Encounter with Mr. Bad Luck Page 7

  Seven

  Later, Isha and Maryan sat in the morning room, dressed and waiting for Mr. Harkness. The clock had struck noon fifteen minutes ago. In the picnic basket, the warm meat pies had grown cold and the cool lemonade had warmed.

  "Where could he be?" Maryan rose and paced the room for the tenth time.

  Isha closed her book and sighed. "Are you certain he said eleven o'clock?"

  "Of course I am."

  "Are you certain he even meant today?"

  "Isha, I'm certain. Besides, Mama heard him. She gave her consent."

  Isha placed her copy of Blackwell's Handbook of Zoology on the table. "Well, perhaps he forgot. I say we eat. I'm famished."

  "How can you think of food at a time like this?"

  "Let me remind you that I missed my own breakfast to mend the hem on your dress."

  Maryan wrung her hands, ignoring Isha's sacrifice. "What if he decided to walk out with Edith Garnet instead? He danced four times with her last night, you know."

  "Yes, but she didn't make him smile as you did."

  Maryan grinned giddily. "He did like me, didn't he?"

  "Oh, yes."

  Just then, they heard a knock on the front door. Maryan straightened. "He's here! He came!"

  Isha checked herself in the glass, removing her spectacles and slipping them into her skirt pocket. They had dismissed their footmen long ago, keeping only a charwoman to tend to the rooms and a kitchen maid to see to the meals. Opening the front door now fell to Isha.

  Andrew Harkness pulled his hat off. He was the picture of handsomeness, dressed in buff breeches and a forest green coat. "Good afternoon, Miss Elmwood. I'm terribly sorry to be so late."

  "It's quite all right, Mr. Harkness. We were rather worried about you. Do come in."

  He trudged guiltily into the morning room behind Isha. When he saw Maryan, he executed a curt bow.

  "Miss Maryan, I can't begin to apologize for my tardiness. Do forgive me."

  Maryan beamed at him. "We thought you had forgotten about us."

  "Hardly. I've been looking forward to our meeting all morning. I must say, Miss Maryan, you look even more fetching today than you did last night."

  Maryan bit her lower lip, her fingertips stroking the pink satin ribbon at her waist. "Thank you, Mr. Harkness. Won't you sit down?"

  Isha found it utterly charming to see her sister so completely besotted with a young man. "Tea, Mr. Harkness? It's a fresh pot, still hot."

  "Thank you, yes. I can't tell you what a relief it is to finally arrive. My journey here was not without incident. In fact, I had the most extraordinary run of bad luck."

  The cup and saucer rattled in Isha's weakened hand. "Bad luck? What do you mean?" The events of last night, which she had chalked up to bad shrimp, came flooding back.

  "I really couldn't explain it. Do you know, I've been to Blackheath a dozen times, but for some reason, this morning I got lost and found myself in Beckenham. When I discovered my mistake, I turned round and headed back the way I came, only to find that a large tree had fallen across the path. I had to ride two miles out of my way just to meet the main road again."

  Isha's breath came sharp and ragged. "A coincidence, surely," she claimed, trying to convince herself.

  "And then my horse's shoe came loose. Do you know how difficult it is to remove a loose shoe from a surly horse in the middle of the forest without any tools?"

  "Oh, dear," Maryan exclaimed.

  "That's not all," he continued. "Then I was beset by a highwayman."

  Maryan gasped. "My goodness!"

  "He pulled out a club and told me to hand over my coins. If I'd had my pistol, things would have ended differently. As it was, he lifted all that I was carrying. Funny…I always remembered this village as being rather a sleepy place. Not a nest of thieves."

  "What did he look like?" asked Isha.

  Maryan interrupted. "Isha, perhaps we should first be asking if Mr. Harkness was hurt."

  Isha pursed her lips. "Very well. Were you hurt, and what did he look like?"

  He shrugged. "Just some old ruffian, I suppose. Withered, with grizzled hair and a beard. Looked as if he hadn't washed in years."

  Relief washed over Isha. It wasn't him. It was all just a painful coincidence.

  "Kept smirking though," said Mr. Harkness, setting his cup down. "As if he was enjoying his own private joke. Tatters all over his clothes, but a brand new red kerchief tied round his neck."

  Relief dissolved into worry. So Mr. Bad Luck was not a figment of her imagination after all. He had warned her quite plainly that he would do all he could to keep Mr. Harkness away from Maryan, and by Jove, that's exactly what he was trying to do. Against Isha's express wish, he was meddling in her sister's life. She had to put a stop to this once and for all.

  But first, she had to find him.