In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady (11 page)

“Good of you.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “We might as well stay Mr. and Mrs. Bacon, since the innkeeper will know us as that, and might speak to the wagoner.”

“We're going to be someone else tonight?”

“Tonight is full of all kinds of possibilities.”

She blinked at him, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart feeling fluttery. What did he mean?

He gave a little smile. “If we want to change identities, we'll have to do so tonight, then take a different wagon tomorrow. I'll think on this. Hopefully, our pursuers will not think to look for us in such circumstances.”

“They really want the Scandalous Lady.”

“Their master does, and I will need to know who that is.”

“Of course. Since I don't want to believe that Roger Eastfield stole it, can we assume this master of theirs was behind the original theft, and somehow lost it to Roger?”

“It's a logical assumption, but I will reserve my judgment on Eastfield.”

She sighed. “So, are we Mr. and Mrs. Bacon, come from Canterbury and on our way to visit my mother in Manchester?”

He blinked at her. “Very well. Since you came up with the suggestions, it might make it easier for you to remember.”

“I won't have any trouble remembering, Julian. Maybe
you
will. You're so used to being an earl, after all. It will probably be difficult for you not to take charge of the wagon and guide us to our destination on
your
schedule.”

“You underestimate me,” he said, standing up.

“We'll see.”

He glanced at his pocket watch. “Shall we go down to purchase seats on the wagon?”

“I'd keep that watch hidden,” she said, teasing even as she scolded.

He only arched a brow.

T
he sun peered behind hazy clouds, warming the spring day, as Julian rocked and jerked and lurched with the motion of the wagon. Six sturdy horses pulled them along, and the wagoner hunched on his seat, guiding them, his head lowered within his scarf like a wary turtle. There were benches built down both sides of the wagon, with straw loosely scattered in the center. Rebecca sat at Julian's side, leaning back against the bowed walls of the wagon, her eyes closed, expression peaceful as she lifted her face to the sky. A breeze played with the brown curls that danced at the nape of her neck beneath her bonnet.

Julian thought that other women might be nervous, chased by dangerous thieves, traveling in disguise, away from everything that was familiar—away from a routine schedule. But Rebecca submerged herself into this aberration with almost practiced ease. He couldn't decide if she was courageous or foolhardy.

“Ye seem to be enjoyin' the day, Mrs. Bacon,” he said softly.

She opened one eye to look at him, the brim of her bonnet giving her some shade. “The wind is just lovely, Mr. Bacon. I can smell the comin' of summer, the way everythin' is beginnin' to grow and bloom.” She lowered her voice. “I was never even allowed to ride in an open carriage, ye know.”

They hit a particularly deep hole, and he caught her before she could be thrown to the straw-covered bottom of the wagon. “Ye obviously weren't missin' much.”

She grinned and closed her eyes again.

After sweeping his gaze across the horizon in all directions, Julian went back to surreptitiously studying their fellow passengers. Six people had joined them in Coventry, four farmers and craftsmen, and two women who were either their wives or sisters. So far they were an uncommunicative group, which suited Julian just fine.

After a stop to water the horses, Rebecca asked him if she could walk for a while beside the wagon, and he joined her on the side of the road, where they weren't as likely to encounter horse droppings.

Julian walked with his hands behind his back, their pace decent; but it was hardly necessary to race to keep up with the slow wagon. Rebecca strode along with the natural grace of a woman who did much walking. After a while, she let her black shawl slide off her shoulders and dangle from her elbows.

“Why weren't you allowed to ride in an open carriage?” he finally asked.

“I'm certain I mentioned it before,” she said, giving him a careless glance. “Illness.”

“Just illness? I don't understand.”

“I was ill often, to the point of death. I look healthy now, but it wasn't always so. I was lucky to even be permitted to leave the house, so often did I catch whatever sickness was going round. Bronchitis was a specialty of mine,” she said dryly. “To combat it, my parents did everything the doctors told them. No riding in an open carriage. I slept with a shawl around my shoulders and neck each night to prevent a draft from taking me under. You have never seen a person so bundled up as me leaving a heated ballroom at night, even when I was an adult and less liable to be ill. I don't even know how to ride.”

That took him aback. “Living on an estate in the country, that must have been very difficult.”

She shrugged. “I grew used to it. There is a seven-year difference between myself and Susanna, so when she was learning to ride I was still a baby. As I grew older, my brother would occasionally take me up behind him when our parents weren't looking, but that was rare. I was watched far too carefully, if not by my mother, then my nanny, and eventually our governess.”

“You seem surprisingly unaffected by the restrictions of your childhood,” he said thoughtfully. “Although
your longing for adventure is becoming more and more understandable.”

She smiled, glancing at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “Surely your childhood affected you.”

“If so, I don't know how.” He looked at the wagon, which had pulled ahead of them. “You must be tired. Perhaps we should—”

“That's a reaction if I ever saw one. You don't want to discuss it.”

“My reaction?”

“Your childhood. You mentioned you spent much time with the servants, and I don't think you meant your tutor. So come now, Mr. Bacon, tell your wife your secrets.” She linked her arm with his as they walked.

“I have no secrets,” he said mildly. He wasn't embarrassed by how he grew up. Yet he hadn't quite explained everything that had happened because of the stolen diamond. There was no reason for him to feel he needed to share something that was so very private.

“So you were just a normal little future earl, who did everything the other future peers did.”

“Not quite. I went to school with the village children.” Why had
that
slipped out?

Her expression turned curious. “Really? Not Eton or Harrow?”

“I began at Eton. And then my father could no longer afford the tuition.”

Her smile faded. “Oh, dear. I am so sorry.”

“Your pity is unnecessary.”

“I don't pity you! I feel badly for your parents, unable to give you what other sons had. If you began at Eton, did you at least have a year there?”

“I had a term.”

“So you went home for the holidays and couldn't return. How terrible for your father to have to inform you.” When he hesitated, she latched on to that. “Tell me, Mr. Bacon. No secrets between husband and wife.”

“My father didn't inform me. The school did before the holidays began.” Why was she able to coerce him into speaking of things he hadn't thought of in years?

When she spoke, he was surprised by her angry tone.

“That's not right,” she said. “Your father should have warned you—surely he knew things were not good.”

“My father was very good at ignoring things that were right before him.”

“And your mother couldn't say anything?”

He frowned, but didn't reply.

“But of course, she might not have known either.”

“She'd just had the twins, so there were five of us. She was busy. I should have realized the truth.”

“You were probably ten, and had hoped to be like every other boy. Do not put that on yourself.”

Rebecca could not believe how evenly Julian spoke of such a sad part of his childhood. It was true that it wasn't as if someone had died, but he must have suf
fered terribly to not have what the other boys of his station did. And then to go to school in the village—she could only admire such determination to educate himself. And he hadn't even been able to go to university either. And here she was, constantly going on about being unable to do much as a child, and he'd had his own restrictions. She kept imagining a dark-haired little boy, so eager to learn, told not to return to Eton. He never had a chance to develop the friendship with others of his class that were so important in Society. Was that why he seldom bothered to attend the events of the
ton
?

“And this is why you spent much time with the servants,” she said, putting things together. “But of course, if there was little money, perhaps there were not so many servants.”

“Enough of them agreed to stay,” he said calmly.

“Why?”

“Because I asked them to.”

She felt the rock hardness of muscle that few noble-men seemed to have. Had he developed this impressive physique spending time with the servants, helping them with their duties? But she could never ask him such a question. He would definitely think she pitied him, when that wasn't the case at all. She admired his determination and work ethic.

“Your people must be very loyal to you,” she said slowly.

“They are good people.” He picked up their pace again. “Would you care to ride?”

“No. You just don't want to stay here where I can question you as much as I want.”

“Then let me question you. You've mentioned this overprotective family—aren't they going to be worried when you don't arrive at your aunt's?”

“I've already thought of that,” she said. “When we're in Birmingham tonight, I will write to my aunt, saying that I'm stopping to visit friends along the way—conveniently not telling her where, of course. If I'm a week or two late, she'll think nothing of it.”

“Ingenious.”

She laughed, knowing he must have thought of a letter, and was allowing her to mention the idea first. “What about you? You didn't even take luggage on this trip. I imagine you aren't known for your spontaneity.”

He arched an eyebrow as he looked down at her. “I'm offended.”

“How can you be offended by the truth?”

“I often travel to property I own outside London, or to visit my factories in other towns. That's where they'll think I've gone. As you know, my mother is in London. She'll keep the household running smoothly.”

“You won't be there to ride roughshod over your brothers.”

“They'll be delighted,” he said dryly. “My sisters will certainly take turns worrying about them.”

“Why do you worry? Whatever monetary problems the earldom had when you were a child, you've obviously banished them with sheer determination.”

He said nothing, and she wondered if she'd succeeding in embarrassing him—embarrassing the Earl of Parkhurst!

She grinned up at him. “My point is, that you've probably given your brothers everything you never had. Am I correct?”

He cleared his throat and looked away. “I've done what was required. Perhaps I've done too much.”

“Really?” she asked, intrigued.

“You have certainly seen their behavior firsthand.”

“Much can be excused by youth and immaturity—but then I imagine you overcame immaturity much sooner than they will. How can they be blamed for that? You have enabled them to have the life you didn't have, growing up.”

“Enough, Mrs. Bacon. Such praise is unwarranted.”

“One always praises one's husband. Even if he's more interested in a jewel than anything else.”

He arched an eyebrow, and she skipped ahead of him to the wagon.

 

That evening, they arrived in Birmingham, one of the largest towns in Europe, the one place Julian had wished to avoid, but the wagon had its schedule to keep. It was where the train had gone, after all, where the
thieves might assume they'd disembarked and would be looking for them. Of course, once again they would hide in a part of town where they weren't expected to be, yet…he felt uneasy.

The light was still high enough in the sky for him to see how dark it was down the streets perpendicular to the main road they traveled. The numerous tenements were built too close together, overlooking central courts, blocking out the sun much of each day.

When they were let off at an inn, Julian took Rebecca's arm and told the wagoner they had relatives to visit, so the man didn't have to bother negotiating lodgings for them. And then they left.

Rebecca remained mostly silent as they walked through the streets, now crowded with factory workers returning home for the evening. The smells lingered heavily everywhere, especially coal fires that warmed houses and drove the factories. When they passed a market, he bought each of them a meat pie, and was able to ask directions to another inn.

As Julian entered the receiving hall of the King's Head, Rebecca let go of his arm, and he thought nothing of it—until she strode forward ahead of him and spoke to the innkeeper, a portly man who tiredly informed her that of course there were vacancies.

The innkeeper's midland accent had her blinking a moment, and Julian could see her try to piece the words together.

“Then I will take a room. My name is Mrs. Lambe.”

They hadn't discussed new identities, he realized, and was amused that she'd already come up with a new one.

“My servant, Tusser”—she gestured rather imperiously with her head toward Julian, who came up behind her—“will be fine in your servants' quarters.”

Julian stiffened. What was the little minx up to? Escape? He could tell nothing by her expression, except that she was trying to portray a woman used to dealing with the world alone.

“Ain't got none,” the innkeeper said. “He can bed down in the stables out back.”

“Very well.”

As she scratched her name in the register—and a hometown, although she hadn't informed him of that either—Julian stood twisting his cap in his hands, knowing he couldn't interrupt. She'd put him in his place as her servant.

As the innkeeper brought a key and started up the stairs, Rebecca said, “Be a good man and carry my portmanteau.”

Julian silently handed over the shabby bag to the man, who arched an eyebrow and rolled his eyes at Julian, as if her luggage revealed that she was putting on airs above her station.

Rebecca looked over her shoulder—and gave Julian a wicked smile.

 

Rebecca knew her game would be short-lived—at most she'd have a night to herself, and Julian would be indignant with her in the morning—she didn't imagine he ever experienced fury. But it had pleased her to let him know that he couldn't control everything, especially not her. This was her adventure, and she wanted to have fun, even if it meant teasing Julian.

When she was left alone in her bedchamber, she looked about in dismay. No wonder the innkeeper hadn't met her eyes when he'd left the room. There was a layer of dust on the floor and the single chair. He'd said they'd had few guests of late, and would send up a maid to change the bed. Shuddering, Rebecca was afraid to lift the blanket and see what was underneath.

The room was cold, and she saw that little coal had been left in the grate for her comfort. She shook the grate to release the ash, and rubbed her hands together above the meager warmth. When would summer arrive? She looked toward the window, wondering how cold it was in the stables. Surely Julian gave off enough heat that he might not even need a blanket, she thought, trying not to feel guilty. He would have to learn that she was his equal, that they should make decisions together. But of course he'd spent the last ten years making every decision for his entire family himself.