Brides Of Privilege (v1.3)

by Kasey Michaels

  “Your dog—”

  She saw the way he was shaking his head and repeated the phrase with more emphasis. “Your dog—” she was not about to allow him to deny responsibility for that animal “—which you claim is not yours at all, got into my sewing basket and ruined an entire skein of yarn.”

  William nodded toward the boy. “Take the empty skein and retrieve what you can, Tyler.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew several coins. “I’ll be happy to pay for whatever has been lost, madam.”

  She glanced at the coins and then up at his scowling face. “This was very special yarn, meant for a very special shawl.”

  With a huff of impatience he dropped several more coins into her palm before giving a shght bow of his head. ‘‘Then I hope you look better in it than your field does, madam.” He turned toward the old man. “All the way home I’ve been thinking of that mutton stew you promised to make, old man. I’m fair starving.”

  Duncan looked uncomfortable as he replied, “Begging your pardon, sir. I haven’t given a thought to supper yet. We’ve been...otherwise occupied.”

  William’s scowl deepened, and he shot a look at Molly, to let her know he blamed her for this lapse.

  “That’s it?” She got to her feet, hands on her hips, watching them walk away. “You give me a few coins and a simple apology, and expect me to dismiss this entire incident?”

  William turned to face her. ‘‘What I expect, madam, is to return to the comfort of my home and fill my belly with—” he glowered at the old man “—yesterday’s cold stew.”

  As the two walked away, with the dog at then-heels, Molly stood watching. Then she turned to see Tyler inching his way across the field as he began the daunting task of retrieving the yarn from every blade of grass, every branch, every twig.

  With a sigh she turned away and hurried back to her cottage. Once there she was grateful to find that the dog had left the rest of her sewing intact. She bundled it into the cottage, then went about preparing her own meal.

  An hour later she heard a soft tap on the door and hurried over to find young Tyler standing there, with a gnarled, twisted, and absolutely filthy skein of yarn in his hands.

  “Thank you, lad. I’m grateful.” She struggled to put a brightness in her tone she didn’t feel, for she couldn’t imagine what use she’d find for yarn smudged with grass stains. She feared that no amount of scrubbing would ever make this right. “If you’ll come inside I’ll give you a biscuit for your trouble.”

  “Thank you, miss.” The boy tore his cap from his head, holding it in front of him while he stared around the tidy room. “It smells good in here.” He noted the bundle of lavender drying from the ceiling.

  “Thank you.” At the table Molly split the biscuit open and slathered it with wild gooseberry jam. The boy’s mouth watered as she filled a cup with milk from a crock.

  She pointed to a basin of water. “You may wash up over there.”

  “Wash up, miss?” The boy seemed surprised by the suggestion.

  She merely smiled. “You’ll find soap and a linen cloth, lad.”

  He crossed the room and stared at the soap and water, then with a shrug, began to wash the grime from his hands. In an instant the water in the basin turned muddy. He rinsed off the soap and dried, leaving streaks of dirt on the clean linen square.

  “Here you go, Tyler.” Molly indicated a place at the small, wooden table.

  “Thank you, miss.” He sat and devoured the biscuit in three quick bites, then drained the glass in loud gulps.

  Seeing it, she had a sudden thought. “Are you starving, lad? Does William Colton refuse to feed you?”

  “Oh, nay, miss. Nothing of the sort. I’ve plenty to eat. But not anything as fine as this.”

  Molly offered him a second biscuit, then sat across the table with a cup of tea. “How long have you and your grandfather worked as servants for Mr. Colton?”

  “We’re not his servants, miss.” The boy’s voice held a note of pride. “When we came to live with Mr. Colton, he told us he’d tolerate no servants in his household. And that if we chose to stay, we would eat at his table and sleep under his roof.”

  “If you chose to stay?” She seemed startled. “What an odd phrase. Why would you choose to stay with him?”

  “Because we had nowhere else to live. My grandfather spent a lifetime working as a tenant fanner. But when he could no longer produce enough to please Lord Kent, we were sent away.”

  It was a cruel fact of life, and one she’d seen so many times. Life was difficult for everyone, she feared. Her sad story could be repeated all over England. As could the lad’s.

  “But how did you come to live with Mr. Colton? Have you no family? Where is your father?”

  “Nay, miss. And my father is passed.” The boy looked down at his hands, avoiding her eyes. “When Mr. Colton learned that we had nowhere to go, and were sleeping in hay barns at night to survive, he invited us to share his home.”

  “And how did he learn all this about you and your grandfather?”

  The lad’s face turned several shades of red and he seemed relieved at the sudden knock on her door.

  Molly hurried over to open the door, and was surprised to find William Colton, still scowling. Was that all the man knew how to do?

  He looked beyond her to Tyler. “There you are, lad. Your grandfather was getting worried. Come along now.”

  As the boy hurried across the room William asked, “Was he able to retrieve your yarn?”

  Molly nodded and plucked the skein from the pocket of her apron.

  Seeing the condition of it, William arched a brow. “Do you think you’ll be able to clean it?”

  “I’ll try. But I have my doubts about it.”

  He studied the tiny tendrils of red-gold hair that had slipped from the neat knot at her nape, and found himself intrigued by the way they curled softly around her cheeks. He had an almost over-powering urge to reach out and touch them. Instead, he closed his hand into a fist at his side.

  Tyler paused beside Molly.

  She smiled and surprised him by leaning down to brush a kiss over his dirty cheek. “Thank you for fetching my yarn. It must have been a tedious task.”

  “I didn’t mind, miss.” The boy gave her a dreamy smile and touched a hand to the kiss, as though to hold it there. ‘‘Thank you for the biscuits and jam.”

  He stepped outside and exclaimed happily when he realized Wolf was there, as well, “Hello, old boy. Have you come to say you’re sorry?”

  Boy and dog looked at Molly with such sorrow, she couldn’t help smiling.

  Tyler looked hopeful. “Does that mean he’s forgiven, miss?”

  Molly nodded. “I suppose he is. After all, he was just behaving like a dog. From now on I’ll have to see that my sewing basket is kept away from him, so he won’t be tempted to play again.”

  William’s brow arched as he followed the boy outside. He waited until they were some distance from her cottage before clearing his throat.

  ‘‘Mistress Warner fed you?’’

  “Aye. Biscuits as light as clouds. And jam so sweet, it reminded me of Christmas morn.”

  At his description William frowned and lifted a hand to tousle the lad’s hair. “You make it sound fine, indeed. If I’d known such a reward was waiting, I’d have fetched the widow Warner’s yarn myself.”

  “Nay.” Tyler placed a finger over his cheek, where the warmth of Molly’s kiss still lingered. “For then you’d have had her kiss in place of me. And I haven’t felt anything as sweet since my mum was alive.”

  The boy raced ahead toward the lights of the cottage, with the dog at his heels. Leaving William alone with thoughts of the pretty widow Warner.

  She’d occupied a great deal more of his time today than he cared to admit.

  Always before, he’d been able to lose himself in his work for Lord Kent. But today he’d found himself distracted by an image that flitted through his mind. An image of an angel in a gossame
r gown, drifting into his arms and wrapping herself around him, offering him pleasure beyond belief. He’d actually been able to taste her, smell her, feel her body pressed to his.

  And could still, if truth be told.

  Despite the coolness of the evening air, he found himself sweating. And thinking of things that would make an angel blush.

  Chapter 4

  Molly stepped inside and latched the door. As she crossed the room she found herself thinking about her neighbor. What a strange man was William Colton. So angry and gruff. And yet, despite all the bluster, it would seem he had room in his heart for strays. Both the human and the animal variety.

  Not that it changed anything. He’d had no right sending his serv—Duncan—to measure land that wasn’t his.

  She glanced at the coins she’d dropped into her sewing basket. At least he’d been enough of a gentleman to make amends for the ruined yarn. Of course it meant that she’d have to walk to town in the morning and replace what had been ruined. But if she worked late into the night, sewing by the light of the fire, she could still deliver the gown and shawl by next Sunday.

  She sighed and removed a blackened kettle from the fire. Lifting the lid, she ladled beef and gravy onto a plate and sat down to eat her dinner. Afterward she carried fresh water from a nearby stream and heated it over the fire to wash her dishes. She then used the warm water to wash the skein of yarn, setting the strands to dry in neat rows across the table.

  That done she stripped off her dress, chemise and petticoats and washed them as well, for the soap and warm water were too precious to waste. And when everything was hanging by the fire to dry, she used the water to wash her hair, and then herself. Slipping into her night shift, she tossed a shawl over her shoulders and walked out into the garden. There she settled herself on the bench and combed her damp hair until it began to dry.

  It was a perfect summer night, with perfumed breezes, a full moon and a sky awash with millions of stars. Molly paused, comb in hand, to watch the path of a shooting star. And though she knew it was childish, she couldn’t help squeezing her eyes tightly shut while she made a wish.

  * * *

  “Come along, Wolf.” William opened the door to his cottage and the animal slipped outside, eager for a night run.

  Already the other room was filled with Duncan’s snores and Tyler’s soft sighs as sleep overtook them. William was too restless to consider sleeping yet. A long walk was what he needed to clear his head.

  He latched the door and followed at a leisurely pace behind the dog, watching as Wolf stopped every few steps to explore the ground before sniffing the air and racing ahead.

  William avoided the road, choosing instead to keep to the fields, climbing steadily upward until he could look down on his land. He sat on a stump and filled his pipe, then held a flint to the bowl and expelled a wreath of smoke while he studied the gentle slope of fields. There was a time when he would have looked upon this humble property as nothing more than a miserable hovel. Anything less than a palace, or a fine manor house, would have been considered beneath him. In his youth it would have never occurred to him to care for all his own needs, from the food on his table to the clothes on his back, without help from others. Worse, he would have looked with disdain on the men and women who saw to his every pleasure, without giving a thought to them as human beings with their own cares and concerns.

  His father would never know what a nightmare he’d thrust his son into when he’d ordered him out into the cold dark night with nothing but the clothes on his back.

  William drew on the pipe and expelled another cloud of smoke. At the time he’d been so desperately alone and afraid of what the future held. Like Duncan and Tyler, he’d been forced to sleep in a few hay barns before finding a way to provide for his needs. But along the way William had found so many strengths inside himself. Strengths he’d have never uncovered without experiencing the most wrenching of pain. He could never go back to the life he’d once taken for granted. That life of ease as the son of wealth and privilege. Now he could take pride in himself and his accomplishments, instead of merely the accomplishments of his ancestors. Not even the title earl of Redbridge, which had once meant more than anything in the world to him, could tempt him to give up this freedom he’d discovered. A freedom born, not of heredity, but by the sweat of his own labors. With this freedom came another, even more precious. The freedom to choose his friends, not by the coin in their purse, but by the goodness in their hearts. The freedom to wed a woman out of love instead of obligation.

  Not that he ever intended to marry.

  The woman hadn’t been born who would tempt him to give up this hard-earned freedom.

  Against his will a vision crept into his mind. More angel than mortal, floating slowly toward him, golden hair tumbling around a face so lovely, it took his breath away.

  He turned to look at the darkened outline of the cottage of the widow Warner. An annoying female if ever there was one. In the past few days she’d caused him more trouble than he’d had to deal with in years. And just when his life had taken a turn for the better.

  He needed to remember that she wasn’t that vision. That had been the ale, creating a fuzzy image that was so far from reality, it was absurd. Reality was a prickly woman in shapeless clothes who found fault with everything, from his dog to his friends, to the way he chose to live his life. He’d be well rid of her when he finally persuaded her to move.

  Shaking the tobacco from his pipe, he stuck it in his pocket as he made his way down the hill. From here he could see that her land would be a welcome addition to his. Her tiny cottage would be perfect for Duncan and Tyler, giving him a bit of freedom in his own place. Not that he minded having them underfoot. They’d given back as much as he’d given them. The old man could do almost anything, from tending animals to growing crops. Thanks to Duncan’s careful attention the hedges were trimmed, the roof freshly thatched, the stones removed from the fields and piled one on top of the other to form a lovely fence. The lad was every bit as industrious, using all that energy to scrub the hearth, fetch water from the stream and help with the household chores.

  William felt a proprietary pride as he drew near the widow’s cottage. She’d said she wasn’t interested in selling. But he’d seen how distraught she’d been over the mere loss of some yarn, and how eagerly she had accepted the coins he’d offered. That told him her situation was more desperate than she’d let on. He had no doubt that when he placed enough gold in her hands, she’d be unable to resist his offer to buy. He nodded his approval as he approached the overgrown gardens. All this would soon be his, if he remembered to tread with care.

  Patience had never been one of his virtues. Perhaps it came from being the son of wealth and privilege. Or perhaps it was just a lack in his character. At any rate, what others saw as arrogance he saw as simple impatience to finish whatever job was at hand.

  A flash of movement to one side caught his attention and he paused to look over. What he saw had him stopping in midstride. It was the angel of his dreams, looking, if possible, even more beautiful than he remembered. She wore that same shimmering gown that flowed over her body like water flowing over pebbles in a stream, revealing every line and curve of that lithe young body. And what a body. Tiny, but perfectly proportioned, with high, firm breasts and a waist small enough for his hands to span. Her head was tipped to one side as she ran a comb through the silken strands of her hair. Her face in profile was so perfect, it took his breath away. Those long lashes appeared to be gold-tipped in the moonlight. A tiny upturned nose, high cheeks, and the most perfect mouth. A mouth made for kissing. He smiled at the thought. And a gently rounded chin that she could lift higher than any queen when her anger was aroused, as she surely would be right now if she knew she was being observed in this most intimate ritual.

  He decided to keep his presence a secret. After all, why risk that famous temper?

  It occurred to him that he would be content to stay here, keeping his
silent vigil and gazing at her all through the night if she would but remain.

  Just then the dog came bounding up behind him.

  Hearing the rustle of footsteps, Molly turned. Her eyes went wide with fear when she spotted the shadowy figure.

  To save face, William stepped from the shadows into the patch of moonlight. “Forgive me, Mistress Warner. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was out walking Wolf, and had no idea I’d find you in the garden.”

  She picked up a shawl from the bench and draped it over her shoulders for modesty. “Do you make it a habit to walk your dog in my gardens, Mr. Colton?”

  “No, I...” He mentally cursed himself for once again fueling her ire. “Of course not. But Wolf ran and I simply followed.”

  Just then the dog sidled up to her, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Molly couldn’t resist. She bent down and scratched behind the dog’s ears.

  When she looked up she could see those penetrating blue eyes staring into hers. She had to caution herself not to turn and run, though it was what she wanted to do.

  “I’ll bid you good night now, Mr. Colton.”

  He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Nor could he look away. She had, quite simply, hypnotized him. All he could do was stare at her standing in a spill of moonlight, which seemed to cast her in a pool of liquid gold.

  He knew he ought to leave. To leave her as he’d found her. Alone, with only the soft, perfumed breeze for company. But he couldn’t.

  “Mr. Colton?” She took a step closer and reached out a hand to him. “Are you feeling unwell?”

  He took her hand between both of his. She jerked back, but he tightened his grasp and drew her closer.

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “I didn’t accuse you.”

  “I’ve been trying to convince myself that what I saw that night in your cottage was caused by the ale. But now I know better.”