The thought of how his arms had felt around her recharged the dancing ions on the nape of her neck. She shuddered with acute awareness of his nearness. If she stopped quickly enough, would he run right into her back?
Ridiculous! Not only had she gone back in time, her mind had reverted to adolescence. A peek over her shoulder gave her a glimpse of his continued scowl. She looked forward again and walked faster. This actually topped adolescent fantasy for its absurdity. The man who had her shuddering like a schoolgirl had threatened to lock her away in an asylum!
“Are you quite all right, Miss Cantrell?” Lady Solebury asked as Leah caught up with her on the drive. “Now, your cheeks are flushed.”
“What? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” She tried to break her thoughts free from David Traymore’s magnetic pull. Her continual distraction had already raised suspicions. From now on, she had to focus all her energy on appearing normal. “Seeing the spring again just unnerved me a little. I guess I’ll need some time before I can put my accident behind me.”
“Have you remembered anything more about what happened?” the marchioness asked. “Of course, you mustn’t feel obliged to speak about the ordeal if you don’t wish. I don’t want to give you any further cause for distress.”
“My memory seems to be returning, little by little,” Leah said, scouring her brain for some story to concoct. Never a good liar, she had to settle for stalling. “I’ll tell you everything I can when we sit down to dinner.”
Lady Solebury’s eyebrows rose just perceptibly. “As long as the telling does not upset you . . .”
Leah assured her she’d manage but when David chose that moment to step up beside them, she sighed in relief. The marchioness turned to him, asking about conditions in the gate house. Meanwhile, Leah’s mind raced for believable answers to the questions she would face. Why had she come to Solebury House? With whom had she been traveling and to where?
By the time they reached the manor, she knew she’d never come up with a good story. She would have to stick as close to the truth as possible--without revealing she had traveled back in time, of course. Her stomach gnawed with hunger, but she dreaded the thought of sitting down to dinner. How long would she have before the inquisition started?
“Oh, good,” Lady Solebury said when they entered the drawing room where Leah had slept the night before. “Our dinner companions have arrived. Ben, Letitia, allow me to present Miss Leah Cantrell, a friend of mine visiting from America. Miss Cantrell, Lieutenant Harlowe and his wife, Mrs. Harlowe. The lieutenant fought in the Peninsula with my late father and Mr. Traymore. I suspect he would like to return to the Continent now that Bonaparte has escaped Elba, but Mrs. Harlowe will hear nothing of the sort.”
“How do you do?” Leah dropped an uncertain curtsy to a stocky, thin-haired man and a plainly dressed, thirty-something brunette. The smiles they gave her seemed to indicate she’d done well enough. The marchioness had been sweet to introduce her as a friend.
“Lady Solebury will have you believe my wife holds me on leading strings,” the lieutenant said, his sharp gray eyes crinkling at the corners when he laughed. “If so, I will not be the one to confess it.”
Leah smiled in response, as Mrs. Harlowe swatted her husband on the shoulder.
“You will have Miss Cantrell think worse of me!”
“Ah, Harold, there you are,” Lady Solebury said, looking past Leah’s shoulder toward the door. “Have you greeted the Harlowes? Yes? Well, then, at last you will have the opportunity to meet our houseguest, Miss Cantrell. Miss Cantrell, this is my husband, Lord Solebury.”
Leah turned around and couldn’t stop herself from staring. Dressed in elegantly fitted black formal wear, the marquess looked exactly how she pictured David would in another decade or so. The father’s main distinctions from his son were a slightly fuller build and sprinkles of gray in his midnight hair. She remembered David saying he didn’t know how the marchioness had ended up with his father, but Leah understood. With looks, presence and power in his favor, Lord Solebury probably could get any woman he wanted.
She curtsied deeply, smiling without having to remind herself.
“Charmed,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling as he bowed. “We are so pleased to have you with us, Miss Cantrell. My wife is always eager to entertain when we stay in the country. I hope your visit will endure for some time.”
“Thank you,” she said, charmed herself. Could this man really be the monster David implied? She glanced at the son and found him watching her.
He switched his focus to his father, lower lip curling.
He hates him
, she realized. The marquess didn’t acknowledge the frown, but the spark in his eyes dulled. She turned away, feeling sad for them, Lord Solebury because his own son hated him, David because his bitterness poisoned his whole outlook.
But why should she care about a man who threatened her with Bedlam? A little moodiness was one thing--what woman didn’t get dizzy on a dose of Byronic cynicism? But romanticism had to stop somewhere. Don Juan wielded a cape, never a straitjacket.
“Shall we move into the dining room?” Lady Solebury suggested, leading the way into the hall. “How pleased I am to have so many guests! We have entertained very little in recent weeks, you know.”
She continued to chatter, asking after the Harlowes’ children as she showed everyone which seats to take.
Leah found herself next to David, watching a servant place soup in front of her. The herb-tinged steam made her mouth water, but she waited for everyone else to pick up their spoons before she did. Who knew what to expect from nineteenth-century manners?
Potatoes and leeks
, she determined with her first taste, letting the hearty broth loll on her tongue. She swallowed, and her stomach contracted, demanding something more substantial. She’d hardly eaten in a day and a half.
“Miss Cantrell,” Mrs. Harlowe said, reaching for the roll on her bread plate, “I hope you find our country to your liking. May I inquire how long you’ve been in England?”
Leah copied the other woman’s manners, tearing a ladylike chunk from her own roll. She wished she could have finished at least one course before being questioned. “I’ve only been here a few days. I love what I’ve seen of England so far, and I can’t wait to see more of the country.”
Instantly, she sensed all eyes on her, three pairs more intent than the others.
David took up the questioning. “You and I have had little chance to speak, Miss Cantrell. I hope your voyage from the States passed smoothly--and that you had pleasant companions to help speed your time aboard ship?”
Subtly phrased, but every bit as probing as she’d expected. She forced a smile, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a stiff linen napkin. “Unfortunately, I was seasick most of the trip. I spent a lot of time alone in my cabin, feeling too terrible to care. My traveling companion, Jeanine, is an old friend but sometimes . . . impatient. I’m afraid that being trapped in close quarters with a sick person for, uh . . . weeks took a toll on her nerves.”
She jammed a piece of bread in her mouth while the others absorbed the information.
“If you will pardon my saying so, this Jeanine must be rather a fair-weather friend,” Lady Solebury said, her pregnancy-puffed bustline accented by obvious indignation. “Is she the same companion who left you stranded here in Kent? Has your memory improved any in that regard?”
Across the table, Mrs. Harlowe gasped. Leah ignored the sound and nodded, looking into her soup bowl. She couldn’t see any alternative but for poor Jeanine to take the brunt of the blame for her predicament.
“Yes. While Jeanine and I traveled here from London, I’m afraid her nerves wore thinner and thinner. You see, I was carsick--that is, I suffered carriage sickness, too. I’m such a bad traveler! She got tired of my complaints, we argued and, well, I actually ended up asking to be let out of the carriage. I felt so sick I couldn’t stand to go on.”
“And she left you behind while she traveled on?” Lady Solebury threw her napkin down on the table. “Abominable!”
“Yes, well, I should have known better than to travel with her in the first place. We’ve had disagreements in the past.” Leah stole a peek at David and found him watching her through narrowed eyes. She guessed he didn’t believe her but meant to hear out her story. “She was the only person I know who could afford to accompany me to Europe. I wanted to see the land where my ancestors lived. I have some English blood.”
“How did you wind up at the spring?” David asked.
He
would
refuse to let the conversation move away from that topic. She resisted the urge to frown. “After Jeanine drove away, I walked up the nearest drive, looking for a place to rest. Along the way, I found the spring and thought a drink of water might help settle my stomach. But when I leaned over the pool I got dizzy. I guess I fainted, because the next thing I knew I was struggling in the water, too disoriented to pull myself out of the pool.”
“Good Lord!” Mrs. Harlowe exclaimed. “What a fortunate coincidence that you had wandered onto the estate of a friend. Who knows what might have befallen an unaccompanied young woman left alone and ill amidst strangers?”
“Indeed,” Lady Solebury said quickly. “I don’t like even to contemplate the possibilities. And, truly, let’s not distress Miss Cantrell with further discussion of her accident. We are just glad you are safely installed with us now.”
“Thank you,” Leah murmured, gladly taking up her soup spoon again.
The marchioness picked hers up, too, looking toward the opposite side of the table. “Tell me, Ben, what is the latest news of Bonaparte’s doings? I cannot tell you how nervous I’ve been since his escape from Elba. Everyone says that if he invades England, he will no doubt choose Kent for his point of entry.”
“Phoebe, dear, such is hardly a more pleasant topic of conversation than the last,” the marquess interrupted. “Should we not fix upon a less serious subject?”
“In a moment, Harold, but first I insist on hearing the lieutenant’s views. Why, our neighbors all speak of digging out priest’s holes for hiding themselves and their valuables, in the event of an attack. What do you think, Ben? Should Harold and I stow our possessions away now?”
The lieutenant sat back, pushing away his empty bowl. “Well, Boney has been biding his time in the area of Paris for several weeks. Since he has not moved one way or another, we have no notion what direction he might take when he does.”
Leah scooped up the last drops of her soup, listening with interest. Her father made a hobby of Western history--had wanted, in fact, to teach the subject at one time, before the unexpected conception of his only child cut his college days short. She knew enough from what he’d taught her to realize she had landed in England smack in the middle of Napoleon’s Hundred Days campaign.
“You don’t offer me much comfort, Ben.” The marchioness blinked unseeingly at the deliciously presented plate of lamb a servant set in front of her. “Have you no inside intelligence you can share?”
“Phoebe, there is no reason to believe Bonaparte is headed our way,” David said, reaching across the table to place his hand over hers. “In your condition, you mustn’t work yourself up. Wellington is a capable leader and will do all he can to keep England safe.”
Her ladyship looked so upset that Leah winced. If only she could tell her the “inside intelligence” she had--that Napoleon would never invade England. He’d be recaptured for good within the next few months.
“Really, my lady,” she said, “I’m sure David’s right. Consider how slowly Napoleon’s been moving since he escaped, meandering up through the south of France and dallying in Paris for weeks. At that kind of pace, he won’t get anywhere. I bet he’ll never even make it into Holland.”
She hadn’t been able to resist throwing in a clue to the location of Napoleon’s ultimate defeat, and she grinned at her secret joke.
The marchioness smiled back, touching a finger to the corner of each of her eyes. “How kind you are, Miss Cantrell. You nearly have me convinced--you speak with such conviction.”
“Yes, you do,” Lieutenant Harlowe said, his gray eyes fixed on her. “May I ask why you mentioned Holland, Miss Cantrell?”
“It just came to mind.” She picked up her fork, pleased that she had helped calm Lady Solebury.
“I am surprised to find you so well informed of Napoleon’s activities,” the lieutenant added. “Young ladies generally take little interest in the details of war.”
She paused, fork in midair, privately reminding herself to stick as close to the truth as possible. “My father studies Napoleon as a hobby. I’ve heard far more about the man than I care to even think about.”
“But surely you haven’t seen your father in at least a month? At that time, Bonaparte had not yet reached Paris.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why, of course not. I suppose now I’ll have to confess to an unladylike interest in war. Some of my father’s fascination has worn off on me, and I read the papers to keep on top of the news. Sometimes, that is. I definitely can’t claim a thorough knowledge of current events.”
The marquess laughed, relieving some of the tension Leah sensed building. “I should think not. Meeting a young lady who reads something other than novels, the social column and
La Belle Assemblée
is unusual enough. One does not run across many
bluestockings in Kent.”
“No,” Lieutenant Harlowe said, though he didn’t laugh. “Nor are we often up-to-date in reading the
London Gazette
. Perhaps you know more about Bonaparte’s latest moves than we do, Miss Cantrell. Why don’t you give us a report?”
She swallowed a mouthful of lamb and purposely widened her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t know any more than what we’ve already said. He’s holed up in the Paris area.”
“I think we might move onto another subject,” David noted, for once choosing a course Leah liked. “Her ladyship cannot be entertained with this line of conversation.”
They all looked at the marchioness, who poked at her food, clearly without any appetite.