Argent (Hundred Days Series Book 3) (16 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Haywood Village, English Coast -- July 12th, 1814

              As it turned out, they
could
wait. Alexandra wanted to be impressed by their willpower, but truthfully, they had seen almost nothing of each other in the two days before Spencer headed north.

A convenient invitation from Lord Darby, inviting her to Scotland to visit Amelia, could not have come at a more opportune time. Alex took silent enjoyment in Paulina’s struggle, not wanting Alix in company with her new, more fashionable set of friends and not wanting to relinquish her grip.

The agony was waiting two more aching, chest-thumping days to follow behind Spencer while shaking Chas and Paulina off of her skirt hem, insisting that she wished to visit Stirling for her cough. Laurel, her unwitting ally, had insisted it was for the best and hinted that she and John could chaperone.

Lady Conyngham’s invitation to Bath had put an end to the matter; Paulina, seeing her chance to be a big fish in a small pond, settled the matter at once. She agreed to Stirling, openly pleased at going to Bath for a fortnight in Alix's absence.

Alexandra was left in peace, Paulina too absorbed with preparations to harass her. Thankfully, not one of them had been up at seven this morning to see her off; likely because she had told them all she was going at noon in order to slip away unharried. She had bounced up into the coach secure in the knowledge that Paulina was too terrified of Lord Darby to try and spy on her.

              Little sleep the night before, or for days now, turned out to be a blessing. She managed to last until the first time they stopped to change horses. Fresh air and milk, coupled with the carriage's renewed swaying, put her entirely out, and what she’d imagined being a long and lonely trip passed by in oblivion.

              They arrived at the salty, sand-blown little village of Haywood just before three in the afternoon. Alix repinned her hair, wiped her face with a damp handkerchief, and did her best not to look like she’d slept for four hours in a torturous u-shape between narrow seats. The carriage lurched to a stop before a two-story shop, its walls constructed entirely of silvery driftwood. Judging by the contents in the front window, it was a general store. It was also a boardinghouse and ferry, based on an ominous sign impaled beside the door which read: 'No tarts or drunks, in beds or in boats'.

              “A respectable establishment,” she quipped, gathering her valise. The door popped open, bathing her in a gust a sharp sea air, its cool breath welcome after miles in a stuffy cab. She thought nothing of it, and opened her mouth to thank the coachman when a voice a froze her in place.

              “Mrs. Rowan.”

              Alix sighed, her back to the door, and inhaled her name on his lips. “Lord Reed.” She turned to hand Spencer her bag, and stared. Barely shaven, bronzed by the sun, he grinned up at her like a perfect rogue. A shirt open at the throat was cinched into buckskins which left nothing to the imagination. Her heart thundered, recalling why she was here, and Alix pressed a palm to her chest to mute its rhythm. “Did you wait long?” she managed, letting him take her hand and guide her out into the blazing afternoon.

              “Half an hour,” he murmured, brushing the corner of her mouth, “That's when you were expected. I stayed here in the village last night, so it was nothing really.” Spiced rum caught in her nose, hinting that perhaps he'd been as nervous as she was now. Alix ducked her head and was silent.

              Spencer led her to a pair of horses, a stout chestnut and a delicate dapple mare, that were hitched and shuffling beside the shop. He lashed her valise with deft fingers, then rifled through his saddle bag and produced a bundle of off-white cloth and a pair of battered leather boots. “My room is paid up. Go inside and put these on.” He grinned. “We have a ways to go.”

              She claimed the bundle with trembling hands, moving in a daze toward the mercantile. She was here; she was truly here. And the reason...biting a smile, she shook her head. Coming to Haywood felt as natural as following Spencer into the garden. How far was the cottage? What would they discuss along the way? She wondered how they could talk about anything with the reason for her visit standing boldly between them.

              Her eyes took a moment to adjust inside the dim shop. Tobacco and dark sugar filled her nose, wafting from a wall of barrels and cartons. The main shop was clean but crowded by more esoteric goods, liver salts and lead ball molds hinting that it must serve villages for a long way in every direction.

A crag faced old woman looked up from a counter at the back, her wild bun as coarse and silver as the shop's wood. Alix anticipated a scowl, but instead received a kind, thin-lipped smile and a nod toward the staircase. She had been expected.

              There were only two doors at the top of a creaking staircase. One stood ajar, the corner of a neatly made bed just visible. The other rough door was shut and was hung with a loop of weathered rope to indicate that it was occupied, she guessed. Alix stepped into the first room and shut the door, not bothering to lock it.

Spencer had obviously done some tidying. The blankets had been stripped back to bare a mattress' blue and white ticking, which was surprisingly clean. They were bundled in a neat stack beside a wash stand. Beyond simple furnishings, the room was plain. She might have overlooked a sturdy table in the back corner, except a scrap of paper fluttering on top caught her eye.

              Long hooked letters joined by lines and curls formed her name across its face. Breath catching, Alexandra claimed it with a finger, pulling it to her and unfolding the crease. Inside, the words were written smaller, but with no less artistry:

             
I accept.

                                          -S

             
Two words filled with so much intent. Asking Spencer for an affair was an offer of her body, and so much more. She had told herself while still at Broadmoore that she could change her mind at any time before taking the first step. She could see plainly now, miles away, that getting into the coach was hardly the first step, no more than Spencer’s midnight visit to her room. They had made the first overtures months before. Whatever she had risked by coming here, Spencer had risked it too.

Her cheeks ached with a smile, and she rested his note in plain sight atop the mattress while she changed. Sliding into ivory duck breeches and working at the buttons with trembling fingers, Alix wondered where he had come by clothes that were obviously not his. Struggling a shirt over stays and a chemise she realized too late couldn't be removed alone, she shrugged and decided to let it be. Last came the boots. They were on the large side, like everything else, but she had no intention of riding side saddle. They would do just fine.

Grabbing her clothes and shoes in a wad and gently claiming the note, she headed back downstairs with a thank-you to the landlady and stepped outside.

              Spencer was leaned against the wall, arms crossed, an absolute picture of repose. She watched him a moment, enjoying the sight of him so relaxed. That, along with the wonderful anticipation in her belly, reminded her of the first rushing breeze before a storm. Heart in her throat, she walked to him.

He straightened and greeted her with a lazy smile.

              “So,” she began, self-conscious, “here I am.”

              “Here you are,” he repeated, nodding and looking her over. “Now I see why women are proscribed from wearing men's clothes. It would be bedlam within the first hour.”

              Her cheeks, already hot from the sun, burned. Alix held out her old clothes, ignoring his blatant compliment. When Spencer had stowed them away, he helped her up onto the dapple and claimed his own mount. They spurred along the building, past a few ramshackle houses, then veered left off of the road and onto a sandy, scrubby trail winding out to the horizon.

There were no half-measures to the land around them. Swirling water was not simply blue but vibrant cerulean; dancing grass glowed a verdant green in defiance of slate cliffs. Stark white clouds billowed across the horizon making her believe that their small bit of the world went on forever.

“I’ve traveled,” she murmured, looking left and right at the beauty around them, “but I have never seen a place so striking.”

“No one would ever point me out as a romantic,” he said. “In fact, Bennet will assure you that I am a statue.” He paused a breath for her laughter. “We’ve agreed to something which carries a responsibility. No fumbling in a musty bedchamber.” Her face burned under the heat of his gaze. “I want to make this good for you, Alexandra.”

Waves hushed against the rocks below their path while overhead gulls made lazy arcs, crying to one another. Her head spun, both at Spencer’s words and a struggle to believe that this was real.

              They had reached the hill's base and could more easily ride side-by-side. “I found your note,” she volunteered when she could manage to speak.              

Squinting out ahead, Spencer flashed a smiled. “Did you? I thought you would appreciate it.”

              “I do, very much. Think if I'd come seven hours only to find
'Lord Reed regrets to inform you...'
”

              His laugh was deep, sonorous, different than when they had been on the estate or in company. “In that case, I would be a fool, and sending you away would be a kindness.”

              Flustered again, Alix kept quiet as they fell into companionable silence. A sharp wind kissed her cheeks. Waves crested white and spilled onto the rocks again and again while they trotted along the path. At some point the wide lane had become intermittent patches of sand, and then wiry dune grass with no discernible trail at all. Spencer steered his horse without the slightest hesitation, obviously familiar with the wild terrain.

              “How much farther?” she asked, glancing back and finding that the village and its hilltop had almost passed from sight.

              Spencer nodded ahead with his chin. “That craggy cliff is Darrow Point. Just around the end and we'll be nearly there.”

On a fair day like today, the narrow skirt of sand they now trod allowed for travel around the point. In foul weather, a storm, it would be impassable. “What do you do in winter, or when the winds come up?”

              “Already plotting your escape?” His boot tapped hers. “There’s a road, south from the cottage and then inland for a ways. Eventually it rambles through the forest and back to Haywood.”

“A bit in the wild,” she mused aloud, taking in the geography.              

“It is,” he agreed, then looked her over with a meaning she could never mistake, “but it has its charm.”

              Alix studied her reins and bit her lip under his continued gaze.

              “Do you regret coming, Alexandra?” he asked softly, voice nearly swallowed by the sea.

              She snapped to meet his eyes. “No! No. Why would you say that?”

              Uncharacteristic worry painted his face, and his shoulders held a tension she hadn’t seen all day. “It's not like you to be so quiet. And I admit I cannot read you at all today.”

              Emotions battled against her thoughts, not one pairing into anything reassuring. At a loss, Alix brought her horse in closer and nudged his thigh with an elbow. “I'm here, Spencer. You can read that well enough.”

              He reached out and thumbed her chin. “So I can.”

              They rounded Darrow Point at last, and Alexandra saw that he had not been jesting. The stone cottage stood on a hill which was set back from a low, sandy embankment being slowly reclaimed by the waves. Its high, narrow face looked out over the sea with a row of wide windows, like gentle eyes softening an otherwise austere facade. Two thick chimneys staked it to the ground and dared the fiercest ocean gales to do their worst. Lush emerald grass waved in fans on hillsides all around, offsetting dusty pink heather that clung tenaciously to the house's foundation and spun out on both sides of the door.

And that was all. As Spencer had promised, not another man or building was in sight. A gentle thrill tremored through her at the privacy, and she bit her lip, looking to Spencer, who nodded. He led her around a slope, skirting a loose embankment and circling the cottage.

              As it happened, there was another building hidden behind the house. It was a small stable, its planks weathered by sun and tide. Spencer dismounted at its low stone fence and helped her down, then gathered her bag.

              “We can leave them for now,” he explained, nodding to the horses and gathering the valise. “They know the land, and they'll stay close.”

              He took her hand and twined their fingers. Alix gave a squeeze, and Spencer responded with equal pressure. Her heart slammed, thrumming in its cage as they reached the door.

              The front room doubled as a parlor, the wide, rough oak planks of its floor softened by a thick blue wool rug.

              At the far wall, a spindle-backed rocking chair held court before a smooth river-stone fire box. Split wood half-filled a high alcove made for the purpose. Its mantle sailed a hand-carved ship, its proud lines painted white and dusty blue. That was the extent of the room’s decoration. Its tables and chairs were sturdy and natural, polished by time rather than fussy craftsmen. The room was clean and cozy, with not a speck of dirt to be found.