“Hide this somewhere,” she said.
Leah frowned. “What is it?”
“One of my mother’s old woolen cloaks. I found it in the back of a wardrobe. It has a large hood which you can use to hide your hair and face. People will take less notice of a woman in a black cloak than they will a young woman in a wedding gown,” replied Claire.
Leah was momentarily lost for words. It was comforting to know that someone else was trying to help cover all contingencies. She crossed to her bed and lifted the mattress, before stuffing the cloak as far toward the middle of the bed as she could. If her luck held, her maid would not discover it while making up the room.
“Thank you. I shall return it as soon as possible,” said Leah.
Claire held out her arms, and the two young women embraced. When Claire pulled back and met Leah’s gaze, Leah saw the tight smile which sat on her lips.
“Don’t worry about getting the cloak back to me. Just you worry about making it in one piece to Cornwall. Until you are safely at your grandfather’s house, you must not take any sort of unavoidable risks. Leah, it is not worth it,” replied Claire.
Leah nodded. The wedding was mere days away. Between now and when she arrived at St George’s, she had to hold her nerve. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I hope someday I can repay the favor,” she said.
Claire smiled. “Your happiness will be all the payment I shall ever need.”
Chapter Eighteen
James was up just after dawn. As he finished washing and shaving for the day, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. While the man who looked back at him had a smile on his face, inside, he was a just little ashamed of himself.
Every other day so far during his stay at Newhall Castle, he had been reluctant to drag his often hungover self from bed much before the hour of ten. This morning, with the trip to Burton-on-Trent foremost in his mind, he was up and about well before he heard the early morning footsteps of the castle servants.
James’s suspicions about Harry’s behavior had been proven right, and he took no pleasure in that bitter fact. Harry Menzies had indeed ventured to Newhall Castle in an effort to force Caroline into accepting his suit. To no one’s surprise, other than Harry’s, she had refused him.
Within hours, a furious Francis had packed Harry and himself back off to London, leaving James to stay on at Newhall Castle as Caroline’s chaperone.
Fortunately, Caroline was coping well in the aftermath of Harry’s unwelcome marriage proposal and was still insistent that James go and spend time with his friends and his sketchbook. In a serendipitous but happy coincidence, the two Tims had sent word that they would be in town on market day and were eager to meet up with James. A small buzz of what could only be described as excitement sat in his stomach. When was the last time he had felt cheerful about anything?
His box of paints and brushes lay on his bed. He had opened it late the previous night, standing and smiling at them as he’d pictured being able to set brush to canvas and create a new piece of work. The sight of them, along with his sketchbook, made him want to take that giant leap and grasp the future that his heart so desperately craved.
Through the pure luck of having been born into a wealthy family, he had been gifted with the sort of life choices that many others could only dare to dream about. By dithering over making a decision of what he should be doing with his life, he was wasting that gift. It was an insult to all those less fortunate.
He slipped his jacket on and headed for the bedroom door. A hearty breakfast was in order to ward off the winter chill. He had woken with a determined heart; he would go to the woodlands to sketch. Julian’s aunt, Lady Margaret, could be asked to stand in his place as chaperone for Caroline. Not that she particularly needed one this far from the prying eyes of London society. And he would only be gone for a day or two.
An hour after breakfast, Julian, Caroline, James, and Lady Margaret set out for the weekly market at Burton-on-Trent. Lady Margaret sat with a happy smile on her face, but both Julian and Caroline appeared more subdued.
There was little conversation in the carriage for the first part of the journey. Guilt over his earlier, at times, taciturn behavior finally spurred James into making a start. “I hope you don’t mind me going to see my friends while we are at the market. I must confess that it is purely a selfish thing I am doing in making the trip over to Burton.”
Julian waved his concerns away. “I would be a terrible host if I kept you from seeing your friends. Do they live in Burton?”
“No. They are undertaking a series of paintings of the local area. They have a patron who is moving overseas and wishes to take some memories of their home county with them. My friends sent word yesterday informing me that they will be at The Union Inn in the town square this morning,” he replied.
Caroline turned from the window and nodded at Julian. “James is a skilled painter in his own right. I am certain that if he was not destined to follow my uncle into the senior ranks of the Church of England, he too would be treading the path of the artist.”
“Caroline, did you know that Francis had been interested in some of the smaller paintings from my friends and that he had expressed a desire to purchase one or two of them? He was going to show them to the prince of Wales,” asked James.
“Yes.”
Her single word reply did not fill him with confidence. He had been hoping that Caroline could shed more light on why Francis had suddenly changed his mind about championing the work of the two Tims to the Prince Regent.
“So, would you know why he changed his mind about buying them? I only ask because he went from being keen on them one day to refusing to discuss anything about them the very next,” said James.
Caroline’s gaze drifted to him. Her face was not one of happiness. Perhaps she had developed second thoughts about his going off into the wilds to sketch. “I expect Francis has his reasons. He may not appreciate all your friends the same way you do. Just because they are your chums does not mean that they are his, or mine, for that matter,” she replied.
While her words were a little cryptic, James was perceptive enough to pick up on the underlying meaning of them. Her remark had him wondering about Timothy Walters. Walters was a member of Caroline’s court of admirers. He was another man who appeared to be always at her beck and call at parties. More than once, James had seen him standing close to Harry Menzies as they’d jostled over who was going to present Caroline with her next glass of champagne. If Walters was on the out with Caroline, he had not made mention of it.
Meanwhile, Caroline began to rummage in her reticule. It was another unspoken signal from her. It told him to leave things well alone. He took his cue and let the matter rest. As soon as he got an opportune moment to speak to Caroline alone, he would raise the matter again.
