The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  “But he is to meet me here, in less than half an hour,” said Arthur. “He may see you!”

  “Is he indeed?” Helena looked at Arthur’s distressed face, and took pity on him. “I was about to go to the house and get breakfast; I promise I will change my clothes and be presentable by the time his lordship makes an appearance,” she assured him.

  Arthur looked relieved, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Helena. I wish you would not tease me so.”

  “It is hard not to at times; you seem to admire the earl, and I admit I cannot understand why.”

  “He is a man of the world,” said Arthur enthusiastically. “He has been to Paris, and Rome, and Venice—no one around here has been farther away from Folkestone than London. Even Father, in his day, did not travel the way Wroxton has.”

  Helena took his hand looked at him earnestly. “I realize Wroxton’s history seems fascinating, but it is not one I would wish you to emulate.”

  Arthur grinned. “I have no plans to gamble away any family heirlooms, Helena. But it would be nice to have an adventure from time to time.”

  Helena laid a hand on his arm. “I hope you will have the chance some day. But, in the meantime, I wish you will be careful.”

  “I promise I will not allow Wroxton to drag me to any gaming hells this morning,” said Arthur. “Now, do go change your clothes. You look very pretty when you make the effort.”

  “Thank you for the compliment,” laughed Helena, dropping him a mock curtsey. She turned and left, making her way slowly across the grass, admiring the way Keighley Manor appeared in the morning sun, its ochre walls and silvered timbers glowing. As she neared the kitchen door, she heard the thud of a horse’s hooves, and turned her head to see the Earl of Wroxton ride up. He sat his horse as though he was one with it, and despite herself she admired the softness of his hands, and the quietness with which he rode, as though it required no effort to make his horse obey. She paused a moment to watch him dismount gracefully and greet Arthur, who was wreathed in smiles. Resolutely, she turned her back and entered the house. She had promised Arthur she would not look like a serving girl when the earl called on her, and that might take some time.

  Several hours later, Helena sat in the drawing room of Keighley Manor. She was dressed with propriety in a gown of sprigged muslin, with a ruched band at the hem and cutwork sleeves edged in ruffles. Sherburne had once again coaxed her riotous locks into a very modish style, with loose curls falling in front of her ears, and the rest swept up into a braided loop. Despite the knowledge that she looked very well indeed, she felt faintly ridiculous and thoroughly impatient. Sitting about waiting for his lordship to deign to visit her, when she could be riding, or reviewing the accounts with the bailiff, seemed the height of foolishness. She had attempted to read a few pages of Mr. Scott’s most recent book, but it had not held her attention, and she now paced the room, growing increasingly impatient. Why had she not gone riding with Arthur and the earl this morning? As aggravating as Wroxton was, at least she would not have been bored to tears.

  She strode to the window and gazed out over the grounds. After what seemed an age, she saw two horses trot up to the stable, and their riders dismount and stand talking, seemingly on the best of terms. Eventually they walked towards the manor, and Helena rushed to the mirror over the fireplace. When she got there she paused; what did it matter what she looked like? Arthur would of course be happy to see she was conventionally dressed, but would be otherwise indifferent, and it was absurd to think Wroxton might care about her appearance. She turned away from the mirror and perched herself on the settee.

  Eventually she heard the sound of boot heels in the hall, and Arthur’s voice speaking quickly, followed by Arlingby’s deeper tone. She grabbed the novel she had attempted to read earlier, and held it in front of her, seemingly entranced by its contents. The door flew open and the gentlemen entered, and Helena waited a moment, finishing the sentence her eyes had alighted on, before looking up and noticing them.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Wroxton,” she said primly, laying the book on a side table. The earl presented very well in his riding dress, the width of his shoulders and lean strength of his thighs emphasized by the cut of his coat and his buckskin breeches. He looked the very picture of a dashing nobleman. It was a pity, Helena reflected, that he was so irresponsible.

  Malcolm’s eyes widened briefly at the sight of Helena on the settee, her foaming skirts spread around her and her white skin above the neckline of the dainty dress. If he had found her lovely as a servant girl, and regal in her evening dress, she was even more exquisite in sprigged muslin, the white of the fabric setting off her creamy complexion, and the green of the pattern her glowing locks. It was a pity, he thought, that she was so headstrong.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Keighley,” he responded, bowing politely.

  They glared at each other across the room, and Arthur glanced curiously from one to the other.

  “Wroxton tells me you wished to speak to him about some business,” he said to Helena.

  “He was correct,” she replied.

  “Well, I’ll be on my way then,” said Arthur cheerfully. “I doubt you have need of me. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Wroxton.”

  “Thank you for showing me the countryside,” Malcolm replied. “A great deal has changed since my time.”

  “It was my pleasure,” said Arthur. He dropped a kiss on Helena’s cheek, and left them alone.

  Chapter 9

  Helena and Wroxton stared at each other across the elegant drawing room.

  “Please be seated, Lord Wroxton.” said Helena coldly.

  Malcolm disposed himself in a chair across from Helena, his long legs stretched out before him. A brief silence reigned.

  “What did you wish to discuss with me, Miss Keighley?” asked Malcolm finally.

  “I suppose Lady Brayleigh must have mentioned to you my concerns about the smugglers.”

  “She did read that part of your letter to me, yes.”

  Helena flushed slightly, remembering the harsh words she had had for his lordship. “It has become apparent that the absence of the earl has made the Wroxton estate a prime landing area, which is a serious concern for all the surrounding land holders. Lights are often seen there at night, and it is clear that the smugglers are bringing their goods ashore on your beach, using the caves there for storage, and moving the brandy across your property.”

  “Why should I care about this?” asked Malcolm casually. “I drink my share of French brandy, after all.”

  Helena made an impatient gesture. “I should have known you would not understand; I am sure your brandy appears in the drawing room in a crystal decanter, and you have no notion of how it came there. These are not romantic freebooters, Lord Wroxton. They are often desperate men, with no thought for the difficulties or danger they may bring to others. You have women on your estates, just as we do, and children. They are in danger every time the smugglers are nearby.”

  Malcolm’s eyes dropped from Helena’s for a moment. “I had not thought of that,” he admitted.

  “Of course you had not,” said Helena scornfully. “You are the kind of man who kisses serving wenches in your stables--why would you think of the well being of your tenants and their wives?”

  “That is not fair,” protested Malcolm, stung. “Just because I had not thought of the danger to others, does not mean I do not care about it!”

  “Perhaps not, but you ought to have thought of it,” said Helena sternly. “You are the Earl of Wroxton now, and not a carefree youth, or a gambler living by his wits. You should be thinking of these things, and often.”

  “I’ve been earl for less than a year, Miss Keighley, and for the past twelve years I did not believe I would ever be cleared of the crime of which I had been accused. You must have some patience with me.” Malcolm smiled at her disarmingly.

  Helena did not take the bait. “You were one-and-twenty when you left England, not a child of
ten. You must have some knowledge of how to manage an estate. Not visiting even once in the last eight months shows a lack of interest in Wroxton of which your father would surely be ashamed.”

  Malcolm leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me, Miss Keighley, why do you dislike me so?”

  Helena raised her eyebrows. “I do not dislike you, Lord Wroxton.”

  “You have not said one kind word to me since we met,” he pointed out. “I regret the way our acquaintance started—and know it was my fault,” he added as she opened her mouth to object. “But I cannot help if you insist on finding fault with every word I utter.”

  Helena glared at him, but then looked down, acknowledging his words

  “I am sorry if I have offended you, my lord,” she said. “I do need your help in this matter.”

  “I’m not offended, merely puzzled. I allow that I should not have kissed you, nor should I have insulted you last night. I have apologized as best as I know how. Do you think perhaps you can forgive me?”

  Helena looked at his clear blue eyes and smiling face, and sighed. “Of course I will forgive you. But you must try to remember that this is important to me, not merely a minor convenience on some land far from my home in London, as it is to you. This is where I live, and where my family and friends live.”

  “I understand. I will do my best to take the smuggling seriously—as difficult as it may be for a wastrel such as myself.”

  Helena glanced at him sharply, but his expression was civil. “Did Rowena tell you I called you that?”

  “Don’t be concerned, she’s called me far worse,” said Malcolm cheerfully. “It seems the two of you would agree mightily on my character—or lack thereof.”

  “It is not that I think you lack character,” said Helena hesitantly. “It is just that I—” she broke off.

  “That you think I should take my responsibilities more seriously?” asked Malcolm. “I won’t say you are wrong. But I have very little experience being responsible for anything but myself. You, on the other hand, seem to be responsible for far too much. Can your brother not help you at all?”

  “Arthur helps a great deal. You must not think he is heedless of his duties. But he is still at Oxford a good part of the year, and I want him to enjoy his time at home. There is no reason the estate should be a burden on him while I am here to help.”

  “That is a pity. A woman as beautiful as you should not be immured here in the countryside, tending to your family’s lands. Your brother is very lucky you never married,” said Malcolm.

  “Nor am I likely to,” she answered stiffly.

  Malcolm realized from the sharp glint Helena’s eye that he was once again treading in dangerous territory.

  “Miss Keighley, I wish to know all about the smugglers,” he said. “But is it necessary to discuss this here? Although your drawing room is lovely, the weather outside is even more beautiful, and, while Arthur showed me your tenants’ farms, he neglected the grounds of Keighley Manor. Would you be good to take a turn in them with me?”

  “Certainly,” said Helena, relieved that he had turned the subject. Talking to the earl outside would be less intimidating than in the drawing room, where his presence seemed to dominate the space.

  Helena rang the bell, and a footman appeared. “Tell Sherburne to fetch my hat,” she said. She stood, and Malcolm followed her out into the hall, where he looked around appreciatively.

  “This is a beautiful house,” he observed, admiring the oak floors and carved wainscoting.

  “We are very proud of it. The oldest parts date from the early sixteenth century, and the newest from the early seventeenth century. Once there was a moat, but, sadly, it was filled in. It has always belonged to the Keighley family. Though, of course it is not so fine as Wroxton Hall,” she added hastily.

  Malcolm grinned down at her. “You have no need to appease me. Wroxton is newer, and perhaps more stately, Keighley Manor has more charm.”

  “Oh no, Wroxton Hall is gracious and finely proportioned. This home is a mere muddle compared to it; there have been many additions over the centuries, and the Long Gallery appears to have been an afterthought and ruins the lines of the house.”

  “Let us agree that we both live in very fine houses,” said Malcolm solemnly. “I would hate to come to blows with you over my admiration of your home.”

  Helena smiled up at him tentatively. “It would be ridiculous to quarrel over such a subject.”

  “It would indeed.”

  Sherburne appeared, all smiles, and dropped his lordship a curtsey. She bustled over to Helena, and insisted on fitting a white chip hat, tied around the crown with a green satin riband, over her hair. Then, murmuring about the breeze outside, she produced a shawl, draping it elegantly across Helena’s elbows.

  “Thank you, Sherburne,” said Helena. “Please do not fuss, I am merely showing his lordship the gardens.”

  “Perhaps it does not matter to you, but may I tell you that you look lovely?” asked Malcolm, offering her his arm.

  She glanced up to see if he was mocking her, but his expression seemed utterly sincere. With a murmured word of thanks, she took his arm, and allowed him to escort her out the door. Sherburne looked after them hopefully.

  Helena stepped out into the sunlight and breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Wroxton’s masculine vitality would seem less overwhelming outside the confines of the drawing room.

  “Where would you care to begin?” she asked.

  “You grew up here--show me your favorite spots.”

  Helena turned her steps away from the house. “The places I loved as a child still have a hold over me. I’m sure you feel the same way about Wroxton.”

  “I suppose I do,” replied Malcolm thoughtfully. “I recall an oak tree that I used to climb; if I went up very high no one could see me. I hid from my tutor there many a day.”

  “Did you?” asked Helena, charmed despite herself. “I used to hide from my governess, particularly when she wished to teach me geography.”

  “Where did you hide? Did you also climb a tree?” asked Malcolm.

  “There is a priest hole in the parlor,” Helena confided. “When I was a very small child one of the servants, who had been here in my grandfather’s day, showed me how to open it by twisting one of the carved quinces on the fireplace. I’m not sure my parents even knew it was there. I kept candles and books in there—and sometimes food, if I could steal it from the kitchen. I could disappear for hours, and no one could find me.”

  “Are you Papists, then?” asked Malcolm teasingly.

  “We were, during Elizabeth’s reign, but we are sober Protestants now,” said Helena, smiling up at him. “My ancestors knew when the tide had turned.”

  “You will have to show me your priest’s hole some time,” said Malcolm.

  “Perhaps I will.” They strolled down the neatly graveled path, the scent of early flowers and herbs from the kitchen garden hanging in the air.

  “You are very fond of Keighley Manor,” observed Malcolm.

  “I am,” she said.

  “That is why you care so much about the smugglers, I suppose.”

  “Perhaps.” Helena hesitated. “I don’t want you to think me a prude; I have no concerns with brandy, or tea, and the taxes are iniquitous. But these are not a few friendly free traders. There is a large gang terrifying the people in the village and my tenants. They have taken violent retribution against those who have spoken against them; cottages have been burned and good men killed.”

  Malcolm led her to a bench that overlooked the rose garden and she seated herself, looking up at him. He clasped his hands behind his back.

  “I would be very happy to help you, Miss Keighley. It seems the least I can do to make amends for my years of absence and the insult I offered you yesterday. But I truly do not know how I can stop the smugglers. Is that not the job of the revenue agents?”

  “There are not enough of them,” said Helena. “They intercept ships in the harbor
if they suspect they are carrying contraband, but few smugglers work that way. They hover offshore, and ships from the harbor go out to them, under the guise of fishing. They then carry back far more than fish, and conceal it on the beaches until night.”

  “Am I to go down with my pistol and stop them?” teased Malcolm. “I can’t imagine any of the talk of the Wicked Earl made me out to be a great warrior.”

  Helena broke into a reluctant smile. “There are stories of your prowess with pistols—and I heard that you have a dueling scar on your cheek.”

  Malcolm reached up instinctively and touched his unmarred face. “I regret to disappoint the populace.”

  “It cannot be helped,” said Helena. “They will have to live with their disillusionment.”

  Malcolm sat down next to her. “We have established that I cannot round up the smugglers on my own. What would you have me do, Miss Keighley?”

  “It will help a great deal if you make it clear you will not tolerate your land being used to transport their goods, and if you post armed guards on your beaches. They do not land at Keighley, because they know we will not allow it. They are not anxious to fight, you know, and they take advantage of absent landlords.”

  “I can certainly do that,” said Malcolm. “Perhaps I can even provide employment for some men in the village. I will speak to my bailiff immediately. Is there aught else I can do to assist you?”

  Helena gave him a considering look. “How long do you intend to stay at Wroxton, my lord?”

  “Why? Is there something you want done that will take a great deal of effort?”

  “We will not truly be rid of them until we find out who is in charge,” said Helena hesitantly. “They are so many, and so very organized I think someone with an estate hereabouts may be conspiring with them. It must be a great temptation, after all. There is a great deal of money to be made by smuggling in goods from France.”

  “So you think to cut the head off the snake, do you?”

  “It would be best if we could. After all, it does little good to post guards if they will simply land a few miles up the coast or bribe someone to let them use another beach.”