Hero, Come Back (13 page)

His compatriots were of a like mind. “Oh, aye!” one of them said.

“Count me in,” came the enthusiastic chorus.

Fently turned to Jemmy. “Shall we save you a chair, Reyburn?”

“Most decidedly.” Jemmy pointed at the double doors that led to the garden. “I’d suggest using the side door over there. You’ll be able to make your escape that much quicker.”

Fently grinned and slapped him again on the back. “Missed you in Town, Reyburn. Do come around, and I’ll introduce you to this pair of dancers I’ve had my eye on. Twins, I tell you. Best part is, we won’t have the dilemma of which of us gets the lesser one.” He laughed and strode through the room, his bold, gallant manners parting the way for him and his boon companions.

Relieved he and his lot were gone, Jemmy tugged at his cravat and shifted in his coat. They were both too tight and hardly comfortable. There had been a time when he wouldn’t have felt dressed unless he was turned out to the nines, but country life had shifted his priorities and his sensibilities.

As had Amanda.

He’d gone nearly half the day before he realized he hadn’t reached for his cane once. In fact, he realized he’d dropped it in the garden when he’d kissed her and hadn’t needed it since.

Her passion had filled him with life and a desire to live that spread through his limbs as swiftly as her tempestuous response.

Looking up, he watched half a dozen of the fellows slipping into the night. Jemmy smiled inwardly. Gotten rid of most of the likely fellows and a few fortune hunters to boot.

His little speech had done the trick.

Unfortunately, more so than he could ever have suspected.

Amanda had stood in the music room awash in panic, until she’d heard Jemmy’s deep, soothing voice on the other side of the door. She’d pressed her ear shamelessly to the panel, feeling relief at having him so close at hand. She should have learned her lesson from the other day that eavesdropping would only cause her pain.

But this was Jemmy, her Jemmy, and she smiled as she heard him greet an old friend. But the balm of his voice didn’t soothe her nerves as she had hoped.

His cruel boasts and jests had answered all her worst fears. What had he called her?
Cowhanded.
Well, granted she wasn’t the best dancer, but he needn’t be so cruel.

How had she been so foolish to believe him… and his kisses? He’d pursued her at his mother’s behest, he’d made her feel beautiful so she would believe in the fairy tale happily-ever-afters that Bramley Hollow prided itself in.

Amanda swiped the tears off her cheeks as she hastily backed away from the door. Despair clutched her heart as she dashed up the servants’ staircase, down the dark hall to her room, and yanked and pulled herself free of her ball gown. She tossed her own day gown back on and sniffled one more time.

How could she have believed that Jemmy was the hero she’d created in her careless dreams and not the selfish coxcomb she’d been unwilling to see? He’d merely toyed with her heart as a diversion from his lonely country existence.

Pity me. I’ve got to dance the first set with her.

“Ooh,” she gasped, the sting of his words piercing her dismay. If the doctor’s pronouncement of her impending death wasn’t enough to do her in, Jemmy’s betrayal should have. Instead she shook with anger. Anger that she’d wasted what precious little life she had left in Bramley Hollow. She yanked on her pelisse and retrieved her traveling valise from under the bed.

“Well, Mr. Reyburn,” she said. “You needn’t fear for your toes any longer.”

“And now, I would like to introduce our guest of honor, Miss Smythe,” Lady Finch called out, waving her hand toward Jemmy, who then turned and opened the door to the music room.

Except the room beyond was empty.

He glanced at his mother, and then at the still crowd. “Must have the wrong room,” he joked. “Just a moment.”

As he poked his head farther into the empty chamber, one thought echoed through his mind.

She’d left. Left him.

Glancing back at the ballroom, he forced a grin on his lips and blithely said, “Seem to have lost our bride. Demmed inconvenient, but I’ll find her.”

A volley of laughter followed, and Lady Finch hastily motioned for the musicians to start playing. From the look on her face, Jemmy knew it wouldn’t be long before she called out the local regiment to retrieve their guest of honor.

Determined to beat his headstrong mother at her own game, he raced toward the back stairs, up the flight, and down the empty hall to the guest room. There he found the door open and her room deserted. A glance under the bed confirmed his worst fears, for her valise was missing.

“Demmit,” he cursed. But why had she left? He’d promised her that he would see her safely to Brighton. On the floor near his feet lay her ball gown in a crumpled heap. He bent and ran his fingers over the silk. It was still warm to the touch.

If that was the case, she couldn’t have gone far. He went to the window and found his suspicions rewarded by the sight of her stealing through the rose garden, heading toward the south meadow, valise in hand.

At least she hadn’t decided to try the main drive again. Jemmy imagined Holmes had worn a groove into the road there from his constant and vigilant pacing.

Jemmy dashed from the room, amazed at how well his leg was cooperating. He knew now that Amanda had been right—he had lost his life when he’d stopped living it, just as his leg had stopped working when he’d given up trying to make it work.

As her arrival in his life had brought joy to his heart, she’d also forced him out of his careful daily schedule. He’d done more walking and climbing and hurrying about in the last few days than he had in years, and his leg felt as if it were awakening from a long sleep.

Yes, Amanda had done much for him. And once he caught up to her he’d thank her, and then beg her to stay with him until the end of his days. For even if she had only a few months to live, she’d remain in his heart until the day he left this world.

Jemmy didn’t have to travel to the ends of the earth to find his ladylove.

Mr. Holmes had accomplished that for him in short order. By the time Jemmy had reached the kitchen, the constable was coming through the door with the protesting bride-to-be in tow.

“Unhand me, sir. This is an outrage. I am a guest of Lady Finch’s.”

Jemmy had to hand it to Amanda, she had nerve.

He supposed that was one of the many reasons he loved her. And while he would thank Holmes later for saving him the trouble of having to chase her halfway across his father’s lands, he could take over from here.

“Good job, Holmes,” he told him. “But you can let the lady go now. I’ll see her to my mother’s care.” He tried to catch Amanda’s eye, to reassure her, but after her first tentative glance in his direction, she looked away.

What was that on her cheeks? Tears? She’d been crying? If Holmes had harmed her in any way…

“Oh, I won’t be falling for that trick again, sir,” the constable was saying. “The only person I’m releasing her to is the magistrate.”

Jemmy groaned. Oh, this was going to turn into the
on dit
of the Season if Holmes went marching into the ballroom with the supposed Bramley Hollow bride nearly in shackles and charged her with running away from her own betrothal.

For one thing, they’d never get rid of their houseguests then. They’d probably all stay for the ensuing trial, considering the spectacle it would make.

But Holmes was a man determined, and he continued into the house, ignoring Jemmy’s protests, as well as Amanda’s.

“Ma’am,” he called out as he came closer to the ballroom, having caught sight of Lady Finch greeting a bevy of late arrivals. “A word with you.”

She turned and took one look at the tableau before her and hustled forward, drawing the threesome into a small parlor across the hall.

Inside, Esme rose from a chair, her gaze flitting first from Holmes to Amanda to Jemmy, and then back to Amanda’s traveling clothes. But she said nothing, not that she would have had the chance.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Finch blustered, closing the door behind her.

“A misunderstanding, Mother,” Jemmy told her.

“I don’t recall asking you,” his mother said in a dangerously cold tone. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his mother so angry. “Holmes?”

The constable puffed up, proud to have his tale finally heard. “Caught her, ma’am. Escaping. Trying to leave afore her match was made. She had her bags packed and was making for the road.” The man paused, glancing at Amanda and then Jemmy. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve caught her trying to escape her bargain.”

One iron brow rose. Lady Finch turned to Jemmy. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” he said. “But there is a reason, and if you would just hear me out—”

She raised her hand to stave off any further protests. “Not another word, James. I see quite clearly what is happening.” She turned to the constable. “You say, Mr. Holmes, she was leaving—just as she is now.”

The man nodded. “Night afore last. But this time, I caught her red-handed. So if you would be so kind as to get His Lordship to swear out a complaint, I’ll be more than happy to lock her up until Mrs. Maguire can find her match.”

“Lord Finch has been called to his conservatory, a broken pipe or some such nonsense. He’ll be out with his orchids all night.”

“But I need a writ from the magistrate if we are to see this done right.”

“There’s no need for the writ, Mr. Holmes,” Lady Finch declared. “Leaving her betrothal is one thing, but we have a more serious crime at hand. I want this girl arrested for thievery.”

“Thievery?”
Jemmy and Amanda both burst out.

“Amanda is no thief,” he continued, taking her by the arm and pulling her behind him.

His mother’s eyes widened at his familiar use of her name, but she said nothing on the subject. Instead she continued to address Holmes. “Arrest her, I say, for she left my home with the Finch Diamonds. The girl is a thief.”

Amanda’s hands went to her throat, pushing back her blue pelisse and revealing the glittering evidence that convicted her more quickly than a hired jury.

But Jemmy could also see that from the surprise on her face she’d completely forgotten she was wearing them.

“Oh, my lady, I’m no thief. It’s just that I was in a hurry and—”

“Bah!” Lady Finch said, now in complete high dudgeon over the matter. “I will not listen to your excuses. Not only are you breaking your bargain, you also decided to take advantage of my generosity and steal from me.” Her hand fluttered over her forehead, and she wavered on her feet, until Holmes rushed forward and helped her into a nearby chair. “The ball is ruined. My good reputation lost. I’ll be the laughingstock of the
ton
.”

“Don’t you think you are putting on the brown a bit, Mother?” Jemmy said. “Amanda panicked is all, bridal nerves and such. She’s more than willing to go on with the ball and the match, but that’s hardly possible with her in jail.” He slanted a glance in his mother’s direction and could see her military mind working over how best to salvage her fête.

“My lady,” Holmes protested. “This is but another dodge. Your son is an accomplice, and under the law should be jailed as well.”

“That would be demmed inconvenient, sir,” Jemmy told him, “for I’m slated to dance the first set with the lady.”

Amanda looked about to add her own protest to the plan, but outside in the hallway, a trio of voices rose that seemed to strike her dumb.

“I told you, Cedric, we would be late. Now we won’t be announced properly,” came the strident tone of a very vexed lady.

Unlike everyone else, who turned toward the door, Jemmy watched Amanda, and with each word argued outside, she grew paler and paler.

She knew these people.

“Demmed waste of money,” an older man with a gravelly voice complained. “First that charlatan from London you insisted I summon, now running down here, and for what? Why, it’s a wretched crush in there, Marianne.”

The anxious and whiny voice of his wife rose in pitch. “All the better to find Regina a match. With all the young men here, think of what we’ll save if we can arrange an understanding tonight and not have to go to London for the Season.”

“Mother! You promised I would get a Season!” wailed the obviously unhappy Regina. “I will not be bartered off like some—”

“Bah!” Cedric complained. “You’ll be wed, gel, and when I say. Now we’re here, aren’t we? I see no point in leaving, especially since I’ve gone to the expense of driving all this way—not until we’ve seen what prospects are about. Make for a tidy savings if we got rid of you tonight.”

“Oh, no!” Amanda whispered, so softly that Jemmy doubted anyone else heard her. But she recovered from her shock quickly and spun around to face the constable. “Take me to jail,” she demanded. “I confess everything. I was trying to escape being matched and I was trying to steal these diamonds. Now I demand to be taken to jail, right this moment!”

The only person not gaping at her was Esme, who smiled as if suddenly everything was going as she’d planned it all along.

Holmes, having gathered his wits back together only too quickly, appeared more than happy to comply, while Lady Finch looked positively murderous.

Jemmy took one glance at the set of Amanda’s jaw and knew she’d rather go to jail than face whatever awaited her in the ballroom. Or rather, whoever.

But how could he allow it? Lock a dying woman away for the night? What if something were to happen to her? If she became ill, or worse…He wasn’t about to leave her to meet her fate alone. “Mr. Holmes,” he said, “if you are going to arrest Miss Smythe, then you must take me as well, for I have aided and assisted the lady in her plans to escape.”

Holmes rubbed his hands together in delight at having yet another confession dropped into his lap, but that didn’t stop him from looking to Lady Finch for confirmation.

After all, she was the magistrate for Bramley Hollow in everything but name.

She waved her hands at her son. “Oh, take him as well, Holmes. And good riddance. A night in jail might bring them both to their senses.”