The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

But her memory of running away from her home conjured up the sight of her father lying injured – now dead - on his study floor, and, once again, she collapsed sobbing.

Finally, after washing her face and tidying her hair, she made her way down to breakfast in the private parlor.

Sir Richard was already seated at the laden table by the window. He glanced up at her with obvious compassion and Jemima nearly dissolved into tears yet again when he said, “Tonight is Christmas Eve, and I know your father was to be hosting a dinner.”

Jemima nodded, as she tried to imagine the scene at home with Ben and Mrs Dawkins. They’d been part of the household for as long as she could remember and they’d be frantic about her, she knew.

Sir Richard looked deeply troubled. “I’ve been considering the range of your father’s acquaintances. You say he’d not spoken to anyone directly of how close he was—you both were—to transcribing the tablet that would uncover a an unknown treasure.

“A hundred chests of gold coins. That’s what the tablet hinted at.” Jemima stared out of the window before transferring her gaze to Sir Richard. “My father was killed for a hundred chests of gold coins that was intended to be for the glory of England,” she said bitterly.

“Can you think of a jealous colleague who would go to such lengths to lay c

laim to it?”

Jemima bit her lip, staring at the large, comforting hand that now enveloped hers. “I’m sorry to add this further burden to your pain, Miss Percy,” he murmured.

Jemima had never experienced the keen awareness she felt in this man’s presence. But then, he’d rescued her and was continuing to protect her.

Yet the kindness in his face, the gentleness of his mouth and the compassion in his eyes ignited a spark of something within her that was more than just gratitude.

Of course, it was highly irregular that Jemima should spend even a moment alone with Sir Richard though he had clearly considered this, eliciting the chaperonage of the deaf old mother of the innkeeper, who sat in a chair in the corner sucking her gums while her knitting needles clicked.

A number of times, they all pored over the clay tablet while Jemima pointed out markings that, without the reference table she’d devised through years of careful study of these exact hieroglyphics, she could only guess at.

Both Sir Richard and John marveled at her knowledge, and under Sir Richard’s warm gaze, Jemima felt herself increasingly susceptible to every nuance of his voice.

Of course, it had to end. She was living in a parallel universe; divorced from the realities and familiarities of all she’d held dear.

If only it hadn’t been under such circumstances.

On the second evening, she and Sir Richard were dining together when John burst into the room unceremoniously, dashing his hat from his head as he ran his fingers through his coarse brown hair.

“M’lord, the landlord informs me there’s someone in the taproom making inquiries after Miss Percy, giving out her description an’ all.”

Immediately, Sir Richard was on his feet, reaching for Jemima’s hand and pulling her to the door. “We’ll take the back stairs. Quickly!” There was no need to put into words what Jemima knew with terrifying certainty. If whoever was after her had been prepared to kill her father, he would show no mercy towards Jemima in order to lay claim to the tablet.

Fortunately, Sir Richard chose a conveyance less dramatic and uncomfortable than astride his stallion on a race across the countryside. A post-chaise was conveniently standing by, and into this Sir Richard helped her, his movements languid so as not to excite suspicion. Jemima, by contrast, felt a trembling wreck as she relaxed back against the squabs once the door had been closed.

“Where are we going?”

He deliberated over his answer. “I’ve written to my brother. Please, you must trust me, Miss Percy. Until the murderer is found, you can’t go to your family, and you can’t stay in a tavern.” He paused, clearly running over possibilities before saying with obviously reluctance, “I’ll instruct my brother to look after you.” When he raised his eyebrows and looked at the ceiling, Jemima asked quickly, “You think your brother will be reluctant?”

Sir Richard smiled, reached across in the carriage and took her hands, raising them to his lips. “Miss Percy, if I could look after you in your hour of need, I would do it, but I’ve made plans to go away in a week. I must go, though I will delay it if the villain who killed your father and is after your tablet isn’t apprehended. But I’m on government business right now. Therefore, I must entrust you to my nearest and dearest and be confident that my little brother will rise to the occasion.” He raised one eyebrow and said in a tone of forbearance, “I’m sure he’s been waiting for just such an opportunity to prove he’s more than the proverbial rake about town.”

Jemima looked at him askance. “Your brother is a rake? Then he is very unlike you, sir.”

“Very,” Sir Richard agreed. “However, he’s quite charming and despite appearances, he has a good heart.”

Jemima studied the elegant, self-contained Sir Richard, and wondered aloud how they could be so different.

“Mama cosseted him, though by contrast, our father ignored him his whole life. It’s my hope—no, my belief—that he will prove himself the man I know him to be, given the right opportunity.”

“But when you’ve finished your…work…you’ll come back, won’t you, sir?” Jemima asked anxiously. She felt increasingly dependent upon his comforting presence and didn’t want to see him leave.

Meanwhile, John had reported that Jemima’s distraught aunt was organizing her brother’s funeral. Reluctantly, Jemima agreed to remain hidden in the meantime, but on the assurance that by the time of the funeral in three days’ time, she could put her family’s fears to rest by arriving in their midst to see her father sent to his final resting place.

“We don’t know how many are involved. There may be more than one,” Sir Richard warned her. “If we are no closer to finding those responsible, your father’s funeral will provide them with just the opportunity they need to discover you and thus the whereabouts of the clay tablet. Don’t you agree that it’s of the utmost importance right now to find your father’s killer so that he can face justice and you can rest assured you’re free from being his next target?” As Jemima nodded, he reassured her. “I’ve arranged for someone to watch over your father’s home, day and night, in the hope that the killer will reveal himself.”