Lily and the Lion (19 page)

Miss Clarke released an exasperated breath. "No one's going to turn you over to the constable, my good man! You haven't stolen anything, have you? Put down your guns and go your way, and promise me that you won't do such a stupid thing again!" she admonished like a lecturing nanny.

"What about
'im?"
said the highwayman, gesturing towards Julian, '"ow do I know
'e
won't set the law after me at the next village? I don't exactly disappear in a crowd. They'd snabble me and I wouldn't have nothin' t'show for it, neither!"

"I have no intention of sending the law after you," Julian assured him in a beleaguered voice. "I've much better things to do today, like getting my nephew home to his mother! Christmas draws nigh and I have an aversion to being skinned alive. If you're going to rob us, do it swiftly! Or if you're going to give up your life of crime, please do that in a similarly expeditious manner, if you please!''

"My lord," said Miss Clarke, turning to Julian with a remonstrative air, "you must see that the fellow feels himself at daggers drawn! He obviously doesn't want to rob us, but the alternative is not very attractive, either! How will he feed his family?"

Julian watched while Miss Clarke pondered deeply. He felt like a man awaiting his sentencing from the magistrate. But he knew what his fate would be, even before her eyes lit up and she turned to him with an eager expression, saying, "I have a capital idea, my lord! Your estate is a large establishment, requiring many hands to keep it running smoothly, I daresay. Do you suppose...?"

"First you foist upon me a miscreant cat who is quite worthless—''

"Never say so!" interrupted Miss Clarke indignantly. "Sebastian has been a comfort to Peter!"

"Then you thrust me headlong into the middle of a family argument and saddle me with another servant, who, for all I know, may or may not be the least bit deedy about the house—"

"That was your idea entirely!" Miss Clarke reminded him.

"And now you are hinting that I had ought to interest myself in the plight of this ruffian, who, at this very moment, has a gun aimed at my chest! Do you want me to hire him for the stables, Miss Clarke, or the farm? Or maybe he could replace Mr. Beedle as majordomo of Ashton House? Come along, Miss Clarke, out with it! Why don't you tell me
exactly
what you want and quit beating about the bush!"

"Goodness, we're in a bit of a twitch, aren't we, my lord?" she said loftily. "But if you must know what I was thinking particularly, it is this. I had thought you might make the highwayman—" She turned to the astounded but deeply interested would-be criminal and demanded, "You
must
tell me your name! I can't continue to speak of you as 'the highwayman!' It's so awkward."

"My name's Bickford, miss. Norton Bickford," he said automatically, his guns forgotten and drooping in his hands, the muzzles pointed to the ground.

Miss Clarke smiled approvingly. "Thank you, Mr. Bickford. As I was saying," she continued, turning back to Julian with an officious air, "you could make Mr. Bickford one of your tenants, allowing him to put off paying his rent till he's made a profit, or possibly set him to work at odd jobs about the estate to earn the needful. It would be a lot of hard work at first, Mr. Bickford, but you appear very hearty. I'm sure you could do it!"

Now Mr. Bickford's arms fell to his sides. Clearly he was shocked and disbelieving, but the hint of hope aborning in his barrel-like chest was evident in his softened expression. "What say you to such an ad-dle-pated idea, my lord?" he asked.

Julian sighed deeply and his mouth twisted into a rather lopsided grin. "I won't even consider such a proposition—"

Mr. Bickford's face crumpled.

Julian extended his open palm. "Until you hand over those pistols, all three of them, if you please! Staring down the muzzle of a gun is likely to put anybody in a 'twitch' you know!"

Mr. Bickford frowned at Julian, then stared at his weapons consideringly. Then he turned back to Julian, a glimmer of fear in his black eyes. "Can I trust you, I wonder?"

"Certainly not," Julian informed him briskly. He hooked a thumb at Miss Clarke. "But you can trust
her,
and it appears she has the stronger will between us. All shall be done just as Miss Clarke suggested. It just so happens that I've a small property which needs a tenant, and I don't mind waiting for the rent for a little while."

Mr. Bickford shook his head dolefully as he sent his horse mincing forward and bent down to hand the guns, stock first, to Julian. "I've gone daft, I expect," he muttered faintly. "Or else I've met my guardian angel!"

Julian took the guns and said airily, "If Miss Clarke's your guardian angel, you must be prepared to share her! It seems she has a prodigious quantity of human beings to watch over. Now, how shall we go about this thing we've undertook? Mr. Bickford, do you live nearby?"

"Aye, my lord," Mr. Bickford replied, gesturing in a westward direction. " 'Cross the river in Churt."

"Did your wife know how you meant to employ yourself today, Mr. Bickford?"

Mr. Bickford looked shamefaced. "No. And it would kill 'er if she'd knowed about it. You won't tell 'er, will you, my lord?"

"No, of course not!" Julian scoffed, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "I won't be able to make your wife's acquaintance this day, for I'd not get Peter home in time for dinner with his mother if we went so far out of the way. I'm just wondering how you'll explain meeting me and suddenly becoming my tenant. Hmm. This will require some subtlety. Climb off your horse, Mr. Bickford, and allow me time to think."

Julian caught Miss Clarke looking at him and said, "Don't tell me not to concoct a lie, because I have no choice in this instance! We'll stick as close to the truth as we can, but eliminate certain facts which might distress Mrs. Bickford." He turned back to Mr. Bick-ford. "Then, once we've agreed on a story to suit, I'll give you the direction to Ashton House. To set your mind at ease that my intentions are honourable and not likely to be forgotten as soon as you ride out of sight, I will also supply you with a written note of agreement to be brought with you to my estate within the week. Or can your family pack up and come sooner, do you think?"

Mr. Bickford assured Julian that the sooner they left the God-forsaken village of Churt, the happier he'd be.

Then, bethinking himself of other possible contingencies, Julian pulled Mr. Bickford out of earshot of the others and asked, "Have you food and such to sustain you till your move? Do you need a wagon to convey your belongings?"

No, he said to the first, yes to the second. Julian gave him some money, which Mr. Bickford nearly wept over, and then left the man to compose himself while he fetched pen and paper from a small leather portmanteau inside the carriage and scribbled directions and promises in an elegant hand. Miss Clarke was uncharacteristically unobtrusive during these proceedings, seemingly satisfied to merely watch. She had such an odd little expression on her face, too, one that Julian could not fathom at all.

Mr. Bickford blinked over the paper, admitting that he could not read a word of it, but was inclined to believe that Julian had written just what he'd said he would. A hard, more cunning part of his mind told him the whole thing was a hum, or a dream, and mayhap a constable would somehow have been alerted and would be waiting to shackle him at the door of his humble cottage. But, as he said, just on the chance that Miss Clarke
was
his guardian angel, and because he
did
have a constitutional dislike of robbing people at gunpoint, he decided to take Julian at his word. My Lord Ashton was a gentleman, after all, and if one could not believe the word of an English gentleman, then the world had indeed gone all to pieces, he concluded eloquently.

After further confidential conversation between them, concocting a story to suit, Mr. Bickford obligingly untied Julian's henchmen, who, though they had seen and heard the whole incident, still harboured some resentment and mistrust towards the beefy highwayman. Julian watched his latest charitable undertaking lumber about, the fellow looking as meek as a lamb. He did not yet trust the highwayman, either, and he only hoped that Mr. Bickford would not take a sudden turn for the worse and decide to slit their throats.

By now Julian was thoroughly convinced that he'd gone mad to so personally involve himself in the man's life. What had got into him to have become so philanthropic of a sudden?

But he knew. He knew that Miss Clarke—Lily, as he should rather choose to call her—had exerted her influence over him to such a degree that the icy fortress of indifference he'd built up as a protection over the years was fast melting. The heating source had originated somewhere in the region of his heart and, like a deadly virus, had run rampant through his bloodstream till he was quite overcome with the fever of human i tar i anism.

He now realized that the condition had been creeping up on him for the past three days, perhaps since the moment he'd set foot inside that beatific bedlam, the Whitfield 'Vicarage. It had been a positive shock to his system to encounter such enthusiasm in Lily and such genuine goodwill in her and all her family. Immersed as he'd been in the shallow pursuits of Town life, he'd been comfortably insulated from the difficulties and pathos of the common man, and the challenges they faced, especially after the war.

Developing an awareness and a sense of responsibility for the lives of others less fortunate than himself foretold a certain amount of trouble and pain for Julian's future. But wasn't it better to feel pain than nothing at all? And, along with the pain, he knew he'd feel a measure of satisfaction for helping out where he was able. And he'd experience other emotions more keenly, as well. Emotions like love, for instance.

They resumed their journey, with Mr. Bickford riding his horse alongside the carriage till he was required to cross the river to Churt. At Julian's request, Nort, as he urged them to call him, removed the scarf that had covered his head and eyes, revealing a mass of black, curly hair, and tufted eyebrows that crawled across his forehead like woolly caterpillars to kiss at a point just above the bridge of his generously sized nose.

Julian gave Nort's gun into the keeping of Bob, explaining that the weapon would be returned when Nort arrived at Ashton House with his family. Nort submitted to this plan without argument. Julian's own pistol was kept right where it had always been—in his pocket. For while they had talked Nort out of his intention to rob them, Julian was aware that most highwaymen were ruthless outlaws capable of much worse than merely robbing them. Unlike his brother Richard, Julian was a practical man, awake to the realities of life and determined that if his fate
was
to be a philanthropist, he would still make certain that he used his head to as much purpose as he used his heart.

His heart. He slid a covert glance at Lily. Since Nort's addition to their travelling circus, Lily had been as still as a mouse. An ironic comparison, perhaps, since she disdained rodents so very much. But, suffice it to say, she'd been completely silent, and much of the time stared out of the window at the crystalline beauty of an English winter idyll. But she did not appear to be appreciating the beauty before her; rather she was deep in sober reflection.

Back to his heart. It ached a little now, watching her, wondering what complexities of philanthropy weighed heavily in her thoughts. Was she thinking about Nort's family, fretting over the idea of four children gone so long without enough milk to help them grow tall and strong?

He wanted to soothe away that tiny crease of worry between her brows. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her.

Julian moved restlessly, finally looking out his own window and probably seeing as little of the view as did Lily. He examined his heart with the thoroughness of a nit-picking monkey from the London Menagerie, and realized he wanted to do much more than comfort Lily. He wanted to crush the little baggage to his chest and cover her face with kisses. He wanted to protect her and extricate her from all the scrapes she'd doubtless fling herself into with regularity throughout her life.

Then, once she had done her daily good deed, he wanted to drag her home at night to his own bed, therein to redirect all that goodwill and enthusiasm into the very satisfying activity called lovemaking. For he loved her.

He did not consider their difference in fortunes. He had enough money to secure much more than the necessities of life. And while Lily did not move in the same tonnish circles as did Julian, he realized how unnecessary those people were to his happiness. Fundamentally, Julian felt a much stronger kinship with this little vicar's daughter than to any of his London cronies and flirts. But, reflecting on his upbringing, destined as he had been for the clergy, he realized falling in love with Lily was probably the most natural thing he could have done.

Now came the rub. Peter loved her, too, or at least thought he did. Worse than that, Julian knew, was the fact that Lily had a very poor opinion of
him,
and probably hadn't the slightest inclination to fall in love with such a good-for-nothing fellow! However, he wasn't going to let that stop him! Besides, there were times when he thought she might not exactly hold him in complete aversion… For example, when he'd almost kissed her…