The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  “That may prove useful. How did—Aurelie was it? How did Aurelie come to be your mistress?”

  “We met at a masked ball at her father’s home and fell desperately in love before we saw one another’s faces.”

  “Of course,” murmured Helena.

  “But her father would have none of me; I was the Wicked Earl, after all, and was wanted for murder. So, we fled under cover of night, chased by his servants, and sailed for Europe. We have been together ever since, inseparable!”

  “But now that you are no longer a murderer, surely you could marry her?” suggested Helena.

  Malcolm appeared to be confounded, but rose to the challenge after a moment of thought. “We would marry, of course, but she was wed as a very young woman to a gentleman of New Orleans who was revealed to be a pirate! He sailed away when she abandoned him for his wicked ways and has not been heard of since. “ He glanced at Helena and saw her begin to form another question. “No one knows if he lives,” he inserted hastily, “and, as she is a Papist, we cannot marry until we know she is free.”

  “How you and Aurelie have suffered,” said Helena with a heavy sigh.

  “Suffering is good for the soul, I’m told,” responded Malcolm cheerfully.

  “And is your soul therefore quite pure?”

  “Devil a bit. Were we not just discussing my mistress?”

  “A topic not suitable for my ears.”

  “You introduced it, I believe. I hope you have sufficient information for the gossips now. I dread hearing tales some months from now about my American mistress who is married to a pirate. If word gets back to Rowena, I shall regret it.”

  Helena smiled up at him. “It was kind of you to humor me, my lord.”

  Malcolm’s gaze caught hers, and he again felt the odd sensation he was coming to expect in Miss Keighley’s company, as though all were just slightly askew. He shook his head.

  “It’s a lovely day, and these open fields are too tempting for us to continue at this pace,” he said. “How much farther to the beach?”

  “It is on Arlingby land. I would guess it is a mile or two.”

  “You ride as though you are a notable horsewoman. Would you mind very much if we galloped?”

  A spark of pleasure lit Helena’s eyes. “I thought you would never ask,” she said, and prodded her horse to a canter.

  When they neared the path that led to the beach, Helena reined her horse in, and Malcolm followed suit. He turned his horse and came back to her, pulling up next to her. The wind had whipped several curls loose from her chignon, and they clustered around her face. She was smiling broadly, clearly delighted by their gallop.

  “Oh, that was lovely,” she breathed.

  “Do you not often gallop on your own?” asked Malcolm.

  “It’s not the same by yourself. It is far better to have company.”

  Malcolm found himself gazing at her flushed face intently, and fought off the urge to move closer. He glanced at the groom, who sat astride his horse at a distance, gazing off over the water.

  “Does he go with us to see the caves?”

  Helena shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t ask it of him. His knees are not what they used to be, and the path is steep. I doubt much could happen between us in a smuggler’s cave.”

  Malcolm nodded, not sure why he was so pleased. He dismounted and, turning to Helena, grasped her about the waist as she slid from her horse. With the groom watching, he resisted the urge to hold her longer than was proper, and set her gently on her feet.

  Helena glanced up at him through her lashes. “Thank you, Lord Wroxton.”

  Malcolm stepped back and beckoned to the groom, who took the reins of their horses.

  “We won’t be gone long, Macklin,” said Helena sunnily. “I merely wish to show Lord Wroxton the beach.”

  “You be careful, miss. I don’t like this. There might be folks about who would do you harm.”

  “I’m sure Lord Wroxton will have a care of me.”

  Macklin gave Malcolm a doubtful glance, but refrained from speaking. Helena indicated a path some yards in front of them.

  “This is the way to the cliff edge,” she said.

  Malcolm followed in her wake as they moved through the scrubby trees clustering along the top of the cliffs. He found himself watching the sway of Helena’s hips under her riding habit, and hastily searched for a topic of conversation.

  “Your groom does not appear to think much of me.”

  Helena laughed. “Macklin? He doesn’t think much of most people. He barely tolerates Arthur and me, and we pay his wages. You needn’t worry that you’ve done something to offend him.”

  “So, it is not that I am the Wicked Earl?”

  “No, it is that you aren’t a member of the Keighley family. Macklin is very loyal; his family has served ours for generations.”

  “How fortunate you are to have such strong roots here,” said Malcolm. “You know the history of your family and estate so well.”

  Helena shrugged. “I have little else to do; I go out in society so little and even the stables and the accounts cannot fill my whole day. Surely you are interested in your family’s story?”

  Malcolm laughed ruefully. “Our family’s honors are much newer than yours, and I fear I was an indifferent student when I was told the stories. As I recall, the first earl did a great service for Charles II, and the title and lands were bestowed at that time.”

  “Did your ancestor stand with the king during the Great Rebellion?”

  “I’ve not heard tell of it. He was a wealthy landowner of good, but not noble family, who, so far as I am aware, stayed out of the conflict by siding with whoever was winning.”

  “So the service was - ?”

  Malcolm grinned. “My ancestor had a wife of surpassing beauty. His service was to stay out of the king’s way when he came sniffing around the future countess.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Malcolm could not see Helena’s face, but when she spoke there was a quiver of amusement in her voice. “That was a service indeed.”

  “I fear you have a very poor idea of my family now, what with my own sad story and now the revelation that there is a Wicked Countess in its past as well.”

  “Was she very lovely?” asked Helena.

  “There’s a painting of her by Lely in the gallery at Wroxton,” said Malcolm. “You will have to come view it sometime, and you can tell me what you think.”

  “I would like that,” said Helena. “I’m sure she was ravishing.”

  “I’m dashed if I can tell,” said Malcolm. “All of Lely’s women look alike to me. I don’t know if the king just liked ‘em painted that way, or if every last woman in his court had the same face.”

  “No one in my family was fine enough to be at Charles II’s court,” said Helena teasingly. “So we have no Lely’s, I fear.”

  “Did none of your ancestresses resemble you? Because she would surely have caught Charles’ attention,” said Malcolm. “After all, he was known to favor women with hair the color of yours. Nell Gwyn and Lady Castlemaine come to mind.”

  Helena laughed. “Flatterer. No, I believe all the women of my family were pillars of virtue. We have no kings lurking in our boudoirs.”

  “They must have been very shocked when the first countess moved here,” observed Malcolm.

  “No doubt. The Arlingbys have been setting the neighborhood by the ears for more than a century now.”

  “Aye, we’re known for being a bit mad. My father was a domestic soul, though.”

  “Your father was very kind to me when I was a girl. He was a friend of my father’s before—before he fell ill and died. And, of course, I think of Rowena as a friend.”

  They had reached the path that led to the beach. It went steeply down the side of the cliff, doubling back at times as it snaked its way to the water. Malcolm gazed at it and whistled softly.

  “I haven’t been here since I was a boy. I thought it would look less impressive n
ow that I am grown, but it still appears to be quite a trudge. You don’t mean to tell me you walk down here often, do you?”

  Helena shook her head. “Not in some time. But when I was a child, yes, I came here as often as I could.” She glanced up at him curiously. “You have no recollection of Rowena and me playing at Wroxton?”

  Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. “I have some memories of a red-headed child playing with my sister years ago, before I went to Oxford. Rowena couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old.”

  “You seemed terribly grown up,” said Helena. “Rowena and I were quite in awe of you.”

  “Not so grown up that I could keep myself out of trouble,” observed Malcolm. “I’d have been better off staying at Wroxton.”

  “Ah, but then you would not be the Wicked Earl, and would be far less interesting,” said Helena.

  “I’d give up the notoriety in a flash.”

  “Would you?”

  “I would. As for the lessons learned—well, I won’t say twelve years in exile were worth it, but I suppose I’m wiser than I would have been otherwise.”

  Helena tilted her head and considered him. He laughed.

  “Do you doubt my wisdom?”

  “Not at all,” said Helena politely.

  Chapter 13

  They had reached the cliff edge, and after pausing a moment to look out over the whitecaps on the Channel, Helena turned away and started down to the beach, her steps sure on the narrow path. Malcolm walked behind her, and found himself admiring the straightness of her spine and the confidence with which she held her head. A strong breeze blew off the water and whipped some curls out from under her hat, and she reached up absently with one slender hand to tuck them back. He blinked, and looked away. The water of the channel spread out before him, its white-tipped waves shining in the noontime sun, and the wind whipped past him, salty and fresh. He wondered at how familiar it all seemed, despite the many years that had passed since he had been in this place.

  They eventually reached the end of the path, and Helena paused as Malcolm joined her. The beach sloped away from them, larger rocks giving away to pebbles and then sand. The water lapped at the land, its sound soothing to the ears.

  “Do you remember the caves?” asked Helena.

  “They’re over there, aren’t they?” asked Malcolm, gesturing across the sand to where a cliff loomed over them.

  “They are. Helena began to walk towards the cliff. “Were you allowed to play in them?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to, but I did,” grinned Malcolm. “What about you?”

  “Rowena and I were tended by a maid at all times, and she didn’t like to come here; the walk was too long and she felt it was not the proper sort of activity for girls.”

  “So you were here rarely as a child?”

  Helena smiled. “I didn’t say that. We would manage to slip away from her, and we invariably came here, as we knew she would never follow us.”

  “You and Rowena seem to have been extraordinarily ill-behaved children,” complained Malcolm. “Yet somehow, it is I who have the notoriety.”

  “From what I have heard, your sister is still not the retiring type. Though some years have muted the scandal, my name is also well enough known in certain circles that I do not go out in public much.”

  “I didn’t mean to remind you of your difficulties,” said Malcolm hastily.

  “I understand. Rowena and I were quite startlingly naughty at times, and perhaps that has led to some of our troubles. I am so happy she has a husband who cares for her.”

  “She was lucky. Brayleigh suits her, though why I’ll never know.”

  “He was not a friend of yours, I’m told.”

  “Not at all. We loathed each other,” said Malcolm frankly. “But we have come to an understanding; so long as Rowena loves him, I have no need to find fault with him.”

  “You are a happy family, then?”

  “Happier than many,” shrugged Malcolm. “We don’t yell at each other in public.”

  They had reached the cliff, and Helena stepped forward, pushing aside some grasses growing in the dark clay to reveal an opening. It was barely a yard wide, and only a few inches higher than Helena’s head. She looked at Malcolm dubiously.

  “You will have to be careful not to hit your head before we reach the cavern.”

  “When I was a boy, there was no need to worry about that. How things have changed.”

  “I didn’t think to bring a lantern,” Helena remarked. “It is not a long way back to the cavern, but it will be very dark.”

  “I thought you might want to explore, so I brought a tinderbox. With most ladies, that would be the last thing I would bring, but you, Miss Keighley, are an exception to almost everything.” He glanced around on the beach and snatched up a likely piece of driftwood. He pulled a tinderbox from his pocket and, with only a few attempts, produced a flame that he fed with some dry grass. More quickly than Helena had imagined, he had produced a passable torch.

  “You’re very accomplished,” she said.

  “I’ve had need to learn various things. There were some caves in the Ardennes—well, it doesn’t matter now.” He stepped in front of her. I had best go first. Are you sure your skirts will not hamper you?”

  “If I recall correctly, the ground is quite even,” she replied. “I should be fine.”

  Malcolm nodded and moved into the opening, his shoulders hunched forward. Helena followed closely behind him, as the daylight faded to gloom and the yellow glare of the torch lit only a small circle of darkness around them. The air grew damp and cool, and smelled of earth, and Helena felt a tiny shiver down her spine as the warmth of the sun slipped away.

  “Are you nervous?” asked Malcolm. His voice sounded slightly deadened in the closeness of the tunnel.

  “Not at all,” replied Helena. “I must have been here a hundred times as a child.”

  “I only fear I will crack my skull on these jagged rocks.”

  “You must be very careful, for my nursing skills are not renowned. I would be of little help to you.”

  Malcolm laughed, and then gave a sigh of relief. “Here is the opening to the cavern. It was a shorter distance than I recalled, for which I am grateful. My shoulders were beginning to ache.”

  He stepped forward and Helena followed quickly behind him. While she would never have admitted it, she found the narrow passage oppressive and the proximity of the earl a bit disconcerting. She stepped forward to stand at his side as he held the torch high.

  The space they had entered was not terribly large, perhaps twice the size of the drawing room in Keighley Manor. It was cool and musty, and the walls were an indeterminate shade of greyish yellow. The roof soared over them so high that the light did not reach it.

  “Ah, how I remember being here,” said Malcolm absently. “I wonder—”

  He took several steps to the side, his fingers trailing gently along the rough stone. After a moment he stopped, and felt along the wall at shoulder level. He paused, a disappointed look on his face. But then he glanced at Helena and grinned.

  “I was shorter then,” he said. He continued sliding his hand down the wall, and then gave a chuckle of triumph. “Here it is.”

  He handed Helena the torch, and pulled a small box from a deep crevice in the wall.

  The hasps were rusty, but the wood still shone darkly in the torchlight.

  “What is that?”

  “I kept things that were important to me here when I was a boy. I’m afraid the servants didn’t always appreciate the wonders of pebbles and fishhooks.”

  “And it’s still here?”

  “I never moved it; I suppose the last time I was here I was fourteen or so, and I hid it well. I must be getting old; seeing this makes me oddly sentimental. Of course, I never expected to be here—or at Wroxton—again.”

  Helena glanced up at him, surprised to see the distant look in his blue eyes. She laid one hand gently on his arm.


  He looked down and chuckled. “Are you feeling sorry for me?” he asked. “You need not. I am back at Wroxton, whether or not I am worthy of it.” He tucked the box back into its niche.

  “Do you not want to know what is in it?” asked Helena.

  “Lord, no. As I said, it is probably pebbles and fishhooks. Maybe another child will find it one day—perhaps even my son or daughter.”

  He took the torch from Helena’s hand, his fingers lightly brushing hers. He turned towards the cavern and held it high.

  “We are here to see what the smugglers are up to, not to wax nostalgic about my childhood.” His voice echoed dully in the dark. “Do you see anything?”

  “There.” Helena pointed across the cave. “They would not put it near the entrance; as we well know, local children come here.”

  Malcolm peered through the gloom, and then began to walk across the cavern, Helena close behind him. As they approached the back wall, some bulky shapes emerged out of the gloom. He gave a grunt of satisfaction.

  “Brandy,” he said, seizing the canvas draped over the shapes and revealing a number of wooden casks piled against the wall. “A lot of it, too.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have no way to get it up the cliff, or I’d take one for myself.”

  “Next time we can bring a pony to help with that,” said Helena, her voice laden with sarcasm.

  “An excellent notion. If I put some of this away now, my grandchildren would be very grateful in fifty years.”

  “So, the Wicked Earl means to have grandchildren?”

  “I suppose I must marry at some point,” said Malcolm blithely. “It comes with the name and the title.”

  “Who do you expect to honor with your noble intent to continue the Arlingby name?” Helena’s voice was sharp.

  Malcolm laughed easily. “You have forgotten Aurelie. I must simply wait for her pirate husband’s death to be discovered.”

  Helena had to smile. “You are ridiculous.”

  “I suppose I am.” Malcolm pulled the canvas back into place. “We’ve confirmed they are indeed storing their illicit wares on Arlingby land. Now, we must decide what to do about it.”

  He stood for a moment, pondering, and in the silence that followed, Helena heard a sound. She turned towards the entrance to the cavern, her senses quivering. A light was moving down the tunnel leading to the cave, its golden shimmer showing a path for whoever carried it. She clutched at Malcolm’s arm.