Desire Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Wrenching his mind away from Gillian Dashwood, he focused on the room in front of him. He shook his head, amazed. Yesterday he’d thought to buy a small property, a cottage, perhaps with a few acres and today ... He shook his head again. Today he owned an estate with farms and lands under his control! Even more amazingly, unless he was extravagant, he could live in genteel comfort and never gamble again.

  Luc prowled the elegant room, trying to make sense of his actions, trying to understand the change in his circumstances. Over the years, he’d frequently won as much or more and had spent it with hardly a thought for the future. But this time, for reasons that bewildered him, he’d been careful with his winnings, actually making investments, and most astonishing of all, he’d bought a home. With the purchase of Ramstone Manor, he became a landowner, a gentleman farmer, with responsibilities and people whose livelihoods were dependent upon the decisions he made. Which was, he conceded unhappily, as far from the footloose, devil-may-care creature he had been such a short time ago as one could get. It was incomprehensible to him.

  Throwing himself down on one of the dark blue sofas scattered around the room, he contemplated the small fire burning on the hearth of the gray-veined marble fireplace across from him. Mon Dieu! How had this happened? When had he stopped thinking of the next card game and the next throw of the dice? When had the excitement of risking all on the turn of card disappeared? When had his determination to remain unencumbered, able to move on in an instant if the mood struck him, vanished? And what about his scorn for those men who lived predictable, respectable lives? When had his scorn changed to envy?

  Luc scowled at the fire. It was England, he decided bitterly. From the moment he’d landed on its shores he’d begun to change, began to blend in with the oh, so proper Englishmen. Perhaps even begun to long to be like them? Had Barnaby’s marriage and impending parenthood woken within him some long-suppressed yearning? Watching his brother handle the reins of Windmere, had it roused the curiosity to wonder if he would be as good a caretaker of the land and dependents? It was an unsettling thought. But, he admitted, it didn’t terrify him, as it once would have.

  He smiled. He was looking forward to trying his hand at being a landowner. If Barnaby was to be believed, keeping abreast of all tasks and responsibilities that came with owning an estate of any size was every bit as exciting and demanding as pitting one’s wits against Lady Luck.

  In five years, Luc thought, amused, if I continue down this path, I shall be plump and respectable, with a wife and a bevy of children tumbling like a litter of puppies around my feet. The picture made him grin. Perhaps not plump, but he could see the rest of it. His smile faded, though, when his imagination placed Gillian’s small form in the chair next to him, a gurgling baby on her lap... .

  He stiffened and glared at the fire. Sacrebleu! Marriage to the sprite was out of the question! Slyly another thought intruded. But why? She wasn’t indifferent to him, and she wasn’t so far above him that there would be any objections to the match. Besides, she was of an age and status that she could make her own decisions. Silas would be pleased. And, Luc acknowledged cynically, he wanted her. With an aching need that showed no signs of abating. Would marriage to her be so terrible? It made more sense than the seduction he had in mind.

  Marriage, he admitted, aghast at his own thoughts, had much to recommend it. Mon Dieu! Was he actually considering marriage ... to Gillian Dashwood?

  Chapter 10

  Coming to no conclusions, and not liking the ones that occurred to him, Luc went to bed in a disagreeable mood. After most of a night spent cursing and wrestling the sheets, he woke early the next morning with his mood not much changed.

  Since sleep had eluded him for the better part of the night, there was no point in lying abed and grumbling at life in general. He threw back the covers and strode over to the washstand in one corner of the room. After washing in the tepid water poured from the pottery urn that sat next to a plain white bowl on the stand, he studied the contents of the mahogany wardrobe where his clothes had been hung. Used to looking after himself, he had no need to ring for Bertram and, making his selection of buckskin breeches and a brown coat, gathered what else he needed from the nearby bureau.

  Once he was garbed for the day, his mood improved, and Luc wandered around his new accommodations taking stock. While he’d given the Ordways a brief tour of the main floor yesterday, beyond Saturday’s initial inspection, he hadn’t yet explored much beyond his bedroom. Several minutes later Luc decided, though not as lavish or as large as his suite at the Dower House, his new rooms fit him just fine.

  The suite was comprised of three rooms, two large bedrooms with a shared sitting room between them. Coulson’s widow had taken the family’s personal belongings and many of the furnishings with her when she had moved, but the draperies and several rugs had been left behind; all were of good quality and in excellent condition. Though there were gaps in the furnishings, enough furniture remained to make the place habitable, comfortable even.

  Increasingly satisfied with his purchase, Luc had just shut the door to his rooms behind him when Bertram, carrying a pewter tray with various items on it, appeared at the end of the hall. As Bertram neared him, the scent of coffee and yeast, cinnamon and warm raisins tickled Luc’s nose.

  “Sir!” Bertram exclaimed as he hurried to meet him. “I was just on my way to your rooms with some coffee and hot cross buns—Alice just took them from the oven.”

  Luc smiled at him. “I’m sure they’ll taste just as good downstairs as they would have in my rooms.”

  “Indeed, they will,” Bertram agreed. “Where would you like me to serve them?”

  “I think that small salon we used yesterday when the Ordways were here will do well for a breakfast room, don’t you? Especially,” Luc added with a grin, “since, at present, there is no dining room furniture.”

  Bertram concurred and they adjourned to the newly designated breakfast room.

  Luc enjoyed the buns, and as he finished one last cup of coffee, he stared out at the back garden, mulling over his next move. Becoming familiar with his house seemed a priority—that and making a list of the most necessary items that needed to be purchased. He smiled ruefully. It was a blessing that he had a small fortune invested in the funds. Over the coming months, he suspected he was going to need it.

  Ringing for Bertram, once that young man arrived, together they began a more thorough exploration of the house. By midafternoon when Luc stopped to enjoy a tankard of ale and some smoked ham, cheese and bread, he was feeling both pleased and overwhelmed.

  Ramstone Manor was not huge, but it was a big house, with several of the rooms devoid of anything but the most basic furniture. The small salon where he sat was completely furnished, and he suspected that it had been left so because of the space constraints in the widow’s new home. The formal salon at the front of the house and the dining room, however, was empty except for rugs and draperies, and throughout the house, it was obvious that several larger items of furniture had gone with the widow.

  By the time he’d returned to the yellow chintz room for his ale and smoked ham, he was thinking wistfully of the tidy set of rooms he’d first envisioned. Mon Dieu! The manor house had linen closets that were larger than some rooms he’d called home.

  Bertram entered just then. “Sir,” he announced grandly, “Lady Joslyn and Mrs. Cornelia Townsend have come to call.”

  Luc bounded to his feet and hurried forward to greet Emily and Cornelia as they swept into the room. Fond greetings were exchanged, and after determining that the ladies would indeed enjoy some tea and biscuits, Bertram scurried away.

  During the past month the mound projecting from beneath the blue woolen gown she was wearing had grown noticeably, and Emily took one of the straight-backed chairs by the windows, seating herself with a sigh; Cornelia settled herself on the chintz sofa. Both ladies looked around with interest.

  “What a pleasant room,” Emily said approvingly. “Whe
n Barnaby told me that he had sold you Ramstone, I expected to find you living with nothing but a straw mattress and a stool.”

  Cornelia grinned at him. “I see that as usual luck was on your side and that you have done very well for yourself, young man.”

  Luc bowed. “But what else would you expect from Lucifer?”

  Cornelia laughed. “What else, indeed.” She looked around again. “Jane Coulson may have been a scatter-brained goose, but she certainly knew how to make a comfortable home. You’ll enjoy entertaining guests in this house.”

  “I already have,” Luc admitted, the faintest hint of pink flaring across his cheekbones. “Yesterday I invited Silas Ordway and his nephew and nieces over to take a tour of the place.”

  “Is that so?” Cornelia murmured, with her eagle eyes noting the change in color. “And what did they think of Ramstone?”

  “Naturally they were pleased for me,” Luc said. “Silas had dined here a few times when the Coulsons owned the property, so he already knew what to expect. Stanley Ordway and the ladies had only compliments.” Unaware of it, Luc smiled reminiscently and added, “Mrs. Dashwood particularly liked the library.”

  Emily and Cornelia exchanged glances.

  “Is that so?” Cornelia drawled, her gaze never moving from his face. “And Mrs. Easley and young Mr. Ordway, what did they think?”

  Luc shrugged. “I don’t remember—but they were very complimentary, too.”

  Emily and Cornelia exchanged glances again.

  “Well, how nice that your friends liked the place,” Cornelia muttered.

  Emily winced and gasped just then and moved uncomfortably in her chair. Noting her movement, his face concerned, Luc asked, “Are you in pain?”

  Emily smiled at him. “Nothing to worry about—your niece just kicked me with all the force of one of your brother’s mules. Or at least it felt that way.”

  “Are you sure, it is my niece?” Luc asked, teasing. “Barnaby swears that you are carrying his heir.”

  Emily winced again and muttered, “Perhaps you are right—no daughter of mine would abuse her mother in this fashion.”

  Bertram returned with refreshments and, after serving the ladies, departed. As the door shut behind him, Cornelia observed, “I see that young Hinton is working out well for you.”

  Luc nodded. “He and Alice are doing a splendid job—considering the added responsibilities are far beyond what either one of them expected.”

  “Well, that brings us to the reason for our visit,” said Emily, her gray eyes twinkling. “We’ve come to meddle in your household.”

  A wary expression crossed Luc’s face, and both women laughed.

  “It isn’t that bad,” said Cornelia. “And we have your best interests at heart.”

  “And those are ... ?”

  Briskly, Emily said, “With a place this size you are going to need more staff than Bertram and Alice can provide.”

  That notion had already occurred to Luc, but added staff wasn’t something he was prepared to take on at the moment. He held up a hand. “Ladies, please,” he begged. “Do not add to my burdens. I never thought to own a place like Ramstone, and I am still reeling at finding myself the owner of such an estate. Until Saturday, I was a gambler with little on my mind beyond the next card game, the next throw of the dice.” He glanced at Emily, only half-teasing when he said, “Your husband has much to answer for. I went to him thinking to buy a cottage and perhaps a few acres”—he waved an arm around—“and you see what he has saddled me with.”

  “Are you telling me,” demanded Cornelia with a raised brow, “that your brother forced you to buy Ramstone against your wishes? That he trampled over your wishes and held a sword to your throat until you agreed to purchase this place?”

  That dragged a reluctant laugh out of Luc. “No.” He glanced from one woman to the other. “I know that you have my best interests at heart, but I am overwhelmed at the moment. Additional staff is the furthest thing from my mind—I haven’t yet even met any of my tenants. Alice swears the kitchen pantry echoes when she walks into it, and we won’t even talk about the linens, dishes and other pots and pans she is convinced are needed. And Bertram ... Bertram complains that the butler’s pantry is nearly empty, only the stray piece of crystal, china or silverware to be found. Surely those things are more important than more servants?” When both ladies just stared at him, he added hastily, “Besides, I don’t have time to interview staff.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Emily. “We have that already taken care of.” When Luc would have protested, her eyes very big, she begged, “Won’t you at least hear what we have to say?”

  Luc was no match for the appeal in the gray eyes, and sighing, he said, “Very well. What have the pair of you planned for me?”

  By the time Emily and Cornelia finished speaking, Luc could feel himself weakening. Compared to the staff at Windmere, what Emily and Cornelia proposed was modest and all were trusted, former employees who had served the Townsend family or the previous viscount. Modest or not, it still seemed like far more servants than he needed, but Emily assured him, it was the minimum staffing for a gentleman’s estate like Ramstone.

  “You do see, don’t you,” Emily asked earnestly, “that you will be helping some loyal, hardworking folk who suffered because of my cousin’s mismanagement and Tom Joslyn’s activities?” At Luc’s reluctant nod, she rushed on, “Bissell is a nice man. You’ll like him. He was your great-uncle’s butler for years before your cousin replaced him with that horrible Peckham. Bissell’s not as young as he once was and the slower pace at Ramstone would be just the thing for him. Besides, he can train Bertram properly.” When Luc made a face, she said earnestly, “It may seem overwhelming, but you’ll not regret hiring Bissell’s niece, Mrs. Marsh, for your housekeeper, and the extra maids will prove vital—Alice cannot do everything. While it may not be apparent at the moment, a gardener and a helper will be necessary—unless of course, you want this place to revert to wilderness.” Her face softened. “As for your stables, Hutton is a dear old man—he was the head stableman at The Birches before Jeffery fired him and put Kelsey in his place.” Her lips tightened. “Kelsey was a despicable creature.”

  “You see, my boy,” added Cornelia, “you’ll be helping yourself, but you’ll also be helping to right some wrongs. Hutton’s grandsons are good young men and they’ll make you excellent stable boys. Hutton and his grandsons served us well before Jeffery sent them packing. Knowing that they have steady employment would mean a great deal to both of us.”

  Luc held up both hands. “Stop! No more guilt, if you please. I will hire them all.” He bent an only half-teasing look on Emily. “And if I go bankrupt, you will have only yourself to blame.”

  “Oh, balderdash!” Cornelia pronounced. “That’s not likely to happen—you’re too clever for that. Managed properly, Ramstone will provide you with a handsome living and you’ll never have to trust your fate again to the throw of the dice.”

  “And I can help with the linens and such,” Emily said quickly. “There is an excess of such items at Windmere and it will be my pleasure to give them to you.” When Luc looked to protest, Cornelia thumped her cane and snapped, “Swallow your pride, boy! Barnaby and Emily haven’t the least use of every single one of the dozen or so sets of china at Windmere and half the things in the storerooms. Consider them a welcoming gift.”

  Knowing he wasn’t going to win against such a formidable pair, Luc bowed and gave in. The ladies moved swiftly, and before dark Luc found his house inundated with his new staff and other items Emily and Cornelia had seen fit to send along. Alice was in raptures over the increase in staff and Bertram was reverently following Bissell around and drinking in every word that fell from the older man’s lips. Mrs. Marsh had already set the two young housemaids to work polishing and sweeping and the scent of lemon and beeswax drifted pleasantly through the house. When Luc went to bed that night it was with the awareness that he had been swept from firm grou
nd into a whirlpool, but he never doubted that he would find his footing.

  Ramstone Manor wasn’t much larger than the house at Green Hill; it was certainly smaller than his uncle’s château in France where he’d spent his earliest years. It wasn’t, Luc reminded himself as he lay abed staring into the darkness, as if he’d been raised in a hovel or had no conception of the running of a gentleman’s household and estate. Rejected by his French relatives and sent to Virginia after his mother’s death, he in turn had rejected Green Hill and chosen to live by his wits, but the knowledge and experiences of his youth living in the households of wealthy relatives were not forgotten. The life of a gentleman farmer would be second nature to him, and with a little luck, and every man needed luck from time to time, he knew he’d be as good at running Ramstone as he was at the gaming tables.

  Luck, however, was not with Canfield that night. He’d had no complaints initially. The removal to The Ram’s Head had gone smoothly and he was now ensconced in a handsome pair of rooms upstairs. Hyde was settled in a small room next door.

  After a fine meal served in his rooms the previous evening, satisfied with his decisions, Canfield had sauntered downstairs, looking for a pigeon to pluck. It was fox hunting season and many of the local notables had deserted the area to follow the hounds—which made finding gentlemen who suited his purpose difficult for Canfield. Eventually, he’d joined Townsend at one of the tables in the private rooms Nolles set aside for serious gamblers, and more from boredom than any other reason, he’d accepted Townsend’s offer of a game. Having played with Townsend both here and in London, Canfield respected Townsend’s skills, but he didn’t consider him his equal and he looked forward to winning. He was not disappointed, rising in the early morning hours the winner of a handsome sum.