Chapter Seventeen

 

 

It was cold but sunny a few days later, down in Ridlington Chase.

Harriet held baby Hugh, cuddling him with delight. He was at that stage where his world was full of curiosities; he babbled and touched and—recently—adored the way her cap tumbled down when he tugged on it.

“You’re spoiling him, you know,” Rosaline looked over her desk at the two of them.

“Of course. How can I help it?” Harriet grinned.

“I had a letter from Letitia.” Rosaline leaned back. “She is returning the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh lovely. It will be a pleasure to have her home.”

“Indeed. Hecate is staying on, it seems, having discovered a fondness for town life and a wish to experience it to the fullest.” Rosaline looked up. “There’s a man behind that statement. Mark my words.”

Harriet smiled. “Miss Hecate can handle herself. Such experience will do her good, I think.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” agreed Rosaline. “So Letitia returns alone.”

“Does she have any messages or requests for me?”

Rosaline nodded and removed a folded sheet of paper from a pile next to her arm. “Better than that. She added a list of things she’d like you to procure before she arrives home.”

“Oh, that’s good. Now at least I feel like I can do something.” Harriet dropped an absent kiss on top of the future Baron Ridlington’s downy head.

“You are doing more than you realize, Harry,” smiled Rosaline. “Never doubt it. Nurse wouldn’t get her afternoon nap if it wasn’t for you, and I’d miss having someone to talk to while I’m doing these terrible housekeeping chores.”

Harriet nodded her thanks. Yes, she was good with the baby. And yes, her previous life made her a better conversationalist than Maggie from the farm, but even so, she felt underused at times. And that was followed by guilt.

She rested Hugh on his blanket on the floor, between his favourite cushions, and rose to take the paper from Rosaline. The room was warm thanks to a good fire, and the sun streaming in through the tall windows.

“I’m glad I picked this room for my study,” mused Rosaline, almost as if she’d read Harriet’s thoughts. “Even though it was a complete disaster when I moved in.”

“You chose well, my Lady,” agreed Harriet, returning to the sofa and leaning down to give Hugh his favourite toy, a soft piece of sheepskin shaped into a ball.

Opening the note, Harriet couldn’t help laughing at Letitia’s words. “Oh my goodness. She’d like me to see if I can find scented soap. Apparently she’s discovered a fondness for lavender.”

Rosaline tsk’ed. “I knew London would spoil her.”

“She’s also requested I look for a cerise ribbon to trim a bonnet she’s bought, and…and a couple of other sundries.” Harriet blinked. “I think you may have the right of it. A few days in the metropolis and she’s become a lady of fashion.”

Rosaline’s laugh rang out. “Our Letitia? Never.”

Harriet joined her with her own chuckle. “No, you’re right. Not Letitia.”

But the next morning, when she set out for the village, she wondered whether perhaps Letitia had changed. It was out of character for her to ask about ribbons and the like; and the last items were most unexpected.

Two silk nightgowns to be ordered from the local seamstress.

Silk.

One pink and one lavender.

Now why would a modest young lady who customarily preferred cotton nightgowns suddenly develop the urge to wear silk in bed?

Harriet could only come up with one reason.

It kept her mind busy during the walk, so busy in fact, that she failed to hear her name being called, and nearly jumped out of her skin when Paul DeVoreaux came up behind her and touched her shoulder.

“Aaaargh.” Her scream was piercing.

He winced. “Er…hallo.”

She clutched the front of her spencer. “Mr. DeVoreaux. Good heavens, you scared the life out of me.”

“Not the usual greeting, Miss Harry, I’ll give you that.” He grinned and matched her steps as she resumed her walk. “You were thinking of other things, I take it?”

“I must have been, sir. I might even remember what they were once my heart slows down.”

He chuckled. “I apologize. But usually ladies walking alone have a certain awareness of their surroundings. What was it that had you so involved, if I may ask?”

She nodded. “Indeed, I was engrossed. I have a list of purchases to make for Miss Letitia. She returns soon.”

“You’ll be pleased to have her back?”

“Very much. She has been extraordinarily kind to me.”

He held out his arm to assist her over a rather muddy patch of lane. “I understand you were seeking employment when you both met? I have to guess you were fleeing your relatives?”

Warning bells sounded in Harriet’s head. She wasn’t sure how much she could trust this man. He was Rosaline’s brother, and well-liked within the family. Plus, Sir James seemed to enjoy his company.

All good recommendations, but…still Harriet held back.

“That is correct, sir.”

“And yet Letitia did not need a maid, did she? Certainly not one as inexperienced as yourself.”

She frowned and withdrew her arm. “What makes you say that?”

“Miss Harry,” smiled Paul. “Your conversation is intelligent; your words betray a past with an excellent governess. Your bearing, much as you try to efface yourself, will always be that of a woman raised in privilege. You are no lady’s maid, my dear.”

“I…I…”

He hushed her. “We are nearly at the village. Perhaps you would allow me to drive you back to the Chase when your errands are concluded, so that we may continue our conversation? I need to collect a few items for the Hall, and it will require my using the inn’s wagon. So I will have a seat to spare…”

She took a breath as they reached the crossroads leading into Ridlington Vale. “Very good, sir. Yes, I accept your invitation. Thank you. Perhaps if we meet at the inn? I don’t believe my errands will take longer than an hour or two at most.”

“Excellent.” He raised his hat. “Until then, Miss Harry.”

She watched him walk away, and wondered what on earth had made her agree to his proposal.

 

*~~*~~*

 

For his part, Paul DeVoreaux was finding himself more and more curious about Miss Harry, if that was actually her name, which he doubted. There was a mystery there…certainly not just the whole maid-needing-work story.

She was a woman of breeding, betrayed by her intelligence and quick wit. She seemed vaguely familiar, which suggested she might have come from London. She was attractive beyond the norm, so he toyed with the notion that she’d been let go after some highborn gentleman betrayed too close an interest in her.

But that ignored the whole matter of her elegant demeanour.

He handled his business affairs, then walked over to the back of the inn, where he knew he’d find Thaddeus Fisher hard at work. The man lived for two things…his wife and his inn. Paul wasn’t sure in which order, but they both seemed to be in excellent condition.

“Ho, Fisher. Good day to you.” He hailed the man pushing around barrels on a concrete slab. Heaving them onto their side, they were then positioned at the top of a slip, to be rolled down into the cellars of the inn itself.

“Did you manage to get my order?” He glanced around.

“That I did, sir,” answered Fisher. “Right o’er ‘ere.” He led Paul to several barrels, deep brown scarred wood banded with shining silver. They bore a familiar mark on the side.

“Ah, there they are. Beauties, aren’t they? Nothing better than Chillendale ale, I say.”

“An’ yer got good taste, sir, that’s the truth.”

“What do I owe you?”

Money was discussed and handed over. “And a little extra for the lady of the house. Get her something nice. She deserves it.” Paul grinned. “Pays to keep the ladies happy.”

“That’s right nice of yer, sir. And yer speaks true. There’s a bonnet she’s been wantin’…I’ll be a real ‘ero if I pick it up fer ‘er…” Fisher’s answering grin revealed a distinct shortage of teeth.

“Good luck to you then,” said Paul. “Is the wagon all set?”

“That it is, sir, but would yer mind Hodgkins drivin’? He’s got a couple things for them new folks comin’ in t’ the old Worsely place. Save ‘im an’ the ‘orses if’n ‘e can do both at the same time, like…”

Paul thought about it. “I see no difficulties. In fact, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have an extra hand with the barrels. So yes, Hodgkins will be fine. I’m meeting Miss Harry from Ridlington shortly, with the idea of saving her the walk home to the Chase. We’ll both sit in the back, I suppose…”

Fisher grinned. “That’s settled then.” He scratched his head. “Yer want cushions or summat? Gonna be hard on yer arse…beggin’ yer pardon…”

“My arse has felt harder, I’ll guarantee,” chuckled Paul. “But maybe a bit of a blanket for the lady?”

Fisher shook his head. “Spoil the maids an’ yer’ll get no work out o’ ‘em.”

“She’s not my maid.”

“Well in that case, ‘ere.” He walked into the inn, and returned almost immediately with a good sized piece of sheepskin. “That’ll do fer the lass.”

“Perfect.” Paul nodded. “Right. I’ll go and see if I can find her. You’ll get the barrels loaded?”

“Two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“In that case, I’d better get a move on.” Paul hurried away, rounding the corner of the inn and walking into the courtyard.

She wasn’t there yet, and he hoped she wasn’t one of those women who thought being on time diminished their importance. After all, there really wasn’t much to do in Ridlington Vale once errands were completed.

He’d been there no more than five minutes when she appeared, a package beneath her arm, her reticule swinging from her other hand and her face tilted upward, catching the sun. She laughed as a flock of birds swooped low over the inn.

And Paul stared at her as realization hit him like a bolt of lightning.

He recognized her.

He could recall seeing her at a small musicale he’d attended in a quieter part of town. He’d only been there because he’d met the pianist in Vienna. The company was a mix of the extraordinarily fashionable, and those who enjoyed good music. He wasn’t sure which side she belonged, but he recalled the unpleasant looking couple who were apparently with her. She’d cowered silently behind them—and he’d all but ignored her. Until the music began and he caught sight of her face. She seemed entranced. A look now mirrored by her current expression. He wished he knew her name, but he didn’t.

At least he’d been able to place the memory.

Of course, the last thing he intended to do was to alert her of that fact. He respected privacy—everyone’s privacy—so if she chose to include him in the circle of people who knew her story, so be it. If not, he wouldn’t press her. But he couldn’t help wondering…

“Hallo. I do hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said, walking toward him. “But it is such a lovely day. Crisp and clear. I’m afraid I took rather longer than I had expected.”

He stood and smiled at her. Who could help it? She was radiating joy as strongly as the autumn sun. “Not at all. I’ve been here barely five minutes.” He joined her as she turned toward the inn. “The transportation is ready, but I hope you don’t mind traveling in the back of the wagon.”

“Not at all. It’s a one seat then?”

He explained Fisher’s need to send Hodgkins out and how they were combing both trips.

She immediately nodded. “Of course. That makes sense. Most efficient.”

They arrived at the wagon, which suddenly seemed awfully crowded. Paul peered around, and spied the sheepskin in a neat roll against two of his barrels.

“Ah, here we are. Not quite the most elegant of transportation, I’m afraid, but it should be fairly comfortable.” He pointed at the makeshift pillow.

Harriet chuckled. “No bruises from this trip, I see. Most thoughtful of you sir.”

A man walked up to the side of the wagon. “Yer ready, then, folks? We must be off.”

“Hodgkins?” asked Paul.

“That’s me, sir. Now we’re gonna drop the lady at the Chase and yerself and them barrels at FitzArden Hall, right?”

“Got it in one. Good man.” Paul hopped into the back of the wagon, and held out his hand to help Harriet climb onto the little step and then join him, steadying herself on a barrel.

“So I can sit here?” She moved to the spot where the sheepskin was folded. “It looks very soft.”

“Down you go.” He held her hand as she slid down, landing on her bottom, well protected from the hard flooring.

He wasn’t so fortunate, but given the sunshine and the shelter offered by the barrels, he cast an apologetic look at Harriet and slipped off his coat. “Apparently the other sheep had decided they preferred to keep their skins. So I must improvise.” He folded the garment as neatly as possible, put it down next to Harriet, and managed to contort himself into a position that allowed him to lower his backside onto twenty guineas worth of excellent wool tailoring.

He had just settled, when Hodgkins clicked up the horses, and the resultant jerk threw him into Harriet.

She let out a muted grunt and put out a hand to steady him.

Six inches from her face, Paul found himself perilously close to doing something quite scandalous. Her lips were full, her eyes dancing gold in the sunshine.

He recalled himself just in time. “I do apologize. I trust I didn’t hurt you.”

“Of course not.” She wriggled a little and straightened her skirts. “I don’t mind this at all. It’s a little adventure, isn’t it?”

He thought about that. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He glanced at her as he steadied himself with a boot against one barrel. “So were all your errands satisfactorily completed?”

“Oh yes.” She paused. “Well, almost. I have to return to pick up two of the items on Miss Letitia’s list. But with luck they will be ready before she returns.”

“Ah, well I’ve heard that Mrs. Archer is an excellent seamstress, so I’m sure they will be,” agreed Paul.

“Yes, I’ve heard that as well…” Her words tapered off as she turned to glance at him, both swaying with the movements of the wagon. “How did you know they were garments?” Her gaze sharpened. “Were you following me?”

Paul was surprised at how tense she had become. “Of course not,” he soothed. “I have a gift for deduction. You mentioned that the items would be ready…and you’re shopping for a woman. Put those two facts together and it’s not impossible to arrive at the correct conclusion. Clothing.”

She looked away, an embarrassed blush staining her cheeks. “I must apologize, Mr. DeVoreaux. My accusation was entirely groundless and most unpardonable.”

“Nonsense. You were correct to be concerned, and I owe you an apology for the way I phrased my comments.” He rested a hand on her arm. “I trust I’m forgiven?”

She shot him a quick sideways look from beneath her lashes. It was entrancing.

“I really am quite reliable, you know. And very good at keeping secrets.” The wagon bumped over a rut and once again, he was close against her, observing her long silky lashes and the perfection of her skin. “I wish you’d tell me yours. Tell me why you’re here, in the back of a wagon, sitting on a sheepskin and surrounded by barrels of ale.”

That caught her attention, and she looked up. “Is that what they are?”’

“Indeed. The finest ale in England, I might add. At least in my opinion. Which is endorsed by James and Edmund.”

“That good?” A tiny smile curved her lips.

“Yes, that good.” He let his leg rest against hers as they rocked along the pitted lane. “So if I can find ale that good, and I’m excellent at putting facts together; well, if I were you, I would find me quite a trustworthy chap. Just ask my sister.”

The smiled turned to a laugh. “Yes, you must be. All right. You’re a trustworthy gentleman.”

He nodded. “In that case, won’t you honour me with your story, Miss Harry? Please?”  He poured every ounce of charm into his request.

She was helpless to resist. “You are really interested?”

“Oh, yes,” said Paul, surprising himself with the intensity of his answer. Yes. He really was interested…

So Harriet related the long, difficult tale of her life prior to her arrival in Ridlington, and Paul was shocked, angry and finally amazed at her resilience.

Neither realized that a third pair of ears was listening very closely to every word.