Grace Burrowes - [Lonely Lords 04]

by Beckman

  “We needed the other too.” Beck kissed her ear. “And I can guarantee you we’re going to need it again before morning.”

  ***

  “Is there anything more conducive to producing bodily misery than a solid bloody week of haying?” Beck stretched out his weary body in the lovely heat of the springs, the hotter end of the pool suiting him wonderfully.

  “War, perhaps,” North suggested from his spot on the submerged ledge. “Childbirth, one supposes.”

  “A hangover I had the first night I landed in Baltimore.” Though Paris made Baltimore look like a romp. “Did we bring soap?”

  “You brought it,” North said, but he sloshed his way to the bank and fished it out of their pile of towels and clothes, then tossed it to Beck. “And you’ve grease on your back from trying to prop up the wagon when the axle broke, Hercules Haddonfield.”

  “It didn’t break,” Beck said, scrubbing off with the soap. “Or did you see something I missed?”

  “I was too busy watching all the help from Sutcliffe flirt with our cook,” North intoned darkly. “You are correct, though, the axle was cut most of the way through, which is a considerable sawing job.”

  Beck made thorough use of the soap and lobbed it at North, who caught it one-handed.

  “Have you considered sending to your brother the earl for assistance with things here?”

  “I have not. Nick is newly arrived to a state of holy matrimony and not coping well with the shock.” He dunked to rinse off rather than admit he’d almost sent word to both Nick and Ethan.

  “He’s your family, Beckman,” North said as Beck’s head broke the water. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay, and it isn’t as if you haven’t investigated all of Creation in the interests of the family businesses.”

  North’s tone was ominously reasonable.

  “Little business projects aren’t quite in the same league with apprehending criminals,” Beck said, though a trip to Budapest or Virginia or the Levant or Stockholm did qualify as more than a little business trip.

  North made quick use of the soap then began sloshing toward the bank. “If I stay in here much longer, I’m going to look older than old Mrs. Hibbert at The Dead Boar.”

  “An improvement Miss Polly would surely regard with favor,” Beck quipped, but he too was soon drying off with a bath sheet. He’d just gotten his breeches buttoned and pulled on his boots when a piercing scream rent the evening air.

  “What in God’s name?” Beck saw confusion and concentration North’s face.

  “That’s Allie,” Beck said. The screaming went on, unceasingly, as Beck took off at a dead run toward the manor. He could hear North pounding behind him, but having the advantage of size, he outpaced him by several lengths by the time they’d reached the barn.

  Allie stood along the back wall, where Boo-boo’s dog pen had been constructed. The dog sat at her side, looking puzzled, his pink tongue lolling from his mouth. Polly was calmly trying to talk Allie into shutting up, while Sara wielded a long hay fork in the general vicinity of a black snake coiled between the child and the adults.

  Beck crossed to the child, picked her up, eased back around the snake, then thrust the child into North’s arms. She quieted immediately, her screams mutating into sobs while she clung to North’s neck like a burr.

  “North,” Beck said over Allie’s sobbing. “Hand the child to her mother, and let the ladies go outside, if you please.”

  North complied, crooning to the child and patting her back as he handed her off. Sara whisked Allie from the barn, Polly and the dog at their heels.

  “Big bugger,” North said when they had some quiet. “Never did fancy snakes.”

  “It’s a black rat snake.” Beck eyed the creature, which was writhing slowly in the dirt. “They get even bigger than this, at least in Virginia.”

  “What’s an American snake doing here, for pity’s sake? My ears will never recover.”

  “It’s scaring the wits out of a little girl,” Beck said grimly. He grabbed the snake behind its head and lifted the thing carefully. “And probably looking for mice and rats to fill its five-foot-long belly. Come along, you,” Beck addressed the snake. “You’ve apologies to make.”

  “Coming out.” Beck raised his voice to warn the ladies. “And bringing our new pet with me.”

  Allie’s face was still buried against her mother’s neck, so she was unlikely to immediately understand Beck had brought the snake out of the barn.

  “Beckman,” Sara spoke very sharply, “can’t you take it away?”

  “I will, but I thought Allie might want to see him when he’s not so upset.”

  “The snake?” Allie ceased crying long enough to peer at Beck. “Eeeeuuuw.”

  “He’s actually quite a fine specimen,” Beck said, not going any closer. “Though I’m sure in India I saw snakes much longer and bigger around than this little fellow. He’s far from home though, and not likely to survive the winter.”

  Allie regarded the snake with a blend of revulsion and curiosity. “Where is he from?”

  “Virginia, the eastern United States. Sailors sometimes bring them on board ship. They’re keen to eat up all the mice and rats, and unlike cats, they don’t leave scent everywhere they go. This kind is usually shy, but they can bite. Would you like to pet him?”

  “No.” Allie stretched out a single finger toward the snake as she spoke. “Is he slimy?”

  “Touch him and find out. He’s without any family, if he had ears they’d be broken from your alarum, and he’s far from familiar surroundings. I’d say he’s due a little kindness.”

  And damned if Beck didn’t feel a pang of pity for the rubbishing snake.

  “I’d say he’s due to be put on a ship back to Virginia,” North muttered, but he must have understood what Beck was about and dutifully stroked his hand over the snake’s black scales. “Shall we name him?”

  “He’s smooth,” Allie said, quickly withdrawing her finger then passing it over the snake again. “Mama?”

  Sara met Beck’s gaze, a world of conflicted maternal feelings in her eyes, but she petted the snake as North had. “He is smooth, and he catches the light on his scales.”

  That bestirred the artist in Allie, and she eyed the snake more critically.

  “What shall we do with him?” Beck asked. “I can send him back to his Maker, Allie, or I can find somebody in the village going to Portsmouth and put him on an outbound ship.”

  North sent him a look that clearly indicated the sharp end of a shovel would be a much simpler solution, but Beck waited for Allie to make up her mind.

  “Send him home,” Allie decided. “If he has family, they’ll miss him.”

  “Oh, for the love…” North put his fists on his hips and glowered at the snake. “I suppose he’ll need a little snake palace to bide in until his royal barge departs, and a name.” He took the snake from Beck like so much dirty washing. “As the name Boo-boo is taken, and Screech lacks a certain dignity, his name will be Milton, and I will find him a suitably impressive dwelling and take him into the village tomorrow, there to begin his homeward odyssey, about which he will no doubt write at great length, setting a trend among all the fashionable, well-traveled black rat snakes.”

  He stomped off, lecturing the snake about getting ideas above his lowly station, while Beck silently applauded a very convincing reestablishment of the status quo.

  “Quite an adventure for you.” Beck held out a hand to Allie. “I suppose you want a snake now for your birthday instead of a pony?”

  “A pony?” Allie’s eyes grew round, and she began to chatter volubly, completely missing the wink Beck shot Sara and Polly.

  The topic of Allie’s birthday figured prominently at the dinner table, with various outlandish suggestions being made regarding her gifts and appropriate activities for the occasion. North joined the group midway through the meal, having constructed a wood and wire cage for Milton.

  “He’s taking a nap
after his ordeal,” North reported. “He’s been rendered temporarily deaf by a certain young lady’s stunning propensity to summon help, as have I. Ah, I see you left me a dollop of potatoes and three entire green beans. I’m touched.”

  Polly rose, smiling. “There’s more.”

  North reached over and slid the butter away from Beck’s plate toward his own. By tacit agreement, the adults were not going to discuss the broken axle or the snake at the table, not while Allie remained among them. But when she’d disappeared to take Hildy her scraps, Beck glanced around the kitchen.

  “When Allie has found her bed, I’d like the rest of us to convene in my sitting room.”

  Sara nodded, resignation and worry reflected in her gaze.

  “Sara and I will be doing the dishes tonight, Polly,” Beck said. “You’ve cooked for a legion all week and can use the time to get off your feet.”

  “Excellent suggestion,” North said. “Though perhaps you’d take a turn with me in the garden rather than get off your feet?”

  A glance passed between them, one Beck didn’t try to parse, though North was a fool to walk away from a woman who looked at him that way.

  When Beck was left alone in the kitchen with Sara, he did, indeed, set to clearing the table and washing the dishes.

  “You sit too,” Beck said, stacking plates at the table. “I’ll tend to this, and you enjoy a second cup. I wanted to talk with you first, though, before we open discussion with the others.”

  Sara rose and slipped her arms around his middle. “I’ve never been so grateful to see another person in my life as I was when you came skidding into that barn, Beckman. That idiot snake kept slipping and slithering off the hay fork and glaring at me and waving his tongue about…”

  “You would have gotten him,” Beck assured her, setting down his load of dishes to return her embrace. “He was as upset as you were, though.”

  “Polly wanted to get an ax.”

  “A shovel would have given her longer reach, but all’s well, even for the snake.”

  “You handled it beautifully.” Sara held him a moment longer. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, but, Sara? The broken axle on the wagon today? It wasn’t an accident, and I suspect this snake was purposely put where Allie and Boo-boo like to play.”

  “I haven’t asked Allie for the details. I gather the beast was somewhere in the vicinity of the doghouse.”

  “It could be coincidence. The snake might have come in on a wagonload of goods shipped into Portsmouth, but I don’t think we can take that chance.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “If the snake was put here deliberately, then we’ve escalated from malicious mischief toward replaceable property, to a threat of real harm to Allie or you ladies. Even nonvenomous snakes have a nasty bite, Sara. They’re carnivores, and the wound can easily get infected.”

  Sara dropped her arms from Beck’s waist and stepped back. “Somebody wants Allie dead?”

  “Or doesn’t care if harm befalls her, which suggests to me we’re not dealing with a greedy uncle.”

  “How do you figure that?” Sara moved off to pour herself a cup of tea, her movements mechanical, her eyes unfocused.

  “Why would Tremaine stir up so much trouble to get his hands on a talented artist then put the artist herself in harm’s way?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She sounded so forlorn, so uncertain. Beck silently cursed whoever had let the snake into the barn. The scare to Allie was likely to be quickly forgotten, not so the scare to her mother.

  “I think we need to have a serious talk with one Tremaine St. Michael, Sara. Sooner rather than later.”

  “You want us to confront him?”

  “I do, but here, where we’ve got some support and we can keep a close eye not just on Tremaine but on Allie as well.”

  “You’re determined to invite him here?” Sara worried a thumbnail between her front teeth. “Is that necessary?”

  “I think it is. I wanted to discuss it with you first.”

  “I could take Allie away somewhere.”

  He understood the impulse to flee but understood as well that it seldom resulted in a real solution—and wasn’t that an insight to be pondered some other fine, long day? “And if he was able to find you here, using your maiden name, what will you do when he finds you there too?”

  She glowered at her teacup. “I’ll go to America with the damned snake. It’s my job to keep Allie safe, and I’ll go to the ends of the earth to do that.”

  She wasn’t arguing, which Beck took as an indication that she was closer to emotional collapse than even she knew, so he took her teacup from her and wrapped her in another hug. “The ends of the earth are not as worthy of inspection as one might think. It’s time to stop dancing around silences and innuendos, Sara. We’ll get St. Michael here, on our turf, and determine his motives. My brother is an earl, my step-grandmother a marchioness, and my pockets are full to bursting. I’m connected to more damned titles than you can count, and I will bend all of my resources to see that Allie stays safe with you.”

  “It’s so complicated,” Sara whispered against his neck. “Why does it have to be so complicated?”

  “It isn’t complicated. Either St. Michael ceases his nonsense, or I’ll see him behind bars or in the ground.”

  Sara cuddled closer, which might have been a sign of progress except for the realization that if Allie were once again safe, then Beck’s greatest leverage for gaining Sara’s hand in marriage would be gone.

  Seventeen

  The haying was successfully completed, the barns and sheds and even the house sported repaired or replaced roofs, the walls and fences were again sturdy and straight, and the crops matured in the fields. Summer eased past the solstice and into July, hitting the lull between haying and harvest when life should have been sweet.

  At Three Springs, since the evening Beck had explained his intent to invite Tremaine St. Michael for a visit, every adult on the property had lived with an underlying sense of tension. The lack of further destructive mischief only made the anxiety greater.

  There was good news, at least for Beck, in that Nicholas had reconciled with his new countess.

  “You are still determined to leave?” Beck asked as he and North rode in from the eastern barley fields.

  North patted Soldier’s dusty neck. “I am. I thought you’d have matters wrapped up by now, and St. Michael has apparently gone to ground.”

  “He’s on his way here.”

  “He’s on his way…” North’s scowl was thunderous. “This man puts a little girl in harm’s way, he’s on his way here, and you didn’t think to mention this to me? The women will draw and quarter you, and I’ll sharpen their knives.”

  “I got his letter in the village today. Seems he’s been walking the Lake District or some such, and he’s happy to grace us with his presence as of the first of next week. You are duly warned, so what will you do about it?”

  “Fret prodigiously.”

  “Just so, and I appreciate the warning. But you’ll still go.”

  “Soon,” North said, his eyes straying to the back of the manor house. “When you’ve routed the enemy, I’ll move along, so you’d best be looking for a new steward.”

  “You were going to stay through harvest,” Beck reminded him as they turned their horses into the stable yard.

  “I was going to try, but it isn’t working out that way.”

  Beck regarded him as closely as one could regard North, given his ability to mask his feelings.

  “Is Polly angry with you?”

  North swung off Soldier. “She is not, or not as angry as she should be. She’s… brokenhearted, and that I cannot abide. The sooner I’m gone, the sooner she’ll realize I was a complete waste of her sentiments.”

  “Gabriel…” How did Beck, of all people, tell another man that leaving didn’t solve anything?

  “There is no good outcome for us, Beckman,” No
rth said as he ran up his stirrups. “The most honorable thing I can do is take myself off and let her get on with her life.”

  “You aren’t even giving the woman a chance, North. At least tell her the truth of your situation—whatever that might be—before you go, so she has a reason for your departure other than her own failings.”

  “God.” Clearly, this possibility had not occurred to North. He rested his arm over Soldier’s muscular neck and bowed his head as if exhausted. “She’ll blame herself, won’t she?”

  “The good ones do. The worthy ones.” Just as Beck had blamed himself for his young wife’s decisions.

  The realization went through him like a dose of strong medicine. He felt the relief of it, the absolution of it settle into his soul while North stood braced against his horse.

  “I sometimes wish I’d gotten on that ship with the damned snake.”

  “But you would have left my flank exposed,” Beck said. “So blame your situation on me, but please consider the terms of your parting. What affects Polly affects Sara and Allie, and me as well.”

  “You should have been a vicar.” North loosened Soldier’s girth. “Inducing guilt is one of their most highly cultivated skills.”

  “You should have been a marquess,” Beck said, letting instinct have free rein.

  North shook his head as he took Ulysses’s reins from Beck. “If I’d been a marquess, I would never have met Polly Hunt, never have built my first snake palace, never have soaked away my aches and worries with you and your nancy damned soap. Being a steward has had rewards being the marquess would never have. I’ve brought in crops I saw planted and tended, cared personally for beasts and buildings, and developed an appreciation for the people closest to the land. It hasn’t been all bad, Beck. In fact, in some ways, I’ve been happier here at Three Springs than I ever would have been as Hesketh.”

  Hesketh. Hesketh was indeed a venerable, much-respected marquessate. “And you’ll miss it,” Beck warned. “Worse than you miss Hesketh’s holdings.”

  “That I will.” North’s eyes strayed to the house again before he led the horses into the barn. In that single glance, Beck had seen a peacefulness in North’s eyes, an acceptance that boded ill for the man’s future. North was going to leave, and there would be no talking him out of it.