“How do you do, Miss Wainwright?” he enquired politely.
She raked her gaze over him somewhat insolently before turning her back on him rudely. “Papa, I intend to bathe before dinner.” She spun away and ran lightly up the stairs, disappearing from view.
John raised an eyebrow. Phew, she may be a rare beauty but no one had taught her manners. Sir Edward Wainwright was florid with embarrassment.
“Sorry about that, John, my fault entirely, I’ve quite spoiled her, don’t you know! I expect you find that understandable now that you’ve see what a delectable beauty she is. Actually, she doesn’t mean to be ill-mannered. Well now, come along, how about a brandy, m’boy? Follow me.” He led the way into his comfortable library, where a fire burned cheerily in a large stone hearth, the yellow flames throwing reflections onto the many richly adorned books that lined the walls. The warm flickering light picked out the odd gleam of gold lettering on the books’ spines. After pouring out two goblets of brandy, Sir Edward gestured John toward two chairs placed invitingly either side of the welcoming fire. They sat in companionable silence, ruminating for a while, sipping the warming liquid and contemplating the flames.
Eventually, Sir Edward spoke, “So then, down to business. Have you any more information about that pirate rogue, Jacques?”
John shook his head. “Nothing. The man is like an eel—each time, he slips away without a trace. Still, we are lucky, we’ve not lost as much to him as others. George Hayden has been unlucky, a whole cargo of the finest silks and satins, gold leaf for braid and ribbon. He has lost a small fortune.”
Sir Edward reached up and scratched under his wig thoughtfully. “All that finery being worn by poxy French whores by now, I shouldn’t wonder. Godsdamn the man to hell and back! Those Frenchies don’t even drink tea! Wonder where our cargo ended up, eh?”
John laughed and shook his head. “We shall never know. He’ll have got a good price for it, of that you may be sure. Tea is worth almost as much as gold these days! Providing we don’t experience any more misfortunes of the kind, we can cope with the loss of one cargo. We were lucky not to lose the ship as well. Our next shipment due out is in three weeks, aboard The Tempest.”
Sir Edward rose to fetch the brandy decanter. John nodded his assent to his host’s enquiring gaze, holding out his goblet for a refill.
“We have a problem. This tea levy that Lord North has introduced—the colonists are enraged by what they see as an attempt by the English Government to redeem their losses from the war with France by exploiting them. So they are simply not buying our tea,” John explained.
Sir Edward looked thoughtful. “Well, there was a great fuss made about the Declaratory Act in ‘66, after the Stamp Act was repealed in Parliament. That blew over. I tend to think this will lead to a temporary dip in relations with America, only a minor business setback, I am sure.”
John shook his head pensively. “I wish I could share your confidence, sir, but the mood in Boston is very anti-English, especially now, with a garrison stationed in the town. Mother, however, continues to hold her lavish tea parties, she has managed so far, at least, to keep up our regular local sales.”
Sir Edward chuckled. “Wonderful woman, your mother, has a head for business as sharp as a whip! Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look at the possibility of carrying some other cargo, just in case this all gets out of hand. You are still adamant, I suppose, that we shouldn’t touch on the slave market?”
John nodded, his face grim. “I will not be involved with trading in human misery, Sir Edward.”
“Well, well, I tend to agree, but we might think about cloth, eh? The mills in the North of England are churning out some wonderful material, thanks to new machinery, and at a damned good price, too. We could turn a profit, I’d be bound. Leave that to me, I’ll make enquiries. Now my boy, what do you think of my girl Linnet, a little beauty, eh?”
John sipped his brandy, pondering a careful reply. “She is certainly blessed with good looks. I wonder, though… will I have enough time to court her? She seemed a trifle frosty when we were introduced. Three weeks seems a very short time to woo a reluctant bride. Have you told her of your intention to arrange a match for her?”
“Well, yes… I told her what a handsome fellow you were. I explained to her that you were my partner in business now that your father had passed on. I said it would be a splendid thing if the two of you made a match. Linnet’s a little highly strung. It came as something of a shock to her that I was contemplating matrimony for her but I want to see her settled and financially secure. Should anything happen to me, she will be without a roof over head. Lavenstock is entailed down the male line, my second cousin inherits the title.” Sir Edward refilled John’s glass. “Just give her a few days, John. I know my girl, she’ll come around. Why, I’d wager this time next week, you will have a ring on her finger.”
Chapter 2
During the next few days, John had difficulty spending any time at all in Linnet’s company. She was always out of doors, generally riding. Sir Edward’s appeal to her to show John over the estate was simply ignored. After spending a day or two trying to track the elusive Miss Wainwright down, John was despairing of ever having the opportunity to acquaint himself with her. He enlisted the help of an under-groom at great cost—a gold sovereign, no less. The groom was to let him know when she next went riding. He was also to have a horse saddled ready for John’s use. Word duly came that Linnet had requested her horse Pango to be tacked ready for ten o’clock that morning, the third day since John’s arrival at the Hall.
He hurried to his horse only to watch his quarry disappear from the stable yard at a canter. She sped off into the chilly morning lit by bright, pale sunshine. Muttering a curse, he yelled for the boy to bring his horse about, but by the time John had ridden after her, she was out of sight. John rode in the direction he’d first seen her on the day of his arrival. He gave the horse its head and urged him on at speed, enjoying the freedom and exhilaration of the ride.
He slowed his horse to a trot as they approached a thicket of trees. A rider burst forth and galloped off in the opposite direction. It was, without a doubt, Linnet Wainwright. Her hair flew out behind her like a streak of bright lightning. John urged his horse forward, giving chase. Linnet must have realised that he was pursuing her and was determined to lose him. John, however, was an excellent horseman and had no intention of losing sight of his quarry. They raced on until, to her obvious dismay, he drew alongside of her mount, riding at breakneck speed for a mile or so until he drew close enough to lean over and grab her horse’s reins. Holding tight to the leather halter, he gradually slowed both horses to a walk, all the while calming her mount with soothing words in his deep American drawl.
Indignantly, she tried to slap his hands away from the reins, but to no avail. She turned on him furiously, her green eyes flashing with rage as she exclaimed, “You utter fool! What do you think you are doing? You might have killed me!”
John studied her flushed face and his eyes strayed to the swell of her rounded bosom, immediately experiencing a tightening in his loins. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, trying in vain to ease the uncomfortable increased tightness of his breeches. He was most pleasantly surprised by his body’s instant reaction to the girl. A smile twitched at his lips as he attempted to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Oh, come now. I think you exaggerate, Miss Wainwright, a fine horse woman such as yourself? It would take at least a thunderbolt to unseat you.” Or a lusty fellow such as myself!
“What is it that you want of me, Mr. Foster?” she interrupted impatiently. He raised an eyebrow at her abruptness but made no comment, deciding it was a good thing she was no mind reader, for she would flee if she could discern his lewd thoughts.
She sat awaiting his reply; a glowering, mulish expression marring her pretty features. When he made no attempt to answer, she tossed her head, gazing haughtily in the opposite direction. It was obvious to him she’d decided that, since he’d engineered their encount
er, he could carry the conversation—he knew that she preferred to be left alone to her own devices. They sat in an uneasy silence until the horses, growing restless, began to dance around, snorting and stamping their hooves, impatient to be on the move again.
John openly assessed her. He admired her proud profile and straight back, and the soft wisps of her fiery hair that had escaped the chignon in which she’d tried to arrange it and floated around her pretty, if rather sullen, face. He had the sudden urge to reach out and smooth back the silky strands but he resisted, keeping a firm hold on the reins. Shifting his weight in the saddle, he sighed. “I suppose,” he drawled, “it was too much to expect courtesy from you, Miss Wainwright, although I thought at the very least you would honour your father’s request that you show me over the Lavenstock estate. Perhaps you are unaware that I am a very stubborn man and I shall not leave your house until I have spent time with you, especially since it is your father’s wish that we become further acquainted. I would have thought that, to accomplish this, you would see sense in our continuing to ride together to at least fulfil your obligation to your father.”
A flush spread across her cheeks. She was obviously feeling uneasy in his presence—for whatever reason, he appeared to make her nervous. He observed her taking a sidelong peek at him from beneath lowered lashes. Taking a deep breath, she spoke coldly, “Very well, Mr. Foster, I will escort you on a tour of our estate because my father has requested it of me. Will you then agree to leave me in peace?”
John frowned thoughtfully. “Do I invade your peace of mind so much, Miss Wainwright?” he asked mildly.
She flushed. Lifting her chin, she glared at him. “You seem to be ignorant of the fact that since my mother is dead, I am not Miss Wainwright but Lady Wainwright. Please try to remember that fact, Mr. Foster. Come along… if you still wish to see the estate, that is?” Without waiting for a reply, she turned her horse with a flourish and cantered off. John urged his mount forward whilst muttering an acerbic curse, one definitely not for a lady’s ears. He galloped after her.
First, they rode the estate boundaries but then she led him to a small row of farm cottages. All appeared to be in reasonably good repair except the first, which had a battered, dilapidated front door. Shutters were missing from most of the windows. Linnet leapt from her horse and was greeted by a pair of yapping mongrels which she stooped to pat before walking to the cottage and rapping at the door with the end of her silver mounted riding crop. John dismounted and followed her, assuming that was what she expected.
The door was opened by an elderly, unkempt man. His hair, what remained of it, hung in thin, greasy strands. His clothing was stained, and he emitted a pungent odour of unwashed body. At the sight of Linnet, however, his face broke into an almost toothless grin. “Ah, ‘tis yerself is it? Come to see Esmeralda, have ‘ee?” He flung the old wooden door wide for Linnet to enter. John followed behind, listening to Linnet chatting easily with the old man.
“Has she whelped yet, Jacob?”
“Ay, that she has, Miss, yesterday ’t was.”
“How many?” she asked.
“Would ye believe nine?”
“Nine?” Linnet exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Jacob led them through the untidy, fetid cottage and out to the back, where a large brick pen, smelling strongly of pig, stood. Linnet leaned over the wall, excitedly exclaiming over the nine small piglets that lay nestled close to their large pink mother. “Hello, my darling, what a clever girl you are. Nine little babies just as lovely as their mama! You will let me hold them in a day or two won’t you, Esmeralda? Ah, look at the sweet things!” she cooed, turning her shining green eyes to John. He listened in amazement as this aloof and beautiful girl chatted lovingly to a large, rather dirty, not to mention smelly, porcine mother. All her past animosity toward John seemed forgotten as she explained that pigs liked to keep their piglets to themselves for a few days before they allowed others to hold them.
“How did you become so enamoured with hogs, Lady Wainwright?” he asked curiously.
Linnet gave Jacob an impish grin. He winked, breaking into a phlegm riddled cough before saying, “Ah, well ’t was like this, I’ve two dogs, d’ you see, always ‘ad two, blest if I knows why?” Jacob stopped and scratched his stubbly chin thoughtfully.
Linnet chuckled then continued the tale. “One of Jacob’s dogs was known to be fierce; in fact, my father was always saying that he would knock it on the head if it should ever bite anyone. When I was eight or thereabouts, I was down here in the apple orchard, scrumping apples with the village children… well, strictly speaking they were scrumping but since we own the orchard, I was not.” She waved a hand at the orchard that ran up almost to the back of the cottages.
“I just couldn’t manage to climb a tree, constrained as I was by my long skirts, so I stayed on the ground while the boys threw apples down to me and I caught them in my apron. Suddenly one of the boys yelled a warning, ‘Run, it be Jacob’s dog!’ So up I flew and ran as fast as I possibly could while this awful dog streaked after me, barking like mad! It was at my heels already by the time I had reached here. I scrambled up the wall and flung myself over the other side, straight into Esmeralda’s grandmother Primrose’s stall! I landed covered in pig filth and slid over to the far side of the pen, squashed up against the wall, covered with muck. Goodness, I was terrified! This simply enormous pink pig started to come toward me; I had heard that pigs could give a very nasty bite. Their teeth lock like so.” Linnet linked her fingers to demonstrate.
“Then I remembered the apples in my apron pocket. Luckily, I still had three, so I rolled one across to Primrose; she gobbled it up and came a bit closer. So I rolled another, she ate that one, too, and walked right up to me! I dropped the third apple in fright onto my knee. Primrose ate it and then snuffled my apron, looking for more. When she couldn’t find any more apples she lay down like a dog and rested her head in my lap!” Linnet laughed.
“Aye,” Jacob confirmed with a shake of his head. “When I comes out to see what the racket was about, I looked over the wall to see Milady sat, covered in pig filth, petting old Primrose like she was a little pet dog! She’s a’ scratching ‘er ears and patting old Primrose an’ that pig is a lying’ there adoring yon lass! Never seen nothing like it in me life before, an’ that’s a fact.”
Linnet giggled with infectious laughter, she flapped her hand at John. “Wait, though,” she chirruped, “the b-best part!”
She tried to speak but was doubled up with gales of infectious laughter. John began to chuckle along with her. “The dogs!” she spluttered, “Jacob’s dogs, one was fierce, and one that soppy old lump over there!” She pointed at the larger of the two hairy mongrels, who sat with a lolling tongue, basking in a patch of sunlight. “It was that dog, you see, that had chased me, not the fierce dog at all!” Linnet clutched Jacob as they howled with laughter together.
It was at this point John realised with a jolt that he very much wanted to marry this bewitching, mercurial girl.
Chapter 3
The rain lashed the windows of Lavenstock and the howling wind rattled the old panes. The trees beyond the driveway bent double with the ferocity of the elements. John turned away from this depressing scene and glanced over at his host. “Filthy weather for spring, even for England,” he muttered. Walking from the sight, he moved to stand next to the blazing fire where he rested his booted foot up on the fender, his elbow on the mantle. He released a long, deep sigh. He had been at the hall for a number of days now and Sir Edward was pressing him to propose to Linnet. Since his ride about the estate with her, John found that now he was himself keen to marry the girl, and this surprised him. He’d been so determined to marry a woman from his own country and although Linnet was extraordinarily beautiful, she was the most bad-mannered, discourteous young woman John had ever met. Had he not seen that other surprising side to her character while at Jacob’s cottage, he would certainly have given up on the idea of a match. He w
as surprised by just how much he desired this spoilt, wilful, proud girl, yet she inflamed his blood and possessed his thoughts until he knew he had to have her.
Coming to a decision, John swung away from the fire and seated himself opposite his friend. Leaning forward, he looked earnestly into the worried face of his host. “Sir, if Linnet will have me, I should like to take her as my wife. Yet so far, most of our encounters have been at best… chilly. It pains me to have to tell you it is not simply that your daughter is spoilt, but she is also contrary, perverse, arrogant and extremely rude. Her only saving grace is her sense of humour.”
Sir Edward chuckled and said, “Oh come now, her beauty sweetens the list of her faults, surely?”
John grinned and nodded affirmation; her beauty and shapely form were on his mind rather a lot of late.
Sir Edward sat back, quietly contemplating for a moment or so before straightening up and leaning forward in his chair. “Very well, John, if you should marry my Linnet, you should know that on my death, everything goes to my daughter—and so to you, as her husband. Now, for her wedding portion, I will sign over The Tempest and one quarter of my interest in our company. Well now, what do you say to that?”
John held up his hands. “You misunderstand me, sir. I am much taken with your daughter. Her beauty is unrivalled and her spirit admirable. It is just that I need a wife who needs must leave all that she knows and travel across the sea to a new world. I intend to propose to her, but there is little I can do if she will not have me.”
Sir Edward slapped his knee. “Nonsense! A red-blooded young buck such as yourself knows how to tame a horse. Use that knowledge. Skittish things, horses, much like women, I always think! Linnet must be settled with a man, not some milksop boy who won’t be able to deal with her hissy fits! I know my gal, John, and she just won’t be happy unless she can respect her man.”
Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master Page 2