June Calvin (18 page)

Some miles later the ribbon merchant was replaced by a stout cleric. To Davida’s relief, Mrs. Randall did not tell the runaway’s story to Reverend Arksworth, who might have scolded her at the least, and even perhaps appointed himself to return her to her parents.

Instead, the worthy minister began to argue theology with the soldier, whose own religious beliefs had been shaken in the ordeal of war. Though she had firm religious beliefs, Davida was no theologian. She began to doze.

When she awoke Mrs. Randall was gently shaking her shoulder. Another stop. It was midafternoon. She made haste to freshen herself while the horses were changed. The kindly goodwife left her a bundle of bread and cheese, for this was where she would leave the coach.

By early evening the only passenger remaining from the original group was the soldier, who was going to visit his brother in Leiscester. He had assured Mrs. Randall he would watch out for Davida. But no one offered her insult or danger, only a good deal of contradictory advice while the coach thundered on.

At Queenswicke, where she had originally planned to leave the coach to take a hackney to Harwood Court, Davida changed her plans slightly. At the last posting house she had caught a look at her pale face and disheveled clothing in the mirror of the refreshing room. She looked terrible. Also, it was going to be very late by the time she could reach the duke’s. She would have to rouse him from his slumbers. Both vanity and prudence dictated that she look more the thing before proposing to Lord Harwood. Also, at this late hour, it would be very difficult to arrange transport to Harwood Court from Queenswicke, whereas the larger town of Meersford would readily be able to provide her with a hackney whenever she wanted it.

Briefly, Davida considered going home, but she was afraid that her father’s servants might prove uncooperative. Old family retainers were often every bit as stuffy and domineering as parents. The housekeeper, in particular, might cut up stiff about letting her go to visit the Duke of Harwood on her own.

So she decided not to get off at Queenswicke, which was too small to have a decent inn. She purchased the additional ticket and continued to Meersford. It was not much farther from Harwood Court than Queenswicke, which was situated at the apex of a triangle almost equidistant from the two towns. There, at the Boar and Thistle, she could safely take a room for the night, for she knew the proprietors well, having often taken tea with her family there. She could rest a few hours, change into a fresh dress, and catch the early rising duke before he had time to depart on his day’s activities.

It was with great relief that, near midnight, she entered the Boar and Thistle. “Miss Gresham, is it?” The surprised younger son of the innkeeper greeted her. “But whatever are you doing on a public coach? Where is your family? Never say you are traveling without a maid?”

“Hello, Paul.” Davida had expected questions, but this barrage overwhelmed her. “I am exhausted. Could I have a room and a cold collation?”

“Of course, Miss Gresham. Right away.”

“I’ll need a gig or a hackney to take me to the Duke of Harwood’s tomorrow at first light,” she informed Paul as he handed her a room key.

“The duke? Not going home, hey?”

Davida had decided that the best approach with Paul and the other workers at the inn was simply not to answer their questions, so she just smiled at him. “And could I have some warm water for a bath, please?”

Davida did not expect to sleep very much, so worried as she was about her coming interview with the duke. But she had slept little the night before, and the day had been exhausting. Before she could be assailed by her doubts, or wonder what her parents were thinking, Davida had fallen soundly asleep.

Chapter Twenty-one

L
ord Pelham and Sir Charles had started several hours behind Davida, but they had two distinct advantages. First, riding on prime bloods, they could make much better time than even the fastest coach.

Second, once they had learned at The Swan With Two Necks that a young girl answering Davida’s description had indeed purchased a ticket for Queenswicke on the northbound Fast Coach, they could ride the coach’s route with single-minded purpose, stopping only to change horses and grab a quick bite to eat. During such stops they made inquiries and were able to ascertain that Davida was still on the coach, still destined for Queenswicke.

At the last stop before Queenswicke, they verified that Davida had been seen on the coach, and decided to ride straight to Harwood Court.

“There’s not a decent inn in Queenswicke,” Sir Charles had reasoned, “so she’ll cozen some sort of conveyance and go directly to Harwood.”

They fully expected Davida to have arrived there an hour or two before them. It was 3
A
.
M
. They had been blessed with a nearly full moon, which had made it possible for them to ride swiftly through the night.

When they at last roused the duke, they were horrified to learn that Davida had not arrived. Pelham feared that Sir Charles would collapse, so upset was he at this news. After a reviving brandy, though, Davida’s father pulled himself together.

“She must have gone home. No doubt that’s what she intended all along.” Sir Charles looked hopefully at Pelham for confirmation.

“Or perhaps there is someone else she might visit nearby?” Pelham’s query had the same hopeful, unsure quality about it.

The Duke of Harwood was curious, but too discreet to question his obviously distraught neighbor closely. He was told only that Davida had left home having given the impression she was coming to see him.

After he had sent his tired visitors on their way to Sir Charles’s nearby home, the Duke of Harwood mused over a brandy, wondering why Davida would come to him. It would be most improper. Unless? An interesting explanation caused the duke’s lips to curve in a speculative smile.

At the Gresham manor house, a single question to the sleepy, astonished servant who answered the door plunged Sir Charles into despair. “Not here, Monty. Damn all! Where can the chit have gotten to?”

“Perhaps she stopped somewhere to spend the night? Probably didn’t want to land on the Duke of Harwood’s doorstep in the middle of the night. Probably worn to the bone, too, pounding along all day in a public coach.”

Gray with exhaustion, Sir Charles could only say grimly, “I hope you are right, young man, though I have no idea who she would turn to other than Harwood. But I can’t go on without a little rest. We’ll start early and search for her tomorrow.”

Lord Pelham wanted to go on searching, but he was unfamiliar with the country, and by this time the moon had set, making riding dangerous under the best of circumstances. He decided to rest for a few hours along with Sir Charles and then get an early start in the morning.

The first rooster was crowing as the maid obediently awakened Davida. She groaned, sure the bird must be mistaken, for she could detect no light in the sky. Still, she got up and hastily made her toilet, swallowed a dish of tea with a sweet roll, and settled into the hackney which she had requested the night before. By the time dawn was streaking the night sky, she was demanding entrance to the Duke of Harwood’s home.

“The little minx!” Lord Harwood snapped when told by his sleepy and very exasperated butler that Miss Davida Gresham awaited him below. Servant and master alike had barely fallen asleep again after his first visitors had departed.

“Tell her I will be with her shortly. And send a messenger to Sir Charles immediately to let him know his lost lamb has turned up on my doorstep.”

When Harwood entered his front drawing room, he paused a moment to savor the fresh beauty of his guest, who was standing like a frightened fawn before his carved marble fireplace.

“Davida, my child. This is a surprise!” Lifting her from her curtsy, he took her hands and led her to a settee. “I am sure you have a reasonable explanation for your presence here, unaccompanied, and at this barbaric hour.”

Davida flushed and stammered. She’d always liked Sarah’s father, but his manner of speech, usually faintly ironic, often left her not sure exactly what he meant. She had the strong impression he wasn’t really surprised to see her, in spite of his words. Yet how could he possibly have known she was coming?

How on earth could she propose to this intimidating man? Suppose he had never been the least bit serious? Confused and suddenly shy, Davida couldn’t decide where to look.

Lord Harwood laughed lightly at her discomposure. “Let me make things a little easier for you, Davie. Your father and a handsome young whelp named Pelham were here late last night, or I should say, earlier this morning.”

Davida gulped. “They were?” She had not thought it possible that her father could guess her whereabouts, much less catch up with her so soon. And why was Pelham with him? She fought down the sense of hope that tried to invade her. She would permit herself no more of this failure to face reality.

“Yes, and I may add, frantic with worry over you. Your father looked ready to fall over, from having ridden so hard.”

Stricken with remorse, Davida began to wring her hands. “Oh, Your Grace, I’m so sorry, and sorry I’ve awakened you so early, and, and . . .” Tears began to flow.

He placed an arm around her and hugged her, offering her his handkerchief at the same time. After giving her a few minutes to compose herself, he put her gently away, took the kerchief from her, and dried her eyes.

“Now, Davie. I am quite abominably curious. Just cut line and tell me why you are here.”

“S-s-sorry to be such a watering pot, Your Grace.” Davida straightened her shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and poured her heart out to Sarah’s father.

He listened without comment or obvious emotion until she had completed her explanation.

“So you’ve decided you’ll take me up on my offer rather than marry Pelham?”

“Yes, that is if it was a real offer. Or were you just teasing?” Anxious blue eyes searched his face.

Lord Harwood studied her gravely for a long moment. “It would be the marriage of May and—if not December, at least September. It’s just too ridiculous, isn’t it? You laughed when I said it, you know.”

“I . . . I thought it was just a joke. It was Sarah put it in my mind you might be serious.”

“And what was Sarah’s opinion of her doddering old papa marrying her best friend?” Lord Harwood drawled the words, irony lacing his tone.

Davida winced. “I have been very stupid, Your Grace. I am so embarrassed.” Her attempt to leave was quickly parried by Harwood’s gentle but firm grasp of her shoulders as he pushed her back down onto the settee beside him.

“There’s no need for you to be embarrassed, Davida. Rather, I should be. No man likes to think of being ridiculed by his daughter.”

“But she didn’t, Your Grace. Not at all. She actually seemed to like the idea of our always being close, and of your not being left alone when she married. Though I warned her I would be a wicked stepmother.” Davida wrinkled her face into a vicious grimace and then twinkled a smile up at the duke when he barked with laughter.

“Minx.” He flicked her nose with his finger, then abruptly grew serious. “Tell me, Davida, what sort of marriage did you envision when you came here this morning?”

“I’m not sure I take your meaning?”

He cleared his throat and gazed into the distance for a moment, then turned to her. “Were you hoping for a marriage in name only, rather than for a more intimate connection, one that might result in children, for example.”

“Would . . . would you want children, Your Grace?” Davida inquired timidly, eyes lowered and a flush spreading over her cheeks. “That is, Sarah thought you were . . . ah, that you would want companionship.”

A faint unreadable smile crossed his face and then faded. “Well, of course, companionship is a very important part of a good marriage, but you are not answering my question, Davida, my dear.”

Thinking aloud, she mused, “It is not as if you
need
children. You have often said your brother’s three sons more than satisfactorily secured the succession. But I, well, I have always wanted children. But I don’t have to have them, I suppose. Oh, I just don’t know.”

Davida grew agitated. “I really wasn’t thinking very clearly about you, about us.”

“No, you were thinking of your young man. You love him very much, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Davida lifted eyes filled with tears to him. “But as I said, I don’t want to be married to him when he loves another. He might grow to hate me.”

“Yet you offer me the same fate.”

“Please forgive me, Your Grace. It was very wrong of me.” Choked with tears, Davida tried once more to rise, and was once more gently restrained.

This time Harwood pulled her into his arms and tenderly stroked her hair as she wept. “No, no, you mustn’t cry. You may be in the right, you know. Your young man might be miserable with you if he loves another. He seemed very concerned about you last night, but it could just be that he felt responsible.”

Now it seemed as if it was the duke’s turn to think out loud. “I can’t imagine you giving me any grief. You have such a sweet, giving nature, you see. You would do your best to be a good wife to me, I know. I’m sure I could be very happy with you.”

“Then . . . what are you saying, Your Grace?” Davida raised her head and looked into the eyes of a man she’d known all her life. There was tenderness and compassion there.

“I am saying that if you truly wish it, I would be very pleased to make you my wife.”

“Oh! Thank you, Your Grace. I do wish it.” Davida sat up, pulling away from him. “I shall do my best to see you never regret it.”

“There is still a very important unresolved issue here, however.” The Duke of Harwood’s expression was determined.

Her blush clearly told him that Davida knew exactly what he meant. “But I can’t be the one to decide. I mean, if you aren’t . . . that is if you can’t . . . I mean, I would understand, and, as you say, companionship . . .”

Lord Harwood chuckled and cupped Davida’s chin in one large hand, bending his face near hers. But what he might have said or done was interrupted by the butler’s stentorian tones announcing, “Lord Pelham and Sir Charles Gresham.”

Rushing into the room, Sir Charles burst out, “Davida, I don’t know whether to hug you or to beat you.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

“My precious girl, racketing about England alone. Thank God you’ve come to no harm.”

“Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry I worried you.” A look at his haggard face and Davida was sunk in shame at her thoughtless action. “Is Mama . . .?”

“She’s in London, anxiously awaiting news. I’ve sent a messenger to tell her you’ve been found. But what can you have been about, child?” Sir Charles looked from her to the duke.

Pelham stood surveying this scene from the doorway. The relief that had flooded him when Harwood’s messenger had arrived was beginning to be replaced by anger. Like Sir Charles he wanted to shake Davida and embrace her all at the same time. Denied the outlet of the embrace, his emotions erupted in anger. “Yes, what
can
you have been about? Your parents and I have been in agony over your disappearance. Such selfish behavior is inexcusable. And what did you mean in your note about a ‘more favorable match’?”

Harwood reached past Sir Charles to take Davida’s hand and pull her to his side. “Davida has done me the honor of consenting to be my wife.” The characteristic ironic twist he gave to “consenting” caused Davida to look up into his face questioningly.

“Indeed you two walked in before I could claim my engagement kiss.” He lowered his head and tipped a very surprised Davida’s face up so he could press a brief, firm kiss on her lips.

“You come in good time, Lord Pelham, and Sir Charles, old friend, to wish us happy.”