Page 50 of The Gentlewoman Author

“Thank you for sending Mr. Savage far away. It is very generous.”

“I only wish I could do more.”

Nothing else was said for a quarter of an hour. He must have sensed her need to digest her thoughts. He patted her arm and, when a tear slipped into Mary’s lap, gave her his handkerchief.

This was the first time Mary had cried over Louisa, in relief as well as in disappointment, shame, and worry. Once she began, she could not stop, though humiliated by her squeaking sobs. Daniel endured with admirable fortitude, behaving just as he ought, asking only once if he could do anything for her, stroking her back from time to time, but for the majority of the time, pretending there was nothing amiss. His response was just what Mary wished.

When her tears were spent and she was able to speak, she said, “Tomorrow morning, I must return to Stroud and see if Louisa is there.”

“Yes, of course. And I must remain and see how my father fares.”

Mary nodded and looked out the window. She would miss Daniel. “How long until we reach your castle?” Mary asked when she could again speak without making herself a fool.

“An hour.”

Might she be introduced as Daniel’s prospective bride in the few hours she spent with his parents? She scratched at a prickling on her forehead. What had she committed to? It had seemed harmless, even fun, but now there was only an hour until the moment she would meet his family. She chafed all over and wanted to escape the ordeal by crawling out of her skin. But she would follow through with her promise. It was only for an afternoon, and how could she do otherwise when Daniel had done so much to help her?

“What do you expect of me?” her voice cracked.

“You mean…” He seemed unable to finish.

“With your family. I am to pose as your…”

Daniel cleared his throat. “You really needn’t. I can get along without the charade, and you must find your niece.” His eyes told a different story, and she could not deny him. He was her friend. He’d helped her, sacrificed his time and resources, delayed his return to his ailing father. She would keep her word and succor her aching heart afterward.

“I would like to help.”

He looked out at the passing trees, then spoke to the window. “Depending on how I find things at home, I may need to introduce you as my fiancée and come up with some explanation for your departure in the morning. I will be sorry to see you go.”

Mary sucked in a breath. Would he ask her to return?

“But we need only tell my father.” He frowned and looked at his knees.

“Won’t he tell your mother?”

“You are right. He would. But it may not be necessary. If he is well, I will have more time.”

Time for what? To find a more suitable wife than she? She swiped at an errant tear that trickled down her cheek. Ridiculous, foolish show of emotion. And for what? Mary’s stomach burned, jealous for the woman who would capture Daniel’s heart. She acknowledged the feeling, regained her composure, and, with equanimity, stamped it out. For a few hours, at least, he would be hers, if only in pretense.

Daniel’s arm slid around Mary’s shoulder, angling her toward her window. “We are nearly there. Look through the trees.” He leaned over her, pointing out landmarks with animation while being either unaware or careless that his chest pressed against her back. Conscious of every brush of his body against hers, she swallowed hard and concentrated on the view. A turret’s crowned head stuck through the trees, the first glimpse of the castle. The carriage followed a bend in the road, the trees cleared, and a great edifice emerged in the distance. A mighty, balanced piece of architecture, save for the lone turret that lent the castle’s otherwise solemn façade a touch of whimsy.

“A moat? King Arthur may bound over the draw bridge at any moment.”

“Keep your sword about you. It may well be Mordred.” Daniel’s smile pulled at the ache in her throat.

They rode over the drawbridge, through the gatehouse. Mary’s eyes followed the turret. So fanciful. Perhaps a dragon resided in the tower. She would like a sojourn in the tower, the perfect place wherein to write a novel.

The carriage crunched to a halt in front of the house, and Daniel squeezed Mary’s hand, scanning her face with a darting look she could not decipher. “I am indebted to you for this,” he said, taking a deep breath before exiting the carriage and offering his hand.

Walking toward the door, a spark of anticipation tingled down her spine. The place was magic. Ivy covered one side of the castle, and wisteria hung over a front window. A rock wall, dark with age and covered in places with moss, enclosed a wild rose garden. Bees hummed around a row of lavender. She bounced on her heels, but only once. She was still a lady, even if she’d just entered an enchanted fortress where anything was possible.

They stood in front of an enormous armored door, its black wood splintering around ornate iron reinforcements. From his satchel, Daniel pulled an enormous brass key and slipped it into the lock.

Daniel looked at her, his palm on the door. “You’re excited?”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

He pushed, and the door creaked open to a circular entrance hall, cool and dim, with an earthy scent. It was perfect.