by Wilma Counts
“And Milton agreed?” Hero asked, disbelieving.
“Y-yes. He felt he had to. You know how sick Freddie was last winter. Meredith was too, but not so severely.”
“Papa said then that he should just pay for that roof himself,” Hero said.
“Milton would never have permitted that,” Diana said. “He hates that Papa is paying for Anthony’s schooling.”
“So—tell me the rest,” Hero demanded.
“There’s not much else. Jonathan was visiting when Teague came, and as he was leaving, he said, ‘Bring those two along as well—they can heft a few bundles.’”
“Jonathan has not said a word of this,” Hero noted.
“He wouldn’t, would he?” Diana sounded bitter. “Milton hates that the boys are involved at all, but Jonathan and Anthony are just children caught up in a kind of game. Robin Hood and his merry men. It’s a thrill for them.”
“And Milton? A roof? That is his reason for risking life and limb?” Hero stood up and started pacing. “Good heavens, Diana, one man is already dead. Those two in jail—unlucky blighters—are likely to be transported.”
“I know.” Diana’s response was a near wail. “I am so sorry to be dumping this on your shoulders. It was selfish of me, but I suppose I was in a ‘misery loves company’ frame of mind.”
Hero sat back down and hugged her sister. “Mama used to say ‘a burden shared is a burden lessened.’”
“I thought perhaps you could at least talk sense into Jonathan. He always listens to you.”
“Not lately,” Hero said. He is still angry that I would not pressure Papa into letting him go to London.”
“I did not want to trouble Papa with this,” Diana said. “Not until we absolutely must.”
“Oh, my Lord, no,” Hero agreed. “His heart is not fully recovered from that last incident—in January. And there’s the gout besides. But he will not slow down.”
“Perhaps when Michael comes home…” Diana’s voice trailed off, but her tone sharpened when she added, “Meanwhile, what do we do about our family being involved in the smuggling business? I hear the militia is getting tougher on ‘the trade.’”
Hero patted Diana’s hand. “I’ll speak to Jonathan, but I am not sure he will listen to me. Can you and Milton forbid Anthony’s involvement? Perhaps if Anthony is out of it, Jonathan will lose interest.”
“I cannot see that happening unless Milton quits too, and I have a feeling Teague would never allow that. The roof aside, I think Teague threatened Milton.”
“Threatened him? With what?”
“I don’t know, but I think Milton is afraid of Teague. I know I am. He could evict us like he did the Thompsons.”
“He is a terrible bully,” Hero agreed.
“If only Lord Alexander Sterne would take more interest,” Diana lamented, “but, obviously, that is wishful thinking.” She rose. “I must go. Thank you. Mama was right about sharing burdens.”
Chapter 11
That night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Hero sat waiting in the library, listening for the sound of her brother’s horse returning and for the door in the rear entrance to open and close. When she heard these sounds, she stood in the library door and caught him as he was starting up the stairs.
“Come in here, Jonathan. I want to talk to you.” Aware of Adam asleep just across the hall, she spoke softly.
“Ah, can’t it wait, Hero? I’m really tired.” Jonathan did not bother to lower his voice.
“Shh.” She closed the door as he came through it. “Yes, at three o’clock in the morning, I should think you would be tired, but, no, it cannot wait.” She gestured to one of the chairs flanking the fireplace; he took it, looking sullen as he did so. She took the other one and gazed at him for a moment, taking in his attire: a black knit fishermen’s cap, a black sweater, and black trousers. His boots and the cuffs of his trousers looked wet.
“So?” she said, jumping right to the point, “is this what fashion demands of the modern-day smuggler?”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t even think of dissembling with me, Jonathan Whitby. I know you’ve been out with Teague and his gang of bully boys.”
He responded after a moment with something close to a sneer. “So?”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous smuggling can be? Are you aware that the government has increased the militia patrols tenfold?”
“Those chaw-bacons running around in their pretty red coats are so stupid they stumble over their own feet. We sent them chasing themselves ten miles and more up the beach from where we were before our boats came in.”
Hero closed her eyes for a moment, trying to ignore this blatant display of adolescent bravado. “Bert Larson got himself killed a few weeks ago.”
“He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And you do not think you could ever be in the wrong place at the wrong time yourself?”
“Those are the chances you take in this business,” he said.
Hero suspected this idea was some sort of slogan among his newfound friends. “Jonathan, Papa and I treated Billy Jenkins and Jake Harrison. It would break my heart—Papa’s too—if something happened to you.”
“You needn’t worry. I can take of myself.”
There it was again: adolescent bravado. She changed tactics. “Have you seen your friend Trevor Prentiss since you came home?”
“That whey face? Yeah. I’ve seen him. Afraid of his own shadow, he is.”
“Does it not occur to you that sometimes what looks like cowardice is just common sense?”
“No, it does not.” The sneer was pronounced now. “Look, Hero, what harm is it to keep the government from getting its cut of honest men’s business? Taxes are too high—I’ve even heard you complain about them.”
“There have been five deaths that we know of in the last six months among smugglers on the coasts of Cornwall.”
“Yeah. Sure. There is a certain amount of danger. But that’s what makes it fun. Exciting. And God himself knows there is nothing else of interest going on in Weyburn!”
“Still—”
He rushed on. “Besides, I’m out there with Milton and Anthony. We look out for each other.” He stood up and gave her an exaggerated bow. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am very tired.”
“But it is dangerous for all of you,” Hero insisted.
He looked down at her as she still occupied her chair. “You’re not going to stop me, Hero. You’re not my mother. And it wouldn’t do any good if you were.”
“Papa—”
“What can he do? Kick me out of the house? Disown me? So be it. I have friends—”
Hero stood and took a step toward him. “I was about to say Papa and I love you and do not want to see you hurt.”
“Papa knows?”
“Not yet.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway.” He strode to the door and jerked it open.
“Jonathan, please—”
“Just stay out of my business, Hero. Don’t you have enough of your own to occupy you?”
He slammed the door shut.
Hero sank into the cushions of the couch and put her hands up to her face, unable to control her sobs. What on earth had just happened? This was her sweet little brother? No, not little, she told herself ruefully, he towers over you by several inches now. Never had she seen him so belligerent, so unwilling to listen to her. He’d been home less than a month! Had she truly been so involved in herself that she had not seen this coming?
She did not hear the library door open, but suddenly Adam, in a brown plaid robe and a pair of slippers, was standing in front of her, offering her a handkerchief and leaning on one crutch.
“I—I’m sorry we woke you,” she said, swallowing a sob.
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“I was awake before. I heard his horse when he came in, but I did not know at first that you were waiting up for him.”
“You had another of those horrible dreams?”
“Yes. Any distraction is welcome, of course, but I am sorry about what happened with your brother.”
“You heard it all?”
“Not all. Mostly just what he was saying, not your side of it. But I caught the gist of it. He’s involved with the smugglers, is he?” He leaned his crutch against the couch and awkwardly sank down next to her, his injured leg thrust out before him. His robe fell open slightly, revealing an expanse of bare skin and dark hair on his chest.
Wiping her eyes and turning to half face him, she nodded. “But that is not the whole of it.” Then, because she had been unwilling to worry her father with all that Diana had told her earlier, she found herself pouring it all out to Adam. “I am so worried,” she ended, feebly, she thought.
“Of course you are,” he said. “Does your father know?”
“No. I am afraid to tell him. He suffered a heart seizure last winter and neither Diana nor I want him to know, if we can keep it from him.”
“Does your brother know how ill your father might be?”
“I don’t think so. We did not want Jonathan to worry at school, and by the time he came home for the Christmas holiday, the crisis was over.”
“You did not want to worry the son then, and now you are trying to protect the father.” He took her hand in his and laced his fingers with hers. “The doc is tougher than you might think, but I agree with you—there is no need to burden him if you can avoid doing so.”
She returned the pressure of his grip, grateful to be able to draw strength from him, feeling warmth emanating from him and spreading through her body to relax her, and, simultaneously, to set her whole being alert and tingling. She drew in a deep breath, steadier now that she had shared what she had been holding in for literally hours now.
Reluctantly, she disentwined her hand from his. “I—thank you for listening to me.”
Now that she had regained control of herself, she expected him to take his leave. Instead, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “’Twas my pleasure, madam. My pleasure,” he whispered as he lowered his lips to hers. At first it was a tentative, tender kiss to comfort, but it quickly turned into something more urgent, more exploring. She heard a little moan and was only mildly surprised to realize it came from her own throat as she eagerly returned the pressure of his lips. Her hand crept up his chest to caress his neck. She thrilled to the hard muscles, the soft hair on his chest, and the smooth, warm skin of his neck. His tongue caressed her lips, then his mouth moved to nibble at her neck and that tender place just below her ear. She felt the stubble of his beard brush against her face and neck; he smelled of soap and something that was just him. She was lost in sensation—but only for a moment. Suddenly, she felt almost panicky. Abruptly, she sat up straighter and turned away slightly, putting distance between them.
“That,” he said with a chuckle, “was no hallucination.”
She smiled nervously and shook her head, but held his gaze. “No, it was not. Nor was it at all wise, though I must admit you managed to take my mind off the quarrel with my brother. Temporarily.”
He withdrew his arm from around her shoulders, but made no move to separate himself further. “What will you do about this situation?” he asked. “What can you do?”
“I don’t know.” It came out as a soft wail. “I do not want him hurt. Or Milton or Anthony, either. Or anyone else for that matter, but I am afraid if I notify the militia, that is exactly what will happen.” She stood and reached to give him a hand up from the soft cushions. “In any event, it cannot be resolved here, tonight.”
She handed him his crutch as he managed to rise from the couch. Fully upright now, he asked, “Are we still on for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she said blankly.
“You promised to take me about, show me the Abbey.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course I will do so.” She was standing so close she could feel the warmth of his body. She looked up and held his gaze, sure that they were both thinking of that kiss. “I—we had both best get some sleep.”
“If you say so,” he said lightly, and bent to kiss her cheek. He hobbled to the door.
“Good night, Adam,” she said as she lit a candle to see herself upstairs, then extinguished the lamp by which she had been reading earlier.
* * * *
Alex chastised himself as he returned to his room. You had no business doing that, my boy. But my, oh, my, it had felt so right, so good. All he had wanted to do was comfort her, to remove that strained look about her eyes. When was the last time he kissed a woman simply to offer sympathy, comfort? As he crawled back into bed, he heard her close the library door and start up the stairs.
It was not his own ghosts and demons that kept him awake now, but the problems she faced. They faced. He was vaguely conscious of feeling a sense of ownership to those problems—not just because they affected people he had grown to treasure as friends and perhaps more, but also because he felt a sense of belonging, of responsibility. Whoa! Where did that come from? He reminded himself that it had been nearly fifteen years since he had last visited his uncle at Weyburn Abbey. And as he rode through the town some six weeks ago, he had hardly recognized the place as anything but another English town, grown from a country village since he’d last seen it. Certainly, he had felt little of this sense of “belonging” that seemed to be attacking him now.
Tomorrow’s outing should be interesting.
* * * *
Alex looked forward to being able—at last—to see for himself some of the countryside about which he had been hearing for weeks now. He also looked forward to spending a few hours in Hero’s company, though he cautioned himself against a repeat of last night’s kiss, however much he might desire it. As he thought about that kiss—and it occupied his thoughts far more than it should have—he was troubled by her reaction. At first she had been responsive, even welcoming, but then she had pulled away, almost in fear it seemed. Fear of him? Or of herself? It was an issue that would bear exploring.
By the time Alex arrived at breakfast, Hero had already eaten and set about some task she wanted to deal with before her outing with Adam—or so her father informed him. Alex suspected she might be putting off facing him, but he pushed that thought from his mind as he engaged in small talk with her father, and then with her brother when he finally showed up for the morning meal.
Alex saw none of the sullen disrespect in the young man that he had overheard the night before. In fact, he was quite amiable with his father. He still pursued the idea of going to London, but Alex felt the boy was not so bent on the idea as he once was. Jonathan was politely correct in his conversation; it was hard to believe this was the same fellow who had slammed out of the library only a few hours earlier.
Two hours later, dressed in his own buckskin breeches, a new linen shirt, a blue coat, and wearing his own boots, Alex met Hero in the stable yard as she watched Perkins and Davey hitch a horse to the gig. Annabelle was there too, along with Nurse Henson, who was keeping a close watch on her charge. He exchanged hellos with everyone, then stood near Hero.
“So. What do you think?” she asked. “Will you have difficulty getting seated in this vehicle?”
Hero wore a dark green day dress printed with small yellow and white flowers; the low neckline showed an enticing hint of cleavage. White lace trimmed the neckline and elbow-length sleeves. She had donned a straw bonnet decorated with a strip of the fabric from which her dress was made, and she had a light woolen shawl which she tossed on the back of the seat of the gig. Alex thought she must have taken more care than usual with her attire for this outing, and he wondered if that had been for his benefit or that of the villagers they might meet. Regardless, the e
ffect was delectable, he noted.
He leaned on one crutch and cocked his head at an angle to look at her. “I think I will manage. I can step up on the good leg, though I cannot comfortably put much weight on the other one yet.”
“Let’s see,” she demanded and stood back to observe as he proved capable of maneuvering himself—albeit awkwardly—into and out of, then back into the gig. He noted that Davey had been positioned to come to his aid if he had needed it.
“There. Art thou satisfied, oh mistress of the horse—and me?” He smiled broadly and their small audience chuckled.
“Yes. You did that quite nicely. I would venture to say that the crutch will be superfluous in another week or so.” She went to the other side of the carriage to climb in and take the reins herself.
Annabelle had followed, and stood looking up at her. “Can I come too? Please, Auntie H’ro?”
“No. Not today, Annabelle. The gig holds only two.”
“But I’m little,” the child begged.
“You will stay here and work on your numbers.” Hero glanced at Nurse Henson, who nodded to confirm this and stepped forward to take Annabelle’s free hand—the other arm awkwardly hugged the continuously growing Bitsy.
Hero shook the reins and clucked at the horse. She did not look back as they left the stable yard, but she sighed and said, “I hate refusing her.”
“Those big brown eyes are hard to resist,” Alex said.
They were both silent as she managed the horse until they reached the main thoroughfare. He was conscious of the woman at his side as their arms occasionally touched, and as he caught whiffs of a lilac-tinged scent that was hers alone.
He looked at her and said, “Do I owe you an apology for last night?”
She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze directly. She blushed, and he liked that she did so. “Good heavens, no,” she said, looking away. “It would be rather hypocritical of me to take umbrage at what was, after all, a kindly gesture.”