Page 66 of The Storybook Hero
Despite his aching head, Alex stood up and began to pace the narrow confines of the cabin. ”She and Emma were left to the mercies of the invading French army. She took it upon herself to save the child, daring to attempt the journey from Moscow to St. Petersburg by herself. If I hadn’t come upon them….” A flash of humor stole across his features. “Actually, she probably pulled my irons out of the fire as often as I helped her.”
“Miss Hadley sounds like quite a remarkable female,” murmured William.
“That is putting it mildly. Why, she is the most intelligent, caring, resourceful and courageous person I have ever met—man or woman.”
“Hmm.” The marquess regarded his brother’s agitation with a gleam of speculation, though his expression remained impassive. “Just how do you intend to see that she doesn’t have to fend for herself?”
“Why, er….” Alex felt his face turn rather warm as he stumbled for words. “I—I thought Olivia and Augusta might help me find a suitable position for her. One where she might be treated with the esteem she deserves.”
“Ah.” The marquess toyed with his cuff. “I am sure your sisters-in-law would be delighted to get involved. They are hopeless romantics—no doubt they will enjoy this tale far more than any of those published by Minerva Press.”
“This has nothing to do with romance, William. Good Lord, I have no illusions about being some storybook hero,” he muttered. Damnation, that was not true, he realized. Hedidwish to clasp the heroine in his arms at the end of the tale, but after the awful mull he had made of things, that seemed quite unlikely to happen, except in his dreams.
“It has to do with friendship and loyalty and….” His voice trailed off as he shoved his hands in his pockets and quickened the pace of his steps.
“And trust,” he finally added, ducking just in time to keep from cracking his head on one of the beams. “The devil take it! After what happened back there in St. Petersburg, I doubt she will ever speak to me again, much less trust me. Or allow me to help her. She is too proud to accept?—”
“Alex, sit down before you make yourself seasick by spinning in such circles. Just watching you is having a deleterious effect on my own insides.”
“Hell’s teeth!” The oath came out in a whoosh of air as he threw himself down on the hard bunk. “I don’t know how I am ever going to convince her that I am not a worthless wastrel.”
“Well, it is a long voyage home, and there are three married gentlemen willing to offer whatever advice we can. Surely if we all put our heads together we can devise some sort of strategy to soften her feelings.” He gave a slight chuckle. “Although, speaking from long experience, I am not sure that any of us can claim to fully understand the working of the female mind.”
“… three, and that makes four.”
Octavia stepped back and surveyed the corded boxes, satisfied that the porters had not left one behind. They had precious few belonging as it were, but a number of necessities had been purchased, including some much needed new clothing, and she didn’t wish to embark on the voyage without them.
“Come along, Emma. Mr. Twillings has promised to escort us to our cabin before he bids us good bye.” The young man from the embassy had proved enormously useful over the past week.Not only had he quickly settled any lingering objections the Renfrews might have had about relinquishing custody of Emma, but he had managed to arrange a comfortable cabin for her and the girl aboard a large merchant vessel attached to a naval convoy returning to London, much to the irritation of a number of important gentlemen who had also been awaiting passage home.
There was no doubt as to the reason for such preferential treatment, she admitted as she strolled up the gang plank. It was clear that the Leigh name inspired a good deal of awe among the diplomatic corps. Awe, however, was not exactly the sentiment she would use describe her own feelings about that august moniker.
Leigh.Just repeating the name in her head caused a wave of anger to well up inside her.
Her brow furrowed. No, the emotion was more complex than mere anger or loathing. It was … disappointment. A disappointment as fierce as a Baltic Sea storm, the depth of its turmoil made greater by the fact that it was so unexpected. She had thought that despite his outward show of sardonic detachment, Alexander Leigh had come to care for them—or at least for Emma, if not herself.
Hell’s bells, she must have listened to the reading of far too many chapters of that cursed novel to have succumbed to such sentimental fantasy. What a fool she had been to imagine a hardened rake would have any real feelings for an orphaned child and an aging governess! It was only his upbringing as a gentleman that had prevented him from abandoning them along the way.
Mere duty, rather than anything else, that had dictated his actions. And as soon as they had reached relative safety, he had announced just how onerous that duty had been by promptly drowning himself in …
Mr. Twilling’s discreet cough made Octavia realize she hadn’t been paying the least attention to what he had been saying. “Forgive me,” she sighed, forcing her eyes from the chunks of ice bobbing among the leaden waves. “I fear I was … letting my thoughts wander.”
“That is most understandable, Miss Hadley. You have had a great deal to think about over the last little while. I was merely inquiring whether there is anything else you might need before the ship weighs anchor?”
“You have done more than enough for us, sir. I am well aware that without your help we would be spending a long, cold winter in St. Petersburg.”
Twilling inclined a bow. “Well, then, I shall take my leave. Goodbye, Miss Hadley.” A quick wink was directed at the girl. “And Miss Emma as well. I wish you godspeed and good luck in London.”
Hah, thought Octavia. She was going to need more than luck in navigating her way through the coming weeks. As she didn’t know a soul in the city, she had no idea where she and Emma would stay while she arranged to consult with the trustees of the girl’s estate, or how long her funds would hold out….
Well, time enough to think of that during the voyage. She forced a smile. “Goodbye, Mr. Twilling. And thank you again.”
With another tip of his hat, the young man turned and hurried off, weaving his steps between the burly sailors carrying the last of the spruce spars and barrels of pine tar up from the docks.
“London,” murmured Emma, her mittened hands coming to rest on the varnished railing. For a moment she, too, seemed engrossed in studying the flock of gulls hovering over the frigid waters before she ventured another word. “Do—do you think Nicholas and Alex might be there to greet us when we arrive?”
Octavia bit her lip. “I would not count on it, Emma,” she answered, deciding it was best not to encourage such hopes.
“Oh.” The girl stared straight ahead. “But I thought they were our friends.”
