Snowbound With the Notorious Rake (13 page)

Althea’s performance was warmly applauded and she crossed over to the pianoforte, calling to Lawrence to come and turn the pages for her. Rose watched him standing beside Althea, bending to catch something she said, sharing a smile with her. It took her a little while to realise that the hard, angry knot in her stomach was jealousy. She breathed deeply, her fingers clenching and unclenching in her lap. So much for her resolution!

‘Bravo, my dear!’

Magnus’s utterance caught her attention and with a little jolt of surprise she realised Althea had finished. She put her hands together in appreciation of the music, although she had not attended to a note.

‘Now,’ Magnus continued, looking about him, ‘who will be next…Rose?’

‘Thank you but, no, not tonight.’

‘Pray show us what you can do,’ he urged her. ‘I know you play very prettily; I have heard you perform at Bluebell Cottage.’

Rose smiled and shook her head.

‘Do not put her to the blush, Brother,’ said Althea sweetly. ‘To amuse oneself on the little box piano at
home is all very well, but it is very different to playing
properly
on a Broadwood.’

Mrs Molland drew in a hissing breath. Rose put her hand on her mother’s arm to prevent her from leaping to her defence.

‘Of course it is,’ she agreed cordially. ‘However, now you mention it, I have been practising a rondo by Mr Mozart and confess I should like to know how it sounds on such a fine instrument.’

Rose walked across to the piano and sat down. Lawrence stepped closer.

‘Do you have music, ma’am? May I turn the pages for you?’

She shook her head, the light of battle in her eyes.

‘Thank you, I have no need of music for this piece.’

With that she spread her hands out over the keys and began to play with such gusto that an immediate silence descended over the room. It gave her immense satisfaction to see the shocked look upon Althea’s features. Poor Miss Emsleigh, she rarely visited Bluebell Cottage so she was not to know that the piano was one of Rose’s main pleasures, or that she spent many hours practising.

Rose ended her performance with a flourish and sat back. Magnus led the applause, beaming delightedly at her before looking around the room as if to invite his guests to appreciate just what an accomplished bride he had chosen.

‘Exemplary,’ murmured Sir Lawrence. ‘I have rarely heard anything finer. I can think of no better set-down for our hostess.’

He had been standing by the piano, watching her, throughout her performance, but Rose had been so caught up in the music that she had barely noticed him. Now his words reminded her of her situation. With a strained smile she shook her head at him and slipped away.

The musical entertainment continued, but Rose could not enjoy it. She was angry that she had allowed her irritation to get the better of her. She had suffered Althea’s barbed comments before and had always allowed them to pass unchallenged, but tonight was different. It had been Rose’s intention to stay in the background and be nothing more than a spectator for the evening, but her display upon the pianoforte had drawn everyone’s attention. With dismay she saw that both Althea and Lawrence were watching her, dark resentment in one glance, warm admiration in the other.

The evening dragged on. The tea tray was brought in and Althea dispensed cups of black Bohea to the guests who milled around the room, talking and laughing. Rose carried a cup of tea to her mother, but could not settle. She wanted to go home, but Magnus would not call the carriage for a good hour yet, and she did not wish to draw even more attention to herself by requesting to leave early. Instead she touched Magnus’s arm and drew him aside.

‘Is there somewhere I may sit quietly for a little while, Magnus?’

‘What is it, my dear, are you unwell?’

‘A severe headache, but I am sure it will ease presently, if I can only be alone.’

Immediately he guided her out of the room.

‘There is a good fire in the library,’ he said. ‘Shall I send Althea to you, or your mother?’

‘No, no, I would not upset your party, Magnus. I shall do very well alone, thank you.’

They slipped out of the room and Magnus led her away from the public rooms to the library. It was a large, imposing chamber, almost divided in two by the bookshelves that jutted out into the room. On this side of the divide a marble fireplace and two armchairs provided a degree of comfort. Beyond, a large mahogany desk filled the centre of the floor, its surface bare of any ornament. Magnus used his study for working; this room was merely for show, neither the desk nor the leather-bound tomes, purchased by the yard from a Bristol bookseller, intended for anything more than ostentatious display.

Magnus settled her in one of the chairs beside the fire.

‘No one will bother you here. I shall come back again in a little while—’

‘No, there will be no need for that.’ She gave him a weak smile. ‘I have taken enough of your time. Go back to your guests, Magnus, and I will join you very soon, I promise.’

She watched him walk away, her smile fading as he left the room. Guilt ripped at her conscience; she was betrothed to Magnus, yet even here, in his house, her thoughts, her attention, constantly turned to Lawrence.
Their brief liaison had lasted only two nights, but the pain of separation was as strong now as the day she had ridden away from Knightscote. It was like a raw, angry wound that would not heal.

‘Oh, will it never end?’ The words were dragged out of her and she dropped her head in her hands.

As if conjured by her own longing she heard his voice, full of concern.

‘What is it, Rose? Are you ill?’

She lifted her head. Lawrence was standing with his back to the door, his blue eyes fixed upon her.

‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘I saw you leave—you did not look well. Then Magnus came back alone…’

She hunted frantically for her handkerchief.

‘Please go.’

‘I want to help.’

She wiped her eyes, ashamed that he should observe her weakness. Glancing up, she saw that he was still watching her.

‘Talk to me,’ he said quietly.

Rose jumped up and began to pace up and down. She sought around for some ladylike term to do justice to the pain inside. There was none.

‘Damn you,’ she uttered vehemently. ‘
Damn you
, Lawrence Daunton! You were not supposed to come back into my life. I was managing very well without you.’

This was not quite true, but Rose had no intention of admitting the gnawing loneliness she had felt during the spring months. Angrily she kneaded one fist into
the palm of the other. ‘I thought I could play this game. That we could meet as strangers, friends even, but it is not possible. I cannot relax in your company—you make me discontent with my lot in life!’

‘This does not have to be your lot, Rose.’

She shook her head, hardly attending to him.

‘I have worked
so hard
to forget you. My world was ordered and—and calm. My future was assured. Then you come striding back, overturning everything I have worked for, winning my son’s regard—’

‘I did not plan that.’

‘No? And what about the pony?’

A sudden smile softened his features.

‘Blame Sam for that! Little monkey, when he chattered away to me, saying you could not afford a mount for him, I could not help myself.’

‘And thus he gave you a means to tempt me, to put myself into your debt.’

‘No! I would never use Sam as a way into your affections!’

His vehemence surprised her.

‘Nevertheless I am constrained to be obliged, when I would rather have nothing to do with you!’

‘Do you think you are the only one suffering?’ he flashed. ‘To be near you, but unable to talk freely, unable to cherish and protect you—’

‘We agreed it could never be—’

‘No—
you
said it could not work. You had married one rake and would not risk your happiness with another. But I am no libertine, Rose. I was wild, yes, and I allowed rumours to circulate. But I am a changed
man. Ask any of my friends in town—write to that wearisome aunt of yours who passes on to you all the gossip! They will all tell you I have not looked at a woman this year. My friends have waited in vain for me at the gaming tables. I have spent most of my time upon my estates, adding new buildings, improving the land—at first I did it out of anger, my only thought was that I would show you I was not the feckless character you thought me! Then, as the months went on, I found I enjoyed it, much more than the social round I had become locked into. I faced up to the truth that I had never wanted to marry Annabelle and had stayed in London merely to avoid the fateful day. I had misbehaved, flaunted my string of mistresses in front of her, hoping that she would realise I would not make a good husband and cry off. She never did. I was afraid to marry her; I did not want to be imprisoned in her world of dull domesticity.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘It was a dreadful thing to discover about myself, Rose, that I was too much of a coward to tell her the truth. I truly thought it would break her heart. Looking back now, I think she wanted the match as little as I. If only—! I bitterly regret it now, but there is nothing I can do to change the past. But
you
can change your future. You say you are not content with your life—then change it, Rose. Break off your engagement to Emsleigh!’

‘You know I cannot.’

He grabbed her arms.

‘Why not? Are you afraid of what everyone will say?’

‘No!’ She pushed her hands against the solid,
unyielding wall of his chest. ‘That is not the reason. I chose Magnus because he is everything you are not: correct, dependable, solidly upright. He will be a perfect father for Sam.’

‘Are you sure, Rose? Are you sure Emsleigh is the upright, honest gentleman you think him?’

‘Of course. He has never given me any reason to doubt that.’

‘But you don’t love him.’

Rose bit her lip.

‘That is not a requirement of our marriage.’

‘Then it is doomed to fail.’ He pulled her closer, but as he went to kiss her she turned her head away. Her heart was pounding so hard it was a constant drumming in her ears. ‘Your blood is on fire when I touch you,’ he muttered, his lips grazing her neck and causing her to tremble. Her head went back as his kisses left a burning trail upon her skin. ‘If you must marry, let it be me!’

‘You—you are asking me to marry you?’ she said raggedly. ‘When you have just admitted you lived for years in London rather than succumb to—what did you call it?—dull domesticity?’

‘There would be nothing dull about our marriage.’ The dark desire in his eyes sent a shudder through her. ‘I would be a good husband, Rose, if you will give me a chance to prove it.’

She closed her eyes, scalding tears welling up.

‘Yes, you have behaved yourself for the past ten months, but that is not a lifetime!’ She choked back a sob. ‘Harry was a model husband for the first year, until
Sam was born, but then he reverted to his old ways. I cannot—will not—risk that happening again.’

He sighed. ‘One can never guarantee what life has in store. Sometimes you have to take a risk.’ His grip tightened on her arms. ‘Sometimes, you have to follow your heart. You have to trust me, Rose.’

With a tremendous effort she freed herself, shaking off his hands to say angrily, ‘I do not
have
to do anything! You ask too much of me, sir, when all I ask of you is that you leave me alone!’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘Please,’ she said softly, ‘please, just go away.’

‘Is there nothing I say will convince you that I have changed for good?’

She shook her head.

‘Only time will tell us that, Lawrence, and that is something I do not have.’ She drew a long, steadying breath and said resolutely, ‘I am marrying Magnus in the spring.’

She spoke slowly, her words falling heavy as lead between them. Lawrence watched her, his face pale and impassive, but the muscle working in his jaw told her just how tense he was.

‘So, I have my answer,’ he said at last. ‘This is goodbye.’

‘Yes.’ She put her hands to her cheeks. ‘This year has been the most miserable I have ever spent. You c-cannot know how much I regret taking the wrong turning last winter.’

A wry smile twisted his lips.

‘I am very sorry if you think that. I have come to
believe your arriving at my door was the finest thing that ever happened in my life.’

With a final, clipped little bow he turned on his heel and walked out. In the silence she listened to his footsteps fading away. He would leave, she knew it. He would hurry down the stairs, there would be a flurry of activity as one footman hurried off to fetch his coat while another dashed to the stables to order his horse.

Go after him. Tell him you have changed your mind.

The insidious voice in her head teased her with views of a halcyon future where they would live in wedded bliss. She folded her arms across her stomach. Better to conjure the images of her marriage to Harry Westerhill: the arguments, the blows, the long waking nights knowing he was lying in another woman’s bed. And even if she could endure all that, Lawrence would expect an heir. How was she to tell him that she could have no more children?

L
awrence groaned and turned carefully in his bed. His head hurt dreadfully, but he knew he could not blame Emsleigh’s wine for that. He had returned to Knightscote in the early hours of the morning and settled down to contemplate his future with a bottle of brandy. To see Rose in such distress tore at his heart. When he had first learned that she had postponed her marriage to Emsleigh he had begun almost un consciously to hope that she might have changed her mind about him, but that now seemed impossible. She was determined to marry Emsleigh, to provide Sam with a respectable father. Aye, that was the bitter irony—if Lawrence’s suspicions were correct, then Magnus Emsleigh was anything but respectable: he was responsible for sinking the
Sealark
to claim the insurance and inadvertently responsible for Ruben Wooler’s death. Lawrence could not ignore that, nor could he share his suspicions with
Rose. But he could not let her marry Emsleigh while he suspected him of such villainy. He had to discover the truth.

A week later Lawrence was forced to admit that his investigations were not going well. He had sought out Captain Morris, but he had told him nothing more than the agent had already gleaned from the crew members: a fire had broken out in the hold and they had been forced to abandon ship. The accounts were all the same—too much so for Lawrence’s liking—but since they all held notes of hand from Magnus Emsleigh, promising them various sums once the insurers had paid out, it was unlikely anyone of them would admit to anything different. The only person who seemed troubled was Abel Wooler, brother of the drowned sailor. Lawrence had spoken to him on several occasions and had the distinct impression that he was hiding something.

Lawrence decided that he would go and see Abel once more. If he stuck to his story then there would be nothing for it but to return to London. He would have to tell George Craven that the insurance claim must stand.

And that would leave Rose free to marry Magnus Emsleigh. The thought irked him, but if he had nothing stronger than his own suspicions, what right had he to object to a marriage that would give Rose and Sam a secure and comfortable life?

Riding to Mersecombe did much to raise Lawrence’s spirits. There were still signs of the early snow on the
high ground and a biting wind cut at his cheeks as he galloped across the moor. It was a little warmer down in the valley, where the steeply wooded hills provided some shelter, and he slowed his hectic pace. Lawrence tried to convince himself that the sudden twisting in his gut as he rode past the church was due to the brandy and not the fact that Rose would be there, taking lessons in the little schoolroom.

‘Good day, Sir Lawrence.’

The soft greeting interrupted his thoughts and he brought his horse to a stand. Mr Wilkins, the vicar, was standing at the edge of the road with a soberly clad woman at his side. He introduced her as Mrs Reed, a distant cousin.

‘I am taking Mrs Reed to the schoolroom: she is to be Mrs Westerhill’s replacement.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Lawrence nodded, said all that was proper and rode on.

Another reminder that Rose was to wed Magnus Emsleigh.

Lawrence clenched his teeth. Dear heaven, he would be glad to quit this place! As he rounded the bend in the road he spotted a figure on the road before him—it was Abel Wooler, heading for the Ship Inn. Well, perhaps fortune was favouring him at last.

He stabled his horse and entered the inn, pausing to allow his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light. The inn was deserted and he soon spotted his quarry, sitting at a table near the fire.

‘Good day to you, Wooler. Will you take a drink with me?’

The man looked up. His eyes were wary, but he nodded.

Lawrence called for ale and drew up a stool.

‘How is the pointer bitch?’

‘She is doing well,’ Lawrence replied. ‘Growing apace. You’ve sold all the other pups now?’

‘Aye, they’ve all been taken.’ Abel paused while the serving maid brought a heavy blackjack to the table and filled two tankards with frothy ale. Lawrence gave her a handful of coins and asked her to leave the blackjack on the table.

Abel raised his tankard to Lawrence, taking his time to savour the drink before saying in his slow drawl, ‘Somehow I don’t think ’tis dogs you wants to talk to me about.’

‘No. I wanted to ask you again about the
Sealark
.’

‘I’ve told you all I knows, Sir Lawrence.’

‘But have you? Doesn’t it seem odd to you that Emsleigh should entrust such a valuable cargo to his least seaworthy ship?’

Abel shrugged.

‘Summer. He didn’t expect it to suffer heavy weather.’

‘And the fire? Tell me again how it broke out.’

‘No one knows.’ Abel took another long draught. ‘There’s a lot of tar on a ship, Sir Lawrence. Fires ’appen.’

‘So everyone says. I’ve read the crew’s accounts—those that could be collected. It took some time to gather them, with the crew scattered far and wide. Some have even set sail again.’ Lawrence paused. ‘Seems strange
to me that Morris should sign up his crew in Bristol. He usually finds his crews locally, does he not? From Barnstaple or Minehead.’ Another shrug.

‘So how did you and your brother come to sign up?’

‘Cap’n Morris told Ruben about it. Ruben told me.’

‘So Morris would not have taken you if your brother had not mentioned it?’

Abel said quickly, ‘I never said that.’

Lawrence refilled the tankards.

‘Some of the crew’s accounts say the fire was the bosun’s fault.’ He saw the flash of anger in the other man’s eyes, but it faded again and he merely shrugged.

‘It’s easy to blame the dead. They can’t defend themselves.’

‘But the fire could have been started deliberately.’

‘To what end?’

‘To scuttle the ship,’ said Lawrence. ‘After the cargo had been safely unloaded.’ He paused, watching Abel closely. ‘There would be a reward, you know, if the cargo was to be recovered.’

‘You think if you get me drunk I will confess everything to you?’ Abel’s slow grin appeared. He shook his head. ‘It will not happen. There’s nothing to confess.’

‘But you must admit it looks suspicious: Emsleigh has debts to pay, takes out a large insurance on his cargo—’

‘Sir Lawrence, you are a gentleman, we’ve done business together. More than that, our Jem has taken a shine to ’ee, and you’ve paid for these drinks. All those things stop me from punching your daylights out for suggest
ing I might not be telling the truth!’ Abel glowered at him. ‘I have already signed to say we did all we could to save the ship. What would happen to me if I was to change my mind? My word against my fellows—that would do no good. Besides, if—and I’m not saying it was deliberate—
if
it was discovered that the
Sealark
was scuttled, then Jem would not get the money that was promised to his dad. I couldn’t do that to the boy.’

Lawrence was about to argue more when a soft, distressed voice called from the doorway.

‘Abel—Abel, are you there? Have you seen Jem?’

Both men swung round. Maggie Wooler was hurrying across the taproom with Rose close behind her. One look at Rose’s face and Lawrence was on his feet.

‘It’s Jem,’ said Maggie. ‘He’s not been to school.’

‘Sam is missing, too,’ added Rose. ‘When they did not arrive at school I thought they had gone back to the farm. Mrs Reed was with me, so I left her in charge of the children and walked up to fetch them.’

‘But they wasn’t with me,’ cried Maggie, wringing her hands. ‘They’ve run away somewhere.’

Lawrence turned to Rose.

‘What about the pony?’

She shook her head, eyes shadowed with worry.

‘I checked the stables; Evans has not seen them.’

‘Gone—?’ Abel stopped. He slowly shook his head. ‘Nay, he wouldn’t.’

‘What is it?’ cried Maggie. ‘What are you thinking, Abel?’

He rubbed his chin.

‘Well, you know what today is, Maggie.’

‘Aye, it’s Ruben’s birthday.’

‘An’ I remember, last time young Sam was up at the farm with us, he was telling Jem how on
his
father’s birthday he and Mrs Westerhill went off to lay flowers on the grave in Exford.’

‘But Ruben has no grave,’ said Maggie.

‘No,’ muttered Abel. ‘Just his initials carved at Sealham Point.’

Rose looked aghast. ‘But they cannot have gone there. The tide…’

‘Jem knows the tides; he’d reckon they could walk there and back before the tide came in and cut them off,’ said Abel. ‘But I’d wager it will have taken ’em longer than they thought to get to Sealham Point. The tide will have turned. They’ll be stuck there now.’

‘If they haven’t been washed out to sea!’ cried Mrs Wooler, lifting her apron to cover her face.

‘Nonsense, Maggie, our Jem has more sense than that. He’ll have seen that they can’t get back and will be sitting it out on the rocks.’

‘But it will be dark by the time the tide goes out again.’ Rose tried to speak calmly, but could not prevent the quiver in her voice. ‘They will not be able to see their way back. Th-that means they will have to wait until the morning…’

Abel stood up. ‘I’ll row across the bay and collect them. There’ll be an onshore swell for an hour or so yet. It won’t be too hard.’

‘Let me come with you,’ said Rose immediately.

‘Nay, ma’am, I will not take thee, unless ye can row.
An extra pair of oars would be useful, but everyone I know is already at sea, making the most of the daylight.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ said Lawrence. His lips quirked at the incredulous look his words received. ‘I suspect rowing on an English river is somewhat different to the open sea, but I’d like to help.’

Abel looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing him up.

‘Very well. I’ll be glad to have ’ee, sir.’

‘What should we do?’ asked Rose, following them to the door. ‘Should we come down to the jetty…?’

‘No,’ said Lawrence, ‘I suggest you both go to your homes. We could be wrong, you know, and the boys might already be home.’ He watched the play of emotion on Rose’s face. She wanted to argue, to do something more useful than sitting at home and waiting. He touched her arm. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll bring them back safely.’

She swallowed. ‘Very well.’ She laid a hand on his sleeve as he turned to follow Abel out of the inn. ‘Be careful.’

The soft words and the look that accompanied them cheered Lawrence as he followed Abel along the winding lane that led out of the village and through the fields to the shore. There were no signs of activity at the water’s edge, only a few beached boats and the fishing nets spread out to dry. Abel headed for an upturned rowboat and with Lawrence’s help it was soon on the water.

For a while they rowed in silence, the only sounds
the scrape and splash of the oars, but Lawrence was aware that Abel’s eyes were upon his back.

‘Well,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘I am out of practice, but what do you think?’

He heard his companion chuckle.

‘Aye,’ said Abel in his deep, slow drawl, ‘you’ll do.’

They made good progress across the bay. Lawrence glanced over his shoulder at their destination, the ragged cliffs of Sealham Point, and his blood ran a little colder when he saw the white spume of the waves crashing against the rocks.

‘I can’t see them…’

‘Jem’ll know better than to stand on this side o’ the Point,’ said Abel. ‘You can scramble up away from the waves on t’ other side, and that’s where we’re going; we can bring the boat real close there.’

Lawrence put all his efforts into rowing as Abel guided them safely around the point to approach the shore from the south. At last his companion gave a grunt of satisfaction.

‘There they are.’

Looking round, Lawrence saw two small figures waving from a rocky shelf some way up the cliff. They began to scramble down as the boat nosed its way towards them. He tried not to think of the jagged rocks just below the surface. Abel concentrated on keeping the boat steady while Lawrence reached out a hand to help first Sam and then Jem jump across.

‘Little fools,’ said Abel once both boys were safely on board. ‘Forget the time, did you?’

‘We was late settin’ off,’ stammered Jem, his teeth chattering. ‘We never meant to—’

‘We can discuss that later.’ Lawrence shrugged himself out of his greatcoat. ‘Put this around the both of you.’

‘What about you, sir, won’t you be c-cold?’ asked Sam, his face pinched and white. Lawrence grinned.

‘I don’t think so; I am working so hard at the rowing that it’s keeping me warm.’

‘Ah, an’ it’s time to be rowin’ again, sir, if we’re to get these nippers home!’

The two men pulled hard on the oars to bring the little boat away from the treacherous rocks and as they moved into clear water Lawrence had time to observe the rugged coastline with its towering cliffs. A little way south of Sealham Point was a cleft in the hills, a valley so deep and narrow that the shadowed woods looked almost black, save for a ragged clearing that ran like a scar along one side, a little way above the waterline.

‘What is that?’ He nodded towards the cliffs, his hands too busy with the oars to point.

‘What? Oh, that’s Hades Cove,’ offered Jem, looking back.

‘And the rocky outcrop? It does not look natural.’

‘Tedn’t natural,’ Jem affirmed. ‘It’s the old drift-mine. They used to bring out the iron ore and load it onto the ships. You can still see the small jetty there, in the cove. No one uses it any more.’

‘It belongs to Mama,’ piped up Sam, buried deep in Lawrence’s greatcoat.

‘Really?’ Lawrence rested on his oars and stared at the cove. ‘But it’s not used now, you say?’

‘Tedn’t been used for years.’ Jem nodded. ‘The ore ran out.’

‘But ships could still get in there?’ asked Lawrence.

‘I suppose so.’ Jem shrugged. ‘As long as they had a pilot that knows the waters…’

‘Stop yer gabbin’, Jem!’ Abel ordered him roughly. He leaned forwards to address Lawrence. ‘I’d be obliged to ’ee, sir, if you’d give yer attention to getting us home. It’ll be a lot harder to make progress once the tide turns!’