Smuggler's Lady (9 page)

“None that comes to mind,” Lord Rutherford replied with another of his bland smiles.

“I shall become quite puffed up, sir, if you continue to favor me with such attention,” Merrie murmured demurely, her eyes resolutely on the road ahead.

“Have no fear, ma'am. Should that happen, I will not hesitate to deflate your self-consequence.”

“My gratitude exceeds all bounds,” she returned.

Lord Rutherford chuckled. “You are a worthy opponent, Merrie Trelawney. Shall we agree to fence in the future only with the foils buttoned?”

“If you are able to be so restrained, sir, I am sure that I can,” she replied swiftly.

“I do not understand what you are talking about.” Rob spoke up, an unusually petulant note in his voice. Merrie turned to him with instant comprehension.

“Does your arm pain you, love?”

“Yes, and my head aches.”

“We shall be home soon,” she reassured him, patting his grubby hand comfortingly. “Then you shall go to bed and Nan will make you a posset.”

Lord Rutherford, excluded from the family exchange and seeing again the pucker of her brow, resolved to separate Meredith Blake from her brothers whenever possible. He preferred her undivided attention just as he preferred to see her without that nagging frown. It was almost as bad as the lowered head, twisting hands, and slumped shoulders of the widow Blake, but at least he knew that was an act. The maternal role she played with her brothers was genuine enough and, in his lordship's opinion, a totally unreasonable burden. He found himself smiling again as he realized that for the first time in many months his own concerns seemed remarkably unimportant. In fact, since he'd met this extraordinary creature, he had experienced a good many firsts, and this afternoon's black mood had become a total irrelevancy.

“Forgive my curiosity, Lord Rutherford.” Meredith unexpectedly broke into his reverie. “But did you say you were in the army?”

“Did I?” He frowned. “I do not recall saying any such thing.”

“I did not mean to pry,” she said stiffly, hearing the note of reluctance in his voice. “You said something about Walter saving you from a field hospital. I am sorry if it is a subject you prefer to keep to yourself.”

Damian sighed. “I do not, in general, care to talk about it. But, yes. I was with Wellington in the Peninsula, until a shoulder wound earned me my furlough, some six months ago.”

“Hence the hardships you referred to this morning,” Merrie said reflectively.

“Just so,” he concurred in a voice as dry as dust.

“Well, I suppose I must beg your pardon,” Merrie said matter-of-factly. “I had thought you to be an effete London buck.”

“An opinion you did not scruple to hide,” he replied.

“Attack is frequently the best form of defense, my lord. Did your soldiering not teach you that?”

“It taught me many things but clearly not the best way of handling sharp-tongued widows,” he retorted.

Merrie decided to side-step that. She was too interested in this new information to be diverted into another argumentative exchange. “You found it difficult to leave the army?” It was a guess, but somehow she knew it to be accurate.

“Damnably!” His mouth twisted in the travesty of a smile. “I am a soldier and always have been. I cannot abide kicking my heels about town. But what's a man to do if he's fit for nothing but idle small talk, the gaming tables, and squiring the ladies?”

“It must be quite dreadful,” she said. He looked at her, amazed at this instant recognition of a problem that no one else except Walter had begun to comprehend. Merrie was thinking how dreadfully dull she would find her own life if she were forced to give up her smuggling. That activity served two purposes. It brought much needed funds to swell her purse, but it also provided her with the excitement and satisfaction of using skills, physical and intellectual. Without that outlet, she would shrivel and fade in this ritual-bound, inbred backwater.

“You must find something else to do,” she said briskly. “We must all have a purpose, a reason for existing.”

“I think that perhaps I have found one,” Rutherford said softly.

That premonitory shiver ran down her spine. Was he referring to unraveling conundrums again? “What is that?” she asked hesitantly.

He smiled. “Restoring my inheritance.”

Meredith considered this as they reached the driveway to Pendennis. Whether she believed him or not, it were best to respond blandly. “That is a worthy cause, sir, albeit a little limited. But it is a start.”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed. “Most definitely a start.”

“What think you, Bart?” Merrie nibbled her thumb as she posed the question to the fisherman who sat on a rock in a corner of the cavern, puffing thoughtfully on a clay pipe.

“I don't like it,” he said with his usual directness. “It's asking for trouble with the revenue the way they are now. Two runs a month means two deliveries. That's four nights in a month we'll be running the gauntlet.”

“There's those in Fowey who'd be glad of regular deliveries,” Merrie said. “What if we were to deliver to one place where those who are buying know to go? There is less risk than in making individual calls as we do around here.”

“What place?” Bart's eyes narrowed against the blue curl of pipe smoke. He knew Merrie well enough to be sure that this was no vague, unthought-out idea she was presenting.

“The Eagle and Child in Fowey. I hear the landlord would be willing to receive and dispense the goods in exchange for a—a consideration, shall we say?”

“Who tells you that?”

“Jacques.” Merrie chuckled. “He was in there two months ago, sampling mine host's brew. You know Jacques, my friend! They fell into conversation about brandy and ...” She shrugged expressively.

Bart cradled the warm bowl of his pipe in a cupped hand, considering in silence. Merrie made no attempt to disturb his cogitations. Bart could never be hurried and without his support she'd do well to forget the idea.

“I'll talk to the others,” he said finally. “They're family men for the most part, Merrie. The money comes in handy enough, but they'd as lief keep their necks the length they are now.”

“I also,” she agreed.

“Sometimes I wonder.” Bart snorted, then tamped down the glowing tobacco with a callused thumb before getting to his feet. “We'll be delivering that lot tomorrow night, then?” He jerked his head toward the casks and bundles ranged against the wall.

“Unless our friend in the custom house can give us a reason not to,” Merrie replied.

Bart grinned. “We struck lucky there. Fancy Luke's brother-in-law clerking for the revenue.” He shook his head in mock wonder. “There'll be something extra special in there for him, I'll be bound.”

Merrie nodded. “Jacques recommends the madeira. I have it in mind to broach a case for our friend. If we had not had warning of that last ambush, we'd be in a pretty pickle now.”

“Aye. Well, I'll be off then. Unless we get a cautionary word from Greg, we'll have the ponies here by eleven tomorrow night.”

“Don't forget to pass the word in the village,” Merrie reminded him. “We'll want no watchers from windows or accidental meetings on the roads.” That had already happened once too often, but she was not about to alarm Bart with that piece of information.

“ 'Tis done already,” Bart replied laconically, going into the narrow tunnel leading to the smaller cave, Merrie following. The village grapevine was amazingly efficient. A servant in one of the great houses would happen to hear on the wind that the Gentlemen would be riding on a certain night and the word would spread, always via the kitchens and stables, so that all remained within doors, and, if a dog barked for any reason, it was ignored. In the morning, in barn or stableyard, would be found a cask, a well-wrapped parcel, a case of the finest burgundy in exchange for the small packet that had gone out with the cat when the household retired. It was all most satisfactory. No one was compromised, no one knew anything, and no one ventured to ask the questions for which they would receive no truthful answers.

Meredith waited in the outside cave until Bart had had a ten-minute start, then sauntered out onto the path that led downward to the beach, upward to the cliff top at the rear of Pendennis. She had not used the secret passage because the household had been still awake when she had left for the rendezvous. Besides, she could not make the scramble in petticoats, and the sight of their mistress in britches would have certainly given the servants cause for speculation.

It was a balmy evening and she decided to wander down to the beach before returning to the house and bed. All in all, it had been an aggravating day: coastguard spying in the Falcon, Rob's adventures, Hugo's lectures, Lord Rutherford. What was she to do about Lord Rutherford? If only she still found him utterly dislikeable as she had done the night of the ball, there would be no problem. He was still possessed of disagreeable traits, certainly. He seemed to delight in teasing her, but there was little teasing in his manner when he issued directives or pronouncements of intention. And there was nothing remotely amusing, either, about the way she seemed obliged to follow the directives or about the alarming way in which he managed to fulfill his intentions.

But those would just be irritations if she could judge the man with calm objectivity. How could she be objective about someone who turned her insides to a
blanc-manger?
It was quite ridiculous! Merrie kicked irritably at the sand and only succeeded in filling her shoe with the damp, scratchy stuff. She was far too wise and experienced to respond like some star-struck debutante to an interesting new face. Except that she wasn't reacting like a star-struck debutante, she was responding with all the maturity and experience of a woman who had known a disillusioning marriage, who knew what it was to wrestle with an unkind fate until some peace and acceptance could be gained, who had a set of goals and a clear plan to achieve those goals, and who had three dependents to care and provide for. Damnation! Merrie swore aloud at the night sky as her arms crossed themselves over her breast, hugging her shoulders. She
wanted
Damian, Lord Rutherford, with all the aching maturity of her twenty-three years. Her neglected body throbbed at the thought, and a mutinous spirit demanded to know why she could not have him. It was a thoroughly shocking thought, of course. Or, at least, it would be to anyone but Merrie Trelawney, who seemed to have been forgotten when notions of propriety and decorum had been handed out.

Picking up a small, round pebble, she sent it skimming across the dark water. Furthering her acquaintance with Lord Rutherford was undoubtedly a dangerous prospect. His eyes were too sharp for comfort; he already knew more than he should about her double life; he had seen her on the cliff road. So he didn't know that he had, but he had made no bones about his interest in the youth who led the smugglers. Her only safety lay in avoiding him whether she wanted to or not. Of course, if Rutherford refused to be avoided, as seemed highly likely ... ? But since when had a little danger been anything but exciting? And this was, after all, self-limiting. Whatever he might say about the tedium of London pleasures, he would find out soon enough that the capital was a whirl of excitement compared to the daily social round of this quiet little backwater. The depression caused by his premature furlough would lift in the fullness of time, and he would see matters clearly again. In the meantime, if she kept her wits about her, surely she could enjoy the spice of a flirtation that he seemed determined to pursue? No more than that, of course, and that discreetly, she told herself, turning back to the path leading to the cliff top. Lord Rutherford's kindly interest in her brothers would provide ample excuse for her neighbors. When she was with him in company, the widow's mask would be firmly in place.

Those blithe plans suffered something of a setback the following morning when Meredith was honored with a visit from Lady Barrat, Miss Elizabeth Ansby and her mama, and Lady Collier.

“My dear Meredith.” Lady Barrat clasped her hostess's hands in a firm squeeze. “You poor girl! What an unfortunate thing to have happened! So dreadfully embarrassing for you, and to be obliged to enter the house quite unchaperoned!” Meredith's hands, much to her relief, were released in order for Lady Barrat to throw her own into the air in a gesture of inarticulate horror.

“Could you not have sent Hugo, my dear Lady Blake?” Miss Ansby inquired. “Mama was so deeply shocked when she heard, I was afraid she would have one of her turns, and I was about to send for Dr. Higgins, but fortunately a little hartshorn in water . . .”

“Please,” Meredith begged. “You must think me very stupid, but I am afraid that I have no idea what has caused you this alarm. Will you take some lemonade to refresh you after your journey? It is such a hot morning.”

“Meredith, you must know what we mean. We refer of course to the visit you paid to Lord Rutherford's house yesterday,” Patience explained. “A single lady alone in a bachelor's establishments. What can you have been thinking of, dear?”

So the crows have come home to roost, Merrie thought wearily. “I was hardly alone,” she said, ringing the bell for Seecombe. “Both Rob and Hugo were there. Rob had an accident and injured his arm.”

“Oh, yes. We heard all about that,” Mrs. Ansby of the delicate sensibilities put in, dabbing at her forehead with her handkerchief. “And we are all of the opinion that something must be done about that boy.”

“Seecombe, would you bring lemonade for my guests?” Merrie requested as the manservant appeared, giving her a few seconds to control her rising temper.

“You are all too kind,” she whispered, wringing her hands as she turned back to her visitors. “It was, of course, most uncomfortable for me, but his lordship was all consideration.”

“And escorted you home,” Lady Collier announced in damning accents. “Hardly necessary if you had your brothers' escort.”

“No, but Lord Rutherford was most kind. Rob was in great pain, you understand. And his lordship was a most calming influence.”

“Meredith, pray do not distress yourself,” Patience said soothingly, patting Merrie's hand. “It is quite understandable that you forgot the proprieties in your anxiety over your brother, and, if Hugo was with you, then it was not so very dreadful. But, my dear, do consider. Is it wise to encourage Lord Rutherford's visits to your house? I understand he was here two days ago, and you were seen talking to him in a most friendly fashion outside Mallory House yesterday morning.”

“Oh, dear,” Merrie murmured, quite overcome. “I did not think there was anything wrong in it—oh, Seecombe, thank you.” She smiled as Seecombe placed a tray on the table. With an impassive countenance, he poured lemonade from the pitcher, handing round the glasses before stationing himself at the door as if prepared to wait on the ladies. It was all too clear to him what was going on in the parlor. Lady Merrie was under attack from the village cats, something that wasn't going to continue if he could help it.

Meredith, realizing his intention of remaining in the room and recognizing, with an internal smile, the reasons for it, said quietly, “Thank you, Seecombe. I'll ring if I need you again.”

“As you wish, my lady.” With a stiff bow, he left the parlor. Merrie resigned herself to some hurt sniffs ad reproachful glances from her self-appointed protector once the visitors had left.

“You would surely not expect me to cut Lord Rutherford?” she asked innocently. “He has been so kind as to take an interest in the boys. Hugo, you know, so needs a man to talk to. He wishes to take holy orders, you see. It is such a big decision, but he will not take the advice of a mere sister. And Theo and Rob look up so to Lord Rutherford. He has promised to take them under his wing.” The fibs appeared with disgraceful ease, but their perpetrator cared not a jot. “I, myself, barely know Lord Rutherford, but I understand from Rob that he was with Wellington in the Peninsula until a shoulder wound forced him to take his furlough and now he needs some occupation.” She smiled with pathetic helplessness. “His lordship appears to wish to occupy himself with my brothers and I can only be grateful.”

“Sir Algernon would willingly help you in this,” Patience said with a degree of severity. “I do not know how many times he has offered his advice.”

“And I am always most grateful,” Merrie assured her hastily. “But you know how difficult boys can be? They are not always willing to be advised by those who are willing to advise them.” It was the nearest to a barb that she dared allow herself; fortunately it appeared to pass without notice.

The parlor door opened abruptly. “Lord Rutherford, my lady,” Seecombe announced, standing aside to allow the subject of discussion to stride into the sudden hush. Merrie's expression for the barest instant was one of guilt and consternation before her face was wiped clean of all vibrancy and her hands fluttered like the wings of a dismayed bird.

Little wretch! Lord Rutherford thought. What had she been up to to cause her to look at him like a child caught in mischief?

She was fluttering around him, stammering an inarticulate greeting, introducing him to her guests, then recollecting that he must already know them and smiling in self-denigration as she scolded herself for being such a silly goose. Damian wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her. He strongly suspected that she derived considerable amusement from this game, but he found it annoying in the extreme. In particular, he found irritating the patronizing, compassionate attitude of Lady Barrat; yet, looking at Meredith, twittering like a half-witted maiden, he could hardly blame Patience.

“I am come to inquire after that young scamp, Rob, ma'am,” he said, brusquely interrupting her in the middle of some interminable apologia that had no apparent substance. “He has taken no great harm, I trust.”

“Oh, you are too kind, sir. Did I not say how kind his lordship has been?” Merrie's hands worked, her head bobbed as she addressed the ladies. “So—so kind in you, sir, to take such an interest—”

“How is the lad, ma'am?” he interrupted again, little realizing how reassuring was his curtness to Meredith's well-wishers, how splendidly it reinforced her tissue of half-truths.