Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's ListSaved by the Viking WarriorThe Pirate Hunter

by Annie Burrows

  In no time at all he’d laid his hands on a lamp, which was on a shelf just beside the back door, where it had always been kept.

  As he lit it, he pictured Mary, huddled up under the eaves in a futile attempt to find shelter from the wind and rain, and no doubt counting the minutes he was making her wait. And wondering what the hell he’d dragged her into. All of a sudden he got a sudden, vivid memory of the day his stepmother had first come to Mayfield. How she’d stood—not in the rear courtyard, shivering with cold, but in the imposing entrance hall, nervously watching the servants, who’d all lined up to greet her. She’d attempted a timid smile for him and he’d returned it with a scowl, seeing her as an interloper. A woman who had no right to take the place of his mother.

  He couldn’t recall her ever smiling again, not while she’d lived here.

  He paused, the lighted lantern in his hand, recalling how he’d complained to his friends about how a woman changed a man when she got him leg-shackled. But the truth was that it wasn’t just a man who took a huge risk when he got married. When a woman chose the wrong partner, she could be just as miserable. He knew, because he’d seen it with Julia’s mother. She’d blossomed when she’d finally married her childhood sweetheart. Only to shrivel to a husk of her former self when shackled to her third husband. Who’d been a brute.

  It was all very well protecting himself from hurt, but not at Mary’s expense. Theirs might not be a love match, but there was no reason why he shouldn’t do whatever he could to make her happy.

  He set the lamp back on its shelf by the back door before he unbolted it. And when Mary saw him, and came scurrying over, he caught her round the waist, then swept her up off her feet and into his arms.

  ‘Nothing else has gone right so far,’ he said. ‘But at least I can carry my bride over the threshold.’

  To his immense relief, she flung her arms round his neck and burrowed her face into his chest.

  She must be freezing, poor lamb. Else she wouldn’t be clinging to him like this.

  He set her down gently and shut the door. Turned, and took both her hands in his.

  ‘I haven’t made a very good start as a husband, have I,’ he said ruefully. ‘I must have written a dozen letters yesterday. Thought I’d organised it all so brilliantly. But never took into account the possibility the Brownlows might have already made their plans for Christmas. And...’ he squeezed her hands ‘...I fear you are right. There’s nobody here but us. And there’s no telling how long they’ll be away. I dare say you must be really cross with me, but...’

  ‘No!’ She stunned him by placing one hand on his cheek. ‘Not at all. There are far worse things for a man to be, than a bit disorganised.’

  ‘Well, it’s good of you to say so,’ he said gruffly, raising his own hand to cover hers where it rested on his cheek, ‘but you do realise we’ve no option but to rack up here for the night? And that there are no servants, no beds made up for us...’

  She gave him a brave smile. ‘It will seem better once we can get a fire going,’ she said bracingly. Clearly determined to make the best of a bad job. ‘And if the Brownlows normally live here, then there’s bound to be some provisions in the larder. We can manage.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ he said, kissing her hand in gratitude at her forbearance. ‘Let’s raid the kitchen.’

  Pausing only to pick up the lantern, he led Mary along the stone-flagged corridor, his brow knotted in thought. His father had never really appreciated Julia’s mother. He’d treated her as though she ought to have been grateful he’d given her his name and title. He hadn’t seen it as a boy, but his father had treated his dogs and horses better than his own wife.

  The minute he thought of horses, he recalled the hurt look that had flickered across Mary’s face when he’d told her how he’d sent his own horses down by easy stages.

  Lord, he’d started out as badly as his own father had done! Pampering his horses and pitching his wife headlong into hardship.

  ‘You ought by rights to be ripping up at me for making such a botch of things,’ he growled as he opened the door to the kitchen for her.

  She gazed up at him, wide-eyed. Then gave a little sniff and shook her head.

  ‘You were just in a hurry to get things ready for your sister,’ she said. ‘You were concentrating on getting her to a place of safety. It would have been a miracle if, somewhere along the line, your plans hadn’t hit a snag.’

  ‘That’s very generous of you—to take that attitude,’ he said, setting the lantern on the shelf just inside the door, which had always been used for that very purpose.

  ‘Let’s just hope this is the worst snag we hit,’ she said, untying the ribbons of her bonnet and setting it on the massive table that stood in the very centre of the room. Then she walked across to the closed stove and knelt in front of it.

  ‘Good, dry kindling laid ready,’ she said, opening the door and peeking inside. ‘And plenty of logs in the basket.’ She stood up, and scanned the shelf over the fireplace. ‘And here’s the tinderbox, just where any sensible housewife would keep it.’

  Thank goodness she wasn’t one of those useless, helpless females whose sole aim in life was to be decorative. It would be an absolute nightmare to be stuck in this huge, empty house with one of those.

  Fortunately, he managed to keep his thoughts to himself rather than blurting them out and provoking an argument. For what woman liked to hear a man think she was useful rather than decorative?

  ‘I’ll go and take a look around, then,’ he said, going to light another lamp. ‘See what I can discover. So long as you will be all right here for a while?’

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and nodded, with a look that told him he was an idiot for even asking.

  He gave a wry smile as he set out to explore the house. He’d contracted a practical marriage, with a practical, no-nonsense sort of woman. Of course she wasn’t going to have a fit of the vapours because he was leaving her alone to get a fire lit.

  * * *

  By the time he returned to the kitchen, it was noticeably warmer. And there were plates and bowls and things out on the sides, which had previously been bare.

  ‘While you were gone I had a good look round the larder, found some tea and made a pot,’ said Mary, pouring some into two cups. ‘There’s no milk to go in it, but we can sweeten it with some sugar.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to have to act like a servant,’ he said glumly as he set the lamp on its shelf.

  She put the teapot down rather hard.

  ‘Would you rather sit all night in the gloom, with an empty stomach, and wait for someone else to turn up and wait on you?’

  ‘No. I didn’t mean that! It’s just—I promised you a life of luxury. And on the first day, you’re already reduced to this.’ He waved his arm round the big, empty kitchen.

  ‘Oh.’ Her anger dissipated as swiftly as his own ever did. She shot him a rueful glance as she dumped two full spoons of sugar into both cups. ‘I don’t mind, you know. It’s the biggest house I’ve ever had to call my own. And I’m sure, come the morning, you will be able to find out what has become of the couple who should be taking care of the place. The state of the larder leads me to believe they have not been away all that long.’

  ‘It looks as though there’s been a horse in the stables very recently, too,’ he said, taking a seat at the table next to the place settings he noted she’d laid. Then he picked up his cup and braced himself to swallow the sickly concoction without grimacing. She’d been looking through the larder and preparing a meal, when she could have been sitting in front of the fire sulking. Her temper was frayed—the way she’d slammed down the teapot and ladled sugar into his drink without asking whether he liked it or not told him that much. So he’d be an ungrateful oaf to provoke her again, by complaining about such a small thing, when she w
as clearly doing her utmost to make the best of things.

  ‘Though no sign of any of my own. Nor my groom,’ he finished gloomily. Dammit, where was everyone?

  ‘Well, at least we have plenty to eat. Would you like something now? I can make an omelette, if you’d like it.’

  ‘I am starving,’ he admitted with a wry smile. ‘I suppose we ought to do something about finding somewhere to sleep really, but I could do with fortifying before I can face going upstairs again. The whole place is like an icehouse.’

  ‘We...we could sleep in the kitchen,’ she suggested, taking a sip of her own tea. ‘It is, at least, warm.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he said, setting his own cup down firmly on the table—with some relief that he had a valid excuse for doing so without having to endure any more of the noxiously syrupy drink. ‘There are a dozen perfectly serviceable bedrooms above stairs. And just because you’ve put on an apron and have to act like a cook doesn’t mean you need to sleep below stairs, as well.’

  ‘I’ve slept in worse places,’ she admitted.

  ‘Yes, maybe you have, but you’re married to me now and it is my job to take care of you.’ He was going to do better than his own father had done with Julia’s mother. He wasn’t going to assume Mary should be grateful for the privilege of bearing his name, and his title, no matter what the circumstances.

  ‘Of course,’ she said meekly, before rising and going across to a sort of preparation area near the stove and cracking several eggs into a bowl.

  She didn’t utter a word of reproof, but the set of her back as she grated some cheese into the egg mixture told him he really shouldn’t have raised his voice to her just now.

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘It’s very clever of you to know how to do all this sort of thing.’

  ‘It was necessary,’ she said, pouring the egg mixture into a pan where she’d already started some butter melting. ‘If I hadn’t learned how to cook, once Papa died, we would have gone hungry. We’d never been all that well off, but after he went, we had to move into a much smaller place and let all the servants go.’ She frowned as she kept pulling the slowly setting mixture from the edges into the middle. ‘Mama did the purchasing and tried to learn how to keep the household accounts in order, while I did the actual physical work of keeping house.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad of it,’ he said, and then, realising how heartless that sounded, added hastily, ‘I mean, glad you can turn your hand to cooking. That smells wonderful,’ he said, desperately hoping to make up lost ground. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  She stirred the egg mixture several more times before making her reply.

  ‘It might go down better with some wine,’ she suggested as she added some ham to the egg mixture. ‘But only if you can fetch it quickly. This won’t take but a minute more.’

  He didn’t need telling twice. Lord, but he needed to get out of the kitchen before he said something even more tactless and shattered the tentative hold she must be keeping on her temper with him. He returned, with a dusty bottle and two wine glasses, just as she was sliding the omelette on to a plate.

  ‘Not the best crystal,’ he said, putting the bottle down beside his place setting and pulling a corkscrew from his pocket. ‘But you did specify haste, so I got these from the butler’s pantry.’

  ‘I’m not used to the best crystal, anyway.’

  She startled him then, by looking up at him and smiling ruefully. That she could still muster a smile, any kind of smile, and turn it his way, felt nothing short of miraculous. He dropped into his chair with relief, picked up his fork, swearing to himself he’d praise her cooking to the skies no matter what it tasted like.

  But in the event, there was no need to feign appreciation.

  ‘This has got to be,’ he said, ‘one of the tastiest omelettes I’ve ever eaten.’

  She flushed and smiled again, this time with what looked like real pleasure.

  ‘The...the wine is very good, too,’ she reciprocated, having taken a sip.

  ‘Don’t go heaping coals of fire on my head. Coming here has been a disaster. All my fault. And you haven’t uttered a single word of complaint. You’re the only woman I know who wouldn’t be ringing a peal over my head.’

  ‘This really isn’t so very bad,’ she replied, lowering her gaze to her plate, ‘compared to some of the things that have happened to me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He hadn’t really learned all that much about her past, now he came to think of it. He’d been in such a hurry to get her to the altar he hadn’t taken the time to talk.

  ‘Oh, just...well, it was bad enough after Papa died, but at least Mama and I managed to maintain our independence. Even if it did mean moving frequently, to keep one step ahead of our creditors.’ She flushed, and moved the omelette round and round on her plate, before taking a deep breath and plunging on.

  ‘But when she died, her annuity died with her. I really did have absolutely nothing, for a while. Fortunately, I managed to track down the lawyer who’d dealt with Papa’s affairs, hoping he would have some solution. But all he did was refer me to Papa’s relations. None of whom wanted the added burden of an indigent female. I really was at my wit’s end by the time I reached London and my aunt Pargetter. I thought...’ She looked up and flashed him a tight smile. ‘Well, you can see why all this...’ she waved her hand round the kitchen, much as he’d done earlier ‘...doesn’t seem so very dreadful. At least nobody can turn me out into that storm, can they? And we have food and a fire.’ She shrugged and popped another forkful of omelette into her mouth.

  He didn’t know what to say. She’d been through so much. So bravely. And all on her own. And here he’d been, half expecting her to throw a tantrum like some spoiled society miss.

  He pushed his empty plate to one side.

  ‘Come on, let’s go and see about somewhere to sleep.’

  ‘But I need to wash the dishes....’

  ‘Leave ’em. Plenty more about the place, I’m sure. So we can have clean ones in the morning. The staff can do the washing up when they get back. That’s what I pay ’em for.’ He went round the table and pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m glad you’ve pitched in and put a meal together, but I draw the line at you washing dishes.’

  ‘I’ll just stack them in the scullery, then.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘I think,’ she said, with a shy smile, ‘that I’m going to like being Lady Havelock.’

  ‘What! After this?’

  ‘I have always hated washing up,’ she said, wiping her hands and tossing her apron aside. ‘It’s wonderful to just do the things I enjoy and leave the unpleasant tasks to others.’

  Wonderful? From his point of view, it was wonderful she could describe any part of this evening in positive terms. ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, tucking her arm into his and leading her up the stairs.

  ‘This way,’ he said, tugging her to the left and pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket.

  He proudly flung open the double doors at the head of the stairs.

  ‘The master bedroom,’ he said. Then reeled back, coughing, at the musty smell that wafted out to greet him.

  ‘It doesn’t look as if anyone has used this room for years,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘About a dozen, I suspect,’ he groaned. ‘I seem to recall the trustees saying something about only letting the tenants use certain rooms. I should have realised this one would be one of the ones out of bounds.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. The Dog and Ferret was looking more appealing by the minute.

  ‘Well, let us find a room that has been in use more recently and is a bit better aired,’ she said, stepping smartly back into the corridor.

  ‘What a good job you thought of coming down to look the place over before telling your sister she could c
ome to live here,’ she said brightly, after they’d inspected several more rooms and found them in a similar state to the master suite. ‘I’m going to have my work cut out, getting it ready for her return.’

  Not if he could help it. He’d hire an army of servants to scrub and clean this place from top to bottom. Hang the expense. He wasn’t going to have her working her fingers to the bone on his account.

  * * *

  Mary was just beginning to think they would have to go back to the kitchen, after all, when Lord Havelock opened the door to a room that didn’t reek of damp and mice.

  ‘It doesn’t strike so cold in here, does it?’ he said, stepping over the threshold. ‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ he said sagely, as she lifted the corner of a cover that shrouded an item of furniture that turned out to be a bed. ‘Right at the end of the corridor, here, the room faces south. It must get the sun all day. Bound to keep it drier than the others, which face west or east.’

  ‘Even so, I’m not too sure we can use this bed,’ she said, lifting the cover higher to reveal a rolled-up mattress at the end of the frame.

  He sighed. ‘The bedding at the Dog and Ferret may have been dirty and damp, but at least there would have been some.’

  ‘We could air the mattress for a while in front of the fire, once we get it lit,’ she suggested. ‘And we can use our coats, and what have you, for bedding. Just for one night. If...if you wouldn’t mind fetching our luggage.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ he said. Then, as he passed her, he swept her into his arms and gave her a swift, hard kiss. ‘You think of everything.’

  Well, in the past, she’d had to. She wouldn’t have got as far as Aunt Pargetter, if she hadn’t had the sense to track down the lawyer who’d dealt with her father’s affairs.