Page 57

If the SlipperFits

A Steamy Victorian Romance

CHAPTER ONE

Caden Thurgood came-to with a throbbing head, not entirely certain of his whereabouts.

Disinclined for the moment to open his eyes, he inhaled, long and deep, and allowed a few potentially pertinent facts to reach his consciousness: He lay on his back atop a lumpy surface.

Dampness permeated his clothing where his body met the earth.

He grappled with his fingers and found dirt and grass. Muggy, lake-scented air surrounded him like a second skin. Add to that the incessant chirping of overly exuberant birds overhead and sunlight behind his eyelids, and, voila, he discerned he was somewhere out-of-doors.

But where, exactly?

There was nothing for it but to open his eyes. With reluctance, he did so. A gash of diffuse sunlight all but blinded him and he slammed his lids shut, but not before noting the haloed silhouette of a woman wearing an over-large bonnet hovering above him.

“Am I dead?” he heard himself croak, which decided the question. Dead folk didn’t have voices, nor pounding heads.

“It would appear not.”

The soothing, slightly amused tone of the woman’s voice outweighed the risk of cracking open one eye, at least.

She was a pretty one, even frowning at him with such stern…disapproval? No, not that. It was more apt to say she studied him, as a physician might a patient.

As if in support of his theory, she wove cool, gloveless fingers gently through his hair, searching. Mm. Her light touch felt good.

Her tender ministrations coaxed him to sink into oblivion and close his one eye again. He fought the urge, opening both to study her in return.

She indeed wore a bonnet, a hideous one at that. It detracted not one iota from her rich, chestnut brown hair, currently restrained in a loose knot at her nape, and from which several wispy tendrils had escaped.

She had the most remarkable eyes. Tilted, almond shaped, and amber in color which grew lighter closer to her pupils so they appeared to almost glow.

He knew her. Of course he did. But for some odd reason, he could not conjure her name.

He sent her a grin and attempted to sit up.

With seemingly no effort at all she held him down, one palm to his chest. The woman had more strength than the slightness of her frame implied.

“You mustn’t do that. You’ve acquired a nasty bump on your head.” She sniffed. “And seem to have imbibed a fair amount of spirits.”

He'd been drinking? He smacked his lips. His mouth felt sticky and, yes, tasted slightly of whiskey.

In a rush of memory, his whereabouts came back to him. An expanse of morning sky, a quiet body of water, a perimeter of lush trees, and Harrison.

They'd set out this morning for the lake at Femsworth Hall where they attended a weekend house party.

They’d arrived last night, he at the bequest of his friend, Viscount Sterling Randall. Randall had requested Caden attend in his stead, to accompany his younger brother, Harrison, to, quote, keep him out of trouble.

This morning after breakfast, he and Harrison set out for a day of fishing on Femsworth lake. They’d also uncorked the fine whiskey Randall had proffered as thanks for Caden's escort. In retrospect, that had not been the best idea.

While the two of them hefted the skiff on their shoulders, the younger man reacted to a flying insect as if confronting his own mortality. He released his load to swat at the winged creature, somehow swinging the bow in the process, and thereby bashing Caden in his now understandably aching head.

Where was Harrison? He could ask his female companion. If only he could recall her name…

He drew a steadying breath. Got a nose-full of an elegant floral scent that he somehow knew emanated from her and not from any nearby flowerbeds.

“I beg your pardon, but I seem to have forgotten your name. Remind me?”

“Better yet, tell me of yours.” She leaned closer, affording him a better view of her rosy complexion and heart shaped face. The floral scent grew stronger.

“Caden Thurgood, at your service, lovely.” She was lovely, whomever she was.

“Well?” From several feet away came a sharp voice belonging to an older woman of some authority judging by her regal tone.

“He’ll survive,” lady amber eyes called in reply, smoothing those silky fingers over his forehead once again. “Now be a good prince and close your eyes,” she murmured.

He huffed out a laugh. Had she just called him a prince? He wanted to ask but found himself more inclined to lie still while her blessedly cool fingers soothed the ache in his head.

***

“Thurgood, can you hear me?” Harrison demanded.

Caden’s eyes opened and he sprang up onto his elbows. “Wha-where am I?”

He sprawled on a couch in a too-warm room with heavy drapes drawn so only meager light squeezed through. His head still ached, albeit more dully than before. How had he got here? How long had he been out?

Long enough to have the strangest dream.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to capture the fading images.

He was a boy again, gadding about on the grounds of Chissington Hall, the earl’s estate.

His playmate, an obstinate, bossy female with a head of dark blonde hair, insisted she take on the part of the stolen princess, with him in the role of Prince Charming—again.

He laughed, then winced as pain lanced his skull.

“Glad you’re feeling well enough to see the humor in the situation.” Harrison drew the curtains open in one swift swipe, and daylight flooded what Caden now saw was a well-appointed parlor.

“We were at the lake,” he stated. “How did I get here?”

“I drafted some of my aunt’s footmen to convey you back to the manse.”

Caden narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “After you brained me.”

With a pained smile, Harrison rubbed his own head as if in commiseration. “Does it hurt overly? I really am terribly sorry. I didn’t expect those damned bees to attack and—”

“—and you panicked, and swung the skiff like a weapon."

He had the grace to look contrite. “Sorry about all that, Thurgood. I trust the medicinal whiskey Stirling sent helped mask the pain?”

And made his mouth feel as if he’d swallowed cotton.

“How is the head now, by the by? You had me nervous for a moment, talking gibberish about Robinhood and Prince Charming in your sleep. You do recall we’re at Femsworth Hall for my cousin’s engagement party?”

“Of course I do.” Caden sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. He fingered the knot on his scalp. Yes, definitely tender, but no caked blood. He'd survive.

“No real harm done, eh?” Harrison looked so puppy-dog hopeful that Caden opted to let the matter drop.

He did feel almost normal. He had one question, however.

“What happened to the lady?”

“What lady?”

“The one who tended me after you attempted to crack open my head.”

Harrison eyed Caden with increased concern. “Mayhap I hit you harder than I thought. No one ventured out with us. Although…” He propped a hip against a side table, nearly toppling it in the process. He hopped up, righting the furniture.

Caden pinched the bridge of his nose. Earlier in the week, Randall mentioned something about his younger brother being whip-crack smart, yet a notorious hazard. Caden had laughed. Mayhap he’d laughed too soon.

“Although…?” he prompted.

“I attempted to help you up, only you lay there, limp as a wet noodle and I ran for help. When I returned you’d moved locations. I found you stretched out on your back on the grass as opposed to”—He cleared his throat—“face down in the mud.”

Caden stopped himself just short of slapping a hand against his forehead.

“I'd assumed you'd rolled over on your own. Now I realize, some good samaritan must’ve passed by during my absence. In any case, I can’t tell you how relieved I am at your improved state.”

“So you keep saying,” Caden muttered.

“Now can we attend the picnic? I’m famished.”

He might need sustenance to survive the week. He unfolded himself from the couch. No black spots danced before his eyes. Encouraging. “Lead the way.”

***

“I detest these over-blown things. If not for Beatrice being my favorite grand-niece, we’d not have made the journey south at’all.

” Lady Wentworth held up the lorgnette she wore on a gold chain around her neck and studied the expanse of lawn, dotted liberally with clusters of picnickers and servants.

Anna lowered the pimento-cheese finger sandwich she nibbled and regarded her employer quizzically. “Oh, yes. You like her so well, your first response was to decline the invitation. And it’s Bernadette.” She popped the last corner of her sandwich into her mouth.

Lady Wentworth shot her a perplexed look. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your favorite grand-niece. Her name’s Bernadette.”

Lady Wentworth waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sure I said that.”

Shaking her head, Anna wondered, not for the first time, what precipitated the dowager duchess’s change of heart.

For herself, she’d quite forgotten the party invitation. After all, Lady Wentworth had issued her so-called regrets upon receipt. Then, with no warning, the lady announced her intention to attend the engagement party and it was all hustle and bustle and off they hastened, southward.

Anna hadn’t recognized a soul at last evening’s welcome reception, not that she’d anticipated doing so. But would anyone recognize her had been the question burning in her mind? More to the point, was anyone searching for her?

Nearly two years had passed since the harrowing incident, when she’d fled for her life after…what she’d done. Surely so much time having passed worked in her favor.

Then he walked in, and she proceeded to choke on her champagne, drawing several sets of curious eyes.

But really. Caden Thurgood, after all this time? Here?

And he could be no one else. She couldn’t not recognize him. He’d grown from the young boy of her childhood acquaintance, but she’d know that face, those eyes, and that presence anywhere.

Despite her champagne-up-the-nose gaff, his gaze grazed past her without a moment’s pause.

She supposed his lack of notice owed more to her role as a lady’s companion than anything else.

The upper crust never remarked over members of the servant class.

Still, she kept her eyes downcast and her neck bowed ’til her muscles ached from the strain.

Then this morning’s disaster happened.

Beside her the dowager frowned at no one in particular. “Too many people milling about. I look forward to the week’s end, when most of the guests depart.”

“You don’t say?” The statement made perfect sense coming from her recluse of an employer. What didn’t was why she’d wanted to come to Femsworth Hall in the first place, her story concerning Bernadette being her so-called favorite notwithstanding.

Anna mulled the conundrum, swiping up another sandwich—chilled cucumber and butter this time.

Lady Wentworth’s lips twitched. “You’re an odd bird, Anna. A third my age and already more at home with these dry bones of mine and your notebooks than with people your own age.”

Anna regarded her employer who regularly congratulated her on her good sense, touting the two of them birds of a feather. “Takes one to know one.”

The older woman snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious about that dashing young man you saved this morning—”

“I’d hardly call what I did that.”

“As long as I live, I’ll not forget the sight of you charging in to rescue Thurgood.”

“You exaggerate, madam.”

“Hardly. I’ve no doubt he’d like to thank you for your heroics. Any gentleman worth his salt would. It’ll be a wonder if he spots you all the way out here, however.”

“Am I to understand you’d prefer to relocate into the thick of things? As for the man in question, whomever he may be, I’ve no doubt he’s quite forgotten my part in his little misadventure.” Or so she hoped.

Her employer grimaced. “Surround ourselves with them? ” She flicked her fingers contemptuously at the crowd. “Hardly. And his name is Thurgood. Caden Thurgood of Claybourne. Grandfather’s an earl.”

As she very well knew. She lapsed into a pensive silence while Lady Wentworth, humming, peered through her lorgnette.

Anna estimated the number of guests present at fifty. Fifty sets of eyes that had the potential to bring disaster down on her head. Or, more specifically, around her neck. They still hung murderers, didn’t they?

Not that it had been murder. She’d merely defended herself. But would the court see it as such? Certainly Angelique would not testify on her behalf.

She fingered the brim of her bonnet, assuring herself it still sat low over her brow, while telling herself for the thousandth time her position as Lady Wentworth’s companion made her invisible for all practical purposes.

Stumbling across Caden Thurgood this morning had simply been a stroke of bad luck—wrong place, wrong time. They’d not have crossed paths at all had Lady Wentworth not decided to join her on her morning walk, then insisted they aim for the lake.

When they happened upon a man facedown on the shore, Anna reacted without thinking, rushing to his aid. She credited her years of trailing after her father while he tended his patients for the inane impulse.

Closing her eyes, she relived the horrifying moment when she rolled the wall of a man onto his back and found Caden Thurgood, dead.

Not that he’d been dead. But for that split second, her heart seized and time itself seemed to stop ’til her father’s voice sounded in her head reminding her to check the patient for signs of life. She nearly wept when she felt his hot breath tickling the fine hairs on her cheek.

It never occurred to her not to see to his injuries after that. Frankly, she’d quite forgotten the potential danger to herself—’til the moment he’d asked her name.

She feared he'd recognized her, at first. But then she realized he’d asked her name because he didn’t recognize her, even up close. She’d gotten quite a bit taller, lost some baby fat, and, too, her hair color had gone from sun-kissed gold to dark brown.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. Might she chance a peek into the crowd to see how he fared? From afar, of course.