With her heart thundering in her chest, she squeezed her eyes shut again and began to pray.
“No, please, don’t hurt me!” she screamed, but still no impact came. Instead, there was a voice.
“I will not harm you, Miss Nightingale,” it said.
“How do I know you will not?” she demanded to know, her eyes still shut tight.
“You have my word, Miss Nightingale,” the voice replied. It was surprisingly well spoken and definitely masculine in tone.
Emmy slowly opened her eyes. “How do you know who I am?” she asked, realising he had called her ‘Miss Nightingale’.
Standing in front of her was a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, dark hair held back by a ribbon of some sort.
He had a full, bushy beard and a haggard look about his face. In the darkness of the woods, it was hard to see what colour his eyes were, but she had a feeling they were blue. Whatever colour they were, there was a sadness in them—a haunted quality that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“I have seen you wandering the gardens,” the man said.
Immediately, Emmy backed away. “What are you, some sort of vagrant? Are you going to murder me?”
The man gave a tight smile. “I am no vagrant, nor do I wish you any harm. I am the hermit here at Davenham Park. I reside at the hermitage down by the waterfall,” he explained.
“Your father kindly gave me permission to reside there, to carry out my penance, though you would have no reason to visit there yourself. That is, undoubtedly, why you have no knowledge of me or my presence here.”
“A likely tale,” Emmy countered, continuing to back away.
“Miss Nightingale, you may enquire with your father, if you wish,” the man suggested. “He will corroborate my ‘tale’, as you so charmingly put it.” There was no hint of sarcasm in his words.
He genuinely sounded charmed by her turn of phrase.
Emmy paused. Indeed, it didn’t seem as though he wished her any harm. At any point, he could have rushed at her with the stick he still held in his hand, but he did not—he simply stayed where he was, not coming too close.
“If you do not intend to harm me, what is the stick for?” she asked.
Again, he smiled. “There appears to be something of a fox problem in these woods. I was dealing with said problem when I stumbled across you. It would seem you disturbed them,” he explained.
“Oh,” Emmy murmured.
It was so obvious now. The scream she’d heard had simply been the sound of foxes crying in the night. It was a sound she had heard many times before, but when heard in the fearful setting of a darkened wood, in the depth of the night, it became truly terrifying.
“You must excuse the manner in which I have presented myself, Miss Nightingale. It is not proper to meet with a young woman alone in a wood at night, but I could not help stopping to see if you were in need of assistance,” he continued.
“You look lost, if you do not mind me saying so.”
She blushed. “I am lost, Mr… I am sorry. I do not know your name.”
“Of course. Where are my manners this evening?” he sighed. “My name is Mr Smith. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Nightingale. Do tell me, are you the elder or the younger daughter?”
“I am Miss Emmeline Nightingale, the younger daughter,” she replied anxiously, still not sure whether to trust this odd, bearded stranger who had appeared out of nowhere to get her out of a pickle.
“Wonderful. Then do allow me to escort you out of these woods, Miss Emmeline,” he said, altering his term of address accordingly.
“If it is not too improper, might I offer you my arm, so the walk may be easier for you? I do not wish you to stumble and fall in that gown.” He was holding out his arm in the proper manner, offering her the top of his hand.
She smiled, resting her palm on his hand, feeling suddenly grateful for his presence. “Thank you, Mr Smith.”
With him leading the way, Emmy followed the hermit out of the woods, marvelling at the way he could tread the right path even though it was pitch black.
Despite herself, she found there was something thrilling about wandering through the woods with a stranger, feeling the brush of his skin beneath hers, though it was much too indecent to say so aloud.
Perhaps the evening had not been entirely dull, after all.
A short while later, they emerged from the trees. The sound of music still drifted down towards the woodland, and the blazing lights of Davenham Park were calling Emmy home.
She had expected Mr Smith to leave her to walk up to the house alone, but he did not. Instead, he continued on with her, all the way up to the bottom of the rose gardens.
“I wish to ensure you return to the house safely, Miss Emmeline,” he said, pausing by the surrounding wall.
In the glow of the house and the flicker of nearby torchlight that stretched to where they stood, Emmy could see that Mr Smith was scruffier than he had seemed in the dark and did not fit his voice at all.
In fact, she was quite taken aback by his appearance.
There was a smooth, appealing tone to his voice, but the face it belonged to was unkempt and fatigued, his shirt collar open, his trousers looking as though they’d seen better days.
“Emmy, is that you?” Nora’s voice hissed from nearby.
Emmy’s head snapped in the direction of her sister’s voice. “I’m coming!” she whispered, wanting to take a moment to thank Mr Smith for his kind help.
When she turned back, however, the peculiar hermit was gone.
Chapter Six
Penance
Chapter 6
Mr Smith ducked behind the wall of the rose garden, moving swiftly around to the other side so he could get a better view of Emmy.
He did not wish to be seen by the person who was calling to Emmy, though it pained him to disappear in such a rude manner.
Now she would undoubtedly think him a boorish vagrant, if she did not already.
Peering around the side of the masonry, he permitted himself a final glimpse of her. She was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the house lamps, her dark eyes gazing out towards the empty garden, a bemused expression upon her face.
“Mr Smith?” she whispered into the darkness.
As much as he felt he ought to reply, Mr Smith held his tongue.
If the woman who had called Emmy’s name were to come out and find him there he would be in untold trouble. Lord Nightingale had made it very clear that he was to remain at the hermitage and have no direct contact with the inhabitants of Davenham Park. If, out walking in the woods, he were to come across one of the Nightingale brothers, he might call out a welcome, but that was where his interaction had to end.
Thus far, he had never encountered one of the Nightingale sisters, though he had caught sight of them through the trees from time to time. Always, on such occasions, he would make himself scarce, not wishing to frighten them or to invite the wrath of Lord Nightingale.
Now, with his hopeful eyes gazing at Emmy, he prayed she would not breathe a word of their meeting. He had only wanted to assist the lost young woman, but he knew Lord Nightingale might not see it like that were he to hear of it.
Just then, another woman emerged into the rose garden, pushing through a billowing curtain to reach the still-perplexed Emmy.
Mr Smith knew this fine lady to be Nora, the other Nightingale sister, though she now bore the unfortunate title of Lady Hodge.
Mr Smith had seen the brutish baron positively screaming at the beautiful Nora just that morning, raising a hand to strike her, though a soft, pained plea from the exquisite young woman’s lips had prevented it from landing.
He had wanted to step in and defend the young lady’s honour, but he knew what men like Hugh were like; they did not take kindly to being taken down a peg or two in the company of their wives. Mr Smith was certain he would have been hauled before Lord Nightingale had he attempted to stand in the way of their marital dispute.
She was beautiful indeed, her delicate features illuminated by the glow that spilled out of the house like molten gold. However, for Mr Smith, Emmy was the more charming of the two. There was a vitality and humour to her, alongside a perpetual glitter in her eyes, that he found endlessly captivating.
“Where have you been, sister?” Nora asked, taking Emmy by the hand. It was not a stern gesture but one of genuine concern.
“I heard Mama calling, and I could not bear the thought of returning to the ballroom,” Emmy began, a touch breathless. “Nora, I thought I might go for a turn about the gardens, but I ended up in the woods, and found myself lost in the darkness.”
Mr Smith held his breath as he heard her words, knowing he was about to be exposed. Sorrow gripped his heart. The hermitage at Davenham Park had given him a peace and serenity that his troubled mind had longed for, and now it was about to be taken from him. Still, he could not blame Emmy. It was her duty to inform her family of where she had been and what had happened to her.
“Goodness me, are you quite well? You are unharmed?” Nora gasped, pulling her sister to her in a warm embrace.
Emmy smiled. “I am quite well. I…” She trailed off, her eyes glancing at the spot where Mr Smith had disappeared.
“I saw the lights of the house between the trees and found my way back. I have not worried anyone too much, have I?” she asked, clearly thinking better of telling the truth.
Mr Smith felt a wave of relief wash over him. Emmy had not handed him over to the jaws of fate, and for that he was eternally grateful. The thought of losing his hermitage was almost more than he could bear after the suffering his heart and mind had already endured over the last few years.
“Well, I have succeeded in putting Mama off the scent, and she is suitably convinced that you have retired to your bedchamber,” Nora said in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “However, sister, I fear she may attempt to investigate for herself, in due course.”
Emmy nodded. “Then it seems I must away to bed,” she replied, flashing an irreverent grin.
As the two young women returned indoors, Emmy paused on the threshold for a moment, her gaze resting on the darkened gardens.
Mr Smith watched her, feeling thankful that she was safe and sound, back where she belonged. He was amused to see that the hem of her beautiful, coral gown was damp, the edges muddied by the undergrowth of the woods. That would take a little more explanation, he knew, though he felt calmer in the knowledge that Emmy would not unmask him as the one who had brought her back.
No, there was something infinitely trustworthy about the young woman.
Satisfied that his duty was done, Mr Smith stole away, heading back down the rolling lawns, towards the woodland. It was second nature to him now, to wander the woods at night, but he could understand how someone might easily lose their way.
Everything shifted and changed when darkness fell, morphing the familiar into something entirely alien.
He walked the way Emmy had done, realising where she had gone wrong. Instead of taking the path that forked towards the bridge, she had carried straight on, missing the path entirely. Had she continued on in that direction, he knew she would have, eventually, stumbled upon the hermitage. It lay off to the right of the more well-trodden track, leading up to a steep cliff of rock, where a tumbling waterfall met the babbling river, the water churning up before meandering on its merry way through the woods.
His home was built to the side of the waterfall, the slate roof permanently dripping, whilst the stone walls were perpetually slick. The rush of the plummeting, frothing water was his eternal symphony.
As always, a line of dim lamps flickered along the narrow path leading up to the small, stone house, lighting the treacherous route around the edge of the waterfall’s pool.
It was a long way down, and there were jagged rocks below, all the more dangerous in the pitch black of night. Even in daylight, Mr Smith preferred to take his morning swim by climbing down the rock face instead of diving straight in, on the slim chance he might misjudge his descent.
Using the lamps to guide him, he stepped into the surprisingly toasty house and moved straight over to the hearth, where he held his palms to the flames and let the heat warm them.
He wasn’t particularly cold, but he enjoyed the sensation on his skin and only removed his hands when the heat grew too intense.
Feeling fatigue begin to creep through his bones, he wandered over to the narrow bed tucked away at the side of the small house and began to undress. Pulling off his shirt and removing his trousers, he drew a nightshirt over his head and lay back on the bed, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, his ears listening to the roar of the waterfall and the steady drip-drip of the roof slates.
His mind drifted towards thoughts of the beautiful girl in the coral gown, though he knew it wasn’t proper to do so.
And yet he could not help it. It had been pure accident that had brought them together. The screaming bark of foxes had brought him out of his stone house, and when he had followed the sound, wanting to frighten the foxes he had seen them circling Emmy, darting in and out of the trees.
In truth, she would not have been in much danger if they had chosen to nip at her heels, but the thought of an infected bite had urged Mr Smith into action.
Sternly, he pushed the thoughts from his mind. It was not part of his purpose here, at the hermitage, to befriend any of the Nightingale family. The lord of the house was kindly permitting him to stay, and he would not jeopardise that, not even for a face as beautiful as Emmeline Nightingale.
Besides, he knew she would never look at him as anything other than the vagrant he was. Nor did he want her to.
No, he would forget her, and continue on with his quest for penance.
That was the only way he could put his life back together.
Chapter Seven
The meeting
Chapter 7
Emmy yawned across the breakfast table, hurriedly covering her mouth.
Nora flashed her a warning look, but she was too weary to pay it much heed.
The men of the house had already eaten breakfast and gone out to fish in the river, leaving the two young women to the mercy of their mother.
“You forget yourself, Emmy!” Lady Nightingale barked. She was sitting near the head of the table, her eagle eyes darting towards her youngest daughter. “And I am uncertain as to why you are yawning in such a manner when you took to your bed at such an early hour! You were quite missed. Honestly, to disappear like that without so much as a by-your-leave... I was quite embarrassed.”
Emmy struggled not to roll her eyes, knowing it would only get her into further trouble. “Please accept my apologies, Mama. I felt particularly unwell after dancing with that last gentleman,” she retorted, forcing a saccharine smile onto her face.
Nora snorted into her toast, turning it swiftly into a polite cough.
“It is like living in a house of buffoons!” Lady Nightingale cried, slamming down her tea cup. “I ask one thing of you, Emmy, and you cannot bring yourself to do it, not even for your beloved Mama.”
Emmy scowled. “I did everything you asked of me, Mama. I was courteous, I danced gracefully, I did not drink too much, and I indulged in bland conversation with every gentleman you placed before me.”
A stalemate bristled across the table, interrupted only by the clink of china and the scrape of cutlery. Emmy bit into her slice of toast with remarkable aggression before washing it down with a large, loud gulp of lukewarm tea.
Her mother glared at her, evidently knowing that Emmy was only doing it to rile her. Before long, Emmy could see a vein pulsating in her mother’s temple—a sure sign that she was about to blow.
“Well, it is no matter, because you are fortunate enough to have me as your mother,” Lady Nightingale said at last.
“There were several interested parties, despite your early absence from the dancing, and I have taken it upon myself to browse said parties and invite those
I deem the most suitable to stay with us, here, at Davenham Park,” she added, narrowing her eyes in the direction of Emmy, who chose to ignore every word.
“You may do as you please, Mama,” she sighed, resisting the urge to say, “you always do,” as she finished off the rest of her breakfast.
“And you promise me you will be courteous to whomever I choose?”
Emmy nodded. “I am perpetually courteous, Mama,” she replied through gritted teeth before excusing herself.
Nora followed soon afterwards, catching up with Emmy in the entrance hall of the house, where she was putting on her boots.
Lady of a Recluse Earl Page 5