“You let her choose her own governess?”
“Of course. How would I know whom she did or did not like?”
“I’m sure her Latin is irreproachable.”
“No, it is execrable, but her Greek is nearly flawless. She loves philosophy and can debate it for hours.”
“Any sister of yours is bound to be good at arguing.”
Lucien laughed and was rewarded with the faintest twitch of Arabella’s lips. His mouth went dry, his body leaping to the ready. Steady, he told himself. Now is not the time.
If Aunt Jane did as she had promised, then by this time tomorrow, he and Arabella would be wed. Despite the circumstances, Lucien felt a dizzy excitement.
Arabella’s gaze narrowed. “You look very smug. Did you find Bolder? Was he at the Red Rooster?”
If they were to become partners in truth, there could be no more secrets between them. Lucien shook his head. “I rode for miles this morning and he wasn’t anywhere to be found. I went as far as Bridlington before anyone had even heard of him, and that was to little avail. No one seems to know where Bolder comes from or where he stays.”
“That’s because he lives on his ship.”
He frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Lem. The tavern maid at the Sad Nun fancies him. She heard Bolder complain about having to live in such close quarters, and say that he would be glad when this job was done so he could live on solid ground once again.”
A man who slept on a ship could escape at a moment’s notice. Lucien would have to send word to the Home Office to keep a fast ship ready should he need it. He had no intention of letting the smuggler escape. “Do you know which ship?”
“The Grande Marie. She’s docked at Aylmouth now, but she’s moving soon. She never stays in one place longer than a few days at most.”
No wonder he’d never been able to locate the smuggler. Perhaps the auction would be held on board, too. “That is very useful information.”
“I thought you would be interested.”
She was fishing for more information and he knew it. To turn her mind to other topics, he asked, “How did you establish your contact with the taverns?”
“Wilson was already supplying several of them himself. It was backbreaking work and he wasn’t getting paid well. Now Lem and Twekes haul the barrels, make sure everything is sorted properly, and watch over the shipment until it is delivered, while Wilson takes orders and makes sure everyone gets what they need.”
“And you?”
“I handle the money, decide how much to reinvest, and hold back a certain percentage for emergencies. I keep forty percent of our initial investment on hand in case we ever stumble on an opportunity. Just last year, Bolder came up with an astounding bargain on some brandy that was too good to pass up.”
He looked down at her. “You are remarkable, did you know that?”
“It doesn’t matter what I am, if I cannot protect Wilson.” Her gaze darkened. “My decision to increase our shipments put him in more danger than he ever was when he worked on his own.”
“You did what you had to, Bella. No one could ask more.”
Arabella bit her lip. There was something different about Lucien today; something that heated his gaze with an intensity that made her exceedingly uncomfortable. She had the feeling he was watching her, waiting for something. Well, she had a few telling questions of her own. “Lucien, the jewelry you found in the cask, where did it come from?”
His gaze flickered just a second before he shrugged. “It was stolen.”
“Obviously,” she said dryly. “But why was it in the cask?”
“That is exactly what I want to know.” The cart turned onto a wide lane that bordered a sturdy cottage set at the edge of a clearing. Lucien regarded the small house with apparent interest. “Who are these tenants Aunt Jane was so adamant we visit?”
“The Marches have been here for almost twelve years. Mary is Cook’s niece, and she and her husband, John, produce almost half of the sheep we take to market.”
The cart lumbered closer. Though small, the cottage was strong and sturdy, the thatched roof thick, the wattle walls free of holes. Arabella surveyed the home with satisfaction. “Wilson and I keep all of the tenants’ homes in the best repair we can.”
The corner of Lucien’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “It seems the only person at Rosemont that you don’t take care of is yourself.”
The door to the cottage burst open, and a swarm of blond children tumbled out. Within minutes Arabella was standing by the cart and trying to carry on five different conversations at once.
Giving it up as a lost cause, she laughed and cast a glance at Lucien. He watched her, his mouth curved in a smile, that strange light in his eyes. For an instant, he shared her amusement, and it was as if their thoughts touched, their minds so of one accord that there was no need for words. Blushing furiously, Arabella looked away.
Mrs. March came outside, her hands covered with flour, the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon whirling about her. “Now, children, leave Miss Hadley be. I’m sure she didn’t come to be mauled by the likes of ye.”
Arabella laughed. “Oh, Mary, but I did! I assure you, I have thought of nothing else. Christmas at Rosemont is sadly lacking without any children.”
“Ye’re welcome to some of mine anytime ye wish it, and well ye know.” Mary’s bright gaze found Lucien. “And who is this, takin’ Wilson’s place?”
Arabella hurried to make introductions. “Mary, this is the Du—”
“Devereaux,” he interjected smoothly. “Lucien Devereaux.” He climbed down from the cart, lifting the heavy basket of jams. “I am charged with carrying the basket. That is my sole purpose.”
Mary’s broad face split into a grin. “If ye got Miss Arabella to let ye do anythin’ fer her, then ye are also a wizard, make no mistake.”
He slanted her a smile and Arabella was instantly aware of how broad and handsome he looked, standing by the cart. He handed the basket to one of the boys who stood on the stoop. “Here, you look like a strong lad. Carry this inside for your mother.”
“Aye, sir,” said the boy, clasping the basket with both hands and casting a triumphant glance at his younger siblings.
Mary stood aside as her son marched into the house. “There, now, Miss Arabella. There’s no need fer ye to bring us anythin’.”
“Oh, don’t blame me for that shocking basket. Aunt Jane knitted socks for each of the children and Aunt Emma bought them sugarplums. All I did was help Cook pack the jams.”
“And brought them out on such a cold, damp day.” Mary nodded to Lucien. “Ye can put the horse under the shed if ye’d like. There’s some hay in there, too. James has no but one horse and he’s out on her today.” She turned to Arabella. “Lost a sheep, we did. Wandered off durin’ the snow. Now come in by the fire. Ye’re like to freeze out here.”
She led the way into the house. “Ye are jus’ in time. I was bakin’ the Christmas cake, and we’ve pudding as well.”
Arabella followed Mary. The inside of the cottage was as homey and warm as the outside appeared. In front of a steadily burning fire sat a long, low table filled with little round cakes that made Arabella’s mouth water. A brightly braided rug covered most of the floor and several sturdy chairs were placed about the room.
Arabella sighed. She loved coming here. The house was always full of warmth and comfort, and everyone worked together. Mrs. March gathered a large bowl and prepared to make plum pudding and Arabella immediately set about helping her.
They had just begun when the door opened and a large, burly man walked in. His hair was as blond as Mary’s was red, his skin pink from the outdoors. The children immediately converged on him, laughing and talking at once until he gruffly ordered them to cease their squealing or he’d think they were Christmas pigs come for supper. Undaunted, they laughed, but soon turned to the sugarplums Aunt Emma had sent them.
He sniffed the air, coming to an abrupt halt. “I
s that plum puddin’ I smell?”
Mary watched him with a fond smile. “Ye know what it is, ye silly lummox. Did ye not tell me ye wished fer some today, jus’ before ye left?”
John smacked his lips. “Aye, ’tis the best in all of England.”
“Ye say that every year, and every year I have to remind ye that ye haven’t tasted all of the plum puddin’ in England. There might well be some that is better.”
“But not sweeter,” he said, swinging her into his arms and bestowing a loud kiss on her cheek. “I’d wager me last farthin’ on it.”
“Lawks, John! Not in front of the guests.” Red-cheeked but clearly pleased, Mary pushed him away and nodded to Lucien. “This is Mr. Devereaux, who brought Miss Arabella fer her visit.”
John immediately crossed to Lucien. “There, now, are me boys drivin’ ye to distraction?”
To Arabella’s amazement, Lucien replied easily, and within minutes the two men were engrossed in conversation, discussing everything from hunting to horses.
While assisting Mary, Arabella watched Lucien. It was strange, seeing him sitting on the rough-hewn chair, a child hanging on his knee, another sitting in his lap, as he talked with John. Stranger still was the way he was so completely at ease, as if hearth and home were his usual setting, and not the glittering ballrooms and clubs of London.
Lucien caught her puzzled gaze and grinned. Arabella smiled back, her spirits lifting. Suddenly her burdens didn’t seem so heavy.
Mary shot a sly glance at Lucien. “Yer gentleman friend needs to eat before he takes ye home.”
“I wish we could stay,” Arabella said. It was lovely being here, and she knew that some of the ease she and Lucien had established would disappear once they returned to Rosemont. “But we must get back before dark.”
“A pity. Still”—Mary leaned forward to whisper—
“’tis a handsome man ye’ve found. And the children love him.”
It was true, and Lucien seemed equally taken with them. As she watched, Lucien’s gaze came to rest on little William, the youngest of the March brood. A toddler the age of three, he had a round, plump face topped by a headful of angelic blond curls.
He was too shy to sit with the stranger, but that didn’t stop him from hiding behind a bench and watching Lucien with large blue eyes. Lucien solemnly returned little William’s stare but made no motion toward him. Eventually the little boy edged closer, first rubbing his shoulder on Lucien’s knee and then leaning his full weight.
Lucien winked at William and the boy grinned around his thumb. Soon he was sitting in Lucien’s lap, playing with the emerald pin and hopelessly mussing his cravat. For an instant, Arabella wondered how Lucien would react to a child of his own. But try as she might, she could not conjure up an image. Though he reveled in playing with the Marches’ children for a brief hour or two, he was not the kind of man to wish to raise a family. He’d shouldered that weight once already; he wouldn’t be willing to do so again.
Arabella sighed, her heart aching as John reached over and plucked William out of Lucien’s lap. “Here, now, Willie. Don’t ye mess up the gentleman’s fine clothes.” He shot a narrow stare at Lucien. “Do you live here?”
“No, I live in London most of the time.”
“Ah, that’s a fine town. I went once when I was a lad. Will ye be returnin’ anytime soon?”
“Next week.”
Arabella felt as if the air had suddenly grown too thick to breathe. She should not have been surprised; still, some part of her felt betrayed. When would she learn? For her, Lucien Devereaux was a heartbreak waiting to happen. She picked up some wooden trenchers and set them near the table, trying desperately to keep her face from revealing too much.
Mary came to stand beside her. “He looks like a lovely man.”
“He can be,” she said shortly.
“Oh, lud, child. None of them are perfect. Ye has to make ’em that way.” She set Arabella a sharp glance. “Does he treat ye well?”
“No. He is bossy and interfering.” And then he leaves me. Arabella picked up a rag and began to clean the wooden table, attacking every uneven place as if it were a grease stain.
“Ye can tell he holds ye in respect. He’s not stopped starin’ at ye since ye came in.”
Arabella refused to look his way, afraid her shock might show in her eyes.
“Ye has to have respect fer each other if ye want a solid marriage. ’Tis the only thing that gets ye through the hard times.” Mary nodded toward her husband. “Ye need someone who’ll stand by yer side, Miss Arabella. Someone who’ll take care of ye and let ye take care of him.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
“Of course ye don’t. But ’tis nice to have another pair of shoulders to help bear the burdens, especially when ye’ve wee ones.”
John sat with a child on each knee and one leaning over his shoulder. Though he spoke with Lucien, his hands were forever patting the head of this one or ruffling the hair of that.
“He do love them, don’t he?” Mary said with a satisfied sigh. “’Twill be the same fer ye, when ye marry. And ’tis past time ye did. Why, Master Robert’ll take a wife soon, and then where will ye be?”
Robert take a wife? She had never given it any thought, but when Robert married, she would no longer be needed. A lump the size of a boot lodged in her throat.
Mary placed a pudding in the now-empty basket. “There, take this with ye.” She glanced out the window and frowned. “If ye’re goin’ to leave before dark, ye’d best go now.”
“What’s that?” called John from his seat by the fire.
“Ye can’t leave before supper. ’Tis too cold to travel without something to warm yer stomach.” He looked at Lucien. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Devereaux?”
Lucien’s gaze brushed over her face. “It won’t hurt to stay another few minutes.”
Arabella murmured a protest, but Mary would have none of it. Before she knew what she was about, they were all seated at the long table. Mary served a shepherd’s pie rich with gravy and topped with a flaky crust that would have made Cook green with envy. Conversation never ceased and Arabella’s heart eased somewhat.
It was different this time; Lucien hadn’t promised her anything. All he’d done was offer his assistance. If she’d become dependent on him in some indefinable way, well, that was her fault. Coming to such a reasonable conclusion helped her to put on a cheerful face, and she was even able to laugh aloud at some of the antics of the children.
Seated by Lucien’s side, his thigh pressed against her, his warm gaze turning to her frequently, the half hour flew past and lengthened. Arabella found herself lingering more and more. By the time she and Lucien had climbed into the wagon, ready to depart, it was already getting dark.
John stood by the cart and cast a frowning glance at the sky. “It looks like rain.”
“Or sleet,” added Mary, tsking. “It gets cold so quickly. Perhaps ye should stay the night.”
Arabella stared up at the gray sky, where the moon peeked out from behind swirling dark clouds. “Surely we can make it if we hurry.”
Lucien must have agreed, for no sooner had she said the words than he thanked their hosts, tucked a warm blanket across her lap, and set the horse in motion. With a final wave at the Marches, they were soon traveling down the road, Sebastian holding to a steady walk.
The air was crisp and fresh, promising rain before morning. Barren branches rose toward the moon, which slipped between the clouds, casting eerie shadows that seemed to aggravate the rising wind. Arabella found herself leaning closer to Lucien.
He pulled her against him. When she tried to move away, he held her tighter, saying curtly, “Just to keep warm.”
She relaxed and let his heat seep through her pelisse. Though she knew it was only imaginary, the feeling of belonging, of being loved and cherished, was too lovely to let slip away. Next week, when he left, she would deal with her loss. For now, it was enough just to
sit beside him.
She must have dozed, for she woke when he pulled her closer, opening his coat and draping it over them both. “In case it rains,” he murmured.
She tried to straighten, but his arm held her close. Sometime while she’d been sleeping, her bonnet had fallen loose and lay on the seat beside her.
“Go back to sleep, Bella. Sebastian and I will take care of everything.”
His voice rumbled beneath her cheek, lulling her. “I am not sleepy,” she said, though she didn’t make a move to sit upright. She closed her eyes and relaxed against him, savoring the feel of his broad chest against her cheek. Had it been anyone other than Lucien, she would never have allowed such impropriety. But he would be gone soon. And she would be alone once more. For now, though, she enjoyed the luxury of being completely enclosed in his arms.
She was just slipping back to sleep when a sudden jar of the cart made her open her eyes and grab the seat. They were standing stock-still in the middle of the forest, the cart tilted to one side. “What happened?”
“The cart slid off the road.” Lucien urged Sebastian on. The horse laid his head low and pulled, but the cart didn’t move.
Arabella looked around, noting the thick trees. “Where are we?”
“On the road to Rosemont.”
“But this isn’t…” She frowned. “You took Aunt Jane’s shortcut.”
“It was the only way I knew,” he said curtly. “And you were asleep.”
“You should have wakened me.” She looked over the side of the cart. “How on earth did this happen?”
“Ice formed across the road, and we slid sideways. I tried to pull on the brake, but it stuck.”
Her heart sank. “We’ll never get out of here now.”
“Surely I can yank it loose,” Lucien said, his strong hands already closing over the brake.
“The only way to loosen it is to—”
Crack. The handle broke in half. Lucien looked at it for a long minute before raising his gaze to her. “You were saying?”
Irritation built. “I warned you!”