by Cheryl Holt
His focus was on their smuggling enterprise. Plus, he never felt very well. His wound—the one he’d received in that idiotic duel—constantly bothered him. It was like a nagging toothache. It sapped his strength and concentration. If Miss Watson was courageous enough to seize control and demand changes, he wasn’t about to dissuade her.
“Calm down,” he said to Melvina. “I’ll find out what’s happening.”
“You do that.”
She stomped off in a snit, and it was hilarious to observe her when she was so discombobulated. She was so certain of her position in the family that she never imagined she could have her authority challenged. She hadn’t a clue how to deal with it.
He’d been in his office, reading his correspondence, and he tossed it aside and walked to the kitchen. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he peeked out from the shadows, amazed to discover a whirlwind of activity. People were sweeping and scouring, but muttering complaints too.
Miss Watson had to be cognizant of the derision, but she valiantly ignored it.
She was wearing a blue day dress, an apron over the top, and the dress highlighted the sapphire color of her eyes. Her blond hair was down and pulled back with a ribbon, and she had a kerchief tied over it to keep off some of the dust. Her cheeks were smudged, her apron too. She was gripping a mop and demonstrating how to use it to a surly girl who was barely paying attention.
He was thrilled by the sight of her, charmed by the sight of her, and the icy rock in the middle of his chest—that had supposedly once been his heart—seemed to melt a bit. He dawdled for a moment, enjoying the domestic picture she painted, then he stepped into the room.
There were fifteen miscreants present, and when they saw him, they halted, their mouths agape with concern. He’d never previously visited them, and they instantly understood it to be a bad omen.
“Hello, Miss Watson,” he said, and he grinned at her.
“Hello, Lord John.” She grinned too, appearing impish and adorable.
“I heard you were causing a ruckus.”
“Well, someone should. I’m fed up with these sloths and malingerers. Aren’t you?”
“I think I am.”
At his comment, they bristled, then straightened. Although they assumed he was detached and oblivious about what occurred in the castle, he actually had quite a significant grasp of many details.
He knew about the indolence and apathy, the lethargy and sense of entitlement. Because everyone was a cousin, they figured they could carry on however they liked and there would be no penalty. For the most part, they were correct, but perhaps Miss Watson would spur him to implement changes.
“My breakfast was so awful,” Miss Watson said, “that I came down to confer with your cook.”
“You’re very brave.”
“Or very foolish.” She pointed to the corner. “Look what I found!”
The head cook and his assistant—a pair of miserable oafs he couldn’t abide—were sitting on chairs and sullenly watching the others. Miss Watson might have been a schoolmistress who was punishing them. If she’d brandished a ruler and rapped them on the knuckles, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
“When I arrived, Lord John,” she continued, “shortly before nine o’clock, those two curs were both intoxicated. They misbehave like this every day! At nine in the morning!” She gestured to the other servants. “They’re all aware of it, but none of them felt an obligation to tell you.”
“Is that true?” he asked the general assembly.
There was some grim mumbling, but no replies.
“They deem it to be a joke,” she said, “as if their jobs don’t matter, and they have no duty to serve you well.”
“I realize that’s an issue.”
“So here is what you must do,” she brazenly announced. She pointed to the cook and his assistant again. “These foul drunkards should be fired immediately and sent packing—with no final wages paid.”
He didn’t pay any of them wages, but he didn’t mind firing them for her. She’d been so bold, and he wouldn’t countermand her.
“Fine,” he agreed. “You two, stand up.”
The shamed duo rose, and they glanced warily at her—as if they were afraid of her. John would admit to being a bit afraid too. She was completely terrifying.
“We were just having a nip,” the cook said to John. “We didn’t mean any harm.”
“Be silent!” she snapped. “Lord John doesn’t need your excuses.”
The cook cowered like a whipped dog, and John was so impressed he nearly patted her on the back.
“Get out,” John told them. They groused and shuffled their feet, then they started off. As they passed him, he quietly warned, “I’ll speak with you later in the village. Be sure I can find you. I better not have to search.”
Miss Watson glared at him. “Why will you speak to them? You can’t let them wheedle themselves back into your good graces.”
“There’s no chance of that, Miss Watson.”
What he didn’t add was that they’d receive a sound pummeling from him. It was their local custom. A man wasn’t allowed to disparage or defy the lord, and disloyalty wasn’t permitted. But he’d been lax and hadn’t been enforcing the usual penalties, so his lazy kin hadn’t expected any consequences.
They trudged out, and there was an air of shock and fury simmering among the other servants.
“If any of the rest of you would like to leave with them,” Miss Watson said, “please feel free. Lord John deserves your positive attitude and brisk work ethic or you needn’t waste his time.”
“I couldn’t have been clearer myself,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Three others slithered out, but the remainder were frozen in their spots and holding their breath, lest her caustic gaze fall on them.
“It appears we’ve lost our cook,” he said to her.
“It wasn’t much of a loss though, was it?”
“No, but what are we to do now?”
“I have a brilliant idea.”
“Why am I not surprised? What is it?”
She waved to a young man lurking behind her, and he stepped forward. He was twenty or so, and John didn’t recognize him, but he had the typical Dunn black hair and eyes, so he was obviously a relative.
“This is your cousin, Tim,” she said. “He used to cook at the coaching inn over on the mainland in Dunworthy town, but his mother died, so he had to move home to care for his siblings.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I thought we’d try him as your head cook.” The boy blanched with astonishment, and she peered over at him. “What is your opinion, Tim? Could you handle such an important position?”
“I’d give you my best effort, Miss Watson.” Tim’s adoration was almost embarrassing to witness.
“It carries an enormous amount of responsibility,” she said. “You’d have to get this pathetic crew to obey you or you’d have to get rid of them. Could you?”
“Yes, I could,” he vowed, “and I swear I’ll make you proud.”
“The kitchen has to be cleaned, and it has to stay clean. And the food must, must, must become edible.”
“I already have a dozen plans on how to improve it.”
“Wonderful.” She beamed at him, then asked John, “May he have the job, Lord John? Is it all right with you?”
“I guess it has to be,” John replied. “When you’ve dealt with this situation so competently, I wouldn’t dream of interfering.”
“Now then,” she said, “we’re very busy, and I’m certain you’re busy too. Tim and I have things under control. You needn’t tarry.”
At being blithely dismissed, he was stunned. He was eager to linger in her sunny company, to watch her strut about and fix his paltry problems. If she could just deliver a proper plate of food to his table, he’d love her forever.
But everyone was staring, waiting for him t
o depart, so he said, “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Watson.”
“Of course it has been,” she saucily retorted. “The more you get to know me, the more you’ll like me.”
“We can only hope.”
“It will turn out to be true,” she boasted.
“I’ll expect you to sit with me for the noon meal. I’ll apprise you as to whether I notice any changes.”
“Not for the noon meal. That’s much too soon, and we have too much work to do. I’ll join you at supper.”
“I shall be a very stern critic.”
“Tim will pass every test with flying colors.”
“I have no doubt.”
John gave a jaunty salute, then he spun and sauntered out, and as he went back to his office, he smiled the whole way.
* * * *
“Hello, Miss Watson. Thank you for being prompt.”
Winnie dawdled in the doorway of what was the sitting room to a bedroom suite. She glared at John Dunn, her aggravation clear. “I could swear we are in your personal quarters, so I can’t imagine why you’d invite me here.”
“We have an appointment to dine together, remember?”
“Yes, but I assumed we’d be in the main hall with the others.”
“You’ll have to pardon me, but I’ve had enough of my family for one day.”
A table had been set over by the window. The tablecloth was pristine white, the napkins too. The best china was laid out. A wooden chest had been employed as a sideboard, and numerous covered dishes were arranged on it. The food smelled delicious, proving her insistence that he promote Tim had been a splendid idea.
They weren’t alone. Three servants bustled about, so it wasn’t as if a lewd encounter was about to occur. Still though, she wasn’t in the habit of visiting bachelors in their bedchambers. It seemed indecent, but if she mentioned it, he’d laugh at her.
He was standing by the fire. A roaring blaze burned in the hearth, and two chairs were positioned in front of it. There was a table between the chairs, a tray on it that contained a decanter of wine and two glasses. He leaned down and filled the glasses, then he kept one for himself, and he extended the other one to her.
His expression was cocky and arrogant, as if he was daring her to enter and positive she would be too timid. Well, she’d never been timid in her life. She marched in and jerked her glass away from him.
“You’re bullying me again,” she complained.
“I’m enjoying it too.”
“I’m sure you are. In the period I’ve been in residence, I’ve heard dozens of stories about you. In all of them, you’re described as a vain beast.”
“The stories are correct.”
He was dressed in the casual clothes he always wore around the castle: tan trousers, a flowing white shirt, black boots that were polished to a shine. The sleeves on the shirt were rolled up, revealing his strong forearms, and he hadn’t bothered to don a coat. He was very relaxed, as if they were friends, so he didn’t need to bother with any formality.
She tasted the wine, then sighed with delight. “My, that’s very good.”
“It’s French.”
“How do you have French wine in Cornwall? Isn’t it banned at the moment?”
At her question, the servants froze, as if alarmed over what his answer would be. Then he explained, “Yes, it’s banned, but we have an old and very full cellar. We have vintages from all over, especially France.”
His response unlocked the tension in the servants, and they shared a quiet glance.
“I ordered a buffet,” he said. “I thought we could serve ourselves.”
“A buffet is fine.”
“Shall we sit?”
“Yes.”
They walked over, and the servants seated them, then he excused them. They hurried out and shut the door, so in a trice, she was sequestered with him.
She went over and yanked it open wide, then came back, saying, “That’s better. I’m much more comfortable like this.”
He smirked. “You have a very suspicious nature. Are you afraid I’ll ravage you if the door is closed?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
He raised a brow. “You’ve been ravaged?”
“No, I simply don’t trust men—for any reason.”
“All men? Or just me?”
“All men and you.”
“I feel honor-bound to defend my gender. What have we done to offend you?”
“Ask me what you haven’t done. It’s a much shorter list.”
He chuckled. “I’d hate to give myself indigestion, so I won’t pester you for details.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I’ll pester you later—after we’ve eaten.”
“I doubt you’ll pry out any information.”
“I always get my way, Miss Watson.”
“So do I.”
“I guess that means we’re evenly matched.”
“Are we sparring?” she asked.
“Yes, I believe we are. Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving.”
“Shall I serve you?”
“No,” she said, “I can serve myself. You don’t need to wait on me.”
But when he stood to inspect the food, she was glad of it. She was starving and she was exhausted. She’d toiled strenuously in the kitchen, and it had been physically draining. If it had been her choice, she’d have skipped supper and fallen into bed, and she wondered if she’d doze off before the meal was over.
He snooped under the lids of the dishes that had been delivered, and she watched him anxiously. If he declared it to be awful or not what he’d wanted, she’d be terribly upset.
To her delight, he grinned. “It definitely looks edible.”
“That’s a relief.”
“What is your preference? We have an array of options. The main course appears to be fish in some sort of white sauce.”
“Tim sent a footman down to his father’s boat to retrieve a fresh catch. He was extremely adamant about it.”
“It was a good decision. I haven’t seen anything this appetizing since I arrived home.”
“He’ll be very happy. He was so nervous.”
“Why?”
“Why would you suppose? He was worried he’d disappoint you.”
“Considering what I’ve been forced to tolerate recently, he can only improve my situation. It’s a very low bar for him to climb over.”
“I told him the very same, but you should find him tomorrow and apprise him of how thrilled you are. He’ll be ecstatic to be praised by you.”
“Yes, Miss Watson, I shall chase after my servants so I can shower them with compliments.”
“It might keep the yummy food coming on a regular basis.”
“True.”
“And you should be kind to your servants. It’s not that difficult.”
He scoffed. “I just love being lectured by you.”
“Well, I’m usually right, so you should listen to me.”
“I’m usually right too. Will we constantly cross swords?”
“Yes.”
They smiled, and for a charged moment, they froze. There was the sweetest sensation in the air, as if the universe approved of what was occurring. Then he whipped away and filled plates for them. He brought them back and sat down, and he lifted his wine glass and toasted her.
“To Miss Watson, the miracle worker.”
Her cheeks heated. “I’m not a miracle worker. My labors were completely selfish. I refused to endure another hideous meal, so I butted in where I didn’t belong.”
“Is that a habit of yours?”
“Yes, a very bad one.”
“I’m not complaining. Not yet anyway.” He toasted her again. “Thank you for today.”
“You’re welcome.”
She was embarrassed to have him gushing, but she picked up her own glass, and they clinked the rims together.
They enjoyed a few sips, and he was studying her so intently that she was exceedingly flustered.
“Why are you staring?” she asked.
“You’re very pretty.”
“Don’t compliment me.”
“You hate to be told that you’re pretty?”
“Yes, so please don’t tell me.”
Her despicable fiancé, Holden Cartwright, had been adept at spewing flattery, and after he’d jilted her, she resolved to disregard it in the future.
“You are very strange,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman who didn’t like to be complimented.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Yes, there is.”
He took another lengthy look at her, then he grabbed his fork and dug into his food with incredible relish. She joined in, and they oohed and aahed over every bite.
He continued until his plate was empty, then he refilled it and cleaned it again. She didn’t have many chances to watch a man eat, and she was fascinated—by how he held his fork, how he chewed and swallowed, how he folded his napkin.
As he finished, he suddenly announced, “I’m going to call you Winifred.”
“No, you’re not,” she scoffed.
“Or do you prefer Winnie?”
“I prefer neither. You and I are not on familiar terms, and I don’t plan that we ever will be.”
He ignored her paltry protest. “You will call me John. Only when we’re alone though. When we’re out in the castle, it will have to be Lord John.”
“Why? Are you that vain about your status?”
“No. I’ve been home just a few months, and I’m establishing my authority. My relatives are like a bunch of surly pirates. They don’t listen, don’t obey, and if they could throw me overboard, they would.”
The description of his kin made her laugh. “I don’t have any relatives, and I’ve often wished I had a large family, but now that I’ve witnessed you with yours, I’m not sure a big family is best.”
“You’re very astute, Winnie.”
“Don’t call me Winnie.”
“Sorry, Winnie, but I’ve decided, and you can’t change my mind.”