Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway Read online

  “No, we gave her something to make her sleep, which is what she needs to do. That dog of hers is up there with her, though.” Mrs. Goodson pursed her lips. “He’s an amiable creature, until anyone tries to remove him from his mistress’s side.”

  Gabe smiled. “I doubt that he’ll cause any problems.”

  “No, I’m sure he won’t. The poor creature was starving. One of the girls took him up some scraps and he wolfed them down.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Goodson. Let me know when she’s up to having visitors.”

  “Certainly, my lord, but I doubt whether that will be today.”

  Gabe doubted it, too, and was irrationally disappointed at the prospect of the delay. Miss Cantrell intrigued him and excited his suspicions. He’d deemed it wise not to leave her unattended. He was here alone, she might well have influential connections, and…well, Mrs. Goodson had understood his dilemma. Damn it, he’d come home to avoid getting embroiled with scheming females, and yet he now appeared to be responsible for one.

  She was a lady, but probably not one of their set. He’d never seen her locally, nor in the ton. Whatever, she was definitely in trouble of some sort and Gabe was anxious to know what form that trouble took. He would help her if he could—after all, he’d saved her life, so that made him responsible for her, didn’t it? But if helping her meant compromising his own position, he would send her back to wherever she’d come from just as soon as she was fit enough to travel.

  *

  Miranda dreamed that she was comfortable again. The biting cold no longer penetrated right to her very core and her ankle no longer throbbed like the devil. In her imagination she lay between crisp cotton sheets that were warmed by two pans. A huge fire radiated heat throughout the room and the heavy pile of covers enveloping her made her body sizzle like fat in a hot skillet. Someone held her head and spooned broth between her lips. Someone else put something cool and soothing on her burning forehead.

  Images of a handsome face were in the forefront of her dream. The handsome man, her guardian angel, had deep brown eyes, long blond hair and strong arms that made her feel safe in a way she’d never known since the death of her father. The man’s smile caused her already weak knees to give out and for him to sweep her into those protective arms of his as though she were nothing more than a child. Botheration, his image kept fading and she very much wanted it to be the last thing she saw before she died.

  And she was dying, floating outside of herself, comfortable and composed. Well, if this was the end, it wasn’t so very bad. It also meant she’d had the last word and actually escaped Mr. Peacock. When he found out that she preferred death to living beneath his tyrannical rules, then he’d probably be very sorry indeed. The thought comforted Miranda and she managed a brief smile.

  “You’re awake,” a faraway voice said. “How do you feel, miss?”

  Miranda was very reluctant to abandon her luxurious dream. Even so, if she’d learned nothing else at Miss Frobisher’s Academy, the need to be polite was too well ingrained to be ignored. She forced her eyelids open again and gasped. Where the devil was she? The sheets she lay between were of the finest crisp cotton and the room was almost too warm. But for the handsome man, who was nowhere in sight, it hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

  A maid’s kind face hovered above hers and one of her hands brushed across Miranda’s brow. She blinked repeatedly, still not trusting her eyes. The room was sumptuous. But how did she get here? The last thing she recalled was being in a barn with Bianca, tending to her swollen fetlock. She removed one hand from beneath the covers and a damp nose pushed its way beneath it.

  “Tobias!” Miranda stroked her dog’s head, more confused than ever. She already knew she wasn’t back at Mr. Peacock’s—her surroundings were far too grand for that—but Tobias being in the room with her doubly convinced her. He wasn’t allowed to set paw in Delroy Point because Mrs. Peacock was convinced that he carried fleas with him. What a notion! Miranda suspected she was actually afraid of him and used the fleas as an excuse.

  “Where am I?” she asked, turning towards the maid.

  “You’re at Forster Hall, miss.”

  Miranda’s heart sank. Forster Hall was the home of the Marquess of Denby and the best residence in the district. It must have been the Forsters land she’d hidden herself on. They’d found her, had probably figured out who she was, and Mr. Peacock would be on his way to get her back. Then she remembered Bianca and her own problems no longer seemed quite so dire.

  “My horse?”

  “Is being cared for. There’s no need to worry about her.”

  Miranda shuffled into a sitting position in the luxurious bed and was heartened when the room didn’t spin. And what a room it was. Now that she could see more of it, she was doubly impressed. She’d thought some of the houses of her school friends that she’d visited were superior, but they were nothing compared to this.

  “This is very grand…er, what’s your name?”

  “Jessie, miss. This is just one of the smaller guest rooms. Lord Gabriel said to bring you here because it would be quicker to heat a smaller room.”

  “Lord Gabriel?” What an appropriate name for a guardian angel. “Lord Gabriel Forster, is he the one who found me?”

  “Yes, miss, and he’s most anxious to know how you are. He keeps sending word.”

  I’m sure he is. He probably can’t wait to send me back home with a complaint to Mr. Peacock about my thieving ways. “How long have I been in bed?”

  “Two days.”

  “That long?” Miranda was never ill and certainly never lay in bed for two whole days. “I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

  “Bless you, miss, we were happy to help.”

  The chair Jessie occupied was surrounded by mending and it looked as though Jessie had occupied it for a considerable time.

  “How long have you been sitting beside me, Jessie?”

  “Ever since you got here, miss. Another girl takes over at night, but the rest of the time it’s been me looking after you.”

  Miranda was overwhelmed. “That’s terribly good of you, Jessie. I must have been keeping you from your duties.”

  “Not at all. I can sew just as easily here as I can anywhere else.” The door opened and another lady came in. “She’s awake, Mrs. Goodson. I was just about to ring.”

  “How do you feel, Miss Cantrell?”

  Ah, so they already know who I am. “I feel much better, thank you.”

  “I’m Mrs. Goodson, housekeeper here. Are you hungry?”

  Why are they being so kind to me? “Actually, yes.”

  “Then I shall have a little light luncheon sent up. Then perhaps a bath?”

  “If it’s no trouble.”

  Mrs. Goodson smiled. “None whatsoever. Lord Gabriel will be pleased to know that you’re feeling more yourself. You had us quite worried there for a while.”

  Coddled eggs and warm bread were sent up, along with a cup of tea and cake. Miranda ate it all, sharing morsels with Tobias.

  “You don’t need to worry none about the dog, miss,” Jessie said, tousling his head. “He’s won us all over and has been eating like a king as a consequence.”

  “Oh dear!” Miranda covered her mouth with one hand. “I hope he hasn’t been a nuisance. Tobias assumes that everyone likes him, even if they don’t. I’ve tried to explain that not everyone enjoys canine companionship, but he doesn’t seem to understand how that can be possible.”

  Jessie smiled. “He wouldn’t leave this room at first. We knew he’d need to go outside eventually but had no idea how to persuade him. Then Lord Gabriel tempted him with a pork chop and the two of them have been firm friends ever since.”

  “Yes, I dare say a pork chop would have done the trick,” Miranda said, smiling in spite of her precarious situation. “Tobias is very partial to pork chops. Well, to anything edible, truth to tell.”

  Jessie laughed. “We’ve discovered that much already.”

 
There was a tap at the door and two footmen entered with a tin bath, which they placed in front of the fire and proceeded to fill with steaming water. Once they’d gone again, Jessie helped Miranda to stand up. She was wearing a nightgown that didn’t belong to her. She didn’t own anything made of such fine lawn, and wondered who in this house did. Probably every female beneath its roof. Once again she was surprised by their generosity in lending such intimate apparel to a trespasser and a thief.

  Miranda’s head felt perfectly clear. Unfortunately that meant she could remember everything she’d done since leaving Delroy Point. She’d heard tales at school about reckless young women who used unconventional ruses to put them in the way of rich gentlemen. Everyone in the house must assume that was what she had done. Heat invaded her face as that possibility lodged itself in her brain. They couldn’t be more wrong, but who was likely to believe that?

  Thankfully Jessie at least didn’t appear to be passing judgement, nor did she display any signs of curiosity about Miranda’s unconventional arrival at the Hall. There would be time enough for explanations, she supposed, when she faced Lord Gabriel—something she knew she would have to do sooner or later. Miranda would prefer for it to be later—much later. She winced, both at the thought of facing her rescuer and when she placed weight on her injured ankle.

  “Here, let me help you, miss.” Jessie supported her to the bath and helped her into it. “That ankle’s still swollen. We reckon you must have sprained it.”

  “Yes, very likely. I fell on it.” Miranda eased herself into the water and sighed with pleasure. It felt wonderful to wash herself after days of sleeping in a barn and then burning up with fever. Jessie washed her hair for her and as she did so two other maids stripped the sheets from her bed and replaced them with fresh ones.

  “They were quite wet, what with the fever making you so hot,” Jessie explained.

  “There’s no need to make a fuss over me.” No one else had during the past four years.

  “It’s no trouble.” Jessie held out a towel. “Now then, miss, how does that ankle feel? Should we strap it up again?”

  Miranda cautiously rotated it. “It hurts still but not as much as it did.”

  “Then perhaps we’ll leave it be. The swellings gone down a lot. I’ll brush your hair dry by the fire and then perhaps you might enjoy another little nap.”

  The hair brushing was another wonderful sensation. Jessie chatted away as she attended to the task, telling Miranda just what fair and compassionate masters the Forsters were.

  “How long have you worked here, Jessie?”

  “Since I was younger than you are, miss. My husband was head coachman here for many years.”

  “Was?”

  “He died two years back.” Jessie sniffed back tears.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Aye well, he was getting on a bit. The marquess, he offered me a pension and a cottage in the grounds but I wasn’t ready to retire. I asked if I could carry on working and I get given light duties, ’cos of my age.”

  “You don’t look that old.”

  Jessie laughed. “Sometimes I feel it. I used to get aches in my bones something terrible but Lord Robert’s new wife has a brother who makes herbal medications. He sorted me out good and proper. Shame he’s not here now. He’d fix that ankle for you in no time flat.”

  “Yes, it’s inconvenient, not being able to walk.”

  “Right, there we are. Your hair’s all dry now and shining like the sun. It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Jessie.”

  “Why not have a rest? You’re still not strong.”

  Miranda had done nothing but rest for the past two days. Even so, she found the small effort it had taken to sit in a bath and have someone else attend to her toilette was enough to tire her again.

  “Perhaps I will,” she said, stifling a yawn.

  “That’s the spirit.” Miranda dutifully lifted her arms as Jessie pulled a clean nightgown over her head. She then turned back the covers and helped Miranda into the fresh bed. “Sleep for an hour or two and then tonight Lord Gabriel would like you to dine with him.”

  Miranda froze. “Dine with him?” Why would he want to dine with a trespasser—one who’d caused him so much trouble?

  “Sure, he says he’s looking forward to it.”

  Well, that made one of them. “I have nothing to wear,” she said, convinced that would put paid to the ridiculous idea.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that. We’ll soon fix you up with something suitable.”

  Miranda closed her eyes and wished she really had died. How the devil was she supposed to sit across a table from Lord Gabriel and explain her behaviour? He’d never understand and, even if he did, he’d probably think that she was three-farthings short of a shilling.

  Jessie woke Miranda again two hours later with a cup of tea and a cheerful smile. “We found a gown that ought to fit you, miss. It belongs to Lady Robert.”

  “Won’t she mind?”

  “All the family are up in town for the season, apart from Lord Gabriel. But I’m sure Lady Robert won’t mind in the least.”

  Miranda allowed herself to be dressed and fussed over by Jessie.

  “You’re the same height as Lady Robert, but slimmer. I shall have to pull these ties a bit tighter.” Jessie did so, stood back and smiled. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

  In spite of her concerns over the forthcoming meal, Miranda couldn’t help but gasp as the lovely silk slithered over her chemise and clung to her form as though it had been made for her. When Jessie was finally satisfied with her handiwork Miranda glanced in the mirror and hardly knew herself. Gone was the girl freshly graduated from Miss Frobisher’s Academy. In her place stood a tall young lady who looked vaguely familiar. Except she couldn’t be Miss Miranda Cantrell because this creature was dressed in sumptuous cerise silk, her hair piled on top of her head, silk slippers on her feet.

  With the exception of her riding habit, which was of vital importance, Miranda had never paid much attention to clothing. At school she was obliged to wear a uniform. The rest of the time, it hardly mattered how she looked. It wouldn’t occur to the self-obsessed Mrs. Peacock that their ward might be in want of clothes. Even if it had, Mr. Peacock would have insisted that the cost be deducted from Miranda’s inheritance, being too tight-fisted to provide anything without expecting recompense. Miranda had plans for her inheritance that didn’t include unnecessary clothing. Even so, wearing a silk evening gown for the first time, she at last understood why some ladies took such pleasure from their wardrobes. It made her feel…

  Sensuous.

  Yes, that was it. Sensuous, and imbued with much-needed confidence to survive the evening to come.

  “Come along then, miss,” Jessie said. “You look a picture. Take my arm and I’ll help you down the stairs.”

  Tobias followed her from the room. She didn’t know whether she ought to tell him to stay and in the end kept him with her. The sound of his familiar panting gave her courage. The upstairs corridors were grand beyond imagination, as was the wide, sweeping staircase. A horde of butterflies had taken up residence in Miranda’s stomach. If she could have thought of a reason to delay, she would have grasped it with both hands. But her active imagination had chosen a most inconvenient time to desert her and her mind was a complete blank. A footman opened a door for them when Jessie and Miranda reached the ground floor.

  “Miss Cantrell and Tobias, my lord,” Jessie said, curtseying and then withdrawing.

  A superbly attired gentleman rose athletically from a chair beside the fire, shook a shock of dark blond hair away from his eyes and sent her a penetrating look. He was quite the most handsome men she’d ever encountered in her admittedly sheltered existence. It took all the training that had been drummed into her at Miss Frobisher’s establishment to withstand his exacting scrutiny without revealing her inner discomfort at being examined by someone so closely resembling a decadent god.

  He didn’t s
eem especially pleased to see her, which brought her down to earth with a resounding thump. In inviting her to dine he was simply being gentlemanly. What else had she expected? He probably intended to ring a peel over her in a civilized fashion during dinner, and she knew she deserved any chastisement he chose to dole out.

  Even so, Miranda had her standards. She remained where she was, ignoring the pain shooting through her ankle, wondering if she was expected to speak first. Thanks to Miss Frobisher, Miranda was intimately acquainted with precisely the right depth of curtsey to make to a duchess, could perform every dance currently in vogue—and a few that weren’t—understood whom she could and could not address at a dinner table, and so much more. Unfortunately, her education had failed her in one vital regard. It had neglected to advise her on the rules of conduct when dining unchaperoned in a single gentleman’s residence.

  Miss Frobisher would have palpitations if Miranda spoke when she should not. She would have the vapours anyway if she’d been aware of Miranda’s situation. The idea of disappointing that paragon of etiquette amused Miranda, and afforded her the courage to see this thing through. Her lips twitched as she squared her shoulders and looked directly at Lord Gabriel, deciding to wait for him to speak first.

  He didn’t do so, but instead a slow, curling smile lit up his features. Intelligent brown eyes gleamed with a combination of amusement and—could it be?—approval. The guardian angel whose image had plagued her dreams, warming parts of her body that even the fever had left unaffected, was no myth. He was standing before her now, easily as handsome as he’d been in her dream, and he no longer seemed the slightest bit annoyed with her.

  Chapter Three

  Gabe was hard-pressed to conceal his astonishment at the remarkable transformation. The half dead child he’d rescued a couple of days ago was now a desirable full-grown woman. Grown in all the right places, he conceded, his eyes lingering on her décolletage. He recognised the gown she wore as being one of his sister-in-law Electra’s. Someone had added a fichu to the bodice, presumably to preserve a degree of modesty. Their efforts were wasted since the inadequate triangle of lace only succeeded in drawing Gabe’s attention to the firm, pert breasts beneath it.