Colin's Conundrum: A Steamy 19th Century Romance (The Victorians Book 3)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  “Sounds like someone I would like to meet,” she agreed. “I prefer plays to poetry, but I appreciate either one. Are you a particular poetry aficionado?”

  “More or less,” Colin agreed amicably, pushing away gloomy thoughts in favor of an enjoyable conversation. “My friend Christopher has become fanatically devoted to Robert Browning, and I have to admit, I find his work… thought-provoking, if somewhat ragged in style. Tennyson is my personal favorite of this particular crop. His elegant style and otherworldly topics fascinate me.”

  “The otherworldly is my specialty,” she replied with a grin. “A Midsummer Night's Dream, The Tempest, even Macbeth make me happy.” Her grin widened.

  Colin bit his lip to stop his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Lord, she's pretty. Like a summer's day. If only things were different.

  The wooded thicket opened up into a grassy meadow. A brook meandered through one corner. From the brook, a loud quacking revealed the presence of many ducks. On the far side of the meadow, a small collection of charming thatched-roofed cottages appeared; the town he hadn't realized he'd been seeking. They lay along either side of a comfortably broad central path, from which other paths wound and meandered at angles that in no way resembled a grid. A couple of plump children in sturdy garments laughed and chased one another among the houses. A dog snoozed in a patch of sunlight. A fat duck led a line of golden ducklings out of town toward a glimmer on the horizon that seemed to be a pond.

  “Very nice,” he commented idly, before mentally adding, If my tenants ever looked like this, I would die a happy man.

  “I've always thought so,” Miss Granger replied.

  He glanced her direction and took in a soft smile that turned her face into a beam of living sunshine. Goodness, she's pretty.

  “If you'd like,” she added, “I can take you to the inn. It's growing late in the day to travel, and dinner is almost ready.”

  “I can't… er…” Colin colored. Trying to explain to this charming young woman that he had no money for a meal or a room and planned to munch on dry bread in the hedgerows. Is it vain that I don't want to sound like a vagrant? Well, if so, perhaps I can be forgiven a small vanity. “I have to move along. I have friends expecting me in London.” At least that's the truth, more or less.

  “You can't mean it!” Miss Granger exclaimed. “It's much too far. You'll be on the road all night!”

  Colin sighed but did not respond. Not that she gave him a chance. Seizing his arm near the elbow, she hurried forward. Amused by her exuberance, Colin let himself be led past the cottages and children to a small side road, where they turned left, away from the pond. There, a wide two-story thatched structure lured passers-by with a tantalizing aroma of simmering stew and baking bread. “Come in,” she urged.

  Colin dropped the horse's reins, knowing an animal so tired as this one would rather nibble grass than wander, and stepped over the threshold into a wide, sunny room filled with comfortable-looking chairs that encircled simple round wooden tables. Custom wallpaper in an intense shade of green with stylized brown twigs enriched the walls. “Is this a tavern?” he asked stupidly, and then shook his head to realize he'd already been told it was an inn.

  “More or less,” Miss Granger replied. “While we do get plenty of overnight guests on their way to London, the locals prefer ale and stew.”

  Colin nodded. And I can afford none of them. Now, what do I do? The more he thought about disappointing this intriguing young woman with his inability to pay for her family's services, the hotter embarrassment burned in his guts, until he feared he might retch.

  “Daisy!” a low-pitched voice bellowed from beyond an open door. “Did I hear you come in?”

  “Yes, Father,” Daisy replied. “I'm back.”

  “Good. The stew needs tending, and you know I don't know how.”

  The young woman rolled her hazel green eyes heavenward and then hurried toward the doorway muttering, “It's not difficult to stick a spoon in and stir it about. Silly man.”

  In spite of himself, Colin chuckled.

  “Father,” Miss Granger said just before she ducked out of earshot, “I've found someone to…” The door swung shut, cutting off her words.

  Colin regarded the room again, admiring its simple, well-appointed tidiness. It occurred to Colin that he should probably duck out and make for the woods again. It would be his one opportunity to avoid explaining his unfortunate circumstances.

  But he had already waited too long. The door swung open again, and this time, instead of a lovely young lass, a middle-aged man emerged.

  Miss Granger's father, he guessed, noting the faint resemblance that lingered around the jaw and lips. Unlike his daughter's dainty features, her father resembled a bear, with small, sleepy eyes, round cheeks and a wild tangle of dark hair curling around his ears.

  His face broke into a broad grin. “How do you do?” he asked, his accent surprisingly cultivated. “Peter Granger, at your service. Can I interest you in a hot meal and a comfortable bed?”

  Colin approached cautiously, extending one hand. “I'm well enough, I suppose.” He gulped. “I hate to disappoint you, but I've not a penny to my name, not enough for that fine-smelling stew.” Honestly proved a far less palatable bellyful, and Colin swallowed hard to avoid choking on it.

  The craggy face fell.

  “Sorry to intrude. It was more than I could manage to disappoint such a spirited girl.” He turned to leave.

  “I hear you,” the man said. “My Daisy is an impetuous lass but a well-intentioned one. She'll be sad if you don't at least taste her cooking. She's about to bubble over with excitement.” Granger eyed him, his sleepy, ursine eyes seeming to see more than the simple sense allowed.

  Colin ground his teeth. His pride would admit no hint of charity, though his rumbling stomach begged it to try.

  “Tell you what,” Granger continued, “have a meal with us. Maybe I can find something or other around here for you to do to make up the cost. You look like a sturdy fellow.”

  Pleased to be presented with a solution that provided dinner while sparing his pride and still allowing him to spend a few more precious moments with the intoxicating Miss Granger, Colin found himself nodding before he fully grasped the details. “I'd appreciate that, but one moment. I need to tend to my horse.”

  “Come on, man. Take a seat,” Granger urged. “I saw the poor old fellow outside. I'll put him in the stable and feed him. You eat. We'll decide what's next later.”

  Suddenly weary, Colin dropped into a chair. He felt a strong urge to lay his head on the table, as though the cares of his existence weighed more than his spine could support. He felt fragile and tired.

  How long he drifted in a sea of exhausted misery, or even if he had dozed for a moment, Colin couldn't be sure, but a heavy hand clapping his shoulder brought him upright again. Up close, Granger's ursine appearance intensified, with the addition of a broad, round belly and a dense darkness around his chin that, had he not shaved that morning, would quickly have transformed itself into a wooly beard.

  Granger set a heaping dish of stew in front of Colin and walked away, allowing him to devour the repast with unmannerly eagerness.

  After a few ravenous bites had sated the sharpest edge of his hunger, he sighed, settled back in his chair and began to savor the intense, wine-soaked flavors of lamb, herbs, and vegetables. It tasted like ambrosia.

  “Care for a pint, sir?” The familiar female voice broke through his idle perusal of the zigzag pattern on the wallpaper.

  He regarded his new acquaintance with interest, not sure how to answer. Do I want a pint? Yes, very much. Whether I ought to have one is a different tale altogether.

  “Father said to offer it to you,” she added. “He said something about chopping wood…”

  Oho, so that's how this will go. “Very well, Miss Granger. I will happily accept your kind offer, and please express my sincerest thanks to your father.”

  The young woman smiled shyly a
nd approached, setting the foam-capped tankard before him. Then, without warning, she plunked into a chair at the table, watching him closely.

  Her scrutiny should have unnerved him, but for some reason, it didn't. He felt a bit of prolonged visual lingering might be just the thing. A bellyful of hot stew, the pungent aroma of a most welcome ale… What could complete the picture better than the lovely gray-green eyes of a woman who seemed as interested as he felt? If only.

  Colin lowered his eyelids and took a sip of the ale. Savory, sharp sensations danced on his tongue. While his friends freely shared brandy and cognac, the homespun, humble brew perfectly suited the moment and his mood. “Talk to me, won't you, Miss Granger?” he urged.

  “About what?” she asked.

  He chewed a mouthful of tender lamb, swallowed, and said, “You know, I have no idea. But you're here, and you've gone to a bit of trouble to be sure I was here too, and so… here we are.”

  “Profound,” she said solemnly hiding a dainty giggle behind one hand.

  “Deep as the ocean,” he replied and snorted. Belly full and, at least for the moment, at peace, everything seemed funnier than it should have.

  Miss Granger's eyes sparkled. “This is a foolish conversation,” she pointed out.

  “So it is,” he concurred. “Isn't it marvelous?”

  “Without doubt.” She lifted her hand again, fingers hesitating. Then, firming her resolve, reached forward and plucked a twig from his hair.

  His scalp tingled. “My crown,” he protested.

  “Well, My Lord Oberon, we cannot have your identity revealed so callously.”

  Colin grinned. I like this girl. “After dinner, I suspect your father will have me earning my keep with many tasks.”

  “Oh, yes,” Miss Granger agreed, eyes wide. “His friends have been urging him to take an evening away from the tavern to play cards with them, but he always refuses. While you're drawing water and chopping wood, he'll be drinking wine and playing whist.”

  “All that sounds tolerable,” Colin replied. “I appreciate the opportunity, as a matter of fact.” Then his face burned as he realized he had more or less admitted his penniless state to this intriguing woman. He met her eyes and blushed deeper at the expression of dawning awareness on her face. “Isn't he worried about your reputation?” he asked to take his mind off his usual gloomy ruminations.

  She shrugged. “I don't know. There are plenty of people around, and with each of us having so much to do, who would have time to get into mischief? Um, you're not planning anything, are you?”

  “Any mischief?” He twisted his lips to the side. “Not that you aren't tempting, sprite, but it would be poor thanks for your generosity. Not to mention, I'm not a despoiler of innocents.”

  She nodded, and with matching sighs, they both fell silent.

  “Life isn't what we wish, is it?” he muttered.

  She responded by turning up one corner of her mouth in a grim half-smile but said nothing.

  “So, apart from making excellent stew, Miss Granger, what do you do around here?”

  She raised her eyebrows at the abrupt change of topic but gamely answered the question. “Make up the beds, sweep the floors. Handle the money. Plan and change the décor. All the usual things, I suppose.”

  “Ah, I see.” Colin also saw that their easy conversation had grown strained. He sipped his ale and ate another bite.

  A hum of quiet conversation and the shuffling of boots signaled other diners entering the room. Daisy jumped up to serve them. Bowls and tankards thumped on wooden tables while Colin took another bite, chewing slowly. A few minutes later, Daisy returned with a dish of her own and sank into a seat beside him.

  Despite the lull in conversation, Miss Granger proved a comfortable dinner companion. She sat by, not filling the silence with idle chatter, but her presence brought only awareness, not awkwardness. Again the idea that under different circumstances, meeting this woman might have felt like fate crept into Colin's mind. He pushed it away. No point in torturing himself. It isn't fate and it can't be. No matter what different circumstances I might imagine, nothing would make her available to me. Not if I cared about her, which I do.

  The meal finished, she reached for her dishes, but he scooped them up himself. “A poor guest I'd be if I let such a generous lady as yourself clean up after me. I'm no stranger to washing and tidying.”

  She grinned. “If you insist. This way, Lord Oberon.”

  He chuckled at the ongoing joke and trailed after her through the door into a spacious kitchen. A stack of used dishes sat beside a washbasin, and he added his own, pushing up his sleeves and reaching for the first crusted plate.

  “Now, that's going a bit far,” Miss Granger protested. “My father will certainly ask you do to his chores tonight, but there's no need for you to do mine as well.”

  Colin shrugged. “If not for your timely intervention, I wouldn't be here. What's washing a few dishes in exchange?”

  “I'll wash, you dry,” she replied, her jaw set in stubborn lines.

  Colin grinned at her serious demeanor. “As milady wishes.” He reached for a length of rough toweling and stationed himself near her.

  At this distance, he could smell her subtle fragrance. Sunshine and the outdoors, along with an alluring hint of womanly sweetness. He swallowed hard. That scent acted on his awareness like the most potent lure. Not that I'll likely ever marry, but if I did, I hope my wife would smell just like this.

  Chapter 2

  Colin swung the ax over his head and brought it down, straight and true, into the heart of a section of log, neatly splitting it in half. No stranger to such a task, his calloused palms easily guided the heavy tool. In his younger days, he'd used times like this to think deep and powerful thoughts—or at least what his adolescent brain considered deep and powerful. Probably pure tripe, he acknowledged ruefully. But in the last few years, the burden of unanswerable questions left him unable to entertain more than the most fleeing rumination without agony, and so manual labor had become an opportunity to rest his mind. Except that today, thoughts kept creeping in.

  Such a pretty lass, and so bright.

  If I could take the time to get to know someone like her, life might not seem so bad. Why must it be that I have nothing to offer? I'm sure a humble existence wouldn't offend her, but even that is beyond me.

  He swung the ax again and missed the wood, sinking the blade into the block, far too near his leg.

  “Easy, lad,” he urged himself under his breath. “Injuring yourself won't change your fate for the better.”

  “Looks like you have enough,” Miss Granger commented, appearing around the front of the house.

  “Well, I thought I might do a bit extra,” he explained, “since your father fed and housed my horse as well.”

  “I noticed the poor beast in the barn. You don't actually ride him, do you?”

  Colin shook his head, drops of sweat flying from the tips of his hair. “That would finish the old boy off for sure. No, he's only carrying my pack. I have a friend who is willing to take him in and give him a comfortable, easy life for the rest of his days. I intend to accept that offer.”

  She grinned. “I like men who are kind to animals.” Then her smile faded. “So many see them as slaves to exploit or tools to use up.” She bit her lip and muttered, almost too softly for him to hear, “They usually see women the same way.”

  She has someone particular in mind, Colin realized, not that it was truly any of his business. “I hope no one is bothering you, Miss Granger. That would be a pity.”

  She shrugged, her lips curving into a smile of painful falseness. “All women are 'bothered' by a man at some time or another. It's sort of our fate.”

  Her words brought to mind Colin's best friend, Christopher, who had rescued his wife from the clutches of an abusive father. Christopher's brother Devon, had traveled to India to rescue his wife, whose meddlesome uncle had tried to send his bride-to-be away into prostitution
. Hell, even my mother lived half her life at the mercy of people who saw her as a means to an end, rather than a person in her own right. How difficult it must be, living a female life. “Just because something is common does not mean it is right,” he pointed out.

  Miss Granger's grim grin turned real, her hazel eye lighting up. Behind her, the sun sank slowly toward the horizon, illuminating her lovely features with a scarlet glow. Her angelic appearance stopped his breath in his chest and set his heart pounding. “Be careful with that smile, Miss Granger,” he urged. “I would hate to catch myself 'bothering' you as well.”

  A soft giggle escaped her. “I don't think it's possible you could, sir.” Her cheeks glowed with their own internal luminescence at the admission. “I would rather fancy being bothered by you, I think. I mean, I don't know you well, but…”

  Colin sighed. “My dear lady, I beg you not to say such things. It can never be… but the temptation appeals so much, it almost hurts.”

  She lowered her eyelids, shutting out the light of her eyes, and broke the spell holding Colin captive. “Are you sure it's impossible? Distance is a bother but surely not insurmountable, and we could write letters.”

  Colin swallowed hard, and the mouthful of disgusted regret nearly made him retch. “I mustn't. I am so sorry. Please, Miss Granger, don't tempt me any further.” He closed his own eyes, shutting out the sight of her lovely, expressive face.

  A strong, capable hand closed on his upper arm. “As you wish. But… will you remember me?”

  He nodded without opening his eyes. “Every day of my life. I swear it.”

  A change in the quality of the ambiance told him he was alone. He opened his eyes to find her gone. “Why?” he choked in despair. “Why must my life be thus, that I cannot even agree to correspond with someone, let alone care for her? What sin did I commit to condemn me to a life so empty of joy?”