Smuggler's Moon

by Cynthia Wright

Turning back from the stairs, she boldly ran a hand over his shirtfront, tracing the muscled surface of his torso. “Age has only improved on your fine qualities, my lord. If you’d like to have a quiet dinner with an old friend, you need only send word…”

  “Goodbye, Lucinda.” When she had begun to descend, Sebastian stepped back into the drawing room and closed the double doors. He looked around to find Keswick discreetly standing near the window. “Did you hear that last bit?”

  The manservant’s brows arched high, like a pixie’s. “About your lordship’s ability to afford the Royal Crescent address?”

  “If she only knew, Keswick. She’d tell all of Bath.”

  “Indeed, my lord. We are grateful indeed that her ladyship does not know.”

  “Right. Now then, where have you put my fresh neckcloths?”

  * * *

  With eyes wide and pulse racing, Julia Faircloth walked quickly from Brock Street into the cobblestone drive that bordered the Royal Crescent on one side and the lush green Crescent fields on the other. She told herself that there was no reason to be nervous, or to feel inferior among the refined pedestrians who passed on either side of her. After all, most of them didn’t live in the Crescent, either. How many could afford these elegant lodgings built of pale golden limestone? People came here to promenade, to see and be seen, from all over Bath. Julia must simply pretend that she belonged among them.

  However, when she reached Number Sixteen in the middle of the Crescent, she nearly lost her nerve. At least she had fashionable clothing: a high-waisted gown of ivory muslin, a powder-blue spencer buttoned to her throat, slippers of tan Morocco leather, and a reticule. Her rich curls willfully peeked out amid the confines of a striped silk bandeau. It was a simple and dignified costume, Julia hoped.

  She was still staring at the Georgian doorway of Number Sixteen when a richly garbed woman emerged.

  “Are you looking for the servant’s entrance?” The lady paused to draw on her gloves while a coachman dismounted from the nearby landau and lowered the steps for her. A lady’s maid waited inside the equipage.

  “No.” Julia’s mouth felt dry. “I am here to see Lord Sebastian Trevarre.”

  “Indeed? I am Lady Barrowminster, a longtime friend of his lordship’s.” Her brows rose expectantly, but she received no response. “Did you know Sebastian before he went away?” This time, she didn’t wait for Julia to answer. “I can assure you that he is more himself than ever…if you take my meaning. Don’t let him intimidate you.”

  “I shan’t.” As Julia watched Lady Barrowminster rush off to the waiting landau, she thought how peculiar their meeting had been. What had the older woman meant?

  On the railing to the right of the entrance was an inverted iron cone: a torch snuffer for the link boys who lit the way for sedan chairs. When Julia peeked inside the door, which was still ajar, she saw a spacious entry hall laid with squares of black and white marble. In one corner stood a leather-covered sedan chair with gilt-trimmed windows. Julia instantly envisioned Lord Sebastian Trevarre as a doddering, gouty curmudgeon who bullied his chairmen and cheated at whist.

  “Pardon me.” A sardonic voice spoke from the door to the inner hall. “You have mistakenly wandered into a private residence.”

  Even from a distance, Julia saw that the rude butler was very attractive in that dark, forbidding way she secretly favored. Fortunately, servants didn’t frighten her. “You are mistaken, sir, not I. The last caller left the door ajar, and my arrival is not in error. I am here to see Lord Sebastian Trevarre.”

  “He is engaged.”

  “I have walked a great distance, down muddy pathways from Beacon Hill, and I won’t go back until I have spoken with your master.” To her consternation, the butler stopped before a mirror to examine his cravat. He wore boots, buff breeches, and a forest-green frock coat, all of which displayed his lithe, powerful physique to advantage. It really wasn’t proper attire for a servant. Julia felt her heart skip at the sight of his black hair curling slightly over the back of his collar.

  “Have you an appointment with Lord Sebastian?” the man inquired, not even sparing her a glance. “No, I thought not.”

  “I will wait right here.”

  “Impossible. I must lock the door.”

  “Why are you being so odious to a caller?” she exclaimed. “I shall report your poor manners to his lordship. He will be very displeased!”

  “Do you imagine so?” There was a mocking light in his eyes as he consulted his watch.

  “I do indeed! You, sir, are insolent, and I mean to tell your master every word you have said.”

  “Come along, then, and speak your piece.”

  Completely confused, she followed the servant out the front door, waited while he locked it, and hurried to keep pace as he strode off toward Brock Street. “Where are we going?”

  “I am going to the Marquess of Queensberry’s home in Russell Street.”

  “When will I speak to Lord Sebastian?”

  “Immediately.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “At this very instant.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her mind was reeling. When he didn’t reply, she looked up at his cynical, handsome face and perceived the truth. “I—I suppose I didn’t expect you to answer your own door, my lord.”

  “I was on my way out. Will you make yourself known to me now?”

  “My name is Julia Faircloth.” Her slippered feet barely touched the walkway as she struggled to keep pace with him. “I think you are acquainted with my father, Mr. Graeme Faircloth?”

  “Hmm. Yes, of course. I believe we are about to meet again.”

  “I think not. My father has gone shopping in Milsom Street for my sister’s birthday gift.” She was annoyed to feel her cheeks getting hot.

  “Certainly,” Sebastian agreed, clearly unconvinced.

  “Perhaps you are unaware of my father’s history. Do you know that for three decades he has been a bookseller in London? He labored from dawn until late at night, every day, trying to provide a living for our family. He is truly a dear, fine man. When Cousin Archibald died and left Papa his estate, we came to Bath, and thought that we would never have to worry about material comfort again.”

  “That’s a very touching story, Miss Faircloth.” As they turned into the wide circle of Palladian houses known as the King’s Circus, Sebastian touched his fingertips to her waist, guiding her clear of an approaching gig. “However, I scarcely know your father. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Why—I thought perhaps you didn’t realize how fine a person Papa truly is. Only recently, since we came to Bath, has he fallen in with gamesters who spend their waking hours at the tables. Papa isn’t like them; I think that he began gambling because he was a bit lonely, and now it’s taken him over.” Julia began to feel alarmed that he did not show signs of sympathy for their plight. There was nothing left but to offer up the unvarnished truth. “I am telling you in strictest confidence, my lord, that my father is in trouble, and our family has failed in our efforts to help him. It seems that only I am prepared to face facts.”

  “You’re very brave,” Sebastian replied, consulting his watch. “We are nearly to my destination. What does this have to do with me?”

  They had turned north, uphill on Russell Street, and Julia’s throat began to burn as she hurried along beside him. The man might be handsome as sin, but he was either obtuse or shockingly rude. “I know about my father’s enormous debt of honor to you. My lord, in these remaining moments, I must ask you, as a gentleman, not to gamble against my father again.”

  “Miss Faircloth, if you imagine that gamblers are gentlemen, you are in error.”

  She couldn’t fathom the sudden harshness in his voice. “Other players have been kind enough to help, my lord. In recent weeks, two have even forgiven Papa’s gambling debts.”

  Sebastian stopped outside Queensberry’s stately home and turned to face her. His voice was deadly calm. “I would say that those men are not Mr. Fairc
loth’s true friends. If they protect him from the consequences of his behavior, how will he ever stop?”

  “I will take my leave, sir.” Julia thought she might choke on the words. Never before had she encountered anyone so maddeningly difficult to reason with! Turning, she continued up the hill without waiting for him to reply. Her back was straight, betraying none of her inner turmoil, even as she silently berated herself for revealing so many family secrets to the wholly despicable Lord Sebastian Trevarre.

  “Miss Faircloth?”

  She nearly managed to continue on without a backward glance, but then curiosity won out. Hands balled into fists, she turned halfway, waiting. “My lord?”

  “Your father’s problem is his own, and only he can solve it.”

  “Shall I thank you then for your lack of assistance—and compassion?” Julia made a mock curtsy. “Good day, my lord.”

  Although she gave no outward sign, it was agony for her to walk away from him without attaining any concessions. She had always felt confidence in her ability to persuade others of the best course of action. People usually began to nod in the midst of one of her explanations, and were even grateful for her intercession.

  But Lord Sebastian Trevarre was clearly a different sort of animal, one who coolly resisted all her efforts to lead him in the right direction.

  Julia couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so frustrated.

  Chapter 3

  On a low shelf beside Julia’s bed at Turbans were her treasures: a song thrush’s nest that cupped a speckled eggshell, dried primroses and bluebells from her favorite woodland paths, a piece of blood-red glass excavated from a streambed, a long swan’s feather, and a variety of interesting seashells and smooth stones.

  Julia knelt in a pool of morning sunlight and examined some of the souvenirs. Each one was beautiful in its own way, but more meaningful were the memories that floated back to her. She remembered exactly where and when she had chosen every blossom, rock, and shell, beginning at the age of three. Many of the treasures she’d discovered while walking with her father, like the thrush’s nest that had fallen from a tree in Devon one summer long after the eggs had hatched. Papa might be useless with money, but he had always had a passion for botany, ornithology, and zoology, and had shared all of his considerable knowledge with her.

  Just then, Sarah tapped on the bedroom door and peeked inside. “Julia, did you know that Adolphus Lynton is waiting for you downstairs?”

  “No.” She sighed and stood up. “I did wonder if that was his voice I heard…”

  “You shouldn’t kneel in your gown, you know. Here, let me try to smooth out the creases. I do believe you love your rocks and feathers better than suitors!”

  “You are harsh. I have a great deal of respect for Mr. Lynton.”

  “Perhaps, but does your heart beat faster when you see him? Does the touch of his hand make you blush? Do you think that his every utterance is inspired? And, when—”

  “You needn’t go on and on! I take your point.” Julia’s brow was furrowed as she started toward the door. Although she couldn’t say so, her continuing worry about their father was having an effect on her mood.

  Sarah returned to her original topic. “You may be glad that we are in Bath rather than London, but I suspect that you’d be happiest of all if we had a country house, with an assortment of animals, woods to walk in, and a quaint little village nearby. Am I right?”

  “Perhaps, but I’m the only member of this family who prefers country life. It would be selfish of me to impose my wishes on the rest of you.”

  Before Sarah could reply, Polly Faircloth appeared in the doorway. “My dears, what keeps you? Not only is Mr. Lynton waiting patiently downstairs, but Charles Whimple has sent word that he will be arriving after luncheon. He writes that he will bring his latest composition.”

  “Oh!” cried Sarah, clapping her hands. “Mr. Whimple has finished his sonnet! He has been composing it for nearly a fortnight.”

  Julia contemplated her sister as they walked from the bedroom together. Had two siblings ever been more different? Although their physical attributes were so similar that they were often mistaken for one another at a distance, Sarah’s beauty had a refined quality. From her artfully arranged golden-brown curls to the tips of her delicate slippered feet, Sarah Faircloth was an ideal of femininity. Even her nature was sweet and shy, if a bit spoiled. It simply wouldn’t occur to her to want to walk in the rain or converse with the men after dinner or wear breeches to go riding.

  “My love,” murmured Polly as they descended the stairs, “it appears to me that you pinned up your hair without the aid of a looking glass.”

  “Oh…” Julia replied absently, “I suppose I forgot. I was looking out the window. Watching the wrens gather nesting material.” She stopped then and leaned up to whisper, “Mama, I really don’t want to entertain Mr. Lynton today. Won’t you help me?”

  “My dear, he’s come from London to be near you, and he has even taken rooms in Bath. Have a bit of sympathy for the poor man.”

  “I am fond of Adolphus,” she said in an unconvincing tone.

  “If that is your notion of fondness, I despair of you ever marrying. What will become of you?”

  Before Julia could reply, Adolphus Lynton came out of the sitting room and she descended the stairs to greet him. He was the picture of sobriety, with wavy, sepia-tinted hair above a sallow face that offered dark, deep-set eyes and a heavy jaw. He might have been a passably attractive man if he ever laughed or betrayed a hint of passion, Julia reflected. The only strong feelings she had witnessed from Adolphus were self-righteous speeches about the deplorable condition of Man.

  “Good morning, sir.” Pasting on a smile, she went forward to greet him. “It is very good of you to visit, but you really should have given me an opportunity to consult with my mother. As it happens, she has all manner of plans for me today, beginning with a basket of mending. Did you know that I am the only Faircloth with perfect vision? I can make exceedingly tiny stitches! It is my secret talent.”

  Both Sarah and her mother looked away in an apparent effort to avoid eye contact with Julia. Lynton’s own dubious expression softened as he replied, “I believe that you are more domestic than you would admit!”

  “Do excuse me,” said Polly. “I must join my husband in the library.”

  Sarah exclaimed, “And, as I am expecting a visitor, I must hurry to the garden to gather flowers!”

  Lynton put a hand out to bar her way. “But, Miss Faircloth, you have promised to sit with your sister while I play the cello!” With that, he stepped aside with a flourish to reveal the large instrument, clearly pleased with his surprise. As he took his chair and positioned the cello between pantalooned knees, he mused, “Is it not fortuitous that I possess the musical talent Julia lacks?”

  “Yes,” Sarah rejoined with uncustomary mischief, “you have treated us to performances on the flute, the pianoforte, and today the cello. Certainly, sir, you will have very gifted children.”

  As he launched into a particularly mournful Beethoven étude, Julia reached over, smiling, and pinched her sister. Minutes passed. Several times, Mr. Lynton caused the bow to groan or squeak against the strings, but he valiantly played on. As the performance finally concluded, Julia found herself listening to her parents’ voices, rising from the adjoining library.

  “Mr. Lynton,” she exclaimed amid cheery applause, “do excuse me for a moment. I must see what transpires in the next room.”

  There, she found her mother sitting with a book while her father paced like a restless spaniel, talking all the while.

  “I don’t understand why you ask so many questions, Mrs. Faircloth. Can it be that, after twenty-five years of marriage, you do not trust your own husband?”

  “I simply wish that you would stay at home, just one day, if only to prove to me that you can.”

  “Do you hear yourself? You’re spouting nonsense! Why would you want to make me stay at home
for that reason?”

  Julia’s heart beat faster as she listened to them. There was an irritable note in her father’s voice that caused her to mistrust him, particularly when she remembered her maddening interview with Lord Sebastian Trevarre. Even then, he’d cast doubt on her father’s whereabouts, hinting that he wasn’t in Milsom Street, as he had said, but inside the Marquess of Queensberry’s house.

  “Papa,” she said, “where are you going today?”

  He spun around, red-faced. “Why, I have been invited to join a group of citizens who are raising funds for the Orchard Street Theatre! Quite an honor, what? And your mother seems to be forbidding me to leave the house!” Nervous laughter sputtered forth. “Can you imagine a bigger piece of audacity than that? Look there, she’s primming up her mouth again—”

  Julia felt sick at heart. “Now, Papa, you and I both know that there is nothing wrong with Mama that a long, relaxing day with her devoted husband wouldn’t cure. Why not send a note to the Theatre and see them the next time they meet?”

  “Am I a prisoner in my own home?”

  Polly took a deep breath and said softly, “Please, do go into town and enjoy yourself. I don’t know what came over me; just a little case of the sulks, but now it has passed and I’ve a hundred things to do. I’ve told Mrs. Rittle that I’ll give her my recipe for apple pudding, and I’ll need to hear Freddy’s essay about…”

  “Tudor England,” supplied Julia.

  “Ah, now that’s my girls.” Mr. Faircloth brightened, as if a dark cloud had lifted. “Ask Freddy to save his essay for me. I’ll be off then.”

  Before the nonplussed Julia could think of what to say next, Adolphus Lynton strode into the library. “Sir, if you are going to the Orchard Street Theatre, I believe I should like to accompany you.”

  Julia saw her father wink at Lynton and felt a pang of foreboding. She went to her mother’s side and held her hand as the men gathered up their hats and coats and made their farewells. Was she simply to stand by and watch her father throw himself to the lions? In her mind, she heard Lord Sebastian’s cynical voice warning, “His problem is his own and only he can solve it!” Yet, it went against her nature to remain silent while someone she loved ruined his own life, and perhaps the lives of his family.