by Regina Scott
She settled on the blanket. Dropping down beside her, he popped open the lid on the tin and held the canister out to her.
“Oh, strawberries!” Jess plucked out two, red and juicy. “We must save some for Abby.”
He set down the tin and opened the pouch. “There’s also cheese and rolls as well as lemonade.”
“How thoughtful.” She shifted on the blanket to find a more comfortable spot on the bumpy soil.
“Lean against me,” he offered, positioning himself partly behind her.
The view before them, food between them, her shoulder brushing his. What more could she want?
His arm draped around her waist, warm, solid. Ah, that. She could not stop the happy sigh that bubbled up.
They did not speak for a time as they partook of their feast, and she hoped he felt as content in the moment as she did. But their purpose could not fade away completely.
“You’ve found your smugglers, then,” she said between bites of strawberry.
“I’ve found evidence of smuggling,” he corrected her. “I still haven’t identified the Lord of the Smugglers or those helping the French.”
She shook her head. “Is it always this difficult?”
“It can be. All smugglers are breaking the law. They understand the penalty if they’re caught, so they do their utmost not to be caught. Knowing he’s betraying England, this Lord of the Smugglers must be doubly careful.”
She swallowed her mouthful of lemonade. “How many have you captured?” She glanced at him to find his face inches away. Flecks of gold brightened his dark eyes. So easy to press her lips to his. She held herself still.
As if unaware of her look, he gazed off over the waves, clearly calculating the results of his efforts. “Fifty in the last few years,” he said.
Jess raised her brow. “Kent must be terribly lawless.”
He chuckled, gaze coming back to hers. “No more so than any place along the Channel.” He sobered. “Sometimes I wonder how much of a difference I’ve made.”
She could not help it. She lay a hand on his cheek, so warm and firm. “Fifty fewer smugglers, sir. And you must have given the others pause to find you so diligent. Small wonder your supervisor sent you on this assignment.”
His gaze held hers, soft, sweet. She lost her breath.
He broke away to rise. “I should return you to Miss Archer and the village. They will flounder without you.”
She was floundering now. One moment in his company, and she was willing to throw caution, even prudence, to the wind. Much more of this and she would be blurting out how much she’d missed him, how badly she wanted him to stay.
But was she really willing to take a chance on love again?
~~~
Despite his best intentions, they did not reach the village until late that afternoon. Jess had insisted that they walk the rest of the way along the cliff, as if determined to prove to him there were no landing places closer to Grace-by-the-Sea than the one they’d discovered.
Or perhaps she was as loath to part company.
Miss Archer had kept to the road, running parallel to them and always within easy shouting distance. He had scarcely noticed her. Jess had been so understanding, so interested in his work, that he’d found himself prosing on. Then, that one moment, when their gazes had held, he’d nearly kissed her. But a kiss implied commitment, promise of a future, and he could not be sure of his.
So, he walked beside her, leading Valkyrie, and talked of commonplaces—the school his sister Rosemary had opened in Upper Grace, how his niece Rebecca was growing up as kind-natured as her mother, Jess’s ambitions for the spa. They found no other sign of a landing. As the cliff curved closer to the castle, he convinced her to rejoin Miss Archer and ride to the top of the hill above the spa. It was for her comfort. He’d have far preferred to take her up with him. On horseback, he could have held her in his arms and dreamed for a moment of what might be.
“I’ll return the curricle to Mr. Josephs,” Miss Archer offered as they reached the village.
“You are too kind,” Lark told her. “I cannot thank you enough for your assistance today, Miss Archer.”
She smiled. “I can play matchmaker nearly as well as some, sir.” With a wink to Jess, she guided the horses toward the livery stable.
“A matchmaker, eh?” Lark asked as he and Jess started down the hill toward the Mermaid. The shops were closing, and the village was quiet as they strolled through.
“What else is she to think when you ask her to play chaperone?” Jess pointed out.
“I’ve only fanned the flames of speculation, then,” Lark mused.
Jess made a face. “I’ll explain to her another time. She’ll understand.”
He could only hope she was right.
“We won’t be able to do much on Sunday,” she said as they reached the bottom of the hill. “Perhaps we should regroup on Monday, determine how to proceed.”
“Very well,” he allowed, trying his best to hide his disappointment.
She put out a hand to stop him from continuing on to the Mermaid.
“Perhaps you could join my family for dinner Sunday evening,” she ventured with a sidelong look his way. “I think my brother might have something to add to our conversation.”
Indeed, he might. Did she suspect him of consorting with smugglers? Simply asking might put her back up.
“Oh?” Lark asked instead.
Her cheeks were turning that delightful pink again, and she fidgeted. “He knows many of the younger people better than I do. Perhaps one of them has mentioned seeing a smuggler.”
Or being one.
“I’d be delighted,” Lark said.
She smiled. “Then I’ll leave you here. Thank you so much for today, Lark. I won’t forget it.”
Neither would he. He was smiling too as he led Valkyrie toward the stables.
~~~
He spotted no light from the castle that night, though he looked for it until past midnight. Much as he had enjoyed the day with Jess, he knew he must show progress or be recalled. Even the commissioner’s certainty must be flagging by now. He would have to make a report, and soon. And that meant leaving Grace-by-the-Sea.
And Jess.
She remained on his mind as he ventured to church the next morning. Just the sight of her in the nave raised his spirits. She sent him a smile and tipped her head as if beckoning him to join her. He slid into the box pew. Mrs. Tully nodded a greeting. Jess beamed. He knew he must be grinning as the service started.
Worship came easy. Indeed, thankfulness was welling inside him. How could he not be grateful for Jess at his side? Paisley shawl draped about her shoulders, head bowed to pray, she was only an inspiration. He had to force himself to focus on the minister.
As the service ended, Lark glanced around for the Bascoms. The wife and children had attended church near the back, and neither the gold hairpins nor the lace collar had come along. Might she just have been self-conscious of the gifts or think them too proud to wear before her Savior? Still, the oldest lad narrowed his eyes at Lark when he caught him glancing their way.
He wasn’t the only one to shoot Lark questioning looks as people turned to leave. A young lady requested a moment of Jess’s time, and he gathered it had something to do with a certain gentleman who was courting her, so Lark went ahead so they might have privacy. Mr. Carroll gave him the eye before putting up his head and marching past. Miss Rinehart, the milliner, sniffed in his direction as if she found his beaver top hat objectionable. Even the vicar refused to meet his gaze as Lark thanked him at the door for his efforts. If Jess hadn’t agreed to partner him, he shuddered to think of the reception he would have received.
As he waited for her by the churchyard gate, Magistrate Howland moved in beside him.
“Progress?” he asked, gaze on the stones of the path.
Lark glanced around, but the other villagers were giving him wide berth. “Not much, but we still have other avenues to pursue.�
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“How are the villagers reacting to your questions?” he asked.
“Noticed the looks being directed my way, did you?” Lark countered. “I imagine few villages welcome strangers, particularly ones asking difficult questions.”
Mr. Howland eyed him. “It’s not the questions, Mr. Denby. Miss Chance is greatly admired. They are wondering about your intentions.”
Lark reared back. “My intentions? Mr. Wingate made the mistake of assuming Miss Chance and I were courting because we showed up together to question him the other day, but surely not everyone—”
“Everyone,” Howland said. “I’ve had three complaints sworn out so far.”
Lark frowned. “Complaints? I’ve done nothing illegal.”
His mouth worked a moment before he spoke. “Mr. Lawrence accused you of loitering. Miss Pierce was certain you bore a strong resemblance to a highwayman said to be preying on the roads hereabouts. And Mr. Carroll insisted you were only impersonating a gentleman. All were concerned you had wronged Miss Chance.”
Lark leaned closer. “I would not wrong Miss Chance if it meant saving my own life.”
Howland nodded slowly. “Good to know. Then I suppose I should tell anyone who asks your intentions are honorable.”
Lark straightened. “My intentions are to find the Lord of the Smugglers. Nothing more.” He turned his attention to Jess and her aunt, who were approaching. Offering each an arm, he escorted them toward the spa.
“Something wrong?” Jess asked with a frown his direction.
He pasted on a smile. “How could anything be wrong on such a lovely day?”
She smiled back, but he felt her doubt.
Still, she was her usual efficient self at the spa, moving from group to group, welcoming, encouraging. An odd tension hung in the air even there, like the murmur of thunder in the distance. He could not determine the source, but he feared as if it might be inside him.
At least he could look forward to the dinner that evening. He walked Jess and her aunt to the foot of High Street, then tarried a few moments at the Mermaid to give them time to set their house in order. The company in the public room held no interest. Perhaps that was why he arrived before the appointed hour. He certainly hadn’t been able to slow his steps along the path from the inn.
Mrs. Tully answered his knock, black skirts partially blocking the door. “Brandy?” she demanded.
“Never drink the stuff,” he assured her.
She pouted, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s good you don’t consume your wares.”
“Aunt!” Jess’s voice speared out. “Mr. Denby doesn’t deal in brandy. He isn’t a smuggler.”
“Says you,” she muttered, but she stepped aside and let him in.
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting after seeing the outside of the house the other night, but the simple, two-room cottage did not do Jess justice. Oh, someone had hung landscape paintings of the sea along the white-washed walls, and the cupboard beside the stone hearth held finer china than generally graced such a place. Combined with the rocking chair near the fire and the thick blue-and-green carpet on the plank floor, the house had a welcoming feel to it. Or perhaps it was the lady standing by the fire, pink skirts brushing the floor.
He pulled off his hat. “Miss Chance, Mrs. Tully, thank you for inviting me.”
“You needn’t stand on ceremony, Lark,” Jess said, straightening to bring a platter to the table in the center of the room. “We agreed to call each other by our first names.”
Her aunt sidled closer to him. “You may call me Hepzibah.” She wiggled her grey brows.
“Her name is Maudlyn,” Jess said.
“It suits you,” Lark told her aunt.
“Bah,” she said, but she stomped to the table.
A thump sounded overhead a moment before a young man came down a ladder on the other side of the hearth from the cupboard. He jumped the last three rungs to land with another thump, then turned to stick out his hand. “Mr. Denby, I’m Alexander Chance.”
So, this was Jess’s brother. He was tall and lean, but those arms looked strong enough to sail a bark in a storm and intelligence sparkled in his blue eyes.
Lark moved to take his hand. Firm grip, confident smile. But as Alex pulled away, Lark spotted the discoloration of callouses on his palm. Now, what had young Mr. Chance done to earn those?
“A pleasure,” Lark said, watching him. “It was very kind of you all to host me.”
“Oh, Jess hosts strangers all the time,” her brother said, going to snatch a floret of broccoli from the bowl Jess had added to the table. “Newcomers from the spa, people moving into town. We’re used to strays.”
She rapped his fingers with a wooden spoon as he reached for another floret. “Mind your manners, if you please. Lark will think you weren’t raised properly.”
“I wasn’t,” he said, looking to Lark with wide, innocent eyes so like his sister’s. “Ask Aunt Maudie. I was bought from the gypsies on a full moon and thrown in the sea at the first opportunity.”
“Both true,” his aunt said with a nod.
“Neither true,” Jess corrected them, adding a bowl of golden cheese sauce to the table. “Though you did start sailing at an early age.”
“Best way to meet mermaids.” He winked at Lark.
Maudie brightened. “Oh, will they be joining us too?”
“No,” Jess said, finality in her voice. “If you’d all be seated, dinner is served.”
Maudie and Alex sat on one side, Jess on the other. The only empty place was at the head of the table or beside her on the bench. Lark sat beside her. His boots brushed her skirts. Once more, he caught a whiff of lavender.
As if unaffected by his presence, Jess clasped her hands and bowed her head, and he joined the others in mimicking her.
“Dear Lord,” she said as if talking to a good friend, “thank You for the food before us, the friends and family around us, and the affection between us. May we remember Your blessings, now and always. Amen.”
“Amen,” echoed Maudie and Alex.
He’d said a blessing most of his life, but thankfulness pushed his head up once more. Smiles flashed. Laughter rang out. Conversation passed as quickly as the bowls from hand to hand. Newly caught fish, golden and firm. Broccoli fresh from the farm with a sharp cheese sauce to cover it. Apple cider from last year’s press, still crisp and tart. And Jess beside him, as if she belonged there.
This was the friendship, the camaraderie he’d thought they’d once shared, the closeness he’d missed. It was as if he’d found a home he’d never known he’d sought.
Was he truly willing to risk it all by questioning the one person who most intrigued him, her brother?
Chapter Fifteen
Why did dinner seem more companionable again? She glanced to the head of the table, where her father had sat from before she was born. None of them had felt comfortable taking that seat. But she could not deny how pleasant it was to have Lark at her side now, as if he belonged there.
Guilt tugged at her. Truth be told, she hadn’t invited him just for his company, however pleasant she found it. She’d been hoping Alex would make an appearance, and she’d only been relieved when she’d risen to attend church and found his dirty clothes sticking out of the wash basket. She’d plucked out the trousers, noting the mud along the bottom. And was that a strand of seaweed?
“Alex?” she’d called up the ladder.
“Too tired for services,” he’d called down. “You can tell me what happened later.”
Her mouth had tightened. “We’ll be having company for dinner tonight. See that you’re dressed and presentable. No excuses.”
She must have sounded as determined as she’d felt, for Alex had been home when she and Maudie had returned from the spa. There too, things had been a bit rough. Miss Barlow appeared to be conscientious in her duties, if perhaps a bit too zealous, but the other guests seemed restive, and only her constant reassurances had calmed the
waters. All she could hope was that her brother’s conversation with Lark would give her insights into what he was doing and how she could help him. Then they could finish locating this Lord of the Smugglers, and things could return to normal.
Lark’s boot bumped her skirt as he shifted on the bench, and suddenly the food she’d worked so hard to prepare tasted like ash. When they found the smugglers, life would indeed return to normal, and Lark would leave.
“So, you started sailing at an early age,” he ventured to her brother now, his fingers tearing open a crusty roll.
Oblivious to her conflicted feelings, Alex grinned. “I was four, no less. Father claimed I was precocious.”
Jess rallied. “Which was his way of saying you needed to be kept out from under foot.”
Alex shrugged. “Well, you didn’t start until you were six, so I beat you there.”
Lark turned to her. “You sail?”
Something tingled through her at the avid interest in his gaze. Once she might have denied it. There had been a time when being seen as a lady was all important to her. It still was. Hoydens did not host spas. But surely she need not posture with him.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Father wouldn’t have had it any other way. He said just because we lived on the shore didn’t mean we shouldn’t learn to respect the sea.”
Alex nodded, flaking off some of the fish. “Sailing is in a Chance’s blood, just like living in Grace-by-the-Sea.”
“And becoming a physician,” Jess reminded him.
“And dancing around toadstools,” Maudie added as Alex shoved the fish into his mouth.
“I have never danced around a toadstool,” Jess told her with a smile. “And I doubt you have either.”
Maudie nodded. “I might surprise you.” She bit into her roll.
“You all surprise me,” Lark put in.
Alex laughed. “Stick around Grace-by-the-Sea long enough, and nothing will surprise you.”
“Lark was asking about going sailing,” Jess said, trying to get the conversation back on topic that might inform her. “I thought you might take him, Alex.”