Never Turn Away (Kellington Book Six)

by Driscoll, Maureen

  His companion could not stifle her laugh. “Are you all right?” she asked, moving to tend to him.

  “Don’t let go of the blasted animal! The only thing that hurts is my sense of decorum. I’m afraid I shall have to use my pistol.”

  “You’re going to shoot the rope?” she asked worriedly.

  “I’m going to shoot the sheep.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by laughter so infectious even Joseph had to join in.

  Once she finally caught her breath, she said. “I have an idea. If we put her on her side, it might immobilize her enough for you to cut the rope.” Then she began trying to get the sheep on its side.

  “Allow me,” said Joseph as he gently pushed the woman out of the way. With one swift move, he had the sheep on its side, holding it there until the woman was able to take his place.

  “How did you do that?” she asked.

  “I have had more than my share of experience subduing villains,” said Joseph, as he deftly cut the rope, then untangled it from the ewe’s feet.

  “And what crimes do you think this sheep has committed?”

  The ewe chose that moment to exercise her freedom by getting back on her feet and trotting away from them, with nary a bleat of thanks.

  Joseph could only shake his head. “Besides knocking both of us on our respective, uh, bottoms? She clearly lured you out into the cold and kept you from a warm fire.”

  “I am heartier than that, sir,” she said, with a sparkle in her green eyes.

  “But I am not,” he said with a grin. “I never knew the country could be so cold.” He looked at her, wishing he could see her face. He hadn’t come to Oxfordshire for a flirtation, but perhaps he had found one, anyway.

  “I wouldn’t judge Caversham so harshly,” she said. “You might find it to your liking if only you give it a chance.”

  They were interrupted by the return of the woman’s horse, who’d been wise enough to absent itself from the entire sheep debacle.

  “May I give you a foot up?” he asked.

  She nodded then he lifted her onto the horse, which she rode astride. He became hard at the sight of her seated thusly, despite the frigid temperature. Rocinante ambled over, no doubt anxious to be moving again.

  “That is a beautiful horse,” said the woman.

  “Rocinante shall have a swelled head to hear it,” he said, mounting.

  “And are you taken to Quixotic missions?”

  Joseph couldn’t have been more pleased. His flirtation was with a reader. This was getting better by the moment. “In a way, you could say I am. My name is Joseph Stapleton and I’m a Bow Street Inspector in London.”

  “And what brings you so far afield?”

  “I’m helping a friend. The Duke of Lynwood.” He suddenly felt self-conscious. This woman might be in awe of someone as exalted as Lynwood. And the last thing he wanted was to put up barriers between them. “While I am honored to call Lynwood my friend, I must admit I am still not at ease in the world of the toffs – a world I visit only infrequently, I might add. I’m still just a working man from Cheapside. I don’t fit into Lynwood’s world, though I call him and his family friends.”

  “I see,” said the woman, carefully.

  Joseph could feel the chasm between them widening. “Truth is, I have little use for the peerage in general. Too often they abuse their privileges and expect to get away with whatever they want.”

  “I certainly agree with you in that assessment.”

  There, that was better. “I sometimes wonder if just a bit of adversity might be good for them every once in a while. Some of them seem almost useless. The reason I’m here is that there’s a Lady Evelyn Williams in these parts who asked for Lynwood’s help. He speaks very highly of her, and I do wish to be of assistance, but I hope she’s not a typical lady who cannot even brush her own hair.”

  “Yes, I can imagine how that would be tiresome,” she said. “Well, this is my home.”

  Joseph turned his senses away from her long enough to register the country manor in front of them. A terrible suspicion crept into his mind. “Are you in service here?” he asked, as he dismounted.

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said, as a groom came running to take her horse.

  Joseph reached up to help her dismount.

  She let him.

  As she slid to the ground, she said “I am Lady Evelyn Williams.” Then she removed her scarves and hat to reveal red hair that fell down in waves. “And I brush my own hair.”

  Joseph wanted the ewe to butt him in the head again.

  * * *

  Evelyn could not believe her luck. The good and the bad of it. Unmarried at almost five and twenty, she was considered on the shelf, though that didn’t stop the annual pilgrimage of fortune hunters who chose to take their holidays in Oxfordshire hoping to win her favor, since it was well known she rarely travelled to London.

  It wasn’t like she’d ever foresworn marriage. Quite the contrary. She’d looked forward to it as a young woman anxious to build a new life after the death of her father when she was eighteen. But she soon came to the rather lowering realization that her wealth seemed to attract more suitors than her personality. Not that she thought there was much wrong with her personality. She was loyal, gave to charities and tried to help her neighbors whenever possible. But she was also well-read, inquisitive and could not summon the ability to tolerate sapskull male suitors. She was a bluestocking and proud of it, though it seemed to give men a distaste of her. She had come to the conclusion that regardless of whom she might marry, she would still have to live with herself. And she had no desire to be a ninny.

  She’d had a few disappointments since her come-out. Men she thought would like the real her, but liked her money more. One well-meaning gentleman had even told her she would be better served if she appeared to be less smart and more agreeable. She had responded by telling him he would be better served with more time spent in a library and less time dispensing asinine advice.

  But though she had more or less accepted her spinster state as a permanent one, it didn’t mean she had lost interest in men. It was all academic, of course. She was still a maid and though far from the gossips of the ton, country neighbors could be just as unforgiving of the indiscretions of an unmarried lady as those in London. She raised enough eyebrows as it was by running her estate herself instead of depending on a male relative.

  But she rather liked running things herself and there really wasn’t a close male relative whom she could trust. Her three cousins had all been more than willing to assist, as long as they could supplement their own incomes with the proceeds. They were always hard up for money, having wasted their blunt in gaming halls and on mistresses.

  Not that she was supposed to know of such things, of course.

  One of her cousins had even offered his services to both run the estate and to see to her more intimate needs since his wife would almost certainly never visit the country to find out. That he was the current Earl of Larsen, the title he’d inherited from her dear father, made the offense all the worse. She told him she was interested in neither part of the proposition and that she looked forward to having a nice long coze with his wife when next she was in London.

  So Evelyn had been leading a satisfying, if not slightly lonely, existence in Oxfordshire. If not for her recent troubles that had prompted her to contact the Duke of Lynwood, she would be quite contented with her life.

  At least that’s what she tried to convince herself to be true on long, lonely winter nights.

  She knew the Duke of Lynwood, though not well. He and the Kellingtons had rarely visited the Oxfordshire estate through the years, but she’d kept Lynwood abreast of important county news when warranted. His estate was well run and the families of the county held him in high esteem.

  She’d been most unprepared to meet his representative. And, quite frankly, had she known she would be meeting a tall, strong man with dark hair, chocolate brow
n eyes and a day’s whiskers upon his chiseled jaw, she might have dressed with more care. Actually, that wasn’t true. She’d gone to that field in search of her ewe. It would have been ridiculous to dress any differently than she had. Truth be told, the problem began not when he evidently thought her a farmer’s daughter, but when he realized she was a lady.

  This Inspector Stapleton had treated her not as an heiress, but as a normal farm lass. He had joked with her and even laughed at himself. She certainly hadn’t encountered many men like him through the years. But then everything had changed when she’d revealed who she was. Though, really, she couldn’t have resisted teasing him about brushing her own hair.

  Now they were at her house and it had grown awkward between them.

  “Lady Evelyn, pray forgive my bad manners,” said Joseph with a bow. “Had I known…”

  “Had you known I was an earl’s daughter and not a shepherdess, neither of us would have enjoyed ourselves quite so much.”

  “I didn’t come to Caversham to enjoy myself, my lady.”

  “What a pity,” she replied in barely more than a whisper. She was astonished by how bold she was being, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so much. She did not wish to revert to the formality demanded by their different stations.

  The inspector cleared his throat. “When might I call upon you to discuss the issue that is troubling you?”

  “If you wish, we might discuss it over supper. I am sure my cook can give us a hot meal to warm ourselves.” She was disheartened to see a fleeting look of panic or dismay or perhaps even mild horror in the handsome inspector’s eyes. She could have hit herself for having been too forward. But, really, the thought of continuing their banter from earlier was so much more enticing than yet another evening of dining by herself with the winter cold outside her windows. Not to mention it would be a relief to finally discuss the situation with someone who might be able to help.

  Inspector Stapleton reclaimed his composure. “While I thank you for the kind invitation, I had only just arrived from London not a quarter of an hour prior to meeting your stubborn ewe. I am in sore need of a ba…”

  Here he stopped himself, discomfited. Evelyn wondered whether the man was actually thinking he’d offended her by mentioning he needed a bath. Or mayhap, dear God, he was afraid she would ask to join him.

  Stapleton continued. “I am not presentable enough to be in the presence of a lady and I believe dinner awaits me when I return to Nodgley.”

  “Jasmine Manor.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “It is known as Jasmine Manor. I am told the late duchess was particularly fond of jasmine. The grounds are covered with it in spring, so that is how her duke referred to it in her presence. The proper name is Nodgley, but Jasmine Manor suits it much better, do you not agree?” She winced inwardly. Had she really become so bird-witted that she would natter on about nonsense? That was a trait she could not abide in others. Yet, the more she tried to impress the handsome inspector, the more insipid she became.

  He must have been thinking along similar lines because he simply stared at her, until he finally said, “As you say, my lady. Perhaps I should call upon you at nine of the clock? Or, would it be more convenient at a later hour?”

  “Nine of the clock would be quite convenient, thank you. Shall we meet at the sheep pen? I am sure there are any number of ewes who would like to make your acquaintance.” Again, the panicked look. “That was a jest, Inspector.” And not a very clever one. “I believe nine of the clock over a cup of coffee might be best.”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, all but jumping on his horse to be away from her. “I shall see you then.”

  “Yes,” said Evelyn softly, as she watched his fine form ride away from her. “I shall be looking forward to it.”

  * * *

  He was a bloody imbecile. A bloody, bloody imbecile. Joseph was so upset with himself that Rocinante sidled, earning a soothing pat from his master. How had he not known she was Lady Evelyn? The accent alone should have given her away, though he could not think of any other ton lady who would have gone to the aid of a ewe, other than the Kellington females.

  For one moment, he thought he’d found a woman he could while away his time with in the country. She was beautiful, well-read and not afraid of physical labor. She’d made him laugh and the fact that she had the laugh of an angel hadn’t gone unnoticed. But not only had he made erroneous presumptions about who she was, he’d insulted her class.

  For a Bow Street Inspector, he’d proven himself remarkably dense.

  He arrived back at Jasmine Manor – it truly was a better name than Nodgley – and a bath was sent up in short order. He wasn’t quite sure where he should have his supper. Eating in the servants’ quarters was where he’d feel most comfortable, though he had a feeling the staff would not be able to act themselves in his presence. But he certainly did not want to eat alone in the dining room. So, in the end, he asked that a plate be sent to the sitting room in his luxurious suite.

  Later, as he enjoyed a glass of brandy, he looked out at the moonlit landscape. The lack of noise was a welcome change from the bustle of London, but eerie nonetheless. He wondered what it was that had prompted Lady Evelyn to enlist Lynwood’s help. Even on such short acquaintance, he could see how independent she was. It would take quite a bit for her to solicit the duke’s assistance.

  He might not be able to make up for his lapse in manners. But he would do whatever he could to solve her problem, then he would depart for Lynwood Manor to report back to the duke. It was what he’d promised to do.

  Why, then, did he wish to linger? With that troubling thought, he drank the rest of the brandy and readied himself for bed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next morning, Joseph arrived at Lady Evelyn’s home at nine of the clock, having been ready to depart for his journey a good half hour earlier than necessary. He hesitated briefly, wondering whether he should present himself at the tradesman’s entrance. In London, he always used the main entrance as a matter of principle. It was his way of showing members of the ton that while they were his social betters, they were not above the law. But in this instance, he had a feeling Lady Evelyn would simply laugh if he arrived anywhere but at the front door.

  The decision was taken from him because he’d no sooner dismounted and handed Rocinante’s reins to a groom, than the door opened and the butler showed him to the sitting room.

  Lady Evelyn was dressed in a purple morning gown that highlighted her red hair and green eyes. It was not the elaborate design often found in a London drawing room, but, rather, a simple yet elegant gown that highlighted her curves. Because of the old greatcoat she’d worn the day before, he’d been unable to discern her shape. He’d spent much of the previous night letting his imagination run wild with how she might appear. Today, it was apparent his imagination hadn’t done her justice. Her breasts were not overly large, but would nicely fill his hands. Her slim waist gradually gave way to shapely hips and her legs stretched onward for a pleasing distance. She was tall – the top of her head reached almost to his nose – and she smelled of jasmine.

  He shook himself out of his stupor and made his bow. “Lady Evelyn, thank you for seeing me this morning.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Since I am the one seeking assistance, I should be thanking you.”

  “I am only acting on the Duke of Lynwood’s behalf.”

  “But it is you who is here. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Thank you.”

  The butler served the coffee, then after a nod from his mistress, took his leave. Out of habit, Stapleton subtly surveyed his surroundings. In London, he could often make an accurate assessment of someone’s finances simply by noting the condition of the curtains. This room had a homey feel, almost cozy, despite its considerable size. It was devoid of the obvious signs of wealth found in the homes of those who liked to show off their worth. That didn’t mean Lady Evelyn didn’t have money,
of course. Perhaps she just had more taste than most of the peers he’d investigated in London. She had what appeared to be a rare edition of the works of Shakespeare that could fetch a good price if sold, which meant the lady’s problem likely wasn’t blackmail. But, if her problem wasn’t money, what was it?

  Before he was forced to ask, she cleared her throat and turned her lovely eyes to him. “I am rather embarrassed to tell you my problem, Inspector. But I suppose I must.”

  “Pray suffer no discomfort on my account, my lady. I assure you that I have seen much of the world in my work at Bow Street. I hardly think you can shock me.”

  She smiled. “I need your assistance in finding a husband.”

  His surprise was evident. “Perhaps I spoke hastily a moment ago. No one has ever asked me to do that before. May I ask why this is a problem? I would think there would be any number of candidates for you to choose from.” He hadn’t quite meant to say that last bit aloud. But, really, the idea that this goddess should have difficulties finding a husband was preposterous.

  “Thank you for the compliment, sir, but perhaps I should be more specific. I need to find a husband before year’s end and, while I suppose that might be possible since I am in possession of a reasonable fortune, I was hoping to find a husband I would like to marry, not just one it is possible to wrangle to the altar.”

  “Like the sheep,” he could not resist saying.

  She could not prevent her laugh. “I believe I had my fill of wrestling obstinate creatures yesterday. I should not like to repeat the process with a husband for the next fifty years.”

  “Why must you marry by the end of the year?”

  “My father passed away shortly after my eighteenth birthday. His will left me the estate and more than enough money to live on. However, if I do not marry by my birthday next June, the land will revert to the current Earl of Larsen, as will the fortune, except for a yearly stipend. It was my father’s way of looking after me, though I dearly wish he would have left well enough alone.”

  “So you must marry by June.”