"No matter what he's been up to on Saturday night, Miss Burke?"
She blushed again and it fascinated him. It was as if she was able to leave all of that starchy governessing behind once she entered the bedroom, and don it again when she was out in public. The parts of Miss Lydia Burke made for a fascinating whole, one he intended to explore further, for many more years. He knew what he wanted, and he'd never let obstacles keep him from his goals. There were many ways he could ensure she was spliced to his side and accompanying her and Mattie to church would help in that campaign.
She'd have to make up her mind soon. Last night all their delightful play caused him to forget himself and spend inside her. He had no need to prove his virility--proof was sitting beside him with strawberry jam smeared on her rosy little cheeks--but the idea of Lydia carrying his babe, her belly rounding and her already lush bosom becoming fuller was an image that struck him as highly desirable. She would not be happy though if she felt forced to marry, not an independent soul like her. Lydia Burke was not the kind of woman who could be carried off like a treasure chest.
No, he would have to make changes in his life. Be Huntley, not St. Armand. Toddling off to church was an excellent first step.
He'd dressed for church, not to make a piratical statement, and was pleased with himself. Sober tobacco brown coat, conservative cream striped waistcoat, the smallest of plain gold rings through his ear. It was a good disguise and he saw some of the older ladies, who everyone knew were the real power brokers in any small village, nod in approval as they entered All Saints.
The Reverend Mr. Castle, as predicted, was pleased to see Lord Huntley in his pew. After worship he made a point of introducing Robert to people he hadn't yet met and Robert could tell from their looks that his reputation preceded him despite the protective coloration he'd donned for the Sabbath.
He watched his daughter with concern. Mattie seemed completely unaware her status as the bastard child of an island mother and a pirate caused some of the townsfolk to look askance at her. Based on the looks the governess turned back on these individuals he knew if Lydia had a basilisk's power they'd be stone statues now.
The children didn't care. The boys in particular seemed fascinated by Mattie's chatter about life aboard ship, and no wonder.
"Mattie, I don't recall anyone getting devoured by sharks on our voyage to England. I'm certain I would have remembered such a thing."
"Maybe not on this voyage, Miss Burke, but I am sure someone has been eaten by sharks, maybe even tossed over the side by Mr. Turnbull and Mr. Na--"
"Ladies, I believe it is time for us to return home," Robert said, coming to the aid, once again, of the beleaguered governess. She flashed him a grateful look, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the ladies. Lydia's reputation was already at risk in his household. Steering her to a safe harbor was becoming more imperative with each day they dwelled here.
The church service seemed to be the signal people had been awaiting to pay calls at Huntley. Some of it was curiosity about the manor, some was motivated by curiosity about Robert. Fortunately for him, he was away most afternoons following up on the improvements to the estate. Fuller accompanied him on these rounds, and after a week Robert formalized the situation by offering his friend the position of steward, which the older man accepted.
"Mind you, you could probably do better with someone with more experience in land management," Fuller said.
"Perhaps, but it wouldn't be someone I trust as much as I trust you. Being mate of the Prodigal Son prepared you for management. Much of the rest of it you'll learn as you go on--we both will."
Robert looked out the library window to where Lydia and Mattie sat together in an overgrown flower garden, coats and scarves on against the November air, but warmed by the steady sunshine. They were examining a red leaf together, and Lydia gestured with her hand to a copse of trees nearby.
He turned away from the nature lesson to see Fuller's lined eyes watching him.
"Neither one of us ever expected this, did we?"
"No, Horace, we did not."
Robert walked to the decanter on the table, pouring them both a tot of rum. Brandy might be the gentleman's drink, but the burn of rum brought back memories of fair winds and following seas. He raised his glass.
"To us then. Two prodigals who survived to return home and resume our places."
"We've done better than that," Horace Fuller said, downing his drink. "We've prospered. Much of what I have I owe to you, Captain. You had a knack for knowing which strikes would be rich hauls, and which ones could end with us standing before the hangman. At that time I wouldn't have traded it, not for all the safety and security of a life in Lancashire.
"So. When will you and Miss Burke marry?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only to anyone with eyes. The crew will make you walk the plank if you don't take that woman as your bride. There are few women who'd put up with you--and them--and Mattie as well."
The dog had been sleeping in the sun, but when Mattie stood Jolly began romping around her until she threw his rawhide toy so he could chase it and fetch it back.
"I worry about Mattie," Robert said to his oldest friend. "We know life in an English village is difficult for people who are different."
"Another reason for you to wed the governess as quickly as possible. Raising Mattie in a well-established and soon-to-be respectable household will surely benefit her."
Robert nodded silently as he took another drink, then set his glass aside. He smiled to himself as he thought about how he'd never again run up charges for liquor as he had at Madame Olifiers. He didn't regret that last debauch, though he truly wished he could recall details of his night with the "twins," but he also knew he wasn't that person anymore. Captain St. Armand had been superseded by a baron who held the lives of dependents in his hands--his females, his household, his community. That person could not afford to drink himself into a stupor.
Huntley took on more of a shine each day, and the staff turned to Lydia without question as mistress of the house. It was a position the vicar unsubtly mentioned when he stood next to Robert in the assembly rooms over the tavern.
"Do you enjoy being at All Saints, Mr. Castle, or are you ready to move on to a living elsewhere?"
The clergyman smiled without rancor, an unusual response to one of Robert's threats. He must be losing his touch in this bucolic setting.
"I would not be the shepherd All Saints needs if I didn't raise a rather obvious issue, my lord. I like Miss Burke. More importantly, Susannah likes the lady, and I will get no peace from my wife if she suspects her friend is not being treated with all due respect. Then of course I worry for you, my lord, since you too are a member of my flock."
The lady in question--the pirate's lady, not the vicar's--was being squired through a vigorous country-dance by Mr. Clegg, a diminutive soul who nonetheless showed great skill on the dance floor and was much in demand by the ladies. Everyone in the village who could move was at the assembly. The musicians were also locals, and what they lacked in skill they made up for in enthusiasm. No one seemed to mind a dropped note or a missed beat, they were having too much fun. The older ladies sat together and gossiped, and he suspected the newest residents of the town were the focus of much of it. No doubt they were rehashing every rumor about his parents, Nicholas, Ralph, and for all he knew, the Huntleys going back to the Conquest. Some of them looked ancient enough to have been on shore to greet the Normans.
When they'd entered the assembly rooms, there was a gratifying sigh from all the ladies present as Robert stood in the entranceway and Mr. Clegg, serving as the master of ceremonies, announced them.
His evening wear bore little similarity in either cut or fabric to that worn by the other gentlemen. The breeches were silk, as was his black evening coat, so closely tailored Sails was needed to wedge him into it. The waistcoat of gold embroidered satin glowed against the crisp white cambric shirt, and his neckcloth was tied in a
fashion that he knew the younger men would be attempting at home later. He wore a gaudy emerald studded order pinned to his chest, another gift from the grateful Mexican revolutionaries, and a filigreed gold ring with smaller emeralds in his ear. The jewelry was set off by his hair newly styled ala Brutus. Hiring Sails as his valet was a brilliant move, as the man was a wizard with a blade, whether cutting canvas, disemboweling foes or trimming Robert's hair.
Robert drew all eyes with his piratical splendor, but he only had eyes for the woman on his arm.
She wore her new willow-green silk, which while not as dramatic as his attire was charmingly becoming. The soft color set off her creamy skin and made her hair catch highlights of russet and gold in its chestnut depths. The gown was trimmed with silver cord under the bodice, and silver flowers and cord lavished the hem, drawing eyes to her neat ankles and dancing slippers with silver ribbons. She looked like a woodland sprite. Lydia would not let him deck her in any of the jewels he had on hand, but wore her grandmother's cameo on a silver chain. Her hair was dressed in plaits coiled at the back of her head, and a satin fillet trimmed with the green ribbons purchased in Liverpool was twisted through the shining braids.
How had he ever thought her drab? Her beauty shone, not in flamboyant parrot fashion as his did, but in a dove-like softness that might have looked muted in the tropics, but was perfectly suited to Huntley.
Mattie passed approval on her father and her governess before they left for the evening. Nell was spending the night with her at Huntley, making up for any disappointment over the girls not attending the revels in town. Recent developments brought a quiet word from Robert to Sails, who'd keep watch over the ladies, and he expected Fuller would check on them as well. Mrs. Farmer also agreed to watch over the youngsters, declaring that her corns would never allow her to dance and if she were going to sit, she'd just as soon do it in front of a warm fire at Huntley having a pleasant coze with that nice Mr. Sails.
Nash and Turnbull may have been ready to set to sea again, but some of the others were content to make a home at Huntley for now. Norton took on the coachman's position, and also looked after the stables with the assistance of a weedy boy from Ashwyn who was grateful for the chance to work with the horses and help out his widowed mother. Conroy was accruing a following amongst the village lasses, and Robert hoped he wouldn't be called on to deal with any angry fathers in the near future. He'd also have a talk with Conroy to determine what the young man intended to do with himself if he stayed.
When he'd mentioned this to Lydia she looked at him with approval, it being more evidence of his entry into life as lord of the manor.
"My crew is my crew," he'd responded, "on land or on sea."
"Then you are different from many sea captains I knew in the islands who'd cut their men loose with no concern about their welfare. You have difficulty seeing yourself here, but you were born to this role, Robert Huntley."
Now that lady was being escorted back to his side, her cheeks pink and glowing from her dancing.
"I believe the next dance is ours, my lord."
"I have been counting the minutes until this time, Miss Burke."
She cocked an eyebrow at his florid response, but took his hand without further comment. They stepped out onto the floor as the musicians started to play something in waltz-time, not perfectly, but well enough that they could waltz without suffering too much.
"Have I told you yet tonight how beautiful you are?"
She looked up at him warmly as he clasped her in his arms, her trim waist feeling exactly right beneath his gloved hand, her eyes shining up at him in the candlelight. She did not need jewels, not with those glowing emerald eyes, that pearly smile, the soft coral blush in her cheeks.
Even so he could envision her draped in ropes of pearls--and nothing else--and hoped to see that vision for himself someday. Soon. There was a conversation they needed to have, one that could change everything, but she'd been so excited about the assembly, her and Mrs. Castle plotting together with some of the ladies of the village, that he'd put it off, unwilling to do anything that would affect her enjoyment.
That was his mission in life now, not to be the best pirate, or the most favored client of a brothel in the Caribbean, but to be the man who'd keep Lydia Burke safe, who'd always be there for her, to protect and guard her from life's turmoil.
* * * *
Lydia could not remember an evening when she'd so enjoyed herself. Perhaps she never had, because while she'd known men who were handsome, or capable, or excellent dancers, she'd never known Robert Huntley. Now though, she knew him, and she knew there was no other man who'd ever be able to give her what Robert could.
Tonight he drew all the ladies' eyes to him, but his eyes were only for her. The way he looked at her now, the deep regard she saw in his heated glance warmed her to her core. Joan had helped her prepare for the evening and showed the makings of a lady's maid. She was cunning with hair and Lydia acknowledged there were times when having a servant to assist one was a wonderful asset. When she'd come down the steps and found Robert waiting for her the look on her face told her even more than her looking glass that she was attractive. His regard was a heady and potent wine, especially now when he looked down at her, her gloved hand clasped in his as he skillfully twirled her across the floor. If there were other dancers she did not see them, only Robert filled her senses, the warmth of his lithe body next to hers, the heat in his eyes and the way his mouth made her want to stop moving, reach up, and pull him down for a passionate kiss.
His pupils darkened as some of what she was thinking was reflected in her face.
"My clothing is closely tailored, Lydia. If you keep looking at me like that, I will never get off the dance floor without embarrassing someone."
"Yourself?"
"Please. I am justifiably proud of my cockstands, not embarrassed by them. I would not wish to be responsible for giving Mrs. Baker a heart seizure."
Lydia glanced to the side. The old lady was fanning herself quite vigorously as she watched them and gossiped with the woman at her side, and Lydia moved in Robert's arms a few inches away, mourning the loss of their close bodies but knowing it was for the greater good.
So she enjoyed the waltz, her favorite dance, though she'd never enjoyed it as she did now in the arms of her pirate. He danced as he did all things, with skill, flair and purpose, but the set look on his face, the determination, made her forget she was a governess and he a lord, that once she'd been rejected by everyone dear to her. What mattered now was that she mattered to this man, she was the prize the pirate coveted, and in his arms she felt safe, and loved.
The music stopped, eventually, as it always does, and if she'd remained in his arms any longer she would be kissing him and that would give the good people of Ashwyn something to discuss. Instead, she allowed him to lead her off the floor to where her next partner awaited her, and where Turnbull awaited him.
Lydia tried to follow their movements but the men stepped outside, and when they returned Robert was alone and did not look like anything of importance had been discussed. If anything, he looked pleased with himself so she relaxed through the steps of the quadrille and thought nothing more of it.
By the time the evening ended everyone was looking a little less formal, the young men had clearly found a way to augment the punch, and the general consensus was the Ashwyn assembly had been a rousing success. A few brave souls unsubtly mentioned the wonderful harvest balls hosted at Huntley and the wakes week holiday, and their lord assured all he'd keep it in mind as the seasons moved through the year.
In general the townsfolk had a new air of purpose. Lydia'd overhead discussions of mill building and canal-shipping, and with judicious investments and skilled management the area would revive with Robert's input. It gave her a glow, to know her pirate was the man the people looked to and depended upon. He had been born to this role, no matter what he thought, and she was glad she had played a part in bringing him home.
> Seeing him here tonight in his element was another reminder that her presence could cost him and be a distraction if they wed. She owed him, and Mattie, more than that. He would move on with his life if she left him. Eventually, she would find peace for herself, though she knew there would always be a pirate-sized hole in her heart that no other man would be able to fill. Making difficult choices was not easy, but she'd learned the hard way to make those choices that had the best outcome for her and for the people she cared about. Leaving would be the most difficult thing she'd ever done, but if there was an ocean separating them, it would be easier.
The ride back was silent and after handing the horses off to the sleepy lad in the stables, Robert took Lydia's arm and escorted her in. Braxton had waited up for them, insisting it was his responsibility to lock up at night, and they didn't argue with the old man whose pride was an almost tangible thing now that Huntley was undergoing restoration.
Lydia checked on the sleeping Mattie and Nell and dismissed Joan for the night after she helped her out of her lovely frock. The green silk glowed in the soft firelight, a reminder of springtime to come, and as she pulled pins from her hair she thought about where life might find her when the seasons turned.
The hairpins were carefully placed in a dish on the mantel. Keeping track of her hairpins and caps was still an issue as both had a tendency to wander off. She'd found one of her plain cloth caps in Jolly's bed two nights ago and it was unlikely the dog pulled open the wardrobe and fetched it himself.
On the other hand, there was a sheer lawn nightrail in place of the cap in her wardrobe, a sleeveless and cunningly embroidered garment fit for a courtesan. She had just dropped that nightrail over her head when Robert entered the room, closing the door and leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed in his robe, the open neck drawing her eyes to the column of this throat and down to a glimpse of his muscled chest. He never wore a nightshirt to bed, and knowing all of Robert Huntley was on display beneath the brocade of his robe made her lick her lips, a movement bringing a smile to his own lips, a smile that made her breasts feel fuller, her nipples tight and sensitive. She could feel that smile in her belly, as if his lips were there, tracing their way down to her core.
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