Page 27 of Runaway Countess (Those Wild Whitbys #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

E ven Sebastian had to admit that it was a new low for him to be wandering the streets of Appleby in the broad light of morning, still wearing the crumpled clothing of the day before, hungry, weary, and thoroughly sorry for himself.

He had, perhaps unfairly, slept like a log in the ramshackle comfort of Kendrick’s cottage. The old place was much as he remembered it, the trick window beside the back door still opening at a touch and allowing easy access to draw back the bolt. The bed was even made up with fresh sheets, as though waiting to receive a recalcitrant gentleman who had passed the night in unwise activities and did not fancy making the short drive home.

Since Kendrick’s recalcitrant activities lately had all involved Cassandra, Sebastian tried not to think too deeply about exactly what purpose the cottage had served them. At least he was sure that the illicit activities it had housed did not include breakfast. The cupboards were all passably clean, but bare, and Sebastian had suffered the indignity of salivating over the delicious scent of fresh bread at the bakery only to be told, in a stage whisper, “I’m terribly sorry, Captain Whitby, but I can’t put any more credit on your father’s account.”

It seemed that, despite his firm belief that a chap’s doom was best faced on a full stomach, Sebastian would have to return home unbreakfasted. He was making his way down Appleby’s high street in a foul temper when he thrust his hands into his pockets and found – not the pebble which force of habit had his fingers expecting – but a coin purse that had a hopeful weight to it.

“Ah, Lucius,” he said to himself, tossing the purse up in his hand to listen to it jingle. “I don’t deserve you.”

And he did not deserve breakfast, either, nor a decent mug of anything hot and sweet, but it was not as though he could reverse all the wrongs he had done by starving himself, so he turned into the King’s Head and ordered himself a plate of eggs and bacon and a pot of tea.

He was feeling terribly guilty, of course, and would have to choke it all down. The eggs, he was sure, were ashes in his mouth. The thick slab of bread needed slathering in butter before he could manage to swallow it. The tea by rights should have scalded his unworthy throat, so he made sure to take several large gulps of it to give himself the best chance to atone.

He was halfway through his second slab of bread and butter when he realised, to his astonishment, that the unhappy-looking man slumped at the table next to his was none other than Shepton Mallet’s most happily married greengrocer.

Sebastian swallowed his bacon. “Mr Gage?”

He half-expected that the man was simply a hallucination brought on by excessive hunger and self-recrimination. No such luck. Mr Gage turned a green-tinged face to Sebastian and managed a wincing nod.

“G’morning,” he mumbled. Sebastian was not entirely certain that he was trying to say “good.” Green, ghastly, or ghoulish all seemed more appropriate to the fellow’s state of mind.

“What are you doing here?” asked Sebastian. “Have you been taken ill? You should be on your way to Shepton Mallet.” A chill ran through him. “Where is Jenny? Has something happened to her?”

Mr Gage groaned and massaged his temples. “Happened? No, nothing’s happened, sir. Lord, what a head I have on me! Helen will never let me hear the end of this.”

Sebastian relaxed and poured the ailing man a fresh bit of tea from his own pot. “I should have warned you about my mother’s fruit punch. I take it you are too ill to drive home.”

“Too ill by half!” Mr Gage took a cautious sip of the tea. “Ah, that’s better.”

“And where is Miss Cartwright?”

“Oh, she is quite well, Captain, quite well.”

Sebastian was cheered by the prospect of seeing Jenny again so unexpectedly soon. The weight of his troubles already seemed lighter, knowing that she was nearby.

“Mrs Smythe was very glad to see her,” Mr Gage added, taking another tiny sip of the tea.

Sebastian froze. “Mrs Smythe?”

“Yes, of course.” The greengrocer blinked one or two times and pressed a hand to his chest, looking suddenly queasy again. “I’m not sure this tea agrees with me…”

“Mr Gage,” said Sebastian urgently, “ where is Miss Cartwright?”

“Why, quite safe, quite safe,” said Mr Gage, swaying a little from side to side.

Sebastian relaxed.

“She is upstairs, safe and sound with her aunt and uncle.”

“ What ?” Sebastian leapt to his feet at the same moment that Mr Gage clutched a handkerchief to his mouth and pitched forward, groaning.

“What the devil were you thinking?” Sebastian demanded.

Mr Gage dabbed his sweating brow and blinked up at Sebastian with doleful confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” he said. “Mr and Mrs Smythe are Miss Cartwright’s guardians. They have every right to take her away. Besides, they are extremely busy arranging her wedding to Lord Beeston.”

Sebastian caught Mr Gage by the lapels and dragged him to his feet. “Have you lost your mind? Jenny does not want to marry Lord Beeston. Even if she did, Lord Beeston has absolutely no desire to marry her. I thought we had all settled yesterday that Jenny is marrying me .”

The light of understanding broke at last through the nauseous clouds on Mr Gage’s face. “Blow me away, so we did! Now I remember everything. Lord, that fruit punch! What do you propose we do now? I cannot see that either of us has any right to contradict her guardian’s wishes.”

“I don’t give a damn what rights they have,” Sebastian growled. “I will not let her languish in their sorry excuse for guardianship another moment, do you hear? Tell me where she is, and I will fetch out again immediately.”

“Good golly,” said Mr Gage. “Are you telling me you mean to kidnap her?”

“I hardly think it counts as a kidnapping,” said Sebastian, “when the lady herself thoroughly wishes to be kidnapped.”

“An elopement then?” Mr Gage mused. “Yes, elopement’s more fitting. They’ve got her upstairs, by the way. Door at the end of the corridor. Well, well, a runaway marriage! I don’t know what Helen will make of all this.”

“I am sorry to say that Helen will simply have to get used to the idea,” said Sebastian. Careless whether Mr Gage was following, he sprang from the table and darted through the door that led to the guest rooms. He dodged past a bemused maid carrying a bundle of bedsheets and took the stairs two at a time, hammering upon the door to Mr Smythe’s rooms. “Open up!” he bellowed. “Open up, or upon my honour I shall break down this door!” He was pounding on the door with such enthusiasm that, when it was opened by a liveried butler, Sebastian’s fist very nearly carried on knocking right into the man’s upturned, disapproving nose.

“Where is she?” Sebastian demanded, pushing past the butler and entering the sitting room. Mrs Smythe was in the middle of haranguing her maid over a near-invisible spot of dirt that had not come out of her glove. She looked as though she had been about to fling the glove into the maid’s face, but was so surprised by Sebastian barging in that instead, it slid from her hand to the floor.

“Captain Whitby!” she cried, wiping the sneer from her face and replacing it with an insincere simper. “Why, this is a surprise indeed. May I offer you some tea?”

“I’d rather drink poison,” he replied with a brilliant smile. “Let’s not beat about the bush. I am here for Miss Cartwright. Tell me where she is, and I will not have to tear these rooms apart until I find her.”

“Fitzherbert!” called Mrs Smythe, taking a step back from Sebastian. “Fitzherbert, do come at once! Captain Whitby has called to collect our dear Jenny.”

Sebastian had been fully prepared to face all manner of resistance, but he was more than a little bewildered by Mrs Smythe’s delight at seeing him. Behind him, groaning quietly to himself, Mr Gage had finally caught up and staggered into the room.

Fitzherbert Smythe strode in with the brisk stride of a man who is certain of achieving his aims. “Now, that’s what I call efficiency!” he said, holding out his hand for Sebastian to shake. “I must say I had my doubts about whether we could pull it off, after the way Lord Beeston was talking yesterday. You gave me quite the cause for concern with all your dancing about the point! But you have managed it after all, have you? I suppose you, after all, know your friend best. Is Beeston really so impatient to meet his bride?”

Sebastian opened his mouth, but his brain pieced together the evidence from his own ears just in time. He closed it again. He stared at the meaty hand waiting before him.

“Come along, now,” said Mr Smythe, beaming. “This is a cause for celebration. You have earned your commission on the Fortitude, and no mistake!”

Sebastian began to wish that he had stopped to think for at least thirty seconds before rushing up the stairs to rescue Jenny. It had not occurred to him that Mr and Mrs Smythe had no idea of what he had confessed to Lord Beeston the evening before. It had certainly not entered his mind that by bursting in, insulting them, and whisking Jenny away before their eyes, he would be doing away with all his chances of securing the very future he had sworn to Jenny that he would provide.

At that moment, the door behind Mr Smythe opened. Jenny came into the room, arm in arm with her cousin Elspeth. Sebastian had been afraid that he might find her miserable, pale and frightened as she had been when he first hauled her out of her hope chest.

In fact she looked neither beaten down nor anxious. Her chin was high, her cheeks flushed, her eyes full of fire. She looked utterly beautiful and utterly formidable at the same time.

Sebastian’s entire being warmed at the sight of her. It amazed him that Mr Smythe did not immediately see in his face the truth of all that had passed between him and Jenny.

He loved her. He’d risk all the world for her.

But he could no longer compromise his own character and talk away his misdeeds with the excuse of true love . All his life, he’d always found excuses for himself. Either he had acted without thinking, situations had got out of hand, he was overcome with anger or strong liquor or a passion for justice…

No more. The time had come to set aside all the disguises and pretences, to abandon his childish habits of evading the consequences he so richly deserved. He refused to start his life with Jenny based on anything but perfect honesty. He could not accept Mr Smythe’s bribe. He’d build them both a future the way it ought to be built.

“I am not here to escort Miss Cartwright to Lord Beeston,” he said, tucking his hand behind his back and leaving Mr Smythe’s hand unshaken. “Lord Beeston no longer has any interest in marrying Miss Cartwright. They have formally ended their engagement.” Fitzherbert Smythe’s face was no more than an angry blur. All Sebastian could see was Jenny. Her rueful smile, the fond shake of her head, her clear eyes which mixed the earth and sky together. “Miss Cartwright is now engaged to me, and I intend to marry her the moment she turns one and twenty. Or a little sooner,” he added, ever the optimist, “in the case that you give us your blessing.”

Elspeth let out a a cry of delight and sank into a chair as though her legs could not support the weight of so much excitement. Jenny, for her part, stood as strong and still as ever, but she was smiling. Sebastian smiled back.

“You treacherous wastrel,” Mr Smythe growled, taking a menacing step toward him. “How dare you think of marrying my niece? You can kiss goodbye to any hope of a career from this point onwards. I shall not be sending my recommendation to the admiral. In fact, I shall do everything in my power to ensure you never receive a commission again. Why, I ought to –”

Sebastian decided that he had better not find out exactly what Fitzherbert Smythe thought he ought to do. He dodged out of reach of Mr Smythe’s swinging fist and darted across the room to Jenny.

“Get your hands off her at once!” screamed Mrs Smythe. “Help! Fire! Murder! Summon the constables! This rogue is kidnapping my niece!”

Mr Gage, hitherto unnoticed, held up a finger. “You are mistaken, Mrs Smythe! It is not really kidnapping if the young lady is willing. I believe the term you are looking for is an elopement .”

Jenny caught hold of Sebastian’s hand. “This way,” she said, and pulled him back into the bedroom she was sharing with Elspeth.

“No, you don’t,” Mr Smythe growled, but just as he started across the room towards them, Mr Gage let out a terrible retching sound and cast up his accounts all over Mr Smythe’s polished boots.

Elspeth Smythe took advantage of the ensuing chaos to slip through the door before Sebastian slammed it shut.

Sebastian leaned against the door while Elspeth began enthusiastically dragging the dressing table across the room to block it. “Miss Smythe,” said Sebastian, “while I do appreciate your assistance, don’t you think you ought to stay on good terms with your mother and father?”

“It is difficult to stay on good terms with them at the best of times,” said Elspeth, with a nervous laugh. “I imagine it will become almost impossible when they realise that I took the liberty of sending off Father’s letter to Admiral Walters yesterday morning.”

“Elspeth!” Jenny breathed, pushing at the other end of the dressing table. “That was very daring!”

“It was you who gave me the inspiration,” said Elspeth, her cheeks aglow. “After Captain Whitby delivered your letter, at first I did not know what to think. And then I did know – I thought it was wonderful. I only wish I had stood up to Father sooner. It’s all so terribly exciting!”

Sebastian grimaced as he felt the force of the blows which Mr Smythe was hammering upon the door. “I’m afraid it will be much less exciting if we are all trapped in here awaiting a constable to come and arrest me for kidnapping,” he said. “Jenny?”

“Really, Sebastian,” she said, with a grin that was positively wicked. “After all that we have been through together, how could you doubt me?”

She flung open the curtain to reveal the open bedroom window.

“No,” Sebastian groaned.

“How thrilling!” said Elspeth.

“Don’t be alarmed.” Jenny gave a smile which was, in fact, distinctly alarming. “I have thought it all through quite carefully this time, with a little inspiration taken from your sister Cassandra.”

Sebastian closed his eyes briefly in the vain hope that when he opened them, a different version of reality might present itself. “You have not even met my sister Cassandra, and already the two of you are conspiring to drive me mad.”

“It is perfectly simple,” said Jenny. “I selected this window very carefully. You will see there is a large apple tree outside, with a branch just within arm’s reach. I noted the way Cassandra’s boot prints lay in the softest part of the flowerbed beneath her window, so in the absence of anything soft outside, I have thrown out several pillows. All we need to do is use the branch to swing ourselves over the pillows, and there should be no harm done at all.”

“Oh, do let me try!” said Elspeth. Sebastian placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“I insist,” he said, shooting Jenny a wry look. “If that branch can bear my weight, we can at least be certain that it will bear yours.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then my broken body will break your fall when you jump out behind me.” He stopped at the open window to give Jenny a grin. “What – nothing to offer me for luck?”

“Elspeth,” said Jenny, “cover your eyes.”

“Jenny, I am nineteen years of age. I really think –”

The dressing table against the door shuddered with the force of a powerful blow. Uncle Fitz had apparently found something to use as a battering ram.

“Quickly!” Jenny trilled. Elspeth gave a squeak and obediently turned her back, hands pressed to her face.

“Now then,” said Sebastian, putting his finger under Jenny’s chin. He let his voice drop to a low, husky purr. “An elopement really ought to begin with –”

It turned out Jenny had her own ideas of how to begin an elopement.

Several ideas. Warm, hungry, fascinating ideas.

Sebastian would gladly have continued exploring those ideas until Fitzherbert Smythe came and threw him out of the window himself if it were not for Elspeth’s impatient little cough.

“There is a crack forming in the door frame,” she remarked. “Are you quite done?”

Sebastian tore himself away from Jenny, winked, and swung out from the window.

Feather pillows were a sight more pleasant to land in than a kitchen midden.

Jenny’s face appeared over the window ledge.

“Is he alive?” called Elspeth.

“He seems to be,” she replied. Her face withdrew, to be replaced by a pair of booted feet. She launched herself forward and caught the apple branch with both hands. Sebastian caught her by the ankle and guided her foot downwards, his other hand coming up around her waist.

It was quite pleasant, holding Jenny in such an intimate position, so close up against him, with freedom sweet as sunlight in the air.

“Good morning, Captain Whitby!” The local brewer, Mr Lovett, raised his hat as he passed by the entrance to the back alley. “You’re doing well, I see!”

Jenny squeaked and hid her face against Sebastian’s shoulder, as though she still had a reputation to protect in some way other than marrying Sebastian. Sebastian laid a comforting hand on the back of her neck. That was rather pleasant, too.

“Good morning, Mr Lovett! How are the children?”

A little shriek of dismay from above distracted the butcher from answering. He frowned up at the single, frantically waving leg Elspeth had extended from the window. “Two at once, eh? Seems rather modern to me.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” said Sebastian cheerfully, reaching up to catch Elspeth’s foot.

“That’s what you used to say when I caught you scrumping from my raspberry bushes,” said Mr Lovett with a grin. He tipped his hat to Jenny. “Good morning to you, ma’am.”

Jenny had recovered herself far enough to make him a friendly curtsey. “And to you, sir.”

Elspeth descended with rather less grace and more shouting than Jenny. Sebastian set her on the ground with some relief.

“Thief!” Mr Smythe’s head now appeared in the window. “Kidnapper! I’ll see you hanged!”

“I’m so sorry, Papa!” Elspeth called back. “Please don’t make a fuss.”

“Come on.” Sebastian could see little point in waiting there for the Smythes’ servants to come and scoop them up again. He tucked his hand through Elspeth’s left arm and Jenny took her right.

“Where now?” she asked him.

“Give me a moment. I hadn’t quite thought that far ahead.”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell me you stormed in to rescue me from Uncle Fitz without stopping to think of how and where we were to escape him?”

“You may feign outrage all you like,” he answered, “but you are the one wearing boots you can run in. I dare say my brilliant escape plan is no more ill-thought-out than yours.”

They rounded the corner onto the main street and immediately assumed a gentle walk, Sebastian straightening his hat and Jenny buttoning up her spenser.

“Fix your bonnet, Elspeth,” she murmured. “Best not to draw attention.”

“There they are! After them!”

Sebastian caught hold of the two women and wheeled around the nearest corner, which took them into the main square. There was very little cover – only a handful of flower beds, none sporting a bush large enough to conceal even a woman as petite as Miss Elspeth Smythe, and a gushing fountain in front of the town hall, where various marble water nymphs and sea creatures spouted rivulets of water within a deep marble basin.

That water would be cold, and probably none too clean. It was still the best option they had.

Sebastian hesitated, glancing at Jenny, and saw that she had reached the same conclusion.

“Come along, Elspeth,” she said, hitching up her skirts with one hand and leaning the other on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Let’s not be put off by a little damp – oh!” As she scrambled over the wide marble lip of the fountain, one of the water nymphs caught her bonnet with a particularly powerful spray of icy water. “How refreshing!” Jenny reached out a hand to Elspeth, who took a step back, looking around fearfully.

“I – I can’t get in there!”

“You don’t have to,” said Sebastian, trying to be as kind as he could despite the urgency of the situation. “You are free to return to your father.”

“Oh, heavens!” Elspeth clutched Jenny’s hand and squeezed her eyes shut. “Help me up, Captain Whitby!”

Sebastian knelt down and cupped his hands so that she could use them as a step. He pushed on her slippered foot while Jenny hauled at her arm, and their combined effort was almost too effective. Elspeth Smythe went headfirst into the fountain, landing with a splash followed by a squeak of dismay.

Sebastian jumped to his feet and peered in to find Jenny crouching low with her arms about Elspeth, sheltering her from the unrelenting downpour from the water nymph’s cornucopia.

They both seemed unhurt.

“Stay down,” he whispered urgently. “I’ll draw them off. Meet me back at Whitby Manor. Try not to marry Beeston while I’m gone.”

“I’ll look after her,” said Elspeth bravely. Sebastian bowed and pressed a kiss to her hand, then, with a wink at Jenny, he darted back to the high street.

Two burly footmen were pounding towards him at an extraordinary pace. Mr Smythe, less burly but seven times as furious, was close behind.

Sebastian rubbed his hands together, backing carefully away from the turning to the square. “Gentlemen,” he began, “I’m sure we can come to an understanding.”

“I’ll tear off your hair and wear it as a hat!” screamed Mr Smythe.

“Understood.” Sebastian turned and ran.

The fountain was rather too refreshing for Jenny’s tastes so early in the morning. The water was icy, and a marble sea serpent was fluting it directly into her ear. Her boots, at least, were watertight, but her skirt had not been designed to withstand much more than a light breeze. Elspeth was even worse off, since she had not been planning a daring escape at all, and was in satin slippers and a flimsy house dress.

“Here,” said Jenny, awkwardly pulling off her spenser without daring to straighten her back above the lip of the fountain. She put it around Elspeth’s shoulders.

The shouting and threats began to fade into the distance. Jenny was satisfied that they were perfectly invisible from the high street, but the square had any number of tributaries, and, to her alarm, the sound of hoofbeats was sounding along the way from the town hall.

A carriage pulled up alongside the fountain. A rather fine carriage, with gleaming blue paint and silver ornamentation, and a crest on the side that seemed familiar.

Jenny raised her eyes to find Viscount Kendrick looking down at her, his hand loose on the reins. He touched the brim of his elegant top hat.

“Good morning.” His eyes narrowed. “Ah. Not a nurse, then?”

She winced and straightened up. “Good morning, my lord. I… I’m afraid not.”

“I knew it.” Lord Kendrick’s dark eyes scanned the square behind her. “Was that Captain Whitby I saw running down the high street just now?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord.”

Lord Kendrick extended his gloved hand. “You’d better get in.”

Jenny blinked, hesitated, and took his hand, setting her foot on the edge of the fountain to step up into the seat beside him. Her soaked skirts leaked water all over the plush padding, but Kendrick did not seem to mind. He reached down for Elspeth next, hauling her up bodily when her foot skidded on the wet stone. Once the ladies were both settled in, he flicked the reins to start off the horses and drew a handkerchief from his pocket, which he passed across to Elspeth.

“To whom do I have the honour?” he asked, shooting a sideways look at Jenny.

“Jennifer Cartwright,” she said.

“Ah. Lord Beeston’s betrothed. Of course. I’d love to say I’m charmed, but under the circumstances, I think ‘resigned’ is more accurate.” He clicked his tongue, and the horses broke into a brisk trot. They had already moved out of the square and were heading towards the edge of Appleby at speed. “Do please introduce me to your charming companion.”

“Elspeth,” said Jenny, remembering at long last all Aunt Fanny’s instructions on etiquette, “may I present the Viscount Kendrick?”

Elspeth, forgetting her mother’s lessons, responded with a startled squeak.

“Lord Kendrick,” Jenny continued, “this is my cousin, Miss Elspeth Smythe.”

“Delighted,” said Kendrick. “Did you ladies have any particular destination in mind, or was the general idea simply to get away?”

“Sebastian asked us to meet him at Whitby Manor,” said Jenny. Lord Kendrick nodded, noting the intimate term of address without remarking upon it.

“Excellent. I am heading the same way myself. How fortunate that I happened upon you both.”

Jenny grimaced. “I’m afraid you cannot really mean that, my lord. This is all quite improper. I must apologise for putting you to the trouble –”

Kendrick waved off her apology with a laugh. “On the contrary, I could not be more pleased to help. After this, Whitby has no choice but to forgive me for marrying his sister.”

Lord Kendrick gave the whip a crack, and the horses sprang on even faster, the open carriage rattling along the road to Whitby Manor.

Lord Kendrick was not the only visitor to Whitby Manor that morning. As his carriage made its way up the drive, Jenny was unnerved to see that no fewer than four other vehicles, all sporting gilt edges and liveried footmen, had pulled up outside the house.

“Ah.” Lord Kendrick gave a grin of resignation. “It seems all the local busybodies are hastening to offer their congratulations. There’s likely to be a crowd.”

“I’m afraid that Elspeth and I are not at all fit for polite company,” said Jenny. The sun had, at least, steamed off the worst of the fountain water, but Jenny’s bonnet would never recover from its dowsing by the water nymph, and Elspeth was looking utterly bedraggled.

“Not to worry,” said Lord Kendrick cheerfully. “I will ask Cass to take care of you.”

“Oh, please do not make me go into the house looking as though I have been dunked into a fishpond!” cried Elspeth.

Lord Kendrick chuckled. “I very much doubt that my dear fiancée will be receiving congratulations in person. No, I expect we shall find her precisely where she usually is at visiting hours…” He raised his whip and shouted a greeting to the stableboy, who had dashed out to lead the horses around.

Lord Kendrick jumped down from the carriage and offered a hand to Jenny and to Elspeth. He slipped a hand into his pocket and removed a toffee wrapped in brown paper, which he tossed to the stableboy.

“Third stall on the left, milord,” said the boy, with a grin.

“Follow me,” said Kendrick, and marched into the stables.

The third stall on the left contained Cassandra Whitby, a scratchy ostler’s overall thrown over her beautiful silk dress, feeding sugar lumps to one of the horses while she chatted to the head groom.

“Hugo!” she said, greeting him with a look of utmost distress. “At last. They need somebody in there to talk about lace veils and trousseaus, and let me tell you, it will not be me.”

“That must have been dreadful for you,” said Kendrick, reaching over the stall to catch her by the wrist and pull her out into the open. “I’m so sorry I was delayed. I had to stop in Appleby to do a favour for your brother. These young ladies caught the wrong end of one of his pranks – I thought you might be able to assist them.”

Cassandra left her hand in Lord Kendrick’s a second longer than was necessary before giving him a fond shove. “I knew I could rely on you to find me a reason to escape the dreaded visiting .” Her eyes caught on Jenny. She frowned. “I know you. You are part of Lord Beeston’s household, are you not?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Kendrick. “This is his fiancée, Miss Jennifer Cartwright.” He was grinning in anticipation of Cassandra’s bewilderment. Jenny had the impression that he loved nothing better than to turn his beloved’s expectations on their head.

Cassandra’s reaction, however, surpassed all his expectations. She took a step back, lifting a hand to her mouth, and gave Jenny a look that was something like pity and alarm in one.

“Come now, Cass,” said Kendrick. “I did not think you would be distressed by a young lady in disguise.”

“I am not,” she answered. She wiped her hand on her overalls and extended it to Jenny, a gesture of easy friendship that took her by surprise.

“I am sorry to be the one to tell you this,” said Cassandra, pressing Jenny’s hand with real warmth, “but Lord Beeston is no longer in a position to marry you.” Her eyes, full of alarm, flickered from Jenny to Kendrick. “None of you have heard?”

“Oh, please don’t worry –” Jenny began, but Cassandra ploughed on as though she could not bear to contain the news any longer.

“Lord Beeston is now engaged to my sister, Georgiana.”