“You keep a civil tongue in your head, miss!” Agatha snapped.
William, his full face flushed from the effects of several glasses of wine served with lunch, said heartily, “Now, now, pet, mustn’t ring a peal over our little Nicole, remember how much we owe to her. I expect when she is older she will be more interested in all the scandal broth that is so dear to your heart.”
For once Nicole was grateful for her uncle’s intervention, but that didn’t make her any fonder of him. She kept her eyes lowered and wished for the hundredth time that she, too, had been on the sloop that terrible day. She hated these constant scrabbles that erupted over nothing and her uncle’s patronizing defense was sometimes worse than her aunt’s scolds.
“I doubt it. She is the dullest child.”
“Don’t fly up in the boughs, my love. When Nicole has her season, she will change. I have no doubt.”
“But Nicole won’t have a season.”
Nicole’s head jerked up and she intercepted the angry look her uncle flashed to her aunt. “Why won’t I have a season?” she asked.
Her aunt appeared flustered and ignored the question. “That’s enough out of you! You may leave the table.”
Knowing something was wrong, Nicole stiffened, her jaw set with resolution. “Why won’t I have a season?”
“Because you are to marry Edward,” Agatha said. “There is no need to waste money on a London season to find you a husband. It is all arranged.”
Speechless, Nicole could only stare at her aunt. Marry Edward! Marry that lazy, malicious son of the two people she most detested in the world? “Edward!” she burst out with loathing. “I will not marry him! You must be mad to think that I would.”
Her uncle, his face even redder with temper, commanded, “Now, my girl, don’t get uppity and you listen here! You have a great fortune and we are your only relatives. We don’t want to see you taken advantage of. Marriage with Edward will make certain everything is kept in the family. We won’t have any fortune hunters marrying you for your money.”
“No, you are fortune hunters enough!” Nicole spat, her eyes dark with fury, a becoming flush staining her cheeks. She jumped up from her chair and in a voice trembling with rage she said, “You forget that you are not really any relation of mine at all. That the fortune you worry about does not belong to your family, but to mine.” Turning on her heels and ignoring her uncle’s shout for her to stay, she ran from the room, out of the house, and toward the stables.
In the quiet of the stables, she leaned her hot face on the silken neck of her horse. No longer only hers, she thought bitterly, for rather than waste the money to buy Edward a horse of his own, William had ordered that her horse would be used by Edward whenever he wanted.
Maxwell had been a gift to her from her father on her eleventh birthday and it galled her to have to share the thoroughbred bay gelding with anyone who mistreated an animal as Edward did. With tender fingers, she traced the half-healed wound made by Edward’s spurs on the gleaming hide. Oh, why couldn’t Edward ride some other horse?
There were others in the stable, but none so fine as Maxwell, for her uncle, in what he said was an economy move, had sold all her father’s handsome hunters and thoroughbreds, leaving the stable shrunk to only a few hacks and a pair of carriage horses. Maxwell, too, would have joined the others under the hammer, only Nicole had roused herself from the grief of her family’s deaths to defy him, demanding to know by what right he sold things that were hers. Her uncle had backed down, not wishing questions asked about where the money went.
The sound of footsteps brought Nicole back to the present and caused her to shrink into a corner of the stall. Just now she didn’t want to talk to anyone. She was hoping desperately whoever it was would leave, but instead of, leaving, someone else joined the first person in the stable. Nicole heard a soft mutter, a gasp of laughter, and then silence. Curious, she peered round the edge of the stall and stood transfixed at the sight of Edward, his breeches undone, sprawled in a pile of soft hay with Ellen, the kitchen maid. Edward’s hands disappeared under Ellen’s skirts and Nicole blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing.
“Oh, Master Edward, whatever would Miss Nicole think if she could see you now?” teased Ellen, her thighs spreading before Nicole’s horrified gaze as Edward lay on top of her. Nicole was not so young that she didn’t know what they were doing and sick with disgust she turned away from the sight.
Edward gave an audible grunt, muttering thickly, “Little Nicole will do as she’s damn well told.”
Nicole tasted bile and she was terrified that she would be sick. But she fought back the wave of sickness and with her eyes closed, her mind blank, she waited for them to finish the sordid act. After what seemed an eternity, she thought she heard them rising to their feet and then Edward said, “Tonight, you’ll come to my room?”
Ellen’s murmur was lost to Nicole and for that she was thankful. She had heard enough, she didn’t want to hear any more. She stayed there, frozen for several minutes after they had departed and then driven like a vixen before the hounds, she stumbled and ran in the direction of the woods that grew beyond the stables. Blindly she found her way to the deserted summer pavilion,her favorite retreat.
The pavilion wasn’t on Ashford land, but belonged to their nearest neighbor, Baron Saxon. It had always held an attraction for Nicole and lately she found solace in creeping like an intruder into the attic of the building to daydream her woes away. The pavilion was associated with happier times, times when she had been very young and there had been a great deal of visiting between the Ashfords and the Saxons.
The pavilion had fallen into disrepair over the years, the once soft green couches and lounges with their faded scarlet cushions were dull, the finish cracked and peeling. The building itself was no longer a bright cheerful yellow, but a sad, muddy color that gave little clue to its past charm.
Years before, she and Giles had discovered the small attic, which in the past had been used for winter storage. The twins had instantly made it their secret place—a place where no one bothered them, a place where together they would lie on the floor, arms folded under their heads, and stare through the hole in the roof at the blue sky, sharing secrets and dreaming out loud. But that was in the past, Nicole thought, as she climbed up into the attic.
The events of today had clarified the misery she felt when she viewed the future. No longer could she tell herself that things would right themselves. Obviously, they would not. The Markhams believed that her fortune and her life were theirs to dispose of as they wished. But she was not going to let it happen, she vowed, the spirit and determination that had always been hers wakening and stirring from its long sleep.
What was she to do? she wondered. She would not fall in with the Markham’s plans. Edward was revolting and her nose wrinkled with distaste as she remembered the faint sounds that had drifted from the shifting bodies under the hay—Edward was not going to do that to her.
Resolved upon that point, she felt somewhat better. But knowing that unless the fates were kind or she took fate into her own hands she was doomed to wed Edward, she considered escape. Somehow, she had to remove herself from their greedy clutches.
With half-hearted enthusiasm, she dwelt upon the methods she could use to accomplish this and because thirteen is very young she was either unaware of or ignored all the obvious obstacles in her path. First, her fancy alighted upon becoming a barmaid at an unknown posting house far away, where the kindly owner and his wife would take her to their bosom. Next, she decided that instead she would run away to London and offer her services as a parlor maid…or perhaps a companion to some old charming woman…or was she too young? Or best, she would disguise herself as a boy and have an adventurous life in the Army—or, better yet, the Royal Navy—hadn’t Giles planned to be a naval officer, hadn’t Admiral Nelson been her hero as well as Giles’s? When she had been informed laughingly by her father that she couldn’t follow her brother to sea, hadn’t
the twins planned to smuggle her aboard her brother’s ship, where they would have a jolly time fighting the French! The more she thought of it, the more the almost-forgotten plan appealed to her. She gave a great sigh, wishing forlornly for Giles’s comforting presence.
The sound of someone’s noisy approach to the pavilion scattered her thoughts and she peeked down from her attic hiding place, breathing a sigh of relief when she recognized Sally’s slightly plump figure.
Sally’s father had been the head groom at Ashland before William, in another economy mood, had fired him: Nicole and Sally had known each other all their lives. Sally Brown was older than Nicole, soon to reach her sixteenth birthday; of late the friendship had begun to suffer because of Sally’s increasing interest in the opposite sex—something that bored Nicole.
“Nicky are you up there?” Sally called once she had walked to the middle of the pavilion.
“Yes. What do you want?”
“Come down, you silly goose, and I’ll tell you.”
Nicole made a face, certain that Sally was about to regale her with a silly tale about the Squire’s son’s amorous interest in Sally’s ripening body. Still Nicole was pleased to see Sally today, for Sally was a jolly sort and her chatter would take Nicole’s mind off the Markham family and the departure of Mrs. Eggleston.
Her eyes dreamy, Sally breathed, “Oh, Nicky, you should see the gorgeous creature that is putting up at the inn. He just arrived but Peg says he’ll only be staying tonight. How I wish I worked at the inn! Peg meets the handsomest coves and gets paid for it too.”
Nicole grimaced. “I thought you had something interesting to tell me.”
“But I do! You ought to see him—tall, with hair so dark it really is blue-black, and his eyes reminded me of a lion’s, gold and”—Sally gave a delicious shiver—“just as dangerous.”
“How do you know that? Have you seen him?” Nicole demanded, interested despite herself.
“Oh, yes! Peg let me serve him lunch and I can tell you I could hardly keep myself from touching him—he is so unlike everyone here. His name is Captain Saber, he’s an American, and Peg says that he stopped here to visit one night with friends and then tomorrow is leaving for London. Just think, he has a ship all his own! According to Peg he’s been in England buying cargo for sale in America, but she heard him say he wouldn’t mind if one or two of our Surrey lads wanted to sign up with him.” Sally giggled. “Can you imagine, Jem or even Tim going away to sea? If Captain Saber only knew—Beddington’s Corner is no place to find seamen.”
An arrested expression in the topaz eyes, Nicole stared at her friend. “Seamen? You say this man is after seamen?”
“I guess so, at least that’s what he told Peg when she asked, ever so politely, you know, what brought him here.” As if to excuse her sister’s curiosity, Sally added, “It isn’t often that we get strangers here and Peg just wondered what a gentrycove like him was doing in Beddington’s Corner.”
Nicole, her mind already busy with an incredible plan, asked impatiently, “Where is he now?”
Sally shrugged. “I don’t know, he left right after lunch. Most likely he won’t be back until late.” Sally sighed. “I’ll probably never see him again.”
“Shush!” Nicole ordered. Her head turning in the direction that Sally had come, she listened for a second before saying, “Quick! Up in the attic, someone is coming.”
“What difference does that make?” Sally asked, but Nicole paid her no heed, already scrambling up into the attic. Sally hesitated a half second and then with a resigned air followed the younger girl. She had barely joined Nicole and positioned herself so that she could look down into the pavilion, when a tall man entered the building.
Sally gave a smothered gasp. “It’s him! It’s Captain Saber.”
The tall man below them didn’t hear those barely audible words and never glanced up. He stood in the middle of the building and surveyed it slowly, as Nicole watched, fascinated by the view she had of his dark, bearded features.
For several moments, the man stayed in the pavilion looking around and Nicole had the sensation that this place held memories for him and that they were not happy ones. He picked up one of the faded scarlet cushions and with an angry exclamation threw it violently away.
Nicole heard the second man’s approach at the same time the man below her did, because she saw him stiffen and turn to stare at the door. Astonished, she and Sally watched as Lord Saxon’s only living son, Robert Saxon, entered the building.
“I wondered if you would meet me after all,” Robert said by way of greeting.
Captain Saber smiled, his teeth very white in the black beard. “I’m not a youth anymore to be manipulated at will. I’m prepared for you this time—last time I trusted you.”
Robert regarded him, taking in the tall, lithe frame, the broad shoulders, and the long, lean legs. Giving no sign that the other’s words disturbed him, he said, “It was fortunate I met you on the way to the house. It would never do for Simon to see you and be distressed.”
“So you said—but you’ll excuse me if I doubt your word.”
Robert smiled thinly. “But you don’t exactly doubt my word, do you? If you did, you wouldn’t have agreed to meet me here first. Do you want to hear what I have to say?”
The gold eyes narrowed. “Not particularly, but since I was foolish enough to meet you instead of continuing on my way, I shall have to, won’t I?”
“It would appear so,” Robert agreed before saying, “My father suffered a nearly fatal seizure last month and it was feared he would die. He is quite ill and I doubt that your presence will be of any help to him. He has surprised all of us and is on the mend, to allay any fears you may have that he is on his deathbed. But any shock, any, shall we say, unpleasant surprise could very well bring on a fatal attack. If you are so set upon seeing him—seeing a man who does not want, I might add, to see you—I’d suggest you wait a few weeks.”
“I cannot. It was a whim that brought me here today.” Captain Saber hesitated. “I would like to see him, Robert,” he said at last. “My ship sails at the end of this week; I doubt I shall ever return to England. My life is in America; there is nothing here for me—you have no worry that I shall force myself on him, to start tongues wagging once more. I only wanted to see him, to make things easier between us.”
“How admirable,” Robert said dryly, unmoved by the passionate thread in the other’s voice. “But not possible. I would suggest you leave for your ship tonight and forget about ever seeing Lord Saxon again.” Recognizing the stubborn set to the other’s fine mouth, he said carefully, “I know that you do not trust me and perhaps with good reason, but what I did I did only for your own good.” At Saber’s furious step forward, Robert held up a hand. “Hear me out! I do not want to haggle with you. You do not trust me, but in this case, I think you should. I will try to prepare the way for you if you insist. Let me talk to Simon first. I shall try to broach the subject and make it less of a shock. But I ask that you be prepared for me to fail.”
“Why should I trust you? How do I know that you are not lying to me?”
“You don’t,” Robert replied carelessly. “But the state of Lord Saxon’s health can be verified easily. Believe me when I say any unsettling event could precipitate a fatal attack. If you want to take that chance go ahead and force yourself on him.”
“Goddamn you! You know that I dare not after what you have told me. Very well then, in this case I shall do what you say. But so help me, Robert, if you—”
“My dear young man! You forget he is my father and that I would do nothing to upset him. As for you—you interest me not at all but I shall try to arrange an interview for you. Now where are you staying?”
His jaw tight, Captain Saber muttered, “At the Bell and Candle. Robert, I meant it when I said I have no desire to create a scandal. And I must return to London tomorrow. You will have to act this evening. I cannot delay my departure beyond tomorrow afternoon.” Apolo
getically, he added, “I know I should have notified someone of my return as soon as I arrived in England, but I had no thought of seeing him. It was only yesterday that I wondered if perhaps I couldn’t try to lessen the constraint between us.”
“Mmmm. It is too bad the idea ever crossed your mind. But since it has, I shall do what I can. If you do not hear from me by ten o’clock tomorrow, then I shall have failed and you can be assured that any attempt on your part to intrude upon a sick old man will have dangerous consequences.”
Saber swallowed with difficulty. “Very well, I understand. If I do not hear from you, I shall know that nothing has changed.”
The two men exchanged no further conversation, leaving together, going in opposite directions as soon as they quitted the pavilion.
Nicole and Sally regarded each other.
“Well!” Sally burst out at last. “I wonder what that was about? Why does Captain Saber want to see Lord Saxon so badly?”
Nicole said nothing; the conversation she had overheard was not of much interest to her. What did interest her, though, was that Captain Saber was here in Surrey and that he wanted seamen. That thought was uppermost in her mind and she was oblivious to anything else. Who cared why he wanted to see old Lord Saxon? Or why Robert Saxon was willing to intervene for him? She didn’t. Aloud she said, “Who knows? He probably was an underbutler and pinched some silver and now wants to ease his guilty conscience.”
“I don’t think it was that. More than likely though,” Sally admitted with disappointment. “Wouldn’t it have been exciting if it were something more than that, though? Like if—”
“Oh, Sally, will you ceased,” Nicole muttered, wishing that Sally would leave her alone with her thoughts.
Not unnaturally Sally took offense at Nicole’s manner and remarked huffily, “Well, if that’s the way you feel! I’ll just let you sulk up here by yourself. You are so young, Nicole. I don’t know why I bother with you.”
Lady Vixen (The Reckless Brides, Book 3) Page 3