Anne Gracie - [Merridew Sister 03]

by The Perfect Stranger

  She looked around for someone to blame, but the camp was still deserted. How dare he burn her boots! Now she was trapped here, for she’d already tried walking in bare feet, and once she stepped off the sand onto stony paths or prickly vegetation, it was impossible. Besides, she’d look even more of a beggar if she were barefoot. When she got her hands on Nicholas Blacklock she would—she would—! She clenched her fists angrily. She would force him to buy her a new pair of boots!

  She spotted Stevens fishing near the headland. She stormed down the beach toward him.

  “He’s gone into town with Mac, miss,” Stevens said the moment she came within earshot. “On business.”

  “He burned my boots!” she exclaimed indignantly.

  Stevens nodded. “Yes, miss, I saw him.”

  “But they were perfectly good boots!”

  “Yes, miss, that’s what I said, too.”

  “He had no right to burn them. They were my boots!”

  “Yes, miss. I think that’s why he burned them.”

  Faith clenched her fists. There was nothing worse than being angry and needing to yell at someone, and the only person available was not only innocent of any crime, but kept agreeing with you in the most infuriatingly placid way.

  “Do you know how to fish, miss?”

  “No, I don’t—” began Faith in frustration.

  “Here y’are then. It’s easy.” He shoved a fishing line into her hand. Faith was about to explain in no uncertain terms that she had no desire whatsoever to learn to fish, when he added, “Now that we’ve got an extra mouth to feed…”

  She shut the extra mouth and fished. After a few minutes, she became aware that Stevens was observing her from the corner of his eye. “Yes?” It came out rather snappily.

  He shrugged. “Oh, nothing, miss. I was about to observe what a very soothing activity fishing was…” He darted her a wry glance. “Only mebbe I’ve changed my mind.”

  She had to laugh then. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to be rude, only I did so want to speak to Mr. Blacklock. I am furious with him, but I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you, Stevens.”

  “S’all right, miss. You didn’t say nothing to upset me.”

  They fished then for a while in silence. Faith glanced across at him. He really did seem to find fishing soothing. It was quite pleasant sitting here on a rock and looking out to sea, but it was also just a little bit…boring. Especially when she needed to throttle someone.

  After a while, Stevens said, “Don’t you mind Mr. Nick’s high-handedness, miss. He always has done what he thinks is right, no matter what anyone else says. Always, ever since he was a boy.”

  Faith sniffed and fished. High-handedness indeed! He could be high-handed with his own possessions.

  “I’ve known him all his life, see.”

  Faith waited for him to say more, but he seemed intent on his fishing. Curiosity got the better of her. “You’ve known Mr. Blacklock all his life?”

  “Ever since he was able to escape his nanny and head for the stables. Loved horses, he did, right from when he was a little lad. All animals, really, even the wild creatures—especially the wild creatures.” Stevens frowned over his cane and wound the line in. “Cunning beggars! They’ve nibbled me bait off again.” He pulled something out of a pail that sat beside him in the sand and threaded it on his hook. Faith averted her eyes, trying not to notice that whatever it was wriggled. When he’d tossed the line back in, he continued, “Master Nicholas was the same age as my boy, Algy.”

  “You have a son?”

  “Had. He got killed in the war.” He tugged at the line. “When Mr. Nicholas got sent off to war, my boy followed him. Ran off without so much as a by-your-leave and joined up wi’ Master Nick.” He shook his head in wry reminiscence, “He couldn’t let Mr. Nicholas go off by hisself, you see. The pair of ’em was inseparable—bin getting up to mischief together since they was old enough to run. Mr. Nicholas, he got Algy into his own regiment. Old Sir Henry had bought him a commission, you see.”

  “I’m sorry you lost your son, Stevens. I suppose they thought the army would be a big adventure—boys often do, I believe.”

  “Nope.” Stevens gave her a look. “Master Nicholas, he was sent, miss. Didn’t want to go. Didn’t have no choice about it. Old Sir Henry was furious with him—he’d got up to mischief again, y’see. Old man reckoned the army would learn him a lesson.”

  “What sort of mischief?”

  He shook his head. “Harmless stuff, boys’ stuff, but it drove the old man wild with rage. Wanted Mr. Nicholas to be more like his brother—in other words, more like Sir Henry.”

  Faith would have liked to ask about the brother, but Stevens was deep in reminiscences, and she didn’t like to interrupt.

  “Mr. Nicholas was desperate angry about bein’ forced to be a soldier. Never hurt a fly, he wouldn’t. Not then, at any rate. So young he was—and Algy, too. Just boys.” He shook his head. “They’d have both been killed in their first battle if it hadn’t been for Mac.”

  “Mac?”

  He cast her a look. “Don’t let Mac’s bitterness blind you. He’s a good man, missie. Ruined he was, by a heartless Spanish light-skirt.” He shook his head again. “That big Scottish lummox has a heart of marshmallow.”

  “Mac?” She couldn’t believe it.

  Stevens grinned. “Hard to believe, I know, but he risked his life, diving into the river—he couldn’t swim in those days—to rescue a misbegotten mongrel pup that had been tied to a brick and slung in. Mac fished it out and nearly drowned himself. He would have if Mr. Nick hadn’t dived in when he saw Mac was in trouble. Tch! And all over a dog!” He jerked his head back toward the camp. “That Beowulf. Mr. Nicholas, Mac, and Algy palled up a’cos of that ugly pup, and the three lads became mates, even though Mr. Nick was an officer and the other two naught but common soldiers. Best thing that happened to Mr. Nick and my Algy, Mac was. See, they were the same age, only Mac had started soldiering at twelve.”

  “Twelve!” Faith was shocked.

  “Yes, as a drummer boy.” Stevens shrugged. “There’s lots of Scots lads in the army—it’s that or starvation in the Highlands. So by the time my two green lads arrived on the peninsular, Mac was a seasoned soldier. He showed them both the ropes, taught ’em enough soldiering tricks to stay alive by the time they faced their first battle. Three lads, and all just sixteen.”

  He was silent for a long while, thinking of his son, Faith thought, then he added bitterly. “Old Sir Henry Blacklock was right. Army did learn Mr. Nick different. Changed him. Killed something inside him. Killed every one of his blessed friends, too, didn’t it? Includin’ my Algy. That’s when I went over to Spain to join Master Nick.” He snorted with self-mockery. “Thought I’d look after him, but got this instead.” He rubbed the scar on his face as if it itched. “And it was Master Nick and Mac what looked after me.” Then his tone changed. “Now, d’you see how your cane is bent over and you can feel something tugging—”

  “Oh! You mean I have a fish! Help! What do I do?” All other thoughts flew from Faith’s head as she struggled to land the wildly fighting fish. Stevens waded into the water, brandishing a small net, and Faith found herself following until she was knee-deep in the sea. Laughing, shrieking, and hanging on to the line like grim death, she attempted to follow Stevens’s instructions, and by the time the fish was safely landed, both she and Stevens were extremely wet—and had become fast friends. She looked at her fish with satisfaction. It flipped in its bucket, big, fat, and furious.

  “It’s a beauty, isn’t it, Stevens?”

  “It surely is, miss. Now, here you are.” He handed her a knife.

  “Don’t we cook it first?’

  Stevens laughed. “Yes, but first you’ve got to kill it. And then to gut it and scale it.”

  “Me?” Faith squeaked in horror.

  “Yes, miss, you. You caught it, you kill it.”

  “But I’ve never killed a thing in
my life! Not even a spider. And I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  To her dismay, Stevens didn’t budge from his position. He was a groom, not a gentleman. He didn’t think a lady should be sheltered from the realities of life. Especially not one who was sleeping in sand hills, his look seemed to say. “Never know when you might need to fish for your supper again, miss. Best to know the whole process.”

  Faith was thoroughly appalled by the idea, but it was barely a day since she’d resolved not to rely on others so much, to be more independent, to have control of her life. She stared at the fish, madly flipping in the pail. This was her first chance to prove she could do for herself.

  She watched him as he took a dead fish from the pail and showed her how to hold it. Gingerly she picked up her fish as he instructed, slipping her fingers into its gills and gripping hard. It wriggled and flipped and felt cold and slimy and completely disgusting.

  “Good girl,” he said.

  Faith’s resolve firmed.

  “Now hold the fish down here, on the sand, and slip the point of the knife in here, nice and gentle.” He demonstrated on his fish. “It won’t feel a thing, miss. It’s all any of us can ask, a quick and painless death.”

  She wrinkled her nose and nodded, unconvinced. It seemed a perfectly disgusting thing to do, but she was determined to leave helpless Faith in the past. Independent Faith could do anything.

  “V-very well.” Faith took the knife and braced herself. She raised her hand, screwed up her face, and brought the knife down.

  “No!” Stevens grabbed her hand.

  She stared at him in surprise. “What?”

  He gave her an incredulous look. Slowly his face dissolved into a mass of crinkles. And then he started to laugh.

  “What is it? What did I do wrong?”

  Still chuckling, he removed the knife from her grasp, and killed the fish in one quick movement.

  Faith watched with a mixture of revulsion and relief. “I thought I was supposed to—”

  He interrupted her gently. “Yes, miss, but the thing is, it’s not a good idea to stab the fish—stab anything, really—with your eyes closed.”

  She gave him a sheepish look. “I couldn’t bear to watch.”

  He laughed again. “Come along then. I’ll gut and clean it for you. But watch how I do it so you know how, if you ever need to, all right?”

  She thanked him humbly and received her lesson in gutting and scaling with a minimum of squirming. “And if you need any sewing or darning done, Stevens, I’ll do it for you in exchange.”

  He cocked his head and considered. “Depends, miss. Do you sew with your eyes closed, too?”

  She said primly, “I’ll have you know, sir, I am accounted a very neat hand with a needle.

  He laughed. “You’ll do, miss, you’ll do. Now, you keep a’fishing and I’ll kill ’em and clean anything you catch. You’ll probably never need to do it yourself anyway, now you’re marrying Mr. Nicholas, but—”

  “Marrying Mr. Nicholas? I’m not. I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t.”

  “Never says nothing he don’t mean, Mr. Nicholas.”

  “Well, I’m not marrying him! The very idea is ludicrous.”

  He stopped scraping at fish scales and gave her a long, skeptical look from under his beetling brows. “You don’t look daft to me, miss. Why wouldn’t you wed him? He’s the finest man I’ve ever known—and I’ve known ’im all his life.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ve only known him a few hours.”

  He gave her another look and sniffed. “Mighty picky, aren’t you? For a lone female what’s been sleeping rough in a foreign country.”

  Faith flushed. “Just because I—I am in temporary difficulties, doesn’t mean I should be rushed into marriage with a stranger.”

  He sniffed again and resumed scaling the fish. He looked offended, so she said, “Look, I’ve already made a dreadful mess of things with my inability to judge a man. I don’t mean to insult your master, but I don’t wish to jump from the frying pan into the fire.” She recalled a grievance. “Even if that’s where he put my boots!”

  “Lor’, miss! Mr. Nicholas isn’t no fire! He’s a good man—one o’ the best! If I was you, I’d be jumping with both feet and hanging on tight to him!” He swished the cleaned fish in the sea, tossed it into the bucket, sat back on his heels, and stared at her. “I don’t understand your hesitation, so help me, I don’t! He’s offered you a free ticket. You don’t have to do nothing—he’d be the one what’s giving you everything!”

  Faith bit her lip. “That’s the problem,” she admitted. “Even if he meant it—which I cannot believe—I couldn’t accept such an unfair bargain. There’d be nothing in it for him that I can see—nothing!” She waited for him to contradict her, to offer her a fresh insight into Mr. Blacklock’s extraordinary offer, but Stevens just cast a new line and thrust the fishing rod into her hand again.

  “Don’t fret on it, miss. Just keep on fishing. Good opportunity for thinking things out, fishing—as well as fillin’ the pot.”

  Faith fished. And thought. And fished some more. Stevens was right. It was a good way to think. But sometimes thinking did no good. No good at all. Her thoughts veered all over the place.

  Their business in town concluded, Nick and Mac walked back to the campsite. Mac adjusted the bulging string bags he was carrying and said for the fourth time. “I canna believe ye mean tae do this, Cap’n! It’s pure folly!”

  “I don’t think so,” Nick said.

  Mac made a scornful sound. “She’ll be after your money! I’ve seen her kind before! Takin’ advantage of your better nature wi’ that pathetic tale—and that blasted female catch in her voice! Guaranteed to tweak at a man’s heartstrings! And you let her tweak awa’ on ye, like a great gormless harp!”

  The harp strode on, unmoved. “She’s a lady, Mac, fallen on hard times.”

  “Pah! A lady? I doubt it!” He snorted. “In that tatty silk dress cut down to indecency. You’re no well enough acquainted wi’ the wiles o’ women, that’s your problem!”

  “Indeed?” Nick was unmoved. Mac’s opinion was reliable about most things, but not about women. Not since a certain señorita from Talavera had taken him for everything he had. Until then, the big Scot had been the biggest soft touch, rescuing widows, orphans, and strays of all sorts—witness Beowulf. But Pepita—damn her larcenous little soul—had trampled on the big man’s pride and broken his heart into the bargain. Mac had been sour on women ever since.

  “Aye, well, a plain wee thing like her needs wiles, I’ll admit, wi’ that lopsided purple face o’ hers and that terrible case o’ spots.”

  “The swelling will go down, and the bruise will fade. And they’re not spots, they’re scratches and midge bites and will disappear. Once she’s restored to England she will be quite pretty. In any case, you’ll not have to look at her long. I’m sending her to my mother.”

  Mac said with dark foreboding, “And how will your mam cope when yonder lass brings shame and disgrace to your name?”

  “How will she do that, pray?”

  “Dalliance—and worse! Wi’ other men!”

  Pepita had done just that with Mac, so Nick kept his tone mild. “She won’t shame me with other men. And after a while it won’t matter anyway.”

  There was a short silence.

  “She’s already run off wi’ one man—and who’s to say whether he was the first or not? Mebbe that’s what had happened last night wi’ those chaps on the beach—only she wasn’t prepared to go through wi’ it at the last minute! Females are contrary. Ye know that.”

  “Some females,” admitted Nicholas. “But not Miss Merrit. I think she’s exactly as she represents—apart from the false name—”

  “Ye see!”

  “Now, Mac, you’ve said your piece and cleared your conscience, and I’ll hear no more disparagement of her. The lady is to be my wife.”

  “Och, but Capt’n, she’s a—”

&nbs
p; “I said, enough!”

  After that, Mac said not another word on the subject, but his silence was like himself: large, Scottish, and disapproving.

  Chapter Four

  It is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage.

  JANE AUSTEN

  FAITH HAD CAUGHT SEVERAL FISH AND DONE A GREAT DEAL OF thinking by the time the men returned from the town. She felt a distinct lurch in her stomach as Nicholas Blacklock’s tall figure strode around the cape. His gleaming black boots ate up the distance between them. He looked relaxed, unworried, totally in command.

  Yes, she could easily imagine him as an officer. He had an air about him, a faint unconscious arrogance, a natural authority. He was used to dominating other men. Deciding what was best for others. Burning their boots.

  If she chose to let him, Nicholas Blacklock would dominate Faith, too. If she chose to let him.

  “You burned my boots!” She accused him the moment he was close enough.

  “They needed burning.” There was not a trace of contrition in his voice or demeanor.

  Her anger sparked back into life. “They were my boots!”

  He glanced at her feet. “They gave you blisters. How are they, by the way?”

  She hid her feet under her skirt. “None of your business. You had no right to burn my boots.”

  “I know. It was an impulse that I couldn’t resist.”

  She blinked at his calm admission. “Well, what am I going to do without boots? I can hardly walk into town in my bare feet!”

  “No, I know.” He turned to his friend. “Mac?”

  Mac dumped several bulging string bags on the ground beside Faith, pulled two breadsticks free, and stomped off toward the fire without a word.

  Nicholas Blacklock squatted down, pulled out a brown paper parcel, and handed it to Faith. “Here.”

  Disconcerted, she accepted it. It was oddly shaped, both squashy and hard. What on earth could it be? And what was he up to?