Jo Leigh - Confessions Bundle

Then she realized with some surprise that she was also feeling a sense of relief. Surely Mercy would not be willing to stay in Barton if her sister’s marriage to Donald Franklin was to be the price. She would still be loath to go, but Grace would not be to blame.

And if the only alternative was marriage to their landlord, she would far rather depend upon the compassion of strangers.

For now, her first duty was to Mercy, weeping in the house, so she quickly left the shed.

Lord Elliot Fitzwalter slowly opened his eyes and gazed at the roughly shingled roof over his head. He could hear rain hitting the wooden wall at his back. After a long moment, when his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, he realized he was in an outbuilding of some sort. He could glimpse dark sky through the slats, and supposed that meant it was evening.

Straw. He smelled straw, which wasn’t unexpected since he was apparently lying on it, in a shed with a…cow, he thought, nearby. What had happened to the nag?

Hadn’t he just heard voices? Where had the people gone?

He sat up and ran a hand over his face. His head ached, and so did his back. His shoulders felt as if somebody had been trying to rip them from the sockets.

Where the devil was he, and how had he gotten here?

He sneezed violently, from the straw, he thought, although his clothes were wet. God, he smelled like an old, wet sheep. No doubt he looked worse.

He stood up shakily, the movement making his head hurt even more, and stepped out of the stall. The cow in the next stall stared at him.

Nothing and nobody else present. Only a cow and himself.

Yet he knew he had heard voices, and somebody must have brought him here. He closed his eyes and tried to remember, focusing his efforts on the voices. There had been a woman and a man, talking in low, intense tones. Not friends, judging by the hostility in their voices.

Still, that didn’t mean it hadn’t been a farmer and his wife, perhaps one of whom did not relish the idea of giving a stranger shelter, not even in their shed. Country folk could be very suspicious of strangers, he knew, and a glance at his clothing confirmed that his appearance would not be in his favor.

It would probably be a good idea to expect hostility. It was an even better idea, he thought, to lie back down and rest. Surely after more sleep, when his clothes were a little drier and he was a little more himself, he would find a way to charm his rural Samaritans.

After all, he was a very charming young man.

Elliot started as the door of the cow shed opened again and, although he was cold, damp, very hungry and dry mouthed, he quickly lay back down as if still asleep. It would be wiser to feign such a condition until he knew exactly who had taken him in.

“Grace!" said a female voice. A young woman, he thought. Too mature for a child, but young yet.

“I told you I had an adventure today,” another woman’s voice responded. A little husky, but melodic. More mature and far more interesting that the too-soft, almost childlike first voice.

Not that he thought the second speaker an old woman. About his age, he would hazard to guess. More curiously, neither voice sounded like that of a Lincolnshire farmer’s wife or daughter, he was quite sure. These women were educated, and their voices close enough in tone and timbre to suggest that they were related.

Which woman had been in here before, with the man? Not the first, he ventured. The second.

Perhaps the man was her husband.

A husband was always a problem. Or maybe he was her father--a far more congenial notion.

He heard the rustle of garments as they apparently moved closer, and then the scent of something hot and made of beef assaulted his starving stomach. Probably a good English stew. His mouth started to water and he almost opened his eyes, yet caution--something, he thought wryly, Adrian would believe he did not possess--told him to wait a little while more.

What kind of a man sent women out to tend a stranger? Either he was naive or stupid.

Maybe they had slipped out here without his knowledge. It could be the fellow didn’t even know there was an unknown man in his shed. Now that was a very interesting idea.

Adventurous young women always thrilled Elliot, and as he waited for the women to speak again, he wanted very much to open his eyes and see what faces and forms accompanied the voices. Perhaps they were wholesome, pretty country girls. That would be a welcome relief from the colonials of Muddy York always seeking to impress him with their version of fine manners, or the haughty noblewomen of his former acquaintance, whose cool masks quickly slipped when they had him alone.

“Who is he?” the younger woman asked quietly.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“He didn’t wake up.”

“Didn’t he walk here with you?”

“I had to drag him.”

That was an unexpected admission. Perhaps she was a farmer’s wife after all, with brawny arms, wide hips and double chin. And what had happened to the nag?

“His trousers are thick with mud, but there was nothing else I could do.”

Probably the horse wandered off, the stupid beast--with his few belongings, too.

“You should have come home and fetched me to help you,” the younger voice said.

Why didn’t she suggest asking the man for help? Why fetch another woman for assistance?

“It was getting late and the rain was worsening.”

Maybe he hadn’t heard a man’s voice, after all. In his previous state, he might have mistaken the older woman’s deeper tones for that of a man.

“Perhaps we should wake him,” the younger one said in a tentative tone. “The supper will be cold if we don’t.”

“Rest might be the best thing for him,” the other replied. “We could leave the food here for him to eat when he wakes up. I daresay he’s had worse.”

She sounded practical and matter-of-fact. Like Adrian.

“Don’t you think we should invite him inside the--”

“No, I don’t. He must not come into the house,” the huskier voice said, and Elliot was suddenly sure she must be an elder sister, by domineering manner as much as tone. What was it about older siblings that made them think they had the right to order others about? “We don’t know anything about him, who he is or where he’s from. Not only would allowing him inside our home be a foolish and risky thing to do,

Mercy, but think how bad it would be if somebody were to discover we had taken a complete stranger into our house! Why, imagine what the Hurley twins would say!”

Another older sibling also worried about gossip.

“But Grace, they wouldn’t have to know, would they?”

“You would have us harbor this man in secret? For how long? A few hours? A day? Mercy, you have to stop letting your tender heart overrule your intelligence.”

The woman named Grace might have the more fascinating voice, but it was obvious Mercy would be the more sympathetic.

Then the full realization of his situation hit home, and Elliot subdued a smile. Apparently he had been rescued by young women who lived alone. To be sure, the older one was suspicious, but he could surely win her over. Why, if he worked this right, he could stay here for a while, safe from Boffin and probably very well fed.

He couldn’t have asked for anything better, and he dismissed Grace’s distrust. Young women always liked him, and often rather more, and it would surely not be difficult to charm a country lass, even a skeptical one.

“Didn’t Sir Donald see him?”

“No, thank goodness.”

So, there had been a man--a Sir Donald. Not a relative, Elliot gathered, and not a lover, or even very well liked, to judge from the slight alteration in Grace’s tone.