Chapter 14

A thick drizzle was all that remained of the rain as they left the shed. Ryland poked his head out the door before opening it wide and bowing Miranda through. She swept out, pretending she was entering London’s most exclusive ballroom.

Her foot sank in the mud.

“Oh, bother.” She tried to tug her heel out of the sucking mire without lifting her skirts. The blue woolen riding skirt was already a lost cause, while her dignity and modesty had yet to suffer a fatal blow. She wanted to keep it that way.

“What’s wrong?” Ryland asked. How surprisingly easy it was to think of him as Ryland.

“My boot. It’s stuck.” Miranda tried once more to tug her heel free. All she managed was to work more of her foot into the ooze.

Ryland knelt by her feet. “Let me help you.”

“Have you bacon for brains?” She swatted at his hands reaching for her leg. “You cannot grab my leg.”

He sighed. “Then I’ll pry out the foot.”

“I am certainly not lifting my skirt.”

He propped his arm on his raised knee and glared up at her. She crossed her arms and stuck her nose away from him.

Ryland rubbed his hand over his face and through his long hair. He had long since lost the strip of leather tying his hair back and his dark locks were as disheveled as her own. “What do you propose, my lady?” His voice was slurred as if spoken through gritted teeth.

She was being silly, trying to maintain propriety in the middle of a cow pasture. There was nothing proper about this scenario.

“A lady never shows a man her ankles.”

Miranda frowned at her mother’s voice. A lady was never supposed to spend the night in a shed or walk alone in the woods either. Perhaps it was time for practicality to rule over lady lessons.

“Be quick about it.” Miranda squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her skirts the barest of amounts.

Even though she knew it was coming, it still startled her to feel Ryland’s strong hand wrap around her ankle. No one but herself and Sally had touched her feet in years. Certainly a man had never had cause to do so.

“On three,” Ryland said quietly.

Miranda eased her eyes open and looked down, expecting to see Ryland’s bent head. Instead she became snared in his intent gaze. A twirl of excitement flittered from her throat down her spine.

No wonder ladies weren’t supposed to let men touch their feet.

“One, two, three.”

Miranda forgot to pull her foot until she felt the tugging against her ankle. She yanked, grimacing at the slushy sucking noise that accompanied her foot’s freedom.

She stumbled forward, and Ryland landed on his backside.

With a grunt, he jerked to his feet, diverting his gaze to the surrounding area.

“Thank you.” She primly set her clothing to rights as well as she could.

“Do you know where we are?”

Miranda looked around, trying to find a significant landmark. They’d had no sense of direction last night, had only run blindly. “I don’t recognize a thing, which makes me think we went east. Griffith’s lands extend quite far to the north, and the village is to the south.”

“So we could be west as well?” Ryland looked at the sun peeking through the clouds, clearly trying to orient himself for heading off in their chosen direction.

“Unlikely. Had we gone west we would be on Raebourne’s land. I have spent a great deal of time there the past few years.”

Ryland raised a single brow.

Miranda blushed. “With Griffith, of course. The two are quite close. I would never visit the marquis on my own. Besides the man is married now. Happily. To Amelia. You have not yet met Amelia.”

She should stop talking, but as the insufferable man kept standing there, one eyebrow hitched up his forehead, condescension oozing from his eyes, her mouth just wouldn’t listen to her brain.

“Not that a valet would normally meet a visiting marchioness, but Amelia’s different. She meets everyone. Even knows my scullery maid, Lisette. She and Anthony took a belated honeymoon trip. They should be back before Christmas. May even be back now.”

Every time she finished a sentence, she thought surely she was done spouting off information he didn’t need or care for. But one glance in his direction set her off again, further explaining ridiculous things. She bit her tongue to keep silent.

“What about Crampton’s land?”

Miranda shook her head. He knew an awful lot about the local gentry. Did he and Griffith discuss the area often? “The earl’s house lies between ours and Anthony’s, but his lands do not extend so far.”

“Then we head west.”

They trudged across the field with the watery sun at their backs. The rain stopped, leaving a thin film of grey clouds floating across a sky that was trying its best to become cheerful. He led her around the farm buildings, taking care to avoid the notice of anyone going about their morning chores.

“Why don’t we ask them for help?”

He sent a speaking look across her appearance. “They’re from this area. Do you really want them seeing the duke’s sister looking like that?”

She sighed. He had a very good point.

Not far from the farm, they came to the top of a small hill. Miranda squealed and clapped her hands as she jumped up and down. “Look!”

Ryland looked where she was pointing, but the only things visible were fields of crops and a crumbling stone tower. Had she lost her mind? “What am I looking at?”

“The tower.” She grabbed his hand and started pulling him between the dormant crop rows at a brisk pace. “That’s the old watchtower on the corner of Griffith’s property. I know where we are.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Ryland needed to get her home so he could track down Lambert, Smith, and Donkey. He shouldn’t be enjoying every minute he spent with her away from their normal societal roles.

“It’s still a two-hour walk to the house, but at least we’ll know where we’re going.”

Two more hours, then. Two more hours where he was Ryland and she was Miranda.

They reached the crumbling stones at the base of the tower. Miranda veered off, sure of her direction but no longer running. She didn’t let go of his hand, and he didn’t mention it.

He’d traveled to this side of the estate once, but his search had been concentrated near the house. Miranda would know the landmarks better than he, so he let her take the lead. Though he had to question the meandering path they were taking. . . . “Are you sure you know the way home, my lady?”

Miranda looked up, mud streaked along her cheek. She let go of his hand and grinned. “I thought I was Miranda until we reached Riverton. I am certainly no one’s idea of a lady right now. And yes, I know the way home. I also know where all the crofters’ homes are and I’d just as soon not run into them in this state.”

He looked her up and down, taking in the torn, muddied dress. Her hair was a tangled mess around her grimy face, long tendrils escaping halfway down her back. Her hair was longer than he’d initially thought. “No matter your appearance, you are every inch a lady, Miranda.”

“Thank you.”

He offered his arm to escort her through a sheep pasture, the woolly creatures paying them no heed. “I think your habit is ruined.”

Miranda frowned. “I know it is ruined. Sally will faint away when she sees what I’ve done to it. Thankfully Mother isn’t home to see it. This is not the way a lady should look.”

“Given the circumstances, I think your mother would allow you some lenience in your appearance.”

“Possibly. Although involuntary bodily functions have never been an excuse, so I don’t see how a deliberate trek through the woods could be.”

Ryland choked on air. Involuntary bodily functions? Really? Surely he was not actually discussing—

“I sneeze constantly. It drives her mad.”

He sighed in relief. Sneezing. He could discuss sneezing. It was still a rather inappropriate topic, but he could muddle through it. “You sneeze?”

“Whenever I go outside, it seems. Particularly if it’s a sunny day. I can feel in top form and still sneeze. Mother says it will send her to Bedlam one of these days. A lady simply cannot show the world such an unnatural weakness if she wants to be taken seriously.”

What could he say to that? There wasn’t a whole lot to say about sneezes, and there was virtually nothing he could say about being a lady.

They lapsed into silence, trudging along, occasionally changing directions or climbing a fence. The aches and pains of the night before became more prominent, and he could feel the exhaustion seeping in. Part of him wanted to walk in dazed silence, allowing as much of him to rest as possible. But she had declared them equals for the day, and he didn’t want to waste that opportunity.

“Do you often defy your mother’s idea of being a lady?” It was a dangerous question. From the letters he knew that she did, indeed, chafe under some of her mother’s stricter rules. He would have to be careful not to betray his knowledge if they followed this line of talking.

She laughed as she kicked a pebble and sent it plopping into a puddle. “I still remember my first lady lesson. I was five, and I wanted to ride like the boys did. She caught me coming back to the stable with a leg on either side of the pony and the groom with me as red as could be. She took me to her office, sat me in that blue chair, and proceeded to tell me how a lady should ride.”

The endearing picture made him laugh. Before long the conversation flowed freely from riding to favorite foods and even childhood memories. Ryland had to constantly remind himself to be careful how much he shared. While he was fairly certain he’d be leaving Riverton before the day was through, he couldn’t cast aside his disguise until the mission was finished. “How much farther do you think?”

“I don’t think it’s much farther. We’re closer than I thought we would be this morning.”

The escaped locks of her hair danced in the breeze. He loved her hair. It was like sunshine. Not the sunshine he saw here in England, but the all-consuming sun found on the open water, traveling between England and France. The vast spread of waves magnified the glory of the sun by reflecting it back on you until the golden glow swallowed you whole. That was her hair.

And when had he become so lyrical? He looked at the soggy landscape. That should displace his poetic tendencies. “It shouldn’t take long.”

She shrugged and wrapped her arm a bit more securely around his. Her side pressed against his arm, making him wish they were at a party where he could twirl her around the dance floor in his arms.

“What did you do before getting work as a servant?” Miranda asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said you weren’t always a servant. What did you do before?”

What should he go with? Lie or partial truth? A lie would be safer, but he was planning on seeing her again when this case was finished. “School.” He had been at school. Oxford to be precise. For all of two months before the shadows swallowed him up. “I was going to school, but my circumstances changed and I had to go to work.”

“How sad. Was there no family to help you? I know Griffith has sent a few of our distant relations to school long enough to prepare them for a profession. He’s even helped some enter the church or the army.”

He let her assume his changed circumstances were money related. She’d soon find out money wasn’t a problem for him. He’d have some explaining to do then. “I’m afraid I, er, we are the head of the family. There was no one better off financially.”

“Oh.”

“I had family that needed me.” Why was he still talking? He couldn’t tell her about his cousin being trapped in France without giving away his identity. “I had to . . . leave the life I knew in order to help them.”

“That’s very brave.”

Silence stretched, and he fumbled around for a new topic to introduce. If they kept talking about family circumstances he was either going to have to outright lie or his evasions were going to become apparent.

She spoke before he had a chance to. “How far would fifty thousand pounds go?”

Ryland lowered his eyebrows as he looked over at Miranda in confusion. “Where are you wanting to send it?”

“Could someone live on that much?”

“Depends how they spent it.” He could not fathom where her question was coming from.

“If someone started life with fifty thousand pounds, would they be able to live comfortably?”

“Of course. Modest, yes, but extremely comfortable. If invested right, fifty thousand pounds would . . .” Ryland trailed off as the significance of the number suddenly struck him. He’d come across the papers while sifting through Griffith’s study. Miranda had a fortune of twenty-five thousand pounds from the passing of her father. Her dowry was an additional twenty-five thousand pounds. She could marry a penniless man and they would start life with fifty thousand pounds. He choked on his next sentence and had to swallow before trying again. “Why do you ask?”

Another delicate shrug. She started picking at her skirt. Yet another action that would fall outside of the realm of appropriate ladylike behaviors. “Curious, I suppose, given your school story and all. I’ve never had to deal much with money. Do you like working as a valet?”

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Was she actually considering making a match with him? That had to be the catalyst of this conversation. What else could it be? Shock and pleasure warred inside him. When he showed up in London to court her properly, he wouldn’t have to worry about his title being his only appeal to her.

Her face was expectant, waiting. What had she asked him? Oh yes, she wanted to know if he liked shaving her brother’s chin and straightening his clothes. “There are worse jobs one can have. All in all it is not a bad lot.”

“That’s good. I mean, that’s a good attitude to have.”

“So it is.” He was in trouble. She was going to kill him when she learned the truth. The journey her mind must have gone on to even be considering a servant was unthinkably complicated. He didn’t for one moment doubt that she’d considered the social ramifications as well as the monetary ones. She was too much of a lady not to be aware of the social ladder.

Who would have thought being a duke could be a detriment to winning his chosen bride?

She sighed. “Maybe I should simply ask Griffith to give me the money. I could set up housekeeping in a little cottage. I’ve heard spinsters do that sometimes.”

Ryland’s air left him in a great whoosh. So she hadn’t been thinking of marrying him. Would he ever understand the female mind?

Ryland looked around, noticing the rock outcropping where the Russian stablehand liked to spend his free time. “I recognize where we are now. Riverton isn’t far. What will you do when we get there?”

She laughed, making his heart jump a bit. “Take a bath.”

“Miranda,” Ryland said softly.

Her face turned toward him, the corners of her mouth drifting down out of their smile. “What?”

“I want you to know something.” What was he doing? He should be distancing himself, reminding her what she truly deserved in life. As soon as she was settled in Riverton, he’d be leaving, chasing Lambert and his unknown employer across England.

He couldn’t leave her thinking she meant nothing to him though.

She swallowed. Her voice sounded almost choked. “What?”

“You are . . . I have enjoyed this time together.”

A weak smile re-formed on her face. “You must be joking. You have enjoyed being beaten, spending the night in a shed, and roaming through farm fields?”

“What I mean is that you are a very special woman. One day, there will be a very fortunate man asking for your hand.”

“God willing,” she whispered with a shake of her head. “Georgina will be out this Season.”

That statement told him more than she would ever know. She may have considered setting up with a valet or even moving out on her own, but she didn’t want to do either. Somewhere she’d gotten the idea that her sister’s debut was going to hurt her chance at a good match. Ryland wasn’t sure when his peers had become so blind, but he wasn’t about to complain about it.

They topped a small rise, and the roof of the house became visible over the trees.

“I have never been so happy to see home before.” Miranda shielded her eyes for a better look at the looming structure.

They walked in silence as the house grew larger. People spilled down the steps as they crossed the back lawn. A small brunette in a bright blue dress led the pack.

Miranda dropped Ryland’s arm and ran forward to wrap her arms around the slight woman. While the women clasped each other, Ryland intercepted a distraught and disheveled Griffith.

The noise from everyone trying to ensure Miranda’s safety and learn what had happened made conversation difficult. Even Georgina was wringing her hands, looking as if she wanted to hug her sister but unsure about the amount of dirt involved in that endeavor.

Miranda worked her way back to his side, dragging a woman in purple with her.

“This is Ry . . . Marlow, Griffith’s valet.”

Ryland turned to find himself being presented to the small brunette. Why was Miranda introducing him? They were back at Riverton. No more Ryland and Miranda. No more equals.

“Marlow, this is Lady Amelia, Marchioness of Raebourne.”

Ryland bowed low, but otherwise did not acknowledge the introduction. He was, after all, a servant. Lady Amelia did not simply nod back as he expected. She scrutinized him, looking him up and down slowly before smiling brightly at him.

“Griffith’s new valet?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I see. Marlow, was it? Griffith’s been talking about you.”

“How long have you been here?” Miranda asked.

“We arrived yesterday, but no one knew where you were. We’ve been very worried about you.” Ryland felt skewered by Lady Amelia’s deep brown eyes. “All of the grooms are out scouring the woods. Griffith and Anthony have made several trips out themselves.”

Miranda glanced at him, a smile no servant deserved on her lips. “Marlow rescued me.”

Griffith looked back and forth between the two of them.

Lady Amelia’s eyes widened in shock. “You must be quite the valet.”

“I do good work, my lady.” What else could he say? He probably should have said nothing.

She watched him for a minute more and then guided Miranda toward the door. “Sally has been keeping water warm so you could have a bath as soon as we found you.”

The two women disappeared through the door. Ryland followed soon after them, intent on changing his clothes and doing what he could to determine where his suspects were now. Griffith made his own excuses and followed him. Probably to ensure that Miranda hadn’t been more hurt than she appeared.

He left the door open to his little room and began untucking his ruined shirt.

The door slammed.

Ryland jerked his face up in time to see Griffith grab fistfuls of his shirt and shove him into the wall. What on earth?

“I assume you’re going to marry her.” Griffith’s voice was hard and menacing, his eyes colder than Ryland had ever seen them.

Ryland shook Griffith’s hands off and went to the water pitcher. The contents were cold since they were two days old, but it would suffice to scrub some of the grime from his face. A full bath could wait until London since he would get more road dust on him during his journey.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Griffith. I’m your valet.”

“We both know what you are and you were alone with her overnight!”

Ryland stared at his enraged friend. “Think, man! Imagine I was one of the other servants. Would you expect her to marry them?”

“Hardly. She’d be better off a spinster than married to a footman.”

“Precisely.” Ryland ripped off his torn shirt and replaced it with a clean one. He only had the one pair of shoes, so he was going to have to go to London with squishy feet.

“You aren’t a footman.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

Griffith stepped up until their faces were inches apart. “Marry her.”

“You couldn’t force me.” It didn’t matter that Ryland had already considered courting Miranda. Instinct and self-preservation had him holding his own. Friend or not, Griffith wasn’t pushing him around on this.

Griffith threw a punch.

It never landed. Ryland caught Griffith’s fist, and the two scuffled across the small room. The water basin crashed to the floor. Griffith had never been a fighter, despite his size, so it didn’t take much for Ryland to toss him to the bed.

The two men stared at each other, breathing hard. Griffith finally rubbed a hand over his face.

“You’re right. I’ve never been that scared, though. When you disappeared and then Oscar came back without her from their ride, I didn’t know what to think. I never imagined anything happening to my family when you came here to investigate.”

Ryland straightened his clothes and headed for the door. “She’s safe now and she should stay that way. I’m assuming Lambert has left the estate?”

Griffith sat up on the bed. “Lambert? My butler?”

Ryland nodded.

“He is involved?”

“Yes, my captors mentioned his name.”

“That explains his absence. We assumed he had joined the search party for Miranda.” Griffith grimaced. “My butler did it. It sounds like a dreadful novel.”

“Doesn’t it? Now I have to go find him, and his trail is cold and rained on.”

Griffith pulled a folded letter from his waistcoat pocket. “‘Sir Gilbert’ sent a note yesterday, but you’d already disappeared.”

Ryland ripped open the letter, filtering the words through the decoding process. If only this letter had arrived a day sooner. “No one showed up for the drops.”

Griffith raised his eyebrows. “Any of them?”

It made Ryland want to throw something. In nine years he’d only twice failed a mission. Without Miranda this third time might have been the end for him. There was more to her than the average young lady. He shook his head. Thoughts of Miranda would have to wait. As delightful a distraction as his letters with her were, it was likely the very distraction that made him sloppy enough to cause Lambert and his cohorts to become suspicious.

He needed to focus and finish this mission before they set up their process at another aristocratic estate. “I’m going to London.”

“Godspeed, my friend. I’ll pray for you.” Griffith rose and shook hands with Ryland.

“I couldn’t ask for more.” Ryland left the room and called over his shoulder as he trotted down the passageway. “I’m borrowing a horse. I’ll leave him in your London stable.”

If Griffith responded, he didn’t hear it.