Page 6 of The Recluse and the Runaway

“And maybe she has someplace else to go,” he retorted. “And so do you—back to work.”

“She’s going to London,” they said in unison, as if it was the devil’s own playground, the Sodom and Gomorrah of England.

Which, unfortunately, it was. He’d lived there for years, long enough to know. Alarmed, he almost stood—then forced himself to subside.

“To her gran,” Millie admitted reluctantly.

That seemed acceptable, but she was his. He couldn’t just let her go.

“Very well,” he said, “I shall speak to Nell—when I am ready. In other words, not this instant, so don’t send her here. Get on with it, girls, and leave me be.”

The girls left, but the dog didn’t. It just sat there, watching him reproachfully.

“What do you know about it?” Rupert grumbled. “You’re just a silly dog. I can’t run over and kneel before her, begging for her hand. I have to court her. I must make a plan.”

The creature cocked her head to one side, as if to say, “You’re just a foolish man.” She scratched behind her ear, then wandered over to the French doors that led to the kitchen garden. Rupert rested his chin on his hands and gazed unseeingly into the sunny winter day.

London. He’d heard tales of young girls who ran away to London, seeking a better life, and fell immediately into the clutches of madams and their bully boys. What sort of grandmother would let this girl come to London without an escort? Would she send someone to meet the stage? How would she even know which stage to meet?

Even if Nell wasn’t his one and only true love, he couldn’t let her go to such neglect, not to mention peril.

Nor could he keep her, if she wanted to leave.

The dog eyed him, then yipped. Into Rupert’s line of sight came Nell. What errand might she have in the garden in the dead of winter? Herbs had been gathered and dried weeks ago. She simply stopped and stood, gazing at the cold blue sky, in an attitude akin to supplication. Were those tears on her cheeks?

He leapt up and plunged out the door.

~ ~ ~

“Nell!”

Oh, no—it was Sir Rupert! She dashed her tears away, turned, and curtsied. “Yes, sir?”

“What’s wrong, my dear?” She froze, and he said softly, “Don’t deny that you’ve been weeping. Tell me what’s amiss. If there is anything I can do to help, I shall.”

She drew herself up and sniffled. “There isn’t, but thank you kindly, sir.” He had called her his dear—which meant nothing, she reminded herself, as it was a common expression. The kindlier of the villagers at home called her dear.

“The maids tell me you’re planning to leave us very soon.”

“Yes, sir. I must leave directly after Christmas.” She bit her lip hard to stop it trembling. “I regret it sorely, sir, for I owe you much more than a few days of cooking in exchange for your kindness.”

“Kindness requires no reward, Nell. What more can I do to help?”

“Nothing, sir. You have done enough, and I shall be eternally grateful, and shall pay you as best I can for the next few days. Millie and Peg are wonderful—I have never worked with such darling girls—and Mrs. Overton is very kind, and Cook advised and reassured me despite being so ill. I shall do my best to make the Christmas feast worthy of Wonderly Manor.”

He put up a hand to halt this flow. “Nell, I’m sure it will be splendid, but you don’t owe me anything. I ask merely because we all like you and wish you could stay.”

She heaved a sigh. “I wish I could, too, but I have no choice but to go.” Away from this haven of warmth and kindness—but hopefully to another almost as good.

Nothing would be as good as biding here with Sir Rupert and his wonderful servants, but that could never be.

“To London, Millie and Peg told me. To your grandmother?”

Oh, dear. She said nothing. If she agreed, she would be lying.

“You will travel on foot? Or on the stage?”

She nodded, not specifying which mode of transportation she would take, as agreeing to anything but on foot would again be a lie. One half-lie this morning was enough.