Jim picked his way along the path back to his campsite. Mr. Danvers had not had any newspapers but had said he kept any left by guests, and Jim was welcome to read any he did find. There was no mention that purchase of a meal would be required, but Jim thought he probably ought to if a newspaper was found. He considered it a minor success. However, he hadn’t done as well as he’d hoped with the snares he’d tried placing on his way to town. In fact, he had gotten absolutely nothing if you didn’t count four leaves and a fair bit of skin from his own leg, but then he’d never lived in the country for any length of time, unless you counted a few weeks at farming villages on the outskirts of London, so he hadn’t expected it to be his strong suit. And while he’d managed to light a fire with a spark from some rocks that morning, he had the feeling that had been luck more than anything, and he probably shouldn’t rely on being able to do it again for cooking. He had managed to find some blackberries, and there were the apple trees that weren’t technically in the farmer’s orchard. Fishing was always a possibility, but only if he could figure out how to light a fire again, and while the rain had let up, there was no guarantee it would stay that way long enough for him to keep a proper fire going. And then he’d need a way to catch the fish. He’d heard it spoken of among Madame Rosamond’s clients, but he had never actually fished himself.
He was concentrating so hard on how to go about constructing a fishing rod that he didn’t realize his camp had been invaded until he was almost upon it. But he did notice in time to duck behind a tree and look for the interloper. He’d gotten his camp set up nicely, just how he wanted it. He didn’t like the thought of giving it up to some vagrant. But he liked the thought of fighting for it even less. He crept close enough to see who was there.
The man was sitting in the lean-to and had his back to Jim. It almost looked like Lionel, but what would he be doing there? Just because Jim had imagined him there all night, sitting in the lean-to, talking with him. Kissing him. And then...
Jim was so caught up in his fantasy, he almost didn’t believe his eyes when the figure turned, and he could see the face in profile. Lionel’s face. It was Lionel. For an instant, he considered turning and running back into the woods, away from Lionel. Then he wouldn’t have to talk to him. Wouldn’t have to say good-bye again. But that was foolish. Lionel was there, waiting for him. It was too good of a chance to walk away from, no matter the reason. Jim crept back far enough so that it wouldn’t be obvious that he had been spying then approached at a more normal pace. When he was within hearing distance, he tried to sound casual as he said, “Sir Lionel? Is that you?”
“Jim? This is your camp? And I thought I said you were to call me Lionel.”
Jim shuffled his feet. So Lionel hadn’t been tramping through the forest, hoping to find him. Well, that had been too much to hope for anyways. “For the moment.”
Lionel relaxed against the tree. “Then I can tell Farmer Curlew there’s no poacher, only a traveler stopping by. Yes, I am ignoring those snares in your hand.”
Jim gave Lionel a sheepish grin. “Does it count if I didn’t catch anything?” He held the snares out for inspection.
Lionel laughed. “I suppose not, although those are the most unique snares I’ve ever seen.”
“Maybe that’s why they didn’t work.” Jim shoved the snares into his pocket. “It is my first time.”
“Making them yourself?”
“Seeing them.” Jim laughed a little. So maybe snares weren’t quite the same sort of knots he was used to, but he didn’t want to share that joke with Lionel.
“I thought all lads in the country learned how to make them. It certainly seemed that way when I was young.”
“This is my first time being out in the country.” That wasn’t truly a lie. He wasn’t about to tell Lionel about the time he spent at Lord Dixon’s country house near London. Besides, that didn’t really count as living in the country, not when he’d never left the grounds while he’d been there.
“I thought you were planning on growing plants and selling them.”
“Oh, I can grow things.”
“But if you’ve never been to the country...”
“You can grow things in town. At least, I could. I used to have pots of things on my windowsill, and Madame Rosamond—she was someone I worked for—even let me grow some things in the little bit of lawn she had behind the house, although most of that went to the cook for meals for the guests.” Why on earth had he mentioned Madame Rosamond? But then Lionel knew about his past. Maybe it wasn’t a disaster. He hurried to distract him nonetheless. “I figure if I can grow things in the middle of London, the middle of Northumberland should be easy.”
“I suppose it would be.” Lionel glanced at the newspaper. “How is your search for a country cottage coming along?”
Jim saw the paper was opened to the article that mentioned Dixon. He had to get Lionel’s attention away from that before he said anything about it. “Nothing too interesting so far. I did read a long, detailed article on a horse market. Do I need to know about horse markets to live in the country?”
Apparently, the distraction worked. At least Lionel stopped looking at the paper. “I shouldn’t think so. Only enough to buy yourself a horse if you needed to. I’m afraid I’ve never been to one myself. The boys from the stable are always too excited by the prospect, and I don’t want to spoil their fun. But you said you read the article, so that means you can read?”
Jim was prepared to take offense, but Lionel sounded thrilled by the knowledge, which took some of the sting out of it. “One of the proprietresses, Madame Rosamond again, actually, offered lessons to anyone who wanted them. She thought it made us seem more refined, and some of the clients liked us to read to them from scandalous books.”
“I get all the papers at Hensley House. If you’d like to come by and look through them, you’re welcome anytime. In fact, you could stay at Hensley House and read them as soon as they come. There’s plenty of room.”
Jim wanted to accept, but he could see the article on Dixon lying on the rock beside Lionel. Lionel would never understand. And he didn’t want Lionel to find out. “I’m fine here.”
“But it looks like rain again.” Was it his imagination, or did Lionel seem disappointed?
“I’ll be fine.” He’d leave in the morning. There was no way he could stay with Lionel so close and not go looking for Hensley House.
“If you’re certain.” Lionel rubbed at the back of his neck then stood and started for the path. “Hensley House is about an hour’s walk in that direction if you change your mind. I’ll let the staff know there’s a chance you’ll be coming, so you won’t have to worry about being admitted. If you should decide to come. You’d be welcome.” Lionel turned and almost ran from the campsite.
Jim dropped his stolen apples near the newspaper and sat under the lean-to. If only he could accept Lionel’s offer. He sat back against the tree and started on one of the apples.
Lionel walked briskly towards Hensley House and away from Jim. He’d already all but begged him to stay twice, and Jim hadn’t wanted to. Doing it a third time would do nothing but make him look a complete fool, and he certainly didn’t want to do that, not in front of Jim. But then perhaps he already had. He had almost run from Jim just now. Lionel forced himself to slow down. If anyone else saw him running through the woods, who knew what they’d think. He finished the walk to Hensley House at a more sedate pace, at least until it began to rain again. Certainly, no one would think it odd for him to be running home in what was threatening to be another downpour.
Lionel managed to arrive back at Hensley House just as the worst of the rain was starting. When he arrived, Harrison was waiting at the door for him, ready to take his wet things. “Was your mission successful, sir?”
“Yes, thank you, Harrison.”
“I had Bessie warm a dressing gown for you in the study, and there’s hot tea.”
“Thank you.” Jim would still be out there, tho
ugh, in the cold rain. But he had clearly said he didn’t want to come. Lionel started for the study. There was plenty of work to be done; it would get his mind off of Jim —at least, he hoped it would.
“Would you like to send word to Mr. Curlew?”
“What? Oh, the poacher. It wasn’t a poacher, merely a traveler looking around.” He spotted the newspapers stacked on the table, some local, some sent from London. “Someone I met in London, actually. I told him he was welcome to call here if the weather proved too bad for him. Jim Smith, if he should happen to call.”
“If Mr. Smith calls, I’ll tell the staff to be prepared.”
“And send him to me immediately if he does. I’ll write something for Perkins in case Curlew left word with his house before coming here. When the weather clears, someone can go and tell Curlew that his report was investigated. And I suppose they should bring him something for doing his duty.”
“I’ll see to it, sir.” Harrison bowed and left.
Lionel put on the warmed robe and brought a cup of tea to the desk to begin tackling the problem of how to write a report that made it clear Jim was not a poacher without spending the entire time daydreaming about him.
Jim was quite proud of himself. He’d spent the entire afternoon sitting in the rain with no company but his thoughts and an increasingly worn and out-of-date newspaper, and he hadn’t once tried following the path Lionel had taken, even though he’d been invited to Hensley House again. Not that he hadn’t been tempted, but he’d left the newspaper open to the article on Lord Dixon, and that reminded him of the difference between them. He knew he should have left the area already, made for whatever village he could find that was not Lincoln-on-Marsh, but he told himself it would be foolish to set out if it was going to start raining. No, far better to stay in the small shelter he’d found and leave when the weather cleared. He even managed to pretend that it was true when the rain started falling in earnest and he curled up in the driest corner of the shelter to reread the one newspaper he had.
He didn’t mean to think of Lionel, but as the rain pounded the lean-to, Jim began to feel drowsy, and it was very hard not to simply lie back and think of what would happen if he took Lionel up on his offer.
That was, until the rain beating against the lean-to found every loose space between the branches and started to drip on him. Jim ripped up the newspaper and stuffed it into the holes. He didn’t need to see Lord Dixon’s name to remember what he was and why he could never do more than dream of Lionel. But there was nothing wrong with a nice dream. One where he was in Lionel’s bedroom, which he imagined as something like the rooms at Madame Rosamond’s but more subdued and softer—softer bed, softer sheets, softer light. And in the dream, he’d never been to Lord Dixon’s, so there was nothing to hide from Lionel. No reason not to stay as his concubine, a position that was far nicer than Lord Dixon’s version. And he would take such good care of Lionel. Listening to all the troubles he had because of his brother and his businesses and the magistrate, rubbing those shoulders that thought they needed to hold up the world, or at least his corner of it, until the tension left them. Removing the cravat that was always slightly askew, kissing his way along the side of Lionel’s neck as he loosened the fastenings of his shirt, then following the edge of the fabric with his tongue along Lionel’s chest until he reached the end of the gap, then pulling the shirt over Lionel’s head and revealing the whole of his chest.
Jim was snapped out of his reverie by a crash of thunder. Thunder meant lightning, and even though he had never been out in the country before, he knew the woods were no place to be in a storm like the one he heard approaching. Between trees felled by the wind, frightened animals, lighting strikes, and rain-swollen streams, it was only sensible to seek sturdier shelter. And the only shelter he knew where he could be certain of his welcome was Hensley House. It was a practical matter, not one motivated by anything else. Or so he told himself as he grabbed up his bag and started for the path Lionel had taken. Jim hoped if he repeated that enough times, he’d come to believe it.
Chapter 8
***
HENSLEY HOUSE WAS MORE OR LESS what Jim had expected: large, old, and a bit intimidating. He walked around the house until he found what he thought was the kitchen door and knocked on it. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if no one heard him. Keep knocking, he supposed, although running back to the village was starting to seem like a good option. Mr. Danvers was the sort of person who would give him space on the kitchen floor on a night like this.
On the second knock, the kitchen door was opened by a tall man in a dark suit. The butler. Jim swallowed.
“May I help you, sir?” It was said with just enough disdain to put Jim in his place.
Jim was very tempted to say no, but as he was forming an apology for disturbing them, there was a crash of thunder. “Sir Lionel said I could come. Jim Smith?”
The butler immediately stepped aside. “Come in, come in. He said you might call, but we were expecting you to use the front door. Bessie, get him something to dry off with.”
“I...” Jim realized saying his sort didn’t use the front door would cause Lionel embarrassment. “I didn’t want to track mud all over the floor.”
“Very considerate of you.” The maid he assumed was Bessie handed him a towel. “I’m the one would have to clean it up.”
The butler glared at her, but Jim grinned. Bessie was someone he understood. “Happy to help. I’ll leave my shoes by the door?”
“If you wish,” the butler said. “I’ll announce you to Sir Lionel. Peters will see to your carriage.”
“I didn’t come by carriage.”
“In this rain?” the butler said before remembering himself.
“I was just in the woods by the stream.”
Now the butler was interested. “You didn’t see a spotted nutcracker, did you?”
Jim assumed that was a bird. “I’m afraid not, just a couple of robins and a lark.”
“I see. Danvers at the White Hart swore he saw a spotted nutcracker last week, but I told him it was impossible this far west. Still, I had hoped.”
“I’m not very good at birds,” Jim said as he toed off his shoes. “I live in the city. I know more about plants.”
The butler nodded. “Yes, yes, I used work at Sir Lionel’s townhouse, and it was very difficult to pursue bird-watching there. I was pleased when he bought this place. So much more convenient. But plants in the city would seem hard too. But I’m forgetting myself. I’ll announce you to Sir Lionel.”
Jim followed the butler to the stairs. He wished he could say the kitchen was fine for him and just stay there, but that would make them wonder why Lionel had invited him at all. The silent, rigid back in front of him made him nervous again. Speaking about birds had seemed to warm the butler up, so Jim started talking. “Plants were tricky, but there’s always the parks.”
That seemed to work. At least the butler managed to joke, “Yes, and I suppose they stay still and don’t go flying off to the country the first chance they get. Still tricky, I would think. Were you able to cultivate anything while you were there?”
“I had a little garden out back...” Jim stopped himself before he could say out back of where. “Out back of the place I was living. It did reasonably well.”
“That sounds very nice. And your landlord was accommodating?” The butler stopped quickly. “I’m sorry. I assumed you were living in a flat, although of course, you must have a place in town.”
Living in a flat would have been an enormous improvement over the reality. “I’m not one of Sir Lionel’s high-class friends. We just met in passing. It was really just manners that had him invite me over if it rained. I wasn’t going to come until the lightning started. I don’t have a big house or anything. My landlady was very accommodating on the garden. She fed some of the others with the surplus.”
“I’m sure it was more than simple politeness, Mr. Smith. He seemed quite hopeful that you would accept the invitat
ion. Here we are, the study. I’ll just let him know you’re here.”
Jim stayed behind the butler as he opened the door and stepped into the room. He could see it was dark paneled, with a fire that looked wonderfully warm, and large armchairs. The real version of what the tawdry rooms at Madame Rosamond’s were trying to be.
“Mr. Smith has arrived, sir.”
Lionel sprang out of one of the armchairs and came towards him. “Jim, I’m so glad you came. Harrison, would you have Mrs. O’Brien make up a tray for him and bring it up here, and bring me a bit more of that ham.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler bowed and left Jim standing in the doorway.
Jim shuffled his feet and tried to think what he could say to Lionel. Coming had been a bad idea, he was sure of that now. He’d really just wanted to be near Lionel, and that was a mistake. He should have gone to the inn.
And then Lionel smiled at him. “Did you have any trouble finding us here?”
“No, it was right where you said it would be.”
“Well, it doesn’t move that much.”
Jim grinned a little. Lionel grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards the second armchair. “You must be freezing. Would you like a blanket?”
“I’m fine. I’ll just stay close to the fire.” Jim tried to figure out how to sit in the chair without ruining the leather with his wet, slept-in clothes.
Lionel sat in his armchair, but he kept watching as Jim sat on the edge of the other chair and wondered how to make him feel comfortable. He didn’t think Harrison would have done anything to intimidate him intentionally, but how could he know for certain what would make Jim nervous? Clearly, he’d never been someplace like Hensley House before. At the same time, he didn’t want to offend Jim. He settled for, “What did you think of Harrison? He can be a bit formal at times, but he’s been with me for years.”
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