Rapture Becomes Her (31 page)
Read Rapture Becomes Her Online
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
Barnaby laughed. “Now why am I not surprised?” Sobering, he added, “You know that all of you are always welcome at Windmere and that there is no reason for you to leave if you don’t want to.”
Mathew studied Barnaby’s face for a long moment, searching for signs of insincerity. Finding none, he said coolly, “You are a much better man than I. If our positions were reversed, I’d be wishing you to the devil.”
“As I did you at first,” Barnaby admitted, smiling, “but I’ve mellowed.”
“Perhaps in a decade or two,” Mathew said, “I’ll be able to say the same.”
Barnaby laughed. “Let us hope that it is sooner.”
A glimmer of a smile in the azure eyes, Mathew murmured, “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
Barnaby was thoughtful after Mathew left the room. He hadn’t minded the visit from his Joslyn cousins, but he wouldn’t be sorry to see them leave either—especially Mathew and Thomas. Their thinly veiled animosity was wearying. Simon seemed not to mind that his older brother had lost the title and a fortune, but Barnaby wondered about that. Was Simon all that he appeared? He liked Simon, but Simon’s desire to stay behind raised a few questions in his mind. Was he remaining behind to keep an eye on him? Make another attempt on his life? Or simply to rile Mathew? Barnaby smiled. Probably the latter.
Later that evening, while they were alone in his dressing room, Barnaby asked Lamb, “Have you heard that Mathew and Tom are leaving after the calling of the banns tomorrow? And that Simon is staying?”
Lamb, in the act of hanging up Barnaby’s plum jacket in one of the massive mahogany wardrobes, glanced over his shoulder and answered, “Yes. There was talk in the kitchens earlier this evening about it.”
Barnaby expected as much—the servants probably knew of Mathew and Tom’s plans before he did, he thought wryly. “Why do you think Simon is staying?” he asked, unraveling his cravat.
“My money would be on annoying his brothers,” Lamb replied.
“My thoughts precisely,” Barnaby said with a laugh. Laughter fading, he asked casually, “You don’t think Simon might be behind the attacks on me?”
“Do you?” Lamb asked, frowning.
“No. It seems rather far-fetched, but I am curious about his remaining behind. Seems to me that the three brothers tend to act in unison.”
“You’re wrong there,” Lamb said. “Servant gossip has it that Simon is seldom at Monks Abbey and that he is not often in the company of either brother.” Lamb hesitated. “His valet, Leighton, is a likable young man,” he said finally, “whose main fault is a fondness for the bottle and a loose tongue. According to him, the hostility between Thomas and Simon is very real—they can’t abide each other.”
“So Simon could be staying to annoy Tom as much as Mathew,” Barnaby said.
“That would be my guess.”
Barnaby agreed and, shrugging out of his silk waistcoat, he handed the garment to Lamb. His day had been full, and while he would have preferred to think about Emily’s charms, Luc was never far from his mind. Undoing his shirt, he said carefully, “I’ve been thinking about Luc and what to do about him.”
Lamb swung around to look at him, his gaze narrowed. “Now why do I have the impression that I am not going to like what you’re going to say?”
There was no wrapping it in clean linen and Barnaby said baldly, “I have to go after him. When Jeb returns I’m going to speak with him about taking me to France.”
His jaw clenched, Lamb growled, “Now that is the most asinine idea you have ever expressed. You do not have to rescue that young devil from a danger of his own making. Despite all the warnings and advice to the contrary he chose to go to France, and it is not up to you to save his neck.”
“You’d abandon him?”
“Not if I thought I could save him,” Lamb said tightly, “but we have no idea where he is in France or even if he is still alive. For all you know, he’s already lost that handsome head of his to the guillotine.”
Barnaby winced. “Thank you,” he muttered. “I’ll try to sleep after you’ve put such a delightful picture in my mind.”
“I would remind you that you have other responsibilities,” Lamb said, “other people dependent upon you—such as everyone on this estate. Would you desert them?” At the stubborn expression on Barnaby’s face, he demanded, “What of Miss Townsend? What are you going to do? Marry her one day and sail for France the next, not knowing when or if you’ll return?”
That was the sticking point, Barnaby admitted. When he considered leaving Emily behind, whether married or not, every fiber in his body rebelled. He owed Luc loyalty, but didn’t he owe the woman he was to marry more? Pain in the dark eyes, Barnaby asked, “How can I sacrifice one for the other?”
“You’re not sacrificing anyone!” Lamb snarled. “Luc
chose
to sacrifice himself—you had nothing to do with it—and you did your damnedest to stop him from going.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Though there are times I would like to throttle him myself, I am not without feelings for him—he’s my nephew just as you are and we share the bond of illegitimacy.” His face softened and he said quietly, “I would remind you that Luc wouldn’t thank you for throwing your own life away. Whatever his fate—he’d want you to marry your Amazon and raise strapping sons and fierce-eyed daughters and he’d curse you for a fool if you don’t do exactly that.”
chose
to sacrifice himself—you had nothing to do with it—and you did your damnedest to stop him from going.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Though there are times I would like to throttle him myself, I am not without feelings for him—he’s my nephew just as you are and we share the bond of illegitimacy.” His face softened and he said quietly, “I would remind you that Luc wouldn’t thank you for throwing your own life away. Whatever his fate—he’d want you to marry your Amazon and raise strapping sons and fierce-eyed daughters and he’d curse you for a fool if you don’t do exactly that.”
Lamb was right about that, Barnaby admitted, and he could almost hear Lucien’s voice chiding him for even considering such a reckless, foolish act.
“Mon Dieu!”
Lucien cried in his head, and Barnaby could see the azure eyes gleaming with mockery. “You left the arms of a beautiful woman to search for me? You are a fool, my little brother. A fool. Bah! I cannot believe that we share the same father. One of us is a changeling and it is not
moi!
”
“Mon Dieu!”
Lucien cried in his head, and Barnaby could see the azure eyes gleaming with mockery. “You left the arms of a beautiful woman to search for me? You are a fool, my little brother. A fool. Bah! I cannot believe that we share the same father. One of us is a changeling and it is not
moi!
”
Shutting out that mocking voice, Barnaby said to Lamb, “You win. For the present we shall just hope that Lucifer lives up to his name.” Forcing a grin, he added, “And I shall keep my thoughts on my Amazon and those strapping sons and fierce-eyed daughters.”
Upon returning home, Emily had no thoughts of strapping sons and fierce-eyed daughters; her thoughts were of more mundane things—such as her life regaining some semblance of normality. She assumed that she could simply slip back into her usual routine and she was unprepared for the furor her engagement to Lord Joslyn created all through the surrounding countryside. Once the engagement became public that Sunday morning at the calling of the banns, everyone of note simply
had
to call at The Birches and offer their congratulations—and of course, Barnaby rode over nearly every day, distracting her with stolen kisses and teasing looks. When Barnaby wasn’t underfoot, her time was spent smiling and nodding at all the various, twittering ladies that came to call. Near the end of that first week, her face felt as if a permanent smile had been plastered on it. Many of the ladies were kind, but there were inquisitive stares and a few, their voices full of speculation, were bold enough to comment aloud at the suddenness of the engagement. Emily either ignored them or allowed Cornelia to give them a proper set-down—which she did with relish.
had
to call at The Birches and offer their congratulations—and of course, Barnaby rode over nearly every day, distracting her with stolen kisses and teasing looks. When Barnaby wasn’t underfoot, her time was spent smiling and nodding at all the various, twittering ladies that came to call. Near the end of that first week, her face felt as if a permanent smile had been plastered on it. Many of the ladies were kind, but there were inquisitive stares and a few, their voices full of speculation, were bold enough to comment aloud at the suddenness of the engagement. Emily either ignored them or allowed Cornelia to give them a proper set-down—which she did with relish.
If Emily was not being teased and seduced by Barnaby or badgered by the curious, she was being led away for another fitting of this gown or that gown. Having endured two Seasons in London, she was half prepared for the enormous amount of clothing being Joslyn’s viscountess would require, but she hadn’t realized the ruthless enthusiasm that would govern her great-aunt when it came to assembling a suitable wardrobe. Having free call on Joslyn’s generous pocketbook had unleashed a hither-to-unknown desire in Cornelia to fill every wardrobe, trunk and chest in the house with fabulous garments for both of them for every conceivable occasion. The list of things Cornelia felt were absolutely necessary for Emily’s elevated position, and her own, seemed endless. “After all,” Cornelia commented with a wicked grin, “I’m as near a mother-in-law as he’ll ever get, and you know the viscount wouldn’t want me to appear in these old rags.” A thought struck her. “Oh, and Anne! Anne must have some new gowns in time for the wedding, too.”
During the past week there had been a series of letters carried back and forth between The Birches and Parkham House by the servants. With Ainsworth’s death, there was no longer any reason for Anne to remain at Parkham House, but since Hugh and his mother would be attending the wedding, it was agreed that she would wait and return to The Birches with them. Hugh’s mother settled the problem of new gowns by suggesting Anne use her seamstress. Informed by Cornelia of the situation, Barnaby dutifully saw that a generous sum of money was sent to Anne.
Amusement in his eyes, Barnaby said to Cornelia as he wrote out the instructions for the transfer of money, “Enjoying spending my money, are you?”
Cornelia twinkled at him. “Immensely!”
At Cornelia’s urgent request, a notable modiste from London had arrived on the steps of The Birches—along with a coach full of materials. Martha Webber, despite her crippled hands, begged to be allowed to help with the sewing of dear Miss Emily’s wardrobe and, helpless against the appeal in those faded eyes, what could Emily say? The old lady and her sister, Mrs. Gant, were installed in one of the bedrooms near the London modiste. The arrival of a pair of young seamstresses from London swelled the number of women working on the wardrobes.
Never mind that between the curious ladies and the fittings that her wedding loomed large on the horizon, or that Emily had her hands full with the day-to-day running of The Birches . . . and just never mind about anything to do with smugglers.... Lambing season hovered close and she’d already spent two nights until the early hours of the morning in the lambing shed with Loren. An older ewe and her breech big ram lamb they managed to save, but on a stormy Thursday night the last day of January, they lost a young ewe and the twins she carried. And then there had been the dinner party and ball planned by Joslyn on Saturday the second of February, where she made her first official appearance at Windmere as his bride-to-be.
After the second calling of the banns, Emily hoped that the novelty of her engagement would fade, but such was not the case. If anything, with the wedding approaching in ten days or so, the interest was even more intense. Every night of the next week it seemed that she and Joslyn attended a soiree or a ball hosted by the leaders in the neighborhood, each one trying to outdo the other.
On Friday evening, having escorted the two ladies home through a driving rainstorm from a ball given by Lord and Lady Broadfoot, after bidding Cornelia good night, Barnaby stole a moment alone with Emily. He’d noted the shadows under her eyes and the distracted air about her.
Determined to get to the bottom of it, he whisked her into the green salon and demanded, “What is wrong? Something is worrying you. Jeffery?”
Emily sighed and sank down onto the settee. She considered hedging but in the end she said simply, “Jeb should have returned by now. He’s been gone two weeks.” She bit her lip. “He’s never been gone more than a week and the one time that he was delayed was because he’d had to replace a sail shredded in a storm.”
Barnaby frowned. “Is there any way you can find out if he is safely in Calais or if there was trouble with his boat in the Channel?”
“Not without sending someone specifically to look for him,” she admitted unhappily. “Jeb and his crew are experienced seamen,” she added, as much to remind herself as Barnaby. “There was no storm the night they left, although the waters of the Channel can be rough even without a storm, so it is possible that there was some sort of trouble during the crossing.” She sighed again. “I cannot imagine that he ran afoul of the port authorities in Calais, and if he fell into the hands of the revenuers, we’d know about it.” She looked down at her fingers nervously pleating the spangled net overskirt of her pink silk gown. “Sometimes the people smugglers have to deal with would just as soon murder them and steal their money as sell them contraband.”
“Do you think that is what happened?”
She shrugged. “It was riskier for us in the beginning because we didn’t know who we could trust, but these days Jeb has only certain traders he deals with—men that won’t try to cheat him—or at least ones that he hopes won’t take advantage of him.” She looked up at him, her gray eyes troubled. “Something is delaying him and I fear that it cannot be good.”
Barnaby longed to comfort her, but smuggling and its associated dangers were not his forte. Beyond the most basic information, he knew little of smuggling . . . and of boats, he thought uneasily, remembering that desperate time he had fought for his life in the Channel.
Trying to come up with some logical reason for Jeb’s delay, and the memory of those angry waves vivid in his mind, he offered, “Perhaps the Channel crossing was indeed rougher than expected and there was some damage done to the boat and repairs are taking time.”
“If there was damage done to the boat,” she said grimly, “I’d put my money on sabotage by the Nolles gang.”
Barnaby didn’t like the sound of that and he reminded himself again that he needed to pay a visit to The Ram’s Head and discover for himself just how much danger this Nolles and his gang represented. His eyes traveled over Emily’s anxious features, his gaze lingering on the soft, enticing curve of her mouth. His lips twitched. He was alone with his bride-to-be and instead of sweeping her into his arms and showing her how delightful he found her, he was discussing smugglers!
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