Chapter Seventeen

Zo? hardly slept that night. She tossed and turned, hearing his words over and over again.

I remember everything you’ve ever said to me, Vita.

That which we call a rose, by any other name smells as sweet.

Vita my love.

I love you, Vita.

You’re a lady to your fingertips.

I was even planning to marry you when I thought you were an illiterate French maidservant, unjustly dismissed from her post.

Will you marry me?

Will you marry me?

Will you marry me?

The doorbell rang quite early in the morning, and she sat up in bed. It couldn’t be him. Not at such a time. Surely?

She’d heard the birds singing in the trees outside for quite a while. In France she and Reynard were usually up by this hour. He’d have the fire going, and the water would be almost boiling, ready to make the tea.

Nobody in London would call at this hour.

Nevertheless…She slipped out of bed and, barefoot, hurried to the stairs, peering down between the banisters. She could hear voices, Treadwell’s and one other. Indistinct. Treadwell didn’t sound happy. Was he ever? She heard the front door close, and a moment later a bell ringing faintly.

A few minutes later, Marie came up the stairs, carrying a large, flattish square box with a gold logo. Zo? recognized it. It was from the House of Chance.

“Mademoiselle Milly’s wedding dress,” Marie told her. “Monsieur Treadwell, he very not happy. Parcel not supposed to come by front door.”

Zo? nodded, feeling ridiculously disappointed. Of course Reynard would not call at such an hour. And in any case, he knew he would not be admitted: Lady Scattergood had given strict instructions.

She followed Marie into Milly’s bedchamber. Milly opened the box and drew out the dress. “Oh, it’s perfect,” she murmured. “A bit plain, but very nice. And what’s this?” A second garment wrapped in tissue lay under the dress. She drew it out, held it up and gasped.

It was a flimsy silk garment: a nightdress, Zo? gathered, only so fine that it was almost transparent. Milly’s eyes were popping. “This—this can’t be what I think it is.”

“It’s a nightdress,” Zo? said.

“But it’s so…so improper. Mama would never allow me to wear something so…so revealing.”

The mother who’d dressed her in necklines so low-cut that Milly was almost popping out of them. Resulting in a proposal from a lustful old spider.

“Perhaps not, but I expect Thaddeus will love it. And, Milly, remember what I said about parroting your mother’s opinions all the time? I very much doubt your Thaddeus will appreciate it, given your mother’s attitude toward him.”

She left Milly then, feeling stupidly wistful. Milly would be marrying the man she loved and would wear that beautiful flimsy silk nightdress for him, whereas she…She was in an impossible position.

She loved Reynard, and if he’d really been Reynard the vagabond artist, she could have married him. Only her sisters and Lucy would have been so disappointed after all the trouble they’d gone to on her behalf.

They wanted her to marry Julian, the Earl of Foxton, but how could he marry an illegitimate girl who was born in the slums of London? A girl who was only masquerading as a well-born French cousin. What if she were found out? It had been nerve-racking enough making her entrance first in French society and now in English. The French had been so much easier, perhaps because she didn’t care so much, and because she knew her French, at least, was flawless. But in England, with the eyes of the ton upon her, it felt as though she were walking on ice. Thin ice, at that.

If she married Julian the earl, he would be made to look a fool. His family would hate it. His grandmother already disliked Zo? intensely. She was a woman who set great store by people’s position in society. She would be appalled—furious—to learn he was thinking of marrying her. And that, even before she knew about Zo?’s shameful background.

Did she want to be a countess, anyway? Always having to be on her best behavior? Being a grand hostess, running his various homes, being gracious Lady of the Manor to his tenants, knowing they would look down on her if they knew the truth. Aristocrats were not the only snobs in the world.

And what about her painting? Would there ever be time for that? She knew from her sisters’ experience that there was work involved in being the wife of an earl, just as there was work for an earl. So even if she did continue to paint, would it be regarded indulgently as “the countess’s little hobby,” fitted in between her more worldly obligations? And no doubt any praise for her painting would be because she was a member of the aristocracy, not because it was any good.

Good or bad, she wanted her painting to be taken seriously. She wanted it to be her profession.

Julian returned to his lodgings that evening only to discover that his grandmother had followed him to London. A note from her awaited him, demanding he call on her at the earliest opportunity. He sighed, but decided to get it over with. He had other plans for tomorrow.

His grandmother got straight to the point. “I have been informed that you attended a reception at the home of Lord and Lady Salcott.”

“Indeed? Who told you?”

She brushed his question aside with an impatient gesture. “Well? Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you meet any eligible young ladies there?”

“Dozens,” he said wearily. He was fed up with her constant nagging.

“Well then?” She looked at him expectantly. “Did any of them look suitable?”

He was tempted to say “Suitable for what?” but he wanted to end this conversation and go home. “I didn’t tell you before, Grandmama, but when I was in France, I met a young lady who I’ve decided is the very one for me.”

“French?” She wrinkled her nose. “Still, better a French bride than no bride at all, I suppose. Tell me about this young lady. She is well born, I take it?”

He pretended to consider it. “She’s possibly not the kind of well-born you’re thinking of, but I think she’s perfect.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

He said in a confiding voice, “She’s an orphan and very sweet. She’s a former maidservant who was unjustly dismissed from her position.” His grandmother started to swell up, and he continued before she could interrupt. “She’s illiterate, but very clever, and I think she’ll learn to read quite quickly. And of course, she’s very beautiful.”

His grandmother was turning a beautiful shade of puce. He added fuel to the fire. “The only small—really very tiny difficulty—is that she has a tendency to steal, but I’m sure—”

“ Steal? You’re considering an illiterate maidservant who steals ?” Her voice rose to a screech.

“Oh, not all the time,” he said reassuringly. “And I have every hope of curing her of her larcenous habits. I’m sure she wouldn’t steal from you, Grandmama.” He smiled.

His grandmother clutched her pearls and glared at him. She seemed lost for words, which he thought was a nice change. Her mouth opened and closed, rather like a goldfish’s, but no words came out.

It didn’t last. Her bosom swelled and she said in a voice of doom, “Are you telling me you brought this—this creature to London with you?”

He said with dignity, “She’s not a creature, Grandmama. Please recall, you are speaking of My Intended. But alas, I was unable to bring her to London. She ran off with some of my valuables.”

His grandmother heaved a sigh of relief, so he added, “But I have every hope of finding her.”

Her eyes bulged. “Are you mad? An illiterate French maidservant, to be the next Countess of Foxton? You cannot be serious!” He wasn’t sure, but he thought there might be steam coming out of her ears.

“Oh, but I am, Grandmama. Very serious.” He gave her a beatific smile. “So you don’t need to be fretting about me and the succession anymore. As soon as I find her, I’ll be married and working on getting an heir. Just as you’ve always wanted.” He rose. “I must be off now. I have a busy day planned tomorrow. Good evening, Grandmama. Sleep well and dream of my nuptials.”

After breakfast Milly and Zo? were getting ready to go out for an early morning drive with Izzy and Clarissa. The plan was to take Milly someplace where she could walk in the fresh air, get some exercise and not feel so constricted. The garden, of course, was impossible; though her mother never usually ventured out there, she just might this one time.

It was not the season for flowers, but though it was cold outside, the skies were clear and Zo? was looking forward to the outing. Milly was not the only one who’d been feeling confined: everywhere Zo? went, Milly went, too, and it was driving her mad.

The carriage waited outside, the horses restless to be off. Zo?, Clarissa and Izzy had gathered downstairs in the front sitting room, talking with Lady Scattergood while they waited for Milly to join them. She always took ages to dress, dithering over what to wear, but also, today, how to make sure her mama wouldn’t see her.

The front doorbell jangled. They exchanged glances. It was rather early for a caller.

“I’m here for Miss Harrington,” they heard a deep voice say to the butler.

They stiffened. Had Mrs. Harrington discovered where her daughter was hiding?

Lady Scattergood made a dismissive gesture. “Treadwell will take care of it.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Harrington does not reside here,” they heard Treadwell say in his usual pompous voice.

“Nonsense. I know she’s here, so fetch her at once.”

“Good day to you, sir,” Treadwell said in his most freezing dismissive tones. Then they heard, “Sir, I must protes— Squawk! ” It was a most un-Treadwell-like sound.

They hurried to the entry hall. A man stood just inside, brown-haired, with regular features, of medium height, stockily built and quite stylishly dressed. He was a complete stranger.

Behind him, Treadwell stood outside, on the front steps, looking like an extremely ruffled owl.

The man bowed to Lady Scattergood. “Good morning, ma’am, ladies, I’m sorry to barge in like this—”

From behind him Treadwell bleated, “He did, I tried to stop him, but—”

The man dismissed him with a snap of the fingers. Treadwell stopped, swelling with wordless outrage. No one ever snapped fingers at him like that. He did the finger snapping in this house.

The man continued. “Your butler did try to stop me, but my case is urgent. I am here for Miss Harrington. My name is—”

“Thaddeus!” Milly screeched from the landing. Snatching off her veil and tossing it aside, she flew down the stairs, hurtled across the floor and threw herself into his arms, babbling, “I knew you would come. Mama didn’t see you, did she? Oh, Thaddeus, I’m so unhappy and I don’t know what to do. I can’t bear being cooped up like this. And Mama will be furious when she finds me. Oh, Thaddeus, you’re here, you’re here.”

He held her close and murmured soothing things into her ear, and eventually, when she had calmed, she said, “But why are you here? I won’t turn one-and-twenty for ages yet. Weeks.”

“I’m taking you away,” Thaddeus said. “Today. Now, in fact. So run upstairs and pack your things. My carriage awaits you.”

Zo? glanced at her sisters. This was excellent news.

Milly blinked up at him. “Your carriage? You mean we’re eloping? Oh, Thaddeus, I don’t think—”

“Of course we’re not eloping,” Thaddeus said calmly. “Would I ask you to do something so scandalous? No, I’m taking you to my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, you will stay with her and my father until your twenty-first birthday. And on that day, my sweet, we will marry with all the ceremony your heart desires in the largest church in Sheffield. It’s all arranged. Now, run and pack your bags.”

“I don’t have much to pack. Only some old things of Clarissa’s.”

“You will, of course, purchase an entire trousseau in Sheffield, with my mother’s assistance, but in the meantime you will need enough clothes for several days on the road. Taking into account possible delays caused by bad weather, you should allow for at least a week.”

“A week? In a carriage with you? Alone? Oh, Thaddeus, I don’t think—”

“Of course you won’t be alone with me, little goose. I wouldn’t compromise you for the world. Your maid, Lizzie, is waiting in the carriage. Shall I fetch her to help you pack?”

“Lizzie? But Mama dismissed her. However did you find her?”

“I’ve been writing to you at her mother’s address for the last three years, remember? She told me what happened, and she now works for me. Now, will I send for her to help you pack?”

Clarissa stepped forward. “No need for that, Mr. Henshaw, Zo? and I and Zo?’s maid will help Milly. We are most familiar with her current wardrobe. Come along, Milly.” She linked arms with Milly and gave Zo? a silent signal to do the same, and between them they towed a dazed and bemused Milly upstairs, where they immediately went into a frenzy of packing.

They soon stopped asking Milly what she wanted to take with her—she dithered uselessly, so they decided everything for her. Finally they laid her lovely wedding dress, carefully wrapped in tissue, on the top of the valise. “And now this,” Clarissa said, draping the beautiful silk nightdress over it.

Milly frowned and snatched it up. “No, I don’t want that. It’s immodest and I won’t wear it.”

“But it’s lovely,” Clarissa said. “And on your wedding night—”

“No, I don’t want it.” She tossed it aside.

Zo? and Clarissa exchanged glances, shrugged and closed the valise. Clarissa reached for the handle. “No, you don’t,” Zo? said. “No weights for you. You’re already carrying a baby, remember?”

She went to take the valise, but Marie brushed past her, saying, “No, no. I carry, mademoiselle. You take these ones.” She passed the two bandboxes to Zo? and took the valise.

“Are we ready, then?” Milly asked impatiently. “Thaddeus doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” She opened the door and led the procession down the stairs, carrying her reticule.

Thaddeus, who had been taking tea with Izzy and Lady Scattergood, met them at the foot of the stairs. He took the valise from Marie, snapped his fingers at the footman, Jeremiah, passed it to him and indicated to Treadwell that he should take the bandboxes out to the carriage. Which he did with a sour expression, carrying the bandboxes in two fingers as if they were entirely odious.

Thaddeus tucked Milly’s hand into the crook of his arm, thanked Lady Scattergood and Zo? and her sisters for taking such good care of Milly, prompted Milly to do the same, and left.

Zo? and her sisters stood on the front step and watched the very smart traveling carriage bowl away down the street and turn the corner.

They went back inside, where Lady Scattergood called for more tea.

“Well,” she said. “Well.”

There was no answer to that. Clarissa sipped her tea. “Thaddeus was not at all what I expected.”

Izzy nodded. “I liked him. A man who knows what he wants and how to get it. But how on earth did such a man fall for someone like Milly?”

Clarissa nodded. “The young ladies of Sheffield will be green with envy once they know he’s taken.”

Zo? said, “I can’t say I’m sorry to see her go.”

“No, she was starting to turn into Chinese fish,” Lady Scattergood agreed.

They all looked at her. “Chinese fish?”

The old lady made a vague gesture. “Yes, you know, some Chinese saying about visitors becoming like fish—after a while they begin to smell.”

They fell silent, reflecting on all that had happened.

“Does he realize, do you think,” Lady Scattergood said, “that he’s marrying a brainless widgeon?”

“He must, and clearly doesn’t mind,” Zo? said. “He’s known her more than three years, after all.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Izzy said.

“There’s no accounting for love,” Clarissa said softly.

“I predict Milly will become known in future for prefacing all her utterances with ‘Thaddeus says,’?” Zo? said.

“I suppose someone will inform Mrs. Harrington,” Clarissa said after a minute.

“Thaddeus will have it all in hand,” Izzy said. “He’s that sort of man.”

There was a sudden outbreak of yapping in the hall. Lady Scattergood glanced at the open doorway, stiffened, grabbed her lorgnette and made an outraged exclamation. “There’s another one! What does Treadwell think he’s doing, letting men into the house? That’s the second one today! Has he completely lost his touch?” She pointed the lorgnette at someone just outside the door. “What the devil are you doing in my house, sirrah? Zo?, stay with your sis— The gels.”

There was a scramble to put down teacups, but before the others could rise and see who Lady Scattergood was talking to, Lord Foxton stepped inside, moving carefully to avoid stepping on any of the small dogs swirling around his ankles.

Julian had decided on his course. It was a trifle drastic, but otherwise he could envisage only ever seeing Zo? in short visits, with her sisters lurking, ready to interrupt at a crucial time. And if he were to have any hope of winning her, he needed to get her alone so that they could talk.

He’d been a fool, he knew. He should have trusted her from the start, but being evasive, especially with women, had been a habit for too long. It had served him in the past. He’d always tried to keep them at bay and avoid being tied down, but now, when he was ready—more than ready; he was determined to commit—he was hoist with his own petard: she didn’t trust him.

He’d been on his way to Lady Randall’s house because, of both Zo?’s sisters, he’d decided that Clarissa would be the most sympathetic to his cause—she was a romantic, he was sure. But passing Lady Scattergood’s house knowing he would not be admitted there, he was surprised to see the door wide open and some fellow bodily lifting that pompous old butler, turning and dumping him on the steps outside.

Fascinated, he’d stopped the carriage at once and watched as the fellow stepped inside the house and the butler stood on the front step, trying to straighten his clothes and regain his usual impassive mien. With limited success. He then went inside, leaving the front door standing ajar.

That was enough for Julian. Shouting to his coachman to hold the horses, he jumped down and slipped inside the house, where he witnessed a fascinating scene. As things became clearer, he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or swear. The fellow was taking some girl away, eloping possibly—she was off packing her things.

If there was a goddess of irony, she would clearly be having a good laugh at his expense.

He stood, watching from a quiet corner as the fellow ushered the girl out into a waiting carriage and they bowled away.

First the dogs and then the old lady spotted him. “What the devil are you doing in my house, sirrah?” she said, brandished her lorgnette. “Zo?, stay with the gels!”

Of course they all hurried toward the door and stared at him.

He swept them a deep bow, saying with a flourish, “Good morning, ladies. I see you are all dressed for an excursion. I presume that is your barouche waiting in the street.”

“What business is it of yours, sirrah?” the old lady snapped. “I didn’t invite you into my house and I don’t want you here now. Get out! Shoo! Scat!”

“My deepest apologies, Lady Scattergood,” he said smoothly. “I saw the front door was open and, perceiving there was some sort of disturbance inside, I was concerned for your safety and that of the ladies.”

Zo? rolled skeptical eyes at him, confirming yet again—not that Julian needed any further confirmation—that she was the one for him.

The old lady snorted.

Julian continued. “I wondered whether Miss Beno?t would be interested in a drive. It’s a mild morning and the sun is out, though for how long is anyone’s guess.” The old lady scowled and opened her mouth to refuse, but he said quickly, “Naturally I have a very reliable chaperone waiting in the carriage to accompany us.”

The old lady’s scowl remained, but Lady Randall, after a brief silent exchange with her sister, Lady Salcott, stepped forward with a smile, saying, “That sounds delightful, Lord Foxton. I’m sure Zo? would enjoy it, especially seeing as you’ve gone to all the trouble of hiring a respectable chaperone. We were just saying we needed a break and were planning an excursion, weren’t we, ladies?”

Zo? eyed her sister doubtfully. Julian hid a smile. Dear Lady Randall, so sweet, so gullible.

Lady Salcott gave him a sharp look, then nodded. “Yes, you go ahead with Lord Foxton, Zo?. Clarissa and I will follow in the barouche.”

“Excellent.” Julian bowed again. He’d bowed more in the last five minutes than he had in a month. “Shall we, Miss Beno?t?” He offered her his arm, and she took it, her expression entirely skeptical. She knew he was up to something; she just couldn’t figure out what.

As they stepped outside, Julian could hear the old lady upbraiding the butler for letting men into the house. The poor fellow was bleating excuses, but she wasn’t having any of it.

He indicated his carriage, and Zo? jerked to a halt. “That’s a traveling carriage.”

“Yes, I know,” he said apologetically. “But Grandmama arrived in town last night and she has commandeered the barouche for her own use. And I wasn’t about to bring an open carriage, not after we were half drowned the other day in the park. Now, may I assist you?” He opened the door.

“Thank you, I’m perfectly capable of mounting a few steps,” she said, still prickling with suspicion.

He opened the door. “Stay!”

She blinked, glanced inside, and suspicion was replaced by laughter. “This is your ‘very reliable chaperone’?”

“Are you doubting his credentials?” he said with mock indignation. “He won’t leave us alone for a minute, I can guarantee it. Not unless there’s a rabbit in the vicinity.”

Chuckling, she climbed into the carriage, where she and Hamish had an ecstatic reunion. Julian followed her in, blocking the view from any observers outside. He turned, waved to her sisters on the steps of the house and told the coachman to drive on.

The carriage set off with a jerk, and he dropped into the seat opposite Zo?, feeling very satisfied. There. It was done.

“You are shameless, you know.” Zo? fondled Hamish’s silky ears. “Bamboozling my sisters and Lady Scattergood that way.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” His blue eyes danced like sunlight on waves.

“You’re not the least bit sorry!”

“I know. Sorry.”

Zo? shook her head in frustration. Of course he wasn’t sorry. He’d achieved exactly what he wanted. But she wasn’t really upset. She did want to talk to him. She’d hardly had a wink of sleep last night, thinking about him, wondering and worrying about what to do.

She’d missed him dreadfully since she’d slipped out of the caravan that morning, and it didn’t seem to matter how often or how firmly she told herself that he was no good and she’d be better off without him, it made no difference. Swindler, villain, liar, she wanted him, and that was the truth.

She glanced out the window and stiffened. “This isn’t the way to the park.”

“No, we’re going the long way.”

He looked so innocent she knew something was up. She narrowed her eyes. “Where are we going?”

“Ardingly.”

“Ardingly? I’ve never heard of that. Where is it?”

“It’s a delightful small village. There’s an ancient, rather lovely church established, I believe, by some fellow who came over with the Conqueror. Then there’s the remains of a Roman road that’s even more ancient, of course, and—”

“Where is it?”

“Farther along this road.” He waved vaguely.

She narrowed her eyes. “How far from London?”

He pursed his lips, thinking. “I’d say about forty miles.”

“Forty miles! I don’t believe it.”

“It was an estimate,” he said earnestly. “I could be wrong—rounding off, you know. Maybe it’s only thirty-nine miles or even thirty-eight.”

“Reynard! Stop prevaricating! Tell me why we’re going to Ardingly.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’re going to visit my sister, Dot. I told you about her, didn’t I? She’s married to Fred, and they live on a charming estate just outside Ardingly. The house was built in the late sixteenth century, and—”

“Why. Are. You. Taking. Me. There?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, but his eyes were dancing with mischief and a smile quivered on his lips, as if trying to escape. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve kidnapped you.”

She sank back against her seat. “Of course you have. I should have known you were up to something devious and disreputable.”

“Nonsense. This is quite a respectable sort of kidnapping. We even have a chaperone.” He chuckled, not the least bit abashed. “Mind you, when I saw that other fellow whisking that girl off to elope with her or whatever, I thought you’d be on to me in a flash. Ironic, wasn’t it? Two of us planning the same wheeze from the same house on the same day? Luckily you didn’t catch on. It was he who gave me the idea of saying I’d provided a chaperone. What a slow top, eloping with a girl and bringing a chaperone along.”

She shook her head. “Honestly, will you never give a straight answer?”

“Seriously?” The mischief faded from his eyes. “It’s been impossible to speak to you in London, not properly in the way I need to. So I’m taking you to my sister’s place. Her presence will be sufficient to ensure it’s a perfectly respectable visit, but knowing she will be entirely taken up with her two little boys and the new baby, she won’t bother us at all. And Fred is too busy alarming the tenant farmers with his enthusiasm for experimental crops and agricultural innovations—in fact, he probably won’t even notice we’re there.”

She was silent for a long time.

Eventually he leaned forward and held out his hands. For some reason unknown to her, she put her hands in his. “Vita,” he said, his voice deep and serious, “if you want me to turn the carriage around and take you home, I will. We can be back in Bellaire Gardens in half an hour. Just say the word.”

She hesitated.

“Nothing will happen unless you want it, I promise you,” he said.

She bit her lip.

His long thumbs caressed her hands. “We need to talk freely and uninterrupted, and not in the small slivers of time your sisters are willing to allot us.”

“They mean well.”

“Of course they do, and I appreciate their good intentions, even though the actuality of it frustrates me.”

Zo? sighed. She’d been frustrated, too. “How long will it take to reach your sister’s place?”

“We’ll be there in the afternoon, well before dark.”

“Is she expecting us?”

“No, but she won’t mind. Very accommodating and hospitable is Dot. So, do we turn around or not?”

She sighed. “No. But I’m not happy about your methods.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that! You’re not at all sorry.”

He smiled. “You know me so well. But when a man is desperate…”

“Desperate? You?”

“Yes,” he said seriously. “When I saw you’d gone that morning, leaving the caravan empty, I was devastated.”

“Because of the painting I took.”

He made an impatient gesture. “The painting was nothing—a minor irritant. It was you I missed, Vita. I searched Paris for you for several weeks.”

“Really?”

“Of course I did. Don’t you understand? I love you.”

She said nothing.

“Dammit, Vita, you were a virgin! I thought when we made love that night that it meant something.”

“It did,” she said bleakly. “To me.”

“It did to me, too. I’ve never felt like that before, not with any woman.”

Could she believe him? She wasn’t sure. He was so facile with words.

“And when I realized you’d gone, left me without a word and with no way of contacting you, not even a surname, I was devastated. You cut my heart out and took it with you.”

She shook her head. She’d left her heart with him. He just didn’t realize it.

“I gave up eventually. I told myself to forget you, that I’d meant nothing to you, that you’d diddled me finely.” There was a short silence while she absorbed that. Then he added, “But I couldn’t.”

Zo? said nothing. It was how she’d felt too. She’d told herself over and over that he was a scoundrel who preyed on poor people, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She missed him. He was a constant ache in her heart.

“After you left, it was as if my world had lost all color, a life painted in shades of gray. Then, when I saw the portrait you’d done of Grandmama, it was the first sign of hope, like new green shoots sprouting after a fire. So I went searching for you again, this time in London, still with practically no information about you. And then, when I saw you coming down the stairs at that party, glorious in green…I felt alive again.”

She swallowed and gazed out at the landscape flashing past the window. She had no doubt of his sincerity. He might be twisty and devious in some matters, but when he spoke from the heart like this, she had to believe him.

But it wasn’t so simple.

“I’ll go with you to your sister’s, but I’ll need to send a note to my sisters and Lady Scattergood.”

He smiled. “You can write to them when we stop to change the horses, and send the notes back with a courier. They won’t worry then.”

They probably would, but there was no point in saying so.

A short time later they stopped to change horses, and Julian took Hamish for a quick run while Zo? wrote notes to her sisters and Lady Scattergood. She explained her absence as an impulsive visit to his sister. She knew if she mentioned the word kidnap , her brothers-in-law, Leo and Race, would be following them posthaste, probably with horsewhips.

Julian made arrangements to have the notes delivered and also brought her a mug of tea and a custard tart.

The carriage set off again.

“Am I forgiven?”

“We’ll see.” She nibbled on the tart and sipped her tea. And then she stiffened as something occurred to her. “Julian, I don’t have any baggage!”

He waved that off. “Don’t worry about that. You’ll manage. My sister isn’t fussy about fashion.”

“I’m not talking about fashion, I’m saying I have no baggage !”

He gave her a blank look. “So? You managed without baggage in France.”

“In France I had a bundle ,” she said, exasperated, “containing a complete change of clothes, and…and various other necessities.”

“You can borrow anything you need from my sister,” said the clueless male.

“Won’t she mind?”

He looked perplexed, as if she was making a fuss about nothing. “I don’t see why she would.”

It hadn’t even occurred to him, she realized. “Did you bring any baggage?”

“Yes, of course. I had my valet pack a valise.”

She breathed deeply and counted to ten. “Will your sister’s clothes even fit me?”

His eyes ran over her, assessing. He frowned slightly. “I’m not sure. The last time I saw her she was”—he gestured—“very round, and you’re not. Except in all the right places,” he added hastily. “But I’m sure it will all work out.”

He was hopeless, she decided. But she loved him anyway.