Her Proper Scoundrel (24 page)

Poverty did not scare her. Her life in recent years had been full of financial hardship. What did scare her was the thought of losing Christopher and the chance to build a life with him.

She had agreed to marry him on his promise to use her abilities in his shipping venture. Their shipping venture. A shipping venture from which she stood to gain as much as he.

“Are we close to ruin?” she faltered. “How much time do we have here at Midland House?”

He shrugged. “I have enough for us to live here for the better part of a year. I just don’t have the wherewithal to equip a cargo ship. The sad truth, Josceline, we are soon to be paupers.”

She regarded his bleak face. There must be a solution and together they would find it. How to make him believe she supported the endeavor?

“Wait here.” She threw off the cloak and scampered off only to return with her reticule, turning it over to give it a shake. Three coins dropped from it – a shilling and two ha’pennies.

“Keep your coins,” he said brusquely.
  

“Oh, I shall.” She waved the empty reticule at him. “I brought this to show you I have as much at stake as do you.”

“More so after tonight’s debacle,” he snorted.

“As you said,” she continued briskly, “we set out to embarrass Lady Oakland and we succeeded. Of course, we weren’t expecting we would get swept up in the situation. However, what has passed has passed.” She gave him a rueful grin.

He responded with one of his own.

“Let us retrace our steps,” she suggested.

“Retrace our steps?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Forget finding other investors for now. Let us target Lord Oliver Candel. You need your ship for as I pointed out to you, what is a shipping enterprise without a ship?”

“You’re right,” he nodded. A smile of grudging admiration crossed his face. “Once we have the “Bessie”, we can decide how to fill her. Let us focus our attention on Lord Candel and how to retrieve her.”

Chapter Twenty One

The next morning dawned clear, the sun’s rays shining bright as if to banish the foul events of the disastrous evening at Oakland Grange. Josceline sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. It should be the task of her maid but after Christopher’s revelation of impending poverty, she didn’t want to ask him for one.

Stroke by stroke, she tamed the curls until they shone.

And stroke by stroke she replayed the events of the previous evening: Christopher being called away to meet with Lord Oakland; Howard leading her to the library to discover her father there with Burrows; Lady Swinton and her accusations; Lord Candel stepping forward to needle Christopher resulting in Christopher’s verbal attack on Candel.

The stories were sure to fly for weeks.

Shaking her head, she put down the brush and picked up a ribbon to tie back her hair, scowling at herself in the mirror. Questions churned in her mind. How could the evening have resulted in such disaster? How was Christopher this morning? What had happened between Christopher and Lord Oakland? In all the tumult of last evening, she had forgotten to ask him.

At least it was easy enough to find answers to the last two questions. She got up and went in search of her husband.

* * *

Christopher spurred Vesuvius mercilessly. He leaned low over the beast’s neck. Its wind whipped mane stung his face, its tail streamed behind as the animal’s powerful muscles carried them forward. Pounding hooves sprayed up clods of turf.

The sun shone yet the crisp breeze stung his cheeks and he scarce felt his fingers grasping the reins, so cold were they.

Together, man and horse raced towards the distant hazy horizon.

Only he couldn’t outrace his thoughts.

Damnation. Lord Candel would ever be the scourge of his life. In her innocence, Josceline had made a simple suggestion yet she had no idea of whom they truly faced.

Retrieve your ship, she had said.

And he had agreed. How simple. Retrieve the ship.

The sad fact was, he had no idea how to go about it.

When Christopher had won, Candel snatched the deed from the table to ram it into his pocket and who knew where the deed would be now. True, others had witnessed the incident between them but none had come forward for him then and certainly none would come forward weeks after the fact.

To confront the man would serve no purpose. He had tried that and had been refused audience.

What to do now?

Retrieve the ship. How?

* * *

Upon being informed by Tedham that Christopher had taken his horse for a ride, Josceline opted to spend some time with Philip and Tom in an attempt to forget about the events of the previous evening.

They sat outside on the sheltered garden bench she favored, the boys on the ground at her feet. In one hand, she carried the chalk and slate, in the other, the primer.

“Look! Daffodils.” She pointed to the yellow buds set to unfurl. Primula and grape hyacinth also poked through the jumble of dead leaves and grasses. “Spring is here.”

“I like spring,” Philip said importantly. “It means it’s going to get warm again.” Beside him, Tom nodded energetically.

“Shall we count how many daffodils we can find? The yellow ones,” she added at the confusion on the boys’ faces. Their expressions brightened and they jumped to their feet.

“One! Two! Three!” They ran off, fingers pointing, blonde hair flying, cheeks pink with exertion. “Four! Five!”

“Philip, Tom, stay close, we have yet to begin.” She waved and was rewarded with an answering wave from Tom. Philip had disappeared behind the gnarled plum tree although she could still hear his voice. “Six! Seven!”

Best to let them run off some energy before they sat down to tackle today’s lessons. She tilted her face to the warmth of the sun, waiting for the fresh air and cheery light to cast out the remembrance of last night.

It very nearly worked except for one thing.

She couldn’t rid her mind of the memory of the look on her father’s face and the misery in his eyes when Christopher had rescued her.

Bah, it made no sense to concern herself over the well being of her father. He had never concerned himself over her well being, indeed, had let his greed for Mr. Burrows financial resources overrule his sensibilities for his daughter.

Through the budding branches, Josceline caught sight of Philip and Tom. A rush of tenderness filled her breast. Even though she wasn’t their mother, Josceline had developed love for the two and it would require something of horrendous proportions for her to ever hurt them.

Therefore for her father to wound her only revealed the desperation to which he had sunk. She finally saw him for what he was – a broken hulk of a man burying his pain. For that she could feel sympathy.

A thrush alighted on a branch beside her, chirruping its pleasure at the sun. The joyous notes pushed the load from her shoulders and she felt as if she had pulled her feet out of dank, smelly muck to run free through a meadow of buttercups and daisies.

She had Christopher. Her father could hurt her no more.

* * *

Christopher leapt off Vesuvius, throwing the reins to the stable boy. “He’s had quite a gallop, make sure he has a good rub down and a fresh bag of oats.”

Not waiting for the stable boy’s response, he charged into the house in search of Josceline. He couldn’t wait to tell her he’d found a solution to the “Bessie”.

He’d only taken half a dozen strides when Tedham stopped him in the hall.

“There is a package for you, Mr. Sharrington. Jefferson retrieved it from the post this morning.” Tedham pointed to the wood slatted box on the floor of the entrance hall.

“A package?” Christopher furrowed his brow.

“Yes, from London.” The butler coughed behind his hand. “Er, water colors, I believe.”

What the devil? Water colors? Of course, the supplies he ordered for lessons with Josceline when first he engaged her services.

Christopher grimaced, raking his hands through his hair. How long ago that seemed, when his main concern had been to better his dance skills and ply a brush with water colors in an attempt to mimic a genteel lifestyle. He prodded the box with his toe. How silly it all seemed now, how frivolous.

“Have the box delivered to the nursery, if you please. I do believe my wife shall make good use of it. Is she there?”

“Of course, I shall have the box taken up immediately.” Tedham bowed. “Lady Woodsby is in the garden with Philip and Tom. She took them outside for their lessons.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to find her there, thank you, Tedham.”

* * *

Christopher’s eyes widened appreciatively when he spied Josceline’s hair glinting with gold and copper highlights in the spring sun. It was a perfect match to the bronze cloak pooling about her on the bench, apparently too heavy for the mild day.

Mentally he chastised himself. Of course she should have new clothes. Perhaps a dressmaker in town would allow her to order several new frocks on the promise of the success of his first voyage.

If there was a first voyage, he reminded himself grimly.

Emerald eyes sparkled at him as he drew nearer.

“Christopher!” she exclaimed. “You have been out, your cheeks are wind burned. Do they sting? If so, I have just the potion.” A warm smile crossed her lips.

She was glad to see him. A tide of wellbeing at the realization flooded through him. How nice to have someone fuss on his behalf.

“I took Vesuvius for a gallop. He’s been too much in the stable lately, he was getting fat and lazy.” He smiled back. “Are you alone? Tedham thought Philip and Tom were here with you.”

“They are long gone.” She giggled. “Jefferson spotted them running about the garden and hauled them off to look at the new foal. I fear my slate and primer were no match for that.”

“May I?” He pointed to the bench. At her nod, he dropped down beside her, taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “Josceline, I have the solution to the “Bessie”.

“Why, that is wonderful news.” Delight filled her face. “What do you propose?”

“I shall steal her.”

“What!” The delight on her face transformed to disbelief then, when she understood he was serious, to horror.

“Are you mad?” she gasped. “That’s thievery. You shall be clapped in irons or transported or worse. Tell me you are not in earnest.”

“How can it be stealing? She belongs to me,” he said reasonably. It made perfect sense to him. If no one could help him, then he would do it himself.
 

“A proper gentleman would never consider such a course of action.” She set her lips firmly. “It is an outrageous suggestion.”

She had hinted he was no proper gentleman. The idea stung, for he did consider himself thus.

“Spoken like the proper lady,” he sneered in retaliation. She thought him improper then by his words he would live up to her expectations of him.

His comment hit its mark. She rocked back, face flushed.

“A proper, law abiding lady,” she said icily and she pulled free her hand. “If you choose to go through with it, you shall be a proper scoundrel.”

Proper scoundrel. The insult brought to mind a footpad garbed in velvets and satins and the ludicrous vision drummed some sense into his head. It was no less than he deserved after he had mocked her station. Contrition filled him and he hastened to make amends.

“Perhaps that is fitting,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “However if becoming a proper scoundrel is what is required then that is what I shall become.”
 

“No,” she sniffed. “I shan’t hear of such nonsense. You must confront Candel again.”

“It is of no use. I tried that already. If you recall, he denied me entrance to his home.”

“You must try once more.” She looked him square in the face as if to say, you must not defy me.

He almost laughed at her expression. She reminded him of a spitting kitten – all bluster and no substance. However, as appealing as she appeared, he found her reasoning lacking.

“Lord Candel?” he scoffed. “He won’t listen. The man is a law unto himself.”

“Return to the gaming house and confront him there,” she pleaded, obviously changing her tack. “Play another match. You bested him once, you can do it again.”

“And if I don’t?” He crossed his arms. Lud, to approach Candel again would be a waste of time. Christopher’s preference was to take matters in his own hands and face the consequences then.
 

She gave him a disdainful stare, patently unimpressed with his recalcitrance.

“I still have your handkerchief. I can accuse you of highway robbery.”

A cloud passed in front of the sun, a sudden slice of gloom. A chill gust of wind lifted her skirts; she avoided his gaze as she pulled the cloak over her.