“I have an idea. Since we both planned on the same destination, let us travel together,” he said, seeming very pleased with himself.
“I don’t suppose you can alter your plans and go another day?” she said.
He grinned. “Not a chance.”
She wanted to stomp her foot and scream in frustration. He’d had no intention of visiting Wyndmoor’s tenants today. By the look of his tousled hair and the fresh scent of pine emanating from him, he had missed breakfast in order to ride.
Bobby led her mare to the mounting block and held the reins. She went to the block, intent on mounting her own horse, but James was by her side in a flash.
“Allow me.”
Before she could respond, his strong hands spanned her waist, and he lifted her onto the mare’s back. He lingered moments more than necessary, and her heart hammered against her ribs at his touch. Sitting side-saddle, she adjusted the basket on her skirts and looked into his eyes.
“Last night was a mistake. Your efforts are in vain.”
He arched a brow. “Please enlighten me as to what efforts you refer to.”
“I won’t be charmed or seduced into leaving.”
His hand covered his chest. “You offend me. Here I was thinking I was being polite.” He didn’t look or sound offended, not even slightly disturbed by her comment—rather he appeared like a man who eagerly anticipated the rare opponent who would dare throw down the gauntlet in challenge.
James mounted his horse, and she couldn’t help but admire the animal. Large, with a shiny, black coat and sleek muscles, it was a perfect fit for its rider.
James ran his hand down the stallion’s velvety muzzle. “His name is Maximus, and he was a racing champion until he retired this year. I rode him from London and had him stabled at the Twin Rams. Keeping Maximus in the city seemed a waste as he needs a good run each day.”
“He’s stunning,” she said.
“He’s temperamental and can be dangerous.”
Just like his master, she mused.
She glanced at Blackwood’s buff riding breeches and the thick muscles on his thighs as he controlled the powerful stallion. He’d chosen not to wear a riding coat, and his tailored white shirt hugged his broad shoulders like a second skin.
They rode their horses side by side through the meadow of wildflowers they had passed days ago, and the air was fragrant with honeysuckle and gardenia. James led her east toward the tenant farms. The sun shone brightly on fruit trees, their boughs bursting with flowers that would soon bear peaches, pears, and apples. They passed grazing pastures where sheep roamed freely.
Soon the cottages of the tenant farmers came into view. In total, there were five tenant families who farmed the one-hundred-acre property. As James and Bella rode close, the families came out of their homes. A handful of children played outside, some throwing a stick for a large dog to fetch and others kicking a ball. When they spotted James, they ran forward, their faces smiling and animated.
“Blackwood! Blackwood!” the children shouted as they reached out to pet his horse.
James laughed and jumped down from his horse to embrace the youths. He placed the smallest of the children atop his shoulders, and took the stick from another and threw it for the dog to retrieve.
To Bella’s astonishment, James knew all the children’s names and personally greeted each of the tenants.
How many times has he been here?
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I spent summers here as a boy, remember?”
“But the children. How do you know their names?”
He winked, and lowered the child atop his shoulders to the ground. “I’ve come every day for the past week.”
Oh, she wanted to wipe the smug look off his face, but at the same time she was surprised he would take such a keen interest in the tenants. Roger had owned a much larger estate, and he had never bothered to know the tenants’ names or play with their children. He had only been concerned with the timeliness of the rents to support his lavish lifestyle and fondness for fine wine.
Three tenants with calloused hands and weathered faces as dark as tanned leather conversed with James about which fields would be left fallow and which crops were planned for the summer’s harvest.
They believe he is the true master of Wyndmoor! She felt uncertain, not knowing how to broach the subject, but it was James who came to her aid. “May I introduce, Mrs. Sinclair. We both claim ownership to Wyndmoor, but hope the decision will be made soon.”
The farmers looked at Bella, then to James. “Begging yer pardon, Yer Grace, but we are all grateful that Sir Reeves is no longer the owner. ’E wasnna ’ere more than days and ’e said ’e’d be raisin’ the rents. Yer father, the old duke, never much came out ’ere, but ’e was fair and never raised the rents as much as Sir Reeves ’ad planned.”
“Whoever is master here, neither of us shall raise the rents,” James said.
Rather than feel outrage that he had spoken for her, Bella nodded in agreement. “He speaks the truth.”
Just then a girl no more than six with curly gold locks came up to Bella and peered at her basket.
Bella bent down on one knee and lifted the checked fabric. “Would you like a roll?”
The child’s brown eyes widened with uncertainty. She nibbled her bottom lip before she tentatively reached out for a roll. Taking a small bite, she looked at Bella. “Yer pretty. Are ye ’is wife?”
Bella’s lips curved into a smile. “No. We are not married.”
“But yer with ’im?”
“Only for today.” Bella glanced at the group of women standing outside the doorway of one of the cottages. They watched the scene with wide-eyed interest. “Which one is your mum?” Bella asked.
The girl pointed to one of the women in the middle of the group.
Bella went over to the women and introduced herself. The wives were reserved, uncertain of Bella’s position. Bella attempted to put them at ease.
“Is there anything that you need from Wyndmoor’s master?” Bella asked.
The child’s mother looked at the others before speaking up. “Our roofs are in need of repair, but ’is lordship ’as provided the funds from ’is own pockets after ’is first visit ’ere.”
“ ’E’s buildin’ an extra cottage as well,” another woman piped up. “Two of our families live together, but with Justine givin’ birth to ’er fifth, it’s crowded, it is.”
Bella was stunned by James’s generosity. She told herself he wasn’t being generous, just overly confident that he would be victorious over the battle of ownership of the land. Yet she would have to be blind not to see the admiration and respect for the new Duke of Blackwood stamped on the faces of Wyndmoor’s hardworking tenants.
James approached, holding the reins of both Maximus and her mare. He grinned at her with a cheerful smile that made her heart flutter. “Shall we return?”
“Of course.”
Before she could mount her horse, the little girl ran forward, her blond locks bouncing. She motioned for Bella to lean down, and she whispered in her ear. “My mum says if ye marry ’im, ye can stay.”
Upon Bella’s return, Evelyn was waiting for her to go on a shopping excursion. Bella could barely contain her excitement. It felt like eons since she had shopped for her own clothing; Roger had taken perverse delight in picking gowns that he knew she disliked. Bella hurried to change from her riding habit into a mourning gown appropriate for a widow of less than a year and met Evelyn outside.
Their first destination was a reputable dress shop in St. Albans. Unlike the snobby French courtiers in London, the dressmaker, Mrs. Fisher, was a sturdy Englishwoman with a welcoming smile. Racks of dresses lined the walls of the small shop, easels held sketches of new designs, and tables were laden with an array of chemises, stockings, fans, parasols, and gloves.
Evelyn pointed to an amethyst dress on a mannequin in the corner. “You will look ravishing in this! The color will bring out the green in your eyes.”
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Bella reached out to touch the fine silk, and a thrill raced down her spine. “It’s lovely.”
Evelyn eyed Bella’s gown. “I’ve noticed you do not wear black at home. ’Tis a shame you feel the need to wear it out.”
Bella hated the mourning gown and would have been overjoyed to see it burned. Even though Evelyn knew Bella’s marriage had not been a love match, members of the town believed her to be a grieving widow, and Bella had no wish to correct the misconception.
“Roger has not yet been gone a year,” Bella said.
Evelyn smiled easily. “I was never a stickler for propriety.”
Thank goodness, Bella thought. She enjoyed Evelyn Harding’s company; her straightforward, nonjudgmental outlook on life was a refreshing change. Evelyn and her husband would soon return to London, and Bella would be sad to see Evelyn depart. Bella had not been permitted a friend for years, another way her husband had isolated her, and she hadn’t realized how much she had missed female companionship.
Mrs. Fisher approached with a stack of sketches in her arms, and Bella pointed to the mannequin. “I’d like to be fitted with this one.”
The women were led to the back of the shop, past tall shelves stacked with bolts of cloth. Silks, satins, muslins, and linens spilled onto the floor in a splendid burst of color like an artist’s palette. Beyond the stocks of fabric they entered a tiny back room cluttered with baskets of sewing materials and discarded bits of cloth strewn about the floor. The dressmaker helped Bella remove her gown and try on the amethyst silk. Bella stepped onto a pedestal and gazed in the cheval glass mirror.
She blinked, scarcely recognizing her reflection. A low neckline with tight under sleeves emphasized the swell of her breasts. A band of ruched silk detail trimmed the hem and matched the lining of a long, embroidered stole.
Mrs. Fisher pulled the tape measure from around her neck and measured Bella’s waist and hips. “You look exquisite. The amethyst suits your fair skin and highlights the red in your hair.”
The shop’s bells chimed, announcing the arrival of a new customer.
“Pardon, I’ll be but a moment.” Mrs. Fisher put down her tape and rushed from the room.
Evelyn walked close and looked at Bella’s reflection in the mirror. “James will fall at your feet. Before long, he’ll gift you with Wyndmoor.”
Bella’s cheeks burned in remembrance of James’s bone-melting kisses and her fierce, eager response to his intimate caress. “I don’t believe it. He has shown no signs of relenting. I fear I need the name of the solicitor in London you had mentioned.”
“I’ll give it to you, of course. But know this—deep down James is not a bad man.”
Bella thought of Wyndmoor’s tenants. James had promised not to raise their rents and to spend his own funds to repair their roofs and build a new cottage. She thought of him fighting their way out of the violent bar brawl at the Black Hound and the strength and warmth of his arms as he held her in the carriage. Had his comfort been a ruse to gain her trust? Or had he truly been concerned for her well-being?
“Of all my husband’s friends, I am the closest to James,” Evelyn said. “I know him well, and he acts differently around you.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Bella asked.
“When you walk into the room, his attention is riveted. You are beautiful, yes, but James has had his fair share of beautiful women throwing themselves at him. You challenge him, Bella, and it is driving him to distraction, making him helpless. You oppose him on two fronts, your claim to Wyndmoor Manor and your resistance to his charms.”
“It has been less than a week,” Bella pointed out.
Evelyn waved a hand dismissively. “Any other woman would have tumbled headlong into his bed after two days’ time. But you have managed to resist him entirely.”
Not entirely, Bella thought. “It’s not me he wants, but the manor, and he foolishly believes seduction is the way to get me to relinquish the property.”
Evelyn regarded her thoughtfully. “No, you’re wrong. He may have started out believing that nonsense, but he is drawn to you and it is playing havoc with his plans.”
A thrill raced down Bella’s spine. James Devlin drawn to her? It felt delicious and wonderful to have such a virile, masculine man find her attractive. Roger’s berating had made her feel inadequate as a woman.
On impulse, Bella stepped down from the pedestal and picked up a pair of black silk hose and frilly garters from one of the baskets. The hose were completely sheer and light as butterfly wings. Roger had never allowed such sensual undergarments. He had preferred she wear wool hose, even in the heat of the summer.
When the dressmaker returned, Evelyn held out the black silk. “I’ll take these along with the dress. When will it be ready?”
“The dress needs very little tailoring. You’re as slender as a reed, and I certainly do not need to let out any of the seams as I must for many of my customers. A nip here and a tuck there ought to suffice.”
“I want to visit the haberdashery for my husband,” Evelyn said. “Will the dress be ready by the time we return?”
“I’ll work on it straightaway, my lady,” the dressmaker said.
Bella and Evelyn left the shop and walked arm in arm to the haberdashery. Shoppers strolled down the street, stopping to look at displays of merchandise in the windows. Bells chimed as shop doors opened and closed. They passed a toy store, and a small child tugged on his mother’s sleeve and pointed to a hand-carved wooded train in the window.
For years Bella had longed to casually stroll the shopping district of Plymouth without strange stares and whispers behind her back, and most certainly, without the fear of her husband’s wrath upon her return home.
The redolent aroma of fresh baked bread wafted from a bakery across the street. Bella strained to read the shop’s small, hand-printed sign when she spotted the man outside the door. A sudden image of the fair-haired smoker outside the Black Hound came to her.
He was looking at them, Bella realized with alarm, but when he realized she returned his stare, he averted his gaze. Unlike the man in the Black Hound, he was dressed in a fine frock coat with a flared skirt and a tall-crowned hat, and from this distance she could not make out his hair color, yet she could swear it was flaxen. He held a cheroot in his gloved hand. Icy fingers trickled down her spine.
Was the same man following her?
Nonsense. She had stayed to watch as the last shovel of dirt had covered Roger’s grave. Her imagination was running wild, a result of years living in fear with a demented fair-haired man.
Bella trailed behind Evelyn as she opened the door to the haberdashery. She wandered around the shop aimlessly, her mind a mixture of anxiety and confusion as she picked up cravats from a table and put them down without really seeing them. She resisted the urge to look out the shop’s bay window and see if the man was still outside the bakery.
A half hour later, Evelyn spotted a beaver hat with a wide brim and held it up for Bella. “This is perfect for Jack. Let’s pick up your dress and go home. I want to see the sparks fly when James spots you wearing it.”
Chapter 12
Bella returned from St. Albans to learn from Coates that a letter had arrived. Handing her packages to Harriet, Bella went to the small table in the center of the vestibule and picked up the envelope. Her heart pounded in anticipation when she saw the return address was from the Times.
It had arrived! Had the editor liked her political article?
Bella held the envelope in her hand, trying to judge by the weight and thickness whether it was a rejection or an acceptance. She held it up to the light. Nothing.
Slipping the envelope into her skirt pocket, she rushed to the library, where she intended to rip it open and read it in private. She burst into the room and stopped short at the sight of James seated behind the massive oak desk. Bobby sat beside him with an open book between them.
“Pardon my interruption,” she said, startled. “I had no idea the lib
rary was occupied.”
James leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Nonsense. You are not interrupting.”
“The duke is tutoring me in Latin,” Bobby said.
Bella frowned, bewildered. “Latin?” Why would a duke’s stable boy need to learn Latin?
“I want to be a barrister just like Blackwood,” Bobby said. “The duke has been tutoring me for over a year now, ever since I came into service for him. He says I’m too smart to remain in the stables forever.” Bobby’s face lit with idol worship as he looked at James. “We are preparing for a mock court.”
“A mock court?” she asked.
“You’re just in time, Bella. For us to successfully conduct Bobby’s first mock court, we need more than two people.”
“I’m not certain I’m suited for—”
“It’s simple,” James said. “A mock court is a practice courtroom procedure, only Bobby acts as the barrister and we act as his witnesses.”
She eyed him speculatively. “Don’t you need a judge?”
“How astute you are, Bella. And you had claimed to know little of the legal system.”
“Even a layperson knows a judge is required, Your Grace.”
“Well then, we are fortunate indeed that my colleague Anthony Stevens has not yet returned to London and is in the billiard room as we speak.”
“There is no billiard room at Wyndmoor,” she pointed out.
There was a trace of humor around his mouth and near his eyes. “Have I forgotten to mention that I had a snooker table delivered this morning while you were out shopping with Lady Evelyn? You needn’t fear. I purchased it with my own funds.”
She arched an eyebrow. “ ’Tis a shame you will have to leave it behind when you return to London yourself.”
A smile remained on his extremely handsome face, and a humorous gleam lit his cobalt eyes.
She knew he was enjoying himself, enjoying their banter. The trouble was so was she.
“Bobby, go fetch Mr. Stevens and tell him we are in need of a judge,” James said.
Seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room, Bobby departed.
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