Hero, Come Back (Cynster 9.50)

Amanda protested despite her aching ribs. “My lady, a ball is not necessary.”

“It most certainly is,” Lady Finch declared. “All the best young men will be invited. Just think, in two nights, you’ll be happily wed.”

“Two nights?” both she and Jemmy repeated.

Lady Finch cocked an iron brow. “And not a moment too soon, I assume.”

“Uh-hum,” the constable coughed.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. What is it?” she asked.

“My lady, I’ll have to take her into custody.” He coughed again and shuffled his feet. “She was breaking the law. And the young master as well.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Finch declared. “My son was merely bringing Miss Smythe over to Finch Manor so she would have proper accommodations until the match is made.”

The constable narrowed his gaze on Jemmy. “Is that so?”

“Certainly, Holmes,” he told him. “What else would I be doing?”

Amanda had to admire his mettle. He said it as if he meant it.

“Seems a roundabout way, iffin you ask me.” Holmes rubbed his chin and shot a glance around the cart at the lonely track behind them.

Jemmy grinned at the man. “Sir, if you had such a lovely lady at your side, would you take the most direct route?”

Mr. Holmes colored, as did Amanda. She glanced down at her boots to hide her astonishment. James Reyburn thought her lovely? Though it was probably just more evidence of his legendary skills of exaggeration, a part of her clung to a hope that he was telling the truth.

“That will be quite enough from you, Jemmy,” Lady Finch scolded. “Miss Smythe, attend me in my carriage.” She nodded at Amanda to get down. “Now.”

From the set of the lady’s jaw, Amanda knew she had no choice but to do as the imperious baroness bid.

But to her surprise, Jemmy caught her arm and held her in place.

“Mother, I see no reason why I can’t continue escorting Miss Smythe home while you and Mrs. Radleigh see to your errands in the village. I am sure you have any number of things to—”

“Preposterous!” Lady Finch told him, coming forward in a brisk, no-nonsense manner and taking the situation in hand. She caught up Amanda’s elbow and pulled her down from the cart. “Miss Smythe and I have much to discuss.” Lady Finch led her away, tugging Amanda along when she dragged her heels. “My dear girl, I would like to hear your opinions on the flowers and the dinner menu for your ball. I believe a bride should have some say in the matters, though I’ve already instructed Cook on several points. However, I do think there is some leeway on the salads.”

With the barouche looming before her, Amanda thought a French tumbrel might have been more appropriate.

“Mother!” Jemmy called out, lodging one more protest. “Miss Smythe may not want to be dragged about town. She would probably like a respite from her travels and I could—”

“Jemmy,” Lady Finch said, “I think you’ve seen quite enough of Miss Smythe this morning. You can have the pleasure of her company tonight at dinner.” With that, his mother prodded Amanda into the carriage. And to her shock, she could have sworn she heard the baroness muttering under her breath, “A little time apart ought to have him in a fine fettle.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the baroness, amazed at her astute observation.

Leave it to Lady Finch to know that a little time is all I have left.

Four

Jemmy entered the dining room at precisely quarter after six, expecting quite a fuss over their now infamous guest. But the room was silent and still—with no one about, save his mother. Not even their loyal butler, Addison, who presided over every meal with a fierce attention to detail, was in sight. Only a small collection of trays on the sideboard containing sliced meats and cheeses, breads, and a few dishes of Cook’s best sauces and stewed vegetables awaited him.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, filling a plate and taking his place at the table. What he really wanted to ask was “Where is Miss Smythe?” but decided against such a blatant question.

So much for his discretion. His mother’s first glance, then second more inspecting one, said more than if he’d asked directly as to Miss Smythe’s whereabouts. “If you didn’t insist on living down at the gatehouse, you wouldn’t be late for dinner.”

“I’m fashionable,” he replied. “And it doesn’t appear that I’ve missed all that much.” He glanced around the empty seats. “So where is everyone?”

“Your father is repotting the specimens he got from Lord Bellweather, and Mrs. Radleigh is finishing up a few tasks. She should be down presentl