Usually on the fringe, Hunter had found himself at the very center. Surrounded by merry coalfield workers, his station elevated, Rafe’s brother had also found himself the leader of the night’s merriment.
Rafe’s fingers curled reflexively around his tankard, the handle fitting sharply into his calloused palm. How at home his brother appeared. When always before, he wore a scowl, now he had a smile. And bastard that Rafe was, in every sense of the word, he envied the younger man that happiness.
“Your brother,” Edwina began loudly.
Blinking several times slowly in confusion, he looked over, and then followed the slight nudge of her chin, over to Hunter. “Aye?” he said stiffly.
“He has a lovely voice,” she remarked.
Rafe hadn’t known as much because his brother barely took part in the revelries to the extent that he now did tonight. Now, when he had reason for song and merriment.
And Rafe didn’t want to think of his brother. Not this night. Rafe didn’t want to think about the fact that he had been displaced from his job, replaced by his younger brother. Or that he was now in the midst of trying to figure out how in hell to spend his days.
“Are you going to drink it or cradle it?” he asked, changing the subject. Rafe lifted his tankard, clarifying his question.
Edwina raised the steel cup to her lips and inhaled. Her pert nose wrinkled, and her face pulled in a grimace, and with that, Rafe managed another smile since he’d caught sight of his brother in all his happiness. “It smells horrid.”
Holding his tankard out, he clanged the ring against hers in a mock toast, challenging her.
He thought for a moment she intended to reject that challenge, he should have known better.
Taking in a deep breath, Edwina raised her glass, tipped it back, and chugged.
Deeply.
The long, graceful column of her neck moved rhythmically and quickly as she downed the contents of her drink.
“Whoa, you are not supposed to consume it quite so quickly,” he instructed her, hastily reaching across the table, and resting a hand on the fingers cradling her mug.
Edwina set it down with a little splat and then, ever so gingerly, dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “That is . . . rather horrid stuff.” Her shoulders and chest lifted as she hiccoughed, and he grinned.
Mr. Ward immediately reappeared and eyed Edwina’s empty tankard approvingly. “I knew I was right about this girl,” he said proudly. “Knows her spirits, she does.”
From over the top of the innkeeper’s hand, as he poured, Edwina caught Rafe’s eye.
“Do not say anything,” she mouthed at him, perfectly forming each syllable.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Rafe mouthed back, following that assurance with a wink.
“What is that, Mr. Audley?”
“I was just saying to the lady I couldn’t dream of a more splendid ale,” he expertly substituted, and the already tall innkeeper grew several inches under that praise. Bustling off, Mr. Ward went to refill the tankards of the table of nearby patrons.
“You’re not horrified.”
Her tankard still in her hands, Edwina dropped her elbows on the table and leaned across the small, cylindrical surface. “That was your intention and plan.”
Rafe’s cheeks went warm.
Edwina’s eyes rounded. “Why . . . why . . . you are blushing, Mr. Audley.”
“That is p-preposterous,” he sputtered. “I would never do anything like . . . Like . . .”
“Blush?” she winged up an eyebrow, and edged forward another fraction so that their elbows touched. “You needn’t worry,” she whispered. “Your secret is safe with me. The men and women who work for you will never learn about your blushing.”
And his brief good humor ended with that reminder, the reminder of his brother’s new role. And their father’s determination to control Rafe’s life. The muscles along his jaw tensed. “They aren’t my workers,” he said coolly. “Not anymore.” Inadvertently, his focus slid over to Hunter, who was just concluding his rousing rendition of Jack Hall.
Edwina followed his stare.
“My brother replaced me.”
“And that . . . displeases you?” There was confusion and a question there.
“No. Yes.” He scraped a hand through his hair. Picking up his tankard, he took a long swallow. “I don’t . . . know. I just know . . .” He stopped.
“What is it?” she asked, as laughter rolled around the taproom from men deciding upon the next ditty to be sung.
“I just know that it’s my role. And I want it. It’s what I’m comfortable doing. And being. And I resent losing that assignment, even if the one to replace me is my brother.” Even as that truth and admission marked him a disloyal brother, there was no freeing Rafe of those sentiments.
Edwina took another drink, this time slower and more tentatively. When she set it down, she was more serious than he’d seen her these past days. “Just because it is comfortable doesn’t mean that it is best for you.”
A sneer formed on his lips, replacing the earlier grin that had come too easily. “And you think after but a few days, you know what is better for me?” She gave no outward indication of the layer of steel in that mocking question he put to her.
“No,” she said calmly, “I don’t know that. But I don’t know and you don’t know that there isn’t a better future that you might want, because you’ve never experienced it. Just as I’ve never experienced this.” She raised her tankard and took another long swallow. “Or this.” She motioned to the taproom. This time when she spoke, her cheeks were brightly flushed, likely from both the heat of the room and the amount of spirits she’d consumed . . . and the pace at which she’d consumed them. “In fact, prior to this, I wasss certain I hated the country and never wished to return.” There was a slight slur to her words.
Never wished to return.
So she’d spent some time outside London. It was, he’d wager, an accidental admission on her part.
He and Edwina returned to their drinks, settling back into their seats and watching as the lively crowd stomped their feet and raised their voices in song. As the evening wore on, Edwina continued drinking her ale, swaying and tapping her feet in time to the songs.
“Why are you looooking at him like that?” Edwina asked loud enough to be heard over the cacophony.
“Because I envy him,” he called, not bothering with a lie. “I know it is wrong,” he made himself acknowledge. “He’s always wanted this.” At her questioning look, he clarified. “To be foreman, and it’s only temporary, but then in the meantime—”
“In the meantime, Rafe, you should be happy for him and look at this as fate’s way of telling you to carpe diem!” She threw her arms up. “Seize the day!”
Seize the day.
She dragged her chair closer, until she was seated on the same side of the table as Rafe. So that their knees brushed. “Come with me.” He went completely motionless under that sultry whisper, and his eyes went to her mouth. “To London,” she finished with her big smile.
Come with her . . . to London.
When she said it as she did . . . in those husky tones, a plea in her voice and her eyes, it was as though she wanted it. And that she didn’t speak for and because of the duke. And perhaps it was a product of drink or the celebratory mood of the room, but there was . . . an appeal to Edwina’s request.
Then she took his hand in hers. “Do you know, I rather like this.” He glanced down at their connected fingers. “Being in the country. And I didn’t think I would,” she rambled on. “But I do. And if you came to London, you would, too, and you know it.” She jabbed him with a finger. “I know it, but you’re scared.
He opened his mouth to debate that point. He wasn’t afraid . . . of anything.
And yet, a voice whispered, What if that’s wh
at it was? Fear and resentment? Of the mother who’d loved that place, and a determination to have nothing to do with it for how it had weakened her?
Edwina jumped up, saving him from the tumult of his musings. He stared questioningly, as she wended her way to the makeshift stage and, hefting up her skirts, climbed atop it. She spoke several words to a blushing Alan Meadows on fiddle. The young man nodded, and then raised the instrument to his chin. And when Meadows plied the strings with his bow, Edwina lifted her hands above her head, and clapping in time to the beat, she launched into gusty song.
Lord Lovel he stood at his own castle gate,
A-combing his milk-white steed,
When up came Lady Nancy Belle
To wish her lover good speed, good speed.
To wish her lover good speed.
Cradling his drink in his hands, Rafe sat back bemused and watched as she danced around the small stage, singing and motioning with her arms for the men and women around her to join in.
Which . . . they of course did. Because the same way she’d enthralled Cailin, she’d managed to beguile the whole of the damned village.
And you, too . . .
Rafe took a long drink, hoping liquor might dull that silent realization. Reclining in his seat, he continued to watch.
This was, yet again, another new glimpse of her.
Granted, this present exuberance was a product of strong ale, but that didn’t take away from the fact that she knew those old folk songs and moved comfortably among the villagers. Rafe looked on at the engaged crowd . . . including his brother.
Smiling, as Rafe had never seen him, and clapping enthusiastically alongside the other miners. Edwina’s surprisingly deep, husky contralto soared throughout the room.
He had not been gone but a year and a day,
Strange countries for to see,
When a strange thought came into his head—
And in that moment the depth of his selfishness and resentment hit him, as he acknowledged that perhaps Edwina had been correct. That Rafe’s going to London might be for the best . . . just for reasons he’d not before considered. He could simultaneously free his sister from this place . . . if even just for a short while, and allow his brother to have this opportunity without Rafe here. Rafe, who had gone out of his way to protect his siblings but might have also inadvertently constrained them. And the most unlikely of persons had opened Rafe’s eyes to that.
From across the crowded room, Edwina caught his eye, and as she sang, it was as if the lyrics spilling from her lips were reserved for him.
He found himself returning her smile.
He’d only had two tankards, and yet, perhaps it was a stronger-than-usual brew. There was no accounting for . . . any of this.
A tall figure stepped between Rafe and Edwina, shattering that connection.
He glanced up to find Hunter’s smile gone and his features in their usual serious set. “May I sit?” he shouted over Edwina’s rousing rendition of “Lord Lovel.”
“Of course.”
A tankard in one hand, Hunter slid into the seat previously occupied by Edwina.
Despite the merry revelry of the taproom, there was tension between them. One that had never been there before, and one that Rafe didn’t want there. He’d raised his brother and had only wanted happiness for him. Well, now he had it, and it would be wrong not to allow him that moment.
In the meantime, Rafe, you should be happy for him and look at this as fate’s way of telling you to carpe diem! Seize the day!
She’d been . . . correct. Which raised the uncomfortable question, what else might she be right about?
“You’ve been smiling tonight. Am I to take that . . . as hope that you might not be quite so angry as you’ve been?” Hunter ventured to ask, and in the hesitancy there, in his voice, and in his eyes, he had the look of the small boy whom Rafe himself had cared for.
“I’m not. Not with you,” he corrected. “It was never about you,” he said, needing Hunter to understand that.
Hunter’s wide shoulders sagged, his relief palpable. And just like that, they returned to the companionable way it had always been between them. They sipped their ale, watching the crowd. “She’s still here,” Hunter remarked.
“Aye.”
Just then, the “she” in question kicked up her heels and danced a lively jig that earned a rousing cheer from the crowd.
“Bothersome wench hasn’t taken the hint, has she?”
Rafe frowned into his drink. “Bothersome wench” wasn’t at all different than how Rafe had thought of the lady, but hearing Hunter speak of Edwina that way grated on him. “I’m going to London,” he said quietly.
His brother, in the middle of bobbing his head in time to the music, abruptly stopped. “What?” he blurted out.
“I’m going with her.”
Hunter’s features darkened. “This is because of me,” he said tightly. “I knew you were angry—”
“This isn’t about that,” Rafe interrupted. Perhaps initially it had been the reason for his capitulation. “I . . . thought it would be beneficial for Cailin to have some time away from Staffordshire and I’ve never been afforded an opportunity to do so.” Not with his work.
His youngest brother eyed him skeptically. “You can’t possibly wish to go see him.”
“No,” he said calmly. That hadn’t changed, and never would. “This isn’t about him. Not really.” It was about the Audley siblings. “The duke is determined to interfere in our lives and will continue to do so.” That is, if Rafe didn’t agree to this. “It’s the surest way to be done with him.”
“And so you’ll go with her?”
They looked as one to where an increasingly breathless Edwina danced about her stage, singing; Meadows’s playing built to a frenzied crescendo. “I will.”
Edwina concluded her song, and the entire tavern erupted in cheers. Her heart-shaped cheeks flushed from her exertions, her hair, those strands of auburn that melded every shade of brown and red there was, hung in a tangle about her shoulders. The young lady swept her arms wide and bowed for her besotted audience.
“Good luck with that one,” Hunter said, with a wry shake of his head.
Good luck, indeed.
Edwina came crashing and stumbling through the crowd, a tankard supplied by some patron or another in each of her hands, and she alternately drank from them.
“Oh, hell,” Rafe muttered. This was not going to be good.
She knocked into the table. “Did you hear me?” she asked breathlessly. “I was magnificent, wasn’t I?”
“Modest, too,” his brother drawled.
“Other Mrrr. Audley,” she greeted, lifting her drinks in a double salute. “How very good it is to see you again.”
Shoving back his chair, Rafe hastily relieved her of those tankards and set them out of her reach. “I think you’ve had enough of this.”
“I am sooo happy to know you are happy with your work,” she said, as she seated herself.
Hunter tipped his cap. “Miss.” Finishing off his ale, Hunter came to his feet. He smiled wryly at Rafe. “I’ll leave you to your pleasures.” His sarcastic tone, however, indicated his words were anything but false.
Again, Rafe had been of a like opinion where Edwina Dalrymple was concerned: she was a bothersome, underfoot busybody. Something, however, had changed.
The moment his brother had gone, Edwina all but flung herself across the top of the table, sprawling over that ale-stained surface. “Did you seeee me?” Her eyes glimmered from the depth of her excitement.
“I did,” he murmured. He’d been unable to look anywhere but at her.
She grabbed his hands in hers, crushing them against her breasts, and he swallowed hard.
“This isn’t so very terrrrible, you know.”
Touching her like this, in the middle of a crowded taproom, when she was three sheets to the wind, however, was. And not because he didn’t like the feel of her. Nay, not that. It was because she felt so damned good. “I told you as much,” he said hoarsely, because he had to say . . . something.
She wagged an unsteady finger at him. “Now, now. Do not go and pretend you were trying toooo show me. You were trying to scaaare me into leaving.” She curled her hands up into makeshift claws and raised them, in mock-menace, and then promptly dissolved into laughter, pitching forward.
Rafe caught her to him. “I think it is long past time for you to find your rooms.”
“You’re a killller of fun, Mr. Rafe Audddley. This is ever so much more funnn than I ever recalll. The people are sooooo nice,” she slurred, as she held on to his waist, using him as a crutch.
“And that surprises you?”
Edwina hummed a jaunty tune under her breath as they walked. “Oh, yes.”
The effects of the spirits made that admission casual . . . when it was anything but.
She’d been the recipient of unkindness. Knowing that she’d been subject to it, and also at his hands, left a tightness in his chest.
They made their way slowly and unsteadily across the taproom. The patrons lifted their glasses in greeting as they passed.
“Seee . . . how niiice.” Leaning up on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth close to his ear, and her overconsumption of spirits turned a whisper into a shout. “People are not allllways kind, you know.”
Yes, he did. “You said as much.” And he expected coldness would meet him in London.
“Do you know what else is niiice?” she asked, as they made their way upstairs.
The feel of her pressed against his side. The taste of her lips. The bell-like quality of her laughter. “What is that, princess?”
They reached her rooms. “Those things you did to me the other night. Sooo nice.”
He strangled on a groan. This was to be his punishment, then, for having been a bastard to her. “I am glad you found it so.” Rafe guided her near the wall, so she had the support of it behind her. “Your key.”
Along Came a Lady Page 18