After that, a four-master slippedintothe harbor, with theJumnapulling it in. A ship called theKnickerbocker with a sailor atop a mast shouting, “Lacey. Lacey Ashton!”
“Nick!” Lacey stood, shouted his name again, and waved. “It’s Nick, come home, Gabriel,” she said, waving again toward the ship.
“Leave it to him to own the dratted ship!”
“It could be a coincidence that Ivy calls him Knickerbocker.”
“Nothing about Nick has ever been a coincidence, even the fact that he’s the only Norse god in his titled family. Blond, blue-eyed, with a smile to make women swoon.”
“Shush, Gabriel.”
“Myuncle Nick?” Cricket asked.
“Heruncle?” Gabe barked.
“He’s her mama’s cousin. We were raised together like brother and sisters, so yes, shewould call him uncle, would she not, as a symbol of respect?”
“Respect, yes. Nicholas Daventrymust have respect,” Gabe mumbled.
“Gabriel Kendrick, if your thick head ever gets to becoming normal size, you are going to feel like the hind end of a stubborn . . . arse.”
Cricket slapped a hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t suppress a giggle. Lacey either, the two of them falling over each other, and when they came up for air, Cricket was twice as excited. “Let’s go meet my uncle.”
“It takes hours to get off a ship,” Gabriel said.
“Not if you own it,” Lacey replied.
Gabe sighed. “Which I’m sure he does.”
“Please PapaGabe?”
“Not today, Cricket. Let him get settled first,” Gabe said.Or maybe break his neck falling from that blasted mast first.
Before Bridget could work up a good pout, Gabe took her on his lap and showed her in the distance the windmill on Portreeve’s Acre.
“Let’s go to there,” Bridget said. “I want to see the windmill up close.”
The Acre was a vast expanse of grass as far as the eye could see with scattered trees and a windmill dead center, beside a narrow stretch of the river. “We’ll visit the windmill soon, Cricket, and have NannyMac make us a robust Scottish picnic that day.”
Watching father and daughter together, Lace knew she could never separate Gabe and Bridget. They loved each other. She’d have to find a way to make it work for the three of them. Never mind Prout’s ledger of threats. Never mind Gabe’s thick head. Never mind that Nick had come home.
“In the high distance, Cricket,” Gabe said, “are the peaks of Ashcroft Towers, Lacey’s old home, and Uncle Nick’s new one, since he’s Vincent’s heir. It was built to guard the valley and its access to the sea.”
Lacey cleared her throat. “Nearly every owner added a tower, including my father.”
“Did you know, Cricket,” Gabe took over, “that your great-grandfather raised large American owls as pets in Ashcroft Keep? He named them after some of the noted men of his time.”
Lacey chuckled. “One day his butler came to him in the breakfast parlor and said, “If it please your Grace, Lord Montgomery has laid an egg.”
“Like Lady Cowper, Papa?”
“Exactly like.” Gabe wanted to teach Cricket more of the castle’s history, her heritage through Clara, but she yawned, as did Lacey, so he urged them to rest and let them drift into sleep, closing his eyes as well, pleased to be their lumpy pillow.
Soon enough, Cricket woke crying for her mother.
Gabe turned to Lace. “She hasn’t done this in months.”
Lace tried uselessly to comfort her, but Cricket wouldn’t be calmed.
“Cricket,” Gabe said, remembering the early days right after Clara’s death. “Cricket, come to Papa,” he said. “And I’ll sing you happy.”
Lacey regarded him in surprise, but Bridget climbed into his lap as she must have done before she decided he’d let her mother go without a fight. He sang her favorite hymns in the same clear baritone he usually reserved for service.
When he finished singing, Cricket began to run her fingers back and forth along his beard stubble. “MyLacey, feel,” she said. “Ucky-scratchy, isn’t it?”
Lacey’s teasing smile hovered, telling Gabe he was in for a roasting. She stroked his cheeks, his chin, her eyes bright with memory. “Yes,” she said. “It’s definitely ucky-scratchy. Do you know how he gets it smooth again?”
Bridget shook her head, eyes wide. “No, how?”
“Tomorrow we’ll watch him shave.”
CHAPTER TEN
Next morning, Gabriel fetched Lace first at dawn, then they tickled Bridget awake, so they could drag her, yawning and moaning, each by a hand, where she and Cricket climbed into Gabe’s bed, sleepy-eyed and night-rail clad, to cuddle with Tweenie and watch him shave—Gabriel, not the dog.
Gabe stood before his dresser mirror wearing his black brocade dressing gown brushing lather on his face, which made Lacey wonder what he usually wore, or didn’t wear, to shave. She thought of him in the puppet wagon, buck-naked and soldier-ready, searching—not for something to wear, but for something to eat.
He turned at her chuckle and winked as if he read her. Yes, she liked him best in a bed, deliciously randy and ready, then gentle and loving, in turn. All hers, at least in her mind.
Truth was, he belonged too much to a set of false impressions where she was concerned, which made him entirely unsuitable. A man should trust his soulmate. No matter the evidence, he should have said no, and again, no. “Lace would not have betrayed me.” And until the day he could say as much, and believe it, there was no hope for them.
What was more, he belonged to the machinations of the woman who paid his wages and worked him like a puppet for as long as he failed to reach up and cut his strings. And he belonged to the sins of his fathers and the fear that kept him tethered to a livelihood that he had not chosen so much with his heart as with his pride.
He straightened for a moment to watch her, as if he couldsee condemnation and hopelessness march across her features, and she saw him retreat inside himself, at which point, his expression dimmed, and he returned to shaving.
Bridget, who obviously knew him better than Lace imagined, climbed from his bed, not to get a closer look, she’d wager, but to draw him out again.
Gabriel dragged a chair over so she could stand on it. She reached for his razor but he pulled it farther away. “That is dangerous, young lady. It has to be sharp to cut away my ucky-scratchy beard, and it can cut little fingers as well. Do not, ever, touch it; do you hear me?”
Bridget nodded. “Doesn’t it cut your skin?”
Lacey had been right about him spending more time with his daughter, Gabe thought, worried deep down about losing Lace but giving his all to this conversation with Cricket. “Sometimes I do cut myself, but mostly, I’m very careful.”
They chatted about everything and nothing, her ancestors’ owls and their names, new names for the farm animals they now owned. Names that got so silly, he chuckled and she giggled.
As he rinsed the razor, Cricket reached up with both hands and patted his cheeks, stealing some of his lather for her own face. “Look, MyLacey, I’m—”
“Shh,” Gabe said. “She’s fallen back to sleep.” He toweled Cricket’s face, then his. “Want to sleep longer, too?”
Bridget nodded, so he carried her to his bed and lay her down beside Lace, tucking them both in so as not to awaken the loves of his life.
“Sleep,” he whispered, running his finger along Bridget’s cheek.
To his shock, Cricket caught that stroking finger of his, kissed a knuckle, and closed her eyes.
Gabe straightened and blinked, so full of gratitude, he entered Mac’s kitchen feeling stronger and more ready to face the day than he had for some time. He felt positively exhilarated.
Yes, Cricket had kissed his knuckle in a sleepy moment, but three hours later, when he returned from the bishop’s blasted building committee meeting, she wouldn’t even look at him.
Tweenie, however, was so ecstatic to see him, s
he piddled on his shoe in her excitement.
If it weren’t for the fact that the pup’s accident brought Bridget’s smile, Gabe would have called everything after his morning shave a total loss and climbed back into bed himself.
The unexpected and unprecedented note from Olivia Prout about sent him there . . . to hide.
My dearest Gabriel,he read, and nearly stopped right there. You’ve been a good and true friend, and more. You are my vicar, my trusted spiritual advisor. Therefore, it is fitting that I come to you, and only you, at this most difficult crossroad in my life.
“Poppycock,” Gabe said, but he read on.
There is no other fit to guide me. Only you, my trusted vicar, can save me from this abyss into which I have fallen.
Help me. Please.
Yours, Olivia.
P.S. I shall be at the Ashcroft Buttery at three of the clock, should you decide to come to my rescue.
“Blasted Cheltenham Tragedy.”
“What’s that?” Mac asked attacking his office with a dustcloth.
Gabe shook his head, his face warm. “Church business. Didn’t mean to grumble. She’s one of God’s children, too, I suppose.”
“Who?” Mac asked.
Gabe rolled his eyes but kept his own counsel. Consulting his pocket watch, he shook his head. “I don’t have much time.”
He set out to help one of his flock, one he’d like to send packing, except that her mother owned his living.
Rectory Farm was situated about three quarters of a mile from Ashcroft Towers, where Lacey grew up. She knew every hidden corner of every building from one end of the property to the other, but she hadn’t realized that Cricket knew them in the same way.
The eggs she gathered in tiny, gentle hands, and the chicks, lambs, and ducks they visited that afternoon were all wondrous new, seeing them as Lacey was through Bridget’s big chocolate eyes.
Like the Rectory, several other workaday structures that served Ashcroft Towers were near at hand. One of her favorites, the octagonal buttery, sat just down the road and across the lane from Gabriel’s thatched-roof cottage.
The buttery was also constructed of flint and brick with a thatched roof. Unlike the cottage, it bore a unique eight-sided shape, all windows, like a wide but lowlying lantern-tower with window seats along each of the eight windows. Its second-best feature was its central fountain running pure, cool spring water twentyfour hours a day.
As they approached, Lacey caught Bridget up short. Olivia Prout had just slipped into the buttery—no, she’d sneaked, actually.
It was true that in summer, the buttery, with its pristine tile walls and floors, was the coolest spot on the Ashcroft Estate, but today was not hot enough to entice a woman with Olivia Prout’s air of superiority into its provincial confines.
Lace turned Cricket toward home. Perhaps Gabriel knew something about Olivia’s presence.
At the Rectory, Cricket went up to find her kitten, and Lace went to Gabe’s office. He wasn’t there, but she found a wrinkled note from Olivia on his desk.
She read it and scoffed. “Of all the ridiculous—” Lace hoped that Gabriel had not fallen for Olivia’s drivel but had gone to send the woman packing. Still, she suspected he might be stepping into a trap.
“Mac, watch Cricket,” Lace called as she ran out the door and down the road.
As she ran, it didn’t take Lace long to see them, Olivia reclined on a window seat and Gabriel beside her, his hand in hers.
Lace spotted Lady Prout and an aging crony coming down the lane, headed this way. She squeaked and ran for the back door, dashed through the workroom, and grabbed a cup. “Found a cup,” she said as she entered the fountain room to fill it with water as Prout and her witness stumbled “accidentally” upon the scene.
“Here you go, dear,” Lacy said to Olivia. “You’ll feel better in a trice. Oh, Lady Prout, I didn’t see you.” Lace straightened. “Olivia was feeling faint so Gabriel and I brought her inside where it’s cool.”
Gabriel stood, stony-faced and fists clenched, regarding the matrons, and Lacey placed her arm through his, squeezing it. “Lucky we happened upon her, wasn’t it, darling?” she asked Gabe, wondering if he was as furious as he appeared . . . with everyone.
Lacey bestowed on the seething Olivia a concerned smile. “You shouldn’t walk this far alone on a warm day, dear, especially without your parasol. I hope you brought your carriage, Lady Prout. I imagine Olivia is anxious to be away. Such a fuss.”
Olivia silently marched from the buttery, a wilting parent and a clucking hen in tow.
Neither Lace nor Gabriel moved until their coach rolled out from behind the dovecote, they boarded, and the vehicle moved down the lane. Mission not accomplished. No scandalbroth wedding for Olivia Prout and Gabriel Kendrick.
“What the devil did you think you were doing?” Gabe snapped, still oblivious to his near miss.
“Saving your hide, and much thanks I get. You nearly got a lifetime sentence. Did you want to be sacrificed on the block of matrimony to the highest bidder?”
“While the unfortunate coincidence had been misconstrued at first, I’m certain I could have—”
“Coincidence? Misconstrued? You were lured here to make one of the most common and dangerous mistakes in society—being caught alone, unchaperoned, in the company of an innocent.” Lacey allowed herself an undignified snort. “An unmarried maiden whose reputation can only be repaired for being found alone in your company with matrimony.”
“Balderdash.”
“How often do you think the Prouts come to the Ashcroft Buttery? Ever see the old harridan’s coach at the home farm before, and so near to Rectory Cottage? Behind the dovecote every other day, is it? With Prout and awitness inside, Olivia roaming free? I’ll warrant the elder was all fluttering shock and chagrin before she clapped eyes on the scene.”
Gabe paled and sat. “Before I stepped inside, I saw her through the window and wondered what happened . . . except it had not yet happened, had it?”
“No. Unless you anticipated the assignation, becauseyou were the biggest part of old Lady Prout’s machinations? Perhaps you helped stage this to be rid of me? Was something going on between you and Olivia before I got here? Did I ruin your plans? Or do you make a habit of seducing the innocents in your parish? Because that’s exactly how it looked, Gabriel.”
“Don’t be a fool. I’d never touch a woman who didn’t ask for it. I don’t seduce innocents!”
Lacey stepped back, his words stinging as much as his hand might have done. “That would make me the harlot who seduced you against your will.”
Gabriel stepped toward her. “Lace. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I thought I had put it behind me,” she said, “how angry I’ve been with you for the past five years.”Though she’d never stopped loving him, more fool her.
“I did not make the only mistake, Gabriel Kendrick, when you came to my mother’s house to claim paternity. You could have kept us from so much heartache byclaimingme, thereby offering to raise the babe as yours, no matter what youbelieved.”
True, Lace thought, heshouldn’thave believed the lie about her child’s paternity: she did tell it, and since she had been honest to a fault to that point, and terribly in love with him, he would believe it. About time she accepted blame for that. “And for your information, in case you hadn’t figured it out at the time, youdidtouch an innocent. You weremyfirst.”And my last.
“You were also a man of the world. You knew better than I, that day we first loved in the ruins, what could come of it.”What did come of it, though he saw no further than her lie.
“Lace,” he said trying to take her into his arms, but she pushed him away and stepped from his reach.
“I thought I could not forgivemyself. But I was wrong. It was your wrongheadedness I could not make peace with.”
“You are right. I am a beast. I should have claimed you and promised to raise your babe as mine. Look at all
the years we lost.”
“My mother would have kissed your feet for saving me and the Ashcroft name from shame. I’m sure she died begging forgiveness for raising such a daughter as me.”
When she became lost in the pain she caused her mother, in her maternal humiliation and self-reproach, Gabriel managed, despite her best efforts, to corner and embrace her, to hold her close, apologize, and shush her like a child.
“No!” Giving in to her rage, Lace shoved him away with such force, he lost his footing and sat hard on the window seat.
Gabe grumped. “Take Bridget to raise by yourself,” he said. “I hurt everyone around me.”
Lace sighed. “We cannot seem to raise her together. Beneath the rickety bridge of our combined pasts flows a lethal layer of pond scum, not fit to share with anyone, much less Bridget. But you were right; I cannot take her. I’d taint her with my sordid past, ruin her prospects. I should never have come back.”
“You know whoshouldraise her,” Gabe said with bitterness. “Saint Nick, that’s who.”
The back door slammed, sobering them and snuffing their childish diatribe and putting period to their impotent ire. Gabriel scanned the windows and Lace ran to the door at the back.
Gabe shook his head. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Back here,” Lace said. “I caught the tail end of Tweenie chasing after something.”
Gabe paled. “Do you think someone heard us? I mean, what if—”
“Prout heard?” Panic rose in Lace.
“Or Mac, or Ivy, or—”
“Say it. Cricket. What would she make of our nonsense?”Now Lace wanted to step into his arms. “If Cricket heard . . . We’ve got to explain that grownups argue, say things they don’t mean.”
“What did we say, precisely?” Gabe asked.
“Whatever would hurt the other most?”
“That’s true. Let’s find her. I don’t care if anyone else heard. I care that Cricket is all right.” Gabriel grabbed her hand, the best feeling in the world. At the Rectory, they couldn’t locate Mac, but they found Ivy in the stable painting the wheel Gabe had repaired.
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