Page 7 of The Recluse and the Runaway

“That would be inadvisable. London is a dangerous place, especially to a pretty young woman without protection. Allow me to offer my escort. I shall take you all the way to your grandmother’s door.”

Oh, no. This is what lying led to. “Thank you, sir, but I can’t possibly impose on you in such a way. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“My dear girl, my conscience won’t permit me to let you go alone. With me, you will be safe.”

“Oh, sir, please, no!” she cried with sudden and unexpected vigor. She couldn’t bear telling any more lies. “I truly can’t allow you to take me. Now, I must get back to work.” She turned and ran for the house.

~ ~ ~

What had he said to cause her such distress? All at once, he thought he knew. “Nell, stop! Please don’t go!” Rupert hesitated, for it would be unmannerly to force her to wait.

The dog knew no such scruples. It dashed after her, yipping, leaping, slowing her down. Rupert caught up, kept pace with her, and said softly, “Do you fear that I will importune you?”

“No, no, of course not!” She blushed. “You are everything that is kind and proper, no matter what one might…oh, drat, my unruly tongue.” She hurried toward the door, but he steered her away.

He hadn’t the faintest notion what she meant by that aborted comment, but it hardly mattered. “Then there must be a good reason for your refusal of my escort.”

She said nothing.

“But you don’t want to tell me what it is.”

She shook her head, her sweet pink lips pressed tightly shut.

“Why not?”

“Because I cannot tell you the truth, so I would rather say nothing at all.”

“Can you not trust me?” he asked.

“I do trust you, Sir Rupert, but sometimes trust is not enough to keep one safe. Sometimes silence is the only way.”

Enlightenment dawned. “Can it be…that you are not going to London, but elsewhere entirely?”

She sighed. Nodded. “Yes.”

Mildly reassuring, but not nearly enough.

“Not to your grandmother?”

“No, for my grandmother is dead, but I cannot tell you where I am going, so please, please don’t ask.”

“Because you prefer not to lie,” he said.

“Yes.” Under her breath, she added, “Although the truth usually gets me in as much trouble or more.”

Interesting, but he decided to let that be. “You lied to the maids, didn’t you? So—just as a matter of interest—why not lie to me as well?”

“I lied to the maids in panic,” she said, “and I regretted it immediately.”

Panic? What was she fleeing, that made her so afraid?

“Oh, sir, please don’t tell them I lied. They’ll hate me.” Tears welled up. “I couldn’t bear it.”

Was she fleeing hatred?

She sniffled and wiped away the tears. “I shan’t lie to you, Sir Rupert, I swear. It would not only be wrong to lie to you, but I find that I am unable to do so.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, Nell. This conversation will remain between you and me, but promise me you won’t take fright and leave too soon. That you will stay and help till Christmas Day.”