would be his and available for his use.”

  “Yes, but he did not come in!” the bank manager protested, very nearly quaking under the combined indignation of Moira and Uncle George, who was not a small man by any measure.

  Moira rocked back, stunned. Did not come in? How could Nathan not have come in and collected the reward they had agreed on? But then, they had not precisely agreed on anything. Never once had he asked about the money he would receive. He had never said a word on the subject. Ever.

  She bit down on her lip hard, her heart swelling.

  “What do you mean he did not come in?” George asked, not convinced of anything yet.

  “No man came in for the reward, sir,” the manager insisted.

  “Well,” George said after a moment, sounding relieved, “that would change things. Perhaps we could just donate the funds you requested for the reward to this family, Moira. It would be prudent, as they are already available.”

  “Fine,” Moira replied with a wave of her hand, her mind still feeling as though it were working backwards. “That would be wonderful. See to that, would you, George?” Not waiting for him to reply, she stepped forward, engaging the trembling manager again. “Are you sure he did not come in?” she asked, needing to be certain it was not some misunderstanding. “Perhaps you did
n’t see him, but someone else did. He is very tall, rather muscularly built, dark hair, dark eyes…” Remarkably handsome, caring, amusing, polite, respectful, stubborn… The list continued on and on in her mind.

  The manager thought for a moment, then shook his head firmly. “No, Miss. The only man matching that description I have seen of late was the Earl of Beverton, when he came to secure an order for a rather expensive pianoforte.”

  Moira stiffened and all of the breath rushed out of her in one swift swoop. “Beverton?” she managed, her words halting and tremulous.

  He nodded. “Yes, Miss. He was just passing through almost two weeks ago, and merely requested we take care of purchasing and sending the instrument, along with his personal note, to…” He broke off, as if suddenly realizing that his clients, particularly the wealthy and powerful ones, expected privacy in their dealings.

  “To whom?” she asked through tight lips, her mind whirling.

  He wrung his hands, grimacing. “Oh, I really…”

  “Tell me.”

  “The Squire Cutler and family, Miss Dennison,” the bank manager confessed, looking as though he would like to put his hands up as a defense. “They are just outside of the town borders.”

  A shuddering gasp escaped Moira as her world began to slide very drastically into a realm she had never even imagined could exist. The boots… the bonnets… Squire Cutler… Her knees trembled and she gripped the manager’s desk tightly for support, her knuckles white. “Let me see the order,” she insisted, her entire body starting to tremble.

  “Moira, dear, are you all right?” George asked, taking her arm and looking at her with concern. “You look white as a sheet!”

  “The order, George, please,” she begged, feeling somehow both weak and emboldened at the same time.

  “Get her the order, man!” George barked, sending the manager racing to his papers. It took him only a moment, and then he was back before them again, holding it out for them to see.

  Moira’s eyes raced nearly as fast as her heart as she scanned the document and everything in her entire world froze as she caught sight of the signature of the Earl of Beverton.

  Nathaniel Hammond.

  She stared at it for what could have been days as far as she knew. The name seemed to leap from the page and burned itself into her mind. Nathaniel Hammond… the man she loved… was the Earl of Beverton. The same earl of Beverton who had bought her an entire wardrobe because she was to be married, who had sent her a coach for whatever she and her supposed husband might have need, who was sending a new and expensive pianoforte to the good squire and his family, the man who thought himself so in love with her that everybody who saw him knew it.

  He loved her. It had to be, it was the only explanation… but he had never said a word about it. She had hoped, and wished, and sometimes had thought… but then it was never certain…

  Well, it was fairly certain now, she supposed.

  Eventually, she realized that people were talking to her, and that her breathing had turned from a somewhat normal state into a series of rather loud, dangerously shallow gasps and her quaking body began to be seized by a fire of sorts. She felt at once unable to move and yearning to fly.

  Nathan loved her!

  “He… he loves me,” she managed to get out, only able to blink.

  “What was that, dear?” George asked, leaning close, worry creasing his brow.

  “He loves me,” she said again, her heart threatening to choke her.

  Poor George could only shake his head in confusion. “Who does?”

  She laughed breathlessly and clapped a hand to her mouth as tears welled. “He loves me!” She kissed George soundly on the cheek, then sprinted for the door to the bank.

  “Moira!” he called, following her at a run.

  She could hardly believe it. All this time, not only had Nathan been a rich earl, but he had been in love with her. She had one purpose now, one thing she was determined to do regardless of what anybody else thought or said or did. She was not going to wait any longer. She had waited quite long enough.

  “Moira?”

  She jerked slightly as Gwen touched her arm, having somehow managed to sneak up on her. “Oh, Gwen. Hello.”

  “Moira, what are you doing?” Gwen asked, looking worried and trying to match Moira’s frantic attempt at walking gracefully while running at the same time.

  “I am going to the boarding house, and then I’m leaving,” she said bluntly, picking up her pace even more. “Mr. Jackson!” she called out, seeing him standing there still. “I have need of you and your wife after all! At this very moment, if you can bear to!”

  “Of course, Miss Dennison, right away!” he replied with a grin, touching his hat. He vanished inside the inn, no doubt to retrieve his wife.

  “Mrs. Farrow, I need everything from my rooms brought down at once,” she ordered to the kind woman, who rushed off. “Quickly!”

  “Moira, what is this?” Gwen asked as Moira paced around anxiously in the taproom, watching as no less than six lads brought her things out to the coach. She had never been so grateful to have been slow to unpack in her entire life.

  “I’m leaving, Gwen,” she said again, unable to decide if she wanted to laugh or cry or shout or some combination of all of the above. “Now. I’m going to Hampshire.”

  “What?”

  Moira didn’t have time to give her all the details, as she saw Mrs. Farrow coming towards her with a valise and a parcel of food. She took it from her and thanked her hastily, then walked very quickly to the waiting coach, and the two Jacksons nearby, who were all smiles. She waved Mr. Jackson up to his seat, and Mrs. Jackson, biting back a grin, climbed inside the coach to wait for her.

  “Moira, what are you going to do?” Gwen asked as she followed.

  “I’m going to find Nathan, throw myself on his person, and beg him at the top of my lungs to love me,” Moira announced as she handed her things to Mrs. Jackson, then tossed her bonnet in the carriage as well. “And then I plan on beating him quite severely for lying to me. And then I plan on kissing him until I’m incapable of thought.” She grinned wildly at the last. The thought made her quiver even more with anticipation.

  Gwen looked bewildered, but stepped back from the carriage all the same. “But I thought you said a woman never throws herself at a man, no matter how in love with him she is!”

  “Oh, bother with what I said, Gwen!” Moira huffed as she hauled herself into the carriage. “Everything I told you is a load of rubbish if the man in question loves you in return! Go!” she called up to Mr. Jackson, who instantly snapped the reins and they barreled off at such speeds that no less than four people had to dive out of the way, and Gwen was left standing at the boarding house, slightly dust covered, but grinning from ear to ear.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Sleep was impossible. She had tried every day of her trip to manage it, but all that she had succeeded in doing was sink herself into a sort of dreamless dozing that varied somewhere between the conscious and unconscious, and was more exhausting than being awake. Her mind must have been overworked indeed, for not even her nightmares could find her.

  Eating was tolerable, but only just. Mrs. Jackson had insisted on meals, but much further than that, Moira could not bear. She was far too agitated and far too nervous to do much more than what was absolutely necessary.

  Mostly she thought of Nathan. Of their time together. Of the signs she had missed.

  He had backed away from those moments they had shared, where they had been so close to something intangible, because of her engagement, and he was, above all else, a man of honor. He cared for and respected her enough to honor the existing commitment she had made, regardless of how it might hurt him.

  She rather wished he had been a bit less than honorable in that regard.

  What surprised her was how he had managed to allow her to lead them and make all sorts of demands when he was not only a gentleman, but an earl. The very fact that he
had come along with her was shocking in and of itself, but to allow her such liberties…

  Why in the world didn’t he tell her off more than he had? She certainly deserved it, and he couldn’t have loved her from the beginning as he did at the end. What had made him come along? Why had he endured her endless torrent of absurd demands and questions and stories? Surely a peer of the realm, and an egregiously wealthy one at that, had better things to do with his time.

  “Perhaps I liked that you told me off before I had said four words,” his voice echoed in her mind. “Perhaps I liked that you could shut up my friends so effectively just by standing there. Perhaps I thought your story was touching and wanted to help. Perhaps I am really a gentleman and could not allow a lady to travel alone. Perhaps you fascinated me and I wanted to know more. Perhaps I wanted to tell you to shove off, but I just couldn’t do it.”

  She clamped her lips together and fought back a sob. Had he loved her then? Could he have imagined the battle that had been waging in her heart, with each wound growing deeper and deeper the nearer to Preston they traveled?

  All those times he had been watching her, all of those times he told her she was beautiful, all of those when it felt as though they actually were married, instead of pretending at it, all rushed through her mind. When had it started to become more of what she desired instead of only a role to be played?

  It would have been impossible to determine a place or a time or a moment. It was all of them together, every moment with him.

  What would she say when she saw him again? What would he say? She grinned as she imagined it. No matter what he thought of her, she highly doubted that he could imagine that she would come chasing after him in the very coach he had hired for her.

  No, she had reached heights, or depths, as the case may have been, that even she herself could not have predicted ever attaining.

  Love was funny that way.

  The coach started to slow and her heart jumped to her throat. Suddenly, every single part of her body was tingling with anticipation, and she very nearly shouted at Jackson to stop the coach so she could run from here, but she resisted. She could run at Nathan later, and she had no doubt she would. For now, she needed to at least pretend to be calm. She didn’t want the poor man to think her completely demented when she needed to convince him she loved him and only him.