by Mary Nichols
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She was manipulated by the men around her.’ She sighed. ‘But there is nothing new in that. Why do men think they have the God-given right to order the lives of women, my lord?’
It was said with such feeling, he knew something had happened, something to do with a man. Was she fleeing from a man? Father, husband or lover? His curiosity deepened. ‘It has always been the way of the world,’ he said carefully. ‘I suppose it is because they are the weaker sex.’
‘And who says that? Men!’ The venom was there. ‘Oh, I know we are physically weaker, we cannot fight, nor carry heavy weights, but that is not everything. Women can be as learned and determined as men.’
His smile was a little lop-sided. ‘Oh, yes, indeed. Are you a determined woman, Miss Draper?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then I wonder how you will go on as a lady’s companion. I cannot see the role suiting you.’
‘Why not?’ she demanded.
‘Determination, independence, more than your share of looks. Do you think your employer will like those traits? The role, I believe, requires you to be self-effacing and to remain in the background.’
How did they get from discussing the history of Leicester to this personal exchange which was making her very uncomfortable? For the first time since her flight she began to wonder about her future, which was in the hands of her mother’s friend. If Mrs Summers rejected her, refused to harbour her, what would she do? Rose would leave her soon to go back to her own mother and she would be without any kind of support. What use determination and independence then? ‘We shall have to wait and see,’ she said.
‘And if you do not suit?’
‘Then I shall have to find something else.’
‘Do you know the Lake District, Miss Draper?’
‘No, I have never visited it.’
‘If you need assistance, I shall be happy to provide it.’
She laughed, slightly bitterly. ‘I thought you said you had no use for a lady’s companion.’
‘So I did, but perhaps I can help in other ways.’
‘And I say again: I cannot be bought.’
It was the most dreadful put-down and she was sorry for it almost immediately, but he had leaned back in his seat and tipped his hat over his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. She looked across at his servant, who was grinning with unconcealed amusement. ‘I’d call that a draw,’ he murmured.
She gave him one of her Lady Emma looks of disapproval and he hastily turned his attention to the scene outside his side of the coach.
She sat back, turning to look out of the window to hide her tears. She was such a noddicock, quarrelling with his lordship when perhaps he was only trying to be helpful. She could not afford to make enemies. Oh, how she wished she was more conversant with the ways of the world. She wanted to apologise, but his demeanour told her clearly enough he had done with her. And who could blame him?
He was not so much done with her as battling with his inner self. Why was he putting himself out for a chit who seemed to enjoy arguing with him? He was not used to being argued with. Just because he had offered her and her companion their inside seats did not mean he had to look after them thence forward, did it? He was becoming soft. But he had done no more than courtesy demanded, he answered himself, and he would make sure she knew that was all it was. On the other hand, he could see any number of hazardous situations that might befall a couple of unaccompanied women and he did not think they would know how to deal with them. Only a rakeshame would leave them to their own devices.
They were out in the country now and making a good speed between farmland, meadow and the occasional stand of trees. Good hunting country, Emma knew. Her stepfather came up for two weeks every year. Thinking of him inevitably turned her thoughts to her mother. How was she managing? Had Sir George bullied her into revealing where she had gone? If so, how far behind her was he?
They stopped for the first change of horses, but no one left their seats. On they went and without conversation she was left to meditate and that did not help her at all. She worried about her mother, she worried that her stepfather and that odious Lord Bentwater were hot on their heels, she worried about her reception when they reached Mrs Summers, she worried about Rose making the return journey all on her own. Had she done the right thing? If she had stayed in London, could she have found another way out of her predicament? Had she jumped from the frying pan into the fire? Her thoughts went round and round and led her nowhere. They were pulling into the inn at Loughborough before she realised how far they had come.
Pulling herself together with an effort, she allowed Lord Malvers to hand her down and then went ahead of him into the inn, where she escaped to the ladies’ room until it was time to return to the coach.
Kegworth, Derby, Ashbourne and Macclesfield went past in a similar manner and because he was not going to risk another put-down, she learned nothing of the history of these places. The silence would have been unbearable if his lordship’s servant and Rose had not been carrying on a lively conversation to which Lord Malvers contributed now and again. He was not angry with Rose, and yet it was Rose’s advice which had prompted her to speak so sharply. She was beginning to question the maid’s wisdom. Perhaps the servant classes expected men to behave badly, but that did not mean they were all like that, and Rose evidently did not include Joe Bland in her assessment.
‘What time are we expected in Manchester, my lord?’ she ventured at last.
He smiled. He had guessed she was stubborn, but he had not expected her silence to last so long. What had made her like that? What was there in her past that made her so wary of him? He had done her no harm, meant no harm, certainly had no designs on her and was only trying to be helpful in the way he would help a motherless kitten. Except she was no kitten, she had sharp claws. ‘If we make good time, it will be just after one, ma’am,’ he answered. ‘We will have a little wait there, I think, time for a proper meal and a rest before we have to go on.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘I shall be glad to take a walk,’ Rose said. ‘I am stiff as a board with sitting so long.’
‘Do not go without an escort, Miss Turner,’ Alex advised. ‘There is a great deal of unrest in the town due to men being out of work and their demand for enfranchisement. The spinners and weavers are particularly up in arms.’
‘Why should they bother us?’ Emma asked. ‘We are not in dispute with them and have nothing they might want.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he said, smiling at her naïveté. Her straight back and top-lofty manner was enough to brand her one of the oppressors. ‘But there is no reason to take risks, is there? If you wish to take a walk, please allow me to accompany you.’ He held up his hand as if to ward off a blow. ‘And do not take offence at that, madam. If you do not care for my company, I will walk along behind.’
‘Do not be so touchy, my lord.’ She paused to smile at him and he was taken aback by its radiance. It was like the sun coming out after a storm. ‘How am I to learn anything of the place if my history teacher is not by my side to inform me?’
They stopped frequently to change the horses and once they left the coach for refreshment, which Emma would not allow his lordship to pay for, though she feared she might have affronted him by doing so. He sat silently contemplating the scenery the rest of the way to Manchester.
From a distance, all Emma could make of it were chimneys belching smoke, which seemed to hang over the whole place. And when they entered the town, they found themselves enveloped in it. The rain may have made the countryside fresher and greener, but all it had done in the town was deposit a muddy layer of soot everywhere. The roads were narrow and the buildings a mixture of enormous mills with rows and rows of dirty windows, manufactories and warehouses that dwarfed the lodging houses and tiny hovels, which seemed to have been put in haphazardly wherever there was space among them. It was the most dismal place she had ever been in. No
wonder the people were discontented.
‘A true industrial town,’ he said, noticing her expression of distaste. ‘An overgrown village, put together at the dictates of commerce.’
‘How can they endure it?’
‘For money, Miss Draper. The cotton industry generates great wealth for some and the workers must go where the work is.’
She fell silent as the coach took them into the heart of the town, through a very narrow lane lined with shops and tenements, and deposited them in the yard of a busy inn. This was the end of the line as far as that particular coach company was concerned and passengers were obliged to make new arrangements to convey them further north. While Joe Bland fetched their luggage, Alex escorted them into the inn and ordered a meal for all four.
‘My lord,’ she protested, ‘you must not feel you are responsible for us, you know.’
‘Someone has to be.’
‘On the contrary, we set out alone and expected to make our own way. We are not helpless.’
‘No?’ he queried. ‘Two ladies venturing on such a long journey without an escort must either be very reckless or very desperate.’
‘Why do you say that?’ she demanded, suddenly afraid that he had somehow divined the truth about her situation. ‘We are not ladies, certainly not the helpless sort that cannot stir a finger without a man in attendance. And what makes you think we are desperate, I cannot think.’
‘You wish me to withdraw?’ It was said mildly, but she detected the annoyance behind the question. If she said yes, he would go and she did not want him to go. But she did wonder if she dare risk remaining under his protection, because that was what it amounted to.
‘Oh, Fanny, do not be so fussy,’ Rose said suddenly. ‘If the gentleman wishes to order for us, why not let him?’
Emma looked sharply at her maid, who would never have dared speak to her like that while they were in London, but circumstances were very different now. Besides, Rose was right. ‘I am not disdaining his offer,’ she said. ‘I was simply pointing out we should not take it for granted.’ She turned to Alex. ‘My lord, we will sit with you, but we pay our own way, if you please.’
He shrugged. ‘As you wish. What would you like me to order for you?’
‘I am not very hungry. The swaying of the coach has made me feel a little sick.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ he said, not believing a word of it. ‘Would you like me to ask the landlord to find you a room so that you may lie down and recover?’
‘No, no. I am only a little queasy in the stomach.’ She spoke sharply, knowing that a room would be more than she could afford and she certainly would not let him pay for a room. It would be the height of folly. ‘I will have a cup of tea and some bread and butter.’
She sat over her meagre repast, looking with envy at the pork chops, the chicken legs and ham the others were consuming. When they had finished, Alex said, ‘The coach for Kendal leaves at half past four, so we have two hours to while away.’
‘Are there any parks, my lord? I do not think walking these filthy streets will be at all pleasant.’
He went off to consult the innkeeper. ‘There are no parks,’ he said when he returned. ‘You need to go into the countryside to find anything green. However, I have bespoken a light carriage to convey us there. It will only take us a few minutes and we will be able to walk in clean air and refresh ourselves for the next part of our journey.’
Emma was about to refuse, but the offer was too tempting. She was used to the dirt and fog of London, but this was a hundred times worse. Already the smoky, malodorous atmosphere was clogging her lungs. She smiled. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
Alex drove the carriage himself and steered it expertly through the narrow streets, while Emma looked about her. The whole place seemed to consist of huge mills, pouring more smoke into an atmosphere already laden with it, and great warehouses with their porticoed fronts. There were some shops and dozens of hotels and inns. How could people bear to live here? she thought, watching a band of fustian-clad workmen and factory girls in dingy dresses and dark shawls, all speckled with flakes of cotton. Those flakes seemed to hang in the air, which was too heavy to carry them away. The smells that assailed her nostrils made her choke and put her handkerchief to her face.
‘It is bad,’ he said. ‘But we shall soon be out of it.’
‘How can people bear to live like this?’
‘They have no choice when cotton is king,’ he said. ‘The mills produce the wealth and for that they need workers, thousands of them. And they must live near their work. The trouble is that the mill masters as a general rule do not think it is incumbent on them to do anything about how their workers live beyond putting up rows and rows of back-to-back hovels.’
‘And not a blade of grass to be seen. No wonder there is unrest.’
‘My sentiments exactly, Miss Draper.’
They left the mean streets behind and were travelling along an avenue of grand houses, each with its own garden. Here the mill owners had decamped to get away from the misery they had helped to create. And a few minutes later they crossed the river and were in the open country. Here were fields and meadows and copses of trees. They hitched the horse to a tree branch and set out on a well-worn path.
Emma’s spirits lifted almost immediately. She and Alex walked side by side, leaving Rose and Joe to follow. ‘This is heaven,’ she said, throwing back her cloak and turning her face up to the sun. ‘We have seen nothing but rain since leaving London, I had forgot it is meant to be nearly summer time.’
He turned to look at her as she arched her neck upwards. It was a long smooth neck, rising from the collar of the striped dress. He felt an almost irresistible urge to lower his head to kiss her throat and was shocked by the sensations that aroused in him. He raised his eyes to her face. It was as smooth and unblemished as her throat. Her cheeks, which had been pale, were rosier now, her lips, slightly parted, revealed perfect teeth. Her eyes were shut against the bright light and her long lashes lay on her cheeks. My God, she was beautiful! He wanted to pull her into his arms to kiss her, but she was not the sort of woman you could do that to, not suddenly and for no reason. What in heaven’s name was she doing here, wandering among the buttercups and daisies, miles from home? Who was she?
Tilting her head upwards, Emma had not been looking where she was going and her foot stumbled into a hole. She cried out as she began to fall, putting out her hands to save herself, only to find herself clasped in his arms. It had the most extraordinary effect on her. She could feel the warmth of his body spread from him to her and course down through her body until it reached her groin and there it was held in a pool of what could only be desire. It was an entirely new sensation for her and her heart began to pound and she found herself leaning into him, as if she had no will of her own to break away or even stand unaided. And it had nothing to do with the stumble.
He felt it too, this strange alchemy, and he supposed it had been there from the start of this strange journey. It was why he was determined to escort her, even when she made it plain she did not want an escort. It wasn’t only the mystery surrounding her—perhaps there was no mystery and she was exactly what she said she was—it was something about the girl herself. Her beauty, her courage and independence, all the attributes he had said would make her unfit to be a lady’s companion, were the very things that drew him to her.
He leaned back, but did not release her. ‘Are you hurt?’ His eyes searched hers, looking for answers.
‘No, I do not think so. It was the suddenness of it, that’s all.’ She made to step away from him, but he still held her.
Suddenness, his head echoed. Oh, it had been sudden, no doubt of it, but not in the way she meant. Surely he had not been such a fool as to be taken in by a beautiful stranger, someone he knew nothing about? For all he knew she might be a criminal, a thieving maid running away with her mistress’s jewels, a confidence trickster, out to trap him. She could be another Constance. He looke
d behind him; Joe and Miss Turner were nowhere in sight. They were alone. ‘Are you sure you are not hurt? Shall you try and test that foot?’
He held her while she put the foot to the ground and winced. ‘I must have twisted it.’
He put her arm about his shoulder so that he could span her waist and help her hop along to a boulder beside the path. He lowered her on to it. ‘Let me see. I am used to looking after injuries.’
‘Soldiers’ injuries, my lord,’ she said, watching him kneel at her feet and pick up her foot. ‘I am not hurt, truly I am not. I shall be able to walk by and by.’
He took her ankle in his hand and she felt again that strange trickling of desire. His gentle probing produced, not pain, but the most unutterable pleasure. She had an urge to remove his hat and pull her fingers through his hair, throw herself back into his arms where she felt warm and protected. None of the beaux who had courted her in her society days had made her feel anything like this. It was shocking and she ought to be ashamed of herself. But shame was not what she felt at all. Oh, if only they had met in London before Sir George tried to force her to marry Lord Bentwater, things might have been very different. But would they? He did not find the London scene to his taste and had decried marriage, and added to that he was a gambler. She must remember that and harden her heart.
‘My lord,’ she protested.
‘I don’t think there is any serious damage,’ he said, putting her foot back on the ground beside the other. ‘Shall I carry you back to the carriage?’
‘Certainly not!’ She had recovered her wits. ‘I am perfectly able to walk.’ To prove it she stood up and limped away from him, away from the terrible temptation to pour all her troubles into his receptive ear and fling herself on his mercy, not to mention have his arms about her again.
He smiled ruefully and got to his feet to follow her; the toplofty lady was once more to the fore. And now he was sure she was a lady. Her shoes had been made of the finest leather and her stockings were of silk and the glimpse he had had of the hem of a fine lawn petticoat trimmed with lace proclaimed wealth that did not accord with the cotton dress and the shabby cloak and bonnet. He would stick to her like glue until he solved the mystery.