“As much as that? I didn’t realize the property was that big. But you wouldn’t be wanting to do any gardening here.”
Was it obvious that he’d merely wanted Jim’s company then? “No, not in the trees. The privacy and all. But we’ll come to a nice view, another angle of the one you can see from the ha-ha. I was wondering if there was something that could be done from that angle to take advantage of it.” It wasn’t much of an excuse for coming this way, but it was better than nothing.
“So the farmer coming up the road as we were leaving had nothing to do with it?”
Lionel laughed. He should have known Jim would be quick enough to notice that. “He’s the one who thought you were a poacher.”
“With those brilliant snares I made? I thought I understood knots.” Lionel felt Jim’s shoulder press against his. “Then again, I think you could teach me a few things about knots.”
Lionel tried to come up with a witty answer to that, but his blood was running quickly, and not towards his brain.
Jim chuckled and bumped his shoulder again. Apparently, an answer wasn’t needed.
Chapter 12
***
JIM HAD FULLY EXPECTED LIONEL TO SAY he didn’t have time for a tour of the grounds, or at most to have shown him the area just around the house, so he’d been surprised when Lionel’s plans had included calling for a gig and a packed lunch. He was even more surprised that Lionel had found time for him when he began to understand the scope of the property he owned. He’d known Lionel was rich; that much was obvious in everything from his clothes to the way he carried himself, but seeing the amount of land he owned, and knowing he’d taken a failing business of his father’s and turned it into something that could generate enough income to allow him to afford a place like the one they were touring—well, it certainly explained why he’d been so busy with the post the day before. Jim was glad he hadn’t known the scope of Lionel’s fortune earlier, or he never would have spoken to him in the mail coach, or crossed the hall to his room that first night. He’d been with plenty of rich men at Madame Rosamond’s—at the prices she charged to assure privacy, it was a given—but not to speak to beyond carefully practiced patter. But then Lionel seemed to enjoy actually speaking to him, even being teased by him.
They reached a fork in the road, and Lionel took the one on the left without pausing. As he’d considered just about every turn of the road before that one, he clearly hadn’t planned out their route before they left. Jim glanced towards the right to see what made it different. The roads they’d been on were small tracks through the forest, but they were all well maintained. The fork Lionel had passed up was rutted and clogged with branches. “Nothing interesting in that direction, or are you expecting an attack of forest dwellers from the west?”
Lionel glanced at the path. “It does need some repair, doesn’t it? I’ll get to it eventually, but it runs off of my land fairly quickly, and it’s not a route I plan to take very often. Beckwood Hall is at the end of it. It’s owned by Lord Dixon now.”
Jim stiffened. He should have known. But he hadn’t realized Dixon would reside that close to Lionel. “Friend of yours?” He tried to sound casual.
“Hardly. He’s an odious man, at least from what I’ve heard from people who do know him. I would think you’d have heard of him, though.”
Jim was surprised at how casual Lionel sounded bringing up his past, as if he really didn’t see him as any less for having been a whore. “Oh, that Lord Dixon. Somehow I don’t imagine him living around normal people.” Even if he knew for a fact that he did.
“I suppose not, but there he is. The story about the village is he bought the place, although the implication seems to be that he won it in a card game. Either way, he’s my neighbor now, I suppose. Let’s ride down by the river. I think Mrs. O’Brien packed us some of her sandwiches and everything. We could have a picnic. You could tell me what kinds of plants I have growing around here or something.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Don’t get too excited. They’re probably all weeds.”
Jim smiled. That hadn’t been what he meant. “I would think you’ve got a few plants in the mix.”
Lionel smiled back, and Jim realized Lionel hadn’t really been concerned about plants after all.
Lionel watched Jim from the corner of his eye as they continued through the trees. Jim had been subdued ever since he’d mentioned Lord Dixon. He’d thought Jim would know of the man, seeing as he’d been in the business, and he’d expected some kind of joke about the interesting house parties that would be coming to the area or something. But Jim had gone strangely quiet. Lionel tried to think of everything Robert had said about Dixon, but there wasn’t much. Robert said the connection was “useful,” but he preferred Madame Rosamond’s methods, and he’d never elaborated on that. And he’d never invited Lionel to any of Dixon’s brothels, only to Madame Rosamond’s. At least if Jim had been forced to sell himself, it had been in a place Robert approved of and not some stew under the docks.
Lionel turned the carriage towards the stream, where there would be no chance of seeing Beckwood Hall by accident. Perhaps it was the reference, no matter how oblique, to Jim’s former profession. That must have been it. Jim was ashamed of having worked in a brothel. Lionel had planned to ask if he knew Sir Robert Farnsdale—quite possible, as Robert favored Rosamond’s but didn’t have a particular man he asked for there, but he wouldn’t now. He’d just send Robert a note and ask if he recognized Jim then ask for any details he knew. Perhaps he’d even invite Robert down, although that might worry Jim, even though Robert could be trusted to act as if it were simply a rather small house party if need be. Now to find a distraction for Jim so they could converse again. “The stream there is good for fishing, but not at this time of year.”
“I’ve never been fishing.”
“I suppose the Thames isn’t conducive to it.” Would the reference to London be close enough to his past to bother him?
But no, Jim chuckled. “I certainly wouldn’t eat anything we pulled out of it.”
Lionel grinned back. “Neither would I. Maybe you could come and visit sometime when the fish are biting here. I have plenty of extra gear. We could make a day of it.”
“Perhaps.” Jim seemed quiet again. Lionel cursed himself. Something in that had been wrong, but he had no idea what. Perhaps Jim didn’t plan on coming back. What if Jim was being polite but didn’t intend to see Lionel again after he left Hensley House? That was a depressing thought. Lionel had rather hoped, even if Jim didn’t settle in the area, he might be persuaded to visit. Perhaps he should ask Jim directly what his plans were.
As soon as he thought it, he realized it was the simplest plan. If Jim didn’t want to continue the friendship, he would simply have to accept it. And if he had done something to upset Jim, hopefully Jim would tell him and allow him to make amends. He would broach the subject while they were eating. Mrs. O’Brien would have packed something nice, he was sure, and good food and the view from the clearing he was heading for would put them both in a better mood.
Now that he had a plan, Lionel was eager to get to the clearing, and he urged the horses along. But they’d barely made it to the next bend in the path when he spotted a disabled cart with a man standing beside it. The man was alone, and the cart was piled with cases, so there was no one he could send for help or leave to guard his things. Clearly a stranger to the area. Not only did Lionel not recognize him, but anyone from the area would know there was no place on this road but Hensley Hall. “I suppose we should stop to help.”
Jim didn’t answer, simply sat very still and waited for Lionel to take the lead. Lionel wasn’t certain how to interpret that. Truly, he needed to ask Jim directly what his plans were and not be disappointed if they were not what he hoped they’d be. He brought the gig alongside the disabled cart and addressed the driver. “Can I be of assistance?”
The man looked up from the wheel he was examining. His gaze ra
ked across Lionel, then he spotted Jim and his eyebrow went up.
Lionel felt Jim stiffen next to him. He could see why Jim might be opposed to stopping to help. Lionel wasn’t particularly fond of the idea himself; the fellow was lean, with a hard face and stiff way about him that wasn’t quite unsavory but wasn’t someone he’d be inviting to the house. But as it was his road, it was his responsibility to see that anyone who traveled on it made it safely to their destination. Part of him wanted to move on, but he’d already stopped, so he felt obligated to at least attempt to render assistance. “I’m Sir Lionel Westin of Hensley House, just down the way. If you’re in need of assistance...”
“I seem to have done something to the wheel, and I’d rather not leave all of these supplies lying in the road for anyone to take. If you wouldn’t mind, yes, I would appreciate your assistance.” The man grabbed three sacks of goods and put them in the back of the gig.
Jim hopped down as the man settled the sacks in place, and Lionel thought he was going to offer to help load the things so they could be on their way faster, but Jim made for the trees. Lionel opened his mouth to say something, but Jim was already gone.
The man climbed up into Jim’s place in the gig. “I didn’t mean to send your companion away.”
“I’ll extend your apologies when I see him next.”
“Hmm.” The man seemed to notice the lack of warmth but didn’t comment on it.
“Which way were you heading?”
“Back the way I came. I think I missed a turning.” The man pointed, and Lionel turned the gig in the direction he indicated. He knew he ought to make some conversation, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to the man. He’d become used to Jim’s easy company, and it was hard to come up with the idle lies he told others.
His passenger finally broke the silence. “Have you known your friend long?”
There was something about that question that felt odd. Lionel gave the man a cool nod. “Long enough.”
“I see. I was merely curious about him.”
The man was clearly waiting for an answer, but Lionel didn’t want to give him any information. Could he have recognized Jim from London? Something about the notion of Jim bending over for the stranger made Lionel want to rush after him and do he wasn’t sure what, but definitely keep him close. He would have liked to stay silent, but in the end, politeness won. “He’s a friend from London on holiday.” That seemed vague enough. He didn’t think the man could get anything from that.
“Then he’s lucky to have such a fine country house to visit. If you leave me here, I can walk to my destination. It’s just across the way there.”
Lionel followed the man’s gaze and saw the overgrown path to Beckwood Hall. So the man had something to do with Lord Dixon. Jim must have recognized him. So Jim did know Lord Dixon. Lionel pulled the gig to the side of the road and watched as the man hopped down and went round to unload his things. As he worked, he said, “Don’t worry about the cart. We’ll send someone down to get it. Thank you for the kindness. Perhaps I’ll see you again.”
“Perhaps.” Lionel planned to avoid him along with everyone else from Beckwood Hall. He was curious, but he wanted Jim around more than he wanted to know the secrets of his past.
The man collected up his sacks, which seemed to Lionel to be heavy, but the man carried them without much difficulty and started for the path to Beckwood Hall.
--*--
Jim hurried through the trees without paying attention to where he was going. Murdoc. Why did it have to be Murdoc? Although he was better than Balford. Murdoc had his own strange code of honor—that was why Jim had trusted him with the contract. Balford would have told Lionel at once who he was and what he’d done. No, no, nothing so simple. He would have been making crude innuendos, which would make Lionel wonder until he asked, and then Jim would have been forced to reveal his past and see Lionel’s eyes turn cold as he realized what he’d let into his house.
The house. Jim was tempted to run and not go back there. Then he wouldn’t have to hear what Lionel thought of him. Even if Murdoc didn’t say anything, it was clear he’d recognized Jim. And the only place he could have been going was Lord Dixon’s new house. It would be enough for Lionel to figure out that there was a connection even if not its exact nature. And he didn’t want to have to tell him when he asked.
But he was wearing a suit he’d borrowed from the man, and all of his things, including his money, were at Hensley House. He had to go back for them. He sighed. Maybe he could avoid Lionel. Then he wouldn’t have to tell him. That was a plan. Jim looked around and saw he was already walking in the direction of Hensley House. He’d simply go back and stay in the guest room he’d been given until he found an opportunity to slip out.
Really, he shouldn’t be upset, he told himself. If he’d entertained any fantasies of Sir Lionel inviting him to stay, they were just that, fantasies. Hadn’t the man offered to help him find a place at every turn? He must want to be rid of him. And that one night had simply been kindness. Maybe he’d never had to pay for his pleasure and wanted to see what a professional could do. That ignored the fact that Jim had received most of the pleasure, but he pushed that thought out of his mind, along with the thought of the night after, and their breakfasts together, and evenings in the study.
Even if every fantasy were reality, he couldn’t stay. He should have known that the moment he’d seen in the paper that Beckwood Hall belonged to Lord Dixon. Dixon would be there, practically in Lionel’s garden, with his parties. It made sense. He’d want a place where there would be more privacy. Think of what he could do with those grounds if he fenced them off near the house and kept the woods around to block the view and discourage travelers from happening by. And the property adjoined Sir Lionel’s. Even if Murdoc kept his secret, there would be guests who’d seen him, servants who’d fucked him, and if nothing else, Balford would be there, and he wouldn’t let the opportunity to tell everyone that Sir Lionel’s friend had been a concubine. And once that got out, Lionel wouldn’t want him anymore, and the leaving would be that much more painful. Not to mention the shame that would fall on Sir Lionel if anyone in the area knew what kind of person he’d been associating with.
That decided him. He couldn’t let Lionel suffer disgrace because of him. There were plenty of other towns in England where he could find a cottage, towns without kind knights who acted like something out of a fairy story, but towns and cottages with good land all the same.
So how was he going to get away? He couldn’t go to the village; if Lionel went there to ask about him, everyone would tell him where he was. Maybe there was a stage or the mail coach. It would take some of his money, but it would get him away from here. But Danvers would tell Lionel which one he’d got on, and Lionel had horses that would go much faster than a coach laden with passengers and parcels. Maybe he’d be lucky and find a farmer on his way home who would take him part of the way. Did farmers travel now? He had no idea. If only he had some time to plan. Right now, the best choice seemed to be to grab his things and run in whatever direction Lionel wasn’t in.
Only that didn’t seem possible either. He’d no sooner slipped through the kitchen door than Mrs. O’Brien spotted him.
“Back already, Mr. Jim? Then I suppose Sir Lionel will be wanting his tea.”
“He’s not with me. He stopped to help someone on the road.”
“And you came back?”
“There wasn’t room for three and the man’s parcels in the gig.” It was as a good an excuse as any for why he’d run.
“Well, I’ll make you some tea at least.”
“You needn’t bother.”
“No bother.” She came across the room to get the kettle. “Why, Mr. Jim, you seem a little flushed.”
He couldn’t tell Mrs. O’Brien the real reason, that he’d been running through the woods trying to avoid Lionel. “I may be a little warm.”
“I hope you’re not catching a chill.” She pressed her hand to
his forehead.
He felt terrible lying to Mrs. O’Brien after she’d been so nice to him, but couldn’t think of any form of the truth that wouldn’t make her throw him out of her kitchen, so he managed a small cough that he pretended to hide from her. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“No, you were out in that storm. And, often as not, Mr. Harrison catches a chill when he’s been out bird watching in the damp. You go right up to your room, and I’ll send a footman up with a hot water bottle.”
Now he felt even worse. “You don’t need to put anyone out.”
“Nonsense. An evening in bed with a nice bowl of beef broth to warm you up, and you’ll be right as rain in the morning.”
An evening in bed at Mrs. O’Brien’s order. No dinner in the dining room with Lionel sitting across from him. No wondering how much Murdoc had told him, how much he’d figured out on his own. It had to be obvious where Murdoc had been heading, and obvious that they knew each other. “Mrs. O’Brien, you’re a dear. If you think I should take to my bed, then I bow to your superior wisdom.”
“Enough of your blarney, you’re not even Irish. Go up to bed, and I’ll send someone up.”
Jim hurried for the stairs before his expression could give something away. Time to plan. He’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted. He’d just ignore the fact that it was making him feel miserable in a way that Mrs. O’Brien’s tea and hot water bottle wouldn’t help.
Chapter 13
***
LIONEL QUICKLY GAVE UP ON FINDING JIM in the trees and turned the gig back towards Hensley House. He’d see Jim at dinner; then he could decide what to say. At the moment, nothing seemed like a good answer. Clearly, Jim had known the man, but the man hadn’t given any clue beyond the way he’d looked at Jim as to where or how they’d known each other. A former client, perhaps? But the man was clearly a servant, and from the few times Lionel had sampled some of Madame Rosamond’s tamer offerings, he knew no servant could afford her gentlemen. So possibly he had also been there in some professional capacity? Not as another prostitute—that wouldn’t have scared Jim so badly. Lionel tried to think of any connection he’d ever heard between Madame Rosamond and Lord Dixon, but he couldn’t come up with any. Robert had mentioned other names in connection with Dixon. Regina had been one, he recalled, but not Rosamond. Come to think of it, old Ed Greensleigh had introduced them to Rosamond when they’d been at university together, and Ed had never cared for Dixon. And he would hardly have sent a pair of almost innocent boys to someone associated with him.
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