Vicar Smythe and his wife, Penelope, strolled up to Silas, Gillian and Sophy where they waited for several carts and gigs to leave and make room for the big barouche in front of the church. After satisfying himself that Silas was healing nicely, the vicar turned a friendly smile toward Gillian and Sophy and said, “You must be Mr. Ordway’s nieces. He has spoken very fondly of you from time to time. It is good that you have come to visit him.”
Introductions were made and Gillian braced herself for the air of disapproval that usually descended once her name was mentioned, but the vicar continued to smile at her in a friendly fashion. Red-haired, freckle-faced Penelope, married to the vicar for nearly thirty years, stepped forward and, her brown eyes kind, said, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Will you be staying long?” She chuckled. “I hope so—I am head of several different committees but all are aimed at improving the plight of our poor and destitute, so if you’ll be here for any length of time be prepared to be asked to join one.”
“Well, then, you’ll be glad to know that they have both agreed to live permanently with me,” Silas said, a wide smile on his lips.
“Excellent!” said Penelope. To Gillian and Sophy she said, “I warned you—expect me to call next week and beg you to serve on my favorite committee.” With a mischievous smile, she added, “All the ladies will be most jealous that I am the first to call upon you—and if I may, add you to the Committee for the Improvement of Young Women in Broadhaven. It is rewarding work and will allow you to meet several notables in the neighborhood—the Viscountess Joslyn and her great-aunt, Mrs. Cornelia Townsend, are two of its most active members. You’ll find both of them delightful.” She tapped her upper lip. “Although it might be awhile before the viscountess joined us—she is expecting her first child before the end of the year.”
The vicar, laughing at his wife’s volubility, interposed, “My dear, I think you are overwhelming them.” He looked to Gillian and Sophy and said, “For now, let a simple and heartfelt welcome to our neighborhood suffice.”
“Oh, of course.” Penelope smiled at both women. “Welcome—we look forward to knowing you better.”
“T-t-hank you,” stammered Gillian, taken aback as much by Penelope’s talkativeness as her open friendliness. Perhaps the vicar and his wife didn’t know who she was?
Before more was said, following the lead of the vicar and his wife, a few members of the local gentry wandered over and greeted Silas and were introduced to Gillian and Sophy. Not to be left out, Lord Broadfoot, his wife and Sir Michael and his wife strolled over and were introduced.
“Good to see you about,” boomed Broadfoot to Silas once the introductions were completed and greetings exchanged. “Heard about your accident. Did you ever learn who ditched you?”
Silas shook his head. “No.”
“It is a good thing that Mr. Joslyn came along when he did,” exclaimed Lady Broadfoot. “It would have been just awful if you’d had to lie there all night.”
“Shame what happened to Joslyn on Friday night, isn’t it?” said Sir Michael.
“Something happened to Luc?” asked Silas, perplexed. “He dined at High Tower that night and he was fine when he rode away.”
“It must have happened on his way home from your place then—he took a nasty spill from his horse,” said Sir Michael. “Word is that the breath was knocked from him, and before he could get out of the way, the animal kicked him in the head and stepped on his ankle—almost broke it.”
The news of Luc’s mishap shocked the Ordways. Gillian paled and a gasp of distress escaped her; Sophy and Silas were stunned. “Why, that’s terrible!” Silas exclaimed. Turning to his nieces, he said, “We must go and see him before going home and assure ourselves of his health.”
Gillian applauded her uncle’s sentiments, astonished at how desperately she wanted, needed to see Luc Joslyn and find out for herself the extent of his injuries. “Oh, I agree, Uncle,” she declared earnestly. “That’s a splendid idea.”
Sophy nodded. “Indeed, we must call upon him. Mr. Joslyn has been very kind to us during the short time we have been here. It is only proper.”
Lord Broadfoot shook his head. “Won’t do you any good. Lord Joslyn’s man, Lamb, will only turn you away. My son Harlan and I tried to see him yesterday afternoon as soon as we heard the news, but Lamb told us that it would be a few weeks before Mr. Luc Joslyn would be receiving visitors. Makes me wonder if he isn’t more banged up than they’ve let on.”
Broadfoot’s words struck panic in Gillian’s heart. Oh, please, no, she prayed. Please, dear God, do not allow him to be seriously hurt. Shocked at the depth of emotion that welled up inside of her at the idea of Luc lying injured and helpless, she stared hard at the ground. I don’t even like him, she told herself. Naturally, she would feel sorry for anyone who had suffered an accident, but she shouldn’t be this anxious about the state of his health. Her lips tightened. Especially after the shameful liberties he took on Friday night, she reminded herself, closing her mind to the pleasure she’d experienced in his arms.
Concerned, Silas said, “I don’t like the sound of that. Still, I think we’ll try our luck.”
Gillian could have kissed him for his persistence.
Bidding everyone good day, once they were settled in the barouche, Silas having given the coachman his orders, they set off for the Dower House at Windmere. Arriving at their destination, Silas suggested that the ladies wait in the barouche until they were assured of seeing Luc, and aided by the footman, he descended the barouche and approached the house. Lamb answered the door and allowed Silas inside, but in the handsome foyer of the Dower House, Lamb explained politely to Silas that Master Luc was presently unable to see any visitors.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Silas fumed, not pleased at being denied. “Go tell him that it is Silas Ordway who has come to call. I am a close friend of his.” He waved the black silk sling that encased his broken arm. “Luc rescued me when I broke my arm—the least I can do is wish him well.”
Patiently, Lamb replied, “I understand, sir, but I have my orders from Lord Joslyn himself—his brother is not to receive any guests at this time. He fears it will exhaust Master Luc.” He smiled sympathetically. “Perhaps his lordship will feel differently in a week or so.”
From his diminutive height Silas eyed Lamb. “It was only a fall from a horse,” he said. “Unless, of course, there’s something you’re not telling me... .”
Bending forward confidingly, a devilish gleam in the azure eyes that Luc would have recognized, Lamb murmured, “It is his pride, sir—when Master Luc was pitched off his horse, his face took the brunt of the fall. Between both his eyes being blackened and extensive bruising, his face is enough to frighten the village children. He’d prefer no one see him at this time.”
“Well, bless my soul,” Silas said, chuckling. “Luc never struck me as vain, but I understand—a pair of black eyes can be a ghastly sight.” He hesitated. “How bad was it?”
“As bad a fall I’ve ever seen,” Lamb admitted. “Let me assure you that he didn’t break any bones and will recover with no lasting effects, but it will be a few weeks before he will be himself again.”
Resigned to being turned away, Silas said, “You’ll tell him that I called?”
Lamb bowed. “With pleasure, sir.” His thoughts already on Luc’s reaction when his nephew learned that it was vanity that kept him secluded, Lamb bit back a grin. Do the scamp a world of good to lose his temper, he concluded—and at least for a while, Luc would have something else to think about other than his aches and pains.
Once Silas was shown to the door, an anticipatory grin on his face, Lamb bounded up the stairs, heading for Luc’s bedroom.
No more than Silas was Gillian happy with being denied the opportunity to ascertain for herself the extent of Luc’s injuries, but Silas’s report of no broken bones, and the only signs of his accident being a pair of black eyes and bruising, relieved the worst of her anxiety. Still she won
dered about the accident. From what she had observed the day they went riding, Luc was an excellent horseman and it seemed odd that he’d been thrown from his horse. Deciding that his horse must have spooked at some night hunting animal and caught him off guard, she let the matter go. He would recover and that was the main thing. As for that torrid embrace in the garden on Friday night, she refused, as she had done since it had happened, to think about it. She was not some silly country maid to have her head turned by a handsome rake!
Arriving back at High Tower, Meacham informed Silas that his nephew and Lord George Canfield had gone to the village looking for amusement, but would return home in time for dinner. Aided by Silas and Sophy, Gillian had been able to avoid Canfield, and the news that he was out of the house caused all three of them to relax and enjoy the light repast that awaited them in the morning room. The meal done, they all retired to their rooms, Silas to snooze for an hour or so by the fire and Gillian and Sophia to change from their church finery into simpler clothing before entertaining themselves. Their gowns changed, the two women met in the shared sitting room. While Sophia concentrated on a piece of embroidery, Gillian sat at the cherry wood desk in front of a window overlooking the side of the house writing to the various tradesmen and friends in Surrey, informing them of the change of residence and giving hers and Sophia’s new address.
It was a quiet, pleasant Sunday afternoon, but as the time for Stanley’s and Canfield’s return neared, Gillian felt herself tensing. Though Canfield had made no overt moves toward her, she didn’t delude herself into believing he would give up and retreat. He could take her cottage and the three acres that went with it as partial payment for Charles’s vowels, she reminded herself, but it was no longer a weapon against her: she and Sophia were safe at High Tower.
Her greatest fear now was that Canfield would reveal Charles’s bargain with Lord Winthrop. She sighed. No matter which way one looked at the situation, she did not fare well. Many would believe that she had agreed to the bargain and willingly whored for her husband; others would point out that if she had refused, it increased the odds that, incensed, she had confronted her husband and murdered him.
Preparing to join Sophy and go downstairs for dinner, she wondered if it even mattered what people labeled her. Nearly everyone already thought her a murderess, she admitted bitterly, so what did it matter if they added whore to the title?
It didn’t comfort her much but she reminded herself that at least Silas knew what he might be in for if Canfield did spread the ugly story of Charles’s agreement with Winthrop. She sighed again. No one connected to the story came out looking very good, but she would bear the worst of it. Charles was dead. Winthrop was a man and a well-known member of the ton. Canfield’s father was a duke, for heaven’s sake—his part in spreading the gossip would be swept under the carpet. No, she would be the one pointed out and gossiped about.
Thinking back to this morning and the friendliness shown her by the vicar and his wife, her heart ached. She didn’t want them to look at her with disgust or turn away when they saw her. She wanted, she realized, almost desperately, to be on that committee with the vicar’s wife. She wanted to be part of this community, and the last thing she wanted was to bring scandal and shame to her uncle’s doorstep. And what about Stanley? They might never be close, but at the moment she was optimistic that they could have a warmer relationship than they had had in the past. She snorted. If Canfield talked she could put paid to that idea. Stanley would wash his hands of her.
Dinner was an uncomfortable meal. Oblivious to the undercurrents, Stanley surprised Gillian by proving to be charming company and had saved dinner from being a disaster with amusing tales of London.
“Thank heaven for Stanley,” remarked Sophia as she sat down on the sofa in the salon, the ladies having left the gentlemen in the dining room to enjoy their liquors.
Gillian nodded. “If not for him, it would have been a terrible meal. I never thought I’d be grateful to Stanley, but after tonight I certainly am.” Biting her lower lip, she added, “I mislike Canfield’s silence. I cannot believe that he will simply go away.”
“No, I agree.” Sophia frowned. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you when he thought no one was looking. I fear you’ve made an enemy there, and while he may want you in his bed, I suspect that since he has been thwarted he’ll seek some sort of revenge against you.”
“I know,” replied Gillian. “And as long as he holds those vowels ...” Her lips twisted. “Between Canfield and Winthrop my reputation is in their hands.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Winthrop,” Sophia said in her brisk manner. “Even if he was foxed, I’m astonished he admitted to the bargain at all—especially that he didn’t get what he wanted. I’m certain if Canfield does expose the whole despicable affair, to save his own reputation, Winthrop will deny everything.”
Sophia’s words cheered Gillian until she remembered the vowels themselves. Gloomily she pointed out, “The vowels will lend credence to the story.”
“Oh, pooh!” said Sophia with a wave of her hand. “All Canfield really has is a drunken reprobate’s claims and a dead man’s vowels. He’d be a fool and would only arouse disgust in any sensible person if he started spreading gossip about an supposed event that occurred two years ago.”
Gillian started, her eyes widening. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Not,” warned Sophia, “that it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for you, us, but it wouldn’t be the utter disaster you think.” She smiled at Gillian. “Stop looking at Canfield as an ogre with great power. He’s not. He’s a nasty little worm who wants treading on and nothing more.”
Taking heart from sensible Sophia’s words, Gillian was able to get through the remainder of the evening with a measure of poise that not even Canfield’s presence could dent. Sophia was right, she reminded herself, crawling into bed a few hours later.
Canfield was a threat to her reputation and happiness, but not the inevitable, devastating one she imagined. No, she thought, staring into the enveloping darkness of her bedroom, Canfield was a problem but a more potent threat to her well-being lay in the formidable masculine appeal of Luc Joslyn.
Heat washed over her, and her breath quickened as the memory of his mouth, hard and hungry on hers, sped through her mind. Even now, just thinking of those stunning moments in his arms, her lower body softened and she shifted restlessly, desire flooding through her, her arms aching to touch him, her body throbbing for the sensation of his driving into hers.
Fighting back the needs clawing through her, with her fist in her mouth, Gillian bit back a frustrated sob. She was not, she swore vehemently, going to lose her head over Luc Joslyn—no matter how much he stirred her. I’ve had enough scandal to last me a lifetime, she reminded herself, and rushing willy-nilly into a passionate affair with someone like Luc Joslyn wasn’t going to happen. It was just as well, she decided, that his tempting presence would not be haunting High Tower for a while. His smiling face, the brilliant azure eyes laughing at her, wafted hazily through her brain, and against her will she felt her lips form a welcoming smile. Oh, damn him, she thought helplessly. Damn him. Damn him!
Chapter 8
Lamb may have been able to turn others away, but he had no defense against Emily and Cornelia. Within an hour of Silas’s departure, looking the Amazon he often called her, Emily brushed right past him with Cornelia by her side—and just as impossible to stop.
He did try. Moving nimbly to the base of the stairs, he stared at the two of them and said, “Ah, I know you want to see him, but even Barnaby thinks it would be better if he were given a few days’ rest. It was a nasty fall from his horse.”
“Oh, get out of the way, you big lummox, and don’t try to bamboozle me with any story of a fall from a horse,” snapped Cornelia, giving him a swift whack on his lower leg with her cane for emphasis.
Lamb yelped and yielded the field to the ladies, stepping smartly aside.
Stopping beside h
im, her gray eyes grave, Emily said, “Don’t fret, Lamb—Barnaby told us everything before he left for London.”
Lamb scowled at her. “You’ve bewitched him.”
She dimpled, then reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Yes, I know ... and you think it’s wonderful.”
That dragged a laugh out of him. With a grand bow, he murmured, “Right this way, ladies.”
Upon entering Luc’s room, Emily and Cornelia were horrified by Luc’s condition. They rushed to his bedside, their faces reflecting dismay.
“Oh, my dear heaven,” Emily cried as she stared at Luc’s battered features. “Your poor face.”
“You’ve looked prettier, I’ll grant you that,” observed Cornelia, her hazel eyes moving hawk-like over him, cataloging every bruise. “My God, boy, what have you done? Riling up Nolles—now that’s a fool’s errand if ever there was one.”
Meekly, Luc replied, “I didn’t mean to—and The Ram’s Head is a public tavern.”
Cornelia snorted. “Humbug!”
“You knew better than to go there,” Emily scolded. “Now let’s see about putting some of Cornelia’s oil of eucalyptus salve on the worst of your bruises. She makes it herself with the oils she has sent to her from London. I promise you it will make you feel better.”
Luc enjoyed having Emily and Cornelia cosseting and fussing over him, but as the days passed and he healed, he chafed at the confinement and grew more and more impatient to be out and about. By Wednesday in the middle of the first full week of November, his bruises had faded and his supposedly sprained ankle had healed enough for him to ride into the village with Lamb and enjoy a tankard of ale at The Crown.
The two men had barely seated themselves at a table near the brick fireplace before Mrs. Gilbert appeared from the kitchen, alerted to their arrival by her eldest daughter, Faith, who had been working at the long oak counter this time.
Desire Becomes Her Page 13
