Too Dangerous For a Lady (13 page)

S
he stepped back, but even as she did so, she realized that of course it wasn't the brute. He was in jail, and the man below was of a different build entirely—taller and slimmer, and quite roughly dressed. She sat on a sofa and opened the book—but then wondered, had he resembled Mark Thayne?

She hurried back to the window, but the man had gone. Idiot to think it could be Thayne, and softheaded idiot to want it so. Did she imagine him like a troubadour trailing after his lady? He would be on his way to London with his ill-gotten gains, and good riddance.

Guy Mannering
provided excellent distraction until she heard the party return. The lads sounded pleased with their expedition, so perhaps everyone would be in a better mood. Soon Polly came to join her, bringing Henrietta. She set the child down on the carpet to play with a leather ball, saying, “It was good to have some exercise in the fresh air. I've asked for tea to be served here.”

“Lovely. I found the library, which was uninspiring, but I learned a little from conversation.” She shared what she knew.

“Poor man. That must have been a bitter brew. I never liked Carsheld Castle, but I'd be upset to find it razed from the earth.”

“And your family mostly forgotten.”

William came in with the boys, washed and tidied. Billy
was keen to describe their discoveries and showed pieces of blue stone. Hermione admired them, and some shells Roger had gathered on the riverside. The tea came and the boys were taken back to their room for their refreshments.

“Now,” William said as Polly poured tea, “we must decide what to do if Mr. Peake doesn't grant us another audience. I'm not prepared to kick my heels here like a petitioner at the gate, especially at a time of year when I'm needed at home.”

Polly bit her lip, but didn't argue, and indeed September was a busy time of year on an estate. Hermione didn't want to argue, either, but she saw no point in ultimatums when one party didn't know of them.

“I think we should tell Great-uncle Peake that we must leave tomorrow.”

“Force his hand?” William asked.

“Simply because he should know.”

“I'm not doing it,” William said, making Hermione want to knock him on the head.

“Then I will.”

“Are you sure that's wise?” Polly said.

“No, but one of us should.” She stood, smoothed down her skirts, then went downstairs to knock on Edgar Peake's door.

It was opened by the manservant. “Yes, milady?”

“I'd like to speak to my great-uncle.”

“Let her in.”

The man opened the door wider and Hermione walked around the bed to face the old man. Her heart was speeding with nerves, but William wouldn't wait on his whims, and they mustn't throw away all hope.

“I thought you should know that we're going to have to leave tomorrow, sir. William is not a gentleman of leisure and must attend to his estate.”

“Humph. Pushing for an answer?”

“To what question, sir?”

“My money. That's why you're all here.”

It was like dealing with Billy in a sulk. “You asked us to come to your deathbed, sir. Could we refuse? Yes, if you wish to leave your all to us, it will be welcome, for despite our titles, we're not wealthy, but we're here because we're your family.”

“Spirit after all. Sit down and tell me about my sister.”

The manservant brought a chair and Hermione sat, still not sure whether she was helping or harming. “Grandmother Havers? We didn't see a great deal of her. She lived in Derbyshire, and we lived first in Northumberland and then in Hampshire, but we did visit them occasionally. The exotic gifts you'd sent her always intrigued us, but they were kept in glass cases.”

“There's folly. None were precious.”

“It was a very orderly house.”

He grimaced. “I feared as much. I had a few letters from her years ago. Never a tidy moment with Anne, so it'd be her husband's doing. She married wrong.”

“Grandfather Havers was a highly respected gentleman, a member of Parliament for most of his life. He even held a place in the government at one point.”

“Did you like him?” the old man demanded. His sagging gray skin still dismayed her, but now she noticed that his eyes were bright with life.

Hermione sighed. “No.”

“See. Married wrong. Make sure you don't do the same.”

“Perhaps she didn't have much choice. Would she have had a large portion?”

“Ha! Our parents frittered away everything. Couldn't even waste the stuff grandly—that'd be something. No, they just let money run through their hands like water. Do you have much to take into marriage?”

“Father was known as the Moneyless Marquess, and his father before him.”

“All the same, don't marry wrong.” He sat there, his
mouth working, perhaps at a loose tooth. Then he grunted. “Tell 'em they'll get my all, and I expect them to use it well. And you, of course. It's to be divided evenly between you and your sister.”

“That's not necessary.”

“It's as I say it'll be. You spend your part on you. Don't give it to your sister.”

“You can't compel that,” Hermione protested.

“I can ask for a promise.”

“Is that a condition?”

She saw it tempt him, but he stuck out a sulky lip. “No.”

It seemed unlikely that there was a fortune, and she did want to make a reasonable marriage. She'd become sour as a lemon if stuck as a dependent sister forever and even worse if she married Porteous.

“Then I promise.”

“Off you go, then. No point the others coming here. Tell 'em what I said.”

Hermione rose. Because she could feel his loneliness, she wished she could kiss him, but his gray skin put her off. Instead she curtsied and used his name as he'd asked. “Good-bye, Edgar.” He nodded, but perhaps, she thought as she left the room, his eyes had been a little moist. His story was so sad.

She went to report to the others.

“He'll leave us his money?” Polly asked, to be sure.

“That's what he said.”

“Oh, thank heavens!”

“There's no promise that it's much,” Hermione warned.

“Even a little will be welcome. Isn't that so, William?”

“I can't help but wonder how he made it.”

Hermione held her temper. “I don't care if he was a pirate. I'll still put an inheritance to good use.”

“And we can set off home tomorrow,” Polly said.

William rose. “Then I need to know if the roads are safe. I'll walk down to the ferry-house and see what news there is.”

When he'd left, Polly sighed. “It's not like him to be so sharp.”

“So much about this has him on edge, Polly. The need for more money than he has, and then the misadventure on the way here.”

“He felt dreadfully about not being able to race after you.”

“Even if he could have, I'd not have wanted him to abandon you and the children. But I quite see how it upset him, and Edgar Peake is like a sulky child.”

“Exactly. I'll be glad to leave.”

Hermione looked out at the busy river. “I'm not sure it's good for him to be facing this view all day long. So much life, travel, and adventure, and him as he said, stuck like a beetle in a display box.”

“It's his choice.”

“He didn't choose to be so ill, or so alone in the world.”

“He's well taken care of.”

“By servants. I think of Father in his last months. He was difficult, but I could coax him to be more sensible and make sure he received the best care.” An idea grew from seed to bloom in a moment. Hermione turned back to her sister. “Polly, I'd like to stay.”

“Of course. Where else would you live?”

“Not with you. I'd like to stay here, with Great-uncle Edgar.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we're the only family he has left. It would be wrong to abandon him.”

That was true, but Hermione was seeing another benefit. William had faced the dreadful choice of attempting to rescue her or leaving his wife and children unprotected, and all
because she'd put them in danger. Until she was sure all was safe, she'd rather be apart.

“You'd be abandoning me,” Polly protested.

“You're eager for me to marry. I'll have to abandon you then.”

“That's different.”

Hermione brought out a trump card. “It's our Christian duty.”

Polly pulled a face. “I'm sure the horrid man had that in mind, and he probably doesn't have a fortune as reward. Are you sure, Hermione? He'll not be an easy patient.”

“Father wasn't easy, either. Perhaps dying people never are. At least here there are ample servants to do the hard work.”

“Then you're not needed,” Polly argued.

“I can do things that the servants can't, such as tell him more about the family. He's hungry for that.”

“That would be charitable,” Polly admitted, “but how will you get home when he dies? William can't return for you.”

Hermione hadn't considered that. “I'll travel by stage.”

“Hermione!”

“Women do it all the time.”

“Not ladies.”

“Sometimes ladies of limited means. But think. When I leave, we'll know how much money we'll inherit. I'm sure there'll be some way to get enough of my share to hire a companion for the journey. Though that seems silly when I think on it. How is she to get back here?”

“She'll be a servant. There'll be no difficulty about her traveling by stage alone.”

“And no more about my doing so.”

“You say that simply to be irritating. What if he lingers for months? He's clearly very ill, but I'm not sure he's on his deathbed.”

“No,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I wonder if he's
having the best possible treatment. Didn't he say he'd stopped taking his medicine?”

“Yes, but . . . Hermione, are you going to try to keep him alive?”

“We can't wish him dead before his time.”

“No, but . . . Come home with us and I'm sure he'll be dead within weeks.”

“All the more reason to stay here.”

“You're
impossible
!” Polly flounced out of the room and Hermione sat hard upon the sofa wondering what had come over all of them. Money—that was it, souring everything, but she couldn't hasten the old man's death, not even by neglect.

She needed fresh air, but . . . No, she would not be pinned here by fear. Without bonnet or shawl, she went downstairs and out into the small garden.

T
he air was chilly, but the sun was shining. The land sloped downward away from the house, but the garden had been cleverly designed with shallow terraces and horizontal, winding paths. From the lower levels occasional bushes and small trees broke the openness without entirely blocking the view of the river.

She wandered the paths, feeling soothed by nature until she sensed someone nearby. Heart pounding, she whirled—to see Mark Thayne. It
had
been him she'd seen watching the house!

Hand to throat, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

“Seeking a word with you,” he answered.

She looked around. “Is that man here? Has he escaped?”

“No. He's safely dead.”

“Thank God,” she said.
Safe.
But then she comprehended all his words. “Dead? From the shot you fired?”

“Yes.”

“You
killed
him?”

“I was a soldier,” he said patiently. “He's not the first.”

She remembered the explosion of gunfire. Had the villain died then—been dead as she'd fallen to the ground with him?

Thayne touched her. She swatted him away. “Don't!”

“Then don't faint.”

“I never faint.” But she felt close to it. She breathed
deeply and commanded her body to behave. “What are you doing here?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“If that brute's dead, I'm safe as could be. You're up to some other devilment and you won't involve me. Go away.”

She suddenly looked back at the house, concerned that Polly or the children might see her talking to a strange man. The children
were
looking out and they waved. She waved back, but as she did so, she realized that they wouldn't be able to see Thayne. He'd cleverly stationed himself behind a trimmed yew that just concealed him from the house. A hardened, practiced reprobate.

“I put you in danger,” he said, oh so reasonably. “I must ensure your safety. I'm truly sorry for having given you that letter.”

“Which sweetens no tea. I'm safe now, so go far away before you embroil me in some other madness.” Something in his silence alerted her. She moved to the side so she, too, would be out of sight of the house. “What?”

“You're not completely safe. The person who sent that man after you could still be a threat.”

“I don't have the letter anymore,” she protested, but she'd already thought of the problem.

“She might not know,” he said. “The danger's slight, but you need to be careful for a day or two and I need to stay nearby. Once the letter arrives in London, I'll receive word—”

“Once your stolen goods arrive in London,” she said.

“As you say. Once they're there, the original owner will know there's no purpose to pursuing you.”

Her moving out of sight had brought her too close to him, but she would
not
be weakened by that. “I suppose she acquired them by foul means and you think that removes your guilt.”

“If you wish. The point, if you'll focus on it, is that you
will no longer be in danger. I believe the villains will be too busy for spiteful revenge in the north.”

“Revenge?
Villains?
How many are there?”

“Only two of significance. One of them is the woman who wrote the letter—a middle-aged Frenchwoman who can seem respectable. Be on your guard against anyone like that. The other threat is your attacker's brother and very like him in all ways.”

“There's
another
?” She grasped the branch of a bush for support. He reached for her, but she said, “Don't!”

He lowered his hand, but his eyes were concerned. “You have reason to be afraid, but I believe he's in London.”

“I dearly hope you're right.”

“I must also ask you to be cautious with any letters you receive.”

“
Letters?
I'm to be afraid of correspondence now?” She was ashamed of the high pitch of her voice, but she couldn't help it.

“I know it sounds odd, but yes, you should beware of letters, especially if they arrive damp. If you receive correspondence that seems to have been dampened by rain, don't open it. Bury it in the ground.”

On a breath she said, “You're mad as well as criminal.”

“Just remember what I say.”

“And if I don't?”

“The letter might explode, injuring you.”

Hermione wanted to cling to a belief that his warnings were mad, but she couldn't. “What a world you've dragged me into.”

“And I regret it. It should be over soon. I'll guard you as long as necessary, but I won't accost you again. If you're concerned about anything, leave that gate down there open.”

She followed his gaze to a head-high wooden gate that opened to a lane. That must be how he'd entered the garden. “Leave the garden open to marauders?”

“A child could climb it. I can see it from my room at the inn. If I see it open, I'll come up. You could leave a note beneath that white rock there.”

“Practiced at sneaking and conniving, I see.”

“Expert at it. From the inn I can also see this side of the house. Which is your room?”

“Planning another invasion, sir?” Oh, stupid words, especially when they brought a rush of memories. Of talking. Of binding and kissing.

He, damn him, showed no effect at all. “Merely another way of sounding the alarm. If your window faces this way, use the traditional method. Set a lit candle in it.”

She gathered her strength. “Don't watch for it, sir, for it will not happen. If that horrible man truly is dead, I expect my life to return to its pleasant, normal path with no further danger or contact with you, and I thank God for it. Good-bye.” With that, she walked away and didn't look back.

When she returned to the house, however, she went into a ground-floor room to peer out. She didn't see him, but he could still be behind the yew and she wouldn't know. She resented that, but she particularly resented the irrational regret that had her biting her lips on tears.

*   *   *

Mark slipped out of the garden and walked back down to the Ferry Inn. Too late, he saw Sir William Selby walking up, but the man was too preoccupied to recognize the curricle groom in ordinary clothes. Mark wondered what was worrying Sir William, and hoped nothing would keep the Selby party at Riverview House for long.

Perhaps he could find out.

When he got back to the inn, he bought ale in the taproom, where the barmaid proved happy to gossip. Jilly was a short but well-endowed young woman with dimples and thick, bobbing curls. It didn't take much to turn the talk to Riverview House.

“Poor old Mr. Peake,” she said. “Came here from foreign
parts to visit his family, but they're all dead and gone. Then afore he could move on, he took sick. Powerful bad he is, from what the servants say, but he's family come to visit him now, which is a blessing. Best not to die with only strangers around, and there are Peakes in Saint Andrew's cemetery to keep him company.”

A sad tale, but Mark could see nothing in it to complicate Hermione's situation as long as the old man wasn't too long a-dying. He'd explained his presence here with a story of looking over the area on behalf of a Liverpool merchant who was thinking of leasing a house in the area. The ferries made that possible and increasingly attractive. To support the story, he had an appointment with an agent to look at a house later today.

Now he said, “A rival might come around here, trying to find the right place before I do. A short, muscular sort of man by name of Boothroyd. Let me know if he turns up, sweetheart?”

Jilly smiled, winked, and agreed.

He couldn't take more steps without raising suspicions, and he couldn't linger many days over finding a house, but he shouldn't need to.

Braydon should arrive in London ahead of Solange, and he'd make sure her arrival was watched for. Once she'd joined Waite, she'd present no danger up here, as long as Seth Boothroyd was with her. If Boothroyd traveled north, or even slipped out of sight, Braydon or Hawkinville would send word and Mark would stay here on guard.

He hoped it didn't come to that. The end of the Crimson Band was close, and he wanted to be in London to assist and celebrate.

*   *   *

To Hermione's relief, by dinnertime everyone had their emotions under control. As they sat to soup, William shared good news about the disturbance in Ardwick.

“The Spencean Crusade came to naught and the roads are as safe as normal.”

“That's wonderful,” Polly said. “I can't wait to be home, but Hermione wants to stay here.”

Memory of her encounter with Thayne made Hermione hesitate, but it was the right thing to do and she explained her reasons to William.

“I agree. I wasn't comfortable with the idea of abandoning the poor gentleman to his plight.”

“I intend to look into his medical care,” Hermione told him. “To see if he can be improved.”

“If there is an effective treatment, it should certainly be sought.”

Polly rolled her eyes but seemed resigned, probably because she'd accepted that there was no grand fortune involved.

Hermione mentioned the hillside garden and talk flowed into plans for the garden at Selby Hall, where one area sloped. The meal passed pleasantly enough. Afterward, Hermione realized that she'd not told Edgar Peake of her plans, so she knocked again on the old man's door. She was let in and found him in a white nightcap in place of the red velvet.

“What now?”

“I've come to ask if I may stay with you, Edgar.”

“Stay with me? Here?”

“Yes. You should have family with you.”

“Why would a pretty girl like you want to be stuck here with me? I don't entertain.”

“I never imagined that you do. If you want the honest truth, I fancy a lazy life.”

She said it with a smile, and his lips twitched. “I could dismiss all my servants and let you do everything.”

“And I could leave.”

“Humph. Too bold for your own good.”

“You're probably right, but I may stay?”

“Don't suppose I can stop you.”

“Your servants might throw me out if you ordered them to.” She saw the manservant struggling with a grin. “If I stay, I'll read to you, play cards, and tell you all about your family during the years you were away. You'll feel better for it.”

“You're a saucy piece and you tire me out. Go away.”

“But I may stay?”

“If you insist.”

She curtsied. “Good night, Edgar.”

When he smiled, she was able to take her leave knowing she was doing the right thing. She entered her bedroom and was even happier to remember that she now had it to herself. William and Polly were back together and the boys and Henrietta were in a room of their own, attended by two maids. Peace, quiet, and
Guy Mannering
. However, she soon found that the tangled misadventures of a stolen heir no longer thrilled. Instead, his constant peril seemed too close to her own situation.

Two days ago she would have berated herself for a wild imagination, but now it seemed there truly were villains in this world who wanted to harm her, and one was almost a twin of the brute who could still make her shudder. She couldn't shed the memory of being snatched from her family and carried off by that man, who had been ready to kill her on the spot.

Take the papers.

Break your neck.

Despite the ample fire, she hugged herself and for a weak moment thought of leaving with William and Polly. Perhaps she'd be safer in Yorkshire. But then she loosened her arms and walked around to shake off idiocy. She was safe enough in this house, with an abundance of servants,
and Thayne had said that those concerned would soon know that she no longer had their papers.

Dangerous damp letters. Perhaps he was mad, poor man.

To counter her melodramatic thoughts, she'd write to one of her Hampshire friends. Margaret Millhouse was a levelheaded member of that orderly, tranquil world, now married with a child. There was writing paper in the drawer of a small desk, so she sat to relate her journey and the reason for it and the brush with drama in Ardwick. She said nothing about truly dangerous events.

Margaret had been at that ball. She might remember Thayne. Hermione was tempted to slip in a mention.
Can you imagine who I bumped into in Warrington?
No, the less she thought about the man, the better. She filled the page with weather and fashion and all the things that used to occupy conversation back in those leisurely days. It seemed rather dull, but dull equaled safe, and that was what she wanted. Despite the awkwardness of being the daughter of the Moneyless Marquess, her life in Hampshire had been pleasant, comfortable, and ordinary.

If only her father hadn't died.

If only her father had thought to explore for coal.

She could blame herself, too, however. Her father had been an indolent man who never had a new idea in his head, but he'd have acted if she'd urged him to. She'd known that people had prospered from finding coal in other areas of Northumberland. Their land was unpromising, but they could have hired people to look. Carsheld had been so far away, however, and her father would have resisted spending any money on it, and it was all in the past. No point in crying over spilled milk.

She folded, addressed, and sealed the letter, then went to draw the curtains. She looked down at the lights of Tranmere. Thayne had said he could see this side of the house. That meant one window down there was his. Was he
looking up, watchful for a candle in the window? She drew the curtains firmly together and went to put more wood on the fire. No more folly!