Page 23 of Exile's Return
She looked down at the old, dark wood of the table, incised with initials and dates of ancient inn patrons. She traced one such initial, a J carved with almost intricate delicacy.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I have nothing to my name. James died without a will.’
‘And your brother…he died in the King’s service?’ His voice had dropped almost to a whisper.
She looked up. ‘In a manner of speaking. He went into exile after Worcester and died in The Hague a few years later.’
The man’s mouth tightened and his hand rose to the scar on his face. An unconscious gesture, she thought, but it told her everything she needed to know.
‘You were there?’ she asked.
He flicked his gaze over her shoulder to an unseen object behind her head, and for a moment she thought he would not answer.
‘Yes,’ he said in a clipped tone, ‘I was there. One last question and you will forgive my impertinence but it is important that we are honest with each other…were you mistress to the late Earl?’
Every fibre in her body screamed out in outrage at the audacity of the question, but held by his cold, grey eyes all she could say was ‘yes’. She swallowed and lifted her chin in defiance. ‘But if you think to bed me, Master Lucas, I would have you know that I…’
I…what…? I am not a whore?
‘I believe I have the right to know a little bit more about you,’ she concluded.
He held his hand up and nodded. ‘You have been honest with me,’ he said, ‘and, as we are united in this venture, I should be honest with you. My name is not Lucas, it is Lovell. Daniel Lovell. I was taken prisoner after Worcester and sent to the West Indies.’ He paused as if considering his next statement. ‘Let us just say I have returned to England from several years in exile.’
He was still being less than honest with her, but that explanation would have to do for now.
‘And you prefer not to use your own name because you are a little uncertain of your welcome in England?’ she ventured.
That smile curved his lips again. ‘Precisely. So to all intents and purposes, we shall travel together as Daniel Lucas and his sister, Agnes Fletcher.’ His fingers beat a quick tattoo on the table. ‘And you have my word as a gentleman that I shall view our relationship as just such.’
She hoped the palpable relief did not show on her face. Not that he was unattractive. In fact, after careful consideration, following their discussion she considered him most attractive.
‘It might bear some veracity if you were to call me Daniel,’ he suggested, adding with a half smile, ‘which, I assure you, is my name.’
‘Daniel.’ She tried the name out and found she liked the way it sounded on her tongue. Daniel Lovell may be a man with a dubious past but she may have found her new protector.
Impulsively she reached across the table and laid her hand over his. ‘Thank you. Our meeting was God-sent.’
A muscle twitched in Daniel’s cheek and he looked down at her hand. It seemed so small against his. The muscles and sinews were strongly defined and there were pale scars on hisknuckles and the backs of his hand. For all his gentlemanly accent and demeanour, he had known hard manual labour.
He slid his hand away from hers. ‘I don’t think God had much to do with it, but let us leave it at that. You must be tired, Mistress Fletcher.’
She nodded and ran a hand across her eyes. Now the crisis had passed, her body cried out for sleep.
‘It has been a trying day,’ she admitted and rose to her feet, every muscle in her body crying out in protest.
He pushed his chair back and stood. ‘It has indeed. We will set out tomorrow as soon as I have procured horses. Do you ride?”
She nodded.
‘I should warn you that I have an errand to perform on our way north. Letters to deliver to friends in Worcestershire.’
‘As Lucas or Lovell?’ she enquired, with a smile.
He shook his head. ‘Lovell. The people we go to are friends of my brother’s.’
‘Your brother?’ she enquired, hoping to elicit something of a personal nature from him.
‘Like your brother, he’s dead,’ Daniel Lovell replied curtly. ‘Now, I suggest you retire. We have a long ride ahead of us.’
