***
For the hundredth time, at least, Nicholas watched Jane try to straighten the silly-looking hat perched on top of her head. Thwarting her at every turn, the autumn breeze continued to push the thing this way and that, tugging at the strands of dark hair she must have tucked with such care beneath. The long pins had loosened, though, and the waves of hair threatened to escape, and only the dark veil covering her face kept the foolish thing anchored.
The older sister had not appeared at breakfast with the rest of the family. And even afterward, Nicholas had seen no sign of her until he and Clara had walked to their horses waiting in the paddock. She was waiting for them there amid bustling grooms and stable boys. Arrayed in black, she sat astride her ebony mare, a sight to behold. No sidesaddle delicacy for this one. Jane Purefoy was a “goer” in every way.
Except, of course, for that ridiculous hat.
The breezes stiffened as they rode north across open fields. Though the sun shone brightly overhead, to the northwest clouds lay like a tattered shawl over the round-shouldered peaks of ancient gray mountains. In his mind’s eye, he could see so clearly the vision of Jane last night, riding the same animal, carried along on wind and the storm. He’d fervently wished to catch up to her before she returned to her room. He could only guess why she wouldn’t want to speak to him, too—if only to satisfy her curiosity about him. Nicholas had discovered her secret, but how much was he to reveal—and to whom—had to be a gnawing question. And Jane Purefoy didn’t strike him as a very patient person.
The wind continued to buffet them. From his vintage point, riding half a dozen lengths behind Jane, Nicholas could see that she had finally pushed up the dark netting over the narrow brim of the hat.
On impulse, Nicholas spurred his steed forward, suddenly desirous of a glimpse of her face. Upon hearing him approach, though, Jane nudged her mare, keeping the safe distance between them that she’d maintained since leaving Woodfield House. For an insane moment he considered laying his riding crop onto the flanks of his mount and daring her to race with him. But the thought of Clara straggling along behind checked him in time.
He reined in, suppressing a frown as he waited for the younger sister to reach him. Unlike Jane, she sat fashionably sidesaddle and appeared a little flustered. Coming up beside him, she reached up to adjust the delicate, feathered hat that she was wearing.
“I’m so sorry. I see I should have chosen a livelier horse this morning.” She patted her brow with the back of her gloved hand and tucked some of the golden curls under the hat. “I am not as horrid a rider as you must think. It is just my choice of…”
“Not at all. You ride well,” he complimented, pulling on the reins of his steed so it would fall in step with hers. He could see that Jane had slowed down ahead and was pulling the veil back over her face. “It is for me to apologize for not keeping to your pace.”
“No, sir,” she said softly. “No apologies are warranted, I assure you.”
Nicholas’s attention again was drawn to the tantalizing image of the expert rider ahead and the cruel game that she was playing. She was once again staying just ahead of them. Close enough to torment, but not close enough to be touched.
“I’ve been wondering, Miss Clara,” he said, nodding his head in Jane’s direction, “why it is that your sister refuses to ride with us?”
“She…I assume…I should think she doesn’t want to intrude.”
“Intrude on what?” His words were tinged with mockery, and he cleared his throat to correct his tone. “What I intended to say is that there could be no intrusion, and this would be a far more comfortable ride if we could travel together. I had very little time to converse with your sister last night, and frankly I fail to see why the three of us shouldn’t spend an hour enjoying each other’s company.”
“I should very much like you to become better acquainted with my sister,” Clara responded, and Nicholas watched Jane again reach up and adjust the abominable hat.
“Would it help if we both were to approach and tell her that she would not be intruding upon our conversation?”
“I fear that my sister has a mind of her own.” The blue eyes turned to him. “I hope you believe me when I say that it wasn’t my idea for Jane to be riding so far ahead.”
“I do believe you. But if you would allow me to pry a little into your family’s affairs, I have a question I’d like to ask you.” Nicholas continued after receiving a cautious nod from Clara. “I’ve been quite perplexed since meeting Miss Jane yesterday. Could you tell me why it was that your sister did not accompany your family to London this past spring?”
“Certainly. That was Jane’s choice. She has made a habit of never traveling with the rest of us.”
“Why, then, did your family never mention that there was an older daughter?” Nicholas directed a piercing look at her. “Was it Jane’s decision, as well, not to be acknowledged by either parent or sister? Tell me, Clara, was your sister dropped by gypsies in her infancy at your parents’ door?”
“Hardly, sir!” Clara’s gaze fell on the reins looped tightly around her gloved hands. “Jane is my only sister, and very dear to me…to all of us.”
“And yet you have no answer for the secrecy surrounding her existence? Though I am not particularly opposed to a little mystery…or scandal, either…I must say that there is a hint of both in the air at Woodfield House. But perhaps I should take this up with Sir Thomas.”
“I…well, as you see fit, sir. But I can tell you honestly that my sister never had any desire to be presented in society, as I have been presented. She had no balls thrown in her honor. There were no callers courting her. Jane never had any intention of choosing a husband from London’s ton.” She hesitated. “My parents, however, had different plans for me. It is no secret, and there is no shame in admitting to you that my parents took me to London for the purpose of arranging a proper marriage.”
And given the right title and qualifications and wealth, Nicholas thought, anyone wearing breeches would have sufficed. Once again, the business of marriage reared its mercenary head, and Nicholas found himself repulsed by the idea. To him, the entire process wasn’t much different than the owner of a likely mare going to a country fair and choosing a stud. All that was left was to haggle over the price…and Sir Thomas was, no doubt, well prepared for that.
As they rode on in silence, thoughts of the marriage of his friend Stanmore to Rebecca Neville last year sprang to his mind. Before leaving for Ireland, he’d made a short trip to Solgrave to meet the new member of their family. Samuel Frederick Wakefield was borne at the end of July. With the older boy, James, home for the summer and doting on the new baby, Nicholas could not recall ever knowing a family as content and happy as the Stanmores.
Starting up yet another of the rolling green hills that seemed to go on forever, Nicholas couldn’t help but wonder if Rebecca and Stanmore knew how lucky they were that they had so completely avoided the ordeal of bartering for a spouse. Yes, he was certain that they did indeed know.
But, he thought with a pang of guilt, when all was said and done, how different was his own approach to finding a wife than the approach used by the Purefoys? Not very, when one came right down to it.
Up ahead, at the top of the hill, Jane was withdrawing a pin to adjust the hat when a strong gust suddenly tore the thing off her head and sent it—veil and all—swooping past them like some tattered and malevolent raven. In an instant, Nicholas had wheeled his horse and, drawing his sword, leaned down and pinned the thing to the ground. Raising the hat like a trophy on the point of his sword, he did his best to look embarrassed as he turned back to the two women. Gingerly, he pulled the hat from the weapon and sheathed his sword as he rode back to the sisters, who were staring at him wide-eyed.
Jane’s face, however, was all Nicholas had eyes for as he approached. With her hair now loose around her shoulders and dancing in the wind, her dark eyes were watching his every movement as he approached. Once again, he sa
w the woman he’d knocked down the day before. As he drew nearer, his gaze took in all of her—from the tips of her black boots to the proud chin and bruised mouth. He could not stop himself from staring at her sensual lips and wondering about their taste.
“Well, sir…” Jane said as he reached them. She seemed flushed and breathless, as if she’d been guessing at the direction of his thoughts. “It appears you’ve not only run it to ground; you’ve dealt it a death blow!”
“I fear that I have.” He inserted a gloved finger where his sword had cut the beaver skin. “And I insist on buying a replacement at the first opportunity.”
“No need,” Jane responded. “I can wear it as is. When we get back to Woodfield House, I am certain Fey can mend it…well, somehow.”
She extended a hand for the hat, and Nicholas nudged his horse nearer. But just as Jane’s hand was about to close on the brim, he released it. As if shot from his hand, the thing flew off again, carried away on another gust of wind.
Jane watched the hat take flight. Instead of going after it, Nicholas enjoyed the close study of her pretty face this close. “I see you shall have to allow me to find a replacement, now.”
“It was actually our mother’s,” Clara said softly from behind before pulling her horse abreast. “I assure you that she shan’t miss it.”
Jane watched the hat tumbling across the moor for a moment before turning her attention back to her sister. “Well, as fate would have it, I fear I cannot escort you to Ballyclough, after all. But if you could make my excuses to the Reverend Mr. Adams and Mrs. Br…?”
“No, Jane. You promised to come.”
“I know I did. But under the circumstances of my appearance…”
“The parson already saw the bruise on your face last night.”
“But Mrs. Brown has not.”
“It doesn’t show so much in the light.” Clara leaned over and touched the other woman’s arm. “You look fine, Jane. Tell her, Sir Nicholas, that she looks fine.”
“I would say that Miss Purefoy looks far better than fine,” he offered quietly as his gaze caressed her face. “I should be greatly disappointed if she were to rob us of her charming company on such a pleasant day.”
A soft blush actually crept into her cheeks, and Nicholas was happy to know that she was not totally immune to his words.
“Come, Jane. Please? Parson Adams has been after you for some time now to come to Ballyclough, and we are almost there.”
A look of frustration crossed the older sister’s fair features, and she glanced again in the direction that her hat had flown off. It was still visible far off in the distance, the veil caught on a bramble while the hat itself dangled in the mud of what appeared to be a water-filled ditch.
“Jane!” Clara’s insistent and pleading tone made it clear that she didn’t want to be left alone with him, and this suited Nicholas perfectly.
“I shall escort you to the edge of the village, but no farther. There I shall leave you and ride over to visit a friend near Buttevant. If you insist, though, I shall return in time to have a very short visit with Parson Adams before returning to Woodfield House with you.”
Clara was obviously relieved, and the three again turned their horses northward. Before Jane could move ahead of them again, though, Nicholas immediately directed the conversation toward her.
“I must say, Miss Jane, that I am quite surprised that your family would approve of you riding off on your own—to that Buttevant place—without an escort. No fears of the Whiteboys?”
“None, Sir Nicholas.” She kept her gaze straight ahead. “They have never been known to remain in the same area after an incident such as the one yesterday. Are you concerned, sir?”
“Not at all.”
“And how is your arm today?”
“Much better. And your face?”
“I am very well, thank you.”
Nicholas suppressed a smile, and the three rode along in silence for a moment.
“Those were capital storms last night. Either of you have any difficulty sleeping?”
“Sleep is just about the only thing that Jane holds precious in life,” Clara offered. “In fact, part of my sister’s crankiness this morning has to do with being awakened too early in the day.”
“I sympathize with her completely,” he replied casually. “As a creature of the night myself, I had difficulty going to sleep last night. So I ended up going outside and watching the storm from the safety of the archway facing the stables. It is amazing how enchanting the night could be when one spends some time in it.”
Jane cast a questioning glance at him, and Nicholas held her gaze. Her eyes darkened, sparkling like sapphires, and he reveled in the knowledge that he had again captured her attention.
Clara’s voice broke in. “There is the village. Small but quite charming, don’t you think, Sir Nicholas?”
Ahead of them, nestled in a valley and surrounded by a patchwork of brown, harvested fields and green pastureland dotted with a few cows and more sheep, lay the cluster of cottages. Up against an ancient castle at one end of the village, the squat gray tower of a chapel could be seen.
“The castle was built by the Desmonds centuries ago,” Clara said, following the direction of Nicholas’s gaze. “The Purdens live there now, but we don’t associate with them. And there is also a limestone quarry at that end…”
“I shall be on my way, then.” Jane reined in her horse and turned it toward a road heading east. “I shall see you again some time this afternoon.”
Nicholas tried to think of some objection, some excuse that would keep her with them. “It is too bad we cannot accompany you on your visit to Buttevant. I should very much like to see more of this countryside.”
Jane’s look told him there was no chance in hell that she would be taking him along.
“That is a fine idea, Sir Nicholas. Why don’t you go with Jane to Buttevant?” Clara’s remark brought the others’ heads around sharply. “It is fine horse country, you know. Why, the valleys along the River Awbeg are famous throughout Ireland. Even the Irish here are riders from childhood. My father often sings the praises of the fine animals he’s seen and purchased from the folk who raise them along the river.”
“But I am not visiting any horse traders, Clara.” Jane’s words were spoken through clenched teeth. Her dark eyes were flashing.
“I know that, but it would be much safer,” Clara assured her pleasantly. “And while you are visiting your friend, I’m certain Sir Nicholas wouldn’t mind waiting in the village and enjoying the beautiful scenery. There is even a ruined abbey there, rumored to be as old as any church in Dublin. It’s quite lovely, really.”
“You don’t say,” Nicholas responded with interest.
“Excuse us for a moment, will you?” Jane pushed her horse toward her sister. Her whispered words were intended only for Clara, but Nicholas could not help overhearing them.
“Why are you doing this?”
“You know why.”
“I give you my word that I’ll be back. I shall go alone!”
Clara shook her head, and Nicholas could see the color rising in the face of the older sister.
“I believe Sir Nicholas is correct about the possibility of the Shanavests still lingering in the area,” Clara said out loud, turning to him. “Would you do my sister the honor of accompanying her to her friend’s place and then back here, sir?”
He looked from one sister’s happy face to the other’s tense one. “Are you quite sure Parson Adams would be agreeable to this change in plans?”
“Absolutely.”
“But what about you? I shouldn’t care to see you slighted.”
“Not at all, sir.” Clara gave him her brightest smile ever. “I suggested it, did I not? Actually, I am looking forward to spending some time in the parson’s company. And with you keeping Jane safe from roving bandits, sir, I shall have the peace of mind that both of you will return shortly. I’ll see to it that Mrs. Brown has tea wa
iting for you.”
“If that is your wish…?”
“Then it is settled.” Clara smiled and touched her riding whip to her mare’s flank. “We shall see you soon.”
“What about me?” Jane protested, watching her sister descend the hill. A small flock of sheep separated as the younger woman approached them. “No one asked me if I am willing to take him along?”
Nicholas nudged his horse between Jane and her departing sister. “I’m very sorry, Miss Jane, but it appears you are stuck with me for the remainder of the morning. Now, will you try to recall some of your English charm and hospitality and at least pretend to tolerate me?”
“I think not, sir!” She glanced meaningfully at his arm. “You couldn’t handle me at your best, yesterday. But if you are not careful, today may prove infinitely worse for you.”
CHAPTER 8
“Miss Clara, how lovely to have you here.” Mrs. Brown met the guest by the door of the parsonage. “The parson was hoping that you wouldn’t mind waiting in the parlor and entertaining your company until he gets back. He was called away unexpectedly and he feared he might be a wee bit late in getting back. But wait, miss, where is your company?”
The housekeeper peered out at Clara’s solitary horse tied by the gate in front of the parsonage.
Sunlight glinted in the puddles still standing in the rutted road that led through the village. Though the wispy smoke from a dozen cooking fires colored the breezes over the thatched roofs, the village was nearly deserted. Only a few ancient chickens, a goat in a stone enclosure across the way, and a workman carrying a load of sticks on his back at the far end of the hamlet hinted of other inhabitants.
“My sister needed to visit a friend in Buttevant, so I sent our guest, Sir Nicholas, with her. I wanted to be sure Jane would get back here in time to visit.”
“Good for you,” Mrs. Brown said encouragingly. She closed the door and led the way down a narrow passage toward the parlor. “We do not see enough of Miss Jane’s bright face these days. There’s not a day that goes by that someone in the village is not inquiring after her health or asking when her next visit will be. She is greatly missed here, I assure you, and I know for a certainty the parson has been concerned about her absence from Ballyclough.”
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