Chas was waiting at the edge of the orchard, even though Ada was early. Tally jumped down and raced to him, barking and leaping and running in circles.
“Yes, my girl, I am happy to see you. And you, too, of course, Ada,” he belatedly added, too busy admiring the pups to hand her down from the cart. He picked up each one, looking to see if it was a male or female, congratulating Tally on what a fine job she had done, telling her how big and sturdy they were, and wasn’t five just the right number? Ada might have been a delivery boy.
He kept ruffling the new baby coats, assessing the size of the heads and feet and mouths and heaven knew what else. Surely Ada did not. Finally Ada asked, “Did you bring the money?”
He reached into his coat and took out the leather purse, which was larger than the black and tan puppy he held in his other hand. “Of course I did. I had to ransom my dog back, didn’t I?”
“You have been watching too many of Tess’s productions. You know you can’t take them back yet, anyway, not with Lady Esther and the earl staying on another week. And we need to talk about their futures, too. The Holmdales would like the gold one for the foundling hospital, and Garden George thinks the brown fellow might help keep rabbits out of the vegetables. Mrs. Cobble’s niece just lost her pug, so she would like a new dog, and I, well, I rather fancy this one, that no one else is likely to want.” She stroked the littlest one, the runt, of course.
Chas grinned at her, tucking the puppies back under their blanket. He looked at the leather pouch and said, “Hmm. They’ll cost you, you know.”
“What, a litter of mongrel puppies? That’s outrageous.”
He laughed. “Seems to me like Tally’s offspring are in high demand, for all their low birth.”
Ada knew he was teasing, but she could not match his smile. She anxiously ran the leather drawstrings through her gloved fingers. “It is mine, isn’t it?”
He pretended to misunderstand. “The runt?”
“The money, you gudgeon.”
“Oh, that. Of course. Finders keepers, you know, not like my dog. I told you that weeks ago.”
“But then Monsieur Prelieu returned.”
“He never claimed the deuced thing, did he? It is yours.”
“You never put it in the tree for him, did you?”
Chas busied himself with the basket cover. “Not precisely.”
“Let me rephrase my question then. You did put it in the tree, didn’t you?”
“That was not, perhaps, my most clever idea. I was regrettably castaway at the time.”
“You truly fell off your horse putting it there.” That was a statement, not a question. So was, “You could have been killed, you clothhead.”
He shrugged. “Another miscalculation.”
“You left it for me.”
“The worst idea of all, it turned out. You did your best to get rid of it, though. How come you have changed your mind?”
“Because pride is a cold companion.”
“Unlike my dog, right. Tally?” The hound danced around his legs, so Chas bent down and rubbed her ears. “I knew you’d bring her ‘round, my girl, if she just got to know you.”
Ada narrowed her eyes. “I thought I was doing you a great favor by taking in your dog.”
“That too, I swear.”
Ada decided she would consider this new bit of manipulation later. “Anyway, I changed my mind about the money because I realized that I did have a good use for it, after all.”
“Why now? Emery will come about, and you know that Leo and Tess will gladly provide you with anything you require.”
“I did not wish to wait for Emery, or intrude on Tess. I need the money for my dowry.”
He was silent, staring at the ground. Lud, she was going to accept the vicar after all. After all their kisses, all their unspoken vows.
“You kept telling me that’s what I should use it for, didn’t you?”
He looked at her, bleak sorrow turning his heart to bitter cinders. “I was full of stupid ideas, wasn’t I?”
“Here.” Ada pushed the pouch into his hands.
“Here? You made me bring your wretched windfall, just to hand it back?”
Ada fussed with the blanket over the puppies, making sure they could get enough air. “I want you to have my dowry, Chas. As Tess wrote, what good are riches if the heart is poor?”
The viscount just stared at her, his head tilted to the side.
“Dash it, Chas, must I spell it out for you? I am giving you my dowry because I love you and I want to—”
He stopped her with a hand over her mouth, then replaced his hand with lips that were cool from the air, then warm, oh so warm. “I love you too, my darling. I always have. Come.”
“But I—”
“Don’t quibble for once, my pet.” He called Tally up into the wagon and made room for her in the basket. “We won’t be long.” Then he took Ada’s hand and half dragged her through the rows of gnarled apple trees.
Ada had to run to keep up, laughing, asking questions Chas would not answer. “But where—”
Finally she saw a tree with a pink ribbon around it. It was not the one that had held the windfall, but it was close by. A streamer of green hung from one of the branches, not a vine, but suspiciously resembling part of Tess’s sea goddess costume.
“This time I used a ladder,” Chas confessed.
“I don’t understand.”
“Pull the ribbon, my love.”
She did, and a box tumbled to the ground at her feet. A small, ring-shaped, velvet-covered box.
Ada untied the ribbon and opened the box to find the Ashmead family engagement ring, the one she had tossed at his head.
Through happy tears, she told him, “Oh, Chas, I do love you. I always have. I just never understood how much.”
“I was as much a slowtop, sweetheart, taking you and our love for granted.”
“The ring really is mine?”
“Finders keepers,” he said, tugging off her glove and placing the ruby and diamond ring on her finger.
“And you still want to marry me?”
“More than ever, my love.”
Ada kissed her fingers, then touched them to the tree. “Then I do. I mean I will. I mean—”
Chas lifted her right off her feet and twirled her around. “I know what you mean, my addled Ada.” He kissed her then, because words no longer mattered, or could express enough. When he put her down and stepped away, out of breath but not out of arm’s reach, Chas straightened her straw bonnet. “Thank heavens you said yes, because I did not have time to finish my next plan.”
He led Ada to the other side of the tree, where a hammer and chisel lay on the ground, among a pile of wood shavings. Will you ma—was carved into the old bark.
“I swore I would never ask you again, but you didn’t say anything about the tree.”
“I will. A hundred times, I will! I don’t think I have ever been so happy in my entire life.”
“But you will be, every day. I swear it, for you have made me the happiest of men, my dearest. When? That is, when do you think we can be wed?”
“Not soon enough to suit me, but I suppose your mother will insist on a lavish wedding for the Ashmead dynasty.”
“No, she’ll be too busy planning for Esther’s Season in Town for the earl. If all works out, there could be a wedding in the summer. Perhaps two.”
“We’d have to wait so long?”
“Not our wedding, goose. We can get married tomorrow if you agree. I bought a special license while I was in London, in case I needed yet a third plan.”
“What was number three?”
“I was going to kidnap you onto one of Leo’s ships, then hold you there, kissing you and loving you until you said yes.”
“I think I like that plan best. Did you have a fourth scheme too?”
“Fourth, fifth, and sixth. Whatever it took. I would never give you up, sweetheart, not unless I saw you walk down the aisle with another
man. Even then, I would have shot him. That was plan seventeen, I believe.”
“Totally unnecessary, my love, for I would never let you get away either. Not even I could be foolish enough to give up a magician who can make money and jewels fall from trees.”
Then Viscount Ashmead showed Ada another kind of magic. They’d be at it still, except the dog barked.
To Volunteers
Copyright © 2001 by Barbara Metzger
Originally published by Fawcett (ISBN 0451202791)
Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
Miss Westlake's Windfall Page 21
