The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh (7 page)

Anna nodded. “Wait for a few minutes after the second signal. If I see anything, I'll give a sign.”

“Yes, sir.”

She climbed up the rocky path and lay prone on the cliff 's edge. When the second signal came, she scanned the beach and cliffs. After a few minutes, the smugglers took the boats out. She waited nervously until the vessels came back into sight and were beached.

Men seemed to mill around without purpose, but in no time at all the barrels were unloaded and secured to the carts. Once the crafts were empty, some of the gang pushed the boats back into the cove to take them to a dock on the outskirts of town. The rest of the smugglers helped move the carts to the wagon waiting at the end of the beach.

Anna searched the area again, looking for anyone who shouldn't be there. The idea of the gentleman from London made her anxious. A tingle ran down her shoulders, as if she were being watched. She shook herself and tried to relax. Maybe she was becoming too cautious. But Marshes weren't cautious; they were invincible. That's what Harry used to tell her when she'd been afraid of the dark at three and when she was facing her first Season at seventeen. This was the job Harry had left to her. She couldn't allow the burning on her back—Lord, it was as if someone were pressing down on her shoulders with a hot iron—to distract her. Anna struggled not to glance around.

The sooner she got the signal from Kev, the better she'd feel. There it was. She jumped to her feet and ran to Thunderer. Using a fallen log, she jumped onto her horse. Mounting in breeches was so much easier than mounting in a skirt. What would Rutherford think if he saw her now? Right now, he was only one of several problems—her father, the London gentleman, and Percy. If
he
persisted, she'd throw him into the fountain herself.

Anna cantered to the cottage, changed, rode home, and slipped silently up to her chamber where Lizzy waited.

 

Rutherford had arrived back at the Priory after talking with Sir William and had entered through a side door. He gave thanks none of his sisters or his mother was wandering the corridors and went directly to his study. With everything else going on, he'd neglected his estate work. By the time he needed to change for dinner, he was almost caught up. He glanced one last time at the correspondence and saw a rather grubby piece of paper, folded twice, but not sealed. He opened it.

No signature. Then again, he didn't really expect one. He remembered the cottage. He should have thought of it sooner. Harry had used it. Only a couple of miles beyond it stood a copse of trees on the cliff overlooking the beach, so he could watch from the thicket. The letter didn't say if the gang leader would be there. He scoffed—it was apparently easier to make an appointment with Prinny than with the head of the local smuggling gang.

Rutherford burned the note and went up to his chambers to change. “Robertson, I need to go out later this evening. I'll need dark clothing, nothing good as it might become dirty. See what you can put together.”

“Like the old days, my lord?”

Rutherford grinned. “Very much like old times. I'll leave here at eleven thirty. Don't expect me back for at least an hour. With luck, I'll be longer.” He had to admit, being on a mission again was exhilarating.

He walked down to the drawing room where he found his three sisters and his mother.

“All of you here?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes, Ruhy, isn't this grand?” Cecilia said. “We're all to practice our manners.”

“Ah, well then. I must properly greet all of you ladies. You must first stand.”

They all stood up, and one by one he bowed to them and brought a hand to his lips. A trio of giggles met his attempts at gallantry.

He gave them a pained expression. “When another gentleman does the same, try not to giggle at him.”

His mother, Julia, Lady Rutherford, laughed as well. “Really, Rutherford, I do not know how I shall make these silly young girls into ladies.”

Rutherford regarded his mother. A tallish, slender blonde with sparkling blue eyes, she was still beautiful. None of them really resembled her much in their coloring, but they had all got her height. He got on well with her most of the time, when she wasn't nagging him about marriage.

Of course, if he'd taken her advice and married when Anna first came out, he wouldn't be having the problems he had now. Not that she'd wanted him to marry Anna. His mother had set her sights much higher. He was brought out of his reverie by his butler, Griffin, announcing dinner.

Rutherford bowed to his mother and offered her his arm. She smiled and took it.

“My lady,” he said.

Her eyes seemed to laugh as she inclined her head. “My lord.”

He glanced at his sisters. “You will follow us in.”

“But, Ruhy,” Eloisa said, “I want you to take my arm too.”

“The highest-ranking gentleman always escorts the highest-ranking lady.”

“You mean there are rules about that as well?” Cecilia, the youngest, exclaimed in disgust. “I don't think I want a come-out. I'll just stay here.”

“But Cece, you have to have one,” Althea said gently. “How else will you find a husband?”

Cece pulled a face. “He'll just have to come find me here.”

Rutherford's lips twitched, and he glanced at his mother.

“Perhaps she is a bit too young for this,” Lady Rutherford conceded.

He agreed. “She might be happier staying in the nursery.”

“You may be right.”

Dinner passed with much merriment, but tea afterward proved to be too much for his youngest sisters. Their governess, Miss Jynkins, was called to fetch them.

“Jenny, you were right,” Lady Rutherford said.

Miss Jynkins, a slender, jovial lady in her late forties, replied, “All in good time, my lady.”

Rutherford bid them all a good evening and retired to his study until it was time to change for his outing. There was enough moonlight to make him take care that he wasn't seen.

He rode to the stand of trees and tied his horse up in the wood far enough back so that if he made any noise, it wouldn't be noticed. Creeping slowly up to the copse, Rutherford waited.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of another horse. Then there was silence again. He looked closely through the trees and saw a short, slender man nimbly drop to the ground and take the path to the beach.

Rutherford peered down. The man was talking to the smugglers. They all seemed to listen closely to what he had to say before he started back up the path. Rutherford moved back from his perch and hid.

Once the small man reached the top, he kept watch over the cliff. Rutherford remained perfectly still. Voices drifted up from the beach. He couldn't make out what they were saying from his position, but he'd wager a good deal the other man could hear everything. After almost an hour, the man nodded, got up, and slipped quietly into the darkness. The next sound Rutherford heard was a horse galloping away. A very efficient operation the smuggler's leader was running. Next time, Rutherford would arrange to meet the leader, whoever he was.

H
arry woke early to the sound of a carriage leaving the inn and hoped it was Miss Spencer-Jones. He felt a little guilty for not offering to accompany her at least part of the way to wherever she was going. Yet he told himself he had enough to worry about with his sketchy memory.

Still, he knew his lack of chivalry was going to come back to haunt him. He was soon washed and dressed. The tap was empty when he went down for breakfast. Harry's inner cavalier pushed him to eat hurriedly. He paid his shot and left. He might not see her coach. Harry hoped not, but at least he'd be behind it if they needed help again. He was beginning to think he wanted to get to Kent sooner rather than later. Anything to keep him out of the orbit of damsels in distress.

The day felt marginally colder than the previous one. Cold enough to cause him to stop at an inn to warm himself by mid-afternoon.

When Harry reached the Post House Inn at Southampton, an equipage that looked suspiciously like the one Miss Spencer-Jones and her companion were traveling in was in the yard.

He handed his horse to an ostler and grabbed the bags tied to his saddle.

“Ain't you the gentleman that helped us yesterday?” the coachman called.

Harry heaved a sigh, but managed a smile. “I am.”

“Mighty glad for your help, we were,” the coachman said. “Don't like being stranded on the side of the road with ladies. A mite too dangerous for my blood.”

“Don't think of it. How long have you been here?” Harry asked.

“Oh, 'bout an hour I'd say. Miss says as how since they already have the bookings all the way to London, it wouldn't do not to stop. She and Mrs. Wickham are taking a walk. Miss ain't been in England before, so she's mighty curious about things.”

Harry nodded and walked inside, handing his letter to the innkeeper.

“I'd give you the best room,” the landlord said, “but I've a young lady in it. I've got one looking out over the harbor if you want it?”

Harry was just thankful for a room. “Yes, anything's fine. Thank you.”

“Dinner's in an hour. I'll send some warm water up to you to wash the dust off. Let me know if you want a bath.”

Harry accepted a bath for later that evening and followed one of the landlord's sons to his chamber. Maybe he'd take a walk as well. It had been a long time since he'd sat a horse for two days straight, and he was starting to feel it.

He'd washed, changed, and was about to exit the inn when a small voice nagged him. He turned back to the innkeeper. “A gentleman by the name of Reynolds hasn't checked in, has he?”

“No, that name don't sound familiar. What's he look like?”

“Shorter than me with lighter brown hair.”

“He ain't here.”

Harry rubbed his chin. “If he does show up, I'd appreciate it if you'd not allow him to stay here. He made himself a nuisance with the young lady yesterday. I wouldn't like to see it happen again.”

“We're pretty full,” the landlord replied, “and I don't like to see women bothered. I'm thinking he can find a place more to his taste.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you.”

He left the inn muttering to his inner knight, “I hope you're happy now.”

After walking along the docks and back up into the town, he took out the pocket watch he'd bought in Weymouth. Marcella used to tell him if he'd had something of his own, his memory would have returned. Unfortunately, he'd had nothing.

The farther he traveled from Guernsey, the more he felt he was leaving her far behind. Maybe he should go back. Then that voice, which he was becoming very tired of, told him to push on.

“You're damned persistent,” he growled to himself. Ever since he'd left the Isle, he'd felt as if there were two people in his body. Two senses of consciousness in his brain. The one that had been with him for over two years now was cautious, and didn't want change. It wanted his wife and child. It wanted him to stay at their grave until he was old and died himself.

The other had been whispering to him since his memory had started to return, and it had come to the forefront during the passage to Weymouth. It was daring and chivalrous. It wanted to help unknown ladies, even flirt with them a little. It drove him on to a life that was still foreign to him.

He made his way back to the inn. The tap was almost full when he sat down to eat. Dinner consisted of a broth soup with mussels and a fish pie with cod and haddock. Carrots mixed with parsnips served as a remove. The landlord sent him a bottle of claret. There was fresh-baked bread, butter, and a gypsy tart for dessert. He savored every bit of it and lingered over the tart. He'd not had one in years.

The memory jerked him up. This was one of his favorites.
You see,
the voice said.
If you 'd turned around, you wouldn't know you liked gypsy tart.
Harry put his head in his hands. Visions of the dark-haired girl flitted across his mind. He still didn't know who she was. Not a wife, he hoped. He left the room. His first foot was on the bottom tread when he heard a voice and wanted to groan.

“Mr. Marsh, how nice to see you here.”

She must have asked the landlord his name. He was positive he hadn't given it to her. It was only the distant past he couldn't remember well.

Harry placed his foot back on the floor and turned. “Miss Spencer-Jones. I hope your trip today was pleasant.”

“Oh, it was. The countryside here is so different.”

That was his cue to ask why. “I would love to stay and talk, but I need to rest for my trip tomorrow.”

“Then I'm sorry to bother you.” She looked concerned. “Are you all right? I mean, do you need anything?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I just need time.” He paused for a moment. Except for Marcella's family, he'd not talked with anyone about her. “You see, my wife died—” He'd been about to say a few months ago, but it wasn't. It was just shy of a year. “Several months ago. We lived with her family.”

“I see. You must have loved her very much.” Emma knitted her brow. He confused her. She didn't think she was conceited, but never had any man dismissed her so readily. She studied him closely. He was tall and very good-looking. His dark brown hair was not cut very fashionably and was too long. He wasn't that old. Laughter hadn't caused the lines bracketing his mouth, and his wonderful blue eyes were sad, haunted. Now she knew the reason. “I'm so sorry. I don't want to be a nuisance. I'm a very good listener. If you'd like to talk, that is.”

Mr. Marsh seemed stricken. “Thank you for your offer. I–I just need to sleep.”

Emma nodded. “I understand. Perhaps some other time.”

“Perhaps.” He turned and climbed the stairs.

Her eyes followed him, and she found herself blinking back tears. She did know how it felt to lose someone one loved. It had been two years since Adam died. Granted, they'd not yet married. They'd not even made love, though she'd tried to encourage him. Adam had wanted to wait until they were married.

Emma started to turn to go back into her private parlor, but that obnoxious Mr. Reynolds was asking someone for her. Instead she lightly ran up the stairs, straight into Mr. Marsh. He grabbed her and kept her from falling back down them.

His voice was deep and serious. “What is it?”

Her heart thudded, but she didn't know if it was that she didn't want to see Mr. Reynolds, or that Mr. Marsh was holding her so closely. “Mr. Reynolds. I heard him asking for me.”

Mr. Marsh's voice was grim. “The landlord won't tell him you're here, but he might have seen your coach.”

“How do you know the landlord won't tell him?” she asked, surprised.

Mr. Marsh flushed. “I had a talk with the innkeeper once I knew you were staying here.”

“Did you?” She felt a fluttering in her chest. “How kind and how—how noble.”

His flush deepened. “It was—it was the right thing for me to do. I don't deserve your thanks for such a small—”

“But you do,” Emma interrupted. “Not many men would bother. Particularly for a lady they don't know and don't wish to know.”

“It's not that I don't want to know you,” Harry said. “It's—I have a lot on my mind.”

She smiled. “You should go to bed. I'll go to my chamber, and maybe I'll see you later—some other time.”

Not waiting for his reply, she walked swiftly to her room and then remembered her key was in the parlor. Could things get any worse? She'd look like an absolute pea-goose. She turned and found herself up against a muscled chest. Her breath left her, and she couldn't seem to get any more.

She straightened. “I am sorry. I seem to have left my key in my reticule in the parlor.” Emma gazed into his eyes. They were smiling with amusement.

“Shall I go down and see if Mr. Reynolds is gone?”

“If you don't mind.”

Mr. Marsh shook his head. “Not at all.”

He came back a few minutes later with Mrs. Wickham in tow.

“Oh, there you are, my dear Miss Spencer-Jones. I'd been wondering . . .” Her eyes were wide with speculation.

Emma smiled tightly. “Yes, I daresay you have. I heard Mr. Reynolds and fled up here. It was not until I went to enter my room that I remembered my key was still in the parlor. Did you bring it?”

“Oh my, yes. Yes, indeed.” Mrs. Wickham handed Emma her reticule.

“Thank you, Mrs. Wickham. I shall bid you a good night.” Emma turned toward her chamber, unlocked the door, walked in, and leaned against the closed door until her heart slowed to a normal level. What was it about Mr. Marsh?

The fire had been stoked up and the drapes closed against the cold night air. Even with the warm clothing she'd bought, it was still cold. She wondered if she'd ever see her family's home in Jamaica again.

She'd been sent to England to find a husband. Not that it needed to be said. Why else would anyone come to a place as cold as this? Part of her still missed her former betrothed, Adam, dreadfully. They'd grown up together and had always planned to marry. Then, a few weeks before the wedding, he had died.

Tears made steady progress down her cheeks.

Adam had been killed in a pirate attack. Marcus Finley had saved the ship, but Adam had already perished. Marcus had brought him home and helped Emma through the worst part. They'd spent so much time together, her parents had thought they'd make a match. Yet, while she'd spoken of Adam, Marcus had talked of Phoebe.

The silly man had even named his ship after her. He said it brought him luck. Emma wondered if Adam would still be alive if he'd named his ship after her. She'd cried for days after Marcus left. There was no one else to confide in, and she was so alone. She prayed with all her heart that Marcus had found his Phoebe and they were happy.

Yet now it was time to move on with her life. Would Harry Marsh be part of it?

 

Harry opened his chamber door, walked in, then slid to the floor. His mind and body warred. His chest tightened at the thought of Miss Spencer-Jones, and he'd felt stirrings in another area he'd thought dead. Her soft body, the scent she wore, one he couldn't place, stuck in his mind. When his hands had caught her, they'd almost made a trip down her body they didn't need to make. Maybe he'd just been without a woman for too long. He'd been keeping her at arm's length. Then she'd run into him this evening, twice. Guilt crept in and reminded him of Marcella.

Harry groaned as another voice said,
You can't make love to a dead woman, no matter how much you loved her
. Why couldn't he have just stayed on the island?

Because you're Harry Marsh, and Marshes are invincible
. He closed his eyes. A child was crying and holding on to him. She had burnish curls and blue eyes. She pulled her lower lip with her teeth. Then she stopped weeping and nodded. “ 'Cause we're invincible.”

“That's right, Anna. Keep saying that, and no monsters can get you.”

Then a lovely girl in her late teens sat beside him in a garden. Tears sparkled in her eyes. The same eyes as the child's and the same dark hair. He held her trembling hand as she worried her lower lip and nodded. “Because Marshes are invincible.”

“You'll be fine, Anna. Don't forget, I'll be there as well.”

Anna
. He had a sister. Not a wife,
a sister
.

Anna was at the table with her breakfast plate and had poured a cup of tea when Rutherford walked in.

She blinked. “What would you like?”

“Tea and food?” He smiled, charmingly.

“Help yourself to the dishes on the sideboard.” She waved her hand in the direction. “I'll serve you tea. Are you early, or am I late?”

“I'm early. I awoke at dawn, and rather than bothering my staff, I came here. I knew you'd be up. Besides, I rather like the idea of eating breakfast with you.” He'd like the idea even more if he'd woken up with her. Anna blushed as if she'd heard him. “Where would you like to ride this morning?”

She tilted her head first one way, then the other. “Hmm, I don't know. Where would you like to go?”

He studied her face. “Not really fair turning the question back to me. I haven't ridden the beach in a while. What do you think?”

A smile dawned on her beautiful face and grew broad. “The beach it is.”

Less than an hour later, they entered the shoreline from the opposite end of the one he was on last night. They walked their horses for a while, before nudging them faster, galloping down the beach. Rutherford tried to look for any changes since the last time he'd been here, but it was too long ago.

He hung back a little to watch Anna ride. A creature of nature. She infected him with the same desire to be free.

“Race,” he called.

She urged Thunderer faster. Her horse was a good seventeen three hands. He'd been there when Harry had bought the horse for Anna and had tried to talk Harry out of giving such a large horse to his little sister. Harry had remained firm, saying Anna rode as well as either of them, and that she deserved the same type of horse. It occurred to Rutherford his friend had been right. Anna reached the end of the beach with Rutherford behind.

She turned, smiling. “Did you let me win?”

“No. You did have a head start though. I should have called the race when I was even with you.”

Anna glanced narrowly at him, as if she didn't believe him.

“I was thinking about when Harry bought him for you.”

“Ah. Did you approve?”

He smiled ruefully. “Not at the time. I can see now why he did it.”

She grinned. “I'll let you race me back.”

“You call the mark.”

“Very well, on three. One, two, THREE!”

She took off at full pelt. It was all he could do to come in on her tail. They walked the heaving horses into the surf to cool them down and then back up the path to the cliffs.

“I love it here,” she said. “I love the wildness, the sea, the air. I love everything about it. I want to stay here forever.”

As she stared out over the English Channel, the wind blew curling strands of hair loose from the knot on the back of her head. Her face was still flushed from riding. He wanted to say something, but his throat tightened. He tried to swallow and couldn't.
Ah, the ills that flesh is heir to.

Anna glanced at him. “Don't you agree?”

He studied her as she considered him. “I do agree. I feel the same sense of freedom. I could never feel it anywhere else.”

“I'm hungry. Do you have any money?”

His shoulders dropped and lightened. “Yes. I suppose it's only fair that I feed you now, since you fed me this morning.”

“I'm afraid we will have to walk the horses to Thanport,” she said.

“I have no other plans. Do you?”

She ducked her head and grinned. Two dimples creased her cheeks. “No.”

“Lead on.”

She turned Thunderer and waited for him to come beside her. Anna's forehead wrinkled. “It's funny. I've been thinking about Harry a lot lately. As if he's with me. I've not had that feeling since before he died.”

Rutherford frowned. “Did you have that feeling before he left?”

Her face cleared. “Yes, I always knew. I can't explain it—I always sensed him. That was the reason, when the letter came saying he'd died, I didn't question it. I'd stopped feeling him. But lately, he seems to be with me again. Does that make sense?”

“I know twins feel that way. There's no reason I know of you couldn't have the same connection with Harry.”

Anna worried her lip. “But what does it mean that I have it now? He's still dead.”

“
That
I cannot explain, but I wouldn't let it worry you. You'll sort it out in the end.”

Anna nodded. “Yes, I suppose you're right.” She paused for a moment. “Do you still miss him?”

“Always. I'll never have another friend like he was. Marcus is close, but Harry was like a brother.”

“Amid all your sisters?”

“Well, for years I was the only one. You know, Althea is more than fourteen years younger than I am. Then my mother had the other two. Of course, I'm sure there were mishaps.”

“Childbirth is a difficult proposition,” Anna said, thoughtfully. “My father says losing Harry was the last burden my mother could bear.”

“Lady Marsh did seem rather agitated when you left London.”

Anna nodded. “Mama lives in terror that something may happen to me. The problem is she's convinced herself that marriage will stop anything bad from occurring. Which, I have to say, makes no sense at all.” Anna shook her head and continued, “What if I married someone who beats me? You can't say it doesn't take place. Look at poor Lady Henning. The dear woman is almost never in public, and when she is, she says she's run into a wall. Well, I can tell you, I know what being punched in the eye looks like. Yet, what is she to do, and where is she to go with the laws the way they are?”

Rutherford moved his horse over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you afraid of that?”

Anna stuck her chin out. “No. I'd punch him first.”

He let out a shout of laughter. “Did Harry teach you that as well?”

Anna grinned. “Yes. Do you think he'd have allowed me to enter Polite Society without teaching me how to hit a gentleman?”

Still laughing, Rutherford shook his head. “No, not Harry.”

They were still grinning when they reached Thanport. Anna and Rutherford left the horses at the inn and walked to the shop.

“How many will you eat?” he asked.

“I'll start with one. You?”

“Since I cannot depend on you to share, I'll have two.”

She ate all of hers and half of his second coffyn. “These are so good.”

“I agree. He wiped her lips with his handkerchief. This wasn't at all the same as when he'd cleaned her mouth as a child. Now, he wanted to run his tongue over her lips and kiss them. “Would you like to walk around?”

“If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to go down to the pier.”

He wanted to hold her hand, but settled for placing her hand on his arm. Once he resolved the problem with the smugglers, he'd devote all his attention to her and find out why she didn't think he wanted her.