“We hope to be back for luncheon. Until later then.” And she headed off, leaving Lucas with a broad smile and a delightful twinkle in his eye.
Scoffing a chicken leg that cook had left out for him, Lucas sat in the green-house pondering. Unfortunately, he’d missed luncheon at the Hall and it was now early afternoon. The morning had been rather unsuccessful with nothing useful coming to light.
If it wasn’t for Rosalind, he felt sure he would have fallen into a depressive miasma by now, but she kept making him laugh.
It wasn’t even as if she had to try – it just seemed natural. They were two opposites – dainty and coarse, happy and grumpy, silky and calloused. But she seemed to bring out the best in him and he knew that was a rare thing.
He’d been here such a short time, but experience of life thus far had taught him to seize the moment while it lasted. He was no callow youth in a flush of lust; this felt like something more.
Dumping the bare bone down, he grabbed his tankard of ale. He liked doing his thinking in the green-house, not only because it reminded him of kissing Rosalind but also because he felt comfortable in the abundant life that grew here. Despite it being winter, the toasty temperatures kept everything rising to the heavens. You could almost hear the leaves expanding, the burgeoning growth, and the dank smell had given way to a sweet aroma of…something exotic.
A noise from the courtyard broke his peaceful reverie, and he peered through the steamy glass.
Stone had his head buried in a narrow door, pulling at something and with a final heave he stepped back with a shovel in his hands. What the devil?
With a grim expression, Stone straightened and headed for the gate that led to the woods.
Throwing his greatcoat over his shoulders, Lucas silently opened the doors and followed. Stone was a swift walker – quiet and agile – but Lucas was used to rougher terrain than the English woods and had no trouble trailing the earl. He almost didn’t want to follow. He liked the man, he counted him as a friend, yet he constantly omitted or lied, hindering the investigation.
And the shovel was very suspicious.
After a good half hour on foot, they finally came to a small stone cottage. What else did these damn woods hide? He’d never seen this place, but he supposed he wouldn’t, what with the estate and woods running to some three hundred acres, let alone the deer park.
Watching from behind a rather large oak, he saw Stone enter and, only some moments later, come back out with a bucket. Stone headed around the side with the shovel – what in the hell was he doing? A large box was opened, and he began filling the bucket with coal. Lucas almost laughed: no burying bodies then, a thought that had been in the back of his mind.
Leaving the shovel at the side, Stone ducked as he entered the small abode and, after not much time, smoke curled up from the small chimney.
The question, of course, was whether anyone else was in there? He could return later and poke around, but he was tired of…clankers, and so he started for the cottage.
Just as he was about to push the door, it flew open and Stone stumbled out with another bucket, almost bumping into him. The man stopped dead and slowly put the pail on the ground.
“I knew you’d find me eventually.”
Lucas merely nodded.
“Come inside. Wipe your feet.”
The scene that greeted him was not what he’d expected. Although small, the cottage consisted of two rooms. In this area, a cosy fire roared away with a maid sitting by it, needlework in hand. Warm red rugs adorned the floor, and a small sink was set in the corner. An open door led to another room.
“What the dev–”
A female cry from the other room interrupted his words. “Ben, no, he hasn’t–” Stone ran to the distressed voice, and Lucas followed.
“Hush, Daphne. It’s only the chap I told you about, the major. He won’t harm you.”
“You promised, Ben, you promised.”
“I know, and I never broke that promise. I never said anything. He must have followed me.” Stone turned his head to Lucas. “Is that correct?”
He nodded. A small bed lay in the corner and sitting up, being cradled like a newly born foal, was a young, dark-haired woman. She was pretty, or she would be, when the bruising and cuts had healed. Stone crooned gently to her, smoothing her hair back and letting Lucas see the extent of her injuries: a nasty gash on the side of her head, which really should have had stitches, a black eye, split lip and bruising around the neck.
“Rest, Daphne. I will speak to the major.”
“He’ll send me back.”
“No, he won’t, and I won’t let him. Besides, he’s a doctor, and you do need your injuries looking at. I’m only good with things that have four legs, you know that.” A wet gurgle answered his attempt at humour and he laid her back down, covering her with the thick blanket.
Returning to the other room, the maid took her cue and walked quietly to the woman’s chamber, closing the door behind her.
