AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh.” Of course she had to go. She’d sent Slade to bed early, so there would be no one waiting. She’d purloined a key to a side door. But her time was still limited. She’d had her escape. Now she must return to what had begun to feel like a kind of prison.
Melancholy built with each step back toward her grandfather’s house. In the garden, with the darkened pile ahead of them, Harriet paused and gazed up at her escort. She couldn’t really see his expression in the dimness. Did he regret the end of their escapade as much as she did?
Harriet moved closer to him, breathing in his masculine scent along with the sweetness of flowers. She raised her chin. Surely he would kiss her now, after the way they had danced. The whole evening had led up to this moment. He bent his head. Her lips parted, awaiting the touch of his. The world seemed to teeter in the balance.
But then he stepped away. “Good night, Miss Finch,” he murmured. He moved farther off, nearly disappearing into the darkness of the shrubbery.
One of Harriet’s hands rose in unconscious supplication. She snatched it back. She would not beg! Bitter with disappointment, Harriet fled to the building that was not her home.
Four
Miss Finch did not visit the camp the following day, but Jack hadn’t expected her. She’d taken a risk coming out last night and might well feel she must draw back. He didn’t think she’d been caught. The silent darkness of Winstead Hall as she slipped in had promised safety.
Jack paused in his circuit of the rabbit snares. That last moment, before she’d gone inside, burned in his memory. After an evening of holding her in his arms as they danced, he’d been desperate to kiss her. And he dared to think she’d wanted the same. The yearning had vibrated between them there in the fragrant dimness. It set him afire even now. Stepping back had taken every bit of his honor and resolution.
The problem was: He wasn’t who she thought he was.
Jack moved on through the meadow. As they grew closer, it became more important that he tell her the truth. But whenever he came near to confessing, he heard her declaring he was nothing whatsoever like an earl. Approvingly. Happily. The phrase, and the tone, had been nothing like his great-grandmother’s sour judgment. The girl he…greatly admired was delighted that he wasnotthe titled nobleman he actuallywas. In name, if not essence.
If ever a fellow was in a cleft stick.
He needed to tell Miss Harriet Finch the truth before things went any further. And he did wish to go further. How far, he wasn’t yet certain. But what would she think of him when she knew? Would her attitude change? She spoke of the nobility with such contempt. Worse, the truth would spread. There’d be no hiding once he spoke, and very likely, Lady Wilton would rush up here to “lick him into shape” and push him into the society he was assured would disdain him. That prospect made him shudder. He’d gone to great lengths, literally, to escape his great-grandmother.
And then, on the other side, there was Miss Finch’s grandfather. From all Jack had gathered, it seemed the old man would grasp at any sort of earl at all. He wouldn’t care if Jack had two heads or been born in a back slum as long as he held the title. He’d want to… What, be friends? Throw his granddaughter at Jack’s head, whether she wished it or not?
The two old frights would push at them from their different directions and wreck everything. Insofar as there was an everything—which was not far yet.
Jack rubbed his forehead, where a headache threatened. He supposed hewasnothing like an earl and never would be, but he was one. With a house next to Winstead’s. Neighbors for good or ill. At some point, he would have to take up the position or continue to run. Neither choice appealed. He didn’t want to leave Miss Harriet Finch. He certainly didn’t want to stay and lose her. There must be a way out, but he couldn’t see it just now. Not for the life of him.
That day passed, and another. Jack wandered the landscape between Winstead Hall and his ancestral home, evading the guards, hoping to glimpse Miss Finch, racking his brain for a plan. He failed in all but the first effort, but his rambles did mean that he was nearby when a great bustle of activity was reported at Ferrington Hall. Samia and her mob said several carriages had arrived and a crowd of people had moved in. They assumed this was the earl finally making an appearance.
For a moment, Jack did too. Then he remembered it could not be, because he was the earl. Had an impostor shown up to claim the position? The idea almost made him laugh, despite the tangle such a development would create. But all humor drained away when it occurred to him that the visitor might well be Lady Wilton, come to hunt him down in person. She would recognize him, and all his choices would be taken away.
He had hidden spots from which to watch the house, and it was simple to observe the coming and going of new servants and delivery of supplies. The arrivals had clearly thrown the elderly caretakers into a frenzy. They buzzed about like bees disturbed in their hive.
Eventually, Jack saw the owners of the carriages as well—a sleek, young couple. The man had black hair, an athletic figure, and an annoyingly handsome face. Even to one who knew very little of fashionable dress, his clothes looked superior. He strolled about as if he owned the place, his manner imperious even from a distance.
His companion—wife, if their behavior was any gauge—was beautiful and even better dressed than Miss Finch. She had golden hair and the face of a renaissance angel. She also had a ringing laugh her husband seemed to delight in evoking. Jack liked that about them. Still, they were the sort of polished, sophisticated creatures who made him feel awkward and foreign. But at least they were not Lady Wilton.
Word filtered out into the neighborhood that the visitors were a duke and his duchess. Jack did wonder at first if this was some sort of ruse. But they’d brought so many servants, and the caretakers had accepted them without a murmur. On the second evening, he eeled his way through the overgrown garden and crouched below an open window to listen to their dinner conversation. In the midst of other talk, Lady Wilton was mentioned, as if she was the reason they were here. Jack felt a brush of annoyance. The old lady had no right to invite people to… He stopped, realizing that some part of him had begun to think of Ferrington Hall ashishouse. He frowned. They could hardly usurp what he refused to claim, but he resented it nonetheless.
He slid back into the shrubbery. Friends of his great-grandmother could not be good news. And they were likely to ruin his chances of seeing Harriet Finch any time soon. It seemed all circumstances conspired against him.
***
Harriet wondered if this was what it felt like to go mad. She was trapped in her mother’s small parlor for another afternoon. Any move to escape brought plaintive reproaches, grasping hands, and even tears—all far beyond any behavior Mama had exhibited before. Harriet was certain her mother did not know of her recent adventure. She would have spoken of it if she did.Spokenbeing a vast understatement. The thought of the scene that would be played out made Harriet wince. But Mama did seem to sense something—a change in the atmosphere—and she’d reacted at full bore. It felt like being wrapped in cotton wool until one was ready to choke.
Mama could not trap her mind, however. Harriet let her thoughts drift back to that night, when she’d danced in Jack the Rogue’s arms and whirled wildly around the fire. When she’d downed a mug of fiery cider without a moment’s worry about how it might look. She’d felt so free. The constraints of so-called polite society and the perils of losing one’s position in it had been…simply irrelevant, less than a distant memory. No one there had cared.
Of course, such things could not last. Harriet was well aware of that. She would never join a Travelers’ camp, even if they allowed it. Which they would not. But that giddy sense of freedom had made her wonder about other possibilities. She began to weave a vision of a different sort of life. Far from thehaut ton, from the irritating demands of propriety and the dark undercurrents they concealed. In another country, perhaps. Where expectations were looser and opportunities wider.
Which brought her around to Jack the Rogue. He had made her think of these things, and he featured in the pictures she evoked. She felt again his hands at her waist, the elation as he lifted and spun her. She knew he’d so nearly kissed her in the garden at the end. So nearly! He’d behaved like a gentleman, not a rogue. Partly she was glad of that, and partly she regretted it. If she ever got another chance, she was going to kisshim.
At the moment, however, that possibility looked remote. Harriet ground her teeth in frustration. “I believe I will go out and take some air in the garden.”
“Oh no. It is so sultry. I expect it will rain at any moment.”
Harriet stared out the window. She didn’t see any sign of rain. Not that she cared. She would happily stand in a downpour if she could just get away for a little while. “I don’t think it will, Mama. I wouldn’t be long.”
