Indecently Daring by Emma V Leech
Chapter 4
Dear Miss Milly,
I am beyond relieved to receive your reply. Whilst I would never think ill of you for keeping such a ramshackle fellow as I at a distance, I confess your lack of communication dashed my hopes. You cannot know how reassuring it is to find that my estimation of your character was entirely accurate. You possess an abundance of courage and generosity that I am going to stretch to its limits, my dear, and yes, you may consider this a warning. I must speak to you candidly and alone. Can you allow it?
I hear you are to leave Heart’s Folly soon. So I shall waste no more time and call on you tomorrow. We shall then see just how courageous you truly are. I will not blame you in the slightest for not being at home when I arrive, but I pray you will hear me out.
I swear I mean you no harm, and that my intentions, while selfish, are entirely honourable.
―Excerpt of a letter to Miss Emmeline Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) from The Most Hon’ble Leander Steyning, The Marquess of Wrexham.
6th January 1845, Holbrook House, Sussex.
“Four hams, two bottles of port and six jars of preserves!” Cat said triumphantly to Aunt Harriet as the footman carried in their spoils.
“All from Mr Davies?” her aunt said in astonishment. “I don’t believe it.”
Alana laughed and gestured to Cat with a flourish. “May I present your secret weapon, Aunt. No one can resist her, I swear. Not only was Mr Davies putty in her hands, but even Mrs Davies liked her. It was she who donated the jam, and it's her best blackberry jam. Apparently, it's famous in these parts.”
“It is,” Aunt Harriet agreed, looking quite stunned.
“We also visited two other houses and stopped off at the bakers, so we have two lace hankies, six balls of wool, an Encyclopaedia Britannica, and the baker has promised to make two selection boxes of cakes and biscuits,” Alana said triumphantly.
“Well, I am impressed, girls. Truly. And, if you can get such a generous donation from Mr Davies, we shall be inundated.”
“I am at your disposal,” Cat said cheerfully, tugging at her bonnet ribbons and casting it to one side.
“She should work for the government,” Alana said, regarding her friend with fascination. “She’d make the most marvellous spy. I’ve never seen such a talent for wheedling information out of people. It was quite Machiavellian.”
“What kind of information?” Aunt Harriet demanded, leading them into her cosy parlour.
“Oh, the useful kind,” Cat said with a grin. “Like the fact Mrs Parker has a surplus of green satin sitting in her storeroom and she’s just taken delivery of two dozen kid gloves, that Mr and Mrs Clark could certainly spare a goose or two, and Mr Saunders had a mysterious delivery two nights ago that chinked and had French writing over the crates.”
“In other words, you can add a bolt of green satin, at least three pairs of kids gloves, two geese and three bottles of cognac to your list for the auction,” Alana said, shaking her head with undisguised admiration as she took a seat by the fire.
The day had remained bright and sunny, but it was bitterly cold, and her toes were numb, despite the sturdy boots she favoured. Cat’s feet must be like blocks of ice. Alana gazed at the dainty toes peeking out from beneath Cat’s fashionable gown. She’d not complained of the cold, not even once.
Alana’s stomach gave an audible growl, and she clutched at it. “Sorry. I’m famished.”
“How can you be famished?” Cat demanded. “I saw what you ate for breakfast. Sausages and bacon and eggs, and three slices of toast and jam!”
Alana shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m hungry.”
Aunt Harriet laughed, smiling at her indulgently. “I’ll see if luncheon is ready.”
Once she was gone, Alana stretched luxuriously, like a cat, relishing the heat of the fire as it warmed her frozen toes.
“What were you talking to Reverend Martin about earlier?” Cat asked, curiosity in her eyes.
Alana shrugged. “Nothing much. I just wondered why he’d been so unkind to the young woman with the jam tarts.”
Cat frowned. “Well, he didn’t want to encourage her attentions, obviously.”
“Oh,” Alana said, brought up short. “Was it obvious?”
“Er, yes.” Cat replied, staring at her as if she were a half-wit. “Good Lord, Lana, you have been out of society far too long if you couldn’t see that.”
Alana bit her lip, feeling suddenly rather guilty.
“What on earth did you say to him?” Cat demanded.
“Nothing!” she protested, her cheeks growing warm. “Only… well, I might have accused him of lying.”
“Lana!” Cat’s eyes grew wide. “You accused the vicar of lying?”
“And I might have suggested he was unkind,” she added, her cold toes curling with mortification.
Cat put her hand up to cover her mouth and Alana was uncertain if it was shock or amusement she was hiding. Her friend gathered herself sufficiently to reply.
“Good heavens, Alana. I’m supposed to be the outrageous one, you do remember that? You know, for a moment there I thought perhaps you’d caught his eye, but now I see he was furious with you. The poor man,” she added with a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like suppressed mirth.
Alana huffed and folded her arms. “Caught his eye, indeed. He’s done nothing but cast disapproving looks in my direction since the moment we met. Though I suppose I must admit, I’ve done nothing much he could approve of. Oh, drat it. Now I shall have to apologise to him, and I loathe apologising. There’s nothing worse than being in the wrong!”
“Cheer up, you silly goose. I can assure you apologising when you know you’re in the right is infinitely worse.”
A gong sounded somewhere in the house, and Cat leapt to her feet, tugging Alana with her. “Come along. You know you get morose when you’re hungry. Let’s have lunch and then apologising to the gorgeous vicar will seem vastly less distressing.”
“It had better,” Alana said gloomily, and allowed Cat to tow her out of the room.
6th January 1845, Heart’s Folly, Sussex.
Emmeline paced up and down the parlour. Her heart thudded behind her ribs, an excitable and uneven series of beats that she could not believe were good for her health.
“Do stop being such a nitwit,” she muttered as she paced, but no amount of scolding would soothe her jittery nerves.
Somehow, everything had worked out perfectly. Louis and Evie had gone for the day and Mama had gone with them, believing Emmeline’s fib about having a headache, though she would have a headache soon enough if she kept this nonsense up. Her father had left the day before with Felix to attend a meeting in town, and Emmeline and Mama were due to follow at the end of the week. Today was also the day many of the servants, including Emmeline’s maid, took a half day, and the house was practically deserted. A cold luncheon had been left out for her in the dining room, should she desire it, but Wrexham still hadn’t arrived. There was no way on earth she could sit still long enough to eat a bite when she was in such a state of agitation. No matter how she looked at it, the fact was she had lied and arranged circumstances so that a gentleman with a reputation as a libertine, and one about whom there were whispers of madness, could call upon her, alone.
That did not seem to be an entirely sensible thing to do.
“Entirely sensible,” she said incredulously. “It’s deranged is what it is, and now you’re talking to yourself. Congratulations on losing your reason.”
Shaking her head at the sad state of her morals and her sanity, Emmeline flounced into the nearest chair and put her head in her hands. Wrexham had sworn his intentions were honourable, if selfish, and she believed he meant her no harm, foolish as that might be. As for the gossip about his state of mind, he seemed perfectly sane to her. Besides which, anyone seeing her in such a tizzy might well think she was mad and start a ridiculous rumour. The thought was not entirely reassuring.
The sound of wheels upon gravel had her leaping to her feet. She raced to the window and peered around the curtains to see Wrexham’s elegant carriage stop at the front door. Hurrying out, Emmeline made it down the front steps just in time to see Wrexham step down from his carriage with the aid of a footman.
Emmeline’s breath caught as she took in the sight of him and so disordered her brain that she almost tripped and fell down the steps. Saving herself at the last moment, she slowed her steps, so she did not embarrass herself by landing in a heap at his feet. Though her thoughts had been far too preoccupied with him of late, she had convinced herself that he was not half so handsome as she remembered, and it was just her overactive imagination gilding the lily.
It wasn’t her imagination.
Sunlight glinted off thick hair the colour of old gold. The marquess held an ebony walking stick in one hand, long, strong fingers curled about the silver handle, and his tall, imposing figure gave one a sense of the commanding personality behind his eyes. Impeccably dressed as always, that he was blind made not a whit of difference to the impression of a powerful man in the prime of his life. Doing her best to gather her scattered wits, Emmeline curtsied, despite him not being able to see it, for the footmen could and she was damned if he’d get anything less than the respect he was due.
“My lord, it is good to see you looking so well. You have recovered from your illness, I hope?”
“Miss Milly,” Wrexham said, his expression becoming alert as she spoke. His words were warm and approving and made odd little shivers run up and down Emmeline’s spine. “I am quite recovered, I thank you, and how good it is to hear that lovely voice again. I am so pleased you are here. I feared you might not be at home.”
“I would not do that, Wrexham,” she said crossly, annoyed he should think her such a feeble creature.
“I’m glad, though I should not have thought ill of you for doing so,” he replied, a wry smile tugging at his mouth.
Emmeline stared at his lips for too long, remembering the fleeting touch of his mouth against her cheek, and then blushed furiously. Ridiculous girl, she scolded herself, for he could hardly see her staring or blushing, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“Well, I would have,” she retorted sharply, thoroughly discomposed now. “Would you take my arm, Lord Wrexham? There are eighteen steps to the front door.”
“I had forgotten how very fierce you are, Miss Milly, and I will take your arm with pleasure.”
“Miss Knight!” she corrected him impatiently, though in truth she had come to like his nickname for her, and his teasing. Lord, but she was in a bad way, she thought with a sigh.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Knight,” he said gravely, though she felt certain he was laughing at her, and was then quiet for a moment as they navigated the steps.
“We’ll go to the parlour,” she said as they walked. “It’s a lovely room that catches the morning sun and there’s a fire blazing, too. It’s delightfully cosy. Shall I order some tea?”
“Not on my account, but please do if you would like to.”
“Oh, no, I’m all agog to discover what it is you want to discuss with me,” she said, wishing she had not sounded quite so eager. Emmeline glanced up at him, wondering if she could gather any clues from his expression but his face was impassive, giving nothing away.
“Here we are. If you would like to take this chair.” Emmeline waited as Wrexham put his hand on the chair back and oriented himself. Once he was settled, she sat in the chair opposite him. Suddenly she wished she had ordered tea, for it would have given her something to do other than gawk at the stunning man before her like the verriest ninny.
Wrexham tugged off his fine leather gloves and laid them in his lap, his walking stick resting on the side of the chair. Then he remained silent for a long moment, his face turned towards the fire, and Emmeline could not help but study him. In stillness, one would never know he was blind. His eyes were undamaged and did not move restlessly back and forth as she had seen once on another person so afflicted. They were also beautiful, the darkest blue she had ever seen, almost indigo, and thickly lashed, a darker gold than his hair. Emmeline shifted restlessly, nervous, and wondering what on earth he wished to say.
He turned towards her, his expression sharp, as though he had heard her moving and knew she was anxious.
“Forgive me. This is most improper of me, and I am not putting you at ease, am I? Only I hardly know where to begin. I do not wish for you to think me… well, no doubt you will think me a lunatic, but there is no help for it. I have no other options left. We are alone?”
“Y-Yes,” she stammered, wondering what on earth he was talking about, and just how far she was risking her reputation for this man, for not all the servants were absent and this visit was bound to be remarked upon.
“I believe my stepbrother is trying to kill me, and I think my father is helping him.”
Emmeline gasped, horrified. She had known something was terribly wrong that day she’d found him alone in the snow, but this…. “Wrexham! Oh, my word. Whatever has happened? Have you been hurt? Is it safe for you to go home?”
Wrexham gave a choked laugh, his expression one of such relief and yet such pain, that Emmeline did not know what to think. So she didn’t. She got up and knelt on the floor before him, taking his hand in hers, and only then noticing all the little cuts and injuries on his fingers. She looked up, seeing a faint bruise on his temple that she had not remarked before. His fingers curled about hers, his grip warm and sure, and Emmeline’s heart gave a peculiar lurch behind her ribs.
“Miss Milly, you are the first person I have told who has believed me without questioning my sanity or asking if perhaps I was mistaken, if I was quite sure I hadn’t just let my imagination get the better of me.”
“I do not believe you are a man given to histrionics, Wrexham,” she said, aware she sounded annoyed and agitated, but now she was terrified for him.
“Thank you,” he said, squeezing her fingers tighter for a moment, his voice not entirely steady. “Even if you do not wish to help me with my mad scheme, I thank you for that, for believing me, with all my heart.”
“W-What mad scheme, my lord?” Emmeline asked nervously, uncertain if she was more scandalised by the idea his brother was trying to murder him, or that she was alone with him, holding his hand. Her gaze remained riveted upon their linked fingers until he spoke again.
“Ah, as for that, sweet Milly. I wonder just how courageous you really are?”
Alana walked briskly, tilting her face to enjoy the morning sun. It was beautifully bright again, if freezing. The ground was rock-hard beneath her boots as she strode out with Cat at her side. There had been another hard frost, and everything sparkled white in the glittering sunlight. Ordinarily, she would have very much enjoyed her walk, for being out of doors on such a fine day—and with such lovely countryside to enjoy—was Alana’s idea of time well spent. However, her journey had a purpose, and one she was not looking forward to in the least.
The church came into view. Alana sighed as Cat shot a grin in her direction.
“Well, you’d best get it over with,” Cat said, laughter behind the words.
Alana scowled and pushed open the gate, walking down the uneven flagstone path to the church doors. The huge door creaked a little as they entered, and Alana blinked at the dim interior as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. An older lady hurried down the aisle towards them, emerging from the gloom.
“Is that you, Miss Cadogan? Oh, and Lady Catherine, too. Good day to you!”
Alana smiled as Miss Dudley’s sweetly faded face came into view.
“Good morning, Miss Dudley, how do you do?”
“Oh, I am quite well, thank you for asking dear. And you ravishing creatures, are you well?”
“Hale as a horse,” Alana replied with a grin as Cat rolled her eyes, before gesturing to the armful of greenery that Miss Dudley held. “Flower displays for the altar?”
“Oh, yes, not that there are any flowers to be had at this time of year, sadly, but I’m doing my best with foliage, and I found some lovely holly with berries on, though they put up something of a fight,” she added sadly, lifting her hand to show her white woollen glove had a hole ripped in the thumb and the wool stained with blood.
“Goodness, you have been in the wars. Shall I clean it for you?” Alana offered, frowning.
“No, no, dear. I’m not the least bit squeamish about my own blood, it’s only… other people’s,” she said, swallowing hard and looking a little green.
“All the same, it needs seeing to at once, Miss Dudley,” Cat said, looking rather stern, which was usually most out of character. “You know a tiny cut can be a dangerous thing if it gets infected. One of Papa’s gardeners, a great strapping fellow, almost died because he let a silly little wound fester rather than get it treated. So, I would really be happier if we saw to it now.”
Miss Dudley paled, obviously caught upon the dilemma of being tended by the daughter of a marquess and wondering how on earth to say no to Cat. Alana well understood the problem.
“Oh, w-well, if you insist, my lady….”
“I do insist,” Cat said firmly. “My darling Pippin would never forgive me if I ignored such a thing, and you fell ill.”
“Very well,” Miss Dudley said, carried along by the force that was Lady Catherine Barrington. “B-But… isn’t she a witch?” she whispered the last words, as if she feared being struck down for uttering them in the house of God.
“I was looking for Revered Martin,” Alana said hastily, before Cat could reply, as the look in her friend’s eyes was a little daunting. She was exceedingly protective of Pippin, whom she viewed in the light of a beloved grandmother.
“Well, of course he’s teaching now, dear, but if you walk over to the vicarage, you’ll find him easily enough.”
Alana turned back to Cat, who had taken Miss Dudley’s arm and was marching her back down the aisle towards the vestry. “Is there a sink? Soap and water at least?” she demanded.
“Oh, yes, the vicar is most particular about… it’s all very….” Miss Dudley said helplessly.
“Come find me when you’ve finished here, Cat,” Alana called after her friend, receiving a very business-like nod in return.
Well, once Cat focused on something, she was rather an unstoppable force. Certainly a feather-brained creature like Miss Dudley had no chance of resisting her. Smiling with amusement, Alana headed back out of the church and in the direction of the vicarage.
Rather to her surprise, it was the sound of laughter that drew Alana towards the elegant, whitewashed building that was the vicarage for the Church of St Nicolas. It was a large house, built in the classic, square symmetrical style of the last century, with large sash windows and a portico over the front door. Alana knocked, and waited, and waited, but no answer was forthcoming. Remembering that her aunt had said something about the vicar needing a housekeeper, she set off in the direction of the laughter.
With hindsight, Harry wasn’t certain that Ivanhoe had been the most intelligent choice of reading matter for his boys. He’d known the derring-do of the hero would find favour, but he had not banked on quite the amount of swords fights and overexcited re-enacting of the battles as they had provided him with.
Still, it had encouraged Jeb with his reading, to the extent the boy would beg to read another chapter even after the school day had ended. This from a child who had watched the clock incessantly until a few short weeks ago. It had encouraged him in his theatrical endeavours too, it seemed, for the boy was holding the rest of the class in awe as he stood on his desk, reciting from memory. Jeb was perhaps eight years old, but was skinny and slight, so he looked younger. His sandy blond hair was thick and curling and badly needed cutting, for the other lads teased him over his lovely locks. Harry made a mental note to persuade the boy to let him do it. Perhaps it wouldn’t be pretty, but it might avoid Jake Phillips ending up with another black eye when Jeb lost his temper again.
Harry’s lips twitched at the boy’s over dramatic retelling, which was nonetheless word perfect and most enthusiastic. His smile dimmed, however, as the door opened, and an unwelcome but lovely vision appeared.
“Silence, maiden; thy tongue outruns thy discretion!” Jeb pronounced fiercely, at which Miss Cadogan bristled.
“I beg your pardon! I haven’t said a word yet.”
The entire class stared, dumbstruck, and for a horrible moment Harry thought she was serious, but then she gave a snort of laughter.
“Oh, your faces,” she crowed, delighted. “And what a marvellous rendition. How clever of your teacher to choose such an interesting book to study.”
The boys roared with laughter, which evidently pleased Miss Cadogan. She looked dreadfully smug and got that laughing look in her eyes that made the back of Harry’s neck prickle with anxiety and made him think thoughts a vicar had no business entertaining.
“Boys! Is that how gentlemen behave in the presence of a lady?” he demanded severely.
“If the lady’s as pretty as this ’un, and they’ve a lick of sense, aye,” one young devil muttered under his breath. Harry scowled and suspected Peter Willis, who was something of a wag, and would do anything to get a laugh.
“You will stand up smartly in the presence of a lady and keep your mouths shut,” Harry said firmly. “Now, Miss Cadogan, what can we do for you?”
“Oh, er… actually, I wanted to speak with you, but I see now I’m rather de trop,” she said sheepishly.
“’Ere, isn’t that French?” demanded Jeb, who was full of surprises today.
“That’s right,” Miss Cadogan said, smiling at the boy. “It means too much.”
Jeb looked the lady frankly up and down. “You don’t look too much to me, miss, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”
“Jeb!” Harry said severely. “You do not make personal observations about a lady’s figure.”
Jeb gave him a sceptical look. “Beg pardon, Rev, but Greg Clark told the barmaid at the Lamb somethin’ of the sort, and it worked out well enough for him, and what with you being a vicar, I reckon he might have more experience of that kind of thing. No offence.”
Before Harry could even begin to decide how to respond to that little gem, a soft sniggering sound caught his attention, and he looked up to see Miss Cadogan fighting a fit of the giggles. Harry did his best to tamp down his irritation but, really, she was a blessed nuisance. Not content with disturbing his lesson and inciting the boys, now she was laughing at him.
“Was there something you wanted?” Harry growled.
“Y-Yes, I told you so,” the lady said unsteadily. “But I see I’ve called at a bad time. I’ll come back again anoth—”
“Oh, no you won’t,” Harry said firmly, stalking towards her. The idea she might come back and repeat this experience was far too disturbing. “If you’ve something to say, I’ll have it now, I thank you. Boys, you will read the next chapter in silence whilst I am gone. In silence. Mark my words or you’ll spend the entire morning on conjugating Latin verbs tomorrow.”
There was a collective groan, but the boys obediently settled down with their books.
“I’m sorry for barging in on you,” the irritating baggage said the moment he had closed the door behind them.
Harry said nothing, walking on towards the front door in the hope he could have dealt with whatever it was she wanted by the time he got there.
“I tried the front door but there was no answer, so I came around and heard that terrific rendition from Ivanhoe—he really was splendid, wasn’t he? — and I simply couldn’t resist finding out what was happening. Irresistibly nosey, as I warned you,” she said ruefully, the words accompanied by a charmingly sheepish smile which only irritated him more. What business had she poking her nose into his school and being charming?
“And did you come on the off chance of seeing a theatrical production, or was there another reason?” Harry asked, immediately guilty for sounding so snappish and impatient.
He was supposed to set an example of kindness and patience, and usually he did a reasonable job of it. He took a breath, intending to apologise, but it was too late. The lady’s eyes flashed.
“There was another reason, yes, but I’m beginning to regret the impulse to come at all. Apologising is not one of my favourite pastimes, but apologising to pompous vicars ranks very low on the list of things I wish to waste my time on.”
She folded her arms, those disturbing sea blue-green eyes glinting with a look that dared him to make things worse.
Sadly, there was a devil in Harry, a devil that would rather die than walk away from a dare. He had spent much of his life fighting that particular devil, and for the past five years he’d thought himself successful. Yet that look in her eyes called to the wicked bit of his soul that he had tried so very hard to tame, and made the blasted thing rattle its chains for the first time since he’d been ordained. And really… pompous? Him? Now that was too much.
“Miss Cadogan, I am not the least bit pompous, but when ramshackle females insist on turning up at my house unescorted, it puts me in a difficult position. Bearing in mind I explained this particular difficulty to you only yesterday, your behaviour rather confounds me. Not to mention the fact I ought to be teaching, and you have disturbed a lesson which had been going very nicely until you turned up and got the boys all overexcited.”
Her beautiful face flushed, which ought to have looked unattractive, he was certain. It wasn’t. Drat the woman.
“I am not unescorted!” she retorted. “I was with Lady Catherine.”
“Ah, a marvellous escort, another unmarried female. And where is the lady at present?” Harry made a show of looking about him for the missing young woman, even opening the front door and looking about outside, which was undoubtedly childish but satisfying.
“She’s at the church, tending to Miss Dudley.”
“Tending to her?” Harry said in alarm. “Why, what’s wrong, is she unwell?”
“No,” Miss Cadogan said with a sigh. “She stabbed her finger on a holly bush. Not fatal, I think, but Cat takes such things seriously and insisted it was properly cleaned and bandaged.”
“Quite right, too. A sensible young woman,” Harry said, having seen firsthand how a minor wound could cause a fatal fever in a matter of days.
“Unlike me, I suppose,” Miss Cadogan said, a challenging glint in her eyes.
Harry decided silence was the better part of valour. Miss Cadogan did not agree, judging by the glittering look she bestowed upon him. Without another word, she turned on her heel and left through the open doorway.
“Wait!” Harry said, seized with indignation that she would come here, cause havoc, and then go without telling him why she’d come in the first place. Had she mentioned an apology? He’d been too annoyed to pay much mind. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Never mind,” she said, not turning to look at him. It rather sounded as if she was gritting her teeth.
Harry hurried after her. “Well, you’ve come all this way, you may as well.”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Definitely gritted teeth, he decided.
“Don’t be ridiculous, what did you want with me?”
She swung about then, causing Harry to grind to a halt before he ploughed into her.
“I didn’t want anything with you, Reverend Martin. I only wanted to apologise for being rude to you yesterday, but right at this moment, I’m not sorry at all!”
With that, she stuck her nose in the air, and stalked off.
