Scandal's Deception

by Pamela Gibson

  “Briggs, can you go to the horse’s head and try to soothe him?”

  “I’m not Briggs.”

  He glanced up and shook his head. “I won’t even scold you about not wearing your bonnet today. I need to lift his hoof, and I cannot do that unless he’s distracted.”

  “I’ve been told I have a soothing manner. I once helped birth a calf. An awesome, if somewhat messy, experience.”

  He chuckled. “Aristocratic ladies do not loiter in stables or soil their hands with calm animals, let alone distressed ones.”

  “American ladies do.”

  She moved past him to the horse’s head and began stroking the animal’s forelock. “I’d give you a lump of sugar if I had one. Right now you need to let me talk to you. I know not what your complaint is. Whatever is paining you will soon be fixed.”

  “Do your animals in America answer you when you talk to them?” He raised the hoof and frowned. “Something is caught in here. I’ve sent Briggs to the village to bring back the smith. With a proper tool I think I can get this out.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She stroked the horse, continuing her banter in a low, calm voice. Their handyman, Paul, had told her animals respond to human touch and soothing voices, just as people do. He was the one who had taught her how to milk a cow and care for her horse.

  Anxiety washed over her as she thought about home, wondering how the new owners fared with the animals sold with the property.

  Stop it. Pay attention.

  Ralston rose from the stool. “Keep doing what you’re doing. I believe I’ve seen something I can use to pluck this embedded stone from the hoof without waiting for the smith.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She continued to talk to the horse, even after Ralston returned and took up his position once again. The horse stirred and whinnied. “Patience, my pretty. It will all be over soon, and you’ll be right as rain.”

  “There. Got it.” He held out a sharp, slim piece of rock that resembled a tiny arrowhead she’d once found when she’d poked around in the dirt. “The smith can examine the hoof and see if there’s anything else in there, but I believe this was the problem.”

  She patted the horse and joined Ralston outside the stall. His shirt was open at the neck, and beads of moisture glistened on his forehead. “You amaze me.”

  “Do I?” He smiled and wiped his face with his sleeve. “I’ve had this horse since he was a colt. I was worried he’d injured a bone when his gait was off.”

  Movement tightened the shirt clinging to his muscles. She should look away, but fascination won, and she looked her fill. He dipped his hands in a trough and wiped them on a rag hanging nearby. “You’re gawking.”

  She blinked, and Lordy, she could feel heat rising in her cheeks. “Sorry.”

  He laughed, picked up his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, and led the way outside into the sunshine. “What are you doing out here. Do you not have lessons today?”

  “Your aunt has a megrim, and I decided to enjoy the warmth of the sun. The stable drew me when I heard the horse’s whinnies.”

  “Why don’t we find a bench for you to sit on while I put on my waistcoat and coat? I’m not sure I can manage the cravat without a looking glass or my valet. I’m going to try.”

  The book was no longer in her hands. “I brought a book out. To identify the flowers in your aunt’s garden. I left it in the stable.”

  “We can retrieve it later.”

  He led her along an ornamental hedge to a corner of the formal garden, where a stone bench faced an Italian fountain. She sat obediently as he dressed himself, conscious of the intimacy of the process. He flung the cravat across his neck and tied it in a simple fold, letting the untied lengths droop down the front of his waistcoat.

  “There, how do I look?”

  “Proper, if a bit mussed.”

  He laughed and sat beside her. The bench, positioned beneath a tree, was in an area where tall hedges hid them from view. A strange knot of excitement made her wonder why he had chosen this place.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  “About?”

  “Rakes.”

  “Can we define the word before we begin?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the fountain. “My meaning, for the purpose of this discussion, is a gentleman who may use false charm and persuasion to gain your interest and affection for less than honorable purposes.”

  “What, exactly, are you saying?”

  He turned to face her on the narrow bench, his handsome face set in a serious expression. “You are an heiress, Jane. And you are an innocent. A practiced rogue who needs money may try to beguile you with flattery and attention, or worse, put you in a compromising position so you would be forced to marry him.”

  “I don’t want to marry.”

  He sighed and took her hand. “Society is cruel. If you were compromised, you would be ruined unless the rogue married you.”

  She took a deep breath, her mind in flux, and her body tingling with awareness as his thigh touched hers on the narrow bench.

  Concentrate. “You-you would not countenance such a union, would you?”

  “It would depend on the man’s overall character and the circumstances surrounding the desperate act. The answer is probably no. The point is, such an occurrence will not happen because you are intelligent and will be forewarned.”

  “We might have called such people rapscallions in Baltimore, my lord. If you are worried about my ability to protect myself, I can assure you our housekeeper, a woman of many talents, instructed me in some basic moves to protect myself, and remember, I have also studied pugilists.”

  A broad grin lit his face. “I had forgotten your interest in that area. Even so, you must never be alone with a gentleman who is not related to you. Not that we know of any at this point. If, at a social gathering, you do find yourself in such a situation, make haste to return to where people are mingling.”

  A tiny devil took over her tongue. “What if there is a gentleman I do wish to be alone with? How would we get to know one another if we are always in company?”

  “Your maid should always be around—close enough to observe you but perhaps not to hear your conversation. If in a room during a visit and your mother exits the room, she would leave the door open for propriety’s sake.”

  She widened her eyes, now having fun. “What if the gentleman wants to kiss me?”

  His lips thinned. “Not done. Do not allow it.”

  Now her spontaneous nature begged to cause mischief. “What if I wanted the kiss, above all things, and the gentleman was not a rogue, but a suitor?”

  “I suppose a brief peck would not be too scandalous.” He loosened his cravat and attempted to retie it.

  “Here, let me do it.” She faced him, her knees pressing into his as her fingers grasped the cloth and tied his cravat into a large bow. Trying not to smirk, she made a point to look directly into his eyes. “I need a demonstration.”

  “What?”

  “You know, kissing. A peck. What would that be?”

  The mood changed, and a softness surrounded them. The mesmerizing trickle of water splashing in the bowls of the fountain blended with the soft rustling of leaves in the boughs of the tree overhead. He leaned forward, holding her gaze, his mouth an inch from hers. She closed her eyes and felt the softness of a feather touching her lips, pressing into them for only a moment, while she memorized the feeling.

  When she opened her eyes, the hard planes of his aristocratic face seemed softer, the look in his eyes conveying a longing that made her want to lean forward and press against his body to ease the sudden ache in her breasts and the tingling in her core.

  Her
first kiss, and it was a peck. What would a real kiss feel like, and why did she only want it from Ralston?

  He broke the mood by rising and thrusting his fingers in his hair. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Why? I asked you to demonstrate. Now I know.”

  “I think it’s time to get back to the house. I have a few errands to run in the village. I shall see you at dinner.”

  He turned to leave, and she called out, “What about my book?”

  “I’ll have the stable lad return it to you. If you wish, you can take it with us when we go to Seacliff Cottage.”

  “I’m to accompany you, then?” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager, but this was wonderful news.

  “On the morrow.”

  He disappeared from view, and Jane, brimming with renewed excitement, remained, touching her lips with her forefinger. The kiss had been almost imperceptible, like a whisper in a dark room. The feelings invoked would be with her for a long time. Her mind had numbed while her body heat had risen into an inferno.

  At least one question was answered.

  I want to know more. I want him to kiss me again.

  She clearly was infatuated, and it wasn’t with a rogue.

  Chapter 20

  Jane clutched the strap on the inside of the carriage, thankful for well-padded cushions. Ruts in the roadway seemed to be getting deeper the farther they progressed.

  Mary whimpered as the coach jerked sharply over a bump, swaying before it righted itself.

  “How much longer, milady?”

  “When we stopped at the inn, Lord Ralston said it was only a few hours more. Think of this as a great adventure, Mary. Picture rabbits hopping along. They must get this feeling every time they move.”

  The comment drew a quick smile, but her maid’s knuckles were still white as she clutched the strap on her side of the seat. Lady Amelia had declined to accompany them, and now Jane was glad she had not come.

  Main roads leading out of Baltimore weren’t much better than this one, which was why Jane preferred to ride her horse, rather than lurch and bounce like a brawler. Fortunately, the seats were comfortable, or she was sure she’d have a bruise on her backside.

  The coach slowed and made a turn into a lane that seemed smoother. Jane peered out the window and caught her breath. They were moving along the top of a cliff, and stretching out before her was the sea. A wave of homesickness hit her full force.

  She missed the Chesapeake, the tiny wavelets that lapped at the shore, the white caps on days of high wind. Not far from their farm, she’d sometimes ride to the water’s edge when she had a knotty problem to think about or needed the peace the blue expanse gave her. She missed the sound of noisy ospreys in the morning and the sight of snowy egrets and blue herons wading near the shore on spindly legs. Once she’d spotted a great bald eagle swooping down from its aerie high in the limbs of a tree.

  The coach slowed and stopped. Stifling her impatience, Jane tapped her foot while the groom opened the door and lowered the steps. When she alighted, she stared hard at the façade of the enormous stone house in front of her. This was a cottage? The weathered stone was a soft gray, and the house had a sturdy roof with several chimneys. An array of buildings behind the house made of matching stone hinted at functional viability. This was a working farm. It was also a picturesque showplace that could easily impress members of the upper class.

  Jane loved it without even seeing the interior.

  Ralston extended his arm, and they entered the house. A man about Papa’s age opened the door, his weathered face telling her he spent much time out of doors. Next to him was a slim woman with tiny spectacles perched on the end of her thin nose.

  “Lady Jane, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Bobkins?”

  The man bowed and doffed his hat. He introduced himself as the steward, and his wife, who made a graceful curtsy, was the housekeeper and cook. Jane extended her hand, and while surprised, they both shook hers vigorously.

  “I’m delighted to meet you. Your home is lovely, and I cannot wait for a tour.”

  “’Tis your home, milady,” said the steward. “Lord Ralston informed us of the terms of the will.”

  Mrs. Bobkins stepped forward. “Let me show you to your quarters, milady. I know you’ve had a long journey.”

  “Indeed. We started before the sun was up.”

  “If you’ve come along the pockmarked road leading here, you may need to examine yourself for bruises.”

  “It was a bumpy ride. Lead the way.” Jane beckoned to Mary to follow.

  To her delight, her chamber overlooked the sea. Heavy draperies covered tall windows, to ward off the chill when the wind blew. When the drapes were drawn back, the view displayed a stone terrace one floor below and a path beyond leading to the edge of a cliff.

  Sunlight shimmered on the distant water, evoking memories of her trips to the Chesapeake. Her chest tightened as she thought of home.

  This will be my home now. I must stop thinking of my past life.

  “Does this chamber please you? If not, I can get one of the other rooms ready if you see one on our tour you prefer.”

  Jane turned and scrutinized the anxious face of her housekeeper.

  “I like this one just fine.”

  Mrs. Bobkins showed her the bed, pieces of furniture she may or may not want to keep, and led her to a spacious dressing room with a chamber beyond for her maid’s use. They toured the rest of the floor with the housekeeper showing her each room, a separate bathing chamber with its own fireplace and an intimate sitting room at the rear of the house.

  “How long have you and your husband worked here?”

  “Not long. Lord Ralston hired us when he became your guardian. He brought us here to get the house and grounds in order. He said the London townhouse needed no work, but this one had not been occupied for some time. Jamie, my husband, has worked for months to bring everything to rights.”

  “If the condition of the house is a measure of his, and your, dedication, I am very pleased.”

  The housekeeper seemed to beam in approval as they visited the kitchen, dining room, morning room, and formal parlor. Across from the last two rooms was a cozy study with bookshelves and large Queen Anne style chairs in front of a hearth. A desk sat in the corner of the room. Everything was spotless here as well.

  They found Ralston and Mr. Bobkins outside in the stableyard.

  “Did you tour the house?” Ralston asked.

  “I did, and I must say I am quite impressed.”

  “It’s remote here. Lots of seabirds about. Not many people.”

  “I find that comforting—the bit about the people as well as the birds.”

  Mr. Bobkins doffed his hat. “The weather can be mighty fierce here, but the views are stunning.”

  “I’m acquainted with fierce storms where I come from. This feels like home.”

  They roamed the rest of the grounds, and Jane was delighted to see chickens and a few farm animals as well as four stalls in the small stable.

  Imagine, my own house.

  She could hardly wait for the year to pass so she could occupy it full-time.

  After a light repast, she left Mary to do the unpacking and wandered out the front door, heading toward the cliffs. A worn trail sloped downward until she reached the edge where erosion had worn away swaths of the cliff that must appear like jagged teeth from the sea. In the distance, a sailing ship made its way along the coast, probably heading toward a port.

  Moving carefully, she nearly lost her footing on a protruding rock, catching her balance in time. A steep path to the beach appeared in the distance. Was it on her property? She’d have to ask Mr. Bobkins.

  Footsteps crunched behind her. She turned to see Ralston coming toward her.

  “It’s beautiful
here,” she said. “I’ve always loved the sea and wished we’d lived closer to it. Maddie used to take me to a place to wade when I was a little girl. When I grew up, I often sneaked away to the shore to gaze at the water.” She lowered herself to the ground and arranged her skirts on the sandy path.

  “If you sit there, your skirt will be soiled.”

  “I care not. I have so many gowns now I fear I shall never wear them all. Skirts brush off. This one is muslin. It can be laundered.”

  “Then I’ll join you.” He sat beside her and plucked at a tuft of grass. “Why did you go to the seashore? What did you do there?”

  “I loved the sound of the waves slapping at the shore, the smell of brine, and the changing patterns of color on the water as boats sailed by, creating wakes. Most were fishing boats used by crabbers with stacks of wooden cages which they lowered into the water with dead fish inside to attract the crustaceans. There were four-masted sailing ships as well, taking goods from Baltimore to other ports.”

  “Did you long to be on them?”

  “I did. But not the ones I saw. I tried to imagine the pirate ships that once plagued the Chesapeake, and wondered if their occupants ever changed their minds as they passed villages that surely had nothing lucrative to plunder. On other days, I was on those ships, dressed in loose, colorful garb, my cutlass in my hand, dreaming of gold and silver and jewels.” Laughter was about to burst through her mouth. She’d been ten or twelve and had just seen drawings of William Kidd, known simply as Captain Kidd, and Edward Teach, alias Blackbeard. Their fearsome looks had almost made her change her mind about pirate life. No need to confess that here.

  Suppressing the unladylike guffaw that she almost uttered, she smiled instead as she viewed her guardian. “Did you ever want to be a pirate?”

  He gazed out over the water, his hair ruffled by the breeze. She stifled an impulse to smooth it off his brow.

  “Not on the water. I once fancied myself as a highwayman, robbing coaches and putting all the money in the poor box at church. I’d ride a white stallion and wear a black domino. I’d speak in a gruff, low voice so no one would recognize me. And I’d choose my victims from among my father’s most pompous friends.”