A Commercial Enterprise Page 3

  “It is just a banquet, my dear, no more and no less.”

  “That, my dear sir, is rubbish,” she replied impolitely. “For the mere fact that you are mixed up in it points to it being anything but a simple banquet.”

  “How devious you make me sound.”

  “Devious? Mysterious, perhaps. There have always been two sides to you, Hal, for you have never been just a privileged man of leisure. You are prepared to live dangerously, you are shrewd and capable, and I wonder greatly about the number of invitations you have to Downing Street.”

  “You see mysteries where there are none, Marcia.”

  “Do I?” She spoke very softly, her blue eyes thoughtful as they searched his face.

  He smiled, turning to the waiting landlord. “Please conduct Lady Chaddington to Lord Fynehurst.”

  The landlord bowed and smiled, and reluctantly Marcia followed him into the inn. Hal watched them, his expression almost guarded, and it seemed to Caroline that his thoughts were anywhere but upon the White Boar or any of its patrons, even the beautiful Lady Chaddington. Suddenly, as if he sensed the close scrutiny to which he was being subjected, he looked up at the gallery, straight into her horrified eyes.

  She was transfixed with dismay at having been detected staring down at him. Her cheeks flamed and her gray eyes widened with embarrassment, but at last she found the wit to step back out of sight.

  Amused, he continued to look up at the spot where she had been. One glance had told him immediately that she was not a grand or fashionable lady, but that same glance had also told him that she was breathtakingly lovely—and so bewitchingly mortified at having been caught spying! He wondered who she was. Smiling to himself, he left thoughts of the delightful stranger, and went into the inn to seek Marcia and her brother.

  Caroline felt dreadful and was careful to remain well back out of sight from the courtyard. What must he be thinking of her? How could she have stared down so blatantly?

  A maid emerged from a nearby doorway. It was the same one who had shown her into the dining room earlier. Smiling, the girl bobbed a curtsy. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but should you not be thinking of taking a room for the night? There’s only one room left now, and as there won’t be any mails or stages through today now—”

  “But I was hoping that the Red Glory would be able to get through.”

  “On, no, ma’am, it’s been taken off. A rider arrived to say so about five minutes after you sat down to your meal.”

  Caroline stared at her. “Five minutes after? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I distinctly heard him telling Mr. Baldwin—that’s the landlord.”

  Perplexed, Caroline could only look at her. The landlord had known that the stage was not going to arrive and yet had not told her so? Belatedly she remembered how uneasily he had avoided her eyes, and the triumphant scorn upon the dandy’s face.

  Suddenly it was only too clear. Determined to punish her for spurning his attentions, the dandy had made it his business to inquire about her. Making her wait in vain for a stage which was not going to arrive was his revenge, and the landlord had placed more value upon pleasing such a gentleman than upon doing the right thing by a more lowly traveler!

  She thanked the maid, who was looking curiously at her, and then went slowly down the slippery, snow-covered steps to the courtyard, but she misjudged her footing, and with a scream tumbled forward—straight into Hal Seymour’s arms as he emerged once more from the inn.

  Catching her with ease, his arms firm and strong, he held her for a moment before releasing her. Then he smiled into her flushed face, framed so prettily by honey-colored curls. “So,” he murmured, “angels do still fall from the heavens.”

  “F-forgive me, sir.”

  “What is there to forgive? I am sure you did not fling yourself down on purpose.” Still smiling, he bowed and introduced himself. “Sir Henry Seymour of Daneborough, at your service.”

  Hesitantly she accomplished a reasonable curtsy, robbed of true grace by the fact that she was again covered with confusion. “Miss Lexham,” she replied.

  The name conveyed nothing to him, for he could hardly be expected to guess that she was first cousin to the new Earl of Lexham and her clothes proclaimed her to be anything but grandly connected. “I trust you are not injured in any way, Miss Lexham,” he said.

  “I am quite all right. Thank you.” She lowered her glance shyly, horribly mindful of having been seen peering down so rudely from the gallery. To her relief, she saw the landlord emerging from the inn, and she made him her excuse to escape from an embarrassing situation.

  The landlord turned as she called his name, and once again he looked anything but comfortable. “If it’s about the stage, then I’m afraid there’s no word—”

  “That, sir, is an untruth,” she said coldly. “As I believe you know only too well!”

  His guilt was written plainly on his face, plainly enough to intrigue Hal, who watched the exchange with growing interest. Now he came to her side. “Is something wrong, Miss Lexham? Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

  Before she could reply, the landlord spoke up hastily. “It’s nothing, Sir Henry, nothing at all!”

  “Allow me to be the judge of that,” replied Hal, glancing at Caroline’s angry gray eyes.

  “I swear it’s of no importance,” insisted the anxious landlord, wishing that he’d remained safely inside instead of coming out to this possible hornets’ nest.

  Hal’s tone was clipped. “I asked what was going on, and I await an answer.”

  “It was merely a prank, Sir Henry, nothing serious. The lady was stranded waiting for the Exeter mail and so was hoping to take the Red Glory stagecoach instead. The stage isn’t coming through after all, but she was not informed of the fact.”

  Hal’s hazel eyes were bright and hard. “Indeed? And may I ask why not?”

  “It wasn’t my fault, Sir Henry!” protested the landlord, “for how could I go against Lord Fynehurst?”

  Caroline stared at him in sudden dismay. The dandy was Lord Fynehurst? She hardly dared to look at Hal, who was on such intimate terms with Lord Fynehurst’s beautiful sister.

  For a moment Hal was silent, and then he waved the relieved landlord away. “Very well, I know his lordship’s ways only too well.” He looked at Caroline. “Unfortunately this hostelry is part of the Petwell estate, which goes a little way toward explaining the landlord’s actions, although I do not excuse his conduct. Or the conduct of Lord Fynehurst, for that matter. Miss Lexham, am I to understand that you wish to reach Exeter?”

  “Yes, for I am on my way to London, where I have an appointment tomorrow morning.”

  “Then consider your difficulties to be over, for London is my destination and I too have an important appointment there in the morning. I am on the point of leaving now, if you wish to take me up on my offer.”

  She was taken aback. “You are offering to convey me all the way to London?”

  “Yes, Miss Lexham, that is exactly what I am doing.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly—”

  “Why not? There is more than enough room and it would please me to be of some service to you, especially as the good name of the English gentleman must be redeemed.”

  She was torn, for she wished to accept his offer, not only because it would mean her timely arrival in London, but also because it would mean being in the company of a man she found more than a little attractive. There was something about his warm hazel eyes and almost teasing smile which quite set her at sixes and sevens, although she hoped that he did not realize the fact. Yes, she wanted to accept, but would such a course be proper? She hardly knew him. Then she remembered Lady Chaddington—surely her presence would put things beyond reproach? She smiled a little shyly at him. “Thank you, Sir Henry, I would be pleased to accept.”

  He conducted her to the waiting carriage and a footman was dispatched to retrieve her solitary valise from Charlie Hargreaves’ chaise, her oth
er belongings having been dispatched a day or so earlier on the mail and thus undoubtedly already at the lawyer’s premises in London.

  The carriage shook a little as the coachman climbed up to his seat, and Caroline glanced expectantly at the door of the inn, thinking that at any moment Lady Chaddington would emerge. But, to her horror, the carriage door was slammed and the whip cracked. A second later the heavy vehicle was pulling out of the inn and turning east toward Exeter and London!

  Nervously her fingers crept to her grandmother’s necklace, something she frequently did when anxious, and now she had good reason to be anxious, for suddenly the situation had ceased to be at all proper. She was traveling alone all the way to London, a distance of some two hundred miles, with a gentleman she had only just met, and whose intentions might be anything but chivalrous or honorable.

  Chapter 4

  There was nothing of a snail’s pace about the speed with which Hal’s coachman urged the team along the snowy highway. The horses moved with seeming effortlessness and Caroline could only compare the comfort in which she now traveled to the undoubted discomfort of Charlie’s rickety old chaise.

  In place of the worn upholstery of earlier there was soft green leather, and it was the fine smell of this that permeated the air, not the unpleasant odor of stale straw. The glass in the windows did not rattle and the springs protected the occupants from the worst of the ruts and potholes. She was comfortable and warm, for there was a hot brick wrapped in cloth by her feet and a woolen rug tucked around her knees.

  For a while they traveled in silence, for she was preoccupied with the impropriety of the situation into which she had got herself. Hal, on the other hand, was preoccupied with other things, things which were obviously of great importance. At last she felt she must break the silence and say something to make herself feel a little easier about her predicament.

  “It really is most kind of you to convey me to London, Sir Henry.”

  The faraway look vanished from his eyes and he smiled at her. “It seemed the obvious and sensible thing to do, Miss Lexham. But tell me, do you make a habit of setting out on such long journeys all by yourself?”

  She colored a little. “No.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it. I know your destination is London, but from where have you come?”

  “Selford.”

  “I confess I have never heard of it.”

  “It is only a small village on the moor.”

  “And you have always lived there?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you are most definitely a country mouse, but I rather warrant you’d make a very fetching town mouse.”

  Was the compliment simple gallantry? Or was it perhaps the opening move of her seduction? She smiled a little nervously.

  “Please do not look so painfully anxious, Miss Lexham, for I assure you I am no Fynehurst.”

  Her color deepened at his perception. “Oh, I did not for one moment—”

  “Oh, yes you did, Miss Country Mouse, oh, yes you did. If you had but seen your face when you realized that Lady Chaddington was not to accompany us after all!”

  Her embarrassment was so great that she did not know where to look.

  He grinned a little wickedly. “Do I embarrass you?”

  “A little.”

  “Forgive me, I did not mean to.”

  This reply made her suddenly bold. “Oh, yes you did, Sir Henry, oh, yes you did.”

  He threw his head back and gave a roar of approving laughter. “Touchė. But your swift riposte is confirmation that you are indeed at heart a town mouse.”

  She smiled too, feeling inexplicably at ease with him, in spite of her earlier uncertainty. He was so much more worldly-wise than she was, so easily able to make her blush, and yet there was nothing disagreeable about his manner—no unpleasant touch of a Lord Fynehurst. Indeed, there was something disarming about his smile and his willingness to laugh at himself.

  She was drawn to him and found herself wondering what it would be like to be courted by him, what it would be like to be kissed by him. The color which had seemed to flare so frequently on her cheeks since first she had seen him flushed hotly again now, and she looked quickly out of the window.

  He did not seem to notice. “Do you often go to Town, Miss Lexham?”

  “I have never been before.”

  “And you choose this appalling weather to do it for the first time? You must indeed have a pressing reason.”

  “I go for the reading of my uncle’s will.”

  He did not reply, but his glance moved in puzzlement to her clothing, which did not display one token of mourning.

  She felt the need to explain. “I did not once meet my uncle, Sir Henry; indeed his dealings with my part of the family were less than cordial. And before you think my reasons for going to hear his will are purely mercenary, let me assure you that they are anything but.’’

  “You do not need to be so defensive with me, Miss Lexham, for I have not condemned your motives unheard. However, since you have brought the subject up, let me admit that I find it curious that a delightful little country mouse should scuttle off to London when there is no tasty bit of cheese at the end of the journey. I shall, therefore, be impudent enough to inquire what your motives really are.”

  “It is simply that I have seized the opportunity to see London.”

  His shrewd hazel eyes seemed to see right into her soul. “Oh, you fibber, Miss Lexham, you fibber.”

  “I’m not a fibber!” she protested.

  “Yes, you are, for there is far more to your flight from Selford than a mere desire to see London.”

  “Just as there is more to your banquet than a mere banquet?”

  His glance was quizzical. “Little mice have large ears, it seems.”

  “I could not help overhearing.”

  He grinned at that. “No, from the way you were positively hanging over the edge of the gallery, I can quite believe it!”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “I’m not, for if you had not been there, then you would not have fallen into my arms and I would now be traveling to London all alone and without your stimulating conversation to keep boredom at bay. However, we digress, for I believe we were discussing your intriguing reasons for fleeing to London. Let me see now, what does my vast experience of the world tell me has happened in your case?” He studied her face for a moment and then nodded. “I have it. You are fleeing from an importunate suitor.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Yes, I suppose I must concede that you are right.

  “Do you wish to talk about it?”

  She looked at him again. “Are you really interested in the goings-on of the Selford mousehole, Sir Henry?”

  He smiled. “If you knew me better, Miss Mouse, you would know that if I was not interested, then I would not have asked. Who is this dastardly fellow? Is he a Lord Rat? A Sir Rat? Or just a Mr. Rat.”

  She smiled. “He is a mister, but he is not a rat at all; he is my cousin Richard and in fact I am very fond of him.” To her surprise, she found herself telling him all about herself, although she somehow omitted to mention her grand connection with the House of Lexham.

  When she had finished, he nodded in approval. “You are right to escape, even if only for a short while, Miss Lexham, and I applaud your spirit.”

  “I would like to believe that, Sir Henry, but I wonder if you would say what you just did if I was—say—your sister, or your cousin? Would you not then condemn me for being willful, obstinate, and opinionated?”

  He seemed amused. “You appear to know me very well all of a sudden. It so happens that if you were my sister, I would still applaud your actions, as indeed I have already proved with my real sister. The many spinster aunts and maiden cousins with which the Seymour family appears to be endowed had set their communal hearts upon matching my unfortunate sister with the dull and elderly Marquis of Wye. She, on the other hand, had set her sights upon the less wealthy but considerably younger
and more congenial Lord Carstairs. She told me her wishes and I upheld her. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes, I suppose it does. Forgive me, Sir Henry.”

  “Because your cousin is the epitome of unthinking male arrogance, it does not signify that every man has to be colored from the same paintpot.”

  “I apologize, Sir Henry.”

  “Apology graciously accepted, Miss Lexham.” He bowed his head.

  “But it is still a fact, is it not, that gentlemen are much more free to decide their own destiny than are ladies.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Definitely, Sir Henry. Do you honestly expect me to believe that when you marry you will have to bow to the wishes of others, or even that others will attempt to impose their will upon you in the matter? No, because you will be free to choose whichever bride you wish.”

  He smiled. “I do not think it is quite as simple as that for the male of the species, Miss Lexham. However, since that is your belief, I put it to you that you are yourself in the process of deciding for yourself about who you marry. Is that not what this precipitate flight to London is all about?”

  She had not thought of it quite like that. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Thank you, Miss Lexham,” he said infuriatingly, “that is another apology I will graciously accept.” Glancing at her again, he added softly, “I sympathize with the unfortunate Marchand, for his loss is great indeed.”

  She didn’t hear, but instead was looking out of the window once more. There was less snow in the air now, and she could see the trees swaying in the fierce wind, but the well-fitting glass kept out all sound except the rattle of the wheels.

  When she next spoke, it was on a completely different subject. “Is it true, Sir Henry, that you have sent one of your very best racehorses to America to challenge all comers? Foxleaze is the horse, I believe.”

  “You are remarkably well informed, Miss Lexham. Yes, it is true. But how do you know about it?”

  “My cousin Richard is very interested in horse racing. I believe he must purchase every racing publication in the country.”

  “I trust he has not lost a fortune on my nags.”