Almost a Countess by Jenna Jaxon
Chapter 8
“Violet!” How wonderful to see you.” Dora couldn’t wait for the staid butler to announce her. Instead, she rushed into the lovely yellow and pink drawing room and threw her arms around her friend. “My goodness, it’s been so long since—” Startled, Dora stopped midsentence, as a strangeness caught her attention. Something was surely different when she hugged Violet. Dora stepped back, taking in for the first time her friend’s more rounded form. And her broad smile. “Violet, are you…?”
Her smile widening, Violet, now Lady Trevor, nodded. “Increasing, yes. Very happily. Tris is more than thrilled. Come,” she took Dora’s hand and led her toward a cozy grouping of chairs, “let us sit. I’ll ring for a tea tray. I had Cook make Queen cakes just for the occasion.” She grinned at Dora and indicated a pretty little white-and-rose painted chaise covered in pink flowers on a delicate yellow background. “Please sit here, my dear.” She rang the bell then sat across from Dora on a comfortable looking Queen Anne chair in matching fabric.
“I am so very happy for you, Violet.” If anyone knew how much Violet loved children, it was Dora.
“I’m happy to be able to share the news with someone. All our friends from London scattered to the four winds once Parliament adjourned. We had thought to take a wedding trip to Italy with Lord and Lady Dalbury but,” her eyes twinkled, “when I discovered I was in an interesting condition, Tris insisted we remain in England. When you wrote me you were going to Yorkshire, I persuaded him to come here.”
“How delightful this will be.” Dora reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “I have to admit it’s been rather dreary here without knowing anyone and no way to beg an introduction.”
“Surely the vicar could—”
“Not after my father wrote to him forbidding him to even speak to me outside of the pulpit.” Dora sighed. “And since my father holds the living in the area, the vicar had to obey. I really don’t blame him. He’s got quite a large family to feed.”
“My dear, I am so very sorry your father took all his anger out on you.” Violet squeezed her hand back. “Tris and I feel responsible for your exile. You must have had a horrible time of it here.”
“Less difficult than you might imagine.” Dora sat back, hands in her lap. She’d all but forgotten that Violet’s actions to save Tris had caused Dora’s brother’s death. Despite that, Dora held her no ill will. Her brother had been acting dishonorably—he’d tried to shoot Lord Trevor in the back after the duel—and to save him, Violet had clubbed Simon to the ground. He’d never regained consciousness. “After Simon died, Father allowed me to take Judith back to her parents’ home.”
“You wrote to me of her miraculous recovery.” Violet motioned the footman to enter with the tea tray. “Thank you, Fox.” She waited until the tall, handsome footman left before continuing. “I do wish Fox was not quite so good looking. Tris wants to sack him, just because I remarked this morning that if I got tired of looking at the artwork, I could look at Fox instead.”
“Violet, you didn’t.” They both laughed, and Violet poured the tea. “I’m certain Tris will go mad. Poor Fox. But he is quite nice to look at, isn’t he?” Dora added two lumps of sugar to her tea and stirred.
“If only he were not a footman, my dear, I would say we should match him with you.” Violet sipped her tea and took up one of the heart-shaped cakes. “Is there no Society here in Yorkshire where you might become acquainted with suitable gentlemen? Now that Tris and I are here, we can make introductions and chaperone you when necessary.”
Lord Aberfoyle’s face arose before Dora’s eyes, but she steadfastly shoved it aside. “I daresay there is in York or Leeds. Even in the neighborhood hereabout, I suppose they have balls or entertainments. But even with your assistance, I sadly have no proper clothes. Father sent me here on the spur of the moment, barely allowing me time to pack the clothing I possessed, much less have new ones made.” Dora shook her head. “You needn’t feel responsible for me, Violet. Neither should Tris. I broke the betrothal. He shouldn’t feel any obligation toward me.”
“Dora, you know full well he does. Your punishment has weighed heavily on his heart. He’s well aware, too, of the damage to your reputation.” Violet’s hand strayed to her belly.
Yes, her reputation was in tatters, no matter that it was undeserved. Even though most betrothed couples anticipated the wedding night, she and Tris had not. Actually, they’d barely kissed during their betrothal. But her father was apparently correct in saying that everyone assumed the worst. “Well, we all know the truth of that, although I doubt we could make anyone else believe us.” Dora shrugged. She’d thought of this conundrum incessantly these past four solitary months. “I will simply have to find a gentleman who is willing to believe me when I tell him I am untouched.” She chuckled. “Easier to find one who will believe that than one who will take me without a dowry.”
Dropping her gaze, Violet fiddled with her cup. “I’m so sorry, Dora. You know Tris would provide you with a dowry if your father would allow it.”
“Which he most certainly would not. Neither would he agree for me to wed, and as I’m only nineteen, I cannot think of marrying without his consent for another two years at least.” Not that she believed she’d be able to do so even then. Too many circumstances stood against her.
“Unless you eloped to Scotland.” Violet sent her a sidelong look, and Dora’s heart skipped a beat.
Had her friend somehow learned of Lord Aberfoyle’s presence?
“Scotland?” It was all she could think to say.
“Gretna Green is all the rage with eloping couples these days, although anywhere on Scottish soil will suffice.” Violet’s eyes were bright with merriment, but nothing more. “No ladies of my acquaintance have done anything so scandalous, but scarcely a week went by in Town without a Gretna Green marriage being mentioned in the scandal sheets.”
“Thank goodness you were of age, my dear.”
Dora’s head snapped up at Tristan’s voice.
“Else I might have had to resort to Gretna myself.” Lord Trevor sauntered into the drawing room, his commanding presence immediately becoming the focus of the chamber.
Even though Dora had willingly released him from his promise of marriage, her heart still stuttered at the sound of his voice and the sight of his darkly handsome face.
“So good to see you again, my dear.” He came toward Dora and dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek. No spark sizzled between them, which was as it should be.
Never had there been anything more than a friendly feeling for her from Tris. Even so, had they actually married, she would likely have fallen in love with him rather quickly—with a kind, handsome, dashing man that would be easy enough to do—but she’d managed to escape a marriage where the affection would have been unrequited and therefore disastrous. And in the end, Tris had married the woman he truly adored.
If only she could find a man who felt that way about her.
“And to see you as well, Tris.” She smiled up at him. He was much taller than Lord Aberfoyle, and older. Staid instead of impulsive. Altogether a very different man from the one she might now fancy.
“Is anything wrong?” Tris’s piercing blue eyes were hawklike in their ability to pick out the smallest differences in her manner.
“No, nothing save my surprise at your appearance in Yorkshire.” She needed to change the subject before things got awkward. “And my astonishment that Violet is increasing. Congratulations to both of you.”
If she knew Tristan at all, they would now converse about Violet and their expected progeny for the remainder of the visit.
True to form, Tris beamed at her then at Violet, the light in his eyes changing when he gazed at his wife to an intensity and depth of love that was almost palpable. That was the look Dora wanted from a man more than anything else in the world. It was the look that had made her break their betrothal, for she’d understood immediately that Tris would never look at her, never look at any other woman, exactly that way. So now Violet was Lady Trevor and about to have the family Dora longed for. How strange so much could turn on a single look.
Tris went on about Violet, their hopes for an heir, for an easy birth, for a skilled midwife. “Had I known of this before Dalbury left, I could have asked for the name of the woman who attended Kat, although I suppose I could write to Juliet, his sister. She was confined about the same time and as they arranged to lie in together, they employed the same woman.”
“Do you think she would travel so far north, my dear?” Violet took his hand and drew her husband to her. “Gloucestershire is quite a journey.”
“If I paid her handsomely enough and arranged for comfortable travel for her and a companion, I believe she would think it a boon. By December, the countryside will be recovered from the excitement once again.” Tris took a sip of his tea, his brows drawn down.
“What excitement, Tris?” An inkling of foreboding shivered down Dora’s spine. “I haven’t heard of any excitement recently.”
Tris’s frown deepened. “Surely you’ve heard of the soldiers searching the area for an escaped prisoner? They may be at Bromley this very minute.”
****
Controlling his breathing to keep it shallow gave Finn something to concentrate on as he pulled himself further into the little stand of prickly bushes. He prayed he’d have the urge neither to cough nor sneeze and gave thanks the ground was somewhat moist beneath him. Drawing his knees up so his legs wouldn’t give him away, Finn settled into a slight depression in the ground and listened to the approaching hooves. If his luck had truly changed, they’d continue along the burn and bypass him completely. Perhaps they’d go to Miss Harper’s estate, find no one at home, poke around a bit, and leave before either of them returned. A lot to ask of luck that had been capricious at best, but he was surely due a smidgeon of good fortune.
The sound of hooves increased, coming from further up the stream, the way he’d been headed. Now the jingling of bits and spurs reached him as the troop came almost abreast him on the opposite bank. They could as easily stop somewhere else as here. The burn went on for miles. Surely they would continue…
“Halt!” The unmistakable voice of Lieutenant Scarlet forced a muted curse out of Finn. Could this day get worse? “Dismount. Water your horses and yourselves.”
“We makin’ camp here tonight, Lieutenant?”
Finn held his breath and prayed as never before. If they camped here, it would be hours before he’d be able to crawl out of the bushes undetected. And a mile or more trek in the darkness, with a gammy ankle, when he didn’t know the way back to the estate would stretch his luck past bearing. He’d likely do better waiting here until the soldiers moved on tomorrow morning.
“No, we’ve more farms to check before nightfall. I’ve secured us lodgings at The Golden Lion in Northallerton for the night. After a week on the road, I wanted some decent food and an actual bed.”
“And some soft company to go with it, I’ll wager?”
The group laughed then quieted abruptly.
“I won’t condemn such behavior.” Scarlet’s stern voice made Finn cringe. “However, you’d damn well better be ready to move at first light so we can find this bloody Scotsman and go home.”
“We moving on to York tomorrow, Lieutenant?”
Finn’s ears pricked up.
“We’ve one more estate in the area to search. From what I’ve gathered, it belongs to a viscount who is from home, though his daughter has been in residence about four months. No one’s been able to tell me much about her, saving she keeps to herself.”
“Maybe she needs a bit o’ companionship, eh, Lieutenant?” The eagerness in the soldier’s tone sent flames of outrage licking through Finn’s veins. He wanted to tear out of the bushes, leap into the middle of the soldiers, and throttle the coarse bugger who’d said that about Miss Harper. He must get away and return to the estate to warn her.
“Tempting idea, Hopkins, but we’ve no time for dalliances of that sort.” Scarlet’s voice had hardened in a blink. It cut through the ribald chattering that had broken out among the soldiers. “Unless, of course, she’s been harboring the blackguard. In that case, do what you will to her and her household.”
Finn ground his teeth in outrage at Scarlet’s reprehensible instructions. Now it was imperative that he return to Bromley as quickly as possible, inform Miss Harper of the lieutenant’s plans, and leave her house immediately lest he bring ruin down upon her. Without him actually in residence, there was a better chance to conceal his presence there this past day. His blood continued to rage at the insult to Miss Harper, but even graver was the realization of how vulnerable she actually was at the estate without proper protection. These men were merely one danger a lone woman faced. Why had her parents left her alone and all but defenseless? He’d ask her if there was some other family member who could stay with her until her parents returned.
A stinging bite on Finn’s right arm brought him out of his thoughts. He brushed at it, trying to see the culprit, and his arm hit a branch of the bush.
“What was that?”
Finn froze, terrified to breathe, hoping he’d not just given himself away.
One of the soldiers was coming closer, the thud of his boots getting louder by the second.
“What is it, Gates?” Scarlet sounded annoyed rather than alarmed.
“Something rustled in the bushes up there, on the bank opposite.”
“A rabbit most likely. Leave it. Dinner’s awaiting us at the Golden Lion. Everyone, mount up.”
Maddened that he couldn’t see more, Finn held still, praying Gates would obey his commander and abandon his hunt.
“A coney’d taste right good, though, don’t you think, lieutenant?” Gates’s voice was closer, followed by the unmistakable sound of water splashing as the soldier forded the stream to Finn’s side. “Better vittles than any inn could serve.”
Finn closed his eyes, sickened that his own folly would once again be his undoing. The only comfort he could take from his capture would be that the soldiers would have no need to visit Miss Harper’s estate. She would be safe, unmolested by Scarlet or his men. Would she wonder what had happened to him? He prayed her horse had made it back to its stable. He’d hate to have her believe he’d taken the animal and headed to London.
The crack of a twig near his head told him Gates was upon him. Actually standing over him, most likely. The bushes, while thick enough above, were spindly below. If the soldier leaned down and looked underneath, Finn would be totally exposed to his view. Defenseless.
Well, not completely defenseless. A stout branch had broken off one of the bushes some time ago. It lay near his head. If he could use the element of surprise, bash Gates on the head, then crawl from bush to bush in the direction the soldiers had come from, he might manage another escape in the general confusion. Odds were much longer this time, but it was worth a try.
He closed his fingers around the dead branch, careful to be as silent as possible. The smooth, hard stick felt good in his hand. Any weapon was a godsend to the hunted. Listening keenly for Gates’s next footfall, Finn had a sudden surge of optimism. He was going to escape Scarlet’s men again, run straight back to Miss Harper’s manor house, and hopefully be a wiser and more prudent man.
Gates stepped directly beside Finn and drew his pistol. “I’ve got you now, little bugger,” he whispered, and cocked the weapon.