Pumpkinnapper

by Linda Banche

“Bad goose.” Hands on hips, Emily marched to Henry and stood over him. “Let go. Now.”

  Henry stopped worrying at Philip’s cuff and turned an eye in Emily’s direction. She caught the bird around the breast and hauled him back. Henry’s neck stretched out as he refused to release his grip. Emily gave one final tug, and, with an audible ripping of cloth, freed Philip. The bird cast one more evil glance at Philip. Then, wearing his dignity like a mantle, and with part of Philip’s cuff trailing from his bill, he turned and waddled beside Emily back to the house. When he passed Hank, he snapped his head out, bill open, for a final bite. Hank swerved just in time, and the bird missed his backside by a hair’s breath.

  Philip snorted. “Good, you are not immune.”

  “Bad goose,” Emily again scolded as she and the unrepentant Henry rounded the corner of the cottage.

  Hank directed one last annoyed glance after the goose before returning his attention to Philip. “What happened?”

  Philip stopped scowling at the shredded lace at his cuff to reach into his greatcoat pocket and extract a folded paper square. “I recognized Lindsell’s seal. I told no one where you were, so your servants are still searching. You had best return posthaste.”

  Hank nodded as he broke the letter’s wax seal and led Philip into the kitchen. They heard the front door scrape open and closed before Emily entered from the hall.

  Hank bent to the fire to catch enough light to read the note, and then cursed under his breath.

  Desperate people had been stealing food north of Lindsell, and the surrounding countryside was in an uproar. The Earl of Lindsell had summoned him to a landowners’ meeting in Chelmsford to decide how to handle the disturbance.

  Bloody hell. Why now of all times? He folded the letter and stuffed it into his pocket as he explained Lindsell’s request. “Emily, I must leave. I’ll come back as soon as possible. I question whether the blackguards will return any time soon, but, please, lock up tight and let them steal your pumpkins. And if you suspect trouble of any kind, go up to my house.”

  He turned to his friend. “Will you keep an eye on her?”

  Philip nodded. He glanced from Emily to Hank, and then cleared his throat. “I shall await you outside.” The door shut behind him.

  Hank dawdled as he put on his hat and coat. Should he finish the kiss? Emily bit her lip and examined the floor.

  Doubt won out. He kissed her hand, as he always did when he left, again promising he would return as soon as he could.

  Emily sat curled in the wingback chair in her parlor. Rain splattered the windowpanes, and the wood fire crackled a cheery tune. In the hall, the case clock struck the hour. She looked up from her book to count the chimes.

  One, two, three. Three o’clock. With a weary sigh, she rose, her book sliding to the floor and landing with a soft thump. At the window, she pushed the curtains aside and stared through the water-smeared glass at her pumpkin patch. The pumpkins in their raised beds resembled round islands in a muddy sea. The rain had started this morning, and the deluge showed no signs of abating.

  She sagged against the window frame and her thoughts turned, as they often did, to Hank. How was he? Was he on the road in this terrible storm? He’d been gone for three long weeks. When would he come back?

  The afternoon after his departure, a servant of the Countess of Lindsell had delivered a message. Charlotte had arrived at Lindsell Hall to prepare for the upcoming house party and was asking Emily to visit. Charlotte said her husband was worried about possible unrest, and wanted her safe.

  So, Emily had packed a bag and gone. But this morning, like most mornings, she had ridden to Turnip Cottage. The groom who had accompanied her should return soon to escort her back. But the torrent had started after he had left, and by now, the roads might be impassable. Would the storm prevent him from reaching the cottage? She could remain here if she must, but she would rather not stay alone.

  She released the curtain, and her eyes drifted shut. How she missed Hank. Ever since that almost-kiss, she had dreamed of him. She shivered at the memory. Never in her life had she dreamed in such explicit detail. Night after night, she had awakened, hot and shaking, images of her and Hank swirling in her mind. Oh, what would it be like to be married to Hank?

  The fire snapped, and she jumped, her visions shattering. Disappointed, she picked up the poker and prodded the unruly flames into submissiveness.

  She replaced the poker in its stand and gazed unseeing at the tamed fire. Hank hadn’t written her since he’d left. Of course, correspondence between an unmarried man and an unmarried woman was highly improper. Their nights alone in her cottage were even worse, but no one was aware of them. Hank had kept his word and made sure no one knew. Still, she longed to hear from him. The earl had written to Charlotte, but her friend hadn’t mentioned Hank. How could Emily ask without appearing to pry?

  Booted feet thumped on the porch, and she spun towards the window, fear icing her spine. She had locked all the doors and windows. She was alone except for Henry. And where was that dratted goose when you needed him? She hadn’t seen him since morning.

  With quiet steps, she tiptoed to the front window and peeked around the side of the curtain. A tall man with his collar high, rain dripping off his wide-brimmed hat, removed his gloved hand from his greatcoat pocket to tap on the door.

  A handkerchief fell out of his pocket. Fear burned away and she pressed her fingers to her mouth to muffle a laugh. She dropped the curtain and ran to the front door to fling it wide. Hank was here!

  From the amount of rain that slid down his greatcoat, he must be soaked, but you would never know it from his wide grin. “May I come in? It’s devilish wet out here.”

  She dipped a playful curtsy, then stood aside. “Oh, yes, good sir.”

  He removed his hat and shook off the water before entering. “Lindsell and I rode most of the night and reached the Hall this morning.” Raindrops scattered on the hall rug as he shrugged out of his sodden coat. “But not early enough, apparently. The countess said you had already left. She insisted I sleep before haring off after you, and once she showed me to a room, I slept like the dead.” He stuffed his gloves into his coat pocket and hung both coat and hat on the rack behind the door.

  He slicked back his rain-soaked hair, then took her hand and brushed a light kiss over her knuckles. Tingles sizzled up her arm.

  He held her hand a little longer than strict propriety dictated and released it with seeming reluctance. Her pulse skittered with anticipation. Was he as affected as she was?

  He cleared his throat as if overcome by some emotion. “Ah, the countess wrote to her husband that you were staying at Lindsell Hall. She also said the neighborhood was quiet. Still, I am happy you did not remain here alone.” A twinkle came into his eye. “However, I am absolutely shocked you abandoned your pumpkins.”

  “Oh, my pumpkins are fine,” she said with a laugh as they walked down the hall. “I came back most days to tend them, and Henry is still here. Mr. Lawson escorted me to Charlotte’s, and then stayed, since he had been invited to the house party. He was kind enough to ride over here with me many times.”

  Hank’s jaw tightened at her mention of his friend’s name. Why was he angry with Mr. Lawson?

  Quickly she changed the subject. “No one has seen the stranger with the lamp, who I think was my pumpkinnapper, for several weeks. Perhaps he has gone and my pumpkins are safe.”

  He stood aside as she entered the kitchen then stopped in the doorway. “By the way, the footman will not return. I will escort you back to Lindsell Hall. After the rain stops, that is. The downpour lessened somewhat as I rode over.”

  “But not until after you dry out.”

  “Of course.” He cocked his head to the side and sniffed, a puzzled furrow forming between his eyebrows. “What is that delicious smell? Cinnamon?”

  “Yes, among other things.” She removed a towel covering a dish on the table. “I baked a pumpkin pie today. You can be the first to t
ry it.”

  He inhaled more deeply of the aroma as he followed her to the table. “You would deny the pumpkinnappers, but you sacrificed one of your pumpkins for a pie?”

  “I would give the pumpkinnappers one, if they asked. They are but vegetables, after all, meant to be used. I already sent Charlotte several for All Hallows’ Eve decorations. I need a few to examine for my report and for seeds, but I will distribute the rest among the neighbors.”

  He made a playful grab at the pie. With another laugh, she caught the dish and held it high. “Oh, no, you don’t. Build up the fire so I can make fresh tea. Then we will both have some pie.”

  Pouting like a small boy denied a treat, he piled wood atop the smoldering embers until heat blazed into the room.

  “You gave me quite a fright when you arrived,” she said as she placed plates and forks on the table. “Henry did not announce you. He must have gone into the lean-to to shelter from the rain.”

  “I saw no sign of him when I tethered my horse with yours.” A devilish grin spread over his face. “Lucky me.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Oh, poor Henry, you malign him so.”

  He snorted. “‘Poor Henry’, my arse—er—foot. I still ache from his not-so-tender bites.”

  With a pointed stare, she left the kitchen. A moment later, she returned with a soft cushion and dropped it onto his chair. He favored her with a courtly bow before he settled gingerly onto the pillow. Between bites of pie, he told her what had transpired since they last saw each other.

  The landowners’ meeting had taken much longer than expected. Sentiment had run the gamut from calling out the militia, to shooting down the food thieves, to opening up the granaries early to prevent starvation. Most of the property owners had favored the militia.

  “Oh, those poor people. Starving, and then to have to face the militia?”

  “No.” By dint of much argument and persuasion, he and the Earl of Lindsell had pacified the militants while still protecting the tenants. After a week of heated debate, he, the earl and the more moderate landowners had won the day. But he still hadn’t been able to come home. He and the earl had helped set up a food distribution system.

  “So, a happy ending.” She smiled and cut another forkful of pie. “Good.”

  He nodded, and they turned their concentration back to the pie. They agreed the pumpkin flavor was unique, but good. He ate a second piece while she nibbled an apple left over from her midday meal. They talked and laughed, and once in a while, glanced out at the pumpkins. Sharing Hank’s company was so wonderful that she forgot everything except him.

  After he had devoured his third piece of pie, they gathered up their tea things and moved into the parlor. He placed his cup on the table before the fire, then, his eyes narrowed, he crossed to the front window and peered out. His lips rose in a gloating smile.

  “Is something funny out there?”

  He covered his mouth with his hand. “Ah, yes—er—no.”

  With a gentle shove, she pushed him out of the way so she could see. A sodden Henry huddled in his hutch beside the house. “Oh, poor Henry is soaked. Mayhap I should bring him inside.”

  “No! If he is cold and wet, he deserves it.”

  “But—”

  “His down feathers will keep him warm. I refuse to have any sympathy for that blasted bird. Lindsell told me he had bought Henry as a watch animal for you. And yes, I can attest he does a good job. He certainly ‘watched’ me a great deal.” Still looking out the window, he rubbed his backside as though unaware she could see the motion. She dipped her head away and bit her lip to conceal her smile.

  “From what I know of the earl, he likes to play jokes. Do you think he named the goose after you?”

  Hank opened his mouth, shut it, and then a rueful grin creased his face. “After spending three weeks in close company with him, I would not be in the least surprised.”

  After one more smirking glance at Henry, he gave an exaggerated shudder, looking more like a dog shaking water off his coat than a shivering man. “Come to think of it, I feel a little chilled, too.” He looked over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows. “Mayhap you could warm me up?”

  She laughed and returned her attention to her tea. Had she thought he was joking? Hank had never been more serious in his life. When he’d arrived, he had forced himself to kiss only her hand when he’d wanted to kiss every inch of her luscious body. With an unspoken curse, he sank back into his chair.

  For the past three weeks, even as he argued and cajoled and performed tasks ranging from taking meeting notes to stacking grain sacks, his thoughts never veered far from her. Any misgivings he’d entertained were long gone. He wanted her for the rest of his life.

  But did she want him? As she sat, the firelight glinted on her fair hair, tinting the gold strands with red. She was more beautiful than ever. That night the pumpkinnappers prevented their kiss, she had been willing. Had her feelings for him deepened during their time apart, or had the attraction dissolved? Just now, she had ignored his hint.

  Not looking what he was doing, he reached for his teacup as she bent to pick hers up. His hand grazed hers. With a quick glance, she looked up, then down. Did she flush with awareness, or was that red hue spreading over her skin only the firelight? She concentrated on her tea and disappointment came to rest like a lead weight on his shoulders.

  Maybe now was the wrong time to ask her to marry him. He would restrain himself, even though his only desire was to sweep her into his arms and race upstairs to her bed. With another inward curse at the physical effects his mental images caused, he resigned himself to waiting a bit longer.

  They chatted about nothing in particular, then fell silent, both gazing at the fire. When the clock striking six boomed into the silence, they both jumped. Hank scowled when he counted the last chime. The time was much later than he’d realized. Although the sun had set but a short while ago, the lowering storm clouds had already transformed the murky twilight into full midnight blackness. Traveling in the dark was never a good idea, and on muddy roads could be disastrous.

  Too late to return? A tiny flicker of hope winked into existence. He certainly wouldn’t mind remaining here.

  He set his cup and saucer on the table. “Let me check outside. I doubt the scoundrels will appear tonight, and we should go back before the roads become bogs.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She sagged into her chair. Maybe she didn’t want to leave? A flicker of hope burned brighter.

  As soon as he lifted the front door latch, a furious blast of wind tore the door from his hand and banged it against the wall. Wind-driven rain slammed into him, and he staggered back. The gale whipped the trees across the road into a frenzy and tore their last lingering leaves from their moorings. A crash sounded and a tree toppled across the road.

  Gasping in surprise, Emily jumped up and ran to his side. Small puddles grew and merged even as they watched, and the road disappeared under the flood.

  His muscles strained as he heaved the door shut against the raging wind. Panting with the effort, he leaned against the panel and wiped water off his face. How had he not noticed the storm worsening? “Braving the roads in this weather would be foolhardy. You stay here, and I will go up to my house. The walk is short.”

  She hesitated for a moment, her head down. Then she looked up, her gaze full of hesitation and hope. “Why not remain here as you did before?”

  She wanted him! He hadn’t been mistaken about her feelings. But his joy collapsed with a jolt as reality intruded. Although denying the expectant look in her eyes almost killed him, he shook his head. “No one knew I was here then. Today, everyone in Lindsell’s house knows my direction, including your mother. If we stay here, we will be forced…”

  Suddenly he remembered the doll. She wouldn’t have kept that tattered toy all these years if she didn’t care for him. He had wanted this woman for ten years and longed to wed her. The storm had only conspired to aid him. And if Charlotte’s suspicion
s were true, why was he waiting? Take a chance, man.

  His heart pounding with uncertainty, he brushed a kiss over her hand before flattening her palm over his heart. “Emily, I have loved you for ten years. Will you marry me?”

  Her eyes widened. She took a startled step backwards, but then her face lit with a smile of unadulterated happiness. “Oh, I love you, too, Hank. Yes!” She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight as they both laughed with joy.

  He inhaled the rose scent in her hair and almost all rational thought drained away. At long last, to hold her. Tomorrow they would announce their betrothal to the world. But tonight—tonight was for them alone.

  He pressed a kiss to her palm, her soft flesh trembling under his lips. Then he caught her up into his arms and strode back to the parlor. He dropped onto the settee with her on his lap. As much as he yearned to carry her upstairs now, they had no need to rush. The rest of the night stretched before them, and as soon as they wed, the rest of their lives.

  She twined her arms around his neck and welcomed him with a kiss that surpassed all his youthful imaginings.

  Hank’s arms around her was everything she had dreamed of. Wherever he touched her, the caress streaked to every part of her body. Oh, she would exult in his embrace for the rest of her life.

  He teased at her lips and she smiled, then he nuzzled her neck. His lips dipped to the high neckline of her dress, and he growled. “From now on, I want you to wear only low-necked dresses when we are alone.” She laughed as his lips traced a moist path up the other side of her neck to her ear. His hand reached up to her breast and he cradled the soft mound. She gasped, but even with her senses swimming, a mischievous idea popped into her head. She caught his hand and kissed his palm. His eyebrows arched as she kissed his ear, and then pressed her lips down the side of his neck as he had kissed her.

  As she kissed along the top of his cravat, she said, lowering her voice in a feminine imitation of his, “From now on, no more cravats when we are alone.”

  He barked out a laugh and caught her in a deep kiss that allowed neither of them enough breath for talk.