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“Then I have one much smaller request. Please give me a leg-up.”
He looked scandalised as he took in her attire, as well he might. “That’s right. You will be the only one to see me; I promise.”
Reluctantly, he interlaced his fingers, and she stepped into the manmade brace as he tossed her high, averting his eyes as she flung her far leg over the horse’s back. For the first time all day, Eliza smiled. She felt at home. Safe.
Leaning down, she said, “And if Mr Bramley asks if you have any inkling of where I might have gone, be sure to tell him you heard me mention my desire to return home—taking the westward road. Will you do that, Caleb?”
He nodded, and Eliza flicked the reins. “I’m sorry I don’t have something to give you, Caleb. Devil is all I have in the world. Goodbye.”
Chapter 19
“Where will the lad sleep, Mr Patmore?” Rufus’s housekeeper, Mrs Dorley, smiled between Jack and her master. “The attic, or the stables?”
Rufus hesitated. He’d just brought the boy to his home, travelling in the same equipage, which must have struck Mrs Dorley as odd, but her sunny nature overrode any reservations or criticisms she might have had. She continued to smile, patient as always, while Rufus considered the question.
The boy might belong to Miss Montrose. He still hadn’t quite decided what he felt about that, but here he was, having collected him at Fox’s Dell, the halfway point of the race, at Lady Fenton’s request.
Rufus had been within yards of asking Miss Montrose for her decision, when Lady Fenton had rushed over to tell him about her wild surmising over Miss Montrose’s preoccupation with marrying her cousin-in-law, and about the similarities that had struck her when she’d looked from the boy to Mr Perceval.
“It makes no sense at all that Miss Montrose would turn down a good man like you, Mr Patmore, and choose to wed Cousin George!” she’d cried just before he’d left, declining to stay for the race. “Yes! I’ve had it on good authority that a secret wedding is planned between Miss Montrose and Mr Bramley if Devil’s Run wins the East Anglia Cup.”
Rufus hadn’t known what to say. Miss Montrose was putting him off because she was hedging her bets on a horse race? If Devil didn’t come through, then she’d be writing to accept Mr Patmore?
But worse was the reason, so Lady Fenton surmised—a child? Miss Patmore wanted to remain with Bramley because it meant she’d be near a child she’d borne out of wedlock years before? He tried to fathom it and couldn’t. Though Lady Fenton might now be a charming woman of poise and intelligence, she and her sister were renowned for their wildness. This all smacked of wildness. He’d felt bewildered as she’d pressed her point in her usual forthright manner. “Mr Patmore, the only way to determine if I’m right or not is for you to take the boy with you. Yes, you must pick him up at Fox’s Dell and convey him with you to your home.”
When he’d started to object, she’d put up her hand in that imperious way she sometimes had—and which she’d used often to good effect on her besotted husband if she was intent on having her way—and said, “I shall not tell Miss Montrose you’ve taken him. No, only that he has been employed at a comfortable manor house just out of the village of Chisley, two hours’ ride away. No names, and certainly not yours, but the address, of course. Ha! That will flush her out! Tomorrow, after Devil has lost his race, and before she can make a new wager with Mr Bramley, whom she obviously believes is how she can remain close to the child, I shall make my carriage available to her the following morning and when she steps out at your home, Beechworth Manor, she’ll be astonished to find that you are the man who has taken Jack.” She’d smiled sweetly, given a little shrug of her shoulders, and added, “Then it’s up to you to decide what happens after that.”
Rufus had just stood there, trying to take in everything Lady Fenton was saying, surmising, and highly conscious that Miss Montrose was at that moment returning from her ride—because he could see the groom running to greet her—and that he would face her in a very few minutes.
“I know it’s a lot for you to digest, Mr Patmore.” Lady Fenton had patted his hand with condescending solicitude. “Just, please, take Jack home with you. It’s the only way to determine if he is the reason Miss Montrose wishes to marry Mr Bramley. If he travels in your carriage, it’ll also give you time to learn his character and come to terms with what you really feel about the young lady.”
She’d only just left when Bramley had sidled up to him to inform him of his impending marriage. Rufus was sure he’d only done that because he’d become jealously aware of the tension between Miss Montrose and Rufus.
Eight hours after the race, Rufus still had no idea how he really felt about the young lady, though he’d been surprisingly engaged by the lad’s easy chatter as they’d bowled along country lanes lined with hedgerows, and through woods and over roads of varying condition until they’d reached his home, a charming, four-square manor house atop a hill just outside the town of Chisley.
“The attic or the stables?” he now repeated, wondering what on earth he should do. If the boy were in fact the son of Miss Montrose and Mr Perceval, should he not stay in the house?
“I get a choice? Oh, the stables, please!” the boy begged. “I ain’t never slept on warm hay wiv horses for company. I only ever shared a bed with two other boys, and that ain’t always the best.” Rufus had noticed that the boy’s criticisms were generally muted. He’d liked that as they’d talked. For a lad who’d grown up in a foundling home, he was sure there was a great deal to complain about, but Jack seemed to have an ever-optimistic outlook.
Lord, what was he to do about him?
And Miss Montrose? If she should arrive in front of his front door in Lady Fenton’s carriage the next afternoon and step out, completely unaware that she’d be seeing Rufus, what would Rufus do? How did he really feel?
Of course, Lady Fenton assumed that Rufus was in love with her. She was expecting the happy ending.
But that was too simplistic when it implied so much that was new and not in character with the Miss Montrose he thought he knew. He loved Miss Montrose, the sweet, pure, self-contained young woman who’d been left penniless, and whom he’d wanted to rescue and give the life she deserved and be rewarded with her devotion.
But she’d lied to him, or at least been evasive with the truth, and she’d been willing to hedge her bets; promising him an answer, when unbeknownst to Rufus, everything hinged on whether she’d exhausted all other avenues and George Bramley was the only means of delivering to her what she really wanted—access to her child.
Which meant she wasn’t really in love with Rufus. She couldn’t be if she were capable of such duplicity.
For all the long hours journeyed here, the same interminable questions had gone through his mind.
Miss Montrose wanted security and, perhaps, she wanted her son—if Lady Fenton was right in that wild hunch.
But did she
want Rufus? Was she even a little bit in love with him since he seemed to be her last consideration? He felt hurt and aggrieved; it had to be admitted. He’d need at least a night to sleep on it, and decide in the morning whether or not he could receive Miss Montrose as she’d no doubt wish to be received.
