Page 22 of Runaway Countess (Those Wild Whitbys #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

“ W ill somebody please explain what on earth is going on?” snapped Nurse Thomas, her sharp eyes darting suspiciously between Jenny and Mr Gage. “This young lady, as far as anybody knows, is Mrs Hughes, an honest, working woman who serves Lord Beeston.”

Mr Gage dismissed her with a merry laugh. “You are mistaken, madam! This is the very same Miss Jennifer Cartwright I came here to seek.” He took hold of one of Jenny’s nerveless hands and gave it a comforting pat. “Come along, Miss Cartwright. That’s enough of this silly business. Let me take you upstairs to your fiancé. We’ll soon sort all this out.”

Jenny withdrew her hand. “Didn’t Helen read my letter?” she whispered.

Mr Gage gave a rueful smile and shook his head. “Poor Helen took to her bed three days ago. Her time is almost upon us! I read your letter to her, though I must admit I took a few liberties with the wilder details. She mustn’t be distressed at this delicate stage. She asked me to come and help you untangle everything, and so –” He opened his arms wide, presenting himself for her assistance with a beaming smile. “Here I am. And hoping I can see you and Lord Beeston nicely settled in time to be back home by suppertime tomorrow. I don’t like leaving Helen so long, but…” He shrugged, an expression of such domestic docility on his face that Jenny had the sudden urge to give the silly man a smack. “It’s what she wanted,” he concluded.

“Mrs Hughes?” said Nurse Thomas, giving her a look of pure outrage.

“Miss Cartwright,” Mr Gage corrected her, beaming with pride. “Miss Jennifer Cartwright, who is to be married to Lord Beeston!”

“Lawks!” squawked the cook, nearly dropping her tray of cream buns.

“I am not marrying Lord Beeston!” Jenny cried. She got to her feet, wondering for a brief, mad minute whether she could outrun Helen’s husband.

“But you are Miss Cartwright?” Mrs Thomas demanded. Several of the maids had stopped to stare. Jenny hesitated.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said Mr Gage politely, touching the brim of his hat. “Where might I find his lordship? Upstairs, I take it?”

“ You , go upstairs and speak to his lordship?” gasped the cook. “Certainly not!”

“He’ll be pleased enough to see me when he knows I’m bringing along his bride,” said Mr Gage. He caught hold of Jenny’s hand and tucked it firmly into his arm. She pulled her hand back again.

“Mr Gage, there has been a mistake,” she said. “I am no longer engaged to Lord Beeston.”

“I should think not!” said Nurse Thomas, taking up the roll Jenny had abandoned and spreading it liberally with butter. She seemed to be enjoying the unfolding disaster as much as she might a farce at the theatre.

“Don’t fret, girl.” Mr Gage was speaking with the calm, condescending tones one might use for a person who had lost their mental faculties. “We will simply get you re -engaged.”

Jenny returned him a brittle smile and lowered her voice to a piercing whisper. “That will not be possible. I am now engaged to Captain Whitby.”

“Ha!” The cook threw up her hands, sending a dusting of flour into the air, as though Sebastian’s name was enough to explain everything. “That scallywag! Molly, go and fetch Captain Whitby. Tell him to come down for a cream bun and a young lady who wishes to marry him.” She set down a plate and a jar of jam in front of Mr Gage. “You sit yourself down and have a bite to eat, sir. No need to go haring about upstairs unless the young captain says so.”

“Mr Gage,” said Jenny, leading him back to the table and pushing him down into his seat, “if you love Helen, then surely you must wish the best for me, and so I beg you to sit here and finish your lunch, and not go about the place speaking of Miss Cartwright any longer!”

“Mrs Hughes?” The stable boy stuck his head through the doorway. “Cart’s ready. ’Ere, is that a cream bun?”

“Hands off!” snapped Mrs Teasley, giving the boy’s knuckles a rap with her rolling pin. He shook out his dirty fingers and waited, looking expectantly at Jenny.

“Need an ’and with your things, Missus?”

Jenny sank into the chair beside Mr Gage with a sigh. “No, thank you,” she said. “It seems I shall not be travelling to Shepton Mallet after all.” She let her head sink onto her folded arms and tried not to hate him too viciously as he set about munching his way through the bread rolls. “How is Helen?” she asked, letting her head fall onto her folded arms. It was easier to keep her eyes low and avoid the curious stares of every servant who passed by. “I hope she is not alone with the children?”

“Alone?” Mr Gage swallowed his ham and let out a broad burst of laughter. “She has my mother, the midwife, our oldest girl Mary, my two sisters, and my old aunt all taking care of her. Mayhap she wishes she were a little more on her own, but as it stands, you see, there’s very little for me to do but mind the shop and wring my hands while we wait for the latest little one to arrive.” He gave her a nudge which was intended to be sly but was in fact so vigorous it made her jump. “And very grateful I am, for this little problem to keep me busy!”

Jenny managed a weary smile. “That all sounds very cosy.” She would have liked Shepton Mallet, she was sure. Even though she had forgotten, in picturing her idyllic pastoral exile, that Mr Gage had an enormous family and that he and Helen had been busily making their own additions to the Gage family tree, once a year like clockwork since they first married. Presumably she’d have found space to bunk in somewhere between a juvenile nephew and a maiden aunt.

There was a crash as the kitchen door was flung open. Every eye turned to Sebastian as he ran into the kitchen, eyes wild.

“Jenny!” he cried, starting towards her. “What has happened? Are you alright?”

Jenny’s cheeks flushed with heat. She could not help but smile.

It was a wonder, really, that the mad, impetuous man had not revealed her identity days earlier.

“That was fast!” exclaimed the cook. “Molly only went for you a minute ago.”

“Molly?” Sebastian frowned. “I haven’t seen Molly. I heard that Miss Cartwright’s uncle was –”

“Uncle? No, sir! I am her brother by marriage.” Mr Gage rose to his feet and gave Sebastian a bow.

“Oh.” Sebastian’s eyes met Jenny’s, allowing her to see the slow dawning of horror as he realised what he had just said. “Oh. I see.” He swallowed heavily, then turned to Mr Gage with a smile and thrust out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Captain Sebastian Whitby. At your service.”

Mr Gage was visibly thrilled to be addressed with such courtesy by a gentleman. He bowed so deeply his nose nearly went in the jam. “Gage, sir, Mr Cadwallader Gage! The pleasure’s all mine.”

“Here you are, my lad,” said Mrs Teasley, offering Sebastian a cream bun with the same expression she might have given a kitten who had spilled its dish of milk. “Your favourite, eh? I’ve not forgotten.”

Sebastian gave the cook a weary smile and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Mrs Teasley, but I don’t deserve it.”

By the time Sebastian had persuaded Mr Gage that Lord Beeston would not appreciate a greengrocer bursting into his private chambers and demanding that he resume his engagement to Jenny, the garden party was in full swing.

Sebastian was reluctantly grateful for his father’s love of parties. The news that Mr Gage was no longer related-by-marriage to an earl went down much better with lashings of strong fruit punch.

“Do you really think we ought to let him wander about like that?” asked Jenny, as Mr Gage went swaying off from their quiet corner of the garden and began tipping his hat at random intervals to the townsfolk of Appleby.

Sebastian took the opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasure of linking his arm with hers, here in the clear sunlight, where anybody might see them but nobody was looking. “Why not? It’s a party for my father’s tenants, as well as the finer folk of the neighbourhood. Everyone in Appleby is invited.”

Jenny was looking at him with a smile a thousand times warmer than the late summer sunshine. “You are rather marvellous, you know,” she said.

Sebastian felt anything but marvellous. His throat was raw from explaining himself to Mr Gage. His stomach, a knot of anxiety that only tightened when he remembered he had yet to explain himself to Beeston. Jenny had missed her coach – Jenny had no safe harbour in Whitby Manor or Shepton Mallet – Jenny was not yet one-and-twenty, and for all that Jenny was arm in arm with him and gazing at him with every appearance of adoration, he could not find it in himself to feel easy.

“You spoke so respectfully to Mr Gage,” she went on. “As though he was your equal. I believe you have won us an ally in him.”

“It never occurred to me to speak to him any other way,” said Sebastian, astonished. “He is part of your family. I hope he shall soon be my relative, too. How else should I speak to him?”

Jenny squeezed his arm, still bathing him in that sweet, adoring glow. “My uncle has refused all acquaintance with Mr Gage from the moment Helen married him. Lord Beeston demanded several thousand pounds for the indignity of suffering him as a relation. That is how most men of your class would behave.”

“And a dreadful bunch of snobs they are, too. Where would the world be without greengrocers? I’ve a sight more respect for Mr Gage than for plenty of so-called better men.” Sebastian began to accept that the adoring smile was for him, little though he felt he deserved it.

Was this what it was to be loved? Jenny made a habit of sifting through all the muck of his character and managing time and again to pick out jewels from the dirt. He had never before felt so secure in anybody’s high regard. He had never before suspected that he might deserve it.

Oh, his parents loved him, he knew, and despaired of him at the same time. His siblings loved him in a teasing way that made as much of his flaws as his strengths. He had always been the black sheep of the family.

If it all came good, somehow – if Jenny remained unwed until she was free of her uncle’s influence – was this what the rest of his life would be? Jenny always at his side, seeing good qualities in him that he never knew he possessed, lifting him on the tide of her steadfast admiration until he, at last, learned to think well of himself?

“I would go through all this a thousand times over for you,” he said, quietly. “The secrecy, the anxiety – the foolish plans going astray – you are worth all of this, and so much more. You know that, do you not?”

Jenny lowered her eyes for a moment. “You make me feel that I am. Though I sincerely hope that all the secrecy is about to come to an end. All the servants know who I really am. The news will surely spread through Appleby, and it is only a matter of time before my uncle hears it.”

Sebastian took her hand in his. “I will be at your side when you face him. Remember, Jenny. You are not the frightened mouse anymore.” He pressed a quick, hot kiss to the back of her hand. “My lioness.”

She raised her eyes again, the hypnotic mixture of green and gold and blue seeming to sparkle. “I wonder if he’ll be frightened when I roar?”

As they crossed the lawn, Sebastian caught sight of his twin sister trapped in conversation with Kendrick – a situation always liable to end in tears, and not necessarily hers. “I must go and rescue Cass. She cannot bear Kendrick – there’s always an argument when they are together. Will you come? I’m longing to introduce you.”

“Lord Kendrick knows me as Nurse Hughes,” Jenny reminded him with a grimace. “It’s bad enough that the servants are all gossiping about me. Please let’s not become the scandal du jour at your parents’ party! I will rescue Mr Gage from whatever flower bed he has tumbled into and take him back into the kitchens for a cup of tea. I fear he is not accustomed to strong drink.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Sebastian made her a bow, winked, and went to Cassandra’s rescue, safe in the knowledge that Mrs Teasley would thoroughly spoil his bride-to-be.

Jenny sat back on the wooden bench as Sebastian wove through the guests and inserted himself into the conversation between Cassandra and Lord Kendrick. All their plans were in disarray, and yet she felt strangely calm.

Perhaps she really had become the lioness he told her she was. Or perhaps it was simply that, with Sebastian at her side, the prospect of certain disaster was not so daunting.

“There you are.” There was not an ounce of deference, nor even politeness, in Mr Plum’s voice as he approached the quiet garden arbour. He gave her the most perfunctory of bows and then stood with folded arms and a sneer on his face. “Mrs Hughes, Miss Cartwright, whatever you call yourself, I have a message for you from his lordship.”

Jenny’s back stiffened. Lioness , she reminded herself. “Go ahead, Mr Plum.”

Mr Plum’s piggy eyes darted across the garden to Sebastian. He ran his tongue over his lips before he continued. “Lord Beeston thought that, if you had not already left for Shepton Mallet, you would wish to know that your uncle, Mr Fitzherbert Smythe, is currently visiting with him in the drawing room.”

Jenny had never been any good at concealing her emotions. She blanched, and Mr Plum grinned to see it. He leaned closer.

“And I wish to know, ‘my lady,’ exactly how much you and Captain Whitby intend to pay me to ensure that I make no mention to Lord Beeston of what I just overheard.”