by Cheryl Holt
He was suffering from the most potent notion that they had much more to discuss, and he shouldn’t allow her to flit away. “Forget about your chores for once. Let’s stroll in the forest. You can show me some of your favorite spots. I ought to learn more about my property.”
“It can’t be me. If you’re curious, you should ask Kit Boswell. Or Mr. Sanders.” Geoffrey Sanders, Sandy, ran his stables and tended his carriages, carts, and wagons. “He knows more about Ralston than anyone. He’d be delighted to give you a tour.”
“I don’t want to trudge about with a boring, tedious male. I want female company, and I demand you entertain me.”
“Despite what you imagine, I am not very entertaining.”
“I would beg to disagree. I find you thoroughly fascinating.”
“I can’t fathom why.”
“When will you visit Margaret?”
“I’ll be there when I get there.” She could be so exhausting!
“Which is no answer at all. How am I to guess when to expect you?”
“You shouldn’t ever expect me.”
“You are a nuisance, Miss James.”
“So I’ve been told, Captain. It was lovely chatting with you, but I really must be off.”
She whipped away and continued on, acting as if he was a person of no account, and he was incredibly annoyed. He was a navy captain who’d commanded underlings for the past fourteen years. He said jump, and they asked, how high? They didn’t argue. They didn’t refuse to obey. They understood their place in relation to him, and they behaved accordingly.
It was the same at Ralston Place. He was recognized as the lord and master, but he stumbled in so rarely that people tripped over themselves to please him. Yet she wasn’t impressed in the slightest. Nor did she comprehend their disparate positions.
She should have been eager to conduct herself in any manner he requested. She should have been flattered to have the chance to tarry with him, and the fact that she wasn’t was galling and bewildering.
He was absolutely enthralled by her. What might she do next? What might she say next?
A shiver slithered down his spine. He felt bewitched, as if she’d shoved an odd burst of energy into his anatomy. He peeked down at his palm, fully assuming she’d have left a mark on his skin, but there was no indication of her mischief.
He scoffed at his foolishness, then headed off too. He wouldn’t lurk in the forest, fretting over an insane woman. He had ledgers to read, a fiancée to charm, and a sister with whom he needed to become reacquainted. What ailed her? He definitely had to inquire so he could pitch in to improve her condition.
He was as busy as exasperating, snooty Miss James. Or, at least, he could pretend to be busy. He stomped off, and he decided he wouldn’t watch for her at the manor. He wouldn’t gaze out the windows, wondering if she was about to arrive. He wouldn’t obsess over her!
But even as he warned himself to ignore his fixation, he was reviewing every comment she’d uttered, and he was anxiously excited to bump into her again—and soon.
Joanna strolled down the lane, headed for her cottage. Clara was with her, which was always enjoyable. With her white-blond hair and dark black eyes, her slender physique and pleasing manner, she was very fetching. She was nine already and growing up so fast.
She attended school in the village, with seven other girls. Her teacher was an older widow, and three of them boarded with her. Clara went four days a week, and occasionally, she stayed overnight when there was a birthday or other event to celebrate. Joanna was keeping track of the years they had left together, and they were passing much quicker than she liked.
Clara had come to live with them as a newborn. Aunt Pru had delivered her, and it had been a difficult and very secretive birthing, to a young and unwed mother, the father not named.
The grandmother had been so incensed about the situation that Pru had worried over Clara’s fate. She’d offered to take Clara, to dispose of her so she’d never be found, and she’d often tormented herself over what Clara’s relatives had assumed she’d meant to do with the child.
Had they thought she’d kill Clara? Had they thought she’d dump her in an orphanage? Had they thought she’d smother her, then bury her in the forest?
She’d brought Clara home, and Joanna was raising her. Clara’s grandmother had given Pru a purse of gold coins to buy her silence. The money paid for Clara’s schooling and clothes, so she didn’t have to stagger about like an orphaned pauper.
There would be a bit of it remaining when she decided to marry, so she’d even have a small dowry to entice a local boy into matrimony.
“What is your opinion about Captain Ralston?” Clara asked her.
“He’s vain, bossy, and very set on himself.”
“You would say that about any man.”
Joanna chuckled. “Probably.”
“Is he handsome?”
“Yes, he’s very handsome—but he knows it too.”
Everyone was talking about Captain Ralston. He was so rarely at the estate, and speculation was rampant as to what he was like. Clara and her fellow classmates were particularly intrigued.
“He’s betrothed to his cousin,” Clara said.
“Not quite yet, but he will be soon.”
“Have you met her?”
“No. I haven’t had the chance.”
Thank goodness, Joanna silently added. She had no desire to discover what sort of gorgeous creature had tantalized him.
“She’s incredibly beautiful,” Clara said. “That’s the rumor anyway. I hope she’s worthy of him.”
Clara and her classmates had gossiped about Jacob Ralston to an exhausting degree. They viewed him as a prince who’d been searching for a princess, but Joanna had heard depressing stories about his cousin—stories she shouldn’t have heard—in the kitchen at the manor. The servants didn’t like her. She was snooty, rude, and never satisfied with any service they provided. She was also swift to lash out verbally if they failed to rise to her exacting standards.
Once she was the Captain’s bride, she’d take charge of the household, so it would become a very different place, and Joanna couldn’t abide awful behavior. She understood that England was a country of status and station, but she could trace her lineage back a thousand years—on her mother’s side and her father’s—and she didn’t feel as if she should have to bow down to anyone.
It was a dangerous attitude to have though, so she spent as much time as she could around common people and none around the more exalted. It was best not to tempt Fate and get herself into trouble by being too uppity.
They left the lane and walked down the path toward their cottage. It was an old gamekeeper’s hut where the lord’s men had watched for poachers and brigands. The woods surrounding it were thick and dark, and unless a person was specifically shown where it was hidden in the forest, it was hard to find.
The house was cozy and snug and a perfect haven for her. There were three rooms on the main floor—a kitchen, a parlor, and a work room—and two bedrooms up above. There was a white fence to enclose the yard, and flowerboxes under the windows. The thatch was thick, the walls sturdy, and the windows blocked the wind and the rain.
It seemed like an enchanted spot, one where a virtuous maiden might be imprisoned under a wicked spell. She liked to envision herself as the virtuous maiden, but she was in no hurry to escape.
They didn’t have many visitors though. If there was a knock on the door, it was because a baby was coming or because there was sickness or an accident. Or it might be a forlorn woman, requesting more nefarious aid: for a baby to be washed away, or a baby to attach to a womb, or for an enemy’s fortunes to plummet, or to halt a man’s roving eye so he’d remain faithful.
She could assist with all of those problems, but she never did. She didn’t trust people to be circumspect, and she ne
ver engaged in ill-wishing. Her ancestors had suffered through the ages, and even though it was a more modern era, she was always careful.
“Oh, look,” Clara said as they approached the gate, “someone’s here. Who do you suppose it is?”
A horse with a fancy saddle was tethered to the fence, munching on a bush, and she sighed with aggravation. “I’m fairly sure I know who it will turn out to be.”
“Who?”
“Let’s go inside, and we’ll see if I’ve guessed correctly.”
“Might you have to leave?”
“No, I promise.”
When Joanna had to rush out for an emergency, Clara tarried in the village with her teacher until Joanna was finished, but this wasn’t one of those times. They entered the house, and Clara was almost jumping with excitement.
“Hello, Miss James,” Captain Ralston said from over on her sofa. “I didn’t think you’d ever arrive.”
“Hello, Captain. May I inquire as to your purpose?”
“I was bored so I decided to stop by.”
“How did you discover where my cottage is located?”
“I asked Kit Boswell.”
“I imagine it’s futile to mention that this is my home, and I don’t appreciate you barging in like this.”
“Yes, it’s futile, but you should learn to lock your door. You’re living in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not safe to be so trusting. It borders on negligence.”
“It’s not necessary for me to lock my door. I don’t own anything that’s overly valuable. If a rogue is so desperate that he needs an item of mine, he can have it.”
“What a bizarre reply, but it’s precisely what I should have anticipated from such a peculiar female.”
He’d lit a fire in the fireplace, and he’d helped himself to a glass of wine, which meant he’d snooped in her cupboards. She couldn’t determine whether she should be annoyed or flattered by his interest. A bit of both emotions flared.
He stood and bowed to Clara. “Who is this? Will you introduce me?”
“This is my niece, Clara,” Joanna said. “Clara, this is Captain Ralston. You’ve been dying to meet him and now you have.”
Clara gave him a curtsy he didn’t deserve. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain.”
“And I’m very pleased to make yours. Why have you been dying to meet me?”
Clara smiled as if he hung the moon. “The girls at my school have been talking about you.”
Joanna explained, “They heard you were handsome and dashing, and I haven’t been able to convince her that you’re not.”
He winked at Clara. “Don’t listen to her. You may tell your classmates that I am as amazing as you suspected.”
“Oh, botheration . . .” Joanna grumbled under her breath.
“You have very pretty manners, Clara,” the Captain said. “You must not take after your aunt at all.”
Clara couldn’t figure out how to respond to the comment, and Joanna said, “Don’t pay any attention to him, Clara. He enjoys being a nuisance.”
Mutt was loafing on the floor next to him, reveling in the heat from the fire. The Captain had let him in, but he wasn’t usually allowed inside, and he knew it. She glared at him, and he peered back woefully, begging to be forgiven.
She clucked her tongue, then whipped the door open. She pointed out, but Mutt gazed at Captain Ralston, visually pleading with him to intercede.
“Can’t he stay?” Captain Ralston asked.
“No, and you are presuming on me horridly.”
Clara grabbed Mutt’s collar. “Come with me, boy. Don’t get yourself into trouble.”
“Play with him,” Joanna said, “while Captain Ralston and I chat. I must find out what he needs, so we can send him on his way.”
“Can’t he join us for supper?” As Clara posed the suggestion, she cast such an adoring look at the Captain that it was embarrassing to witness it.
“He’s much too busy.” Joanna was feeling gravely put-upon. “With his just being home from the navy, they’ll be expecting him to dine at the manor.”
Clara hesitated, waiting for the Captain to disagree, but thankfully, he kept his mouth shut. She left with Mutt, and once the door closed behind her, Joanna focused her irate frown on him. But he had no shame and couldn’t be cowed.
She yanked off her bonnet and shawl, then sat in the chair across from him. He was grinning, delighted by how he’d irked her, but she wasn’t irked exactly. She simply didn’t like how he’d blustered in, yet the cottage belonged to him, and she wasn’t charged any rent to live in it. If he wanted to strut in, she had no authority to tell him he couldn’t.
The prior afternoon, he’d clasped her hand and lifted her to her feet before she could tuck the appendage out of sight. She had an odd power in her palms, and when they touched some people, she could see details she shouldn’t. As a result, she tried to never hold anyone’s hand. It could be risky to possess certain information.
Unfortunately, she’d firmly connected with him, and the episode had stirred an awkward situation. She was brimming with knowledge she shouldn’t have acquired: He was an angry man, an unhappy man, a proud and exhausting man. He was conflicted about his path, about his choices—about his pending engagement.
Most disturbingly, Joanna appeared to have a destiny binding her to him, and it would unfold over the next few weeks.
She’d perceived it clearly. Not the specifics of what would occur, but she understood the general drift. Her presence in his life would provide him with something he desperately required, and until he discovered what it was, he wouldn’t leave her alone.
She wanted to be irritated by that prospect, but she couldn’t be. He was rich, handsome, and interesting. Why not bask in a bit of fraternization? Her days were nearly always the same. She worked, she brewed her medicines, she delivered babies, and she nursed those who were ailing.
It was a rare occasion when her routine varied. Why not wallow in the distraction he would supply?
There was a reason she’d met him. It seemed inevitable. It had begun when her Aunt Pru had moved them to Ralston, the home of Captain Miles Ralston who’d rescued Joanna in the Caribbean.
He’d been deceased for many years, but Joanna had a fond place in her heart for him. During their final conversation, she’d begged him to watch over her forever, and he’d sworn he would, so she viewed her relocating to his estate as having been engineered by him from the other side.
Jacob was his son, and she supposed their burgeoning friendship was part of his father’s plan too. From how sparks erupted when they were together, it was obvious they shared a very potent physical attraction. Might it ignite into a romance?
A relationship might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to her. Or it might turn out to be a catastrophe. The cards—that she kept carefully hidden—were practically shouting at her to learn how it would evolve, but she absolutely would not read them.
“I asked you this when I first arrived,” she said, “but you didn’t answer. Why are you in my parlor?”
“I told you. I was bored, and I decided you should entertain me.”
“I’ve explained to you that I’m not a woman of leisure. I always have chores, so I don’t have a minute to waste on you.”
“You don’t have to ignore your chores. I’ll simply follow after you and quietly observe, and I’ll be completely entranced. You never cease to astonish me.”
“You’re being silly.”
“I’ve been accused of having many peculiar traits, but being silly is not one of them.”
“How about annoying then? How about pompously aggravating?”
“I’ve heard that too.” He gestured around the room. “Do you like living here? Does it suit your needs?”
“Yes, I like it.”
“I thought I should check. I am your landlord after all, but I have to say—now that I’ve met you and Clara—I don’t like you being so isolated. I could easily envision a despicable character sneaking in with felonious motives.”
“Who would wish to harm me? And we have Mutt to guard us.”
“He’s the nicest dog ever. What type of protection could he furnish?”
“He’s only nice because he likes you, but he’s ferociously loyal. If he judged you to be a fiend, he wouldn’t let you within a hundred feet of me.”
He snorted, then downed the remnants of his wine. The bottle was on the table in front of him, and she stood and refilled his glass. Before she could pull away, he grabbed her wrist and ran a finger up her arm.
She remained very still, watching him, curious as to what he intended. She could have clasped his palm and gotten a clearer idea, but from his hot look, it wasn’t much of a mystery. She’d piqued his manly instincts.
She’d never had a beau, so his attention was producing many heady sensations. She could have dawdled all afternoon and allowed him to ogle her, but she wasn’t a frivolous debutante seeking a flirtation. She yanked away and sat down again, and he studied her as if he were a wolf and she a rabbit he was stalking.
He had wicked goals with regard to her, and she suspected he’d be able to coax her into all sorts of conduct she shouldn’t permit. The notion made her smile and recall her mother, Belinda, who’d had a lengthy affair with Joanna’s father.
He’d been an earl’s fourth son, a gambler and wastrel with no money or prospects, but he’d been wild for Belinda and wouldn’t stay away—despite how she struggled to tamp down his ardor. He would never have married her, both because he’d been too top-lofty to consider it, but also because he’d already been married.
Their passionate amour had outraged his lawful wife, and eventually, she’d grown tired of it. Belinda had fled England to escape her wrath.
Joanna’s father had declined to intervene and help them, which had led to the shipwreck, which had led to Joanna and her mother being marooned on a deserted island, which had led to Belinda dying there and leaving her alone with Caro and Libby, which had led to her being rescued by Captain Miles Ralston, which had led to her being returned to England and hailed as a Lost Girl of the Caribbean, which had led too . . .
