Chapter Eight
Jane and Lawrence set off from Lofthouse farm in a rented chaise. The vehicle was nowhere near as comfortable as Lawrence’s own traveling carriage, and his post-concussion headache returned with a vengeance.
But that was the least of his concerns. He spent the whole journey fretting about what he would find at Rushton Hall. What if Sally wasn’t there? With Jane’s help, he could try casting that location spell again, but how many weeks was he going to waste tracking her down?
More importantly, it might be too late to prevent the young couple from marrying.
He couldn’t stand the thought of Sally spending the rest of her life married to a wastrel like Craven.
Lawrence had never been a violent man, but he gave real consideration to the idea of calling Craven out.
If he couldn’t prevent Sally from marrying the scoundrel, he could at least make sure the marriage was a short one.
But when the butler ushered the travelers into Rushton Hall, Sally was the first to greet them. “Uncle Lawrence! I am so happy to see you!” She fairly flew down the stairs and into his arms.
He returned her hug, holding her tightly. “Sally, don’t ever do that again.” He had to force the words past the lump in his throat. “Do you have any idea how worried your mother was? How worried we all were?” His voice broke.
“I am so sorry, Uncle Lawrence. I was such a fool! I was ready to give away the whole world to be with Charles, but he didn’t want me!”
He didn’t? “Do you mean Captain Craven ended the betrothal?” Lawrence hadn’t dared to hope for such luck.
“Yes! He abandoned me when he learned how my fortune was held in trust. I thought he loved me, but he only wanted me for my money!” Sally burst into tears.
I could have told you that, Lawrence thought. It had been obvious from the beginning that Charles Craven was a fortune hunter; Sally had just refused to listen.
Lawrence refrained from lecturing his niece. Instead, he patted her gently on the back. “All that matters is that you are safely with your family again.”
All in all, things had turned out much better than he’d expected.
It might even be possible to preserve Sally’s reputation.
An elopement that did not end in marriage could be most scandalous, but in this case, the family could truthfully say that Sally had gone to visit her aunt.
Lady Chumford and her son could be relied on to back the story up.
Here was young Bertie Chumford now, smiling and shaking Lawrence’s hand. “I am glad to see you in good health, cousin. We have been worried about you ever since Miss Howell told of us about your accident.”
Bertie glanced towards Miss Howell, who was already deep in conversation with Jane. The corners of the young man’s mouth quirked up, and his face softened.
Now that was interesting. Despite his exhaustion, Lawrence shifted his gaze back and forth between Bertie and his young guest, speculating.
Bertie had already taken his degree at Cambridge; he might soon start looking for a wife.
Lawrence did not know Miss Howell’s precise age, but he knew she was out of the schoolroom.
He wondered what Jane would think of a match between the young people.
Bertie drifted over to join Miss Howell’s conversation, leaving Lawrence to assuage Sally’s tears. Secretly, Lawrence longed for a chance to rest. Being “almost” recovered from a concussion was not quite the same as being fully recovered, especially after he’d been jolted over rough country lanes.
Aunt Emily came to his rescue. “You will be wanting to rest after your journey, I imagine.” Her brisk, no-nonsense tone turned it into an order rather than a suggestion.
Lawrence smiled in spite of his pounding headache. He thought he’d experienced enough unnecessary fussing for a lifetime, but it was a relief to step back and let his aunt take charge of him. “Yes, ma’am. I believe I would benefit from some time alone in a quiet place.”
He glanced back in Jane’s direction. She was still deep in conversation, but when Lawrence caught her eye, she smiled at him. They would talk later, Lawrence decided. There were many things he wanted to say to her, but he needed rest.
Aunt Emily led Lawrence to the finest guest chamber at Rushton Hall. “A footman will bring your luggage in through the dressing room so as not to disturb you.”
“Thank you.” He pressed her hand fervently, his mind already on the comfort promised by the soft, canopied bed. He took a dose of his pain elixir, removed his boots, and lay down.
After the bustle of the Lofthouse farm, Rushton Hall was blessedly quiet. No one clomped up and down the stairs or chattered in the hallways. Aunt Emily’s well-trained servants treaded softly past his room.
In such quiet, Lawrence could finally think. Now that he’d seen with his own eyes that Sally was safe, he could think about the new problem: his apparent infatuation with Lady Carrington.
Not that it was a problem, per se. They were two mature adults.
They were both free to do as they liked.
And, Lawrence decided, he would like to continue their new-found friendship—to see if it might develop into a courtship.
The distance between their respective homes was an obstacle, yes, but not an insurmountable one.
Especially if Jane was willing to correspond with him.
It was unfortunate that Jane had already seen Lawrence at his worst. He’d have to repair that as best he could.
It was too late to make a good first impression, but he could at least show her that he was not usually the flustered, cranky traveler she’d met at the inn, nor the crotchety convalescent he’d been at the farmhouse.
He could be debonair. He could be witty. He could be. . .
He could be sound asleep, thanks to the potion he’d taken.