“Oh, yes. Indeed, David.” His father actually looked hopeful. “You are his older brother, after all, and nearly a decade his senior. Older brothers incur a good deal of respect, often more than a father.”
“I doubt that holds true in my case. All I can promise is to make the effort.” His gaze traveled to Leah again, this time adhering to hers. He twisted his mouth. “I will return within a day or two. I will try to . . . I wish I did not have to . . .”
He stopped in midsentence and glanced about the room, obviously thinking twice about expressing his thoughts in front of the others. But stopping only incited a flurry of speculative looks--the visiting couple exchanging glances and the marquess studying his son closely.
Leah felt sure they would all conclude she and David were carrying on some sort of courtship. She smiled at the thought, not sure whether their conjecture had any validity or not. A single kiss, unfortunately, did not constitute a courtship--especially when one participant seemed determined to avoid a second one.
Then again, the other participant had different ideas.
“Why don’t you take Miss Cantrell with you?” the marquess suggested. “With Phoebe abed and you away, she will have little to entertain her here.”
David’s eyes rounded in an expression that looked more apprehensive than surprised. “My lord, this journey will require at least one overnight stay, perhaps more. We are no longer speaking of an hour’s drive to see a local abbey. Proper chaperonage would be necessary.”
“I can provide that,” Lady Langston chimed in. Her sly grin confirmed that she suspected budding romance. “If you two travel with us, all will be perfectly unexceptional. In fact, if you choose to remain in London, we should be happy to have you stay with us. Would we not, John?”
“Certainly,” Lord Langston said. “For as long as you like.”
“Then everything is settled.” The marquess smiled at Leah. “Should you like to go to town, dear?”
She looked at David, who watched her with a dour face. Obviously, he didn’t want her to go. But the alternative meant sitting in Solebury House for who-knew-how-many days, probably not even allowed out alone for so much as a walk.
“I’d love to,” she said. She grinned at David. “Shall I begin packing?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I am perfectly fine here on the box.” David drew the reins into one hand and wiped a droplet of rain from the bridge of his nose. “Now, for heaven’s sake, pull your head inside the carriage and close the window. If the Langstons look back and see your antics, they will conclude you belong in Bedlam.”
His choice of words had been unfortunate, but Leah showed no ill reaction. “This rain is cold, David. Why don’t you let the tiger take over driving? He’s dressed for the weather.”
He sniffled, beginning to suffer the effects of the damp air. But he intended to avoid any
tête-à-tête
encounter with her that he could. The indiscretion at the gate house had shown how little he could trust himself. “Perhaps later. I don’t mind a bit of drizzle.”
“Oh, come on. What are you afraid I’ll do--bite you?”
She giggled, and he marveled that she could possibly find their situation amusing. But then, she had exhibited none of the mortification he had expected to see after she’d had time to reflect on the previous night’s imprudence. Lord, he hoped she soon regained not only her memories but her common sense. He severely doubted he possessed enough for both of them.
“Okay,” she said when he failed to respond to her quizzing. “If you’re determined to catch pneumonia, I guess I can’t stop you. But I think you’re foolish . . . doubly so, considering there won’t be any penicillin to treat you.”
After that bit of gammon, she pulled herself inside, leaving him alone with his worries. He had done all he could to avoid bringing her with him, even applied to poor Phoebe with arguments about propriety. But the marchioness saw nothing untoward in their following the Langstons on an overnight journey. She even speculated that seeing London might help Leah revive some of her lost memories, since she had been there directly before her accident. If so, he would be the happiest of anyone. But would Phoebe still have favored Leah’s traveling with him if she knew how close he had come to ruining the girl? Hardly.
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. Next time, preventing such a disaster might not prove as easy, especially since their chaperon showed a disposition for matchmaking. During their stop for lunch, Lady Langston had made sure he and Leah sat side-by-side, even concocted excuses to leave them alone while she “helped” her husband oversee a minor carriage repair. Solebury’s eagerness to include Leah on the trip must have misled the viscountess to believe that he, David, had permission to press his suit. Her ladyship would feel quite differently if she realized Leah’s father knew nothing of her whereabouts.
Leah’s father.
What would
he
think if he could see his daughter now, practically left alone to the devices of a baseborn scoundrel? David cringed at the self-chosen slur, but his behavior at the gate house had proved he couldn’t even feign good breeding. The bone-chilling rain that dripped down on his head served him right, fit recrimination for a man incapable of cooling the fires of his ill-begotten blood.
“Looks as though they’ve found an inn,” Leah called from the back. A peek over his shoulder revealed her leaning out of the barouche again.
After a glance heavenward, he looked forward and saw the Langstons’ tiger motioning their intention to stop. Ahead on the road, a small country inn appeared in the mist. A grove of trees provided a charming backdrop for an otherwise unremarkable establishment. The garden had fallen to overgrowth, and a shutter flapped loose on a front window. But wisps of white smoke rose from the chimneys, marking warm fires within. At the moment, the prospect of a cozy hearth appealed to him more than sumptuous quarters.
He pulled up behind the lead carriage and handed a few coins to a boy who stood ready to take their bags. After escorting Leah inside and depositing her by a fireplace in the dining hall, he returned to join Lord Langston in the foyer.
“I have secured a meal in a private parlor, as well as rooms for the night,” his lordship informed him. “We were fortunate enough to acquire the last chambers available. The servants will share, of course.”
“Thank you for tending to the arrangements.” David dug into his pocket for money, but Lord Langston reached out to stop him.
“Put your blunt away. Your father gave me funds to cover accommodations for you and Miss Cantrell.”
The usual surge of resentment rose in his gut. But before David could insist on paying his own shot, the viscount placed a soothing hand on his shoulder.
“Your father knew you would not accept money from him, but you
are
making this journey on his behalf.” When David said nothing, his lordship lifted his eyebrows. “Even you must admit that visiting William will hold no pleasure for you.”
He snorted, an involuntary acknowledgment of Lord Langston’s point. But on further consideration, he saw no reason to argue. He would not take his pride to unreasonable lengths. After all, the funds gained from selling his army commission would not last forever, and his importing investments had not yet begun to turn a profit.
“Whatever suits Solebury,” he said.
The viscount clapped him on the back. “Let us collect the ladies, then, and escort them upstairs to dress for dinner.”
David agreed, eager to cast off his rain-drenched apparel--and the awkward encounter. He would have been better prepared to deal with animosity than with the compassion of his father’s friend. Somehow, it left him defenseless.
When he had helped the viscount see the ladies settled, he retired to his own quarters and peeled off his clammy linen shirt and buckskin breeches. The fire in the room had not yet been lit, and the chilly air prompted him to towel dry quickly and scamper into fresh clothes. He had just squeezed a foot back into one of his sodden Hessian boots when a knock sounded at the door--hopefully signaling the arrival of a servant with wood.
“Yes?” he called, balancing on one leg while he struggled to pull on the other boot.
“Is that you, David?” Leah’s voice carried in from the hall. “Can I come in?”
The mere thought of her entering his chamber pitched him forward so he had to brace himself with both hands on the scarred wooden floor. Under no circumstances could she come into his room and retain respectability--but especially not with him in his shirtsleeves and stocking feet.
“I am . . . not presentable at the moment.”
He thought he heard a muffled giggle--and, certainly, he would not put the impropriety past her. Jamming his foot into the second boot, he inched closer to the door.
“What in creation brings you here?” he hissed through the crack between door and frame. He hastened to tuck in his shirt, as if she might actually be able see his state of
deshabille
through the wood. “Unless you have some urgent matter to discuss, you ought to be dressing for dinner. Now, please return to your own quarters.”
“I’m finished dressing,” came her muted response. “And my room is so cold, I couldn’t stand it. I threw on my dinner dress and got out of there as fast as I could.”
“Well, you will have to return.” He feared she would refuse to heed him and snatched his waistcoat from the bed, shrugging into the garment. “When I am presentable, I’ll fetch you and accompany you down to the dining hall.”
She hesitated. “How long will you be?”
He ran a hand through his damp hair, stepping aside to glimpse his reflection in a glass hanging above the small dressing table. He did not dare ask for a reasonable amount of time. “Allow me five minutes.”
“Okay, but meet me downstairs, anyway. That big fire in the dining hall is calling to me. See you in a few minutes.”
“Leah, you cannot go downstairs alone!” He fumbled with the latch and opened the door, but she had already gone. Poking his head into the hall, he spied her turning into the staircase.
“Devil take it!” He pulled back into his chamber. Thanks to her, he would have to appear below with wet hair and a hastily tied cravat.
He mastered a simple knot for the latter and snatched his jacket from the single wooden chair in the room. He finished his rushed toilette while hurrying through the hall and down to the ground floor.
Leah sat with the innkeeper’s wife on a bench before the fire, a smile on her face and a steaming tin cup in her hands. She spotted him approaching the hearth and stood, holding out her drink toward him.
“Oh, David,” she uttered in a tone of rapture. “Just wait until you try this mulled wine! I couldn’t have asked for a better drink to warm me up. Here, try some.”
Her artlessness disarmed him, and he took the cup without thinking. She nodded her encouragement for him to sample the wine. He could not seem to look away from her sparkling eyes as he lifted the cup, wondering if her lips had grazed the same spot his own would.
Cinnamon- and clove-scented steam wafted from the drink, and his mouth watered even before the sweet, apple-tinged wine washed over his tongue. His body seemed to fill with warmth, spurred by the luscious drink, the blazing fire and the flickering flames in Leah’s eyes.
“Heavenly,” he heard himself say.
She beamed and turned to the landlady. “Can we have another one, Mrs. King? Make that
two more
. This one is going quickly.”
The grandmotherly woman smiled and scurried toward the kitchen. David held Leah’s wine back out to her, but she shook her head.
“Drink some more. I’ve already had half a cup.” She reseated herself on the bench, patting the spot beside her. “Isn’t this inn charming? I love this big, stone fireplace and the wizened old wood of the furniture. How old do you suppose the place is?”
He sat down, taking another sip of the spicy confection. The features she indicated could not be called unusual, but with his feet warming by the fire and a beautiful woman beside him, he, too, felt the allure of the country setting. “Several hundred years, I daresay. But you may not find the building quite so delightful when you are confined to your chamber again tonight. Old inns are notorious for drafts.”
“But the servants will light fires in our rooms before we go to bed, won’t they?” She shivered and leaned closer to the flames. “If not, I may have to sleep down here.”
“I shall make a point to address the innkeeper on the matter,” he said, praying she only jested about bedding down in the dining hall.
Suddenly, she looked at him with mischief dancing in her eyes. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if a whole building could be heated by a single, powerful machine, centrally located, say, in the cellar?”
He stiffened, recognizing the hypothesis for one of her fantasies about a future world. For some foolish reason, he elected to debate her. “How could enough heat for an entire construction possibly be generated in one area? The building itself would catch on fire.”
“A fuel, similar to . . . lamp oil, could be burned to produce heat, while a self-powered fan would propel the hot air through ducts running to all the rooms.” She took his cup and sipped the mulled wine, watching his face with a grin.
“Nonsense,” he said. “How would the fan power itself?”
“With electricity, like the lightning you see during a thunderstorm.” She handed him back the wine. “You have the rest. There’s only a sip left.”
He took the cup absently. “And how would one harness the energy of a lightning bolt?”
She shrugged. “I believe a lightning bolt itself is too volatile to control. The electricity comes from various other sources, too complicated for me to explain--or even understand. What am I--an engineer?”
“You are a young woman with an active imagination and a bump somewhere on her head,” he said. He could only hope Phoebe proved right in venturing that a London visit might help uncloud Leah’s mind. “Even if you have no visible evidence of injury, I am certain you have one.”