This Rake of Mine (20 page)

His angry words from the night before rang out.
I will not be pushed for much longer. There is too much at stake
.

Gold. Money. Miranda did her best to still her pounding heart, her racing thoughts. What if he thought to get the money from them?

"A problem with one of the horses," she said, smoothing her hands over her skirt and not looking at him for fear he'd see the questions… and accusations… in her eyes. "One of our horses has lost its shoe, and our driver has gone to fetch the smith to remedy the situation. The earl is quite particular about his animals, so I fear we must impose upon on you for another day."

Jack strode down the stairs until he stood before her. "A smith? But that means he'll have to—"

"Yes, ride to Hastings, so it seems." She took a deep breath. "If our continued presence in your home is an inconvenience, then perhaps other accommodations can be found—"

Now it was his turn to look exasperated. He ran a hand through his unruly mane of hair, then shook his head, leaving it as tousled as before. Really, he was quite the thespian, for he almost had her convinced that he was quite put out at this turn of events.

"Perhaps the inn isn't as bad as Mr. Birdwell believes, and we could remove ourselves—"

"No," he said, cutting her off. He forced a smile to his face. "Miss Porter, there is no need to flee Thistleton Park when it means only another day in each other's company." He ran his hand through his dark hair again. "I know that after last night… well, I must excuse myself, I was an utter cad. My behavior indefensible. Please allow me to make it up today, by—"

"Make up what?" came a question from behind them.

Miranda turned to find the girls standing in the doorway of the dining room. Given the way they were grinning, she could only imagine how much they'd heard.

More than enough, she'd reason.

"I must make up for my hasty departure last night," he told them. "It seems you are to stay another day, and I was just about to propose an outing, a picnic if you would like, to the folly."

"We get to stay?" said Tally. "Oh, wonderful."

"You can finish your sketch," Felicity pointed out.

"Lord John is being overly kind," Miranda told them. "But I am sure he doesn't need to need bother himself with our comings and goings. Besides, we need no escort—we found the way quite easily yesterday, and on our own, thank you very much."

Their host, it seemed, had found not only an apology in his bag of tricks but his manners as well. "Miss Porter, I would be bereft if any of you left with the impression that I am a poor host. I suspect my honor is at stake. Not to mention, I have Mr. Billingsworth's description to live up to—"

"Just yesterday you said the man was a pandering fool," she reminded him.

Jack grinned at her. "Even a fool deserves to be proven correct on occasion."

Miranda's hands balled into fists. Wretched man. He could twist the words of a saint.

Standing her ground, she said, "My lord, really it isn't necessary."

He drew closer. "My dear Miss Porter, you must be aware by now that compromise is not in my nature." He had the audacity to wink at her, then turn on one heel and stride toward the dining room. "Birdwell! Birdwell!" he called out. "We need a picnic, my good man." Then he turned back toward Miranda and added for her benefit, "A proper one."

"Harrumph." She wondered if such a thing was possible at Thistleton Park. A picnic at a folly. The irony of such an offer didn't escape her.

She straightened her shoulders and girded her resolve. If he thought a lost shoe would give him enough time to gain whatever boon he was seeking, he was sadly mistaken.

For last night, besides the missing shoe, he'd also lost any claim he might have had on her heart.

Jack led his guests down the trail to the folly. Better this, he knew, than let them have free run on his property. He didn't think the girls had anything to do with their mysterious and unlikely arrival into his life. Pippin's father, the Earl of Stanbrook, was too horse mad to ever be wrapped up in the sort of havey-cavey business that came naturally to Thistleton Park, while Tally and Felicity's father, Lord Langley, was renown in the right circles for his loyalty to the Crown.

Still, he couldn't shake the warning from last night.

I have it on good authority that we are being watched.

That left only Miss Porter… and how convenient was it that their horse had turned up with a missing shoe? Sounded to him like a plan concocted by a desperate woman.

How desperate?
he wondered as he looked over at her.

He yawned, then took a deep breath of fresh air. He needed to keep a clear head today, but it was nearly impossible when he was dead tired. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a decent night's sleep.

And every night more that Dash didn't arrive with his shipment, it put everything connected to Thistleton Park at risk.

In truth, the only thing keeping him awake at the moment was the chattering voices behind him. How was it that he'd forgotten how young ladies talked incessantly? His head was fairly spinning from the never-ending volleys the girls put back and forth to each other as he led them down the path toward Albin's Folly.

Miss Porter, he noted, was singularly quiet. And had been most of the morning.

It was as if she was weighing some great body of evidence, as if she thought
him
responsible for their current predicament.

Well, she was either the world's most accomplished actress or mad.

He decided mad would be the best conclusion. He didn't want to consider what would have to be done if she had been sent to ferret out the enigma that was Thistleton Park.

What he needed to do was discover Miss Porter's secrets. He glanced over his shoulder and realized the best place was to start with the allies he knew he had.

"Is it true you can see the coast of France from the top of the tower?" called out Tally, pushing past her teacher and coming up to his elbow.

He glanced down at her and smiled. "Yes, and since the weather is finally clear, perhaps you would like to take a peek at old Boney himself."

"Bother the man," she replied. "I detest him. Father brought us to an audience with him years ago, during the peace in '01. He was a cocky, smug fellow then and even more loathsome now."

"Who's loathsome?" asked Felicity, as she joined them.

"Bonaparte," her sister said.

Felicity's pert lips curled. "Odious, awful man. Whatever are you doing discussing him?"

"Jack suggested we look for him from the top of the tower, since the weather is clear. I think the vista will make a great sketch."

Felicity looked singularly unimpressed. But Jack had to imagine he knew a subject that would get the girl chattering once again.

"Duchess," Jack said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me about your Miss Porter."

At this, the girl's eyes brightened with a calculated spark. "What would you like to know?"

"Hmm," he said, rubbing his chin and slanting a glance back at the lady. "Where is she from? That is, where did she come from before she was a teacher?"

Felicity pursed her lips. "I don't know. She was there when we arrived three years ago." She turned to her twin. "Tally?"

Her sister shrugged. "Her father was in trade. I think in London, but I remember once she talked about how cold winter is in Northumberland."

That wasn't much to go on, Jack realized. "Has she ever had any visitors? Gone to visit her family? Perhaps had a suitor?"

The girls giggled.

"A suitor? You must be teasing," Tally said.

Felicity explained it further. "Miss Emery strictly prohibits her teachers from indulging in such things. Miss Porter would have been sacked if she'd been discovered keeping company with a man—no matter how eligible he might be."

"And why is it that she's escorting you, not one of the other teachers?"

"She isn't a teacher any longer," Tally told him. "When she gained her inheritance this past winter, she gave her notice."

So Miss Porter was rich? When they'd mentioned it the night before, he hadn't thought much of it. Now Jack took another look at the lady. There was no evidence of her wealth in her simple gown and decision to travel with three young charges.

Felicity continued. "Must have been a good amount of money, for Miss Browne's maid told us that she heard from the kitchen boy who takes the trays into the teacher's dining room that Miss Porter had taken a house in Kent. And a grand one at that. So it must have been a notable fortune."

"But who left her this money?" he asked.

Felicity shrugged. "I don't rightly know. Though she's paid whoever it is their due respect. She's just come out of mourning this past fortnight, but before that she was in black for a good six months."

Jack remembered the ugly jet bombazine she'd been wearing when he'd been in Bath.

Could it have been her mysterious lover? The man from the button who'd left her this legacy?

Before he could make any further queries, they arrived at Albin's Folly and at Miss Porter's bidding the girls pulled out their sketch books and set to work on their drawings. Then Miss Porter settled on a nearby rock and pulled knitting needles and a ball of yarn out of her bag to work on what appeared to be a sensible stocking.

No French silk for Miss Porter, just good English wool.

"When I am done," Tally said over her sketchbook, "I want to do a drawing of the vista from the top of the tower."

"The top?" protested Miss Porter as she frowned up at the stony heights. "Why don't you make do with a sketch of the shoreline?"

Sketches of the shoreline? Jack shot a suspicious glance at her.

Really, what Miss Porter suggested was nothing more than innocent sketches. There was no harm in that.

Then again…

What would his enemies do with detailed maps of the Park? Or worse, the house? And if they discovered the other secrets the ancient manse held, there would be hell to pay.

Demmit, he wasn't cut from the right cloth for this sort of thing. Smugglers like Dash… Dissemblers like Mrs. Pymm… His chameleon-like friend, Temple.

But Jack, he was a charlatan in all this. One slipped word, one false step, and lives could be lost.

And then there was Miss Porter's mysterious power over him. The way the lady haunted his thoughts, drove him to distraction.

He groaned and kicked at a stone, which landed at Miss Porter's feet.

She jumped a bit, then glanced up from her knitting.

"My apologies," he said.

"Something amiss, Lord John?"

It could have been an innocent question, but he was filled with misgivings today and was finding enemies in every quarter.

"You really needn't spend your day with us, Lord John," she told him. "We are quite able to find our way back to the house. I would assume you have business to attend to. I noticed that the shipwright and his crew of carpenters arrived this morning. Perhaps you are anxious to oversee the removal of your oak. Undoubtedly, it will be a valuable addition to your coffers… if it is properly managed."

"The shipwright has the task well in hand," he told her. "Besides, I would rather spend the day with you lovely ladies." He shot a saucy wink at Pippin, who blushed furiously at his lighthearted flirtation.

Miss Porter sniffed a little and went back to her knitting.

Jack ignored her apparent disapproval and silent admonishment.

A proper gentleman would see to his business ventures himself.

Well, he was hardly the proper country gentleman.

And that was the problem.

"Doesn't your secretary have something to do?" she asked, nodding at Bruno as he loomed over Tally's shoulder, staring moodily down at the girl's work.

"He is very efficient. I am sure he has everything in hand," Jack told her.

"Harrumph. He seems an odd choice for the position."

Jack looked over at the man and shook his head, as if he didn't see at all what she did.

She sighed and set her knitting down, leveling him with a pointed stare. "Mr. Jones looks more like a pugilist than a gentleman's secretary."

Jack glanced over at his bearlike man of letters and shrugged again, if only to vex her. "Believe me, he came highly recommended, and I have yet to see an equal in his skills."

At forgery…

But there was no need to add that to the catalogue of incongruities she seemed to be compiling.

"Are you always so outspoken in your observations, Miss Porter?" This time he watched her face, her eyes, and in them he spied a wary light, as if she was considering her next words carefully.

But before she came up with a proper answer, Bruno could be heard saying to Tally, "You've a fine hand, miss."

Both Jack and Miss Porter glanced over at the pair.

"A real talent for drawing," Bruno continued. "But the perspective is a bit off here," he said, pointing at one spot and then another, "and here."

The girl glanced over her shoulder at him and then stared down at her drawing. Looking back up at the tower before her, she nodded. "How right you are. Thank you, Mr. Jones," she said, rubbing out the portions he'd suggested. "Are you an artist, sir?"

He shook his head. "Me dah was. An engraver."

"And you didn't follow him into the trade?" Felicity asked.

"I learnt it alright, but I was—" Bruno started to say.

"Is anyone hungry?" Jack asked, changing the subject, lest too much be said or asked about Bruno's past.

Pippin set aside her notebook and pencil almost immediately, rising up and eagerly offering to help Mr. Birdwell unpack the feast.

While she set to work, Tally made a few finishing changes to her drawing, then rose and gazed up at the tower before them. "I would so love to see the view."

"It is a rather dusty and long climb to the top," Jack told her, hoping to discourage her.

To his dismay, this only seemed to add to her determination, then her sister's as well.

"Lord John, the Duchess and I have climbed far more difficult vantage points than your tower," Tally told him. "As our father would say, the climb will only serve to whet our appetites."