Read Desire Becomes Her Online

Authors: Shirlee Busbee

Desire Becomes Her (10 page)

BOOK: Desire Becomes Her
2.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Without question!” Silas declared roundly. “As for the
ton
—it has been a long time, my child, since I have worried about the
ton.
Let them gossip! While their tongues wag, we shall be here snug as bugs in a rug. What do we care?” He smiled at her. “I am an old man. And I would far rather spend my last days having my two favorite nieces brightening my days than to be parading up and down Pall Mall.” Gillian choked back tears. “Oh, Uncle Silas! We are your
only
nieces.”
He beamed at her. “Yes. And isn’t it lucky? We have no one else to worry about except ourselves.”
It was nearly an hour later before Meacham came to escort the ladies back to their rooms. Much had been discussed and decided in that hour. Silas would make the announcement that Gillian and Sophia would be living permanently with him at High Tower sometime tomorrow evening when Luc Joslyn came to dine.
Rubbing his hands together, Silas said with glee, “I can hardly wait to see the expression on Canfield’s face. Stanley will most likely get his nose out of joint at the news, but with Luc present, he should behave himself.”
“Or not,” interposed Sophia. “He and Canfield were both rude to Mr. Joslyn, and there was no need for Stanley to air our private affairs in front of him. What Mr. Joslyn must think of us I dare not guess.”
Silas waved a dismissing hand. “Don’t you worry about Luc. He can handle a lot worse than what Stanley and Canfield can throw his way.”
The final decision had been the disposal of the cottage where the two ladies had lived. On the morrow Silas would send several servants to Gillian’s cottage to pack and bring all of hers and Sophia’s belongings back to High Tower. The cow, the pig and even the chickens didn’t give Silas pause: they all could go to the estate farm.
Following Meacham down the hall, Gillian admitted that while it wasn’t very nice of her, she couldn’t deny a sense of satisfaction knowing that by the time Canfield initiated his threat to take the cottage to cover Charles’s vowels, he’d find nothing but an empty building. Her eyes glittered. Now if the cottage would only burn to the ground ... It was a wicked thought and she was ashamed of herself ... but not, she admitted wryly, as much as she should have been.
 
Through the neighborhood grapevine, Luc heard of Stanley and Canfield’s Thursday night visit to The Ram’s Head the next afternoon. Bored and restless, he’d ridden into Broadhaven to while away a few hours at The Crown, the only other tavern in the village, before returning home to dress for dinner at High Tower.
Run by Mrs. Gilbert, a widow, and her five daughters, The Crown was as different from The Ram’s Head as chalk is to cheese. Older and less flamboyant, Mrs. Gilbert’s establishment was smaller, more intimate than Nolles’s place—and with none of the loud, rough crowd one would find at The Ram’s Head. Primarily the haunt of hardworking, honest fishermen, laborers and farmers and their families, The Crown had a comfortable, settled charm—like a favorite pair of slippers. Since Barnaby arrived in the area and his preference for The Crown became known, the clientele had changed slightly. Lord Broadfoot and a few other members of the local gentry wandered in these days to enjoy a tankard of ale or a snifter of brandy in Mrs. Gilbert’s establishment.
In the main room of the tavern, the oak beams in the ceiling were black with age and crisp lace curtains hung at the windows. The furnishings were rustic, the sturdy oak tables showing the nicks and dings of age; the planked floor gleamed with a patina only obtained by the passage of decades. Nose-twitching scents floated in the air—fresh baked bread and simmering meat mingled with the smell of lemon punch, ale and spirits, and the fire burning in the big brick fireplace welcomed one to come and sit and share a pint or two with friends.
Entering the tavern, Luc wasn’t surprised to find the tavern nearly empty at this time of day. Farmers were still busy in the fields and the fishermen hadn’t yet docked their boats with, hopefully, a hold full of fish.
At Luc’s entrance, the young woman behind the long counter at the rear of the room looked up from wiping the gleaming wooden surface of the bar. A smile burst across her pretty face and, stuffing the rag underneath the counter, and with the skirts of her brown woolen gown flying, she rushed up to Luc.
“Master Luc!” Mary Gilbert cried, blue eyes full of delight, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders. “You just sit right over there by the fire and let me go tell Ma that you are here.” Wiping her hands on her big white apron, she added, “She was just saying the other night that we haven’t seen you in a while.”
Mary Gilbert was the youngest of the five Gilbert daughters and looked very much like her sisters. All had their mother’s lively blue eyes and dark brown hair, though Mrs. Gilbert’s was liberally sprinkled with gray these days. Watching Mary bustle away, Luc grinned, thinking that the whole family was as appealing and as hard to resist as a basket of big-eyed kittens.
Following Mary’s directions, he settled himself at a table near the fireplace and stretched his legs toward the fire. Glancing around the room, he noted three men he recognized as day laborers nursing their mugs of ale at a table underneath one of the lace-curtained windows and nodded at a pair of retired fishermen he knew seated a few tables away.
Her cheeks pink, blue eyes bright and her gray-streaked hair pulled back into a bun, Mrs. Gilbert sailed into the room and, spying Luc, hustled over to join him.
Plump as a pouter pigeon, her features pleasant and cheerful, Mrs. Gilbert looked nothing like a smuggler, Luc mused, his lips twitching.
Yet it was true. Until a short while ago, Mrs. Gilbert, her five daughters, Jeb Brown, a local fisherman, and Luc’s own sister-in-law, Emily, now the Lady Joslyn, along with a few others, had been exactly that: a gang of smugglers. Luc owed his own arrival in England to Emily and Jeb and their smuggling activities. Jeb had been making a run to France and at Emily’s request had been on the lookout for Lord Joslyn’s half brother. Jeb had found him, ill and weak from an infection from a bullet, concealed in a brothel. Luc often wondered what his fate would have been if Jeb hadn’t so providentially shown up in Calais and wafted him to England.
His eyes hardened. It was only luck that he hadn’t been killed when Jeb and his men had made a landing that night near Cuckmere Haven and members of Nolles’s gang had attacked them. Jeb and his men had been roughed up, their contraband stolen, but no one had been killed. If for nothing else, Luc thought, he owed Nolles for that near miss.
“Now why do you look like that, young man?” Mrs. Gilbert demanded, seating herself across from him.
“I was thinking,” Luc admitted, “how much better the world would be if Nolles was no longer in it.”
Mrs. Gilbert nodded. “Now
that
I can’t disagree with!” Mrs. Gilbert had her own reasons for feeling as she did about Will Nolles. Her husband had been murdered after visiting The Ram’s Head one night, and though it could not be proved, the general belief was that Nolles had ordered Mr. Gilbert killed, hoping to eliminate the competition The Crown provided.
Mr. Gilbert’s death had been a blow, and Mrs. Gilbert and her daughters struggled to keep the tavern going, until Emily, in desperate straits because of her cousin’s spendthrift habits, had come up with the outrageous idea of repairing their fortunes by smuggling. With five daughters to provide for and faced with losing the tavern, Mrs. Gilbert had been the first member of what had become a small group of village investors that profited from Emily’s idea.
Smuggling might be illegal but it was the only thing that had saved some of the inhabitants of the neighborhood from losing everything they owned. It was also, Luc conceded, a way of life in these parts. Finding anyone not connected to the smuggling trade in some manner would be nearly impossible whether it was the relatives of the farmer whose horses were “borrowed” or the day laborers that helped move the contraband, all benefited from the trade. It wasn’t so surprising that Emily had turned to smuggling as a way of saving herself and the others.
Of course, Luc thought with smile, Barnaby hadn’t wanted his viscountess to continue as the head of a gang of smugglers, and since he married Emily, Barnaby had been busy concocting ways for everyone to earn a guinea or two. An
honest
guinea.
“What do you want to drink?” Mrs. Gilbert asked, breaking into his thoughts.
“This time of day—a tankard of ale, I think.”
Mrs. Gilbert waved over Mary, and once she had given Mary Luc’s order, she turned back to him. “I heard that you were escorting Mr. Ordway’s nieces around the other day,” she said. “You should have stopped—the day was chilly as I recall and I’d baked a nice Cheshire pork pie. It would have been my pleasure to serve the ladies in one of the private rooms and allow them to warm up near the fire before riding back to High Tower.”
Luc grinned at her. “You just want to be the first to meet them.”
She smiled. “I’m sure they would find The Crown more to their liking than Nolles’s place—even if Ordway’s nephew and his friend prefer The Ram’s Head.” At the sharpening interest in Luc’s gaze, she added, “One of my regulars happened to stop in there last night and saw the pair of them sitting at a table with Townsend and Nolles.” Slyly, she added, “I also heard that you were there last Friday night—watching Harlan Broadfoot gamble with the squire.” When Luc remained silent, she went on, “Now if
you
gambled with the squire that might explain why he has been whining to Nolles all week about his losses ... to young Broadfoot.”
Luc shook his head as Mary came up and set down his tankard of ale.
“Diantre!”
he exclaimed, amused and annoyed at the same time. “Does nothing happen in the neighborhood that you don’t hear about?”
Mary giggled and shook her head. “Now, Mister Luc, you know that you can’t hide anything from Ma. There’s some in the village that think she’s a witch.” She dimpled. “A
good
witch.”
“I run a tavern—people talk,” Mrs. Gilbert said, her blue eyes amused.
Someone called Mary’s name and she danced away to answer the call. Mrs. Gilbert watched her daughter’s slender form a moment before looking back at Luc. “Heard, too, that you were the one who found Silas Ordway that same night and rescued him from the ditch.”
“After I’d taken young Harlan home—drunk as a wheelbarrow.”
“I heard about that, too ... and what a wonderful run of luck he had pitted against the squire,” she retorted, disbelief in her tone.
“
Oui
—it was quite remarkable,” Luc said, his expression guileless. “I was amazed at the boy’s skill.”
Mrs. Gilbert shook her head and laughed. “You’re a very good liar.”
Luc looked modest and Mrs. Gilbert chuckled. “Very well, since you won’t tell me what really happened, tell me about Mr. Ordway’s nieces.” Thoughtfully, she added, “Odd that they should show up now for a visit, when to my knowledge it’s been years since they were last here. And now his nephew has also shown up on his doorstep—practically on their heels. Interesting, don’t you think?”
“My dear Madame, surely you do not expect me to gossip about my betters?” Luc teased.
Mrs. Gilbert snorted. “I doubt that you consider anyone your ‘better.’ ”
“That’s true,” Luc agreed. He was fond of Mrs. Gilbert, but he didn’t want to talk about Silas’s nieces with her, and if it had been anyone else but Mrs. Gilbert, he’d have frozen her with a look. Yet because of his fondness for her, for her whole family, he didn’t want to snub her either.
Mrs. Gilbert occupied a unique position within the American Joslyn circle, and none of them considered her merely a tavern keeper. Her connection with the Townsend family was long and close—she had been Emily’s wet nurse, and Emily and Cornelia held her in great affection. The smuggling scheme had deepened the bond between the women, and from the moment Barnaby had awakened in The Crown’s best bedroom, after nearly drowning in the Channel, he’d found himself in close association with Mrs. Gilbert. She knew, Luc thought with a smile, where all the family skeletons were buried. But that doesn’t mean, he admitted, that I intend to gossip about Gillian and Sophia with her. Now Stanley ...
“Did you hear anything else about Stanley Ordway’s visit to The Ram’s Head?” Luc asked abruptly.
Mrs. Gilbert shook her head. “Why are you so interested?” she asked.
It was his turn to shrug. “Idle curiosity.”
She didn’t believe him, but since she knew nothing else, she changed the subject, asking after Emily and Cornelia. After a few minutes of conversation, she rose from the table. Pausing for a moment before leaving, she looked down at him and said, “I don’t know why you were at The Ram’s Head talking to Nolles the other night, but I would remind you to step carefully around him.”
“Please,
non,
not you, too,” Luc said disgustedly. “I’ve already heard the lecture from both Lamb and Barnaby about how foolish I was.”
She bent near him, her eyes serious. “Luc, Nolles is a killer—no one knows it better than I. He hates Barnaby for what happened earlier this year and don’t think for a moment that because he’s made no move against any of you so far that he won’t do so when the mood strikes him. And it will. I don’t think he’s bold enough to go after Barnaby or Emily, but hurting you, or even killing you, would please him enormously because he knows how much pain it would cause your brother. Stay away from him.”
BOOK: Desire Becomes Her
2.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Sky Island by L. Frank Baum
What Thin Partitions by Mark Clifton
The Icarus Girl by Helen Oyeyemi
Precious and Grace by Alexander McCall Smith
Leximandra Reports, and other tales by Charlotte E. English
French Concession by Xiao Bai
Field of Graves by J.T. Ellison
Wings of Nestor by Walls, Devri