more strewn with reefs, than she’d foreseen.
As if to emphasize just how out of her depth she was, their arrival at Paignton Hall went entirely counter to her expectations.
The Hall itself was everything Charles had promised. But from the moment the carriage halted in what was clearly the old inner bailey and she followed the men out onto the cobbles, in a nod to feminine decorum allowing Logan to hand her down, nothing went quite as she’d expected.
For a start, a beautiful, willowy blond in a simple woollen gown came rushing down the steps to fling herself into Charles’s arms. He caught her with a laugh, kissed her soundly-but then she pulled back and pinned him with a narrow-eyed look. “You’ve been fighting. I can tell. Have you been wounded?”
The quality of Charles’s smile as he slung an arm about the lady’s shoulders was breathtaking. “Such confidence in my swordwork. But no-I didn’t take so much as a scratch.” He looked up as another couple descended the steps to join them, the gentleman dark-haired and distinguished looking-a somewhat less obvious version of Logan and Charles-the lady on his arm with dark auburn hair, and a kind, openly welcoming smile on her face.
They proved to be their host and hostess, Viscount and Viscountess Paignton. Charles made the introductions.
While the men shook hands, Paignton-who went by the name of Deverell-expressing his disgust that he’d missed the action, both ladies, far from turning up their aristocratic noses as Linnet had fully expected, smiled delightedly and welcomed her eagerly, touching fingers, then turning to flank her as they escorted her up the front steps. “You truly are most welcome,” Phoebe, Viscountess Paignton, assured her. “I had no idea Monteith was bringing a lady with him, but I’m delighted he did.”
Linnet looked from one delicate face to the other, sensed sincerity and a certain determination behind both, and felt curious enough to admit, “The truth is,
She broke off as they halted in the lamplit front hall and Lady Penelope waved her hands to halt Linnet’s words. “Wait, wait! I’m already dying with envy. First let me say that along with Phoebe here, I am most sincerely thrilled to see you, because you clearly know something about this mission all our men are about to embark on, so you can tell us-give us a feminine view of the matter. However, my head is reeling, filled with avidly green jealousy.”
In the better light, along with Phoebe, Lady Penelope ran her shrewd gaze down Linnet, taking in her jacket, leather breeches, high boots, and her cutlass still riding at her hip, then she pointed a delicate finger at the cutlass. “Don’t tell me they allowed you to fight alongside them?”
Linnet looked from one openly amazed face to the other, but could detect not a single hint of censure. “I didn’t actually ask their permission.”
Lady Penelope blinked, asked of no one in particular, “Why didn’t I ever think of that?”
Intrigued, Linnet added, “I have two daggers in my boots, as well.”
“Did you account for any of the attackers?” Phoebe’s eyes had hardened, her chin firm.
“Two. But we didn’t wait to check if they were dead. It started off as nine to three, and once we’d accounted for the first nine, there were more coming, so we ran.”
“May I?”
Linnet turned to find Lady Penelope with a hand hovering by her-Linnet’s-thigh, fingers waggling, wanting to touch her breeches. Bemused, already fascinated by these totally unexpected gently bred females, Linnet nodded. “Of course.”
The Countess of Lostwithiel ran her hand over the fine, butter-soft leather, felt its quality, and heaved a long, wistful sigh. “Please call me Penny-and I would really love a pair like that. Can I inveigle you into telling me where you got them? On Guernsey, or farther afield? Not that I care-I’ll send Charles anywhere.”
“Actually, they’re from much nearer to hand.” Linnet grinned at Penny’s eager expression. “Exeter-there’s a leathermaker there I convinced to make them for me. I can give you his direction.”
Penny clasped her hands to her bosom, her face alight. “Wonderful! I’ve just decided what Charles can get me to make amends over me having to miss the action in this latest adventure.”
“I’m still working on what to wring from Deverell,” Phoebe said. “But I have another question. You said you conveyed Monteith to Plymouth on your ship. You own a ship? Do you sail it?”
Her lips curving irrepressibly, Linnet snapped a jaunty salute. “I’m afraid I left my captain’s hat on board, but I’m Captain Trevission, owner of Trevission Ships, and in particular, the barque the
The men had followed them into the hall. Logan heard her comment, smiled crookedly, and inclined his head.
“I think,” Phoebe said, tucking her arm in Linnet’s, “that you and I, Penny, should escort Captain Trevission to a nice guest room, and learn just how she’s achieved such things in no more years than we’ve had.”
“Indeed.” Penny took Linnet’s other arm. “Clearly there’s much here we can learn.”
When Phoebe paused to give instructions to her kindly butler and her efficient-looking housekeeper, Linnet glanced back at the three men, and saw Charles’s and Deverell’s faintly concerned expressions-remembered Charles’s comment about not giving their ladies ideas-and finally understood.
Smiling, she looked ahead and allowed Penny and Phoebe to sweep her up the stairs. “Actually, there is one thing you could help me with.” Reaching the head of the stairs, she glanced at Penny, confirming, as they started along the corridor, that they were much the same height and not dissimilar in shape. “In return for the direction of my breeches maker.”
“Anything!” Penny declared. “At the moment, I would even gift you with my firstborn-he’s been a handful all day, wanting to follow his father, of course.”
Linnet laughed. “Thank you, but I have one of those-well, not mine, but one of my wards. But I really do need some gowns.”
“My wardrobe is yours.” Penny smiled intently. “Just as long as you tell us all you know.”
“All,” Phoebe said, halting at a door along the main corridor, “that our dear husbands are keeping to their chests.”
She set the door swinging wide, then ushered Linnet in. “Now-how about a bath?”
She had, Linnet decided, landed in some strange heaven.
She’d never had feminine companionship like this-freely offered, from ladies of her own class, her own generation. It was… a revelation.
Under Phoebe’s direction, a bath had been prepared, and Linnet had luxuriated, then Penny had arrived with a selection of gowns, all of which she’d insisted Linnet take, assuring her, “I always pack so much more than I need.”
While Linnet had dressed, then dried and combed out her hair, the other two had perched in the window seat and they’d talked. They’d shared bits and pieces of their lives openly with her, and she’d found herself reciprocating.
She and Penny had exchanged tales of horses and riding, shipwrecks and sailing, and she’d listened with rapt attention while Phoebe had explained about her agency, then they’d listened with real interest while she’d described Mon Coeur and explained about her wards.
Phoebe had instantly volunteered her agency should any of Linnet’s brood ever want to find work in England. “I can always place well-educated young women, and even young men, as companions or personal secretaries.”
Linnet had had no idea aristocratic ladies were so engaged and active.
When she’d said so, Penny had pulled a face. “The sad truth is, a lot aren’t, but we are, and all those you’ll meet when you reach Elveden-the end of your journey-are like us, too. We have the position, the wherewithal, and the ability, and so we do. Sitting and embroidering is definitely not for us.”
Phoebe had laughed. “In fact, not many of us can embroider. Minerva, Royce’s wife, does, beautifully, and perhaps Alicia might. But most of us are not, as one might say, accomplished in that direction.”
Linnet had grinned. “In that respect, at least, I’ll fit in.”
