Kiss in the Mist by Elizabeth Brady (16)

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Neil Smyth, in all his days as groundsman at Hyde park, had never seen the like, specially so early on a Monday. He knew it weren’t no duel, not with women and children in the mix. An’ it were well-before the fashionable hour, with this morn come on dull and grim, too. Hardly stroll weather. Aye, this lot looked equally dull and grim. But why a bunch of hoity-toitys were lined up facin’ each other like two rows o’ dominoes, he’d never ken. T’was an inauspicious meeting, for certain. Neil spat once on the ground. Then he saw the magpie. One for sorrow. He immediately touched his forelock. “Good morning, Mister Magpie, and how is yer lady wife?” He’d best keep clear of this lot. He’d no notion what went on in the heads of the rich, and he didnae want any. Then he saw the second magpie. Two for joy. He gave Lady Magpie a full bow and went about his business.

Shelby paced up and down, back and forth, to and fro. She’d had no word from Mr. Principal Officer Jac… John Lowe, and that didn’t bother her one bit. No. She was fine with the fact that she’d heard more from the singing pastry seller on the street than she had from the man who held her fate in his hands and disappeared without a trace! Truly, it only put her back up that his absence made her look. Even now, behind every tree, she kept looking for hazel eyes and broad shoulders that she could follow all around the winding streets of London. But the worst, what made her spitting mad, was the disappointment when it wasn’t him.

Susan Heatly wished she had a thicker coat (though the ermine collar she envisioned might be excessive for her position). She’d never much appreciated the coolness of London, she missed the sun of Spain and the heat of the Bahamas. No one else seemed much bothered by the grey skies or chilled, clammy quality to the air, but Susan could only wistfully imagine her toes sinking into the sand of a sun-warmed beach.

Geoffrey pondered how light refraction could translate to the mystical, floating forms he’d seen in the cemetery. He still hadn’t found a satisfactory answer in Lord Denbigh’s books, though they proved an engrossing review of light, elements, chemicals, and other natural philosophy. He knew they were intended to keep him busy and his brain occupied (with something other than the investigations from which he’d been patently excluded). But last night, when he’d overheard Amanda tell Shelby about the powdery vial, he’d immediately rushed to the tomes. Lo and behold, an entire section was devoted to phosphorus. Whether they wanted his help or not, Geoffrey was determined to assist.

Celia fumed. How her nephew could leave his daughter during her own debut… He knew what misery Celia had gone through. He’d been there! Didn’t he see the similarity in circumstance? As the forgotten eighth child, Celia’d been pushed through the marriage mart vigorously rubbing those two pennies for all their worth. Her nephew (four years elder, she might add!), Lord High-and-Mighty Edgbaston, had apparently learned nothing from it! She should tell her sister Agnes just what a negligent father she’d raised in her son. Celia sighed, reining her fury. Amanda’s parents were not neglectful. When they should be paying attention to their only daughter, there simply were so many more important things happening about them. Celia just wished Amanda to be as important. Standing in this soggy, overcast field… well, she blamed herself.

Jane Gillekens tried to keep an eye on the child, really she did, but how could one manage such a termagant? Though Lord Denbigh did pay well, she truly was not cut out for this line of work. In a month or two, when she’d saved enough, she’d go back to her sister’s in Dorset and help in the bakery. She liked bread and the smell of yeast in the early mornings and warmth from the ovens and the way sunbeams made flour in the air glow. Lucy had written that that nice young Carter just moved home to care for his mother and maybe… Well. Even the risk of heartbreak was better than looking after the she-devil.

Tibby watched Nine with a small bit of compassion. As far as governesses went, she was better than Seven, Four, Three, and the horrible Nanny Jones (who should be called One, but was employed long-before Tibby had begun to number them). Nine was stern and even rather funny when she became exasperated. She was likeable and fair. But none, Nanny Jones through Nine, would let Tibby do certain things. So, she had to go. This Golden Fleece woman, though, she found interesting. From what she’d heard through keyholes, her brother liked her, and her brother didn’t like many people. With her, Tibby was willing to watch and wait.

Candace watched and judged. No one thought she did, but she did (save Julian, who knew his mother better). She watched how Miss Amanda Pruett casually skimmed her eyes over every person present, taking no special interest in Julian, then avoided him entirely. She watched Julian stare straight ahead, seemingly through everything. In the past week, even while under strain, she’d watched Julian mellow, almost blossom, which was something she’d rarely seen in the last year. She judged the two to be stubborn, smitten fools. Candace knew a thing or two about being foolish.

Jane Worthington wondered what the fuss was about. Modern society had veered prudish. Not that she approved of smacking lips in public within full-view of a ballroom of people but, in her day, it took a bit more than a kiss to force a betrothal. She recalled Lord Worthington had a quaint garden gazebo… Heavens, Jane, is that a blush? This new century was rubbing off on her. Still, she was undecided about this turn of events. She liked the match, but Julian, love him as she might, was hardly the type to sweep a girl off her feet. There was some funny business here, and as soon as she could get Celia and Candace alone, the three of them would have a little tête-à-tête.

Julian had had a revelation. Duty, honor, obligation. Where was want? He’d wanted several things in recent years. He’d desperately wanted to live. Wanted to live up to his brother’s memory. To make his way in society. To protect the family. But now, he wanted something solely for himself. He wanted her. He wanted Amanda because she was good and stubborn and true. After seeing her stricken face beside that grave when she’d been injured he felt a fierce desire to protect. Without knowing what he’d done, with all his contrary behavior, reputation, and appearance, she’d actually stood up to Sir Robert and taken sides with him. She laughed in the face of adversity, rolled up her sleeves, and set to work. He admired her. Now they were standing on a green like two opposing armies, but they were fighting the same fight. Constantly at odds, but with the same goal. Yet now Julian had a secondary endgame—it was time to indulge his desire.

Amanda felt like a soup of emotions. Celery, carrots, confusion, longing, potatoes, sorrel, all diced and thrown together in a weepy, watery mixture. She’d had a restless night, tossing and turning from one side to the other. Sleep was fitful and when she woke she found her devious hand had crept under her pillow, tightly grasped around fine linen, monogrammed in neat, red stitching. Her lips tickled at even the memory of his. Knowing that, how could she look at the man standing across from her? His tawny hair tousled in the wind, but the rest of him was steady like a tree trunk. She should have burned the handkerchief when she’d had a chance.

She puffed a little sigh. Best get it over and done. Taking the first step forward to greet them, she tripped to a halt when Shelby suddenly screeched.

“Hellhound! Bless my soul! Away, foul beast!”

A massive creature, taller than a dane, golden grey coat, lean and muscled, had sprinted fifty paces across the green. Back hunched, hackles raised, he growled at them.

“Remus! Heel!”

Amanda’s head snapped at the command. She’d never heard Julian’s voice so powerful or authoritative. His gravelly chords were made for barking orders. The animal responded immediately, moving to his side. “Remus, the mangy mutt, will only listen to me, and barely that half the time. Though he knows when not to disobey.”

A lovely, slight woman stepped forward. “He lacks a few heads to be true kin to Cerberus, but the spirit is there, I agree.” From the woman’s tawny hair and piercing blue eyes, she could only be Julian’s mother, Lady Denbigh. As he stepped forward for introductions, observing the two side-by-side, he may have inherited his father’s form, but Julian was clearly his mother’s son.

“Mother, may I introduce Miss Amanda Pruett.”

“My absence from society has been a little lengthy, I’m afraid.” She smiled in a self-deprecating way. Amanda noted her light lavender gown and dark pelisse. She wondered if this was the first occasion the woman had stepped out of mourning. “Otherwise we should have met before now without such a furry mongrel’s introduction.” Julian coughed (none-too-delicately) and his mother rolled her eyes. “The beast of course, not my son. Though your hair is grown a bit long for my liking, Julian.”

“Lady Denbigh,” Amanda bobbed a curtsey. She was certain this lady would have preferred someone more suitable for her son, given the choice, yet she gave a warm greeting. Amanda smiled tentatively. “He’s a strange-looking dog.”

“I suspect he’s not a dog. Not entirely.”

“A wolf?” She blinked. “In London?”

Of course!

Amanda smiled triumphantly at Geoffrey. Mr. Diggs and that haunting howl were Julian and his wolfhound. She had not imagined what she’d heard in the cemetery that night! It was an effort not to stick her tongue out at her brother.

“Isn’t this a fine day for a walk in the park.”

Almost as a group, they looked at the grey-hewn sky, threatening rain.

Of course, Great-Aunt Celia took the lead in saying what was on everyone’s mind. “Hmm. Well, girl’s father ain’t here to force the issue, so as acting head of the family I say there’s no sense beating around the bush, we all know what we’re about. Unless he wants to be labeled a lothario and she a flirt, the good people of London will expect an announcement of engagement. I’ll let Christopher deal with the rest whenever he bothers to return, but these two have plenty to discuss so we might as well let them have at it. I propose the ladies head right, the children and their keepers left, and leave the couple to wander. Within appropriate distance, of course. You may be given a little leeway, but don’t go getting any more ideas.”

There was a chorus of bobbing heads as the two groups broke into three.

Shelby offered the children her hand. “Come along, Master Geoffrey, we’ll see if we can’t find a slimy toad to scare Maria.”

“I know where to find the best toads,” Julian’s curly-haired sister crowed.

“I bet you do, miss. Why don’t you show us, then?”

“I hate toads…” the poor governess groaned, following in their wake.

The four ladies started off along the path leaving Amanda and Julian to stand rather awkwardly alone.

“You brought the entire household?” Amanda asked, once everyone was a good distance away.

“You brought yours.”

“You did say there was strength in numbers. Though my Aunt may have sufficed.”

His lips tweaked to an almost-smile.

They made their way along a path toward the Serpentine. Amanda wondered if the wolfhound would rush the lake, or hunt for deer in a nearby copse like the game reserve the park once was. But he stayed obediently by his master’s side. His long, pink tongue lolled out the corner of his mouth and his sleek head bobbed just at his master’s thigh. (Amanda risked a glance at Great-Aunt Celia, but she was distracted in conversation with the other ladies and couldn’t intrude upon her choice of words in thought.) It wasn’t until Julian’s fingers curled around the mutt’s ears that understanding seeped in.

That mysterious ruffling motion he sometimes made—he was searching for the calming presence of his hound.

“You brought him along to the cemetery, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I did. How did you know?”

“I heard his howl. Geoffrey thought I’d imagined him.”

“I have bite marks to prove he is very much real.”

Amanda gasped. “He’s attacked you, yet you keep him?” She eyed him, warily. “He’s still a wolf.”

Julian laughed. “Believe it or not, he’s never once attacked. His howl is much worse than his bite. I believe the devilish mutt was attempting to save my life when it happened.”

She would have asked more, but something held her tongue. “When it happened…” They’d reached the water’s edge and Julian stared out across the glassy surface. He sighed, starting over. “Andrew received his scars in an explosion.” Amanda’s eyes widened in shock, but she remained silent. “Three of us had ventured down an abandoned mine. We stumbled across a French supply stash, complete with cannon. Impossible luck. A four-pound Gribeauval. I couldn’t see if it had been spiked, so I snapped my flintlock to light a lantern and examine it.”

He swallowed.

“I’m not certain if it was gas from the mine, gunpowder… well I don’t know the cause. But there was an explosion. Fire engulfed everything. Andrew was injured and unconscious. I was pinned by beams from the carriage. Ben. Poor Ben was crushed by the barrel.”

Amazingly, the canine butted his hand at the moment the emotion began to choke him. Julian knelt and ruffled his muzzle. His voice gained a bit of life as he continued, “Then, leaping from the flames came this snarling, snapping brute. Ben had a bad habit of feeding strays and I think Remus, here, must have followed us looking for food scraps. He found us cooking, instead. Bit my leg, straight through the boot, and I thought the bone would crush under his jaws. Still not convinced he wasn’t trying to drag me off to eat, but the sudden movement dislodged the carriage debris. Blasted beam pinning me was heavy enough for two men to carry. Remus saved my life. As soon as I was out, I thought he might attack me but he just stared. We came to an understanding, I think, with the flames licking at us.

“When we crawled out, our soldiers tried to shoot poor Remus on sight—and let me tell you, he looked frightful. Covered in still-smoking soot, mange patching his matted fur, smelled like death—but they couldn’t take the shot with Drew and myself in the way. We’ve been inseparable since. So, yes, Miss Pruett. I keep him.”

She doubted this was a story he often shared, yet he’d shared it with her. That knowledge gave her a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. Mr. Turner said he’d received his scars in an accident (his emphasis). Amanda exhaled, slowly. Julian probably blamed himself for that accident. He’d lit the spark that caused the flames.

He might blame himself for their current situation, too, though she was the one who’d forced his hand. “I… I wanted to thank you.” For the kiss? “For your actions.” In kissing her? “You didn’t need to. I was prepared to weather the scandal alone.” She wasn’t, but she’d thought she’d been.

“I couldn’t have let you.”

No. He would never have allowed himself.

“Still, you did not need to risk leg-shackling yourself to a little mouse like me.” She winced. She didn’t need him to think of her in her Great-Aunt’s terms. “When all this is over and I cry off, I shall ensure to let you down gently.” She’d meant it as a joke, but it fell flat as the dull-grey weather.

“If that’s what you desire.”

He stood and began walking along the edge of the lake, Remus loping beside him.

She stared at his back.

What she desired?

As if there were another option.

As if… he wouldn’t actually want to go through with an engagement. Marriage? To her…

Would he?

She skipped to catch up to him.

“Tell me, in a different world, if you hadn’t been spotted digging up graves near the scene of a murder, what were your plans?”

“Bloody hell, woman, you make it sound as if I make it a habit!” She raised an eyebrow at his language, but didn’t say anything and neither did he apologize. “If I hadn’t been spotted… rather if you hadn’t spotted me digging up a specific grave, I’d have finished my business quite happily and never spent the rest of the evening chasing after this wretched, runaway cur.” He ruffled Remus’ fur without real rancor, quite content to have the animal beside him. “But I suspect your question was general rather than specific.”

“Indeed.” She smiled.

“I’d always been destined for the army and enjoyed the prospect. For that reason, I’m sorry to say, I didn’t put much effort towards my schooling. That was my brother’s specialty. Now that he’s gone… Well, to ensure I don’t muck up his hard work, I’ve been reviewing his library. It has renewed in me an interest in the natural sciences. My plans, such as they were, are sure to disappoint, for the exciting realms of manure and crop rotation have been on my list to explore.”

Amanda laughed. It was difficult to imagine and at the same time quite appropriate for him.

“What of you? In a different world, a world in which you never opened your library door to an unwelcome visitor, what would you do with yourself?”

When she’d awakened last week, her goals had been few.

“I’d planned on enjoying my Season without falling flat on my face at the first ball, meeting interesting people, and possibly making a match.” Curate, goatherd, or a gentleman who enjoyed cards, dancing, or perhaps an astronomical lecture or two.

“Then, so far, your Season has been a success.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. She’d met interesting people, true enough. However her first dance had been occupied trying to get him to relax, and if he considered their faux, forced, soon-to-be announced and just-as-quickly broken engagement as making a match of things, he had another think coming.

Though nothing had felt false about that kiss.

“Ah,” he said, reading her face, “a match, but not the match you’d hoped. Sir Robert?”

Always Sir Robert. She slanted a glance at him, but he’d made his own face blank. It was almost as if the man were jealous. The thought made her lips tingle.

“Sigh. Charming as he is, I couldn’t marry a card-cheat.”

“In a different world, he might not be one.”

“Excellent point! But with Father absent, and as I won’t reach my majority for several months, the only way to secure such a match would be to hop the anvil in Gretna.”

“And then?”

“Then, I suppose, be a wife and mother. Enjoy wedded bliss while he practiced not cheating at cards and I steadied my hand at embroidering pillows.”

“Wife, mother, embroiderer extraordinaire.” Amanda smiled again. “What if… what if he desired more? What if he desired a partner and companion?”

Not with Sir Robert. Perhaps, with a different sort of man…

Amanda recalled saying once that she’d not be beholden to him for the sake of her or her family’s reputation. She’d heavily implied that his were not the most competent hands for such a duty. Now, her reputation and her family’s rested on his shoulders. There was no one else she’d choose to help weather the storm.

“A partner? Then I would have to brush up my whist skills,” she smiled.

He smiled back. A small smile. But it lit his eyes. Rich blue and expressive. Warmth and, unless she imagined it, affection.

“Your skills are excellent.”

She found herself leaning closer to him, drawn by his smile.

“Ow!” Still unused to reticules, her movement made the bag around her wrist bump sharply into her knee. She supposed she should thank the thing for saving her from kissing him in the middle of the park with an audience for the second day in a row, but she didn’t feel that kindly to the garment. In fact, she wanted to hurl the bothersome fabric into the lake. It did, however, provide a useful excuse.

“I nearly forgot to return this to you!” Amanda had placed the cause of her pain and salvation somewhere in its depths. She dug around the bottom until her fingers caught metal. “Your watch, I believe.”

“Indeed it is!” He opened the watch and ran a thumb along the inscription. “I thought I’d lost it.”

“That engraving is what first made me suspect you, you know. Which is it? A or D?”

“Both.” He held it closer to her so she could see. “Armytage and Denbigh. My brother’s idea. He had everything in the house monogrammed, I believe down to the inkwells. Without my consultation, I might add. Thank you.” He put it back in his vest pocket. His lips tweaked up again. It quite changed his face. “I suppose there was a slight bit of evidence against me.”

She grinned. “Well, Victor carried your watch, you were in the cemetery, you gave me the handkerchief for my head…” Amanda hoped he did not notice she’d failed to return the handkerchief. She wasn’t about to explain it was still under her pillow. “…the initials indicated it was you. As did your strange words in the Worthington hallway.”

“What was that?”

She hadn’t mentioned this at all previously. It seemed very strange and presumptuous, despite all of the revelations they’d had. Eavesdropping? Now her cheeks flared.

“I overheard entirely by accident, but it seemed too coincidental. Look at the timing, after all!”

Julian straightened his vest, looking rather embarrassed himself.

“I am no longer… comfortable in public. My mind wanders. I find myself thinking in strange ways. I curse and swear. My temper, as you’ve seen, is not always under control. On my first outing after the accident, Lady Fortescue actually fainted at the sight of me. Rumors ran rampant. It took an age after that for Worthington and Mother to convince me to attend his small party and reaccustom myself to people again, not to roar and rage. It’s often the little things that vex me. As you saw, my frustration got the better of me that night. I did not think I’d be able to make it through the evening. You caught me in a moment of weakness.”

Typical.

Amanda had thought the man a murderer when he’d actually been rallying his pride to make polite conversation at a card party.

The least she could do was console him.

“You feel that because you have such emotions it makes you weak. Yet even the attempt to reign what anger you might feel makes you immensely more powerful. You are not weak because you have emotions. You are strong to have mastered them. And if you vent from time to time, you may have lost the battle, not the war.”

His eyes immediately shuttered. Amanda’s stomach dropped and she felt sick churning. She’d said the wrong words, said something to offend him just as he’d opened so much of himself…

Julian took her hand, placed it in the crook of his arm, and covered it with his. She risked a glance at his face. His jaw had tensed but from this angle, his eyes were glossed in a sheen of emotion, not shuttered.

Amanda gulped air. What she’d said had touched him.

Perhaps it made a bit of a difference.

“When shall we make the announcement?” Great-Aunt Celia called. They group of ladies had convened upon them.

“The day after tomorrow,” he said.

Amanda glanced up at him. The day after the inquest. He was still giving her options.

“At our ball, how charming!” Lady Worthington chimed. “Excellent.”

“Hmph,” was the only response from Celia as she linked arms with the other woman and continued walking.

There was a sudden shout from up ahead. Amanda could see skirts flash on a figure running rapidly away from the boggiest section of lake. In another moment, Shelby and the children appeared from behind a wall of reeds, chasing something in giant, leaping hops across the ground.

Lady Denbigh sighed. “It looks as though we’ll soon be in search of another governess, Julian. Poor Miss Gillekens.”

Remus watched the frolicking without even a twitch. He stayed by his master’s side.

“I must admit, you have a very polite—” Dog? Canine? Wolf? Hellhound? “—mutt.”

“Give him a pat, Miss Pruett. I promise you’ll both be the better for it.”

After hearing his story, how could she refuse? Still, knowing the creature had bitten Julian’s leg and could crush bone, she hesitated. Amanda didn’t particularly relish the idea of her hand snapped off in the saliva-dripping jaws of a hellish beast.

Who saved Julian’s life.

Amanda’s hand reached between his ears and stroked. Rough, coarse, and silky smooth all at once. But it was rubbing the soft fur around his ears that he truly loved.

“You’ve made a friend for life.” His gravelly voice sounded almost gentle to her. He smiled. And something around her heart melted, for she felt a gush of heat flow through her body and up to her cheeks.

“Oh, Julie,” Lady Denbigh cried. “Tabitha is trying to climb the trees, now!”

“Remus, go!” He snapped his fingers in the direction of his sister. Fur whipped from under Amanda’s hand so quickly, the beast’s warmth remained even though he was halfway across the field. With a nod of his head, Julian followed to catch his sister before she lifted her skirts any higher.

He had a graceful loping run, his long legs easily closing the distance.

And Miss Heatly caught her looking. She tutted with an admonishing little shake of her head.

Amanda puffed. “It feels as though everyone has been trying to matchmake, and now that the deed’s as good as done, no one is happy about it. Aunt Celia tricked us into dancing, now she’s upset. And you kept conveniently leaving us alone while the men fixed our window. Come now, Miss Heatly, you’re too perceptive to have me believe you didn’t know he was there or do it on purpose.”

Miss Heatly stared at the lake. “I did come to check on you.”

“I knew it!” Amanda crowed. “It still remains that you left us unaccompanied.”

Miss Heatly sniffed. “Nothing can happen alone with a gentleman for a period of three-and-a-quarter minutes which would irrevocably tarnish a maiden’s reputation.”

“Three-and-a-quarter?” It had felt like a lifetime. “Not three-and-a-half? Not four minutes?” Amanda asked, amusement winning over. It’s not as if the woman had timed it.

“Not four.” Miss Heatly’s eyes were simultaneously cool and fierce. It gave one the impression she knew what she was talking about.

Perhaps she had calculated exactly.

Now Amanda wondered: how long had they been left alone in the garden?