stood subdued by Patience’s side.
“Where ye been? Answer me! Ye should ha’ been back over an hour ago,” the woman scolded, with a jerk on the child’s thin arm.
At first, Patience could only stare at the scarlet-clad woman who must be Sally’s aunt. An acrobat? Small wonder they could not find her on the ground.
Lord Londringham stepped forward. “Madam, we have been searching for you for some time. Do not be harsh with the child. She only wanted to enjoy the fair.” His interce-dence acted like cold water on a fire, and the aunt’s anger slowly died.
The little woman stared in surprise at the earl. “Sir, I do beg ye pardon. I hope me gel hasn’t caused trouble.”
The whiny voice grated on Patience’s frazzled nerves, and she told Sally’s aunt, “Little Sally was no trouble at all. We were only concerned we would be unable to find you.”
“Well, ye did, and I’m much obliged. I’ll take care of her now,” her aunt ordered, giving a second glance to the gentleman in front of her.
Quiet during the reunion with her aunt, Sally now gazed up at Lord Londringham. “I never had near so much fun before. Thank ye, Mr. Long, for the orange and the rides and the puppets and everythin’.” Her voice floated sweetly up to him.
Patience watched as the earl knelt stiffly beside the little girl. “You are welcome, child, and I did not forget. For you.” He offered her the brown-wrapped package he carried under his arm.
The child eagerly ripped open the paper and discovered a pretty wooden doll dressed as a shepherdess, with long flaxen hair, rosy cheeks, and holding a tiny crooked staff.
Sally looked in awe at her present and then at the earl. “Oh, thank ye, sir. I’ll take good care of her.” Her small face turned pale, and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
The earl nodded and rose to a stand, his eyes unwavering on Patience.
Hesitantly, Sally approached Patience, who sank to her knees. “I’m sorry about pretendin’ ye was me mama. I did want the doll. I guess I wanted a mama too. I hope yer not too mad.”
Patience smiled at the child’s honesty. “I am not mad, but lying is seldom rewarded, except perhaps this time.”
Sally nodded before smudging a shy kiss on Patience’s cheek.
“C’mon. Ye be ’nuff trouble for three children.”
The woman’s brusque coldness chilled Patience’s warm heart. She wished that there was something more she could do for the child.
When the woman would have dragged Sally off, Patience called, “Please wait.” She quickly slipped the earl’s coat from her shoulders and offered it to him with a short nod. “I must go. Thank you for your kindness. I know Sally truly enjoyed herself.”
She turned to leave, but a firm hand on her thin sleeve prevented her. “And Mrs. Grundy? Did she enjoy herself as well?”
His face again in the shadows, somehow she felt her answer to be important to him.
“Of course. You…you proved an amusing as well as considerate companion.” She thought her praise high, in view of the circumstances.
His smile widened to a grin. “I suppose the same can be said for Gulliver.”
“Gulliver?” She knew she should not have asked.
“My dog.”
While studying her flushed face, he raised her hand and softly kissed her glove, his warmth penetrating through to her skin.
“Mrs. Grundy, you do interest me, a great deal. I’m confident that we will meet again,” he told her and bid her good evening with a touch to his beaver hat.
Patience froze looking after him. His sentiments seemed ominous. Perhaps they would meet again, right before he was hung for treason.
Sally interrupted her troubling thoughts, tugging on her hand for attention. Looking at Sally’s aunt’s suspicious countenance, Patience was aware she needed to explain a few things to the little woman. A few bob, and she gained the aunt’s silence.
After matters were finally remedied, and Bella had taken Sally home, Patience could search for Colette. Since most of the fairgoers had wandered into the night, only a small handful of people remained near the dying bonfire. To her relief, she soon found Colette at the square, looking for her too. They strolled back to their lodgings, along with the rest of a tired crowd. Patience could only hope her disguise as a still-room maid in Lord Londringham’s house would hold up to scrutiny after this night.
Back at Paddock Green, Bryce lay awake for a long time reflecting on the sweet countenance of one Mrs. Grundy. He knew Grundy was not her last name. Who could she be? He wished he had inquired as to the cousin’s surname.
The bright flames of the bonfire around Mrs. Grundy had created a vivid aura against her soft brown hair. He remembered the tiger-lights sparkling in her lovely hazel eyes, and the warm look she unknowingly had sent him when he had given the child a new doll. He rose from the bed to walk over to the chair where he had laid his coat. He could still smell her lavender perfume on it. And a faint odor of peppermint.
The lark awakened him outside his window with the morning light pouring onto his bed in uneven lines. He had not slept this deeply in months, and it took him a few minutes to realize the cause.
No nightmares. It was because of her. Mrs. Grundy. He knew little about her, but sure as the world held hope and regrets, he would find her again. Unfortunately, he had to find his stepbrother’s murderer before he could enjoy her tempting pleasure.
Chapter 2
A man of middle years with a long, thin face, Viscount Carstairs slowly drained the last drops of beer from his tankard and contemplated the inside of the familiar Bear’s Wit tavern with half-masted eyes, yet again wishing for a good fellow to whom he could boast of his ingenious plan. But this late on the starless and windy night, anyone still awake was no doubt about the Devil’s work. He grinned at the thought. He wanted to crow that by tomorrow morning he would be rich and a long way from England.
“We need to talk.” The soft-spoken voice startled the older man, not yet in his cups.
The viscount looked up suspiciously to spy his young cousin. The lone candle on the table flickered, briefly lighting the pale, drawn face of the young man, obviously wearied from a long journey. “Rupert, my boy. What do you here? Did you not get my note? You are wanted for treason. It is not safe for you,” he told him under his breath. Then Carstairs smelled it: the odor of the hunted. “You look all in. Beer will straighten your back.”
A quick shout brought the innkeeper and another tankard. When he protested about wanting to close for the night, the viscount silenced him with a few more coins in the man’s pocket.
Rupert took a long drain from his cup before he replied in an undertone, “I know. I have spent the last two days avoiding a press-gang who wanted to throw me on a blockade ship and the constable’s men who seek to hang me. I do not remember my last meal or soft bed. Please, you have got to help me.” He paused. “I’m tired of running.”
His
