Page 57 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

CHAPTER 19

Sunday morning, Josephine woke when the sky was still rosy from the rising sun. The soft pinks and yellows in the sky found an answering glow in her heart. For a moment, she didn’t remember what had caused such tranquil happiness, and then she remembered Andrew. Remembered those kisses stolen in the late afternoon. Her cheeks warmed, and she rolled over in her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest.

He loved her.

Considering how adamantly she protested against the idea of romance and courtship, giving in to her daydreams of both at that moment ought to embarrass her. Instead, she sighed with absolute delight and climbed from her bed. She went to the window and opened it to greet the fine spring morning.

Turning from the window, she spied the case holding her new pens on the dressing table.

How had he known, weeks and weeks ago, how perfect that gift would be for her?

Josephine went to the little trunk her maid had packed for their brief visit. She knelt beside it, opened it, and moved aside her things to pull up the false bottom. All of them had such trunks, both small and large. Hidden in each was a letter from her father, with his seal, to anyone willing to give his children safe passage or sanctuary. A banknote with a large sum, and small purse with coins, also made up the emergency cache. What had happened to the French nobility during their bloody revolution hadn’t ever dimmed in the duke’s mind.

“If it can happen in France, it can happen anywhere,” he would tell his children. “It gives me peace of mind, these small things we do.”

Josephine smiled fondly as she moved those things aside. Small things. Having guards follow them around nearly everywhere didn’t feel small. But for a man as powerful as the duke, she supposed it made sense.

Beneath her father’s added measure of security lay the thing she searched for. A large packet of paper. She had brought it on a whim, telling herself she needn’t follow through with her idea if something changed.

Josephine needed help. She needed someone else to look at what she had written. Andrew was the perfect someone, with Emma still in London busy with learning what it meant to be wife to an ambassador.

She took one of those beautiful pens and dipped it in the deep blue ink, then scrawled a note directly on the brown paper.

To Andrew: You needn’t read it unless you wish, but if you do, I look forward to discussing it with someone I admire and trust.

She ended the scrawl with an elegant letter J.

Without the aid of her maid, Josephine dressed simply. She would prepare for morning services after her errand. It shouldn’t take long.

Sneaking about someone else’s castle wasn’t exactly as easy as sneaking about her own. Especially carrying a manuscript wrapped up in brown paper and tied with string. She had written Andrew’s name on it and intended to leave it on the desk where he had given her the beautiful pens.

The rejected manuscript. The story that she had read and re-read and couldn’t understand why that publisher wanted nothing to do with it. Maybe Andrew would understand. He was the only one, other than her dearest Emma, Josephine trusted to read and give an honest opinion without hurting her.

Their talk the day before, the way he had looked at Josephine as though he’d reordered his world with her at its center, gave her every confidence that he would be kind. Their history up to the point reassured her he would tell the truth.

She paused atop the staircase when she heard men’s voices from farther down the corridor. Though she couldn’t make out the words, she knew Roman and Lyness were the speakers. Nibbling on her lip, Josephine moved with greater speed and less stealth all the way down the stairs.

It was easy enough to get to the study. The servants were all busy with breakfast preparations at this early hour. Once she had safely deposited the packet on the desk, Josephine retraced her steps through the quiet ground floor.

When she eased out of the sitting room, she turned to close the doors carefully behind her. And then—

“Lady Josephine.”

She stilled and turned around, her heart racing with surprise. And guilt. Because Lord Hartwell had spoken her name from midway down the stairs. He wore riding boots and appeared dressed to go out. She swallowed.

“Good morning, Lord Hartwell.” She curtsied, aware that her hair was inelegantly piled atop her head, of course, but mortified by the knowledge she had misled this man. However unintentionally.

He came another step down, slowly. “You are up early. Here I thought I was the only one who rose with the sun.” He appeared friendly enough, but she sensed something stirring beneath his cheerful expression. Something sad.

“This is not the usual thing for me, I assure you.” She tried to smile, but it felt weak upon her face.

“I wonder if you would step outside with me for a moment?” he asked, gesturing to the front door. “I will not take much of your time. I know it is too early. If you would like to fetch a maid—?”

Josephine shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. Sterling informed my brother there would be a guard at the door.”

His eyebrows went up. “Truly?”

“My father takes our safety quite seriously.” She pulled her shawl tighter and came to the foot of the steps. Waiting for him. Knowing, somehow, what it was he wished to say. She owed him a conversation, at the very least. Lord Hartwell, a good and honorable man, deserved her honesty.