The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “Please.”

  Lucy made her way to the kitchen, aware he was directly behind her. If his heavy boot falls hadn’t been enough of an indication, the heat his body radiated would have let her know just how close he was. Inside the kitchen, she moved to put some distance between them and went to the window above her worktable and opened the curtains. Taking longer than necessary to move the curtains just so, she racked her brain for what she’d be able to make for breakfast. Nothing she had was acceptable to feed a lord. Sighing, she turned around and gasped.

  Quickly, she turned toward the door to her little room where she stored her food.

  “Is something wrong?” Lord Norcourt asked.

  Yes, you’re carelessly burning the last of my tallow candles! She shook her head, but didn’t look at him. “No, my lord.” She took a deep breath. A gentleman of his station didn’t know what it was like to do without or the struggle of having to make a few meager supplies last until the means could be scraped together to get more. She clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking and took another breath. Just feed them and they’ll go away.

  But she had nothing to feed them. Though she worked in a bakery and knew how to make breads and cakes, she couldn’t afford the ingredients necessary to make anything of the like in her own home. “You don’t happen to have a fondness for gruel, do you?” she muttered in a self-mocking tone.

  “Don’t mind it,” Lord Norcourt said.

  Lucy straightened and chanced a glance over her shoulder at him. He stood with his left shoulder leaning against the wall and his arms crossed, impaling her with his stare.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord.”

  “What for?”

  “My suggestion. I—I—” She swallowed. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been to market recently and I fear I don’t have anything your lordship might enjoy.”

  “Gruel.”

  She pursed her lips. Was he mocking her? “Perhaps you’d enjoy some kippers and coddled eggs from the inn in Shrewsbury.”

  “Gruel will be fine.”

  Lucy didn’t know if it was his mocking words or his tone and superior stance, but something in her snapped. “You wish for gruel, and that is exactly what you shall get.”

  A blank expression came over his handsome face. “I like gruel.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said with a harsh laugh. “Nobody likes gruel. We just eat it when we’re forced to.”

  Lord Norcourt’s body went stiff as a fire poker. “Force?” he barked, a stricken look coming over his face.

  She put her hand on her hip. What was it about him that made her react this way? “You know what I meant.”

  He shook his head. “No, I do not.”

  Frowning, she said, “Lord Norcourt, why do I feel that you’re purposely being diffi—” His lowered lashes and slumped stance halted her words. Was it possible that he was being genuine? Shame washed over her. She didn’t know how or why she suddenly understood, but she did. She still didn’t understand completely, but his earlier statement about being a simple man resounded in her head. He was the sort who was very literal and said exactly what he meant. No games. She could see that now and appreciated him more for being that way, for there’d never be any pretenses with him. Noticing his eyes were still downcast and his cheeks still tinged pink, she snapped her fingers to catch his attention. “If gruel is what you like, then gruel is what I shall make for you,” she said, favoring him with her best grin.

  Trying to ignore the way she felt like a fool for such an idiotic statement, Lucy reached for the metal water pail that was on the shelf near where Lord Norcourt was standing.

  “Allow me,” he said, his hand reaching out and covering her hand that held the handle of the bucket with his.

  Lucy started, but didn’t release her grip on the pail. “The well is just behind the house,” she said as easily as she could considering her heart was slamming against her ribcage and a warmth akin to a small fire blazed up her arm.

  He nodded his understanding and gave her bucket a slight jerk.

  Lucy’s body pulled forward. “I can’t let go,” she whispered. Nor did she want to. Her face flushed at the thought and she jerked at her hand that was still trapped under his.

  It all happened so fast, but a second later there was a loud clanging sound reverberating throughout the room as the pail hit the cold stone floor. Lucy brought her hand to her chest.

  “Sorry,” he grunted. “I—I—” He closed his mouth and snapped up the bucket then stomped outside.

  Lucy buried her head in her hands. No. Not again. Anything but this, she thought as memories of the first time she’d had interest in a gentleman flooded her mind. A lord, no less.

  She dropped her hands to her side and went to the pantry to busy herself until he returned with the water. Distance. That’s all it would take to make her heart stop thumping and settle her blood. And she’d have distance soon enough. In fact, sooner than she’d originally thought. She didn’t have to stay here until the coachman returned with their horse. As soon as breakfast was ready, she’d leave to look for another post. They should both be gone by the time she returned.

  “Here.” Lord Norcourt plunked the heavy bucket of water on the table so hard a little splashed over the side.

  “Thank you.”

  He grunted his response.

  Doing her best to ignore the imposing figure that watched her, she went about making gruel. When it was finished, she called her son to the room.

  “Shall I go wake Mr. Appleton?” Seth asked.

  “It’s little wonder he hasn’t woken himself already,” Lucy muttered, nodding her affirmation. From the corner of her eye, she caught Lord Norcourt smiling a little at her jest. “I’m sorry.”

  He waved his hand in front of his face. “Don’t.”

  A moment later a grinning Seth returned.

  “Aren’t you missing someone?” Lucy asked.

  “He has to piss,” Seth said offhandedly.

  Lucy’s jaw dropped in mortification and she barely registered that Lord Norcourt said something to her son.

  “Excuse me,” Seth said to her quietly. “I didn’t mean to be—” he looked to Lord Norcourt who bent and whispered something in his ear— “indelicate.”

  Stunned at what had just happened, Lucy mumbled an acceptance and looked to Lord Norcourt who seemed oblivious to her state of surprise.

  “I beg your forgiveness for being tardy,” Mr. Appleton said as he entered the room just then. He ran a hand over the top of his combed hair then straightened his collar. “A gentleman must always remember to attend his toilette when in the presence of a fine lady.”

  His brother scowled. “You’re missing half of your wardrobe,” he remarked.

  Simon shot him what Lucy took to be an annoyed look and ignoring Lord Norcourt, pulled a chair out. “Ma’am.”

  “Thank you, but I won’t be eating.”

  All eyes swung to her.

  “Why not, Mama?”

  She gave Seth what she hoped would be a quelling stare.

  No such luck.

  “You don’t have a post to get to since you were late to work yesterday and got sacked.”

  Mortification came over Lucy in overwhelming waves.

  “You have new employment now,” Lord Norcourt intoned.

  “Pardon me?” Lucy asked, confused. Was he asking her or telling her?

  Lord Norcourt clasped his hands behind his back. “I have a post for you.”

  Lucy’s face burned with indignation and she pursed her lips. She could only imagine what kind of post he had in mind for her. It wasn’t that she minded being boarded off into the country to do some menial post at his estate. It was the fact of whose estate it’d be. “No, thank you.” She raised her chin. “I will find my own post.”

  “Nonsense, my mother will be happy to have help,” Mr. Appleton said with a flick of his wrist.

  Giles s
tiffened at the mention of their mother, but said nothing.

  “Again, no, thank you,” Lucy said. “I don’t think I’d be a very good lady’s companion.” That was true enough, she wouldn’t and it had nothing to do with the fact that if she worked for the dowager Lady Norcourt that she’d have to see Lord Norcourt again.

  “She doesn’t need one,” Simon said with a somewhat mocking twist of his lips. “My mother remarried after the old Lord Norcourt cocked up his toes and now she runs the lending library in London.”

  “The lending library,” Lucy echoed.

  Simon nodded. “She’s always saying she could use help.”

  The lending library would be a wonderful place to work, but she couldn’t work for Lady Norcourt. That had trouble stamped all over it. “No, thank you. I don’t need anyone’s charity.”

  EIGHT

  Giles’ heart squeezed. He knew too well what it was like to be offered something solely out of Christian charity. “I apologize,” he said earnestly. He never should have offered her a position. What a stupid, heartless thing for him to do! He tightened his clasped hands past the point of pain and straight to numbness.

  “It’s not charity…” Simon’s voice floated to Giles’ ears. “My mother could use the help.” The irritating man continued on, but Giles didn’t bother to listen.

  Instead, he thought about how much he might like to flick his brother. She was Giles’ mother, too. Or was she? Biologically, yes, but in every other sense of the word, she was more Simon’s mother than his. He forced himself to release his clenched hands before he snapped the bones in his fingers. “No,” he barked.

  “I beg your pardon,” Simon said, crossing his arms.

  “She said no,” Giles snapped at his brother.

  “Perhaps to your proposal, but I’m offering her respectable employment...”

  Respectable employment? Giles didn’t hear the rest of what his brother said over the blood that was suddenly thundering in his ears and the words echoing in his head. His offer was respectable, too. His head snapped in Lucy’s direction. “I—I—I wasn’t—” he blustered not sure how to word what he wanted to convey. The blood in his ears roared louder and he couldn’t make out the faces of anyone in the room as his eyes rapidly darted between the three. A strangled sound emerged from his throat and he tried again, “I didn’t—” He abruptly broke off. It was useless. His broken mind wouldn’t work quickly enough to tell his tongue what to say. Frustrated with his own simple stupidity, he quit the room and went to the ramshackle barn where McDougal had put his horses for the night.

  He scowled. There were no saddles and he knew better than to ride a carriage horse bareback. No matter. He’d walk to the village and buy a horse there. Surely someone would be willing to sell his mount if the price was right.

  Grunting, he reached into his breast pocket and removed the blank notebook he often carried with him. He flipped past the sketches he often drew when he was disinterested and ripped out a blank sheet from the back before reaching into his breast pocket again and pulling out a broken pencil he used to draw. He placed the sheet of paper on top of his notebook and scribbled, Went home. He set the note on the coachman’s bench then left the barn to walk to the village and put distance between him and his brother. And her. He swallowed the lump in his throat. This was for the best. She’d never want to have anything to do with him. Nobody did. He picked up his pace. She was too fine, too smart for someone like him. It was best to forget about her.

  He was to Shrewsbury before he knew it and as he’d predicted, he’d gotten a deal on a horse. Not a good one, mind you. He might be slow, but even he realized he’d overpaid for the horse. Unfortunately, the realization didn’t happen until an hour after he’d left. He shrugged and rode on. He hadn’t really been taken advantage of. He’d have paid just about anything for a mount. The other fellow knew it and just took the opportunity to help himself. Giles couldn’t blame him for that.

  Shrewsbury was less than a day’s ride from London and just as it was time to take his evening meal, he was on the steps of his townhouse, perfectly safe from the demeaning attitude of his brother and the spell of the woman who’d so easily captured him completely. He closed his eyes. No. He wouldn’t think of her again. He couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep what little sanity he possessed, that is.

  Lucy was dumbfounded by the exchange between the two brothers. To be honest, though, she had to admit that she didn’t understand about half of it. There certainly had to be more to their disagreement than what she’d just witnessed.

  Unsure what to say to break the suffocating silence that had come over them, Lucy eased down into the chair Mr. Appleton had earlier pulled out for her. She should go to town, she reasoned in her mind. She needed to find a new post. But for a reason she couldn’t place, she felt pulled to stay and wait for Lord Norcourt to come back.

  But he didn’t come back.

  “He must have walked to the village,” Mr. Appleton, or Simon as he’d asked her to call him, deduced with a shrug that made him grimace in pain.

  Lucy nodded slowly. “For the best,” she said under her breath.

  Simon raked his hand through his hair and cast a quick glance over his shoulder to where the coachman stood by the open door to the Norcourt coach. “Have you reconsidered my earlier offer?”

  “No. I’ll find work here.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  She didn’t want to contemplate that. “I will.”

  He pressed his lips together and gave a terse nod. “Well, if you don’t, my mother would be happy for the help.” He patted his chest and frowned. “I wish I had one of my calling cards to give you, but they were in my coat.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she said honestly at the same time that Seth said, “No need for a calling card, sir. I gots a good memory. What’s the name and direction?”

  Grinning at Seth, Simon spouted off the name and address to the lending library.

  Lucy didn’t bother to take note of his words.

  A short time later their uninvited guest climbed up into his brother’s coach. As the coach made its way down the lane, Seth surprised her by running after it.

  Her heart squeezed at the gesture. She couldn’t really say if Simon had been just as taken with Seth as Seth was with him, but she doubted it. A man might tolerate a lady’s family if it was beneficial to him in some way. Frowning, she went inside her house and readied herself to go to town to find a new post.

  Unfortunately, it was futile.

  Though nobody would give her a full answer, nor look her in the eye, it was quite obvious she wouldn’t find employment. At least not the respectable kind. She shivered and returned home deflated. They’d have to move—which would devastate Seth since he’d become so comfortable since they’d moved there three years prior.

  Or perhaps it wouldn’t devastate him as much as she’d thought.

  “That settles it, then,” Seth said with a wide grin. “We’ll have to move to London where you can work for Mrs. Appleton until Simon is ready to marry you.”

  Lucy would have laughed at the absurdity of his statement if she weren’t so distraught about the whispers she’d heard about herself in town. Which was preposterous. She’d been the object of whispers for many years. She should be used to it by now. But she wasn’t. Well, she was used to it, but it still bothered her. Which she hated.

  Gritting her teeth, she said, “We will not be moving to London for me to work at the lending library.”

  “So we are moving to London, then?”

  Though she knew he was only teasing, Lucy had the strangest urge to rap her son’s knuckles with a wooden spoon. Instead, she settled for a playful tap on his backside and told him to go outside until it was time to come in for dinner.

  NINE

  Two days later

  Giles had just about worn a hole in the large plush rug in his sparsely decorated study. Ever since he’d returned from Shrewsbury, he’d taken to pacing li
ke he did when he was a young lad who couldn’t make sense of everything. He pulled to a stop and gripped the hearth. Why did it matter so much what she thought of him? Because he hadn’t meant to shame her! He tightened his grip on the edge of the hearth until his knuckles went white and he let out a savage growl. It doesn’t matter. Yes, it does.

  With a grunt of vexation, he pushed himself away from the hearth then let out a heavy sigh. Why did he have to say such a stupid thing and then not even be able to say the right thing to clarify? He hated it. Hated himself at times for this…this…idiocy of his.

  “Is something troubling you?”

  Giles jerked and slowly turned around to face the brown eyes of his longtime friend Sebastian, Lord Belgrave, from where he stood just inside the door. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry,” Sebastian murmured. He walked over to one of the wing-backed chairs near Giles’ spotless desk and made himself comfortable. “When did you come back to Town?”

  “I left the day after you.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against his desk. “Simon was injured.”

  “Injured? How?”

  “Beaten. Robbers, I suppose.” He shrugged. Simon hadn’t exactly been interested in speaking to him that night in Shrewsbury any more than he had before or since.

  “I take it that it’s Simon who’s put that troubled expression on your face.”

  Giles instinctively ran his hand over his face. Was it possible for Sebastian to tell he was concerned about something? Could one tell that by looking at someone’s face? He couldn’t. “What do you mean?”

  “Most of the time you wear a blank expression, Giles. One that would suggest you’re disinterested. Today you don’t seem quite so tranquil. Your brows are furrowed and your jaw is clenched. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were worried about something.” He paused. “Are you?”