by Shana Galen
Duncan sat at a table by the window and looked out upon the cobbled street running through the center of the small village. In some ways, it reminded him of home. He too had grown up in a small, simple town, where he knew everyone and where life was simpler. But he was the younger son of the brother of the laird. He’d tried his hand at farming, then at raising sheep, then at several other professions. Nothing seemed to fit him. Nothing seemed to quell the roaring in his mind and his soul that had begun when he’d gotten his father killed all those years ago. No, the only time the pain and agony of that loss subsided was when Duncan used his fists.
And so his mother had suggested—insisted more than suggested, really—that he join the army. And what Lady Charlotte wanted, she got. But Duncan hadn’t fought her on it. Like most Highlanders, Duncan had no love of the redcoats, but when he’d been given the opportunity to fight the French on the Continent, he had gone. And then when he’d been approached by Lieutenant-Colonel Draven after a bloody battle and asked to join his suicide troop, Duncan hadn’t understood why he’d been selected.
Colonel Draven had merely cocked his head and said, “I need men who are not afraid to die.”
Duncan had snorted. “Everra man is afraid to die.”
Draven had nodded. “Some more than others. I just watched you, on foot, take down three mounted officers armed with bayonets.”
“I lost my horse,” Duncan said, “or it would have been more.”
Draven had leaned forward then, his blue eyes boring into Duncan. “Your commanding officer calls you the Lunatic. I can’t say as though I dispute his assessment. Answer me this, Lunatic. Are you afraid to die, Mr. Murray?”
Duncan had shrugged. “Nae verra.”
“Good. Then you’re one of mine now.”
But Duncan hadn’t died, though he’d been sent on missions that had killed others in the troop, and he’d done things that should have resulted in his death. It seemed the French forgot to fire if a man ran toward them with his face painted red and screaming like a banshee. Perhaps the soldiers who went into battle calmly were the real lunatics.
Duncan stiffened as he became aware of someone moving behind him. For a moment, he thought it might be the woman come to offer him refreshment, but the steps were too heavy. A familiar voice spoke, “Old habits die hard, soldier.”
Duncan smiled. “One of these days I’ll sleep past six.” He turned just as Stratford Fortescue slapped him on the shoulder and took the seat across from him. The two had served together in Draven’s troop and had lately spent several weeks causing trouble in London. Duncan was glad to see his friend. “I thought I’d finally rid myself of ye when ye left London.”
“And I thought you’d be on your way back to Scotland by now. What are you doing in—where the devil are we?”
“How should I ken? This isnae Scotland. I plan tae be back on my way home after a wee detour tae see Nash.”
Stratford sat back in his chair. “His estate isn’t far from here, is it? Now, that’s an idea.”
“I can see by the narrowing of yer eyes, ye have a plan swirling aboot in that brain of yers. Leave me oot of it. I have a lass I need taken back tae London, but she doesnae speak English. I need Nash tae translate.”
Stratford set the legs of his chair on the floor. “I have so many questions that I’m not sure where to begin.”
Duncan waved a hand. “Then dinnae. She speaks Portuguese and so does Nash.”
“Do I want to know how it is you ended up with a Portuguese woman in the middle of the English countryside?”
“I’m still wondering that myself. What are ye doing here?”
Stratford covered his eyes with his hands, a gesture Duncan had only seen him make on a few occasions when he had to plan a particularly difficult sortie against the enemy. “It’s one of the Wellesley sisters.”
“Yer almost cousins, the ones ye’ve been squiring aboot the last few weeks?”
“Yes. Emmeline Wellesley ran away.”
“Which one is she? Nae the mannish one?”
Stratford stiffened and lowered his hands. “She’s not mannish.”
“I dinnae mean in appearance. I willnae argue that she has a fine pair of—”
“Eyes?” Stratford said coldly.
“Those too. But any man who spends three minutes in her company kens that she has her own mind and wants her own way.”
“Yes, well, apparently she has decided she’s attended her last ball and has run off to God knows where. I need paper and pen to let the baron, and through him her mother, know I have her and will return her today.”
“Ye think she will go so easy?”
“I think I’ll have to drag her kicking and screaming.”
The woman who had been cleaning the tables approached with a basket of warm buns and asked if they’d like tea or coffee. Duncan would have preferred whisky, but he settled for tea. He and Stratford were on their third cup of tea and their fourth basket of bread when Beatriz made her way down the stairs. Duncan hadn’t exactly been looking for her, but she caught his attention as soon as she stepped onto the landing. She wore the same yellow-and-white striped dress as she had the day before, and her hair was secured in a simple tail down her back. Her coffee-colored eyes swept the room, and he felt his throat go dry when her gaze landed on him.
Duncan didn’t make a sound, but he must have done something because Stratford turned in his chair and looked at her. “Is that your problem?”
“Aye.” Duncan stood, grabbed a chair from a nearby table and gestured for her to come over. She did, her cheeks pink when she looked up at him. She looked far too pretty with those pink cheeks and her simple yellow gown in the morning sunshine. Duncan made the introductions and pushed the breadbasket and pot of tea toward her. Stratford tried the two or three Portuguese phrases he knew, but her answers were unintelligible to both men.
“I need Nash,” Duncan said. “I have nae idea what she’s saying. Her family is probably worried aboot her.”
“Perhaps she’d like to write them a letter,” Stratford suggested. “You can send the letter when you see Nash and either take her back yourself or send her back in a mail coach.”
“Good idea,” Duncan said then sat straight. “Dinnae look now, but yer cousin is on her way over.”
“I’ll just go fetch the paper,” Stratford said, rising.
“Ye would leave me here undefended?”
“It appears I would.” Stratford rose and was gone. A moment later Duncan rose and offered his chair to Miss Wellesley.
“I trust ye remember me, Miss Wellesley,” he said.
“You are hard to forget, Mr. Murray.” She gave him an odd look when he introduced Beatriz, and then she did something even stranger—though nothing Emmeline Wellesley did could really surprise anyone.
“Would you leave us alone for a moment, Mr. Murray?”
Duncan cocked his head. “Leave ye alone with Beatriz?”
“That’s what I said.”
“But why? The lass doesnae speak any English.”
Miss Wellesley just stared at him, and finally Duncan sighed, stood again, and went to find Stratford. Apparently, it wasn’t just Portuguese women he couldn’t understand.
Four
EMMELINE
“Do you want to tell me why you are pretending not to speak any English, Miss Neves?” Emmeline asked.
Miss Neves lifted her teacup and took a long sip. “Thank you for not saying anything, Miss Wellesley,” she finally said. “The moment I saw you, I thought my ruse was at an end.”
Emmeline could understand why. Miss Neves was well-known among the ladies of the upper classes. Emmeline, along with every other fashionable lady, had patronized the lace shop Miss Neves’s sister owned in Town. Catarina lace was à la mode this Season.
Emmeline put a hand on the lacemaker’s arm. “I assumed you had your reasons. Has Mr. Murray abducted you? Is he holding you against your wishes?”
The lacemaker gave
her a wistful smile. “Nothing like that, unfortunately.”
Emmeline sat back. “Unfortunately? Do you want to be abducted?”
“Some days I think so.” Miss Neves turned toward the window, watching the scattering of townspeople walking past the brown stone houses and shops. “It seems vastly more romantic than working with thread and bobbins all day.”
Emmeline could understand that. Though the creations the lacemakers crafted were beautiful and exquisite, the work was undoubtedly monotonous at times. As someone who had embarked on her own adventure just yesterday, Emmeline was in no position to judge anyone else. Still... “But surely you don’t want Mr. Murray to abduct you. He’d take you back to Scotland with him.”
“I hear Scotland is quite beautiful. And who would not want Duncan Murray to sweep her away?”
Emmeline smiled. “He’s a bit wild for my taste, but I can see you like that sort of thing. He might be big and brawny, but he’s no fool. He will find out who you are sooner or later.”
“And then he will take me back to my sister as quickly as possible.”
Emmeline stared out the window as a mother led her daughter by the hand along the other side of the street. “Perhaps I can help you.”
Miss Neves gave her a sharp look. “You would do that, Miss Wellesley?”
“Who am I to stand in the way of romance?”
The lacemaker laughed. “I would not say it is a romance. Yet. Oh, but forgive me. I did not realize you had married. I should wish you happy.”
Emmeline shook her head violently. “I haven’t married.” The idea was ridiculous. “Mr. Fortescue is not my husband. He’s my—well, it’s difficult to explain, actually. He’s a distant cousin, I suppose. Our mothers are close friends.”
“Oh, I see.” But Miss Neves wrinkled her delicate brow. She was such a small, slender thing that Emmeline felt like a giant beside her. “I thought because you were traveling together, you must be...”
“We’re not traveling together,” Emmeline said. “I am running away, and he wants to send me back.”
“Why are you running away?”
“I suppose because this is my fifth Season, and I don’t see the point anymore. No man will want to marry me. Not any man I want to marry, at any rate. And the more years I have spent at balls and dinners and soirees, the more I realize that I am wasting my life hoping for some man I don’t even know to notice me. What do I care if some man notices me? Why can’t I do as I please and hang what any man says or thinks.” Why should she ever marry and give a man control over her? She’d had enough of being controlled for twenty-three years.
“Oh, you are wildly inappropriate,” Miss Neves said. She grinned. “I like it.”
Emmeline laughed. “Thank you, Miss Neves.”
“You should call me, Ines, sim? May I call you by your given name?”
“It’s Emmeline, and of course. If we’re to be friends, it seems only fitting. Now, how can I help you?”
Ines thought on this for several minutes. “I am not certain. Mr. Murray plans to take me to see his friend who speaks Portuguese. The man lives on an estate not far from here.”
“Then I will travel with you and assist if I can.”
“Will Mr. Fortescue agree to that?”
Emmeline shrugged. “I don’t see as he has much choice unless he plans to abduct me.” Both women laughed then went instantly silent when Stratford approached. He looked far too handsome this morning. His rumpled hair and sleepy eyes made her belly flutter.
He gave them wary looks. “Why do I have the sense that you are laughing at me?”
Determined to make that fluttering stop, Emmeline struck hard enough to push him away. “Because, like all men, you are vain and self-centered and believe everything is about you. Do you know where Mr. Murray is taking this young woman?” She gestured to Ines.
Stratford’s gaze cut to the lacemaker, which was preferable to him looking at her. Finally, the butterflies in her belly subsided.
“Our friend Nash Pope lives on an estate not far from here,” Stratford said. “Nash spent time in Portugal during the war. He should be able to communicate with the lady.”
“And does this Mr. Pope live with his family? His mother? Sisters?”
Stratford ran a hand over his blond hair, trying to smooth it down. It had a habit of always sticking up, which she hated to admit she found rather endearing.
“I can’t say. I’ve only been there once, and that didn’t go well.”
“What do you mean?”
Stratford gave her a long look, seeming to consider what to reveal to her. Mr. Murray, who must have been watching from across the room, took this as his invitation to return. “Did ye have yer private chat with Miss Beatriz?”
Emmeline fixed her gaze on the Scotsman. “We did.”
“And how did ye manage that? Do ye speak Portuguese?”
“I do not, sir, but much can be said without words.”
His brow furrowed. “If ye say so.”
“I’m given to understand you are taking her to the estate of a Mr. Pope.”
The Scotsman narrowed his eyes. “How’d the lass tell ye that?”
“She didn’t so much tell me as I put two and two together. I was just asking my dear cousin here whether there is an appropriate chaperone at this estate.”
“I dinnae need a chaperone. I’m nae going tae touch the lass.”
Ines made a sound of disappointment. Emmeline ignored her. “A statement like that might be good enough in the Highlands, but it will not suffice in England.”
Murray turned to Stratford. “Are ye listening tae this? Tell yer cousin I can be trusted.”
Stratford gave his friend a pained expression.
“Och, no. Yer not on her side?”
“It’s not about you. It’s about the appearance of things, and you know Nash as well as I do. He’s most likely alone on that estate but for a servant or two.”
“Alone?” Emmeline said.
Stratford shrugged. “He was wounded in the war and lost most of the vision in his right eye and all of it in his left.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Emmeline said. Her stomach dropped at that news. So many men had been wounded in the war. How awful to have to live with an injury like that for the rest of one’s life. “But if he’s all but blind, how can he live so alone?”
“He’s driven everraone away,” Murray said. “Nash was a sharpshooter during the war, and he dinnae take it well when he lost his sight. A few of us went tae visit him once, and he ran us off with a rifle.”
“But I thought he could hardly see.”
“Exactly,” Stratford said. “That’s why we ran.”
Emmeline looked at Ines, who was listening intently. As soon as Emmeline caught her eye, she looked down and pretended to be engrossed in her own thoughts. Oh, it would not be long at all before Duncan Murray discovered the truth. “And this is where you think to take Miss Beatriz? Is it even safe?”
“That was months ago,” Murray said. “Besides, I’ve never ken Nash tae refuse a friend in need.” But he didn’t say it with much conviction.
“I see.” Emmeline straightened her shoulders. “I will come with you. In my opinion, that’s the only way to ensure this lady’s reputation is not harmed.”
“What?” Stratford roared. “Absolutely not. Out of the question.”
Emmeline ignored him. “I find I have little in the way of luggage at the moment, so I am ready to leave when you are, Mr. Murray.”
Stratford stepped in front of her. “Wait a minute, Emmeline. I haven’t agreed to this.”
“You needn’t accompany us.”
“You know I must accompany you. I wrote to your mother last night and said I would return you today.”
Emmeline shrugged. “I suppose you had better write again. This time I suggest you tell my mother that I will not be coming home until after the Season.” She moved around him, and Ines stood and linked her arm with Emmeline’s
.
“Be reasonable, Emmeline. You cannot run off with Murray.”
“Listen tae yer cousin, lass.”
Both Stratford and Emmeline turned on Murray. “Stay out of this.”
Emmeline turned back to Stratford and held up a finger. “One, I am not running away with Mr. Murray. I am accompanying Miss Beatriz. Two, I am being reasonable. What is unreasonable is wasting everyone’s time and money by forcing me to be in London for the Season. I’ll save everyone a good deal of trouble if I stay with my grandmother.”
“And how will you reach your grandmother with no money, no coach, not even a change of clothing?”
“That’s not your concern.”
Stratford shook his head. “You are the most aggravating female I have ever met,” he muttered under his breath. But he seemed to notice, as she had, they’d attracted the attention of everyone at the inn. “We’ll talk about this outside.”
“I have nothing more to say.” She turned on her heel and marched out of the inn with Ines right beside her. Once outside, the two of them dissolved into giggles.
“I do not know why you laugh,” Ines said. “He is very furious.”
“He’s always furious when a plan of his doesn’t work out. What he will soon understand is I am not one of his plans.”
“That may be, but you realize he will be accompanying you to the home of Mr. Pope. He will not allow you to go without him.”
“I’ll make the best of it,” she said. Ines laughed. “Why are you laughing now?” Emmeline asked.
“Because you knew all along he would never let you go alone. You want him to come.”
“No, I don’t. I couldn’t care less what he does or where he goes.”
“I see. That is too bad.”
Emmeline would not further the conversation by asking what Ines meant. At least she tried not to ask. Finally, she gave in. “Why is it too bad?”
“Because he obviously has the feelings for you.”
Now Emmeline rolled her eyes. But the fluttering in her belly began again. “Ines, I know you fancy yourself half in love, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the world is as well.”