Her Wicked Ways (7 page)

Mr. Foxcroft helped Beatrice into the rear of the cart. “I apologize for the seating. I need to drive, and there is only room for one other person next to me.”

Beatrice nodded. “It’s quite all right, Fox. I’m merely here to play chaperone.”

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he handed Miranda into the front seat. A cushion sat on the wooden bench making it somewhat comfortable despite the wooden back. At least it had a back. Miranda had never ridden in a cart before.

Mr. Foxcroft glanced at both of them. “If you are ready, we should be on our way.”

Miranda nodded, and it only took a moment to realize Mr. Foxcroft was quite adept at handling the reins. She’d like to see him in a phaeton in Hyde Park.

He executed a flawless turn—Miranda never would have guessed a cart could move so smoothly—with minimal effort. “I thought we’d take a tour of Wootton Bassett and some of the surrounding area. I presume you haven’t seen much of our town, beyond the church and the orphanage. We very much appreciate your assistance there, Lady Miranda.”

He seemed so genuine. Miranda felt a moment of awkwardness because her motives for working at the orphanage were not entirely altruistic. In fact, they were rather selfish.

“I look forward to helping in a regular fashion.” It wasn’t precisely a lie. She looked forward to anything that evaded her house arrest.

“We are coming upon Cosgrove, Lord Norris’s estate. It’s up the drive to the left there.” Mr. Foxcroft’s tone held just a bit of scorn.

A large house peeked above the trees dotting the vast park land. “I don’t believe I’ve met Lord Norris. Does he come to London?”

Mr. Foxcroft gestured toward Cosgrove. “He journeys to Town for the purpose of adding to his antiquities collection. I don’t believe he attends Society events, however.”

“And it’s unlikely Lady Miranda encounters him at the Antiquity Society,” Beatrice put in from the back of the cart. Miranda had almost forgotten her presence.

Miranda laced her tone with honey. “Actually, I do believe it’s called the London Natural Society of Antiquities and Oddities. My godfather is a member.”

Mr. Foxcroft laughed. “Touché, Lady Miranda! Lord Norris hosts an annual party in September in order to show off his most recent acquisitions. Perhaps you will meet him then.”

“Like as not, since I plan to be back in London by then.” God help her if she was still stuck in the middle of nowhere come the Little Season.

They left Cosgrove behind. Mr. Foxcroft kept his attention on her as much as on the road. If he were a lesser driver, Miranda might have been annoyed, but she found herself enjoying his pointed regard.

The fields lining the road were sodden and dark brown from last night’s rain. Very few plants sprouted amidst the dirt. “Shouldn’t the crops be visible by now?”

From Sunday’s church sermon and from yesterday’s tea at the vicarage, Miranda knew there was concern about the planting and the weather, but hadn’t comprehended the severity. At her father’s country seat, the fields were green this time of year.

“Indeed.” Mr. Foxcroft sounded grave. “The unseasonably cool temperatures are playing havoc with our schedule. I am hopeful the plants will catch up, however.”

The village came into view, the church spire rising high above the other buildings. They passed the church on the right before entering the town proper. Buildings that housed shops, a tavern, and an inn, The Swan, marched up both sides of High Street.

Beatrice sat forward in her seat. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you to stop at Mrs. Abernathy’s? I’ve a parcel to retrieve.”

Mr. Foxcroft brought the cart to a halt before a small shop, which seemed to sell a variety of things. There was no telling what Beatrice’s parcel might contain, not that Miranda much cared.

Beatrice’s hooded gaze shouted, “Behave,” as Mr. Foxcroft helped her from the cart. Miranda sighed and settled against the back of her seat.

Mr. Foxcroft resumed his position beside her and glanced over his shoulder down High Street. He fingered the reins lying across his lap. He wore dark brown leather driving gloves, the palms faded and worn.

She tore her gaze from his capable hands. “Did Mr. Stratham say what kept him from our appointment?”

His pupils dilated. “Ah, no, he wasn’t specific.”

Before she could censor herself, she asked, “It seems as though you and Mr. Stratham are perhaps not very friendly?”

Mr. Foxcroft glanced down at the reins in his hands, ran his thumb along the flat leather. “You could say that.”

Miranda sensed a subtle change in him. He held a dark emotion just beyond her reach. She hadn’t meant to cause him discomfort. “Forget I mentioned anything.”

Before Miranda could ponder why she hadn’t persisted in her inquiry, a landau turned onto High Street and headed straight for them. Mr. Foxcroft mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Son of a bitch.” The vehicle halted in front of them and Mr. Stratham exited. Yes, Mr. Foxcroft had definitely muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

Mr. Stratham approached the cart with a frown. “Just what do you think you’re about, Foxcroft?”

Mr. Foxcroft looked down at Mr. Stratham and leaned back against his seat. “Lady Miranda and I are enjoying a ride.”

Miranda regarded both men. Mr. Stratham appeared torn between wanting to hit Mr. Foxcroft and wanting to maintain his composure, whether for her benefit or some other reason, she couldn’t know.

After a moment, Mr. Stratham seemed to relax. He circled the cart to Miranda’s side and rested a hand on the step. “Lady Miranda, I would be happy to see you home. My landau is much more…comfortable.” His gaze roved the length of the cart.

“I do appreciate your offer, Mr. Stratham, but we are waiting for Beatrice. I’m afraid she must return with us.” She wistfully eyed his luxurious vehicle.

“No matter.” He stepped back and raised his hand with a flourish. “I’m happy to escort you both.”

Mr. Foxcroft laid his arm along the back of the seat. A possessive gesture, the contact of his arm against the back of her shoulders was not unpleasant. Awareness prickled along her neck. First she’d been attracted to a highwayman, and now she was apparently less than put off by the attention of a farmer who operated an orphanage. What next? A blacksmith?

“Good afternoon.”

Three heads turned to face Mrs. Abernathy’s shop.

Beatrice held a wrapped package. “We were told you were otherwise engaged, Mr. Stratham.”

Mr. Stratham rested his hand on the step once more. “Mr. Foxcroft was mistaken.”

“But I was right about you being late.” Though Mr. Foxcroft muttered this under his breath, Miranda caught every syllable. She was tempted to laugh but thought better of it given the palpable tension between the two men.

A carriage rattled up High Street and stopped behind Mr. Stratham’s landau. Mr. Carmody departed the carriage and strode to the cart. This was turning into a social event.

Beatrice clutched her package to her side, almost as if she didn’t want her father to see it. “Father, whatever are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to fetch you both home. The post arrived and with it, important news.”

Miranda’s heart leapt. This was what she’d been waiting for! Mother and Father had gotten her missive and decided her punishment too severe. They were rescuing her from this infernal backwater. She stood, and Mr. Stratham offered his hand to help her down. Mr. Foxcroft jumped to his feet and frowned as he watched her exit with Mr. Stratham’s assistance.

Mr. Stratham held onto her hand a trifle longer than necessary. “Might I call for you tomorrow afternoon, then?”

Mr. Carmody’s nasal voice cut off any response she might have given. “No.”

Miranda pulled her head back as if she’d been slapped. Though she would be returning to Town, it was up to her to decline Mr. Stratham’s kind offer, not his! “No?”

“No. Your parents have forbidden you from socializing. Except for church. You may attend church.”

Miranda gasped, unable to keep her emotion in check. Humiliation stabbed through her chest. Was it necessary for Mr. Carmody to reveal this information in such a public venue? Of all the pompous, obnoxious—

“Come, gels.” Mr. Carmody turned and walked toward the carriage, expecting Beatrice and Miranda to follow. Beatrice, of course, did just as she was told. Miranda’s feet, however, were like lead. Though she stood in the middle of the street on a brisk summer afternoon, her chest constricted and her head pounded as if she were once more standing in her father’s office while he interrogated her about what she’d done on the Dark Walk at Vauxhall.

After a moment, Mr. Carmody stopped and spun around. “Hurry it up, gel, or I’ll suggest your parents ban you from helping at the orphanage, too.”

She’d never felt so utterly alone in all of her life. But she refused to crumple. She raised her chin and walked to the carriage. Fitchley held the door and she climbed inside without saying good day to either Mr. Foxcroft or Mr. Stratham. Pity, for she’d have liked to have seen what happened next with them.

Once inside the carriage, she couldn’t keep herself from glowering at Mr. Carmody.

He waved a hand at her. “Now, now, don’t work yourself up. After all, you have church and the orphanage.”

Miranda’s face enflamed with her fury. “Church? You don’t even socialize afterward. I can assure you, listening to the vicar drone on about the crops and the harvest and how we all must pray for warmer weather is no treat.”

Mr. Carmody’s lips thinned. “Such a spoiled brat you are. It’s not as if you’ve been confined to your room. Yet.”

Outrage fired her blood. “Why did you even bother to house me this summer? I’m clearly a burden.”

“Mrs. Carmody is doing a favor for your mother.” Ha, more like Carmody was trying to gain the support of one of England’s most powerful dukes. “And believe you me, I’d no idea you would be so disagreeable. So far you’ve done nothing to assist Beatrice with her matrimonial goal.”

Miranda folded her arms across her chest. Her body stiffened with anger, making the jostling ride more uncomfortable. “And I likely won’t, given I can’t
do
anything.”

“If you can teach orphans how to comport themselves, I’m sure you can impart similar information to Beatrice. Your parents were very pleased Mrs. Carmody and I encouraged you to help at Stipple’s End, by the by.”

Encouraged
her? They’d bloody ordered her to work there! Miranda glanced at the other occupant of the carriage. Beatrice peered out the window, her cheeks slightly flushed. Could she be angry on Miranda’s behalf? Irritated because Miranda wouldn’t be personally ensuring she was the toast of Wootton Bassett? Beatrice slid a mutinous glare at her father and for the first time Miranda wondered at the relationship between the Carmodys. Beatrice appeared to be the dutiful daughter, but perhaps everything was not as it seemed.

Miranda relaxed and settled back against the squab. She would find out. After all, she had nothing better to do.

Chapter Four

AFTER Carmody’s coach pulled away, Fox plucked up his reins.

Stratham put his hand on the horse’s flank. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He reviewed Fox from head to foot in an insulting appraisal. “You believe she’s going to be any more interested in your pathetic attempts at courtship than Jane?”

Fox jumped to the ground and knocked Stratham’s hand away from his horse. Fox glared down at the vermin and sneered. “Jane was perfectly happy with me until you stole her away.”

Stratham rose up on his toes and Fox briefly considered pushing him off balance. “You can’t steal someone who doesn’t wish to be stolen. And Lady Miranda isn’t half as interested in you as Jane was. You had to lie to entice her to drive with you.”

Oh, how Fox wanted to brag he’d kissed Miranda. She may not be falling all over Montgomery Foxcroft, but she’d thrown herself at the dangerous highwayman, found him dashing. Fox let out a breath and with it, some of the tension coiling his muscles. He wouldn’t let himself be baited by Stratham. “We’ll see what she really thinks. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other quite well while she’s working at the orphanage.”