And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake

chapter 13



Come with me, Miss Spooner. Run away and be my bride. I shall await your answer at the inn in the village. My coach and my heart await you.

Found in a letter from Mr. Dishforth to Miss Spooner




Early the next morning, with Dishforth’s latest note tucked into her pocket, Daphne stole down the stairs. The entire house was quiet, save for Mr. Muggins, who continued to dog her every step.

Literally.

She turned to the Irish terrier and scratched his head. “Sit here, Mr. Muggins. And wait for Tabitha.”

And then she closed the front door behind her and went down the drive, taking a deep breath and committing herself to the plan before her.

The one outlined in Dishforth’s note, the one she’d found waiting for her, having been slipped under her door during the night. So he had discovered her identity after all.

Yet it was his words that took her breath away.

He loved her still, despite their missed chances, and hoped she’d understand.

Daphne had read those lines twice. Perhaps three times. He loved her. Still.

And as she read the rest of his letter, she knew exactly what she had to do.

Yet with each step she took down the long, winding drive, she wondered if this was the wisest course.

Whatever would her family say?

Daphne took only one glance over her shoulder back at Owle Park and then vowed not to look again.

Whatever her doubts about Dishforth, she had no such qualms or doubts now of his intentions toward her. He wanted to marry her.

She got to the gate and shifted her traveling valise from one hand to another as she crossed under the imposing stone arch, with its colonnaded towers on either side.

“Giving up?”

Daphne paused, for she knew that voice as well as she knew the owner’s kiss.

Lord Henry.

There was a crunch of gravel behind her, and she turned to find the rogue pushing off the base of the column, where he’d apparently been lounging about.

Morning had barely arrived, yet here he was, with his coat flung open, no cravat, his shirt open in a V at the neck and his waistcoat undone. Dusty breeches and scuffed boots showed the wear of a cross-country trek, while his usually properly combed mane of hair was tied back in merely a simple queue.

She’d never seen him so undone. So entirely at ease. So perfectly handsome.

Had he been up all night? she wondered. Not that she had much time to consider it as he came forward much as he had last night—a lion stalking through his territory, eyeing her as one might easy prey—until he stood before her, blocking her escape. “I asked if you were giving up. Going home, perhaps?”

Daphne tried to get an answer out, but all that she could manage was a stammering “Yes . . . no . . . eventually.” And then she shifted her valise again and went around him.

Persistent rake that he was, he followed and kept up with her easily. “If that is the case, I could call for a carriage.”

She shook her head. “No thank you, my lord.” If she thought that was enough to deter the man, Lord Henry continued to match her pace.

For a while they walked in silence, Daphne continuing determinedly along, Lord Henry doggedly following her.

He rather reminded her of Mr. Muggins.

Finally, tired of this ruse, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Whatever are you doing, loitering after me? Haven’t you something more important to attend to?”

He shook his head. “No, not in the least. Found myself awake early this morning. Couldn’t sleep, so I decided to come down here and watch the sun rise.”

Daphne glanced over her shoulder. “And so it has, so now shouldn’t you be seeing to your breakfast?”

He grinned at her. “Actually, it didn’t show its bright face until you arrived.”

“Pish!” she replied. “Really, Lord Henry? Comparing my arrival to the sun?” She shuddered and shifted her valise again, but she found it removed from her grasp and the gentleman carrying it for her. He didn’t say a word, but the stubborn set of his jaw precluded any opposition to his assistance.

“It is a long way to London,” he noted, nodding up the empty road before them. “I can still call for a carriage.”

“I’m only going to the village.”

“There is no mail coach through the village.”

“I have a ride.”

“You do?”

She nodded.

“Who?”

Daphne huffed an impatient breath. If that was the way he wanted to do this . . . “None of your business.”

“Miss Dale, are you eloping?”

This time she merely shook her head, as she did when Pansy brought her the wrong gown. And she kept walking.

With the wretched lout stalking along beside her.

“Let me see, sneaking off from a house party at an early hour,” he mused. “No need for a coach, mail or otherwise. And a small valise”—he gave it a heft, as if weighing it—“with the necessities for a three-day journey. Hmmm, then I can only assume you are indeed eloping.”

“Oh, bother. Yes. I am.”

“Hardly proper,” he told her.

“But necessary,” she shot back.

“Necessary?”

“As if you have to ask,” she said. She leaned over to retrieve her valise, but he held it out of her reach. Thwarted, but refusing to give up, Daphne continued on.

Lord Henry followed. “Why is this elopement suddenly so necessary?”

She came to a grinding halt, hands fisting to her hips. “Since you ask, any moment now Cousin Crispin and an entire host of Dales will arrive here demanding my removal, and I will be whisked away in shame.”

“Shame?”

“Utter ruin,” she corrected. “Then there will be a family conclave and I will be married off to the first Dale they can find to take me in my tarnished state.”

“Tarnished?” He looked her up and down as if searching for a blemish.

She gave him a withering glance.

To which he smiled. “Never tarnished, Miss Dale. Not to me. To me, you shine brightly.”

“Harrumph!” And this time she managed to regain the possession of her valise, marching onward toward a fate of her own making. Though she knew the necessity of making a good show of it.

“Go away!” she told him, like one might a stray dog.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeated. “As a gentleman—”

“A gentleman! Bah!”

“A man of honor?”

“Piffle!”

He came around in front of her, once again blocking her escape. “What about a fellow in good standing—”

“Please, Lord Henry,” she begged, pointing down the road in the direction from which they’d come, “go back to Owle Park, where you belong. To your life. Leave me to mine. Please.”

“No,” he repeated stubbornly. “Not until I know you’re safe.” He paused for a moment, and when she glared at him, he continued, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something untoward happened to you. And there it is. You might not think me a gentleman or a man of honor, but I won’t let anything or anyone harm you.”

She nodded in acquiescence.

They continued walking on, and as they entered the village, Daphne spoke up again. “Aren’t you needed elsewhere?”

Henry considered her question for a moment and then shook his head. “No. Not that I can think of.”

One of the shopkeepers who was opening his business for the day doffed his hat to them, and Henry nodded politely back. “I’d rather spend these last few minutes with you. That, and I would be remiss if I didn’t stay and ensure this gentleman’s intentions toward you are honorable.”

Daphne stumbled and stopped. “You are going to discern that?”

“You needn’t sound so incredulous,” he replied as he kept walking. “It takes a rake to know one,” he called back over his shoulder. “I’d be doing you a favor. I owe you that much, Miss Dale.”

Daphne hurried to catch up. “I would prefer you leave well enough alone.”

He slanted a glance at her. “I suppose you are going to insist.”

“I am.”

He sighed again. “But I could ensure—”

“Not one word, Lord Henry!”

“Oh, good heavens, Miss Dale, you are a trying creature. But if I must remain silent—”

“You must,” she insisted. “You will not say a word to the gentleman who is awaiting me at the inn.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “If that is your heart’s desire, Miss Dale, I will promise with all my heart not to say a word to the gentleman waiting for you.”

“Swear?” she pressed.

“Upon my honor,” he told her.

Satisfied, she continued on, her eyes fixed on the inn at the end of the row of shops and houses.

Out in front sat a shabby-looking carriage.

“How odd,” Lord Henry remarked.

“Odd?”

“I thought this most excellent gentleman of yours would have some elegant barouche to carry you off in style and comfort.”

Tucking her chin up, she told him, “Thankfully, he is not the sort to be overly extravagant—he disdains such showy pretensions. Some might call him thrifty and sensible. Qualities I quite admire.”

As they got closer to the carriage, it was obvious it was a tumbledown affair.

Lord Henry let out a low whistle. “As long as he doesn’t do the same thing to your dress accounts.”

She shot him a furious glance.

“I must ask,” Lord Henry continued, “however did you fall in love with this man? Because a lady would have to be in love to dare a journey in that rattletrap.”

“I did, and I will, because he has been nothing but honest and forthright with me.” Was it Daphne’s imagination, or did Lord Henry flinch?

When she started for the inn’s door, he called after her, “Well, good, you’ve gotten that off your chest.”

Against her better judgment, Daphne stopped. “Excuse me?”

“That bit of pique. It brightened you up a bit. I fear you were starting to look a bit pale. A man likes his bride with a starry-eyed gaze and a bit of a blush to her.”

She glanced over at him, feeling a lot of her color rushing into her cheeks. “I’ve already taken up too much of your time. Good-bye, Lord Henry.” She stopped short of adding, Good riddance.

Lord Henry ignored her, went over to the door and pushed it open. “Miss Dale, wild horses couldn’t drag me away from witnessing your happy union.”

From over Daphne’s shoulder, Henry winked at the innkeeper. This is the one I told you about.

The man barely nodded, giving Henry a nearly imperceptible answer. Gotcha, gov’ner.

Even the lad on the stool by the fire knew his role, for he said not a thing.

Henry had been most honest with Miss Dale when he’d said he’d gotten up early and gone for a walk. He had. To this very inn to set up the tableau which was about to play out.

It was all he could do not to grin.

For in the next few minutes, Daphne would find out that Dishforth had departed, and he, Henry, would be right there to soothe her broken heart. The perfect time to make his case and show her exactly why he was the only gentleman for her.

And such a plan might have worked if he had tried it on someone a little less determined, a far sight more malleable than Daphne Dale.

Certainly there should be a furrowed look of concern on her face—for here was the common room, empty, with no sign of Dishforth. Shouldn’t she appear, at the very least, a bit crestfallen?

Not Miss Dale.

She marched up to the serving board and nodded politely to the innkeeper. “Sir, I am to meet a gentleman here. Where might he be?”

The innkeeper bore a patient expression. Truly, in Henry’s estimation he was on par with Keen in his acting ability. “A gentleman, you say?”

“Yes, he said he would be waiting here for me,” she explained. “His coach and four are outside. Will you please summon him and let him know that Miss Dale is here.”

The man’s gaze narrowed. “A coach and four?”

“Yes, the one outside.”

Shaking his head, the innkeeper said, “The coach outside belongs to the inn. We let it out. Do you need a coach, miss?”

“No, I don’t need a coach,” she said. “The gentleman I was to meet was bringing his. Might he be summoned, please?”

Lord Henry leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and watched her with nothing less than awe. What a determined slip of muslin she was.

The innkeeper shook his head. “Miss, there is no one else about. Just you and his lordship.” He nodded toward Henry, who did his best to look mildly concerned—at least for her sake. Besides, everything was working perfectly. All the innkeeper had to do was explain—

She frowned at Lord Henry and leaned closer to the innkeeper so her query wasn’t so public.

Not that it wasn’t easy to hear.

“I am looking for a gentleman.” She leaned closer still. “Mr. Dishforth.”

“Mr. Dishforth?” He scratched his chin.

“Yes, a gentleman of some respectability. He was to meet me here.”

“Oh, that gentleman,” the innkeeper said, snapping his fingers. “I fear, miss, he left.”

“Left?”

“Yes, he already left. In a hurry, you might say.”

Miss Dale stepped back from the board. “But whyever would he have left?”

“I can’t say, miss. He was here and then he was gone.” The innkeeper shrugged, then picked up a tankard and began polishing it with a cloth.

Truly, Lord Henry felt guilty about this deception, but it was better this way. Certainly it had to be.

“He left?” she asked, then shook her head. “He can’t have left. He wouldn’t have left. You are mistaken.”

Of course she wasn’t going to believe that her loyal Dishforth would abandon her, so Lord Henry had taken the precaution of adding another player to this scene.

“Oh, aye, miss,” the lad by the fire piped up. “The grand gentleman left, oh, say, an hour ago. Mayhap two it was.”

“No, he wouldn’t have,” she told the boy, tears brimming up in her eyes. “He wouldn’t have left. Not without me.”

My dearest, beloved Miss Spooner. When we meet at the inn, we shall never be parted ever again.

And it was that very promise broken that left her wide blue eyes all undone with grief. Those tears also managed to unravel everything Henry had devised.

Because the lad by the fire was as stricken by them as if he had been the one abandoned. And so he improvised, if only to stop her crying—or so he later claimed, for he supposed his efforts would help the cause.

“He didn’t leave alone,” he told her. “He left with a woman. A right fancy one. He wasn’t the right one for you, miss. Not in the least.”

The room stilled. Completely and utterly. As if there wasn’t even a whiff of air in it. Not even the fire made a crackle. For there, in the middle of all this silence, was this grand bouncer, this unthinkable addition to Henry’s carefully wrought plans.

A grand herring of a fish tale that had one and all gaping—each for their own reasons.

And of course, it was Daphne who recovered first. “He left with a lady?”

“Yes,” the lad told her. “Oh, a beautiful, fancy lady.” He glanced over at Henry, as if expecting a nod of encouragement. And, not even waiting for that, he barreled on. “The lady, she wept when she arrived and found him here. Then the gentleman, a more handsome fellow you can’t imagine, he called her his ‘perfect love’ and begged for her hand in marriage. When she said ‘yes,’ he kissed her. Right here.” The boy pointed at his cheek. “Then she wept some more, and finally he summoned his driver and they left.” And if that wasn’t enough, he hastily added, “Oh, it was a grand sight to witness. The lady and gentleman so handsome and riding away in such a grand carriage. One fit for a king.”

Henry sank onto the nearest bench. For what could he do? Confess right now as she gaped dumbfounded at the lad and looked ready to faint? Tell her he’d lied and deceived her, if only to gain her hand?

But Henry soon found out that he didn’t know Daphne Dale all that well.

She whirled to the innkeeper. “That carriage, the one outside—”

“Yes, miss—”

“It’s for hire, isn’t it?”

“Yes, miss, but—”

“Then I would like to hire it.”

“You, miss?” He glanced up at Henry as if he didn’t know what to do first. Other than toss his romantically inclined stable lad down the nearest well.

Henry straightened, a terrible suspicion knotting in his gut. No. She wouldn’t.

“Yes, I would like to hire it,” Daphne told the man, drawing out her reticule and pulling out the necessary coins. “I’ll need the fastest set you have so I can overtake Mr. Dishforth.”

Oh, yes, she would.

“You want to overtake him, miss?”

“But of course,” she replied.

Henry got to his feet. “Miss Dale, you cannot think to go after him—”

“But I must. There has been a terrible mistake, and I must save him.”

“Save him?” Henry and the innkeeper said at the same time, like a disbelieving chorus.

Henry’s Shakespearean comedy had taken a horribly tragic Greek turnabout.

Miss Dale gave them both a look of utter indignation. “But of course. Who else can save him but me? Someone must tell poor, simple, misled Mr. Dishforth that he has eloped with the wrong bride.”