by Cheryl Holt
The Captain actually laughed in his face. “Are you finished? You won’t let me get a word in edgewise.”
“Well, I predict you won’t tell me anything worth hearing, so why listen?”
“How about this? I’m glad you’re my brother-in-law.”
“What?” The man might have spoken in a language Sandy didn’t comprehend.
“I fumed all the way here, and after many miles had passed, I couldn’t figure out why I was so incensed.”
“It’s probably because you’re a Ralston and you people simply strut and preen.”
“It’s pretty much the truth. I’ve always felt guilty that I didn’t stop my mother from marrying Margaret to Mr. Howell. I didn’t help her when I should have, and she suffered because of it.”
“I won’t argue the point.”
The Captain extended his hand, as if they should shake and become friends. “Congratulations. I’m delighted for you, but remember this: If you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
Sandy scoffed. “I’d cut off my right arm before I’d hurt her. I’ve loved her my whole life, and I always will.”
An awkward silence festered, with the Captain’s hand still extended, and Sandy never liked to be an ass. He clasped hold, gave it a firm shake, then pulled away.
“Would you do something for me?” the Captain asked.
“That depends on what it is.”
“Take Margaret on a honeymoon. She deserves one.”
“I don’t have time to waste. I have to hurry home and find a new job.”
The Captain tsked with exasperation. “Wasn’t I clear? You’re not quitting. I won’t permit it. Margaret said you’re heading to England, but why don’t you head to Edinburgh instead? You can be lazy; you can sightsee and enjoy yourselves. The boys can ride south with me, so you and Margaret can be alone for a week or two. You’d trust me with them, I hope.”
How was Sandy to answer that question? “I guess I’d trust them with you.”
“It can’t be overly romantic to have them watching your every move with your bride.”
“Our escapade has been a family affair. My sons like her but, because she’s a Ralston from the manor, they study her as if she was hatched from an egg. They have to get used to having her around.”
“They can get used to her when you’re back.” The Captain patted him on the shoulder. “I hate that I forced you and Margaret to run away, and I’d like you to start off on a better footing with her. I want her to have a real honeymoon.”
Sandy blew out an irked breath. “I suppose she and I can travel to Edinburgh.”
“I made her promise too that we’ll have a second ceremony when you’re home. We’ll have it in the church and invite the neighbors.”
Sandy frowned, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “You’d do that for her?”
“I’d do it for both of you.” The Captain’s cheeks reddened, as if with chagrin. “Don’t bite my head off, but I have to ask this: Have you the funds to spend two weeks in Edinburgh? Might I slip you some? It could be a wedding gift.”
Sandy smirked. “Yes, I have money for a trip. I’m not a pauper. My employer is a miser with the wages he pays, but I’m adept at saving my meager pennies.”
The sly insult drew another laugh. “You’re my sister’s husband, so I imagine I’ll have to give you a raise. If I don’t, she’ll nag me to death. You’re welcome to reside in the manor too, if you’d like. You can have a suite of rooms in the west wing.”
“I’d rather we stay in our own house. We’ll settle in quicker.”
“I understand, and you have to call me Jacob.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“And we’ll be implementing some changes.”
“What kind of changes?”
“Kit has received all the favors I owe him. He has to search for a different job somewhere else—so you can have his. You’re doing his anyway. You should have the income and the title.”
Sandy snorted with disgust. “I won’t offer an opinion about it. It would stir a pot of controversy, and you’d have Boswell as your enemy. He’s a vindictive oaf, so that could never be a wise idea.”
“Don’t worry about him. I know how to handle Kit. We’ll worry about you and me and how we go forward from this point on.”
“I’m willing to let you worm your way into my good graces.”
“Maybe we both have to behave better,” the Captain said.
“If we quarrel, it will distress Margaret, and I don’t intend to ever distress her.”
“Exactly so, Geoffrey Sanders. Exactly so.”
Howard Periwinkle was rolling down the road in a posh carriage. He was on a mission to speak with Joanna James and was still a few miles from her cottage outside Ralston village. He glanced out the window, and he observed the strangest sight.
They’d just passed a young lady and a girl who’d stepped into the grass so his vehicle could race on by. They had satchels strapped to their backs as if they were vagabonds, and the young lady was dragging some sort of bedding contraption. It looked as if there was a . . . a . . . dog lying on it? Was she pulling an injured dog?
He was positive it was Miss James. Who could forget that gorgeous red hair? It couldn’t be anybody else.
“Stop the carriage!” he shouted, and he pounded on the roof. “Stop please!”
The driver called to the horses, and the conveyance rattled to a halt. The team hadn’t expected to be reined in, the driver either, so it took a minute to completely cease its movement.
He’d been loafing at Barrett Manor with Libby Carstairs and Caroline Grey, the other Lost Girls who’d survived the shipwreck with Miss James. Miss Carstairs was marrying very soon, and they wanted Miss James to attend the wedding, to sit in the front pew as an honored guest with Miss Grey. Miss Carstairs’s fiancé, Lord Barrett, had sent Howard to fetch Miss James to his estate.
He was in Lord Barrett’s coach, accompanied by several of his servants, which made him seem grander and more important than he actually was.
He was a newspaper reporter for the London Times, and he’d written the stories about Miss Carstairs being Little Henrietta Pendleton. He’d also found Caroline Grey—Little Caro from the shipwreck—and after he’d delivered her to Barrett, Miss Carstairs had decided he was a handy fellow to have around. He was working valiantly to ingratiate himself so he’d have a good seat during the wedding ceremony.
The entire nation adored Miss Carstairs and wished they could attend, but there was limited space in the church, so only a few dozen people would view it in person. Howard would pen articles, and describe it so perfectly, that everyone in the kingdom would feel as if they’d been there too.
At his having summoned the driver, the servants were disconcerted. They knew they were traveling to transport Miss James to Barrett, and they were excited to have a role in bringing the third Lost Girl to Miss Carstairs.
An outrider peered in the window. “Is there a problem, Mr. Periwinkle?”
“Did you see that woman we passed?” he asked. “I think it’s Miss James.”
“We’re still a distance from Ralston,” the man said. “Why would she be walking on the road? I hope she hasn’t encountered some difficulties.”
“Open the door so I can talk to her. We flew by her so fast; I’m not totally certain it’s her.”
Howard jumped down and went toward the pair, and he waved to her. “Miss James? Joanna James? Is it you?”
The woman studied Howard as if she couldn’t place him. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, I’m Miss James.”
He kept on, trying to appear harmless. “It’s me, Howard Periwinkle. We met recently. I write for the London Times, and we chatted about it being the anniversary of the shipwreck.”
“Oh, yes, hello, Mr. Periwinkle. Our conversation might have happened a ce
ntury ago. Why are you in the area again?”
He was close enough to discern she was in a dire condition. The girl too. Their faces were smudged black, their clothes dirty, and he could smell smoke emanating from their possessions. Miss James’s hands were wrapped with bandages, as if she’d injured them.
When he’d bumped into her earlier in the summer, she’d been pretty, vibrant, and full of vigor. Now she looked beaten down, abused, and without a friend in the world.
“What’s wrong, Miss James? You’re a tad undone. Why are you so far from home?”
“We’ve had a spot of trouble.”
The girl piped up with, “Our landlord evicted us, and we were supposed to depart at dawn, but before we could, our cottage caught fire. We barely escaped with our lives.”
He peeked down at the makeshift bed Miss James was pulling with straps attached to her shoulders, and he said, “Is that a . . . dog? Is he hurt?”
“Yes,” the girl said. “Whoever started it—”
“Someone started it? Deliberately?” He was aghast. What type of fiend would commit such a crime?
“Yes, someone started it”—the girl’s fury was evident—“and he attacked our dog, probably with a hatchet.” The girl pointed to Miss James’s bandages. “Joanna burned herself, trying to grab our bags out of the inferno.”
“I’m most distressed by this news,” he told them, “and I’m so glad I’ve arrived!”
Miss James seemed to find her manners. “Mr. Periwinkle, this is my niece, Clara. And our dog, Mutt. I apologize for our being in such a sorry state.”
“Don’t fash yourself, Miss James. I’m relieved to have stumbled on you when you could obviously use some assistance. Will you allow me to provide it?”
“Normally, I’d be too proud, and I’d insist I don’t need any help, but in light of our predicament, I shouldn’t act so stubbornly.”
He gestured to the carriage, to the driver and outriders who were watching the scene unfold.
“I was on my way to Ralston to speak with you,” he said.
“Is it time for the reunion?” Tears welled into her eyes. “I fear I’m not in much of a position to meet my old companions.”
“It’s better than a reunion. Miss Carstairs is getting married shortly.”
“That is splendid to hear,” Miss James said. “With it being such a terrible day in my own life, I’m happy to know there’s a celebration occurring. Who is her husband to be?”
“She’s marrying very high. To Lucas Watson, Lord Barrett? They’ve sent me to fetch you to the wedding. Will you come?”
“We’re in such bad shape. We can’t show up at Lord Barrett’s door, looking like homeless waifs—which is exactly what we are.”
Clara said, “Beggars can’t be choosers, Joanna. I believe we should go with Mr. Periwinkle. Maybe your friends at Barrett can explain what we should do next.”
“Just so, Miss Clara,” Howard agreed. “There is a kind and considerate group of people waiting for you at Barrett. Let me take you to them.”
Miss James began to cry, tears dripping down her cheeks, and she was too worn down to swipe them away. “May I bring my dog? He’ll be fine; he merely requires a quiet period to heal. I can’t leave him behind.”
Howard’s heart wrenched with dismay. She was even prettier when she cried. Almost as pretty as Miss Carstairs, whom he would love forever. He’d like to hug her, to promise her everything would be all right, but it would have been completely inappropriate.
But Miss Carstairs and Miss Grey would have her fixed in a trice.
“Of course you may bring your dog,” he murmured. “What’s his name? Mutt?”
“Yes, Mutt,” Clara said.
“A grand name it is too.”
Mutt woofed softly, and Howard patted him on the head, then he motioned to the outriders, bidding them to aid the two females.
He stood to the side, observing as the servants fussed over them. They and their wounded animal were settled in the vehicle, their meager possessions too, and he grinned with satisfaction.
Howard Periwinkle was saving the day for the Lost Girls yet again! What a story he would have to tell!
He went over and climbed in too.
Jacob was nearly home, but he turned his horse down the lane toward Joanna’s cottage. Tim and Tom were with him, so he should have ridden on by, but he felt as if magnets had grabbed hold of him and forced him to stop.
The prior week, he’d left Ralston Place in an enraged hurry to chase after Margaret and Sandy. As a result, he hadn’t sent a message to her. When he didn’t visit again, what must she have thought of his behavior?
She probably suspected he’d climbed into her bed, and then—having lifted her skirt like the worst cad—had gotten what he’d craved and was finished with her. He hoped she didn’t presume that to be the case, but how else would she have viewed it?
“Do you know Miss James very well?” Tom asked, bringing his horse up alongside.
“Yes, I know her very well. How about you?”
“Only in passing. We were wondering: Can she cast magic spells? Pa says it’s superstitious nonsense, that there’s no such thing as magic and she’s just a normal person who’s learned some doctoring, but the stable boys claim she’s really powerful. They’ve watched her change her dog into a bird.”
Jacob laughed. “First, I agree with Sandy, and I don’t believe in magic. Second, I know her dog quite well too. His name is Mutt, and he can’t fly—no matter what the stable boys tell you.”
Tom scowled. “Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure.”
Tom called to his brother. “The Captain says her dog can’t fly.”
“She can’t fly either,” Jacob said, “but she has some interesting talents. She’s a very powerful healer, and she might be a clairvoyant too.”
“She can see the future?”
“I think she can.”
“Could she see mine?”
“We’ll ask her. She won’t always consent. She has to feel you’re not the sort who would judge her badly for it.”
“I wouldn’t judge her. I promise.”
On the trip from Scotland, he’d let the boys’ chatter alter into a drone, while he pondered his life and what direction he’d like it to take. During the long miles, he’d arrived at some decisions.
He was eager to marry, but not Roxanne. Bizarre as it sounded, he yearned to marry Joanna. It was such an outlandish prospect that it might push the Earth off its axis. Family members would faint. Acquaintances would snicker behind his back. Strangers would ridicule him to his face.
But he would be delighted forever. From the moment he’d met her, his father’s ghost had been hovering, ordering him to pay attention, to note what had been placed right in front of him. That was Joanna James, the most beautiful, exotic, intriguing woman he’d ever encountered.
Most men would pick her to be a mistress rather than a wife. She’d be kept hidden to supply illicit entertainment, but he wouldn’t live like that.
His father had navigated those depressing waters, and it had delivered him to a spot where he’d loathed his wife so completely that he was constantly gone. It meant Jacob had grown up thinking he’d hate to be a father, but suddenly, he wanted children! Fancy that!
Previously, the notion had appealed to him in a vague way. A man was supposed to sire sons after all, but Tim and Tom had made him realize how grand it would be to have a few sturdy, rambunctious boys of his own.
His children would know him well, and he’d be a steadying presence who would guide and mentor them on their road to adulthood. Jacob would bring that dream to fruition—with Joanna. She was the oddest choice he could settle on for a bride, but she would give him a happy home, happy children, and a happy life.
She’d marry him, wouldn’t she? If he as
ked, wouldn’t she accept?
As the possibility arose that she might decline, his pulse raced with alarm. She was such a peculiar woman. She didn’t believe he was much of a catch, and she had that idiotic aversion to matrimony, so he’d have to wear her down. On contemplating how amusing it would be to persuade her, he grinned, ready for a battle he was determined to win.
He burst out of the foliage to her gate, prepared to jump from the saddle and rush to her door, but the sight that greeted him was so disturbing that he wondered if he wasn’t in the wrong meadow.
Her cottage had burned to the ground. The roof had caved in, and three of the walls had collapsed. He could see charred furniture in the wreckage, the detritus of her world reduced to ashes. The smell of smoke was still heavy in the air, and the forest was very quiet, as if the animals were hunkered down, mourning what had occurred.
Had she and Clara survived? Surely Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to take her from him!
“Oh, no,” he mumbled, and he leapt down. The flames had been so hot that even the fence was charred.
“What happened?” Tom asked as he trotted up and climbed down too. Tim did the same.
“You boys stay here,” he said. “I should check the rubble.”
“Should you? It might be dangerous.”
“I’ll be careful,” Jacob replied.
He didn’t explain that he would be hunting for charred remains, although it wasn’t likely he could learn much from a visual survey. He’d have to send some men with axes and shovels to pull down the structure and dig through it.
There were no buckets lying around, so there was no indication that anyone had fought the fire. Then again, she lived so far from any neighbors. Who would have noticed the situation and pitched in to help?
He never should have left her in the isolated house! He should have insisted she move to a safer location.
The ruins were cold, so the fire had raged days earlier. He snooped as much as he dared, but there was no evidence they’d perished. He’d have to investigate more thoroughly to be certain though.
