They set out for Kent a week later by which time Goddard had furnished Adam with a purse for expenses, directions to New Romney and advice about where to make overnight stops along the way.
‘It’s a little over seventy miles. Just about possible in two days with dry weather and good horses but you’d better bargain for three. Stay at the White Hart in Sevenoaks and the Chequers in Tenterden – mention my name in both. I imagine you’ll want to ride?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then my stables can furnish you with a horse.’
Good, thought Adam. If there was a worse fate than spending three days trapped in a carriage with Miss Edgerton-Foxe, he couldn’t imagine it.
They had met twice since the dinner party; once in Goddard’s office and again when he had called in Mount Street to check that none of the arrangements he’d set in place had been changed. On the first occasion, she had spoken as little as possible and behaved as if he was invisible. On the second, she looked down her impertinent nose and argued. Within ten minutes, Adam’s jaw was aching from the effort of keeping his tongue in check.
‘I do not require your escort – nor do I want it,’ had been her opening sally.
‘But your uncle does – so you’ll have it anyway.’
She scowled at him in silence for a moment. Then, ‘Very well – if I must. But under no circumstances will you travel in the carriage with me.’
‘Well, there’s one thing we can agree upon. Next?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Have you any other stipulations? No? My turn, then.’
Her mouth opened in surprise but she rallied quickly.
‘As my uncle’s employee, I don’t believe you have any right to set conditions.’
‘Incorrect – but you’re entitled to your opinion. What servants travel with you?’
‘Just my personal maid. I do trust,’ she added in a tone dripping with sarcasm, ‘that you have no objection to that?’
‘None. No liveried footmen on the back of the carriage? Nothing like that?’
Apparently deciding it was time to intervene, Lady Martindale said, ‘Millie will be using my travelling chaise, Mr Brandon – complete with my coachman and groom.’
Adam nodded but said, ‘We won’t need the groom. My own man will replace him.’
‘Oh. But … is that really necessary?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bring your valet, by all means,’ snapped Miss Edgerton-Foxe, ‘but make alternative arrangements for him. I prefer to travel with my grandmother’s trusted groom.’
‘I dare say. But not on this occasion.’ Deciding to take Harry Finch with him hadn’t been difficult. The poor fellow was never, with the best will in the world, going to make a satisfactory gentleman’s gentleman but there was no better man to have at one’s back. ‘And you’re mistaken. I’m bringing someone of much more use than a valet. So if there’s nothing else …?’
He rose to take his leave but she surged up to meet him, saying hotly, ‘You overstep yourself by a mile, sir! It isn’t your place to dictate how I travel or with whom. Your job is --’
‘I think I am best-placed to know what is or isn’t my job, Miss Edgerton-Foxe. I was ordered to see you safely to your home and make a brief survey of the area around it. With or without your cooperation, I intend to do both. Good day.’
As was only to be expected, this conversation set the tone for the following day. He sent Finch to Mount Street with two valises containing their gear. When he arrived himself on horseback, it was to find the carriage already pulled up, fully-laden, and Finch sitting gloomily on the steps of the house with their own luggage still at his feet.
Not bothering to ask the obvious question because the answer to it was equally self-evident, Adam dropped from the saddle and tossed the reins to Finch, saying, ‘Wait there.’ Then, swinging around on the coachman, ‘You. Strap those bags on the back.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Millie said --’
‘What she said is immaterial. It is I who am ordering this journey. Load my bags.’
Recognising the tone of command, the coachman nodded unhappily. ‘Yes, sir.’
Adam continued up the steps and through the open door into the hall where the Edgerton-Foxe chit and Lady Martindale were taking leave of each other. He said, ‘Forgive my interruption, ladies … but I’d like to be in Sevenoaks before dark.’
Inevitably it was the younger of the two who wheeled round on him.
‘We shall leave when I am ready, sir. And I don’t know what colossal nerve made you think you could send your own luggage --’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ The frail thread of Adam’s patience finally snapped. ‘I know you don’t want me here. You have made the fact abundantly clear. But do you have to make everything into an issue? I can assure you that it will be my pleasure to stay out of your way as much as is humanly possible. So with that point established – may we please just go?’
For the first time ever, she said nothing but merely stared at him with intense dislike. Finally, she gave a curt nod, told her maid to go and wait in the carriage and turned back to give her grandmother a last hug.
‘Don’t worry about me. I shall be perfectly safe and I’ll write, I promise.’
‘Make sure you do – or I shall descend on you in person.’
‘That wouldn’t be so very terrible. But now I’d better go before that wretched man drags me out by my hair. Goodbye, Grandmama – and thank you for everything.’
Adam watched her sweep majestically down the steps only to pause, frowning, when she saw Finch seated beside the coachman. Then she continued on her way and, wearing an expression that said she would rather touch a snake, accepted his hand to climb into the carriage. He slammed the door shut, told the coachman to start his horses and swung into the saddle, thinking, That’s one hurdle behind us. But how many more, I wonder?
Inside the carriage and still quietly seething, Camilla thought, Rude, overbearing man! Of all the people Uncle Hugh might have chosen to accompany me, why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t he have sent Sir Vincent … or better yet, Roger Falconer? If I must have a damned escort, why couldn’t it have been a man I find remotely tolerable?
But gradually, as the streets of London fell away behind them, her anger began to evaporate. If she was honest with herself, the root of the problem wasn’t Adam Brandon personally. He was M Section’s newest recruit and was merely following orders, just as all of them did … and she couldn’t reasonably blame him for that. But he’d been right when he said she didn’t want him with her, except that it wasn’t just him. She didn’t want anyone at all – particularly a man. And, in addition to his unfailing ability to bring out the worst in her, the gentleman currently riding alongside the chaise was more than an escort; he was almost certainly also Uncle Hugh’s spy. It was bad enough that she’d needed Uncle’s permission to go and live in her own home … but downright infuriating that, even after he’d given it, he was still keeping her under his eye.
And then there was Guy. She had hoped – however briefly – to see him in London before she left for Kent. But no. In a typical, hastily-scribbled note, he had informed her that he’d gone directly from Oxford to High Wycombe and a house-party at the home of one of his university friends. And after that, he intended to spend a few weeks in London, visiting his tailor, persuading Uncle to put him up for membership at White’s … and presumably indulging in numerous other pursuits he wouldn’t tell his sister about.
Camilla sighed. It had been petty of her to order Noakes not to load Mr Brandon’s valises. Petty … and pointless because it was becoming increasingly plain that Mr Brandon ground opposition into dust like a well-oiled mill wheel. She told herself that she’d find him marginally less objectionable if he ever discussed anything instead of issuing orders and expecting everyone – including her – to jump.
She looked around for the novel she had asked her maid to put in the carriage but couldn’t see it. ‘Martha, did you remember my book?’
No reply. The girl was staring at something on the other side of the window.
‘Martha!’
Startled and a little flushed, the maid said, ‘Sorry, Miss. Did you want something?’
‘Yes. Evelina … the book I asked you to bring.’
Martha rummaged in the bag at her feet. ‘Here, Miss Millie.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Was there anything else, Miss?
‘Not at the moment.’
Camilla opened the book and found her place, fully aware that Martha was once more gazing dreamily through the window. Curiosity stirred. What was so fascinating out there? Turning, she leaned forward to find out … and was rewarded with the sight of a muscular male thigh and the scabbard hanging cross-wise beside it. Her eyes widened. Mr Brandon was indeed wearing a sword. She recollected that he hadn’t been in Uncle Hugh’s office or in Grandmama’s parlour; if he had, she couldn’t have failed to notice since the weapon in question wasn’t a decorative small-sword but a larger and very business-like looking one.
How … medieval, she thought. And with extreme reluctance, But Lucy wasn’t entirely wrong. A sword does lend a certain panache that isn’t … unattractive.
‘That Mr Brandon cuts a fine figure, don’t he, Miss?’ asked Martha slyly.
Embarrassed and thoroughly annoyed with herself for having been caught looking, Camilla shrugged and turned back to her book, saying coolly, ‘I daresay he does. If one likes that sort of thing.’
They halted for a change of horses and Mr Brandon gave orders for the stabling of Lady Martindale’s team until it should be required for the return journey. Camilla and Martha partook of a light luncheon. Through the window, Mr Brandon could be seen watering and rubbing down his own horse whilst joining Noakes, the coachman and the fellow who was not a valet in a pot of ale. He did not come inside the inn and the only dealings Camilla had with him came when he once more offered his hand to help her back into the carriage.
The afternoon wore on. By the time they trundled into Sevenoaks in the late afternoon, Adam was heartily sick of keeping to the pace of the carriage but grudgingly glad that doing so meant the earl’s horse – a big, chestnut gelding called Hector – had been good for the entire day’s journey. The White Hart was very busy but mention of Lord Alveston’s name quickly produced the promise of a bedchamber with a private parlour for his lordship’s niece and a large chamber overlooking the yard for himself and Finch.
Needless to say, Miss Edgerton-Foxe merely announced that she and her maid would take their dinner upstairs and asked for the smaller of her trunks to be brought up. Adam bowed, told Finch to see to it … and said that he would like to be away before ten o’clock the following morning, if possible. Then he bade her a good evening and walked away wondering if she was as disappointed by not having the chance to say it would be a cold day in hell before she invited him to dine with her, as he was at being unable to reply that it would be an even colder one before he accepted. At that point, it occurred to him that there was something faintly worrying about having imaginary conversations with her … but since he didn’t know why that was he pushed the thought aside.
The following day was another fine one. Hector was feeling frisky after his night’s rest and made it plain that he wanted a gallop. Adam waited until they reached an open stretch of country and then, calling up to Finch and Noakes that he’d re-join them in a little while, turned off the road and gave the horse his head.
‘Lawks!’ exclaimed Martha, watching them go. ‘Did you ever see the like, Miss?’
Head bent over her book, Camilla pretended she hadn’t heard. But, careful not to be caught out a second time, she watched cautiously from beneath her lashes and was conscious of envy. Given the chance, she too would prefer to be flying over the turf on horseback instead of being cooped up in the carriage.
The rest of the day followed the same pattern as the one before; a change of horses and luncheon, then onwards to Tenterden and the Chequers. This time fortune favoured Adam in that a separate chamber was available for Finch. Sharing a room the previous night had been a trial. But there was no private parlour for Miss High-and-Mighty – which meant she would have to dine in either the coffee room or her bedchamber. Shrugging, he left her to her own devices and followed his nose to the scent of steak and kidney pudding in the tap where Finch had found an empty table and already ordered two pots of ale.
Camilla, meanwhile, eyed the busy coffee room doubtfully. With a male escort, she might have been comfortable dining there; without one, she wouldn’t. Sighing, she followed the chambermaid upstairs and asked the girl to send up trays for herself and Martha. It was only this one night, after all … and tomorrow, she would be home.
Adam arose the next morning equally eager to reach journey’s end and aware that a small amount of forward planning was necessary. He would deliver Miss Edgerton-Foxe to her door and hopefully, if she didn’t throw a tantrum over it, manage a discreet word with her senior staff. But he needed to find lodgings elsewhere and Goddard had suggested New Romney – so Adam instructed Noakes to pull in there in order to deposit Finch and their bags at whatever inn he might find. Since the town couldn’t be more than a couple of miles from Dragon Hall, it occurred to him that he could have sought the lady’s advice on this – did he not suspect she’d direct them to some flea-infested hovel.
They drew up at the Cinque Port Arms at a little before three and ascertained that there were rooms available. Adam wasn’t surprised. The town appeared to be of reasonable size and possessed an imposing Norman church but what he’d seen of the area around it – endlessly flat marshland, intersected by water channels and inhabited mostly by sheep – was less than inviting. Even the sun, which had been with them nearly all the way from London, had disappeared behind rolls of low grey cloud. All in all, he didn’t imagine the place got a lot of visitors. He also wondered how it still qualified as a Cinque Port since it wasn’t on the coast. He was still pondering that when Miss Edgerton-Foxe leaned out of the carriage window to greet the inn-keeper who, until that moment and wearing an expression of curiosity verging on suspicion, had been watching Finch unload their bags.
‘Good day to you, Mr Hadlow. I hope Mrs Hadlow and the children are well?’
He beamed at her. ‘That they are, Miss Millie, that they are, and I thank you for asking. Mrs Poole said you was expected – and coming to stay for a good long while.’
‘For some months, certainly.’
‘And young Mr Guy? He’ll have finished his studies by now, I’m thinking.’
‘He has and he will be joining me here presently.’
Under cover of this exchange, Adam took the opportunity to say softly, ‘Be careful, Harry. We’re escorting the lady home and may stay on for a few days – that’s all you know.’
Finch nodded. ‘Reckon they don’t see many strangers – and like it that way.’
‘I think so too. Settle in and order dinner. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’ He turned back to address Miss Edgerton-Foxe. ‘Which is our best way from here?’
‘Continue on this road and at the end of the town, take the left-hand fork,’ she replied. ‘Two miles further on you’ll see the turning to Dragon Hall on the left.’
Adam nodded and climbed back into the saddle. He imagined that once out of town you could probably see every building in a three mile radius, the landscape in every direction being utterly flat. And sure enough, a mile further on a long, L-shaped house came into view, standing alone amidst the sheep-dotted acres. For the life of him, Adam couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to live in such a benighted place. However, he was beginning to see all too clearly why Goddard had concerns about a lady living here alone but for servants. The nearest neighbours were either in New Romney or perhaps the handful of cottages surrounding another church tower he could see in the distance.
As he got closer, he saw that Dragon Hall was a half-timbered, three-storey construction to which a brick-built wing had been added at some later date. In the original, medieval part of the house was an arch-way that presumably led to the stables and other out-buildings. It looked solid and comfortable rather than grand and it sat its ground with an air of superior defiance.
By the time they arrived on the gravel sweep at the front of the house, what looked like the entire household staff had poured outside. And when Adam opened the carriage door to offer Miss Edgerton-Foxe his hand, he saw her smiling for the first time. It was a wide, uninhibited smile, dazzling in its warmth; a smile which completely transformed her. And although he knew it wasn’t for him, Adam found himself smiling stupidly back.
Thankfully, he realised that she hadn’t noticed. She had eyes only for the folk here to welcome her home. She brushed past him in a flurry of dimity petticoats and virtually flew into the arms of a middle-aged woman, wearing the lace cap and chatelaine of a housekeeper while younger maids and footmen broke into ragged applause. Every face expressed honest pleasure at seeing her. Clearly, thought Adam, the ‘Miss Millie’ they knew was not the one he’d been travelling with for the last three days.
That lady had forgotten he was there. After hugging the housekeeper and offering her hand to an elderly man Adam supposed was the butler, she beamed at the crowd of maids and footmen and told them how happy she was to be home at last.
Her maid, still hovering in the carriage behind him said, ‘It’ll calm down in a minute, sir.’
‘Will it?’ Turning, the smile still lingering around his mouth, Adam offered his hand so she could alight. ‘I take it Miss Edgerton-Foxe hasn’t been here for some time.’
‘No.’ Martha descended but kept hold of his hand. ‘Not for more’n six months.’
‘That explains the furore of excitement, then.’ He gently disentangled himself. ‘Doubtless someone will help with the trunks in due course.’
‘I could ask Mr Coombes, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ And when she showed no sign of moving but continued to gaze admiringly up at him, ‘Now, perhaps?’
Sighing, Martha moved away. Adam folded his arms and leaned against the carriage. Noakes, having finished untying the straps holding the luggage, emerged beside him and said, ‘Think they’ll remember us any time soon?’
‘One can but hope.’
A few yards away on the terrace, Camilla was about to go into the house when the butler halted her saying, ‘Pardon me, Miss Millie … I’ll send Thomas and Ned to bring in your trunks. But what about the gentleman? Will he be staying with us?’
‘Oh – no. No, he won’t.’ A sudden surge of guilt heated her face. How could she have left him standing there unacknowledged? Mama would have been appalled! Worse still, she’d given him a stick to beat her with. ‘I’ll speak with him myself, Coombes.’
‘Very good, Miss.’
Camilla approached her unwanted escort with a degree of reluctance and fully expecting some sardonic remark. Deciding to tackle the issue head-on before he could say anything at all and addressing both him and the coachman she said crisply, ‘I apologise. The pleasure of being home again temporarily drove everything else out of my head. Noakes … my people will see to the horses and unload the carriage while you find food and ale in the kitchen. And Mr Brandon … perhaps you would care to join me for tea?’
She didn’t sound as if she wanted him to but Adam knew why she had felt impelled to issue the invitation so he smiled in a way guaranteed to make her grind her teeth and said, ‘I would be delighted, Miss Edgerton-Foxe. But perhaps I might first wash off a little of the dirt from the road?’
‘Of course.’ She stalked back towards the house before he could offer his arm and thus force her to either take it or appear even more impolite than she already had. ‘Coombes will show you to one of the guest rooms and Mrs Poole will have water sent up. When you are ready, please join me in the yellow parlour.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. I will endeavour not to keep you waiting.’
‘Oh, don’t give it a thought, sir,’ Camilla replied grittily, determined not to be out-done. ‘I am happy to await your convenience.’
He bowed. She curtsied.
Then he followed the butler up the stairs, subduing an impulse to whistle.