The Lady's Second-Chance Suitor

by Scott, Regina

Bless the woman.

  Hester pasted on a smile. “Indeed. I would enjoy a promenade, if you’d care to join me, my lord.”

  “To the ends of the earth and beyond,” he vowed, offering her his arm.

  Her brow went up as she rose, but she lay her hand on his, and they set off. He rather thought he was strutting. How little encouragement it took from her to change his whole outlook.

  “What have you done to my daughter?” she asked as they strolled along the edge of the dancefloor, where other couples were beginning to gather. “I don’t recall her ever sitting so quietly through a service.”

  At least Mrs. Greer, who was now seated farther down the tables, hadn’t told tales as yet. “Rebecca is a delight and a credit to you.”

  She regarded him. “That still doesn’t explain her affinity for you.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? Women find me attractive.”

  She choked. “Girls may find you attractive, my lord. Ladies are something else entirely.”

  “I will not quibble,” he said as they circled the bottom of the room. It simply felt too good to have her on his arm, as if she were meant to be there. “Weddings, apparently, put one in a good mood.”

  “They do.” She glanced to where the earl and her sister were now stepping out to lead the first set.

  “I don’t suppose you know anyone else who’s marrying soon?” he ventured.

  Mouth hinting of a smile, she shook her head. “Alas, no.”

  He heaved a sigh. “A shame. I thought that might be one way you’d consent to dance with your old friend again.”

  The smile won. “Yes, and you are such an old friend.”

  Rob grimaced. “I’ll have you know I am not in my dotage, madam.”

  “Noted,” she said. “Though I begin to wonder whether you are set in your ways, above such things as romance and adventure now.”

  He leaned closer, until he could inhale the apple spice of her fragrance. “I could prove you wrong with one kiss.”

  Color flamed in her cheeks. Oh, to reach out his hand, touch the soft warmth. Instead, he made himself look away, keeping his steps steady and composed.

  “Really, sir,” she said. “Perhaps you are still too bold after all.”

  Rob inclined his head. “Then I must beg your pardon and say no more on the matter.”

  “Promise?”

  He glanced at her to find a twinkle in her blue-green eyes. He drew himself up in mock offense. “Do you imply that I speak too much?”

  “On occasion?” she suggested.

  “Well, then, I will close my mouth and not speak another word in your presence.”

  She eyed him.

  “I mean it. Not another word. Ever.”

  She waited.

  “Test me. Try me. I will prevail.”

  She cocked her head.

  “Do you doubt me, madam? Name your second.”

  She gave it up and laughed. Oh, for a taste of that joy. He wanted to roll it around inside him, enjoying every moment.

  “What am I to do with you?” she asked.

  Several suggestions sprang to mind, all no doubt stemming from his previous life, for none were particularly appropriate for her sister’s wedding.

  “I am a sad trial,” he acknowledged.

  She sighed. “I suspect you are right.”

  Rob gave her a contrite smile. “But I’m trying so hard to improve. Can you not grant me the least concession?”

  She was quiet a moment, and he thought he might have pushed her too hard. Then she nodded. “I can do nothing today, sir, but if you were to ride out the coast path on Saturday around half past eleven, you might find company waiting.”

  She was offering him an assignation? His pulse quickened. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The wedding breakfast didn’t end until the sun was setting. Hester couldn’t help noticing that Rob and his sister had been among the last to leave. He’d finished the promenade with her and bowed himself off, grinning so broadly it was a wonder her mother hadn’t commented on the matter.

  Hester shook her head as she led Rebecca for the coach. What had she been thinking to invite him to ride? She’d have to make an excuse to her mother and Rebecca, borrow a horse from the livery stable. What if her riding habit no longer fit?

  What if a moment alone in Rob’s company made her reckless?

  No, no. She was stronger now, even if spending time in his company made her feel alive, appreciated, and admired again.

  Still, she hadn’t been able to convince herself to dance with him at the wedding breakfast.

  In truth, she had been afraid what her face might reveal. It was all too easy to think of romance when all around her couples were billing and cooing. She couldn’t remember acting so besotted with Jasper at their small wedding at St. Mary’s in Upper Grace, but then, she hadn’t been besotted. Just happy to have someone care about her most of all.

  Was Rob capable of putting anyone before himself? He’d agreed to her suggestion of a promenade rather than a dance and they called themselves friends. He had been very good to sit with Rebecca during the wedding. But he could be spending time with her and her family because he found them companionable. Unlike Mrs. Greer and some of the others in Grace-by-the-Sea, they asked nothing of him.

  “What a lovely day,” her mother said with a sigh as they settled into the carriage for the return to Upper Grace. The earl and Rosemary were on their way to Lyme Regis for a short honeymoon, and Mr. and Mrs. Inchley and their family were already setting the assembly rooms to rights.

  “It was,” Hester agreed. Beside her, Rebecca yawned, then lay her head in Hester’s lap. Hester pulled the ribbon free and stroked the soft blond curls.

  “Everyone was so kind,” her mother continued. “The countess, the earl, the magistrate and his wife. Lord Peverell.”

  Hester glanced down at her daughter. Rebecca’s eyes had drifted shut and her breath came softly. “Yes,” Hester acknowledged. “Everyone was very kind.”

  “I was glad to see you encourage him,” her mother said. “How nice if you should have a home of your own.”

  She’d thought she had a home of her own, but of course, the house she and Rebecca lived in now belonged to her mother. Still, she hadn’t thought herself there on sufferance.

  “Are Rebecca and I a burden, Mother?” she asked.

  Immediately her mother shook her head, dislodging some of her own curls. “No, of course not! But I was happiest in my marriage. Look how happy Rosemary is. I thought you were happy with Lieutenant Todd. If Lord Peverell should offer an opportunity, you should take it.”

  “Do you think he’d make a good husband?” Hester challenged.

  Her mother waved a hand. “I haven’t seen anything the least objectionable since he’s returned. He seems quite settled into his role as viscount.”

  “But how can you be sure?” Hester pressed. “What if it’s just a game to him? What if he’s playing a part until he can return to London?”

  Her mother frowned as the coach rumbled across the Downs under a sky that was growing heavier with rain. “And what if he isn’t? If his generous donations don’t sway you, look at how he cares for his sister. Look at how he treats Rebecca, for that matter. I don’t understand why you won’t try to know him better.”

  She could give her a dozen reasons, but only if she wanted her past shame known. “I must think of Rebecca.”

  Her mother glanced at her granddaughter asleep on Hester’s lap. “I think it’s quite clear that Rebecca likes him very much indeed.”

  Her daughter certainly did. Hester wasn’t sure why. She managed to turn the conversation in the coach to other things until they reached home and she was able to carry Rebecca up to the nursery.

  Nurse Peters had cared for the children of half the gentry in Upper Grace. Of an age with Hester’s mother, she tutted over Rebecca as Hester came into the suite they now used as the nursery, her brown eyes soft and
head cocked so her white cap tilted on her brown hair.

  “There’s a sweet little girl. Did she have a good time at the wedding?”

  “An excellent time,” Hester assured her, laying her daughter on the bed. “Let me help you settle her.”

  Together, they worked at removing Rebecca’s polished leather slippers and white wool stockings. Her daughter opened her eyes as Hester lifted her so Nurse Peters could work on her clothing.

  “We’re home?” Rebecca asked, glancing around.

  “Indeed we are,” Hester said. “Help Nurse with your pretty dress.”

  Rebecca obediently lifted her arms so the nurse could pull the confection off her.

  “May I wear it to church on Sunday?” she asked Hester as Mrs. Peters went to lay it aside.

  “Church sounds like a very good choice for that dress,” Hester agreed, tugging the nightgown over her daughter’s head.

  “Will Lord Peverell be there?” Rebecca asked.

  Hester focused on settling the soft folds around her daughter. “He attends St. Andrew’s, remember? We attend St. Mary’s.”

  Rebecca’s face was turning an unbecoming red, her mouth set. “We could go to St. Andrew’s.”

  Nurse Peters glanced Hester’s way, then hurried to turn down the covers on the bed.

  Hester lowered her voice. “You want to attend St. Andrew’s because you like Lord Peverell.”

  “Yes.” Such surety in that one word.

  “Why do you like him?” Hester asked.

  Rebecca yawned again before answering. “He’s pretty.”

  Nurse Peters barked a laugh and hurriedly swallowed it. Hester had to bite her lips a moment to keep from laughing herself.

  “Gentlemen are generally described as handsome, not pretty,” she explained to her daughter as Rebecca climbed under the covers.

  Rebecca frowned. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure,” Hester allowed, pulling the blankets up around her. “But I agree that Lord Peverell is handsome.”

  “He’s nice too,” Rebecca continued, settling on her pillow.

  “Because he gives you things,” Hester guessed.

  “He plays with me,” Rebecca disagreed. “And he’s nice to his sister. I wish I had a sister.”

  All at once, Hester could picture her—a little girl with tousled hair and hazel eyes. Rob’s eyes. It was all she could do to say prayers with Rebecca and retreat to her own room next door. Even then, sleep was a long time coming.

  ~~~

  The very air tasted sweeter to Rob, knowing he would be seeing Hester on Saturday. He wasn’t sure what had prompted her to make the offer, but he hadn’t been about to refuse. If that made him less like the viscount he planned to be, he could live with that, for now.

  In the meantime, he had an unexpected visitor.

  Bascom came up to announce him Friday morning, at a time entirely too early for calls if they had been in London. Indeed, Elizabeth still wore her morning gown, a frothy muslin creation with a great profusion of lace and ribbon.

  “There’s a gentleman to see you, my lord,” the footman said when Elizabeth acknowledged Bascom standing in the doorway of their mother’s withdrawing room. “Captain St. Claire, formerly of His Majesty’s Navy and currently residing in Dove Cottage.”

  Elizabeth set aside the book she had been reading. “Captain St. Claire? All of the ladies have remarked on him. Show him up, Bascom, by all means.”

  Rob frowned at her, but his young footman shifted from foot to foot. “Begging your pardon, miss, but he asked to be shown into his lordship’s study. I don’t think he wanted to talk to you.”

  Elizabeth’s face turned pink, and she picked up her book again. “Very well. It isn’t as if I wanted him to call anyway.”

  “I’ll only be a moment,” Rob promised, edging for the door.

  “Was I wrong, my lord?” Bascom whispered as they started down the stairs. “I only did what the captain ordered.”

  “And you are used to obeying the orders of a captain, I suppose,” Rob said, eyeing him.

  The fellow kept his gaze on his feet, as if the stair treads were not to be trusted. “Aye, my lord. I am. But I work for you now, and if I misstepped, I’m sorry.”

  Propitiating to keep his position? Or hiding his intentions? Rob still wasn’t sure of him, but he followed Bascom to his study.

  A tall, raven-haired fellow was standing by the windows, looking out over the rear yard. He turned as Rob entered the room and nodded, as if Rob were the one who had come to see him.

  “Captain St. Claire,” Rob said, moving forward and extending his hand. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Dark, hooded eyes regarded him as the captain shook hands with a firm grip. “I’d like to speak to you about your pier.”

  In the act of withdrawing his hand, Rob hesitated, then recovered. With his dark hair, flashing eyes, and military bearing, this could easily be Donner’s Lord of the Smugglers. Yet Hester vowed the fellow had been caught.

  But he could not deny St. Claire had a lordly air about him as he sauntered to the chair in front of Rob’s desk and deigned to sit. Head up, he regarded Rob as if inviting him to do the same. With a shake of his head, Rob sat behind the desk.

  “And what interest do you have in my pier?” he asked his guest. “I understand you were formerly in His Majesty’s Navy. Are you awaiting reassignment?”

  “Recovering from a wound,” he explained, making a show of rubbing his left knee. “And I do a little sailing to reaccustom myself to life aboard ship. It’s not always convenient to bring my vessel, the Siren’s Call, into Grace Cove. I will admit that on occasion I have docked her below the Lodge, when you and your charming sister were not in residence. I was hoping you might be willing to extend me that courtesy in the coming days.”

  So, he admitted to using the pier. Had that blue flash last week been from his ship? Had he placed Bascom on Rob’s staff to respond? Then why pretend civility and ask?

  “I suppose that could be arranged,” Rob said. “We have no ship at the moment. When would you have need of the pier? The dark of the moon, perhaps?”

  St. Claire smiled. “Perhaps. And I’ll be sure to leave something for my gallant host.”

  “I prefer champagne,” Rob tried.

  “That’s hard to come by,” St. Claire mused. “Us being at war with France and all. But I’ll see what I can do.” He rose and inclined his head. “Thank you for your time, my lord. I’ll see myself out.”

  Rob nodded, and the fellow strolled from the room.

  Leaning back in the chair, Rob gazed out at the rear yard, but instead of sunlight on the Channel, he saw men creeping across the grass by moonlight, arms filled with illicit goods.

  He needed to talk to Donner, tell him about St. Claire’s request. And he needed to talk to Mr. Chalder, his night watchman, because he had a feeling there would be far more activity in the next few days than anyone had expected.

  Even Rob, as it turned out.

  Mercer arrived late that afternoon with more papers regarding the estate. Rob spent a long two hours reviewing and approving the movement of investments, the improvement of properties, and the leases of various holdings.

  “And I believe we had a request for the use of the pier on occasion, my lord,” Mercer said as he filed the signed papers in his portfolio where he stood beside Rob like a schoolmaster.

  How had the fellow learned so quickly? “From Captain St. Claire,” Rob agreed, straightening his shoulders with an audible crack after hunching over the desk. “He approached me this morning. I approved.”

  Mercer blinked. “The request did not come from Captain St. Claire, my lord. Another local fellow made the request, a fisherman, I believe.”

  Rob frowned up at him. His steward was ever the fastidious one, from the crisp cut of his coat to the way he doled out his benighted papers.

  “You believe?” Rob challenged. “I would expect you to have looked into the matter more fully, Merc
er, so that you would know.”

  He clutched his portfolio closer, look chiding Rob for his lack of faith. “I did, my lord. Captain Ruggins sailed out of Weymouth and brought in loads of mackerel on a regular basis. He retired a few months ago but is finding himself ill at ease without a purpose each day.”

  “Wouldn’t Grace Cove be more suitable as an anchorage for a fishing vessel, then?” Rob questioned. “We hardly want wagons rumbling over the rear yard with mackerel.”

  Mercer grimaced. “I believe, that is, he relayed that he will be taking his cargo along the shore to the west. Your pier is more conducive to such an arrangement than the cove.”

  “Very well,” Rob said. “He may use the pier during the day. Captain St. Claire may use it at night.”

  “At night?” Mercer asked, shifting on his feet. “Why would the captain be sailing at night?”

  Rob regarded him, counting off the seconds until his steward’s brows rose.

  “Oh, Lord Peverell,” he protested, “I thought we agreed you would not ally yourself with smugglers. Captain Ruggins is a far better option, and I am sure he’d appreciate night landings as well. One never knows when the fish will be biting, after all.”

  Rob rather thought a good fisherman knew exactly where and when the fish would be biting. This Captain Ruggins began to sound even more suspicious than St. Claire.

  “Perhaps I should meet this captain,” he ventured. “See what I think of the fellow.”

  Mercer readjusted his portfolio, as if it were poking him under the arm. “He would not presume to meet you, my lord. He is fully aware of his humble background, which is why he enlisted my aid to make his petition. I would be happy to send word to Captain St. Claire and explain that the use of the pier has already been taken.”

  “Or,” Rob told him, “you could send word to Captain Ruggins that I have decided to favor St. Claire with the concession. And I begin to wonder if I should charge for the honor.”

  Mercer puffed out a sigh as if much put out by the decision. “Captain Ruggins may be amenable to leaving you some of his catch to pay for the use of the pier.”

  Rob shrugged. “Captain St. Claire promised me champagne.”