Princess Charming (26 page)

“We’ve arrived,” Lucy said, and squeezed his hand. Before he could offer his assistance, she jumped from the back of the cart. With a sigh of relief, she pulled the cap from her head, and her hair tumbled down. In the darkening eve, her guinea curls glowed like bronze.

A young man emerged from the nearest cave. “Tom!” Lucy greeted the boy with enthusiasm, and Nick, feeling the pinpricks of jealousy, turned back to the cart to fetch their rucksacks.

Lucy appeared at his side with the fresh-faced youth in tow. “Nick, may I present Thomas Selkirk?” The boy nodded, his eyes probing, as if he were assessing Nick’s measure as a man. “Tom, this is
 . . .
” She paused and frowned in confusion. Nick didn’t offer to assist her with her dilemma. Let her decide how much of his identity to reveal. After another moment, Lucy brightened and said, “This is my
friend,
Nicholas St. Germain.”

Nick scowled. He did not want to be Lucy’s friend. He wanted to be her husband. “Selkirk.” He nodded at the lad but left his hands at his sides, clutching the rucksacks.

“St. Germain.” The boy seemed as little thrilled with the introduction as Nick.

Lucy seemed oblivious to the tension. “I’m ravenous, Tom. Is your mother within?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Lucy smiled sweetly at the boy, and Nick found himself resenting every nuance of that expression. Was he so ridiculously in love that he was jealous of her every word, her every look toward another man? Apparently so.

Lucy turned toward the makeshift house, and Tom Selkirk followed her. Nick, rucksacks in hand, trailed the pair while trying to think of some plausible excuse he could offer for not entering the dwelling. Nick had few things he rejected out of hand, but caves were not on his list of places to be tolerated.

LUCY WOULD NOT have expected it of him, but Nick had been cool and distant since he entered the Selkirks’ home, thwarting her goal of furthering his conversion to reform. His every look, his every movement spoke his unease. Where was the man who had been so at home with the former climbing boys of London? He sat on the edge of his chair as if ready to bolt, his eyes moving at regular intervals toward the door. They had eaten little but dry bread and cheese since breakfast, and yet Nick picked at his food, an insult to the rotund Mrs. Selkirk who kept trying to tempt him with choice bits of the stew. He gulped down several whiskeys in succession, leaving Lucy embarrassed and the Selkirks eyeing him with displeasure.

“The carpenters have finished the speaker’s platform,” Tom Selkirk informed the company. “Mrs. Trask has completed the bunting. The women will drape it on Sunday morning.” In addition to the Selkirks, Lucy and Nick shared the simple table with Mr. Benton, one of the Nottingham reform leaders.

“What of the magistrates?” Mr. Selkirk asked. “I have heard reports the militia is to be called up.”

There was a general murmuring, and Lucy shifted in her chair. Such a rally as they were planning had its risks, especially in Nottingham, which had been widely known for Luddite violence eight years earlier. Still, the region had been calm, if not entirely easy, for some time now. Surely the magistrates would realize that such a public gathering, with women and children in attendance, must be a peaceful one.

“A troop of dragoons has been spotted on the London road,” Tom answered, “but they may be headed west. There has been some unrest in Gloucestershire.”

“We shall hope so.” Mr. Selkirk turned his attention to his stew.

Mr. Benton, the leader of the local reformers, laid down his spoon. “Even if we have no dragoons, you can be sure that Sidmouth’s spies will be present. I am not sanguine about this rally. I have a sense of something
 . . .
” he trailed off, and Lucy looked at him in alarm. Mr. Benton was a quiet, unassuming man with considerable powers of perception, a quality that stirred him to leadership against his natural inclination for solitary pursuits.

“Change always brings risk,” she offered, hoping to ease the minds of her friends. “This meeting will so obviously be a peaceful one that the authorities cannot feel threatened.”

She felt Nick’s eyes on her and could all but read his thoughts. He did not believe that people of the lower classes could assemble without creating mayhem. Not for the first time, she wondered where he had acquired this notion.

Nick cleared his throat. “The reputation of this place is not in your favor.” At these slightly slurred words, every head swiveled toward him. Mr. Benton grew pale.

“And what, sir, would you know of our reputation? The people of Nottingham are the most loyal subjects in the kingdom.”

Nick was silent for a moment, as if weighing his words, and Lucy held her breath. She did not want to be forced to choose between her friends and Nick.

Nick leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure that the good folk of Nottinghamshire excel in every respect. The magistrates, though, have history on their side.”

“On their side?” The normally placid Mr. Benton looked as if he might fall into a fit of apoplexy. “And what, pray tell, Mr. St. Germain, would you know of our history in this little corner of the world?”

“Only that there was much destruction of property, and even lives threatened, in past years. Only that men of business were forced to employ special guards and could no longer go around to the cottages of their employees to collect their rents and their finished goods from the framework knitters.” Nick said all this in a moderate tone, but Lucy could see the whiteness of his knuckles where he gripped his wooden tankard. Her stomach knotted in apprehension.

Mr. Benton pushed back his chair and rose from the table. “Then there are a great many holes in your education, sir. For you say nothing of the laborers forced to pay exorbitant rents for their looms, receiving less and less recompense for the same work. You have told us nothing of bread prices that rose to such heights only the rich could afford a loaf. You have said nothing of children whose only food was potatoes and wild berries. Indeed, Mr. St. Germain, I find you surprisingly ill-informed for a friend of Lady Lucy. But since you are her friend, I will bid you good night and leave you to Mrs. Selkirk’s generous hospitality.”

Mr. Benton laid his napkin gently on the table and bowed to the elder Selkirks. He patted Lucy on the shoulder as
he passed by, and then he was gone. Lucy flushed with mortification.

Nick, too, rose from the table. “Mr. Selkirk, Mrs. Selkirk, I thank you for your hospitality and can only offer my apologies for ruining your joy in your dinner.” He walked from the table to the corner of the room where their rucksacks lay in a heap. He slung the packs over his shoulder and looked at Lucy expectantly. “We had best make for our lodgings.”

Lucy stared in surprise. Had he not realized? “Nick, our lodging is here. With the Selkirks.”

Nick looked around the cave and shuddered visibly, and Lucy’s eyes stung with tears that he would show such contempt for her friends.

“Nay, Lucy. I cannot remain here. We will find lodgings in town.” He held out his hand to her.

Mr. Selkirk rose to his feet as well. “Don’t be a fool, St. Germain. With the crowds that are gathering, do you expect to find an empty bed anywhere in Nottingham? And even if you could, I would not allow Lady Lucy to stay with you unchaperoned. I may be a simple man, but I know what is due a young lady. She will stay with Mrs. Selkirk and nowhere else.”

“Then I shall sleep outdoors,” Nick responded coolly as he withdrew his hand. “It will not be the first time.” He dropped her rucksack and left the house, the makeshift door grating against its sandstone casing as it closed behind him. Lucy stood immobile, torn between her friends and worry for Nick.

“It is June, and he will not freeze,” Mr. Selkirk offered as a conciliatory gesture, returning to his seat.

“Excuse me, please.” Lucy laid her napkin on the table and rose from her chair. “Something is very wrong. I must go after him.”

“Wrong?” snorted Tom. “I should say so. He may affect the airs of a prince, but he’ll still be a commoner sleeping on the cold ground tonight. Good riddance, I say.”

Lucy turned a deaf ear to Tom’s imprecations and followed Nick out the door.

NICK STRODE OUT of the Selkirks’ home and into the darkness. The longest night he had ever spent had been passed huddled in a cave in the Santadorran mountains, high above the Ivory Palace. His mother and sister were dead, although the soldiers had not even left their bodies behind for a decent burial. At twelve, he’d not known what else to do, and so he had hidden in a crevice in the rocky hillside, not daring to weep for fear of discovery. Surely his father would come, but by the time the king and the Royal Guards had found him, morning had broken over the horizon.

Nick had not entered a cave since, until tonight, until he’d had to face his abhorrence or make his excuses to Lucy. If she had been a man, he could have offered the briefest of explanations and been left to his own devices. But a woman would never let a man escape without wanting to extract all the sordid details of his disgrace. A woman would want him to cry, would want to mend the great, gaping holes in his soul. The thought sent a chill through him. Nick liked his holes, thank you very much. They were as much a part of him as his disreputable boots.

He’d not gone a handful of yards from the Selkirks’ door when he stopped, unsure which direction to turn. More than likely Mr. Selkirk was right, and there would be no lodgings to be had in town. He turned and looked behind him, higher up into the dark hills, and pulled his cloak tighter. The shelter of the forest, however uncertain, was certainly preferable to a night of agony in a cave.

“Nick! Wait!” Lucy appeared in the doorway, the light from within the cottage surrounding her like an angel’s halo.

He didn’t want to wait. With newfound resolution, he turned toward an odd sort of staircase carved into the hillside between two of the houses. It led upward into the shelter of the trees.

“Nick! Please!”

He moved quickly, but she had broken into a run and was gaining ground. He longed to run himself, but then she would know that he meant to elude her. He had gained the top of the makeshift steps before she caught up to him.

“Nick! I know you heard me call.” Her hand plucked at his coat, then at his pack. When she tugged on the rucksack, he let it fall from his shoulder, determined not to turn around. Tears stung his eyes, and if Lucy Charming ever saw those, he would be a lost man. He didn’t want tenderness, not now, not yet.

“I’ll sleep out here,” he said over his shoulder, using every bit of cool reserve he possessed to make the words sound convincingly neutral. “The cave is far too confined for my taste.” She was still hard on his heels and now trying to grasp his arm.

“You can’t sleep in the open,” she protested. “Not without someone to share the watch.”

He shivered in the darkness. God, he didn’t want her to see his weakness. Women deserved only strength.

“Something’s wrong, Nick. Tell me, please.”

She was like an unrelenting mountain rain, washing away his willpower. “Nothing’s wrong, Lucy. You’ve a vivid imagination. Go back to the Selkirks. I’ll return when it grows light.”

They had reached a small grove of trees fifty yards above the Selkirks’ home. Away from the dwellings, it was completely dark, and Nick risked turning to face her. In the inky night, she would not be able to read his troubled expression.