Still mulling it over, she walked up to the hospital to see Annie. James, the Grants’ large footman, trailed behind her. She would rather have walked beside him and chatted about his life and his work, but she suspected that if she did so, he would be even more shocked than anyone else who saw them together. Perhaps I am an inappropriate wife for a Doverton, she thought ruefully.
She found Annie dressed and in the sun room downstairs, little George asleep in her arms. She looked much healthier, a tinge of color in her cheeks and a less cadaverous look about her. On the other hand, she seemed more worried. The time was fast approaching when she would have to leave the hospital and find some way to support herself and her son.
“Peggy told me there’s a vacancy at the tavern, but I couldn’t take little George there, could I?”
“The hotel would be better for you.”
“Yes, but they only take girls of good character.”
The monstrous unfairness of that silenced Tillie.
But Annie gave her a brave grin. “I’ll manage! But I hear you’ve remembered your name and your husband! Do you have children, Miss Tillie? That is, ma’am.”
“No, I don’t have children and I am not married! That was my cousin’s silly joke.”
“Oh. Seems a funny kind of—” She broke off, staring at the doorway.
Major Doverton had just walked in, looking large and handsome, causing Tillie’s heart to bump and race. With him was a thinner man in shabby clothes, twisting a cap in his hands.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Annie whispered, all the pretty new color draining from her face.
Tillie frowned at her in incomprehension.
“I have a visitor for you, Annie,” Dove said mildly.
The other man was staring at Annie as though he would devour her, and then his eyes dropped to the baby and he fell to his knees. “Annie,” he said hoarsely. “Oh, Annie.”
Suspicion finally dawned. Wide-eyed, Tillie sought Dove’s gaze. “Is it…is it Big George?”
Dove nodded once.
Big George had hold of Annie’s hand. “I am so sorry,” he muttered. “I had no idea about the baby, none at all. I thought losing you was just one more regret, more bad luck in my life. My da died almost as soon as I went home from seeing you last, and I couldn’t get away. And then there seemed no point because I couldn’t bring you to a place like The Brown Jug anyhow. I lied about my position to impress you, to see… And then the major came and told me about little George, and I didn’t know what I could do about it. But I couldn’t leave you alone now, I couldn’t.”
Slowly, Annie’s gaze lifted to Tillie’s. Understanding, Tillie rose, took Dove’s arm, and walked out of the room, leaving them alone.
“This is wonderful!” Tillie said with enthusiasm when they were in the passage. “How did you persuade him to come?”
“He just seems to have thought about it, realized whatever life he was taking her to in Manchester was better for her than being alone here. I believe he’s a good man.”
Tillie glanced back through the door. Big George was holding little George in his good arm, gazing down at him. His face looked decidedly damp. Annie was staring at him, her lips trembling.
“I don’t think we need to stay, do you?” Tillie said. “Oh, where is Big George going to sleep? He’s not going to dash back to Manchester, is he?”
“Cully will find him a bed.”
“He’s very useful, your Cully.” By that time, they were crossing the foyer to the front door, and Tillie had begun to remember how she had last seen him, gazing so fixedly at Lady Lawrence. Jealousy and not a little anger clawed at her stomach. But then, so did anxiety. “How is your arm?”
“It’s fine. It was only a scratch. Cully said you came to the barracks yesterday. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would do that. I’d already gone into Blackhaven with John and Ellen.”
The Grants’ large footman sprang up from his seat and opened the front door.
“I was just glad you were well enough,” Tillie said carelessly. The cold air outside took her breath away. “I think it might snow… Major?”
His gaze swung on her. “Major? What happened to Dove?”
She waved that aside. “Your duel. I think you fought it for me because you thought admitting guilt would be worse for me.”
“It may have been part of my reasoning.”
“While I’m very grateful for the thought…” She met his gaze determinedly. “Please don’t do anything so foolish again. I warned you he would cheat, and my reputation is not your concern. More importantly, I refuse to be responsible for your death.”
Not surprisingly, he blinked. “I had no intention of dying.”
“I imagine you had no intention of getting shot either,” she retorted.
His lips tugged into a quizzical smile. “I had no idea you could scold so effectively.”
“Oh, I have many talents you know nothing about.”
“That is probably true.”
They walked on in silence for several minutes, the Grants’ footman still lumbering after them at a discreet distance. Tillie grew increasingly furious that Dove neither fought back nor explained anything about Lady Lawrence. Was she truly going to have to ask?
Dove said thoughtfully, “You know, the best thing for George would probably be to sell The Brown Jug and buy something a bit more—”
Tilly halted in her tracks. “That’s it!” She stared across the road to the disused inn he had once pointed out to her. “They should run this place!”
Dove blinked. “Not sure the proceeds of The Brown Jug would run to something of that size, let alone the cost of repairs.”
“Of course it wouldn’t,” she said impatiently. “I shall buy it. As an investment. Everyone agrees Blackhaven needs a respectable inn that costs a lot less than the hotel, and I’m sure many people would prefer to drink their ale somewhere that was not a thieves’ den like the tavern. George and Annie will run it for me. There will be space for George’s mother to come, too, if she wishes to, and I expect she will now she has a grandson. We can even find the space for a small creche if there is the interest. Then—”
“Slow down,” Dove interrupted, amused. “I’m sure it’s an excellent idea, but I think you really need to consult Annie and George first. Besides, you know, they need something now, not whenever you gain access to your funds.”
“I think Mr. Hatton may come to see me soon. I’ll get him to do it, then. Otherwise, I suppose I shall have to go home and…do you suppose my uncle and cousin have gone back to Liverpool?”
“I doubt they stayed here.”
“Cully said the whole regiment was out for Luke’s blood.”
Dove flushed slightly, as though touched, and yet surprised by such universal support. “You don’t seem distressed by their blood lust.”
“I’m not. Blood may be thicker than water, but I’m not a good enough person to forgive my uncle and Luke for what they did to me, or to you.”
He put her hand back on his arm and walked on. “I can’t make up my mind whether or not we are friends anymore.”
“I know you can’t.”
He frowned at her. “What have I done to make you angry with me?”
“I don’t think I am angry with you. Just with me.” She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “How is Lady Lawrence?”
His gaze fell, and so did her heart. This was something he would not discuss with her. “She is well.”
Damn you, damn you. “Then I trust I’ll see her tonight at the Winslows’ party,” she managed.
“I believe you will. Tillie—”
“Goodness, it’s cold. Shall we walk more quickly?”
Chapter Sixteen
Tillie’s plans were made. She just had to decide whether or not to act upon them. And that rather depended on Dove.
It had come to her during the afternoon as she tried to write a long letter to Mr. Hatton, that she was making a lot of assumptions from little or
no evidence. In truth, her feelings for Dove had tied her in foolish knots and deprived her of the good sense she had always prided herself upon.
On the other hand, what harm was there in a little adventure? She suspected Dove had been missing those since his days on the Peninsula.
Regardless, she needed an honest conversation with him before she decided irrevocably. In fact, the closer she got to the party, the more she thought she had been a little hasty, even foolish. Not for the first time, she acknowledged ruefully, as Little finished pinning up her hair in a rather elegant knot that left a lock of hair trailing over her bare shoulder.
The maid nodded with satisfaction. “The pearls will set you off a treat.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t wear Mrs. Grant’s jewels. She has been too kind to me already.” Which was something else she should have thought of before—how her behavior would reflect on the kind hosts who had taken her in and supported her. “Where is James?” she asked abruptly.
“Gone out, miss. It’s his night off.”
Drat the man, he’d left already. She couldn’t stop him setting her plan in motion. Oh, well, it didn’t matter. She didn’t need to do anything, after all. She could just send him home again later.
Henrit House was not a long drive from Blackhaven, even in the flurries of snow that had been falling occasionally since the afternoon. The snow was light and wispy, and there was not enough of it to lie on the ground, but it seemed to freeze the air, adding to Tillie’s sense of unreality, of being in an isolated world somewhere between fantasy and reality. Almost like the days after the shipwreck when she could remember nothing.
“You’re very quiet.” Kate observed once. “Is everything well with you, Tillie?”
“I think I need to go back to Liverpool.”
“But you have nowhere to go in Liverpool.” Kate objected. “You cannot live with your aunt and uncle any longer, and you cannot live alone.”
“Stupid convention. I could live alone perfectly well. Besides, who’s alone with a house full of servants?”
“Please consider staying with us for a few more weeks,” Mr. Grant said. “If you can bear us.”
“Bear you?” Tillie exclaimed. “You have been wonderful to me! But you know I cannot intrude upon your hospitality indefinitely. Besides, I think I am too wicked to live with a vicar.”
“Nonsense,” Kate said. “I live with him, after all.”
Tillie couldn’t help laughing. “There is nothing wicked about you, ma’am. I’ve no idea why anyone ever called you that.”
“Well, I have no idea why anyone would call you wicked either.”
Tillie sighed. “Well, perhaps I am not wicked, precisely. Perhaps mischievous is more apt. Either way, I have been good too long, and I should go before I erupt.”
“And Major Doverton?” the vicar asked bluntly.
Tillie looked out the window, her heart twisting. “I am not of his class.”
Kate took her hand. “If he loves you, Tillie, he will not care.”
If he loves me. “The world will care.”
“In Blackhaven,” Grant observed, “we get used to the…the unconventional very quickly.”
Tillie smiled with difficulty. “I know.”
Mr. and Mrs. Winslow and Genevra welcomed them at the drawing room door. They had hired a trio of musicians who played quietly in the corner, and one half of the gracious room had been cleared to use as a dance floor.
Beside her, Kate said, “This is where I first realized I belonged in Blackhaven and that the good people here were my friends.”
Tillie glanced at her with quick curiosity, but Kate only smiled and moved away to talk to Mrs. Muir. As Tillie walked further into the room, acknowledging acquaintances and trying not to search constantly for Dove, she saw that two farther rooms off the drawing room had been set aside for refreshment and cards, respectively.
“He isn’t here yet,” Catherine Gaunt murmured, coming up behind her.
“Who?” Tillie asked defiantly.
Catherine laughed. “I always liked him. Most of us did, to be honest. But I don’t believe he ever looked at any of us in more than a friendly kind of way. Not as he looks at you. In fact, here he is.”
Although she didn’t mean to, Tillie jerked her head around to the door in time to see all three Dovertons arriving with Lady Lawrence and Mr. Ashley. Dove’s gaze found her at once, and his face lit in a spontaneous smile.
“You see?” Catherine said smugly and passed on.
Tillie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with the sudden happiness that surged up from her toes and curled warmly about her heart. She had been foolish, suspicious, a little crazy in her schemes, when all she had really needed to do was to trust Dove as she had since he’d lifted her from that box at sea.
But a country dance set was forming, and Lord Sylvester asked her to dance. Tillie was happy to. She could wait for her time with Dove now that the silly mists of jealousy had cleared from her eyes. She gave herself up to the energetic dance, and as she did, she reflected that Kate was right. Blackhaven was an easy town to belong to.
After the dance, Lord Sylvester left her with Catherine and went off to fetch them lemonade. Catherine was talking quite intensely to a young man called Bernard Muir, so with a moment to herself, Tillie glanced around the room in search of Dove. She found him standing near the card room doorway with another officer and an unknown lady. He was smiling faintly, and love surged in Tillie, making her smile even while the emotion caught at her breath.
Someone sat down on Tillie’s other side, and she turned with something of a start to see Lady Lawrence.
The lady smiled kindly. “Good evening, Miss… Do you know, if I ever heard your surname, I have foolishly forgotten it?”
“Dawlish,” Tillie said. “Good evening, ma’am.” She had no desire to talk to this woman, but for Dove’s sake, she meant to be civil, even when the condescension frayed her temper, as she was sure it would.
“I saw you looking at Major Doverton. You must be glad to see him recovering so well.”
“Of course,” Tillie acknowledged.
“He is a man of great kindness, with a rather over-developed sense of responsibility,” Lady Lawrence said. “Having rescued you from your predicament at sea, it was inevitable that he would feel compelled to look after you. But Miss—Dawlish, did you say?”
“I did,” Tillie said patiently. In her lap, she clasped her fingers tightly together.
“Miss Dawlish, it is quite unsuitable for him to be fighting duels in your name. I understand society is new to you, so you will not mind my hinting to you, but such duels are not romantic or exciting. They are quite vulgar and dangerous, and you must not look for anything similar to happen again.”
Tillie dug her nails into her palm. “Must I not?” she managed. Damn the woman’s insolence. Did she imagine Tillie had put him up to it? “Do tell me why.”
For an instant, intense dislike spat out of Lady Lawrence’s eyes, before she veiled it in a smile. “Because I shall not allow it, of course,” she said gently. “I have been married before. I know how to keep a husband in line.”
Tillie’s lips fell apart. “H-husband?” she repeated.
“Did you not know? We are not announcing it yet, of course, because I am still in mourning, but I thought he might have told you, just to prevent any further misunderstandings. We will wait probably until the end of the year, but he proposed marriage to me yesterday, and I accepted.”
Stunned, Tillie felt the blood rush into her face and then drain so quickly that her ears sang. Yesterday. He had proposed yesterday, perhaps when she had seen them at the window? And her own conversation with him today, which had so comforted her and given her hope? She could not imagine him courting two women at once, even if he wanted one for his wife and the other for his mistress. That was simply not Dove.
Somehow, she forced her lips to curve into a smile. “I wish you both very happy. You will excuse me, ma’am. Mrs.
Grant will be looking for me.”
She rose and walked away, forcing her hands to unclench, her body to relax. But there was nothing she could do about the misery. She had thought…What had she thought? That he would truly marry the weaver’s daughter? That if he didn’t, she could share him with a wife? She doubted now she could ever have done that, but most certainly she couldn’t share him with that wife.
I know how to keep a husband in line.
No and no and no. Felicity Lawrence was not for Dove, so calculating and cold and deliberate in her warning off of the ridiculous upstart. Lady Lawrence would stifle him, make him miserable. However well they’d been acquainted in their youth, she did not know him now, did not love him, would not care for him should the worst…
Her furious train of thought stumbled. We will wait probably until the end of the year. Perhaps she had the same doubts as Tillie about the amount of time left to Dove.
Or perhaps she simply did not know he was dying.
Under no circumstances would Dove engage himself without revealing such information.
Relief surged up from her toes. Lady Lawrence had lied, and Tillie should have known it at once. They were not engaged. Not yet. But the woman had most definitely been warning Tillie off, which meant she was sliding her claws into Dove, and Tillie would not have that. Rage flooded her, against Lady Lawrence, against Dove for allowing things to get to this stage. Well, it would have to be now. Tillie would force the issue, because she could make him happy. She would make him happy, and if the worst happened…
Angrily, she dashed a hand over her face. She could not cry in public. Worse, Dove was coming toward her. In panic, she swerved away and came face to face with Captain Blackshaw.
“Ah, Captain,” she said hastily, “Do walk with me a moment.” Obligingly, he turned to walk beside her, though he looked somewhat apprehensive. “I wanted to say…about the late duel. I think it must have taken a lot of courage to do the right thing and act against my cousin in the end. I want to thank you.”
The Wicked Waif Page 17
