Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors)

by Shana Galen

  “I could ask you the same question,” she said, avoiding his query.

  “You are a forward girl, aren’t you?” he said. “The workmen aren’t there because of the rain. Mr. Payne sent them home.”

  “Mr. Payne is back?” Pru asked.

  “He returned last night. I’m surprised you didn’t know. You seem well acquainted with all that happens in that house.”

  Pru glanced at the stairs. The sconces were not lit, even though the day was dreary and the house dark. “If you’ll excuse me, I will go see Mrs. Northgate. I’m sure she is wondering where I am.” Pru started for the stairs.

  “Not likely,” Northgate said.

  Pru reached the stairs and started up.

  “She’s not here,” he said.

  Pru paused and looked back. “Where is she?” She had the ridiculous idea that Northgate had done something to his grandmother.

  “She’s gone to Blunley town with the rest of the family. You and I are alone,” he said. Pru shivered slightly. She had not liked the tone of his voice. It had sounded...ominous.

  “I wonder why she didn’t tell me.” Pru made her voice light and unconcerned as she slowly made her way back down the stairs. Northgate was still blocking the door. He’d said they were alone, but that couldn’t be right. There were always servants in residence, especially in a big house like this one. Except Northgate had answered the door himself, and no one had come to take her coat.

  “Why would she?”

  Why would she indeed? It was not as though Pru had any standing in this village, and Mrs. Northgate did not owe her any explanations. But the woman had been kind to Pru, in her way. Mrs. Northgate didn’t make Pru feel less than as her grandson now did.

  “I should return to the vicarage,” Pru said. “You should have told me earlier. I wouldn’t have taken up your time.”

  “I saw you yesterday,” Northgate said, not moving away from the door or acknowledging her obvious wish to leave.

  “Oh, where was that?” Pru asked, wondering if she could leave through a back door. Were the servants downstairs? Could she get out that way?

  “Wentmore. You walked into the wood with that invalid.”

  Pru refrained from pointing out it was an informal garden, not a wood. “Mr. Pope is not an invalid. He has lost most of his sight, but he is still quite capable.”

  “Oh, really? And what exactly was he capable of in the woods?”

  For a moment Pru couldn’t breathe. Had Northgate followed them? Had he seen them together?

  “I see something must have happened in the wood,” Northgate said, stepping away from the door and toward her. “Your face just flushed red. What did you let him do to you?”

  So he hadn’t followed them. And he was moving closer, trying to intimidate her. He obviously didn’t know that she had walked the streets of Rome and Paris and London. She could defend herself. She lifted her umbrella, readying it in case she needed to swing it at him. She knew not to swing out. He would just grab the end and yank it away. She had to wait for him to come close enough and then bring it up unexpectedly, hitting him between the legs.

  “I fail to see how what I do is any of your concern, Mr. Northgate. I came to call on your grandmother. If she was not here, you should have informed me of that when I first arrived. Good day.” She gave him a long look, waiting for him to move. He looked back at her. Pru’s hand tightened on the handle of the umbrella. “Good day, Mr. Northgate,” she repeated.

  Finally, he stepped aside. She waited, and he stepped aside again, not enough to make her comfortable, but she thought she could get by. Holding her umbrella tightly and her head high, she walked past him. Her skin crawled, and she feared he would grab her as she passed him, but he didn’t move. Pru grasped the latch on the door, opened it, and stepped outside.

  She closed the door behind her and forced herself to open her umbrella and not to run. She wanted to run. The skin on the back of her neck crawled as she felt his eyes on her. She wouldn’t turn back to look, but she just knew he was watching her through the curtains. She didn’t particularly want to go back to the vicarage, but at least she was safe there. And so she hurried back, her hem covered in mud by the time she returned.

  She spent the early afternoon helping Mrs. Blimkin with the cooking and the mending, and when Mr. Langford’s dog cart arrived in the late afternoon, she was actually surprised. “Is that for us?” she asked Mrs. Blimkin.

  “Who else?” Mrs. Blimkin said, when she came in from giving Langford’s apprentice a small tart for his trouble in bringing the cart.

  “I hadn’t thought we would go to Wentmore,” Pru said. “What with the rain and all.”

  “Rain?” Mrs. Blimkin gestured to the window. “It hasn’t rained for hours.”

  Pru hadn’t even noticed the rain had stopped. A look out the window confirmed that the puddles in the yard had shrunk. Still, a look at the sky did not reassure her. The clouds still hung heavy and low.

  “We won’t stay long,” Mrs. Blimkin said, handing Pru one of two baskets laden with the fruits of their afternoon labors. “I just want to deliver this to Mrs. Brown. Mr. Payne returned last night, and she’ll have her hands full feeding two men and that other.”

  “Other?” Pru asked, putting the basket in the cart and then taking the second from Mrs. Blimkin and stowing it too. “Do you mean Clopdon?”

  “I’d rather you not speak his name to me, Miss Howard. He is a trial, that one.”

  Pru looked back at the house. “What about the vicar? It’s almost dinner.”

  Mrs. Blimkin nodded. “I’ll leave him a plate if you write him a note. We should be back before too long.” She pointed at Pru. “No walks in the gardens today. You have time for a quick lesson while I tell Mrs. Brown what to do with these provisions. Understood?”

  Pru nodded. When she’d seen the weather this morning, she had not thought she would see Nash at all today. She was pleasantly surprised that they would have a brief visit. And this time she was determined to make sure he knew the rest of Monsieur Barbier’s chart. They really should begin to practice writing and reading the code.

  The vicar’s dinner set out, Pru and Mrs. Blimkin made their way to Wentmore. The roads were wet and muddy, and it took a bit longer than usual. A few times Pru worried one of the wheels would become mired in the muck, and she wondered if it wouldn’t have been more judicious to walk. But then they would not have been able to manage the heavy baskets of food.

  And then finally they spotted the lights of the big house ahead. Pru was surprised at how bright it was, having been there in the late afternoon before and seeing it bathed in foreboding shadows. Now it looked almost welcoming.

  Mrs. Blimkin drove to the back of the house, where a groom came out and took the horse. Mrs. Brown met them a moment later, helping to carry the baskets inside.

  She greeted Pru quickly, and then she and Mrs. Blimkin were speaking about pies and crusts and fillings. Pru waited to see if she was needed and then wandered to the stairs and started up.

  At the top, she went into the dining room, hoping to find Nash, but it was empty. She made her way into the parlor and found Mr. Payne, reading a newspaper. He stood as soon as she entered. “Miss Howard.”

  “Mr. Payne!” She gasped at the sight of his swollen lip and black eye. There was a cut across his nose and bruising on his jaw. “What happened?”

  “Occupational hazard,” he said.

  She stared at him, and he waved a hand. “I’m fine. In fact, I’m flush in the pocket. Have you come about your wages?”

  Pru had forgotten that she’d initially come to Wentmore in search of pay so she might be able to buy a few necessities. Now it seemed wrong to take money when she and Nash had been doing much more than lessons. “No. I can’t stay long. Mrs. Blimkin wanted to leave provisions with Mrs. Brown, and I thought I would review what we have learned with Mr. Pope. But if he has retired, I can return tomorrow.”

  “Clopdon!” Mr. Payne roared,
and Pru jumped. He was a big man and his voice probably echoed throughout the house. “My apologies. The bell pulls don’t work. Clopdon will know where Nash is lurking.”

  A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and Pru thought about those storm clouds again.

  “How are the lessons progressing?” Mr. Payne asked, gesturing to a chair across from him. The fire in the parlor was cozy, but she sat on the edge of her seat as she heard rain begin to patter on the roof and windows. She and Mrs. Blimkin would have a wet ride back.

  “Mr. Pope is very quick and clever. I suspect he will be reading and writing using Monsieur Barbier’s method very soon.”

  The door opened and Clopdon stood in the rectangle, a much put-upon expression on his face. “You called, sir?”

  “Where’s Pope?”

  “I was assisting him as he dressed for dinner.”

  “We are dressing for dinner now?”

  “Yes,” Clopdon said, drawing the word out.

  “I suppose you had better have Mrs. Brown set another place. Miss Howard is here.”

  “Oh, but I won’t be staying,” she said, rising.

  “You can’t leave while it’s raining like this.” Mr. Payne looked at the window, and Pru realized it was pouring. “You and Mrs. Blimkin can go as soon as it lets up. We can send a lantern to light your way.”

  Pru looked down at her drab dress. At least it wasn’t the pea-green gown. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to dress for dinner.”

  “Then I will join you in solidarity,” Mr. Payne said. He looked at Clopdon. “The extra place setting, Clopdon?”

  The man gave a heavy sigh and withdrew.

  “I don’t think he likes having to relay instructions.”

  “I know,” Mr. Payne said, smiling.

  “He hired several footmen,” Pru said. “I don’t have much experience with servants, but I assume that is more in line with their duties.”

  Mr. Payne shrugged. “What’s the fun in that?”

  Pru gave him a narrow look. “I no longer wonder at why you have a black eye, Mr. Payne.”

  He laughed just as Mrs. Blimkin came into the room. “Oh, Miss Howard. I should have listened to you. The rain is coming down in droves.” She bobbed a curtsy to Mr. Payne. Then, getting a good look at him, took a mincing step back. “Sir, I am so sorry to have to impose on you a bit longer.”

  “It’s no imposition. I was just telling Clopdon to set another place for Miss Howard at dinner. Why don’t you join Mrs. Brown, and I’m sure the rain will slacken this evening and you can be on your way. I’ll send my groom with you to light the way.”

  “That would be much appreciated, sir. Of course, Miss Howard can eat with Mrs. Brown and me.”

  “No.”

  Pru turned at the voice and saw Nash had come downstairs at some point. He’d been standing quietly, listening to the conversation. Mrs. Blimkin jumped and whirled around. “Oh, you scared me to death!” She moved aside, probably looking for the best place to hide should Nash produce his pistol.

  Pru could understand why Mrs. Blimkin would suggest she eat downstairs. Pru was of a lower class than either of the men, and she was an employee—a servant of sorts. Her employment was more akin to that of a governess, though, which meant it would not be improper to allow her to eat at the table with Mr. Pope, although it was somewhat unusual.

  “How nice of you to join us,” Mr. Payne drawled. “I already told Clopdon to set another place for Miss Howard.”

  “Good. She won’t be going anywhere tonight, so we might as well prepare a chamber for her.” He glanced in the direction of the vicar’s housekeeper. “And Mrs. Blimkin.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Pru said. Her heart had been pounding in her chest since she had heard his voice. Then she turned to look at him, and it had taken this long for her to find her own voice. He looked so incredibly handsome. Clopdon obviously knew what he was about because not only was Nash dressed as a gentleman, he looked better than she had ever seen him. He wore a dark blue coat that contrasted with the stark white of his shirt and neckcloth. His cranberry waistcoat was embellished with gold thread in the shape of vines. She’d never seen him in breeches, and she almost wished she hadn’t seen him in them now. They were fawn colored and molded to his body, emphasizing his lean, muscled legs. She couldn’t help but glance down at his calves, nicely rounded in the stockings he wore.

  But perhaps the biggest change was in his face. He’d always been clean-shaven, but she could tell he’d been recently shaven. His hair had been trimmed. It was still long on one side, worn to cover his injured eye, but it was otherwise neat and styled fashionably. His face had lost even more of the gauntness, and she could see in the time since she’d first met him that he’d gained weight and his features were returning to what they had once been.

  He'd been an attractive man before, but now he took her breath away.

  And she’d never felt so impossibly unworthy. She wore her dress with the faded tiny rose pattern, which had been mended more times than she could count and probably cost less than one sleeve of the superfine coat Nash wore. Her undergarments, though thankfully no one could see them, were tattered and stained. Her boots had holes, and her hair—well, she didn’t know when she had last smoothed it. It was probably a complete mess, lying flat on her head like a straw broom.

  “Miss Howard.” Nash gave her a courtly bow. She knew he was showing off for his friend and Mrs. Blimkin. She heartily approved. Mrs. Blimkin would go back to Milcroft and tell everyone that the earl’s son was as sane as the next man and a perfect gentleman. It could only help his cause, especially if word reached his father’s ear.

  She glanced at Mr. Payne and he gave her a small nod, indicating he was thinking exactly what she was.

  “I understand and appreciate your desire to return to the vicarage. I am certain Mr. Higginbotham will worry about you”—Nash inclined his head toward Mrs. Blimkin—“and you, Mrs. Blimkin. However, unless the rain stops or slows in the next hour, the road back will be impassable. It’s raining quite hard, and the first quarter mile leading out of Wentmore has not been as well-maintained as it should have been. I’m afraid the wheels of even a dog cart will sink in mud and you will be stranded. Mr. Forester, my land steward, and I have already discussed improvements, but we have not begun them yet.”

  “I can attest to that,” Mr. Payne added. “I’ve surveyed the road myself and spoke with Mr. Forester this morning. He told me he had discussed it with you. As soon as the kitchens are finished, we can direct the workmen to repair and shore up the road.”

  “But, begging your pardon, sirs, I don’t think it would be fitting for Miss Howard and myself to stay here overnight,” Mrs. Blimkin said. What she didn’t say, but what Pru heard, was I’m afraid you’ll murder us in our beds.

  “I think it less fitting that you catch your death of cold in a storm such as this.” As if to punctuate Nash’s words, lightning flashed, and a moment later, thunder boomed.

  “You and I can share a chamber,” Pru said to Mrs. Blimkin. “That is, if the rain continues. That should end any talk of impropriety.” And perhaps make Mrs. Blimkin less concerned about being shot in her sleep.

  “I’ll go tell Mrs. Brown.” Mrs. Blimkin started away, giving Nash a wide berth. “I suppose I had better help her with dinner as well. Give us a half hour to ready it. I’ve been up here for ten minutes at least and God knows what havoc she has wreaked below.”

  Pru covered her mouth to hide a smile. Mrs. Blimkin left, and then it was the three of them. Pru was not certain whether to hope the rain stopped or continued. Of course, she hoped it continued, but she realized she was supposed to want it to stop.

  “How was your visit to Blunley?” Pru asked Mr. Payne, before remembering he’d gone in search of a bedmate.

  “Most productive.” He touched his eye gingerly. “And profitable.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how you make your living, Mr. Payne?” Pru said. “I
know it’s a bit gauche, but I can’t help but wonder if you are a gentleman or—”

  “Probably best not to ask,” Nash said.

  Pru raised her brows. “I see.” She tried not to keep staring at Nash, but it was difficult. It was more than just his handsome features that drew her attention. There was something else different. He was behaving differently.

  Quite suddenly, she realized what it was. He hadn’t put his hand into the pocket where he kept his pistol once. She glanced at that pocket and took in a breath. It was flat and tight against his body. The pistol was not in the pocket, which meant he had either forgotten it or felt comfortable enough to be without it for the time being.

  “Well,” Mr. Payne said, breaking the silence. Pru realized she hadn’t spoken for a moment and it must have been awkward to watch her watching Nash. “I should go dress for dinner.”

  “You said you would not,” Pru reminded him. “In solidarity.”

  “So I did. Then I won’t dress. In which case, pretend I gave some other acceptable reason for excusing myself right now. I can see you two would prefer to be alone.”

  “Not at all,” Pru said at the same time Nash said, “Yes, we would.”

  “Right then.” Mr. Payne walked through the parlor door, leaving it open in what was perhaps a not-so-subtle gesture for them to mind their manners.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Pru said, “Did you tell him?”

  “Tell him?” Nash asked.

  “About us!” she hissed. “About what happened in the informal garden.”

  Nash made a face. “Give me some credit. I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Then why is he leaving us alone?”

  “I may not be able to see,” Nash said, moving forward and reaching out to grasp the back of a chair. “But I can feel the way you were looking at me.”

  “How was I looking at you?” Pru asked.

  Nash moved to the front of the chair and paused. “Like you were hungry for more than Mrs. Blimkin’s cooking.”

  She was glad he could not see because she could feel her cheeks flaming, and she rarely blushed.