Page 13 of The Recluse and the Runaway

“Yes, are you acquainted with him?”

“He was my man of business for many years,” Rupert said. “But I’m afraid it’s not possible for you to go to him.”

“It’s necessary,” Nell retorted. “Just before he died, Papa told me that if ever I needed help, I should go to Mr. Dilson. He’s a most trustworthy man.”

“Indeed—an excellent solicitor with a kind, charitable heart. Your father was correct. However—”

“However, what?”

“Mr. Dilson died a week ago. When I found you the other day, I was returning from his funeral.”

~ ~ ~

Nell paled, and for a second, Rupert feared she would faint. He put out a hand to catch her, but she took hold of herself. “Then I have nowhere to go.”

“Therefore, you shan’t go. You’ll stay here with me.”

As if she hadn’t heard him, she said, “There’s no one who knows the truth. No one who will believe me.”

“If you tell me the truth, I shall believe it,” Rupert said.

She shook her head. “I can’t take that risk.”

“Running away with nowhere to go is less of a risk?” he demanded, taking her hands. “I’ll take care of you, and I won’t believe anyone who tells me lies about you.”

“You haven’t met my Ste—” As usual, she halted mid-word. Those kissable and thoroughly-kissed lips trembled. Stepfather? Stepmother? Stepsister or brother?

“What have you done, that you are so afraid? Something truly dreadful?”

“No, I’ve done nothing wrong!” she said, and then, “That is, apart from speaking my thoughts aloud. And telling the truth when no one wants to hear it.”

He laughed at that. “All too often, people find the truth impossible to bear. Fear not, my sweet Nell. I like hearing your thoughts, and I shan’t let anything happen to you.”

“If only that were true,” she sighed.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he demanded.

“No, no, of course not!” She put up a hand. “It’s just that you don’t know…”

“Only because you won’t tell me. You’re mine, and you shall stay with me.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You trusted Mr. Dilson. Why can’t you trust me?”

“He was my father’s solicitor,” she said. “A man of the law. He knew…” She paused, then murmured, “Although maybe not enough to save me, if they accuse me of attem…” She firmed her lips.

Damnation, she’d stopped mid-sentence even when she was talking to herself. Accuse her of attem…? She was quite a mystery, his Nell, but incapable, he was sure, of doing any harm.

“And now you must trust me, my dear,” he said. “It’s the only way.”

~ ~ ~

He was right—trusting him was her only hope now. Nell hurried back to the kitchen and threw herself into the preparations for the evening’s festivities. Despite his assurances, she felt as if this were her last chance to prove herself worthwhile. As if she must make the best of it, for any day now she might be swept off to a dungeon.

Which was absurd—there weren’t any dungeons nearby, and in any event, he had told her to trust him. She wanted to; she longed to trust him. He was a baronet, a wealthy man, not a nobody, so perhaps…just perhaps, all would be well.

Dusk fell, and to her astonishment, Mrs. Overton presented her with a green silk gown to wear. “It belonged to Lady Wonderly, Sir Rupert’s aunt. Such a sainted lady—and fortunate to pass to her reward before her husband let the estate go to rack and ruin.”

“I cannot wear that,” Nell protested. “It’s far too fine. I’ll be doing last minute work in the kitchen, and serving food to the guests, and—”

“It is perfectly proper for a lady to serve the lamb’s wool,” Mrs. O said with a smile. “Lady Wonderly always did. And here’s a shawl—it’s made of cashmere and will keep you warm.” When Nell hesitated, the housekeeper said, “Lady Wonderly loved Sir Rupert dearly. She would have wanted you to have it.”