As You Wish Page 6

  She jammed a piece of bread in her mouth while the others absorbed the information.

  “If you will pardon my saying so, this Jeanine must be rather a fair-weather friend,” Lady Solebury said, her pregnancy-puffed bustline accented by obvious indignation. “Is she the same companion who left you stranded here in Kent? Has your memory improved any in that regard?”

  Across the table, Mrs. Harlowe gasped. Leah ignored the sound and nodded, looking into her soup bowl. She couldn’t see any alternative but for poor Jeanine to take the brunt of the blame for her predicament.

  “Yes. While Jeanine and I traveled here from London, I’m afraid her nerves wore thinner and thinner. You see, I was carsick--that is, I suffered carriage sickness, too. I’m such a bad traveler! She got tired of my complaints, we argued and, well, I actually ended up asking to be let out of the carriage. I felt so sick I couldn’t stand to go on.”

  “And she left you behind while she traveled on?” Lady Solebury threw her napkin down on the table. “Abominable!”

  “Yes, well, I should have known better than to travel with her in the first place. We’ve had disagreements in the past.” Leah stole a peek at David and found him watching her through narrowed eyes. She guessed he didn’t believe her but meant to hear out her story. “She was the only person I know who could afford to accompany me to Europe. I wanted to see the land where my ancestors lived. I have some English blood.”

  “How did you wind up at the spring?” David asked.

  He would refuse to let the conversation move away from that topic. She resisted the urge to frown. “After Jeanine drove away, I walked up the nearest drive, looking for a place to rest. Along the way, I found the spring and thought a drink of water might help settle my stomach. But when I leaned over the pool I got dizzy. I guess I fainted, because the next thing I knew I was struggling in the water, too disoriented to pull myself out of the pool.”

  “Good Lord!” Mrs. Harlowe exclaimed. “What a fortunate coincidence that you had wandered onto the estate of a friend. Who knows what might have befallen an unaccompanied young woman left alone and ill amidst strangers?”

  “Indeed,” Lady Solebury said quickly. “I don’t like even to contemplate the possibilities. And, truly, let’s not distress Miss Cantrell with further discussion of her accident. We are just glad you are safely installed with us now.”

  “Thank you,” Leah murmured, gladly taking up her soup spoon again.

  The marchioness picked hers up, too, looking toward the opposite side of the table. “Tell me, Ben, what is the latest news of Bonaparte’s doings? I cannot tell you how nervous I’ve been since his escape from Elba. Everyone says that if he invades England, he will no doubt choose Kent for his point of entry.”

  “Phoebe, dear, such is hardly a more pleasant topic of conversation than the last,” the marquess interrupted. “Should we not fix upon a less serious subject?”

  “In a moment, Harold, but first I insist on hearing the lieutenant’s views. Why, our neighbors all speak of digging out priest’s holes for hiding themselves and their valuables, in the event of an attack. What do you think, Ben? Should Harold and I stow our possessions away now?”

  The lieutenant sat back, pushing away his empty bowl. “Well, Boney has been biding his time in the area of Paris for several weeks. Since he has not moved one way or another, we have no notion what direction he might take when he does.”

  Leah scooped up the last drops of her soup, listening with interest. Her father made a hobby of Western history--had wanted, in fact, to teach the subject at one time, before the unexpected conception of his only child cut his college days short. She knew enough from what he’d taught her to realize she had landed in England smack in the middle of Napoleon’s Hundred Days campaign.

  “You don’t offer me much comfort, Ben.” The marchioness blinked unseeingly at the deliciously presented plate of lamb a servant set in front of her. “Have you no inside intelligence you can share?”

  “Phoebe, there is no reason to believe Bonaparte is headed our way,” David said, reaching across the table to place his hand over hers. “In your condition, you mustn’t work yourself up. Wellington is a capable leader and will do all he can to keep England safe.”

  Her ladyship looked so upset that Leah winced. If only she could tell her the “inside intelligence” she had--that Napoleon would never invade England. He’d be recaptured for good within the next few months.

  “Really, my lady,” she said, “I’m sure David’s right. Consider how slowly Napoleon’s been moving since he escaped, meandering up through the south of France and dallying in Paris for weeks. At that kind of pace, he won’t get anywhere. I bet he’ll never even make it into Holland.”

  She hadn’t been able to resist throwing in a clue to the location of Napoleon’s ultimate defeat, and she grinned at her secret joke.

  The marchioness smiled back, touching a finger to the corner of each of her eyes. “How kind you are, Miss Cantrell. You nearly have me convinced--you speak with such conviction.”

  “Yes, you do,” Lieutenant Harlowe said, his gray eyes fixed on her. “May I ask why you mentioned Holland, Miss Cantrell?”

  “It just came to mind.” She picked up her fork, pleased that she had helped calm Lady Solebury.

  “I am surprised to find you so well informed of Napoleon’s activities,” the lieutenant added. “Young ladies generally take little interest in the details of war.”

  She paused, fork in midair, privately reminding herself to stick as close to the truth as possible. “My father studies Napoleon as a hobby. I’ve heard far more about the man than I care to even think about.”

  “But surely you haven’t seen your father in at least a month? At that time, Bonaparte had not yet reached Paris.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Why, of course not. I suppose now I’ll have to confess to an unladylike interest in war. Some of my father’s fascination has worn off on me, and I read the papers to keep on top of the news. Sometimes, that is. I definitely can’t claim a thorough knowledge of current events.”

  The marquess laughed, relieving some of the tension Leah sensed building. “I should think not. Meeting a young lady who reads something other than novels, the social column and La Belle Assemblée is unusual enough. One does not run across many

  bluestockings in Kent.”

  “No,” Lieutenant Harlowe said, though he didn’t laugh. “Nor are we often up-to-date in reading the London Gazette. Perhaps you know more about Bonaparte’s latest moves than we do, Miss Cantrell. Why don’t you give us a report?”

  She swallowed a mouthful of lamb and purposely widened her eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t know any more than what we’ve already said. He’s holed up in the Paris area.”

  “I think we might move onto another subject,” David noted, for once choosing a course Leah liked. “Her ladyship cannot be entertained with this line of conversation.”

  They all looked at the marchioness, who poked at her food, clearly without any appetite.

  “War talk does discomfit me,” she said. “I cannot stop thinking about an invasion on Kent.”

  “I am sure Wellington will defeat Boney before he can even think of invading Kent, my dear,” the marquess said, serious again. “But I can look into digging out a priest’s hole for us, if the act would lend you any comfort.”

  “I believe it might.” She looked up, scanning all the faces around the table. “Please forgive me. How maudlin you must think I am! Let us return to our dinner. Miss Cantrell, will you pass the salt, please?”

  Leah reached for the crystal saltcellar at the same time David did. She pulled back, and his gaze followed the movement of her hand into her lap.

  He passed the container to Lady Solebury and turned back to Leah. “Pardon me, Miss Cantrell. I could not help noticing that you wear a diamond. Are you betrothed?”

  She lifted her hand and looked at her fingers, shocked to realize she hadn’t thought of the ring or the giver
since she’d arrived in the past. Even during her brush with death, Kevin’s face hadn’t come to her, only those of her parents. This must have been the longest stretch of time in years that she’d gone without thinking of Kevin.

  “Miss Cantrell?” David sat waiting for an answer.

  “No, I’m not engaged,” she murmured, moving her hand back into her lap. “This is a friendship ring.”

  “Here in England,” Lady Solebury said, “such rings are usually woven from a lock of hair. Exchanging gold rings with stones must be an American custom. Is that indeed a diamond, Miss Cantrell?”

  “Only a chip,” she said, preoccupied by her thoughts. How could she forget Kevin? Not that he was likely to be thinking much about her. He’d just broken up with her, after all--but she’d been sure they’d get back together again. Now, they might never see each other again.

  She barely noticed the homemade peach ice cream served for dessert, though everyone else made a fuss about it. She felt too much guilt to enjoy anything. What kind of woman forgot about a three-year relationship in the middle of a life crisis? How could she possibly have passed more than a full day without longing for the comfort of Kevin’s arms?

  “Are you feeling unwell again?” a soft male voice beside her asked, and she looked into David’s black eyes with a start. “You’ve barely touched your ice.”

  His tone alone sent her heart racing, and she realized the answer to her question looked her right in the face. She hated herself for her own shallowness, but the fact was that David Traymore’s presence had chased all thoughts of Kevin out of her head.

  She gave her Byronic rescuer an unsteady smile. “I’m still not quite sure of myself. I think I’d best take things slowly for awhile.”

  What an understatement, she thought, as she finally dipped into her dessert. In this bizarre parallel universe, every step she took seemed to put her on more dangerous footing.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Thank goodness Miss Cantrell has begun to open up,” Phoebe said to David. She looked across the drawing room, where the young woman sat with Lord Solebury and the Harlowes. “Still, I fancy there is more to her story than she willingly admits.”

  “Unquestionably.” He watched Leah (he could only think of her by her given name now) as she laughed at something his father said. Her eyes sparkled, and Solebury grinned back, clearly entranced. David rolled his own eyes and forced his attention to Phoebe. “You, too, noticed the flaw in her story?”

  “The flaw?” Her gaze darted to his. “Why, no. I only observed that she spoke in a halting manner. What did she say that you found amiss?”

  “She failed to explain a rather important point. According to her story, she fell into the spring while trying to get a drink, but when I found her she was wearing only a shift. I don’t know of many young ladies who travel in such a state of deshabille, do you?”

  “Oh, David, I forgot about that.” Phoebe put a hand up over her mouth. “Good Lord, there is only one conclusion to draw. She must have been ravished. The thought is too dreadful, but it would explain everything--her disoriented state of mind, the fact that we could not find the rest of her clothing near the spring . . . even the motive behind her act of desperation. Oh, David, that poor, poor girl!”

  “I don’t know, Phoebe.” He swallowed the sick lump that rose in his throat, even thought he’d already considered the same possibility. “She suffered no bruises, and her shift had not even a rent. I think that sort of a struggle would leave more physical evidence.”

  “Perhaps.” The marchioness looked across the room again, studying Leah for a moment. “Yes, you may be right. I pray you are. A victim of ravishment would likely be more devastated than Miss Cantrell appears, would she not?”

  David let his gaze drift in the same direction. Leah now spoke with Mrs. Harlowe, leaning forward to examine a locket the woman wore. She said something, and both of them smiled broadly. He had to be right. But what on earth did the true story involve?

  While he pondered the mystery, Lieutenant and Mrs. Harlowe rose and announced their intent to leave. As Phoebe pressed the lady to stay the night, the husband walked over to where David

  stood, apart from the others.

  “Might I have a word with you?” he asked. “In private.”

  “Of course.” Curious, David led him into the hall. “Is this private enough, or shall we go into the library?”

  “This will do.” The lieutenant glanced back into the drawing room, where the rest of the party remained talking. He turned back to David but focused his eyes on the floor. “I am not quite sure how to broach this subject.”

  “You had best broach it quickly,” David said, made uneasy by his friend’s manner. “The others are not far behind.”

  Harlowe nodded, gaze still averted. “Pray forgive me, but I must ask how well the marchioness knows Miss Cantrell. The young lady mentioned this is her first visit to England, so I gather their past acquaintance was limited to correspondence. Can you tell me any more about the friendship?”

  He frowned, reluctant to share what little he knew about Leah. She undoubtedly needed protection from something, and until he knew from what or whom, he could not allow speculation about her to spread. “Why do you inquire?”

  Harlowe rubbed one of his pork-chop sideburns, again peering toward the rest of the party, who had not yet moved. “I realize I appear to be prying, and I apologize, but I would not do so unless I felt I had cause.” Finally, he looked David in the eye. “Do you recall Miss Cantrell’s remarks over dinner about Bonaparte’s trail through France?”

  “I do.”

  Face muscles taut, the lieutenant lowered his voice to a whisper. “And what she said about Boney being defeated before he can take Holland?”

  “Yes.” David had no conception where the man was leading.

  “Well, I should not tell you this, Traymore, but I am confident you, above all people, can be trusted.” He wet his lips. “There are top-secret intelligence reports that indicate Bonaparte’s military plans do indeed lie in that direction. No one, but no one, knows this . . . except Miss Cantrell, apparently.”

  In spite of--or perhaps due to--his friend’s gravity, David laughed. “Oh, Ben, my stepmother’s hysteria must have rubbed off on you tonight. Miss Cantrell’s insight is surely no more than a lucky guess.”

  Harlowe shook his head. “Normally, I would agree, but I swear I saw a glint of amusement in her eyes when she made the comment--this while everyone else in the room fairly ached with sympathy for Lady Solebury. I thought her behavior very odd, Traymore.”

  This observation made him think. He, too, had seen the wry smile accompanying Leah’s prediction. At the time, he had shrugged off her little grin, but the timing of it definitely had been strange.

  “Do you accuse her of being a French spy?” he asked.

  “No. That is, I don’t know. Odds are that she is a perfectly ordinary, amiable young lady, and the last thing I want to do is insult Lady Solebury with wild conjectures about her friend. But I cannot help noting that the girl is American; she has no reason to feel loyalty to the Crown. If she and the marchioness are not well acquainted--and I believe this is the case--I think you may do well to keep an eye on her.”

  David had to admit, ridiculous as the lieutenant’s notion seemed, that this latest theory had about as much validity as any other explanation for Leah Cantrell’s presence. Suicide, insanity, rape, espionage . . . what would be the next extreme attributed to this woman’s life?

  Harlowe awaited his response, but he had little desire to offer any. He shuffled his feet and shrugged.

  The lieutenant gave him a stiff smile, likely trying to lighten the awkwardness that had descended on them. “You must agree that watching her could afford your eyes no strain. The chit is not difficult to look at.”

  David only raised an eyebrow.

  His old friend sighed. “In trying to spare Lady Solebury’s feelings, I see I have insulted you. Again, I apologize fo
r what I acknowledge is overcaution. Military circumspection dies hard. But I wish you would at least tell me if you plan to stay on at Solebury House while she is here.”

  He pursed his lips, half offended for Leah’s sake, half disturbed by the possibility the outlandish allegation could be true. He wanted to begrudge Harlowe an answer, wishing the man had never brought his conjecture to light. But such an antic would be childish.

  “I’ll be at the gate house for the time being,” he said, enlightening himself as well as Harlowe. “I don’t foresee leaving any time soon.”

  “Then I have every faith that all will be well here.” The lieutenant swept him a bow. “Tonight has been a pleasure. I hope you will excuse all I have said, as well as keep my thoughts to yourself. I should not want to add to Lady Solebury’s worries about the war.”

  David nodded, stepping away as the rest of the party at last made their way into the hall. While the others exchanged good-byes, he watched Leah smiling and offering pleasantries.

  Could she possibly be a French spy? If so, she would uncover no information at Solebury House. But perhaps she only meant to establish herself among a prominent family and work her way into society. Situated within the local circle, she could glean details of how Kentish estates prepared for invasion. So she would indeed have intelligence to gain. He would have to watch her even more carefully than previously planned.

  Gaze still fixed on her, he twisted his mouth. Ever since he had pulled her out of that damned spring, she had commandeered his thoughts, influenced his decisions. Why, a mere two days ago he couldn’t have imagined anything inducing him to stay on his

  father’s estate. Now, he had just told Harlowe he would be here indefinitely. Leah Cantrell had too much leverage on him. He would have to get to the bottom of her story before she wasted any more of his time and energy.

  When the Harlowes’ carriage had started up the drive, Phoebe closed the door and leaned back against it. “Phew! I am exhausted. I fear I may have to retire soon.”