Once Beloved (7 page)

Putting her hand on her niece's shoulder, Helena offered a calmer response. “Rest assured, sir, that I have made clear the moral ramifications of my choices, as well as the pitfalls and consequences many young ladies face when they trust the pretty words of a lover.”

She thought it exceedingly wise that Mr. Lanfield declined to comment.

“It's become a serious problem and not just in London. As with so many injustices, it targets the needy, the destitute, those in such dire straits they have few other options, if any. From what we've found, the parents generally believe they're placing their babies in safe keeping. We need more regulation and more frequent inspections. We need more severe punishments.” She stopped abruptly, realizing her voice had grown shrill and strident. It was so difficult to remain composed when facing such inhumanity.

“You care deeply about these people.” He said it as a statement, not a question, but she responded anyway.

“Of course,” she said simply.

“Funny how you can show such fierce attention to the injuries of strangers and so little to the people you yourself have injured.”

Heat immediately suffused her face. Awful man. She didn't have to suffer his unpleasantness. There was a sign at the innkeeper's desk showing public coach times. She resolved to ignore Mr. Lanfield for the remainder of the meal. He'd proven that politeness was lost on him, and she had none left to spare. Instead, her mind whirled with plans.

H
elena waited until her niece fell asleep, the girl's soft but regular exhalations and sweetly slackened features reminding her so much of her sister, Lizzie. Yet another way Vanessa was obviously her mother's daughter. As Helena lay in the moonlight waiting, her ire over Mr. Lanfield's presumptuous condemnations expanded, each bitter word from him whirling into an expanding vortex of anger and resentment. What audacity. What ridiculous provincialism. Apparently not just his but the whole bloody town's, if she could believe his account. But she and Vanessa would be free of him very soon.

When she finally slipped off the bed and went to put on her robe, her hands shook so much that she had difficulty with the closures and gave up after the top two. She barely managed enough composure to scratch discreetly on Lanfield's door, suppressing a callow instinct to pound on it and jar him awake. This would be the last time she spoke with him voluntarily, and, by God, she would set him to rights. In the morning, she and Vanessa would take the first coach and leave him behind.

He opened the door a crack, squinting at her. The dark room behind him suggested she must have woken him. So did the sliver of bare chest she could see through the opening. That gave her pause.

“What?” he asked, his voice hoarse and gruff.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Now? Nay, we've all had a tiring day. Anything you wish to say would benefit from waiting until we've slept and our heads are clear.”

“Your patronizing tone notwithstanding, it is imperative that I speak with you now. Tomorrow will be too late.”

His brow wrinkled as he stared at her. She held his gaze, lifting her chin and wrapping her arms tightly around her torso. He would hear what she had to say, even if she had to stand here all night. After several long, tense, silent moments, he huffed and said, “Suit yourself. I can see you've a bee in your bonnet. Far be it from me to stand in your way if you're determined to be stung.”

The wryness of his voice curled her shaking hands into fists, but he opened the door wide and went across the room, so she entered. She waited until he'd lit a lamp before closing the door firmly behind her. At the click of the door latch, he paused in the act of shaking out his shirt and raised a brow at her.

She answered the question he didn't voice. “There is no need to air our grievances in the hallway where strangers might happen upon us. I wouldn't want your gallant public façade to be dented and tarnished.” She cleared her throat, suddenly very, very aware of the small room and Lanfield's bare arms and torso. He seemed somehow larger, broader in this state of undress. She gestured to his shirt as her cheeks suddenly burned. She meant to lambaste him, but the sight of his vulnerable throat, of the hollow there at the base, of his heartbeat pulsing in that spot—well, her body had other ideas. Unfamiliar, wayward ideas, and she froze as she tried to decipher them.

“Well?” he said, gruffly.

She closed her eyes for a moment and tamped down these renegade sensations.

“Helena, are you unwell?”

How dare he use her given name? That snapped her from her muddled, wayward thoughts. “Mr. Lanfield,” she said as coolly and formally as she could. “We need to talk. Please, do go on. You should be fully clothed so we might have the semblance of a civil conversation.”

Although he donned his shirt, he didn't fasten the collar. Raising her gaze to meet his, she felt heat spread from her cheeks to her ears as she realized he'd seen her staring and he'd deciphered what it meant. “What you said about my desertion of Marksby was entirely distorted. I would go so far as to say your account was delusional.”

“Would you, now? How could you possibly know the effects of your actions on the village when you weren't there to witness them?”

“You cannot convince me that one young woman's elopement could destroy the future of an entire village. Communities do not hinge on one insignificant person. The loss of a central figure, like the mayor or the blacksmith, perhaps, but I know full well that the sun doesn't rise and set by my force of will.”

“Again, suit yourself,” he said, with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Don't believe me. You'll see for yourself soon enough. The village never recovered. It continues to struggle onward, but you'll find it much changed. Not for the better.”

“That is your perception.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to interrupt. “It may well be true,” she conceded, “but you must acknowledge what a ridiculous scenario it would be. A village full of high-minded, knowledgeable, industrious people brought low by one young woman? Unable to recover its glory or reestablish a new path to prosperity over a score of years? Surely, the effects of one insignificant girl's personal decision would not have such deep, long-standing repercussions.” She felt herself beginning to babble, but she couldn't stop as her mind raced along myriad paths of consequences, each possibility more horrifying. “Surely, I couldn't . . . be prosecuted for . . .”

“British courts can't compare with the collective memory of town elders,” he cut in. Even in the dim lamplight, she could see his stormy expression.

“Look, I deeply appreciate your willingness to transport me and my niece, especially in light of your obvious distaste. There is no need for us to continue in such an unpleasant fashion.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“You must recognize the difficulties of continuing this journey together. I have talked with the innkeeper about my options and found that it would be just as fast for me and much less of an inconvenience for you if Vanessa and I take a coach to the nearest train station and continue from there. Therefore, I have already arranged other transportation. Vanessa and I are no longer your concern.”

She hadn't thought it possible for his demeanor to grow more irate, but it did. His eyebrows shot together, his eyes grew stormy, and his jaw tightened so much it was a wonder she didn't hear his teeth crack in his skull.

“Already arranged! Nearest station! Such a fond hoit!” Immediately after his outburst, he took a few steps back, perhaps just as startled as she was by his vociferous reaction.

His insistence alarmed her as much as his intensity. How could he possibly care about her traveling plans? If anything, he should be relieved. Her chest felt tight. She struggled to take in more air as she stared at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face the window. For some strange reason, the sight of his shoulders, broad and tense, shook her.

“Sorry, Mrs. Martin, for speaking so.” She barely heard him, but at least he'd restrained himself. When she didn't respond, he met her eye and continued, “Hope I didn't frighten you. There's no denying this is an uncomfortable alliance for us both, but I gave my word to your lads, to your sister, and to your friends, the Clarkes, that I would see you and your niece safely to your grandmother's house, and that's what I shall do.”

“So your word to them matters more than my wishes. I assure you I will tell them I chose differently. And my niece and I shall be fine without you.”

“I gave
my
word. Your wishes hold little sway with me, just as everyone else's wishes hold no sway with you, then as now. You're under my protection, and I'm responsible, should either of you come to harm.”

“I am not your responsibility. And my existence isn't a means to practice your moral superiority. I've come to thank you for your assistance thus far and to inform you that I have arranged other transportation for me and my niece.”

She winced as he let fly a string of curses, including some things she couldn't interpret, which was probably for the best. His breathing came in fierce puffs.

“Sir, we have barely been reacquainted,” she said, refusing to be cowed by his bull-like behavior. “Contrary to your obvious misconceptions, I am not a weak, helpless female in need of male protection.” In the dim light of the lamp, his figure seemed imposing, even from that distance. She went to pull her robe more tightly around her body but realized she might appear nervous or even frightened. Showing such weakness would belie her argument. She forced her arms to her sides and straightened her spine.

He cocked his head, and his gaze swept down her body with a smirk. Damn. He'd noticed her discomfort. He took a step closer. What a long stride he had.

“Mrs. Martin, when we first met in London, you swooned and were nearly trampled. I understand it's not the first time.”

“As long as I plan carefully and control my environment, I can easily avoid such spells.”

He took another step, nearly crowding her against the door.

“You're fooling yourself. Have you been on a train for more than a day?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted, “but I have taken shorter train trips without incident.” She didn't mention that she'd taken them with her husband, nor that the last train trip had been three years ago.

“Have you been to Manchester in recent years? Are you familiar with its streets and transports?”

Another damned step. She pressed her back against the door, the knob digging into her hip.

“No, my husband never took me,” she stammered, but squared her shoulders. “But I am sure any rational adult could work out the logistics. I am far from that naïve girl who ran away from Marksby, and I am capable of taking care of myself.”

He leaned in, so close her chest brushed against his when she breathed. She stopped doing so.

“I wish it were so. But you've shown no such evidence thus far. Even if you weren't prone to fainting under stress, you'd be easy prey for pickpockets, bandits, and swindlers. If I'd taken a minute longer in chasing off the stable boy out there, your bags would've disappeared with that thief you thought was so kind. You've no sense at all of how vulnerable you are.”

Vulnerable was exactly how she felt with his immense body crowding in upon her. His shadowy figure all she could see, she felt surrounded. Her cheeks burned, and she took shallow breaths to avoid brushing against him. He was trying to make her faint again, trying to prove how weak she was. She gritted her teeth but refused to be cowed.

“I assure you I would manage, sir.”

“What would happen to your sons if you were harmed? If you were fatally injured?”

“Stop!” How could he know? He voiced her deepest fear, her worst memories, and that keen insight of his shook her deeply. She lashed out to deflect him. “You would cast yourself as the Good Samaritan, selflessly assisting a helpless woman, but I am not your charity case. Taking that man for a servant of the inn was a mistake I shall not make again. And your moral high-handedness is quite rich as you condemn me for my supposed transgressions. This is not your decision to make, short of you kidnapping me and my niece. I came to do you the courtesy of informing you that, while we appreciate your assistance thus far, our plans have changed. I have now done so and bid you good night!”

“For the sake of your sons, I'll see you safely to Marksby,” he said, as if she hadn't spoken.

“I will not be forced. Certainly not by someone who despises me.”

“I don't despise you,” he said firmly, but he had the grace to look away. “I did once. You caused my family a great deal of pain and humiliation. But that was long ago. Now I . . .”

She was far from convinced, but it was a relief when his voice trailed off. She didn't want to know how he might end that sentence. Then she realized she couldn't leave until he stepped away from her, away from the door. Before she could speak, he laid his hands on the door above her shoulders. She should have felt trapped by this dark silhouette imprisoning her, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered at the missing sense of panic, but then he leveled his face with hers, noses almost touching. Rational thought dissipated. Were his lips as harsh as his tone or as soft as his breath, mingling with hers?

“As you've said, I don't know the woman you have become. You don't know the man I've become either.” His tone held a note of roughness. Her entire body tingled, and she feared he could sense it. Then he tilted back ever so slightly, his eyes visible only as glittering points catching the candlelight. “ 'Appen you mistake your own guilt for what you call my moral high-handedness. Unlike you, I don't break my promises. I don't abandon women under my care. Accept it with good grace.”

Abruptly, he backed away from the door and said, his voice as calm as if their heated conversation hadn't just occurred, “And now I bid you good night as well.”

Of all the—! It was useless to continue arguing with this stubborn, presumptuous ox of a man. She'd given him fair notice, and she would take Vanessa on the coach in the morning.

 

Weak rays of dawn filtered into Helena's consciousness, and she heard the muffled scratching and thumping and creaking of the inn coming to life. The coach! Goodness, she needed to get Vanessa up and ready. It took a Herculean effort to get the girl up and out. One might think her niece deliberately dragged her feet, mumbling all the while about being packed in with strangers, to avoid traveling by mail coach. Where the child got her high instep was a mystery.

By the time she could rush Vanessa down the stairs and out to the yard, the coach had arrived and some passengers were disembarking. A small distance away, Daniel stood with Talos hitched to the cart. He tipped his hat at her in greeting, and she gave a perfunctory curtsy before gripping her bags more firmly and continuing toward the coach.

“Auntie, must we really ride in that?” Vanessa kept her voice low, but her petulant tone was unmistakable.