With a sigh, she spun away and headed back in the direction of her cottage, despair dragging at her steps. It would be December before her friend came back, unless Jane’s family visited during Parliament’s midsession break in October. With Mr. MacKintosh in residence, Piper had been forced to limit her usual pursuits at the Grange to those times when he was far afield.
She’d become quite an accomplished baker over the years and was a fair hand at dusting high places the more petite maids couldn’t easily reach. Despite their objections that a marquis’s daughter shouldn’t engage in manual labor, she discovered that the work kept her mind and hands busy. Moreover, almost any activity was far superior to long hours of boredom.
Boredom only fostered loneliness, and an overabundance of idle time recalled her fear.
Fear of discovery. Discovery that would lead to…
Piper stiffened and banished the thought before it could solidify into memory.
Perhaps if she donned her maid’s uniform, she could blend in with what noblemen typically saw as a faceless household staff. Perhaps—
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Milbourne.”
Chapter 4
I cannot marry him! I won’t! I care not a whit for what titles and tiaras can compensate for, regardless of what Mother has to say on the matter. There is nothing that could make being the viscount’s wife tolerable to me. I know Harry will agree once he arrives.
~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, December 1892
Piper clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a decidedly unladylike squawk. The sound rivaled the cackle of the white-plumed birds her father had kept in the aviary when she was a child. She gaped up at Connor, inwardly torn in thirds. First, by the panic that he’d managed to come upon her without her notice. Then, by the instinct to run from him.
Lastly, by the guilty pleasure of looking upon him.
He was easily the most breathtaking man she could recall meeting or even setting eyes on. Not that she’d met many. Before she’d fled London and the Season she’d anticipated with such innocent eagerness, she hadn’t the opportunity to meet many gentlemen as she wasn’t yet out in society. Most of the men here on the estate were either too young or much older than she, and she didn’t dare partake of the local society. Even so, Piper sensed Connor MacKintosh was handsome beyond the norm with his dark, unkempt locks tickling at bold cheekbones and a squared jaw darkened with whiskers.
“An encore visit to the Grange?”
Finding her tongue, she answered, “No, merely passing through. I trust there’s no problem with that?”
“No’ at all. ‘Tis a pleasant surprise to come upon ye here when ye’ve proven yerself to be a difficult woman to find.” He offered a smile.
“Have you tried?”
“Wi’ some subterfuge, aye,” he admitted without a hint of shame. “I’ve found that the direct mention of yer name garners either a blank stare or a door shut in my face. Why is that?”
Whatever stratagem he’d employed, by all accounts, he hadn’t applied concerted effort to a search. True, Bram brought word that Connor had inquired about her to both Mrs. Davies and Hilde after the incident at the stables. Yet, despite his claim, Jane had told her that he’d dined at Meadowcroft in the days following with others from neighboring estates and never questioned Jane’s mother about her. Nor had anyone at the Grange relayed any gossip to the effect.
If he had been on the hunt, he’d maneuvered with incredible subtlety.
To be fair, if she were to hunker down in her cottage until he left the Grange, there was a fair chance she’d never see him again. Built of stone, white-washed and covered with ivy, and topped with a thick thatched roof, the dwelling was tucked amid a copse of towering trees and low undergrowth of the forest to the east of the manor. Rambling bushes and wildflowers brought both color and concealment. The old gamekeeper’s cottage had long been the perfect camouflage for her.
One didn’t simply stumble upon it by chance.
Given that she’d resumed her excursions to the Grange, visits with Jane, and daily rides—albeit with renewed prudence—and had only seen him from a distance, she’d determined that one didn’t mistakenly happen upon her at any other place either.
While relief warred with disappointment upon reaching the conclusion that he hadn’t persisted in seeking her out, overall, she thought her secret safe.
A grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “Ye needn’t look like a deer who just realized he was in my sights.”
Piper shook away her upset at the realization that she hadn’t been as secure as she’d thought. “What?”
“Ye look like ye’re about to bolt. Dinnae fear, lass.” His tone was calm and hushed as if he were indeed coaxing a startled doe to eat from his hand. “I’ll allow ye yer secrets. After all, we all have some, do we no’? Besides, the charming enigma ye represent provides me more proper things to muse over than other thoughts in my mind.”
“What other…? Oh.” A flush crept up her neck and cheeks, straight up to her hairline, burning away the remainder of her dread.
Piper swung away and resumed her course home, taking the trail to the left that retraced her path to the rose garden and circled around the far end of the parterre before turning south. He fell in step beside her, his playful laughter teased at her nerves, augmenting that warmth into a sensation far, far removed from worry.
She both hated and conversely loved how he threw her off balance. How was that possible? She couldn’t rightly protest the impropriety of his insinuation when she’d entertained more than her share of improper thoughts of late. An active imagination had plagued Piper all her life. At times—most times until recently—those wandering thoughts had been fraught with worry. Since their last meeting, her fantasies had taken on a decidedly romantic narrative. Fictitious tales of white knights far more pleasurable than those frantic nightmares.
