Abandoned to the Prodigal, page 2
“Gun! Here, boy!” came a commanding voice, and a tall young man pushed through the crowd that had gathered to watch the confrontation. The dog, who was clearly easily distracted, immediately abandoned Juliet and his quarrel with the porter and instead hurled himself at the young man, jumping up to lick his face.
The man grinned and pushed him off. “Down, Gun,” he ordered with not very convincing severity before he turned a scowling face to the porter. “What’s going on? You know perfectly well he’s harmless.”
“Don’t you worry, sir,” someone in the crowd said, clearly entertained. “The young lady’s already told him off for kicking the beast.”
The young man’s gaze flickered to Juliet and away before it swept back for a longer look. Strangely restless dark eyes fixed on hers and held. For a moment, she had to remind herself to breathe, for despite his youth and somewhat bedraggled appearance, he was extraordinarily good looking. More than that, there was something imposing about him.
He nodded curtly and swung back to the porter. “I’ll thank you to keep your feet to yourself,” he snapped, bending to run his hands over the dog’s fur.
“You keep your dog to yourself, sir, and my feet will stay on the ground,” the porter said insolently and turned back to Juliet. “Kidfield, for madam. At eleven.” The crowd, seeing the fun had finished, began to disperse. The porter stared into her eyes and held out his hand. “Fifteen guineas.”
Juliet flushed to the roots of her hair. “B-but I only have ten,” she stammered, seeing even this last plan collapsing around her ears.
“You could have an outside seat,” the porter said grudgingly.
“She could have a seat there and back for ten,” the young stranger interrupted from behind them. He strolled forward, the dog at his heels. “And an inside seat at that.”
“Not with extras,” the porter said defensively. “I presume the lady wants to eat and have her bag taken care of.”
He made an angry grab for her valise once more.
But the stranger was quicker. “The lady will keep her bags for now. And she will pay you when you bring back the correct ticket.”
With a muttered curse, the porter strode away.
With no real idea what to do next, Juliet turned her attention to the dog, who had pushed his head under her hand and looked up at her, wagging his tail. She smiled just a little tremulously and stroked him, her fingers curling convulsively in his fur. Suddenly, she wanted to cry again.
“My thanks for looking after him,” the young man said. “I hope he hasn’t been annoying you, too.”
She glanced quickly up at him. Through her slightly blurred vision, he looked tall, dark, and very lean, his dress gentlemanly, but somewhat worn, his expression amiable now that the porter had gone. His stance, though casual to a fault, seemed quite unthreatening.
“Not in the least,” she replied. “That horrid porter kicked him, only for sniffing at his pockets. I hope he isn’t hurt.”
“No, he’s fine as far as I can see. He learned self-preservation before I ever knew him. Unfortunately, he’s a bit of a scavenger. He has eaten this morning, but I suppose old habits die hard. Do you have no friends with you, ma’am? Are you truly traveling alone?”
Juliet tried to look haughty. “I am, sir.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough.”
By then, the porter was striding back toward her. With ill grace, he held out his grubby hand with her ticket and waited for payment. Juliet opened her purse and placed the coins in his palm. His hand remained where it was, clearly expecting more.
“Really?” her new friend said softly, and with another muttered curse, the porter stormed off.
“He isn’t really the head porter at all, is he?” Juliet asked ruefully. “Is he even a porter?”
“Unofficially, perhaps, but either way, I don’t imagine he’ll last long.” With a quick grin, he tipped his hat, clearly about to walk away.
“Thank you, sir,” she said hastily. “I’m very grateful to you. I have never used the stagecoach before.”
The corners of his eyes creased as though he were amused. “I didn’t imagine you had.”
“Does everyone try and fleece you like that?”
“Oh, no. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have if you hadn’t annoyed him by scolding him over Gun. For that defense alone, I’m in your debt, and very glad to have been of any assistance.” He bowed, snapped his fingers to the dog, and strolled away. The dog trotted at his heels, leaving Juliet to her unsatisfied curiosity over both of them.
After a moment, she turned away and wondered if she dared go into the inn to find a safe place to wait for the coach. She walked the length of the building, then settled on a bench outside to watch the world come and go.
She wished she was less churned up, angry, and frightened, so that she could appreciate the novelty. But this was not the kind of traveling she’d had in mind when she entered the princess’s house in Connaught Place yesterday evening. And she had never imagined being alone.
Chapter Two
About a quarter of an hour later, the dog appeared again, wagging his tail in a hopeful manner. Juliet smiled and patted the great, hairy head. “I’m sorry I have nothing for you to eat,” she told him. In fact, her own stomach was rumbling. She hadn’t eaten since tea yesterday.
“He’s taken a shine to you, ma’am,” his master said. “Do you mind if I join you, or shall I take him away? Though without a leash, I suspect he’ll keep coming back.”
“Please,” she said, indicating the space on the bench next to her.
The stranger sprawled on the bench beside her and took off his slightly battered beaver hat. She regarded him with curiosity. He had been kind and helpful, his dog clearly loved him, and he had a rather charming smile, lighthearted and friendly.
The dog laid his head on her lap, and she rubbed behind his ears. “What did you say his name was?”
“Gun,” her new friend replied, and the dog wagged its tail.
“Why did you call him that?”
“Well, I know he seems quiet and placid enough now, but you probably saw how he was with the cat. If he hears a noise he doesn’t like or gets the scent of an enemy, he goes off like a rifle shot. You’ll understand soon enough.” He gave her an apologetic glance. “I’m afraid we’re on the same coach.”
Juliet was not displeased by this news, although she had to warn herself about trusting strangers. After all, if she could be mistaken in her betrothed…
She blinked rapidly.
“I’m Daniel Stewart,” he offered.
She put out her hand. “Juliet—” She broke off, remembering the awful words printed in the newspaper. For the first time in her life, she was afraid to be Lady Juliet Lilbourne. Not only might she be subject to insult, but her family wouldn’t want it known she’d fled London alone on a public coach. “Smith,” she finished lamely.
Mr. Stewart shook her hand. “Miss Smith. Are you going to see family in Kidfield?”
“Near Kidfield,” she replied. “I’m going home. Are you?”
“Sort of. My grandfather claims to be on his deathbed.”
She raised her brows. “Claims? Don’t you believe him?”
“Not really. But maybe it’s time I made my peace with him anyhow. Besides,” he added with a quick grin, “pockets to let and nothing else to do.”
“Did you quarrel with him?” she asked.
“Never done anything else,” he said cheerfully. “We don’t see eye-to-eye on anything, and I behave badly.”
Juliet gave in to innate curiosity. “How?”
He glanced at her. “I don’t believe I should go into details. Suffice it to say, I’m a wastrel.”
“Is that what your grandfather says?”
“Very colorfully, too. Though in all honesty, I have to admit he’s right.”
“So, you’re going home to mend your ways?”
A smile flickered across his face. “Well, let’s not run too far ahead. I’ll do my duty and eat well for a few days until we quarrel again.”
“You are alarmingly honest,” she observed.
“Do I alarm you?” he asked in apparent surprise.
“Well, no, but I think people aren’t terribly frank, as a rule.” Her smile felt twisted. “Perhaps I am not used to meeting honest people.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” He seemed to hesitate. “You probably shouldn’t do anything too hasty.”
“Do you mean travel alone on the stagecoach?” she asked bluntly.
“None of my business,” Mr. Stewart said. “But I’m happy to help if I can. I’ll even escort you home if we go quickly.”
“My home is near Kidfield,” she said with determination.
“Will someone meet you there?” he asked.
“When I send for them,” she said stiffly. “Or I shall hire a post chaise.”
Mr. Stewart shrugged, as though he had tried all he was going to. The dog sat on his feet.
“Is he going with you?” she asked.
“Gun? Yes, he’d only chase after the coach until his heart gave out.” He pulled Gun’s ears.
“Have you had him since he was a pup?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know it. He was so big that I assumed he was fully grown. He wasn’t.”
Juliet laughed. “What breed is he?”
“Who knows? I found him wandering the streets and shared my supper with him. After that, he wouldn’t go away.”
“Then he’s just a stray?”
“Not anymore.”
“Will the other passengers complain about him?” she asked. “Will he have to go on the roof with the luggage?”
“Oh, we’re both on the roof with the luggage,” Mr. Stewart said cheerfully. “He makes an excellent blanket.”
She regarded him with some respect. “You don’t stand too much on your dignity, do you?”
“Nothing to be dignified about,” he replied carelessly, and yet some dark, only half-readable expression flashed across his eyes and vanished. He was not proud.
And neither, in the present circumstances, was she. Although she had done nothing wrong, the world would not agree. Her betrothed had already cast her off. His mother had refused to receive her. This was now her life. Even this easy-going young man would look at her differently once he knew.
“But I am happy to help you in any way I can,” he said, and she realized his gaze was still steady on her face.
Her chin lifted in instinctive denial. “What makes you think I need help?” She waved one dismissive hand. “Apart from almost being fleeced by that horrid porter.”
“The fact that you’re traveling alone by public coach,”
“Lots of people do.”
“Not people like you.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“I know you’re a lady of birth and wealth.”
“The dress? I could be the daughter of a wealthy cit.”
His lips twitched. “But you’re not.”
She regarded him with sudden dread, searching his face. “We have not met before, have we?”
“I doubt I move in your circles, ma’am.”
“Why not?” she pursued. “You are a gentleman, are you not?”
“Opinions vary.”
“Well, they shouldn’t,” she said, perversely annoyed on his behalf. “You have been most gentlemanly to me. And believe me,” she added darkly, “I have seen men use the description who clearly have no right to it whatsoever.”
“Who?” he demanded.
“My betrothed for one. For another…” She broke off, appalled. She had been thinking of the aristocratic men who had been in the princess’s house last night, had nearly blurted the whole to a complete stranger. What was she thinking of?
But Mr. Stewart seemed to have fixed on her first accusation. “Your betrothed?” he said, startled. “Does he know about this journey of yours?”
“Oh, he is not my betrothed anymore,” she said airily. “Which is a good thing since he turned out not to be a gentleman at all, except by birth.”
“In that case, I wish him an ugly shrew of a wife who keeps him on a very, very short leash. And employs a shockingly bad cook.”
Juliet laughed. “Perfect. And I wish you an excellently cooked fatted calf at your grandfather’s.”
“Unlikely.”
“Won’t you be treated as the prodigal grandson returned?”
“I would doubt it. My grandfather is a parsimonious old skinflint. Which is another reason he dislikes me so much. Money just slips through my fingers. So, he really doesn’t want me to inherit his.”
“Are you his heir?”
Her new friend shrugged. “Not necessarily. He has three grandsons he’d like to compete for the privilege.”
“Will you?”
“I never have before,” he said restlessly. “It goes against the grain.”
“But you are going to him,” she pointed out.
“I have to think about my mother,” he said ruefully. He shifted. “But you don’t want to hear my life story. I would rather hear yours.”
“I have nothing to tell. I have had a perfect, privileged, and quite trivial life, as anyone will tell you.”
“Traveling two hundred miles on the mail coach isn’t much of a privilege.”
“I shall give all that up,” she said with mock grandeur. “I shall retire from the world and go into a nunnery.”
He grinned. “How long would you last there?”
“About an hour and a half before the abbess decided I am too frivolous. But at least,” she added wistfully, “I would get to travel abroad.”
“I’m sure you could come up with a better reason to travel.”
“Have you been out outside of England?”
“I was born in India,” said the surprising young man. “And I spent a fortnight in Scotland, which I suppose doesn’t count as abroad. Pretty, though, if one likes to paint.”
“Do you paint?” she asked in surprise.
“I dabble. I’ve dabbled in most things over the years.”
“Over the years?” she repeated. “You are not Methuselah!”
“I’m five-and-twenty, which is more than enough years for considerable dabbling.”
“I used to be considered quite proficient in watercolors,” she offered.
“Now who sounds like Methuselah? Is there any reason you shouldn’t still be proficient?”
“No,” she allowed. But no one will care. No one will look.
After a few moments, she realized he was rummaging in his satchel. Gun edged closer to him. He came out with a bundle in a folded napkin, which turned out to be a large hunk of bread and cheese. He tore it in two and offered one piece to Juliet.
Her mouth watered. “I couldn’t eat your breakfast.”
“It will cheer you up. Everything looks better when you’re not hungry.”
Stupidly, his casual kindness brought a lump to her throat. She swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she muttered and took the ungainly chunk. It tasted better than the finest morsels she could remember.
*
Daniel Stewart hadn’t expected the girl to be quite so fascinating. Dazzled by her beauty and the spirited way she had defended Gun, he had allowed her vulnerability to arouse his erratic chivalry. He had decided to look after her as best he could on the journey north, but he hadn’t supposed he would enjoy her company as much as her appearance. Or become quite so intrigued by what had brought her to this point in her clearly privileged life.
She took off one glove, then the other, and pulled a dainty morsel off the ungainly chunk of bread and cheese he had handed her. She put the piece in her mouth somewhat gingerly. But when she had chewed and swallowed, she had the next piece ready and shoved it in with rather more enthusiasm.
“What?” she demanded when she could speak. “This is delicious.” Another less dainty chunk vanished behind her charming lips.
“When did you last eat?”
She swallowed. “Tea,” she admitted. “Yesterday. I didn’t even realize I was hungry. When will we reach Kidfield?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, dear, and I’m eating half of your luncheon! Will we be able to get more with my last two guineas?”
“Of course. The secret of coaching stops is not to shovel your meal in, but to carry away as much as you can.” From the satchel, he took out his well-traveled tin bowl with the lid.
She laughed. “But we won’t be able to share if you’re on the roof. Perhaps I could swap my ticket for an outside one, too?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said hastily. “But we’ll find a way.”
The time until the mail coach began loading up passed quickly in the kind of lighthearted conversation he most enjoyed. She betrayed nothing further about her life or her reasons for this clearly unfamiliar mode of transport. But she did seem cheered, losing a certain tightness around the eyes that had spoken of worry as well as tiredness.
Escorting her across to the coach, he found himself scanning her fellow inside passengers. A respectable couple with a young daughter, a plump, scowling woman, and an oily young merchant he didn’t like the look of at all.
Juliet climbed in without fuss, but he soon saw her head peering out the window, watching as he climbed onto the roof, pushing Gun in front of him. She smiled and waved, and then her head ducked in again.
Dan made himself as comfortable as possible, with his satchel over his shoulder and his traveling cloak at the ready to keep himself and Gun dry and warm. And then they were off. He felt the usual surge of exhilaration at the prospect of speed, fine views, and pastures new. Except, of course, the pastures weren’t really new, and there really wasn’t likely to be anything different at his grandfather’s. A fresh load of insults and scolds about his way of life and threats to leave his money to Colin or Hugh instead.
Dan wished he would—almost. But now his mother seemed likely to marry that imbecile Pilney, just for financial security. And Dan was forced to consider someone other than himself. His mother should have enough to live on, enough for comfort in her old age. And it was up to him, not Pilney, to provide it. If that meant groveling to his grandfather, well, it was a small price to pay.
