Do not mistake adventure for risk.
Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler
“So you sought refuge in Mr. Beechcroft’s carriage?”
His mouth twisted into an embarrassed grin. “I hadn’t intended it to be a permanent solution. I had—I had a bit to drink, since Edward was in town.”
“He is most definitely my brother-in-law also.”
He arched a brow. “Touché, my lady hedgehog.”
“I am not a hedgehog.”
“Prickly.”
Hmph.
“I’ve answered your questions,” he said after a few moments. “Now you have to tell me. Where are you going?”
“I’m trying to find my sister.”
“Ah,” he said in an understanding tone as he realized to whom she was referring. “Your sister who—?” He paused delicately.
“Yes. Della.” Ida hadn’t spoken her name to anyone who wasn’t related to her in so long. It felt odd to say it aloud.
“I didn’t realize you didn’t know where she was.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I should have.”
Ida shrugged, as though it didn’t matter, when of course it did. “There’s no reason you should have. It is not as though we discuss it even in the family.” Because neither the duke nor duchess would allow Della’s name to be spoken at home, so the sisters had grown accustomed to making oblique references to her, even when they were not at home.
“Most people didn’t spare a thought about her,” she continued, “or where she’d gone. The only thing they wanted to talk about was how it would affect the rest of her sisters.”
“And how has it affected you?”
He was sensitive enough to ask. To ask how she felt, how this cataclysmic event had affected her. That touched her.
Even though she could not wait to be rid of him.
Sophocles would definitely be baffled by this lapse of logic.
“Besides having everyone in Society think all the duke’s daughters are bound to be disgraceful?” She pondered. “Not that they’re wrong, though Pearl and I have yet to do anything too scandalous.”
“Of course, since stealing a carriage and heading off for parts unknown all by oneself is entirely within bounds.” His tone was dry.
She just barely suppressed yet another snort. Good work, Ida. At this rate he’ll think you’re a rare sort of pig. Porcus Idatus.
“I meant until today,” Ida replied, rolling her eyes. “But the thing is, I found out where Della is living, and I am going to get her.”
“Won’t her husband have something to say about that?”
“Della never did marry that Mr. Baxter.” Silence as he absorbed that bit of gossip. Gossip that apparently hadn’t reached his ears. “And it’s a good thing they didn’t marry, since we discovered what a blackguard he was after they eloped.”
“Because of the eloping, one assumes,” he said in that same dry tone. He folded his arms over his chest, completely at ease. Once again revealing just how comfortable he was at all times.
She laughed at his comment. He had a delightful sense of humor when he wasn’t asking intrusive questions. And sometimes even then. “Not just that, although of course that was the impetus for us finding all about Mr. Baxter’s checkered past.”
If she had been in charge of hiring tutors, she would have discovered all of this before the man even entered the house. But the duchess saw a handsome man who was light on his feet and let him in the house to teach her daughters how to dance. As far as Ida knew, he hadn’t even had to show his letters of recommendation.
“What did Mr. Baxter do?”
Ida shook her head at the memory of all they’d come to learn about him. “He stole a few of mother’s jewels, then managed to pin the blame on one of our scullery maids. She came very close to losing her position, of course, but she denied taking them. I believed her, and I persuaded my mother to give her a second chance.”
“How did you discover the truth?”
“It was only after he and Della had left. We found receipts for the stolen items, items he pawned in order to make their escape.”
“And by then it was too late.”
“The worst part of it was he really was not a good dancer!” she added scornfully. “Even I could tell that, and I do not dance.”
“You have not danced with me.” His tone was commanding, as though he knew—absolutely knew—she would enjoy dancing with him.
And that commanding tone made her know that too. As if she hadn’t already imagined it.
A fact that both irked and intrigued her. As he did.
“We’ll be going our separate ways soon, my lord,” she said, slowing the carriage as they made their way into the small town. “I will have to let you return to evading the Carson-hunters.”
“You know I can’t let you go on your own.”
“I know that,” she replied. “Of course I know that. Just as I know that I must continue by myself.” She stopped the carriage, glancing about at the buildings that surrounded them. “I see one inn there. If there isn’t another we can go in separately.”
She was impossible. “Do you have any money?”
She made another one of those noises. “Of course I do. Do you think I’d run off without any kind of funds?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Bennett replied. “Since you’re foolish enough to believe you can just walk into an inn and hire a room without notice.”
“I am wearing my library clothing,” she said, as though that were an actual thing, “and nobody will look twice at me if I pull my hood down and pay in cash. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I am a governess traveling for my next assignment.”
It wasn’t a terrible idea, and he had a moment of admiration that she’d thought it through.
A thought struck him. “I don’t see any luggage. So you have money, but you didn’t pack any items for travel?”
She frowned as she considered it. “I did not. I came rather suddenly.”
Even more impossible. “And just what is ‘library clothing’?” he asked.
She made a noise indicating it was a foolish question. Even though of course it wasn’t. Since he was asking it. “It is clothing I wear to the library. Clothing meant for comfort, and study, and long hours in a chair.” She smoothed her hand down her arm. “You cannot see it, but this gown is in a very serviceable color. Definitely not white.”
Baffling. “What is a serviceable color?”
She heaved an exasperated sigh. “A serviceable color, Mr. Brummell, is a color that holds up to use. Drab colors. My gown, for example, is gray. Library clothing.”
He agreed that she would be less noticeable in her chosen garb, but his leaving her, no matter what kind of disguise she’d done herself up in, would still mean she was left vulnerable, alone to any kind of danger.
And she was a duke’s daughter; she wouldn’t have the first idea about what could happen to a young lady traveling alone. No matter how she’d created this idea of a set of clothing that could render her invisible to possible attackers.
Drab garb would not save her.
Bennett knew he wanted to run from responsibility—hence the drinking and the hiding out in his club—but he could not run from this particular duty.
Nor did he wish to; he wanted to accompany Ida on her adventure, her escape, even though he would be participating by proxy. Eventually he would have to return home and resume being the dutiful son, looking back on this moment with no small amount of wonder that he’d been able to be free for even this short a period of time.
“You’re not going into that inn on your own,” he said. He dismounted from the carriage and held his arms out to her so she could descend safely. “If you refuse to accept my assistance, I’ll march behind you and announce just who you are and what you are doing. The news will reach London probably faster even than Mr. Beechcroft’s fine horses can travel.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” She glared at him from the carriage. “Then we would be forced into marriage, and you know full well I am neither soft nor welcoming. I am not the wife you want. You would not.”
“I would. Come down,” he said, gesturing to her. Would she call his bluff?
She didn’t reply, but lifted one foot down, sliding into his arms, stiff and angry. Whew.
Not welcoming, perhaps, but definitely soft. Hardly the prickles he’d been expecting. Oh. Well then. His cravat suddenly felt tight around his neck.
She stepped away from him as soon as her feet touched the ground, adjusting her cloak so it completely hid her gown and most of her face.
“Since you refuse to listen to sense, what will we say?” She lifted her eyebrow and looked him up and down. “You cannot be a governess as well.” Her eyes widened. “And we cannot pose as a married couple.” She sounded so horrified by the idea that he had to laugh.
He held his hands up in surrender. “I understand, Lady Ida. You do not wish to marry me, even as a ruse. I have to say, my ego is taking a substantial blow this evening.” Bennett accompanied his words with a chuckle, and she gave a tentative smile in response.
He was surprised by how relieved he was that she was apparently not one to hold a grudge. Even if she was vehemently opposed to a marital subterfuge. “We can be brother and sister, and our servants are delayed by a broken wheel or something.”
“Very clever,” she said admiringly, and he bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment.
“Are you looking for a room?” a woman’s voice called as they walked toward the inn. A worn sign proclaiming it to be The Goose’s Egg swung back and forth in front of the door.
“Yes, we are. Two rooms,” Bennett clarified.
“Well, we have them. Not adjoining, though.” The innkeeper stepped forward, peering at them from a broad, friendly face. She wore an apron over a gown in what appeared to be a serviceable color.
“That is fine,” Lady Ida said quickly. Likely hatching a plan to escape when he wasn’t paying attention. As though he would be so easily duped.
“You’ll want something to eat.” It wasn’t a question. She turned to the door and swung it wide, poking her head in. “Eustace! Come out here.”
Bennett took Ida’s arm and looped it through his, walking her inside.
The inn was bustling, surprising given the late hour.
Eustace, presumably, emerged from the kitchen and nodded to the innkeeper and to Bennett and Ida. He was tall and broad, an apron on over his clothing, his cheeks flushed. “Bags are in the back?” he said in a broad country accent.
“Actually, we don’t have any, our servants—” he began, but Eustace was already out of earshot.
“Just put the carriage away,” Eustace’s mother called. “And feed the horses.
“Sit down over there. Clark, clear out,” the innkeeper said, shooing a man from one of the far tables.
He picked up his glass and went and joined another group who were clearly celebrating something.
“We just had a wedding,” the innkeeper explained. “And the guests don’t want to stop the party tonight. Good for business. Hope you can sleep through the ruckus.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Bennett said, helping Ida into her seat. The small round wooden table was pitted with evidence of its use, but the innkeeper brought a lantern over and placed it in the center, the light casting a warm, golden glow.
“I’m Mrs. Hastings, I own this place. I’ll bring you two slices of my meat pie, the best in the village, and two ales, unless you want something else? Not that we have anything else but some hard cheese and bread.”
“Meat pie sounds heavenly,” Ida said. “Thank you.”
Her words were accompanied by a low, distinctive growl, and Bennett tried not to laugh as she clutched her stomach.
Mrs. Hastings nodded as she took herself back to the kitchen, which was when Bennett noticed the nearby group was staring at them.
“A round of ale for the wedding guests, too,” he called out to the innkeeper’s retreating back. The group cheered, and returned their attention to themselves, as he’d wanted.
“Very clever of you,” Ida remarked in that low, smoky voice of hers. “Though perhaps I should return the question—do you have funds? I am not paying for your largesse,” she said tartly.
He ignored her question. He had no idea how much she had in her possession, and he didn’t want her to get any ideas about taking his. She’d stolen a carriage, after all. What was to prevent her from taking his money?
“Well, if you spend as much time as I do with people, people of all types, you learn how to handle them.”
She leaned back, her eyebrow raised. “That sounds awfully condescending of you.”
Bennett opened his mouth to deny what she was saying, then took a moment to think. Damn it. She was right.
“I apologize,” he said in a low tone. “It sounds worse than I meant it, but of course that doesn’t matter. I like to believe I can find something in common with anyone, no matter how different we might seem on the outside.”
“What do you suppose we have in common, then?” she asked, her expression curious. And not just pretending to be interested—he’d seen enough of the Carson-hunters’ expressions to be able to tell when someone was truly interested. She was.
He felt more than a flicker of interest in her himself.
“Well,” he began, “I suppose we have the urge to cast off our proscribed roles in search of adventure.”
She sighed, looking almost wistful. “I have always wanted an adventure,” she said. “Something where it didn’t matter that I was a duke’s daughter. Something that asked me to do something because of who I am, not”—and then she hesitated, a funny look on her face—“who I am.”
She sat up, giving him a sharp look. “Is that what you mean when you say you wish you could escape? That you want to be seen for yourself, not who you are supposed to be?”
He nodded. She understood. She knew what it was like.
“Absolutely. But then—as Edward reminds me—I am the heir to a Marquessate, anybody would envy my position.”
“But they don’t understand it,” she said softly.
“So we do have that in common.”
She swallowed, as though it were a difficult truth for her to reconcile. That she had something in common with him, the gentleman who had most definitely not married her sisters.
He needed to make her feel more comfortable. His mind scrabbled around for a topic that would ease this odd feeling of closeness.
“What else do we have in common?” he asked. “What is your favorite book?”
Her eyes lit up. “In history, philosophy, scientific studies, novels, or poetry?”
“Not novels or poetry, but the rest, yes.”
“Oh, that is so difficult to answer!” She sounded delighted. Far more pleased than if he had told her he admired her lovely face, or that her dancing was divine.
Not that they’d danced together. He wished he had asked her. They had to have been at some of the same social functions.
“I have lately been classifying people,” she said in a voice that sounded almost embarrassed. “So I suppose Linnaeus’s Systema Naturae.”
“Classifying people—?” he began, entirely intrigued.
“Yes,” she said with a wry smile. “Like your Carson-hunters. They might be Debutantum Desperatus, for example.”
He burst into laughter, making a few of the people near them stare. “And I am Pradeam Carsonus, then?”
She looked startled. “You speak Latin.”
“I think it’s more surprising that I remember any of it at all, given how long ago it was.”
“True.” She bit her lip. “I forgot that you are a gentleman, so of course you would be taught Latin. I had to learn it myself, purloining books from my father’s library. Not that he noticed,” she said.
“What about fiction?” he asked.
She drew her eyebrows together in thought. “I think I like anything written by Charles Dickens. There’s not one specific piece of his writing, just—just all of it.”
“Hmm. I haven’t read much Dickens myself,” he admitted. “What is it you like about him?”
She considered it. He liked it, that she thought about things. Cogitatare Idatum.
“I like how he writes about people. That they’re more than just what job they have, or where they come from. That people, all people, should be given an opportunity.”
“Very egalitarian of you,” he teased. He saw the innkeeper’s son walking toward them with a tray. “And I think all those people, no matter who they are or where they come from, would enjoy a glass of ale at the end of a lovely day.”
“Lovely, was it?” she said with a grin. “Even though I tried to make you return to London and refused your help and accused you of being sent by my family? Not in that order,” she corrected.
“It was lovely,” he replied in a firm tone.
“I suppose it was a lovely day,” she conceded. “Not that I’ve ever had any ale,” she said, turning as she heard the boy approach the table.
“Your ale,” Eustace said, placing both glasses on the table. “My mam will lead you up after dinner.”
“Thank you,” Bennett said, reaching into his pocket.
“Here you go,” Ida said, placing a coin into Eustace’s palm as she gave him a dazzling smile.
“I will not be obliged to you,” she said in a quiet tone of voice as the boy stepped away.
So prickly.
Bennett raised his glass, holding it in the middle of the table. Ida picked hers up as well, giving him a questioning look.
“To adventure,” he said, clicking his glass gently against hers.
“To adventure,” she echoed, then took a hesitant sip.
Bennett drank a healthy swallow of his ale.
She held the glass in front of her, appraising it before she took a sip. “This is not terrible,” she said in a surprised tone of voice.
“Now you sound condescending,” he replied in a sly tone.
“I do,” she admitted. “And also inexperienced. That seems like a dreadful combination.” Her tone was wry. She took another, larger sip. “I like it, even.”
“Slow down,” Bennett warned, conscious of his own recent encounter with too much alcohol. At least being distracted with Lady Ida had kept him from noticing how much of a headache he had.
Replacing his alcohol headache with the headache of Lady Ida seemed like a good exchange.
She put the glass down as the innkeeper arrived with their food. “It’s a bit hot, so be careful,” the innkeeper warned as she set the plates down. She drew cutlery and linen from her pocket and placed them on the table, too. “It’s the best.”
“So we’ve heard,” Bennett replied, winking at Ida, who smothered a laugh by putting her hand over her mouth.
“You’ll let me know what you think,” Mrs. Hastings said as she walked away.
Ida picked up her fork and poked at the pie, causing steam to emerge from the top. “It looks wonderful,” she said as she picked a piece up, bringing it to her mouth. She ate the forkful, her eyes widening at the taste. And then moaned in satisfaction, making Bennett even more mesmerized. “This is so good,” she said as she took another bite. “Mmm.”
Bennett had never seen a lady enjoy her food so wholeheartedly before. It made him envy her all over again. To display so much pure enjoyment, to reveal emotion, wasn’t something he was able to do. Or had impetus to do either. He was too busy running the estate, seeing to his various business interests, concerned about his mother’s health, and a myriad of things that occupied his brain to indulge in something as simple as relishing a good dinner.
Damn, how had his life come to this?
“Are you all right? You’re not eating.”
Bennett hastily took too big a bite, swallowing hard against the tightness of his throat. “Mmm, yes, I was just thinking about how long we should plan to travel tomorrow.” Which of course was not at all what he was thinking about, but he wasn’t about to reveal himself too much to her.
“You’re operating under the assumption that we will be traveling together tomorrow.”
She laid her fork down and glared at him. Which would be intimidating if she didn’t have a bit of sauce on her mouth, and her eyes weren’t bright from the ale, and she was less incredibly beautiful.
He reached forward and wiped her lips with his napkin, her eyes widening as his fingers touched her skin.
“Oh,” she said in a soft voice as he withdrew the napkin, showing her the spot he’d wiped from her face.
His hands felt shaky. And also as though they wanted to touch her again. Push his hands into her hair to see if it was as silky as it looked. Run his fingers over her eyebrows, those extremely expressive eyebrows. Slide his hand down to her jaw, cupping her face as he lowered his mouth to—
“Well,” she began in an entirely different tone of voice. As though she knew what he was thinking and was determined to shake him free of it. “You do know that if you accompany me on this trip, you will be forced to ask for my hand in marriage when we return.” She spread her hands out in explanation. “You have successfully evaded two of my sisters. And I assure you, my lord, I am not another Carson-hunter.”
“That is clear,” Bennett said in a wry tone.
“And I will not be known as the only Howlett sister who was unable to escape you.” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Had she just insulted him?
“So unless you wish to spend the rest of your life in dismal matrimony to me,” she continued, “I suggest we go our separate ways tomorrow.” She nodded her head in finality, as though they’d reached an agreement.
“No.”
Her eyes shot up to his face. Her mouth dropped open. “No?” she echoed. “But you don’t—I don’t—we don’t,” she sputtered.
“I know the conjugations for do not, my lady. I speak Latin, remember?” he said wryly. “And we do not, we can agree on that. It is a risk I am willing to take to keep you safe.” He shrugged. “Besides which, you can always refuse my suit. You must know that running off like this has already damaged your reputation. A refusal to marry the man who has theoretically compromised you will not do much more harm.”
Her mouth opened and closed, rather like a fish gasping for air. A lady grasping at straws. An exceedingly intelligent person outsmarted.
Got you, he thought. Capturam Domina.
“But wouldn’t you rather just be rid of me?”
It made him hurt for her that that was her first response—that someone would rather not be with her than keep her safe. No wonder she was so bent on escape. If she were constantly with people who didn’t appreciate her—? Her intelligence, her wit, her courage?
He had to admire her all over again for her resilience, for pushing back against anyone who would try to keep her in her prescribed box.
“I would not,” he said simply.
“I will consider what you say,” she said slowly, getting up from the table.
“You’re finished, then?” the innkeeper said, stepping out from behind the bar. “I’ll show you to your rooms. Was the food good?”
“It was incredible,” Ida replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a meat pie as good as that one.”
“I wonder if you’ve ever had a meat pie,” Bennett murmured behind her as they walked up the stairs. She swatted behind her, and he caught her wrist, clasping her hand.
He couldn’t explain what made him want to touch her. Well, beyond the fact that she was beautiful and they were together. He had never felt this urgency, even with other nearly as beautiful women.
But Lady Ida was special. She was a gorgeous, vibrant, intelligent woman wrapped up in her hedgehog disguise and her library clothing, pushing people away with her honest emotion and frank opinions.
He didn’t want to be pushed away. He wanted to pull her close. To let himself go and lose himself with her, both of them expressing just what they felt. All their emotion on display with one another.
That kind of freedom felt impossible just yesterday, and yet now it was a possibility. A remote possibility, to be fair, but something that was more than just an unrealized dream.
She was holding his hand. She hadn’t pushed him away.
What did it mean, that she hadn’t pushed him away?