Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway

by Wendy Soliman

  “Who would have thought the weather would change so quickly. She looked up at the clear winter sky and hugged her arms around her torso. It was bright but still bitterly cold. “It must be an omen.”

  “After the squall that we managed to stay ahead of—”

  “If that was staying ahead of it, I’m very glad we did. Imagine how much more damage there would have been if we’d been caught in the middle of it.”

  “I have to agree with you there.”

  “Poor Jessie,” Miranda said smiling. “She’s only just now managed to get herself out of her bunk and still looks as pale as a ghost.”

  “She’ll be fine the moment she steps ashore.”

  “Let’s hope so. She only accompanied us for my sake. I hope she doesn’t blame me for her condition.”

  The small harbour and the town itself—situated along a steep-sided valley—came into view. It looked picture-perfect on such a day, adding to Miranda’s conviction that nothing bad could possibly happen now that she was home at last. She breathed salty air deep into her lungs, threw back her head and offered up a silent prayer of thanks. The situation with Mr. Peacock had to have been a horrible misunderstanding. He would be pleased to wash his hands of her, saving himself the expense of her keep, and she would be left alone here in Looe to take up her rightful position as mistress of the Wildes. Somehow or other she would convince Mr. Nesbitt that was the way it had to be.

  “We’re here,” she said, unnecessarily. “I did wonder at times if we’d actually make it. I ought to have had more confidence in the boat and in Wright and his crew. They were remarkably calm when the weather was anything but.”

  “It’s their job,” Lord Gabriel replied. “I agree with you nonetheless. Can you see the Wildes from here?”

  “No, it’s just over the other side of the hill,” she said, pointing in the appropriate direction since there were hills all around them. “However, we do have direct access to a small cove, almost like our own private beach, on the other side of that hill. Only two other properties can reach it.”

  Lord Gabriel smiled as though he found her enthusiasm amusing. “It sounds delightful.”

  “Shall we go ashore at once?” she asked.

  “I’ll send Munford and one of Wright’s crew ahead with the baggage. They can procure suitable transportation from the livery yard—” He fixed her with an expression of polite enquiry. “I assume there is a livery yard in Looe.”

  “Naturally. We’re close to the main road between London and Penzance and so the livery stables do a good trade.”

  “Then Munford can arrange transportation and have it ready by the time the wherry has returned and taken us ashore also. Don’t forget that we have to organise the mutt’s disembarkation,” he reminded her, scratching Tobias’s ears.

  Lord Gabriel offered her a taunting smile that she found exceedingly provoking. He knew how anxious she was to be home and was teasing her—treating her as though she was a child and he a favoured uncle. She most certainly didn’t look on him in an avuncular light. She considered him more a friend and ally. Yes, that was precisely how she looked on him, wasn’t it? She didn’t appreciate being patronised and opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind. Recalling how comprehensively he’d inconvenienced himself for her sake, she snapped it closed again.

  “Fine,” she said simply.

  Lord Gabriel tested her ambition to overlook his denigration by openly laughing at her.

  “What’s so amusing?” she asked in a haughty tone that Miss Frobisher would have applauded.

  “You are, minx.” He lifted a gloved hand and touched her cheek. “You remind me of my sister.”

  “Which, presumably, is a good thing.”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  This strange conversation, along with the fizzing that sprang to life when Lord Gabriel touched her, was interrupted when Jessie lumbered onto the deck. She puffed and wheezed from the effort it had taken.

  “Upon my word, I never was so pleased to see dry land in my entire life.”

  “You have to make your way down that ladder before you can step foot on it.” Munford came up behind her and pointed to the ladder dangling over the side.

  “Don’t you worry none about that, young man,” Jessie said with asperity. “Just help me onto it and make sure I don’t miss my footing. And don’t you be letting go of Miss Miranda’s bags, neither. Just see to your duty and stop having fun at my expense.”

  “Stop bellyaching, you old witch,” Wright said good-humouredly, “and let’s be having you.”

  “Who are you calling an old witch?” Jessie placed her hands on her ample hips and huffed. “Dicked in the knob is what you are.”

  “Jessie appears to have recovered her wits,” Lord Gabriel remarked as she and Wright traded insults.

  “Yes.” Miranda bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing. “So it would seem. I’m glad she’s saving her sharp tongue for Mr. Wright and not me.”

  Lord Gabriel turned a laugh into a cough, seemingly mindful of Jessie’s feelings. He looked away when she attempted to clamber over the gunwales, giving everyone who didn’t share his lordship’s good manners a view of her sturdy legs.

  The wherry disappeared and it seemed an age before it returned to collect them. But at last it was here and Tobias once again cooperated, happy to be loaded into the canvas sling and lowered at the same rate as his friend Lord Gabriel descended the ladder.

  “Men!”

  Miranda gave a derisive snort and took her turn to climb down. Finally ashore, she was again obliged to quell laughter when Munford appeared driving a farm cart pulled by two sturdy, plodding cobs.

  “Sorry, m’lord,” he said apologetically. “It was the only thing they had that would take us all and the luggage.”

  “Oh dear,” Miranda said. “Shall you mind being seen on such a contraption, Lord Gabriel? It’s not as if anyone hereabouts knows who you are, so your reputation won’t suffer the consequences.”

  “I shan’t mind in the least.” He bounded towards the cart, making Miranda think of a small boy in search of adventure. Except there was nothing small or boyish about his lordship. He was very much a man—a smooth, sophisticated man who made things happen with the effortless ease of one born into a privileged position. “Move aside, Munford, it’s many a long year since I drove one of these things.”

  Lord Gabriel helped Miranda up onto the back row of seats, where Jessie joined her. His lordship and Munford sat up front. Wright and one crew member, whom Lord Gabriel had decreed should accompany them to the Wildes, loaded the luggage in the bed of the cart. Why he imagined Wright would be needed, Miranda couldn’t have said, but she was too excited to be home to argue the point. There being no room left for the two sailors, Wright and his crewman walked behind. It was only two miles but the horses were so slow that there was every possibility the seamen would arrive first. Tobias ran ahead, disappearing off in pursuit of rabbits, remarking his old territory and returning again, wagging as always.

  Miranda gave his lordship directions and they climbed the hill painfully slowly. She pointed out some of the older cottages, with living quarters on the upper level and storage for boats beneath. “The area suffers from frequent flooding when the tides are very high.”

  The town was busy and a lot of people stopped what they were doing to watch the strange spectacle of an obvious gentleman driving such an odd conveyance. Miranda waved to one or two people she recognised. They waved back but she was unsure if they actually realised who she was. Hardly surprising, really. She’d been a naïve girl when she left here. Now she was a grown woman with experience and responsibilities.

  His lordship drove over the stone bridge spanning the Looe River with a chapel dedicated to St Anne in its middle, and thence uphill, away from the town. Farm land opened up around them and Tobias was in his element, rushing everywhere, tail constantly wagging.

  Eventually the tall stone gateposts of the Wildes came into view.r />
  “We’re here!” she cried. “Turn to the left, if you please, Lord Gabriel.”

  Her excitement waned when she noticed that the gates were wide open, whereas her father had always kept them closed. Worse, the paint on them was peeling and they appeared to be hanging at an odd angle.

  Strange.

  The short gravel driveway leading to the house was weed-strewn, the lawns on either side of it overgrown. It wasn’t like Dalton to let such things slide. Her pleasure at being home was further tempered when her gaze rested on the house itself and she noticed the deteriorated state of the exterior. The honey stone walls were covered with what looked like mould, the windows looked dirty and neglected, and slates were missing from the roof.

  “What in heaven’s name…” Miranda jumped down from the cart, just as someone came round the side of the house.

  “What’s going on here then?” The man did a double take when Tobias gambolled up to him and pushed his snout into his hand. “Tobias?”

  Miranda would know that voice anywhere, even though it took her a moment to recognise its owner. Dalton had aged considerably in the four years since she’d last seen him.

  “Dalton, it’s me. I’m home.”

  “Miss Miranda?” Dalton blinked several times, as though he didn’t trust his own eyes. “Is that really you? All grown up and ladylike.”

  “Yes, Dalton.” She went to the man who was more like a second father to her than an employee and gave him a hug. “It’s me.”

  “Well, I never did.”

  Before he could say more, the front door opened and Mrs. Dalton stood there, wiping her hands on her apron and then tears from her eyes when she recognised Miranda.

  “Miss Miranda!” She opened her arms wide and Miranda hurtled herself into them. “You’re a sight for sore eyes and no mistake. Welcome home.”

  “It’s lovely to be here at last.”

  “Why didn’t you let me know to expect you? Nothing’s prepared.”

  “I’m sure we’ll manage.” Miranda knew that Mrs. Dalton always kept the beds aired and could rustle up a meal out of nothing.

  When Miranda made introductions, the Daltons appeared a little bemused to have a flesh and blood lord in their midst. She was grateful when Lord Gabriel put them at their ease with his down to earth manners and ready smile.

  “Perhaps we should go inside,” Lord Gabriel suggested when several minutes had passed and they were still standing on the crumbling steps.

  Mrs. Dalton’s face fell. “You’ll all be staying here?”

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Dalton,” Miranda said. “Lord Gabriel doesn’t expect to be—”

  “It’s not that.” She sent her husband a beseeching glance. “It’s…well, you’d best see for yourself.”

  Miranda scowled when no one else appeared to take their bags. “What is it?” she asked. “Where is everyone else?”

  She stepped into an entrance hall that smelt of damp and neglect. Memories of the warmth and airy lightness of her childhood home—memories that had sustained her through four long years of separation—weren’t sustainable now she was actually here. She could no longer fool herself that the neglect at the Wildes was a minor slip in standards. She peered around doors and saw furniture shrouded in dust sheets, faded curtains closed across the windows and cold, empty fireplaces.

  “Best come through to the kitchen, begging your pardon, my lord,” Dalton said. “It’s the only habitable room in the house.”

  Presumably Lord Gabriel sensed her anxiety, her sudden reluctance to face whatever it was that had happened to allow her beloved home to fall into such a sorry state of repair. He took her elbow in a firm grasp and propelled her along in Mrs. Dalton’s wake, leaving Wright and Munford to organise the luggage. Jessie followed them into the kitchen, casting frequent glances at Miranda, clearly bursting to know what had happened just as much as Miranda was. At least the kitchen was relatively warm from the heat of the stove. Miranda fell into a chair at the scrubbed pine table and endeavoured to look positive. Whatever forces were at work to undermine her inheritance, she would be no use to anyone if she gave way to the sinking despair she felt.

  “Perhaps you should explain to Miss Cantrell why the place looks so neglected?” Lord Gabriel suggested mildly.

  Mrs. Dalton placed a filled kettle on the hob. “Best make some tea. At least we can still manage that.”

  “We never thought to see you again, miss,” Dalton said, staring fixedly at Miranda as though he still doubted it was her. “Broke our hearts, so it did, when we were told you wouldn’t be back.”

  Miranda wrinkled her brow. “You always knew I intended to return, Dalton. What reason did you have to think otherwise?”

  “That guardian of yours. Came down here, he did, strutted about like he owned the place, dishing out orders left, right and centre.” Dalton sniffed. “When we asked about you, he said you was getting married and wouldn’t be back. The place was to be sold.”

  “When was this, Dalton?” Lord Gabriel asked before Miranda could.

  “Let me see now.” He screwed up his features, as though the question required a deal of thought. “A good six months or more ago.”

  “Start from the beginning, Dalton,” Miranda said in a kindly voice. “Why is the house in such a state of disrepair? I know it’s not because you or Mrs. Dalton have been neglectful of your duties.”

  “Indeed it isn’t.” It was Mrs. Dalton’s turn to wrinkle her nose disdainfully as she handed round steaming cups of tea. “Your poor father, God rest his soul, weren’t cold in his grave before that Peacock person came down here and dismissed half the staff.”

  “I had no idea!” Miranda cried indignantly.

  “Said there was no need for them now and that we could manage with just one girl in the house to help me and one lad to assist Dalton.” She harrumphed. “Just goes to show what he knows about running an efficient household.”

  “You should have let me know, Mrs. Dalton.”

  “Bless you, miss, there was nothing you could have done about it.”

  “But now you have no help at all,” Lord Gabriel suggested.

  “No. When Peacock came down six months ago he had a fancy lawyer with him and some other gent, whose name we never knew. That’s when they told us that you were getting married, miss, and that the property would be sold. They dismissed the maid and gardener and told us we could stay until the new owners took over.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “Very good of them, I must say, but what choice did we have at our age but to hang on and hope for the best?”

  “My father promised you positions for life,” Miranda said hotly. “Mr. Peacock had no right to suggest you would be dismissed.”

  “That he did,” Dalton replied. “But we had no way of proving it. It was more by way of a verbal promise that we knew you would have kept.”

  “And so I shall, Dalton.” Miranda straightened her spine. “Rest assured that I have no intention of marrying. What’s more, I’m home to stay.”

  Tears sprang to Mrs. Dalton’s eyes. “My prayers have been answered,” she said with feeling.

  “What of the livestock, Dalton?” Miranda asked.

  “Just three horses left. The ones they didn’t see fit to sell.”

  A hand shot to Miranda’s mouth. “Don’t tell me they sold Sultan. I can’t bear it.”

  “Sorry, miss, but he’s gone to a gent over Penzance way.”

  Lord Gabriel’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Your father’s stallion?”

  “Yes, and Mr. Peacock had no right to interfere. That horse was mine!” Miranda was so angry she almost cried. “I had plans for him.”

  “I did manage to hang on to that old brood mare you were so fond of, miss.”

  “What, Jinx?” Miranda felt slightly mollified. Not that a brood mare was any consolation for the loss of a valuable stallion. Even so, Jinx was as old as Miranda herself. The two of them had grown up together and Miranda held the mare in great aff
ection. “Well, that’s something.”

  “Peacock didn’t ask if she was in foal so I didn’t see the need to tell him she’d been covered by Sultan.”

  Miranda actually laughed. “Well done, Dalton!”

  “Yeah well, he didn’t ask if there was any other stock around, either. He just assumed all we had was what he could see. Something about it didn’t smell right. I knew you’d never agree to part with Sultan, miss, and I figured you’d never see the money from the sale anyway. He was swindling you somehow, I just knew it. Anyway, if he’d been inclined to walk to the lower paddock, he would have seen the two-year-old colt of Sultan’s what I’ve just broken to halter.” Dalton rubbed his nose. “Worth a bob or two is that youngster, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  That was a long speech for the taciturn yet kind-hearted Dalton, a testimony to just how aggrieved he obviously felt.

  “What do you intend to do now, miss?” Mrs. Dalton asked.

  A very good question. Miranda turned to look at Lord Gabriel. “Well, I was going to suggest that we all stayed here until you felt inclined to return to Denby. I realise you can’t do that until Wright’s crew have repaired the mast and patched the sails, so perhaps an inn for you in the village until—”

  “Nonsense, we shall be perfectly comfortable here. Besides, I’m in no hurry to leave the area.”

  “But, my lord.” Mrs. Dalton looked horrified. “The house isn’t fit for human habitation.”

  “Then we’d best make it so.” Lord Gabriel clapped his gloved hands together, seemingly unperturbed by the disastrous state of the house. “Presumably the chimneys need sweeping.”

  Mrs. Dalton grimaced. “At the very least.”

  Lord Gabriel glanced at Miranda. “With your permission.”

  She lifted her shoulders. Attempting to stop Lord Gabriel when he decided on a project was, she’d already discovered, like trying to halt a tidal wave. “By all means.”

  Miranda wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, but at that precise moment she was grateful to have someone else take over her responsibilities. All she needed was a short respite to get over this latest disappointment. She would then be quite herself again and would relieve Lord Gabriel of his temporary control.