An Unexpected Encounter ( Half Moon House, Novella 1) (14 page)

“There.” Hestia Wright smiled at him from
inside. “You’ve done what you can. Either he will act or he
won’t.”

“He already has.”

She sighed in relief. “Good. Be happy for
them. And move forward.”

James nodded. And hoped that it was
possible.

Chapter Ten

It was the perfect day for a garden party.
The sun shone warm, the river lay calm, and the lightest of breezes
ruffled the blooms and the hems of the ladies’ dresses. Lady
Ashburn had set up a charming table for the little girls at the
edge of the lawns, near the entrance into the side gardens. Her
adult guests enjoyed themselves in happy groups across the lawns or
in pairs down by the shoreline. Her servants kept a supply of
dainty party foods and an array of drinks moving steadily.

Lisbeth figured that she was the only thorn
currently in their hostess’s side.

None of the other girls had brought a
governess. They’d accompanied their families or been escorted by a
nurse. Lady Ashburn didn’t know what to do with Lisbeth, as she
wasn’t an invited guest, nor quite a servant.

Lisbeth solved the problem by taking up
stance alone, just a bit removed from the children’s party, beneath
a blooming hedge. Aurelia occasionally glanced over her shoulder to
check if she was still there. Every time, Lisbeth nodded and
smiled, and Aurelia would go back to enjoying the party.

The rest of the time, Lisbeth amused herself
by avoiding the buzzing bees, watching the guests interact and
imagining what they might do if they knew what she’d been up to
with Lord Cotwell last night.

She bit back a smile and felt encouraged that
she could joke about it, even to herself. She supposed she should
feel a bit of guilt. She couldn’t. She refused to regret taking
something for herself.

And she’d enjoyed it entirely too much.

Sighing, she waved another bee from her hat,
then realized that something had stirred up the guests. They leaned
together in groups, whispering. Gradually they all turned to
look—not at her, thank goodness—but toward the house. She stepped
away from the hedge to see what the fuss was about.

Her heart skipped painfully. Lord Cotwell had
emerged onto the terrace above the lawns.

He looked as rumpled as usual—except that his
dark hair looked as if the wind had scattered it in different
directions. He halted at the edge of the terrace and scanned the
party.

Their gazes met.

Trepidation seized up all of her innards.
Every one.

But he made his way toward the children with
those long, loose strides, and pulling Aurelia aside, he knelt and
whispered in her ear.

After a moment she nodded and broke into a
brilliant grin.

He stood, then. Turned toward Lisbeth.

She couldn’t swallow.

But Aurelia tugged on his hand. Letting him
go, she skipped over to whisper in Margaret Ashburn’s ear. Another
ear-splitting grin, and Margaret reached out, pulled the flowers
from the centerpiece vase and went to present them to the
baron.

He took the dripping flowers in one hand and
Aurelia’s tiny grip in the other—and set out toward her.

All the little girls followed on his
heels.

The low buzz of party chatter had died. Only
the bees made noise now as every guest turned their eye toward her.
She shifted, unable to keep still as the whole troop stopped before
her.

Lord Cotwell thrust the flowers at her. All
the little girls giggled.

“My lord,” she said somewhat caustically. “I
fear you are making a spectacle.”

“I know,” he grumped in return. “I’m hoping
you’ll appreciate the extreme irony.”

“Take the flowers,” Aurelia prodded.

She accepted the blooms and raised a brow at
the baron.

“There’s the problem.” He sounded excited and
cross. “I know I’m a bad bargain. I’m blunt and testy. Often
grubby. I hibernate like a bear in my laboratory and I deliberately
let the blood run dry in my veins.” He hitched a shoulder. “You
came along and woke me up and I’m such an idiot I congratulated
myself on remembering to bring my caution and inhibitions
along.”

She jumped a little when he reached out to
take her hand. “It took me too long, I know, but I took a page from
your book and I stopped to listen. I’ve been hanging on your words,
but at last I
hear
. I let myself feel, but only so much. I
knew you deserved more, but I didn’t think I could cast off those
hindrances and restraints.”

She bit her lip and fought back tears. “Can
you?”

“I’m damned well going to try. Lisbeth
Moreton,” he whispered, “you’ve dragged me back to life and now I
cannot bear the thought of living it without you. I know your
marketing skills are fearsome, but just this once, will you make
the bad bargain and take me on?”

“And me!” Aurelia piped up.

“Both of us,” he amended. “I promise I shall
spend the rest of my days trying to increase the value of the
trade.”

The tears fell then and she looked to
Aurelia. The girl’s eyes shone bright too, but she nodded. Lisbeth
handed her the flowers and took her other hand. They stood
together, all three linked.

“I’ll take you both on, if you’ll have a
practical girl like me—and if you’ll make me one promise.”

“Anything,” he declared.

“Let us make regular spectacles of
ourselves,” she suggested.

Aurelia laughed, but the baron pulled her in
for a kiss, right in front of the entire party.

“A daily spectacle,” he vowed. “I shall
insist upon it.”

Epilogue

Once again Hestia Wright sat in her carriage
on Great Russell Street. As before, she watched and waited. This
time, however, her carriage sat further down the street and her
heart filled with joy and satisfaction as the unlikely trio emerged
from massive church doors instead of through the museum gates.

She smiled at the sight of them, so happy
together and surrounded by a small group of family and friends.
James Vickers was not among them, she knew. He had taken her advice
and kept himself busy elsewhere today. He had taken to heart a few
of her other suggestions as well, and she held high hopes for
him.

Skirts and bright ribbons fluttered in the
breeze and the high, bright laughter of children floated toward
her. A small gathering of spectators and well wishers, congregated
outside the church, broke into applause as the baron and his bride
each took the hand of their little girl and whisked her lightly
down the steps towards a waiting landau. They cheered louder still
as, once his family was settled, Lord Cotwell stood and tossed
handfuls of shining coins in their direction.

Hestia’s smile faded, though contentment
still warmed her, even as the carriages started to move away and
the crowd began to disperse. She leaned forward; ready to signal
her driver to move on, when a ray of morning sun broke through the
crowd, aimed straight for the church, where it lingered in a
disheveled cap of masculine blonde hair.

She paused, caught, as she had so many times
before. That shade always tugged at her heart and mind. Most days
she only spared a glance, suffered a quick, dark pang and went
about her business. Today, though . . . today that unruly mop of
blonde hair belonged to a strange young man who looked alone and
careworn—and just about the right age.

The combination was irresistible.

She climbed out of the carriage without
assistance and stilled her protesting coachman with a wave of her
hand and the order to wait on her. Then slowly she strolled toward
the low steps of the church where the young man loitered.

“A joyous occasion,” she remarked. She gave a
nod toward the disappearing carriages and dispersing crowd.

“Aye,” he agreed with a sigh. In one hand he
carried a folded length of baize fabric and in the other he worried
two of the baron’s pieces of silver. “Happiness comes easier to the
wealthy blokes.”

“Why such bitterness?” Hestia asked kindly.
“Surely you don’t begrudge them their joy?” She nodded at his hand.
“It appears they’ve shared a bit with you.”

“No,” he agreed, flinging himself down on the
cold stone step. “I can’t wish them anything but the best, in the
end. But I also can’t help wishing for more o’ the same, for
myself.”

Abruptly, Hestia sat down beside him. She
smiled at his surprise and smoothed her skirts. “Tell me about
it.”

His jaw tight, he stared at her. She saw the
moment he decided to obey—and out poured his story. He’d gone to
work in the back rooms of a cheese shop as a boy, advanced his way
up to clerk, worked hard to learn the business and had, for the
last year, nearly ran the place himself as his master’s health
deteriorated. Now the man was set to sell the place.

“I’d buy it, if only I had the blunt. It’s
all I know. I’ve ideas, too, to expand the place.” He sighed. “But
I’ve give over half my wages to help my family since I was knee
high and don’t have near close enough saved, yet.”

Hestia nodded. “Something tells me there’s a
bit more to it, is there not?” She raised a brow. “Surely there’s a
girl involved somewhere?”

The young man gaped. “How’d you know?”

“Long experience,” she said with a shrug.

Flushing a bit, he nodded. “Margaret’s her
name,” he confessed. “And she’s right comely, too, with a smile
that would fair dazzle a man.” He groaned and hung his head in his
hands. “But her sire’s a butcher and a solid businessman himself.
He won’t have her marrying a mere clerk—let alone one whose place
hangs on the temperament of an as yet unknown buyer.”

Propping his chin on his hand, he sighed
again. “Hopeless, it is.”

“Perhaps not,” Hestia mused. She thought a
moment then frowned. “Have you a pin or a clasp on you?”

Mystified, he patted his pockets. “No, I
don’t think so.” His eyes lit up and he began to unfold the baize,
which turned out to be a starched apron. “I might have a bit of
wire in here, though. We use it to hang signs.”

“Perfect. Loan me a bit, would you? About six
inches, folded over itself tight.”

He did as he was bid, offering up the length
of wire and waiting to see what she would do. Hestia took it and
slid it into her hair, then removed the bejeweled comb that held
her coiffure high. Her heavy locks immediately slipped a little but
she ignored it and pressed the ornamented comb into his hand.

“A German prince gave me this. We took a boat
out at midnight, on a clear mountain lake. The sky was bright with
stars and the water like glass. Their reflections shone nearly as
bright beneath us, so we felt we flew amongst them in the
night.”

He swallowed.

“The jewels are real. The diamonds could not
rival the stars that long ago night, but they should bring you more
than enough to purchase a cheese shop.” She smiled. “And a
bride.”

“No, my lady.” Shaking, the lad pressed the
comb back to her. “Indeed, no. I could never repay such a
debt.”

“I don’t ask you to repay it. Only to pass
the kindness on sometime, when you are in a position to do so.”

He stared, slack-jawed. “But . . . why?”

“Because you remind me of someone. Someone
dear, but far away.” Hestia bit her lip. “And I hope that if ever
he finds himself in need, then someone will be moved to help him,
too.”

She stood as he began to stammer his thanks,
and started toward her carriage. “Remember, please, to be kind in
your turn?”

He jumped up, comb clutched tight, calling
assurances and blessings.

Hestia allowed her coachman to assist her
inside. “Home,” she whispered. And so she carried on, as she always
did, with head high and heart aching, and no one the wiser.

About the Author

Deb Marlowe adores History, England and Men
in Boots. Clearly she was destined to write Regency Historical
Romance.

A Golden Heart Award winner and Rita nominee,
Deb grew up in Pennsylvania with her nose in a book. Luckily, she'd
read enough romances to recognize the true modern hero she met at a
college Halloween party--even though he wore a tuxedo t-shirt
instead of breeches and boots. They married, settled in North
Carolina and produced two handsome, intelligent and genuinely
amusing boys. Though she spends much of her time with her nose in
her laptop, for the sake of her family she does occasionally
abandon her inner world for the domestic adventure of laundry,
dinner and carpool. Despite her sacrifice, not one of the men in
her family is yet willing to don breeches or tall boots. She's
working on it.

Deb loves to hear from readers! You can
contact her at her website at
www.DebMarlowe.com

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The Leading
Lady