The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress (5 page)

“I am indeed. Now I can get on with it. I’ve agreed to all of Jackson’s terms in exchange for his not contacting my family.” She ticked the points off on her finger. “I have engaged a companion. I promised to limit my activities to England. And I agreed to call on his cousin regularly.”

Clara’s brow rose. “A watchdog?”

“Not according to everything I’ve heard.” Lucy snorted back a laugh. “In fact, I’m looking forward to knowing her better. I think she, of anyone in Jackson’s family, might actually understand.”

Clara nodded. “Your desire for independence.”

“Yes, that and”—Lucy paused—“other things.”

“Which does bring me to my next question. You said a watchdog would not suit your purposes at all. That, coupled with your question about my view of adventures and your saying you had a plan of sorts and you can now get on with it . . .” Clara’s eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, Miss Merryweather?”

“Lucy,” she said firmly.

“Very well then, Lucy.” Clara paused. “Trust, you know, has to go both ways.”

“Without a doubt,” Lucy said staunchly. “I shall carry your secrets to the grave.”

“And I have given you my word that I will keep yours. If we are indeed going to trust one another, then perhaps you should tell me exactly what you are planning.”

Lucy hadn’t intended to tell her new companion her plans. Of course, she had intended to get rid of her at the first opportunity. But she hadn’t expected Clara. And certainly hadn’t expected to like her. Possibly she sensed a kindred spirit in the older woman, of independence perhaps, although it was more probable that Lucy had taken an immediate liking to Clara because she was so clearly not the kind of companion Jackson had had in mind.

Why not tell her? If she had misjudged Clara, it was best to know that now. Besides, Clara might be a great deal of help.

“All right.” Lucy nodded firmly. “Then there’s something I should show you. I need to fetch it from my room.” Lucy stood and headed toward her room. “It will only take a moment.”

Lucy returned quickly, resumed her seat, and drew a deep breath.

“I too am financially stable, Clara. More than stable, really. I have a rather sizable fortune. A few years ago I received an inheritance from my Great-aunt Lucinda. I was named after her, although I’ve never been particularly fond of the name Lucinda.” Lucy wrinkled her nose. “But Lucy does seem to suit me. At any rate, I received my inheritance on my twenty-first birthday. It was accompanied by, oh, a journal of sorts written by my great-aunt. It’s not a usual type of journal. It doesn’t contain passages about her day-to-day life or poorly written poetry or anything of that nature that young girls tend to write when they are revealing their innermost thoughts. What it really is, is a list of those things she wanted to do in her life. Adventures, she called them.” Lucy handed the book to Clara. “Each page is titled with a different adventure and has a few paragraphs of explanation.”

“Adventures?” Clara paged through the book.

“She was very young when she wrote them. Judging by the dates of the entries, my great-aunt made this list when she was between fifteen and eighteen years of age. She married my great-uncle when she was eighteen and then obviously set the book aside. And with it, those things she wanted to do. As you can see, most of them are extremely innocent. Some are a bit foolish. Some might even be called scandalous or perhaps a little improper.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Clara said under her breath, still turning the pages. “She does mention kisses and romantic interludes.”

“The letter that accompanied the journal said that while it had started as a list of things she wished to do, ultimately it became a book of her regrets. Of things she never managed to accomplish.”

“I see,” Clara murmured, her gaze still on the journal.

“I thought, when I received the book, that it was frightfully sad. To get to the end of one’s life, you know, and have things one wanted to do, even things that are silly or easily accomplished, and not have managed to do them, well, I thought it was a terrible shame. But at that time there was nothing I could do about it. I was expected to marry Jackson, after all. And while he really is a good man, until recently, he has never been particularly, oh, imaginative. So, I set the book aside even though Great-aunt Lucinda’s regrets have lingered in the back of my mind.” Lucy paused. “When I was very young, I had a list of my own—although my list was completely absurd, terribly far-fetched, and for the most part rather ridiculous.”

Clara glanced up at her. “Not things easily accomplished then?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Being the lady captain of a pirate ship or leading an expedition to find lost treasure in the jungles of the Amazon or traveling through the heavens on a comet are things that can only be accomplished between the pages of a novel of adventure rather than real life.”

Clara laughed. “You do have a point there.”

“Still, I have always found the idea of adventure, even mild adventure, to be extremely exciting. I have never had even the tiniest adventure at all.” Lucy reached forward and tapped the book with her finger. “These adventures of my great-aunt’s are quite tame compared with those I longed for in my youth, but unlike mine, hers are eminently achievable.”

“And?”

“And since I have absolutely no idea what I wish to do with my newfound freedom, with my life, and no ideas about adventures of my own that aren’t completely absurd, I intend to honor my great-aunt’s life by doing those things she never did. I suppose if I were to make my own list now, it would simply be to accomplish something in my life. To have some sort of purpose.” Lucy shook her head. “I keep thinking how dreadful it would be to reach the end of your days with so much undone.”

“But when it comes right down to it”—Clara snapped the journal closed—“these are not your adventures. Nor are they your regrets.”

“No, but if I don’t accomplish them, they will be.”

Clara studied her for a long moment. “You aren’t really a puppy, are you?”

“Good Lord.” Lucy laughed. “I certainly hope not.”

Clara glanced back at the book in her hand. “This is why you didn’t want a watchdog.”

Lucy nodded.

“And why you intended to discharge a companion as soon as possible.”

Again Lucy nodded.

“And . . .” Clara drew the word out slowly. “Why you were so pleased that I had never been a companion before.”

“Exactly. A real companion, or rather, an experienced companion might well be hesitant to wholeheartedly support my quest, which I do think will be an adventure in itself.”

“That is a possibility with a
real
companion.”

“I would think so.” Lucy grimaced. “I didn’t really plan this. I’m still not sure why I brought Great-aunt Lucinda’s book along to England in the first place, but I’m fairly sure it all has to do with fate. Life is unfolding in remarkable and completely unexpected ways. Ways that I find delightful.

“You see, until I came to England, in spite of the fact that I told Jackson before he left New York that he was under no obligation to me, there was still the possibility that we might end up together. I know that’s what his mother had hoped and mine expected.” That she was not going to marry Jackson was another fact she had been distinctly vague about in her letter home. “As I said, I have never gone against my family’s wishes. Jackson and I might well have continued to postpone our engagement until we were both too old to care.”

“I very much doubt that. In spite of what you say, you don’t strike me as the kind of young woman who would marry a man she didn’t wish to wed.”

“Thank you, Clara.” Lucy smiled. “That may well be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“So this desire of yours to make up for your great-aunt’s regrets is relatively new.” Clara handed the book back to her.

“Yes and no.” Lucy’s gaze drifted to the book in her hand and her voice softened. “I have wanted to do this from the very moment I read these pages. But my life was all laid out for me and I knew it was impossible, so I did nothing about it. Looking back, I see my life as nothing more than drifting from one expectation to the next. But now, I am free to do as I please and I fully intend to do exactly that.” Lucy looked up and met the other woman’s gaze directly. “With your help, I hope.”

Clara paused, then nodded. “I don’t see why not.” She turned her attention back to the journal. “As you said, some of these are really quite simple. Why do you think she never managed any of them?”

“It was a different time, of course. And she did marry at eighteen, which didn’t seem terribly young when I was eighteen but now seems extremely young. After that, her life was probably too busy to concern herself with things a husband would most likely not understand or allow.” She thought for a moment. “Through the course of her life, she endured two wars on American soil. I suspect when one’s life is filled with, well, living, the desires of one’s younger days are simply forgotten.” Lucy paused and held her breath. “You will help me, won’t you?”

“As I am in your employ, and I am not a
real
companion—”

Lucy winced.

“I daresay I can do nothing else. Besides . . .” Clara smiled. “I find I have to agree with you. I too do not wish to reach the end of my life with regrets. And I quite like the idea that, should I leave a journal filled with regrets, some well-meaning young woman would want to make up for them.”

“Wonderful.” Lucy grinned. “But I knew it the moment we started talking. Why, I already feel that we have known each other forever. Odd, isn’t it?”

“You’re not exactly reticent to reveal information about yourself.” Clara shook her head in obvious amazement. “And I’ve never met anyone who has learned so much about me in such a short span of time.”

Lucy laughed.

“However.” Clara’s expression sobered. “While ours might not be the usual sort of relationship between a companion and her employer, I do feel there are some duties that are inherent in the position.”

Lucy frowned. “And they are?”

“I don’t intend to be your watchdog, but part of my responsibility should be to act as chaperone. Which really is as much a question of safety and appearances as anything else.”

Lucy nodded. “Of course.”

“I suspect things in England are done far differently than they are in America. I understand, well, the rules here—for lack of a better word—and you do not. We can be quite stodgy, especially about public behavior. As your companion, as your
friend
, I cannot allow you to do anything that might cause you irrevocable harm, to your reputation or your person. If I judge that to be the case, I will do all in my power to stop you, even if it results in my dismissal. I need you to trust that, in that event, I am only acting in your best interest.”

“As any good friend would.” Lucy smiled. “Thank you, Clara.”

“Furthermore, I need your assurance that you will heed my guidance in such situations.”

Lucy hesitated.

“If you cannot agree to that, then I cannot, in good conscience, remain in your employ.” Clara’s tone softened. “And I would very much regret that as I do think you are indeed embarking upon an adventure and it would be my very great honor to accompany you.”

Clara’s condition did make sense. In her excitement Lucy might well be plunging ahead too hastily. After all, while the idea of accomplishing those things her great-aunt wanted to do had been in the back of her head for years, she’d never considered exactly how to go about it. Even now she had nothing specific in mind. Without someone to temper her enthusiasm, she could get into all kinds of difficulties. For one thing, she inevitably thought well of people until they proved her wrong. And while she did consider herself sensible and not the least bit impulsive, she had long had the tendency to reach unwarranted conclusions.

“I can agree to that.”

“Excellent.” Clara raised a brow. “I assume you wish to get started immediately?”

“Absolutely, especially as I have no idea how much time I really have.” Lucy opened the journal. “Where do you think we should begin?”

“I don’t think we should go in order of your great-aunt’s list.” Clara thought for a moment. “Rather we might start with those things most easily accomplished.”

“I have already copied her regrets onto my own list—regrets set to rights. I intend to check them off as I accomplish them. I’m not silly enough to think I can do everything she hoped to do but I do intend to complete as many as possible.”

“It seems to me you have already achieved one of your aunt’s desires.” Clara refilled both their cups from the teapot and handed Lucy hers. “You have already made an unexpected friend.”

Lucy laughed and raised her cup to her new companion. “Indeed, I have. It’s a most promising beginning.”

Poor dear Jackson. He hadn’t found her a watchdog but an independent woman, a new friend, a confidante, and what Lucy was certain he never expected, a coconspirator.