Page 23 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

Josephine bit her lip to keep from smiling. He might have surprised her, turning up at the end of her path as he had, but she had won the battle. This time.

* * *

Andrew had no intention of letting Josephine win. She might think she had the upper hand, leading him down the hill and into the village, but she was wrong. He would stay as close to her as necessary, and he would take her home in due course. Then he would let slip to her grandmother that Josephine had been to the village and let that teach Josephine for wasting his time.

Not that he had much else to do with it as a guest at the castle.

Planning his interception of the woman walking alone in the wood had been the high point of his day. The look on her face when he’d spoken, her surprise and dismay, had made sitting in the damp grass worthwhile. Somehow, he would come off the victor after following her about town on whatever errand she undertook.

They passed down the middle of town, with Josephine nodding to those who recognized her but not stopping for conversation. As a duke’s daughter, it was up to her to approach someone. Rarely would anyone, even the wealthiest landowner’s wife, presume to begin a conversation with a member of the duke’s family.

Andrew nodded politely to those who looked his way, noting to himself who appeared censorious rather than curious. Most in the village knew that Andrew was treated like a member of the family. There could be no strong objection to his escort of Lady Josephine. Still. No use providing anyone with gossip.

When Josephine walked all the way to the church without stopping, Andrew’s curiosity grew. The church, a medieval building as old as the village itself, was on the opposite end of the village from where they had entered it. And nearly the last building before the road led to open farmland.

What was Josephine trying to accomplish?

Finally, she stopped at a small iron gate in front of the vicarage.

Andrew peered at the unassuming little cottage. He had visited before, when Mr. Gooch was in residence. The vicar had invited Andrew and Simon to dinner.

Josephine opened the gate.

“You cannot mean you came all this way to visit Mr. Wood,” Andrew blurted, catching the gate before she could close it between them. “That isn’t at all appropriate, Josie.”

She smiled prettily at him and batted her eyelashes innocently. “Seeking counsel from my spiritual leader is inappropriate?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again, uncertain for a moment. Then he shook his head. “You never sought out Mr. Gooch.”

“How do you know?” she asked, her lips curling upward. “Do you spy on all my comings and goings? Why, Andrew. I am flattered you care so much.”

A shift somewhere near his heart made him falter and grasp for a response, but she giggled and turned away. She went to the cottage door. Without him.

Andrew hastily tied up his horse at a ring protruding from the wall, then stepped through the gate. His long strides diminished the distance between him and Josephine in seconds, and he stood by her side by the time she raised her hand to use the knocker.

He beat her to grasping the iron ring. She blinked at him and smiled, tucking her hands behind her. Chiding her wouldn’t result in any satisfaction, so he gave in and knocked upon the door. Then folded his arms across his chest and waited, shoulder-to-shoulder with Josephine. Not giving her an inch.

She hummed to herself, appearing perfectly content with the world and her place in it.

Then the door opened, and Mr. Wood himself stood there. Appearing somewhat befuddled. “Good afternoon. I apologize for the delay. There is no staff at present, you see, and—” He stopped, looking from Josephine to Andrew and back again.

“My lady. Sir Andrew. I did not expect to see either of you again so soon.” He stepped back and gestured inside, but stopped short of inviting them in. Realizing, most likely, that two bachelors and an unmarried duke’s daughter had no business closing themselves up in a house together. No matter how innocent the situation might be.

Josephine, always perfectly aware of Society’s dictates, bestowed one of her warmest smiles on the rector. “Mr. Wood, I am glad you are at home. I wonder if I might have a moment of your time? There is a bench in the churchyard I thought I might show you. Mrs. Gooch has the loveliest little flower garden planted nearby, making it a perfect place for conversation.”

Mr. Wood looked from Josephine to Andrew, but when Andrew said nothing, he addressed himself to the duke’s daughter. “I am happy to speak with you, Lady Josephine. If you will let me get my hat?”

“Of course.” She stepped back from the door and turned away to look across the road.

The rector sent another curious stare in Andrew’s direction, then ducked back into the cottage. Andrew shook his head. “You are going to confuse the poor man, Josie. What could you possibly want from him?”

“When a young lady wishes to speak to her ecclesiastical steward, it is no affair of anyone else.” Josephine peered over her shoulder at him. “No one asked you along, if you will recall.”

Before Andrew could remind her that Simon had, in fact, asked Andrew to look after Josephine, Mr. Wood emerged with hat atop his head and gloves on his hands. He bore a somber expression again, too.

He looked up at Andrew. “Are you joining us, Sir Andrew?”

“Of course not,” Josephine answered before Andrew said a word. “Though I am certain he will hover nearby.” The glare she cut Andrew made him grin.