As You Wish Read online

“Indeed, she is the best midwife in the county. I only wish I could have remained on my feet a little longer.” Her ladyship sighed. “I meant to make my rounds with the tenants today. Every week or so, I bring the less fortunate ones baskets of fruit and bread. The gesture is small, but I like to think the children benefit from it.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “I suppose I shall have to send Molly in my stead, but I fear she will make a mull of it.” She shook her head. “I cannot do without the girl, but whenever a situation has the air of a crisis, she falls to pieces. She will worry about me ceaselessly for the next few weeks.”

  “I’d be happy to take care of the baskets, my lady,” Leah said. The idea of knocking at strangers’ doors in a foreign country and a foreign time intimidated her, but the gifts she’d be bearing would probably win her a good reception. “I’d like to make myself as useful as possible while I’m staying with you.”

  “Would you truly not mind?” Lady Solebury’s shoulders relaxed visibly, and Leah thought she saw color seep back into her cheeks. “How kind you are, Miss Cantrell. I loathe to charge you with such a time-consuming task, but I believe the goods are important to the little ones.”

  Leah waved off her thanks. “Consider the baskets delivered. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

  “Seeing the tenants will be quite enough for now. I wonder if I should send Molly along, or if she would only prove a hindrance to you.”

  “Send Molly along where?” a man’s voice asked behind Leah.

  She whirled around and faced the marquess, his son behind him, remaining at the door. David’s gaze captured hers briefly and swept down her body before he quickly looked away.

  His glance reminded her she should have put on a robe, though her long muslin nightgown didn’t divulge much. David looked like he’d also rushed out of bed, his sleep-puffed face a little more vulnerable than usual. His sooty hair was tousled and his white shirt only halfway buttoned, revealing a hint of well toned chest. Her thoughts flew to their late-night walk--how intimate the mood had gotten before the sight of Kevin’s ring had come between them.

  During the night she’d had a weird dream that the two of them were arguing about her ring--Kevin telling her to wear it, David urging her to throw it the spring.

  She peeked at David and caught his eye. Embarrassed, she dragged her attention back toward the bed.

  Lord Solebury had gone to his wife’s side and taken her hand. “You ought not even think about household matters, my love--though I confess that right now any plan that will take Molly out of the way sounds wise to me.”

  She smiled up at him. “Miss Cantrell has very kindly offered to deliver the tenant baskets for me, and I feel a good deal better knowing the job will get done. But I’m not convinced I should send Molly along in her current state. The coachman knows which tenants I usually visit. He can guide Miss Cantrell to the right cottages.”

  “I’ll go with Miss Cantrell,” David said, crossing the threshold to join them. His mouth formed a grim line, and his tone was firm. “Have Molly help the housekeeper today.”

  Leah looked at him in surprise, wondering about his motives. Normally, she might have believed he offered out of politeness or simply to be with her, but his grimace seemed to rule out both. He must have still considered her under suicide watch, and he didn’t look too happy about having to guard her.

  He didn’t seem to mind being with me last night, she thought, bothered by the change in him. She wanted their walk back again, with him holding her hand and speaking soft French in the dark. The memory sent a shiver down her spine.

  How ridiculous could she be?

  “You’ve taken up an interest in helping those in need?” the marquess asked David, curling his lip in a manner reminiscent of the younger man. He slid a quick glance at Leah, then back to his son, who glared at him without comment.

  “David has always shown a benevolent character,” Lady Solebury said, tugging on her husband’s sleeve until he looked at her. “He fought nobly in the Peninsula and was a great personal help to my father, as well. His offer to escort Miss Cantrell is very thoughtful. She will feel more comfortable if she has someone to accompany her, and he will do far more admirably than Molly.”

  “Perhaps Miss Cantrell would not agree.” The marquess looked at Leah. “Do you find my son’s escort acceptable?”

  She turned to David, who coolly matched her gaze. She’d seen heat in those eyes when he looked at her last night--until she’d glimpsed Kevin’s ring and been attacked by guilt. She’d felt she owed something to a guy she’d dated for three years--but why, when that guy had broken off the relationship half a dozen times? The truth was she didn’t care anymore--and she had a right not to care! Now she regretted pulling back from David and extinguishing the fire in his eyes. This man had a cauldron of emotion bubbling just beneath the surface. What if she’d lost her one chance to unleash his passion?

  At least he still wanted to go with her today, even if for the wrong reasons.

  “More than acceptable,” she answered the marquess, still eyeing his son. “I’ll be glad to have his company.”

  David nodded to her, expressionless, while she stirred her own brew of emotions. Had she been right to try to preserve a sense of loyalty to Kevin, or had she foolishly ruined her chances for . . . for what? What could she expect from a romantic involvement in this time period? What little she knew about this society promised some major problems.

  She glanced at the clasped hands of the marquess and marchioness, their wedding bands and her rounded belly prominent symbols of nineteenth-century love. If Leah let David know about her attraction to him and he returned it, would marriage and instant baby-making be their only option? She had always wanted children but hadn’t imagined them coming until years down the line. In this era, reliable family planning would no longer be an alternative--and, here, a woman risked her life with every pregnancy. Poor Lady Solebury! No wonder she had problems with nerves. In her place, Leah would be a wreck.

  Her gaze shot to David’s perfect profile, grazing the straight, noble nose and the dark lashes edging his eyes. The thought of having his baby made her shudder--but not because of fear. She must be insane to think about marrying and bearing the children of a man she’d met two days before. But she couldn’t help wondering if his thoughts had touched on the same subject. Why else had he asked all those questions about Kevin?

  No, she was absurd. She looked downward, focusing on the bare toes that peeked out under her nightgown. Her fantasies had run rampant ever since her fantastic voyage back through time. She needed to slow down, think clearly, plant her feet in reality . . . nineteenth-century reality, if she had no other choice.

  “Cook will have the baskets prepared shortly after breakfast,” the marchioness said. “No doubt she has already started putting them together. John Coachman will be ready to drive you around--”

  “I can drive,” David interrupted. “I’ll talk to the coachman beforehand to learn which tenants we are to visit.”

  “Suit yourself,” her ladyship said. Suddenly, she grinned, as if she’d had an amusing thought. If so, she didn’t share it, subduing her smile to look to her husband. “Have one of the maids fetch Cook for me when you go downstairs, won’t you, Harold? I have a few additional instructions for her.”

  “Gladly.” He beamed down at her. “I am so pleased to see you smiling again, love. You have already recovered much of your usual glow.”

  Leah noted that the marquess hadn’t exaggerated. His wife looked happy, even flushed with excitement.

  “I have simply recalled how many good things there are in life,” she said. “With all my worries about the war, I have been dwelling too much on the bad.”

  “Well, I intend to do all I can to lay your worries to rest.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead. “You keep concentrating on the good.”

  Leah glanced at David, expecting to read scorn in his face for all this tenderness.
Instead, she saw concern in his crunched brow, deep thought in his narrowed eyes.

  “I should like to speak with you on that head, Solebury,” he said. “Do you have a moment to join me in the study?”

  The marquess raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Or would you rather discuss your thoughts over breakfast?”

  “I should rather speak with you now, if possible.” He slid a quick glance at Leah and then back to his father. “The idea is fresh at the moment.”

  Leah didn’t hear what the marquess replied, too stunned by the latest emotion she’d discerned in David . . . distrust, dropping like a veil over his eyes when his gaze had met hers.

  Considering all she’d been hiding from him, she had no good reason to feel surprise.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Well done, David.” Solebury dropped two lumps of sugar into his tea and stirred the steaming cup. “I had no idea the gate house concealed a secret tunnel.”

  David swallowed a bite of croissant. Somehow he had wound up eating breakfast with his father after all--not that he cared, since Leah had not joined them, and his chief concern had been to keep her from hearing his plan.

  “If you never discovered or heard about the entrance, I doubt anyone else has.” He paused to sip his orange juice. “Even if someone does know, using the tunnel will provide more security than digging out a priest’s hole. Such a project would require a number of laborers.”

  “And all would know the location.” The marquess added a dollop of cream to his cup. “In any case, once we store whatever valuables Phoebe thinks we ought, we can seal off the entrance thoroughly enough to confound a casual thief. As for Boney’s troops, I don’t actually expect them to invade, but if they do, they shall have no clue to the tunnel’s existence.”

  “True,” David said, “but retaining as much secrecy as possible can only afford an advantage. I suggest keeping your activities from the servants and even from neighbors and friends --Miss Cantrell, for example. What good can come of spreading the information?”

  Solebury nodded. “I shall swear Phoebe to secrecy, perhaps not even tell her where the tunnel is. You have a good head on your shoulders, boy.”

  David’s gaze leapt to his father’s face, but he refused to match the marquess’s tentative smile. Instead, he looked back to his plate, picking up a knife to spread marmalade over a second croissant.

  “Would that your brother had inherited half the sense you have,” Solebury added, his tone lower, as if he thought aloud.

  David looked at him again and saw that his brow had creased with lines of worry.

  “Further tales from London?” he could not resist asking.

  “Only more of the same.” The marquess gulped his tea and stared into the cup. “William has written to ask for yet another advance on his quarterly allowance. I can tell you he is already drawn well into next year, and I suspect another stipend will do little to ease the debts he has amassed. This time, I shall deny him. He has to learn responsibility eventually.”

  Does he indeed? David might have laughed but settled for smirking as he bit into his roll. William had never had to fend for himself and, with a title and a large estate coming his way, he never would. Creditors would make exceptions. Solebury would capitulate and cover his heir’s debts. Young men of William’s prospects never wanted much of anything for long.

  “Good morning,” a cheerful feminine voice addressed them from the arched entrance to the breakfast room. Leah stepped inside, dressed in a white muslin gown adorned with pink sprigs. David could still picture her in the sleek nightrail she had worn earlier, her hair wonderfully disarrayed by sleep. Since then, she had pinned the long locks up in a loose knot. He wished he could reach out and free them again and clenched his fists against his longing.

  Annoyed by the course of his thoughts, he dragged himself to his feet and nodded a greeting. Solebury had already sprung up to pull out a chair for her.

  She sat down, tendering her thanks with a grin that turned wry when she glanced down the table to acknowledge David’s scant welcome. “Molly brought tea and toast to my room earlier, but I think I’ll have some of those strawberries. I always try to eat some fruit at breakfast.”

  “Do you have the same fruits in Philadelphia as we do here, Miss Cantrell?” Solebury asked with a broad smile that rankled David. He surmised that his father had used the same radiating charm to win Phoebe. Could he not let up a bit, now that he already had a wife half his age--or nearly so?

  “Oh . . . yes, pretty much.” She spooned several large berries into her dish. “Strawberries . . . apples, cherries. Of course, everyone knows the story of Washington and the cherry tree.”

  “Do we?” Solebury laughed, eyes twinkling, while David pushed his plate away, no longer hungry.

  She stopped with her spoon in midair. “Oh, I guess you wouldn’t hear moral tales about George Washington here in England, would you? Never mind. This one is only a little legend told to children to teach them the value of honesty.”

  “And did you learn honesty from it, Miss Cantrell?” David cut into their prattle, watching for her reaction.

  A muscle in her cheek twitched, but she smiled and met his gaze. “In the story, Washington is a boy and confronted by his father about whether he chopped down a certain cherry tree he shouldn’t have. He replies, ‘I cannot tell a lie’ and admits he did. If someone confronted me with a similar charge, then yes, I’d answer just as honestly.”

  “But you won’t reveal anything beyond what you are asked.”

  For an instant, her eyebrows tilted with apparent regret. He got the impression she wanted to confide her story but could not. But why not? Because she served as a spy for France? Or because she feared someone from her past? A stab of compassion prevented him from probing further. Besides, he reasoned, such questions ought to wait until they spoke in private. The mere fact that she kept personal information to herself did not warrant alarming the whole household.

  Solebury leaned back in his chair, clearly free of any unusual curiosity. “Unfortunately, the current crop of English royals are unlikely to inspire moral tales in our people. I don’t suppose you, being an American, think much of our monarchy, do you, Miss Cantrell?”

  “I have to admit I’m glad we don’t have one.” Other women would have answered lightly, but she spoke seriously, obviously weighing her words. “There’s no question that equality is a worthy ideal. No offense intended, but I can’t support making birth the determining factor in choosing who leads the world and who get trampled on.”

  David bristled, ever conscious of his own birth, but all her attention appeared to rest with Solebury.

  “No offense taken.” The marquess dabbed a napkin to his lips. “After all that has happened in France, one wonders how much longer the English nobility can continue.”

  She smiled. “I’d bet anything the system lasts at least another two hundred years.”

  “You sound so confident,” David noted. He had never met a woman who spoke on political issues with such assurance.

  “I wish I felt the same,” Solebury said, “but even if the nobility endures, I fear my title shan’t. I expect the estate will be run to the ground within a decade of my demise, with the way my son squanders money.”

  Leah’s gaze traveled to David.

  “Not I,” he scoffed. “The heir.”

  She studied him for a long moment, her forehead furrowing. At last, he grew so uncomfortable, he threw down his napkin and stood to leave the room.

  “You’re finished?” she asked, abandoning her frown and rising. “If so, I think we should go. The sooner we deliver the baskets, the better Lady Solebury will rest. Are you ready?”

  He looked into her expectant eyes, ruing his decision to accompany her. Every second he spent with her felt like a struggle . . . against losing his wits in her beauty, against losing his dignity in her scrutiny.

  But he could hardly allow her to her go alone, free to glean intelligence for the French .
. . or to leap into the spring again, if her objective lay there. He grimaced. “Let’s go.”

  When they emerged from the house, they found Solebury’s barouche packed with nearly a dozen baskets. The sun shone bright and warm, so they elected to ride outside on the box. At the last minute, a groom warned them not to visit one of the houses, due to a case of smallpox. Then they set off.

  David fixed his attention straight ahead as he directed the horses up the drive. He knew he should take the opportunity to question Leah more thoroughly now that he had her alone, but first he needed to gather his thoughts. His ill-judged attempt at speaking French to her had proved the folly of rushing an endeavor as serious as interrogation.

  “You know, you shouldn’t let your birth bother you so much,” she said suddenly, shattering his thoughts. “I know it’s none of my business, but you’d feel much better if you could let go of your bitterness.”

  He stared at her. In his entire adult experience, no one had ever dared broach the subject of his birth with him. But Leah Cantrell always managed to fall beyond the pale.

  “You are right in one respect,” he said finally, turning away from her to urge the horses into a trot. “You have no concern in the matter. Next time, confine your advice to matters you understand.”

  “But I do understand, in a way. You see, I was conceived out of wedlock, too.”

  He shot another look at her.

  She met his gaze calmly, as though her statement had been no more outrageous than a remark about the weather. “Of course, my experience has been a lot different from yours. My parents did marry before I was born--only six months before, though.”

  He could think of no response. Would a time ever come when this woman could no longer shock him? Might shocking him even be her intention? Or did she mean to win him over by confiding some wild, contrived tale designed to gain his sympathy?

  “Unfortunately, my father has always resented the marriage--and me--for being foisted on him.” She looked down at her lap, fiddling with her well manicured fingernails. “He doesn’t come out and say so, of course, but sometimes his resentment shows. He did nothing to help me get through college, for example--actually impeded my progress in some ways. And I really think it was because I cut his education short, just by existing.”