Her gaze returned to Hugo. “So you see, Harriett won’t leave her beloved home for anyone. She has built up so many different herbs and plants, some I have never heard of, that she won’t leave them to wilt and die, and there is nobody in the village who would be prepared to go near her house to look after them for her. Moreover, she won’t trust anything you say because you are a man.”
“Why doesn’t she trust men? Has she had a problem before?” Peter asked, wondering if there was a sour romance in her past.
“I don’t know the reason. She was civil enough with Father and seemed to quite like him. But she was always wary, always allowing anyone only so close before becoming defensive and returning home. I do know Harriett grew up without a father. I don’t know who he was, or what happened, because she refuses to talk about it.”
“Oh dear,” Hugo murmured, running his hands wearily through his hair. “Are you sure she has been collecting the information we need?”
Jemima nodded. “Harriett is nothing but determined. She won’t stop until Scraggan either kills her, or I arrive to tell her to stop.”
“Can’t you just send her a letter?” Peter demanded, knowing where this was going and not liking it one bit.
Jemima shook her head. “She is naturally wary. She won’t trust you or believe the letter unless she sees me or Eliza in person.”
“Eliza isn’t going,” Edward snapped, lunging forward in his seat, all defensive and argumentative. He glowered at Hugo. “She has been through enough over the past few days. Rogan nearly hanged her, for God’s sake. She is not heading to Padstow.” His tone brooked no argument, and caused Hugo to study him warily.
“I wasn’t about to suggest she did. Jemima is the one who used to help her father with his papers. I understand there are more papers hidden in the house?”
Jemima jerked and stared cautiously at him.
“Your father told me. He told me that he had a secret compartment hidden in his room in which he kept his papers and had made copious notes about his suspicions. He assured me he would send them to us on his return home, only -”
“He never returned home,” Jemima whispered softly, staring absently at the bright pattern on the rug beneath her feet. She knew without a doubt that this was the man her father had met in London.
The memory of her father was enough to bolster her courage to make the decision she needed to, and remove the threat of Scraggan once and for all.
“I have a plan,” Jemima said hesitantly, glancing at Peter. Meeting his cautious look, she continued. “It involves Peter.” She watched his brows shoot up with alarm.
“I think it is inevitable that I have to be the one who goes to Padstow, but I cannot agree to being escorted into the village by the Star Elite, or some of them.” Her gaze turned to Hugo.
“They are not all Star Elite, Jemima. Some of the men here are soldiers hoping to join the Star Elite. Some of the Star Elite members are already undercover and in Padstow, and have been for some time.”
“But you want to escort me down there with this band of men. A group of people will certainly attract attention, especially the closer we get to Scraggan’s patch.”
“What are you suggesting, Jemima?” Peter frowned, not liking the careful way she was picking her words. “You seriously cannot be considering going there alone!” His tone warned her that she would incur his wrath should she even try.
Jemima shook her head. “I think it would be best if we went undercover ourselves,” she said quietly.
“We? As in you and me?” His voice was incredulous, but not angry. There was a spark in her eyes that reminded him of the way she had been in Devon, and it intrigued him. It called to a deeper part of his masculinity that he couldn’t ignore.
Jemima nodded. “As a couple, we can move around without drawing too much attention. Scraggan thinks I am dead, so won’t be looking for me. If we can disguise ourselves, we can go to Padstow and visit Harriett, and I can persuade her to bring the papers and come and stay with us for a while: at least, long enough to get her away from Scraggan, while Hugo and his men arrest him and bring him to justice.”
“You are not traipsing around the country wearing breeches!” Peter shouted, jumping out of his chair and pacing around the room like a caged tiger. Although his sister had needed to wear breeches to escape the brutality of her uncle, he was not going to sit back and allow Jemima to traipse to Padstow wearing them!
“I never suggested such a thing,” she replied.
Peter ignored Dominic’s sniggering, and smacked Sebastian on the back of the head when he commented that Isobel’s breeches would fit Jemima very well.
Despite his anxiety, Peter’s interest was piqued at the thought of Jemima in tight breeches that covered the gentle curves of her derriere. Shaking his head, he blanked out that thought and continued to pace.
He had to admit, her plan had a very good chance of succeeding. Moreover it would give them considerable time alone together, which is what they needed to allay Jemima’s fears that they were compatible; and banish the ghosts of the past.
Crossing his arms, he paused beside the window and studied her. Sitting in the glow of the flickering flames, her hair shone like a golden halo. The dark circles beneath her eyes belied an exhaustion she refused to give in to. By rights, after the events of the past two days, she should be a quivering wreck. Any other woman would still be in bed, but not Jemima.
He could understand her reasoning behind her reluctance to become an idle housewife, spending her days discussing menus and very little else. Jemima was too – well, too alive – for that kind of monotony. If he was honest, it was what appealed to him about her.
“You could adopt a disguise of father and son,” Sebastian mused, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees in case Peter sought to smack him about the head again, and ignored the epithet Peter threw him.
“Boys,” Hugo chided in a fatherly manner, the humour completely lost on him.