Chapter Two
When he was three sheets to the wind, Devlin Colfax could sleep anywhere: a theater box, an armchair, even a patch of floor in the corner of someone’s card room. He was, therefore, not terribly surprised to wake up and discover that he’d fallen asleep during the ride home.
The surprise was that he did not wake up alone. The flickering carriage lights revealed a strange woman sharing his carriage. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and looked again. She was still there.
Come to think of it, he had a vague memory of ordering Wragge to stop the carriage so he could talk to someone by the side of the road. He’d stood in the middle of the road talking for a while, hadn’t he? But he could not recall the conversation.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Dev said. “But I am afraid my wits are temporarily scattered. Would you remind me how we know each other?”
“We do not know each other,” she replied.
Her crisp voice called up a mental image of a governess. But that was so implausible that Dev immediately banished the picture. If he’d picked up a stranger by the side of the road, she was more likely to be a doxy.
Dev waited for her to elaborate, but she remained silent. “If we do not know each other, why did I bring you home with me?” he asked. A terrible suspicion struck him. Just how drunk had he been? “I didn’t kidnap you, did I? If so, I am very sorry.”
He hadn’t done anything like that since his university days, and even then, he would never have abducted a stranger. One could only play that sort of prank on one’s bosom friends.
“What do you mean, bring me home?” She sounded more nervous now. “Do you live in Knightsford, then?”
“Knightsford?” Devlin peered out the window. To his relief, he saw the familiar bulk of Hethersleigh. A light still burned in the entryway, and a candle twinkled in his bedroom window.
Dev turned back to his mystery guest. “No, we’re well past Knightsford. This is Hethersleigh, ma’am. Home of the Colfax family for more generations than I can count.”
“What?” She peered out the window, too. “But you promised to take me to Knightsford!” She fell silent as she stared up at the looming pile.
Devlin sighed. Not a kidnapping, then, but still a huge mistake. “I am afraid I don’t remember that. It is possible that the coachman mistook my directions.”
More likely, he misdirected Wragge. Dev wasn’t known for giving clear instructions when foxed.
“I am very sorry, but such mistakes do happen.” Especially to men who spent hours drinking with their cronies and complaining about their lives. Why on earth did Reynolds and Cholmondeley put up with his whining?
“What am I going to do?” the stranger fretted. “This is terrible.”
Frankly, Dev thought she was better off at Hethersleigh. The Green Man Inn had gone downhill since the innkeeper lost his wife. Rather unfortunate, since it was the only hostelry in Knightsford. At Hethersleigh, the food would be better, the linen fresher, and the coffee stronger.
“I am very sorry for the error, ma’am. Why don’t we go inside and have a cup of tea? That always helps me think more clearly.” He hoped someone was still awake in the kitchen.
What time was it, anyway? He reached into his pocket for his watch, only to come up short. Right. He’d lost it at play. Foolish of him, to be sure. He’d have to send someone to get it back before his stepmother returned from Saunders Hall and noticed it missing.
“I suppose a cup of tea would not go amiss.” The stranger smothered a yawn. She stepped out of the carriage, valise in hand.
“Thomas, bring that inside for her.” Dev gestured at the valise.
The groom hastened to obey. If Thomas thought there was anything peculiar about his employer bringing a stranger home with him, he kept those thoughts to himself.
Fortunately, there was a footman still awake in the hall. Dev ordered the man to light the lamps in the Rose Room and fetch a pot of tea. Then he ushered the stranger into the little parlor.
He’d hoped that a properly lit room would help him make sense of the situation, but his mystification only deepened when he finally got a good look at his traveling companion.
Tall for a woman, she displayed a pleasing roundness of both bosom and bottom. There was nothing repellant about her features, either. Dressed well, she might be quite pretty.
But she was not dressed well. When she removed her faded blue cloak, he saw that the gray dress underneath had a waistline much higher than was now fashionable—a sure sign that she’d been wearing it for years.
She wore her hair in a simple low bun. An ornate mourning ring provided her only touch of finery.
To be sure, her garments were neither shabby nor poorly made; merely outdated and well-worn. The problem was that she really did look more like a governess than a courtesan.
Though Dev had offered her a seat, she declined to sit. Instead, she stood by the door—hands folded neatly, eyes wide with fear.
“Sir, I must ask you to explain why you have brought me here.”
Dev sank down into the nearest chair. “I am afraid my memory is still vague. Can you remind me how we came to meet?” He felt like more of a fool than ever.
“A miscommunication resulted in me being left stranded without transportation,” the stranger explained. “I had to walk back to the nearest town. When you came upon me, I had stopped at the crossroads to rest.”
The crossroads! Now he remembered. Dev saw the stranger quite plainly in his mind’s eye: an ethereal figure silvered by moonlight. She’d looked like a mere wisp of a thing. Rather odd, given that she was actually a tall, well-built woman.
“Ah, right! You know, at first I thought you were a ghost—a gray lady.” He smiled, hoping to ease her nerves. Now was probably not the time to tell her about the Colfax ghost.
Instead of sharing his humor, she frowned. “So I gathered. You tried to exorcise me, after all. Or don’t you remember?”
Dev buried his face in his hands. “Oh God, was I that drunk?”
“Your inebriation was quite obvious.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what made you think I was a ghost, though. Isn’t it the devil who’s supposed to lurk at the crossroads? People go there to make deals with him.”
“Oh, I’ve heard those stories, too.” The corner of his mouth quirked up as he imagined this gray lady as a devil. Was there even such a thing as a lady demon? “If you are a devil, why didn’t you offer me a bargain?”
She snorted. “I haven’t anything to bargain with, I’m afraid, unless you need a lady’s companion for your wife or a governess for your children.” She pulled a rueful smile. “I don’t suppose you do, though.”
“Indeed not. No wife, no child.” And his younger sisters already had a perfectly competent governess.
Before Dev could say more, the footman returned with the tea tray. Just as well. It might take a whole pot of tea to clear his mind.
“Will you do the honors, Miss…?” Or was it Mrs.? He squinted at her hands, but saw no wedding ring.
“I am Miss Halliwell. And I would be happy to make tea, Mr. Colfax.” She measured out what to Dev looked like a skimpy portion of tea leaves.
“Actually,” he corrected gently, “my name is not Mr. Colfax.”
She glanced up sharply. “Oh! I must have misunderstood. You said the Colfax family had lived in this house for generations. Are you not a Colfax?”
“I most certainly am, but my title is Sir Devlin Colfax.” He felt awkward explaining it, though the title had been his for nearly a year.
“Ah, I see.” Miss Halliwell put the lid back on the teapot, sat down, and rested her hands primly on her lap.
Definitely a governess. How on earth could he have thought she was a ghost?
Even by candlelight, it was clear that Miss Halliwell’s solid figure was proportioned more like a Greek goddess than like the slender, wispy lady said to haunt the Hall.
Dev was not sure brandy alone could explain his mistake.
“Well, Sir Devlin, would you be so kind as to tell me where I can find the nearest railway station? Must I go all the way to York?” She bit her lip, suddenly looking less confident.
“The nearest railway station is in Thirsk,” he told her. “My coachman can take you there tomorrow, after the horses have rested.” Technically, the horses used for farmwork could have brought her there tonight, but Wragge himself deserved a night’s sleep.
She remained silent for a moment; he could almost see her wavering. When she relented, she spoke with all the dignity of a duchess.
“Under the circumstances, I most gratefully accept your hospitality, Sir Devlin.” She cleared her throat. “I believe the tea is ready now. I should imagine we will both be the better for a cup, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” Dev said, though he knew it would take more than tea to set him to rights.
There were only five days left before doomsday, and all his plans had failed. But there was no need to share any of that with his guest.