Laurie Brown - What Would Jane Austen Do?

He raised both eyebrows.

“Someone’s coming.”

He cocked his head and recognized Digby’s voice. Yet one more reason he disliked the man. Shermont nodded in the direction of the calls. “He’ll be here in a minute. Two at the most.” Shermont cupped her face in his hands. “Promise you’ll meet me later.”

“I’ll try,” she said.

Her response was less than he’d wished to hear, but she left room for hope. He moved to block the coming man’s view of Eleanor.

She straightened the neckline of her dress, picked up her dropped bonnet and plopped it on her head. “Am I a terrible mess?” she asked.

When he looked she was nervously smoothing her skirt. Her bonnet was on crooked, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, and her lips showed signs of being well kissed. And left wanting more. “You are lovely,” he said as he straightened the brim of her hat.

She appreciated the sweet gesture. After all, he had to be as frustrated as she was. She ducked her head and had to turn away before she jumped into his arms and to hell with anyone who came upon them.

Trying to regain her composure, she took several deep breaths and blew them out slowly to the count of ten. She quickly had reason to be thankful for Teddy’s calls as she noticed Deirdre, Mina, and Huxley crossing the meadow from the opposite direction with waves and wide smiles. How long had they been in the glade?

“Aren’t they beautiful,” Mina said, twirling around in a circle with her arms held wide in the midst of the swirling butterflies.

“Colias croceus of the Pieridae family, also known as the clouded yellow,” Huxley said. “This is apparently one of the sporadic mass migrations we refer to as Clouded Yellow Years.” The butterflies seemed as delighted with him as he was with them. They landed all over his coat, folding up their wings to show the greenish underside with the white dot before taking off again to join the merry dance of their friends.

“We saw a few when we were looking for wildflowers and followed them here,” Deirdre said. “We knew Uncle Huxley would love to see them. He said they were attracted by the clover—”

“Their favorite food,” Huxley interjected.

“We know of a huge field of clover beyond that hill and just had to go see. The butterflies are even thicker over there.”

“Millions,” Mina said. “So many you can hear them flapping their little wings.”

“We should plan a trip to the coast,” Huxley said. “There are probably even more there. Maybe week after next.”

“I thought butterflies only lived a day or two,” Eleanor said.

“Migratory species live for six, eight, ten months, some even longer,” he explained. “How else could they fly hundreds, even thousands of miles?”

“Do you want to go see the clover field?” Mina asked.

Before Eleanor had a chance to answer, Teddy stomped up with a scowl. “What in the world possessed you two to wander off alone like that?”

Although he spoke to his sisters, Eleanor had the strange feeling he was really talking about her and Shermont.

Mina and Deirdre apologized immediately, cowering together.

“If I can’t trust you at a simple picnic,” Teddy continued, building up a head of steam, “how can I take you to London?”

“No, Teddy. Please don’t say that,” Deirdre begged.

Eleanor could not stand it. She stepped between the girls and put her arms over their slumped shoulders. “It’s my fault. It was my idea, and I acted as their unofficial chaperone.”

Teddy narrowed his eyes and looked at her as if he could see the imprint of Shermont’s lips upon hers.

“Their welfare is my responsibility, and therefore my decision is all that counts. You are not an appropriate choice of chaperone—”

“But I am.” Huxley stepped forward with his arms folded, challenging Teddy to deny him.

“This is not the Dark Ages,” Eleanor said. “They have every right to make decisions for themselves.” She chucked them on the shoulders. “Come on. Stand up for yourselves.”

Teddy flashed Eleanor an indulgent smile. “That may work well and good for a widow and an American. After all, what are your prospects? But I entreat you not to spout bluestocking rhetoric within my sisters’ earshot. I’ll have enough of a problem finding husbands for them as it is.”

Shermont stepped forward. “Oh, I doubt that. I think they’ll be the toast of the next season.” He bowed to the girls.

Eleanor threw him mental kisses. Lordy, lordy, she could just eat that man up. He looked at her as if he heard her thoughts and smiled.

Apparently, Teddy realized he couldn’t win the argument against such odds. “I guess we’ll see about that.” He turned on his heel. “Come along, Deirdre, Mina,” he called over his shoulder without looking back.

The girls hesitated only a few moments before scurrying after their brother.

“At least they thought about it for a second or two before giving in to him,” Huxley said. “A small step in the right direction.”

“There will be more steps,” Eleanor said. “They’re bright girls.”

Huxley nodded. “The daughters I never had.” He offered Eleanor his arm.

As Shermont followed behind them, an unexpected thought slammed into his brain. Where did Eleanor learn to waltz? The dance was only done on the continent and had not been deemed acceptable in London. And yet she’d brought it up and had not hesitated for a step. Did they waltz in America? He didn’t think so. Did that mean she’d been to Paris?

Of course, it also begged the question: where had he learned to waltz? He rubbed his forehead. As with so many unanswered questions, he was forced to accept that he might never know the truth.

Was Eleanor an agent for the French? That was the question he needed to answer. And soon … before he became even more spellbound by her unique magic.

They returned to the picnic area, and everyone gathered at the tables. Eleanor hoped for a chair next to Shermont’s, but Deirdre and Patience had already assigned seats. Throughout the picnic lunch served by footmen on elegant china, Shermont flattered and charmed all the women, all except her.

At the end of the meal, she drew Mrs. Holcum aside and was directed over the hill to where the servants had set up facilities for the gentlewomen. Behind sheets draped in a large square, a chair, washstand, and dressing table had been arranged. A maid provided hot water and clean hand towels.

Eleanor was glad to have a few moments alone. She didn’t know what to make of Shermont’s hot and cold alternating attitude. One explanation was that he lusted after her, but didn’t actually like her. Unable to cope with that dichotomy, he chose to ignore her until his passions could no longer be denied. Or it could be the good girl vs. bad girl mentality. For Regency men the concept was black and white, angel or temptress. A woman could not be both. Neither theory about Shermont’s behavior was a flattering explanation. Her only course was to ignore him in return.

She returned to the group and participated in the conversation and games until time to leave. Thankfully, Major Alanbrooke was an attentive friend who raised her spirits, which helped to restore her equilibrium. The trip back was dominated by talk of the play.

When Shermont returned from the picnic at one o’clock, his valet waited impatiently with news. In spite of instructions to stay inside and nurse the cold he’d caught after the night in the rain and the mad ride to town, Carl had slipped out and checked the tree. He’d found a note.

“You were right,” he said to Shermont in a begrudging tone. “The note referred to the article in the paper about the capturing of Napoleon’s agent and said they would have to discontinue operations and leave immediately.”

“Let me see the note.”

“I left it, so they wouldn’t know their secret spot had been discovered.”

“Probably a wise move.” Shermont leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Tell me everything you can remember.”

“No salutation. Female hand. Written on house stationery.”

That didn’t help. House stationery was left in every room in case the guest had not brought his or her own. That meant every female in the house was suspect. Even the servants had access, though most were likely illiterate. “Perfume?”

“I think so, but to be honest, with this stuffy head I can’t say for sure.”

Shermont jumped up. “I have to see that note myself.” Perhaps he could identify the perfume and that would either clear Eleanor or seal her fate. He found himself hoping for the former. Eleanor was intelligent and beautiful, and the same qualities that made her attractive also suited her to espionage, the work he dreaded she might be doing. He was torn between his attraction to her and his mission. Either way, he had to know.

He couldn’t sneak out in broad daylight, so he simply walked out the door and down the drive as if going for a stroll. Once beyond the sight of anyone at the house, he left the road and cut through the woods. At the old oak tree he found a different note. In bold strokes the writer reassured the receiver. There is no imminent threat. Remain steadfast. We leave as scheduled. Same paper. Second writer.

He now knew there were at least two persons plus the courier, and they intended to escape, probably soon if plans were already made. He returned to the house determined to catch the agents before that happened. And before he fell in love with one.

He decided to take a role in the play, the better to keep an eye on Eleanor. He found Digby in the ballroom checking on the construction of a rudimentary stage by several footmen and what appeared to be several gardeners.