Chapter Three
Close to nightfall, Jack had ridden far enough to leave the sprawl of London behind him. Forced to find an inn after a storm blew overhead and lightning spooked his horse, he welcomed the sight of one. The Old Angel Inn appeared out of the gathering dusk, surrounded by woodlands, fields, and farmhouses.
In the stables, he saw to Arion’s needs then left instructions with the stable boy who stared goggled-eyed at the magnificent chestnut.
Jack went in search of a meal. During his army life, he ate and slept when he could. No telling when the opportunity for either would present itself after breakfast tomorrow. Winter was giving way to spring, but the air still had a bite. Hungry, he crossed the cobbles to the thatched-roofed Tudor building. He stepped through the door, pulled off his brown greatcoat and removed his black beaver hat, hanging them on a hook near the door. The inn appeared to be a well-run establishment. It was clean, and tasty aromas wafted from the kitchen. With a room secured for the night, Jack entered the dining room. It was snug, with a low-beamed ceiling and a hearty fire, which snapped and popped in the fireplace. Several tables were occupied. Two men sat together, discussing the merits of crop rotation, while a well-dressed gentleman sat alone smoking a pipe. In a corner, a man and a woman silently ate their soup.
A dark-haired serving girl swung her hips between the tables as she approached him, a twinkle in her eye. Jack ordered beef, ale and parsnip pudding, cabbage with bacon and onions, and apple pie. He smiled his thanks when she placed a tankard before him. Whilst he drank his ale, he watched her go about her tasks, with brisk neat movements.
While the dull ache caused by the loss of his father still lodged somewhere near his heart, Jack felt at one with himself for the first time in years. He had relished the companionship of his fellow soldiers during the war, and his friends since then, but now it surprised him to find he enjoyed his own company and looked forward to his journey through Wales and across the sea to Ireland. He didn’t anticipate trouble. But if he should encounter any he could handle himself well enough.
Jack’s appearance gave no clue to his background. He wore sober earth tones and leathers; the clothes of a man of relatively modest means or a country squire in buckskin breeches and oxblood leather boots. His coat was a serviceable brown and his cotton waistcoat black. His usual starched white shirts and intricately tied cravats had been replaced with a cream shirt and a brown scarf. Once on horseback, he presented in a different light, however. Arion was a gentleman’s horse, which could make Jack more susceptible to the interest of unsavory characters who roamed the roads. He would keep his pistol loaded.
The meal was satisfying, good simple fare. After a port in the taproom, Jack retired to his small bedroom and undressed. He folded his clothes and put them on the chair, washed in tepid water, cleaned his teeth, and toweled himself dry. He slipped between clean cold sheets in the narrow bed. The mattress was too short, his feet hung over the edge. He’d prefer to have slept out in a field and would have but for the wet weather.
He lay with his arm under his head thinking about the life he’d left behind. The relatives of his father’s widow were probably eyeing the silver. He hoped Grant would give those hangers-on their marching orders.
Close to midnight he began to think about sleep. Downstairs, the tap room quieted. Noise from the patrons departing floated through his window. He turned on his side, bashed his pillow, and closed his eyes.
At the clunk of his door being unlatched, Jack rolled over. He was on his feet in a minute and snatched up his pistol, the chilly air a shock on his bare skin.
The door edged open, and a hand appeared holding a fluttering candle. A girl’s pale face framed by long curly dark hair followed, then her buxom figure dressed in a white nightgown. “Were you asleep, sir?”
The girl who’d served his meal stepped farther into the room. She put a hand to her mouth with a gasp as her gaze roamed from his head to his feet and settled on his mid-section.
“As you can see I am not.” Jack tossed his pistol down and grabbed the small towel pulling it around his waist. It was woefully inadequate.
“I’m Callie. I wondered if you might need company.” She put the candlestick down on the table, then came forward and placed a hand on his bare chest, smiling up at him. “You’re a very big gentleman.”
Jack removed her hand from where it had begun to wander. He clasped it in his, breathing in the scent of warm woman. “And one with very little money.”
She pouted. “That what you think of me? I’m not after money. I’m a bit homesick, is all.”
“Are you?” Jack’s gaze dropped from her comely face to her breasts pressed against the thin material of her nightgown. “Well then…”
Below in the courtyard, a coach clattered noisily through the archway, raising the dogs. Loud voices erupted in the still night air. A woman cried out.
“What the devil is going on?” Jack opened the window wide and leaned out. Four people alighted from the sumptuous coach. Two women stood by the vehicle as a man who appeared to be sick or hurt, was hefted out by the coachman and half carried toward the inn.
Jack snatched up his clothes from the chair, donned his breeches and sat to pull on his boots. “I suggest you return to your room, Miss Callie. The proprietress might have need of you. Wouldn’t do to be seen here.”
Callie backed away to the door with a huff of disappointment.
“But thanks for the offer,” Jack added with a wry grin.
She grinned back. “Are you staying long?”
“I leave in the morning.”
“A pity.” She hurried out.
Throughout the inn, doors began to open, and guests crowded into the corridor from their rooms. Jack buttoned his coat and strode out, descending the stairs, as sounds of sobbing rose from the parlor.
~~~
Erina rode into the stable block. The straggly group of houseguests she’d escorted through the wood had wandered off to view the lake. She threw the reins to their groom, Joseph, and jumped down.
The house party had begun on Thursday. It was now Sunday, and as the weather remained pleasant, few seemed intent on departing. Harold Feather had told her he planned to accompany Miss Beckworth to view the rose garden, which was still a long way from bursting into full bloom. He was doing his best to ignite some passion in her, Erina supposed. She wasn’t confident he’d succeeded. At the ball last evening, he had danced several times with Florence, who’d barely smiled, and once with Erina. It earned her a sharp rebuke from her father as she went up to bed in the early hours.
“I have no control over Mr. Feather, Papa, should he prefer Miss Beckworth’s company to mine.”
“Who invited the Beckworths? They were not on the guest list. Mr. and Mrs. Beckworth are of damnably inferior stock.” He stared accusingly at her. “Did you have some hand in it?”
“Harold expressed the wish for her to be invited.”
“Did he now? If I’d known, I would have told you not to invite them.” He raised his eyebrows. “You are not trying hard enough, my girl.”
“Love is not something one can conjure up. Or desire for that matter.”
“That is nonsense. Desire does not come into it. I expected you to be smarter than this, Erina. You have always had a good head on your shoulders.”
Suspecting he wanted to see her secure because he could no longer provide for her, she put a hand on his arm. “Perhaps I don’t wish a secure and passionless life.”
“You’re young. You understand nothing about life.”
She raised her chin. “I believe I know my own heart.”
“Sir Ambrose is awaiting me in the library. I’ll see how the land lies. If you must be forever on horseback have the good sense to take Feather with you.”
“He’s not over fond of riding. Said he was seldom off a horse’s back when in the army.”
“Then show him the maze.”
She had a terrible urge to giggle. Did her father wish her to seduce Harold in the maze? It was overgrown and very damp. She wrestled control of her emotions which threatened to overtake her. “If it’s fine, we’ll hike up to Hangman’s Hill. There’s a marvelous view of Epping Forest from there.”
“Good. Go to bed, get some beauty sleep.”
The next morning Erina rose earlier than she cared to. Whilst most ladies were still abed, she waited for Harold at the bottom of the stairs confident he would be down for breakfast, having confessed to being an early riser. As soon as he put a foot on the hall tiles, she herded him into the deserted library.
“Goodness, but you are lively, Lady Erina.” He straightened his coat. “Can’t a man get some sustenance into him before he has to face you?”
“How are you progressing with Florence?”
He shrugged. “Not as well as I’d hoped.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Is it your manner?”
Affronted, he swung around to face her. “Are you casting doubt over my ability to charm a lady?”
“I can’t imagine where you’re going wrong.” She walked across the richly patterned carpet to him. “You are a perfectly presentable gentleman of means.”
Harold puffed out a breath and tucked his thumbs in his waistcoat. “Well, thank you for that at least!”
“Are you aware that my father and yours put their heads together in this room last night, after everyone had gone to bed?”
“No.” His brown eyes widened, and he rubbed a thoughtful hand over his jaw. “I wonder what they came up with.”
“Take it from me it was nothing good,” Erina said with a frown. “I am to invite you on a walk after breakfast, up to Hangman’s Hill.”
“A hike? How delightful. I hate to think where the hill got its name,” he observed. “But it seems apt.”
Despite her apprehension Erina had to smile at his disconsolate expression. “You’ll feel more like exercise after a hearty breakfast. And you can tell me all about Florence whilst we walk. Perhaps I can help. A bit of jealousy might move things along.”
“Good Lord, no.” Harold shuddered. “I’d rather hunt lions than come between two women.”
Erina headed for the door. “There would only be one who was serious, sir.”
“Right now, I fear there are none.” Harold walked beside her to the breakfast room. “Does terrible things to a man’s ego.”
After breakfast Harold and Erina entered the path which lead to the gate opening onto the meadow. He strode beside her making little comment.
She breathed in the scent of sun-warmed earth, the tall grasses tickling her legs above her half boots. “We don’t have to go all the way up there if you’d rather not, Mr. Feather.”
“Call me Harry, seeing as we’re almost related. We’d best go right to the summit. I suspect your father or mine, or both of them are up in that tower with a telescope trained on us.”
Erina laughed. “You may well be right.”
“I don’t mind a good trek.” Harry strode along toward the hill in the distance. “But you walk very fast.”
“It’s the way I’m made, I’m afraid.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” Harry said. “A good friend of mine, Jack Ryder is exceptionally tall and far more athletic than me. Rides like the very demon. We still rub along well enough together.”
“Captain Ryder? I have met him.” Erina pictured the large man who’d given her a crick in her neck on the dance floor. He had a wonderful low chuckle and the bluest eyes. “I remember that he had all the ladies in a flutter.”
“Handsome chap. He’s a good fellow. A brave soldier. But restless.”
“I heard his father, the duke died.”
“Yes. Hit Jack hard. He’s gone off on his horse. I’ll miss him.”
“Where is his direction?”
“Northern England, but he’s heading for Ireland first.”
She frowned. Men had such freedom. If only she was able to go to Ireland, she could help Cathleen.
Erina led the way up the narrow winding track through the magnificent aged oaks of Epping Forest. Above them, Hangman’s Hill waited. A steep hour-long trek. She glanced at Harry, but he seemed to be keeping up well. He might be slim and declare himself lazy, but he was quite fit, not even puffing. “Now, about Florence Beckworth,” she began.
“No point.” Harry stopped and turned to view the landscape they’d left behind. The complex roofline of the family mansion rose above the trees with its turrets and chimneys reaching for the sky.
She frowned at him. “Surely you haven’t given up?”
“I’m afraid I have,” Harry said. He didn’t appear too heart broken. “Miss Beckworth drew me aside after breakfast and confided in me.”
“Confided what?”
“She is in love with the village vicar. Her father opposes the match, but she’s determined to change his mind.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Erina’s heart sank. She liked Harry, she really did. But not to marry. And it was clear he felt the same.
“Yes, she has a yen to be a pastor’s wife. There’s something about sermons and bible studies which appeals far more than I ever could.” Harry shrugged. “Come on, Erina. Step up, or we won’t be back for luncheon. Is that a kestrel I see soaring above us?”
Erina cast a glance at his set profile, and wondered how much Florence’s rejection had hurt him, before watching the magnificent bird swoop down to its prey.