Page 50 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Chapter 12

At his mother’s cry of horror, Richard finally broke the kiss. Now Noelle knew why.

A stout, formidable matron, as well as the most stunningly beautiful girl Noelle had ever seen, stood before them. The matron’s sneering gaze fixed upon her in horror and disgust. The younger woman’s lovely face, framed by a blue toque, was marred by a cool disdain which might, as she grew older, match that of the female warship beside her.

“Lady Darsington,” Richard said with a touch of a bow. “And the delightful Dorothea.” He grinned at the girl.

Dorothea Darsington—the woman he had been courting in London only a week or two ago! Miss Darsington nodded, her lips twitching as if she felt obliged to smile but couldn’t quite manage to do so.

“Miranda, dear!” Lady Boltwood sailed forward, a tidy little cutter greeting the warship. She kissed the air beside the matron’s cheeks. “This is my old friend Lady Darsington, everyone. What a delightful surprise! I didn’t expect you until tomorrow. Is this the daughter you wrote of? So pleased to meet you, Miss Darsington. You know Richard, of course. Let me present his fiancée, Mademoiselle de Vallon. They became betrothed last night. And this is Mademoiselle de Vallon’s aunt and our near neighbor, Lady Tifton.”

Lady Darsington’s narrowed eyes traveled from Noelle to Richard and back to Noelle. “Congratulations,” she said, in the coldest, angriest voice Noelle had ever heard.

Miss Darsington, whose charming ensemble included a modish traveling gown of deep blue and a reticule to match, assessed Noelle. A tiny smile curled the edges of her beautifully sculpted lips. “I wish you very happy, Mademoiselle de Vallon.” Her perfectly modulated voice was as exquisite as her face and figure.

Noelle murmured, “So very kind,” although she rather wanted to be sick. How could she possibly rival this diamond of a girl?

She needn’t, for she was leaving England. If she needed confirmation that Richard was only toying with her, Dorothea’s appearance had just supplied it.

“I’m sure you and Lord Boltwood will deal extremely together,” Dorothea said. Those cool eyes ran over every disheveled inch of her.

“Oh, we do,” Richard said, taking possession of Noelle’s hand. “My dear, I hope you and Miss Darsington will become good friends, sharing as you do an interest in intellectual pursuits.”

“Indeed?” Dorothea raised disbelieving brows.

“My mother was famed for her salon in Paris before the Revolution,” Noelle said, on her mettle. “She was known for encouraging social reforms, and I intend to follow in her footsteps.”

“How delightful,” Dorothea said politely, with a strange glance at Richard. “What sort of reforms, pray?” The girl was perfection, and Richard couldn’t help but be in love with her.

Noelle jutted her chin. “The sort that were espoused at the start of the Revolution in France. Justice for all citizens, rich and poor alike. Equality of rights for women.” She paused. “Abolishment of the unfair privilege of the ruling classes.”

Beside her, Richard chuckled. She must look a complete hypocrite, since that very privilege was saving her and her smuggled goods. However, she’d done her best to refuse his help—not that that felt like much of an excuse.

“Good God,” Lady Darsington uttered.

Dorothea’s gaze flicked to her mother, to Richard, and again to Noelle. “Noble ideals, but I fear we have decades of work before accomplishing them, since the Revolution went awry in France. But as Lady Boltwood, you will have access to the cream of intellectual society. I should be happy to show you about in London.”

“You see, Mama?” Richard grinned. “I told you Dot and Noelle would get on like winking.”

“Wonderful!” Lady Boltwood said. “Miranda dear, we’re about to visit an elderly neighbor, but would you like to join us for refreshments in an hour? We’ve bespoken tea and cakes at the Crown. In the meantime, there are some lovely walks about town on such a pleasant autumn day. The Market Cross is worth a look, and our milliner is quite as good as any in London.”

“There’s a Saxon church, too,” Richard said, smiling at Dorothea. “Your father would enjoy it.”

“Sir Frederick is far too busy catching French spies to waste time in an old church,” Lady Darsington snapped.

Noelle’s heart jolted. She felt herself pale.

Lady Darsington eyed her unpleasantly. “My husband, Sir Frederick, is a senior official at the Home Office,” she explained in a voice filled with malice. She took her daughter’s arm. “Come, Dorothea. I don’t know why you chose that bonnet today. It doesn’t suit you at all. The milliner’s shop is this way, you said?”

Dorothea threw Richard an unhappy glance as her mother drew her inexorably away, scolding as she did so.

Noelle took a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heart. She mustn’t panic just because that horrid woman mentioned spies. Whoever came down to arrest her, it wouldn’t be a senior official.

“What a relief,” Lady Boltwood said once they were out of earshot. “I cannot abide that woman. I can’t think why she decided to torment me by coming for a visit. Her daughter is beautiful, just as you told me, Richard, but she seems to be somewhat agreeable as well, not that I hold with bluestockings, but they’re more or less harmless.”

“Oh, Dot’s a good sort,” Richard said. “A bit shy, actually. Now, what can have happened to the Dalbeys’ cart? They must have taken a wrong turn.” To his mother’s groom, who had jumped down to hold the greys, he said, “Take the curricle to the livery stable next to the Fountain.” He dipped into his mother’s traveling carriage, hefted a potted plant, and set it on the walkway. “You too, John,” he told the coachman. “Leave the coach at the livery stable. We won’t need you until four o’clock.”

Lady Boltwood shepherded them the short distance to Mrs. Ponsonby’s front doorstep. As Richard lifted the knocker, the errant cart, occupied only by Will, appeared around the corner below them. Where was Tommy? Will drew the cart up before the door and jumped down.