Read Rapture Becomes Her Online
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
Rapture Becomes Her (13 page)
Staring down at his glass of port, Jeffery said, “It can’t be at the house.”
“I know that, you fool!” Ainsworth’s fist banged on the mantel. “I am not familiar with the area. You are. Surely, you know of some place I can be private with her long enough . . .” He smiled, his gray eyes cold and calculating, “Long enough to accomplish my task.”
“I know of a place,” Jeffery admitted. He cleared his throat. “I’ve used it upon occasion myself. There’s a deliciously willing little widow in the village who visits me there from time to time.”
At Ainsworth’s look of interest, Jeffery said, “It’s a small, comfortable farmhouse on the outskirts of the village. Kelsey’s woman, Rosie, from The Ram’s Head keeps it clean and stocked for me . . . and she’s discreet.”
Ainsworth frowned. “How near the village? It must be private. . . .” An unpleasant smile crossed his lips. “I’m sure the lady will protest, perhaps loudly, and I do not want any interruptions.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” Jeffery assured him. “The house is a mile or so from the edge of the village and sits a good half mile back from the road. In fact, if you didn’t know the house was there, you’d ride right past it. The driveway leading to it is partially overgrown and hedges and trees surround the house itself. There’s even a stable at the rear where you can hide your horse and vehicle.” Uncomfortable, Jeffery muttered, “You don’t have to worry that you’ll be disturbed.”
“Excellent,” said Ainsworth, rubbing his hands together. “How soon can you make arrangements?”
Within a few minutes a plan was arranged.
“It’s a shame that you let Kelsey go,” said Ainsworth as the two men prepared to leave the room and adjourn to the gaming room at the rear of the house. “He might have been of help to us—certainly we cannot rely on any of the other servants—not even our valets.”
“I didn’t have any choice,” Jeffery growled, resentment again stirring in his breast. “Cornelia forced my hand.” Bitterly, he added, “But it is Kelsey’s own fault. I warned him not to overstep his bounds with Anne, but he ignored me.”
“She is a tempting armful, isn’t she?” Ainsworth said as they strolled down the hall, passing Walker as they did so. Blind to the butler, as he was to servants in general, Ainsworth murmured, “I quite look forward to furthering my acquaintance with your uncle’s widow.” He laughed low. “Especially without interruption—I’m relying on you to arrange it, my dear friend.” His voice hardened. “I’m not wasting any more time. Willing or not, I will be married to her within a fortnight or it will go ill for you.”
Walker didn’t hear Jeffery’s reply, but his expression was alarmed as he entered the blue room and gathered up the tea tray and the various glasses and cups and saucers scattered about. Returning to the kitchen where Mrs. Spalding was busy putting some dough near the small fire to rise in time to bake fresh bread in the morning, he set down the tray and said, “I fear that Master Jeffery and Mr. Ainsworth are up to no good.”
The few other servants still employed at The Birches had gone to bed and it was only the two of them in the pleasant kitchen. While not related, the butler and the cook had been in service with the Townsend family since they were children, both of them stepping into positions once held by their parents.
They were easy in each other’s company and spoke freely to one another. Wiping her hands on her flour-dusted apron, Mrs. Spalding snorted. “If you ask me, those two are always up to no good! A more disreputable pair, I’ve never met. The old squire would roll over in his grave if he knew the sort of riffraff Master Jeffery invites here these days.” She shook her head. “We’ve known Master Jeffery since a boy and I don’t know about you, but he’s never been a favorite of mine—nor the old squire’s I might add. That boy was always into trouble and then whining and blaming everyone else when caught doing something he shouldn’t.” Her face softened. “Now his brother, young Master Hugh—as different as cheese is to chalk.” She sighed. “It’s a shame that Master Hugh didn’t inherit—how different things would be.”
Walker nodded unhappily. “I agree. If Master Hugh was here, even the master wouldn’t dare allow Ainsworth to act so outrageously around the ladies.”
“That’s not likely to happen. Master Jeffery doesn’t want him around and unfortunately, The Birches is his and he can say who comes and who goes.”
When Walker continued to look worried, Mrs. Spalding cocked a brow and asked, “Is there something specific that has you concerned?”
Walker related the bit of conversation he’d overheard as he had passed the two men in the hall.
Her lips pursed, Mrs. Spalding admitted, “I don’t like the sound of that at all.” Moving efficiently about her kitchen as she put away a few items, she said, “You talk to Miss Emily or Miss Cornelia in the morning. They’ll warn the missus to be careful and they’ll be on the lookout for any tricks.”
Walker nodded, relieved that Mrs. Spalding agreed with him.
Walker waited impatiently the next morning for the ladies to descend from the upper reaches of the house. Knowing the gentlemen had imbibed heavily the night before as was their wont, and that they’d not gone to bed until the hour had struck four, he felt confident that Mrs. Townsend was safe—for the moment. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when the three ladies came down the stairs and entered the slightly shabby, but dearly familiar breakfast room.
He allowed the ladies to serve themselves from the old oak sideboard and settle around the table, before he spoke. He gave a polite cough and when the three women looked at him, he murmured, “You know it is not my habit to gossip or spy, but I overheard a bit of conversation between the two gentlemen last night that I feel you must know.”
“Spill it,” barked Cornelia, setting down her cup of coffee and staring hard at the butler. She’d known Walker all his life and his father before him and knew that something important must have occurred for him to break protocol.
“What is it, Walker?” Emily asked softly, anxiety seizing her. “Is it something to do with the . . . uh, our business arrangement? Has Jeffery discovered what we are about?”
Walker was one of the investors in their smuggling operations and he knew precisely what she meant by “business arrangement.” Walker smiled fondly at her, but his smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. His face somber, he said, “No, miss. It has nothing to do with our business.” He glanced at Anne who was watching him as closely as the other women. Apologetically, he said, “I fear that Master Jeffery and Mr. Ainsworth have some evil plan for Mrs. Townsend.” Succinctly, he told them what he had heard as he had passed the two men in the hallway.
None of the women needed explained to them what Jeffery and Ainsworth planned if they meant to force Anne into marriage with Ainsworth.
“Those devils!” Emily exclaimed, her eyes nearly silver with fury.
Anne’s face was white with fear and her fingers shook as she set down her cup of coffee. “You think they mean to kidnap me and . . .” Her throat closed up, she could not say the ugly words aloud.
“Mean to compromise you one way or another,” said Cornelia, looking older and wearier than Emily or Anne had ever seen her.
Walker nodded unhappily. “Yes, this is what I fear.” He tried to smile reassuringly at Anne as he said, “We shall keep you safe. Mrs. Spalding, Jane, Sally and the other servants we can trust will see to it that you are never alone.”
It was some comfort, but they all knew that keeping Anne continually under surveillance was going to be nearly impossible. Despite their loyalty to Emily, Anne and Cornelia, Jeffery had to be obeyed unless they wished to lose their positions and there were dozens of ways he could arrange for many of the servants that remained at The Birches to be away from the house. There were always errands to be run; trips to the village for supplies and the like. Even with the servants on her side, Anne’s best hope lay with Cornelia’s eagle eye and Emily’s fierce presence.
Emily touched Anne’s hand. “We will protect you.” Anne took a deep breath. “I know you will.” She smiled wanly at Walker. “And I know that you and the others will do your best.” Her shoulders straightened and she said, “We will all be on our guard . . . and pray that we can outwit these scoundrels.”
After Walker bowed and walked from the room, it was a very quiet trio of ladies who sat around the breakfast table. No one had any appetite, and after nibbling at a piece of toast, Emily pushed it away.
Her expression dangerous, she swore, “By God! This is intolerable! Anne is being driven to slaughter like any lamb and we are near helpless to prevent it.” Emily had never resented her sex more than she did at this moment, and tears of frustration and fury filled her eyes. “Oh, if only I had been born a man! My dreadful cousin would never have inherited and we’d not be on the brink of ruin.”
“No use repining for what cannot be,” said Cornelia, her gaze soft as it rested on Emily’s tight features. “Don’t fret, my pet, we will plan our defenses and we will come about—even if I have to stab Ainsworth with a carving knife where it will do the most good.”
Both Anne and Emily chuckled weakly. “And if you don’t,” Emily said, “then I shall.” Her eyes darkened. “And Jeffery, while I am at it.”
Since no one had any appetite, the three ladies left the breakfast room a few minutes later. Anne and Emily retired to the small room off the kitchen that Emily had taken over as her office to go over the depressing account books. Usually, Cornelia returned upstairs to her room to write or answer some letters from her network of far-flung friends. This morning, however, upon reaching her rooms, she rang for Walker.
He arrived a few minutes later to find Cornelia settled behind her cherrywood desk, ink nearby, a sheet of paper before her and quill in hand.
“How soon,” she asked bluntly, as soon as the butler shut the door behind him, “do you think we have before they strike?”
Walker shrugged helpless. “Ainsworth mentioned marriage within a fortnight.”
“Or it would go ill for Jeffery . . .” Cornelia muttered. “I wonder what that lecher has on that twit? Jeffery is a weak fool but I’ve never known him to be vicious.” She brooded over Jeffery’s deficiencies a moment before unknowingly repeating Mrs. Spalding’s words of the previous evening, “If only Hugh had inherited! Now there’s a fine young man!”
Walker didn’t disagree, but there was nothing to be gained from speculation about how different everything would be if Hugh had been the elder brother instead of the younger. Dismissing the butler, Cornelia said, “I would not normally ask you or any of our servants to spy . . . but in this case, I would urge you to keep your eyes and ears open—Mrs. Townsend’s safety will depend upon it.”
Walker nodded grimly and left. Alone in her room once again, Cornelia stared out the window for a long time. The day was gray and gloomy and fit her mood perfectly, she thought sourly.
She didn’t like growing old, she admitted, but she had never chafed against it, nor felt as weak and helpless as she did now. She was an old woman. Old and useless. Pushing aside her descent into pity, she considered how best to save the two people that meant the most to her in the world. No matter the cost. It didn’t matter what happened to her—her time had come and gone. Cornelia grinned. And by gad! She’d
lived
. But Emily and Anne . . . Her smile faded and she scowled. If that damned nephew of hers had been a better father and a better husband, Emily would be happily married now and Anne would have had a child or two (if the squire had stayed home from the hunt long enough) and one of them might have been a boy. An heir.
lived
. But Emily and Anne . . . Her smile faded and she scowled. If that damned nephew of hers had been a better father and a better husband, Emily would be happily married now and Anne would have had a child or two (if the squire had stayed home from the hunt long enough) and one of them might have been a boy. An heir.
Fiddling with the quill, she sighed. The previous squire hadn’t been a bad father or a terrible husband, she conceded, just an indifferent one. With her prodding, he’d seen that Emily was launched into society and he’d rented a fine town house and spent lavishly on Emily’s wardrobe for not one but two Seasons in London. Emily had been just seventeen that first Season, but even then, her great-niece had decided notions about the character of any man who might wish to marry her. None of her suitors, and there had been more than one young man and an old roue or two who had been enchanted by the fair-haired, gray-eyed slender beauty, that first year or the second had aroused anything but amusement or contempt in her breast.
Always spirited and strong-willed, and Cornelia admitted guiltily that she was as much to blame for that as her father’s indulgence, when they’d come home from London after that second Season, Emily had announced that she would not endure being paraded through London like a prize filly again. There would be no third Season for her. Cornelia had been appalled, but nothing she could say swayed Emily. Her heart heavy, she resigned herself to the knowledge her lovely girl would die a spinster, knowing that if several eligible London bachelors found no favor with Emily, it was unlikely that she’d find a match buried in the country. Shortly afterward the squire had gone looking for his own bride.
Cornelia’s wrinkled face softened. Dear sweet little Anne. She’d forgiven her nephew long ago for springing an unknown bride on them and she could not love Anne any more than she did Emily or a daughter of her own. They
are
my daughters, she thought fiercely, and I will move heaven and earth to save them.
are
my daughters, she thought fiercely, and I will move heaven and earth to save them.
If only that dratted Jeffery weren’t such a buffle-headed coxcomb! Or more like his younger brother, Hugh . . . If he knew what his brother was up to, welcome or not, he’d be on the steps of The Birches before the cat could lick her ear. Hugh would send that obnoxious Ainsworth packing and most likely give Jeffery a sound thrashing. . . .
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