Baleful Godmother Historical Romance Series Volume One

by Emily Larkin

  Apology given, apology accepted. He should have felt better, but he didn’t. Maybe if he’d been able to take Lucas’s hand and squeeze his fingers and feel Lucas squeeze back.

  They stood for a moment together, not speaking. The silence between them wasn’t quite comfortable.

  “You still want to go to Pendarve?” Lucas asked, a little diffident, a little hesitant, as if he expected him to have changed his mind.

  “Yes.” At Pendarve they’d be able to talk privately and maybe the sense that everything wasn’t right between them would go away.

  Lucas seemed to brighten. He gave a short nod. “I’ll see to a post-chaise. If we leave first thing in the morning, we’ll be there before dark.”

  Tom watched him hurry back into the house. He saw tomorrow unfold in his head: six hours in a post-chaise, and then they’d sit down to dinner together and afterwards, over brandy, they’d discuss the bank draft. Lucas would offer it to him again, and this time he’d accept it. And they’d pretend that he’d not told Lucas he loved him, and that Lucas hadn’t flinched.

  He sighed.

  “You’re looking very solemn.”

  He started, and found Tish standing at his shoulder.

  “Where’s Lucas gone?”

  “Arranging for a post-chaise. Any moment now, a groom’ll come trotting out of the stableyard, headed for Brixham.” He smiled cheerily at her.

  Tish didn’t smile back. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes,” Tom said, holding his arm out to her. “Walk with me?”

  Tish slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Tom said firmly.

  Tish’s mouth tucked in at the corners. The glance she gave him made him uneasy, as if she didn’t believe him.

  Lucas returned, and they all set off—and Tom’s suspicions were confirmed. Tish, normally a fast walker, lagged behind the others. Then, she stopped altogether. “A stone in my shoe.”

  But Tish didn’t take off her shoe. She waited until the others were out of earshot, and then said, “What’s wrong, Tom?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you and Lucas quarrel?”

  “Of course not.”

  Her head tilted to one side, as if she’d heard the lie in his voice. She looked at him for several seconds, her gaze narrow-eyed and assessing, and then appeared to come to a decision. “At Whiteoaks you told me your heart belonged to someone. It’s Lucas, isn’t it?”

  Tom opened his mouth to deny this charge, but shock had stolen his breath.

  “Isn’t it?”

  Tom forced a laugh. “No, of course not!”

  “You lie terribly, Tom.”

  Tom closed his mouth. He had a plummeting sensation in his belly. Shit. Shit. His face felt cold, as if all the blood had drained from it. Tish knew.

  But there was no condemnation on Tish’s face, no disgust, no revulsion. She gave his arm a squeeze and said, “What’s wrong, Tom?”

  “Nothing,” Tom said, and his voice sounded faint to his ears. “How do you know?”

  “I saw you together at the folly one day.”

  Oh, Christ. Which day? What had they been doing?

  “What’s wrong?” Tish said again, and her voice held a note that said she was going to keep asking the question until she got an answer.

  Tom looked down the valley, staring at the tree-covered slopes without seeing them, the long meadow, the great ivy-covered abbey where Lord and Lady Cosgrove lived.

  “Tom?”

  He took a deep breath. “He thinks it’s wrong.”

  Tish didn’t ask who he was, or what he thought was wrong.

  Tom turned to face her. “If you make someone happy, if you harm no one . . . how is that wrong?” There was frustration in his voice, or maybe it was anger.

  Tish looked at him silently, and her expression was every bit as solemn as she’d accused him of being.

  “Do you think it’s wrong?”

  Tish shook her head.

  “Well, Lu does.” The frustration drained away, leaving just a sense of defeat. “I wish . . .” I wish Lucas was as open-minded as Armagh. And thinking that—even for one second—was a betrayal of Lucas, and he felt ashamed of himself. “I wish things were different.”

  Tish squeezed him arm again, comfortingly. “You and Lucas are meant for each other, Tom.”

  “Lucas doesn’t think so,” Tom said bitterly. Ahead, the others had halted and were looking back. “Come on, Tish, let’s catch up.”

  They walked briskly for half a minute, and then Tish slowed again. “He loves you, you know.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He won’t let himself.” Tom kicked a stone. It skittered across the lane and buried itself in the grass verge. How can loving someone be wrong?

  Tish didn’t reply to this comment. She frowned instead.

  Woodhuish Abbey was a beautiful building, centuries old, with arched windows and a crenelated parapet. Tom studied it as they drew closer. One day I should like to paint it. In the late afternoon, when the light was mellow. And he’d like to paint Tish and Reid, too. And he wanted to paint Lucas and Julia the way they should have been painted.

  He glanced at Lucas, twenty paces ahead, walking with the Wares and Reid, and thought about how dissimilar Lucas and Julia had been—and yet also how similar.

  Perhaps Julia hadn’t married for the same reason Lucas hadn’t. Perhaps she could no more fall in love with a man than Lucas could fall in love with a woman.

  “Tish . . . why did Julia never marry?”

  “Because her suitors were all fortune hunters, like mine.” Tish smiled wryly, sadly. “We fended them off together. It was . . . it wasn’t a game, but Julia made it seem almost so.” And then she said, “Why?”

  “No reason,” Tom said. The frustration returned. Or perhaps it was anger. Lucas can’t love a woman, and he won’t love a man. He kicked another stone.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The abbey’s walled gardens were magnificent, even though it was winter and the flowers weren’t blooming. Lucas liked the orderliness of everything—the vegetable beds laid out in rows, the carefully espaliered fruit trees, the sheltering walls. It felt peaceful and safe and serene. Afterwards, they had refreshments at the abbey, and it was clear that Cosgrove’s chef was French. Lucas limited himself to three delicate chocolate-covered pastries, although he could have eaten ten.

  He chewed slowly, and watched Tish and her new cousins. They were very easy with one another, clearly well on the way to becoming close friends.

  Lucas contemplated a fourth pastry—and resolutely returned his attention to the three women: Lady Ware, blonde and pretty and vivacious; Lady Cosgrove, dark-haired and quietly friendly, almost as pregnant as Lady Ware; and Tish, angular and elegant. Try as he might, he could discern no family likeness between them.

  “Next time you’re in Devonshire, Kemp, we must spar,” Cosgrove said, when they stood to leave.

  “But only if you promise not to knock him out,” Lady Cosgrove said hastily.

  You needn’t worry, Lucas almost told her. He’s only being polite.

  They strolled the half-mile back to Woodhuish House. The afternoon shadows were lengthening and the valley was as peaceful and serene as the walled gardens had been. Lucas found himself with Tish on his arm. He was glad. There was a question that had been nagging him all day. “Tish . . . did you give that chambermaid money?”

  Tish glanced at him. “A little bit, yes. Would you rather I hadn’t?”

  Lucas struggled with his answer. If he said No, Tish would hear the lie. If he said Yes, he’d sound like a brute who wanted penniless women thrown out into the night to starve. “Seems like she was rewarded, rather than punished.”

  “I gave her enough for a fare to Exeter, so she can look for a new position. She’s a foolish girl, and she brought her disaster upon herself, but you wouldn’t want it to ruin her life, would you? You wouldn’t want her to end up
selling herself just so she can eat.”

  “No,” he admitted, and it was the truth.

  “I’ve got a stone in my shoe,” Tish said, and halted.

  Lucas halted, too, and waited while Tish took her shoe off, shook it upside down, put it back on, and retied the laces. By the time she was ready, the others were a hundred yards ahead, but Tish didn’t hurry to catch up. She strolled slowly, her arm tucked through his. “Lucas? Do you remember what I said to you at Whiteoaks? About being careful?”

  “Yes,” Lucas said cautiously.

  “I was wrong. Don’t be too careful.”

  Lucas wrinkled his brow and looked at her. What was Tish talking about?

  “Some people are meant to be together,” Tish said. “Have you ever noticed that? You look at them together and you just know it.”

  Did she mean herself and Major Reid? “Yes,” Lucas said.

  “You and Tom are like that.”

  Lucas almost choked on his breath. What? He gave a laugh that was a little too hearty. “Well, we are best friends,” he said, and changed the subject hurriedly. “How long are you and Reid staying here? You should come down to Pendarve afterwards. It’s beautiful. The sea’s almost on the doorstep.”

  Tish halted again. “Lucas.”

  Lucas halted, too, reluctantly. “Tish—”

  “You and Tom are meant for each other, Lucas. You are meant to be together.”

  He stared at her, at her stern, serious face—and there was a long moment when his heart didn’t beat, and his lungs didn’t breathe, and no blood flowed in his veins. Everything stopped. He stood utterly still, unmoving, unbreathing. Tish was talking about more than friendship.

  Tish knew.

  He felt as if the ground had opened beneath his feet. He stood frozen in front of Tish, and yet he was also falling. And while he fell, the world disintegrated around him.

  His heart started beating again—he heard it loudly in his ears—and blood was rushing fast and panicked in his veins—and Tish was still staring at him, her face more serious than he’d ever seen it.

  Lucas swallowed, and moistened numb lips. “How do you know?”

  “I saw you at the folly.”

  His world began to disintegrate even faster, collapsing around him. “Have you told anyone?”

  “Of course I haven’t!” Tish hesitated, and bit her lip, and then said, “Icarus was with me. He knows.”

  “Reid?” The word came out as a cry of anguish. Lucas swung away from Woodhuish House, from Reid walking a hundred yards ahead, and pressed his hands to his face. He wanted to die of shame, right there in the lane.

  “It didn’t seem to bother him,” Tish said. “He was surprised, of course, but he took it quite calmly. He says that what you and Tom do is no one’s business but your own.”

  Lucas lowered his hands and turned his head to look at her.

  “Icarus is right. It isn’t anyone’s business but yours and Tom’s. It’s certainly none of my business. If he knew I was talking to you about it he’d be cross. But I had to tell you that what I said at Whiteoaks was wrong.”

  Lucas stared at her.

  “You and Tom balance each other better than any two people I’ve ever seen.”

  Lucas swallowed. “Julia—”

  Tish shook her head. “Tom balances you better than she ever did. Julia was your opposite; the two of you were like night and day. You and Tom aren’t opposites. You’re like . . . like morning and afternoon—and that’s a stupid analogy, but what I’m trying to say is that you complement each other.”

  Lucas closed his mouth.

  “Whenever you and Julia were in a room together, she took up nine-tenths of the space—and I don’t mean she dominated you, because she didn’t—she just took up your space without meaning to. I don’t think either of you noticed it happened.”

  Lucas frowned at her, unsettled.

  “Tom doesn’t do that. He gives you room to be you.”

  Lucas glanced along the lane, at Tom.

  “You talk more when you’re with him, you laugh more, you’re more you.”

  He brought his gaze back to Tish.

  “You and Tom are meant to be together,” Tish said, very seriously, like a magistrate passing judgment. “So, be careful, Lucas, but not too careful.” And then she smiled and held out her hand to him.

  Lucas took it.

  They walked in silence for half a minute, and then Tish said, “I love you, Lucas.”

  “I love you, too,” Lucas said.

  They held hands all the way back to Woodhuish House. Tish told him about the puppy she and Reid had acquired and the man Reid was going into business with, an ex-sergeant with only one arm, but Lucas paid little attention. All he could think was: Major Reid knows. It made him feel ill—literally ill—as if he was going to cast up the contents of his stomach.

  Tish knew about him and Tom—and for some reason it didn’t matter that she knew—but it mattered that Reid knew. It mattered a lot. God, how was he going to look the man in the eye?

  The feeling of nausea grew. It filled his belly and climbed his throat.

  Tish stopped when they were close enough to see the patterns on the tall Tudor chimneys. “What is it, Lucas?”

  I can’t face Reid.

  “Lucas?”

  He shook his head, unable to tell her.

  “Is it because Icarus knows?”

  He thinks I’m a sodomite.

  Tish didn’t repeat the question; she waited silently, holding his hand.

  Pressure built inside Lucas. Finally, he burst out: “He thinks we’re back door ushers. And we’re not! We don’t do that! We’re not.”

  Tish didn’t ask what a back door usher was. Perhaps she knew what the term meant, perhaps she guessed. She looked at him gravely. “If you want me to tell him that, I will—but it won’t change his opinion of you. He likes you.”

  “Likes me?” He pulled his hand free. “Christ, Tish! He thinks I’m a damned fool! They all do!”

  Tish blinked. “Why on earth would anyone think that?”

  “Because of last night. Because I made such a fuss, carrying on as if Tom was dying when it was just a bloody nose and a couple of bruises.” They were being polite, pretending it hadn’t happened—Sir Barnaby saying they were practically family, Cosgrove inviting him to spar—but behind the politeness they all knew he’d behaved like a hysterical old woman.

  Tish pursed her lips. She glanced past him, at Woodhuish House, and then back at his face—and appeared to come to a decision. “You did exactly the right thing last night, Lucas. It was serious. His nose was broken, and both cheekbones, and one of his eye sockets.”

  “What?” Lucas said.

  “And about a dozen bones in his hand.”

  “What?”

  “You know how I have a knack for hearing lies? Well, Merry—Lady Ware—also has a knack. Only hers is for nursing.”

  “What?” he said a third time.

  “Lady Cosgrove has a knack, too. Charlotte. It runs in our family.”

  Lucas didn’t say What? again, he just stared at her.

  “No one thinks you’re a fool. In fact, they seem to think you’re some kind of demigod. Barnaby calls you the Giant Slayer.”

  Giant Slayer? Me?

  “I’ll tell Icarus if you want me to, but it won’t change his opinion of you. He likes you, Lucas.”

  Lucas looked away, down the valley.

  “Do you want me to tell him?”

  Lucas hesitated. Did he? Major Reid knew that he and Tom were lovers. How important was it that Reid knew they weren’t sodomites?

  “Lucas?”

  He looked back at Tish, and shook his head.

  Tish smiled. She held out her hand. “Shall we go inside?”

  Lucas took her hand again. The urge to vomit wasn’t as strong as it had been. He found himself able to climb the steps to the terrace.

  Tish lowered her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t tell you abo
ut Merry and Charlotte, all right? It’s a family secret.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Lucas went to sleep not knowing what to do—and woke having decided. The post-chaise left Woodhuish House at nine o’clock. He spent the first forty miles examining his decision, laying it out in his mind like a clockmaker laying out the components of a clock—all the tiny cogs and springs and screws and shafts—all the possible consequences, the hazards and the risks. Then he reassembled his decision, putting the pieces back together until it formed a whole again.

  It was a good decision. But not without its dangers.

  He waited for the panic to come. It didn’t. Instead, there was a feeling of calmness. Not a fatalistic calmness, but a deep and profound calmness that was almost serenity, and he knew—knew—that he’d made the right decision.

  Lucas turned his attention to the question of when and where and how to tell Tom. Now? Once they reached Pendarve? Tonight over brandy? And should he mention the bank draft or not?

  After ten miles, he was no closer to knowing, so he abandoned that line of thought.

  He spent the next few miles thinking about Smollet—who quite likely knew, but didn’t appear to mind—and about Robert—who possibly suspected, but also seemed not to mind—and about Tish and Reid—who definitely knew, and yet didn’t mind at all.

  And then he thought about Julia. Julia, who’d known him inside and out, who must have been aware of his feelings for Tom and had never said a word, who’d kept his secret for him.

  He didn’t need to wonder whether Julia would have approved of his decision; he knew it.

  He looked across at Tom, sitting and staring out the window. The bruises under his eyes, on the bridge of his nose, were hardly discernible. By tomorrow they’d be gone. Should I tell him now? And then he looked past Tom and realized with a sense of shock that they had passed through Looe and were almost at Pendarve.

  “Only a couple more miles,” Lucas said. “You’ll see it soon. It’s built of stone and it’s right on the water.”

  He sat anxiously, watching Tom’s face. He wanted Tom to like Pendarve as much as he did.

  The post-chaise slowed. To the left was a low stone wall, and beyond the wall was a tumble of rocks, and beyond that was the sea, gentle this afternoon, not pounding and sending up spray; to the right, the ground sloped up in a sheltering hill.