Chapter 3

As Lord Drakesley had foreseen, a brief delay ensued while the ladies’ baggage was piled atop the rickety coach. As soon as their reluctant escort had disappeared into the Swan, Lilah scrambled into the coach’s cabin. She pulled Miss Pickens after her, beckoning hurriedly. “For heaven’s sake, make haste!” she urged. “I would not put it past the man to take the forward-facing seat and force us to ride backwards. He may be an earl, but he is no gentleman.”

Miss Pickens obligingly clambered in. “Well, earls are a different breed, my dear. We must make allowances for his rank. I daresay he receives so much deference as a matter of course, he has come to expect it from everyone he meets.”

“He won’t get it from me.” Lilah’s chin jutted mulishly. “You should have seen him a while ago—flashing his title and swaggering about, distributing largesse to the lackeys and generally behaving like the Grand Turk! Disgusting, I thought it.”

But Miss Pickens’s face had assumed an extraordinary expression. “Mercy on us! What is that reek?” she exclaimed as she settled onto the narrow bench beside her charge.

Lilah sniffed the air, then coughed. She struggled to remove the leather curtain covering the window on her side of the compartment. “Onions,” she said, in a strangled tone. “I think.” Having succeeded, she leaned into the opening and fanned briskly with one hand, trying to pull fresh air into the confines of the coach. “The great thing is, Lord Drakesley’s odor won’t matter a whit. Did you see how filthy he was? I wanted to tell him that powdered hair is no longer the fashion, but I didn’t think he would see the joke.”

“Now, Lilah—! He’s been traveling in a curricle, you know. It’s natural for a man to collect a little dust that way.”

“Kindly stop defending him,” said Lilah crossly. “It puts me out.”

“Nevertheless, you are blaming Lord Drakesley for a situation that is entirely Hopkins’s fault. He must know he runs the only posting house for ten miles or more. I cannot imagine why the wretched man doesn’t secure a few more vehicles.”

“If he maintains them as poorly as this, I daresay the rest have all fallen to pieces.”

When Lilah saw Lord Drakesley emerging from the inn she promptly sat back against the threadbare squabs, assuming an elaborately dignified posture. She would not give Lord Drakesley the satisfaction of seeing her sulk, but, on the other hand, she needn’t fawn on him the way Miss Pickens seemed prepared to do. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the earl’s enormous body striding swiftly across the yard. The coach rocked violently as he pulled open the door and clambered in.

“Well, well. This is cozy,” he said dryly. “Mind if I put my feet in your lap?”

Startled, Lilah looked at him—and was relieved to see that he was joking. The space was, indeed, cramped for a man of his bulk. For the first time, she felt a twinge of sympathy for his reluctance to share it. This would be a tedious journey for him, with his long legs folded into the narrow confines of the aisle and his head nearly touching the ceiling. The jouncing of the carriage would doubtless knock his skull against the roof from time to time. Alone in the coach, he might have stretched out and made himself more comfortable.

He had obviously availed himself of a wash basin. She had to admit, it had done him some good. The film of road grit that had leached the color from his person and his clothing had been, for the most part, removed. The leather duster and thick muffler that had made him look like a highwayman had also been discarded, revealing a well-cut suit of ordinary clothing. He was dressed in perfectly respectable blue and buff. His hair, damp-combed, appeared dark brown. He had evidently changed into clean linen. Why, he looked halfway human. Even his eyebrows looked more civilized. It was impossible to think of him as attractive, but at least he no longer looked as if he made a living by lurking about with a pistol in his pocket.

He seemed to notice her scrutiny. An ironic gleam appeared in his deep-set eyes. “I clean up well, don’t I?” he drawled.

If he hoped to embarrass her, he would be disappointed. Lilah’s chin lifted. “Cleanliness is a virtue, my lord,” she said coolly.

The coach started forward with a lurch, throwing her briefly against his knee. She ignored the embarrassing contact and pressed her feet tightly together, squeezing herself into the corner as far from him as she could. This, unfortunately, wasn’t very far. Beside her, Miss Pickens was hanging on to a strap provided to steady travelers during the rocking of the coach. The strap on Lilah’s side of the vehicle, she noted belatedly, was broken.

The coach swung round the turn onto the highway and Lilah was pitched again, willy-nilly, almost into Lord Drakesley’s lap. She regained her balance with an effort, trying not to blush, and fixed her gaze determinedly out the window. It seemed that Lord Drakesley’s eyes never left her face, and she was fairly sure he was enjoying her discomfiture. Odious man! She tried to appear unconcerned.

“We are now, officially, traveling companions,” he commented. “I think introductions are in order.”

Lilah shot him a cold look. “We will not be thrown together for longer than a day or two. I see nothing amiss with calling each other ‘my lord’ and ‘ma’am.’”

“Or, to differentiate between you ladies,” he suggested, “how about ‘my lord,’ ‘ma’am,’ and ‘your highness’?”

Lilah choked. “I do not expect royal treatment!”

“Good, because you won’t receive it,” said Lord Drakesley affably. “Let’s dispense with the animosity, shall we? It grows tiresome. My name is Adam Harleston. I’m the 9th earl of Drakesley. I’ve had the title since the age of ten months, so everyone has called me Drake for as long as I can remember.”

She eyed him doubtfully. “Are we to call you ‘Drake’ as well?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“It sounds disrespectful.”

His deep-set eyes gleamed. “How touching. Where was this concern for my dignity ten minutes ago?”

Lilah tossed her head. “I am not concerned about your beastly dignity,” she said frostily. “I am concerned about how we will look, if Miss Pickens and I address you so informally.”

“Oh. So your concern is for yourself. Now that makes sense. You had me worried there, for a moment; I thought I might have misjudged you.”

Lilah drew herself up to her full, if diminutive, height, and opened her mouth to say something pretty blistering. She was forestalled by Miss Pickens, who leaped hastily into the breach. “Very obliging of you, my lord, I am sure—most obliging!” she babbled. “I’m sure we will be glad to call you anything you like. Whatever you prefer. Lilah, dear, pray—! His lordship is being very kind, most condescending, to let us employ a name his intimates use. Why, we only met him this morning and here he is, treating us quite like old friends. Very good of you, my lord, very good of you. We will be proud to call you—ah—‘Drake.’” She gulped involuntarily, as if calling an earl by his nickname caused her physical pain. “Drake,” she repeated gamely, and managed a rather wan smile. “I daresay it is taken from your title?”

He bowed. “Naturally. Now tell me, if you can, why the fastidious creature to your immediate right hesitates to call me ‘Drake’ but publicly calls you ‘Piggy.’”

Miss Pickens blinked and Lilah gasped. “I do not call her Piggy!”

“I distinctly heard you call her Piggy. Shockingly disrespectful, I thought.”

Lilah bit her lip, struggling not to laugh. “Picky. You may have heard me call her Picky. Short for Pickens.” She turned to her companion, contrite. “I’m sorry, Picky dear. I should be more careful.”

Miss Pickens looked mortified. “I own, I do not care for the nickname,” she confessed. “But it never occurred to me that a stranger might hear it as ‘Piggy.’”

“I shall call you Miss Pickens,” promised Drake. “Whatever the Princess does.”

Lilah’s urge to laugh vanished. “I am not a princess,” she said stiffly. “My father is a baronet. My name, if you must know it, is Chadwick.”

The oddest expression descended onto Drake’s features. It was the first time she had seen him nonplussed. He stared, his brows knitting. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “What did you say your name was?”

“Chadwick,” said Lilah, surprised. “Delilah Chadwick.”

She could have sworn he turned pale. “Never tell me you are related to Sir Horace Chadwick!”

Lilah and Miss Pickens looked at each other, then back at Drake. “Why? Are you acquainted with my father?” asked Lilah, puzzled.

“Good God! Then—d’you mean your father is Sir Horace Chadwick?” He raked a hand distractedly through his still-damp hair. It immediately sprang up into an unruly thatch of cowlicks.

“Ye-es,” said Lilah cautiously. “What’s the matter?”

Drake suddenly looked as if he would like very much to jump out of the coach. “I should have guessed as much,” he ejaculated bitterly. “The way my luck has been running, I might have known this would happen. Confound it! Of all people to encounter on the road—of all people to be forced to travel with—his daughter! Good God!”

“Have you run mad?” demanded Lilah, incredulous. “My father hasn’t an enemy in the world.”

“He hasn’t met me yet,” said Drake darkly. His lip curled as he looked at Lilah. “I should stop the coach and put you out on the road right now. I should drive off and leave you here, alone with Miss Pickens and all your blasted luggage. I daresay your father would leave London at once and ride to your rescue.”

“Of course he would,” said Lilah promptly. “And you would be clapped into Bedlam, which is obviously where you belong.”

“I begin to think I would be happier there,” growled Drake. “Blast it! What a chapter of accidents.”

Miss Pickens leaned timidly forward. “My lord, you are distraught,” she said soothingly. “What has occurred to vex you so? Sir Horace is a virtuous, kindly man, I give you my word. I have lived in his household these dozen years or more, and know him well. He is no man’s enemy.”

The rickety coach suddenly hit a bump and all three of its occupants flew straight up and knocked their heads on the ceiling. This did nothing to improve Drake’s temper. He leaned out the window and shouted, “Wake up, you cow-handed whipster! You’ll land us in the ditch!”

“Beg pardon, milord,” came the faint reply. The driver sounded aggrieved. “You did say you wanted all possible speed.”

“Aye, but let’s arrive with no bones broken!”

“Very good, my lord.”

Drake pulled his head back in and glared at the ladies. “You were saying?” he inquired, with savage politeness. “Ah, yes! Extolling the virtues of Sir Horace Chadwick. Well, save your breath. Is he, or is he not, a man of middle age?”

Lilah was still rubbing her head. “Since he is my father, you must know he is,” she said crossly. “What’s wrong with middle age?”

“Fifty years or more in his dish, I daresay,” said Drake, in a voice of loathing.

“Five-and-forty, if it’s any business of yours. Which it isn’t!” said Lilah, with spirit. “And what has that to say to anything? It’s absurd to take a man in dislike because he is forty-five! You’ll reach that age yourself one day—if no one murders you first.”

Drake scowled. “When I am forty-five,” he announced, “I shall not spend my declining years seducing innocents who are young enough to be my daughter.”

Lilah nearly jumped in surprise. “I should hope not!” Then a crazy idea occurred to her. Her eyes narrowed. She leaned towards Drake, her voice becoming dangerously silky. “Do not—do not—tell me that that incredibly offensive remark had anything to do with my father.”

Miss Pickens made a faint squawking sound. The two combatants, focused intently on each other, ignored her.

Drake leaned forward until his face was scant inches from Lilah’s. “It has everything to do with your precious father,” he said through his teeth. “In fact, there is no remark I could make about Sir Horace Chadwick that would be offensive enough to describe his conduct.”

Lilah’s eyes felt as if they would pop from her head with astonishment and wrath. “You must be demented!” she gasped. “My father is a respectable, upright man, not a—a lecher!”

His lip curled in a sneer. “His daughter, naturally, knows nothing about it! I have it on excellent authority that Chadwick has spent the past seven weeks persecuting a certain young lady—a lady of birth, but no prospects. Since she is an orphan, I daresay he thought she had no one to protect her, no one to defend her from his unwelcome advances. He is about to learn his mistake.”

Lilah, relieved to discover that Drake had simply been misinformed, uttered a trill of scornful laughter. “Well! You could scarcely be farther off the mark. I have just received word that my father is about to contract a marriage. Now, how could find time to court my future stepmother if he were busy seducing a young girl?”

Drake looked startled, but only for a moment. His scowl became fiercer than ever. “Marriage!” he ejaculated, straightening as much of his spine as the low compartment would allow. “So that’s the way of it. He has used his title and his fortune to turn Eugenia’s head. Well, I have a piece of Spanish news for Sir Horace Chadwick! I have a better title and a bigger fortune, and I’m jolly well going to marry her myself.”

Lilah felt the color draining from her face. “Eugenia?” she said faintly. “Eugenia Mayhew?”

Drake looked sharply at her. “That’s the name. My second cousin, once removed. I’ve meant to marry her since I was fifteen years old.”

“But—but—no, we cannot be speaking of the same person! How old is your Miss Mayhew?”

“Six and twenty. What’s the matter?”

Lilah pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Merciful heavens.” The scenario she had dreaded, of being placed under the thumb of a powerful crone, was being replaced by a new, even worse, nightmare: the vision of finding herself subordinate to a young bride.

She turned to Miss Pickens, blinking in bewilderment. “Picky, did you hear? Miss Mayhew is quite young. Can that be possible?”

Miss Pickens flushed uncomfortably and tugged at her gloves, a nervous gesture so habitual to her that every pair she owned had been stretched out of shape. “Yes, my love, I heard. Well. Not what you expected, I daresay. But she will be a most amiable lady, I’m sure, if Lord Drakesley vouches for her—”

Lilah could scarcely comprehend what Miss Pickens was saying. Her brain was awhirl, adjusting to this new set of circumstances. “Oh!” she interrupted, tears stinging her eyes. “My unfortunate Papa! He must have taken leave of his senses. He’s a modest man, a reserved man. Why would he make such a figure of himself? The dreadful creature has ensnared him somehow, luring him with her wicked wiles.”

“Eugenia has no wiles, wicked or otherwise,” said Drake hotly. “She is a gentle, dignified lady—utterly without pretense, and completely free from odd humors. She is, in fact, a paragon of every feminine virtue.” He looked pointedly at Lilah. “Unlike some females I could name! I’ve known Eugenia since she was twelve years old, and she’s never once argued with or contradicted me.”

Lilah gave a disdainful sniff. “If she fails to argue with you, she’s either a simpleton or a prig. Why would any man wish to marry such a bore? Especially my father. Why, he might marry whomever he pleased.” Drake’s bark of disbelieving laughter caused Lilah’s cheeks to heat. Her voice rose in anger. “My father, I’ll have you know, is a prince among men! Gentle, chivalrous and thoughtful, always considerate of others. He would never dream of bullying or browbeating a woman.” She jabbed her finger accusingly at Drake. “And those are the qualities a lady truly admires in a man, whatever some of you men may think.”

“He sounds a perfect milksop,” snorted Drake. “That’s not the kind of chap to appeal to Eugenia—or any other woman with an ounce of spirit.”

“Much you know about it!” cried Lilah, furious. “You have never even met my Papa.”

“And you have never met my Eugenia. You may take it from me, she is the last woman in the world to cast out lures to an old man.”

“Papa isn’t old!”

Miss Pickens covered her ears with her hands. “Oh, stop! Pray, stop it!” she pleaded breathlessly. “I cannot bear to hear another word.”

Drake and Lilah were concentrating so completely on their battle that Miss Pickens had been utterly forgotten. Caught, Lilah felt ashamed of herself. She quickly hugged Miss Pickens’s thin shoulders and begged her pardon, blushing. “I don’t know what came over me,” she confessed. “Shouting like a fishwife. Your poor head! Truly, Picky dear, I am sorry.” She caught a glimpse of Drake out of the corner of her eye and her expression darkened. “Although, you must admit, the provocation was extreme.”

Miss Pickens mumbled and sniffed into Lilah’s shoulder, then sat up, straightening her bonnet and fumbling for her handkerchief. “I’m sorry to be such a wet-goose,” she gulped. “My lord, I don’t know what you will think of me. It’s just that I—I never could bear to be around any kind of argument or strife.”

“Good for you,” said Drake unexpectedly. “There’s no excuse for us, Miss Chadwick. Let us beg Miss Pickens’s pardon at once.”

“I have already done so,” said Lilah stiffly.

“Then so do I.”

He gave the distinct impression that his apology was conditional, and that he offered it only because she had offered hers first. Lilah struggled to quell her indignation. Miss Pickens’s lacerated nerves were more important—at the moment—than putting Lord Drakesley in his place.

Whatever his faults, he did not seem to nurse a grudge. Lilah’s feathers were still thoroughly ruffled, but Drake appeared admirably calm, even sympathetic, as he addressed Miss Pickens. “It reflects well on you, madam, that you are sensitive to the sound of quarreling. Don’t be embarrassed. Your interruption was an excellent thing; I applaud it. In the heat of the encounter, Miss Chadwick and I lost sight of the most important point.”

Lilah looked askance at him. “And what, in your opinion, is the most important point?”

“That you and I are allies.” He almost smiled at her. “It is absurd for us to bicker when we are, in fact, in agreement. Your father’s marriage to Miss Mayhew must be stopped.”

Lilah immediately felt guilty. “Oh, dear,” she said faintly. “You go too fast, my lord. I had not thought that far ahead. Not to actually oppose the marriage—at least, not irrevocably. I had thought to meet Miss Mayhew before making up my mind. I wanted to see how the land lay, as it were—”

“Well, you see how the land lies,” said Drake reasonably. “You were picturing an older woman for your father. You doubtless hoped he had chosen a motherly soul who might, if all went well, take a fancy to you. Such a woman might actually have been acceptable to you. In some ways, she might have made your life easier.”

“Yes,” Lilah admitted. “Although I would never dream of encouraging Papa to marry, simply to make my life easier.”

“Be that as it may, you will instead be saddled with a stepmother barely older than yourself. This is an entirely different kettle of fish.”

Lilah’s forehead puckered with puzzlement. “But this is exactly why I think there must be some mistake!” she exclaimed. “I can understand, upon reflection, why Papa might wish to remarry. I have often thought that he missed the companionship of someone his own age. But to marry a woman so much younger than himself—no, I cannot understand that. Unless—” She bit her lip.

“Unless?” Drake prompted. Laughter lurked in his voice.

Lilah twisted her hands together in her lap. She turned anxiously to Miss Pickens. “Picky, do you think it might be my fault? It occurs to me that I may have let a few ill-considered remarks drop—complaining about the servants and so forth. Do you think I led him to believe I feel overburdened by my responsibilities since Mama died? Do I complain too often of boredom, or loneliness? Perhaps he thinks I would welcome the companionship of a girl near my own age.”

Miss Pickens did not reply. For some reason, she even looked a little embarrassed. But Lilah brightened, warming to the idea. “Why, I daresay one frank conversation with Papa will scotch the whole scheme. I will tell him that I enjoy tending to the household’s needs, and that you provide the only companionship I require. He need not marry on my account. If he wishes to find a truly suitable lady, someone to give him mature companionship, he may take his time and do so. A widowed lady, perhaps, with years of experience in managing a large household. A bride in her twenties would be as out of her depth as I am. More, in fact, since she would be completely unfamiliar with Chadwick Hall. What can Miss Mayhew do that I cannot?”

Miss Pickens fluttered and murmured, and Drake uttered a bark of jeering laughter. “She can give your father an heir,” he said rudely. “A young wife is uniquely able to do that.”

Seeing her charge stunned into silence, Miss Pickens hurried into speech, blushing and blessing herself. “My dear Lilah, I fear that Lord Drakesley is quite, quite correct—all very natural, of course, but so distressing! I own, it was the first thing that occurred to me. A common reason to remarry, you know, for a man with only one child, and that child a girl. A pity that poor Sir Horace could never quite like his uncle’s oldest boy. What was his name, my love? Reggie, I think. Or was it Richie? At any rate, I always thought him a trifle wild as a boy, and now that he’s grown he’s scarcely better, and Sir Horace never approved of—well! They do say boys will be boys, but, really, they only seem to say that about a certain type of boy, and one hardly likes to think of a boys-will-be-boys type of boy, which Reggie certainly is—or, I should say, was—inheriting an estate, let alone a property one personally cares for. Wickedness rewarded! Nothing could be more distasteful.”

Beneath the flow of Miss Pickens’s gentle chatter, Lilah had had time to recover her poise. “There is nothing wrong with Reggie,” she declared crossly. “Once he has sewn his wild oats he will doubtless settle down and make a good master.”

Miss Pickens patted Lilah’s knee sympathetically. “I hope you are right, my dear. Although, if he does—or when he does—what will become of you? Well! We mustn’t think about that. No sense in borrowing trouble. And, of course, if your father should marry Miss Mayhew and produce an heir, your position will be equally precarious. So, as far as you and I are concerned, it’s really six of one and half a dozen of another, isn’t it?”

Lilah stared blindly at Miss Pickens’s kindly, worried face, feeling as if her blood were turning to ice water. Perhaps it was the jolting of the carriage and the lingering smell of onions that was making her feel so sick. She swallowed hard. “What nonsense you are talking,” she said, a bit unsteadily. “I will always be first in Papa’s heart.”

Good heavens. Was that pity she saw flickering in Miss Pickens’s eyes? Intolerable! Lilah braced herself against the swaying of the coach and tried to appear calm. She had had a shock, but she would recover. The notion of one’s father marrying to produce an heir was, naturally, repugnant—but understandable. At least it meant that Papa had not, as she had first feared, become enamoured of a scheming hussy. He was contracting a marriage of convenience. He had neither lost his wits nor been trapped by some Machiavellian female. This was not, could not be, a love match. He was marrying because he needed an heir. Perfectly sensible. Utterly practical.

For a moment, she felt slightly better—which told her, more clearly than any argument would have, how much of her initial reaction had been simple jealousy. She had feared, on some primal, unconscious level, that Miss Mayhew would supplant her in her father’s affections. It would be terrible indeed to find oneself relegated to second place, after so many years of being the center of Papa’s universe. What a relief, to realize that he was contracting a loveless marriage.

Except that Miss Pickens had just uttered a terrible truth. Miss Mayhew was the least of Lilah’s worries. Papa would, if he could, sire a son. Any man might, eventually, become disenchanted with his new wife. But a son? A son would take precedence over the wife and the daughter. Immediately. Permanently.

Her fears stirred again, stronger than before. Alarm rushed through her like a shot of brandy, making her feel hot and sick. Drake was right. She must, if she could, put a stop to the marriage. Perhaps it was ignoble of her—well, it almost certainly was—but she had no choice. Females had so little power in the world. She had to hold onto whatever portion she had, however she could.

She became aware that a silence had fallen while she wrestled with her demons. Drake’s eyes were on her, watchful and shrewd. He seemed to guess the direction of her thoughts, for a wry smile twisted his mouth. “An unpleasant prospect, isn’t it?” he remarked. “I’d offer you my sympathy, but I’d rather offer my help. What do you say, Miss Chadwick? Shall we put our heads together?”

The suggestion was appealing. Too appealing, when a tiny voice within her whispered that it was probably wrong. Anger and confusion rushed through Lilah. “Wild horses could not persuade me to team up with you,” she snapped.

Drake rolled his eyes piously toward the ceiling. “May I remind you, Miss Chadwick, that it is dangerous to speak without thinking.”

Despite his apparent solemnity, she could see he was laughing at her. Lilah flushed with mortification. He was right. Her unruly emotions had led her to blurt out something uncivil. Now she looked like the rudesby! Why did this dreadful man rattle her so? It cost her something, but she managed to incline her head and mutter, “I beg your pardon. I did speak without thinking.”

His self-satisfied grin made her wish she could retract her apology. “Thank you,” he said smoothly. “Now I hope you will think for a moment. We must convince Sir Horace and Miss Mayhew, singly or together, to break their engagement. It’s a tall order, but it seems that you and I share—ah—forceful personalities. Working alone, either of us might prevail. But together, Miss Chadwick—together, we almost certainly will.”

Miss Pickens fluttered in protest. “Oh, my. Dear sir, do you think it wise? Really, I don’t think I can condone any actual interference. It would be most improper. Unseemly! We must not insert ourselves into such a delicate matter—and one that is really none of our business.”

Drake bowed courteously toward Miss Pickens. “I was not suggesting, ma’am, that you involve yourself in this.” His eyes gleamed as they met Lilah’s. “Miss Chadwick, what say you?” he asked softly. “Shall you and I join forces?”

Looking into the deep-set amber eyes across from her, Lilah felt a strange spark of exhilaration. It was unsettling, but undeniable. This terrible man, of whom she thoroughly disapproved, brought something out in her—something primitive. Something the civilized part of her mistrusted and disliked. Just being around him somehow turned her into a shrew, and now ... now he was deliberately appealing to the darkest part of her nature, the corner of her soul that she admired least.

And she was responding.

She could feel the tug, as if her internal moorings were straining against a sudden, strong tide. Would they snap? She didn’t know. They had never been tested before.

Her mouth had gone strangely dry. She had to swallow before she could speak. “I promise nothing. I will ... I will think on it,” she said unsteadily. She did not want to give him even that much, but it seemed the best way to avoid further argument. She needed a little space in which to think.

Preferably, a space that did not contain Lord Drakesley. His presence seemed to addle her wits.