Chapter 3

WILL WAKEFIELD STOOD ready to help Julia into the coach himself, as they were accompanied by no one but his driver, a cheerful man named Milton. Milton assured her that he had searched through the wreckage of her own coach and there was nothing that remained of value, but for the fittings of the vehicle. The horses were gone, probably along with those who accompanied her.

The man handed her one of the gold crests that was mounted on each side of the coach.

“I do not recognize the family,” Lord Willem said, studying it as he stood by her side. “Is it your family’s crest, or perhaps that of your employer?”

Julia handed it to him, happy to deliver it into his care. He could better explain what happened to Geoff when, and if, they arrived at Seabury. “It is the Kingswood crest. You may be aware that Lady Laurentia was a Kingswood before she was a Howard.”

“Yes. I met her brother once before he died quite tragically, and at a young age. There was a beautiful garden at his home in London, full of Laurentia’s sculptures,” he said, distractedly, still studying the images on the great disk. “And here is a stallion on the crest. Lord Kingswood was an excellent horseman.”

“Not excellent enough,” Julia said softly, and he looked sharply at her. She turned away, knowing now why he did not seem a stranger to her. He had been to her home, sat in her parlor, perhaps held her hand in greeting. “The Kingswood crest remained on this coach, one they had no need of. I doubt they will miss it.”

“And they had sent it to you, to bring you to Seabury?”

“I did indeed have the use of it, as well as the services of a driver and a lady’s maid,” Julia said. She knew she was being vague, if not outright duplicitous. And she knew there was probably no need of it, for Will Wakefield had already given her every reason to trust him. Leighton had trusted him, and invited him to their home. And yet, she hesitated to give it all away; he had already undressed her, and saw her at her most vulnerable. Was it not a lady’s privilege to hold onto some of her secrets?

But when she took his hand so that she might enter his coach, she thought she might have given everything away in an instant. She felt his warmth through their gloves, and she felt it suffuse her body until she thought she’d faint from the heat. If he noticed anything at all about her response to him, her secrets would be laid bare in an instance.

How would she manage to be closeted away with him in a small coach for the remaining days of their journey?

She watched him curiously as he pulled himself in, and set the latch behind him. As he settled himself, the coach lurched from one side and then the other, until he found his place. Unfortunately, that place was directly opposite her, so it would be impossible to ignore him unless she drifted off to sleep.

As it turned out, he fell asleep long before she did. He politely explained the plan for this day’s travel, as if she had not herself been a guest at Seabury many times before, and his eyes were closed before they arrived at the first crossing on the road to the southeast coast.

And so she had the opportunity to study him, as he surely had observed nearly everything about her the night before. There was something gratifying about that, a sense of balance, though she could not help but wonder if she would be so gratified if he were not so splendid to look at.

He had the look of the Dutch, but might have inherited his size and fair features from any one of England’s near neighbors. She briefly imagined him a Norseman, but doubted his thoughtful demeanor and calming voice a legacy from the Vikings. He could pass for German, but Princess Charlotte and her noble family were pale in comparison, more at home in a salon than in the garden.

Will Wakefield’s complexion had the ruddiness of a man who enjoyed a day in the sun. And if, indeed, he spent many months in the East Indies, he probably enjoyed many of them. The volcano that cast a gloom through Europe and the Americas during this past year had not dimmed the sunlight on the island it nearly destroyed.

If he had told her the truth, he would know about it better than anyone, and the fact of his survival was one of the remarkable things about his decision to spend Christmas with Geoff and Laurentia. After all, a man of his experience would be welcomed and celebrated in drawing rooms throughout England and the Continent, where he could regale guests with tales of his adventure.

Julia sat back on the cushions, realizing that her hosts were just as likely to have invited him to speak of his experiences in Java, as they invited her so that she could entertain them in the music room. That she was also a near-relation did not matter; Laurentia was rather clear about the expectation that there would be music at the house party, and Julia understood at once that she would be required to sing.

But if her voice did not sufficiently recover, the best she could do is tell the story of how her coach crashed in the snow only a few days distant from Seabury, and how she was rescued by the handsome Lord Willem Wakefield.

She rather hoped her voice recovered. She sat for several moments, listening to Will’s deep and steady breathing, and started her song, the very one he had been whistling at the inn. It was one of the Kilmore Carols, sung for many years in Ireland, and more recently in English country churches.

Her words started as no more than a whisper, but gathered strength as the horses quickened their pace. They passed farms and mills, small cottages and several larger estates in the distance. She thought it started to snow again, but then realized it was no more than last night’s accumulation falling off tree branches. A soft lightening of the sky revealed the sunshine just behind parting clouds, and she thought it a fitting witness to her hopeful mood. She had survived a great crash and nearly lost everything, but now she was on her way to spend Christmas with her friends, and her voice had returned to her.

She started another, even brighter, carol, and studied her reflection in the glass. She scarcely recognized herself, for she did not look like the solemn widow she had become in the last few years.

She blinked as something moved in the window, and it was a moment before she realized it was Will Wakefield’s reflection. He was fully awake now.

“I apologize, Lord Willem,” she said, feeling her accustomed solemnity dropping about her like a curtain. She turned to face him. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“I cannot recall ever waking to so sweet a sound, or one so evocative of the holidays I have missed while on duty in the East Indies. I did not think it would matter so much to me, but I am now reminded of all the things I used to love.”

Julia wondered if there was a lady who was part of those memories.

“But you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t imagine that I could awaken you.”

“Only last week, my own mother expressed surprise that the mere eruption of a volcano could have awakened me, but she does not know me as well as she once did.” He smiled and his white teeth were in sharp contrast to his tanned complexion. “But whatever the soundness of my dreams, it was most impolite of me to fall asleep.”

“You had every reason to be tired. You had done something very heroic, and were burdened with an unconscious woman to carry about. Besides,” she added, and then paused. Her words were a bit indelicate.

“Besides, I do not look like a man accustomed to physical labor?” he suggested.

She already concluded that he, in fact, did.

“I intended to say that you did not have the advantage of a comfortable bed. Did you not sleep in the dressing room?”

He stretched his back, and his jacket pulled tightly across his shoulders. “I think ‘sleep’ is too generous a word.” He continued to smile.

“It is as I thought, then,” Julia answered. “You had a rough night.”

His expression changed as he settled himself back among the cushions, though his eyes never left her face.

“I could have managed well enough, for I often slept on nothing more than a woven mat in the East Indies. But I was concerned for you.”

Julia thought that all her instincts about this man were correct; she could hardly fault him that things seemed to be progressing too quickly.

“I was quite comfortable in my bed,” she said softly. “I was able to rest.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But my concern was whether or not you would find eternal rest.”

“Oh, dear heavens!” she cried. “Surely you didn’t think I would . . .”

“. . . not make it to Seabury, to entertain us all? Yes, that is precisely what I did think.”

“Then you really did save my life. I am grateful.”

“I daresay others will feel precisely the same way.”

She did not think she had given away anything of her family history, though they skirted very close to it back at the inn. Did he mean that her presence was required at the Howard’s Christmas celebrations?

“Your husband, perhaps. I assume there is a Mr. Townshend,” Will Wakefield went on, and pulled the heavy wool blanket closer around his shoulders, though it was warm in the coach.

Julia again looked out the window, distracted by their passage through a town. A young woman stood beyond a stone wall, watching them go by. Not many years ago, Julia looked as wistful, wondering when she would go beyond the limitations of the only place she ever lived. Then Leighton rode by, stopping when his horse threw a shoe, and her life changed absolutely and wonderfully, if only for a brief while.

“My husband is dead. I have been a widow these two years.” She turned back to look out the window.

“You were very young,” Will said. “You then found it necessary to earn your keep.”

What on earth was he thinking? She was about to respond when she realized he thought she was a singer on the stage. It was a wonder he treated her respectfully, believing this.

“I am not very young, either in years or experience. But it is very kind of you to say so, my lord.”

He held up his hand, and she saw he already removed his gloves. He wore a large signet ring, which was to be expected, and an unusual carved ring, which was not. It seemed to be crafted of black stone, with small flecks of silver glinting in the winter sunshine.

“There will be plenty of time for lording and ladying it when we arrive at the Howards, so you may save your voice for your songs. I understand Princess Charlotte will be in attendance, and she will undoubtedly exhaust our quota of deference.”

Julia shifted her gaze from his unusual ring to his light eyes, wondering if he was trying to gauge her response.

“I shall do my best, my lord. And if I sound like a squeaky wheel, I shall have the best excuse. Perhaps you might then whistle in my stead.”

He laughed. “I should be so lucky as to sound as fine as a squeaky wheel. I have been asked to step away from the pianoforte when friends have joined together to sing Christmas carols.”

“And yet you have a rather fine voice, deep and resonant. I should think it one that people would find quite compelling.”

He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands.

“You may rehearse your songs as much as you wish; do not mind me,” he said, changing the subject. “I have an abundance of reading to accomplish before we arrive at Seabury.”

“I should also like to read, but I believe my book must be a sodden mess in the wreckage of my coach. Have you anything to share?”

He looked at her in surprise; surely he did not doubt she knew how to read? The man seemed to have a poor opinion of his countrywomen.

“Here is something that might interest you.” He pulled a large cache of papers from a leather pouch, tied with string and bookmarked with woven tabs. He held it out to her with both hands, not releasing his hold until she nodded her assurance that she had secured it.

She hefted it for a moment before settling it in her lap. “I daresay we can travel all the way to Cape Wrath before I finish reading this. But am I not depriving you of your own entertainment?”

His hands were already pulling out another set of papers, untied and loosely assembled. “Do not be concerned on my account, for I will not be idle. I have already read most of the pages you hold; they engaged me for the long journey from the East Indies to Rotterdam, and then again, across the Channel. I hope to conclude my reading of the manuscript before we reach Seabury. As you see, I do not have very far to go.”

He held up the pages, which were no thicker than an inch or so, but written in a very tight hand.

“Then do not mind me,” she said, echoing his words of some moments before. “We shall both be intent.” He nodded and settled back into a comfortable position against the cushions, angling the papers towards the light of the windows.

She tried to find as advantageous a pose, which was made more difficult by the aching of her muscles and her bruised arm. She wondered if he would very much mind if she raised her legs so that she might balance herself against the opposite seat, but then decided he would think her even more unladylike.

Though as to that, she was certain he didn’t think her a lady at all.

She smiled as she untied the string. She could not claim a lineage such as his, but he would be surprised to learn the truth. Perhaps she was just a bit too cautious by not revealing much about herself, for he seemed honest and good. But they had miles to travel, and he might yet be scheming a plot against her.

However, handing a woman a heavy bundle of papers was not usually a milepost on the road to perdition. Indeed, she rather thought it a compliment.

“What am I reading?” she asked, without looking up. When he did not answer, she glanced at him, and realized he was attempting to mark his place before interrupting his concentration. Perhaps that was all the more reason for her to ask her question, for this certainly was not a light novel or a volume of poetry. Indeed, it looked to be hard work.

“It is a memoir by the Lt. Governor of the East Indies, Thomas Raffles. In the days after the eruption of Tambora, he began to write of his observations and experiences. I rather think he fancied himself a bit like Pliny the Elder, who wrote so compellingly about the eruption of Vesuvius. That is . . .”

“I know. It is on the coast of Naples and buried the city of Pompeii.”

She saw that she had surprised him. Excellent. She hoped he became accustomed to it.

“Indeed,” he said slowly, granting her his full attention. “Raffles had the advantage of being a witness, as did Pliny the Younger. One could better say that it was more a disadvantage, for one’s life is at risk.”

“Were you there as well?” she asked softly. What horrors had he endured? And what were her recent hardships, compared to such an unimaginable experience?

“I was,” he answered tersely. “But I was busy with too many things to spend much of my time reflecting on the experience. Raffles had the inclination to write the tome you see here.”

“Mr. Raffles and I have met, some years ago.” She avoided Will’s gaze, and looked down at the pages in her lap. “He was wise to offer his impression, for posterity. My impression is that he is a most ambitious man.”

“He is, and in my coming to Seabury for the Howard’s Christmas house party, I am partly in his service. He offers this record to Princess Charlotte.”

Julia understood his implication at once. “Who has the ear of her father, and who may, in turn, reward Mr. Raffles with something he desires.”

Will smiled so broadly, she noticed the creases in his tanned complexion. She rather thought he was a man who often smiled, though she had given him little enough reason to do so since yesterday afternoon.

“An extension of his tenure as Lt. Governor, perhaps?” Will asked.

Julia knew he teased her, and nodded her head, though she knew that was not the truth of it.

“A title, I daresay. He is a man who should like nothing more than to be known as ‘Sir Thomas Raffles.’”

With great effort, Will kept his eyes focused on the papers in his lap. After four hundred pages, he was quite convinced of Thomas’s astute observational powers, as well as his effort to put himself in the forefront of every incident he described. But even if he remained astonished and fascinated by every word his friend wrote in his tight, economical script, Will knew he would still be diverted by the rather more fascinating woman who shared his coach.

If she was merely beautiful, he could spend hours just gazing upon her. He already was more intimate with her than he ought to be, and recalled, with perfect clarity, the softness of her pale shoulders and the slightly muscled form of her upper arms. One attribute suggested she led a life of privilege and the other that she was accustomed to working with her hands.

She sighed as she continued to read and shifted in her seat. Her lashes fanned out over her cheeks, and fluttered each time she turned a page. Her hair was neatly bound in severe plaits, but he remembered what it looked like down around her ears and shoulders, with snowflakes softening the deep brown tones. He would like to see her looking like that again.

But he had admired other women for their grace and beauty, for their ability to simply stand in a room and command attention. And then, on those occasions, when he dared to come close, he invariably met with disappointment. It was as if one arrived at a great house decorated and all aglow for Christmas, and found no one at home.

There was more to Mrs. Townshend than her beauty, even though he admitted to himself that he desired very much to see if the rest of her rivaled what his first glimpses revealed. To love her would be divine.

But her knowledge and experience could not be denied, and to know her mind and interests would be divine as well. There, too, he already had a few glimpses.

She had been married, and therefore was at her leisure to travel unaccompanied but for her maid and driver. And yet, the two had abandoned her without so much as a return to the scene of the crash. Certainly, they feared her dead, but would they not have arrived at the Captain and Mermaid looking for help?

She was a woman comfortably situated, and they might have been tempted by her jewels or money case.

And yet, if she appeared on stages throughout Europe, would they not have accompanied her before? They had traveled to Naples at the very least, for she seemed to know what they would find there. And she was acquainted with Thomas Raffles, a man who wished to be seen in all the best places and with all the right people.

“I do not know that much about volcanic eruptions,” she said suddenly.

There was that, at least. She did not know everything. And even better, here was an opportunity for him to offer up some of his knowledge.

“There are few people who do, and not many of them in England. We are blessed to have such a civilized landscape, with well-mannered trees and rivers.”

She looked startled, and he cursed himself for forgetting what she had endured only the day before.

“And snowstorms, of course. We can no more control our climate than we can our friends.”

It did little to reassure her. She looked to the window, and the sun glinted off tears on her cheek.

“I am certainly no expert, but I do know that volcanoes can behave as differently from each other as recalcitrant children. Vesuvius buried Pompeii in lava and Herculaneum in ash. In Java, Tambora hailed stone and lava down upon the people, and then sent up its ash on an extended journey around the globe. Sort of like a grand tour, one could say.” Will paused, wondering if he bored her.

She surprised him by laughing, and wiped her cheek with a scrap of linen.

“Except for the souvenirs, I suppose. No Canalettos, I daresay. Or bottles of wine from Tuscan vineyards.” She paused, perhaps thinking of various treasures in her home. But there she again surprised him. “What did you bring with you from the East Indies?” she asked.

“The manuscript we hold in our laps,” he said. And his ring, but he said nothing about that.

“WE SHALL SAY YOU are my sister,” Lord Willem said as Milton pulled into the rutted drive of a large inn. Beneath the snow-capped roof, large timbers and tall gables reminded Julia of paintings she had seen of alpine landscapes. It looked like a delightful place to lunch, and she realized she was quite famished. It was hard work indeed, to sit in a warm coach and read a manuscript.

“I am sure the owner of the Queen’s Thimble never heard that before,” she said as Will helped her out of their private sanctuary. “Do you not think the disparity between your wardrobe and my own might make the innkeeper suspicious?”

Lord Willem looked doubtfully at her. “I think you look just spleendid.”

She rather doubted it, but blushed as if he were quite sincere in his flattery.

“More likely, he will suspect that we are running away, that I have managed to captivate a great lord and you have stolen me away, out of the kitchens,” she continued, fancifully.

“I am not a very great lord,” he said, “no more than the son of an earl. But even if I kidnapped you away from a tower fortress, after you let down your hair to allow me to climb up, we are going in the wrong direction.”

For the first time in many hours, Julia had reason to doubt him. What did he mean by that?

She stumbled as they entered the inn, and he caught her before she fell. Her leg, which did not bother her so very much yesterday, was now stiff and aching.

“Take my arm,” he said, as he took his bearings in the large room. “Let us sit by the fire.”

The hour was indeed late for luncheon, and the innkeeper was delighted to see them. He offered them his best rooms for the night, and told them his wife was preparing a fine feast of duck and potatoes for this evening. Will waved him off, telling him that it was their intent to continue on their way after they had eaten.

“Cheese and meat will do for us just now,” he said. “And please see that my driver has anything he requires.”

As the man left them alone, Lord Willem returned his attention to her. “If I had kidnapped you, we would be going north to Scotland, not to East Sussex, where we would wait an eternity before getting married.”

It took Julia a moment to understand his meaning. He was right, of course. No one ran away to Rye to elope.

“It is hardly an eternity, Will,” she said and smiled. “It is a matter of some days, a week perhaps, to procure a license.”

“Would that not be an eternity, if one truly loved someone?”

“You are a romantic. What is a matter of days if there is the promise of a lifetime? A lady would like some time to plan her wedding breakfast and have some fine new garments made. Perhaps her friends and family would all be with her, so they could celebrate together.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Townshend, I forgot you have been married,” Lord Willem said. “But then, you know better than most that one could never promise a lifetime, no matter how great the love. Or better put, a lifetime could be a good deal shorter than one expects.”

“I do not have to be reminded of my loss, Lord Willem. I feel the pain of it every day,” she said tersely. And yet, if she was completely honest, the pain was less acute as Leighton retreated into memory.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Townshend,” he repeated. “I did not intend to cause you grief. Indeed, I thought only of my own experience, which was somewhat selfish of me.”

Julia looked at him in surprise, but her view was obstructed as platters and bowls were placed on the plain wooden table between them. Indeed, it was selfish of her to think only of herself.

Neither of them said anything for several moments, as Will served her a good portion of meat, surely more than she could eat, no matter that her stomach growled. She sliced the cheese and placed several strips on his plate. For all their imagined story of what they were doing in this quiet inn together, they resembled nothing so much as an old married couple.

“I was very nearly married myself,” Will said suddenly, when his plate was nearly empty. “It was not an easy match, to be sure, for the lady was not much interested in standing before a man of the church.”

“Was she not Christian?” Julia studied the ring he wore, unlike anything she had ever seen.

“No, she was not, though in many ways, she was more spiritual than I. Her father was a naval man, who had spent some time in the East Indies, and taught her some English before he could no longer resist the call of the sea. She spent a good deal of time in and around Raffles’s offices, where she translated documents for him, and spoke on behalf of people who came to see him. That is where we met.”

Julia had a dozen questions she wished to ask, but allowed him to continue at his own pace. She knew this was not an easy story to tell.

“Our intention was to be married by a ship’s captain while still in port. We would then be able to celebrate with her family before returning to England and Holland and surprising my own.” He laughed ruefully. “But then, we felt the earth shake.”

Julia was listening so intently, it took a moment to realize he did not mean that their love was great enough to move mountains. Instead, the mountains truly did move.

“She returned to the village to bring her mother and sisters to safer ground. But, of course, there was no safer ground. Even days later, fires burned in the rubble, but I tried to find her.” He held up his hand, where Julia already noticed the scars of great burns. “It was too late to help anyone, though that could probably have been said within five minutes after the firestorm fell from the sky.”

“I am so sorry, Will,” Julia said.

“Her name was Leena,” he added.

He put down his fork and looked across the table at her. Julia wondered if this was the time to tell him the name of her own lost husband, and the truth of her identity. But she could not, just yet, and she evaded any questions by making a great business of neatly folding the stained linen napkin she had in her lap during their luncheon.

If Milton thought anything was amiss between them when they returned to the waiting coach, it was, of course, not his place to say anything. He gave Lord Willem a questioning look, and placed a box at the door, so that Julia could enter the coach without assistance.

As the coach lurched forward, and the Queen’s Thimble disappeared from view, Julia wondered if there really was such a thimble, if Will still loved the woman he lost, if the innkeeper believed they were brother and sister, or if one required a license when one married on shipboard.

But as they continued on their day’s journey, she asked nothing, and Will remained silent. Instead, they both were intent on reading Raffles’s detailed account of Tambora’s eruption, a story about which she knew very little, and Will, certainly too much.

When Milton pulled into the yard of a rather ancient building known as River’s End, Julia imagined she could already detect the salty scent of the sea in the cold air. Will, reading her thoughts, mentioned that they were still a day’s journey from Seabury.

She was happy to hear it, not so much for the reassurance that they did not have much longer to go, but that he attempted to restore them to an easy familiarity. Nevertheless, when he suggested they dine in an hour’s time, she begged off, saying she was quite weary, and that her bruises continued to ache.

“It has only been a day’s time since the crash,” he reminded her. It certainly was the truth, and yet it gave her pause, for it felt like she had known him longer than that. “And some injuries take a very long time to heal.”

She did indeed know him long enough to understood that he spoke of other things, and that he knew about the long process of healing as well as she did.

JULIA WAS GRATEFUL for the respite afforded at the River’s End, feeling much refreshed in the morning, though the mattress was lumpy and the room overly warm. Her bruises had become a regal purple, but she supposed they were healing. If she borrowed some powder from Laurentia, she might manage to intermingle among the Christmas guests without looking like a bough of holly fell off a wall and onto her head.

As she braided her hair, only slightly hindered by the soreness in her left arm, she patted the bump at her crown. She pinned her plaits carefully around it, and decided it was just as well that no one she knew would see her.

Except for Will, of course. But he had seen other parts of her that had probably looked a good deal worse. And besides, she doubted she would see him again after their sojourn at Seabury, except perhaps in her dreams. She already knew that he would return to her again and again, for she had already dreamed of him last night. Quite vividly, in fact.

But when she joined him in the small breakfast room, an alcove off the inn’s main dining hall, they exchanged nothing more than pleasantries before he suggested they might reach their destination this very day if the fair weather continued.

IT DID NOT.

A thick layer of clouds hung in the winter sky when Will rapped on the wall of the coach.

Julia looked up, too enrapt in Raffles’s words to have noticed it was past time for luncheon, and that once again, it had started to snow.

“Do you fear another storm?” she asked, her voice unsteady. Her misadventure had bruised her confidence as much as it had her body. And yet, she was reassured just having him with her, believing she would be safe and he would not abandon her. At least, not yet.

“No, Mrs. Townshend, I fear the next inn will be so busy with Christmas travelers, we will be denied a table. And I am quite hungry.”

“The horses, and Mr. Milton, deserve a rest as well,” she said. “Though I am reluctant to put down Mr. Raffles’s manuscript. It is quite compelling.”

“He will be glad for your approbation. But are you not hungry or tired yourself? We have been on the road for many hours, without stretching our legs.”

“It is not for me to set the pace, Lord Willem, for I have already delayed you long enough. I am not your guest, but nothing more than a hitchhiker, grateful for the ride.”

“Mrs. Townshend,” he said, and then paused. “Mrs. Townshend, I cannot be certain when this journey will end, but I assure you that we are on it together.”

Once again, she had the sense he alluded to things other than the snow-covered track and the posting house that just came into view. He said nothing else, but when the door opened and he stepped down into the frigid air, he turned back to her with an unspoken invitation.

She grasped his hand as she rose to meet him at the door, needing his steadiness and strength, and accepted it.

Once they were out on the cinder path that melted the light snow and warmed their toes, they paused to take their bearings. Unlike the Captain and Mermaid, Queen’s Thimble and the River’s End, which seemed like isolated spots of civilization on the lonely road, the Spotted Horse stood at the edge of a village, the gateway through which all travelers on the Great Road passed. Beyond the stable was an ice pond on which dozens of skaters demonstrated their skills. Shopkeepers displayed their wares, enticing townspeople to buy what they needed, and undoubtedly many things they did not.

“I forgot,” Julia said, as two young women walked past them, carrying several packages.

“That you are quite hungry?” Will asked distractedly, as he handed the stablemaster several coins to see to the care of the horses.

She grasped the sleeve of his wool longcoat. “That there were gifts in my coach. I made Christmas gifts for our hosts and some of the others, and I left them in the coach.”

“My dear Mrs. Townshend, certainly you do not imagine that we are going to turn around, lose yet another day, and search in the wreckage for some knitted scarves and stockings. Our hosts will have to take you as you are. Do you not think that your very presence would be the finest gift of all?”

She shook her head ruefully. She had embroidered a splendid reticule for Laurentia, similar to one her sister-in-law once admired at an Assembly in Bath. “You say that to make me feel better, but you must admit, it does sound like a poor excuse.”

He glanced down as he patted her hand on his sleeve. “I do not think it sounds poor at all. In fact, I would very much prefer it to the sorts of things I am likely to receive on both of my family’s celebrations of Christmas: leather pouches, bottles of rum, caps that are a bit too tightly fitted and invariably itch.”

“Poor dear,” she said, before she could reconsider her own words. He pulled her closer to him as they started up the path. “I don’t think it sounds so very burdensome, and the rum would be rather pleasant, especially in a cup of tea. But why do you celebrate two holidays when the rest of us must suffice with Christmas Day?”

They entered the posting house, and Will stamped his feet heartily on the rug at the door. It already bore the melting snow and ice of other visitors.

“I grew up in The Hague, where gifts are exchanged early in December, with the arrival of Sinterclaus. Our butler played the part very well, though his donkey once ate the leaves on the holly branches and became very ill. And then, because my father is English, my brothers and I received yet more gifts on Christmas Day.”

“Poor donkey,” Julia murmured, as she slipped off her jacket and handed it to one of the servants. “And poor boys. I cannot understand how you endured such an extravagance of riches.”

Will seemed happy to pass off his own coat, as the large room was overly warm. “The donkey survived and was rewarded with special care in the stable. And my brothers and I turned out all right. Alexander is a barrister, and Frederick is training to be a surgeon in Leiden.”

“So what prompted you to serve so far away, and risk your life in the endeavor, Lord Willem?” Julia asked, knowing she was being somewhat impertinent. She had already guessed he was a man of action, someone who would not be satisfied to ride out on his estate in the morning and remain in his library all afternoon. “Surely you have interests other than reading the manuscripts of men who imagine themselves writers?”

If he hadn’t already realized it by her manners and bearing, her cheerful teasing would have been sufficient for him to recognize her as a lady of quality, if not one titled. He supposed he recognized it on the first morning as soon as she opened her lips. Yet she only would allow that she was a singer, and thus he convinced himself that she was a performer and a woman of some experience. The consequences of sharing a room, if not a bed, would be easily overlooked by anyone for whom it might matter.

He wondered if she realized how easily she gave it all away. Did actresses and singers bring Christmas gifts to the homes at which they were paid to perform? Did they presume to measure the worth of men’s words, and question what they did to distinguish themselves among their peers?

She smiled as she looked around at the room, at the rustic decorations, at the tempting platters brought to nearby tables. And then she turned that bit of approval on him. Though he had known her for only a few days, it seemed that nothing could be more natural than that they sat across from each other, settling in to share a meal.

“What shall we order?” he asked. “The stew looked rather hearty, though the onions might make us somewhat undesirable travel companions in the close proximity of the coach.”

“Let us nibble on peppermint, afterwards, and eat whatever we choose. That is . . .” she hesitated.

“You left your peppermint leaves in the wreck, I daresay.”

“I believe I saw some hardy stock just outside the door, peeking out from the snow. But I meant that I may not have enough means to see me to and from Seabury. I thought I recovered everything, but I was mistaken. So, as you see, I am somewhat dependent on your charity.”

“Let us call it a loan, then, and you will eat whatever you fancy. I am certain my poor funds can extend as far as that.”

“Are you quite certain? You are very kind.”

“Mrs. Townshend, why is it you might tease me, but take things all too seriously when I tease you? We are traveling companions, are we not?”

He was rewarded when she blushed, and her pale face was transformed. If she was beautiful before, she was radiant just now. But instead of laughing with him, she grew more serious.

“Lord Willem, I am not very worldly, but I know that though we are companions, we cannot be equal. When a man gives a woman coins, or even when he buys her dinner, there are assumptions made, and certain expectations. I hardly know you; and yet, in order to make my way to Seabury, it is necessary for me to trust you and be in your debt.”

She was a lady. And a worldly one, for all she said.

“When you are reunited with your funds, I shall allow you to repay me. Or, perhaps better, you might erase your debt with a song.”

“With a song?” If possible, she was even more flushed than before.

“It is what you do, is it not?” he said. “And I do not recall that anyone has ever sung to me before. My mother whispered, my father proclaimed, my aunt barked.”

“And Thomas Raffles?”

“Thomas cajoled. Why else would I ask a perfect stranger to read his blasted manuscript?”

Her good humor returned, though the color remained in her cheeks. “It is not a blasted manuscript, as I am quite enjoying it. And I am no longer a perfect stranger, as you have noted.”

“There you are mistaken, Mrs. Townshend. I think you are, indeed, perfect.” Something changed in that instant; he saw it on her open lips and her wide-eyed look of wonder. Some things were moving far too quickly, and some things were not moving at all. “And now we must eat, for I am famished.”

He caught the attention of the innkeeper, who did not hesitate to make his own recommendations, assure them that the bread was freshly made not an hour before, and that there was to be a Christmas ball in town that very evening. And that if they chose to join the townspeople there—and there would be some very fine people, all the best people, in attendance at the ball—there were rooms available just up the stairs that were very comfortably furnished.

Mrs. Townshend spoke as she watched their cheerful host disappear into the kitchen. “Would you not consider that little speech a song, Lord Willem? A siren’s song, seducing you into staying, reminding you of the pleasures of English country life? Did you miss it while you lived in the East Indies?”

He had found his own siren there, and he thought he would stay with her forever. But now Leena seemed part of another life, one that faded like the ink on a much beloved book. For the first time in over a year, he somehow thought it possible to turn to a new page.

“I would much prefer a song in a sweeter voice, Mrs. Townshend. Our innkeeper has a voice like coal rattling down a chute.”

“Do you mean, the way I sounded two evenings past, when you found me?” she asked cheerfully.

He was saved the delicate sidestep of answering her when a steaming loaf of bread was delivered to their table. The gravelly innkeeper might have exaggerated some things, but not the quality of the bread. The rest of the meal followed, onions and all, and they savored it all without pausing for conversation. But when Mrs. Townshend sat back in her seat, he was reminded that he still owed her an answer.

“I work for the Foreign Office,” he said, and she stared at him blankly. “Nothing as exciting as leading men in battle or spying for his Majesty, but I am a negotiator of treaties and contracts.”

“You lived through the eruption of a volcano, Lord Willem. I believe that is as exciting as life can offer,” she said. “What is it you negotiate?”

“The ownership of the East Indies will soon return to the Dutch. There is the rather large matter of the transference of records and property, personnel and procedures.” It did sound rather important, now that he said it out loud.

“I imagine you have unique skills in speaking several languages,” she said.

“Not unique. But in these matters, even more important than speaking is listening to what other people say.”

“Such as Thomas Raffles? I imagine you had to listen to him all day long.”

It was hard to deny that. “Except when he was writing, of course.”

From across the room, Will saw Milton gesticulating a bit wildly. He assumed his man had found good company and food in the kitchen, and hoped he did not remain hungry while his companions flirted with each other over a loaf of warm bread.

“Pardon me for a moment, Mrs. Townshend. Milton seems quite anxious about something.”

He was aware her bright eyes studied him as he rose and walked through the labyrinth of tables and chairs, and he stood a little straighter for it.

“My lord,” Milton began hurriedly. “There is a strong expectation that it will snow heavily this afternoon, and many of the men suggest it would be safer to spend the night here in Langerford.”

“That might just be a rumor set about by the innkeeper. I suspect he is the mayor as well as a man of business, and it would be a boost to the local coffers if we remain.”

Milton nodded. “That might well be, my lord. But it is already snowing.”

Just then, the door was flung open, and a blast of snow blew in with the frigid air.

“Damn,” Will said. “We will be lucky to arrive in Seabury in time for Easter.”

“Last night you expected to be there in time for Twelfth Night. We are not likely to lose another four months in this storm, my lord.” Milton was nothing if not logical.

“Damn,” Will repeated, though aware that this additional delay might be a very fine thing. He nevertheless made a show of impatience. “But we are in for the night. I will make arrangements with the innkeeper, and explain it to Mrs. Townshend. She will not be pleased.”

Milton looked over his shoulder, and Will guessed the lady had watched their every gesture, every nuance of their conversation.

“I think she may be very pleased, my lord,” said Milton. “And I will see to the horses. They will be delighted as well.”

WILL APPROACHED their table, looking like a man of contradictions. The solemn set of his mouth did not seem consistent with the brightness of his light eyes and his smooth brow. If anything, his expression could best be described as mischievous.

“Is there another lady on the road, awaiting your rescue?” Julia asked. “Has another coach arrived with travelers on their way to Seabury?”

“If they have arrived, they are not likely to depart any time soon. It appears the snow is once again falling heavily, quite determined to stop us in our tracks.”

Julia had the feeling she matched Lord Willem’s expression upon hearing this news. Surely, they wished to be on their way. They had an obligation to their hosts. And yet, the thought of prolonging their journey seemed perfectly delightful.

“Whatever shall we do?” she asked, hoping she managed to sound sufficiently worried.

“I shall speak to Mr. Granger at once, and secure two rooms in the house for us and one in the servants’ quarters for Milton.”

Julia nodded, considering that what they lost in time, they were gaining in respectability. She wondered if she was foolish to distrust him, for he did not seem particularly desirous of taking her money or her virtue. She supposed that was a compliment.

But perhaps the blow to her head had made her reckless, for she wished he was not so much a gentleman. It had been many months since she had longed for the touch of a man, to be held by him, to be embraced in a haven of love. And with that sudden, urgent longing came the sense that she wanted nothing more than to hold him as well, to comb her fingers through his light hair, and satisfy some wanton bit of curiosity about whether his clothes were neatly padded, or underneath his woolens and leather, he was all Will.

“I will return in a moment,” he said, and was off to see to their business.

The dining room had gotten more crowded since they arrived, which must be very good news for Mr. Granger. There had not been such a winter in anyone’s memory, and she was glad that there was at least one person who did not have much reason to complain about it. Once again, she thought of Mimma and their driver, and prayed they were safe and warm, no matter what they had done.

“It is all set,” said Will, returning to their table. He slipped into the opposite chair and helped himself to more bread. “You are well situated on the third storey, in the back of the house, and I am on the second.” He paused. “Sister.”

She smiled. “Thank you, kind brother. But I doubt anyone could find the slightest resemblance between us.”

“In appearance, perhaps,” he said. “But there is more to us than that.”

It was an enigmatic remark, but she hesitated to pursue it just now. She took several spoonfuls of the stew, and savored the warm gravy soothing her throat.

“If we retire early this evening, we can hope to make a good start in the morn,” she said conversationally.

“Perhaps not,” he said, pausing to take another bite. “Mr. Granger advised me that there is much ado in town this night, as there is a Christmas ball. He went to such lengths to persuade me that it was nothing to what we were probably accustomed, that I could not help but assure him that we would attend.”

“A Christmas ball? But I have nothing to wear but some mended wool gowns. The townspeople will not allow me through the door.”

“As you are my sister, I imagine they would let you through the door if you arrived in a large burlap bag. But here is the good news: Mr. Granger, that scoundrel, tells me there is an excellent little shop, not many yards down the road, where we can purchase whatever we might need to present ourselves.”

Julia laughed. She hoped Will was keeping an account of what she was costing him. “Why is he a scoundrel?”

“If I did not know better, I would suspect he was in collusion with the Vulcan gods of the East Indies, bringing us all this snow halfway across the globe, so that we might sojourn in his town. I should not be surprised to learn that his daughter owns the shop, and his brother the assembly hall where we will dance tonight.” He smiled at her. “That is, if we attend?”

“I have not danced in some time,” she confessed. But it was a weak excuse, for as soon as the music started, she knew her feet would move on their own. “I shall also require dancing slippers, for all I have are my sturdy leather boots.”

“Then we shall be fine partners, for I am told that I dance with all the grace of a man wearing sturdy leather boots. Ones shackled in irons.”

“Oh, dear heavens!” Julia shook her head. “But do you not have your bags packed with all the suitable garments for the Howard’s house party?”

“Oh, indeed. I said I dance with an utter lack of grace, but I manage to accomplish that in suitable finery.” His hand hovered over the bread, but he changed his mind. “I have everything I require for the Howard’s party, including my costume for the masquerade.”

Julia forgot about that, and thought wistfully of the lovely green shepherdess’s gown her dressmaker had made for the occasion. It defied logic that a shepherdess would be dancing between falling snowflakes, but she doubted that Cleopatra or Ariadne were familiar with slipping around on the ice, either. And what would a masquerade be without at least a few Cleopatras and Ariadnes?

But now it appeared she might not find anything more exotic to wear than what could be had in a small shop along a country road. Or what she found in Laurentia’s closet, when she arrived at Seabury.

“I would be delighted if you would accompany me,” Will said with as much gallantry as he could summon from a wooden chair at a small table.

“To purchase garments in town?” she asked, surprised. Not even Leighton thought to join her on a shopping excursion.

Will was momentarily taken aback. “Actually, I meant tonight’s ball. But now that you mention it, I shall accompany you into town, as well. The road will be slippery and there will be packages to carry.”

“I am sure one of the servants could assist me. If Mr. Granger is as canny as you believe, he might be willing to join me, himself.”

“I will accompany you,” Will insisted, and sounded as if nothing else could possibly be acceptable.

IT WAS FOOLISH, but he would not let her out of his sight. The moment he pulled her from the wreck of her coach, he knew he was responsible for her, but had not paused to examine his feelings until they were trudging through the deepening snow on their brief journey into Langerford. They walked in step, his arm around her shoulders and a wool blanket around them both, not speaking, intent on not falling and bringing the other down.

“I believe we have arrived at our destination,” Julia said, breaking the spell. “I do not think you will find much to interest you here, my lord. Perhaps you ought to return for me in an hour’s time?”

Reluctant to leave her, he pushed against the door, which opened onto an intimate scene. The shop was smaller than his study on Edgware Road, and a good deal more crowded. An array of gowns and capes hung from wooden poles, and narrow tables were burdened with bonnets, slippers, and garments not intended for his eyes, but with which he had a passing familiarity. Two women, one whose features bore a distinct similarity to those of the innkeeper, emerged from behind a white curtain.

Julia was wise to wish him on his way, for he was a stranger in a strange land. And yet, perhaps, he was not the first to blunder into this sanctuary for ladies, for even as she told the women what she desired, he was ushered to a stool in the corner of the room.

And there he sat, curiously watching the show while the snow rattled against the window behind him. He never really thought about the way ladies managed to outfit themselves, assuming it was not so very different from the way he did so. He had his valet order a new set of shirts on a regular basis, and he endeavored to arrive on time whenever an appointment had been arranged for a fitting on a new jacket. Almost all his garments were white, black, or gray, though he did have an old tartan that he pulled out for certain occasions. But this business seemed a good deal more complicated, as gowns of various colors were placed for effect beneath Julia’s delicately pointed chin, and lengths of ribbon were measured out along the edge of a table marked out in inches. There was much ado about the depth of the neckline, and if there were matching slippers available in her small size.

Soon, she was ushered behind the curtain, and whatever went on there was punctuated with a great deal of gaiety and sighs of pleasure.

And when she finally emerged from behind the curtain, resplendent in a dark green gown with a plaid sash, pale lace at her breast, and white ribbon loosely woven through her curls, he gave a sigh of pleasure as well.

“Your husband certainly approves,” said one of the women.

Julia looked at him as if she quite forgot he sat there, and parted her lips.

“I am her brother, and I do approve,” he said quickly. After explaining the need for two rooms to the innkeeper, who surely would have preferred to accommodate another group of travelers, it was essential that they kept to their story. “But dear sister, you may be in need of other garments before we arrive in Rye.”

The two shopkeepers did not need a second invitation, and pulled Julia to the tables where she was persuaded to select a good many more things. Just once she turned back to him, with a questioning look on her face, but he just shrugged his shoulders as if he was quite accustomed to purchasing a lady’s requisites.

He was not, but decided the delighted look on Mrs. Julia Townshend’s face was worth any expense.