Honoria pulled up sharply at the top of the stairs. “Oh, Ranulf. And Anabel. She’ll be absolutely thrilled when she hears you’re back. I had such hopes once—”
Rafe frowned. “Mother, before you say anything further I want you to meet my fiancée. This is Gwenyth Killigrew. We’re engaged to be married.”
Honoria spun around to stare at Gwenyth. Her voice was calm and courteous. “Miss Killigrew, welcome to Bodliam and…and to the family.”
“So after twelve years and no word, the prodigal son returns.”
Rafe’s older brother threw his napkin down upon his plate and stood up from the table. “Why now? Are we a last resort for a hand-out?”
Rafe never flinched beneath his brother’s stern gaze. “Would it make you glad, Edmund, if I’d been living as a beggar upon the streets after all I put the family through?”
Gwenyth prayed for an abundance of tact and grace in Lord Brampton’s answer. Rafe Fleming walked a knife’s edge. Like a wounded animal, he needed but one sharp word to lash out. The air practically quivered between the brothers, Rafe strung tight as a wire, his brother wary but curious.
The viscount’s eyes softened slightly under Rafe’s belligerent posture. “If that’s what you think of this family, it’s no wonder you stayed away with not even a word of your whereabouts.” He rounded the table, putting out a hand for Rafe to shake. “I can’t believe it’s truly you, little brother. Welcome home. We’d given you up for dead long ago. We should have known you’d end up on your feet.”
The tension in Rafe’s body eased. “Then I’m welcome back among you?”
Brampton frowned. “Did you think I’d throw you from my door? Of course, you’re welcome, Ranulf.”
Rafe shuddered. “Not Ranulf—never Ranulf. It’s Rafe now.” He pulled his hands out of his brother’s grasp. “Enough. I want you to meet someone.”
He motioned for Gwenyth to join him. She stood just within the doorway, but nodded and came forward at his summons, placing her hand in his. His fingers were warm as they clutched hers, his voice even and firm when he spoke.
“This is Miss Killigrew. She’s agreed to be my bride.”
Behind them, the Dowager gave a small squeak of renewed distress and sank into a side chair. Brampton sketched Gwenyth a bow and gave her a gallant smile, but he examined her as if she were a bug in a jar. “Miss Killigrew, it’s an honor. And may I present my wife, Sophia Fleming, Lady Brampton. You two will have much to speak on.”
Up until then the woman seated next to Rafe’s brother had escaped notice. But as Lady Brampton nodded graciously, resting her hands upon the swell of her stomach, Gwenyth sensed the flicker of a shadowy, waiting presence. The viscountess expected a child—and soon by the looks of her. Hair, black as a crow’s wing, framed Sophia Brampton’s long, narrow face. Her blue eyes snapped with intelligence. “You shall have to excuse my manners. It’s difficult for me to rise. Be assured, Miss Killigrew, you’re most welcome to our home.”
Gwenyth doubted this elegant woman and she would have anything in common to discuss. In fact, she began to doubt whether her presence in this house was not the most ridiculous folly she’d ever committed. If Rafe let go of her hand at that moment she thought she just might make her apologies and leave.
“From where do you hail, Miss Killigrew? Would we know any of your family?” Brampton asked.
For some reason, his question sparked Gwenyth’s fierce pride. Her power rose within her, the strength of its presence straightening her spine and firming her resolve. She knew if she leveled her full gaze upon the hapless viscount, he’d feel the effects of her Sight and come away shaken and sick.
“I come from Cornwall, milord. A fishing village upon the northern cliffs called Kerrow. You wouldn’t be knowing it, for it’s tiny even to our way of thinking. My family are fishermen and farmers. The women know much of herb-lore and work as healers.”
The Dowager gave out a groan and sank further upon her chair. Brampton’s mouth turned down at the corners into a frosty line of annoyance, and he fumbled with the fob-chain stretched across his waistcoat. Gwenyth snuck a quick look at Sophia Brampton. She remained as composed as before, giving away no hint of her thoughts, but Gwenyth thought she discerned a twinkle in Sophia’s dark eyes. She revised her earlier opinion. Perhaps she and the viscountess would have more in common than she thought.
Gwenyth shook out the last of her gowns, holding the sky-blue muslin to her chest as she swished in front of the cheval mirror in her bedroom. The fabric floated around her ankles, and she smiled at her reflection in the glass.
“That shade becomes you, although with your statuesque beauty everything must look good on you.”
Gwenyth whirled around to find Cecily Fleming watching her. The round robe of sprigged muslin Rafe’s young sister wore accentuated her sturdy frame and made her seem almost chubby. Only the narrow curve of her cheek and the strong line of her jaw established that muscle, not fat, lay beneath the layers of skirt and petticoat.
Obviously recovered from her earlier illness, she popped a sugared almond into her mouth from a handful she held in one curled fist. “May I come in?”
Gwenyth smiled and nodded toward the armchair set close to the hearth. “You’re in already, it’s seeming. You may as well be comfortable.”
Cecily sank into the chair, drawing her legs beneath her as she popped another almond into her mouth. Her wide dark eyes regarded Gwenyth with something between wonder and fear. “I heard Mama as she passed my bedroom. She was talking to Sophia about you. She says you’re a common peasant, and Rafe plans to marry you. Is that true?”
Her arrival had set the cat among the pigeons for certain. Her forthright answer to Lord Brampton’s challenge only firming the family’s suspicions of her.
“She’s right about your brother and me. We have made plans.” Gwenyth evaded a direct answer as she laid the blue dress upon her bed. “But I’m thinking,” a mischievous smile curled her lips, “I’m probably the most uncommon peasant your mother will ever be meeting.”
For some reason her mind wandered back to the dancing at the Bel-fire’s edge and Rafe’s hands clasping her against him as they whirled to the beat of the players. Recalled the heat of the fire upon her face and the heat of Rafe’s touch upon her flesh.
She quivered with the memory, hoping Cecily didn’t notice the warm flush upon her cheeks. Rafe accepted the men and women of Kerrow. He fit among them as though born of their blood. Had years of exile wrought this, and would his acceptance back into the fold change it? Would he grow to consider her a common peasant? Would he consider her child such?
Cecily jarred her from her worries. “I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. Mama was being horrible about…well, about things. I thought she might relent if I was ill.” In went another almond. “You know, overcome with despair from a broken heart or something. It always works for heroines in novels.”
Like a brush of the muslin across her skin, an awareness of Cecily’s thoughts slid into her mind. Not an exact knowing, it was more like a jumble of ideas and emotions. Nervousness and uncertainty.
Gwenyth spoke before she thought. “She worries for you. ’Tis always hard for a mother to let her child go out into the world and cleave to someone not of her choosing. She worries your man is not worthy.”
Cecily caught her breath then coughed upon the almond in her mouth. Spluttering, she gasped, “What do you know of my mother’s worries? And what can you know of Gerald?”
Chapter 12
Rafe stood at the library window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a tumbler of whiskey. Outside, heavy gray clouds had moved in, and a steady rain fell.
Brampton sat just behind him in an armchair drawn close to the fire. “Twelve years, Rafe, and no word. Why now after so long?”
Hearing the suspicion in his brother’s voice, Rafe kept his eyes trained on the forested parkland. “At first, I just wanted to escape the past. Father made it clear I wasn’t w
elcome here, and any other ties had been severed even before I took ship with Captain Lovejoy on Ancamna.”
“The Hilliers’ daughter?”
Rafe chose to ignore his brother’s question. “Later, I grew too caught up in my new life to think of returning home. Business was such that coming back to Bodliam was out of the question.”
“Or even sending word to us that you were still alive?” Brampton questioned. “Are you back now because your business has gone sour? I warn you I have enough trouble keeping up with Derek’s scrapes.”
Rafe left the window. “On the contrary. My future is secure. I returned because now that Father is dead I wanted to see if I might find a place within this family’s circle again.” He swept an arm around the room. “I simply wanted to come home.”
Brampton nodded, unconvinced. “And once the homecoming is over? What then?”
A satisfied smile played across Rafe’s lips as he answered. “I thought I’d lease a house in Hampshire while I searched for more permanent accommodations. I understand Swiverton Park is for sale.”
Brampton’s eyes widened as he sipped from a glass of claret. “An estate?”
Rafe sank into the chair opposite his brother. “It’s nothing on the scale of Bodliam, but with fair acreage and good rents.”
Brampton’s dark brows snapped together. “What business were you in exactly?”
Rafe threw back the whiskey, the soothing heat sliding into his stomach. “Let’s say it was shipping and leave it at that.”
“I deserve more of an explanation than what you’re offering me.”
“Are you sure you want the truth, Edmund?” More than a hint of challenge in Rafe’s voice.
“You’ve changed, Rafe—hardened.”
“I’ve become what desperation and circumstance have made me,” Rafe said. “I was just luckier than most.”
Brampton turned to stare out the long windows.
“You won’t have the authorities pounding upon your door,” Rafe said coolly. “I made sure no connections could be made between the Honorable Lt. Ranulf Fleming of the Royal Navy and the…” he struggled for the words, “the more informal title I took on. When I left my business, I left that world behind.”
He only hoped that was true. They’d had no more run-ins with the man who’d followed them from Kerrow. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t tracked them here. That he didn’t still wait and watch. But for what purpose? Subtle wasn’t a word he’d use to describe smuggler justice.
He shrugged it away. There was little he could do about it. Keep a weather eye open. See what developed. Then react.
Looking down his long nose at Rafe lounging in the chair, Brampton sniffed. “All except for one small part, it would seem. Did you meet Miss Killigrew during your adventures? She’s not exactly what I expected in a future sister-in-law.”
Rafe toyed with his empty glass. “Be very careful, Edmund. I wouldn’t want to take anything you said the wrong way.”
“I’m only concerned for your welfare. As the head of the family, it’s my duty to inquire. You must admit she’s well beneath your touch, and I doubt she brings much more to the marriage than her face. Is that wise? Swiverton Park may be vastly smaller than Bodliam, but it will take money to run.”
Rafe shrugged the warning off. “I’ll manage.”
“Miss Killigrew is lucky in your change of fortune.”
“Gwenyth cares not for wealth or position,” Rafe replied. “She’d be equally happy in cottage or castle as long as we were together.”
Brampton sipped at his claret. “A rare gem, indeed,” he replied dryly.
Rafe shoved himself to his feet, crossing to the sideboard where the liquor sat. Pouring himself another whiskey, he tossed it back, knowing he was being needled. Why should he care what Edmund thought of Gwenyth? What any of them thought of her? If she did her job well, she’d be gone by season’s end and he’d be courting a woman his family could approve and embrace, a woman he could love without fear. That was the goal. So then why, looking around, did he suddenly miss the quiet companionship of Gwenyth’s small cottage? And why did he wish that everything he said about her was truth?
“How could you know about Gerald and myself?” Cecily asked again.
Gwenyth knew she’d stepped a foot wrong. Within her village, everyone knew of her Sight and the talent she had of reading those about her. But here her gifts remained hidden, and she meant to keep it that way.
“It doesn’t take a seer to understand what troubles lie between your mother and yourself. Men seem to lie heavy at the root of all problems between women, if you ask me,” Gwenyth replied smoothly, hoping this would be enough to quell any more questions. “No doubt all will work itself out, given time.”
She reached back into the valise, carefully pulled out her mother’s rolled tapestry and laid it on the bed. Cecily craned her neck as Gwenyth untied the string and unrolled the hanging.
“What’s that?” Cecily asked, rising from her chair. She put out her fingers to caress the soft worn weave of the threads and trace the designs with one long finger. “Did you make it? It’s lovely.”
Gwenyth smiled her pride. “Though I’ve much skill with loom and shuttle, I can’t be taking credit for this. It takes a rare magic to weave such a piece. My mother held such a special talent. It was her doing that brought the prayer rug forth.”
Cecily looked up. “You mean like the mats the followers of Islam use while praying toward Mecca? I learned about them from my brother, Derek. He’s a vicar, you know.”
“I wouldn’t be knowing about Mecca or Islam.” Gwenyth smoothed her hands across the fabric. “It’s a piece of home while I’m so far away. A talisman to keep me safe until I can return.”
Cecily bit her lip. “You want to go back? I mean surely Bodliam is finer than what you’re used to. I mean the way you speak…and…” she blushed. “I mean…you’re not…that is to say…” She finally stammered herself to a halt. Her fingers shook as they fiddled with the threads of the prayer rug, and one after another she nibbled three more almonds.
“Do you think I’m ashamed of who I am and where I come from?” Gwenyth asked quietly. “Shame and envy are gnawing beasts. They’ll devour you if you let them take hold. Bodliam is as fine a place as I’ve laid eyes on, but Kerrow and the Cornish cliffs are home to me and always will be. They’ve made me what I am.” She brought her gaze to bear on Cecily’s contrite face. “And now they’ve made your brother who he is.”
Rafe wandered slowly down the long gallery, enjoying the solitude after his frantic arrival. His conversation with his older brother made Rafe realize how much he’d changed since driving away from here on his way to taking up his lieutenancy on Ancamna. No longer was he the earnest young man set to uphold the world as ordered by tradition and men like Edmund. They believed the worth of a man lay in the importance of his name and the age of his title. Rafe had learned the hard way that a man’s name and position meant little when it came to honor. He’d found more honest men in the ports and harbors of the West Country than in all the mansions in Mayfair.
Gwenyth stepped out of the shadows of the far doorway. “Bill told me you’d come this way. A dark man with a grim face, he said, and so I knew it must be you.”
Rafe ran a tired hand through his hair. “Bill?”
Gwenyth approached. She’d changed from this morning into a light blue gown that clung to her curves and accentuated the graceful cat-like way she walked. “A young man loitering about in the hallway.”
“A footman?”
A smile teased the corner of her lips. “I believe so. A sweet young man, though a bit fresh.”
Rafe frowned as he started forward. “He didn’t dare to speak—”
Her smile blossomed. “He said nothing, but I can tell what a man’s got on his mind simply by the look in his eye.” She caught Rafe’s gaze as it lingered over her and chuckled. “Young Bill’s thoughts were innocent compared to yours, Captain Fleming.”
He took her hand, his voice rich as cream. “Only a few hours more and you’ll know exactly what I’m thinking.”
Pulling her hand away, she darted forward a few steps. “Has much changed since you left?”
Rafe dropped his shoulders and allowed her turn of conversation to go unchallenged. If she was still uneasy, he understood. So was he.
He looked around. “In small ways, certainly. But Sophia’s management has been a boon. My mother’s health has always been fragile, and she never took much of an interest in household matters.”
Apparently reassured that Rafe wouldn’t press his attentions, she relaxed. She paused at a portrait of all the Fleming children painted when Edmund was seventeen and Cecily barely one. “Lady Brampton is due soon with your brother’s heir,” she said.
Rafe wondered what she thought as her clever gaze settled on each individual face. “Brampton says she expects to deliver in a month or two. She’s hired a fancy accoucheur from London to attend her. He’s due to arrive in a few weeks.”
She dropped her eyes and moved on down the gallery. “Your family is of two minds about your return.”
Rafe dug his hands into his pockets. His jaw tensing as he remembered Brampton’s cutting comments about Gwenyth. “I’m an unexpected problem.”
She caught his eye, her gaze troubled, a line between her dark brows. “And my being here has only made things worse for you. This isn’t wise. Talking it over in Kerrow was one thing, but living such a lie in this house is something else. They can’t think we really mean to wed.”
Rafe stiffened. He strode forward and grabbed Gwenyth’s hand. She started in surprise but he wouldn’t let her pull away. Not this time. “I don’t give a damn what my family thinks of your presence in this house. You’re my betrothed and to hell with all of them.”
Gwenyth gave a slight shake of her head. “But I’m not. That’s the lie.”
Dangerous Magic Page 10