The English Lily (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (7 page)

“Fresh! Of course,” she said softly. “Yes. Yes, please. A shilling, my lord. Give her a shilling.”

After the wedding and their brief excursion through the town, Kendra strolled into the small room Joseph had let. Hand on her new hat, she pulled up abruptly at the sight of the sparse yet intimidating furnishings. A small table with two wooden chairs—and
one
bed, hardly larger than the berth aboard ship. She laid her fingers across her lips, still feeling Joseph’s feathered kiss when the blacksmith announced them man and wife. A warm sensation stole through her body.

She glanced about for the doll, relieved to see her comfortably ensconced in a chair next to the window, as if holding court. Her brightly colored skirt clashed terribly with the faded red fabric surrounding her.

“What is it?” Joseph asked. He stepped around Kendra and dropped their packages on the bed, seemingly not at all bothered.

She walked to the window and looked out over the street below and grinned, picturing the crudely sketched words. A sense of hope filled her. It wouldn’t be easy, but Mr. Thomas had been onto something in telling her to see whole words as pictures.

Gretna Green was a busy place. As a town on the main travel route between Edinburgh and Glasgow, it would be. She wondered how many English were wandering the small town. She’d never anticipated marrying in Gretna. That was for runaway lovers and kidnapped heiresses—

Joseph came up behind her, planted strong hands on her upper arms, and brushed his lips against her neck. Such compelling lips he had. “What has you smiling so?”

She leaned her head to one side and let him have his way. It was nothing short of exquisite. “How were you acquainted with that young couple who served as our witnesses?”

“I met them going into the blacksmith’s just before I came for you. You taste delicious,” he said. His voice dropped to a husky resonance that set her nerve endings afire.

“How do you suppose we got here?”

“I think it has to do with your doll.” His lips moved up the column of her neck to nibble the lobe of her ear.

She shivered. “That’s impossible.”

He turned her in his arms, trailed his lips along her jawline. He raised his head and speculated on the doll. “Is it?”

Laughter bubbled through her. “Surely, you do not believe in…in the dark arts.”

“I’m a magician. I believe in magic.” He sounded offended, which served to endear him to her more.

“Those are tricks,” she told him.

Grinning, his hands fell to his side. “What did you speak to the innkeeper regarding?”

She faced out the window again, but the view she saw was not couples drifting about hand-in-hand. Mr. Thomas’s blank eyes filled her thoughts. “I wanted to know how far Sunderland was from here. He said it’s less than a day’s journey.”

“What’s in Sunderland?” His footsteps echoed on bare wood as he crossed the room.

“Charles Thomas’s mum.”

****

Joseph Pinetti Gray did not feel like a married man should feel. In point of fact, he did not feel married at all. His adorable, enticing little wife remained a wife in name only—but not for long, he vowed.

He’d gone downstairs to procure dinner. By the time he returned, she was sleeping soundly, the doll snugly at her side, its painted eyes mocking him.

Brooding, he’d taken the chair, eaten, and watched the fire from the hearth play over her delicate features. Now that he’d secured her in matrimony, he felt strangely fretful,
guilty
. But that was ridiculous, and he shoved away the plaguing notions. He would draft a note to his father on the morrow. That, at least, was one worry he could assuage.

Joseph knew he’d never convince Kendra they needn’t travel to Sunderland to see Thomas’s
maman
. He could give her that. What was an added day, besides? Admittedly, her loyalty to Charles Thomas disturbed him. Surely, she hadn’t fallen for the man. He thought about her attachment to Alessandro de Lecce. She was just young.

In any event, there would be plenty of time to talk on their way to Yorkshire. Joseph knew how to charm a woman. He smiled. And she was attracted to him. He’d wager the Yarmouth title. Hell, the lands, too.

Kendra’s steady breaths soothed him like a lullaby, and he drifted into a fitful sleep.

****

Kendra woke slowly, aware that the day ahead would wreak emotional havoc. Mrs. Thomas deserved to know her son would not be returning home, to know what a truly wonderful and unselfish man he was.

The problem Kendra faced was in explaining how she’d ended up in Gretna Green, married, while poor Mr. Thomas had been hit by a musket ball on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, attacked by pirates.

She drew her arms over her head and stretched. It dawned on her that she was able to move her legs freely about, nothing heavy weighing them down. She sat up quickly, frightened.
He’d left her, already
.

But no. He slept in the chair, head at an odd angle, while the doll took up the place next to her. Kendra let out a measured breath, relieved.

Strange. Joseph must have laid the doll beside her, not wishing to sleep just yet, then dozed off in the chair. Either that, or…or he found her undesirable. Mayhap, the desire was only hers? That couldn’t be it. His kiss was too alluring.

Frustrated with her unhappy thoughts, Kendra decided to incorporate Mr. Thomas’s other recommendations. After all, his death should not hinder her pursuit of higher learning. She would make his visions come to light.

****

Joseph woke, with a stiff neck, to see his young wife fully dressed. Sitting at the small table, she moved an index finger in soft, nondescript patterns he couldn’t make out. Her delectable mouth formed words, soundlessly.

The thought that she might someday take an inclination to use those slim fingers on him drew an audible groan.

She started. “Oh, you’re awake, my lord.” She shoved a piece of paper into her pocket and jumped to her feet. “We should get an early start, my lord. I’m anxious to speak with Mrs. Thomas.”

“Of course, my dear. But, mayhap you’ll allow me a change of clothing and a moment to send a note to my father informing him we are, indeed, alive and well.”

She colored prettily. “Of course.”

“You might wish to do the same. I’m sure the earl will be concerned.” He spoke gently. After all, their whole ordeal was due to her running away in the first place, but he kept the sentiment to himself.

Kendra moved to the bed, her back to him, busying herself with smoothing the covers. “Oh, well, um, yes. I-I’ve already taken care of that,” she said quickly.

That was a welcome surprise. ’Twas best all around if she informed her father of their nuptials. Perhaps then the earl mightn’t be in such shock when she showed up on his doorstep with Joseph on her arm.

Chapter Eight

The outbuildings were becoming more frequent, even if the road was not so well traveled. Joseph found himself continually pleased by Kendra’s melodic voice. The variety of topics she was versed in astounded him. The horses clopped along at a leisurely pace.

“And what of Eliaser Bamberg, the Dutch magician?” Kendra asked. “Have you encountered him in your travels?”

“Ah, the crippled devil? I believe my grandfather had the privilege of his acquaintance. He was a sly one.”

“I’d heard, of course.”

Joseph smiled, keeping an eye on the road ahead. Kendra was drawing with her finger on her knee again. He couldn’t quite make out the pattern she engraved; he strove to concentrate on where he was leading the horses, lest they end up in a ditch. “And what is it you think you were privy to?”

“That he’d lost his leg in an explosion.”

“
Oui
, but that’s not all, is it?” He gave her a sideways glance.

She shrugged, and an impish grin touched her lips. “No. He wore a wooden leg that was said to be hollowed out in order to store his props.”

“Surely, that is not the talk in salons across London?” he asked, startled.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Salon talk is for poetry and politics, and knitting for the poor and underprivileged.”

“Is that so?” he murmured.

“I attend a great many lectures.”

“Do you not care for poetry, then, or politics and knitting for the poor and underprivileged?”

“I have many interests,” she told him.

“I suppose you read a great deal.”

She went still beside him. “What should we tell Mrs. Thomas? She’ll ask how we were able to escape while her son did not. And…and how are we to find her?”

“Finding her should not prove difficult. Coming up with a believable tale is our main concern.”

“What makes you think our doll is magic?” she asked.

The “our” in her question swelled his chest with pride. It spoke of the trust she placed in him. “I cannot be certain,” he said. “But something odd happened when you were ill, and again when the villains kicked in the door. Both times we were physically holding her.”

“And the note,” Kendra reminded him.

“Ah, yes, the note. Though I have my doubts regarding its cryptic message.” He considered that a moment. “Perhaps we should go over it once more. Get it out and read it,
s’il vous plaît.
”

“There is time enough for that later.” Her tone went stiff. “We must fabricate a believable tale for Mrs. Thomas. That should be our first priority.”

“Very well,” he acceded. “What do you suggest?”

****

Kendra sat on the edge of her chair, back straight, gloved hands folded in her lap. The small parlor was clean but shabby. Porcelain knickknacks decorated the many shelves. The settees, two of them, were faded with age but comfortable. Still, Kendra couldn’t relax, not with the news she was there to impart.

Now she’d located Mrs. Thomas, Kendra found she was having second thoughts about the whole ordeal. How did you tell a woman her son was dead and would never be coming home?

A frail woman, somewhat haggard in appearance, Mrs. Thomas had kind eyes and crooked fingers.

Joseph stood looking out the window, his back to the occupants, his presence looming in the small room.

“How did you know my son, Mrs.—”

“Lady Lawrie,” Joseph said over his shoulder.

Kendra started and bit back a reprimand, surprised at Joseph’s inappropriately timed insistence. Glaring at him would do no good, as he was not looking at her. “Please forgive my husband, Mrs. Thomas.” She smiled tentatively at Mrs. Thomas.

Mrs. Thomas looked uncertain but poured the tea and handed Kendra a cup.

“Thank you,” Kendra murmured, and sipped.

Joseph moved from the window and took up a place next to Kendra. She’d never admit it aloud, but she was very grateful for his attendance.

He could have left her on her own to inform Mrs. Thomas. Instead, Joseph placed his hand over Kendra’s and addressed Mrs. Thomas. “Mr. Thomas boarded the
Cécile
in Bordeaux. My wife and I…” Joseph gazed at her so tenderly Kendra had to swallow her emotion. He lifted a shoulder. “After much argument, we came to the realization that we were not quite ready for the new world. Or mayhap, they were not ready for us. Not to mention, Lady Lawrie’s father would be most unhappy with his only daughter so far from home.”

“I’m terribly sorry t-to have to impart such tragic news. ’Twas a few days later we learned of the
Cécile
’s demise.” Kendra could not keep the tears from her eyes. She took a deep breath, determined to do her utmost kindness by Mr. Thomas, even if she and Joseph had to skirt the absolute truth.

Mrs. Thomas gasped. Her cup slipped to the floor, her fist flew to her mouth. “Are…are you certain?”

Kendra extracted her hands from Joseph’s and moved next to Mrs. Thomas. Her shoulders were so delicate. Kendra feared they would shatter with her embrace. “I am so sorry. You see, h-he made such an impression on me, spoke so highly of you and…his dreams…”

Vaguely she noted Joseph leaning down for the upturned cup.

Mrs. Thomas’s shoulders shook with despair. Kendra started to doubt whether this was the discourse she, herself, would have preferred over hope. No. She knew if she loved someone, and it was not possible for them to return, she would choose to know.

Mrs. Thomas fought valiantly to recover her sensibilities. “H-how were you acquainted with my son, Lady Lawrie?” She eased herself from Kendra and handed her and Joseph each a plate with a lemon square.

Kendra accepted the offering, knowing she’d never be able to choke it past her tear-clogged throat. “We spoke in depth of his aspirations to help children from all levels of society to learn to read,” she whispered. Kendra sensed Joseph’s fully alerted attention but forged ahead, determined to let Mrs. Thomas know how much she valued her son’s ambition. “He was to tutor me in Latin upon his return to England.” She choked on the words.

Mrs. Thomas considered her for a moment. “It would give me great pleasure to offer you several of his Latin texts.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly—”

“Please, Lady Lawrie. I can see how much his friendship meant to you.” She stood. “If you’ll pardon me for just a moment, I shall return shortly.”