Goosed! or a Fowl Christmas

by Linda Banche

  “Or he purposely let the ducks out. I would not put it past the devil, but why?”

  Will lifted a shoulder. “I know not. But from now on, I will keep the gate locked at all times. That should keep Machiavelli out. Accomplished as he is, I doubt he can undo locks. I will also check the fence and net more often.”

  “Very good.” Tyndall heaved out a breath. “What a day we have had. But ‘All’s well that ends well.’” He gestured to the decanters massed on a tray. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “No, thank you, I do not drink.”

  “Then you will excuse me if I have one.”

  ***

  Robert poured out a small amount of brandy, taking more time than the task required. With his edges already fuzzy, he didn’t want any more alcohol, but he needed a moment to compose his thoughts.

  How do you question a man about his amorous adventures? By all accounts, they were none of his business. Borland had as much right to court Julia Shaw as he himself did.

  The bottle in his hand jerked. He had met the lady only today. He couldn’t be that serious already, especially since he had cursed her for more than half the hours he had known her.

  But he would consider that later. He had to find out her relationship to Borland. He set the decanter down. “By now you must have heard that I fell into the dung heap.”

  Borland laughed, and then coughed in an attempt to muffle the response. “Evers mentioned something about that. Were you hurt?”

  Robert also laughed. “Only my pride.” He leaned against the drinks table. “Machiavelli ran away, and I chased him. From what I have seen of that bird, I think he lured me to the dung heap to punish me for returning him to Miss Shaw.”

  Borland grinned. “Knowing Machiavelli, I believe you. Sometimes I think that goose can understand English.”

  Machiavelli’s response when Robert had threatened to make him dinner brushed through his mind. Most unsettling. “You may be right.” He took a sip of brandy. “Miss Shaw said you fell into the noxious pile while chasing a fox.”

  Borland winced. “Indeed, I did. Perhaps the fox and Machiavelli are in league.”

  “I would not be surprised.” Now to ferret out the information I want. “You are very kind to help out at Shaw Farm.” He returned to his chair.

  Borland shifted. “I do what I can. Miss Shaw has little money.”

  “That was apparent yesterday. The house and grounds are a shambles.” He toyed with his glass. “I thought to ask her to dinner on Christmas Eve.”

  Borland’s visage darkened. “That would be generous of you.”

  Was there something here? “Of course, you are invited, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “She is certainly a beautiful woman.” Robert purposely made his tone warm.

  “Yes.” Borland’s eyes narrowed into the glare of a man ready to spring into action at the slightest motion.

  “I have been exceedingly busy of late, much too busy for pleasure. I wondered if Miss Shaw had some free time.”

  “What do you imply, sir?” The frost in Borland’s voice could freeze the flames in the grate.

  Definitely something here. “Oh, not much. Just if she were interested in some entertainment, she and I could…” He let the sentence trail off.

  “She is not that kind of lady.” If Borland’s voice grew any colder, the chill would encase the entire house in ice. “If you wish that type of play, look elsewhere. Miss Shaw is a respectable lady.”

  Robert smiled. “Oh, come now, we are both men of the world. Surely we can have a friendly discussion about women.”

  “I have asked Miss Shaw to be my wife. I do not care for your comments.”

  There it is. Robert gripped his goblet tighter. “I beg your pardon. I had no idea. Please accept my apology.” Part of him was happy to clarify the situation, but another part wanted to floor Borland.

  Borland slumped in the chair. “Accepted.” He stood. “Today has been long and hard. If you have no further need of me, I would like to retire.” His entire form radiated ice.

  “Of course.” Robert raised his glass in salute. “Good night.”

  Borland left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Robert set the tumbler on the desk and then traced his finger along the rim. A musical note sang out from the fine crystal.

  She was spoken for. He should have known. If the lovely lady had taken his fancy, another man would find her equally attractive.

  He rose to his feet and replaced the glass on the drinks tray. Then he rubbed his eyes. Heaviness dragged at him. If Borland had had a tiring day, his had been as bad, if not worse.

  The delectable Miss Shaw was not for him. The weight bearing down on him doubled. But he still owed her an apology.

  ***

  In the aviary, the wood ducks settled into their tree hole. They had regaled their friends with the tale of their adventures, and had alerted one and all to Machiavelli and his tricks.

  Julia snuggled into the dry leaves in the bottom of their tree hole. “I am so happy to be home.” She shivered. “I was terrified when the vehicle almost overturned.”

  Woodie settled down beside her. “As was I. But His Lordship regained control in time. I suppose he was distracted.”

  “By the hen, I am sure. Gracious, what happened? The two Humans had cooed at each other like lovebirds. Now the drake is in a fury.”

  “The course of true love never runs smoothly.” Woodie nodded at his mate.

  “You are very wise. But, in the end, they will make up.”

  Woodie chuckled. “You are even wiser, my love.”

  Chapter 13

  “Tie a Waterfall.” Robert stood before the cheval glass in his bedchamber.

  Evers raised his eyebrows as he folded a cravat. “A bit ornate for daytime, my lord.” He wound the linen around Robert’s neck.

  “Yes, but I need to dress my best today.” He gritted his teeth. His apology to Miss Shaw awaited him. He would have to grovel. Maybe if he dressed up, she wouldn’t make him crawl, just to spare the clothes.

  “If that is the case, then I shall make this Waterfall the Waterfall to surpass all Waterfalls.” The valet set to work. “I brought back the garments from Miss Shaw’s house this morning. A formidable task to clean them, but I think I can rescue everything.” He looked down at Robert’s Hessians. “Your boots responded well to my application of polish. Three coats.”

  “I appreciate your efforts.”

  Evers adjusted a fold of the cravat and then stepped back. “Thank you, sir. But, please, in the future, make every effort to avoid dung heaps.”

  Robert turned to one side and then the other to examine himself in the glass. “I most certainly will.” He headed for the door. “Tell the butler I will not want luncheon.” Robert had awakened this morning with a pounding headache the likes of which he hadn’t suffered in recent years. He rarely over imbibed. But scarcely an hour in Miss Shaw’s company, and he had flown into the boughs like the greenest of schoolboys.

  When he reached the front door, he sent for his curricle. Better to arrive in style, too.

  The sun shown bright in another clear sky, although the air had turned colder. Mayhap the dung heap had frozen. If he fell in today, the damage might not be so bad.

  He shuddered. He would never go anywhere near that blasted dung heap again. Unless he threw Machiavelli in.

  He climbed into the carriage and drove. The horses, taking advantage of Robert’s slack grip on the reins, ambled along as if time was of no concern.

  Robert flicked the reins and the horses sped up. I don’t want to do this. Then he pulled the beasts to a slower gait. Delay might make the upcoming ordeal worse, but the apology wasn’t the real reason he dreaded the visit. Miss Shaw was off limits. He had tossed and turned all night, partly from the effects of an excess of alcohol, but also from the dreams he’d had about her. Hot dreams that left him tight and gasping, and that still sent prickles all over his ski
n.

  He fisted the ribbons in his hands. She was spoken for. He must overcome this attraction.

  What had come over him? He’d met scores of ladies, but none had taken his fancy like she did. As if lightning had seared along every nerve, heightening every thought and sense. She was lovely, of course, and no doubt would look lovelier when dressed in the first stare of fashion.

  But there was more than that. In some ways, he and she were similar. Neither of them conformed to society’s expectations. She was trying to make a go of her farm without seeking a rich marriage, which was the usual way of dealing with financial problems for both men and women. He tended to his business interests personally, not leaving the bulk of the decisions to hirelings, as most noblemen did.

  Be that as it may, she and Borland must have a love match. There wasn’t any money on either side.

  He sagged against the seat back. How fortunate they were.

  He would like a love match, too. His funds were sufficient to provide for a wife, so her lack of money was of little concern, especially since the problem wasn’t of her making. Most of all, he yearned for a lady who desired him for himself. Most women saw him as a large purse filled with coin. Understandable, when they couldn’t fend for themselves. But Miss Shaw did, even with her farm in disarray. If he couldn’t have Miss Shaw, perhaps only a lady of means would see the man and not the blunt.

  He just had to find one. One who would cause him some sleepless nights.

  Trouble was, he could have sworn Miss Shaw had felt the same magic as he. Odd, in a woman who had accepted another man.

  Perhaps he was wrong. Anger may have clouded his perceptions.

  Eventually, even with his slow pace, he pulled up at her front door. After he left here, he would make his delayed calls on the neighbors. Yesterday, he had dreaded the duty. Today, compared to apologizing to Miss Shaw, the task would be delightful.

  An older man, probably a groom, who hadn’t been in evidence yesterday, came from the back. Robert asked him to walk the horses until he returned. Then he mounted the crumbling front steps and raised the door knocker. He let the knocker fall. The sound reverberated through the house.

  He waited. After a few minutes, he banged the knocker again. Impossible that no one was inside when smoke plumed out the chimney. Or, mayhap, no one was at home to him. If so, he would come back later, gladly remaining in his fool’s paradise a little longer.

  He had turned away when the door swung open with a creak of unoiled hinges. Giving an inward groan, he turned back, his reprieve gone.

  Mrs. Henry, her countenance a scowl, blocked the doorway as if she were a barrier daring him to remove her.

  He doffed his hat and gave her his widest smile. “Good day, Mrs. Henry. Is Miss Shaw at home?”

  She glared, but said nothing. Miss Shaw must have told Mrs. Henry of his insinuations. That he deserved her anger didn’t make the experience any more pleasant. Mayhap she debated whether or not to slam the door in his face. Which he would deserve.

  Then she stepped to the side. “Yes, she is at home, your lordship.” Her tone was hard.

  His boot heels clicking on the uncarpeted corridor floor, he followed as she ushered him into the drawing room.

  “Please wait. I will find her.” She closed the door gently after her.

  Robert released a pent-up breath. Well, that was enjoyable. Would he receive as frigid a reception from the lady of the house?

  He turned into the room. His throat constricted. A settee with blue cushions faded to gray sat in front of the empty fireplace, a chipped wood table at its side. Velvet drapes with shiny patches where the nap had worn away hung on the windows. A forlorn chair with the stuffing spilling out of its cushion stood by the door. The threadbare carpet failed to soften the wood floor’s hardness against his feet.

  Most people relegated such shabby furnishings to their attics, if not the rubbish heap. He had visited here when the previous owner lived, and the furniture hadn’t been this bad. Perhaps Miss Shaw had had to sell the furniture that came with the house.

  He circled the room, his throat tightening further with each step.

  Poor Miss Shaw. Such a beautiful woman buried in this tumbledown house. He shivered, even though he had kept his greatcoat on. He could play Father Christmas this year, and send over a load of coa1.

  The click of the door announced its opening. Miss Shaw stood in the entry, her hand still on the latch. Her face was as stiff as Mrs. Henry’s, but he deserved that after his harsh words. She wore yesterday’s brown dress and stained smock. Wisps of glossy hair fell out of her topknot to caress her neck. Her aspect was pale and tired.

  And she was glorious. How he wished he had returned to Kent sooner.

  ***

  Julia gripped the latch harder.

  She had delayed coming as long as she could. Nobleman that Lord Tyndall was, he probably expected his hosts to drop everything at his arrival. Making him wait a few minutes had given her immense satisfaction.

  But that was short-lived. She had to tend her guest, but whatever he wanted, she had to tolerate him for only a few minutes. Then she would never see him again.

  He stood before the fireplace. Oh, dear, he was such a fine figure of a man. Dark eyes, dark hair with a hint of wave, chiseled features. He had unbuttoned his double-breasted greatcoat of black superfine. His snowy white shirt and gray waistcoat embroidered with silver leaves hugged his muscular torso. His light brown pantaloons outlined to his long legs, and, despite Machiavelli’s insult to his Hessians, the boots gleamed with the application of much polish.

  So handsome, but he would look much better if his face weren’t as hard as granite.

  Her traitorous heart tripped. Would that he had come because he wanted to see me.

  Her shoulders slumped. How pathetic she was. Baron Tyndall was a complete and utter toad, but her heart had leaped at the mention of this name, right before she almost reached for the paint pots. She had stewed all last night, alternately hating him for his false accusations, and longing for his gentleness, her body heating as never before.

  She put steel into her spine.

  She would overcome this unsettling prickling. He had maligned her. At the least, he owed her an apology. If none were forthcoming, she would throw him out. Perhaps that wasn’t as good as a drenching with red paint, but it wasn’t bad, either. She laced her fingers before her.

  He cleared his throat. “I apologize for my behavior yesterday. My words were unfounded.”

  She blinked. Then she deflated, all her righteous anger blowing away like smoke in the wind. Fiddle, now I have to be gracious. “Very well, I accept your apology.” She turned away. “If you will excuse me…”

  “I also wish you happy.”

  She turned back. “Why?”

  “Because you and Mr. Borland are betrothed.”

  “What?” Julia’s jaw sagged. “No, we are not.”

  “But, last night, Borland said…” His voice trailed off. “I may have misunderstood.”

  His visage softened. With the granite gone, he could turn her head so easily. He crossed the room and brought her fingers to his lips. His forehead wrinkled. “Miss Shaw, I can send some men over to help with your painting.”

  She froze. “Painting?” She pulled out of his grasp and plunged her hand the depths of her skirt.

  He frowned. “I have been in your house twice, and both times I smelled turpentine.”

  “I had the corridor painted, and I daresay the smell lingers.” Her voice shook. She wasn’t ashamed of her artwork, but she didn’t want the entire world to know, either. Not yet. Or, even worse, that she sold her pictures. Tongues would wag at the stink of trade, and she had too much to worry about without adding that misery.

  “If you need help with anything, I can send people over.”

  “Thank you, but that is not necessary. We manage quite well by ourselves.”

  Eyebrow lifted, he glanced around the room. “As you say” He folded hi
s arms behind his back. “Christmas Eve is almost upon us, a time for friends to gather. Would you and your aunt come to dinner tomorrow night and then go to church? The church in Hollingbourn is not far from my house and holds a midnight service, which I usually attend.”

  “Are we friends?” She gave a weak laugh. “We got off to a poor start.”

  “Oh, yes, I consider you a friend.” His voice was warm. He retrieved her hand from the folds of her skirt. “I would like to consider you more than that, if you will let me.” His lips descended to her fingers again, but his gaze never left hers.

  Her world contracted to his heated brown eyes. Gracious, this man was much too attractive. She had paintings to complete, a farm to manage, and, and…She couldn’t waste time with a man intent on dallying. His type wanted women like her for that reason only.

  But his eyes held her captive. “Brown” didn’t do justice to their hue. They were more the color of the chocolate she had drunk every morning before her father died. How she had enjoyed that chocolate. Sweet, deep brown, rich, and…hot.

  A delight, but one to handle with care, because the brown richness could scald you. But the delicacy was also one to savor slowly, drawing its pleasure out for a long, long, time.

  She stiffened, and looked hastily away. He wove a spell, and, given the slightest encouragement, she would fall right into its center. With him, she might do things she would regret for the rest of her life, but oh, while she did them…

  She had to stop now, before she lost herself completely. “Thank you for the invitation, sir.” She pulled her fingers from his and regretted the loss of his warmth. “Until tomorrow night, then.”

  ***

  She was free!

  Robert could have danced all the way to his first call.

  He gave the horses their heads, and the beasts surged in the traces. The day, which was still as cloudless as before, now glowed. The sky was bluer, the air crisper, and the landscape, although dull and brown, sparkled. Even his headache had gone.

  What a glorious day! Not only had he mended his fences with Miss Shaw, but he would see her again on the morrow. When a woman smiled at him the way she smiled, she was interested. Definitely interested, as he was in her. Now he would see if their attraction would go further.