An Arrangement of Sorts (37 page)

“So,” Geoff began, looking more troubled than anything else, “you fell in love with a woman who employed you to find another man, fought with you the entire trip, and turned your whole world upside down, knowing the entire time that you were never going to have her?”

“It’s not as though he asked for it,” Derek said in defense before Nathan got any further than opening his mouth. “Nathan is the victim in this. She practically abducted his heart and set his life on fire in the process. He had no defenses against such an attack.” He shook his head and sat back. “Hard to ignore something like that.”

“Why would he want to?” Colin murmured, though he appeared the most dazed of the group.

“I couldn’t,” Nathan said, finally breaking in. “If only you all could meet her, and could come to know her the way that I have, you would love her as well. You would understand.”

“We don’t need to understand.”

Nathan turned to Colin in surprise, wondering what was going on in that head of his. “What do you mean?”

Colin looked a little surprised that he had actually spoken, but he seemed to choose his next words with a great deal of care. “It’s not for us to understand how or why you love her. We don’t need explanation or reasoning or a defense. Love is not about logic or sense or what any of us would have done had we been in your place. It’s your life and your heart. If you have come to love her, in spite of everything that was stacked against you, against all the odds, and all of your attempts not to…” He shrugged and sat back. “That’s enough for me. Good for you.”

Nathan offered a smile, though now he felt more tossed about than any of them had been by his story. He had expected shock and mockery, but hardly understanding. He knew very well how ridiculous the whole thing sounded, and he had lived it
, b
ut if Colin, of all people, was siding with him, and could on some deep, previously unheard of level of his soul, comprehend a bit of what he was trying to say, then surely it was not as insane as it seemed in his mind.

But then, it was Colin. One could never be too sure about these things.

“Well said,” Geoff murmured in approval, nodding with the rest of the group. “If any of us deserve to be so happily tossed about by a woman, it’s you, Nathan.”

Nathan found himself getting rather choked up by that, and could only nod his thanks.

“Hang on a minute,” Derek said, leaning forward and peering at the group intently. “Did Colin just say something deep and profound then?”

Grins appeared on every face, including the man in question. “No, no, you must have heard wrong,” Duncan said, waving his hand. “Colin doesn’t have any deep and profound parts to him.”

“Unless he is completely foxed out of his mind,” Geoff brought up with a finger. “I have heard him say some quite intuitive things when under the influence of a good vintage. In fact, I think I have some of them written down back at home…”

“I will pay you any sum you can name to shut up about it,” Colin announced, still smiling.

“Are you sure? I can count very high.”

“Only if his shoes are off,” Duncan snorted to Nathan.

“And if someone helps him,” Derek added with a nod.

“Excuse me, weren’t we talking about Colin?” Geoff protested as more laughter rang out.

“I can’t help that I’m the favorite,” Colin said apologetically. “Everybody loves me. Women, men, babies, animals…”

“Clara Maxfield,” Derek broke in absently, sending the rest off into peals of laughter.

“Not funny!” Colin cried out, his cheeks flaming.

Nathan sighed to himself as he listened to his friends pounce on the new and all-too inviting topic of the Colin-crazed Clara Maxfield. It felt good to be sitting here around a table, drink in hand, laughing and making jokes with his friends. The topic didn’t matter, nor had it ever. What mattered was that they were laughing.

These were men that knew him. They had seen him through everything in his life, and they would see him through this. They would keep him from being too serious, from dwelling on painful memories too much.

They would help him find his new state of normal.

He took a deep breath, wondered briefly when it would not hurt to do so, and joined in the teasing, much to Colin’s dismay.

Moira smiled happily as she walked down the streets of Preston back to the boarding house she was starting to think of as home. She had just witnessed the rather rushed, but quite proper, wedding of one Charles Allenford to Miss Maggie Younge.

She had been surprised when Charles had called on her at the boarding house that morning to inform her of the wedding that was to take place no less than three hours hence. She had been shocked, appropriately apprehensive about the haste, as the engagement had only been a mere five days in length, and then, after being consoled on that score, had exploded into a terrifying sort of feminine high dudgeon about what she was to wear, sending Charles flying out of the room for his sanity’s sake.

After he had gone, she had sat and worried. It had been just as long since she had sent her letter off to Uncle George about the funds for Maggie’s family, and still she had heard nothing, which made her anxious. She wanted to make sure no one would suffer because of the marriage, but it appeared they were going to go ahead without any sort of resolution to that problem.

Thankfully, Maggie had already started her new line of work as a seamstress assistant, so that would bring in a little bit of extra income for her family. Moira had visited the shop to congratulate her and had come away with a beautifully embroidered handkerchief, which Maggie forbade her to pay for, and a lovely, very warm shawl, which Moira had refused to take change for. Maggie was in her element at the shop, and so happy that one would have thought it was her dream to be there.

But she had been delighted by the honor of being asked to attend such a small and intimate ceremony as they were having.
She had never been to a real wedding; she had only pretended at them with her dolls when Aunt Miriam was not looking. She had always thought that the first wedding she would see would be her own, with Charles.

Well, at least half of that was true.

Still, she was very happy for them, and she had always intended on coming to Preston for a wedding. It had been a lovely, and very short, service, which was all she could have hoped for. The lovely part had been watching Maggie and Charles together, and practically feeling just how much they loved each other. The short part had been additionally wonderful, as Maggie’s quite extensive family was not conducive to remaining still for much longer than fifteen minutes, and that was only after Moira had bribed the youngest with the promise of sweets afterwards.

But it was done now, and the couple was delighted, so everyone else was as well. All was as it should be.

Almost.

She sighed a little at the too-familiar ache, and shook her head. It was far too happy an occasion to dampen with thoughts of Nathan. She could do that tomorrow.

She had no doubts she would.

“Miss Dennison!”

She looked up at hearing her name called and saw Mrs. Farrow waving at her from the boarding house, standing next to a man in livery Moira did not know, and only then did she see the coach standing out in front.

“Miss Dennison, I’m so pleased you have come at this moment,” Mrs. Farrow gushed, wringing her hands a bit. “This man here has been looking for you. He says he is your coachman.”

Moira’s brows shot up and she turned to the man, who bowed to her. “Mr. Jackson, at your service, Miss Dennison. And whatever you may think, I am to be your coachman for however long you and your husband have need.”

“Husband?” she asked in abject confusion. “I haven’t got a husband, Mr. Jackson. Nor do I have any need for a coach, or a coachman, if you will forgive me.”

He chuckled good-naturedly. “I’ll forgive you, Miss Dennison. But, if you will in turn forgive me, that makes no difference. I’ve been well paid to take you and your husband wherever you would like to go.”

What exactly was going on here? There were far too many questions to ask, and her mouth worked to try and ask them all at once. Gradually, she managed, “Say that again?”

He smiled and she was somehow able to notice that he had quite a good set of teeth on him, for a coachman. “I have been well paid to take Miss Dennison, as was, and her husband wherever they have need of going, or wherever they would wish to go.”

“Wherever? How far exactly is wherever?”

He squinted up at the sky, as if a map were written in it. “As far as the land will take us anywhere, I suppose. Don’t travel very well over water, now do I?” He laughed at his own joke, paying no mind to the fact that she was not laughing at all.

“How well paid?” she asked suspiciously.

Mr. Jackson gave Moira a very serious look, in spite of his smile. “Miss Dennison, I could take you all the way around England, Scotland, and Wales, and back again twice over, if you wanted.”

That was rather well paid indeed. She swallowed back more questions, and went with just one more: “Who?”

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Jackson asked, leaning a bit closer.

“Who paid you to take me and my imagined husband all the way to France and back again, if we so desired?” she asked in a very clear, more than slightly agitated voice.

“Ah, that I cannot say, Miss,” Mr. Jackson said with a sigh. “He also paid me very well not to say.”

Of course, he did. “If I paid you more, would you tell me?” she asked in a hard tone, getting quite fed up enough with these anonymous games.

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but it would take a pretty penny to top his offer.”

“If I guessed the identity,” she tried, her mind whirling, “would you tell me if I was right or wrong?”

“I might,” he said slowly, his eyes amused. “But I might not.”

Throat suddenly dry, Moira swallowed again. “The-the Earl of Beverton?” she asked, not sure if she was hoping for a positive or negative response.

Mr. Jackson looked away. “Could be,” he replied evasively with another shrug, but his smile told her she was correct.

“Why does he think he can do this?” Moira muttered, stomping her foot a little, knowing as she did so how childish an action it was. “I don’t even know him.”

“He knows you, Miss,” Mr. Jackson assured her, still smiling.

“Yes, so I’ve been told,” she sighed as she rubbed her brow. “He’s in love with me, am I correct?”

“Well, that I don’t know, Miss,” Mr. Jackson admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “My wife says I don’t know anything about romance or that sort, but she is of the opinion that no man extends himself in such a way unless he is either very much in love or completely daft as a loon.” He shrugged again, which seemed to be his trademark. “I’ve never been able to tell much difference between the two.”

Moira glowered at the man, who chuckled. “Thank you for that, Mr. Jackson.” She sighed, still very much troubled indeed. “I haven’t got a husband,” she said again, mostly to herself.

“As I said, that makes no difference to me. I can still take you wherever you want to go, and can bring my wife for a chaperone for you.”

“Well, I have no need of you right now, Mr. Jackson, but I
…
”

“Moira!”

She whirled at the sound of her name, and saw, to her great astonishment, Uncle George walking towards her at a rapid pace. She allowed him to take her briefly in his arms, but looked up at him in confusion.

“Uncle George? What in heaven’s
…
?”

“I came to inquire about the reward money,” he said, overriding her. “You wanted to anonymously donate some funds to this Younge family, which I applaud you for, but you have yet to withdraw the funds for the reward you requested. The moment I received your note, I came straight up to see to the matter.”

“What do you mean, the funds were never withdrawn?” she asked slowly, an odd choking sensation starting in her stomach, of all places. “I spoke with the bank manager, and he
…
”

“I do not know, child, but the funds are still there.” His furry brows snapped together and his eyes were troubled. “This is worrisome.”

“No, this is suspicious,” Moira said, a glower forming on her own face.