by R. G. Winter
As they sat at the table Madelaine felt again that little rush of sorrow.
The stew was delicious and the bread fresh and warm. Camoinhe was amusing and Liam, in his quiet and gentle way, made her smile as he always did.
Madelaine said, “I fell as if I should be working tonight.”
Colin shook his head, “Do not even think it.” He roared laughter. She stared at him, puzzled. He broke off a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth, chewed it and swallowed it before saying, “I remember, all too well, the first day you showed up here, looking for all the world like an orphan despite that brave face you put on.”
She reached across the table and took his and Camoinhe’s hands. “I never really got to thank you for taking me in, and for taking care of me. I suppose I never considered, until just now, how silly running away like that was—and what might have happened if I had landed anywhere but here. I suppose it’s that I am to be a mother myself now making me consider those things, and I know just how much I owe you for not just allowing me to stay, but for looking after me the entire time, and offering me your protection.”
Camoinhe wiped her eyes with a work-reddened hand. “Oh it was a pleasure. You are always such a pleasure. You can be a bit stubborn and hardheaded and yet I have so much affection for you!”
Madelaine squeezed her hand. “And I for you.”
Camoinhe sighed then dug her spoon into her bowl. “We are sorry this is the last time we shall see you.”
Jonathan set his spoon down, “As are we. But…” he glanced at Madelaine, who nodded. “We’ve decided that if we have a son he will be named Colin, and if we have a daughter, she shall be named after you Camoinhe.”
Camoinhe stared at them. Her eyes watered. Colin cleared his throat and harrumphed a few times but the look on his face showed his pleasure clearly.
It was a full circle gesture, and they all knew it.
Madelaine reached for Jonathan’s hand and he took it. They excused themselves and headed upstairs as Colin went to the doors and threw them open for his customers.
Jonathan opened the door and they crossed into the room. His old room. The one had taken her virginity in, and the one where they had shared so much time.
She went into his arms. Dusk had settled across the land, and the sea roared and hissed near the shore. The sound of the waves matched the pounding of Madelaine’s heart as Jonathan’s hands found her buttons and divested her of her clothing.
“I think maybe it was fate,” he whispered, “Your coming here I mean.”
“It was,” she said and their lips met in a kiss.
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CHAPTER ONE
“Clare? What are you doing?”
Lady Clare Devon turned to look at her younger sister Lily, a smile on her face. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re about to put on a pair of breeches!”
Clare’s smile got wider. “That’s because I am.”
Lily threw a hand up in an attempt to ward the words off. “You can’t do that!”
“Oh pish! I can and I am.” Clare, dressed in her petticoats and chemise, gave the breeches a skeptical glance, “That is once I figure out how, exactly. The things seem to be made to confound me.”
Lily covered her mouth. Shock was written all over her face. “But why?”
Clare sighed. She was one of five daughters, all unmarried. They were the daughters of a father who could best be described as a minor lord and a mother with the gentlest soul. Unfortunately neither of them were very practical either.
Their father preferred the company of books and his faithful and ancient hunting dogs while their mother preferred her sewing and tea in the parlor to actually paying attention to the needs of the household.
At that moment the household had a serious need—one for fresh meat. They were scraping the bottom of the larder just to have bread and sugar and tea as it was. The garden was coming on but it was still early spring and most of what it would give had yet to peek above the rich earth. Clare had nothing against early peas, baby onions, or even tender and young cabbage but she was fair to starving for meat. The last bit of hare was gone, and goose too. The chickens were necessary for eggs so none could be killed off and the cows, still giving the milk that became cream and cheese, could not be killed either.
Lily said, “But why?”
“I need to go hunting.”
Lily’s hand flew back up to her mouth. “No! I will tell Mother, or Father…”
“Listen to me Lily.” She dropped the breeches on the floor and crossed the room to catch Lily before she could flee to tattle. “You know as well as I do that old Tate is barely able to limp about these days. Mrs. Tate helps keep the house as much as she can but the truth is she can barely keep up either. They should have retired years ago, and want to. We can’t afford more servants right now, we can barely afford them and Mother and Father are barely able to meet their salaries as it is.
“It’s old Tate’s job to hunt but he’s sick and not getting any better. Someone has to do it.”
Lily wailed out, “You said you wouldn’t do that anymore!”
“Well I lied.” Clare tossed the words off jauntily then sighed. “I didn’t mean to Lily, truly, but circumstances dictate that I do. Please don’t tell. I’ll bring us back a few fat birds or some plump hares for dinner. Then we will all feel better. You must know how precious little there is in the pantry!”
Lily did know. They all knew. Father’s allowance had come in—and gone back out. The few servants they had, all three of them, had to be paid and so did the taxes and the butcher, and the baker, and every other person that had extended credit to them lately.
Lily hung her head. “Don’t get caught please.”
“Oh I shan’t. Besides old Tate’s happy to take the credit. He knows how much trouble I got into the last time and he also knows that he won’t recover without some good strong meat in his belly.”
Lily took a long breath. “Maybe you’ll find a deer!”
She swallowed down saliva that burst into her mouth at the thought. “That would be fortuitous. Now promise you won’t tell.”
Lily hesitated. Her delicate fingers fiddled at a sleeve then she sighed. “Oh bother. I won’t tell but please be careful and swear you won’t keep doing this! You know how Father feels about it!”
Yes, she did. But Father had not hunted in years, and he likely never would again. He had lost the appetite for hunting. For anything. The silences in the house were always broken by the chatter of the voices of his daughters and wife but the only voice her father wanted to hear belonged to his son—Clare’s brother—Gregory. Gregory, now gone, laid to rest in the small cemetery in the village.
He’d taken a terrible fever and it had not left him or let him recover. It had been nobody’s fault, those things sometimes happened. But still he was gone and his death broke their father.
The strapping man who took their poverty genteel as it was, in stride and saved the household money by bringing in meat was gone. Since they now had to buy meat, and that butcher’s bills were so high, the money they would have used for a few new dresses and small accessories was also gone, and they had all begun to look slightly shabby. That made Mother sad.
With two sad parents in the house it was clear that someone had to step up. Old Tate had taken her hunting the first time, just as the fat ducks had come into season. She’d bagged three all on her own and the sudden influx of food had cheered her.
It had also spoken to her practical nature. They needed meat. All she had to do was go out and get it. Old Tate did the best he could but he was old, very old, and going lame. Plus he had an awful cold as of late.
She’d hunted quite a while before her parents discovered she was. She’d been in trouble for it, and had promised not to do it again but she’d crossed her fingers stoutly in a fold in her skirt as she did so.
; She hated to lie to her parents. She hated to lie to anyone but this was a necessary lie.
Lily left and Clare found a way to get into the breeches but it was immediately clear that she could not wear anything under them.
That alone scandalized her. When Tate had taken her she’d worn her oldest skirt and blouse but that day she planned to ride far into the woods in the hopes of finding something delicious, and the woods were not part of their estate.
Rather they belonged to the Earl of Champaile, a vicious and miserly little man who loved to have poachers arrested—or hung. She knew that but she also knew she was unlikely to hunt down enough hares or geese on this warm summer day to go around.
The breeches would help her ride, and give her a disguise.
She added a shirt, one of Gregory’s. The hat was also his, as were the breeches and the boots. The hat was too big and she had to fold the brim to keep it out of her eyes but she hoped that, if she were seen, it would help keep anyone from recognizing her. Her hair, tucked up high beneath the hat would be what gave her away, if anything did and she took the hat off and jabbed a few more pins into the carefully coiled tresses just to be sure they didn’t escape.
There. That should do. She took up the rifle and checked it carefully. She had enough ammunition and a good horse. Hopefully she’d come home saddled with more than she left with, and she wouldn’t get caught either.
She slid out her bedroom window and ran across the lawn to the small stables where Tate waited. He had a worried expression as he helped her onto the horse. “Now you be careful now lass. And stay away from that evil man’s property. You never know when one of his game wardens will come wandering by.”
She gave him a cheeky grin. “You’ve outrun them more than once.”
Tate nodded but his eyes stayed clouded. “Aye but your father would have sworn I was daft and hunting under his authority. Ye are but a lass…”
“We’re all hungry Tate.” The words were soft. “We’re wearing out our welcome at the butcher as well. There’s too many of us and the bill is too high. He’ll cut us off soon whether he wants to or not. That’s the way it is. Further if we didn’t need credit there the baker might be more inclined to give us a little more, which we also sorely need. There’s no other recourse.”
He hung his head. “I’m ashamed I’m still laboring under this illness.”
“Don’t be. You’re old enough to retire. You should have long ago, you and our wife. I know you stay on simply because you feel indebted to my parents but eventually you will have to.”
He nodded. They both knew that there was a small cottage many miles from the once-impressive manor house, a good little cottage with a pretty garden and a low stone wall. Tate and his wife wanted that cottage, had the money to purchase it, they simply could not leave the family even though they had had their wages cut recently and they were both exhausted and old.
“Perhaps after you girls marry…”
Clare shook her head. “We can’t afford Seasons and you know it. Even if there was money for a Season none could marry until Jenna does and she’s dead set against it. Whether Father or Mother want to admit it or not you and Mrs. Tate must retire soon. And you must do it without guilt Tate, you’ve earned it.”
He stepped back, twisting his hat in his hands. She’d long since shucked off the pretense that they were beneath her, and while her parents still held them at arm’s length and looked upon them as servants Clare looked at them as friends. Dear ones. Ones she’d not have suffer.
Tate said, “Well, you’ll need help if you do bag something so I saddled up Bolt too.”
“Thank you Tate.”
“Thank you. You be careful Miss.”
“You too Tate.”
He mounted and they set off. She gave the horse a gentle nudge and they took off at a very un-ladylike canter. The woods closed around her and Tate. They took the horse down to a walk as they made their way into the deepest sections of the small woods.
The ground below was slick with fallen leaves that had begun to rot and the runoff from snow melt. The birds sang and she squinted upward, trying to see if there were any fat pigeons amongst the birds wheeling along the sky.
She needed something larger. Much larger. There were many mouths to feed and when there had been more than one person hunting the geese and ducks and even pigeons had been enough but now…
She shook that dire thought off. Tate said, “I think I’ll circle around to the right. I think I can flush something out that way, if you reckon you can shoot anything that happens to be on the fly.”
“I think I can.” She was hoping she could anyway. Tate trotted off. Clare sat on her horse, keeping it still and quiet. The seriousness of what they were doing was not lost on her but neither was the gravity of the situation. Oh if only her father could drag himself out of his doldrums and manage to get a grip on the estate once again!
She caught a flash of movement from one eye.
A buck!
An old one, battle-scarred and enormous. Enough meat for a month!
She sighted through the rifle, her finger tightening on the trigger but just as she was about to fire she caught the sound of hoof beats.
Too late. Her finger curled reflexively. The bullet flew from the barrel, heading for the man who’d just wandered into a killing field.
Terror gripped her. The horse he sat on suddenly reared and wheeled. The buck took off. The man on the horse shouted angrily. He also charged her.
She was close enough to see that it wasn’t the earl but that didn’t matter. He thought she was a poacher, and with good reason!
Clare turned her horse. They raced across the terrain, Clare ducked low in the saddle. Her horse was fresh and a good runner but she was not fast enough to outpace the chestnut stallion that drew alongside. She had time to admire how its rider sat in the saddle before he reached over, gripped her reins and dragged them both to a screeching halt.
“You damn near shot me man! Are ye daft?”
She opened her mouth, realized her voice would give her away, and gave him a sheepish shrug.
His eyes were brown, bottomless, and fringed with thick lashes. His mouth was full and wide, very kissable.
Kissable?
Had she just thought that?
Maybe she had gone daft.
He looked over at the path the buck had beaten into the woods and sighed. “Poaching I suppose. Well, I always figured deer were free creatures so why couldn’t people hunt them freely.”
Relief swelled. His eyes scanned her face. He frowned then, before she could stop him, he reached over and yanked the hat off her head. “You’re a woman!”
She clenched her teeth. The cat was out of the bag so she might as well confess. “Yes, I’m sorry. I was not poaching. I had no intention of actually killing the deer, you see, just…I was practicing.”
That was the lamest thing she could have said but it was the only thing she knew to say. His eyes widened. “Practicing for what pray tell?”
His clothes, fine in quality and well-cut, his trim body, and the expensive saddle told her he was a gentleman. His refined speech added to that impression.
But who was he? She’d never seen him before.
“The marriage market.” Oh dear God. Why had that popped out of her mouth?
His eyes narrowed. “You plan on shooting your suitors or the competition?”
There was amusement written in the curve of his lips and the sudden twinkle in his yes. She tossed her head. “The former, of course.”
He released the reins of her horse. “Can’t say I blame you on that one. It’s a damnable business.”
She bit her lips. “I’m a good shot. I wouldn’t have hit you. I just didn’t expect you to come bursting out on me like that.”
“I didn’t expect to get lost in these woods either.” His smile was rueful. “Ah well. I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of the road toward the Earl of Champaigle’s home?”
> She nodded. “Yes, just take that path there to the right and go about a mile. You’ll come right up on his lawns.” Worry set in and she gnawed her lower lip. “You…you don’t mind not telling him you saw me out here do you?”
In response he took the rifle, sighted down it, and felled a deer that stood a good distance away. He handed the rifle back to her and said, “Well, as a guest of the Earl’s I imagine I am allowed to hunt whatever I like. I just shot a deer and have no way to get it home. It would be a shame to waste so much meat. Perhaps, just perhaps, you might know somebody who could use it.”
She studied his face. Her cheeks burned and she looked down so he wouldn’t see the relief in her eyes. “Perhaps.”
He nodded. “I’ll help to tie it to your horse. That meat will spoil if it isn’t cleaned out quickly.”
Her face heated again. “I know. I don’t live far and I have help.”
Just then Tate burst out of the woods. His eyes were wide and frightened. His hair stuck up all over his head and when he saw the newcomer on the scene he looked even more frightened.
“Hello there good fellow. I seem to have shot one of my host’s deer. I also fear I shall never get it back to the Earl’s house. I’m a bit squeamish you see.”
Tate looked from Clare to the gentleman. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple moving visibly. “I see.”
He looked at her and tipped his hat. “Lord Winston de Winter at your service. Now who might you be?”
Lie. That was her first instinct. She couldn’t. His eyes were so deep and kind, and he was witty too. “Clare Devon. And thank you. Also, may I please have your word that you shall be discreet? My parents would never understand.”
The curve came back to his lips. “I empathize. You have my word.”
Tate shifted nervously. Lord de Winter smiled at him. “Better be quick man or it won’t be worth eating.”
Tate nodded and headed for the deer. Winston looked back at her. “Would your parents be adverse to me calling on you?”
“I have a lot of sisters. None married.”
