The Countess' Lucky Charm (18 page)

“We saw the fire last night and assumed it was you. We waited for daylight so we could come by canoe,” Daniel said. “Lisette worried about you but I told her not to fret, that the evil spirits didn’t want you quite yet.” He joked but his face was serious. “I trust both of you are well?”

“Yes,” Temple nodded, “but the canoe is gone. Swamped in yesterday’s squall. Jolly good you’re here, though, I’ve lost my boots and didn’t fancy the trek back in my stocking feet.” His voice was rueful and Simone could tell he was upset over losing them—they would be difficult to replace. Not to mention the canoe he had worked so hard to build. In some way, she knew it had been a symbol to him, of what a man could achieve with his own bare hands.

She took her time getting up, yawning and stretching before lurching to her feet. She brushed away the sand clinging to her cheek and stretched once more.

“I don’t suppose you brought something to eat?” She flashed the three a saucy smile. “I’m starving.” A lady of quality, she knew, would never admit to such a base instinct as hunger but surely she could be excused just this once.

“Here, Lisette sent this along.” Daniel handed her a small leather bag. “There should be enough for both of you.”

“Thank you.” Eagerly, Simone grabbed it and pulled open the flap to find a handful of soap berries and several slabs of what looked like wrinkled leather.

“Dried salmon,” Daniel explained at her questioning look, “the first harvest of the season. You had better get used to it,” he added, “winters here are long. Fresh food is hard to come by but thanks to the natives, we’ll have an abundant supply of dried salmon and we shan’t starve.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely.” Although her words were brave, Simone was dubious as she took one of the pieces. She handed it over to Temple before taking one for herself, flipping it over to inspect both sides before taking a suspicious nibble. She chewed slowly, finding the flavour strong and she popped a berry in her mouth to counteract it. It was palatable, to be sure, and although she had gotten used to eating dried meat on the journey here, she hoped Daniel was wrong about subsisting on nothing else for the winter.

In a few minutes they had finished eating and the four set off for the outpost, Simone and Temple seated in the middle of the canoe, and Daniel and Baptiste manning the paddles. The water was choppy, the morning breeze stiff, so the two paddlers kept the canoe close to shore.

“Supplies came late yesterday,” Daniel remarked after a while, seemingly unaffected by the exertion of paddling against the waves. “With them came a letter for you, Temple.”

“Oh?” Temple said. “That’s odd.” His words came out strangled, as if he had to physically force them past a constriction in his throat.

At the peculiar tone in his voice, Simone turned around to see a scowl on his face, his jaw clenched and brows drawn together so tightly they resembled a bristled charcoal awning over his eyes.

And his eyes. She caught only a glimpse before he looked away but his scorched mocha eyes seethed with anger, with bitterness, with loathing. In a flash she knew—his family had found him, had somehow tracked him here to a wilderness on the very edge of the world.

“Temple?” Nerves boiled in her stomach at his obvious upset. It was all she could do to clutch the gunwales and not vomit over the side.

Thankfully, neither Daniel nor Baptiste noticed her distress, or Temple’s frown, or if they did, they politely ignored it. Diligent to their task, the canoe fair flew over the water.

The sun shone well and high by the time they arrived at the fort, where a smiling, visibly relieved Lisette waited for them in the doorway of the Harmon cabin.

“We worried about you,” she scolded gently as they trudged in, Temple and Simone trailing Daniel and Baptiste.

“Now, Lisette, I told you we would find them safe and sound.” Daniel leaned his paddle against the wall.

“I know, but there are many dangers in the forest.” She peeked around Daniel to look at Simone. “You are unhurt?”

Simone nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Lisette’s obvious worry for their wellbeing was almost more than she could bear and she was afraid if she opened her mouth, she would collapse into a sobbing, wailing heap. Yesterday’s events had left her on edge.

“Good,” Lisette said. “Go rest for a while and come back for lunch. We have fresh bear meat today.”

Simone nodded again and turned to go.

“Wait, Temple,” Daniel said. “Let me get your letter.”

His words stopped Simone in her tracks. The letter.

She sucked in a deep breath of air and waited for her world to stop whirling.

The letter that could or would change everything.

“Go ahead, Simone.” Temple gave her a little nudge. “I’ll follow you shortly.”

“Very well,” she said faintly. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she waved at Lisette and walked away. She held her head up proudly, resisting the urge to run, not sinking to her knees until the door of their little cabin swung closed behind her.

And there she stayed, arms clasped about her middle, rocking back and forth, as if the motion could keep her apprehension at bay.

It couldn’t.

She tried to keep her thoughts under control, to not jump to any wild conclusions as to the contents of the missive but it was futile. Various scenarios crowded her mind, each more ridiculous than the last, but all with one thread in common: Temple would move on with his life and leave her behind. She knew it had to happen sooner or later but somehow had thought the vast New Caledonian wilderness would hide them forever. Apparently not. Now all she could do was to wait for Temple and hear his news.

Dry-eyed, refusing to give in to tears, she continued to rock.

* * *

“Thank you.” Temple took the letter from Daniel’s hand, recognizing his mother’s carefully formed lettering on the envelope.

“If you would excuse me?” At Daniel’s nod, he walked away, out of the fort, back down to the beach. His clothes stuck against his skin, rocks jabbed his feet through his stocking feet, but he could not wait to read the letter.

He sat down cross legged and gazed appreciatively at the distant, tree-mantled mountains fringing Stuart Lake before looking down at the envelope in his hands.

How foreign, to see his mother’s handwriting in this setting. Usually, her cards and notes would find their way to the silver tray in the entry hall of his town house. It had been, what, a year since he had left London? Regardless of the elapsed time, the sight of her handwriting stirred the familiar sensation—resentment.

An image floated through his mind—of him, his ear in the firm grip of whichever hapless governess was in charge at the time, the smug face of Richard, his older brother standing before him, and the entire scene laced with the detached voice of his mother saying, “Whatever you do, Richard, do not emulate your brother.”

And he, Temple, would be punished and ostracized over the escapade that inevitably had been Richard’s doing. Not once had his mother believed Temple when he had protested his innocence. “Temple, remove yourself this instant. Shame on you for placing the blame on Richard.” Then she would turn away, her disapproval a solid block of ice that he could not melt, no matter how hard he tried.

Temple
sighed and shook his head before turning over the letter in his hands to pry open the wax seal. What was the news from home this time? That his father’s prize bull had taken first prize? That
Boney
was marching on London, leaving a wake of destruction? That his oh-so-proper sister-in-law had finally whelped the squalling brat that would be heir to the duchy?

He scanned the lines then in disbelief, scanned them again and again before crumpling the letter into a plum-sized mass and pitching it into the water. It floated there for a minute or two before sinking slowly leaving only a series of ever expanding circles as the only evidence it had ever existed. Eventually they too, disappeared.

He raked his fingers through his hair. None of his guesses had been correct—who would have foreseen that both his father and brother had died?

Deep in thought, he sat with fingers steepled for some time, staring blankly at the wavelets lapping at his feet. At length he stood up and pulled a vial of laudanum from his pocket. He hefted it in his hand a few times before heaving it as far as he could. It, too, disappeared into ever expanding circles.

Relief rolled over him, lightening his mood. It was over. It wasn’t that he had been addicted to the substance but the vial had been a symbol of the pointless mess his life had become. He had carried it with him, knowing that one day he would toss it in a figurative gesture.

He laughed aloud, savouring his newfound freedom. Truly, this land had given him what he had sought: a new start and a new life. He was ready, nay, anxious to return and carve a responsible niche for himself. And his first responsible act? To help Simone find a respectable position.

As his countess.

At a dead gallop, he returned to the cabin.

* * *

He found her on her knees. At first glance, it appeared as if she prayed but then he noticed her hands were not clasped in front of her but instead, were gripping her middle as if battling a great inner pain.

“Simone?”

Large, hollow eyes turned his way, anguish fading the usually lively blue to pale grey.

“Simone, what’s wrong?”

She just shook her head, once, twice, a tiny motion barely moving the curls framing her face. She opened her mouth to speak then closed it again. Two large tears balled in her eyes before spilling over and trickling down her cheeks.

He moved over to squat down in front of her, elbows propped on wide spread knees. “It’s the letter, isn’t it?”

“How did they find you?” she gasped before two more tears followed the first two down her cheeks. “I thought nobody knew where you were going to?”

“I left word with my solicitor.” He fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief. Wadding it in his right hand, he gently brushed away the moisture from her cheeks. “Don’t you think I should tell you what it’s about before you become distraught over the blasted thing?”

She swallowed hard before answering. “It can only be bad news, can it not?” Her voice was thin, reedy, as if all the spirit within her had shrivelled away.

“Perhaps for me it is. It all depends on how you look at it.” He reached over and pried one hand away from beneath her rib cage. Tenderly, he pulled it up to rub her knuckles against his cheek then turned it over to drop a kiss in it. He placed it palm side against his cheek, effectively trapping the kiss there.

Her fingers were cold against his flesh. It truly seemed as if all the life had been sucked out of her.

“You’re going away.” Her words were stark, emotionless as she drew her hand away.

“Not necessarily,” he shrugged. “Not until I discuss it with you.”

She turned startled eyes to him. Good, he got a reaction—she had a bit of life left in her after all. He continued. “The letter was from my mother.”

“And?” It came out as a puff of air as if she had been holding her breath.

“My father died in a fit of apoplexy, and sadly, several weeks later, my eldest brother, Richard, was thrown from his horse and broke his neck. He leaves behind a grieving widow but no heir,” he added.

“Sadly for your brother but not your father?”

“Yes, well, I say sadly … for now it appears I am the next Earl of Leavenby and have been requested to return to fulfil my familial duties.”

“Earl? You?” She gaped at him. Chuckling, he reached over to tap her chin. She closed her mouth with a resounding little snap.

“I daresay it’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” A self-deprecating grin lingered on his lips and he inclined his head toward her in a caricature of a little bow.

“And what about me?” She lowered her face as she said it as if to avoid reading the truth in his eyes.

“I shall take you back to London.”

“You know if I return it is straight to Newgate.” Her voice was bitter. “And the hangman’s noose.”

“Not if you’re the Countess of Leavenby.” An outrageous suggestion, he knew, but one which made eminent sense to him.

“What did you say?” Her head jerked up as if she were a marionette on strings.

“I’m saying all your problems would be solved by marrying me. Constable Carstairs would not clap a countess in jail. Particularly if he has no proof you are Mona Dougherty.”

“You want to marry me?” An array of emotions paraded across her face. Confusion, incredulity, doubt, and, he was pleased to note, hope.

Splendid. That meant she had some feelings for him. For now, however, he would leave that matter alone. He would have to use the other weapons in his arsenal to convince her to accept his proposal.

“Yes. It wouldn’t do to see you dangling from the gallows.”

She frowned at him.

“Besides, we wouldn’t want to let all your lessons go to waste now, would we?” he continued cheerfully. “And what better way to thumb your nose at everyone who ever pulled their cloak aside as they walked past you or pretended you didn’t exist as they rode by in their carriage while you stood shivering on the street? It’s your chance, Simone, your chance to make something of yourself.”