Laurie Brown - What Would Jane Austen Do?

“He made me repeat it, so I would remember his exact words. ‘Another in the Ministry. Watch your back. If you need help, I’m your man.’ Rather cryptic, eh? I asked him about that last bit. I mean, shouldn’t he have said, ‘He’s your man.’ But he insisted I say it exactly that way. What do you suppose it all means?”

“Nothing,” Shermont lied with a straight face. Another in the Ministry meant a second French agent had been discovered selling secrets to Napoleon, like the one they’d been watching for the last seven months. Properly identified and carefully handled, such a man could serve as a useful conduit for misleading information.

Since they’d sacrificed the previously known agent by announcing his capture in the Times, he guessed the new one would be used to take his place. Since Scovell hadn’t indicated how long the new agent had been in place, Shermont concluded the warning meant any number of his prior messages to the Ministry might have been read or intercepted. “Just another loony crying out for attention,” he said. “I hope you gave your tailor a stern set-down?”

“How could I do that and not reveal the meeting with Scovell?”

Shermont nodded. Apparently, the general’s evaluation of Alanbrooke was correct. Good to know he had a dependable, closemouthed backup if it became necessary. “My advice is to forget meeting him.”

“Interesting you should say that. Scovell said after I delivered the message, I should forget the entire incident.”

“What incident?” Shermont asked with a blank stare. He slapped a flummoxed Alanbrooke on the back and headed for the picnic area.

Eleanor stooped, pretending an interest in the wildflowers, and verified that she’d spotted footprints. She was no Indian tracker, but two sets of smaller footprints and the longer stride of a larger set were easy to read in the soft earth.

“Deirdre? Mina?” she said as loud as she dared.

She followed the trail into the shade. Unfortunately, once she was into the woods proper, the footprints disappeared. Hearing voices and laughter, she forged ahead. She concentrated on the ground looking for a clue, any clue, to tell her she was on the right track. Suddenly she noticed the deep silence and realized she’d lost all sense of direction. She looked around. One tree appeared pretty much like another to a city girl. Damn. She should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.

She knew she should stay in one place and let the others find her. Fighting off panic, she located a fallen tree, spread out her handkerchief, and sat down. She folded her hands in her lap and waited. And waited. Without a watch she had no idea how long she’d been in the woods or how long she’d been sitting there, although it seemed like a long while.

“This is silly.” She jumped up and paced the length of the log. It might be hours before anyone found her or even missed her and started searching. What sort of animals lived in the woods? Were there bears in England? Wolves?

She shook her head and pushed those thoughts away. She wasn’t in Yellowstone National Park. Or lost in the middle of Africa. She was in Hampshire, for crying out loud. If she walked in a straight line, she was bound to come across a cottage, a farmer tending his fields, or a road.

Picking a direction at random, she started off with firm, determined strides. Making her way through the woods wasn’t like strolling along a sidewalk, and it was impossible to stay on a straight line. She wound up following barely discernible trails and wandered among the bushes, rocks, and trees. She slapped away branches that caught her hair and stumbled when sharp stones bruised her feet. With each step, she hesitated. She called out, hoping someone, anyone, would hear. Hopefully someone who knew the way back.

“Hello? Deirdre? Mina? Hell-ooo?”

She tripped over a fallen branch and lurched forward, suddenly entering a flower-filled clearing. Tiny yellow blossoms carpeted a meadow not much larger than a ballroom. She took several steps forward, removed her bonnet, and tipped her face to the sun’s warmth. A breeze rustled musically through the trees, and thousands of yellow butterflies lifted from their delicate perch to swirl and dance to nature’s tune. Not flowers, butterflies! What a magical place! She expected a unicorn or fairies to appear.

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until a deep voice answered. She didn’t turn around immediately because the low whisper seemed a part of the magic, rather than an intrusion—words sensed as well as heard. Was Oberon, the fairy king, behind her? Or maybe the speaker was a tree elf, protector of the enchanted forest and meadow?

* * *

On their way back to the picnic area, Lord Shermont and Major Alanbrooke had chatted casually as if their previous conversation had not taken place.

“That big-boned filly of Huxley’s might not look like much, but she’s a real sweet goer,” Alanbrooke said.

“If he’s serious about taking her on the circuit, bet heavy on that first race. You’ll clean up. After that, you won’t get any odds because she’ll be the favorite.”

“Could Dabir have taken her if he hadn’t spooked?”

Shermont shrugged. “At two miles, probably. At the shorter distance, it would be a toss-up.”

“Have you ever thought of racing him?”

“Not really. The chiseled-in-stone calendar would play hell with my social schedule.”

“I can understand that. Rather like military life does,” Alanbrooke said with a chuckle as they joined Digby and Rockingham.

“Military life,” Rockingham echoed with a snort. “That’s an oxymoron. You have no life when you’re in the military.”

“Come on, mate. It can’t be that bad,” Digby said.

“Bloody hell if it ain’t.” Rockingham pulled a flask from underneath his uniform jacket and offered it around, but got no takers.

“Bit early in the day for me,” Alanbrooke said.

“You wouldn’t say that if you hadn’t slept all night.” Rockingham pulled a long swig before tucking it away. “My rotten luck the general’s aide got the trots.”

“What? You had to nurse him?” Digby asked with a grin.

“Worse. I had to take his place while the general and that damn colonel from the Dragoons discussed that pouch he brought. I was standing at attention all night except when I was acting as his damn personal servant. Fetch drinks, bring food, build the fire, fetch maps, serve coffee, douse the fire.”

Alanbrooke laughed. “That’s well within the range of duties a general’s aide is expected to perform.”

“Not the brigadier. Him I wouldn’t mind serving. It was that snot-nosed colonel. He kept using phrases like ‘based on my experience’ and ‘from my personal observation.’ Bah! His regimentals were so new he probably bought his commission last month. I’d bet my new gaiters Wellington made him a courier to get rid of him.”

“Then he came all the way from Spain?” Teddy asked incredulously. “That’s a long way to travel to deliver a message. Hasn’t the military heard of the mail?”

“Joke all you want,” Rockingham said. “Dispatches from the War Office are serious business.”

“I hope this doesn’t mean you and the others won’t be able to stay for the ball. The ladies would be so disappointed.”

“I wouldn’t want to miss that. We won’t be pulling out before maneuvers are over.” He lowered his voice. “But the colonel said—”

“Captain Rockingham,” Alanbrooke interrupted his subordinate. “I’m sure Lord Digby and Lord Shermont find such tedious military matters quite boring. Shall we talk about—”

“It’s quite all right,” Digby said to Alanbrooke. “I find the nuances of military service fascinating.”

“You would get a firsthand view if you bought a commission,” the major suggested.

“If only I could,” Digby said with a dramatic sigh. “But I have so many responsibilities. Now, if any of you gentlemen would consider marrying my sisters, I’d be free to don a uniform in time to get in on the action.”

Shermont’s estimation of Digby’s character fell even further with his crass comment. Unfortunately, until he’d completed his mission, he couldn’t afford to alienate his host by giving him the set-down he so deserved. He turned his head away and spotted a bit of yellow muslin disappearing into the woods.

“Not I,” Rockingham said. “Unlike the rest of you, I haven’t any family money expectations. I’m holding out for an heiress with at least five thousand pounds per annum.”

“Don’t look at me,” Alanbrooke said. “I’m holding out for a female without an obnoxious brother.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Shermont clapped Alanbrooke on the back and laughed. “Good one.”

Then everyone joined in the laughter, and the tension dissipated.

“I believe this is the point where I make a timely exit,” Shermont said. He bowed to the other gentlemen. “By your leave.”

He headed toward the ruins where Miss Holcum, Miss Maxwell, Miss Hazel, and the two lieutenants had found seats among the large flat rocks and were in animated conversation. The rest of the clearing was deserted except for Mrs. Maxwell dozing in a chair and the servants busy at their tasks.

“Where is everyone?” he asked the group seated on the rocks.

“Oh, here and there,” Beatrix said.

He nodded, even though he was sure she’d only kept track of Digby. None of the five had noticed anyone leaving. He announced he was going for a walk and set off at a leisurely pace. After making sure he wasn’t observed, he ducked into the woods and made his way to where he’d last seen Eleanor.

Her tracks weren’t difficult to follow. What she was doing in the woods he found harder to fathom. At first he was sure she had headed for the ancient oak, taking the trail from the road and approaching the tree from the far side. Was she picking up or leaving a message? Then her trail wandered off in another direction—which was a relief. He found her handkerchief and tucked it in his pocket. She obviously was not an experienced country walker. Evidence pointed to her bumbling her way through difficult terrain when an easier path was nearby, but where she went he followed.

He found her standing transfixed in a flower-filled meadow. The sight of her captivated him. He was content to gaze upon her, but the yellow flowers turned into butterflies that swirled around him and seemed to push him in her direction.

“What a magical place,” she whispered in an awed voice. “I expect a unicorn or fairies to appear.”

“What would the fairies be doing?” Shermont asked.

“Waltzing with the butterflies,” she answered before thinking.

Slowly she turned to face him.

He made an elegant leg, bowing low and sweeping the air with his hat before tossing it aside. “May I have this dance?”

A flight of butterflies swirled around them, casting a magic spell and urging them closer.

To Eleanor it seemed the most natural response in the world to place her right hand in his and step into his arms—as if she belonged there. He held her gently, and their first steps together were tentative, formal. Then she stumbled on the uneven ground, and he caught her up close with an arm around her waist.

As one, they waltzed around the field of clover to nature’s music, the breeze in the trees and the warble of a lone songbird. Neither spoke, afraid to break the enchantment of the moment. Slowly, imperceptibly, they came to a stop as the wind gradually subsided. Neither moved.

He held her in his arms and never wanted to let her go. He placed her right hand over his heart. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers and tipped her chin upward.

The rapid beat of his heart throbbed beneath her palm, and her pulse echoed its rhythm. Breathless, she slid her hands across his shoulders to the back of his neck.

Shermont wrapped both arms around her waist and tightened his embrace. He waited to read the “yes” in her eyes before he leaned forward. He stopped with his lips a breath away from hers. “I have wanted this every minute since the moment we first kissed,” he whispered.

His kiss started gently, exploring the shape of her lips, breathing in her scent, tasting her.

Eleanor gave in to her craving to run her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. The warm honey in her veins became lava, pooling in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself to her tiptoes, pressing her breasts against his rock-hard chest, grinding her hips against the bulge she felt against her belly.