by Mary Brendan
She didn’t hear Mr Robley approach until he was almost upon her. Fiona jumped up, wondering whether he’d come to tell her that sitting on his bench and eating his herbs would cost her.
He was carrying a steaming plate of food and she thought that odd as nobody else was outside to have ordered it.
‘Would you like to eat here? I can bring a table...’
Fiona glanced at beef stew and dumplings and felt her mouth water. Stupidly stubborn earlier, she’d not eaten her fill of hare and was still hungry. She glanced away from the tempting meal, angry with the landlord for going against her. ‘Have you asked Mr Wolfson to pay for my keep even though I said not to?’
‘No...honest...’ the landlord avowed, slowly shaking his perspiring head to impress on Fiona his truthfulness. ‘Never did say a word to him. Mr Wolfson settled his shot and yours, before he went, you see, and wouldn’t hear no more said about it.’
Fiona had started off towards the inn as though to find Luke and speak to him. Now she pivoted back. ‘Went?’ she echoed weakly. Despite what she’d said to him about brief farewells, she’d imagined...hoped...he might come and see her one last time before leaving.
‘Gone off with his friends, you see.’ Balancing the plate in one hand, the landlord gave her arm a pat. ‘The other one’s got her claws deep in him, that’s what it is, my dear. You’re much nicer, I reckon.’ Mr Robley mimed the action of savage talons with his free fingers and drew a tiny giggle from Fiona.
‘That’s better,’ the landlord chirped. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea, eh, and where you’re going, down Dartmouth way, there’s sea aplenty.’ He beamed at his little quip and nudged Fiona with an elbow. ‘Now sit you down and eat this up.’
For some reason Fiona did as she was told and allowed him to place the plate and shiny cutlery on her lap.
‘You let me know what else you might like. There’s ale or tea or anything you fancy. All paid for...’ He gave her a sideways smile that transformed into a chuckle. ‘Mr Wolfson might change his mind and come back looking for you, I reckon, when he’s got rid of t’other one.’
Fiona picked up her knife and fork, wondering how she would feel about that if he did.
The landlord watched contentedly as Fiona tucked in enthusiastically to her dinner. He liked to know his cooking was appreciated. He could be avaricious if the opportunity presented itself, but also a kindly, tolerant soul. He made a good living from gentlemen and young ladies, not always their wives, taking trips and stopping off at his hostelry, so had nothing against illicit shenanigans going on beneath his roof.
‘When you’ve had your fill I’ll have the gig brought round. Can’t say it’s a comfy ride, but as you’re keen to get on—’
‘What?’ Fiona interrupted, using her handkerchief on her lips while frowning intently at him.
‘Mr Wolfson’s paid for the hire of my vehicle to take you on to the Pig and Whistle. He said you’d got to collect your case from there. You’ll be able to get to Dartmouth from that tavern.’
Fiona surged to her feet, handing Mr Robley her half-empty plate. Seeing the disappointment on his face as he studied the half-eaten food, she blurted, ‘Oh, thank you, it was delicious, Mr Robley, but I must get going, sir. If I don’t turn up soon I won’t have a job to go to.’
‘Oh, well...if you must...’ The landlord dug a hand in the pocket of his apron. ‘Left you this, too, he did.’ He handed over a small package, then nodded eagerly at it to hurry Fiona opening it. With a sigh Fiona did so, knowing he wouldn’t go till his curiosity had been satisfied. She’d an inkling of what might be within, but it felt heavier than expected. On unfolding the parchment wrapper she glimpsed a glitter of gold. But it wasn’t just her precious locket within: three sovereigns were stacked on top of the delicately etched oval. With the weight of her riches in one hand Fiona turned the paper, hoping to see a note from him, but the sheet was blank.
Mr Robley’s jaw had slackened at the sight of the treasure but he suddenly clacked together his brown teeth and chortled. ‘He do like you the best, you see...’
Chapter Eleven
She was finally drawing closer to her destination and the knowledge should have brought more contentment with it than it did, Fiona realised, as the gig set off west at quite a pace. She waved to Mr Robley who was flapping his dirty apron at her in farewell. As she settled back on the hard seat she put her pensiveness down to the likely reception she’d get from Mr Herbert when she eventually turned up days late.
The stable hand driving the one-horse contraption was called Bob and he was the landlord’s son, he’d told her. Bob gave her a grin, but Fiona’s eyes were drawn to a couple of older fellows who’d clattered off the cobbled courtyard to trot alongside the gig. When the road narrowed they dropped behind to follow it.
‘Who are they?’ Fiona asked.
‘Them’s me brothers.’
‘Oh...’ Fiona said. ‘Do they also need to go to the Pig and Whistle?’ She held on to her bonnet as a stray branch in the hedgerow scuffed it.
‘They do today, miss, ’cos Major Wolfson’s paid ’em to.’
‘For what reason?’
‘Escort duty, ’case we meet undesirables on the road. Michael and William have got guns on ’em, see.’ He gave Fiona an admiring glance. ‘Becky Peake don’t get this special treatment. She just got put on the London mail last time he sent her home.’
So, it seemed that Mr Robley, despite his winks and nose-taps, wasn’t the soul of discretion he’d said he was. The landlord had told his sons that she was one of Luke Wolfson’s women. Only she wasn’t...and neither did she wish to be! And it certainly wasn’t the thought of never again seeing a mercenary that was making her feel oddly wistful, Fiona impressed upon herself, pursing her lips.
Becky Peake was welcome to him and the first opportunity she got to reimburse him, she would. She was glad to have her locket again securely beneath her bodice and, she had to admit, she was grateful for the sovereigns, too, although she wished he’d not been so ridiculously generous. One of the coins would suffice so she’d put the others away in their parchment wrapper, ready to be sent back.
Without money for her fare she would have been stranded at the Pig and Whistle. Although she’d already paid for a place on Toby Williams’s coach she doubted he would be willing or able to take her on to finish her journey. If he were still at the hostelry he’d be watching over his nephew, and it would be a mean person indeed who’d expect him to abandon a gravely ill relative to drive her to Dartmouth.
Her thoughts veered back to the debt she now owed. She’d little chance of saving her locket’s value and a sovereign. Even should she miraculously manage to gather the sum she’d no idea where to post his payment. Luke had told her nothing about himself, other than he was a bachelor who’d served in the army and was out of practice at trapping. Suddenly her mind pounced on the fact that he knew someone living locally. He’d been on his way to Lowerton to pay a visit on the first occasion they’d met. Nostalgically she recalled the stormy night he had built a fire to dry their clothes and they’d stood talking together in firelight while dripping trees made music in the background.
It all seemed now such a long time ago, yet only days had passed. Fiona wondered if the moody-looking fellow with Becky Peake was Luke’s friend from Lowerton and whether they were all finished with Devon and returning to London. She’d never discovered the tale behind the aborted kidnapping of the duke’s daughter and it irked her that she probably never would. She had suffered at the hands of the Collins gang because of it and felt she was at least entitled to know why.
Fiona sighed, wanting to stop dratted Luke Wolfson from dominating her every thought. Determinedly she turned her concentration to the people she’d travelled with on Toby Williams’s coach. She wondered if the Jacksons and the Beresford sisters were now safely home. Fiona very much h
oped they were. Yet she was worried that she’d not had an opportunity to beg them to guard their tongues over her abduction. No lasting harm had been done to her and she’d have liked to tell them so, if she could.
* * *
‘I suppose you think you’ve been very clever, don’t you?’
‘What?’ Luke was in no mood for jokes or for humouring his friend. He needed this argument with Rockleigh quickly sorted out so he could make sure Fiona had arrived safely at the Pig and Whistle.
Having taken Becky to the coach station, he’d left her there once he’d extracted her sulky promise to go straight home. Then Luke and Drew had travelled on to Lowerton. Luke no longer cared if Becky again defiantly loitered in Devon. He wouldn’t be returning to the King and Tinker so if she went back there she’d be wasting her time.
A clinking together of crystal brought Luke’s brooding thoughts back to the present. He was seated opposite Rockleigh at a table in the hunting lodge, a decanter and a glass midway between them on its surface. Another tumbler, half-filled with brandy, was shoved towards him over glossy mahogany.
‘Turning the tables on me like that was a low trick. I’d not have thought you’d stoop to it.’ Drew sat back in his chair, shrugging as though he blamed himself for being naive. He took a gulp of his drink.
‘I’ve not the vaguest idea what the hell you are talking about.’ Luke took a large swallow, too, returning the brandy to the table with a thump. He was still only half-listening to his friend’s barbed remarks because images of Fiona’s enraptured features were monopolising his mind. The silky feel of her skin and hair were ghostly phantoms beneath his fingertips, but it was her sweet instinctive response to his passion he couldn’t forget. His hand clenched more tightly about the cooling glass as he became aware of the heat in his body. ‘Can we get this business about Cecilia out of the way?’ Luke began drumming some fingers on the tabletop. He’d turned sideways on his chair, a dark-sleeved arm resting on the back rail ready to push him to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, Drew, but I’ve something vital to do.’
‘Have you now? Well, sorry to hold you up.’ Drew’s drawling tone was scathing. ‘But, by chance, I’ve also got something vital to do...and say. And you have more to apologise for than dismissing my niece as though she’s one of your fly-by-night doxies.’
Luke discerned from his friend’s tone of voice that he was about to hear something significant, and unpleasant, that was additional to the matter that had brought him here. His fingers ceased their tattoo. ‘Enlighten me, then,’ he invited with an impatient gesture.
‘I’ve a meeting with the Duke of Thornley in the morning to impress on him that I will not be proposing to his daughter, despite his threats of dire consequences if I refuse to do so.’
Luke had taken an ill-timed mouthful of brandy; what he’d just heard made him choke, then splutter, ‘If the Duke of Thornley, owner of five titles and six estates, would have you as a son-in-law, I’d sign up for it, Drew.’ He dried his mouth with the back of a hand. ‘No offence—I know you’ve got pots of money, but I fear you’ve not got the credentials where the fair Lady Joan is concerned.’
‘Having compromised herself she’s not quite so fair now...perhaps that’s got a bearing on the matter of my eligibility,’ Drew said silkily. ‘But of course you know all of this. I made a few enquiries and was told she was planning to elope with a lover to get out of marrying some old roué her father found for her.’ Drew cocked his head, resting his chin on forked fingers in a deceptively casual manner. ‘I can’t make up my mind if you’re the old roué or the rake she’s rumoured to want to run off with. Did you get cold feet and need a patsy? Or is it you’re simply out to foist her on to me from spite because I’ve demanded you marry Cecilia?’
Luke’s glass had hovered by his mouth and he’d stared at his friend over its rim while listening to Drew. The drink was placed back on the table and Luke stood up. ‘I think you’d better explain that riddle.’
‘I’d rather you did,’ Drew returned, also getting to his feet.
The two men faced each other across polished timber, knowing that before too long a punch would be thrown. The silent atmosphere crackled as much from antagonism as burning logs.
‘I’ve had recent business with His Grace, but what that is to do with you, I’ve no idea,’ Luke said shortly.
‘It’s damn all to do with me!’ Drew roared. ‘And I don’t appreciate being dragged into it so you can wriggle out of facing up to the consequences of kissing my niece at the Hancocks’ ball.’
‘I wasn’t kissing the hoyden!’ Luke bawled back. ‘She was kissing me...after a fashion. She is only sixteen, after all.’
‘Exactly!’ Drew barked. ‘And that’s why you’re damn well marrying her.’
‘I’m not.’ Luke spat through gritted teeth. ‘And at the risk of repeating myself—if her mother had taught Cecilia the rudiments of good behaviour we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
Drew’s lips tightened although the slur wasn’t unjust. His sister had always been too wrapped up in herself to teach her only child her manners, especially around men. Cecilia had been his ward since his sister’s widowhood and, like it or no, he’d been the closest thing to a father the girl had had for three years past. He’d already accepted that Luke was innocent in all of this and had been prepared to apologise, days ago. Drew knew it was his responsibility to do the best he could for his spoilt niece, yet wished her sire had taken a stick to her back years ago to discipline the wilfulness out of her.
Drew had said something very similar to the Duke of Thornley about his shortcomings as a father and about his daughter’s wild character. Yet he’d instinctively prevented the old boy from chastising Joan with a slap. And God only knew she was an infuriating individual; Drew had felt sorely tempted to shake the life out of her when she refused to answer his questions about why she’d risk everything to seek out Wolfson at dead of night. Instead of an explanation the minx had given him a challenging look.
Drew was determined to get the full story from Luke because he couldn’t believe the girl had called on him by accident. If he discovered that Luke had used Thornley’s daughter as a pawn to get even with him, he’d call him out. They had been at school and at university together, but Drew had already accepted that this evening their friendship might be irrevocably broken.
‘Did you go to Thornley Heights looking for me when I didn’t show up? Is that where you met Joan?’ Luke demanded. He always kept details of his work confidential so his friend knew no more than he had business in the area.
‘No, I didn’t go looking for you,’ Drew snapped.
‘Well, how in damnation did you manage to put yourself in Joan’s path? Her father rarely lets her out because of the Collins gang.’ Luke had failed to make any sense out of his friend’s tale.
‘She rarely goes out...the shy little thing, yet here we are about to get engaged if the old boy has his way.’ Drew gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Which he won’t...’
Luke forked five fingers through his hair in exasperation. Memories of Fiona were again nagging at his mind, despite the gravity of his friend’s predicament. He closed his eyes against the strength of the need to see her again. ‘Look...whatever’s gone on, Rockleigh, I can’t help solve it. Whatever you’ve done—’
‘It’s not what I’ve done, is it?’ Drew snarled. ‘All I did was escort the chit home when she came here to find you.’
‘Joan Morland came here?’ Luke barked an astonished laugh.
‘Indeed she did, alone...with just a lad driving her,’ Drew stated.
Luke swore beneath his breath. His mind had pounced immediately on the only reason there was for Thornley’s daughter to do that. He’d told Joan he wouldn’t take on her father’s contract, yet it seemed she’d not accepted his decision and had acted recklessly in her attempt to change his mind.
‘Nothing to say?’ Drew taunted, feeling his temper bubbling dangerously.
‘How in God’s name did she find out I was coming here?’ Luke blasted.
‘Well, someone told her and I imagine it was you. The way I see it, a woman would only take such a risk for a lover.’ Drew’s control exploded and he launched himself at Luke, swinging a right hook. Luke staggered, but hit his opponent back, harder. Drew fell, sprawling, across the table, sending the decanter skidding perilously close to the edge.
‘We’ll have to sort this out another time. I need to go,’ Luke shouted. He knew he owed his friend an explanation if not an apology. But he’d not the time to spend talking now. He needed to catch up with Fiona to make sure she was safe.
Drew leapt between Luke and the doorway, barring his exit as he strode towards it.
‘You’re not going anywhere till I know the details. If you’ve seduced Thornley’s daughter, then you can marry her.’
‘What...and Cecilia, too?’ Luke snarled sardonically. ‘Bigamy’s not my style.’
Infuriated, Drew bounded at Luke again.
‘Don’t be damned ridiculous, Drew!’ Luke sidestepped and put out his hands in placation. ‘I haven’t seduced Lady Joan or even flirted with her—I barely know her.’ He wiped a smear of blood from his mouth with a curled finger. ‘I’ve only spoken to her a couple of times and your name and this lodge never cropped up between us. My business was with her father.’
‘Did the duke know you were coming to see me?’
Luke searched his mind for such a conversation...and found one. A whistling sigh was expelled through his teeth. ‘I told Thornley I was heading to a hunting lodge at Lowerton to see a friend before returning to London.’ Luke leaned his back against the wall and tilted up his head, staring bleakly at the ceiling. If Joan had been eavesdropping on that occasion, or the duke had told her where his mercenary had gone, then she would have known where to head in an attempt to intercept him.