The Reluctant Guardian

by Susanne Dietze

  She nodded. “Shall I read Amy’s letter to you?”

  “For certain.” Cristobel huddled under her shawl in the padded chair. While a footman coaxed a fire from the logs, Gemma read Amy’s letter, smiling as she reread Wyling’s diplomatic endeavors and Amy’s preparations for the baby. “It sounds as if Amy and Wyling’s adventure is off to a wondrous start.”

  “That is all?” Cristobel pulled her paisley shawl tighter over her shoulders. “Has she found a reliable physician to deliver the babe?”

  “She does not say, but I am certain she will attend to the matter.”

  Cristobel grimaced. “What is that other letter?”

  “It is from my friend, Frances Fennelwick.”

  “The one who drones on about tiles and pottery shards?” Cristobel sniffed, either from the chill or in disapproval of Frances’s studious pursuits.

  Assume it is the cold weather and not a spirit of judgment. “Would you like me to read Frances’s letter to you, as well? She invites me to visit her in Kent, where she and her father are studying a Roman mosaic.”

  Not that she would accept. Gemma had made her choice. She would stay here to care for the boys and wait on the Lord.

  “I have no interest in hearing about that lady digging in the dirt.” Cristobel held her hands to the growing flames.

  Grant me more patience, Lord. “The boys would love it.”

  “The boys have worn me to a sliver today with all their stomping.” Cristobel rubbed her forehead. “I do not know how I manage.”

  Gemma had been part of the stomping, too. They’d played as horses this morning, racing about the nursery. “While they rest, you may enjoy the quiet.”

  “Once they go to school, it will be quiet at every hour. Will it not be wonderful? Peter has made inquiries, and Petey will be accepted early.”

  Nausea stirred in Gemma’s stomach. “But he is so young.”

  “You indulge the children so, but you are not a parent. You do not understand what is in their best interests.”

  Gemma rose, willing herself to composure. She dragged her gaze over the floral wallpaper, the unlit sconces and the landscape of Verity Hill hanging over the mantel. Then, when she had calmed, she stared at her sister-in-law.

  “Petey and Eddie are not my children. Nevertheless, I disagree with you. Sending Petey away at such a tender age will do naught but harm him.”

  Cristobel’s eyes flashed. “I did not ask your opinion.”

  “No, but I pray you will consider it.” Gemma tipped her head. “If you have no need of me, I shall take a constitutional.”

  Cristobel waved her hand.

  In her bedchamber, Gemma leaned against the window, glancing out at the familiar scene. Gray skies shrouded the soggy grass and thinning oak branches, their yellowing leaves laden with mist. The cold windowpane nipped her fingertips, so she donned her heaviest cloak. She hadn’t worn it in months, not since spring.

  She could wear it again. No one would mistake her for a smuggler today.

  The cherry wool smelled of lavender, but within moments, Gemma’s nostrils filled with the scents of damp earth and decaying leaves as she hiked to the edge of the New Forest. Mud sucked at her boots and a pleasant ache strained the muscles in her legs. Soon, she emerged from the trees and mounted the slope of Verity Hill.

  She had not walked this way since the Sovereign. But now it felt right, as if the Lord held her hand and walked beside her.

  At length, she stood at the crest. Gusts of cool wind caressed her cheeks and ruffled the folds of her red cloak. A thrill of excitement shot through her that didn’t fade while she stayed atop, enjoying the view, before slowly marching back down the hill.

  Reaching the grassy park surrounding Verity House, she stomped her feet so as not to trail mud through the house—

  “Aunt Gemma!”

  At Petey’s shout, her gaze shot to the drive. Both boys jumped up and down beside a blood bay held by one of Peter’s grooms. A yellow landau pulled by four matched grays turned onto the drive. Gemma frowned, unable to recognize the conveyance.

  Cristobel would take her to task, greeting guests with a dew-soaked hem. She brushed a clump of mud from her cloak.

  But no one exited the carriage. The driver paused, spoke with their groom and drove the carriage around the side of the house toward the outbuildings.

  Had Peter purchased a new landau? It was a fine one. The horses were high steppers, too, and would make a grand addition to his stable.

  “Aunt Gemma!” Petey called again. “Hurry!”

  The front doors opened. Peter exited the house alongside a broad-shouldered gentleman donned in a bottle-green coat and fawn pantaloons. Gemma’s breath caught in her throat. If only Peter’s guest wore black, he would look just like—

  “Mr. Knox!” Eddie screamed, no doubt giving Cristobel a headache. “Mr. Knox has come!”

  After all this time. And wearing green.

  “Did you hear us?” Eddie ran toward her. “Mr. Knox says we may ride Raghnall.”

  “Has he now?” Her voice was breathy, though not from her hike. Tavin walked toward her.

  “As soon as Raghnall is rested.” Eddie grinned.

  “Me first. I am the oldest.” Petey puffed out his chest.

  “Unfair.” Eddie screwed up his fists and then caught Gemma’s eye. His gaze lowered to his tiny boots. “We will take turns like gentlemen.”

  “Well done.” Gemma laid her hands on the boys’ heads. Her precious boys. Would they be devastated when Tavin left again?

  She would be.

  He stopped before her, his dimple deep as he smiled. The green of his coat flattered his coloring. Sweeping his beaver hat from his earth-colored curls, he bowed low. “Good afternoon.”

  She dipped her knees. “Good afternoon.”

  Eddie bounced around him. “We’ve waited for you. Forever and ever.”

  It certainly seemed just that.

  “I am glad I came at this minute, especially now that I see what your aunt is wearing.” His smile for the boys widened when it landed on Gemma. “You did not burn the cloak.”

  “Of course not. It is a perfectly good garment.”

  “And becoming.” His eyes twinkled. “Like a charming...tomato.”

  The boys giggled. Gemma’s brows lifted in mock horror. “Why not a rose? Or a cherry?”

  “I am not a man of poetry, you may recall.”

  She recalled everything.

  Tavin laid a hand on the boys’ heads and ruffled their fair hair. “Your father has invited me to stay for a time. I hope that is satisfactory.”

  “Huzzah!” Eddie bounced higher.

  “We will ride Raghnall later.” Tavin smiled. “And I wish to learn everything you have done since you returned home.”

  “We found toads—”

  “And brought them in to Nellie.”

  “—and they gave her the fright of her frail li’l life, she said.”

  “They hopped all over the nursery. Took us almost an hour to find the last.”

  “Aunt Gem found it. She puckered her lips like this.” Petey pulled a face.

  Tavin laughed. “Did she?”

  She sighed. “I do not care for toads.”

  “You were brave to pick it up, then.” His eyes smoldered, sending shivers down her limbs. “Boys, I must speak to your aunt. I’ve heard Cook prepared that cake you like.”

  They ran for the house. Peter had gone, and so had the groom and Raghnall.

  “Is that your landau?” Heat flushed her cheeks. She had not seen him in months, and she asked him that?

  “Yes. I rode ahead on Raghnall, but I have need of a carriage for where I am going next.”

  Gemma stared at his gleaming He
ssians, formed of soft brown leather instead of black. His entire wardrobe shone with rich color. What else had changed?

  Not his beguiling smile. “May I walk with you? Or would you rather sit, since you’ve been out?”

  “Why not both? To the garden?”

  “To the garden.” He offered his arm. She laid her hand on his sleeve and joined in the familiar rhythm of walking on his arm. He smelled of horse and travel and wood, comforting and stirring at the same time.

  All the garden blooms had begun to fade, but the greenery was neat and trimmed, creating an inviting retreat. Not that Tavin seemed to notice. His gaze fixed on hers as he led her to a bench among Mama’s rosebushes and sat beside her.

  “I suppose you heard, but Garner’s trial was swift, and his justice equally so.” With an absent motion, he adjusted his neck cloth. “His followers were routed. Beauchamp will be transported to Australia.”

  Gemma had heard as much from Peter. “Is that why you came? To assure us Garner is no danger to us or the Crown anymore?”

  “Yes. No. I mean to say, I wanted to tell you about Garner. But that is not all.” His Adam’s apple jerked against his precise neck cloth. “You know why I left.”

  “You had a task to finish.” You did not love me.

  “There was much to do at the Board of Customs. I ceased being a clandestine agent and transitioned into a more visible, and vocal, role.” He smiled. “However, the Royal Navy’s blockades have quelled smuggling ships with great success. Free traders still do their work, but it has grown more difficult for them.”

  He had come all this way to tell her that? He might instead have sent a clipping from the newspaper. “I have prayed your work will not be as burdensome as before.”

  “I have almost worked myself out of a job.” His eyes twinkled. “So I have changed positions again. I am now a consultant for the Customs Office.”

  “Congratulations.” Was that the correct thing to say?

  “Instead, congratulate me on my recent purchases. The landau. And a herd of Highland cattle. Beautiful, furry beasts. Red. One of my favorite colors.”

  “Cattle?” Surely he jested. “You did no such thing.”

  “I did. They roam the land I purchased in Perthshire.” He took her hand in both of his and breathed deeply. “I may be a consultant, but I will no longer draw pay or serve in London. I am going home. To Scotland. It is time I try to reconcile with my brother.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I think it wise. Even if Hamish will not see you, you will have tried.”

  “Thanks to you.” He removed his gloves and took her chin in his thumb and forefinger. His fingers were warm on her face. “It is all thanks to you. Even my coat. I donned myself in mourning clothes for six years. I grieved my behavior, my sins, my past, and I wanted my mourning apparent to the world. I did not deserve to be free from my past, or so I thought. You reminded me I was set free. You taught me to forgive myself. So here I am, with a new heart, wearing a new coat.”

  “It is fetching.” Did he read the joy in her eyes?

  “You like it?”

  “I do.” I do, I do.

  His gaze fixed on her lips even as his hand fell from her cheek. “Since leaving you, I thought of you and the boys at first light and midnight and every minute in between. You helped set my heart free, Gemma. And now I am free from the things that bound me to London.”

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  “From the first moment I saw you, I thought you too good for that dandy Beauchamp. Actually, I wanted to boot him from your brother’s house. And when I saw you with the boys, my heart broke for all I had lacked and all the love in your heart. I was concerned for you, maddened by you, beguiled by you. But I could not begin to think of you as a part of my life.” His gaze bored into hers. “Somewhere along the muddy way, though, I knew panic. Fear. I was more concerned with your well-being than finding the Sovereign. Something awoke in me, which frightened me. And I knew I had started to love you.”

  Her stomach swooped. He—“You did?”

  “You would not have guessed from my terrible proposal, would you?” He shook his head. “I was petrified. I could not tell you how much I loved you. I emphasized Wyling’s insistence that I propose because of the servants, which—”

  He broke off, his brows furrowing. “Has there been trouble for you in that regard? Talk of me in your chamber that night?”

  “No. Amy bade the housekeeper set them straight and there was naught a word, but...you didn’t propose out of duty?”

  His head shook. “But how could I tell you that, when you deserved so much better than me? When you needed stability for the boys’ sake? They are a part of you. I would never ask you to change that. Although I had come to care for you, I could not give you what you and the boys needed. Nor could I change what I did for the Crown. All I could do was offer my name and protection, since I couldn’t yet offer you my heart.”

  Gemma’s stomach swooped. “Yet?”

  “I am here because I love you, Gemma.”

  She hadn’t known she’d started smiling. Grinning, like an idiot. “But why didn’t you tell me during the fire? When we thought all was lost?”

  “Had I told you then, you would not have left, would you?”

  Her head dipped. “I did not leave, anyway.”

  His hand touched her face again. His thumb brushed her lips, sending a surge of joy trembling through her. “You did not leave, because you love me, too.”

  “With all my heart, I love you, Tavin.”

  His arm went around her. Drew her close. Slowly, slowly, he bent toward her. His lips touched her jaw. Then lifted to her cheekbone. Then the corner of her mouth. At last his lips met hers.

  So this was what it was like.

  It was nothing like the boys’ soft, wet kisses. Nor was it like the slimy force of Mr. Scarcliff’s lips. Neither was it like Tavin’s previous kiss, which had been brief. This kiss of Tavin’s did not stop.

  His lips molded hers with intoxicating, gentle pressure as his hand cradled her face. Good thing she was seated. Her knees melted like wax.

  He kissed her until she had no breath, until the wind rippled her cherry cloak about her ankles. Then, after pressing one last, lingering kiss on her lips, he pulled back.

  “Please marry me, Gemma. These last few months have been wretched. We do not have to stay in Scotland after I make amends with Hamish, not if you don’t wish to. I will go anywhere with you. This past three-quarters of an hour I’ve spoken with Peter, and I do not think he will retract his permission as long as we make haste before Cristobel bemoans her fate.”

  “You asked Peter?” Gemma’s heart ratcheted.

  “Of course. I asked Wyling, too. I will even ask the boys.”

  “The boys.” Her smile fell. “Oh, Tavin. I cannot leave them.”

  “That is the best part.” He stroked her cheek and smiled. “Peter thinks it a capital idea for the boys to join us in Scotland—as part of their education, and far less expensive than boarding school. And I offered to hire the finest tutor available and promised to see they’re molded into fine gentlemen. I have a feeling their stay with us will be quite extensive.”

  “You asked for the boys?” Tears streamed down her cheeks and onto her smiling lips. “For me?”

  “For me, too. I love the lads.”

  “Yes. Oh, yes!” Gemma popped up and kissed him.

  Much later, when their hands and cheeks were chapped from the autumn wind, Tavin took her hand and led her to the house.

  “I forgot to tell you of a second-best part.”

  “Better than the boys? Would could it be?”

  “We will need to do some building on the land I purchased.”

  “There is no house?”

  “Oh, there is a h
ouse. A cozy one, too. But I wish to rebuild the castle.”

  Her boots became rooted to the flagstone. “Castle?”

  “Castle.” He tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “Most of it is in ruins, but one can still climb the northern turret. I thought reconstructing it might be an enjoyable project for us and the boys. What do you say?”

  She leaned into his blue-coated chest and grinned. She had tried to construct her future for so long, just as Tavin had tried to earn redemption from his past. God had something better in mind for both of them—a present where He could be relied upon to work out His will.

  “A husband, my nephews and a castle. Oh, let us be married at once.”

  “Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon.” His brow arched, and a hot blush burned her cheeks.

  She kissed his chin. And then his jaw. And then he claimed her lips and kissed her until the light changed and a soft rain dampened their colorful cloaks.

  “Shall we tell the boys?” he asked, his voice breathless.

  “Oh, yes.” Nothing else would have made her move from this spot.

  Hand in hand, they entered the warm house, eager to begin the most wondrous adventure of all.

  Epilogue

  Perthshire, Scotland

  November, 1817

  That little rapscallion!

  Gemma Knox curved her hand around her mouth to shout. “Petey Lyfeld, get down from that wall this instant! ’Tis far too high.”

  Her call carried over the upended blocks of the castle ruins and stopped her nephew short. The stone wall on which he clambered was higher than the height of a man. Petey spun on his toe and scrambled back to the shorter section, and with a gap-toothed grin, he leaped onto the grassy remains of the castle keep.

  “Me next.” Eddie hurried to climb the shorter wall, his smiling cheeks gleaming rose like ripe apples.

  “That’s as high as you may climb, boys.” But Gemma couldn’t blame them for their enthusiasm. Since arriving in Perth last night, they’d been eager to explore the castle ruins on the property. Gemma wouldn’t have dared deny them the opportunity today, despite the bitter autumn wind biting her cheeks and whipping her red cloak about her legs. Not even the presence of guests deterred them, especially when their visitors were as eager to explore the castle ruins as Petey and Eddie were.