Chapter 5

Lucas was still reeling fromthe vision he’d seen when he’d returned to his room. He’d literally rocked back on his heels at the sight of Lavinia and her exquisite face and glorious, fiery hair tumbling over her shoulders. His pulse still raced, even though they’d finished breakfast and were now on their way to Barnet and the White Hart Inn in search of her friends.

Miss Lavinia Fernley was no on-the-shelf spinster. Quite the contrary. And she was even more of a mystery now than she’d seemed last night.

Last night, a gray-faced woman of middle years had thrown herself into Lucas’s arms and called him husband. She’d been alternately wary and bold, timid and defiant. She’d held her own with him even though he’d known she was intimidated by his size. She’d also been considerate. In the brief time she’d had to herself when he’d left the room, she’d still managed to make up a bed for him on the floor.

But the heart of it all was that she was the most dazzling creature he had ever beheld. Who in blazes was this woman?

She was currently sitting in front of him atop Hector, and Lucas had an arm around her waist to hold her steady. She remained silent, her head facing forward as they rode, the top of her ugly bonnet all Lucas could see of her, which was undoubtedly a good thing for them both.

He was feeling lighter this morning, he realized as they made their way along the streets, his dread over returning home having been replaced by diversion and a sense of curiosity.

“Who are these friends of yours you are meeting?” he asked her, wanting to learn more about her to put some of the puzzle pieces together. “I take it they aren’t family.”

“They are as near to family as one can be without actually sharing blood ties,” she answered, still facing forward.

Interesting reply. “You’ve known them for a while, then.”

“Yes.”

“Are they childhood friends?” he asked.

“No,” she answered.

Hmm. He wanted more from her than yes and no answers. He would try a different tack. “Perhaps you could tell me their names, for a start, and a little about each of them,” he said.

She was silent for a time, and Lucas wondered if she was going to answer him. What could be so secretive about a few friends, especially when she’d allowed him to accompany her to them? He was just opening his mouth to prod her further when she finally spoke. “There are three: Arthur Drake, Delia Weston, and Hannah Broome. Hannah was my nurse when I was a very young child. Ah—I see the sign for the White Hart up ahead.”

Lucas nudged Hector to a quicker gait. Lavinia had provided only the barest of bones for details, but it appeared he would now have to wait to question her further.

She straightened up and pointed. “There, over there. I see them.”

Lucas looked in the direction she pointed. A plump, middle-aged woman was hurrying across the courtyard toward them, flapping her apron and clutching her bosom. Behind her, a gaunt elderly man and tiny elderly woman with fluffy white hair followed more slowly.

Lucas brought Hector to a halt, and before he could offer much assistance, Lavinia wriggled out of his arms and off the horse and went into the middle-aged woman’s open arms. Lucas dismounted, tossed the reins to the stable boy who’d dashed over, and followed her.

“I’m that glad to see you; I was that worried, luv,” the woman said as she hugged Lavinia. “I weren’t sure what we was to do next, and poor Artie has been fretting and Delia too, but we couldn’t leave you behind. We justcouldn’t, even though you told us to go on! And here you are now, and I fretted the whole night long. I thought, ‘What if my girl has trouble and that terrible man—?’” The woman abruptly ceased her emotional rambling when she spotted Lucas. “Who’s this?” she asked Lavinia in a low voice.

“This is my hero, Hannah, Mr. Lucas Jennings. It is quite a story, which I will share with you in a moment. Lucas, may I introduce my friends. Hannah Broome”—the woman begrudgingly bobbed a curtsy—“and Miss Delia Weston and Mr. Arthur Drake.”

Mr. Drake offered Lucas a bony hand to shake. “Mr. Jennings, how pleased we are that our dear Lavinia appears to have been in safe hands all this time.” The man, in Lucas’s opinion, looked as if his next destination should be the church graveyard rather than Lavinia’s little farm.

Delia Weston, the tiny white-haired woman standing next to Mr. Drake,looked as if she’d blow away in a puff of wind. “Yes, indeed,” she said. For such a tiny thing, she had a clear, surprisingly resonant voice. “We don’t know what we would do without our dear Lavinia.”

“I told you all would be well,” Lavinia said. “You needn’t have worried.”

“Of course we should worry, and rightly so,” Mr. Drake said. “You were on your own at night in a strange place—a dangerous situation for any young woman, even one as capable as you, dear girl.” He raised his fisted hands into boxing position and mimed a few good jabs. “I should have liked to be there though, you know, to defend you should you have required it.”

Lavinia smiled affectionately. “You are a dear one, Artie. But it wasn’t necessary after all, was it? I’m here now, safe and sound.”

“Are you, luv? Safe and sound, that is?” the woman, Hannah Broome, asked. She had not stopped glaring at Lucas since their introduction. “And when exactly did this heregentlemandecide he were going to be your hero, pray tell?”

“I’m willing to answer that question, madam,” Lucas said, “if you will allow me to escort you all into the inn for tea. I’m sure we would appreciate some refreshment, and the discussion might be better suited away from the bustling courtyard.”

“Excellent idea, Mr. Jennings,” Miss Weston said. “I would enjoy a cup of tea after all this excitement.”

“Come, Delia, allow me to escort you back inside,” Mr. Drake said, offering her his arm. “Hannah?” He offered his other arm to her. “Since Mr. Jennings has brought our girl to us safely, we can trust him to escort her a few steps farther.”