by Georgie Lee
‘It will, eventually, but you need a bit of seasoning first.’
‘Seasoning?’ If the man’s rapacious business sense wasn’t the talk of the county, and the whole reason she’d agreed to his proposal, she would think him a fool.
He laid his fingers along the edge of her jaw and turned her face gently from side to side, his firm skin against hers increasing the strange hunger gnawing at her insides. A rakish smile curled up the sides of his mouth, making him as tempting as a minor sin. She held her breath, waiting for more, but then he let go of her. ‘I’m curious to see what you make of yourself and the business. Don’t disappoint me.’
He took the tricorn from beneath his arm and tucked it down over his dark hair. He bowed, his intense gaze never leaving hers until he turned and strode out the door.
The crack of the whip as their carriage drove away snapped her out of her stupor. She stared at the deeds in her hand. It was hers, all of it, to do with as she pleased, until he came back.
She spun in a slow circle, taking in the room—her room, her house, her business.
A smile as wicked as it was determined spread across her lips. Yes, she’d make something of herself, Butler Plantation and Vincent’s old business. Then, she’d find a way to free herself of this vow to Mr Devlin and never be under any man’s control again.
* * *
A cool breeze drifted up from the river, the last of the summer heat and humidity having abated during the night. Autumn was crisp in the air and in the touches of brown and gold beginning to show in the leaves of the trees. Cassandra stepped on to the back porch to watch the farmers unload barrels of apples newly arrived from the cooler Shenandoah Valley. The cargo was piled up on the new dock, the one Richard had paid to construct shortly after their wedding. At first she’d objected to using his pirate money to benefit Belle View, but the dock wasn’t only for their advantage. The many farmers who needed to transport their goods to other ports used it, too, as well as the new distillery Richard had also built to turn the steady supply of arriving apples into cider to ship north. She was honouring her father’s memory with their generosity and helping the farmers around them the way he’d always wanted to do.
‘Good morning, Mrs Davenport,’ Richard called to her. He strode up the hill from the dock with the swagger of a planter, not the arrogance of a pirate. Days in the field kept his skin dark and he still favoured the same plain frock coat he’d worn aboard ship, but there was no sword fastened at his hip nor a set of pistols slung across his chest. They’d been replaced by the riding crop he carried to oversee the fields or to ride out to where the new mill was taking shape beside a tributary of the river. It was another business to protect them during the lean harvest years while helping nearby farmers survive. ‘Have you taken to becoming a lady of leisure?’
‘Far from it.’ She caught his arm when he came up the stairs, and they strolled into the house. His boots thumped over the newly polished floors as they passed the dining room. Inside, Mrs Sween stood with Dinah and Jane arranging flowers in the silver holder on top of the table. The dust was gone and everything glistened like it used to when Cassandra was a child. Her mother would have been proud to see it. ‘I was enjoying tea with Dr Abney this morning. He told me quite the bit of news.’
Richard took her in his arms, his skin hot and heady with the scent of wood and misty air from his morning activity. ‘If it’s about Captain Dehesa, I’ve already heard. He’s gone to the French city of New Orleans with the hope of becoming a respectable landowner and a pillar of the burgeoning community.’
‘You think he’ll abide by the pardon for good? He’s a man who likes adventure too much to settle for farming.’
‘I hear there’s more thievery than farming in New Orleans. It’ll take a man like Captain Dehesa to help tame it, assuming some beauty doesn’t tame him first.’
‘Like I tamed you?’ She slipped her arms around his waist.
‘I’m fully ensnared.’ He bent to kiss her, but she ducked her head.
‘Do you ever miss the adventure?’ She straightened his white cravat, anxious for his answer.
‘No, not at all.’ Richard swept off his hat, holding it behind her as he pressed his forehead against hers. ‘Life with you is all the excitement I need.’
He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face so his lips brushed her cheek, eliciting a growl of frustration from him.
‘It’s about to become more interesting.’ She smoothed a wrinkle in his frock coat.
He pulled back. ‘What else did Dr Abney tell you?’
‘There’ll be a new baby in the nursery come spring.’
A smile broke across his lips, as wide and deep as the James River. ‘A child?’
‘A little boy with your dark hair.’
‘Or another girl as pretty as our Dinah.’
‘Which one do you want?’
He leaned in close, his eyes holding hers with all the passion in his heart. ‘It doesn’t matter so long as all of us are together.’
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story,
check out Georgie Lee’s
SCANDAL AND DISGRACE miniseries
RESCUED FROM RUIN
MISS MARIANNE’S DISGRACE
COURTING DANGER WITH MR DYER
And check out the first book in her
THE BUSINESS OF MARRIAGE miniseries
A DEBT PAID IN MARRIAGE
Keep reading for an excerpt from BEGUILED BY THE FORBIDDEN KNIGHT by Elisabeth Hobbes.
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Beguiled by the Forbidden Knight
by Elisabeth Hobbes
Chapter One
Yorkshire—May 1071
‘Tell me, madam, where is my bride?’
Gilbert du Rospez flung his arms wide in a gesture that encapsulated frustration, surprise and disbelief. He turned a circle around the brightly lit hall, then once again faced the impassive woman sitting on the dais.
‘I have travelled from York to Haxby in appalling weather, and at risk to my safety, with the sole intention of meeting your daughter and now I discover she is not here!’
From his place at the left side of the hall Guilherm FitzLannion hid a frown as he watched his liege lord and childhood friend grow increasingly irate. The journey from the city to this manor house was manageable within half a day on foot, and on horseback had been even faster. The Galtres Forest had provided shelter from the sudden May rainfall and there
had been no sightings of any trouble. Gilbert was merely attempting to impose his status on his audience and, as usual, he showed no sense of how to do it with poise or effectiveness.
With his even features, chestnut hair cut in the fashionable style and a slim frame, Gilbert seldom failed to charm anyone he raised his soft brown eyes to, but if the glowing youth was hoping to make a good impression on his future mother-in-law he was failing. From her seat above them, Emma, Countess of Haxby, continued to look down her nose with an expression of disdain.
‘Perhaps you should have checked before setting out on such an—’ Emma smirked openly ‘—arduous journey whether it was one worth making. My daughter has not lived with me for almost two years.’
Her blue eyes became flint. ‘I sent her away in the winter of sixty-nine when your King marched to retake York from Edgar and his allies. I did not want her in the city when he was wintering there.’
Your King, Gui noted. He had not expected her to call William ‘the Great’, but this open disdain was a clear signal. If Gui had wondered which claimant to the throne of England Herik of Haxby’s widow might have supported in the tumultuous events five years previously, this was the evidence to confirm it. She either believed the oath-breaker Harold’s claim had been valid, or perhaps she had supported the Aetheling in his failed attempts the previous year to take York back from Norman control.
Gui flexed and bunched the fingers of his right hand and ignored the creeping itch in his left wrist. He looked at Gilbert to see if the nobleman had also picked up the inflection. Doubtful. Lady Emma would have to openly call William ‘the bastard’ for Gilbert to notice her hostility.
‘I know you have sent her away. You are telling me nothing I don’t know and I believe you are being intentionally unhelpful!’ Gilbert gazed on her with eyes full of injured dignity. ‘The question is, to where did you send her?’
Gilbert’s voice was rising and a blush was creeping up his throat. Any moment now he would stamp his foot. Gui noticed a shift in the stance of the attendants standing at either side of Emma’s chair. The two men were middle-aged and wore short swords buckled at their waists. Emma must have considerable influence to be allowed to keep armed guards after William’s determination to bring Yorkshire’s defiant inhabitants firmly under his yoke.
Gui and Gilbert carried swords so Gui doubted they were in any real danger. Part of Gui relished the idea of drawing English blood and teaching these northern curs that they were under the rule of William of Normandy. Another part grew clammy with cold sweat at the thought of taking arms in battle. The sword had never been his preferred weapon, but he no longer wielded the bow that he had loved since his youth.
In any case, William had decreed that was not the way things were to be done. England had been taken by force and subjugated by brutality, but would be held and secured through marriage and creating alliances.
Gui was growing tired of listening to the demands and refusals going back and forth. It was time to intervene and smooth the path for his lord as he had done so many times before. That was why Gilbert had brought him today after all, not to fight. He was no use in that respect any longer.
Gui swallowed the bitter bile that caused his stomach to twist in self-loathing. He cleared his throat and stepped forward to stand beside Gilbert.
‘Lady Emma, it’s time to put an end to this nonsense. Be gracious enough to tell us where the maid is. Now.’
Emma raised an eyebrow in surprise. Her watery blue eyes raked over Gui. She blinked, but did not outwardly show aversion at the sight of him as most women did. Gui felt a grudging touch of admiration for the woman who faced down these unwelcome visitors in her house and lands with such assurance.
‘Who are you to speak so boldly on a matter which does not concern you?’
What must she think of him in comparison to the noble knight he now stood beside? He was a head taller than Gilbert and with a broader frame. He bore a nose that was slightly crooked after a break during his childhood, and his time in William’s army had left him with a scar that split his lower lip into two uneven parts and eyes that were charcoal smuts from frequent sleepless nights. He felt like a rough tree trunk beside a tower of polished oak.
He thanked his stars that his greatest disfigurement was not immediately apparent to an onlooker and folded his right arm over his left, masking the padded leather glove he always wore. He turned his eyes to meet the widow’s gaze, boldly as she had called it.
He gave Lady Emma a smile, knowing that even when he meant it—which was rare these days—his scarred grin was more likely to provoke repulsion than kindness.
‘My name is Guilherm FitzLannion, my lady. I am no one of import.’
No one. Not a man of rank, simply an archer who had followed his friend and lord to England to seek his fortune and failed to find it.
Gilbert clapped a hand tightly on Gui’s shoulder and gave him a wide smile. The sorrow in his eyes was replaced with a warmer expression.
‘Gui is my closest confidant and my advisor, Lady Emma. He reminds me that I need to temper my speech at times and perhaps now is such a time.’
Emma flashed Gui a look of understanding that took him by surprise. Perhaps she had spent the years before widowhood smoothing the path of a rash nobleman.
Gui bowed his head. ‘Sir Gilbert does me too much kindness. I would add my petition to his, however. Delaying this affair simply to provoke us will solve nothing. Whether or not you accept William as King, he has spoken on this matter.’
He gave another crooked smile, took a step back and waited.
‘She is with her companion—a foundling left with us as a child—at the priory at Byland near Elmeslac,’ Emma said after a long pause.
Her voice caught. Her eyes were blank, viewing something other than the room before her. Were her nights plagued by bad dreams as Gui’s were? Did she hear the same cries?
‘Sigrun was already of fragile temperament and is not strong in body or spirit,’ Emma continued. ‘She narrowly escaped defilement, first at the hands of the rebels, then by men such as yourself who came to take back the city. Despite his determination to break our shire, I believe William of Normandy respects the sanctity of holy orders enough to allow a maiden to be safe in a priory from abuse and slaughter.’
Her voice dripped with contempt. Having travelled from the south through the ruins of what had once been prosperous villages, Gui found it hard to blame her. He studied his boots, ashamed of his countrymen, though he had not taken part in such dishonourable exploits.
‘My heart aches for the maid’s distress, but if you have sent her away you must fetch her back,’ Gilbert blustered.
A gleeful smile flitted across Emma’s lips.
‘That is out of the question.’
Gilbert growled deep in his throat and tensed his shoulders. Gui laid a restraining hand on his friend’s forearm, foreseeing a return to the hostilities he had hoped were ending.
‘You are making this harder than necessary, my lady,’ he cautioned.
Emma rose from her seat and walked slowly to the men. Her attendants stayed at their stations, but both stood poised to act if the need arose. Did these men of the north think Normans so dishonourable that they would attack a woman in her own home?
Emma stopped before Gui.
‘I am a poor widow with few resources. I do not have the means to escort my child here safely and she cannot travel alone, not while bands of rebels and outlaws roam through Yorkshire. It is simply not safe.’
‘Your daughter will come to no harm,’ Gui assured her.
‘You thought York was safe after FitzOsbern was given the garrison in the city, but Edgar and Sweyn of Denmark proved you wrong! Yorkshire may rise in rebellion again at any time.’
‘Now Alan Rouz holds the estate as Tenant in Chief, Yorkshire will not rise again. William has seen to that. Bare
ly a village stands between here and Durham.’
Gui and Gilbert had marched with Alan the Red of Brittany to take York back when the Aetheling had attacked for the second time. Rouz had been granted land and William had decreed that Gilbert was the man to marry the sister of the young eorl who had taken arms against him.
Emma looked from man to man. Approaching her late thirties and therefore at least ten years older than either man, she was still an attractive, elegant woman with full breasts and a gently curved belly. Where once he might have taken his time to appreciate her beauty, Gui remained unmoved, simply noting that time and her troubles had not diminished her looks.
‘I agreed to allow my daughter to marry you, Sir Gilbert,’ Emma said coldly, ‘but I do not have to like it. Nor do I have to aid you in the process.’
‘You did not agree. You were given no choice,’ Gui pointed out. Neither was Gilbert, he thought ruefully. ‘A marriage was settled in return for your lands not being devastated after your son joined with the Aetheling’s forces.’
Emma’s eyes filled with hatred. Gui shrugged. A daughter’s virginity was a small price to pay in return for the guarantee of safety for those who lived on her manor, especially when the girl would have been doubtless married off to some straw-haired eorl in any case.
‘Sigrun is a compliant and dutiful maiden and will do what is required of her. If you wish to marry my daughter go and bring her here yourself!’ Emma lifted her chin. ‘I’ll send word ahead that the prioress should expect the noble Gilbert du Rospez to come claim his bride. Until you marry her, this house is mine so leave it now. Both of you.’
She turned on her heel and vanished behind the thick embroidered hangings into her private quarters, leaving Gui, Gilbert and their escort standing alone. Her attendants moved silently to stand before the curtain and block entry.
Gilbert spun on his heel and marched out of the building with as much dignity as the departed woman. Outside he sagged against the beam of wood at the corner of the building and sighed.