“Who’s Lady Stainthrope?” Melvyrn asked Rosalind.
“My aunt,” she said, wondering why Lady Stainthrope would come from London to see her. “What did Mrs. Boroughs tell her?” she asked Tolly.
“That you’d gone to visit friends. But her ladyship keeps asking questions.”
“Don’t worry,” Rosalind said, although she was doing just that. It was imperative that her aunt not learn about her smuggling activities. If she did, Rosalind knew no amount of kicking and screaming would keep her Aunt Eugenia from dragging her to London. “I will come up with a plausible tale.”
Tolly snorted. “Don’t know how you’ll explain being dressed like a boy?”
“If we get back before daybreak, I can slip in without being noticed,” Rosalind said.
“There’s that,” Tolly said. “Better get some rest.”
Sliding down the starboard side of the bulkhead, Rosalind sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. Moments later, she was joined by Melvyrn, although he kept some distance between them.
“Does your aunt visit often?” he asked.
“No, she considers a visit to Folkestone the worst sort of rusticating. Mostly, she writes letters, pleading with me to join her in London.” Thinking she’d find it hard to sleep, she put her head on her knees. “Worst things could happen,” she added philosophically, “like getting caught by French soldiers.” She closed her eyes and allowed herself to concentrate on the swaying of the boat instead of Aunt Eugenia.
Rosalind awoke when she felt Melvyrn rising from beside her. She had no idea how long she’d slept as she too stood. Although it was only a half moon, it was still bright, and she saw the outline of Folkestone’s cliffs in the distance.
“How much longer before we make land?” she asked Tolly who stood at the rudder.
“Nary an hour,” he said gazing up at the sky. “That’s if we ain’t spotted.”
Rosalind understood his concern. She’d heard the rumors of another revenue clipper being sent down from Dover. Beside her, she felt Melvyrn’s eyes on her. When she glanced at him, he said, “The War Office is redoubling their efforts to catch smugglers.”
What could she say? After all, she was one of the smugglers.
With the wind coming in from the south-east, events were going their way. So she settled back down on the lugger’s floor and tried to relax. She reminded herself that she was in good hands, surrounded by competent men, Tolly and the Earl of Melvyrn, and experienced fishermen.
Minutes later, Tolly called out, “Look to port. Revenuer closing in. Looks to be the Valiant.”
She pulled herself up and saw a sleek cutter silhouetted against the eastern horizon headed toward them on the port side. Tolly turned the lugger, bringing the Arrow parallel to the shoreline.
“Finley, Jefferies, tie the kegs off,” Tolly ordered. “Cleggs, get them markers.” Then he turned to Melvyrn. “If the cutter gets any closer, we toss the kegs,” he said and then looked at Rosalind. “If they catch us--”
“You worry about the boat and crew,” Melvyrn interrupted. “I’ll see to Miss Wensley’s welfare.”
Tolly looked at Rosalind, then back to Melvyrn and nodded his head. “We’ll meet tomorrow, God willing.”
Before long, Rosalind realized the Arrow was no match for the sleek cutter. She heard Tolly order the men to pitch the kegs overboard. Then he looked at Melvyrn. “She’s going to overtake us. With no contraband, they can’t arrest us.” Tolly slewed a glance toward Rosalind. “They’ll give us a hard time, though.”
Melvyrn looked at Rosalind. “You’ll never pass muster if the revenuers search the boat. How far are we from shore?” Melvyrn asked Tolly.
“Four, maybe five hundred yards,” Tolly said.
Melvyrn turned to Rosalind. “Can you swim?”
Rosalind nodded and he gripped her arm. “The water’s cold and we’re a good distance from shore.” His eyes fixed on hers, as if he were trying to read her mind. “I can help you, but you must not fight me.”
“I am a good swimmer,” she said with confidence. “I swam in these waters when I was a small child.”
“If you’re going,” Tolly said, “it’s best you go now. The cutter’ll soon overtake us.”
Melvyrn held her gaze a moment longer, then leaned down and pulled off his boots. “Take your boots off,” he told Rosalind. After she’d shucked her boots, he took her hand and asked, “Ready?”
She wasn’t, but she bit her lip and nodded her head and let him help her over the starboard side of the boat. She went in feet first. The water covered her head, and its frigid temperature stole her breath. Her chest felt constricted as she began clawing her way up. Then she felt Melvyrn next to her, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket, pulling her toward the surface. Her head broke the water, she gasped for air. Still holding on to her, he said softly, “Come on.” He released her and began to swim with powerful strokes. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, more gruffly, “Come on.”
She quickly gathered her senses and began kicking and thrusting her arms through the cold water. Ahead, she saw Melvyrn had stopped. He waited until she was next to him and then swan beside her. Behind her, she heard the sounds of the cutter passing through the water and heard the shouts of the sailors. After a few more strokes, she noticed that Melvyrn had slowed his long powerful strokes to match her own short ones. Still, she paced herself with his strokes, pulling herself through the water.
The cold was numbing. Her feet and hands felt like laden blocks of ice, but she kept kicking, kept tossing one arm up and over, then the other, making slapping sounds as they hit the water. She heard a clicking noise, then realized her teeth were chattering. It seemed like ages, but she knew she’d only been in the water for a few minutes. Her arms and legs became lead weights. And then she slowly slid below the surface, her mind accepting the inevitable, when Melvyrn’s arm circled her chest.
Paralyzed by the cold, she was an unmovable block of ice as he pulled her up and turned her on her back. At first, his movements were jerky as he used his other arm to stroke the water, hauling her with him. But soon he settled into a rhythm, and her body seemed to sluice through the water. Suddenly, he stood up, his one arm still around her, dragging her with him as he fought the surf. Her feet struck the rocky bottom and she tried to help him, tried to stand, but her legs refused to work. Finally, she was on the beach, on her back, and he fell next to her, breathing loudly.
After a few minutes, he rolled over on his elbow and shook her. “Rosalind, Rosalind.”
Her teeth were chattering so loudly all she could manage was a grunt.
“We have to get up, get you home,” he said, pushing himself up. He reached down and drew her to her feet, but she couldn’t stand. “Put your arm around me,” he said.
She did as he instructed, but still he had to carry her weight. Her feet were slow to respond. They struggled up the steep incline, Melvyrn almost crawling as he hauled her up beside him. At the top, the wind whipped around them. They were at least two miles from Ashford Hall. But Melvyrn’s steps didn’t falter as he half dragged her along the clip road.
Their trek seemed endless as Rosalind willed one foot in front of the other, with one hand clutching the back of Melvyrn’s jacket, the other hand his lapel. She would have fallen innumerable times, willingly given up, but he kept her on her feet, saying, “Come on, Rosalind. We’re almost there.”
They came to the field, stumbled across it to the wood at the rear of Ashford Hall. Finally, she saw the stables, then the back of the Hall.
When they reached the kitchen door, Melvyrn lifted the latch and kicked it open--déjà vu. A banked fire in the hearth bathed the room in a soft yellow light. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and dropped her in it before pulling out another one for himself. They’d made enough noise to bring Tinsley down the rear stairs from the servants’ floor.
When Tinsley saw them, he called up the stairs, “Mrs. Boroughs, get everyone up. Bring blankets. It’s Miss Rosalin
d.”
*** Chapter 16 ***
“Brandy,” Melvyrn ordered, as he reached for Rosalind and tore at her jacket, trying to unbutton it. “Get the coat off and your socks.” As he helped her out of the coat, the wet muslin shirt remained plastered to her, outlining her bound torso. He saw Mrs. Boroughs enter with an armful of blankets. “Here, put one around Miss Wensley.” He stripped his own jacket and shirt off and accepted a blanket around his shoulders. Looking behind him, he saw Mrs. Boroughs give him a nod.
Tinsley returned with the brandy and poured two glasses as Cook trudged down the stairs. She went directly to the hearth, stoked up the fire, and added more wood. “I’ll have hot tea in minutes,” she said to Mrs. Boroughs.
“What’s going on in here?” a middle aged lady asked indignantly, standing at the door leading to the main hall.
Melvyrn quirked an eyebrow at Rosalind. “Your aunt?” She nodded, and he pressed a goblet in her hand. “Drink up.” He drank a good portion of brandy himself. “I am Melvyrn, Lady Stainthrope. Forgive me for not standing, but we’ve had a run of bad luck.”
Lady Stainthrope walked over to the table and looked at him and Rosalind. “What has happened?”
Rosalind looked sheepishly up through her long lashes at her aunt, then took a sip of brandy. Immediately, she set the goblet down, coughing and shaking her head. “I cannot drink that.”
“Here, Missy,” said Cook, placing a steaming cup of hot tea in front of her. “Don’t you worry none, ‘cause I’ve made tea just the way you like it.”
Rosalind placed her shaking hands around the warm cup, but before she could take a sip, Melvyrn dumped a good portion of the brandy in it. “Drink up. It will help,” he said, “then go to bed.” He looked up at Lady Stainthrope. “It would be a good idea to have Mrs. Boroughs stay with your niece tonight.”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Stainthrope replied, as a worried frown marred her brow. “And I will have Tinsley make up a room for you as well, my lord. But I demand to know what has happened.”
Melvyrn looked at Rosalind huddled under the blankets and wished he could embrace her. Mrs. Boroughs had taken down Rosalind’s hair and had been rubbing the wet strands with another blanket. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles, made darker from the flickering light of the hearth fire. She looked so small in the folds of the blankets wrapped around her. “We need to tell her,” he said. When the poor girl nodded, clearly too miserable to care, he turned to Lady Stainthrope. “I have been assigned by the War Office to investigate a group known as the mercy smugglers. They’ve been ferrying our wounded soldiers in France back here. Your niece has been helping the smugglers--”
“Never,” staunchly declared Lady Stainthrope, drawing herself up and squaring her shoulders. “My niece would never behave in such a--a ragtailed, deplorable manner.” But as she took in Rosalind’s bedraggled appearance, damp breeches, and bare feet, her eyes grew wide and her lips pursed together. “Rosalind, what is the meaning of this? Have you disgraced yourself, indeed, your family name?”
“Quite the contrary, my lady,” Melvyrn said. “Your niece has risked life and limb to save the lives of our brave soldiers. Indeed, she’s a heroine.”
“Don’t over do it,” Rosalind said sotto voce through her chattering teeth. “She is not stupid.”
He coughed to cover a laugh, then smiled with relief for Rosalind’s attempted quip hinted at a complete and quick recovery. “However,” he said, “none of this is generally known, for it would be most hazardous. Tonight, we were returning from France when a revenue cutter sighted us. We were forced to jump ship and swim to shore or risk exposure.”
“Merciful heavens,” Lady Stainthrope whispered as one hand grasped the neck of her wrapper. She sank into a chair, which fortunately Tinsley foresaw to pull out for her.
“We managed to escape undetected,” Melvyrn continued. “However, revenuers may still come looking for us.” He leveled his eyes on hers. “All must appear as normal as possible, you understand.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Lady Stainthrope said. She returned Melvyrn’s pointed stare for a moment before pursing her lips together again. Turning to Rosalind, she said, “Go to bed, my dear. We shall speak more of this in the morning.”
Melvyrn stood and helped Rosalind up. He would have put an arm around her to help her up the stairs, but Mrs. Boroughs was beside her, leading her out the door. When Melvyrn glanced at Lady Stainthrope, he was surprised by her calculating glare.
“Is there anything we may do for you before you retire, Lord Melvyrn?” she asked as she stood, pulling her white velvet wrapper more closely around her.
“If Tinsley will send for my valet in the morning, I would be most grateful, my lady.”
She acknowledged his request with a bow of her head. “You will, of course, see me before you leave tomorrow, my lord?”
Melvyrn understood this was not a question. “Of course, Lady Stainthrope.”
As he followed Tinsley mounting the stairs, he felt the tightening of the marital noose about his neck. Instead of bemoaning the enviable, he smiled to himself remembering her ardent response to his kisses.
~~~~~
The sun was high in the sky the next morning by the time Rosalind awoke. Although a fire still burned in the grate, she still felt chilled, but not the mind numbing cold she’d experienced last night. She had feared she’d never be able to sleep, even after Mrs. Boroughs placed a bed warmer pan at the foot of the bed. But she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
Sitting up, she swung her feet on the floor and was amazed at how weak she felt. As she wiggled her feet into her slippers, the door opened, and Mrs. Boroughs came in, then drew up short. “Oh, Miss Rosalind, you’re awake. I’ll get you some breakfast.”
Before she could leave, Rosalind asked, “Has my aunt been asking for me?”
Primly folding her hands in front of her, Mrs. Boroughs nodded her head. “Yes, she has. And Lady Stainthrope has interviewed each member of the staff, questioning them about what they knew or if they participated in your . . . ‘nefarious activities’ I believe is the term her ladyship used.”
“Oh dear.” Knowing her aunt, Rosalind suspected that redoubtable lady did more than just question her staff. “You’d better help me dress, Mrs. Boroughs.”
“What about breakfast, Miss Rosalind?”
“Perhaps you could serve tea and scones in the drawing room,” Rosalind said, tossing the covers aside. But when Rosalind glanced in the mirror after donning a sprig muslin gown, she groaned. “What am I going to do about this?” she asked pointing to her bruised temple.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Boroughs tisked. “However, I do have some maquillant. We may have to apply it to your entire face, but it should do the job.”
Thus, a short while later, wearing Pear’s Almond Bloom powder covering her bruise, Rosalind sat on the floral chintz settee in the drawing room, warming herself with a cup of tea and listening to her aunt’s tirade. Petite and quite attractive, Lady Eugenia Stainthrope’s slightly plump figure was stylishly clad in a muslin gown with blue stripes. Soft gray curls escaped her lace trimmed cap and accentuated her blue eyes.
“Everyone is at sixes and sevens, talking about Prussia declaring war on France and the possibility of that upstart Napoleon invading our coast,” said Lady Stainthrope in between sips of her tea. “Well, I had to come and convince you to return to London with me. It is no longer safe here. But instead, what do I find?” her aunt asked, spearing Rosalind with a contemptible stare. “My own niece has become embroiled in the most . . . nefarious activities. So much so, in fact, that excise men are actually hunting for you. Oh, how could you, Rosalind?”
“Miss Wensley did have considerable help,” Melvyrn said. He stood by the fireplace, with one arm draped across the mantle and a foot resting on the fender. He was dressed in a bottle green jacket, a yellow damask waistcoat, neatly tied cravat, and buff breeches. Except for the dark circles under his eyes and his bruis
ed jaw, he’d seemed completely at ease when Rosalind, upon entering the drawing room, had found him sitting with her aunt. “As I told you, my lady, your niece and her cohorts have performed an inestimable service for the Crown.”
“Fustian, Melvyrn, and well you know it,” snapped Lady Stainthrope. “The girl has completely ruined herself.”
“Yes, well.” Rosalind replaced her teacup in its porcelain saucer. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “As to that, it is not generally known that I played any role in, er . . . rescuing wounded soldiers. I was disguised--”
“As a boy, no less,” interjected her aunt indignantly.
“Yes, but the point is--” Rosalind began.
“The point is,” Melvyrn cut in, “there is no need to rehash the past, for few people know of Miss Wensley’s, er, adventures.”
“Hhump! So you say, but I can assure you that every servant in this house knows about her deplorable conduct, which means the entire village is also aware of it. And look at you, my lord, with an ugly bruise on your face. However did you come by that?”
Melvyrn had the good grace to look down and study his shiny Hessians. “Hazards of the game,” he said, glancing up at Rosalind.
“Well, serves you right for aiding and abetting my niece in her misadventures.” Lady Stainthrope leveled Melvyrn with a contemptible glare. “Just what do you propose to do about the situation?”
“Really, Aunt Eugenia,” Rosalind said, “Lord Melvyrn is not responsible for my behavior.” Looking at him, she was surprised by his nonchalant attitude toward her aunt’s accusations.
Melvyrn smiled at Lady Stainthrope. “What do you mean?”
“No young woman’s reputation can withstand spending an entire night away from home alone with a man,” Lady Stainthrope said, still glaring at Melvyrn. “Surely, you are aware of that?”
“Indeed,” Melvyrn said, calmly meeting the older woman’s glare.
The two of them were discussing her as if she wasn’t there, and it was obvious, Rosalind fumed, that Aunt Eugenia meant to bring Melvyrn up to scratch. Well, she would soon put paid to their little scheme. “Indeed! There is nothing to discuss since very few people knew that we were stranded in Wissant.”
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