Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1)

by Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  Miss Marleigh backed away from the crates. "That sounds lovely." She glanced at Alex as she put her gloves back on. "Lord Grayson, would you care to join us?"

  Chapter 18

  Abigail's pulse pounded through her body. Now that she knew Lord Grayson wasn't a pirate, everything was different. Her mind had given her body leave to feel everything that had previously felt wrong.

  But now that there was no obstacle preventing her from forming an attachment, Abigail was not sure how to act or what to say. She suddenly felt shy and insecure.

  Lord Grayson nodded. "I'd be delighted." He lifted his arm for Abigail to take hold. "Miss Marleigh?"

  Abigail swallowed hard. “What of Miss Tinsdale?” Surely, he could see how flushed she was, and guess what she was thinking. The thought only made her color deepen.

  “She found my company lacking and cried off. I will meet her at the carriage when it comes time to return.”

  Lord Ainsley waited by the door, opening it for the ladies as they approached.

  "Thank you, Lord Ainsley,” Abigail said. “Are you to join us for ices?" At least her voice sounded normal when speaking to him.

  Lord Ainsley glanced at Lord Grayson, who glared back.

  "Yes, I am. Unless, of course, you have an objection."

  Abigail shook her head. "Oh, no. We do so enjoy your company." Abigail smiled at Clara. They had not spoken much about it, but Abigail was certain her cousin held a tendré for Lord Ainsley. If her suspicions were correct, Lord Ainsley held similar feelings for Clara.

  Several rods down the street was a quaint little tea shop. Clara pushed through the doors, leading the group inside. The front of the shop was littered with small tables and chairs. Only a handful were empty. A young lady hurried about from table to table bringing people various foods and beverages.

  Clara picked an empty table near the door. The girl scurried over to them. "I will be with you in a moment." Then she disappeared into a back room.

  Clara raised her brows.

  "We are to eat our ices here and then we will walk to the pier?" Abigail's stomach growled.

  Clara shook her head. "No, that is what is so fun. I heard one can get an ice in some sort of parchment holder and it can be eaten while you walk. Isn't it delightful?"

  Abigail's brow creased. She had never heard of such a thing. Although, being from such a small village as Chapel Port, there was not a shop which sold ices, let alone a parchment traveling container to hold the treat. She supposed such a thing was possible in a place such as Brighton.

  The girl returned, looking flustered and worn. "How can I help you?"

  Clara spoke up first. "We would like ices, but we want to take them on our walk to the pier. I've heard you have a way to do such a thing."

  The girl nodded. "We have red and green." She said in a dull voice.

  Clara smiled widely at the group. "We will have two of each, please."

  The girl turned and left without another word.

  The four sat, no one speaking for a moment. Finally, Clara looked to Abigail. "Did you find the music you were looking for, Abi?"

  Abigail shook her head. "I was not really looking to buy anything. It was merely a curiosity."

  Lord Ainsley fiddled with his beaver where he had it perched on the knee of his crossed leg. "Do you play much, Miss Marleigh?"

  Abigail opened her mouth, but Clara was the first to answer. "Abi is a true proficient. I don't know why she insisted on playing such a dull and elementary piece when performing in the musicale the other night." Clara smiled affectionately at Abigail. "I've never heard anyone her equal."

  Abigail ducked her head briefly. "My cousin is being too kind." Abigail reached over and squeezed Clara's hand. She was lucky to have such a cousin and friend. "But she is correct about my disposition. I do love music."

  Lord Grayson leaned into the conversation, looking to Clara and Ainsley "I can attest to your cousin’s claim. I had the pleasure of hearing her play the other day." He turned his gaze on Abigail. "I, like Miss Martindale, have never heard anything so lovely."

  Abigail felt as if she might melt at the warmth his words brought. “Thank you." The words came out whispered and choked.

  Abigail was saved from further scrutiny when the girl arrived with four cone shaped pieces of parchment tucked between her fingers. She lowered them to the center of the table and each of them took one. Peering inside, Abigail saw the red ice nestled in the widest part of the cone.

  Clara squealed in delight. "This is marvelous! How do you eat it? Surely we can't take spoons with us."

  The girl sigh heavily and took one of the parchment cones. She licked the air behind the ice and showed them how to pull the paper back to get at the ice farther down. Clara's nose wrinkled. "We are to eat like a dog, then?" The delightfulness of it seemed to dim.

  Ainsley pulled back the paper on his cone and took a small bite of his ice. "It is not so bad. And if we can walk and look at the sea while we are eating, it is not as though we will be watching each other."

  Abigail shrugged and took a tentative lick. Her eyes widened. "It is delicious."

  Lord Grayson laid some coins on the table. "Come, we have what we came for. Let's go to the pier."

  Abigail walked beside Lord Grayson, one hand holding the ice, the other hanging loosely at her side. With one hand on his walking stick and the other holding his ice, he was not able to offer her his arm. At least, she hoped that was the reason he did not offer.

  Clara clearly wasn’t as excited about the parchment cone, but she did well to hide her dislike.

  Lord Ainsley had offered her his arm, and the two walked several paced behind Abigail and Lord Grayson.

  Abigail swallowed the ice in her mouth, licking her lips to get any stray drops. "Why did you not tell me sooner?" She had wanted to ask him since learning of his identity the night before.

  Lord Grayson stiffened slightly, but relaxed when he looked at her. "I didn't have leave to do so."

  Abigail shrugged. "I supposed I understand."

  "There are many things I've wanted to tell you."

  "Can you tell me now?" Abigail wished he could trust her enough to share with her.

  Lord Grayson breathed deeply and shook his head. "It is not yet finished."

  "Why did you agree to do it?" They had discussed his becoming a pirate while he had held her captive, but she realized now that had only been part of the story—the part Captain Stringham could share.

  "I had a younger brother. He was not even two years my junior. After he left Cambridge, he and friend, also a younger son, decided to start a shipping company. They had received the permission of the East India Company. Thomas,” He glanced over at her. “That was my brother, and his partner used their inheritances to purchase The Destiny. They sailed to India and purchased their cargo. On their return trip, they were attacked by pirates—a particularly vicious group. The pirates took the ship and its cargo."

  Abigail asked the question, even though she was certain she knew the answer. "What happened to the crew?"

  "It was not enough for Dennison to take all the cargo, he also killed everyone on the ship." Lord Grayson stopped. Placing his elbows on the railing, he looked out over the water. "The Ministry was unable to do anything. There are too many bands to know for sure who was responsible.” Lord Grayson sneered as he mimicked the words the government officials had obviously spoken to him. "But I couldn't leave it be. Someone needed to pay for Thomas’s life." He pushed away from the railing.

  Clara and Lord Ainsley had continued walking and were now farther down the pier.

  Offering Abigail his arm, they continued on. "I contacted Sir Richard and we came up with a plan to insert me into Captain Dennison's crew—the pirate we believed responsible. I sailed with him for six years."

  "Did you ever discover if it was him?"

  Lord Grayson laughed bitterly. "When he made me Captain, he gave me charge over the Destiny." She felt his muscles tighten under
his coat. "He did not even change the name. It was as if he were showing all the world of what he was capable." He pulled a watch from his pocket. "I also found this among Dennison's things." He popped the cover open, revealing an inscription inside. Thomas Rockingham, Seventh Earl of Grayson.

  Lord Grayson ran his thumb over the inscription. "This was my grandfather's. He passed it on to my father, who gave it to my brother—my grandfather’s namesake—when he left for India."

  They reached the end of the pier and they both put their arms up on the railing. Abigail leaned over and watched the waves crash against the supports below. Sea birds flew out over the water, squawking to each other.

  Lord Grayson shook his head, breathing in deeply. "Let us talk of happier things." He glanced over at her and smiled.

  Her stomach jumped and her knees went a little weak. She folded her arms on the railing, trying to hide her shaking hands.

  "What happier things shall we speak of?"

  "Tell me of your carriage ride with Mr. Williamson. Did he bring a looking glass with him? Or did he merely suffer for those thirty minutes?"

  Abigail laughed, causing several people around them glance their way.

  She pinched her lips shut for a moment, raising amused brows. "No. But I do believe he left the top up so he could use the windows frequently."

  A rumble of laughter shook Lord Grayson and Abigail's body nearly melted at the rich, genuine tone. It was so different from Mr. Bradford. Perhaps it was because Lord Grayson did not laugh often, so it seemed earned rather than given freely. Or it could have been the completeness of his laugh. It enveloped all of him, from his broad shoulders to his trim waist. It was not the indecisive laughter displayed so often by Mr. Bradford.

  Regardless of what it was, Abigail had the desire to hear it over and over.

  "May I confess something to you?" His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. Had she not been so near, it would have floated away on the sea breeze.

  Abigail nodded, unsure any sound would come out had she tried to speak.

  "I was coming to ask you to join me, but that fop managed to reach you first." Lord Grayson flexed his hand, his fingers brushing hers. His hand quit moving but his fingers remained touching the tips of hers. She looked from their hands up to his face. He was watching her, his eyes steady, but uncertain. "I wish you did not have to return with him."

  "Or that you did not have to return with Miss Tinsdale?" Abigail wished both Mr. Williamson and Miss Tinsdale off the end of the pier.

  "Lud. I completely forgot about her." His face pinked. "That does not speak very highly of me as a gentleman."

  "I don't think less of you, my lord." Abigail grinned. "I think it was kind of you to ask her. She seems an accommodating young lady."

  Lord Grayson nodded. "I do enjoy her conversation. Although, I must admit to being a bit preoccupied in the carriage ride here." He moved his fingers farther onto Abigail's.

  Abigail looked away, afraid he would see how much she cared for him. Loved him. Her heart pounded in her chest at the confession.

  "Have you watched the water enough, yet, Abi? Lord Ainsley and I are ready to return to town."

  Abigail pulled her hand away and straightened. She brought her shaking hand to her head, checking her hair and bonnet.

  Clara grinned at her and Abigail felt her face color up. Curse her cousin and her knowing looks!

  "Yes, I think I have breathed enough sea air." Abigail smirked at Clara. "Besides, we are due to meet the carriages before too long and we still need to purchase a candle and some food."

  Lord Grayson chuckled. "Ah, yes. The emergency food."

  Ainsley and Clara began walking. Ainsley turned his head and shouted over the wind. "Grayson, I believe we should follow the ladies lead and do likewise."

  On the walk back, Lord Grayson offered Abigail his arm, which she willingly took.

  As they crossed the street from the pier, Lord Grayson suddenly pulled to a stop. Abigail looked up at him, but his focus was straight ahead at a crowd of people.

  His Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times before he darted into the nearest shop, pulling Abigail along behind him. He looked wildly around, although Abigail doubted he was surveying the selection of ribbons and lace displayed. They moved toward the back of the store.

  The tinkle of the bell on the door spun him around. He stepped in front of her, putting his hand out to the side.

  Abigail peered around him and saw Lord Ainsley and Clara enter the store.

  Lord Grayson relaxed.

  "Abi, I thought we were looking for candles, not ribbons." She picked up a pale pink one off the table next to her. "Although, this is a lovely shade, do you not think?"

  Lord Ainsley looked at Lord Grayson, concern creasing his brow.

  Abigail grabbed Clara at the elbow. "I thought I saw someone I knew, that is all. Come. Let us continue on to the bakery." She cast a look over her shoulder at Lord Grayson, but his gaze was focused on the front window.

  Lord Grayson pulled Lord Ainsley aside and whispered something to him.

  Ainsley shook his head, but Lord Grayson nodded firmly, pressing some coins in Ainsley’s hand.

  Ainsley handed them back but nodded and turned toward Abigail and Clara. "You have made the bakery sound so enticing, I find I am starving now. Let’s hurry before he need to meet the carriages."

  He moved between both ladies and placed his hand on their elbows, guiding them from the store and away from Lord Grayson.

  Chapter 19

  Two gigs sat side by side, a freshly cut swath of grass circling the open field. The course then joined a graveled pathway, passing by the water fall and the pyramid pond, before rejoining the grassy path that had been cleared earlier in the morning.

  Mr. Garvey had announced the gig races upon the group’s arrival back at Havencrest.

  Alex had remained in the back as much as he could, unable to look Miss Marleigh in the eye. Once again, he felt as if a future with her had slipped through his fingers.

  A paper for men to sign up to race sat on the table next to the door. Unable to think any longer on Miss Marleigh Alex scribbled his name across the page and limped to his chambers to change his clothing.

  Parker appeared without Alex even having to ring for him. He held a dark blue tailcoat and a gray waistcoat.

  Alex shook his head. "I will be racing."

  Parker stared at Alex briefly before returning to the wardrobe.

  He returned with a pair of leather breeches Alex had worn in his other life.

  Alex started to shake his head, but Parker stopped him. "May I speak plainly, my lord?"

  Alex nodded grudgingly.

  "If you are racing, you will need the protection of the leather, sir. Should you have an accident, there will be very little protecting your wound." He held up the pants. "I have taken the liberty of shrinking them a bit. They should fit rather snuggly. You will still be in fashion, but protected."

  Alex conceded and waved the valet forward. "What have you planned for my shoulder?"

  Parker shook his head. "Nothing, my lord. Just don't crash."

  Alex laughed. "I don’t plan to, Parker."

  "Sir, there is something else."

  Alex gingerly lifted his arms as Parker pulled a shirt over his head. "Yes, what is it?"

  "The Marleigh footman has spoken to others."

  Alex's jaw tightened. "Who?"

  "I know of Mr. Cavanaugh and Mr. Jennings. He was speaking to Mr. Williamson’s valet just as I came up."

  Alex nodded. "Thank you for the information. Please, keep me informed of any others."

  “Yes, my lord." He stepped to the desk on the opposite wall and withdrew a wrapped parcel from the drawer. “Here is the music you requested.”

  Alex took the package, turning it over in his hands. Should he give it to her now, after all that had happened? “Thank you, Parker.”

  He brushed Alex's coat and stood back. "About the buckskins, sir. What d
o you think?"

  Alex walked the length of the room and back. "I think I should wish all my pants were so comfortable. You did well, Parker."

  He bowed, gathering the discarded clothing and heading for the dressing room. "Thank you, sir."

  "Parker."

  He paused and turned back.

  Alex held up the package. "Thank you."

  Alex was the second to last scheduled to race—his opponent, Lord Nathanial. Alex rubbed his hands together, barely able to contain his nervous energy. It would be quite exhilarating to best the rake for a second time.

  He paced back and forth, taking a step and a small hop as he limped. He had left his cane back in his chambers, knowing he would not be able to hold the reins and the stick.

  He had been grateful not to see Miss Marleigh among the crowd watching the races. It would only heighten his anxiety if he knew she was watching.

  The other races moved excruciatingly slow. By the time Alex's name was called, his leg already ached from the amount of pacing he had done. He hopped up into the gig, his hands jittery with anticipation.

  The horse danced back and forth, throwing his head back with a snort.

  Alex rolled his neck back and forth, taking in several deep breaths. If he did not calm down, he would have a difficult time controlling the animal. He wished it were his horse, Lightfoot, rather than one of the Garvey’s horses.

  Mr. Garvey called the gigs forward and Alex’s lurched to the starting line. Mr. Garvey raised his arms high in the air, then dropped them to his side.

  Alex flicked the reins, yelling for his horse to go. The horse leapt forward, quickly pulling ahead of Lord Nathanial. Alex grinned as he looked over his shoulder to see Lord Nathanial flicking his reins quickly, trying to get more speed from his horse.

  Alex slowed as he rounded the first corner then pushed his horse to regain the speed. There were several curves in the track, but none severe enough for Alex to slow down significantly.

  As he neared the spot where the course joined the gravel path by the cascade, Alex looked over at the pyramid, taking his eyes of the road for only a moment. But it was a moment too long. He missed the turn and the gig flew off the track, tipping onto its side and skidding to a halt on the grass under a large tree.