In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady Page 11

  He did, looking her up and down. “You’ll wear a bonnet to shield your face and hide your hair?”

  She held one up. “Am I presentable? Do I look suitably working class?”

  “You’ll want to speak as little as possible—as will I,” he added before she could take offense. “Even if we mimic the correct accent, our choice of words could easily make people suspicious.” He lifted her hand and studied it, rubbing his rough thumb over her delicate palm. “You don’t look like you’ve worked a day in your life.”

  “You took good care of me,” she said, lifting her chin. Then she grinned. “Or so I will tell everyone. Will we have stories about our lives that we have to memorize? Who are we? Where have we come from and where are we going?”

  “I’ve been giving it some thought. Allow me to change first. Put your clever mind to work.”

  He didn’t ask her to look out the window, but she did so anyway, seeing a yard that sloped down to a narrow river. It was difficult to ignore what was going on behind her. She could hear the rustling of his clothing, and it gave her flashes of heated embarrassment—and curiosity—to be witness, even if only by her ears, to such an intimate act.

  At last he called for her, and she turned around—and froze in astonishment. Lord Parkhurst had simply vanished, and in his place was a tall, hulking man, rough around the edges, his face unshaven, a cap shadowing his dangerous-looking, East End eyes. It was as if changing clothing revealed something more primitive inside him. He wore thick trousers and heavy boots, a simple waistcoat and jacket, and an open-necked shirt.

  “Oh dear,” she murmured.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, in Lord Parkhurst’s cultured voice.

  She laughed softly. “No, of course not, but you have succeeded admirably in changing your appearance. No one would ever know you were a member of the ton.”

  “Good. Now let’s put the clothing we’re keeping in the portmanteau, and I’ll carry it. No, not your cloak,” he said. “It is too fine to wear. You have a new shawl.”

  She frowned. “The cloak kept me warm at night.”

  “I don’t think you were cold last night,” he said.

  They looked at each other for a moment, remembering the way they’d shared the heat of their bodies.

  He was the first to turn away, and she accepted his behavior, understanding his dedication. He had a need to discover the truth about the Scandalous Lady, for its saga had obviously hurt him deeply—and not just his pride.

  “If I had to choose which extreme,” she said, “I’d rather be cold. My mother always kept a fire lit in my bedroom, even at the height of summer, on doctor’s orders. They didn’t want me to catch any kind of chill.”

  “Or they were sweating out any chance of sickness.”

  “That, too. But it was smothering. When I’m overheated now, I feel a little…panicky.”

  “Bad memories,” he said. “Best to let them go.”

  “I’m trying, by creating new memories.” She looked at the pile of clothing left on the bed. “I told the maid she could sell what we left behind. Do you think it’s dangerous to leave so many obviously expensive garments and fashionable boots?”

  “We have no choice. We simply cannot carry it all.”

  “Can’t our identities be young nobles out for an adventure?” Grinning, she lifted a hand. “I know, I know, too close to the truth.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Too close to my truth.”

  He eyed her curiously. “Everything’s about an adventure for you, isn’t it?”

  “No, not everything.” She lifted her chin. “But why can I not enjoy myself, even through the danger? Why be nervous and afraid when I’m doing something I’ve always longed to do?”

  “Run from criminals?” he asked with sarcasm threading his voice.

  “I’m living, Julian,” she said earnestly. “Living and experiencing and seeing some of the world, even if it’s only the industrial heart of England. That fascinates me, too. I’ve never been to Manchester.” She sat down at the table and tapped the other stool. “Sit down. Let’s plan who we’re going to be. We’ve already said we’re married, much as I might have chosen brother and sister. But you didn’t give me a choice.”

  He sat down and folded his arms across his chest, saying sternly, “We aren’t going to be brother and sister.”

  She eyed him, folding her arms as well, tempted to tease him by insisting. But…she didn’t want to be his sister either. And she was secretly glad he didn’t want to play her brother. “Very well, since you seem rather insistent about this, I will acquiesce.”

  “Good of you.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “We might as well stay Mr. and Mrs. Bacon, since the innkeeper will know us as that, and might speak to the wagoner.”

  “We’re going to be someone else tonight?”

  “Tonight is full of all kinds of possibilities.”

  She blinked at him, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart feeling fluttery. What did he mean?

  He gave a little smile. “If we want to change identities, we’ll have to do so tonight, then take a different wagon tomorrow. I’ll think on this. Hopefully, our pursuers will not think to look for us in such circumstances.”

  “They really want the Scandalous Lady.”

  “Their master does, and I will need to know who that is.”

  “Of course. Since I don’t want to believe that Roger Eastfield stole it, can we assume this master of theirs was behind the original theft, and somehow lost it to Roger?”

  “It’s a logical assumption, but I will reserve my judgment on Eastfield.”

  She sighed. “So, are we Mr. and Mrs. Bacon, come from Canterbury and on our way to visit my mother in Manchester?”

  He blinked at her. “Very well. Since you came up with the suggestions, it might make it easier for you to remember.”

  “I won’t have any trouble remembering, Julian. Maybe you will. You’re so used to being an earl, after all. It will probably be difficult for you not to take charge of the wagon and guide us to our destination on your schedule.”

  “You underestimate me,” he said, standing up.

  “We’ll see.”

  He glanced at his pocket watch. “Shall we go down to purchase seats on the wagon?”

  “I’d keep that watch hidden,” she said, teasing even as she scolded.

  He only arched a brow.

  Chapter 11

  The sun peered behind hazy clouds, warming the spring day, as Julian rocked and jerked and lurched with the motion of the wagon. Six sturdy horses pulled them along, and the wagoner hunched on his seat, guiding them, his head lowered within his scarf like a wary turtle. There were benches built down both sides of the wagon, with straw loosely scattered in the center. Rebecca sat at Julian’s side, leaning back against the bowed walls of the wagon, her eyes closed, expression peaceful as she lifted her face to the sky. A breeze played with the brown curls that danced at the nape of her neck beneath her bonnet.

  Julian thought that other women might be nervous, chased by dangerous thieves, traveling in disguise, away from everything that was familiar—away from a routine schedule. But Rebecca submerged herself into this aberration with almost practiced ease. He couldn’t decide if she was courageous or foolhardy.

  “Ye seem to be enjoyin’ the day, Mrs. Bacon,” he said softly.

  She opened one eye to look at him, the brim of her bonnet giving her some shade. “The wind is just lovely, Mr. Bacon. I can smell the comin’ of summer, the way everythin’ is beginnin’ to grow and bloom.” She lowered her voice. “I was never even allowed to ride in an open carriage, ye know.”

  They hit a particularly deep hole, and he caught her before she could be thrown to the straw-covered bottom of the wagon. “Ye obviously weren’t missin’ much.”

  She grinned and closed her eyes again.

  After sweeping his gaze across the horizon in all directions, Julian went back to surreptitiously studying th
eir fellow passengers. Six people had joined them in Coventry, four farmers and craftsmen, and two women who were either their wives or sisters. So far they were an uncommunicative group, which suited Julian just fine.

  After a stop to water the horses, Rebecca asked him if she could walk for a while beside the wagon, and he joined her on the side of the road, where they weren’t as likely to encounter horse droppings.

  Julian walked with his hands behind his back, their pace decent; but it was hardly necessary to race to keep up with the slow wagon. Rebecca strode along with the natural grace of a woman who did much walking. After a while, she let her black shawl slide off her shoulders and dangle from her elbows.

  “Why weren’t you allowed to ride in an open carriage?” he finally asked.

  “I’m certain I mentioned it before,” she said, giving him a careless glance. “Illness.”

  “Just illness? I don’t understand.”

  “I was ill often, to the point of death. I look healthy now, but it wasn’t always so. I was lucky to even be permitted to leave the house, so often did I catch whatever sickness was going round. Bronchitis was a specialty of mine,” she said dryly. “To combat it, my parents did everything the doctors told them. No riding in an open carriage. I slept with a shawl around my shoulders and neck each night to prevent a draft from taking me under. You have never seen a person so bundled up as me leaving a heated ballroom at night, even when I was an adult and less liable to be ill. I don’t even know how to ride.”

  That took him aback. “Living on an estate in the country, that must have been very difficult.”

  She shrugged. “I grew used to it. There is a seven-year difference between myself and Susanna, so when she was learning to ride I was still a baby. As I grew older, my brother would occasionally take me up behind him when our parents weren’t looking, but that was rare. I was watched far too carefully, if not by my mother, then my nanny, and eventually our governess.”

  “You seem surprisingly unaffected by the restrictions of your childhood,” he said thoughtfully. “Although your longing for adventure is becoming more and more understandable.”

  She smiled, glancing at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “Surely your childhood affected you.”

  “If so, I don’t know how.” He looked at the wagon, which had pulled ahead of them. “You must be tired. Perhaps we should—”

  “That’s a reaction if I ever saw one. You don’t want to discuss it.”

  “My reaction?”

  “Your childhood. You mentioned you spent much time with the servants, and I don’t think you meant your tutor. So come now, Mr. Bacon, tell your wife your secrets.” She linked her arm with his as they walked.

  “I have no secrets,” he said mildly. He wasn’t embarrassed by how he grew up. Yet he hadn’t quite explained everything that had happened because of the stolen diamond. There was no reason for him to feel he needed to share something that was so very private.

  “So you were just a normal little future earl, who did everything the other future peers did.”

  “Not quite. I went to school with the village children.” Why had that slipped out?

  Her expression turned curious. “Really? Not Eton or Harrow?”

  “I began at Eton. And then my father could no longer afford the tuition.”

  Her smile faded. “Oh, dear. I am so sorry.”

  “Your pity is unnecessary.”

  “I don’t pity you! I feel badly for your parents, unable to give you what other sons had. If you began at Eton, did you at least have a year there?”

  “I had a term.”

  “So you went home for the holidays and couldn’t return. How terrible for your father to have to inform you.” When he hesitated, she latched on to that. “Tell me, Mr. Bacon. No secrets between husband and wife.”

  “My father didn’t inform me. The school did before the holidays began.” Why was she able to coerce him into speaking of things he hadn’t thought of in years?

  When she spoke, he was surprised by her angry tone.

  “That’s not right,” she said. “Your father should have warned you—surely he knew things were not good.”

  “My father was very good at ignoring things that were right before him.”

  “And your mother couldn’t say anything?”

  He frowned, but didn’t reply.

  “But of course, she might not have known either.”

  “She’d just had the twins, so there were five of us. She was busy. I should have realized the truth.”

  “You were probably ten, and had hoped to be like every other boy. Do not put that on yourself.”

  Rebecca could not believe how evenly Julian spoke of such a sad part of his childhood. It was true that it wasn’t as if someone had died, but he must have suffered terribly to not have what the other boys of his station did. And then to go to school in the village—she could only admire such determination to educate himself. And he hadn’t even been able to go to university either. And here she was, constantly going on about being unable to do much as a child, and he’d had his own restrictions. She kept imagining a dark-haired little boy, so eager to learn, told not to return to Eton. He never had a chance to develop the friendship with others of his class that were so important in Society. Was that why he seldom bothered to attend the events of the ton?

  “And this is why you spent much time with the servants,” she said, putting things together. “But of course, if there was little money, perhaps there were not so many servants.”

  “Enough of them agreed to stay,” he said calmly.

  “Why?”

  “Because I asked them to.”

  She felt the rock hardness of muscle that few noble-men seemed to have. Had he developed this impressive physique spending time with the servants, helping them with their duties? But she could never ask him such a question. He would definitely think she pitied him, when that wasn’t the case at all. She admired his determination and work ethic.

  “Your people must be very loyal to you,” she said slowly.

  “They are good people.” He picked up their pace again. “Would you care to ride?”

  “No. You just don’t want to stay here where I can question you as much as I want.”

  “Then let me question you. You’ve mentioned this overprotective family—aren’t they going to be worried when you don’t arrive at your aunt’s?”

  “I’ve already thought of that,” she said. “When we’re in Birmingham tonight, I will write to my aunt, saying that I’m stopping to visit friends along the way—conveniently not telling her where, of course. If I’m a week or two late, she’ll think nothing of it.”

  “Ingenious.”

  She laughed, knowing he must have thought of a letter, and was allowing her to mention the idea first. “What about you? You didn’t even take luggage on this trip. I imagine you aren’t known for your spontaneity.”

  He arched an eyebrow as he looked down at her. “I’m offended.”

  “How can you be offended by the truth?”

  “I often travel to property I own outside London, or to visit my factories in other towns. That’s where they’ll think I’ve gone. As you know, my mother is in London. She’ll keep the household running smoothly.”

  “You won’t be there to ride roughshod over your brothers.”

  “They’ll be delighted,” he said dryly. “My sisters will certainly take turns worrying about them.”

  “Why do you worry? Whatever monetary problems the earldom had when you were a child, you’ve obviously banished them with sheer determination.”

  He said nothing, and she wondered if she’d succeeding in embarrassing him—embarrassing the Earl of Parkhurst!

  She grinned up at him. “My point is, that you’ve probably given your brothers everything you never had. Am I correct?”

  He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ve done what was required. Perhaps I’ve done too much.”

  “Really?”
she asked, intrigued.

  “You have certainly seen their behavior firsthand.”

  “Much can be excused by youth and immaturity—but then I imagine you overcame immaturity much sooner than they will. How can they be blamed for that? You have enabled them to have the life you didn’t have, growing up.”

  “Enough, Mrs. Bacon. Such praise is unwarranted.”

  “One always praises one’s husband. Even if he’s more interested in a jewel than anything else.”

  He arched an eyebrow, and she skipped ahead of him to the wagon.

  That evening, they arrived in Birmingham, one of the largest towns in Europe, the one place Julian had wished to avoid, but the wagon had its schedule to keep. It was where the train had gone, after all, where the thieves might assume they’d disembarked and would be looking for them. Of course, once again they would hide in a part of town where they weren’t expected to be, yet…he felt uneasy.

  The light was still high enough in the sky for him to see how dark it was down the streets perpendicular to the main road they traveled. The numerous tenements were built too close together, overlooking central courts, blocking out the sun much of each day.

  When they were let off at an inn, Julian took Rebecca’s arm and told the wagoner they had relatives to visit, so the man didn’t have to bother negotiating lodgings for them. And then they left.

  Rebecca remained mostly silent as they walked through the streets, now crowded with factory workers returning home for the evening. The smells lingered heavily everywhere, especially coal fires that warmed houses and drove the factories. When they passed a market, he bought each of them a meat pie, and was able to ask directions to another inn.

  As Julian entered the receiving hall of the King’s Head, Rebecca let go of his arm, and he thought nothing of it—until she strode forward ahead of him and spoke to the innkeeper, a portly man who tiredly informed her that of course there were vacancies.

  The innkeeper’s midland accent had her blinking a moment, and Julian could see her try to piece the words together.