A Search for Refuge Read online

  Margaretta had no idea what to say to that and the discomfort caused the heat of a blush to ride high across her cheekbones.

  Mr. Banfield stepped forward, his attention finally diverted from Margaretta to the old woman. His smile was indulgent, and it was obvious he cared for the woman. “Mrs. Lancaster, the only time you get into trouble is when you attempt to help others get out of it.”

  His gaze swung from Mrs. Lancaster to Margaretta, losing the air of loving indulgence as the smile fell into a flat line, and he braced his feet to confront her.

  Margaretta straightened her shoulders and stuck her nose in the air, not caring if it made her look haughty. She’d done nothing to earn this man’s derision and held his gaze while she answered the shopkeeper in order to prove it. “How nice to meet you, Mrs. Lancaster. I am Mi—” She coughed to cover her hesitation. Who could she possibly say she was? Samuel was sure to be looking for a Mrs. Albany so she couldn’t possibly give them her real name.

  Being a Miss would be the easiest way to throw Samuel off should he come looking, but that would cause a host of other problems for Margaretta if she was still in town in a month or two. She coughed again to buy herself a bit of time and held up the chunk of bread with an apologetic smile.

  “I’m Mrs.—” Name! Name! She needed a name! “Fortescue.”

  She nearly groaned. Using her maiden name was nearly as bad as admitting her married name was Albany. If Samuel came to Marlborough, he’d find her for sure.

  Chapter Two

  Nash slid the tin of peppermints into his coat pocket and reached beneath the counter to pull out Mrs. Lancaster’s log book. He noted the price for the candy on his page of the ledger and then waited for it to dry. If he took twice the time necessary before closing the book, no one knew that but him.

  That the woman was married surprised him, especially now that he could see her face up close. What sort of man let such a striking woman traipse about the country by herself on the mail stage? Wherever Mr. Fortescue was, he wasn’t doing a very good job.

  That, or Mrs. Fortescue was enough trouble to warrant more attention than Nash’s mild concern and curiosity.

  Mrs. Lancaster, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem encumbered by any similar worries as she barreled on, talking as she did with everyone, whether friend or stranger. “And what brings you to Marlborough, Mrs. Fortescue? Have you come to stay for the market this weekend? You’re in luck. I hear Mr. and Mrs. Blankenship will be setting up a stall. Finest pendants I’ve ever seen. Mr. Lancaster saved up for months and bought me a peacock brooch. One of my most treasured possessions.”

  Nash couldn’t help the smile that quirked one side of his lips. Mrs. Lancaster always seemed to know just how much information to bait a hook with. He was fairly certain she knew everyone in town’s personal business, which made Nash very glad that he didn’t really have any. He handled the contracts, land agreements, and leases that people in the area needed, and he tried to help where he could, be a caring and friendly part of the town. But at night he went to his rooms alone. He didn’t even employ a valet anymore, choosing instead to have one of the local laundresses see to the cleaning and mending of his clothing.

  If he had to guess, though, he’d say that Mrs. Fortescue’s amount of personal business more than made up for Nash’s lack thereof.

  The dark-haired woman clutched her paper-wrapped bundle a little tighter and flattened her lips in what was probably supposed to look like a smile, though her dark eyes remained flat and wary. “That sounds lovely, but I don’t know if I will still be in town Saturday.”

  Nash slid the ledger back under the counter with a sigh of relief. If she was just passing through, his instincts were clamoring without reason. Dozens of troublesome people passed through Marlborough every day without causing a problem. Even Mrs. Lancaster couldn’t help a person who wasn’t there.

  “Of course you will. No finer town in England than Marlborough. Now that you’re here, you’ll want to stay a while.” Mrs. Lancaster nodded her head and poked a finger into the air as if her word was law and she expected everyone to obey it.

  For the most part, people did. But in this case, Nash had a feeling they would all be better off if she didn’t choose this particular lost soul to work her magic on. Was it the way Mrs. Fortescue was standing, guarding her bag and shielding herself from the world? The way she was very obviously hungry but didn’t bear the look of someone who knew a lot about living life in such a condition? There was no doubt in Nash’s mind that she was running, or at the very least, hiding. Not something Nash would willingly concern himself with, except that she’d looked so determined to bring her plight into Mrs. Lancaster’s store.

  He angled his head and smiled again at Mrs. Lancaster. “There is a world beyond Marlborough, you know, and some people do have obligations in it.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” The already short woman seemed to sink into herself a little bit, making her body appear as round as her face. “If everyone lived in Marlborough, we’d be a bit crowded.”

  A sigh of laughter sounded from Mrs. Fortescue and for the briefest moment her smile looked a little less forced. The moment was soon gone, and she settled back into a tense silence.

  The desire to bring back that brief moment of lightness, to expand it until he was able to hear her laugh and see a true smile on her face hit Nash in the chest. Perhaps Mrs. Lancaster’s inclination to save lost souls had worn off on him over the years. He tried to quash any such ambition with a dark frown. His allotment of personal charity was taken up by the members of this town, particularly those who had been taken advantage of and required his services at one point or another.

  Mrs. Lancaster had never accepted his attempts to guard and rescue her though, and this moment didn’t seem to be the exception. “Where are you off to, then?”

  “I, um.” The younger woman ran a finger along the seam of the folded paper on her package, revealing scratched and worn light brown gloves that were streaked with road dust. Too much damage and filth for a single day’s travel from London.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  Did she really not know where she was going or had she already reached her destination? Even if he assumed the best, that her seemingly pointed walk straight to Mrs. Lancaster had been coincidental, that didn’t mean he could leave Mrs. Lancaster unprotected. The young woman was definitely on the run. What had she done?

  Mrs. Lancaster slapped her hands on the counter. “Then there’s no need to run off. You can stay here and see the market.”

  Nash cleared his throat. “Seems a strange part of the country for an exploratory pleasure jaunt. It’s not like you’d sell many travel journals about the wonders of the wilds of Wiltshire.”

  Mrs. Fortescue took a deep breath and made that strange flattened attempt at a smile once more. No one was fooled. At least Nash wasn’t. “I’m looking for—er, meeting someone.”

  Mrs. Lancaster clasped her hands to her chest, her round, lined face tightening into a broad smile. “Oh, people are ever so much more interesting than jewelry. Who are you looking for?”

  Mrs. Fortescue darted a look at Nash before turning her dark eyes back to Mrs. Lancaster.

  Nash frowned. Was she as wary of him as he was of her? Had she expected to find Mrs. Lancaster alone and vulnerable? Or was she truly a skittish woman in need of assistance? A dull throb took up residence at the base of Nash’s neck.

  The woman swallowed and straightened her shoulders once more, causing the voluminous yellow cloak to part, showing a simple dark blue gown underneath. He’d caught a glimpse of the skirt when she crossed the street earlier, but he hadn’t expected the rest of the dress to be so plain. The neckline was only slightly rounded, not even requiring a chemisette to remain modest. Why would the owner of such a dress choose an eye-catching cloak?

  “Just an old friend.”

  “May I see you to the location where you are meeting your friend?” Nash stepped fr
om around the counter and bowed his head in Mrs. Fortescue’s direction. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, offering to escort a lone woman, but it would also allow him to know who she was connected to in his little town.

  The color that had begun to fade from her cheeks rushed back, perhaps even brighter than it had been before. She pressed her lips together before wetting them and giving a shaky smile. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. I’m going to simply find a place to stay tonight and search for—er, meet them in the morning.”

  Nash’s wariness eased, replaced by curiosity and concern, for both of the women in the room. Whoever this young woman was, subterfuge was not her normal style. The slips of speech were too prevalent. He supposed they could be intentional, but anyone with the ability to blush and stammer on command would have aimed for a much higher target than a small-town grocer. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if the unidentified emotion he’d seen earlier wasn’t simply fear.

  “There’s a set of rooms above the shop.” Mrs. Lancaster slid around the counter. “Mr. Banfield can take your bag upstairs if you’d like.”

  Nash swung around to look at Mrs. Lancaster. “You can’t just take in a boarder without knowing anything about her,” he said at the same time that Mrs. Fortescue piped up, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly be such an intrusion.”

  Chocolate brown eyes narrowed as she frowned at Nash. “What are you implying, sir?”

  Nash narrowed his gaze in return at the captivating woman he was more and more convinced by the minute was going to bring havoc into his neatly ordered life. Just because he’d absolved her of any nefarious intentions didn’t mean he was ready to trust her. “I’m implying that she doesn’t know you from Eve and therefore shouldn’t give you free run of her property.”

  Mrs. Lancaster pushed her way in between them. “She’s hardly the first young lady I’ve helped, Mr. Banfield. Why else do you think I’m always sweeping my steps when the mail comes through? I want to see who the good Lord brought to town for me to bless.”

  Nash sighed. “That’s very noble of you, Mrs. Lancaster.”

  “Of course it is. That’s what the Bible says to do after all, isn’t it?” Mrs. Lancaster turned to Mrs. Fortescue. “Why don’t you tell me about your friend? I might have helped her, too.”

  Mrs. Fortescue smiled at the older woman, a genuine smile even if the rest of the expression looked a little sad. “I’m afraid Katherine would have come through here quite a few months ago.”

  “Traveling alone, like you?” Nash asked, earning himself another frown from the woman. He snapped his teeth together with a click and turned his attention to look at whatever graced the nearest counter. He’d probably learn a lot more if he let Mrs. Lancaster do the talking. As long as he stayed nearby he could prevent the old woman from doing anything potentially detrimental to herself. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Where is your husband?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Laid to rest in a field outside London. One can only hope he found his way to Heaven from there.”

  Margaretta lifted her chin and put every scrap of energy she had left into not dropping her gaze. Over and over again she reminded herself that she had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d done nothing wrong, and there was nothing this man could do to her.

  Unless he knew her brother-in-law. Was there any chance Samuel would have enlisted the help of professional men around the country to look for her? It seemed a bit too organized and thorough for him, but Margaretta wasn’t about to assume anything. It would be almost as bad if the man knew her father, but Mr. Banfield had had no reaction to the name Fortescue.

  The next breath slid into her lungs with a little more ease than the last. For right now, at least, everything seemed to be as it should be.

  She turned her best smile on the older woman, hoping her fear didn’t show on her face. The chance that she could afford a set of rooms when she could barely afford to stay at an inn was slim, but here would be a much better place to hide if she could. “How much to use the rooms above?”

  Mrs. Lancaster waved an arm about. “Dust and sweep the store and we’ll consider it a trade. Not today, of course. You can start tomorrow.”

  “Mrs. Lancaster,” the man nearly growled through gritted teeth.

  The grocer frowned. “She just got off the stage, Mr. Banfield. Only a heartless termagant would put her to work right now, and we’ve already established I’ve more heart than you like.”

  Another bubble of mirth broke through Margaretta’s tension, and she lifted a hand to cover the small chuckle that threatened to escape. But the stench of travel clinging to the glove reminded her exactly what her situation was and threw a wet blanket over any vestiges of humor. A smelly, wet, dust-covered blanket.

  No one—not her father, not Samuel, not anyone she’d ever met in her entire life—would expect to find her sweeping floors in a simple shop with humble rooms above it. Mostly because she would never have dreamed of placing herself in such a situation, but right now, it was ideal. Her money would last longer, and maybe she’d have a chance to talk with Mrs. Lancaster alone. If anyone was going to remember Katherine, it was probably the nosy but endearing old woman.

  Right now that sweet old woman was jabbing an elbow into Mr. Banfield’s side. “Take her bag up and let her get settled. I’ve customers to tend to.”

  Mr. Banfield ran a hand along the back of his neck, stabbing his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It was obviously not the first time today he’d done such a thing, either. Any style his hair had held today had been lost, ruined by too many encounters that called for similar gestures of frustration.

  The man needed to learn to relax.

  Not that Margaretta had any real claim to such ability at the moment, but he could hardly claim a dire predicament as the reason for his tension.

  The last thing she wanted, though, was such a tense and suspicious man taking her bag. Custom-made for her by her leather-working father, there wasn’t another satchel like it anywhere. Father was known for making the most exquisite saddles in England, but the valise had been a special project just for her. She couldn’t let Mr. Banfield get a close enough look at it to see the Fortescue Saddlery medallion on the clasp.

  Margaretta cleared her throat as she scooped up her valise handle in one hand while the other clutched her bundle of food. “Please do not trouble yourself. The building is not very large, and there are only so many places the stairs can be located. I shall have no trouble seeing myself up.”

  His eyebrows lifted as his head jerked back a bit. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. Nevertheless, I’d hate to disappoint Mrs. Lancaster. May I take your bag?”

  Her grip tightened instinctively. She swallowed. If she were going to keep him from being too curious about her, she had to put him off guard. Until now, he’d been the one suspicious of her. What would he think if she turned the tables on him?

  With more bravado than actual indignation, she stuck her nose into the air. “No, thank you. You’ve made no secret that you find my presence here unsettling. I’ll not have you running off with my bag in an attempt to make me leave.”

  His hand went to his neck again, but this time it didn’t push into his already disheveled hair as he dropped his gaze to stare in the vicinity of his toes and his shoulders slumped inward. A deep breath expanded his chest before he dropped his hand and straightened once more, a considerably softer look on his face. “My apologies. I assure I will keep all of my efforts to protect Mrs. Lancaster as honest as possible. I would never resort to anything so underhanded.”

  Not quite the apology she’d been hoping for, but she could work with it. “Nevertheless, I intend to hold on to my belongings for the time being as I have no one to protect me aside from myself.”

  A more heartbreakingly true sentence had never been uttered.

  He tilted his head to the side and watched her for a moment before gesturing toward the back of the store. “The stairs are this way.”

&nbs
p; As they walked farther into the depths of the store, Margaretta marveled at the variety of goods around her. Since when did a grocer need a shelf displaying porcelain teacups and embroidered reticules?

  “A sampling of wares from some of the people who will have stalls at Saturday’s market,” Mr. Banfield explained, noticing her gaze. “So many of the town’s inhabitants spend the whole day selling that they’ve no time to peruse the other stalls. Mrs. Lancaster keeps a few select items on hand to sell during the week.” He cleared his throat as he pushed open a door at the back of the shop that opened into a narrow alley. “I’m afraid the dusting and sweeping you agreed to is probably a bigger job than you thought.”

  Especially given that she’d never dusted or swept a thing in her life, unless one counted scooping a hand of cards off the table surface as dusting. She blinked a few times, hoping to clear her head from worry and the encroaching weariness so she could say something that convinced him she knew what she was doing. “I wouldn’t expect anything less than a bit of hard work in exchange for the rooms.”

  He cleared his throat and looked up the stairs. “Your friend. I’d like to help you find her.”

  “You want to get rid of me that badly?”

  She expected him to frown, but he didn’t. He simply looked at her. “Perhaps, in my own way, I wish to help those who find themselves in a basket as much as Mrs. Lancaster does. I just don’t want to see anyone taken advantage of while they are helping.”

  Could she trust him? Should she trust him? Did she have a choice? She’d started off on this impossible search because she’d been desperate enough to cling to a rumor and hope, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what to actually do now that she was here. “I’m afraid all I have is a letter mailed from here several months ago.”

  “Doesn’t sound like that close of a friend,” Mr. Banfield muttered.

  “Doesn’t sound like a very helpful sentiment,” Margaretta returned.