Escaping Notice (32 page)

Her eyes grew huge as her face paled.

“Aunt Eloise!' he exclaimed, almost as surprised as she
appeared. “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?” She pushed him inside and shut
the door behind both of them. “Never mind. Stay in your room until
I come to fetch you.”

“I beg your pardon?” he replied curtly.

“I should have expected this. Everything else has gone wrong.
Well, never mind. Just stay here. I shall not be above an
hour.”

Then she left.

Hugh stared at the door, nonplussed. He had expected surprise
and shock at his reappearance, but nothing like his aunt's
inexplicable reaction. He took a step forward, hand outstretched to
grip the doorknob. Then he stopped. It would not hurt to wait an
hour. In truth, he would like to be able to stave off the
inevitable for a few years.

With a sigh, he picked up the book beside his table and deepened
his acquaintance with Mr. Gulliver, who seemed to have almost as
many issues with the Lilliputians as Hugh had with his
relatives.

It was much more than an hour later when his aunt knocked at his
door. When he opened it, she stood there, red-faced, cap askew, and
her gray hair straggling around her head, coming loose in heavy
sections from its pins. Before he could speak, a pin fell out of
her hair, bounced off her shoulder and clattered to the floor.

He bent to pick it up. She snatched it from his fingers and
thrust it back into her hair, giving it a curiously rakish air.

“May I leave my rooms now?” he asked in dulcet tones.

“Yes, and thank me as well.”

His brows rose. “May I ask why?”

“Did you want my sisters to stay indefinitely?”

“I'm afraid the thought had not occurred to me.”

“Of course not,” she replied rather impatiently. “I gathered as
much when you strode out of your room as if you had not a care in
the world. But unless you wished for them to see you and decide you
required their immediate assistance after your ordeal, I had to get
rid of them. They would never have left if they had seen you.”

“I see,” he replied, although in truth he did not. He failed to
understand why Miss Elvira and Miss Esther Leigh would feel the
necessity to stay if they realized he was alive. However, he had to
assume his aunt knew her sisters better than he did.

“I am grateful, then,” he replied. In fact, he was amazed at her
ability to take his reappearance in her stride without resorting to
screams and babbling about ghosts returning from the dead.

He was not so sure he could have matched her sangfroid if the
circumstances had been reversed.

“As well you should be,” she replied, as tart as ever. She
studied his face with a frown. “What did you do to your nose?”

“Broke it. The mast hit me square in the face.”

“Landlubber.” She turned partially away and clasped her hands at
her waist, twisting her fingers together. “I'm sorry about
Lionel.”

He grasped her shoulder and squeezed it. The pain sharpening her
words echoed in his heart. “I am too — I wish he had — well, I wish
he had come to me.”

“He was too proud.”

“Not a good trait for a vicar-in-training.”

Her eyes flashed with angry denial before she caught herself.
She threw him a tight smile. “He would have been a fine vicar.”

“Yes.”

She turned her back to him and walked to the window, her body
stiff with agitation. “There’s that blue jacket and cap —”

“Gone. Lionel is buried in the churchyard next to our sister and
mother. That's where he'll stay.”

She turned, her face wet with tears. “Thank God. I was so afraid
if it was suicide —”

“Not another word. The matter is closed.”

“And you now have other things to consider,” she replied, wiping
her face with a handkerchief. When she glanced up, her gaze grew
sharp with mischief. “There is a young woman who insists upon
staying in the maid's closest in my room. And an orphaned boy in
Lionel's bed. Pray tell, what are you going to do about them?”

“Throw them both in the dungeons and chain them to the wall, I
suppose.”

“What a shame you don't actually have a dungeon. You will have
to make do with the wine cellar.”

“As long as neither of them can escape, that will do
nicely.”

“
A
reserved modesty is the best safeguard of virtue.” —
The Complete
Servant

Rubbing a honey and rosemary salve over the sore on her
collarbone, Helen tried not to think about the future. Within the
next day or so, she would have to say goodbye to Edward, Mr.
Caswell and Miss Leigh. Her hands slowed and stopped, feeling too
heavy to continue. What did it matter if her cuts and scrapes
turned putrid?

Nothing seemed important. Despite a good night's sleep, she had
to fight the urge to slide under the thin blanket covering her cot
and stay there.

“Helen? Miss Archer?” Miss Leigh called from the doorway.

Helen hurriedly stood, rearranging her clothing and smoothing
her hair back. “I am here,” she replied, stepping out of her
cubbyhole.

“Good.” Miss Leigh waved her forward. “Come with me.”

Helen's heart sank, however she dutifully followed her. Despite
the realization that she no longer had to play the role of lady's
maid, she could not find the energy to break out of her recent
habit of meek compliance. Miss Leigh walked along the hallway and
down the grand stairway, her leather soles clacking against the
wooden steps like little slaps.

To Helen's surprise, Miss Leigh escorted her to the huge
library, a room Helen had never entered. Stepping over the
threshold, Helen glanced around, awed. Bookcases stretched up two
stories along the wall directly across from the door. An
elaborately carved railing and wooden walkway ran around the
circumference of the room, halfway up the wall, providing access to
the rows of leather-bound books ringing the second storey. Several
ladders on wheels allowed eager patrons to obtain volumes from the
upper shelves.

A huge oriole window dominated the top of the right-hand wall,
set to catch the evening sun. Large windows to the left opened onto
a terrace and manicured garden. The room was so large that small
islands of couches and chairs, anchored by lush oriental carpets,
were strewn about, strategically placed to provide the illusion of
comfortable places in which to curl up with a book.

Stepping forward hesitantly, Helen noted a huge desk by the
windows opening out to the garden. A man stood nearby, gazing at
the garden, his hands clasped behind his back. Her heart leapt as
she recognized Hugh.

Then he turned, and she jerked to a halt. His beard was gone.
However, despite his smooth jaw, she could never mistake him for
anyone else.

And she realized with a sense of helplessness that he was
handsome without his beard —
v
ery handsome
— despite his slightly twisted nose, or perhaps because of it. When
he smiled, she blushed and fastened her gaze on the desk,
embarrassed to be caught staring.

“Come in, Miss Archer,” he said, gesturing to a deep green wing
chair positioned in front of the desk.

When Miss Leigh stayed by the door, Helen hung back, too.

“Go on, Helen — Miss Archer,” Miss Eloise said. “While I
unfortunately feel obliged to stay, I have a book to find.”

“A book? What book?” Helen suddenly found it extremely important
— if not urgent — to assist Miss Leigh.

Hugh's firm gaze, combined with the alarming twinkle in his
eyes, made her nervous.

“I have not yet decided on the book, therefore I suspect it may
take me quite some time to find it.” With that, Miss Leigh drifted
off to the shelves in the most distant corner of the room.

“Miss Archer?” Hugh held out his hand to her.

She sighed and walked towards him, wishing she would become
violently ill. If she were unconscious like Edward, she could avoid
the pending conversation. It might even be possible to remain so
for months, if not years. As she drew near, he gestured to the
chair again. She seated herself gingerly on the edge of the
cushion. To her surprise, instead of sitting on the opposite side
of the desk, he took a seat in the chair next to hers. He was so
close she could feel the heat from his knee, just a few inches from
her own.

“I'm afraid I owe you an apology,” he said. A warm smile curved
his mouth, but a shadow of sadness hung in his eyes as he caught
her gaze.

“No, don’t be ridiculous. I am sure you could not possibly owe
me an apology. I fully realized that you were only here pursuing
your inquiry. I suppose it was related to the missing earl and his
brother. It is unfortunate that they were both lost at sea, but
that is not your fault.” She tried to smile brightly, but her lips
trembled. “You are ready to return to London now?”

“No. You are under a misapprehension that I cruelly fostered. I
am not an inquiry agent.”

Her heart sank. He was some sort of aristocrat amusing himself
with a wager. She glanced away, wanting to cry. He had seemed so
ordinary and comfortable, just the sort of man she had always
admired.

And she had been completely wrong. She had jumped to an
unwarranted conclusion when she saw him at Second Sons. “I
understand.”

His smile twisted into a grimace. “Actually, I'm the Earl of
Monnow, Hugh Gerard Castle, at your service.”

“The earl?” Her heart fluttered with relief for Miss Leigh.
Helen looked across the library, searching for the older lady.

“Miss Leigh knows,” he said, as she started to rise. “My
brother, unfortunately, did not survive.”

“I'm so sorry. But I'm afraid I don’t understand. Why would you
return to your home pretending to be an inquiry agent, masquerading
as a steward?”

He shook his head. “I feared the Twilight had been sabotaged.
But it was merely … bad luck. I was not as good a sailor as I
thought I was.”

“It was not your fault. I am sure you did everything you could
to save your brother.” She reached out and gave his broad hand a
squeeze. “You must have been beside yourself with grief to have
thought such a dreadful thing.”

“That is as good an explanation as any for my behavior,” he
replied heavily.

As she studied his face, she had the distinct impression that he
was holding something back, some terrible secret he did not want to
admit. The earl sat hunched forward, his elbows propped upon his
thighs and lost in thought. He stared at his hands, clasped tightly
between his knees.

She leaned forward and lightly touched his whitening knuckles.
“I know you have little reason to trust me, in fact you hardly know
me, but please, tell me the truth. Or at least as much of it as you
can. I know you were not responsible for your brother's
misfortune.”

“No.” For a moment, she thought he would stop there and keep his
secrets to himself. Then he flicked his eyes toward her. “My
brother lost his faith in me, I suppose. He gambled. And lost.”

Silence descended again. Helen remained still, aware of a sense
of loss filling the air between them. Her body felt stiff and
heavy, reflecting his mood like a mirror reflecting the oppressive,
yellow-black clouds building into a storm.

“He — he's the one who sank the Twilight,” Hugh said.

“But you ….”

“He tried to convince me to stay ashore, before he gave up
completely. His behavior was … odd. Desperate one minute, calm –
almost resigned – the next. Perhaps he thought nothing would happen
and that he would fail at sabotage as well. Maybe he thought he
could end his own misery and that I would survive. He knew I could
swim.”

“Or perhaps it really was just a tragic accident,” she suggested
gently. She remembered the blue coat and cap and the importance he
placed upon them. “He may have gone to the dock to see if the boat
would be ready to take out. There may have been flaws in the
construction that everyone had overlooked. You don’t know, you have
no way of knowing now. Don’t assume the worst when your brother is
not here to explain.

“You say he gave up trying to convince you to stay ashore.
Perhaps he initially wanted to go out alone, work up the nerve to
tell you about his loss of the boat. But when you insisted, he
might have given up, hoping he might use the opportunity when you
were happy and at sea to tell you the truth. You’d be assured of
privacy. He may have thought the boat would be safe. I cannot
believe he would have endangered you. He could have thought of some
reason for you to stay behind, if he had truly sabotaged the
Twilight.”

By the end of her speech, Hugh had straightened in his seat. He
stared at her before shaking his head.

He picked up her hand and held it between his warm palms. “You
amaze me. I believe you are, without a doubt, the kindest woman I
have ever met.”

“You mean silliest, I suppose.”

“No, I meant what I said. Perhaps you are correct, after all. In
my grief, I made assumptions. And the facts seemed to support them.
You have pointed out that there are, after all, any number of
interpretations. Lionel could have hoped nothing would happen,
despite his efforts. I am grateful to you, more than I can
say.”

She blushed and tried to pull her hand away. Her heart pounded
as she caught his blue gaze. His eyes gleamed. Once again she was
conscious of how attractive he was with his wide mouth, square chin
and the thatch of blonde hair tumbling over his forehead. She
longed to push his hair back and press a kiss against his cheek. Or
lips.

“And I have something that belongs to you,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a necklace. The strands
sparkled with green fire in the sunshine streaming in from the
garden windows. “Is this not the Peckham necklace?”