Her Master and Commander (14 page)

“Oh. Of course. Sorry, guv’nor.” Tommy Becket was no fool. He’d agreed to do this errand for a gold coin. He’d originally thought that the man who had sent him was the one with the heavy purse. Now that Tommy had a chance to set his blinkers on the partner, he wasn’t so sure. The man before him had the shine one only finds on the very rich. “I’ve come from Witlow. I’ve a missive from Mr. Dunstead fer a Mr. Reeves. Would that be ye?”

“That would be me. Did Mr. Dunstead say when he would be returning?”

Tommy shook his head, water dripping from the brim of his hat. “No, he didn’t. He jus’ said, ‘Tommy Becket, I’ve a mission fer ye. A very, very important mission.’”

“Mr. Dunstead has become something of a dramatist. Odd how travel will do that to a person.”

Tommy didn’t think he liked the man’s tone, but he wasn’t sure. “He is an important man, too. He says to me, ‘Here, Tommy, take this secret missive to Master Reeves. It’s a dangerous trip, but don’t ye fear! He’ll make it worth yer while.’”

“He didn’t ask that you return for the coin?”

Tommy blinked. “Oh. Well, he did say something about payin’ when I comed back with a letter from ye. But I thought since it was a-rainin’, that ye might see yer way to givin’ up a bit o’ the gold yerself.”

“We shall see. Where is this missive?”

Tommy glanced right, and then left, then reached into a pocket and pulled out a crumpled, damp letter. He handed it to Reeves, who took it and immediately carried it to the lamp that stood on the small table by the front door. Reeves quickly read the missive. He frowned and read it again, only this time, his brows rose slowly.

After a moment, he refolded the letter and tucked it into a pocket, then turned to his visitor, who was now looking at the coats hung on the rack in the front hall as if evaluating their worth.

“Good news, guv’nor?” Tommy asked.

“Good enough.” Reeves withdrew his own missive from an inner pocket along with a gold piece and handed them to the man. “Please see to it that Mr. Dunstead gets this missive. He is expecting it.” The butler opened the door. “Thank you for your efforts. I believe that will be all.”

“Aye, guv’nor.” Tommy glanced outside at the pouring rain. “Do ye think I might stay a while, at least until the rain has let up a bit?”

The door remained open. “No. I don’t think that would be wise. You did a marvelous job. I shall tell Mr. Dunstead what a service you did him.” With that, Reeves politely but firmly escorted the messenger out of the house and shut the door.

Long after the hoof clatter of Tommy’s horse had faded away, Reeves stood in the front hallway, leaning against the door, a pensive look on his face. Twice, he pulled out the missive and reread it before replacing it in his pocket.

Finally, he pushed himself from the doorway and collected the lamp, then made his way to the small room he’d commandeered for himself.

Thank God the old earl was already dead. If he hadn’t been, Reeves was fairly sure this letter might have done it.

M
orning arrived. Tristan made it to the library at a quarter to eight. Reeves was already there, arranging covered salvers that brightened a newly installed table.

Tristan looked at the table. The sparkle of silver mingled with the sheen from delicate china. It was quite different from the pewter service he usually used. “What the hell is this?”

“Breakfast, my lord. It is the meal one eats first thing in the morning. The term is from ‘break fast,’ which came about in ancient times when people did not eat after dark and thus their morning meal was the time to break their fast.”

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “You know damn well I was not asking where the word ‘breakfast’ came from. I was merely wondering why in the hell this table and those”—he gestured to the silver and the china and the rest of the silly things in a vague way—“
things
are in my study.”

“Ah. Well. I found this small table in the front sitting room, being used as a footrest for Master James’s berth.” Reeves pursed his lips. “We will have to do something about the men being housed in the common areas.”

“I don’t have room for them elsewhere.”

“Indeed, my lord. But for the trustees’ visit, we may move them to the barn. Since Signore Pietra has taken such a liking to the new cookstove, most of the men are in the barn for a good part of the day, anyway. I don’t think it would take much to convince a few of them to sleep there as well.”

Tristan nodded. “That can be arranged.” He leaned his hip against the settee, resting the cane on his knee. “Why am I having breakfast in my study?”

“I thought it would allow you and Mrs. Thistlewaite some privacy as you begin your instruction.”

“How do you know she hasn’t already eaten?”

“Because I sent a note over with the carriage you’d ordered. I hope you do not mind but I left the wording so that she may assume you were the one who invited her.”

Tristan sighed. “I should have; I didn’t think of it.” He’d thought of
her
of course, all night long. But he hadn’t thought to invite her to breakfast. He’d never felt so inept in his life as when dealing with the widow. Damn it, as much as he hated to admit it, perhaps these lessons would be good for him. Perhaps he had been too long at sea.

“You
did
think to send the carriage.” Reeves adjusted the flowers. “That was a
very
handsome gesture.”

“She arrived yesterday looking like an iceberg. I couldn’t do anything less.” Tristan made his way to the red chair that sat beside the settee. He looked at the chair, then nudged it just a bit closer to the settee.

Reeves lifted a cover from a salver. “Signore Pietra outdid himself once again.”

Tristan’s stomach was already growling, but the scent that arose from the table made it worse. “I am famished.”

“The lady will arrive in but a few moments. Would you like some hot tea while you are waiting?”

“Bloody hell, no! I shall have ale with my breakfast.”

Reeves made no move to fetch a mug. Instead, he quietly stared at the ceiling.

Tristan sighed. “I don’t like being an earl.”

“Yes, my lord.” Reeves neatly folded two napkins and placed them by each plate. “May I say that Mrs. Thistlewaite is a delightful woman. The men respect her.” The butler added one last touch to the table, straightening a fork that was slightly askew. “I hope she never regrets accepting our offer to serve as a tutor.”

Tristan could not mistake the quiet suggestion. “I have no intention of making her regret anything.”

He remembered her admission yesterday afternoon while she was in the thrall of his rum punch, that she missed “kissing.” Though he’d been amused at the time, her honesty had touched him. Beneath her rather prickly exterior lay a flesh-and-blood woman with healthy wants and needs. Before he’d met Prudence, he’d never considered such things. Most of the women he’d known were more concerned with the amount of coin he had to offer or—after Trafalgar—the prestige of being associated with a war hero. There was more to Prudence than such shallow reasoning. Far more. She was a woman driven but not owned by her own desires and passions. A person capable of so much, if life would but allow it. That was something Tristan could understand.

The door opened and Stevens bounded into the room, wearing a new black coat, his face scrubbed, his cheeks shining as if polished. “Mornin’, Cap—I mean, mornin’, me lord!” He winked at Reeves. “How was that, Master Reeves?”

“Much better, Master Stevens. Much better, indeed.”

Stevens grinned. “I ordered another pot o’ tea and asked the men to keep mum as the cap—I mean, the earl has work to do.”

Reeves smiled benignly. “Thank you, Stevens.”

Tristan eyed the first mate’s new coat. Several sizes too large, the sleeves hung over the man’s hands, the hem resting at the back of his calves instead of his knees as it was meant to.

Stevens held out his arms and turned, glancing back over his shoulder. “Do ye like it, Cap’n?”

Reeves sent Tristan a pained smile. “Master Stevens believes the coat makes his er, posterior appear large. I hastened to tell him that it did no such thing and was, in fact, quite slimming.”

“What do ye think, Cap’n? Does it make me arse look big?”

“I don’t know and I am not going to look at your arse to see.”

Stevens’s face fell and he twisted his head, trying to see for himself. “Master Reeves said he would get it tailored before the trustees come to visit.”

“How kind of him.”

“Thank you,” Reeves said, as if unaware of the sarcasm in Tristan’s voice. “As butler, Master Stevens should have the best of the liveries.”

Stevens tucked his thumbs into the buttonholes of his coat. “I’m the butler, so I get the
very
best of the liveries. Mrs. Thistlewaite won’t know me when she sees me!”

A knock was heard on the front door. “There she be!” Stevens said. He bounded from the room.

Tristan pulled a chair from the table so he could sit, only to be halted when Reeves cleared his throat.

“My lord, a true gentleman always stands whenever a lady enters the room.”

“What does a lady do when a gentleman enters the room?”

Reeves gave Tristan the ghost of a smile. “In my experience—and I admit it is rather limited—they complain about the lack of heat or fresh air and sometimes both.”

“This system is not a fair one.”

“No, my lord. I wouldn’t call it fair in any sense of the word. But it is all we have.”

Bloody hell, there were so many rules. Tristan gave a disgruntled shrug before pinning his glare on the butler. “By the way, have you heard from Dunstead about my brother?”

“Dunstead should return today. As soon as he arrives, I will send him to you.”

“Good. I wish to—”

The door opened. Stevens stood at attention by the door, beaming as if he’d magically produced Prudence from his own pocket. She walked past him into the room, saying over her shoulder as she did so, “No, no! It doesn’t make your posterior look large at all—”

Tristan laughed, immediately drawing her attention.

She flushed as she curtsied. Today she was gowned in lovely blue that made her brown hair and eyes look darker.

Reeves cleared his throat.

Tristan hurried to return Prudence’s curtsy with a stiff bow. What a horrid waste of time, all this bowing and scraping. If his father were alive, damned if Tristan wouldn’t kill the old man for making his life so miserable.

Prudence nodded to Reeves. “How are you today, Reeves?”

“I am well, thank you, madam.” Reeves went to the chair opposite Tristan’s and held it out. “My lady, we are pleased to have you with us. His lordship has been impatiently awaiting your arrival.”

It amazed Tristan how well Reeves could lie. It was a bit frightening.

She slanted a covert glance at Tristan, her gaze meeting his a long moment before a faint smile touched her lips. She knew Reeves was telling a whopper, but like Tristan, she was going to play right along with it. “How kind of him,” she murmured, then crossed the room to take her place at the table.

Tristan waited until she was sitting before taking his own chair. Reeves poured tea into their cups and filled the juice glasses. He also placed some marmalade and honey on the table in small containers. Tristan tried to still his impatience; he just wanted to eat. All of this fussing was interfering with his efficient ways of doing things.

Finally, just as Tristan thought he could stand it no more, Reeves removed the covers from each plate to reveal some more of Signore Pietra’s magic. A variety of deep, rich scents wafted up to Tristan’s nose. His stomach, already rumbling, pinched in expectation. Tristan took his fork and knife and began to cut his ham.

Prudence cleared her throat.

In addition to the ham, there were eggs stirred with cream and cooked to perfection, links of spicy sausage, a rich bit of kidney pie, and several pieces of gently browned toast. Tristan reached for the marmalade.

Prudence coughed. Loudly.

Tristan spared her a glance. “You may have some, too.” He opened the marmalade jar and reached for his knife when—
thunk.
A blinding pain wracked his good shin. He dropped the knife with a clatter. “Bloody hell, woman! Why did you do that?”

She looked from him to Reeves, who stood patiently by, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling.

Tristan rubbed his shin and glared from one to the other. “What?”

“Reeves asked if you required anything else and you did not answer.”

“I was eating! Besides, he could just look and bloody well tell I didn’t need anything.”

“Before he leaves the room, you should let him know if you need anything else, and then, if not, thank him for his services.”

“Couldn’t you have just told me that instead of kicking me to death?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I tried to give you a hint, but you would not take it.”

“Is there no middle ground between a hint and a kick? Next time, say what you want and say it out loud.”

“I am sorry if you think my actions excessive, although the way you were looking at your plate, I didn’t think you would have heard a word.”

To be honest, Tristan didn’t think he would have, either. The eggs were damn good. “I suppose I should thank you for not kicking my injured leg.”

She sniffed. “I thought about it.”

“Why am I not surprised? You are incorrigible.”

She flashed him a look from beneath her lashes that warned him that his other leg was still within reach of her pointed-toed boot.

“Don’t even think about it,” he murmured.

She tried to look haughty but failed to look anything other than adorable. Tristan decided that one of the most delectable things about his prickly Prudence was the quality of her beauty. She was elegant in a quiet sort of way. She had lovely shoulders, softly rounded arms, and a graceful neck. But it was her face that caught his attention. From her stubborn chin to the sweep of her brow, every feature echoed intelligence and humor and…passion, perhaps. But what made her so different was the way she thought.

Reeves cleared his throat. “Is there nothing else, my lord?”

Tristan waved him away. “No, Reeves.”

Prudence coughed.

Tristan added quickly, “But ah, thank you for your efforts.” He raised his brows at Prudence.

She gave a tiny nod.

Reeves’s smile blossomed. He bowed. “Thank you, my lord. Pray ring if you need anything.” With that, he withdrew.

As the door closed behind the butler, Tristan leaned back in his chair. “Well? Was that better?”

“Much,” she said, almost glowing in approval.

To Tristan’s surprise, a full grin broke from him in the warmth of her smile. Startled by his own reaction, he quickly turned his gaze to his plate. Bloody hell, when had Prudence’s opinion come to mean so much to him?

It would not do to grow too used to having Prudence in his life. She was a temporary passenger on his frigate and nothing more. Which was a good thing, he decided, the glow from her warm smile wearing off completely. Unless he decided to retire forever on this rocky cliff and spend his remaining days contemplating the dust growing on his soul, he’d best steer clear of all women like Prudence; women who captured a man with the silken nets of companionship and home.

That was not for him. He would enjoy what benefits he could from these next few weeks, and then return to his old way of life, free and unfettered. Meanwhile, a little flirtation would not be amiss…providing he was cautious.

As he cut his ham, he decided that perhaps he’d been on his own a bit too long, for he’d forgotten how pleasant it was, looking across the table and into such beautiful brown eyes.

He was just finishing his last bite of ham when he caught Prudence regarding him consideringly. “Is something amiss?”

“Your table manners. Reeves was right; they are excellent.”

“Except when I forget to compliment the help?”

“Except then.” She took a sip of tea. “Well, my lord? Shall we begin? We have much to discuss.”

He put down his fork. “Do your worst. Subject me to whatever plaguey notion you have of comportment.”

“Comportment is not a plaguey notion at all. It is what makes us civilized.”

“And here I thought it was fear of being beheaded, transported, or sent to rot in gaol that made us such upright citizens.”

She sniffed. “That may be your reason for being civilized, but it is not mine. Manners set us apart from animals.”

“Animals have manners, too. They just do not take them to such extremes.”

She frowned. “What animals have manners?”

“Ants. They walk in a single line, do they not?”

“Frequently.”

“Ever see an ant shove another out of the way?”

“Well. No.”

“Exactly. They are polite to one another. Always. Meanwhile men bind themselves up in ridiculous fashion and rules, then do not pay one another the commonest of courtesies, like respect or kindness.”