What Would Jane Austen Do?

Chapter Eight

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.

Before her passionate response undid him completely, he thanked his lucky stars she was no inexperienced schoolgirl. Eleanor was all female. Her kiss demanded he give in to his raging desire. He ravaged her mouth, holding her tight against his body, trying to get closer … closer. Her mewls of pleasure egged him on. Groaning her name, he slid his hands down to cup her sweet bottom. He lifted her and could have sworn the minx tried to wrap her legs around his waist, until her clothing prevented further movement. He trailed kisses down her throat to the tops of her breasts, and she tipped her chin up and leaned back.

Eleanor wanted more. She wanted naked skin against naked skin. She wanted to taste and lick and breathe in his essence. She wanted his delicious mouth on places currently inaccessible. She wanted to strip off her clothes along with his—if he couldn’t undress fast enough. She released his shoulders and placed her hands on his cheeks, raising his face so she could look him in the eye.

“Put me down,” Eleanor said, her voice husky with need, her request a command and a promise.

He gave her a cocky grin and set her back on her feet. He stepped back. “As you wish,” he said, but his amused tone implied that he was game. “What do you want me to do next?”

Before she could describe any of the wicked fantasies that flashed through her brain in nanoseconds, she heard someone calling her name from not too far away. “Damn.”

He raised both eyebrows.

“Someone’s coming.”

He cocked his head and recognized Digby’s voice. Yet one more reason he disliked the man. Shermont nodded in the direction of the calls. “He’ll be here in a minute. Two at the most.” Shermont cupped her face in his hands. “Promise you’ll meet me later.”

“I’ll try,” she said.

Her response was less than he’d wished to hear, but she left room for hope. He moved to block the coming man’s view of Eleanor.

She straightened the neckline of her dress, picked up her dropped bonnet and plopped it on her head. “Am I a terrible mess?” she asked.

When he looked she was nervously smoothing her skirt. Her bonnet was on crooked, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright, and her lips showed signs of being well kissed. And left wanting more. “You are lovely,” he said as he straightened the brim of her hat.

She appreciated the sweet gesture. After all, he had to be as frustrated as she was. She ducked her head and had to turn away before she jumped into his arms and to hell with anyone who came upon them.

Trying to regain her composure, she took several deep breaths and blew them out slowly to the count of ten. She quickly had reason to be thankful for Teddy’s calls as she noticed Deirdre, Mina, and Huxley crossing the meadow from the opposite direction with waves and wide smiles. How long had they been in the glade?

“Aren’t they beautiful,” Mina said, twirling around in a circle with her arms held wide in the midst of the swirling butterflies.

“Colias croceus of the Pieridae family, also known as the clouded yellow,” Huxley said. “This is apparently one of the sporadic mass migrations we refer to as Clouded Yellow Years.” The butterflies seemed as delighted with him as he was with them. They landed all over his coat, folding up their wings to show the greenish underside with the white dot before taking off again to join the merry dance of their friends.

“We saw a few when we were looking for wildflowers and followed them here,” Deirdre said. “We knew Uncle Huxley would love to see them. He said they were attracted by the clover—”

“Their favorite food,” Huxley interjected.

“We know of a huge field of clover beyond that hill and just had to go see. The butterflies are even thicker over there.”

“Millions,” Mina said. “So many you can hear them flapping their little wings.”

“We should plan a trip to the coast,” Huxley said. “There are probably even more there. Maybe week after next.”

“I thought butterflies only lived a day or two,” Eleanor said.

“Migratory species live for six, eight, ten months, some even longer,” he explained. “How else could they fly hundreds, even thousands of miles?”

“Do you want to go see the clover field?” Mina asked.

Before Eleanor had a chance to answer, Teddy stomped up with a scowl. “What in the world possessed you two to wander off alone like that?”

Although he spoke to his sisters, Eleanor had the strange feeling he was really talking about her and Shermont.

Mina and Deirdre apologized immediately, cowering together.

“If I can’t trust you at a simple picnic,” Teddy continued, building up a head of steam, “how can I take you to London?”

“No, Teddy. Please don’t say that,” Deirdre begged.

Eleanor could not stand it. She stepped between the girls and put her arms over their slumped shoulders. “It’s my fault. It was my idea, and I acted as their unofficial chaperone.”

Teddy narrowed his eyes and looked at her as if he could see the imprint of Shermont’s lips upon hers.

“Their welfare is my responsibility, and therefore my decision is all that counts. You are not an appropriate choice of chaperone—”

“But I am.” Huxley stepped forward with his arms folded, challenging Teddy to deny him.

“This is not the Dark Ages,” Eleanor said. “They have every right to make decisions for themselves.” She chucked them on the shoulders. “Come on. Stand up for yourselves.”

Teddy flashed Eleanor an indulgent smile. “That may work well and good for a widow and an American. After all, what are your prospects? But I entreat you not to spout bluestocking rhetoric within my sisters’ earshot. I’ll have enough of a problem finding husbands for them as it is.”

Shermont stepped forward. “Oh, I doubt that. I think they’ll be the toast of the next season.” He bowed to the girls.

Eleanor threw him mental kisses. Lordy, lordy, she could just eat that man up. He looked at her as if he heard her thoughts and smiled.

Apparently, Teddy realized he couldn’t win the argument against such odds. “I guess we’ll see about that.” He turned on his heel. “Come along, Deirdre, Mina,” he called over his shoulder without looking back.

The girls hesitated only a few moments before scurrying after their brother.

“At least they thought about it for a second or two before giving in to him,” Huxley said. “A small step in the right direction.”

“There will be more steps,” Eleanor said. “They’re bright girls.”

Huxley nodded. “The daughters I never had.” He offered Eleanor his arm.

As Shermont followed behind them, an unexpected thought slammed into his brain. Where did Eleanor learn to waltz? The dance was only done on the continent and had not been deemed acceptable in London. And yet she’d brought it up and had not hesitated for a step. Did they waltz in America? He didn’t think so. Did that mean she’d been to Paris?

Of course, it also begged the question: where had he learned to waltz? He rubbed his forehead. As with so many unanswered questions, he was forced to accept that he might never know the truth.

Was Eleanor an agent for the French? That was the question he needed to answer. And soon … before he became even more spellbound by her unique magic.

They returned to the picnic area, and everyone gathered at the tables. Eleanor hoped for a chair next to Shermont’s, but Deirdre and Patience had already assigned seats. Throughout the picnic lunch served by footmen on elegant china, Shermont flattered and charmed all the women, all except her.

At the end of the meal, she drew Mrs. Holcum aside and was directed over the hill to where the servants had set up facilities for the gentlewomen. Behind sheets draped in a large square, a chair, washstand, and dressing table had been arranged. A maid provided hot water and clean hand towels.

Eleanor was glad to have a few moments alone. She didn’t know what to make of Shermont’s hot and cold alternating attitude. One explanation was that he lusted after her, but didn’t actually like her. Unable to cope with that dichotomy, he chose to ignore her until his passions could no longer be denied. Or it could be the good girl vs. bad girl mentality. For Regency men the concept was black and white, angel or temptress. A woman could not be both. Neither theory about Shermont’s behavior was a flattering explanation. Her only course was to ignore him in return.

She returned to the group and participated in the conversation and games until time to leave. Thankfully, Major Alanbrooke was an attentive friend who raised her spirits, which helped to restore her equilibrium. The trip back was dominated by talk of the play.