But she was right. It was indeed his uncle’s situation that made Sebastian tolerate the man’s sponging and meddling. One day, Sebastian would commit the great sin of inheriting his uncle’s estate, so he didn’t mind softening the hurt for Uncle Lew when he could. Besides, he rather enjoyed the way the old scoundrel took it as his due.
“Be grateful Uncle Lew never rises so early, or he’d invite himself along,” he added. “We’d have a fine time explaining why we’re sneaking off to Winifred’s on such a raw morning.”
They rode awhile, comfortably silent with only the sounds of blades squeaking and horse’s hoofbeats on the icy paths to break the winter quiet.
After they’d passed yet another of his woodlands, Juliet said in an awed tone, “You have wonderful grounds, Lord Templemore. Quite extensive, too. And I do so love all the little copses and parks and gardens.”
Good, he thought as he glanced down at her pretty bared head, because I intend to lay them all at your feet, sweeting, if only you’ll give me the chance.
And when she praised the carved wooden bridge they crossed over and the tidy tenants’ cottages, he felt a surge of pride. He rarely got to show off Charnwood. His few visitors, business-minded or bent on discussing pistols, barely noticed his property. Certainly they never expressed their admiration with such unaffected pleasure.
Perhaps convincing Juliet to marry him wouldn’t be so difficult, after all. If she enjoyed his estate and wanted to marry a respectable, dependable man…why not?
He must persuade her that he meant well this time, that he wasn’t like “Morgan.” Even if he was the Morgan she knew. But surely he could allay her fears eventually. If the usual methods of courtship failed him—like the compliments she found suspect—he could always rely on giving her the lessons she wanted and helping her sister.
And kisses. Juliet liked kisses, no matter what she protested.
But he would bring her around. He had to bring her around. Because he’d begun to think that life with her as his wife would be vastly more rewarding than life alone.
By the time they reached Winnie’s cottage, Juliet was radiant. Lady Rosalind had remained silent throughout most of their ride, but he attributed that to nervousness about meeting with a wise woman.
“You’ll like Winnie,” he tried to reassure her as the sleigh approached the thatch-roofed structure. “She’s forthright sometimes, but she knows more than anyone about herbs and ancient remedies. If she can’t help you, no one can.”
After speaking to Juliet last night, he’d sent a stable boy over to inform Winnie of their plans. So it was no surprise that upon their approach, the cottage door swung open and she trundled out to meet them in all her white-haired, twenty-stone glory, swathed entirely in a voluminous pink wool shawl. She looked like a great dollop of marzipan.
“Good morning, Lord Templemore,” she crooned. “And welcome to you ladies, too.” She looked Juliet and Lady Rosalind over as he drew the sleigh to a halt. “Aren’t you both lovely things? I daresay his lordship is delighted to have such pretty visitors stranded at Charnwood Hall.”
“Indeed I am,” he said truthfully. He climbed out, then turned to help the ladies. “I hope this isn’t too early for you, Winnie.”
“You know better than that, m’lord. I’m up with the chickens, I am. And I did want to tell you that…”
The rest of Winnie’s words faded as he took Juliet’s slender hand in his and helped her down. Just that brief contact made his blood thunder in his ears. Holding her hand more tightly than was proper, he didn’t release it right away. Her gaze flew to his for the merest second, enough to steal his breath. Flushed from the journey, she looked fresh and bright and happy. He burned to sweep her into his embrace and kiss her until she melted.
As if she’d read his thoughts, her face flamed. She tugged her hand free, then slid from between him and the sleigh, leaving him frustrated and bereft. He turned to help Lady Rosalind next, but she’d already climbed out the other side and was eyeing him with speculation.
“M’lord?” came Winnie’s voice behind him, wafting down as if from on high.
He turned to find Winnie wreathed in a knowing smile. “Yes?”
“I was just thanking you for sending Henley over to clean out my chimney.”
Only then did he realize he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Oh. Yes. Of course. Think nothing of it.” He was babbling like an idiot. Juliet had that effect on him. He forced himself to pay attention. “So it’s drawing better now?”
“Indeed it is. He did a fine job, he did.” Winnie folded her wrinkled hands over her ample belly and winked at Sebastian. “But he wasn’t as handsome as that last fellow you sent. What nice muscles that one had! And such blushing cheeks! He was quite the shy thing for a man full grown.”
Wonderful—she was making the footmen blush again. God knew what she’d said to the poor lad about his “nice muscles.” Winifred never minced her words on any subject, but especially not when it came to handsome, strapping youths.
“But it’s good of your lordship to send the lads.” She smiled at Lady Rosalind and Juliet. “His lordship takes great care of me. Been looking after me since he was thirteen.”
“Thirteen?” Juliet echoed in surprise.
“Winnie exaggerates,” he muttered.
“Bah, don’t listen to him and his modesty,” the wise woman retorted. “Thirteen, he was, when he took over managing the estate. The old baron tried to send him off to Eton, but he’d have none of it. ‘No, sir,’ he said, ‘I’ll stay right here, if you please. You may hire me tutors.’ That’s when he set to putting Charnwood to rights. Read himself all those big books about breeding and crops, learned what he could from farmers hereabouts, and fired the thieving steward. God knows the old baron didn’t give a tuppence for the estate. If his lordship here hadn’t taken it in hand, who knows what would’ve become of us all? And then that Morgan showed up—”
“Winifred!” he said sharply. The wise woman probably didn’t know anything, but just to be safe…“The ladies aren’t interested in that. We have other matters to discuss.”
A sly smile curved up her thin mouth. “I’m getting to it, m’lord.” She surveyed the two women. “So which of you lovelies is the one that wants a baby?”
Her gaze swept over Juliet, who hastily remarked, “Not me. I’m not even married.”
“But you will be, mark my words.” Winnie shot Sebastian a mysterious look. “And sooner than you think, I warrant.”
When he raised an eyebrow at her, her eyes filled with merriment. If he believed in such things, he’d think the Welshwoman had a touch of the second sight. But more likely she hoped to see him married and had fixed on Juliet as the best prospect. One thing he’d give Winifred—she had excellent taste.
Subjecting Lady Rosalind to her scrutiny, Winifred pursed her shriveled lips. “So you’re the one. You certainly look healthy enough for childbearing. What about your husband? Is he young and spry enough to get a child on you? Are your courses regular?”
Sebastian choked back an oath. “Winnie, why don’t you and the ladies go inside to discuss all this? I’ll remain with the sleigh until you’re done.”
“In this cold?” Winnie said. “Wouldn’t you rather come in by the fire?”
And listen to them talk over the intimate details of Lady Rosalind’s female troubles? No thanks. “I’ll be fine out here.”
As if she’d read his mind, she laughed. “You’d best get used to such talk, m’lord, if you intend on taking a wife.”
“When the time comes, I’ll be sure to consult you, but until then I pray you show me some mercy.”
She flapped her hand at him. “Oh, go on with you then—you and your manly squeamishness. Wait until you’ve had your own six wee ones. Then you’ll have a real reason to beg for mercy.” She opened her cottage door and beckoned to Juliet and Lady Rosalind. “Come along, m’dears. We have a goodly bit to discuss, and we don’t wish to make his lordship
uncomfortable.”
“Too late for that,” he muttered under his breath. And what did she mean, “your own six wee ones”? As if it were already planned. By thunder, she’d better not have the second sight. He intended to have children, but for God’s sake, six?
Still, the thought of Juliet heavy with his child held a surprising appeal. She’d be a wonderful mother, warm and loving, the sort of mother he’d never had himself. If any woman was meant to have six children, it was Juliet.
Then he remembered how small and fragile she was, how her own mother had died in childbirth, and that gave him pause.
To take his mind off the disturbing idea of Juliet suffering through childbirth, he paced the perimeter of Winnie’s cottage, noting whatever repairs might be necessary. He had a certain fondness for the old woman, despite her nonsense. He might never have been born if not for her. So he looked after her when he could, especially now that her husband was dead and buried.
It appeared that the thatch would need replenishing this spring, and a shutter had come loose since his last visit. He’d send Henley over later. Or Tompkins, so Winnie could admire the man’s “nice muscles” some more. God knew the woman had few enough pleasures at her age.
He’d finished his inspection, had circled the cottage half a dozen times more, and was beginning to wonder how much longer all this would take when the cottage door opened and Juliet strolled out. Lady Rosalind followed close behind, cradling a large canvas bag in her hands as she continued her conversation with Winifred.
“Now tell me again so I can make sure you have it aright.” Winifred took Lady Rosalind’s hand to halt her beside the sleigh.
“I’m to drink red raspberry leaf tea every day for a week. The red clover blossoms are best in an infusion with mint. I can drink that whenever I please and have it with chamomile tea if I want.”
“That’s the way of it. But remember, the herbs will do you no good if you don’t relax, m’lady.” Winifred patted Lady Rosalind’s hand. “Think of yourself as a strawberry blossom opening to the bee. The blossom don’t slap at the bee, nor close its petals in fear of a sting. It lets the bee fly right in and drink its nectar. And that’s the only way to have the sweet strawberries in the spring, ain’t it? So don’t let anxiousness make you fight your destiny. Embrace it, take it into your bosom. And there it will bear fruit.”
It sounded like a lot of twaddle to him, but what did he know of such things?
Lady Rosalind threw her arms about the older woman’s neck and planted a kiss on her papery cheek. “Thank you ever so much!”
“You’re very welcome, m’lady. And you must tell me if it works, d’you hear? Send me a letter from London. His lordship will be happy to bring it to me.”
He stifled a smile. Leave it to Winnie to relegate him to the role of footman. Apparently there was one woman on the estate whom he didn’t terrify.
He helped the two ladies into the sleigh. After he’d climbed in after them, Winifred cried, “Wait! I forgot one more thing, m’lady. Does your husband bathe daily?”
Lady Rosalind gazed over at her, perplexed. “As it happens, he does. And please don’t tell me he shouldn’t or we’ll never have children, because I won’t let him within ten feet of me.”
Sebastian and Juliet both chuckled.
“No, the bathing is fine,” Winnie said, “it’s the heat of the water he should beware. It mustn’t be too hot, you ken?”
“But Griff loves hot baths!” Lady Rosalind wailed.
“Love it or no,” Winnie remarked with a dire look, “they drain the strength from a man’s seed. ’Tis very bad. You’d best not let him take any more of those.”
Lady Rosalind slumped in her seat. “However am I supposed to prevent it?”
Winnie turned her knowing gaze on Sebastian. “Well, you’re not to home just now. It ought to be easy enough for his lordship to manage sumpthin’ like that. All he need do is command his servants not to bring hot water.”
When Juliet and Lady Rosalind glanced to him imploringly, he groaned. “Oh no, you don’t. Bad enough that I’m sneaking around with you two behind his back. Now you want me to deny the poor man his creature comforts—”
“The ‘poor man’ won’t listen to me.” Lady Rosalind batted her eyelashes at him. “Besides, if I have to explain why he can’t take hot baths, I’ll have to explain where I got the notion. Which means telling him who brought me here to meet Winnie—indeed, who told me of her in the first place.”
Blasted blackmailing wench. “How am I supposed to explain why my servants won’t give him hot water?”
“Don’t explain anything.” Juliet busily spread the lap rug over his legs and hers. “Have the servants make the baths warm instead of hot. Let him think they don’t know what they’re doing.”
He glowered at her. “After lecturing me yesterday on how to treat my servants, you now want me to subject them to a guest’s complaints for the next few days—”
“Oh, a few days ain’t near long enough,” Winnie put in. “It’ll have to be longer than that—a week at least until her ladyship is fertile. And if she don’t conceive then, she’ll have to keep at it till she does, however many months that takes.”
“Months!” Sebastian cried.
“No, of course not,” Lady Rosalind hastened to put in. “Griff would never stay that long, and I can’t miss the birth of Helena’s baby. After we leave, I’ll take my chances, but if I could have at least a week to try all of Winnie’s suggestions…” She flashed Sebastian another of those pleading looks. “Once we leave, Griff will simply demand hot water at the inns and in London, and I won’t be able to stop him. It has to be here. That is, if your lordship will extend your hospitality a little while longer.”
Deuce take it, when he’d volunteered his aid, he hadn’t expected to engage in a thousand subterfuges. This was nearly as bad as engineering the kidnapping of a lady.
On the other hand, having them stay would give him time to court Juliet. “How will you convince your husband not to leave for London as soon as the roads are ready?”
Lady Rosalind frowned. “I don’t know…I suppose I could tell him I’m ill. That all this traveling has unsettled my stomach or something.”
“That won’t work,” Winnie put in, “unless your husband fancies taking a sick woman to his bed. No point in you going to the trouble of staying here if you’re not being bedded often in the meantime, you know.”
When both sisters blushed violently, Sebastian gritted his teeth. Sometimes Winnie could be too much for anyone. But she did have a point.
“Then I’ll be the one to be sick,” Juliet ventured. “It’ll be easier for me than for Rosalind, anyway. I can just have Rosalind’s maid Polly proclaim me too ill for visitors, and I needn’t show any evidence of illness.”
“Oh, thank you, Juliet!” her sister exclaimed. “That might actually work.”
It might work for Lady Rosalind, but it wouldn’t help Sebastian’s courtship. Blast. “Now that we’ve got that settled,” he grumbled, “we’d best head back, before the unwitting recipient of all your plotting wakes up. Or worse—has a hot bath.”
As his two companions laughed and said their goodbyes to Winnie, he urged the draft horses into a walk. Once they were on their way, he renewed the discussion, trying to make his voice sound casual. “You know, Lady Juliet, if you pretend to be sick, you’ll have to stay cooped up in your bedchamber all the time.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Polly will keep Griff out of the room, and Rosalind can give him regular announcements of how awful I feel.” Her smile was pure mischief. “Then I’ll simply sneak out and do as I please. Charnwood is large enough that I can avoid my pesky brother-in-law with ease. Especially if he’s busy with Rosalind.”
“And you can stay busy with me,” he said, glancing over at her. Beneath the lap robe, he rubbed his calf against hers. “We can play chess. You seem to enjoy that.”
Coloring, she moved her leg away, though it
took some doing in close quarters.
Lady Rosalind cast him a sly look. “I’d forgotten Juliet’s fondness for chess. However did you discover it, my lord?”
“Quite by accident. But your sister plays very well. Though she’s a sore loser, prone to decline a challenge.”
Juliet’s gaze was pure ice. “I’ll meet any challenge you propose, my lord, at any time. Especially in chess.”
He smiled. She was so easy to bait. “Excellent. Then chess it is.”
“As long as Griff doesn’t know about it, and there’s a proper chaperone,” Lady Rosalind warned, “I suppose that would be all right.”
“Oh, of course,” Juliet said sweetly. “We’ll have Polly serve as chaperone, shan’t we, Lord Templemore?”
“Whatever you wish.” His blood quickened at the thought of endless hours of keeping Juliet busy without Knighton’s interference. “A chaperone is a small price to pay for the chance at trouncing you in chess.”
“And what makes you think you’d trounce me?” she snapped.
“I trounced you the last time we played, didn’t I?” Without looking at her, he pressed his thigh against hers and was rewarded by her sharp intake of breath. “I reached checkmate with great speed, as I recall.”
“That won’t happen again.” But her high color and shaky tone said otherwise.
Feeling decidedly cheerier, he concentrated on navigating the treacherous paths with the sleigh. He didn’t even mind when Lady Rosalind began a series of impertinent questions about his family and connections, obviously designed to determine his suitability as a husband for Juliet. Since his plans fell in with hers, he was more than happy to oblige her with answers.
But Juliet seemed to disapprove. She constantly attempted—unsuccessfully—to change the subject. Only when they were halfway back to Charnwood did she seize on a suitable distraction. “Look there, Rosalind,” she cried, “what a quaint little cottage. I wonder that we didn’t notice it when we first came this way.”
“The rock face obscures it from the other direction,” he explained. “You’d have to look back to see it.”
After the Abduction Page 14