A Lady in Disguise Read online

“Oh.” The maid stared at her doubtfully, but didn’t question her veracity, then she nodded and slipped from the room with a murmur that she would inform Cook that her ladyship was ready.

  Maggie folded the letter again with agitation, the words arrogant ass running through her mind again. What did Lord Ramsey take her for? An idiot? Did he expect her to simply sit here sweetly awaiting his pleasure? He must be mad! He had said that the servants would not aid her, but would they actually stop her leaving? Well, it might be too far to walk to town, but there had to be a village or something nearer than that, somewhere where she could rent a carriage or . . .

  Of course, she didn’t have any money to rent a carriage, she realized with a frown. In fact, all she had was the gown on her back—and that wasn’t even her own. She scowled, then sat up a little stiffer to assure herself there was yet something she could do. She had two strong legs, a fine mind, and determination. Those together should be enough to see her well away from this place.

  With that thought Maggie stood, then paused to glance toward the windows that lined the western wall of the room. They gave a lovely view of the setting sun. It would be dark soon. Which gave her pause. Did she really wish to traipse through the countryside in the dark?

  Her stomach growled, adding its own protest, and she decided she really should eat before she considered leaving. She would need her strength if she planned to walk in search of a town or neighboring estate where she might find help—if that was going to be her plan. She hadn’t really considered the matter yet. Perhaps it behooved her to actually determine a specific plan of escape. Perhaps she should learn how near or far away help actually was. Perhaps she should—

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of dinner. It came served on a parade of trays borne by solemn-faced servants. One might have thought they bore the queen’s jewels on those trays instead of suckling pig, roast duck, or the various other dishes she saw. Letting her plans to escape fade away, Maggie sat silently and—she hoped—stoically as each servant approached her in turn to serve her a portion from his tray. Rather than set the platters on the table and leave her to her meal, as her own servants would have done, each man lined himself against the wall, gloved hands clasped loosely before him, eyes staring straight ahead and expression blank.

  Maggie peered at the servers uncomfortably for a moment, then decided they weren’t going anywhere; she had best get to it if she wished to eat. Picking up one of her forks, she set to work on the food. It was an extremely odd meal. Despite the fact that the men were all staring blankly at the opposite wall of the room, she felt as if they were staring at her. And they must have been watching her out of the corner of their eyes, for, the moment she finished her wine, the fellow who had carried it in and poured her first glass stepped silently and efficiently forward to refill it. When she finished off the portion of duck she had been served, another servant, he who had carried that in, promptly stepped up to retrieve the tray and offer her more. Maggie found the whole process most discomforting and ended up rushing, waving away offers of seconds in her eagerness to escape the staff’s stifling presence.

  It was a great relief when she finished the last scrap of food on her plate. Setting the dish aside she stood, abruptly waving off the servant who jumped forward to offer her one of the lovely-looking desserts that were his charge. Managing a pained smile to soften her dismissal, she moved swiftly around the table and fled. She was actually relieved to find Annie awaiting her in the hall. When the maid asked if she would prefer a drink in the salon, a visit to the library, or a return to her bedroom, Maggie opted for the last. It was time to plan her escape.

  “Damn.” Maggie tugged at her skirt irritably, trying to pull it free of the log on which it had caught. This was only about the hundredth time that it had happened. The damn forest seemed inordinately full of fallen branches and the like, all catching at her gown and slowing her progress. It was as if the very woods themselves were trying to hinder her flight.

  If one could really call it flight, she thought impatiently. This had started out as a grand escape, but it had foundered. Now she was merely lost in the woods. She managed to tug her gown free of its latest entanglement, then hesitated before dropping to sit wearily on the log that had previously been holding her back.

  This was not going well at all. Oh, she had thought she was so clever with her plan. She had resolved to set out on the second day of her presence at Ramsey, directly after breakfast, but that had been before she realized that Annie was to be her “constant companion”—a much nicer description than the jailer that the girl really was. The wench hadn’t left Maggie’s side from the moment she arrived in her room the second morning to show her to breakfast.

  Maggie had awoken that morning to find the blue gown gone and a yellow one in its place. Annie’s work, no doubt, she had decided. Donning the gown, she’d found that it, like the first, was nearly a perfect fit. Nearly. Both gowns obviously belonged to someone who had a somewhat more generous bosom.

  Maggie had no interest in deducing who the owner was. Probably a mistress of Lord Ramsey’s, but Maggie didn’t give two figs about that. Her mind had been solely occupied with her intention to escape.

  She had followed Annie dutifully down to the dining room to eat, relieved to find that while supper had been solemn and attended by many servants, breakfast was a more relaxed affair. A selection of sausages, pastries, and such had been set out on the sideboard for her to serve herself. Maggie had taken that opportunity to store up on sustenance, eating a good deal, then slipping some serviette-wrapped goodies into her pocket for later, for her bid for freedom.

  Once she was finished, she had exited the dining room to find Annie awaiting her. It was then she had realized that the woman would not be leaving her until she retired. It had been an unexpected crimp in her plan.

  But Maggie had refused to give up easily. Pushing her irritation at this turn of events aside, she’d engaged the girl in conversation, trying to deduce the direction and whereabouts of the nearest village or neighboring estates, but Annie, while polite, had not been of much assistance.

  “Oh, aye,” the girl had assured her. “We have neighbors. Everyone has neighbors.” But when asked how far away they might be, the girl had taken on a cagey look and shrugged. “I couldn’t really say, m’lady. Not being nobility, I’ve never had much cause to visit them.” She had been of equal use when it came to the direction and distance to the nearest village.

  Given up on questioning the girl, Maggie had pretended to read a book, occasionally remembering to turn the pages as she pondered how to slip away. She had wasted the entire day that way and found herself subjected to another formal meal presided over by a bevy of servants that night, at last retreating to her room to consider and reject several other possibilities on how to escape.

  In the end, it wasn’t her own cleverness at all that had allowed her to flee. It was circumstance. Today had dawned gray and gloomy. Maggie had donned the rose-colored gown that had been silently set out overnight, followed Annie unhappily to the dining room to break her fast, then had opted for the library to glare blankly at another book and fret. Then, just before the noon meal, it had begun to rain—one of those slow yet steady, halfhearted drizzles that tended to last forever and cause a lassitude in everyone. Annie had yawned, and then Maggie had had her idea. She’d waited until after the noon meal, then had returned to the library, feigning a yawn or two to complement the real ones that were slipping from the maid. Then, as the girl had begun to nod in her seat, Maggie had closed her book with a snap that had startled the maid back to wakefulness.

  “What a horrid and gloomy day,” she had commented wearily, then added a yawn for good measure. “I think I should like a nap.”

  Much to her relief, rather than looking suspicious, the maid had appeared relieved at the announcement. Annie had escorted Maggie to her room without question, nodding when asked to wake her in time for dinner. After waiting what she considered a suitable
amount of time for the servant to vacate the hall, Maggie had tiptoed over, grasped the doorknob, and slowly eased the door open enough to peer out. What she saw made her freeze at once. Annie had collected a chair from somewhere, positioned it to the side of her door, and settled in, looking as if nothing short of the Second Coming would move her.

  Which verified her belief that the girl was a guard, Maggie supposed vexedly as she eased the door cautiously closed again and slowly turned the knob back before releasing it. Moving despondently away from the door, she had them peered about the room, stymied for a way to get rid of the girl. Something short of murder would be best.

  Maggie considered sending the maid to fetch a beverage, or something to read or eat. But those options would have seen the girl return to find her missing, and Maggie wanted more time to get away before her absence was discovered. In her frustration, she started mumbling some not very nice words learned from her brother, before her gaze at last landed on the doors to the balcony.

  Filled with hope, Maggie promptly hurried across the room and shoved outside. The balcony was on the second floor, of course, which was a problem in itself, but not one that was insurmountable. Maggie had been a rather adoring younger sister and had trailed her brother everywhere until he’d gone away to school. She had run with him, played games more fitting for boys, and had even climbed trees to keep up with Gerald. Which, she realized now, would come in quite handy. There was a lovely tree growing right off this balcony, one large, sturdy-looking branch even reaching accommodatingly over the railing. This will be a breeze, she’d thought with amusement.

  Of course, she hadn’t considered the fact that it had been many years since she’d climbed trees with Gerald. Nor had she considered the problem of her great, hampering skirts, or the rain that made everything slippery. She had barely managed to get out onto the branch and start her descent before she’d lost her footing and tumbled the rest of the way. She’d landed with an “oomph” in the bushes below. They softened her landing somewhat, but not completely. The fall had been enough to knock the air from her lungs, and she had lain there in the drizzle for several moments, aware of nothing but her body’s desperate need for oxygen.

  Once she’d regained her breath, Maggie had eased to her feet and peered about, unsure whether to be relieved or unhappy that no one was around to note her bravery or her near calamity. Pushing such foolishness aside, she had moved quickly to the cover of the surrounding woods and slipped into them.

  Making her way through the woods along the laneway had seemed the safest bet. She hadn’t wished to take the lane itself and risk being spotted, but she also had wanted to avoid finding herself lost in the woods—keeping the lane in sight seemed the only option. Maggie had thought that as long as she kept the lane in sight, she would manage well enough.

  “Ha!” she muttered now. Her plan had started out well enough, but then she had come across a river. There was a bridge over it on the lane that she had not realized they’d traversed. Worse, the bridge was still in plain view of the house, and her fear of being spotted had forced her to make her way deeper into the woods. Moving along the river in search of a place to cross, a shallow spot perhaps, she had not been concerned with getting wet. The constant drizzling rain and her fall into the damp bushes had already soaked her, so she had wandered along, moving farther and farther away from the lane, positive that soon she would find a safe spot to cross. Just a little farther. Just around this bend. Just around that curve.

  A fallen oak had appeared across her path, reaching just to the river’s edge, but not crossing it. She had been forced to make her way around, fighting with branches and brambles and moving deeper into the forest. Then she had pushed through a screen of underbrush . . . to find herself tumbling down an incline the foliage had hidden!

  At the bottom, Maggie found herself not only wet, but mud-covered. She wasn’t the sort to give up, though. Stubborn and prideful had been a couple of unattractive descriptions used for her in the past, and she admitted the designations were still true today. Determined to climb back up and continue on her way, she had found that the incline was impossible to scale. It was steep and slippery with mud from the rain, and her several attempts had only ended in lost footings and several behind-bruising falls. At last, she’d turned her determination to searching for an easier spot to climb. She had traveled an increasing distance from the river and the fallen tree, deeper into wilds, in search of that spot, following the curved and wending incline.

  Maggie wasn’t sure how far she’d journeyed before she discovered a place where the roots of a tree offered enough purchase to pull up out of the small ravine in which she found herself. She had barely reached the top when the snapping of a branch had alerted her to the presence of a nearby animal. Normally the stalwart, non-nervous type, Maggie had not been too alarmed at first, but slowly she became aware of the creepy silence of the rest of the woods. The hair prickled at the back of her neck as she stood listening to the sounds of something making its way through the underbrush from the way she had come. Finding her heart lodging itself in her throat, Maggie felt her body grow numb with fear. As she realized the sounds were drawing nearer, she broke, turning on her heel and making a mad dash in the other direction—running willy-nilly until her fear had eased enough to realize the mistake she’d made. The stupidity of running blindly in the wrong direction had been a hard enough admission, but the fact that she no longer knew the right direction was even more dismaying.

  Maggie was now lost, completely and thoroughly. She was also soaking wet, muddy, cold, and miserable. Such were the results of her grand plan of escape.

  Heaving out an irritated breath she peered at the surrounding woods, searching for something that might show her back the way she had come. Unfortunately, nothing looked familiar. She had not thought to note landmarks in her mad dash.

  Her gaze rose to the trees surrounding her, and she briefly considered climbing one. Perhaps at its leafy summit she might glimpse the towers of Ramsey manor and, in that way, get her bearings. But the accident escaping her balcony was enough to change her mind; she was in no shape to climb trees anymore, was more likely to break her neck than anything.

  She took a moment to wallow in self-pity, then forced herself to straighten her shoulders, stand, and get on with her escape. She had no intention of just sitting still until death by starvation or exposure overtook her. She wasn’t the sort for such foolishness. Besides, wasn’t she perfectly capable of taking care of herself? Else she would have sold off her brother’s home and moved to the country, as any other woman would have done in her circumstances. Instead, she had taken up her brother’s job and set about trying to support his home and servants. She could overcome any difficulty. She would simply head north until she came across something. But . . . which way was north?

  Maggie pondered briefly, fairly sure she had heard that moss grew on the north side of trees . . . or was it the south? West? Oh, dear. Sighing, she decided she needed another manner of determining directions. Didn’t the sun rise in the east and set in the west? Or was it the other way around? Oh, this was damnably irritating. She really should have paid more attention to such things.

  At last, she simply decided that she would move toward the sun; in that way she could at least avoid walking in circles. The plan might have been a good one, if the combination of tree branches and gray clouds overhead had not obscured any possibility of finding the bloody sun.

  It was beginning to appear that she was well and truly lost. Of course, it was all Lord Ramsey’s fault. The ass. Had he not decided to stick his nose in her business and kidnap her . . . well, she wouldn’t be here!

  Satisfied that she had laid the blame firmly where it belonged, she wasted a moment attempting to shake some of the mud off her skirts, then straightened her shoulders and marched onward. If she simply kept moving, she would come across something. Eventually.

  Much to Maggie’s amazement, she hadn’t been walking very long when the so
und of rushing water caught her ear. Pausing, she listened to see which direction it came from, then moved toward it. Relief poured through her as she found herself stepping out onto the bank of the river. She had found it! Even better, she had come upon the waterway at a spot where it twisted and narrowed, one edge jutting out farther than normal and flat rocks making something of a path across. Some of her optimism returning, Maggie started over the stones, moving cautiously from rock to rock, until at last she leaped to the opposite side.

  Buoyed by her success, she paused to debate her next move. Should she follow the river back to the land, back to where the Ramsey estate was in sight, then continue from there? Or should she simply move steadily away from the river and hope she came across the main road that led to Ramsey’s drive?

  The cautious side of her suggested that returning along the river was the smartest move, but that seemed to entail the loss of a great deal of time, and it was already beginning to grow darker. She had already wasted a good stretch.

  The daring side of Maggie, that which had encouraged her to take such risks as donning the persona of G. W. Clark and visiting brothels or other unsavory spots in search of stories, was urging her to simply continue forward, away from the river.

  She would likely come to the main road just as swiftly, but ages away from the Ramsey drive.

  Maggie, as usual, found herself trusting the less cautious part of her personality. She pushed determinedly onward. It was only a few moments later that she found herself stumbling out of the trees. She came out on the side of a laneway, this one wider and—judging by its rutted state—better traveled than the Ramsey drive. Maggie fought free of the bushes, pleasure and relief just starting to wash over her when a carriage trundled past.

  Her first instinct was to flee for cover, lest it be Lord Ramsey. Maggie followed that instinct and whirled about to dart back into the underbrush. She knew, even as she did so, that the action came too late; she caught a glimpse of a man’s face through the carriage window as she spun away. Maggie didn’t recognize the man. She was sure it wasn’t Lord Ramsey. She was also sure that she had been spotted. Still, her survival instinct sent her crashing into the woods to hide herself behind a handy tree.