Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway Read online

  Even so, she had to risk going into Denby this afternoon. There was no help for that. She was very grateful indeed that she only had a six-mile round trip to negotiate rather than ten, thanks to Lord Gabriel obligingly pointing out the shortcut. The reduced distance would still place considerable strain on her ankle but she’d noticed a stand in the hallway that contained walking sticks. She’d borrow one on her way out and rely on its sturdiness to help her along.

  It was such a shame that she couldn’t borrow a horse as well. But if she asked, she would be required to explain her need for one. No adequate explanation was available to her since telling the truth was out of the question. She’d given her solemn word about that and so she and Tobias were left with no other option than to walk.

  Shrouded in her thick cloak, the hood covering her curls, she set off as soon as Jessie removed her tray and left her to rest. With a wistful glance in the direction of her soft, comfortable bed, Miranda set out. She met no one as she slipped down the stairs and even managed to snag a stout walking stick without being seen. She took a deep breath when she let herself out of the house, pausing to scratch Tobias’s ears and make sure no one was observing her.

  “Now we walk,” she told the dog, taking the long route round the stable block to avoid being seen.

  As she trudged along at a frustratingly slow pace, she cursed her stupidity for falling out of that wretched oak tree and injuring herself. How envious Louisa would be if she knew of Miranda’s current situation. Miranda managed a wry smile at the way things had turned out, glad it was her and not Louisa who’d finished up here. Unlike Miranda, Louisa wouldn’t hesitate to use the situation to her advantage. Well, that was all very well for Louisa. She was beautiful, charming and witty. Used to the company of the elite, Louisa was Lord Gabriel’s equal in all respects and had been born to expect that someone of his standing would eventually become her husband.

  Miranda certainly wasn’t beautiful and had been told repeatedly that she expressed her opinions far too freely. Apparently that was a bad thing. As a female, she wasn’t supposed to have a mind of her own, and being intelligent was worse than being a Whig. She often wondered what the point of a decent education was if she wasn’t supposed to emerge with opinions or intelligence at the end of it.

  Not that any of that really mattered in so far as her relationship with Lord Gabriel was concerned. She had no wish to snag a husband, especially not by devious means, when all Lord Gabriel had wanted to do was help her. Forcing him into matrimony would be a sorry way indeed to repay his kindness.

  No, his lordship was perfectly safe from her deeds, but what harm could it possibly do if he occupied her thoughts? He’d been at his most relaxed that morning and she couldn’t help but admire all she’d seen. He was handsome, courteous and amusing, going out of his way to keep her entertained. He appeared genuinely concerned for her welfare and had frequently asked if riding out was too taxing for her. Miranda had eyes in her head and couldn’t fail to notice just how snugly his breeches clung to strong thighs, how well his broad shoulders sat inside his greatcoat, and how effortlessly he controlled his fresh stallion when the horse forgot his manners. Less visible but still blindingly apparent was his not entirely civilized male aura, his manner of looking at the world as though he was perpetually amused by what he saw.

  Lud, what was wrong with her? It was all Lord Gabriel’s fault that her head was so full of him. She’d never met anyone quite like him before and she was prepared to admit, at least to herself, that she now understood what Louisa and the others had meant about their physical reactions to handsome men. It was a subject they could discuss for hours without repeating themselves.

  In Miranda’s case, she only had experience of one very handsome man, but that was more than enough to be going on with. She’d felt…well, fizzing excitement when he looked at her in a particular manner. When the full force of intelligent hazel eyes was directed on her face as though she was the most fascinating creature he’d ever encountered, it was enough to turn even the most level-headed…well, head.

  Fizzy. Yes, she’d definitely felt effervescent beneath his focused gaze, and the desire to leave a favourable impression had been compelling. It was very important to Miranda that her saviour should form a favourable opinion of her. Admiration would be asking too much but if he acknowledged her courage and intelligence in some way, it would be enough. As for this fizzing business, the feeling that came over her whenever her mind dwelt on Lord Gabriel…well, it was actually very pleasurable. Even so, she was glad he couldn’t know the effect he had on her. She also deeply regretted telling him about Louisa’s journal. She only did so because she’d been desperate for a topic of conversation that would divert him from her interest in the shortest route to Denby.

  Lord Gabriel was top of Louisa’s list of eligible partis, but if they ever met, he would now be on his guard, making it that much harder for her friend to work her magic. Not that Louisa was her friend precisely, not in the way Charlotte was. Louisa had only taken up with her because Miranda was useful, and Louisa had a tendency to use people when it suited her purpose. Since Miranda had no expectations of ever seeing her again, her guilt lessened.

  Miranda’s mental meandering meant that the walk passed quickly and had already brought her within sight of the village. She could see smoke rising from the chimneys, and the church steeple stood out against a slate-grey sky with low clouds that threatened more snow.

  “All right,” she told Tobias. “Now for the difficult part. You must keep behind me and try very hard not to be seen, darling. It’s not as though you’re small enough to exactly blend in, but that’s not your fault, and I know you’ll do your best.”

  Tobias’s wagging tail implied that he’d try. As her feet hit the cobbles of the main street, Miranda pulled her hood more closely over her head, making it almost impossible for anyone passing her to see her features. She kept her eyes down, trying to avoid drawing attention to herself, glancing sideways every so often to see if she was being observed. As far as she could ascertain, no one took the slightest bit of notice of her. The streets were busy and everyone seemed to be going briskly about their business, keen to get it done and be out of the bitter wind before the snow came.

  “Right, I have to find the Boar’s Head,” she muttered.

  That ambition was easily achieved. The local tavern occupied a prominent position in the centre of the main street and appeared to be doing a brisk trade. If anyone was loitering, looking for her, here was the obvious place for them to wait. She scurried past, eyes downcast, looking for a row of cottages in a street that abutted the one she was in, directly opposite the tavern. She found number seventeen without difficulty and stood outside for a moment, regaining her breath. Her ankle ached like the devil but she ignored the pain, lifted the door knocker and then waited.

  *

  “I never thought the day would come when I’d sit swilling ale and that old skinflint Peacock would foot the bill without complaint.” Bill Fisher, Peacock’s foreman at his warehouses, slammed down his empty tankard and beckoned to a serving wench for a refill. “And that’s a fact.”

  His companion Luke Hill slapped the serving girl’s rear as she brought them fresh foaming tankards. “Ain’t that the truth.” He took a long drink, wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed with pleasure as the warm ale trickled down his throat. “I’d give a lot to know what that lass has that’s got him so steamed up. Not that I blame her for cutting and running from that mausoleum of a house, mind.” He sniffed his disdain. “I’ve seen more life in a funeral parlour.”

  Bill chuckled. “And I’d give a lot to have seen the chit climbing down that tree.”

  “Not a sight you see every day,” Luke agreed.

  “It ain’t so much as she’s pretty, but there’s something about her that’s always appealed to me.”

  “She wouldn’t give you the time of day, what with her being all educated and thinking she’s abo
ve her company.”

  “Care to take a wager on that?”

  “Old Peacock wanted her to marry that son of his, by all accounts.” Luke threw back his head and barked a laugh. “Damned fool if she does. Probably why she ran off. He’s as dried-up and penny-pinching as his old man.”

  “I heard ’em arguing in the warehouse when she went missing,” Bill said, rubbing his stubbly chin in his calloused palm. “Old Peacock rang a right peel over young William for not persuading her to the altar. Never knew he had enough emotion in him to swear like he did, him being a pillar of the local church and always going on about other people’s sinful ways, and all. Just goes to show, don’t it?”

  “I still don’t get it,” Luke replied. “He’s never had any time for the girl. Far as I know, she don’t have anything worth making such a fuss about, other than her young body. And there are plenty more of ’em about if that’s what William has a yen for.”

  Bill shrugged. “It ain’t ours to reason why. Personally, I’d rather be sitting here supping ale at Peacock’s expense than working my guts out in a freezing warehouse.”

  “The girl won’t show up here. She’ll be up in London by now with one of those swanky friends of hers from her school.”

  “That’s where William’s gone to try and track her down.” Bill sniffed. “Wasting his time, if you ask me. He’ll never find her ‘cos he has no idea where to start looking. He was going to talk to the head teacher at that school she went to. He reckons she’ll know the names of her friends.”

  “You’d think the Peacocks would know at least that much, wouldn’t you? Just goes to show how much interest they took in the gal.” Luke returned his attention to his ale. “We ought to be getting on. We’re supposed to be moving from village to village, asking questions.”

  Reminded of his duties, Bill cast a casual glance through a window opaque with smoke from the fire and the heat from so many bodies packed into the taproom. He didn’t see anyone who remotely resembled Miranda Cantrell.

  “We’re entitled to a break,” Bill said. “Besides, it’s a massive waste of time. If she was still about, someone would have seen her by now. She ain’t that remarkable, but that horse of hers would be remembered. So would that scruffy mutt. Nah, she’s well away by now, and I can’t say as I blame her.”

  “Yeah, I reckon. Still, we owe it to the boss to be thorough.”

  “You’re right there.” Bill’s idea of being thorough was to scan the street again, or as much as he could see of it through the steamed-up window. No point actually walking outside and freezing to death. Peacock had only told them to keep a sharp watch on the village streets. He hadn’t said where they had to do the watching from. “I think we should…hey up!”

  Bill did a double take and jumped from his seat.

  “What is it?” Luke asked. “What do you see?”

  “Over there, that gal in the cape. Can’t see her face but I’ll bet my last shilling that’s her dog.”

  “Wait and see where she goes.”

  “The hell with that! We don’t wanna lose her. I want that twenty guinea bonus old skinflint’s offering to anyone who finds her.”

  The girl looked over her shoulder and then approached a row of cottages opposite the tavern. She hesitated in front of one of them, then walked briskly up to the door and knocked.

  “Come on,” Bill said, draining his tankard and throwing a few coins on the table. “Let’s go and get her before she has a chance to disappear again.”

  They tried to barge through the crowd but before they got far, a large seafaring man blocked their path.

  “Here, you just made me spill my ale,” he said indignantly, pointing to a miniscule spill on the floor.

  “Get out my way,” Bill replied. “I need to be somewhere.”

  “Somewhere they’ll teach you some manners?”

  Bill looked up at the sailor and felt the first stirrings of unease. The oaf stood with legs apart and scowled like he bore the entire world a grudge. He towered over Bill, who could now see that most of the man’s bulk was made up of solid muscle. Even so, he was just one man, whereas Bill had Luke to back him up and a bellyful of ale to give him courage.

  Luke nudged him. “Just say you’re sorry and let’s get out of here.”

  Bill harrumphed. “You want me to apologise for something I didn’t do?”

  Bill knew that was what he ought to do. He didn’t have time to dally and risk losing sight of Miss Cantrell and the twenty guinea bonus that had his name on it. But he’d never been one to back down from a fight, which was obviously what the sailor was angling for. Miss Cantrell had gone into that cottage and would presumably stay for a least a few minutes, otherwise why go inside at all? By the time she’d finished her business, Bill and Luke would have taught this sailor a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget and be waiting outside to conduct Miss Cantrell back to her soon to be nearest and dearest.

  “I don’t have anything to apologise for.” Bill jutted his chin and took a step forward, almost touching the sailor when he didn’t take the expected step backwards. “Now get out of my way.”

  Several other sailors appeared behind the big man, which was when Bill realised his mistake. He and Luke had been imbibing freely, flashing Peacock’s money in the face of the serving wench in the hope of buying her favours. He should have known that would be noticed, and now this rough-looking lot thought to relieve him of his purse by force. Just let them try it! Bill’s blood was up and he was just in the mood for a good old brawl. Outnumbered or not, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  Bill went on the offensive and recklessly threw a roundhouse punch at the big sailor’s gut. It met solid muscle and made no discernible impact.

  “Ah, so that’s the way the wind blows,” the sailor said cheerfully.

  Luke sighed and piled in to help Bill. But it did them no good. None of the other sailors got involved. They stood back, grinning as the big man swung his massive fists and single-handedly floored Bill and then Luke without breaking sweat.

  “Now I’ll have your apology,” the sailor said, glowering down as Bill curled himself into a foetal position amidst puddles of spilt ale, spit and sawdust, his humiliation complete.

  Luke groaned, blood pouring from his broken nose, and said nothing.

  With no other choice available to him, Bill muttered an apology.

  “That’s better.” The sailor’s bad temper gave way to a broad grin as he pulled both men back to their feet and slapped Bill on the back. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to buy myself and my friends a tankard of ale apiece, we’ll say no more about the matter.”

  Cursing beneath his breath, seething with anger at the way people were looking at him with a combination of amusement and pity, Bill purchased six tankards of ale.

  “What, you’re not drinking with us?” The big man scowled. “What’s the matter? Aren’t we good enough for you?”

  Bill glanced frantically through the window, straining for sight of Miss Cantrell. “It’s been a pleasure, gents, but we need to be somewhere.”

  “Another few minutes won’t make no difference. Two more tankards for these lovely gents, Sally m’dear,” the big man boomed.

  One drink turned into two. Two into three. Bill’s head became a bit muddled, and he wasn’t sure what he said to his new friends. He thought he told them where he worked. He was certain he told them in graphic terms what he thought of Peacock’s tight-fisted ways. But he was absolutely certain that he said nothing about Miss Cantrell and the twenty guinea bonus he saw slipping away with every second that he remained trapped with these sailors.

  Or had he?

  Bill shook his head. He really couldn’t remember and rapidly ceased to care.

  What had become of the big man—Wright, his name was—who’d started all this by clobbering him and Luke? He hadn’t seen him leave but he didn’t seem to be anywhere around. Bill tried again to glance through the window but his companions blocked his view. It didn’t m
atter. He was having a fine time of it here, and Miss Cantrell would be easy enough to pick up again in such a small town. Someone handed him a fresh tankard of ale and thanked him most kindly. He had a raging thirst in urgent need of quenching.

  *

  Twenty minutes after entering the cottage, Miranda left it again. The young gentleman she’d called to see conducted her back to the main street, shook her hand and waved her on her way, repeating his apologies and assurance of continued service. Miranda knew he’d done his best and tried not to feel frustrated by her lack of progress. She now had a three mile walk to negotiate. Snow was falling in thick swirls that blurred her vision and was quickly covering the track she needed to follow. She was cold, dispirited, and her ankle throbbed.

  “This running-away business isn’t nearly as romantic as the poets would have one believe,” she told Tobias as she trudged along. “Just bare that in mind if you ever feel rebellious.”

  She’d barely covered half a mile before she heard the wheels of a cart on the track behind her. Her first thought was to hide, but she was out in the open and there was no cover available to her. Her heart rate accelerated. Could it be her guardian’s men somehow catching up with her? Had she been seen?

  She forced herself to think rationally. She had been very careful, and even if she had been observed, it was hardly likely that a cart could have been summoned to fetch her back this quickly. Not that she’d given much thought to the method by which her guardian’s watchdogs planned to apprehend her, but she chose to believe that they didn’t have carts conveniently located at every small village along the coast.

  Lord Gabriel had said his servants used this track to facilitate deliveries to the Hall. That recollection calmed her and she told herself that was what this must be. She’d just keep her head down and allow the cart to pass her. She was already frozen to the core, water had seeped through her boots and she was almost dead with fatigue. The urge to beg for a ride back to the Hall was almost overwhelming, but she remembered what was at stake and somehow disciplined herself to resist.