The Least Likely Bride b-3

by Jane Feather

  Godfrey sat down on a stool beside the fire, stretching his booted feet to the fender. “I’m a man of action,” he stated with a touch of complacency. “I have no scholarship… no time for it.”

  “Well, you’d best cultivate some,” Brian said harshly. “Because I assure you, this particular little prize won’t fall to a man who rejoices in a lack of learning.”

  Godfrey frowned. “If there’s one thing I detest, it’s a prating woman scholar.”

  “This one is very rich, and quite tasty too, as I recall.” Brian’s thin lips flickered in a reminiscent smile. “Her nose is somewhat long-the Granville nose always is-and she has the devil’s own stammer. But a man can get used to anything with the right incentives.”

  Godfrey regarded him sardonically in the candlelight. “And of course, once I’m wed to the heiress, I’ll be keeping you too in high style.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t expect me to offer my help for nothing,” Brian said, clicking his tongue reprovingly. “This will suit me very well. I’m in need of a modest income, and in addition I have a private score to settle. Seeing Cato’s daughter married to a man of your… your unformed morality, shall we call it, will do just that.”

  Brian got to his feet, pushing himself up against the edge of the table. He reached for his cane. “Read the letter, make changes if you wish, but keep to my gist. Believe me, I know the Granvilles very well. Write it in your hand and have it delivered.”

  Godfrey said sharply, “My family, my lineage, are all worthy of a Granville.”

  “Oh, yes, dear boy, no doubt about it. But you, my friend, are not.” Brian laughed and limped to the door. “I’ll see myself out. I’ll not show my face in the castle again. I’d hate to run into my adopted father. He thinks me dead and buried in Rotterdam. You’ll find me in Ventnor, putting up at the Gull. I’ll plot your campaign from there.”

  Godfrey was too angry to bid his guest farewell. For two pins he would have told Brian Morse to go to the devil. But the man had offered a seductive pact, and one couldn’t always choose one’s partners.

  * * *

  Adam took one look at Anthony’s face as the master climbed from the dinghy onto the deck of Wind Dancer and decided to hold his tongue. Anthony was in a foul mood. It was not his habit to take his moods out on his men, but they all recognized the wisdom of steering clear of the master when his eyes were as cold and distant as they were this evening.

  “Brandy, Adam,” he said shortly as he brushed past him on his way to the companionway.

  “You want food?”

  “No.”

  Adam shrugged and went to find the bottle.

  Anthony entered his cabin and stood for a minute in the pale wash of moonlight from the open window. He drew in a breath and thought he could scent Olivia.

  Stupid! Sentimental nonsense! He snatched off the knit cap and threw it onto the window seat.

  He went to the mirror and with a grimace peeled off the mustache. The pain made his eyes water but banished sentimentality. He dipped a cloth in water and then in the saucer of salt Adam had laid ready and cleaned the black off his teeth. He was starting to look like himself again. Soap and water took off the rouge.

  He was throwing off his unsavory garments when Adam came in with a flask of brandy. “Sam says ye’ve a meetin‘ fixed fer tomorrow, then?”

  “Aye. I’ll be taking Sam and one other to watch my back. Although I don’t think the bastard will try anything tomorrow; he needs me too much. He’s desperate as a starving rat, for all he tried to hide it.” He poured cognac into a glass and drained it, then refilled the glass.

  “Left a bad taste in yer mouth, did ‘e?”

  “Foul as a cesspit. I need to know who he is.”

  “Reckon George at the Anchor’ll know?”

  “I doubt it. The man’s desperate and a villain but not, I think, stupid.” Anthony paused, his eyes narrowing. “Dangerous yes, stupid no,” he mused. “He’d not broadcast his identity across the island. I’d lay odds he’s something to do with the castle. There was something of the courtier about him.” Anthony’s lip curled.

  “Then ye’ll run into him,” Adam said matter-of-factly, picking up the discarded clothing, “when you go off to play courtier yerself.”

  “Even more inducement to show myself in the king’s presence chamber at tomorrow’s little soiree,” Anthony declared. “Leave me now, Adam. I’m in a vile humor.”

  Adam made no reply, but left immediately.

  Anthony sat on the window seat and looked out at the sliver of moon on the narrow black water of the chine. Damn the woman!

  Chapter Seven

  “It’s so neat,” Phoebe said with undisguised admiration, looking up from her minute inspection of Anthony’s handiwork. “Just three stitches and the wound’s closed to the thinnest line. You’ll have a scar, but only a faint one. I wonder what thread he used. Did he say?” Her herbalist’s curiosity was aroused.

  “No, and I didn’t ask either.” Olivia rolled away from Phoebe, turning onto her back. She lay with her arm over her eyes, struggling to control the surge of emotion as memory, rich, lushly sensual, flooded every pore and cell of her body.

  Phoebe regarded her with a worried frown. “You said you didn’t want to see him again.”

  “I don’t. It was a magic interlude, Phoebe. It was only supposed to last until I had to come home. The spell is broken.”

  “Somehow I don’t think so,” Phoebe observed dryly.

  Olivia sat up, her dark eyes burning. “I’m confused, Phoebe. I don’t know how or why it happened, but I do know that it will never happen again. C-could we not talk about it anymore?”

  The slam of the front door, violent and hasty, reverberated through the house. Olivia said, “My father.”

  “Yes.” Phoebe was already halfway to the bedchamber door.

  “I need time, Phoebe,” Olivia said urgently. “Don’t let him come up. Tell him… tell him I’m getting dressed and I’ll c-come down to him.”

  “I’ll get him to see the children first.” Phoebe hurried out. She ran down the stairs, lifting her skirts clear of her feet. Cato’s imperative voice seemed to fill the house.

  “Cato… my lord.” Phoebe tripped on the last step in her haste and tumbled into her husband’s waiting arms. He’d anticipated a misstep the moment he’d seen the speed of her arrival.

  “Olivia is safe and well,” she said when she could regain her breath.

  “So Giles tells me.” He gestured to the burly figure of the sergeant standing behind him. “I’ll go to her at once. Is she abovestairs?”

  “She’s getting dressed to come down to you. I believe she’s bathing; you can’t see her immediately,” Phoebe prevaricated. “She really is all right, Cato,” she said when he looked dismayed.

  “I suppose I must wait, then,” he said. Some of the worry was smoothed from his face as he looked at his wife. He tilted her face and kissed her mouth.

  “And you, my ragged robin. Are you well?” he asked, drawing back from her but still holding her face.

  “All the better for seeing you, sir,” she responded, her eyes aglow. “And Charles is grown so big since you left, you won’t recognize him.”

  “I’ve been gone but two weeks,” Cato protested.

  “Oh, but he eats so much!”

  Cato’s mind returned to what was uppermost. “Do you think Olivia will be well enough to accompany me on a visit to these Barkers? Giles has discovered their whereabouts.”

  “If she doesn’t ride,” Phoebe said, thinking of the wound in Olivia’s thigh. “I expect it would be all right.”

  Cato frowned. “It seems strange to me that Olivia could not remember where they lived.”

  “A blow to the head can cause much confusion,” Phoebe said. “When she remembered who she was, I don’t believe anything else mattered, except to get home. She could only think of one thing at a time. It’s quite common with such injuries.”

  Cato considered t
his, noticing absently that Phoebe’s hair was springing loose from its pins as usual and the lace collar of her gown was tucked into the neck. He straightened the collar without conscious thought. “Has she been seen by the physician?”

  Phoebe put her chin up. “I believe I have all the necessary skills, sir. Or do you not think so?”

  “I wouldn’t dare to dispute it,” he said, throwing up his hands in laughing disclaimer.

  “Will you not see the children now? While Olivia is dressing?”

  “Is the baby awake?”

  “If he isn’t now, he soon will be. I’ll fetch them straightway.”

  Cato, smiling, watched her hasten back up the stairs. Babies were still mysteries to him. He was beginning to feel comfortable with Nicholas, who at fourteen months walked quite steadily and had a few words, but the baby, Charles, Cato’s fifth child, who had been born soon after their move to the island, still alarmed him with his fragility. The mothers of his other children had never attempted to interest him in the daily progress of their infant offspring. Phoebe, however, was a very different character, unique in her way of viewing the world. She had made it clear from the first that he was to be a deeply involved parent whether he liked it or not. Cato found that on the whole he liked it.

  “We’ll be goin‘ to the Barkers, then, shall us, m’lord?”

  “In a short while, Giles. When I’ve talked with Lady Olivia. There’s no hurry, I believe.” Cato raised an eyebrow.

  “No… no, sir.” Giles sounded disconsolate. He couldn’t abide wasting time.

  “Have you dined, my lord?” Bisset had been hovering at the rear of the hall and now moved forward.

  “No, we have ridden since dawn. But just bring me bread and cheese in my study… and ale, if you please.” The butler bowed and Cato went into his sanctum. A small pile of sealed documents sat on his desk, awaiting his return. He picked them up and ran his eye over them. The writing on most he recognized. A missive from Cromwell, another from Governor Hammond, another from the governor of Yarmouth Castle. The last, however, was addressed in a hand he didn’t know. He turned it over. The wax seal bore the imprint of a coat of arms that was also unfamiliar. He reached for his paper knife just as the door opened.

  “Here we are, my lord.” Phoebe came in carrying on her hip a fat rosy baby sucking a dimpled fist. A toddler in short coats held her free hand. Little Earl Grafton regarded his father solemnly for a moment as if deciding his next move, then dropped his mother’s hand and advanced with a gleeful little chuckle, reaching up his arms.

  Cato lifted him and swung him through the air. The child shrieked with delight and presented his cheek for his father’s kiss.

  “Charles was wide-awake and, like his brother, is in great good humor.” Phoebe nuzzled the top of the baby’s head. “Greet your papa, little one.”

  Cato set down his son and heir and took the infant as he was clearly supposed to do. The baby wobbled in his arms and it took him a minute before he felt he was holding him in a natural fashion.

  Phoebe watched attentively. She was determined that Cato should learn how to manage his babies and bit her tongue on anxious words of advice.

  “Olivia says she will be down shortly.”

  Cato nodded. The infant was gripping his father’s finger, and Cato was astonished at the strength and determination of the grip. He reached behind him on the desk and gave Nicholas his great seal. The child sat down under its weight and began examining it intently.

  Phoebe smiled and glanced curiously at the missives on the table. “Anything of importance, do you think?”

  “I haven’t opened them as yet. There’s one in a hand I don’t recognize.” He tried to pull his finger free, but Charles only clung tighter.

  “Was the fighting bad?”

  “More of a nuisance than anything. The king’s supporters won’t give up easily. I’m afraid there’ll be another attempt to rescue His Majesty from the island.”

  He looked over the baby’s head and smiled slightly. “It means I’m going to be needed here to work closely with Colonel Hammond. All the king’s supporters on the island must come under suspicion. So if you’ve a mind to, you and Olivia may join the court, such as it is, in the castle. The colonel and his lady have issued a most cordial invitation for this evening. It might provide you with some amusement.”

  Phoebe’s nose wrinkled. She had neither the time nor the inclination for the trivialities of court life and knew that Olivia despised the games as heartily as she did.

  “There’s to be a poet there, I believe,” Cato added, seeing her expression. He was well aware of her disinclination for formal gatherings. “You might find him amusing, although in all honesty I don’t believe Mr. Johnson is a very good poet. But you could talk meter and the various merits of prose and rhyme with him.” His smile was somewhat cajoling.

  Such a diversion might serve to take Olivia’s mind off her melancholy, Phoebe reflected, if only as an irritant. “Yes, of course. One evening wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.”

  Cato laughed. “You are too obliging, madam wife.” He handed the baby back to her. “After I’ve seen Olivia, we’ll visit the Barkers and I can express my gratitude in proper form, then we can put this unfortunate business behind us.”

  If only it were that simple. Olivia had a long way to go, whatever she might say, before she could put her encounter with the pirate behind her. Phoebe reached down a hand to pull Nicholas to his feet. He showed some reluctance to yield up the seal, and Cato gently took it from him, giving him instead a blunted quill pen that Nicholas regarded with immediate favor.

  Phoebe said, “I’ll talk to Olivia about going to the castle. Make sure she feels up to it.”

  Cato turned back to his letters as the door closed behind his wife and sons. He slit the wafer with the unfamiliar seal and opened the sheet.

  Godfrey, Lord Channing, equerry to Colonel Hammond, presents his compliments to Lord Granville. His position as equerry has given him some information about His Majesty that he thinks Lord Granville would be interested to hear. Lord Channing most earnestly begs the favor of an interview at a time and place convenient for his lordship.

  It was signed with several flourishes in the style of the old court.

  Cato frowned, trying to remember if he’d ever met the man. The renewed fighting had kept the marquis from Carisbrooke Castle in recent weeks, so it was possible he hadn’t encountered a new equerry. The name was familiar, though. The Channings were an old and well-respected lineage, with estates in Wiltshire, Cato thought. But why, if the man had information relating to the king, didn’t he report it directly to Governor Hammond? An intriguing question and one certainly worth pursuing.

  There was a knock at the door and Cato laid the letter down on the desk. He went swiftly to open the door.

  He regarded his daughter with close concern. Always pale, she looked almost ghostly today. So wan and fragile. He put an arm around her, drawing her against his chest, gently stroking her hair. “My poor child, what a dreadful time you’ve had. Come and sit down.” He drew out a chair for her, then perched on the desk, examining her anxiously.

  “Can you tell me what happened? Or will it tire you too much?”

  “No, no, of course not.” Olivia offered a hesitant smile before embarking on the story she had perfected with Phoebe.

  “Phoebe said you wish me to accompany you when you visit them,” she said at the end of her recital.

  “I think, if you can manage it, it would be a courtesy,” Cato said.

  “They are simple folk,” Olivia said. “They’re not free with their words.” She could only hope that they had been well enough briefed by Anthony to say no more than the minimum.

  “But generous with their spirit,” Cato said. “How lucky for us all that they found you.” He shook his head, his eyes still searching Olivia’s pale countenance. “I’ve been out of my mind with worry since I received Phoebe’s message.”

  “I’m so sor
ry,” Olivia said inadequately.

  “My dear, a crumbling cliff is hardly your fault.” He leaned over and lightly brushed her cheek with a fingertip, then turned as the door opened to admit Bisset with a tray of food and ale.

  Glad to escape her father’s close scrutiny for a moment, Olivia began to rearrange a vase of yellow roses on the mantelshelf as behind her Bisset bustled to lay out his lord’s meal. She didn’t want to visit the Barkers; it was too close a reminder, too soon. They knew Anthony. She remembered his smile as he’d told her that Mike’s mother had so many children he’d never been able to count them all. He must have spent much time with them. They would know him well.

  But if she was there, then she could deflect any awkward questions, make sure that the incident from her father’s point of view was closed once and for all.

  “When do you wish to leave, sir?” she asked as Bisset left.

  “When I’ve eaten this. It’ll not take many minutes; it’s hardly elegant fare, but I missed my dinner.” Cato broke bread, cut cheese. “Phoebe says you shouldn’t ride, so I’ll tell Giles to harness a pony to the trap.” He took a swallow of ale.

  “I’ll fetch my hat and cloak and be down in ten minutes.”

  Cato nodded with his mouth full and Olivia left him to his makeshift dinner. She went up to her bedchamber, hurrying past the open door to the nursery as she heard Phoebe’s voice talking to one of the nursemaids. She didn’t want to discuss this upcoming visit with Phoebe. Not just yet.

  Holding her straw hat, she wandered to the window in her bedchamber. It looked over the garden and out over the sea towards the Needles. The sun was climbing high, setting the clear blue water sparkling. And yet it was not such a magnificent blue as the open sea.

  The Barkers must know Wind Dancer‘s anchorage. Mike served on the ship.