Ravenstone (Book 1, The Ravenstone Chronicles)

by Louise Franklin

“Nicholas,” she said in surprise.

  “Hello, Georgiana.” He lay on his back on the grassy hill overlooking the field of workers, his boots crossed at the ankles. It almost seemed as if he was taking a nap, his jacket discarded on the ground next to him. Between his lips, he held a blade of yellow straw that he chewed as he watched her.

  She told herself she should leave and, as if sensing her thought, Bella took a step back. Nicholas moved swiftly and was suddenly beside her horse. He took hold of the reins, and led her horse further into the shade. Taking the reins from her hands, he pulled them over the mare’s head and tied her up next to his own horse. Then putting his hands around her waist, he lifted her easily out of the saddle and carried her to his place in the shade. She didn’t object, accepting just how happy she was to see him.

  “Does this mean you are no longer angry with me?” she asked as he lowered her to the ground.

  His face was close to hers, and she found herself suddenly breathing too fast as she noticed the tiny gold flecks in his eyes. After he put her down, he did not move away, as he should have, but remained kneeling next to her. He lifted his hand and with his finger, he wiped away the trickle of perspiration on her brow.

  “I could never stay away from you for long,” he said softly.

  Then he leaned forward and his lips found hers and he kissed her softly on the mouth. Caught by surprise, she opened her mouth and felt his tongue graze her lower lip then dip inside to taste her. The sensation of his mouth and tongue and the feel of his body pressing her down onto the grassy slope made her dizzy.

  She found herself responding to him and explored this new feeling, completely surprised by it. Then his hand, which lay against her belly, moved up to touch her breast, and an uneasiness she thought she would never have to feel again rose up hard and quick, and she pulled away. She sat up suddenly, her hand on her mouth. She took slow, even breaths, trying to regain her composure.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, lying on his side, his head resting in his hand as he watched her. “Remembered suddenly you were married?”

  His mocking tone annoyed her. “You kissed me,” she said angrily.

  “So I did,” he smiled. “And you kissed me in return.”

  His self-satisfaction was irritating.

  “I didn’t want to be cruel,” she said easily.

  He laughed and it infuriated her even more.

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  “Because I have always wanted to kiss you and now I have,” he said simply.

  She couldn’t fault his logic, she supposed.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to ask you to run away with me.” He said the words evenly, without inflection.

  She studied his face and he met her gaze, following it down to the pulse in the hollow of his neck. She touched him there lightly with her finger. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing her palm, his eyes closed.

  “Run away with me,” he said again.

  “I cannot,” she said.

  He stood and walked a few paces away to stand with his back to her, his arms rested on a branch above him. “Tell me why,” he said, turning back to her.

  She felt like he was looking straight through her and it made her feel breathless and confused.

  “It is hopeless,” she said. “You would hate me one day for having forced you to give up your honor so. You family relies on you now, your sister and mother both. What would become of them? You are a good and honorable man and did I run away with you, you could not help but hate me for it.”

  He smiled but it was a sad smile.

  “You broke my heart, you know.”

  “It was never my intention,” she said.

  He moved forward and placing one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, he picked her up and put her back on her horse. He gave her back the reins and turned Bella so she was facing back the way they had come.

  “I will always love you, Georgiana,” he said, his hand on her foot for a moment.

  She bent down to him and kissed him then he stood back, and giving Bella a slap on her rump, he let her go.

  17

  “I think there might be an engagement,” Lydia said excitedly as she spoke of the upcoming summer’s end ball that was to be held at Evansgate Hall. “Captain Markham and Caroline have fairly been inseparable since the evening at Lady Kingston’s. These two months now, he seems quite taken with her, escorting her to all the assemblies and now he will have a ball. It was his sister’s idea to make it a masquerade ball. Imaginative, don’t you agree?”

  Georgiana smiled, unable to say a word for fear she would choke on it.

  “Why, I think his sister so fashionable. She brought all her friends down from London, and I do believe it will be the most lavish ball in Devonshire for some time. Emily is so beautiful with her light hair and blue eyes. I wish my skin was as fair, but I dare say I am not as careful about the sun as she is. Do you know she insisted on having Caroline’s dress made up by her own dressmaker whom she also brought all the way from London? I never saw such extravagance and I am not sure her family can bear the expense.”

  Georgiana kept her gaze on Lydia but she had heard not a word about the kind of dress she was having made. Her mind was on Nicholas, where it had been since their encounter that hot summer day. She had dreams of him, after which she would wake up suddenly, her skin as hot as if she were fevered. Her mind constantly strayed back to the kiss they had shared. She would find herself staring at her own lips in the mirror as Harriet brushed her hair. Most annoying was that he had finally managed to insert himself into her desires at the very moment that he would become unavailable, and it seemed he meant to do just that, permanently. He would be engaged.

  She made to take a sip of her tea, but her cup was empty. She placed it on the table impatiently.

  “What say you?” Lydia asked. “Do you think it a pretty invention?”

  Georgiana blinked at her before realizing she meant the dress. “It will look beautiful,” she said and smiled.

  “Yes, Captain Markham’s sister thought so too. Although I am not sure lavender will do for the ribbons, I might be better to go with white. Robert, of course, must have a new coat, and Mama says it will all be for naught for Dorothea is not to be cheered by his countenance now that her sister has taken the prize. Still we try to remind her that not all is lost as, with your presence here, there is still an eligible bachelor in the neighborhood. Is your brother attending the ball?”

  “I do not know,” she said. “I have not had a correspondence from him of late.”

  “No, of course not,” she said disappointed. “I did try to tell them all before—”

  She stopped talking suddenly, and Georgiana wanted to laugh at Lydia’s expression.

  “Before you were forced to call upon me and discover my brother’s intentions?”

  Lydia looked crestfallen, her cheeks flushed.

  “I would have come anyway,” she said defensively. “I like you and I don’t care what the others say.” She raised her head defiantly, her mouth set in a stubborn line and Georgiana liked her all the more.

  “Likewise. You are one of the few of the society in the county whose company I enjoy,” she said, and was rewarded by Lydia’s return to happy chatter.

  He was to be engaged. That was good, she told herself. Now, he would not bother her anymore with his unwanted proclamations of undying love. A sad, cynical mood came over her. His undying love apparently had succumbed, funeral services already held. It was to be expected, she supposed, and she was disappointed only because he failed to be the man of conviction she thought him to be. Nothing more.

  She returned her attention to Lydia and her quest for the correct hairpiece which was vital to camouflage of the shape of her head, which her brother said was the cause of her lack of suitors. Georgiana found herself studying Lydia’s head, thinking it did look oddly the shape of a bird cage, but guessed that the more like
ly reason she had no suitors was that Lydia would come with no money. The Jones estate, like Ravenstone, had been run badly and servants in the kitchen spoke of the terrible working conditions at Blakeney Hall.

  Lydia had stopped speaking and was watching her strangely, when Georgiana realized she had been unconsciously tearing her handkerchief to shreds, the small white pieces on her lap. “Are you troubled?” Lydia asked kindly.

  “Troubled?” she said and swept the small white pieces to the floor. “No, not troubled.”

  “Perhaps my endless chattering is too much. You are not used to it. Oh dear, I feel wretched. Please, you must forgive me. Mama always says I am to say no more than a sentence or two, and if I cannot remember this I am to answer only in the positive or negative fashion, but it is so perplexing. Why only yesterday, we were honored by a visit from Major Price and in my excitement, I completely forgot Mama’s advice.

  “He is so handsome and precise in all he does, so careful, and I was completely taken by his distinction of excellence in manner. I despair, I was only just started on telling him of the ball when he put me straight and clear, that I must overcome my urge to loquaciousness, as it’s quite a bore and only shows my weakness of character.

  “Mama was upset by his remarks, but she would try not to show it and I, of course, not used to such well-meaning honesty, sat there for the rest of his visit, trying to redeem myself in his eyes by only responding with a smile. So you see I will endeavor to correct my unfortunate habit.”

  She stopped suddenly, as if realizing she was doing it again, and glanced at Georgiana mortified, her face flushed.

  “It was not only unkind of Major Price to think it necessary to curb your talent for conversation, but also wrong of him to think it unpleasant. Perhaps it is his weakness of character and not yours which he brought to light yesterday?”

  “Do you really think so?” Lydia asked, her face lighting up again, but there was still some doubt. “Mama was ever so upset with me after he left. I have never seen her so shamed before.”

  “Lydia, you have a beautiful voice and I would listen to it as I would listen to a piece of beautiful music. You also have a great talent for hours of conversing in society, something I lack, and wish I had more ability in.”

  “Oh, it is ever so easy for me and I do so love to be in society,” she smiled. “I had not thought I had a beautiful voice.”

  “Like a nightingale,” Georgiana said, meaning it. “Have you considered perhaps singing?”

  “Oh, I do so love to sing but Mama does not like me to. She says a lady should have the ability to do one or two songs well for company, but that it is vulgar to perform in front of others on a stage.”

  Elton appeared at the door. “Mr. Gordon, madam.”

  Another visit from the vicar: how unexpected. She anticipated that someone would visit her in connection with the missing cargo from the ruins of the castle. Only it was not the vicar she had in mind. “Show him in, Elton.”

  The vicar entered, only this time he did not wear his usual grey cassock but instead boots, black pantaloons, a white shirt and a jacket. He seemed rather disgruntled.

  He bowed to her and Lydia, and seated himself in a chair across from Georgiana.

  “Would you like some refreshments?” she asked.

  “Thank you, that would be kind,” he answered, but he seemed slightly annoyed to find Lydia present, for he gave her a look of irritation.

  Georgiana noticed Lydia’s silence only because it was so abrupt a change in manner, it could not have gone unnoticed. She sat demurely on the settee, her gaze lowered and her cheeks flushed. Mr. Gordon seemed not at all to notice Lydia’s behavior, or if he did, he was perhaps used to the effect his handsome countenance had on young women. The sudden silence was quite a disappointment as she had hoped Lydia would keep Mr. Gordon in conversation so she didn’t have to. Unable to rely on her suddenly shy friend, she turned to Mr. Gordon and asked him about his sermon at church the previous Sunday.

  “Are you familiar with the book of Exodus?” the vicar asked.

  “The exodus from Egypt led by Moses?” she said. “You see, Mr. Gordon, I am not yet completely lost.”

  “No indeed,” he smiled. “I was particularly paying attention to Exodus 20 verse 15.”

  “I’m afraid this time you have caught me for I cannot claim to remember that particular verse, although I am sure to have been exposed to it at some time in my religious education.”

  Her use of the word exposed did not go unnoticed, she saw, as behind the vicar’s well-controlled demeanor she saw the shadow of what she expected to be disapproval, but was instead anger. His lips thinned into a severe line.

  “Thou shalt not steal.”

  He said the words harshly, and then played close attention to her reaction. She was fortunately saved from showing any such reaction by Lydia, who shot up from the settee to block his view.

  “I do apologize but I must take my leave,” she mumbled and made an awkward curtsy before leaving the drawing room at such haste as to almost upset the tea tray in Mrs. Bristow’s hands. Fortunately, the housekeeper had quick reactions and managed to pull the tray out of the way before Lydia flew by and out the door.

  “My word,” Mrs. Bristow remarked. “The young lady is in haste.” She put the tray on the table, and withdrew. Georgiana returned her now-composed gaze back to Mr. Gordon whose eyes were clearly on her.

  “Would you pour?” she asked Mr. Gordon.

  The request surprised him greatly, for men did not pour tea. It was a woman’s duty to do so. He could, however, not refuse and he gave a small curt nod and moved from his chair. Having to pour the tea put him at a disadvantage. His hands were big and his movements not used to handling fine china. He almost dropped the teapot, then caught it, but spilled hot water on his hand. She thought he meant to curse and almost felt sorry for him. She watched him struggle as she tried to make sense of what he had implied by his Sunday verse.

  She had meant to flush out the leader by removing the contraband from the dungeons to see who would come after it. However, she could still not credit a vicar for being the man to lead a gang of smugglers.

  Peter had led her and the other boys, including Harry, to the ruins late the previous night. They had stored the contraband in a new location. It had been difficult to silently take the horses from the stables without waking the groom who slept above the stable. She had put Peter in charge, making her just another member of the gang. He had been quite competent. Taking charge seemed natural to him and he gave the orders. The new boys from London had great respect for him.

  It had been her first opportunity to meet the rest of the gang. The street boys were between the ages of fourteen and seventeen but acted like hardened men, which they had a right to. They had eyed her suspiciously at first, but she had picked the lock and carried her share of cargo. By the end of the long night, she had become one of them, and if any of them suspected her of being a woman, they did not reveal it. They looked to Peter. He treated her as one of the crew, and they had followed his example.

  Mr. Gordon handed her a cup of tea, and she asked him for some sugar. She studied his face as he complied. He looked disconcerted but was quickly adjusting to his new tasks and when he finally sat down with his own tea, she gave him a satisfied smile.

  “Have you misplaced something, Mr. Gordon, that you feel the need to provide moral guidance with regard to thievery to your congregation?” She was proud of her even tone of voice, and was rewarded with a flash of humor from the vicar’s eyes.

  “Lady Fairchild, it seems you have the advantage, but you make a grave mistake in taking what is not yours.”

  So it was he, she thought, and lowered her gaze to her teacup for fear of revealing her surprise. She did not know whom she had expected to show up at her door demanding she return the stolen cargo, but it certainly had not been the high moral compass of the village. A vicar was supposed to be upstanding, beyond reproach, but then he was only a
man, she supposed, and thus weak.

  “I must confess,” she said. “I had not expected that you would come to claim the contraband.”

  “Then, you confess you have my property?”

  “I do, yes.”

  The vicar stood and, placing his teacup down, moved angrily toward her, but stopped suddenly when she pulled from beneath her dress a small pistol. Surprised, he retreated.

  “Do please sit down,” she said.

  He did as she asked, and she put the pistol back under the folds of her skirt.

  “Really, Mr. Gordon, what had you thought to do? I did not take you for an impulsive sort but perhaps I have misjudged you in that respect as well.”

  “You have no idea who you trifle with here,” he snapped.

  “Apparently not. I thought you to be an upstanding pillar of the community to be sure. But given the new light that has been shed, I take it you are a smuggler first and a reverend second.”

  He took a moment to control his temper and she watched, fascinated, as he clenched and unclenched his fists, his face still flushed.

  “Do not judge me, Lady Fairchild. Only the good Lord has the right to do that. You will return the cargo, all of it.”

  “Will I?”

  “You believe yourself safe from harm because of your standing in society, Lady Fairchild, but let me inform you that it is a grave misconception.”

  “Are you threatening me?” she asked, incredulous. He really was not taking her interference at all well.

  “I must express to you the severity of what you have done.”

  “Do calm yourself then, and know I realize full well that it is not an orange I have stolen from a vendor. However, I cannot allow you to use my estate for the purpose of smuggling without at least having a discourse of some sort with you. After all, under the current arrangement, I have everything to lose and nothing to gain.”

  “I had an agreement with Mr. Madden, and he is well compensated for it.”

  “How fortunate for Mr. Madden. He really is starting to anger me with his continued absence from his place of work, and his continued good fortune, it would seem. You would not perhaps know where the damned fellow has made his hole?”