Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I f Adelaide were forced to choose whom she was angriest with, it would be a tight race between Mr Hardcastle, for driving her out of High Brook, Mr and Mrs Booker, for driving her out of her adoptive family, and the late Lord Tipton, for driving her father out of his trueborn family. Mostly, however, she was furious with herself.

"What a stupid, stupid thing to do!"

She kicked a stone; it skittered along the track into the darkness and left her blistered toes throbbing. Though she hated to admit it, Mrs Bunce was right. She had been handed the sort of life of which most people could only dream, where money was no concern, comfort was assured, and most importantly, that did not involve working her fingers to the bone until the day she died. Why was it, then, that she could not like it? Perhaps Mrs Booker had been right, and she was an outcast who would never fit in anywhere.

One thing was certain: the Richmonds must be rueing the day Oakley brought her home. She had used to pride herself on being quick-witted and resourceful, but clever people faced their problems head on. She had to wonder whether it was no more than ingratitude and petulance that sent her scampering at the first hint of any turn of events that was not to her liking.

"Well, there is no facing this problem head on, you bottlehead. You have run away one too many times. There is no one left to face."

She hefted the straps of her case higher on her shoulder and took another bite of roll. Her case promptly slid all the way off, landing in the crook of her elbow and jostling the bread out of her hand into a puddle.

She swore. Then she sighed. No point crying over it, for it was nothing she had not brought upon herself. Still, she had no intention of losing her carrot the same way and thus dropped her case down next to the wall that ran alongside the track and climbed to sit atop it so that she could eat sitting still.

She was heading into Southampton. What she would do when she got there, she had not yet decided. Working at Norbury held no interest for her; a household so close to High Brook would soon discover who she was, and nothing would convince her to risk their scorn. Perhaps she might steal onto a stagecoach without being noticed. Perhaps she would find work at the docks. Perhaps she would get on a boat and sail away from all her regrets.

The sound of hooves caught her attention. She held herself still as someone galloped past on a horse, recklessly fast for after dark even given the smattering of moonlight. They took no notice of her, and she let out her breath as they were swallowed up by the night once again.

She pulled the carrot out of her pocket and wished glumly that she had possessed gumption enough to steal a horse from High Brook. Neither affection nor gratitude could have prevented her in this case—only knowing that the Grishams did not deserve to be burgled on account of her mistakes. As though to chide her for the decision, a gust of cold wind buffeted her, slapping the collar of her pelisse against her cheek. She tugged it down and bit off the tip of her carrot.

She stilled upon hearing hooves again, this time from the opposite direction, and this time not at a gallop but a walk. The horse re-emerged from the shadows, its rider leant forwards in his saddle, peering her way. Adelaide tensed, ready to leap down behind the wall, but she froze when the man let out a strange cry, half shout, half strangled laugh.

"Upon my life! I have been imagining the absolute worst and there you are, sitting on a wall, eating, as though nothing is wrong in all the world! I ought to have known. Colour me wholly unsurprised."

That made one of them. Adelaide was too shocked to do anything but stare as the Earl of Kemerton jumped down from his horse and strode towards her. He held his hands out to help her down. She took one, unwilling to relinquish her last bit of food, and landed awkwardly as a result, wincing at the fire that ignited on the soles of both feet.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" he asked in alarm .

She hastily swallowed down her unchewed mouthful and mumbled, "Only a few blisters."

Kem had taken her by the shoulders—gently, but with unmistakable concern—and was running his eyes over her searchingly. He even brushed her hair aside to check her face. "Are you unharmed otherwise?"

Adelaide nodded. She wondered whether such familiarity was common amongst those within his circle or reserved for the wayward sisters of long-time friends—or something else entirely. No acquaintance of hers had ever touched her so tenderly.

He continued to question her—Was she hungry? Thirsty? Cold?—until at length she grew impatient with his determination to find something wrong.

"I am not some cosseted little princess, unable to walk from one end of a garden to the other without a man's arm to cling to. Would that it was not always you who found me like this!"

He let go abruptly and stepped away from her, looking wounded.

Adelaide thought she would be relieved, but the sudden coldness only made her more conscious of where his hands had been, and the distance between them only reminded her of what he must think of her dishevelment. She ran a hand over her hair—her bonnet long since mislaid—and shoved a handful of loose strands behind her ear.

For some reason, Kem seemed cheered by her discomfiture and smirked. "I am not sorry for it."

As always, his smile flustered her most unfairly. " What are you doing here?" she asked, more tersely than she intended.

"Helping Oakley find you."

"Oakley is looking for me?"

"Of course! We went to High Brook first and found—eventually, after talking at cross-purposes for far too long—that we had missed you by less than half an hour. We did not wish to lose track of you again, so I rode ahead to intercept the stagecoach, lest you were on it. I left your brother smoothing matters over with Lord and Lady Grisham."

Adelaide hardly knew what to say. The notion of two peers of the realm dashing about the country in search of her was bewildering enough as to be wholly unbelievable. That Oakley had overlooked all her ingratitude, had refused to forsake her in spite of it, was still more astonishing. She had assumed all bridges would be burnt beyond repair. They must, at the very least, be precariously scorched.

"Is he very angry?"

"No, only desperately worried. We both were."

"Oh. But…I did not mean to give anyone any distress. Indeed, my intention was quite the opposite. I did not think anyone would… I am not used to…"

"People caring?"

Adelaide's throat unexpectedly constricted. "No. I suppose not. I thought… It seemed as though they did not want me there."

Kem gave a slight nod and smiled sadly. "Oakley said you left him a note to that effect. He will tell you this himself, I am sure, but he never thought of you as a burden."

"I do not know what else he would call a sister whose company is so disagreeable that he feels he must sneak out of the house to escape it."

"Miss Richmond, there is not a brother alive who has not occasionally attempted to evade the notice of his sister when he wishes to engage in a less than salubrious pursuit. Especially a sister whose good opinion is important to him."

"If he valued my good opinion, he would have done better to earn it by spending time with me, instead of skulking about in fear of forfeiting it. It seems a backwards way of going about it."

"I agree," Kem said with a small chuckle. "And I have said as much to him, but he has never had a sister before, and he has turned himself in circles trying to do his best by you. If you knew how often he has asked me whether my sister and I?—"

"You have a sister?"

"Yes. Emma."

Adelaide felt a pang of guilt for not knowing that before. That she had called Kem's friendship into question, without ever troubling herself to know the least bit about him was unpardonable.

"I would have introduced you before now," he was saying, "but she has been in Harrogate with my aunt until very recently. She has come down for the we?—"

"I am sorry I never asked about your family. I have been entirely too preoccupied with my own."

"And rightly so," he said, more generously than she deserved. "I have had since I was four to get used to having a sister. You and Oakley have had less than a twelvemonth."

"What of Lord and Lady Tipton? They are not new to playing mother and father, and yet I have managed to vex them at every turn."

"They are new to being mother and father to a daughter. It is a different kettle of fish entirely."

"Yes, an expensive one! They have had to pay for masters, and gowns, and a dowry…"

"That would have been the case even if you were their own daughter." His gaze intensified, and he regarded her in that way he often did, as though perceiving more than merely that which he could see. "But you are not used to being dependent on anybody. It sits ill with you, I think."

As abruptly as she had felt, earlier, that the bottom had fallen out of her world, with this sentiment, it felt as though Kem had reaffixed the missing piece. Nay, more than that—he had given her a reason as to why everything about her new life had chafed so.

"That is it!" she cried. "I am too used to fending for myself. My , but self-sufficiency is an unlucky quality for a lady of fashion! But you must think me an ungrateful wretch, complaining at not always being able to have my own way."

"Not at all. I have a great respect for your independence."

She smiled ruefully. "It is a rum sort of independence at that, for I still needed you to rescue me."

"Rot! You were perfectly well, sitting there with your carrot. I have no doubt you would have continued to do perfectly well without any intervention from me or Oakley or anyone else. This is a far more selfish undertaking than a rescue. Your family wants you to come home. As do I."

Adelaide caught her breath, surprised by the strength of the feeling his admission stirred in her. She knew not how to answer, though. She was dreadful at responding to kind sentiments at the best of times, but this felt like more than kindness, and it tied her tongue in knots.

Her silence made Kem frown. "Assuming you wish to come back, that is. If not, tell me at once, and I shall ride on and pretend I never saw you."

"You would do that?"

"If it was truly what you wanted. But you must know it is not what I want."

The wind rushed in Adelaide's ears; Kem's horse nickered; her own breathing became erratic—every sound around her seemed thunderous compared to the hushed anticipation that overtook her heart. Kem had stepped closer, and though she could not be certain, for it was not something she had ever experienced before, to her mind, he looked very much as though he wanted to kiss her. How Patty would laugh at her to know how dearly she wished he would!

"It is not what I want either," she whispered.

The expression that overtook his countenance diffused Adelaide's entire person with heat. A great many things might have been felt or said or done in that moment had not her brother arrived. His horse skidded to a halt next to them, and the anger that Kem had assured her Oakley did not feel, erupted from him in a torrent of abuse as he leapt out of his saddle and rounded on her.