Anita Mills by Miss Gordon's Mistake Read Free Book Online Page A

She’d never been quite so tired in her life, and she was beginning to wish she’d said she was Haverhill’s sister. Then she could have requested a separate chamber. As it was, she was doomed to sit up with naught but her unhappy thoughts for company.
    She thought of the lines by the Scottish poet, Robert Burns, that went “The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley; an’ lea’e us nought but grief and pain, for promis’d joy.” How very true, she reflected dispiritedly. Instead of going home to America in disgrace, she would more likely go to prison. And Jess would never get Sturbridge, because her husband would be too intent on revenging himself against Kitty.
    The candle guttered in the dish, spluttered valiantly one last time, then died, leaving her in darkness. Outside, the storm still raged, pelting the many-paned windows like a host of pebbles.
    “I’d have—a drink.”
    At first, she thought her ears tricked her, that ’twas the wind, but then she realized he spoke to her. Rising, she made her way unsteadily across the room on cramped legs. “Yes?”
    “I’d have a—drink,” he repeated, his voice little more than a whisper, his words separated by effort.
    She sparked a candle wick with the flint, then turned to find the water pitcher and was in the process of pouring some into a cup when he spoke again. “Have you thought—what you’ll—tell the magistrate?” he asked low.
    “What?”
    “The magistrate. You reported a—robbery.”
    A deep, cold chill crept down her spine, making her fingers shake. “I did not think of that, my lord—I was but wishful of getting you to the doctor.”
    “Then say—you—saw nothing.”
    “You do not mean to give me away?” she asked, turning back to face him.
    “No.” Despite the pain he felt, his mouth turned down wryly. “Tale would do—nothing—for my credit.” His hazel eyes seemed dark in the faint light. “Tell me—what name did you—give me?”
    “John Smith.”
    “Inventive,” he mumbled as she sat beside him to hold the cup to his lips.
    “Well, I did not know your name beyond Haverhill, sir—and I could scarce use that,” she explained practically.
    “Name is John.”
    “I said you were called Johnny.”
    He drank thirstily of the water, draining the cup, then fell back. She moved back to the chair, and sat again, stretching her legs to ease them.
    “Won’t molest,” he said finally. “Cannot. You can lie down also.”
    “No. I suppose you can be forgiven for thinking me that sort of female, my lord,” she admitted tiredly, “but I am not. This whole day is but a mad scheme gone awry, I assure you, and I am heartily sorry for it.”
    When he did not respond, she thought he meant to ignore the apology, and she could not blame him if he did. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, hoping that somehow she could waken on the morrow and discover she had but dreamed an utterly awful dream.
    “Never been Johnny in my life,” she heard him say.”
    “ ’Twas always—Jack.”

Chapter 5
5
    “W HERE CAN SHE HAVE GONE ?” Mrs. Merriman demanded, facing her eldest daughter. “And never say that you do not know, Jessica, for ’twill not wash!”
    “I thought she was visiting Squire Marsh’s daughter,” Jess protested. “Indeed, but I know she said ’twas Amelia, and—”
    “She is not there!” her mother announced dramatically. “Moreover, neither Jem nor the carriage has; returned!”
    “But how—?”
    “One of the March grooms rode over but a few minutes ago with a message for her. And when I said I thought it quite odd that Amelia should write to her here if she is there, he said they had not seen her, missy.” Isabella paced the floor of the small back parlor, her agitation evident even to the young man who lounged with his feet up on her favorite settee. “You do not think ’tis an elopement? Surely Sturbridge would not be so lost to propriety that—”
    “In our carriage,