Never Doubt I Love (16 page)

She lifted a repentant face. “Oh, my!”

Lady Julia said softly, “Lieutenant Cranford fought valiantly for his king and country and was wounded at the Battle of Prestonpans. He is entitled to all our respect.” She sat down with Zoe beside her, and waved Cranford to a chair.

Gritting his teeth, he limped over to seat himself, resigned to endure an excruciating half hour with this wretched young female who would now be tongue-tied with remorse and would cast him the tearfully pitying glances that he found so hard to bear. He risked a quick look in her direction. There was more of interest than pity in her expression; in fact those clear green eyes were scrutinizing him with frank curiosity. Perversely outraged, he thought, ‘She even lacks the sensibility to be properly ashamed of herself!'

Lady Julia said, “Now, pray tell me why you hold Mr. Cranford responsible for a tragedy, Miss Grainger. Has it to do with the sad accident you witnessed yesterday morning?”

Zoe's mind had been busied with the possible disposition of a certain wig, but she put that question aside. For the moment. “He was driving the coach that struck that poor man,” she said.

Cranford put in, “Miss Grainger states that she saw me
racing
—which I was not, ma'am! She says that the poor fellow
walked
in front of my carriage—which he did not! I fear the lady is given to making hasty and unfounded judgments.”

“Hasty judgments!” echoed Zoe, indignantly. “An you were not racing, how came it about that you and that black coach were abreast and travelling at a reckless rate of speed on a crowded city street when—”

“'Twas
not
a crowded street! Not when I turned onto it, at all events. And the varmint came up behind me like a madman and all but forced us from the road! As I explained at the scene, if you recall.”

“And perhaps you can also explain how the victim came to be struck if he was not crossing the street? I suppose you will say he fell from heaven!”

“Hush, hush,” said Lady Julia, who had watched this heated exchange with faint amusement. “My dear, you must own that you
were
in error when you assumed Mr. Cranford to be a doctor.”

Zoe flushed. “Well, yes. I fear I was. And I do apologize for that, sir.”

“My thanks, ma'am,” said Cranford dryly.

“And is it not possible,” Lady Julia persisted, “that you also mistook the events leading up to the accident? Might not this black coach really have tried to pass Mr. Cranford in an unsafe fashion, just as he says?”

“I—'tis
possible,
my lady, but that still does not explain—”

“Are you so very sure, Zoe, that the unfortunate gentleman was crossing the road
before
Mr. Cranford's coach came up? What if he was, for instance, intoxicated at the time? He might very well have wandered blindly from the flagway and into the horses, thus bringing the tragedy down upon himself.”

This was the very detail that she had been unable to clearly recall, and Zoe frowned dubiously.

Impatient, Cranford said, “Miss Grainger is quite determined to paint me the deliberate villain of the piece, ma'am. If you think—”

Lady Julia lifted her hand, silencing him as Lady Buttershaw's shrill tones could be heard in the passage. “What I think, Mr. Cranford,” she interposed hurriedly, “is that you and Miss Grainger should discuss the matter where you may be private and not—er, unduly influenced. Of course, if Miss Grainger has given you a distaste for her, I will say no more.”

She had said enough, thought Cranford glumly, to thoroughly trap him. The small henwit was watching the door apprehensively. And—'fore heaven, anything would be preferable to again listening to the rantings of that dragon of a dowager. He rose and bowed. “An you will trust yourself to me for an hour, Miss Grainger, I promise to give my coachman the strictest instructions to drive sedately.”

With far more reason than he to escape Lady Buttershaw's wrath, Zoe took the lesser of two evils and said she would be pleased to accept his kind invitation.

C
HAPTER
VII

The wind had risen and Zoe's skirts fluttered as Cranford handed her into his light carriage. He called directions to his youthful coachman, then climbed inside, swung the door closed, and sat beside her.

Zoe shot him an uneasy glance.

At once irritated, he said curtly, “An you think this is the murder carriage, be at ease. 'Tis my own. The other belonged to a friend.”

“I was thinking of something quite different,” she said. “Besides, I know what the other coach looked like, since I saw…” Her words trailed off.

“Not what you think you saw,” he finished grimly.

She said with a spark in her eyes, “If you brought me out only to bully me—”

“Well, of course I did not! That is to say, I hope we can discuss the affair civilly. You certainly cannot think Lady Yerville would let you drive out with me if she believed me to be as guilty as you claim.”

“Lady Julia was not there! I was!” said Zoe rebelliously.

“Well, if that don't beat the Dutch! In other words, you willingly went out for a drive with a man you still believe to be a brute of a murderer! I'faith, madam, you must indeed be desperate to see more of the city!”

He was flushed, his chin high, and his eyes alight with anger. It was a fine face, Zoe had to admit, with its high cheekbones, straight nose, and firm chin. There were lines between the thick dark brows that one did not usually find in someone of his age. He had known suffering, this proud man. The tilt of his head reminded her suddenly of her brother, and she stifled a sigh.

“No. I think I have changed my mind. I don't believe that of you any more. What
did
happen?”

“I thought you
saw
what happened!”

“Do not sulk.”

“Sulk! Of all the—”

In an unaffectedly spontaneous way that startled him, she put her hand over his lips. “Sulk. If I am willing to reconsider, you must cooperate. Now do not scowl so.”

Despite himself, he was won to a smile by that earnest little face hovering so close to his own.

Zoe drew back. “That's better. Now, you must admit you were driving much too fast.”

“No such thing! I had my team well in hand until that Bedlamite in the black coach came up behind me like a streak of lightning, and da—er, dashed near ran me into somebody's cellar! I'll own that then I had all I could do to hold my cattle together!”

Zoe considered in silence.

He said, “If you were to cast your mind back—”

“Hush. I am.”

He watched her for a moment, then prompted, “You didn't actually see him walk across the road, did you?”

She closed her eyes and answered slowly, “I had been obliged to jump down the area steps, and when I climbed up, I saw him … under—” She broke off, and ducked her head, shuddering.

Cranford took one of her hands. “'Faith, but I'm a villain to make you think of it again. It was horrid, I know.”

“Yes. But … I have been thinking of it. And I suppose 'twas only logical to assume … After all, if he did not walk across the road, where
did
the poor soul come from?”

“Be dashed if I know. One minute there was no one there, and the next—” He freed her hand and looked down at it, noting absently how ridiculously small it was. “Lady Yerville could very well be right. Perhaps he
was
lushy— Er, I mean—”

“I have a brother, sir. I know what you mean, and I'll admit it does seem logical that the man was intoxicated.”

He said eagerly, “Then you won't make that statement to Bow Street?”

“I shall have to amend it, certainly. In fact I had already writ out some notes, trying to set down what I really did see. You saw Lady Buttershaw take them from me. And I am very sure she means to forbid me speaking 'gainst one of her relatives.”

“Pray acquit me of that! We are not blood relations. Indeed, if we are cousins, the connection is so many times removed as to be almost out of sight! Why my great uncle should have insisted I must call—” He checked that remark looking embarrassed, and said hurriedly, “I mean no disrespect, but there's no denying the lady is a Tartar. I could not credit how her demeanour changed when she was provoked with you. I had not thought it possible, for when first I arrived she was so kind and welcoming. Lord knows why.”

“I know why.” Watching the passing scene as the carriage threaded its way along streets bustling with traffic and lined with fine houses, Zoe giggled suddenly and turned to him, her eyes twinkling. “She wants you to offer for me.”

Cranford paled, staring at her in horror. “Oh … Zounds!”

She threw her hands over her ears. “What an unkind reaction! I am scorned and rejected! And sworn at, besides! Cruel! Cruel!”

Appalled, he blurted out, “No, I never meant— I
do
beg your pardon! But—but you
cannot
be serious! We have but now met, and I said nothing to give her cause to think— Well, nor did you.
Did
you?” Not waiting for a reply, he rushed on, “Of course not! And I doubt you're even
out
yet, much less—The woman must be
mad!
Jupiter—there I go again!” He saw her laughing face then and said with a sigh of relief, “You quiz me, is that the case? The lady has no such scheme.”

“Oh, yes she does!”

“Well then she is most definitely demented! No, be honest and admit you don't want me for a husband.”

She said with a chuckle, “Goodness, no! Where are we going?”

“I guessed you would first want to see Westminster Abbey, and then the Tower and Mrs. Salmon's waxworks, and, if we have time, St. Paul's of course. Does that meet with your approval, ma'am?”

“No. Why are you cross again?”

“I am not cross,” he said crossly. “Where do you wish to go, if my route does not gratify your whims?”

“I would like to see the Abbey, but my brother writ that the slums about it are the worst in the city. And I would adore to see the waxworks, but I am very sure Papa would say it was frivolous to visit such a place before I have seen the more historical buildings. So—St. Paul's first, if you please.”

He rapped his cane on the roof and the trap was opened to reveal his coachman's smiling face. “St. Paul's, Florian,” he ordered.

The trap closed, the carriage lurched and turned left into the Strand.

Sitting back, Cranford drawled, “You will want to keep your eyes closed when we pass the Temple, lest you see the Jacobite heads on Temple Bar.”

She gripped her hands together. “Oh, how
awful!
Are they still there?”

“You had as well ask if there are still Jacobites. Of course they are there.” A pause, and then he asked, “What
do
you desire in a husband, may I ask?” His lip curled. “A title, I suppose. And great wealth.”

“Those would be lovely, of course. But they are not the most important thing. Nor,” she added, “should I reject a prospective suitor had he lost a limb.”

He caught his breath and shot a glance at her face. It was full of mischief, a dimple hovering at the corner of her mouth. He enquired coldly, “Do you feel better for having said that?”

“Do you feel better for having thought it?”

“An you can read minds, ma'am, you will make a fortune at theatres.”

All innocence she said, “Is that
your
profession, sir?”

His eyes narrowed.

She laughed and patted his arm. “No, let us not fence so. You deserved it, you know, for having judged me so mercenary in my requirements for a spouse.”

It was impossible to resist that merry sparkle, and the hard line of his mouth relaxed. He said, “
Touché!
And once more I must beg your pardon. Will you satisfy my curiosity? What
do
you look for in a gentleman?”

Without an instant's hesitation, she said, “Kindness.”

“Kindness! Is that all? 'Pon my soul, you are easily pleased, Miss Grainger. Is that perchance why a humble fellow like myself was judged suitable?” His warm smile flashed as she looked at him thoughtfully, and he added, “No, you must have more requirements than mere kindness. Do you place no value on such attributes as birth, an informed mind, position in society? A comfortable fortune, at least?”

“Of course I do. But of what value would be a highly born and learned husband if he never deigned to share a discussion, or laugh at a joke with his lady? Of what pleasure a proud position in the
ton
if she was treated with contempt in her home, or, worse, ignored? Could a wife enjoy a fortune if in private she was ill-treated or beaten?”

“Pshaw! You choose extremes and fantasy, ma'am. Or have you personal knowledge of such sorry unions?”

“Not personal knowledge, I grant you. But my brother used to bring all the latest London on
dits
when he came home from school. And our cook had worked in several great houses and loved to gossip. Unless they both fibbed to me, the examples I mentioned are not fantasy but fact for all too many unhappy ladies. And kindness, you know, is so little a thing; so cheap, and yet with such great power. A smile, for instance, given freely to a—a milliner's assistant, say, or a tired housemaid, may brighten that person's whole day and be passed on and multiplied endlessly. A kind word that costs nothing can warm a lonely heart. A little simple caring for others…” She checked, knowing she was talking too much, and added pertly, “Besides which, Mr. Cranford, you were not the only candidate chosen for me.”

“Indeed? Am I to know who else was so favoured?”

“I probably should not say.” She lowered her voice and peered around the carriage as though there were ears everywhere and whispered with high drama, “If I do, will you promise to keep it a secret?”