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Dom wondered if she’d recognise the subtle set-down.
He heard the murmur of approaching voices and his body tensed. To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to the encounter.
But then, this female had already shown herself a skilled campaigner. Using neither force nor threat nor any of the tears and tantrums upon which ladies, in his experience, normally relied to soften male resolve—relying instead on his own sense of honour and courtesy—she’d induced him to yield.
The female entered. He had only a quick impression of a tall girl in an attractive, if outdated, green gown before she bent her head and sank into a curtsy.
‘Thank you for receiving me,’ she said, her throaty voice holding no hint of the reproach he would have anticipated from someone subjected to so long and discourteous a wait.
His unwilling admiration deepened. Yet another good tactic—unsettle an opponent by not responding in the expected manner.
Noting she was not, in fact, dripping on the carpet, as she rose to face him, he said, ‘I suppose I should apologise, but you seem no worse for a drenching, Miss...’
‘No need to apologise. My sturdy cloak has protected me through many a...’
Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as Dom’s brain added together luminous brown eyes, pale skin, and slender form.
‘You!’ she cried at the same moment Dom realised he recognised his persistent visitor.
The girl from the lane.
Chapter Three
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.
Recovering first, the girl sighed. ‘Oh, dear, this is...unfortunate! I suppose I should start by apologising for being so judgemental and inconsiderate yesterday. I do beg your pardon, Mr Ransleigh.’
If she could be magnanimous, he supposed he should be, too. ‘Only if you’ll accept my apology in return. There was no excuse for my rudeness...even if I’d just had my limitations rather forcibly demonstrated.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘The stallion!’ she said. ‘You were riding that black beast that nearly trampled me.’
No point in denying what, with impressive quickness, she’d already figured out. ‘Until he dumped me off,’ he admitted.
‘I don’t wonder he unseated you. I expect you’d need the hands of a prize fighter to keep that one under control.’
‘True. But, oh, can he fly like the wind! And jump anything in his path,’ Dom said wistfully, remembering.
‘Waterloo?’ she asked, pointing to his arm.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He nodded an acknowledgement before the memory surfaced. ‘I seem to recall you saying your father fell there? My condolences on your loss.’
Anguish showed briefly on her face before she masked it. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
Watching, Dom felt her pain echo within him. It had been difficult, losing comrades with whom he’d ridden and fought, but he’d never lost anyone who was truly family. How much more agonising would it have been had some battle claimed one of his cousins—Will or Max or Alastair?
Recovering her composure, the girl said, ‘Had I known you were recuperating, I should have asked first for your lady mother. That is, I imagine she is here, caring for you during your recovery?’
‘I’m afraid I lost my mother years ago.’
‘Ah. So who is here, assisting you? Surely your family didn’t leave you to cope alone.’
She must have sensed his withdrawal, for before he could utter some blighting set-down, she said, ‘Now I must beg your pardon again! I didn’t mean to pry. I should confess at the outset that, never having resided in England, I have trouble remembering the rules governing polite society. I’ve spent my life in the compounds of India or in the army, where everyone knows everyone else’s business. I’m afraid I’m deplorably plain speaking and have no sensibility at all, so if I say something you find intrusive or inappropriate, just slap me back into place, like Papa’s sergeant-major always did when I was too inquisitive.’
Having just been given permission to ignore her question, he felt unaccountably more inclined to answer. Unlike his former hunting buddies and the society maidens who had spent the war safely in England, she’d evidently lived through it with the army. She understand hardship, danger—and loss.
‘My cousin Will found me on the field after the battle, had me removed to a private house and cared for, then stayed with me until I was able to be transported back to London, about a week ago. He urged me to accompany him to our cousin Alastair’s home, so our aunt could tend me. But she would have cosseted me within an inch of my life, and I...I didn’t think I could bear that.’
She nodded. ‘Sometimes one must face the bleakest prospects in life alone.’
The truth of her words, uttered with the poignancy of experience, resonated within him. The death of her father and returning to an England she didn’t know were certainly bleak enough.
‘But here I am, taking up your time while you’re probably wishing me at Jericho! Let me state my business and leave you in peace. I’m Theodora Branwell, by the way,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘My father was Colonel Richard Branwell, of the Thirty-Third Foot.’
She offered the hand vertically, for shaking, rather than palm down, for a kiss. Amused, he grasped her fingers for a brisk shake—and felt an unexpected tingle dance up his arm.
Startled for an instant, he dismissed the odd effect. ‘Dominic Ransleigh,’ he replied. ‘Though I suppose you already knew that.’
‘Yes. I recently leased Thornfield Place, specifically because it abuts your property. Or rather, one particular part of your property.’
Suddenly the connection registered. ‘Theodora—Theo!’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’d been told to expect a call. Except the folk hereabouts seem to think you’re a man.’
A mischievous look sparkled in her eyes. ‘Though I didn’t deliberately try to create that impression, I might not have used my full name when I contacted the local solicitor. So, you’ve been told that I’d like to lease the stone building in your south pasture and convert it into a home and school for orphans?’
‘I have. I must warn you, though, the neighbourhood isn’t happy about the idea. To quote the head of the Improvement Society of Whitfield Parish, whom I had the misfortune of receiving yesterday, such children, growing up around “vulgarity, drunkenness, and the company of loose women” must have been “corrupted at birth” and could only be an affront to decent people and a deleterious influence upon the county’s poor.’
Miss Branwell’s eyes widened at that recitation. ‘No wonder you didn’t wish to receive anyone today.’
While Dom swallowed the laugh surprised out of him by that remark, she turned an earnest look on him. ‘Surely you don’t share that ridiculous opinion! You’re a soldier, Mr Ransleigh! True, the conditions in the army were...rougher than those the children might have encountered in England. I would argue, though, that the hardships they’ve survived make them stronger and more resilient, rather than less suited for society.’
Like she was? he wondered. Stronger, perhaps. Suited for polite society—that might be another matter.
‘Besides, what they become will be determined, not by the circumstances of their birth, but by how they are treated now,’ she went on. ‘The best way to avoid having them fall into vice is to make them literate and give them training in a proper trade. Do you not agree that is the least we can do for the orphans of the men whose valour and sacrifice freed Europe from Napoleon’s menace?’
Though her words were stirring, Dom found himself more arrested by the lady delivering them. How could he have thought her a little brown wren?
Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, her enticing bosom rising and falling with every breath, her low, throaty voice vibrant with conviction.... As his skin prickled with awareness and his body tightened in arousal, he felt himself almost physically drawn to her.
Surely a woman so passionate in her defence of the orphans would bring that passion to every activity.
To her bed.
‘What happened to Christian charity, to compassion for the innocent, to leaving judgements to God?’ she was demanding.
Her reference to the Almighty a rebuke to his lust, he told himself to concentrate on the subject, rather than the allure of the lady. ‘Abandoned for preconceived notions, probably,’ he replied.
That brought her flight of oratory to a halt. Sighing, she said, ‘You’re probably right. But...you don’t share such notions, surely?’
She gestured towards him as she spoke. He had to force himself to keep from taking her hand, now near his own. Tasting her lips, still parted in enquiry. So nearly tangible was the pull between them, surely she must feel it, too?
