“I have to hand it to you, Bill, you’re always one step ahead of the game.”
Bill grunted. “God helps them as helps themselves, Lukie boy. One way or another, we’ll come out of this with our pockets well-lined, you just mark my words.”
Chapter Fourteen
Miranda had been home for two complete days. Home? She barely recognised the place she loved and had been so anxious to return to. Even though the landscape hadn’t changed, everything else had, and she wasn’t referring just to her absent possessions. She missed her father’s vibrant presence so much it was like a physical ache. She could almost hear his gruff laugh as she walked through the familiar rooms, see his indulgent smile and the easy twinkle that came to his eye when his gaze rested upon her face. She could definitely sense the touch of his hand as he patted her shoulder and congratulated her on some small achievement that marked another milestone in her passage towards adulthood.
When the end came so suddenly for Papa she had desperately wanted to return home, but Peacock refused permission for her even to attend the funeral. He didn’t hold with women parading themselves at such affairs, apparently, and had no time for public displays of grief. Miranda also suspected that he would have resented the expense, even though the money would have come from her pocket, not his.
She’d been furious at the time, consumed with resentment and a great feeling of injustice. Now that she was here, her grief was as sharp and fresh as the wind that whistled from the sea. Had she been allowed to return immediately after Papa’s demise she would likely have expired through grief and a broken heart. Not that she felt any gratitude towards Peacock for keeping her away, since he hadn’t acted out of consideration for her feelings.
Miranda threw back her head and sighed. Miss Frobisher’s establishment, for all its faults, had kept her occupied, saved her sanity, and very possibly her life too.
“Oh, Papa,” she said aloud. “How could you have been so deceived about Mr. Peacock’s character? I suspect Mr. Nesbitt’s no better, either. In fact, I’ve taken them both in extreme dislike. Whatever were you thinking?”
Probably that he wouldn’t die so young, Miranda surmised, looking around the now largely restored drawing room with a modicum of satisfaction. Its familiarity definitely soothed her troubled soul in spite of the gaps where treasures, now lost to her, had once stood.
The Wildes as a whole was rapidly coming back to life, no thanks to her. Lord Gabriel had completely taken over and even the Daltons now turned to him rather than her for instructions. They hung on his every word, lapped up any praise he directed their way as though it was some sort of benediction, and scurried to do his bidding with a speed that defied logic. It was almost amusing to observe. Dalton was efficient but had one pace and one pace only. He’d never before been known to scurry in his entire life.
Miranda knew she owed Lord Gabriel a debt of gratitude she could never adequately repay, but still felt miffed at being disregarded and left out of the decision-making. It wasn’t that he didn’t take her views into account precisely. He always listened to her most politely, and then did just as he pleased, regardless of the fact that this was her home and she knew it better than anyone. He treated her as though she was a child in need of his protection. What did she need to do to make him understand that she was now a grown, independent woman? Had she not escaped from a locked room and run away from a tyrannical guardian? That might not have finished quite the way she’d planned, but she couldn’t possibly have foreseen Bianca’s injury, or her own.
Nor could she have anticipated her growing feelings for her aristocratic protector. That fizzing sensation she’d experienced when she first realised who’d rescued her from the jaws of death hadn’t gone anywhere. In fact it intensified every time Lord Gabriel fixed her with a penetrating glance from his liquid brown eyes, making her feel as though she was the most fascinating creature on God’s earth.
“Oh, for goodness sake!” she cried aloud one afternoon when she found herself briefly alone. “I’m getting as bad as Charlotte.”
Even so, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Lord Gabriel and Munford. Both were in shirtsleeves as they carried a heavy-looking wooden beam across their shoulders. His lordship gave instructions to the men on ladders awaiting the support, laughing when he and Munford almost dropped it. His fine linen shirt would be ruined, she thought inconsequentially. Not that it mattered. Presumably he could have a dozen more made and not notice the cost.
His hair fell across his eyes and he absently pushed it aside with his spare hand. As though sensing her watching him, he looked up at the drawing room window, his gaze lingering. She leapt aside, not wanting him to think she had nothing better to do than to stand there, appreciating the sight of his lean, hard body as inappropriate thoughts—and that damned fizzing—swamped her body. He seemed to willingly get his hands as dirty as the men he’d employed to do the manual work, she had to concede that much, even though she was determined to be angry with him.
Men he’d drafted in without even consulting her, she reminded herself, doing her damnedest to regain her disgruntled state of mind. It was that or allow her thoughts to run to the unthinkable. She might be attracted to Lord Gabriel in the manner in which a lady was supposed to look upon an eligible gentleman—a situation which she’d vowed never to embroil herself in—but it really didn’t matter. They were poles apart socially and he would be gone from here soon. Once he left she would be quite herself again and there would be no further cause for concern.
There didn’t seem to be anything for her to do and she was damned if she’d ask Lord Gabriel what tasks remained. She ought to know. She ought to be the one making the lists and giving the orders, come to that. She didn’t like feeling indebted to anyone, especially not him. He’d employed the services of far too many people and as things stood she couldn’t pay them herself. She’d tried to explain that to Lord Gabriel. They needed to take things slower and do just the most pressing jobs first. But again he simply flashed a charming smile and ignored her concerns, all but patting her on the head and telling her not to worry her pretty head about it.
It was infuriating!
He was infuriating.
Having worked herself up into a high dudgeon, Miranda grabbed her bonnet and cloak and called to Tobias. The walls were closing in on her and she was sorely in need of fresh air and solitude. Tobias was spread in front of the fire. Lord Gabriel had insisted they be lit in the main rooms day and night to help get rid of the musty smell. The cost was ruinous and she wanted to object. She held her tongue, knowing how churlish it would sound. It might be only her and his lordship who occupied these rooms in the evenings, but after all his efforts he at least deserved to be warm. Besides, she hated to admit it, but he was right. The entire fabric of the house would benefit from being warmed after so many years of neglect.
“Come along, lazybones,” she said to her dog. “We’re going for a walk.”
It was bitterly cold and the low clouds hinted of snow but Miranda wasn’t deterred. At a brisk pace she set off for Hidden Cove. Where else would she go when she needed to be alone?
*
Gabe was enjoying himself chopping firewood, a task that had never fallen to his lot before. It wasn’t as easy as it looked but he was getting the hang of swinging the heavy axe, splitting the logs clean in two. The exercise was beneficial and he felt needed and useful for the first time in his life. Growing up surrounded by servants eager to indulge his every whim, this refreshing glance at life’s realities gave him pause. He would never again take anything, even something as mundane and commonplace as a roaring log fire, for granted. He was now aware just how much effort went into providing those logs.
He paused to rub the aching muscles in his arms, wipe perspiration from his brow and rest for a moment. As he did he noticed a figure striding across the paddocks at a rapid pace. He couldn’t see who it was from this distance but recognised Tobias dashing about, tail wagging incessantly.
> Miranda was heading for her cove.
She’d been very quiet in his company this past day or so. Since she usually talked too much, her silence implied that he’d upset her in some way. He knew that her stolen possessions had been a cruel blow to absorb. He also suspected that being back at the Wildes induced memories of happier times. Even so, he didn’t think either circumstance was the reason for her reticence. The urge to follow her and discover if he’d done anything to overset her was compelling, but he resisted. It definitely wouldn’t be wise to be alone with her, not the way he felt about her at present. The overly protective feeling would pass and until it did, until the urge to make her laugh and restore the sparkle to her eyes subsided, he would be best advised to keep her firmly at arm’s length.
Gabe returned to his chopping, pleased with his selflessness. He’d ruined yet another perfectly good linen shirt, he thought abstractedly. Perhaps he’d ask Wright to provide him with something a little more suitable for manual work. The idea of dressing like a labourer and mixing with the working classes appealed.
“An express just came for you, my lord.”
Gabe looked up to see Mrs. Dalton standing in front of him, proffering a letter. “Thank you.”
He took the letter and recognised Darius’s neat hand. He abandoned the firewood and returned to the house, eager to see what Darius had learned about Nesbitt.
Gabe,
Nesbitt has flown the coop but before he disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving all his clients without an explanation, he dismissed Blake.
“Damn!” Gabe said aloud.
Whoever was watching for Miss Cantrell in Denby obviously knew she went to Mrs. Blake’s cottage. Don’t fear for Blake. I’ve taken him on in my office.
Gabe smiled. That was so typical of Darius.
My workload is expanding and I was sorely in need of an experienced third clerk. Blake is very good at his job, far too good for the likes of Nesbitt, so it all worked out for the best. Blake was cross-questioned by Nesbitt about Miss Cantrell visiting his mother’s cottage. Blake, to his credit, pretended to know nothing about it, aware that he was likely to lose his position whatever he said and choosing to protect Miss Cantrell’s confidence. Nesbitt sent him packing when he finally realised that neither threats nor coercion would sway an honourable young man such as Blake. That same day Nesbitt disappeared from London without explanation. I can only assuming he realises Miss Cantrell knows of his involvement in the deception, whatever it is, and that she must no longer trust him. As far as I know, he’s unaware that you’re with her and thinks to find her at the Wildes alone.
As promised, I’ve asked further questions about Nesbitt, as has my chief clerk. I already knew he was neither liked nor respected within legal circles. He’s the type of man who gives our profession a bad name, accepting only the cases most likely to pay well, not caring about his clients’ welfare once his fees are paid.
What I hadn’t known about him is that he’s in dun territory.
“Ah. Now this begins to make sense.”
I knew nothing of his family life but made it my business to find out. He’s married to an earl’s daughter—Earl Swanston to be precise.
Lord Swanston is a northerner who never shows his face in London so I doubt if any of us have ever set eyes on him. He’s always short of blunt, thus enabling an ambitious man like Nesbitt to marry above himself. Unfortunately, from Nesbitt’s perspective, his wife has produced daughters only—four of them—and she sees no reason why they shouldn’t be launched upon society. She’s either unaware of her husband’s straitened circumstances, or simply doesn’t care. She continues to spend in order to promote her daughters and I understand credit is no longer extended to her in a lot of quarters. Her ambition is costing Nesbitt money he doesn’t have and he’s running out of options.
I also have it on good authority that Nesbitt’s made some unwise investments, adding to his financial problems. I can’t find out what, precisely, but you can take it from me that the man’s desperate. Whatever involvement Nesbitt has with your Miss Cantrell, you can be sure he aims to make a fast profit from it. On no account should you trust him, and make sure Miss Cantrell doesn’t either.
Hal asked me to tell you that he and Rob are at your disposal, should you require reinforcement, as am I. You have but to send the word.
Yours, etc.
Gabe reread the letter, more slowly this time, grateful that his brother hadn’t taken it upon himself to ride to his rescue. Gabe could handle the situation alone. Deep in contemplation, he folded the letter into his pocket, trying to make sense of what he’d just read. If Darius’s intelligence was correct, and Gabe didn’t doubt that it was, then Nesbitt’s situation must be desperate for him to risk his career in such a manner. If he was caught he would be out of a job at the very least, and would probably occupy a cell in Newgate for a long period of time. A wry grin flirted with Gabe’s lips. No doubt some of his dissatisfied clients would greet him with open arms.
He strode to the window and glanced out at a slate-grey sky that promised snow. Presumably, whatever it was here at the Wildes that attracted two such avaricious men as Nesbitt and Peacock must have seemed like easy pickings with just a green girl standing between them and it.
Gabe ground his jaw. Unfortunately for them, they’d failed to take his presence into account. He knew now to expect her guardians within the next two days and would be ready for them. All he needed to do in the meantime was to discover what it was about the Wildes that had tempted them. He’d seen absolutely nothing out of the ordinary since his arrival, and he’d been looking.
Miranda knew what it was—she must do since she was intimately acquainted with every inch of the place—but just didn’t realise it. Gabe didn’t intend to reveal the contents of Darius’s letter to her. She needed to be protected, not overset by knowledge of Nesbitt’s callousness. But she did need to know that Peacock and Nesbitt would very soon be here. Perhaps expediency would sharpen her mind and she would remember some snippet of information that could be exploited for financial gain by two ambitious and desperate men.
With a legitimate reason to follow her to her cove, Gabe reached for his coat and set out after her.
Chapter Fifteen
Gabe covered the footprints made in the frosty grass by Miranda’s small feet with his own much larger ones. Even though the sea was visible from the house, distances could be deceptive and he assumed he would be in for a long walk. The cold wind biting into his face notwithstanding, the walk would give him an opportunity to further think about Darius’s letter and how much he ought to tell Miranda. She deserved to know but the desire to protect her muddled his thinking.
He was surprised when he crested a rise in the ground and already found himself almost on the steep path that descended to the cove. The Cornish coast twisted and turned, often seeming to double back on itself, making greedy inroads into the land. The cove was a large inlet at an almost ninety degree angle to the town, making it very private, and almost inaccessible.
Gabe’s suspicions were now on high alert. He’d examined most of the Wildes estate, looking for an explanation for Peacock’s behaviour. The cove was the only area to have so far escaped his scrutiny. It hadn’t previously occurred to him that Peacock’s scheme could have anything to do with a remote, secluded little bay, especially since Miranda had told him it was inaccessible from the sea. Smuggling had been one of his first thoughts since that thrived in this part of the world. Even if that was Peacock’s intention though, he would have to be a desperate man indeed to attempt it. The locals knew the geography of the land backwards, considered it their birthright to ply the waters with their illegal cargos, and wouldn’t take kindly to Londoners trying to queer their pitch.
No, it was nothing to do with smuggling.
Hewn out of the rock face, the steps down to the cove were steep and slippery with algae. Gabe hoped Miranda had negotiated them without damaging her recently sprained ankle. There
was a rope handrail, so she might have been safe enough if she took a firm hold of that.
Gabe paused to look across the foaming sea, grey and angry as large waves broke across a line of rocks and crashed onto the shingle beach. It was a thrilling sight, nature in its rawest form. He breathed deeply of the crisp air and tasted salt on his lips. Unless he mistook the matter, there was a storm brewing.
God’s beard! Gabe slapped the heel of his hand against his brow, almost doing what the wind had thus far failed to manage and dislodging his hat. How could he be so mutton-headed? He ought to have noticed at once that the rope handrail was brand new, not weathered or frayed. Every aspect of the estate had been in disrepair when they arrived. Why would anyone bother to renew a handrail to a cove that was disused and of no strategic importance? He’d bet his fortune that it wasn’t Dalton’s work.
Gabe experienced a moment’s panic. Was some ne’er-do-well already down here when Miranda arrived alone and unprotected? If she happened upon their secret, there was no telling what action they might take to silence her. He ran down the slippery steps, almost falling twice in his haste to reach her. If anyone harmed so much as one hair of on her head, by all that was holy, they’d have him to answer to.
The strength of his feelings surprised him but didn’t slow him down. When he couldn’t see her or Tobias anywhere, his unease grew. He called her name but his voice was carried off by the wind and he barely heard it himself. Forcing himself to slow his step—indeed, he had no choice since he was struggling to find purchase for his boots on the slippery shingle—the rest of the cove came into view. The wild beauty of the place even on such a day struck him, and he could understand why Miranda favoured it. Sitting here alone and simply communing with nature would be a good way to sooth a jaded spirit.
Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway Page 16