by Regina Scott
“Which means I’m a man down again.” Quill scowled at the fire, then looked up at James. “With Alex out, what about Lawrence? He must have a good head on his shoulders. He’s spa treasurer.”
“You promised not to recruit any more of my militia,” James said. “We’ll need them to defend the village should the French land.”
Quill snorted. “If the French land, you’ll never defend the village. The best you can do is use your militia to protect the villagers and our visitors while they flee inland.”
James straightened in the chair. “We’ll see about that. In the meantime, leave Lawrence out of it. I’ll do what I can to help you once I return from London.”
Quill frowned. “What do you hope to accomplish in London?”
“I intend to keep my cousin from harming Eva, me, and the rest of my family ever again.”
“An honorable goal.” Quill offered him the cipher. “Take this with you. I’ll give you the name of someone in the War Office. They may know what this means.”
“First, I’ll make a copy,” James said, accepting the note. “We might as well try to decipher it ourselves. Carroll is clever about such things. At the least, he’ll enjoy the challenge.”
Quill saluted him. “I wish him the best of luck. And you as well. How long do you intend to be gone?”
“I hope to be back by Friday evening, and I’ll be bringing my mother with me. Will you keep an eye not only on the caves but Miss Faraday?”
Quill chuckled. “Expect her to bolt, do you?”
“No,” James said. “But she is not well acquainted with Grace-by-the-Sea yet, and I don’t know what else the earl might be planning to bring her to her knees.”
“That hard on her, was he?” Quill asked.
“He sent her here as punishment for failing to comply with his wishes. I was to be her jailer.”
He grinned. “Nicely thwarted, even for you. Very well, I’ll watch over your bride. But I cannot promise I won’t have stolen her heart before you return.”
Something poked at him. Jealousy? Ridiculous. He and Eva had a civil arrangement. Besides, she’d see through Quill’s disarming charm in a moment.
“If you make Eva Faraday change her mind, I’ll dance at your wedding,” James replied.
“And if I don’t, I’ll dance at yours,” Quill countered.
And James wasn’t entirely sure what they’d just agreed to.
~~~
Given everything that had happened—her impending marriage to James, the possibility of French spies in the area—it felt rather frivolous to review the troops on Monday. Eva almost didn’t go, but the sight of James coming down the stairs in his red coat and sash, saber hanging at his side, changed her mind. He had slept at the Swan but returned after breakfast to change into his uniform.
“Don’t you look impressive,” she said.
Was that pink climbing in his cheeks? “Looking like a soldier is only part of the battle, madam,” he said. She schooled her face until he had left for the stables. But she smiled as she followed in the carriage, top folded back on either end to allow her to take in the view.
She was one of many, as it turned out, making the pilgrimage to the Downs above the village. Other carriages backed the wide stretch of grasslands, their occupants peering out the windows, and women and men from the village sat on blankets, chatting. Children darted in and out among them, playing catch-me-who-can. A few enterprising souls had even brought chairs so they could better enjoy the spectacle. The sea breeze tugged at the ladies’ bonnets, set the grass to rippling like the waves.
Glad she had worn her serpentine-colored redingote, Eva climbed down from the carriage to join Maudie, her niece, and a number of people who had come from the spa.
“Regulars, mostly,” Maudie murmured to Eva as they took up positions to one side of the group of men clustered in the center of the field. “You met Lord Featherstone, the tall fellow with that magnificent mane.”
Always regal, Lord Featherstone looked particularly striking in his navy coat and buff-colored breeches. He bent his head to listen to something to Mrs. Harding was saying.
“Some call her the Winsome Widow,” Maudie confided in Eva. “I don’t see it myself. Mr. Crabapple has set his sights on her. The mermaids don’t give him much of a chance.”
Eva could understand why. Mr. Crabapple seemed as willowy as the widow was curvaceous, as quiet as she was vivacious. Her husky laughter floated on the breeze. He nodded so hard in response his long nose trembled. His gaze positively glowed when she aimed her smile his way. For his sake, Eva hoped the mermaids were mistaken.
“Give them what for, lads!” the Admiral ordered, shaking a cane over his head and tipping to the right in the process.
“I think he might have been a pirate once,” Maudie told her.
She couldn’t quite imagine that. “And what do you think of Mr. Harris?” Eva asked with a nod to the last fellow.
Maudie shook her head. “He’s not worth the powder to fire upon.”
Eva raised her brows at the statement, but, at that moment, James rode to the front of the men, who hastily formed an uneven line. She recognized Mr. Ellison, the baker, white smock replaced by a red coat; and Mr. Carroll, spectacles gleaming as brightly as his brass buttons.
Another man, taller than most with a way of holding his head thrust forward as if he was peering at the world, joined James at the front. Remembering what Abigail had said, Eva guessed this was Mrs. Greer’s husband, the president of the Spa Corporation.
“All present and accounted for, sir,” he reported in a voice designed to carry.
“Very good, Mr. Greer,” James said. “Marching drill first.”
Mr. Greer nodded. He started to turn away, silver braid on his facings flashing in the sun, but James cleared his throat.
Greer hastily righted himself. “That is, marching drill it is, sir.”
He turned on his heel and addressed his colleagues. “Young Mr. Lawrence, strike the pace.”
A lad of about fifteen, drum slung about his slender frame, lifted his sticks and beat the tattoo. The men of Grace-by-the-Sea marched forward, the grass bowing before them as if in homage.
“Huzzah!” Mrs. Harding cheered, waving her lace-edged handkerchief.
Some of the troop lifted their chins.
“Right face!” Mr. Greer barked.
Most pivoted to their right. A few turned left and collided with the others, and they all came to a stop in a tangled mess. James said nothing, but Eva thought his jaw tightened, as if he was clamping his teeth against a harsh word.
“What’s this!” Greer demanded, wading into the center of them. “I said right. Right!”
“Yes,” someone complained, “but is that your right or ours? I’ve never been clear on that.”
“And is it a sharp turn or more of an angle?” someone else asked.
“What if there’s a tree in the way?” a third demanded, even though there were no trees any closer than the castle in the distance.
“Gentlemen, if we may proceed,” James called, and they hastily aligned themselves again.
“We are all learning our paces,” he told them, riding his horse back and forth along the line. “None of us has been a soldier before. But if Napoleon’s troops land on our shores, we must be able to defend our families, our friends. We must have the discipline and knowledge to succeed. Now, follow me.”
He turned his horse to point toward the sea and shouted. “Forward, march.”
Drum beating, they marched out across the waving grass.
“Right face!” he shouted, wheeling his mount, and they turned as well. This time Eva joined Mrs. Harding in cheering.
“Left face!” he shouted. Once again, some turned left, others turned entirely around, and the company ground to a halt.
“You’re stepping on my toe!” a burly fellow proclaimed, shoving his colleague.
“You’re facing the wrong way!” he countered, surging up and shovi
ng him back.
Once more James rode closer. “Enough! Do you want to die on the first volley?”
That sobered them.
He had them line up again. “We will continue this drill until you can do it right,” he told them.
“Left as well?” someone asked.
She could almost see the smoke pouring from his ears as he fought to contain his frustration. “Right, left, forward and back. And then we will start on musket drills. I will be gone the next few days, but I expect you to practice marching in the meantime. Choose an acquaintance, and drill together. We will try again as a troop at this time next Monday. Dismissed.”
With sagging shoulders, they broke formation and began trickling back to the village. James stopped to talk to a balding fellow, who nodded almost as much as the vicar. The rest of the audience packed up to leave as well.
“Not an auspicious beginning,” Eva commiserated when James rode up to them at last. “But they seem to want to get it right, and perhaps left.”
That won a smile from him. “They are good men. They will learn. They care too much about their country to do otherwise. Now, allow me to accompany you back to the house. I’d like to get on the road as soon as possible.”
Of course. He was leaving today for London. She’d nearly forgotten. She bid Maudie farewell and returned to her seat in the carriage.
James rode beside them as Mr. Connors drove her down into the village. Miss Chance, her Regulars, Maudie, and Mr. Harris were heading for the spa. Maudie waved at Eva. Mr. Harris appeared to be watching James.
“It seems I’m not the only one impressed by your efforts,” Eva teased as they passed the group. “Mr. Harris looks positively adoring.”
James shook his head. “Another petitioner, no doubt. I receive at least a half dozen every summer, all seeking to ingratiate themselves with the earl through me.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about that shortly,” Eva said with a laugh.
“True,” he allowed. “Everything is about to change.”
She felt it too. Her world had upended on her father’s death, and it had never really settled, thanks to the earl. Once she married James, she could finally claim her fortune, and her future.
While Mr. Connors made sure the carriage was ready for the journey, including closing the hood against the dust of travel, James changed his clothes and gathered the things Mr. Pym had already packed for him. Eva accompanied him out to the coach.
“I’ve asked a friend, Captain St. Claire, to look in on you,” he told her after handing his bag up to her coachman for storing. “You know Miss Chance and Miss Archer now as well. They can be of great assistance should you need it.”
Eva nodded. “I am well situated. Thank you.” She swallowed. “Be careful, James. You know how wily the earl can be. I would not want anything to happen to you.”
Were those tears gathering behind her eyes? She blinked away the hot pressure.
As if he saw her effort, he bent and brushed his lips against her cheek. “I’ll return for you, Eva. I promise.”
He straightened and climbed into the coach. Hand on the cheek he had kissed, feeling as if warmth and hope radiated from it, she watched them pull away from the house. She held his pledge, his promise.
Would the earl convince him to break them both?
Chapter Eleven
James reached London Wednesday morning. He left a weary Mr. Connors at the coaching inn on Hay’s Mews and walked through the busy Mayfair streets to the London residence of the Earl of Howland. The three-story block was set off from the square with a garden behind and its own coaching house and mews. With the four Corinthian columns across the front and the golden stone imported from Bath, the placed looked more like a Grecian temple than a home.
If he went through the front door, the earl would be told immediately of his presence, so James slipped in through the terrace doors on the south side. He had at most a half hour before one of the staff noticed him and alerted the earl, so he had to move quickly. His first task was to speak to the viscount. He took the rear stairs up to the top story of the house where the schoolroom lay.
Miranda spotted him first. “Uncle James!” She dropped the book she had been holding, sprang up off the Aubusson carpet, and ran toward him, muslin skirts flapping.
James held up his hand and put on a stern face. “Now, then, who is this young lady? What have you done with Lady Miranda? She is a moppet no more than this high.” He lowered his hand to brush the bridge of her nose.
She giggled, blond ringlets shining. “It’s me, Uncle James. I’m all grown up now.”
“Perhaps not yet,” her father said, rising from his place on the carpet. He and James had always looked enough alike to be brothers, though Thorgood was slightly thinner, his face longer, as if life had pulled at him. It couldn’t be easy being the heir. He came to shake James’s hand. “Good to see you. What brings you to town?”
“Questions,” James said. “Do you have a moment?”
Miranda glanced at her father. “No. We were about to discuss the differences between hippopotami and water buffalo.”
“An important taxonomic distinction,” James acknowledged. “I’ll only keep him a moment. I hope to see you at Grace-by-the-Sea this summer.”
Miranda brightened, but her father shook his head at her. She stomped back to the rug, threw herself down, and crossed her arms over her chest, lower lip out in a pout.
Ignoring the irrepressible nine-year-old, Thorgood led James out into the corridor. “What has the earl done now?”
“What do you know about Miss Faraday?” James countered.
His cousin grimaced. “Bad business, there. I was never clear on what she said to Father, but he lashed out as only he can.”
“Then you have no intention of marrying her?”
James tensed to hear the answer. Did Thorgood remember a similar conversation, when he’d been the one asking James that question?
His cousin raised his head and looked down his nose, and all at once James saw the resemblance to the earl. “Certainly not. I have no interest in marrying.”
He could not stop the relief that surged through him. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to step away this time. He was a different man. And he’d given his promise to Eva. Still, he had to be sure.
“You must know you can’t hold out forever,” James cautioned. “He’s expecting the line to continue unbroken.”
“I know.” Thorgood sighed, shoulders slumping. “And I will do what I must to ensure that. Just not now, not yet.”
James put a hand on his shoulder. “There are few like Felicity. You have my everlasting condolences.”
“Thank you,” he said. “That means a great deal considering how Felicity came to be my bride.” He rallied. “Now, what of Miss Faraday? Is she fighting her exile? Giving you trouble?”
James smiled. “I find her company invigorating.”
His cousin laughed. “That’s one way to put it. Like you, she was quick to take up a cause and fight to the death for it. Are you here to plead her case, then?”
James cocked his head. “Is he willing to listen to reason?”
“Doubtful.” He glanced down the corridor as if he expected to see the old man striding toward them even now. “He hasn’t been well recently, James, and it’s got his back up.”
“It must be hard being reminded he’s mortal,” James drawled. “And you’ve heard nothing of financial difficulties?”
Thorgood frowned. “No. You manage the southern properties, Walsingham the north, and Rodrigo the east. All three of you know what you’re about.”
Normally he would agree, but he couldn’t forget Eva’s story. “There appear to be some questions. Watch yourself.”
“You as well,” Thorgood said. “He can do little to me—I’m his only hope for a legacy. But he can think of too many ways to inconvenience you.”
And more. “I’ll be careful,” James said. “And I meant what I said to Mira
nda. Bring her to Grace-by-the-Sea this summer. The sea air will do you both good.”
“I’ll consider it,” Thorgood said. “It depends on how the earl is faring. Will I see you at dinner?”
“Not if I can help it. I hope to have my business concluded and be back on the road.”
Thorgood shook his head. “Do you never stop working?”
“Never,” James said. “That’s the way the earl prefers it.”
As he took his leave of his cousin, a clock chimed the hour nearby. His mother next.
He located her in the countess’ sunny sitting room at the back of the house.
“How can Society survive when two of its loveliest ladies hide themselves away?” he asked from the doorway.
His mother, who had been working at an embroidery loop on her lap, glanced up. Then her eyes lit. “James!”
“What an unexpected pleasure,” the countess said from her place near the hearth.
He bowed to them both. “Countess, Mother. May I join you?”
The countess looked him up and down. She persisted in the fashion of yesteryear, gathering her hair up in a high peak over her head. At least it was silvery enough now on its own that it didn’t require powder. His mother had taken to wearing lace-edged caps, a fancier version of what the maids wore, so that in no way would she eclipse the countess.
“In all your travel dirt?” the countess said with a wrinkle of her nose. “Surely you can do better, sir.”
His mother’s smile faded, but she didn’t question her employer.
“I regret that I will only be in town a few hours,” he said, closing the distance to his mother’s side. “I had business with a solicitor and thought to look in on you as well. I have a request of you.”
The countess raised a finely etched brow. “Oh?”
He must go carefully if he was to convince her. “You will be repairing to the country house shortly,” he said. “I was hoping Mother could visit me for a time.”
Once more his mother brightened, but one look at the countess’ face had her fiddling with her embroidery.
“I’m afraid I cannot do without her,” the countess said with a sniff. “You know my sensitivities to any disruption in my routine.”