“Of course,” Emily said dryly, “allowing him to stay on the estate he once thought to inherit, the site of his brother’s death, will cheer him immensely.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Barnaby muttered and like a man avoiding a dangerous pit, he escaped out of her presence. Dealing with intelligent women, he decided, was a dicey business. He grinned. But not boring.
Emily might have been more suspicious of Mathew’s sudden visit if she and Cornelia hadn’t been preoccupied with plans to learn more about Mrs. Gillian Dashwood—and Luc’s interest in the young widow ... a young widow who may have murdered her husband. They had their campaign mapped out and were impatiently waiting for Tuesday when a stroke of luck came their way. After church on Sunday, as Emily and Cornelia were waiting for their carriage to be drawn up, the paths of the High Tower group and that of the ladies of Windmere converged.
Cornelia had spotted them right away as they came down the steps of the church and nudged Emily. Before Emily knew what she was about, Cornelia had stepped forward and said to Silas, “Good morning, Mr. Ordway. Lady Joslyn and I were sorry to hear of your accident, but we’re pleased to see that you are recovering and able to be out and about.” She tipped her head in acknowledgment of the presence of the rest of the family who accompanied their uncle. “You must be quite gratified to have your family visiting.”
Silas smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Townsend.” He glanced with pride and affection at Stanley, Gillian and Sophia clustered around him. “Allow me to introduce my nephew and nieces to you and Lady Joslyn.”
The introductions were made and polite chatter ensued. The carriage for the Windmere ladies arrived and good-byes were exchanged, but not before Emily had mentioned that she and Cornelia would like to call and officially welcome the newcomers to the neighborhood. “Tuesday then?” she asked, as her footman opened the door to the carriage.
Aware of the honor of being sought out by Viscountess Joslyn and her formidable great-aunt, Silas accepted straightaway, almost rubbing his hands together in glee as he watched the Windmere carriage roll away. For himself it didn’t matter, but to have Stanley, Sophia and Gillian welcomed by members of the leading family in the area thrilled him.
Sophia and Stanley were equally flattered and pleased but while aware of a pleasant flutter at the introduction, Gillian couldn’t quell an anxious niggle. Had Lady Joslyn and Mrs. Townsend heard the ugly gossip about her? She wasn’t so vain to suppose that all of England had heard of Charles Dashwood’s death or that she may have been the one who murdered him, but she knew that at the time she and Charles had been the subject of avid speculation in many circles of the ton. Was curiosity about the murder, and her part in it, behind their interest in calling at High Tower?
It wasn’t until that evening as they climbed the stairs toward their bedrooms that Gillian was able to voice her concerns to Sophia. Reaching the landing, Gillian said, “May I have a word with you before we retire for the night?”
“Certainly, my dear,” Sophia said. “Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly,” Gillian muttered and led the way into the sitting room they shared. Shutting the door behind them, she asked, “Do you think that Lady Joslyn and her great-aunt have heard the gossip about me?”
Sophia sent her a look. “Does it matter?”
“Well, of course it does! Especially if their reason for calling here is to ogle the reputed murderess.”
“Do you think that is what is behind their proposed visit?” Sophia asked calmly.
Gillian bit her lip. “I don’t know. But if they’ve heard the gossip, and I’ll wager they have ... what other reason could they have for wanting to visit?” She sank onto one of the sofas, her lips set. “I-I-I don’t want them coming to stare at me like a two-headed heifer at a fair.”
Sophia laughed and sat down next to her. “You hardly resemble a two-headed heifer, poppet.” She patted Gillian’s hand. “I don’t know either of the ladies, but I do know that Mrs. Smythe and everyone that we’ve met speak highly of them. They are both held in high esteem.” Gillian nodded and Sophia went on, “You know how it is in the country—I’m sure that Mrs. Smythe and some of the other ladies have talked about us to them and aroused their interest.” Gently, she asked, “Have you considered that all that motives them is simple curiosity? We are new to the area, so it’s perfectly reasonable that they would like to know us better.” She tapped Gillian on the cheek and smiled affectionately at her. “You know, my dear, not everyone listens to gossip or gives it credence. It’s very possible they may have heard the gossip but have dismissed it as just that—gossip.”
Gillian took a breath, a rueful smile lurking at the corners of her lips. “I am being silly, aren’t I? And terribly vain to think that I am the sole reason they are coming to call.”
“Oh no,” Sophia said. “I do think that you are the reason behind their visit.”
“But you just said—!”
“That you are the reason they are coming to call,” Sophia interrupted serenely. “I didn’t say, however, that it was because they think you are a murderess.” She paused, looked thoughtful. “Of course, they may think that and simply want to reassure themselves that they are wrong.”
“So you think that I am right, after all?” Gillian asked, confused.
Sophia shook her head. “Not if you believe they are coming to, er, ogle you like a two-headed heifer.” Sophia laughed at the expression on Gillian’s face and, taking pity on her, said, “Luc, my dear. They are coming to see you because of Luc.”
Gillian stared openmouthed at her. “But what,” she finally managed, “does he have to do with anything?”
Sophia glanced down at folds of her green cashmere gown and smiled. “My guess is that he has said something that gave them the idea that he has more than just a passing interest in you and they want to see for themselves just what sort of woman has caught his fancy.” Rising to her feet, Sophia said prosaically, “And, of course to assure themselves that he has not involved himself with a murderess.”
After Sophia’s startling pronouncements, Gillian did not find sleep easy that night. It was ludicrous, she decided, to think that Luc had any interest in her beyond that of a healthy male for the nearest available female under forty. She snorted. He’d kissed her and she’d responded, but that was all it had been. Then why, asked a sly voice, were her dreams full of him? Why each night did she toss and turn and burn to know the magic of that knowing mouth on hers again and to feel those strong arms tighten around her? Why, that nagging voice asked, was he constantly at the back of her mind?
As for being thought a murderess by Lady Joslyn and her great-aunt, Gillian didn’t even want to examine how she felt about that. She already knew. It was humiliating and infuriating. More so because she could say nothing, because no one would ask her outright about her part in her husband’s murder and if by chance someone was bold enough to question her, anything she said in her defense was likely to be dismissed as a pack of lies. It was a battle she could not win.
Gillian woke Monday morning cross and out of sorts. Noting that she did not seem her usual agreeable self when they met for breakfast downstairs, Sophia said, “Why don’t we take a ride today? The sun is out—at least intermittently—and while there are a few clouds and a bit of a breeze, it is not an unpleasant day. What do you say? Shall we have the horses saddled and do some exploring on our own?”
“If you wish,” Gillian said indifferently, picking at her eggs and toast.
By the time she’d gone back upstairs and changed her clothes, Gillian’s mood lifted somewhat. She glanced at herself in the cheval glass, deciding that despite its age, her decade-old amber velvet riding habit trimmed in black braid did not look too dowdy. She liked the way the jacket nipped in at her waist and the black braid on the cuffs, around the collar and down the front gave the garment a military air. The ruffled linen fall that draped down across her breasts needed something, a pin to keep it from flappi
ng about as she rode, and looking through her jewelry box, her fingers lingered on the topaz and diamond brooch. Why not? It would go well with the riding habit, and reminding herself why she had kept it, hoping it would indeed act as a talisman against the charms of perfidious men, she defiantly fixed it in the middle of the linen fall. After placing a small russet hat with a long feather dyed green on her head, she left her room. Meeting Sophia in the foyer, she was surprised to find Stanley in breeches and boots standing next to Sophia.
He flashed her an uncertain smile. “If you have no objections, I’ve invited myself along for your ride.”
There had been a time Gillian would have taken Stanley’s inclusion as just another sign of his overbearing manner, but in light of their changing relationship, she accepted it for what it was: a simple offer of companionship. She smiled at him. “Now why would I refuse the escort of a handsome man?” she teased.
Several minutes later, the cousins were mounted and riding away from High Tower. Enjoying the feel of the fine bay gelding she had chosen to ride today under her and the caress of the breeze on her face, the last of Gillian’s doldrums lifted. Smiling over at Sophia, astride a skittish sorrel mare, Gillian said, “You were right. A ride was exactly what I needed.”
“It’s good for the horses, too,” Stanley added. “Uncle says that they need far more exercise than he gives them. More so since he broke his arm.”
“Oh, I do so look forward to the day that he can join us. Even though he insisted, I felt guilty leaving him behind,” Gillian admitted.
“We won’t be gone more than a few hours,” Stanley said, “and I suspect that he’ll enjoy having his house all to himself.”
“I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought about how things changed for him, too, with all of us living under his roof—even if it is a big house.”
Sophia nodded. “I agree—we tend to think of how we are affected, forgetting the differences our presence in his home make for him.”
“I think he’s happy, though,” Gillian said.
Riding abreast, the three cousins continued to discuss their uncle and their pleasure in living at High Tower. Casting Stanley a curious look, Gillian asked, “Will you be returning to London after the first of the year?”
“I don’t know,” Stanley answered, frowning. “Uncle hasn’t said anything definite, but I sense that he would like me to stay and take a more active part in the running of High Tower.”
“Do you want to?” asked Sophia, studying him.
“Yes, very much,” he admitted. “Not that I would abandon London,” he added hastily, “but beyond a few months during the Season, living at High Tower with the pair of you and Uncle Silas holds a great appeal.”
“What a bouncer!” teased Gillian, her eyes laughing at him. “You actually want to live with me underfoot all the time?”
He smiled. “It wouldn’t be the terrible fate I once thought. What about the pair of you? How would you feel with me living permanently at High Tower?”
Gillian grinned at him. “A few weeks ago, I would have bitten off my tongue before confessing that it wouldn’t be such a terrible fate.”
“I agree,” said Sophia bestowing a look of approval on Stanley. “And it would please Uncle Silas—which should be our first objective.”
In more charity with each other than at any time in their lives, the cousins continued their ride, conversing with an ease that had long been missing from their relationship.
They’d had no destination in mind when they had ridden away from High Tower, and despite the chilly and increasingly overcast day, they wandered farther afield than planned. They’d been enjoying themselves so much that they weren’t aware of the passing time, nor their location, until the breeze became a biting wind and a chill rain began to fall. Halting their horses, they looked at each other in dismay, realizing that their return ride was going to be miserable—especially if the wind and rain continued.
Other than their trips to church and the brief tour that Luc had given them, Gillian and Sophia were not familiar with the area, but Stanley was more acquainted with their surroundings, although at the moment, he hadn’t any idea where they were. Increasingly uncomfortable, they rode, and uncertain of their destination, to Stanley’s relief, recognizing a few landmarks, he realized that they were not more than a half mile from the village. Hoping the rain would not last for long, they decided to ride on to the village and take refuge at The Crown until the weather cleared.
“Or worsens,” said Stanley gloomily, eyeing the darkening sky over the Channel. “We may be in for a nasty blow. I don’t think you’ll enjoy riding home in the teeth of a storm.”
“We won’t melt,” said Sophia calmly. “But if the weather worsens, I’m sure that we can hire someone from the inn to take a message to High Tower. Uncle will send Cannon with the coach for us. Do not fuss.”
Stanley couldn’t argue with her logic and a few minutes later, they were pulling their horses to a halt in front of The Crown. Stanley helped both ladies down from their mounts and urged them toward the door. “I’ll get you settled in a private room and then see to the horses.”
Gillian hadn’t realized how cold and damp she’d become until she entered The Crown. Just being out of the wind and rain was a relief, but she almost purred at the wave of warmth that enveloped her as she stepped inside the tavern. A big fire blazed on the hearth, and the pleasing scent of spirits and roasting meat wafted through the air. Her stomach gave an unladylike growl, and she became aware of the fact that her meager breakfast had been hours ago and that she was hungry.
The interior of the inn was neat and tidy: the wide-planked floors gleamed, heavy oak beams dark with age crisscrossed the ceiling and lace curtains draped the windows. The room was nearly empty of customers except for a few farmers and fishermen sitting at a couple of tables near the fire. At the long wooden counter at the other end of the room, talking to the plump older woman and a pair of dark-haired smiling young women stood a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman, his back to the door. At the sound of the opening door, tankard held halfway to his lips, a grin on his face, the gentleman turned to glance at the newcomers.
Gillian’s heart fluttered when her eyes met Luc’s astonished blue stare.
“Tiens!” Luc exclaimed, and putting down his tankard, his grin gone, he strode across the room to meet them. “Is everything all right?” he asked, his gaze moving from face to face as he came nearer. “Your uncle?”
Already feeling guilty for almost getting them lost, Stanley wasn’t happy to see Luc, and he said stiffly, “There is nothing wrong with our uncle. We decided to take a ride, but Uncle Silas remained at home.” Under Luc’s steady look, Stanley found himself explaining, “The change in the weather caught us by surprise and we decided to take shelter here to wait and see if the rain lessens enough to allow us to continue home.” Stanley glanced around the area, noting the interest their arrival had caused amongst the inhabitants, and clearing his throat he added, “I was hoping to procure a private room for the ladies.”
“Of course,” Luc said, his warm smile encompassing all three of them. “Mrs. Gilbert will be glad to provide you with one.”
Mrs. Gilbert trotted up just then, her blue eyes alert and curious as Stanley made their wants known. A moment later, she ushered them into a pleasant room at the side of the inn. After finding out if the room was satisfactory and inquiring to their wishes for refreshments, she left. A moment later, one of the dark-haired young women who had been talking to Luc at the counter hurried in with a bundle of kindling, flashing them a shy smile before lighting a fire on the hearth of the old brick fireplace. In no time, the fire dispelled the faint chill in the room, and as the first young woman departed, another dark-haired young woman appeared with a tray loaded with refreshments.
Luc accompanied them when Mrs. Gilbert had shown them the room and to Stanley’s displeasure seemed disinclined to take himself off. He wasn’t certain how the man had done it, but it app
eared that the Frenchman was now a member of their party. Listening to the light prattle as Luc charmed and disarmed the ladies Stanley sighed. No doubt the fellow would insist upon escorting them home, where his uncle would fall on Joslyn’s neck with delight.
The afternoon was well advanced before the weather cleared somewhat, and although the falling wind still had a bite to it and the smell of rain was in the air, it was decided to make a run for home. And proving Stanley right, Luc joined them.
Mounted on an elegant black, as they trotted away from the inn, Luc observed, “It will be much faster if we cut across the fields than follow the road.” He looked at Stanley and said apologetically, “Forgive me! I do not mean to usurp your position. Perhaps you know the shortcut, also?”
Stanley shook his head, admitting reluctantly, “I nearly got us lost as it was.” Wryly, he added, “It was only by luck that we ended up at the village.”
“Then if you will allow me, I will show you the quickest way to High Tower.”
Stanley nodded, wishing the man wasn’t so damned charming ... and likeable.
Luc cast another glance at the threatening sky over the Channel and muttered, “If we are very lucky, my friends, we may make it to your home before the storm breaks.”
Luc urged his horse forward and the four of them set off at a brisk walk. They had to traverse the muddy, winding streets of the village first before they could leave the road behind and strike out for open ground, and just as they reached the outskirts they were met by a quartet of approaching horsemen. Luc nearly swore aloud as he recognized the gentlemen: Canfield, Padgett, Stanton and St. John. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would have been a more welcome sight, Luc thought grimly. War, famine, pestilence and death had nothing on these four, although, he admitted, putting St. John in that group wasn’t fair. His eyes narrowed. But St. John’s presence was ... interesting.
Desire Becomes Her Page 22