Patrica Rice (8 page)

It wasn’t her trip into the village that was madness, but her tumultuous thoughts about the viscount and his wayward brother, or the two of them as one, whatever the case might be. She had gone so far as to return to the woods and river in hopes of discovering the elusive Robin Hood, and now she was making spurious trips to the village in hopes of finding him there again. She had to get to the bottom of this mystery, although why, she couldn’t say.

The thief had struck again last night. This time Squire Dalrymple had been the target, and this morning the countryside was in an uproar. Captain Rollings had already been out to the house inquiring if anyone had heard or seen anything unusual during the night. The blasted thief had set his trap practically at their front door.

How dare he! Daphne gritted her teeth and lashed the reins to speed the pony’s progress. He had to have escaped through their side lawn, practically under their windows. If she could only lay her hands on that man . . .

Madness. What could she do with a man twice her size? Curse him? She should have let Captain Rollings have him that first time. For all the world she could not imagine why she had not. That would have solved the mystery, and she would have been able to live in peace. As it was, she kept waiting for the devil to show up every time she turned her back.

As they clattered onto the cobbled road of the village, Daphne slowed the pony. The maid beside her let out a sigh of relief and released her death grip on the side of the cart, but Daphne gave her little notice. She concentrated on avoiding the unusual number of strollers in the road this morning.

“Out! Away with ye!
We don’t take to beggars in these parts!” The woman’s harsh voice caught Daphne’s attention. Halting the cart in front of the millinery, she glanced about, trying to locate the source of the commotion.

“I’m not begging. I’m just looking for a bit of work. Do ye not need your garden spaded or your steps scrubbed? I’ll do aught for a coin or two.”

It took Daphne a moment to realize this plea came from a young boy a few yards away. A young man, she amended as she recognized the tattered remnants of his uniform.

“Aye, and how ye expect to do that?” The woman’s voice asked scornfully. “Be gone with ye now. This is a poor place. We have naught for the likes of ye.”

The thin young man turned away, and it was then Daphne realized one sleeve of his jacket blew in the breeze. Anger raged hot and cold through her. Perhaps she ought to feel pity or sorrow for the lad’s plight, but she only felt fury at the villager’s treatment of someone who honestly wished to work despite his infirmity. Evan Griffin’s words came back to mock her, but she refused to let him have the right of it.

Before she could climb down from the cart, she noticed another man stepping from the tavern door. She tried to see the reason for his uneven gait, fearing to become embroiled with a drunkard this early in the day. But the sound of his wooden leg on the cobbles dispelled that notion. She garnered her narrow skirt in one hand and stepped out.

“I told ye, lad, there’s none to be had in these parts. Come with me, and I’ll see you fed, leastways.” The peg-legged man raised his hand to the young boy’s shoulder, but his words came to a sudden halt as Daphne bore down on him.

Wearing a fetching green spencer and straw hat with matching ribbons streaming behind, the delicate eyelet overskirt of her walking gown catching and blowing in the wind to reveal a frail muslin gown and kid shoes, the lady hurrying toward them did not appear the fire-breathing dragon that she obviously thought herself. The two men gaped at this vision of loveliness, hastily reached to doff their hats, and stared in open-mouthed astonishment when she stopped before them.

“You are looking for work, sir?” Daphne snapped crisply, addressing the younger man while holding on to her straw hat in the brisk breeze.

“Yes, mum, milady,” the lad answered nervously.

“Then come with me. We will find you work.” She started down the street, but the older man’s polite cough caused her to halt and raise a delicate eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Perhaps you ain’t noticed, milady, but he ain’t got but one arm. You might want to ...”

Daphne’s stare froze him into silence. “And you have but one foot and you still walk, do you not? I do not believe it is necessary to state the obvious. The gentleman wishes to work. It is up to him to devise a means of doing it.’’

She turned to the lad who could not be older than herself, perhaps even younger. “If you are asked to do something that you do not feel capable of doing, you must speak out. It is very hard to do, I know from experience, but you surely must have more courage than I. You have been a soldier. If you can face cannonballs, you can face a blustery squire. Do you wish to come with me or go live with those other layabouts in the woods?” She sent a disdainful glare to the unbathed scoundrel with the wooden leg.

Rhys pursed a silent whistle. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, this was the termagant who had turned his captain into a haunted ghost of himself. No other lady in town would have knowledge of the handful of miscreants living off the land, nor would they have spoken of having experience in facing their limitations if Evan’s observation about her lameness were true.

Besides, only a lady as lovely as this could have turned the captain’s head so easily, and he hadn’t seen another like her, ever. By the devil, he could easily understand Evan’s problem, but the solution wasn’t so easily discovered.

“If you’re handing out jobs, miss,” Rhys hurriedly replied, “I’m as willing as any man to work. There’s just not many as takes to my looks.”

Daphne could see why. Coming out of the tavern in those disgraceful clothes with a week’s unshaven beard, he appeared no better than a rum-soaked old reprobate, but she should not judge by appearances, she reminded herself. Unfortunately, if he looked that disgraceful to her, what could he possibly look like to someone else? The thought did not bear dwelling on.

“Very well.” She frowned. The squire had needed someone to help with the clearing of old shrubs and debris in an unused section of his park. Perhaps he could hire two men to do it, but that would leave both men with half the expected wages. It would be better could she find two jobs, particularly since she found it highly improbable that Squire Dalrymple would wish to have anyone as disreputable as this near his family.

Her frown cleared and she pointed at her pony cart. “Stay here while I take ...” She turned to the young soldier. “Your name?”

“David, mum, David Stone.’’ He twisted his battered hat nervously between the fingers of his one hand.

“All right, Mr. Stone, we will go to Squire Dalrymple.” She turned to the peg-legged man. “Your name?”

“Rhys, milady.” He hesitated before offering his whole name, but in for a penny, in for a pound. He shrugged. “Rhys Llewellyn, milady.”

The name as he said it had a noble ring to it and Daphne looked momentarily startled, but occupied with other thoughts, she merely nodded. “Very well, Mr. Llewellyn, if you wish to work, wait for me by the pony cart.” She threw the sturdy vehicle a quick look, but her maid had already wandered off on her errands.

Having arranged everything to her satisfaction, Daphne set out for the modest Dalrymple house at the edge of the town. It boasted a small fenced park with an overabundance of trees and very little landscaping since none of the squire’s family had any interest in gardening.

As she had feared, it took some persuasion to convince the squire that a one-armed young soldier might take on the arduous task of cleaning out one of the long-neglected corners of the park. The innocent mention that the young man might otherwise fall in with the band of thieves in the woods brought the squire around with reluctance.

“You won’t regret it, sir,” Daphne assured him. “After all these poor boys have done for us, keeping Napoleon from our doors, we can only do our best to see them taken care of when they return home. I am certain Lord Griffin will commend you for your patriotism.”

That was a compelling argument, and the squire finally nodded and glanced at the young man. “ ‘Tis a pity we cannot replace the uniform and give him a gun. With thieves swarming about, a bodyguard is what we need.”

David straightened his shoulders and met the squire’s eyes. “I can still shoot straight, sir. If you have a weapon, I can ride behind your carriage.”

To Daphne, that was an alarming thought, but the squire brightened perceptibly, and she dared raise no objection. With a few parting words, Daphne left them discussing the war and hastened back toward her pony.

The wooden-legged man was leaning against the cart as she approached. He straightened at the sight of her, but politely he did not speak until spoken to.

Coming up against her next project, Daphne regarded his revolting clothes with a shudder and glanced around for some sign of Marie. She found the maid huddled nervously in the doorway of the notions shop, staring at the vagrant whose unkempt form had usurped their vehicle. Daphne gave a sigh of exasperation and turned back to the odoriferous Mr. Llewellyn.

“You will have to bathe before I can take you with me,” she announced severely, refusing to acknowledge her creeping embarrassment at speaking so to a stranger. “Ask the innkeeper the cost of a bath and I will advance you the funds.”

Rhys glared at her in astonishment, then growing amusement. She was red about the ears, and he had to acknowledge the justice of her decision. “The boy, milady?” He persisted in using the title even though he knew she didn’t possess one. “Did he find a place?”

Daphne looked even more uncomfortable. She worried about the idea of placing an eager young soldier with a gun on a private carriage. It didn’t seem at all wise. She wondered if there were any way of warning the thief; then she wondered why she should care.

Her concern came out in her sharp reply. “He has a place, and if the squire has any say in the matter, he’ll be riding as an armed bodyguard as well as working in the yard.”

Rhys hid his alarm. “I’ve had enough shooting, ma’am. If that’s what you have in mind for me, I’ll be going now.”

Daphne sent him an exasperated look. “That’s not what I had in mind for anybody, but Mr. Stone is no longer our concern. Will you follow my suggestion or shall I let you wander back to your pig sty?”

Rhys had half a mind to stalk off and leave Miss-High-and-Mighty to her busybody ways, but the blow to his pride wasn’t as strong as his sudden desire for a real bath or his curiosity as to what she had in mind for him. He made a slight bow. “I’ll make inquiries, milady, but the clothes will have to bathe with me.”

Her flush at that remark served to bolster his sagging pride to some small degree.

Daphne realized she really had bitten off more than she could chew this time. This wasn’t any grateful or subservient creature eager to obey her every word. He was a grown man, probably a career soldier who had seen a good deal more of this world than she. Whatever on earth had given her the notion that she might redirect his wayward habits? And he was undoubtedly right. He would have to have clean clothes before a bath would benefit him. She wished heartily that she were anywhere else but here.

Sublimely unaware of the other people passing her by or idling in doorways watching this scene, Daphne didn’t recognize the horse and rider coming down the street until she heard the excited whispers of a couple of the housewives behind her.

“It’s his lordship!”

“Ain’t he grand? Look at them boots. Wager some poor bloke had to spit and polish for a week to make them shine like that.”

“Do you think he’ll ...” The whisper trailed lower to a voice Daphne couldn’t hear, but she had heard enough. She lifted her head to the sound of hoofbeats and saw the navy coat and immaculate breeches that identified Lord Griffin. She sighed in profound relief.

Rhys leaned back against the cart again and waited for the handsome lord to discover this little tableau. It didn’t take long. The street was short and narrow, and Miss Templeton stood out like a rose on a mud flat against the backdrop of dreary stone.

“Miss Templeton.” Lord Griffin dismounted, shooting the shabby vagrant at her side a quick glance which turned to one of astonishment and then vanished as he bowed and returned his gaze to Daphne. “Well met. I thought to take some tea and persuade Mrs. White out of some of her delicious tarts. Would you care to join me?”

Not catching the swift exchange of glances between the two men, Daphne smiled. “That would be lovely, but first you must rescue me. I have promised Mr. Llewellyn that I could find him employment so he need not live in the woods any longer. We have not had time to discuss his skills, but surely there must be some that can be put to some use in an estate as large as yours.”

Amusement curled the viscount’s lips as he turned to the insolent ex-soldier leaning against the cart, glaring at him. “To be sure, Miss Templeton. If you vouch for the man, I’ll be certain to find him a place. Mr. Llewellyn, is it?” He removed a gold piece from his pocket. “Take this coin and tell Beckworth at the inn to provide you a bath and change of clothes. We’ll discuss employment after Miss Templeton is on her way.”

The filthy vagrant made a sardonic obeisance and caught the coin flipped to him. “Certainly, milord.”

As he walked off, Lord Griffin offered Daphne his arm. “I’m surprised at you. How do you come to be speaking to creatures such as that?”

Still irritated and flustered by the incident, Daphne answered curtly. “We are all God’s creatures, my lord. Who am I to judge between them?”

The laughter in his voice hid the look of concern in his eyes as he glanced at her proudly held head. “Well said, but whatever happened to calling me Gordon? I shall have to remind you until you realize I mean it. We must be friends, my dear Daphne, if you are to go about rescuing the countryside. Do you have plans for our resident Robin Hood as yet?”

There it was again, that hint of amusement that said he knew more than he revealed. Daphne clenched her fingers and bit her tongue. How was she ever to persuade him to tell what he knew?