"You think so?" she asked, and then blushed slightly.
Both spicy and reserved. "Yes. Most certainly."
She raised her chin and met his eyes. "Good," she said, as she overcame her brief moment of shyness, "because I believe I'll make some sachets with the potpourri. And I'll purchase some scented oil as well. You'll encounter this aroma frequently while we're on this trip." She turned and caught the eye of the shopgirl, who had been watching them for just such a signal.
They strolled down the street, wandering into whichever shop struck Tempy's fancy. Mary managed the packages, making sure that they were safely stowed in the carriage.
As noontime approached, Lucien grew hungry. He glanced up and down the street and then steered them toward a restaurant he remembered.
Even from outside, delicious aromas of food greeted Lucien. "Would you care for something to eat?"
Tempy's gaze was already fixed on the entrance, and she nodded as she moved toward it.
"This is the Three Horseshoes," he said. "My father brought me here years ago." He immediately regretted mentioning his father. He didn't want her to remember her plan to learn more about his visits. He escorted her into the building.
The dining room was moderately full, which Lucien took as a good sign. It looked much as he remembered, with whitewashed walls, dark floors, and wooden tables arranged in rows. One pinch-faced man sat alone, sipping at his beer, but most people were there in couples or small groups. No one seemed to pay much notice to him and Tempy, and Lucien found himself relaxing.
Their food arrived promptly and was as delicious as he'd remembered. At the end of their meal, Lucien pulled his pocket watch from his gray waistcoat and checked the time. His meeting would take place in a half hour, so they were on schedule.
Tempy cleared her throat. "I see you're wearing a more conservative waistcoat today."
He glanced down at the gray wool. The color wasn't a typical choice for him. He usually preferred something that both drew the eye and kept the observer off balance. "Dressing more conservatively today makes it more likely that I'll achieve my goals."
She raised her eyebrows. "Now you've made me quite curious about this mysterious appointment of yours. What goals might those be?"
Lucien puffed out a sigh. "It has to do with Formsworth. He's claiming that some of my land is rightfully his, so I'm required to meet with the magistrate to clear this up."
Her face screwed up as though she'd tasted something bitter. The mention of Formsworth had that effect on many people. "Does he have a valid claim?"
"Of course not. He's trying to goad me, as usual. It's one of the many reasons I prefer avoiding the man."
"Is there any chance you'll lose?"
"I don't know. He's lived here his entire life, and the last time I came to Porlock I accused him of murdering his wife. I was invited not to return." He decided not to mention the part where Formsworth had had him attacked by a group of men and beaten. It was one of those memories he preferred not to share.
"And now you're back, as the Earl of Cavendish," she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Won't that work in your favor?"
"Perhaps. But as a longstanding member of the community, Formsworth is bound to have a strong reputation here."
"Strong doesn't necessarily mean good," Tempy said. "Based on his behavior yesterday, I wager it wasn't the first time he's come to blows with someone."
"Hm," Lucien said, but it came out more as a grunt than he'd intended. "You'd win that bet."
She looked at him curiously, but Lucien didn't elaborate. What man likes to admit to being soundly thrashed?
After they finished eating, Lucien and Tempy stepped out to High Street, where the bright sunlight made Lucien squint. A pair of women engrossed in conversation strolled past, followed by a man in a top hat and frock coat who glanced at Lucien, looked away, and then stopped mid-step. He turned back and examined Lucien more closely.
"Lord Cavendish? Is that you?" The man's smile was growing as he peered into Lucien's face.
Lucien returned the gaze, perplexed for a moment. Then he, too, examined the other man's face more closely. It was his dark blond hair that had thrown Lucien. As he recalled, the man's hair had been much lighter as a boy. "As I live and breathe. Is that you? Henry Conner?"
"Judge Conner now," he said, shifting his weight slightly, "but yes, it's me. It's wonderful to see you again, my lord."
Lucien frowned and shook his head with a jerk. "You must call me Lucien. I insist. After all, we've known each other since we were children." Someone brushed past Lucien and bumped against his shoulder, so he moved closer to one of the storefronts. He stood so that Tempy was protected from any buffeting as well.
"It's a shame you had to return here under duress," Henry said, "but I can't say I'm sorry. It's been entirely too long since you've visited Porlock."
Lucien couldn't help smiling at the man. "I'm glad someone has found some good in it, although I must admit, I'm enjoying my day here more than I had expected."
Henry's eyes flickered toward Tempy and then back to Lucien.
"I'm sorry. I've been amiss. I'd like to introduce you to Miss Bliss. She accompanied me to Porlock for the day."
Tempy offered a small curtsy.
Henry arched his eyebrows and smiled. "I can see why your day's been so pleasant. You're a lucky man."
Tempy blushed.
Clearly, Henry thought they were a couple. Lucien wished he could correct the misunderstanding, but couldn't think of how to do it without causing her even more embarrassment.
"You shouldn't be in court for long," Henry said. "He's simply harassing you."
Lucien's surprise must have shown.
"Did you think I wasn't aware of your history with the man? He's always been one to hold a grudge, even for the smallest slight. And since you offended him on a grand scale, well...," Henry waved his hand, "let's just say he's happiest when he's being a thorn in someone's side."
Tempy glanced up at Lucien. "Is he referring to the same man who, ah..., visited yesterday?"
Lucien's jaw tightened.
Henry chortled. "So, that explains his bruise. He'd said he'd fallen from a horse. Those beasts have caused him no end of trouble over the years." He paused and then grimaced in apology at the tactlessness of his joke. "But I must admit that it looked more like someone had blackened his eye."
Tempy flashed a grin and then tried to suppress it.
Henry shot her an assessing gaze. "It appears I was correct. Well then, we'll have to do our best to keep the two of you on opposite sides of the courtroom. Hmm?"
An image of Formsworth launching himself across the room flashed into Lucien's mind, and he nodded. "That's probably wise."
Judge Conner turned his attention back to Tempy again. "Something about you seems familiar. Have we met before?"
She shook her head. "I don't believe so. This is my first time in this part of England. I rarely leave London."
"London. That's it. Someone pointed you out to me the last time I was there. You're the 'poor little rich girl,' aren't you? Heiress to Bliss Railways? I met your father a few years ago. He was quite the businessman. I'm sorry for your loss."
Tempy's hand on Lucien's arm tensed. "Thank you," she said.
Henry seemed unaware that he'd made Tempy uncomfortable, and he pulled a watch from his pocket to check the time. "I'll see you shortly. Good day," he said. Then he tipped his top hat to them and continued on down the street.
Lucien felt her relax as Henry Conner walked away.
Lucien watched Henry for a moment as he let Tempy come to terms with being recognized. She didn't say anything about it, so neither did he. "That wasn't what I expected," Lucien murmured.
"What wasn't?" Tempy asked.
Lucien gazed down at her, collecting his thoughts. "I haven't seen Henry Conner since I was eighteen. I hadn't realized he'd become a judge."
"Is that a good thing? Him being the judge in your case, I me
an."
Lucien looked at the man's receding back and smiled. "Yes, I believe it is." He and Tempy began strolling down the street in the direction of the courthouse. Tempy slid her hand around his arm and tucked it next to his elbow, as though it were a bird settling onto its nest. It was a completely natural and commonplace gesture that ignited the slow, steady warmth of contentment deep within him.
She tightened her grip on his arm. "Look," she said.
Lucien followed her gaze and saw two men arguing. Although they were dressed quite differently, they had similar builds. The one with his back to them seemed young, and the other was...Squire Formsworth. In an instant, Lucien realized who the younger man must be.
Boothby.
"Wait here," he told Tempy. He hurried toward the pair. Maybe he could stop them before they came to blows.
"Lucien," Tempy called. He heard the soles of her shoes hitting the pavement as she hurried after him.
Formsworth clenched his fists and his eyes narrowed in anger.
"Stop!" Lucien shouted. But it was too late. Formsworth was fast, and he threw a punch with all of his weight behind it.
But Boothby bobbed to one side, easily avoiding the blow.
Lucien sped forward. He wrapped one arm around Formsworth's neck from behind, and with the other, he grabbed the man's arm, twisting it behind his back. He yanked it up with a forceful jerk, and Formsworth let out an explosive grunt of pain.
"Blast you! Let go of me." Formsworth surged forward, trying to break Lucien's hold on him.
Lucien twisted the struggling man's arm even farther up his back, torquing his shoulder into what must have been an extremely painful position.
"Ahh!" Formsworth stopped struggling.
Lucien waited to see if the man would continue to struggle, but when he felt some of the coiled tension leave Formsworth's body, he eased up on the pressure on his elbow.
"What's the problem here?" Lucien asked.
"It's none of your affair," Formsworth hissed.
Boothby spoke up. "Of course it is. I work for him." He met Lucien's gaze. "This one," he said, jerking his chin toward Formsworth, "decided to take offense when I asked him about me mum."
People were stopping to stare.
"You dare to speak to me!" Formsworth shouted at Boothby. "I want nothing to do with you. I made that clear when you were born." He tried to break free of Lucien's hold, but Lucien pushed the man's elbow up again, and Formsworth stopped his struggling.
"Try to keep a civil tongue in your head." Lucien said. "Things will progress more smoothly if you can manage to draw less of a crowd."
Formsworth jerked his head from side to side, looking up and down the street, and then glared at the group of onlookers. "Let me go," he hissed. When Lucien didn't immediately comply, he added, "I won't fight him. Just let me go."
Lucien relaxed his hold on Formsworth, and the man yanked his arm to the front of his body and began massaging it. "You nearly broke my arm," he muttered, turning to face Lucien. "Are you so enamored of your low connections that you'd side with the likes of them against your own people?"
Contempt flooded him. "My own people? Can you possibly be counting yourself in that group? How can you imagine that I owe you any allegiance? You attacked me yesterday, and not for the first time. It was Boothby who came to my aid, so if that's what you mean by my 'own people,' then you're right. I choose to take the side of an honorable man I've known since his birth over one who thrives on intimidation."
"How dare you!" Formsworth puffed up his chest. "I'll have you know that my family has lived in Somerset for generations."
"As has mine. But that doesn't mean I have the right to abuse the people around me."
"Then you're more of a fool than I'd thought. People like him," Formsworth said, indicating Boothby, "are the worst of them. Always after something. Money. A handout. Special favors. You'll never shake yourself free once they sink their teeth into your flesh."
Bright, hot anger sparked in Lucien. "He's nothing like that. He's worth more than a hundred of you." He stepped forward threateningly, but then stopped himself.
Tempy was watching.
Formsworth took a step back, fear showing in his eyes as his gaze darted from Boothby to Lucien. "I've had just about enough of this." He sidled away, keeping his gaze pinned on Lucien. "I'll see you in court." He pressed his top hat more firmly onto his head and then turned on his heel and strode down the street.
Lucien watched him depart, a little stunned. After all of the buildup, the altercation had ended abruptly, leaving Lucien feeling as though things were still unsettled. He held out his arm to Tempy, and when she slid her fingers back around it, he nearly sighed with relief. The last thing he wanted was to renew the argument they'd had yesterday.
Boothby and Mary followed them as they departed. When Lucien glanced down the street, he could still see Formsworth hurrying away in the distance.
"I'm sorry, sir," Boothby said. "I never should have approached him. I was hoping he might be able to tell me something more about my mother."
"I'm glad you didn't dignify that man by referring to him as your father. He's the most bitter and manipulative man I've ever met," Lucien replied.
Tempy stopped, and turned to look at Boothby. "Mr. Formsworth is your father?"
Boothby nodded. "Quite a surprise, isn't it? No one ever told me much about him, but based on small things people let slip, I knew he was a wealthy squire. I also heard someone say that I looked exactly like him. When Squire Formsworth became so angry with me yesterday, I realized who he must be. Even then, I wasn't completely certain until I came into the village today. Can you believe it? People here in Porlock began asking me if I was his son. That removed the last of my doubts, so I decided to approach him and ask him about my mother." He grimaced. "You saw the rest. You'd think I'd asked him to welcome me into his home, when all I did was ask him where my mother came from. I've always hoped to find her family."
"You shouldn't have found out this way. Mme Le Clair said she'd tell you before we left London. I didn't realize that you still didn't know. She begged me to let her be the one to tell you. If it's any consolation, she regretted not telling you sooner."
"If by sooner, you mean ten years ago, then yes. Sooner would have been much better. How could she keep my own history from me for so many years?"
"I think she was worried you'd try to confront Formsworth."
Boothby reddened. "Perhaps I would have. But that decision should have been mine to make."
"I don't necessarily agree. You mother left you in Mme Le Clair's care. Hasn't Madame protected you? Prepared you for the world? Helped you find employment?"
"I should have been told," Boothby insisted. "I had a right to know."
"And she meant to tell you."
"So you say. But that's only words. Empty promises. All I know is that she didn't do it."
"Actually," Tempy said, "I think you were probably better off not knowing about that man. It must be difficult to grow up not knowing who your father is, but I imagine it would have been even worse to suffer a father's loathing. That type of disdain would certainly have affected you. It might have altered the course of your life."
Boothby's expression became thoughtful.
They had left most of the shops behind as they walked, and the street was much less busy here. Lucien could now see Formsworth far ahead of them, entering the town hall.
Lucien glanced at Tempy and then back at Boothby. "I've never mentioned this, but my father was aware of my grandfather's low opinion of him, and I'm certain it affected him. It was hard for him to face that sort of loathing every day. I'm certain he would have had a better life if that man hadn't continually berated him. As it was, he always felt as though he had to prove himself."
"Thank you for telling me that, m'lord," Boothby said. "Fortunately, I've already come to realize that Formsworth means nothing to me. I only approached him today to see if I could learn something about my mot
her. Can you tell me anything more about her?"
Lucien frowned slightly. "I know little of her. I only met her once, while she was carrying you. She was a demimondaine, much like Mme Le Clair, but not as lucky."
"Why," Boothby asked, "because she met Formsworth?" Although the young man's tone was belligerent, Lucien knew his anger wasn't directed at Lucien, but at the man who had caused his mother so much pain.
"She left him because he hit her. She said she didn't want to risk losing her unborn child to one of his rages. Formsworth refused to believe the child was his, despite the fact that he'd kept her isolated at his home here in Somerset for months. His jealousy was like poison to the women he claimed to love. But your mother escaped, unlike his wife. After you were born, she sent a message to Formsworth to let him know he had a son. She hoped that his love for her would transfer to his newborn child, but Formsworth insisted he had no child."
"But Boothby is the image of him," Tempy said. "How can he continue to deny it?"
"He didn't deny it just now," Boothby said. "He accused me of wanting money. But he's wrong. I want nothing from that man. I wish I could strip away any resemblance we share."
As they paused in the shadow of the town hall, Lucien turned to look squarely at Boothby. "Any resemblance you share is superficial. I've known you for years. In every way that matters, you are nothing like him. I admire the man you've become."
The clock in the tower above the town hall began to chime.
Boothby glanced at it guiltily. "You need to go inside. I'm sorry I delayed you. Thank you, m'lord."
"I'm glad I could be of help."
Boothby nodded. "Yes, sir." He hurried away and then turned down a side street.
"Formsworth's been your bane for years," Tempy murmured.
He frowned. "And this court case is simply his way of trying to irritate me."
Gambling on a Scoundrel Page 20
