by Cheryl Holt
She had limited information of what occurred between a man and a woman when they crawled under the blankets. While she was aware it was physical conduct, she wasn’t too clear on the details. Her body seemed to melt, and she was being pelted by so many foreign thoughts that she felt a tad deranged.
“No, you couldn’t join me,” she said.
“Just tonight or ever?”
“Not ever,” she firmly insisted.
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
He clasped her hand and linked their fingers as if they were adolescent sweethearts.
“Don’t be upset,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You’re so extraordinary. You can’t blame a man for asking.”
She snorted with disgust. “Yes, I can. Goodnight.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Will you be here for breakfast?”
“Unless I wake up and can’t doze off again. I have trouble with insomnia. If it grows too annoying, I simply head to the barns and tend my animals.”
She wished she was the healer he deemed her to be. She wished she had some notion of how to soothe his many afflictions, but she didn’t.
“I once read that soldiers often suffer lingering effects when they’ve been in battle,” she said. “It’s not uncommon to be plagued by insomnia, so don’t let it concern you.”
He shrugged. “If I’m not home, don’t be surprised.”
“I won’t be.” She studied him, and he looked so alone again. “Will you be all right? Can I get you anything before I leave?”
“I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”
Through the protracted period she’d just spent with him, she’d discovered that wasn’t true, but she decided to play his game.
“Of course you are,” she murmured.
She’d like to pat him on the shoulder or perhaps stroke a palm across his scars, but then, she’d likely never escape.
“Goodnight,” she said again.
“Goodnight.”
He shifted away from her, showing her his back. He filled his glass with whiskey and stared at the candle, acting as if naught remarkable had happened, and the realization left her very sad.
“I’m locking my door,” she told him.
“You don’t need to lock it. I won’t bother you.”
“Well, don’t try to enter. You won’t be able.”
“Go to bed, Miss Boyle.”
She walked off, and with a few quick steps, she was in her bedchamber. She spun the key as she’d vowed she would, then she stretched out on the mattress. She tossed and turned, listening, hoping she could hear him out in the kitchen, but she couldn’t.
After several torturous hours, where dawn was on the horizon, she crept over and peeked out. The candle was out, and he was gone, the whiskey and his glass too.
She hadn’t noted him slipping away, and she wondered if he was upstairs or if he’d sneaked off to his horses. She felt the distance separating them in a stark way, which was stupid. She called herself a fool and staggered back to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come.
CHAPTER EIGHT
James was in the corral, working with a horse, when he glanced down the street and Brinley was strolling by with a young soldier. She was chattering a mile a minute, and James couldn’t guess what tale she might be weaving. Whatever it was, the poor boy shouldn’t be hearing it, but he looked absolutely besotted.
Over the years, James had been fully apprised of Brinley’s antics. His brother, Robert, had often written about his experiences with her. Acquaintances had written too. Headmistresses had written. Mothers of her school friends had written. Her deceased mother’s relatives had written.
All of them had politely advised that there was something off about her. She was brazen and driven and didn’t seem to have a conscience.
James had never replied to any of their letters. He’d always been so far away, and he’d never understood what people expected him to do. Yes, he and Brinley were half-siblings, but he had no authority over her.
He supposed he could have retained a lawyer and had himself named her guardian, but the notion was fatiguing and terrifying. Why would he deliberately place himself in a position to command her? Why would any man?
He hated to ruin his morning by hailing her, but after he’d forced her to live with him, he’d pretended she wasn’t in residence. He’d shucked her off on Miss Boyle, and his sole act since then had been to inquire as to how Brinley was behaving, to which he’d repeatedly been apprised that Brinley was rarely home.
She went shopping or walking and would never permit Miss Boyle to accompany her. He shuddered to imagine what mischief she was perpetrating.
“Brinley!” he called. She ignored his first summons, so he had to shout again.
She peered at him over her shoulder, appearing as if she might continue on, but he gestured for her to attend him.
She dithered, then flashed a flirtatious smile at the boy. “It’s my dear brother. I should talk to him. It will only take a moment.”
As she approached, James snapped, “Let’s confer inside.”
The soldier eagerly asked her, “Shall I wait for you?”
“Would you?” Brinley cooed. “It’s so sweet of you to offer.”
James was too irked by the spectacle to comment. He simply whirled away and proceeded into the barn. He had a tiny office in the back, and he marched to it and sat behind the desk. She delayed as long as she dared, then she sauntered in too. He motioned for her to sit in the chair across.
She eased down, fussing with her skirt as if it were spun from gold.
“How are you, James?” she eventually said. “We’ve haven’t seen each other since I moved in. I assumed you’d be a constant shadow.”
“I’m not your nanny.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Miss Boyle tells me you venture out by yourself every day.”
“Of course I do. I’m not a prisoner, am I?”
“Not yet,” he said. “She’s hiring some servants, and one will be a maid who will be specifically assigned to join you whenever you’re traipsing about.”
“I don’t need a chaperone.”
“This is a small town, and there are too many British matrons who would be shocked to observe you out on your own.”
“Why would I care about a bunch of stuffy old crones?”
“I’m sure you don’t, but I don’t wish to have you stir any scandals.”
“You always scold me as if I’m a troublemaker.”
“That’s because you are. Don’t deny it. Various gossips have tattled to me about your conduct in England.”
She smirked. “And I thought you never worried about me.”
“I don’t, but Gibraltar is my home, and you will not disgrace yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Miss Boyle claims your purse is overflowing with money.”
“Miss Boyle again? Perhaps she should mind her own business.”
“We’re not discussing Miss Boyle. We’re discussing you. Where is it coming from?”
“Here and there,” she vaguely responded.
“I won’t accept that answer. Are you stealing? Are you swindling? What?”
“James! You have the lowest opinion of my character.”
“It’s all deserved.”
“Since you’re being so nosy, I’ll confess that Robert left me an inheritance. I still have most of it.”
James studied her. She was such an accomplished liar that it was difficult to discern if the statement was true or not. James doubted it was. Robert had been a London dandy who’d gambled and gamboled like a rich man. He’d never had two pennies to rub together. At least that’s what James had believed about him.
When he’d passed away, James hadn’t seen him in years. What did he actually know about his brother’s fiscal condition at the end?
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“If you spend it all,” James warned, “don’t start any schemes. There are too many gullible soldiers who are far from home. I won’t have you coercing them into giving you any of their hard-earned wages.”
“I never would.”
That definitely wasn’t true. From the time she was little, headmistresses and others had lamented as to how she’d fleece classmates out of their pin money or other items of value. She’d pretend she had to travel to a funeral or that she was anxious to donate to a charity, but she was broke. Acquaintances would shower her with whatever she requested.
It was always a trick, and it was always false. How could such a young person formulate such devious ploys?
“You not quite so angry today,” she said. “Are you beginning to be glad I arrived?”
He scoffed. “No.”
“You’re not shouting at me, so may I raise the topic of Denby Manor again?”
“No! Why must you harp on it?”
“I’d like you to open it. I’d like us to live there.”
“Brinley, I’ve been very clear with you that it won’t happen.”
“I lived with Robert, and he and I got on brilliantly.”
“Only in your deluded fantasy world would that be remotely correct.”
“Robert and I were great chums, and I’m certain you and I could be too, but let’s not argue about it. Let’s continue discussing Denby Manor.”
“Fine. What about it?”
“It’s a fabulous residence, and it’s just sitting empty. It’s such a waste to have it boarded up.”
“It doesn’t bother me a bit.”
“You’re being silly. I realize your cousins were cruel to you when you were a boy, but they’re all dead, and you’re not. You could thumb your nose at all of them.”
“The earldom has no appeal to me whatsoever. I didn’t seek it, and I don’t intend to claim it.”
“You’re being absurd.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
“What is your plan then?” she asked. “Will you simply grow old training horses? Don’t you want more for yourself than that?”
“It’s plenty for me.”
“You have such a narrow view of what’s possible.”
“I’m happy with things as they are.”
“Well, I’m not happy with how they are.”
“It’s not my job to fix them for you. What drove you out of London anyway? You never told me.”
“I’ve explained a dozen times: I came to beg you about Denby Manor. You wouldn’t reply to my letters. What was I to do?”
“You were to drop the matter and cease pestering me.”
“I’m about to marry,” she suddenly blurted out.
“You? Marry?” He laughed. “I feel very sorry for any dolt who would consider being your husband.”
“There is someone who’s considering it, and he’s very rich.”
“Ah…I understand,” James mused.
“His father is against the match though.”
“Smart fellow.”
“I’m sure—if you’d declare yourself Denby and take charge there—it would alter the situation for me. Can’t you oblige me for once? How can it hurt?”
She leaned toward him, looking woebegone, as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and he had the key to unlock the door to her contentment.
“Stop batting your lashes at me,” he said. “That sort of behavior might work on the dunces in the garrison, but it won’t work on me.”
“Ooh, you’re so stubborn!”
She tsked and flopped back. They stared at each other, her pique humorous to witness. She was a master at coercing men, but her games would never have any effect on him.
“What’s your beloved’s name?” he asked.
“Gaylord Hobbs. Why?”
“Where is he now? Is he in London and pining away?”
“No.” Her cheeks colored. “His father sent him to Jamaica.”
“To yank him out of your dastardly clutches?”
“No!” she insisted. “He…ah…thought we should have a period apart—to reflect—so we can decide if our affection is genuine. We’ll wed next year—if we can convince his father to change his mind.”
He snorted. “Nice try, Brinley, but no, I won’t help you glom onto your wealthy idiot. I’d never condemn him to such a fate.”
She leapt up and stomped her foot like a spoiled toddler. “What’s it to you if I marry and live happily ever after? It would get me out of your hair. I’d never contact you again. I swear.”
“I’ve booked your passage home,” he abruptly announced. “You’re sailing a month from today. It was the first ship I could find where the captain would agree to have you as a passenger.”
“I won’t go,” she fumed, her notorious temper flaring. “Not unless you come with me. And if you won’t, then you have to open Denby Manor so I can reside there by myself.”
“Haven’t you been listening, Brinley? It will never transpire. I’m not interested in the responsibility or the expense.”
“But how will I ever persuade Gaylord’s father that I’m worth it?”
“You’ll never persuade him. You have a pathetic history, and I’m positive he’s had dozens of reports prepared to verify his opinion about you.”
“You’re so petty! Why can’t you be a normal brother like Miss Boyle has? Why can’t you dote on me? It wouldn’t kill you.”
“You’re confused about who we are, Brinley. We had the same father, but we’re not kin.”
“Yes, we are!”
“No. It takes much more than that, and I’ve had enough of you for one morning. Please be aware that Miss Boyle will be hiring a maid to accompany you on your excursions, and after she’s picked, I better not see you wandering the streets alone.”
“What if I disobey your grand self?”
“I will hog-tie you and lock you in your room until your ship departs.”
“You wouldn’t!” she seethed.
“I would, so don’t push me.”
She glared at him, her fury evident. “I’ll make you sorry someday.”
“I doubt it.”
“I will. I promise. I told Robert the same, but he didn’t believe me either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s not alive anymore, is he?”
“No, and he died when he fell off a balcony in a drunken stupor and broke his neck. Don’t pretend you were involved in his demise.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“I know enough, and don’t threaten me. It’s exhausting. Find your soldier friend and leave me be.”
“You’re the one who dragged me in here.”
“I’m wishing I hadn’t.”
She hovered for a moment, eager to scold him or shout at him or call him names, but in the end, she swept out, regal as any queen.
He breathed out a heavy sigh, dawdled to be certain she was gone, then went out to tend his horses.
* * * *
Laura was hiding behind a post in the barn as Brinley flounced out of Captain Hastings’s office and stomped away.
She often followed Brinley so she had an idea of where her sister was. In case she didn’t return, Laura needed to have some clue of where to start searching.
She was convinced Brinley would eventually abandon her—Brinley always claimed she would if Laura became too much of a burden—but Laura prayed it would be when she was older so she’d be able to look after herself. She’d been ingratiating herself to Miss Boyle, hoping—should Brinley vanish—that Miss Boyle might let her stay. Miss Boyle was the first person Laura had ever met who had an ordinary life. It was the exact sort of life Laura craved, but had never experienced.
She yearned to remain with Miss Boyle forever, but she couldn’t guess how to bring that situation to fruition.
She’d eavesdropped on Brinley’s c
onversation with Captain Hastings, so she’d learned they would be departing Gibraltar in a month. The news was scary and disheartening. If they left, Miss Boyle wouldn’t go with them.
If Captain Hastings declared that Laura had to sail with her sister, would Miss Boyle even notice? Laura was depressed to admit she probably wouldn’t.
Brinley’s soldier was waiting for her, and they walked off. Laura spied on them from the shadows, but didn’t tag after them. She loved to be around horses, and she hadn’t realized the barn was so close to their house. Now that she’d discovered it, she’d come all the time.
They’d lived with Captain Hastings’s brother, Robert, off and on for several years, and he’d loved horses too. He’d taught her what his father, Charlie, had taught him when he was a boy.
He’d even tutored her in the secret language the Hastings men used to talk to them, but since Robert had died, she hadn’t been to a barn, hadn’t been able to ride or feed or brush them. No one had remembered that she loved horses, that she and Robert had spent long hours in stables and at auction yards watching their favorites eat and run and frolic.
Because no one remembered, she’d lost that part of her life and couldn’t figure out how to get it back.
She tiptoed over to a stall where a pretty mare stuck her nose through the slats.
You’re a beauty, aren’t you?
Laura was murmuring to her, when suddenly, Captain Hastings spoke up.
“Hello you. What are you doing here?”
Laura jumped a mile and braced to flee, but Captain Hastings said, “You don’t have to leave.”
She relaxed.
“You like horses?” he asked.
For an eternity, she paused, trying to deduce if it was a trick question and ultimately deciding it wasn’t. She nodded, yes, she liked them very much.
He gestured to the mare. “Would you like to ride her?” At the possibility, her eyes widened with such excitement that he laughed. “I assume that means you’d like to.”
She nodded again, vigorously.
“Let’s take her out to the corral. I’ll lift you up on her back. She’s very gentle. You don’t have to be afraid.”