Chapter Four #2
It was a long day, though, and Cilla felt stiff and achy when she climbed down from the carriage at the inn.
God bless Papa, who had arrived first and ordered a hot bath to be set up in their room as soon as they arrived.
They had a cup of tea in their private parlor while footmen with buckets hurried to and from the bedchamber under Barker’s supervision.
Dinner would be served in the private parlor, too, Papa told them.
They would have time for a leisurely soak before dressing for the meal.
Livy rolled her eyes. Cilla knew what she meant.
It did seem silly to dress for dinner when it was only the three of them, and when they had been traveling all day.
But such was the way things were done in the upper classes. Papa was ever mindful of the manners of those he wished his daughters to emulate. There was no point in objecting, and fortunately, Papa didn’t see Livy’s eyeroll.
Livy had the first bath. Cilla had realized that the gown she wished to wear the next day—the one in which she would be arriving in London—was packed in the trunk that was still on the second carriage.
Barker said she could fetch it, but Cilla wanted to stretch her legs, so she claimed that she wasn’t sure what she wanted.
They both headed downstairs after locking the door to the suite the girls were sharing.
Cilla was slightly in the lead as they turned the corner of the stairs.
As she did so, a gentleman appeared, going up the steps as they went down.
And later she thought it was possible she had been hurrying.
Or perhaps the gentleman was, for they collided, Cilla slipped and would have fallen, and he clutched her to him until she found her feet again.
She looked up into green eyes to give her apologies and her thanks, and the words died on her lips. It was the man they had mistakenly attempted to dunk on Misrule Night. Drake Sanderson. His name was etched in her mind, in the place where embarrassing memories were kept.
“I do apologize, Miss,” he said. “I hope you are unhurt.”
He had a warm voice that set something in her shivering, and not in an unpleasant way.
“I am unhurt,” she agreed. “You caught me. Thank you.”
Barker cleared her throat, and Mr. Sanderson started and removed his hands from Cilla’s waist. “I beg your pardon,” he said.
“Again.” He had taken a step backward and down, so that her head was now a little above his.
Fair, curly hair and those startlingly green eyes.
A handsome face with a firm jaw, strongly marked brows, and a three-cornered smile.
The memory of him stripped to his breeches stopped her breath for a moment as she stared at him and he gazed back.
Her maid coughed, and then said, “Miss, we need to get back to your sister.”
Mr. Sanderson blinked as if waking from a dream, and Cilla felt exactly the same—as if they had met in a place out of time and wordlessly shared something to treasure.
“May I have the privilege of knowing the name of the lady with whom I collided?” Mr. Sanderson asked. “I am Drake Sanderson, and I am on my way back to London, where I live.”
Cilla waved Barker’s incipient protest into silence.
“I am also traveling to London, with my sister and my father,” she admitted.
“My aunt, Lady Marple, is bringing me out this year. I am Lucilla Wintergreen.” After all, how could he find her if he did not know who she was or where she was likely to be?
And Lucilla very much hoped that he would find her.
This feeling she had being near him meant something, but exactly what remained to be seen.
“We must go, Miss Cilla,” Barker insisted, glaring at Mr. Sanderson.
“Save me a dance at your debut ball,” Mr. Sanderson begged. “I’ll be there.”
“I will,” said Cilla, and allowed Barker to hurry her away, satisfied that Mr. Sanderson was not unaffected by…whatever it was.
*
Drake
Drake watched the young lady go. He recognized the name, of course.
Miss Wintergreen had been Lady Misrule last New Year’s Eve.
Not this Miss Wintergreen, though. The one he remembered meeting—the one who had slipped a drug into his drink—was altogether larger than this dainty lady, with her blue, blue eyes and dark ringlets.
As far as Drake could remember, Lady Misrule’s hair was not as dark nor were her eyes as blue.
Had Miss Cilla been there? Did she know about her sister’s mischief?
He was almost certain he could talk Lady Marple into giving him and Bane invitations to Miss Cilla’s debut ball.
The Marples and the Sandersons had long lived in the same neighborhood, and he’d known her and her daughters since he was knee high to a grasshopper.
She was a pleasant lady, though somewhat high in the instep.
Talking Bane into going with him might be a different matter, but that he was also determined to do. He needed his brother to watch his back in alien territory.
He continued upstairs to the room they had taken for the night after their carriage back to London broke down. Bane was lounging in a chair by the window, once again studying the diagrams of the engine that was now carrying a fair chunk of their hopes and dreams.
“The carriage wheel is an easy fix, the wheelwright says,” Drake reported. “He’ll have it ready for us to carry on in the morning.”
“That’s good. I’ve ordered dinner for us both. It should be here any minute. The innkeeper must have links with the coast—the brandy is excellent.” Bane pointed toward the bottle.
As Drake poured himself a drink, he said, “I bumped into a Miss Wintergreen on the stairs. She is on her way to London for the season.”
Bane straightened. “Lady Misrule?”
“Her sister. Miss Lucilla. Cilla, her maid called her. I gather her sister is with her. Lady Marple is holding a ball for Miss Cilla. And, I must suppose, the Marple sisters, since they are also making their debut.”
“Lady Misrule is going to London,” Bane said.
His choice of words and the flat delivery indicated a level of interest that surprised Drake.
Perhaps Bane would be easy to persuade into the ball, after all.
Drake wished he could see his brother’s face, but Bane was still wearing his hood, conscious that a servant would soon be here with dinner.
Sure enough, there was a knock on the door which proved to be a maid with a heavy tray.
Drake said nothing further until she’d left, the door was locked, and Bane had removed his hood. They had served themselves and begun eating before he commented, “I told Miss Lucilla that I’d like to dance with her at her debut ball.”
“What is the chance of that?” Bane said, dismissively.
“Quite good, actually. I think if we make a call on Lady Marple we might be able to come away with an invitation each.”
Bane’s hands stilled over his food, then he finished loading his fork and took the mouthful.
He looked up from his plate then, saying nothing until he had swallowed.
Drake refused to be spooked into filling the silence.
He took a mouthful of his own. Bane would speak when he had thought through what he wanted to say.
And he did. “Is she pretty?”
“Miss Cilla? Lovely. Eyes like stars and curves to die for.” Watching Bane carefully, he added, “Nothing like her sister.”
“Miss Wintergreen is lovely,” Bane snapped back, with an edge of indignation on the lady’s behalf. Interesting.
“Indeed,” Drake agreed, peaceably. He had noted her looks in an academic kind of a way before she drugged him, but he had not been attracted to her. “Lovely in a warrior queen kind of a way,” he explained.
She had intimidated him, to tell the truth.
“Miss Cilla is petite, almost a head shorter than me, and I am not a tall man, as you know. What else can I tell you? Her hair is dark, her eyes blue, and her complexion like porcelain. Except for something about the shape of the face, one would not believe them related.”
“Miss Wintergreen is a very good height, brown hair suits her, and her eyes are an intriguing shade of silver.” Bane sounded as if he had given the matter some thought. Very interesting.
“A good height for a giant like you,” Drake retorted without heat. Bane had always been big for his age, and had shot past Colin in height when he was only twelve and Colin was fifteen. It was, in Colin’s opinion, another of Bane’s sins.
“So, you want to go to this ball?” Bane asked.
“Yes.” Even if he wanted to prevaricate, it wouldn’t work with this closest of brothers.
“Then you should go.” Bane paused. Drake tried to think of a convincing argument, but Bane continued, “I’ll come too, if you like. If Lady Marple doesn’t refuse me.”
Extremely interesting! The might not be to Drake’s taste, but apparently, she suited Bane. Drake wished him every success!