Barnaby gestured at the pages on the desk. “This one. It begins right here in Fenwick. Apparently, this Alwin met a fae maiden and …”
A sigh emanated from his employer. “That sort of legend. Why would it matter how such a fiction ended?”
The heaviness at Barnaby’s back still hung there, ever present. The pages revealed their truth to him each time he lowered his gaze upon them. It wasn’t fiction. Of that he was certain. Call it instinct. Call it the pricking of his thumbs. Or, in this case, a prickle between his shoulder blades that had shifted into a phantom weight.
Someone else had read those pages, understood them. And then ripped out the last few sheets. What was written upon them? Why would it matter if those words were read?
Lord Brathwaite straightened up in the way that indicated the conversation was at an end. “Thank you for bringing this manuscript to my attention, Mr. Ash. It is worth keeping, if only because it is so very old. Of course, the missing pages will decrease its value, but it is in remarkably fine condition otherwise. As for the so-called legend…” He lifted his chin. “I am a man of science, Mr. Ash. You will refrain from further investigation while in my employ. You are here to catalogue my library. That is all. I hope you understand me.”
Barnaby, a quiet man, who in all his life had tried never to put a foot wrong, nodded. And yet, a determined thought murmured within. You have Sundays off. That does not strictly count as employment, does it?
And so, Barnaby Ash returned to his duties. And Lord Brathwaite said no more about the matter. The only indication of subterfuge was the message that Barnaby penned the next morning, and which a footman delivered—for the sake of a generous tip—to the door of Miss Joy Tully, the church warden’s daughter.
Chapter Five
Sunday, May 21st, 1815
On Sunday morning, Miss Tully was waiting at the bottom of the curved drive to Hill House, as arranged. The trees lining the drive created a screen from the road, an intentional design to enhance privacy for the house. Barnaby had thus not been able to see Miss Tully until he was almost upon her—at which moment she called pleasantly, “There you are!” and startled his well-practiced apology clear from his mind.
“Ye gods!” he blurted out, curling his arms inward reflexively to stop his heart from jumping out of his chest.
“Are you all right?” asked Miss Tully before the corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I have never considered myself such a frightening sight, but I dare say us country folk take some getting used to.”
Barnaby took a moment to compose himself. “I must have looked quite the sight myself, jumping like that,” he said as casually as possible. “I shall endeavor to maintain my bearing in future.” He was rather pleased with his clumsy attempt to mirror her playfulness.
Miss Tully must have been, too, for she beamed at him and slipped her arm through his as she had done before. “Here, let me steady you, just in case.” Her tone was formal, but laughter lay shallow in her eyes.
Barnaby would have reveled in the return of her touch, but the rules of decorum were too firmly entrenched in his mind. “You’ve brought no chaperone,” he said, looking around as if one might appear upon command.
“I don’t need one,” answered Miss Tully.
“But we are to walk a fair distance, with no one to protect your virtue.”
“Oh, I am perfectly capable of protecting my own,” came the reply, followed by a wicked grin. “Why? Do you propose to have your way with me if I do not?”
Barnaby almost threw her arm away as he stepped back. “Miss Tully, I understand you are fond of a good jest, but there are limits. I respect you far too much to…”
“Of course you do, Mr. Ash. Which is why I can depend on your honorable arm to keep me from harm. You shall guide me away from puddles and push aside any branch that hangs across our path. I, in turn, will lead you to Old Magda. An excellent partnership, don’t you agree?”
“But,” said Barnaby, not quite ready to give up on his parents’ tutelage, “an unmarried lady should have a chaperone when she is alone with a man, even if his reputation is intact.”
Miss Tully’s hand fisted on her hip. “Mr. Ash, you are too much. I am hardly a lady by any standards. And Fenwick does not have spare footmen roaming about to follow us on our errands. Most everyone here has grown up together from the crib. We’re decent folk, Mr. Ash. We have no need to keep an eye on each other.”
Barnaby hesitated. He very much wanted that willful hand around his elbow. If it were the norm in Fenwick, he would not be mis-stepping, would he?
“You are certain?” he asked. “Your father will not be pursuing me with his blunderbuss when he finds out?”
Miss Tully threw back her head and laughed, her neck open and inviting.
Barnaby swallowed. Such smooth skin… His hand itched to touch it. Not the sort of maddening itch that he had felt with the manuscript. It was more a battle between sense and desire. And good sense was winning by a very fine margin.
It didn’t help that Miss Tully now tucked her hand about his elbow again. He shivered a little as her closeness sent a tiny rapture throughout his entire body.
Miss Tully must have felt it because she immediately asked, “You’re not really afraid of my father, are you, Mr. Ash? If anything, I think he’d be relieved to see me hitched to some fellow, even if that fellow was a toff like you.” She nudged Barnaby as if he were a brother she might torment with her humor.
He did not wish to be her brother.
Barnaby tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. He fought against the distracting sound of her skirt gently swishing against his leg. Her perfume today was a lively citrus which only invigorated him further. It was a lost cause.
