My Runaway Heart (13 page)

"
Dovercourt
Manor . . .
?"

"Yes, the ancestral home in West Sussex, near
Seaford. I know little else save that Elise died shortly after her brother's
unexpected return, and it's rumored the poor dear's husband—oh, yes, Potter was
his surname—treated her most abominably, for which that scoundrel Jared Giles
has no one but himself to blame!"

"But, Aunt Winnie, you told me yourself Lord Giles
is a spy and therefore highly trusted—"

"Yes, and it's a travesty, too, that affairs of a
baser nature have no bearing upon affairs of state, even when such notoriety so
bespeaks a lack of character—oh, my, Lindsay, enough, enough! How did we ever
begin such a distasteful topic? I feel a sudden pain in my head. Where's
Matilda?"

Her own thoughts spinning, Lindsay rose from her chair
to open one of the tall windows in the sunny drawing room.

"No, no, dear, fetch Matilda, will you? And be
quick! Oh, dear, my head is pounding."

As Primrose and Ignatius began to whine and whimper at
Aunt Winifred's feet, clearly sensing her distress, Lindsay raced from the
drawing room.

Now
her
head
was aching and she almost wished she hadn't mentioned Alistair Giles. How would
Jared ever favorably press his suit for her hand when her aunt thought so
little of him? Of course, it wasn't Aunt Winifred's decision, but her father's,
and Lindsay imagined Olympia would demand her say. That might mean two negative
votes raised against one—oh, Lord . . .

"Matilda!"

Lindsay stopped her flight on the third step, relieved
to see the Scotswoman hurrying down the stairs with smelling salts already in
hand.

"Ye don't have to tell me, lass, I can hear it in
yer
voice. Sensed it in my bones, too—after serving the
same mistress for twenty-five years, I always know when she needs me. The
drawing room?"

Lindsay nodded, sinking with a sigh onto the step as
Matilda bustled past her and disappeared around the corner.

She had only wanted to somehow prepare Aunt Winifred
for tomorrow, and now she'd simply made matters worse. If Jared even approached
the front door, she imagined the poor woman would be thrown into such a nervous
frenzy that a physician might have to be called, either that or Aunt Winifred
might go so far as to summon a constable to remove him. There had to be some
way she could warn Jared. The last thing she wanted was for his proposal of
marriage to be tossed back into his face!

Lindsay rose to her feet. It was only a few hours until
dark. She could try to find him then, yet she had promised no sneaking from the
house,
no
excursions into the city at night.

Lindsay sank back onto the stair with a sigh of pure
frustration, but she started when she felt a light hand upon her shoulder.

"Anything wrong, miss?"

She glanced up, shaking her head at Gladys, a pretty
young chambermaid who was very close to her own age. "No, no, I'm—"
She stopped, looking at Gladys as if seeing her for the first time. Of course!

"Gladys, I need you to accompany me."

"B-but I'm not finished dusting yet, miss—"

"Oh, please, Gladys, the dusting can wait. I need you
right now as my chaperone—it's very important!"

Lindsay grabbed the young woman's hand without another
word and drew her down the stairs and toward the back of the house, imagining
Matilda would be kept busy with her aunt for the rest of the afternoon. She
hoped Aunt Winifred would need to lie down until supper, which would be even
better; Matilda always attended to mending then and Lindsay wouldn't be missed.

Gladys's hazel eyes were round as saucers when Lindsay
pulled her out the back door into the tidy garden, the perfumed scent of spring
flowers heavy in the air. But Lindsay scarcely noticed them, not even her
favorite bluebells brushing against her skirt, as she urged the chambermaid to
hurry.

"Where are we going, miss?" Gladys asked when
they entered the Penney stable, the young woman skipping to one side as Lindsay
set to work hitching a docile bay gelding to a light two-wheeled carriage,
since no grooms or Benjamin the coachman was there to help them.

Not that Lindsay needed any assistance; she'd learned
many practical things from
Corisande
, who was nothing
if not resourceful. "Don't worry, Gladys, we won't be gone very long."

A few breathless moments later, they were heading out
the alley and onto the busy boulevard, Lindsay glad for the leather hood which
would offer them protection from the brilliant April sunshine and curious
glances. She was so intent upon maneuvering the carriage through the bustle of
afternoon traffic that it wasn't until she had turned off Piccadilly that she
realized she had no clear idea as to the Boar's Head's address. But she
supposed when they drew closer to Covent Garden she could ask for directions if
need be.

Truly, she felt exhilarated by her sense of freedom,
and it was evident from the pink bloom on Gladys's cheeks that the chambermaid
was beginning to enjoy their little adventure as well. And it was broad
daylight and she hadn't exactly sneaked away from the house—Lindsay had broken
no promise there.

All she wanted to do was tell Jared, or leave him a
note if he wasn't at the tavern, that they must think of another course, rather
than meeting first with her aunt; perhaps a letter to her father or even a
journey themselves—with proper chaperones, of course—to
Porthleven
.
It was all so exciting, yet she felt a slight shadow over her joy.

Aunt Winifred's recollection of events in Jared's
family had been quite sobering, but Lindsay didn't doubt for a moment that he
must have had good reason to return to India and leave his younger sister,
Elise. She resolved to ask him, too, but right now that wasn't the first of her
concerns, as finding the Boar's Head was forefront in her mind.

Nearly a half hour had passed before she decided to
stop and have Gladys run into a millinery shop to ask directions. To her
relief, they were very close, Lindsay's heart beating harder when she saw the
familiar tavern ahead at the next corner. A vivid memory of Jared pulling her
against him in his room to kiss her made her blush and smile, her fingers
trembling slightly at the reins.

"Miss Somerset, mayhap I should go inside for you,"
Gladys suggested quietly as Lindsay drew the cabriolet to a stop. The young
woman looked uncertainly toward the tavern, then back at her mistress.
"
'Tis
no matter for me, a
workin
' girl, but a lady like yourself—"

"I'll be fine, Gladys, truly."

Yet Lindsay wished she had her dark cloak, her pale
lilac-colored gown and matching pelisse offering no anonymity at all as she
entered the tavern, its interior looking so much brighter with sunlight
streaming through the small paned windows. Fortunately, the place had only a
few more patrons than it had had the other night, though they all turned to
stare at her wide-eyed, as if she were some unlikely apparition.

She supposed she was, Lindsay thought uncomfortably,
her gaze skipping from the table she and Jared had shared to where Della burst
from the kitchen with a platter of sizzling sausages in one hand and a huge mug
of ale in the other. A platter that nearly toppled to the floor, three sausages
flying into the air, when the woman stopped abruptly to stare at her.

"
Wot
in heaven's name?
Aren't you the same—
"

"Yes, and I won't keep you." Lindsay glanced
around to see that the patrons were watching with blatant interest, so she
lowered her voice to a near whisper. "I've come to see Lord Giles—Jared.
Is he—?"

"Here, miss? No, and
wot
a pity. I'm sure he'd be sorry to have missed you, but he left this early morn."

"Oh. Then I'd like to leave him a note, if I may."

"Aye, you may, but you'd best leave a shilling to
post your little note as well. He's gone from London, far as I can tell. Paid
his bill and took '
imself
off—said he'd return in a
few months or so."

Stunned, Lindsay could only stare as Della bent down
under a chair and plopped the errant sausages back onto the platter.

"Damned slippery things . . . ouch! Hot, too."

As Della rose and faced her, the woman's smile
curiously mocking, Lindsay somehow found her voice. "Did . . . did you say
a few months?"

"
Aye,
and Lord knows I'll
miss '
im
. From the looks of it, so will you."

Her heart thundering in her ears, Lindsay tried to
swallow the huge lump building in her throat. "Do you have any idea where.
. ." She faltered, tears misting her eyes. "I have to find—"

"And I told you he left London, at least from the
sound of it. Said
somethin
' to the driver about
takin
' him to Sussex and he was gone. Poof! Now if you'll
excuse me, I've got me
payin
' customers to think of."

"Yes, yes, of course." Lindsay turned to
leave, but then she stopped, glancing back at Della as her heart seemed to
pound even louder within her breast. "Are you sure he said Sussex?"

"Aye, that and
Seaword
,
I recall, or
Seafirth
."

Seaford! Lindsay suddenly felt as if she couldn't
breathe, and she fled from the tavern without another word.

"Oh, Miss Somerset, I was
growin
'
so worried," Gladys cried out, scrambling over in the seat even as Lindsay
alighted.

"I'm sorry, Gladys, but you'll have to climb down."

"
Wot
, miss?"

"You'll have to find your way home by yourself—I
can't explain. But I promise I'll make amends as soon as I can. I'm so terribly
sorry.
Please
, Gladys."

Feeling absolutely wretched for having had to ask, but
knowing no way around it, Lindsay could only watch as the chambermaid jumped
down from the carriage and looked uncertainly around her.

"Just follow the way we came—there's plenty of
daylight left."

"It's not me I'm worried for, miss, but you. I don't
think Lady Penney will be happy—"

"I'm truly sorry, Gladys—
take
care on your way!" With a last guilty glance, Lindsay veered the cabriolet
out into the traffic and quickly left the Boar's Head behind her.

Her feelings of wretchedness didn't lessen, but
comingled with the restrained excitement and sense of purpose now driving her,
one thought burning bright in her mind.

Jared must have been ordered upon another mission,
surely! Why else would he not have taken the time to see her first and explain
himself if he did not require such haste, such secrecy,
such
seeming deception?

It must be a dangerous mission, too. Hadn't Della said
a few months? If Jared had gone to his ancestral home in Seaford, she doubted
his stay would be but brief before he disappeared on some daring adventure.
Dear God, she had to hurry. She was not going to be left behind without him,
not when she could do so much to help!

By the time Gladys found her way home, Lindsay would be
miles and miles away, with no chance of anyone finding her or even knowing
where to look. Not Matilda or Aunt Winifred . . .

Fresh guilt stabbed at Lindsay, but she tamped it down.
Instead she thought of Jared, her heart leading the way as she threw all
caution to the wind and turned the carriage into a crowded thoroughfare wending
south from London.

Chapter 12

"How long will it take to transport the supplies?"

"From the look of it, mayhap fifteen minutes, no
more."

"Good. Let's move, then. We've ample cover with
the fog, but I want to be gone as soon as everything's loaded." Wiping
sweat from his eyes, Jared turned from the squat Irishman to a trio of silent
figures whose faces were smudged with coal, wool caps upon their heads and
their clothes soot-dark, even though the moon was no more than a hazy sliver
through the mist, the night black as tar. "You three, come with me. I've a
few kegs of fine Scotch whiskey I'd rather we didn't leave behind."

Low laughter erupted, but it died when Jared motioned
for the three men to follow him, all four of them clambering along the steep
path leading from the narrow secluded cove known as the Devil's Den. At the top
of the rise Jared glanced back at the beach, the efficient skeleton crew hard
at work ferrying foodstuffs to the men waiting aboard ship, two heavily laden
galleys scraping against rocks and sand as they were pushed out into the waves.

Cowan had judged right. It wouldn't take long for them
to unload the galleys and then send one back to help with the last boat loaded
and still waiting on the shore. And that suited Jared more than he could say.
He wanted to be gone from this windswept scrap of Sussex coastland with its
ghosts and bitter memories.

If he hadn't brought the Scotch whiskey all the way
from London, he would have said to hell with the stuff and already been aboard
the ship, but he'd won it in a wager, after all.

He'd never seen a merchant as proud of the quality of
his brew as he was misguided about his bets, the fellow gambling four kegs that
the champion, Tom
Cribb
, was past his prime and due
for a sound trouncing. The merchant had lost, but that hadn't kept him from
good-naturedly offering to half the onlookers at
Offley's
a sample of the same batch of whiskey he claimed would soon be bound for
Portugal and Lord Wellington himself.

And if that rowdy throng had enjoyed a taste, so would
his crew, Jared thought grimly; the kegs that had been delivered to the Boar's
Head yesterday morning were marked for export, just as the merchant had
boasted.