The Unforgettable Hero (2 page)

Cecelia cleared her throat. “Falling in love is the greatest adventure there is. Besides, those other subjects are dull.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “Those things
sell.
”

Cece’s knee was bouncing up and down in front of Mr. Cornwall’s monstrosity of a desk. “What about
Emma?
” That particular novel had been published last Christmastide, and Cecelia had devoured every word of it. Multiple times.

Mr. Cornwall wiggled his nose. “A stroke of luck.”

“What about
Pride and Prejudice?
” Another favorite of hers and written by a
lady.
A glorious lady who had provided Cecelia with the courage to try her own hand at writing such novels.

Mr. Cornwall patted down the mat of his graying hair. Come to think on it, that looked rabbit-like as well. “Nonsense. And more a discourse on the class system than a romantic novel.”

Cecelia’s fingertips tingled with the urge to slap the man for denigrating her favorite book. Still, she wasn’t finished arguing her point. “What about—? What about—?” She’d planned to say
Lady Magnolia and the Duke
but that was ridiculous. How in the world would Lady Magnolia’s story see the light of day if she failed to convince this man how important it was?

She squared her shoulders and calmly folded her hands in her lap. “My sister is ill. I need to sell this novel,” she nearly whispered.

“My dear Miss Harcourt,” the publisher replied with a look in his eyes that was not unkind. “While I agree with you that there may be
some
interest in such works, unfortunately, I am nearing the end of my career, and I cannot afford the risk such a venture would entail. However, I’d be happy to meet with you again if you’ll bring back another type of book.”

Cecelia pressed her lips together firmly. If he called her “mydearmissHarcourt” one more time she would not be responsible for her actions. She stood, smoothed her worn skirts, and expelled her breath. She would regroup. She would think of something. She had to. “I understand. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.” She leaned down, gathered her treasured manuscript into her arms, and turned toward the door.

She had eventually been escorted from the room by the somnolent butler, been presented with her bonnet, and was well on her way down the street toward home again, her rejected novel clutched forlornly against her chest.

She kicked at the dust in the road as carts and carriages bustled around her. A history book? A treatise? Was she capable of writing either? A tome on science was simply
out
of the question. She supposed she must try to write something else, for Mary’s sake. But it was not as if one could simply write a book in a fortnight’s time. Lady Magnolia’s story had taken Cece the better part of six months to complete.
Six entire months.
And she needed money
now.
Before now, actually. Yesterday. Last week. Last month! If she took another six months to write another book, Uncle Herbert would surely see her married to Percy before the time was out. She trudged back toward her house on the outskirts of Mayfair while contemplating the matter. Could she write faster? Could she find another publisher? Could she do something else to earn money, like selling flowers on the street corner? (Where she’d obtain said flowers was anyone’s guess.) Did she know
anything
about science? She absently turned a corner and strolled into the street just as the thundering of hooves rushed up behind her.

CHAPTER THREE

Lieutenant Adam Hunt didn’t slow his pace as he slapped his gloves against his thigh. He was purposefully striding toward his temporary residence—his brother’s town house in Mayfair—with one thing on his mind.

Damn it. How could he make Derek understand? The man was a war hero and a duke, for God’s sake. The Duke of Claringdon. He’d settled a considerable sum of money on his younger brother, money that had been given to him as part of his dukedom after his bravery at Waterloo, but Adam saw it only as a handout. An unwanted handout.

Adam was the youngest of the three Hunt brothers and as such had always been treated as a child by both Derek and their middle brother, Collin. Now at the age of five and twenty, infuriating though it might be, Adam was
still
treated as a child by his brothers, and he was damn well tired of it. And today,
today
had been the final straw. He’d been called to the Home Office at noon and told that due to his familial connections he was being offered a position there. Basically a glorified secretary. He’d
requested
to be sent back to the Continent to work as a spy with his brother, Collin, investigating the anti-English sentiment and small sects of soldiers attempting to mount further aggression toward England after Napoleon had been vanquished. Derek had obviously had a hand in his being offered the secretarial position. Adam squeezed his gloves so hard his fist turned white. The duke was about to hear his brother’s thoughts on the subject. Loud and long.

Even more infuriating,
Collin
had recently returned to the Continent on the King’s business. Apparently, Derek had no intention of keeping
him
from his work as a spy. Even now that the wars were over. But at least Collin wouldn’t be here to argue with Adam when he told Derek there was no possible way he would take either his money or his bloody secretarial position.

As he marched, Adam repeated the words he planned to say in his head. It was never easy convincing Derek of anything, but Adam would see this through. He’d made his decision. He intended to make his own way in this world, thank you very much. Their army officer father had taught all three of his sons to stand on their own two feet. And by God, Adam
would.

He turned the corner onto Green Street and glanced up to see a carriage barreling toward … a lady. A lady who faced away from both him and the carriage.

“Watch out!” he called. The woman turned, a look of horror on her face, and made to jump out of the way. The horses swerved but the side of the conveyance struck the woman, tossing her to the side of the road like a doll. A bundle of white papers she’d been carrying flew into the air and floated down into the dusty street like so many leaves from a snowy tree.

Adam ran over to the lady while the carriage that had hit her continued at its rapid pace, leaving the poor woman in a heap. Her eyes were closed. He placed two fingers on the pulse in her neck. She was alive, thank God. “Miss? Miss?”

No answer. She was lying on her side. Gingerly, he turned her onto her back. She remained insensible, a smudge of dirt across her cheek. She was dressed in a fine but worn gown of gray cotton with small, embroidered flowers on the bodice, and her dark hair had come undone. One side of the luxurious tresses spilled haphazardly over her shoulder.

She groaned, and Adam held his breath. He glanced around. She appeared quite alone. If she’d had a traveling companion, that person had fled, too. At least there was no one else in the street. Had her lady’s maid run off to find help? Odd that a lady would be traveling alone in the middle of the day.

There was no help for it. He couldn’t very well leave her here in the street. He must do what he could to make her comfortable and find a doctor. He scooped her into his arms, lifted her, and made his way as quickly as possible, without disturbing her, down the street and up the stairs to his brother’s house. He glanced down. She certainly was pretty. The image of her being tossed to the side of the road like a doll flashed through his mind again, making him wince. She weighed about as much as a doll too. What had brought her out today? And why had she been walking in the street?

Unable to knock, Adam kicked the front door with his booted foot.

Hughes, Derek’s regal butler, opened the door and promptly raised a judgmental eyebrow at the sight of his master’s younger brother holding a lifeless-looking woman in his arms.

“Sir?” The butler’s mouth formed a disapproving line, and a scowl was deeply etched into his forehead.

Adam didn’t pause to explain. He pushed past Hughes, into the magnificent high-ceilinged marble-floored foyer, and strode into the nearest drawing room. His sister-in-law, Lucy, was sitting at a writing desk, obviously seeing to her correspondence. She dunked her quill into the inkpot in front of her.

“Adam, is that you? Derek is still at the club and—” Lucy turned slightly and caught sight of him. “What in the world—”

Adam crossed quickly to the light-green velvet settee and gently laid the woman down. She let out a small breath that reminded Adam of a sleeping kitten. He carefully lifted her head to slide a small silken embroidered pillow underneath.

“She was hit by a coach in the street just now,” he said.

Lucy tossed her quill aside and jumped up from the desk. Plucking up her sapphire skirts, she rushed over to the settee to stare down at the young woman. Lucy pressed both hands to her cheeks. “Is she all right? Who is she?”

Still watching the young woman, Adam braced both hands on his hips and shook his head. “I’ve no idea. Please keep an eye on her.” Lucy nodded while Adam turned abruptly and left the room.

“Hughes,” he called across the foyer.

The butler materialized instantly. “Sir?”

“Send a footman for Dr. Archibald.”

Another judgmental brow arch ensued (the bloody man thought
he
was a duke), but the butler left to do as he was told.

Adam pushed open the front door and jogged down the steps. The lady had no reticule or anything else to identify her. If she didn’t wake soon, the only clue to her identity might be the papers she had lost in the street. He glanced around and exhaled. The traffic had already scattered many of them. He had to collect them quickly. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

CHAPTER FOUR

It smelled like roses. Fresh roses. It had been so long since she’d smelled fresh roses. She took a deep breath and sucked in the sweet, cool air. She stretched and then winced at the pain in her back. What was that about? She carefully blinked open one eye and focused on the unfamiliar fresco ceiling. She stretched her arms above her head, luxuriating in the delicious feel of the soft, clean sheets beneath her and the obviously high-quality mattress upon which she lay. She pushed herself up and winced again. Her head felt as if it had grown two sizes too big. She gingerly touched her scalp. A large knot had formed there. And it was sore. She poked it, clenched her teeth, and hissed. Slowly, she pulled herself up against the headboard and glanced down. She was wearing a decidedly dusty gray gown, but her slippers and bonnet had been removed. Where was she? She glanced around the large, well-appointed bedroom decorated in hues of lavender, spring green, and white. The pink roses she’d smelled earlier were artfully displayed in a glass vase on the side table near the bed. Big fluffy down pillows supported her head, and the room was cavernous with a large, comfortable-looking upholstered chair—perfect for reading—atop a luxurious rug placed in front of a wide fireplace.

Before she had more time to study her surroundings, the door opened and a beautiful, smiling lady with black curls wearing a sapphire-blue gown floated into the room. As the lady approached the bed, her smile grew wider and she noticed something else. How interesting. The woman’s eyes were two different colors, one green, the other blue.

“Ah, I see you’re awake,” the lady in blue said, still smiling. “Are you feeling all right?”

She rubbed her head. “I … I think so.”

“I’m awfully glad to hear it. You gave us quite a scare.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She clutched the bedspread nervously.

“Don’t worry about a thing. The doctor is coming. The duke’s doctor is the best in London.”

The duke?

“That’s … encouraging.” She poked at the lump on her head again. And winced again.

The blue lady nodded so vigorously that a black curl sprang loose from her coiffure and bounced against her forehead. “Yes. Dr. Archibald is highly skilled. You took quite a bad fall. But we’ll make sure you’re all right before you leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yes, return home, I mean. Although I suppose all of this would make better sense if we began with the obvious.” The lady pulled a delicate chair out from beneath an intricately carved white writing desk. Arranging her expensive skirts, she took a seat.

Another poke on the head lump. No wince this time. “Which is?”

“Well, you might begin with telling me your name,” the lady in blue said with another irrepressible smile. Whoever she was, she was quite friendly indeed.

“My name?” She searched her memory. Good heavens, what was her name? She glanced about the room, the ornate wooden mantelpiece above the fireplace, the obviously costly rug, and the fresh, glorious pink roses. The mention of the duke. It was quite obvious who she was.

“My name? Why, it’s Lady Magnolia Makepeace.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“She’s awake,” Lucy informed Adam minutes later when she emerged from the patient’s bedchamber. Or more correctly, one of the many guest rooms in Derek’s town house. “And her name is Lady Magnolia Makepeace.”

Adam stopped pacing and swiveled to face Lucy. After gathering all of the papers he could retrieve from the street and depositing them in a large, dusty, crumpled pile on a table in one of the drawing rooms on the main floor, Adam had been pacing in the corridor outside of the mystery woman’s bedchamber. The pages were not in order, of course, and while he’d scanned several of them, it was quite obvious that they were part of some sort of a romantic novel. There was nothing in them to indicate the lady’s identity. Thank God she’d woken and could tell them herself who she was.

“Lady Magnolia—?” Adam frowned at Lucy. The name seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it.

“Yes. It’s an odd name, to be sure. I’ve never known any Makepeaces, either.” Lucy tapped her cheek and began pacing where Adam had left off. “I suppose she might be someone’s distant relative, but I don’t know that family name.”