He drew in a sharp breath. “It belongs to you.”
“Frances gave it to me before he died…of consumption, though in truth the doctor bled him until…” She bit her lip as a knot rose up in her throat. She had held Frances’s hand as he departed this earthly life. Brushing away her sad memory, she sat up straighter. “I read all the poems, though I did not memorize any as I had hoped, but you’ll find a soothing quality to the verses that will ease your mind.”
His dark eyes captured hers with an understanding she had not recognized until now. An overwhelming tide of dismay threatened the grip she held on her composure.
He took the book from her. “I met Mr. Freneau once, and listened to him recite some of his poems.”
“Poetry would put me to sleep in a moment,” Mrs. Ulery stated with no small amount of cynicism. “I have no patience for verse. A story is far better without meter and rhyme.”
“The rhyme makes poetry easier to memorize than a story.” Derrick sipped from his glass.
Margaret’s thoughts drifted away as a dull ache settled inside her. Listening to Derrick recite poetry with his resonant voice would be a pleasure she would never know.
“Poetry is rigorous and exacting. Every word must be just so,” Mrs. Ulery complained. “Stories are more interesting, especially because you can always make them even better.”
Derrick chuckled and Margaret stared at him in wonder since he rarely expressed humor.
“Were all those tales you told the other passengers on the Prosperity somewhat embellished?” he asked.
Mrs. Ulery shifted indignantly. “Those were all true.”
“Come, come now,” he pressed. “They seemed preposterous.”
“I read them in some of the books my husband bound,” she confessed. “They were accounts witnessed by travelers.”
“Like Gulliver’s Travels?” Margaret asked.
Mrs. Ulery ran her finger around the edge of the wineglass. “I am aware that Mr. Swift intended to poke fun at other traveler’s reports, but the ones I read were reliable stories.”
“I have often wondered why Mr. Swift didn’t put a sea monster in his story when so many other travelers claimed to have seen one,” Derrick mused.
“Obviously, sea monsters are not rare,” Margaret offered. “Perhaps Mr. Swift didn’t want his story to be a mere recounting of ordinary events.”
“Excellent point.” Derrick’s dark gaze settled upon Margaret’s features, and the warmth of his smile touched the hollow space inside her.
She gloried in the shared moment. For a fraction of a second, her worries ceased, and happiness coursed through her until reality intruded. Derrick’s return to London was inevitable.
“I deem murderers far more frightening than sea monsters, but since I found the key for the lock to this room I shall sleep like a log.” Mrs. Ulery held up the key.
Margaret’s concerns crowded down upon her once more. “Why would anyone kill the solicitor?”
“Most probably, a thief came to rob this place,” Mrs. Ulery stated.
“But—you said most of the rooms are empty,” she looked at Derrick.
“How would a thief know that?” he asked.
“Unless—unless he was after the Riesling.” The highwayman had wanted to take the widow’s whiskey. Certainly, he could have sold it—or drank it. Wine was a valuable commodity, Margaret thought.
“Thieves usually prefer gold and silver,” Mrs. Ulery commented. She decided the rabbits were cooked. Derrick lifted the sword and slid the rabbits onto a waiting plate.
* * *
Much to her surprise, Margaret fell into a dreamless sleep on the sofa in the drawing room. She woke to the warmth of the sun pouring through an open window. Mrs. Ulery was no longer reclining on the divan. Margaret glanced about, but the older woman was nowhere.
Struggling to allay her fears, she told herself Mrs. Ulery went outside to use the necessary or to the barn in search of another rabbit for breakfast.
With her heart pounding, Margaret stepped out into the hallway. Sunlight played on the walls and the floor. What had seemed like a sinister and sepulchral abode last night now appeared quite habitable in the bright light of day.
She heard the chatter of voices far off. Mingled with the deep tones of Derrick’s unmistakable bass rose the higher tones of Mrs. Ulery and Theo. She followed the sounds and arrived at a cavernous kitchen where the three sat eating at a long refectory table with benches on either side.
Margaret stood in stunned awe as she scanned the room. There were four ovens. She blinked and thought perhaps she was dreaming. She walked closer to the huge hearth. Her eyes had not deceived her.
“Aha! Lady Sunshine has finally arisen.” Derrick turned and blinded her with his wide smile. “Come join the feast. Theo found a farmer with an excess of eggs he was willing to part with for a small fee.”
“I gave him an old whip from the barn.” Theo shrugged. “The leather is starting to crack, but he didn’t seem to mind.”
“We have strawberries, too. They were outside in what was the garden, though it’s terribly overrun with weeds. Still, the berries are beautiful and quite sweet.” Mrs. Ulery picked up some of the bright fruit.
They were a disheveled group. She and Mrs. Ulery had fallen asleep fully clothed. She tucked the loose strands of her hair in her cap and tugged at her bodice to straighten it.
Derrick had not donned his jacket and he had rolled up his shirtsleeves. He had often worked like that on the deck of the Prosperity. He cut a handsome figure when he showed off his tanned forearms.
She slid onto the bench beside him. As she reached for a mug of tea, he moved to give it to her. She clasped the mug first, and his hand encompassed hers. The warmth and pressure of his touch reassured her. She did trust him. She had not wanted to rely on him, but she did.
“I did some exploring this morning,” he explained. “I thought you’d be interested in knowing there is a dungeon beneath us, but like all the rooms on the upper floors, it is empty.”
“I suppose that’s comforting.” She sipped the tea and found herself much restored.
“From the look of things, your grandfather lived in a few rooms,” chimed in Mrs. Ulery. “Four are furnished, along with this kitchen and a lovely chapel.”
“Do you suppose my grandfather became a recluse after my mother left?” Margaret had read all the letters he’d sent several times each. He never mentioned anyone else in the letters except the solicitor.
“The farmer saw him all the time. He told me the old earl bought his eggs,” said Theo. “He paid him with jewels—rubies and sapphires and even diamonds.”
“That’s absurd,” Mrs. Ulery scoffed. “He was pulling your leg.”
Theo shrugged. “He said it was true and he made a pretty penny selling the jewels.”
“Does the farmer own a grand manor house with many servants?” Derrick asked.
“No, but he has a lot of chickens—many more than my family has,” Theo explained.
Margaret ate slowly as the weight of yesterday’s event pressed upon her. What was she to do? Who had killed the solicitor? Another highwayman? Was England populated with vicious reprobates who gave no thought to eternal judgment?
Derrick broke into her morbid musing. “The barn and carriage house are as vacant as most of the rooms. Theo has promised to stay with you. I’ll talk to his father about the arrangements when I check on Finney on my way back to London.”
Margaret nodded and clenched her hands in her lap as she recalled the day they had met. Every detail of his face would be etched in her mind forever. He was not the same arrogant doctor she had met in the beginning of her journey. Despite their differences, they had learned to work amicably, side by side, in caring for the sailors. A ceaseless question hammered in her mind. Had he come to care about her?
She promised herself this time when they parted, she would not be cool to him. She intended to thank him with all her heart. Her eyes grew misty
.
When breakfast was done, Derrick went to saddle his horse. Margaret followed him to the barn.
Her thoughts jumbled in her head. She wanted to ask him about his feeling for her, but she didn’t know how to start.
“Remember to keep all the doors and windows locked.” He checked his saddlebags.
She nodded.
“I’ll will post a letter to you about Finney’s condition.” He placed his hat on his head.
She laid her hand on his arm. “I am…sorry you are leaving us. I cannot thank you enough for all your help...”
“It was my pleasure to be of some assistance.”
The deep and husky tone of his voice touched a chord within her. She wanted the best for him, whatever that might be.
“I will pray for you—even if you don’t believe, I do. Knowing the Lord is watching over you will give me comfort.” She waited for the thundercloud to descend upon his brow and for him to deny vehemently the existence of God, but he surprised her.
He slid one hand behind her back and pulled her close to him. “Thank you.”
Her heart leaped as she gazed up at his dark, mournful eyes. Her soul stirred with a lightness she had never known. Did she love him?
His lips came down on hers. Tender, gentle, and slow—as if time had no meaning for either of them. They stood beside the horse, locked in an embrace, for what seemed like an eternity as the sun shone down upon them.
The precious moment ended abruptly when the sound of a galloping team of horses shattered the quiet summer morning.
They jumped apart and turned. A large coach emblazoned with a gold-encrusted family crest thundered into the yard. The liveried help wore splendid uniforms, but the man who stepped out of the impressive carriage outshone them all with his plumed hat, flowing wig, embroidered silk jacket, gold-handled cane, and buckled shoes.
“You there!” he shouted at them. “Who are you?”
“I am Margaret McGowan, granddaughter of the late Earl of Broadcraft, and this is Doctor Derrick Fortune,” she answered.
“Come here!” he demanded. He tapped his cane with impatience.
She glanced at Derrick.
“We’ll see what he wants.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.
Margaret trembled all over. Had the kiss left her rattled, or was it this sudden interruption that unnerved her?
“Hurry it up,” the dandy ordered. “I’ve much to do today.” He mopped the perspiration from his brow with a lace-edged linen handkerchief.
“Anthony would be extremely jealous of him,” Derrick whispered.
Margaret gave him a small smile. “Too bad Anthony is not here. They might make fine friends.”
When they reached the demanding fop, Derrick asked, “What is it you want?”
“Don’t be impertinent,” he scolded. “Don’t you recognize the crest on my coach?”
“It means nothing to us,” Margaret said.
“I am Lord Isaac Whittington, first cousin, once removed, of the late Earl of Broadcraft. I shall become the next Earl of Broadcraft as soon as his blasted will is read.”
“Congratulations,” Derrick stated drily.
“What kind of doctor are you?” the soon-to-be earl asked.
“A surgeon, from Philadelphia, here to study with John Hunter.”
“Humph. Hunter you say. He pays people to snatch bodies for him. Are you one of those resurrectionists?”
Derrick glared at the man. “I am skilled in amputating body parts. I can slice through a femur in a few seconds.”
Lord Isaac paled for a moment but recovered his bluster quickly. “You are not to stay on my property. If you do, you and your entourage will be thrown in jail for trespassing.” He shook his cane for emphasis.
Margaret quailed with uncertainty but she fought to keep her voice calm. “I was given instructions to come here by my grandfather’s solicitor. Unfortunately, when we arrived last night we found him dead.”
“He had no right to tell you to stay in my home,” Lord Isaac railed.
“The solicitor explained the will is to be read inside the study of Broadcraft Hall, a stipulation put into the will by my grandfather.” Margaret dredged up a reserve of courage she did not know she possessed.
“Your grandfather was a fool,” Lord Isaac growled.
Anger ignited in her heart. She wanted to lash out at the man, but she forced herself to clamp her mouth shut.
“De mortuis nihil nisi bonum.” Derrick quoted a Latin phrase Margaret knew well for her brother-in-law used it frequently. “It is inappropriate to speak ill of the dead.”
“Don’t spout off sanctimonious nonsense to me. The crazy old man kept this place locked up like a tomb. It will take years to set it to rights,” Lord Isaac complained. “I’ve obtained the services of the king’s decorators, who are arriving this afternoon.”
“They’ll have a large blood stain to remove.” Derrick shrugged.
“Nothing in the will allows you to live here.” Lord Isaac pointed at Margaret.
“She is a relative of yours.” Derrick glowered at the man while steel sharpened his voice.
“She’s the daughter of a rebel—a traitor. I will not have her, or you, nor any of your scurvy companions, taking over my residence. I am the earl now, and those who disobey me will be severely punished.” His jowls shook in perfect sequence with the shaking of his cane. “Broadcraft Hall is rightfully mine.” His eyes narrowed. “I am the legal heir.”
“You are my first cousin, three times removed,” Margaret met his accusing eyes without flinching. “Opening your home to a visiting relative for a short period of time is the proper thing to do.”
“A gentleman, such as yourself, is always gracious and hospitable—especially to those of the fairer sex.” Derrick’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
The earl’s jowls quivered and he was about to blast them with another invective when a phaeton pulled up beside the large coach.
Two men in somber attire stepped out. One carried a writing desk. Behind the phaeton came two guards on horseback. They dismounted.
The men who had been in the phaeton made short bows, and the taller man of the two announced, “I am Harold Tinton, and this is George Willis. We learned of our colleague’s tragic death this morning.”
Surprised by their arrival, Margaret hurriedly composed herself. “Please let me offer my deepest sympathy.”
“I want to offer my condolences as well,” Derrick held out his hand to the men.
“What was your man doing on my property last night?” Lord Isaac fumed.
Mr. Tinton cleared his throat. “He usually came by every evening to check whether Miss Margaret had arrived, as well as to assure himself nothing had been taken by vandals.”
“There’s little to take,” Lord Isaac complained. “It was emptied years ago.”
“The earl had no need for all those extra rooms,” Mr. Willis spoke up.
“Where did everything go?” Lord Isaac asked. “I want it back.”
Mr. Tinton cleared his throat again. “Perhaps, once we read the earl’s last wishes, your questions will be answered. There is a rather lengthy preamble.”
“The earl insisted upon the reading as soon as Miss Margaret arrived,” Mr. Willis stated. “It should have been read last night.”
“I wish it had been so,” Margaret sighed.
“Then let’s get on with it,” Lord Isaac grumbled. “The decorators are due to arrive shortly.” He called his liveried men to join him.
“Your men cannot be present during the reading,” Mr. Tinton stated.
“That’s outrageous,” Lord Isaac hissed.
“It is stipulated in the will,” Mr. Willis added.
“My men come with me and that’s final.” He started toward the door.
The guards lowered their muskets and aimed the weapons at Lord Isaac and his servants.
“This is unwarranted! You cannot do this,” Lord Isaac yelled.
“You must listen to the will without any attendants.” Mr. Tinton’s voice had the chill of winter in it.
“If you do not wish to attend the reading under the stipulated rules, you forfeit your inheritance,” Mr. Willis explained.
“What about your attendants, these burly and unwashed guards?” Lord Isaac sneered.
“They will be with us during the reading,” Mr. Tinton stated.
“There’s no need for armed guards,” Lord Isaac fumed.
“It is all according to the late earl’s wishes,” Mr. Willis added.
“That blasted—” Lord Isaac began.
Derrick interrupted, “Now, now, Lord Isaac, remember what I told you. De mortuis nihil nisi bonum.”
Margaret’s nerves wound as tight as a clock spring. Lord Isaac reminded her of one of those cannons on the Prosperity, but with a lit fuse, ready to blast everything to pieces.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Derrick clenched his jaw. The situation appeared far too volatile. He could not leave, not now at any rate. Questions swirled in his mind. Why was the huge mansion empty? Had the old earl insisted the will be read in the study with guards on hand, or did the solicitors add that stipulation as a safety measure after last night’s murder?
With the pleading look from Margaret’s silver eyes, he refused to move more than a foot away from her. The flavor of her lips lingered on his tongue. She was sweeter than the bright berries he had for breakfast. She tempted him, and he was unable to resist. She was his Lady Sunshine, and he longed to bathe in her radiant warmth.
“You must be on your way,” she said. A tremor touched her delicate mouth, and he wanted to gather her in the safety of his arms and soothe her fears.
“I intend to discover how you fare in the will,” he told her. “If I am assured you are well-situated, I will be comforted.”
“What if I am not?” She wrung her hands together.
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