Money presented another problem, though to a lesser extent. Because she had intended to shop with Honoria, she had taken a fair amount with her. It would serve until she arrived in Cumbria. Once there, she’d need little money to sustain her until she returned to London.
Perhaps when she came back at Christmas she could renew her acquaintance with Captain Dawson. Quite unlikely. By then someone else would surely have attracted his attention. She could do nothing else about Amiable, so she turned her full attention to her escape from Philippe. How had she ever found that man attractive?
Chills, like a goose walking over her grave, sped down her arms. No one must know where she had gone. Not even Honoria or Aunt Phoebe. As silver-tongued as Philippe could be, she had no doubt they would be susceptible and easily persuaded to betray her whereabouts “for her own good.” If he found her alone, either on the road or at the Keep, she could do little to stop him from forcing himself on her in the name of their “marriage.” The scene in her bedroom at the French Ambassador’s party rose before her: his smooth hands fondling her, her pleas for him to stop, and the gag that silenced them. She fought down her rising gorge. Nothing could induce her to submit herself to him. Not even marriage.
While she had been deep in thought, Roberts, the coachman, had circled back, and headed again for Beaumont Crescent and Honoria’s home. She tapped on the trap.
Roberts opened it. Calm and broad-faced, he awaited instructions. The world could go to hell in a handbasket but Roberts would be sturdy and unruffled.
“Roberts, we have had a change in course. We will go north to Lord Dalbury’s estate in Cumberland but I need to make you and George privy to my plans. Can we head outside the city and stop at an inn to talk, do you think?” She wouldn’t feel safe from Philippe until she’d left London behind her. They could sort out their travel problems then.
“Aye, my lady.” Roberts bobbed his head. “I knows just the place, The Blue Bull right outside the city. Will that suit, milady?”
“Yes, thank you, Roberts.” Juliet leaned back and closed her eyes, at last ready to make plans.
Chapter 4
Resisting the urge to turn and stare after Lady Juliet’s retreating carriage, Amiable entered Morehouse. The woman would be fine. He handed his sword to the butler, Mortimer, and continued on to the small parlor he preferred to use for business. The morning’s post included an invitation to dine with his sister Verity, Lady Ayrdmore, and another to an end of season house party at Braetons’ country estate in Kent. He would send regrets to both. He should see Vee, but he didn’t feel up to it. The Braetons would understand he still mourned his brother, even if he didn’t wear the black armband. Of course, the death had occurred almost six months before. Poor Pax.
Amiable sat heavily on the Queen Anne chaise, the focal point of the room. The blue and cream appointments reminded him keenly of his mother, receiving visitors, sipping tea, always gracious. All the rooms, in fact, spoke of his mother’s impeccable taste that had drawn beauty from simple things. Her death six years ago was another hurt scarcely bandaged. The most recent blow to his heart, however, took precedence today.
He’d been in love with Katarina Fitzwilliam for several years, despite her youth. He had fenced with her, ridden with her, squired her to the local entertainments in Williamsburg’s provincial society during her last year in Virginia, and had finally asked her to marry him after her father’s death. Her stricken eyes and sudden tension had smote him even before her verbal refusal assailed his ear. He didn’t care that she did not love him. That might have grown in time from the regard and respect she admitted for him. Her refusal left no doubt. If he knew anything of Kat, it was of her honesty and forthrightness; had there been any hope, she would not have refused him outright.
After she and Jack had set sail for London, he had tried to put the whole affair behind him. Then, in early May her letter had arrived, taking him by surprise and giving him a wild hope. If only it had not arrived with along with the news of his brother’s death.
He stood, determined once more to forget her. She had married, and a marquess no less. Apparently, the troubles she had hinted at in her letter had been overcome in the most splendid of ways. He must wish her happy with the path she had chosen.
Amiable started for the staircase, but stopped, unable to let the puzzle of Katarina’s actions go. If her life had been so idyllic, then why had she written the letter that had brought him to London yesterday and to the rather bizarre scene this morning with Lord Dalbury’s sister?
The beautiful Lady Juliet presented a perpetual air of damsel in distress, although she had proved most resourceful. That she had pulled off that little drama without missing a beat suggested he had met a master of deception. Not a very desirable trait for a woman, but in her dire circumstances, forgivable. He usually loathed dishonesty in anyone, but even he had been swept up into the madness of her lie. Indeed, he would have fought the sickening blackguard for her honor. Would do it still if required. Perhaps a fencing match this afternoon would quench his blood thirst.
He headed for his suite upstairs. Pray God Lady Juliet would not come to grief on her imprudent journey. A shame he could not have provided her with an escort, but he bore no relation to the woman at all. Her reputation would be in shreds by the time they reached their destination. Not to mention her brother would likely call him out for his pains.
Neither did his own life need the addition of a romantic entanglement. Oh, but that woman could tempt a saint—a description that had never applied to him. Nothing appealed to him more, however, than a woman in need of rescue. No. He must dismiss the image of her—such a soft, sweet armful.
Her fears about the Frenchman were likely unfounded. The fellow wouldn’t have the audacity to pursue her, if he thought her a married woman. Weighed against the impropriety of such an escort, even with the presence of her maid, his current course seemed the only prudent one.
Entering his boyhood room, he signaled his valet for a change of clothes. The reputation of Angelo’s School of Arms had reached even to the backwater of Virginia. He might as well go see for himself if it deserved its repute. One never knew when one would be called on to defend a lady’s honor. Best err on the side of caution and be well prepared.
* * * *
For over an hour they fought their way out of the madness of the London traffic, jostled by huge wagons filled with goods, almost run down by a phaeton driven by a wild-haired gentleman, and slowed to a crawl by the sheer number of vehicles leaving the city. A lengthy journey fraught with tension that had drained her more than she expected. Juliet gave thanks to God as her coach pulled into the inn yard of The Blue Bull.
Roberts swung down as soon as the carriage came to a halt and swiftly met the inn’s ostlers who were trying to take the horses out of the shafts.
Juliet beckoned Glynis and George into the inn and went to find the innkeeper. Not five minutes later she and her servants sat in a private parlor, gathered around a table.
“I have had a change in my plans for the summer.” Juliet looked at them one after the other. “There is a gentleman in London whom I must avoid until my brother returns in December. The easiest way I see to do this is to retire to the marquess’ Cumberland estate near Wigton. No one must know we are there, so we cannot return to Dunham House before leaving.”
The coachman and stable boy exchanged dismayed glances.
“I realize this will put a strain on Roberts and George. You believed you would return to the house this evening and so have brought no belongings.”
Both men nodded.
“Please know I will compensate you all accordingly when we reach Guinevere’s Keep and will make provision for your clothing and such necessities as you require until we return to London.” She shrugged. “With the marquess from home, this is the only means