Tavin’s five-year-old nephew, Flora and Hamish’s son, Archie, beckoned Petey to the wall. “Let’s leap together, cousin!”
Two more tiny ginger-haired tots pulled Eddie’s arms with cries of “this way, cousin!”
Gemma’s hands clasped over her heart. Petey and Eddie had cousins now. Not just Wyling and Amy’s tiny son, David, whose early but safe delivery in Portugal had been met with great rejoicing among the Knox family when they learned of it before starting their trip north. Now Petey and Eddie had Flora and Hamish’s three bairns as “cousins,” too. Perhaps not by blood, but the children didn’t concern themselves with such matters. Petey and Eddie had taken quickly to little Archie, Mary and Augusta.
The children’s swift acceptance of one another helped thaw things betwixt Tavin and Hamish, too. The reunion of the Knox brothers an hour ago in the drawing room of the cozy home down the hill was awkward at first, but both Tavin and Hamish addressed one another with humility. And then, embraces and apologies.
The pretty, ginger-headed woman beside Gemma, Hamish’s wife, Flora, nudged her shoulder, looking past the children over the gorse-covered green. “If anyone is more excited about the ruins than the children, it is our husbands. Look at them.”
She couldn’t stop looking at Tavin, despite having been married to the man for four weeks. Handsome in a dark blue coat and fawn pantaloons, he and fair-haired Hamish stood several yards distant, their heads bent over plans for the new castle hall. It would be a grand room in a grand castle, as rich in modern conveniences as it would be in historic charm. A place where they could return after sharing adventures.
Lifting his head from the plans, Tavin looked up at her. A saucy grin split his features.
A blush heated Gemma’s cheeks. What was he thinking, looking at her like that in front of everyone—
“Archie and Mary, there is room enough for two on that stone.” With an apologetic look, Flora strode to the children bickering over a block.
Tavin ambled to Gemma’s side, grinning. “You are blushing as red as your cloak, my love.”
“You’re incorrigible, Tavin.”
“So I have been told.” The wind whipped the cherry-red tails of her bonnet ribbons into her cheek, and he brushed them aside, letting his fingers trail the length of the ribbons in a manner that bespoke a promise. “Are you having a good day?”
“How could I not? This is our new home. You and Hamish are not only speaking, but friendly. Flora is lovely, and the children are ecstatic.” While Peter’s and Cristobel’s lack of interest in their sons still grieved Gemma, her primary emotion was relief, tempered with gratitude that Peter and Cristobel had relinquished the boys into their care for the foreseeable future. “Peter and Cristobel think we do them a favor by keeping the boys, but it is I who am blessed.”
“I still cannot fathom it. They are ours.” Tavin shook his head. “And you are mine.”
“Have I told you of late that you are the best of husbands?”
“You may like me even better when I tell you that this spring we may venture to Tuscany.”
She must have looked astonished, because he frowned. “Or Athens. Anywhere you’d like to go. I want to give you adventures.”
“I do not need to go anywhere else. I have more adventure than I ever dreamed, right here in Perthshire.”
It was true. She had new family. Castle ruins to rebuild, and the deep green loch and high tor in the distance that reminded her of Verity Hill. A cozy manor house down the hill with a nursery large enough for Petey, Eddie and a baby or two, when and if God chose to bless her and Tavin. And, of course, Tavin himself, who looked at her now with such tenderness it was all she could do not to kiss him here and now, in front of the children.
She peeked. They were all busy. Even Flora and Hamish were occupied, studying Tavin’s plans for the castle. So Gemma hopped to her toes and kissed her husband’s cheek. “I have all I need, Tavin. But if you want to go to Tuscany, or Athens—”
“I want to be wherever you and the boys are.” He kissed her cold nose. “You are my heart, and I’ll spend my life proving to you how happy you’ve made me.”
Eddie barreled into them, inserting his body between theirs. “I want cake.”
“Me, too.” Petey patted her leg. “Did you bring some in the hamper, Aunt Gem? Oh, I say, is something in your eye? You are tearing.”
She swiped her eyes and smiled down at them. “Sometimes, one sheds a tear or two when one is so happy.”
“That makes no sense.” Eddie shook his head.
Tavin lifted the boys and spun them in turn, and Gemma breathed a prayer of thanks.
“Come, family,” her husband said. “Let us share cake with our cousins and celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” Petey scrunched his brow.
“Our blessings and the adventures of the coming years,” Gemma said, smiling up at her husband. “I cannot wait to see where God leads us.”
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this Regency romance, look for
A PRACTICAL PARTNERSHIP by Lily George
and A HASTY BETROTHAL by Jessica Nelson
from Love Inspired Historical.
Keep reading for an excerpt from WED BY NECESSITY by Karen Kirst.
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Dear Reader,
Thank you for choosing The Reluctant Guardian. I hope you enjoyed spending time with Tavin and Gemma in Regency-era Britain.
There is no record of the Board of Customs ever employing undercover operatives like Tavin (although you and I know the truth!), but the “Lady in Red” mentioned in the story was a real person. In the early 1800s, a young woman named Lovey Warne assisted her family’s illegal smuggling endeavors by climbing Vereley Hill in Hampshire to look out for revenue men. If she saw any, she’d signal her brothers below to stay away by donning a red cloak.
It’s hard to believe smugglers were so bold as to carry out their illicit trade in broad daylight, but the historical account of a fellow named Warner claims a caravan of over twenty wagons hauled smuggled goods from Christchurch into the New Forest during the day, guarded by over two hundred horsemen! A solitary revenue agent on patrol stood no chance against such an army, day or night.
Should you pass through Hampshire today, you can visit Vereley Hill (quite similar to Gemma’s Verity Hill) and stand in Lovey Warne’s footsteps. Perhaps you can even imagine Gemma in her red cloak, arm in arm with Tavin, as they enjoy the view and keep a careful eye on Petey and Eddie, who are getting into all kinds of mischief.
I love hearing from readers, and if you’d like to say hello, please drop by my website, www.susannedietze.com, or my Facebook page, SusanneDietzeBooks.
May the Lord bless you and keep you!
Susanne
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Wed by Necessity
by Karen Kirst
Chapter One
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
July 1887
As a holiday, Independence Day left a lot to be desired. Independence was a dream Caroline Turner wasn’t likely to ever attain. Crumpling the note in her hand, she surveyed the crowd of people gathered to watch the fireworks display. Her blackmailer could be here tonight. He could be watching her every move.
The fireworks’ blue-green light flickered over the sea of faces, followed by red, white and gold. She tried to shake the sinister feeling. Stuffing the wrinkled paper into the pocket hidden deep in the folds of her skirt, she schooled her features and made her way along the edge of the field to where the musicians were playing patriotic tunes. She wasn’t about to give her tormentor the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled her.
“Caroline, we’re running low on lemonade.”
“Then make more,” she snapped at eighteen-year-old Wanda Smith. Surely the volunteers serving refreshments didn’t need her input in every decision.
“We’ve misplaced the lemon crates.”
At the distress in the younger girl’s countenance, Caroline relented. “Fine. I’ll look for them. You may return to your station.”
It took her a quarter of an hour to locate the missing lemons. By then, the last of the fireworks had been shot off and attendees were ready for more food and drink. The celebration was far from over, yet she wished she could return home to her bedroom and solitude. The prospect of having to dole out more money to a stranger made her stomach churn.
She diverted to the drink table and helped serve the press of thirsty folks. The line eventually dwindled, and Caroline drifted over to watch couples dancing to lively music. The summer night air enveloped her, ripe with the scents of fried chicken, honeysuckle and cologne.
A trio of young women approached and engaged her in conversation. As usual, they wanted to know about her outfit, whether she’d had it made by a local seamstress or her mother had had it shipped from New York. Before they’d exhausted their talk of fashion, a stranger inserted himself into their group.
“Excuse me.”
Caroline didn’t recognize the hulking figure. Well over six feet tall, he was as broad and solid as an oak tree and looked as if he hadn’t seen civilization in months. He was dressed in common clothing; his shirt and pants were clean but wrinkled. Dirt caked the heels of his sturdy brown boots. His thick reddish-brown hair was tied back with a strip of leather. If left unbound, it would likely skim the bottom of his collar. While he appeared to have a strong facial structure, his mustache and beard obscured the lower half of his face. His mouth was wide and generous. Sparkling blue eyes assessed her.
“Would you care to dance?” He spoke in a rolling brogue that identified him as a foreigner.
The other girls had fallen silent and were watching him in awed stupor.
“Are you speaking to me, Irishman?” Caroline raised her brows.
He flashed a lopsided grin. “I’m no Irishman. I hail from Aberdeen, Scotland. And yes, I’m wantin’ to know if you’d like to dance.”
The way he pronounced his o’s teased her ears. Interest stirred to life, and she considered accepting his invitation. Then reason prevailed. As a member of one of Gatlinburg’s most prominent families, she couldn’t allow her reputation to become tarnished. In the Turner family, missteps were frowned upon.
“I don’t associate with drifters.”
“I take it your answer is no then?”
Regret sharpened her tone. “I believe I made myself clear.”
His gaze turned mocking as he sketched a bow. “Forgive me for intruding upon your time, fair lass.”
“I’ll dance with you,” Vivian Lowe practically purred.
Caroline and the others gaped at her.
“Will ya now? I’m a fortunate man.”
Then, to Caroline’s chagrin, he shucked the large pack from his back and thrust it at her. “Watch this for me, will ya?”
She struggled beneath its unwieldy weight, glaring as he led Vivian in a routine with the form and grace of an accomplished dancer.
“Caroline Grace Turner, what are you doing standing here dillydallying?” Her mother marched to her side. “You’re supposed to be overseeing the stations. Ida has run out of potato salad and the Jackson sisters spilled a gallon jar of tea on Mr. Williams.” Louise’s upper lip curled. “What is that?”
“Nothing, Mother.” Letting the pack thunk to the dry grass, she shot one last disgruntled glance in the direction of the dancers and trailed behind her mother like the dutiful daughter she was supposed to be.
* * *
Duncan McKenna should’ve known better than to ask the cool blonde to dance, but full of relief that his long journey was at an end, he’d given in to a spurt of optimism. He should’ve guessed that the alluring mystery in her navy-hued eyes and the sweet curve of her mouth were too good to be true. He watched her dump his belongings, her haughty features registering distaste, and march off with the silver-haired matron.
Lanterns suspended from stakes throughout the fields emitted soft light. As she passed one, the diamonds draped around her neck and wrists glittered and the silken, pearl-like fabric of her billowing skirts shimmered. The elegant dress displayed her statuesque, pleasing figure to perfection. A shame her attitude didn’t match her outward beauty.
“Was Caroline right? Are you just passing through?”
Duncan switched his attention to the coy brunette in his arms. “Your friend was mistaken. I’m plannin’ on stickin’ around for a bit.”
Her face brightened. “That’s wonderful news. I’m Vivian Lowe, by the way.”
“Duncan McKenna.”
The music came to an end, and she made no effort to hide her disappointment. “I’m free for the next dance.” Her shining hazel eyes implored him to extend their time together.
“If I hadn’t ridden fifteen miles today, I would be honored to be your partner again.” He smiled to soften the blow.
Her gloved hand latching on to his forearm, she leaned closer than good manners dictated. “Let me purchase you a lemonade then. You must be parched after so long a journey.”
“Maybe another time.”
Vivian accepted his excuse with a barely concealed pout. “I look forward to seeing you again, Duncan McKenna.”
Bidding her goodnight, Duncan went to reclaim his belongings. He’d met forward young ladies in almost every town he’d sojourned in and had avoided them like the plague. The woman he desired for a wife and helpmeet wouldn’t be so desperate for male company that she latched onto random strangers.
A young lawman waited beside Duncan’s pack, boots planted wide and arms crossed beneath a glinting silver star, no doubt bent on interrogating him. Caroline’s assessment wasn’t far-fetched. Small towns tended to be suspicious of strangers.
“Good evenin’ to ya.” He held out his hand. “Duncan McKenna’s the name.”
“Ben MacGregor.” With hair more deeply red than his own, and green eyes that seemed inclined to mischief, the man could’ve hailed from the same bonny isle as Duncan. His accent bore an easy Southern cadence, however. “I don’t recall seeing you around these parts before. Family in the area?”
Resettling his pack on his shoulders, he shook his head. “I’m here for work. Albert Turner hired me to ca
re for his horses.”
“You’re the new stable manager? I heard he found someone to replace old George. Welcome to Gatlinburg.” His smile turned rueful. “I see you’ve already met Albert’s daughter.”
Duncan surveyed the milling crowd. “Who? Vivian?”
“Ah, no. Caroline Turner.” Ben jerked his chin in the direction of the refreshment tables. The blonde was there in what appeared to be a supervisory role. The girls enduring her instructions clustered together, their expressions reminiscent of those in the presence of royalty.
The exhaustion he’d been keeping at bay poured through him. His body begged for a dark room and a soft mattress where he could stretch out and sleep without having to listen for wild animals on the prowl or two-legged creatures up to no good. The anticipation over his new employment waned. He would have to cross paths with the snooty socialite on a regular basis.
“Does Mr. Turner have any more daughters I should be aware of?”
Ben tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “No, and we should count ourselves fortunate on that score.” At Duncan’s continued scowl, he chuckled. “Caroline’s not so bad once you get to know her.”
Before leaving Boston and his family behind, he’d known scores of women exactly like her. He had no wish to associate with more.
“Come with me,” Ben said. “I’ll help you locate Albert.”
They wove their way through the throng of youngsters and adults. As they neared the table Caroline was stationed behind, her almond-shaped eyes lit on his and with a disapproving frown, she turned away. Duncan could well imagine her reaction when she learned the news of his employment and hoped he was around to witness it.
* * *
Caroline descended the stairs much later than usual the next morning. Disturbing dreams had troubled her sleep. Lack of rest wasn’t the only reason she’d lingered in bed. Today she would make yet another trip to the bank, enduring the clerk’s censorious stare as she made up another false story about an expensive bauble she wished to purchase. Then she’d ride out to the north side of the property, where she’d leave the demanded amount. She wondered how long this would continue. Eventually she’d run out of money, and then what?
The Reluctant Guardian Page 25
