Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8)

by Lancaster, Mary

  Serena wrinkled her nose. “Tamar says not. I don’t think he wants to take me until he’s beaten his brothers and sister into submission. I suspect it’s all pretty ramshackle, and as you know, his brothers are not at all the thing.”

  “Well, neither was Lord Tamar until he married you.”

  “No, but he was always sweet-natured. I’m not sure that applies to his siblings. Anyway, neither of us is prepared to risk mine until I’ve met his for myself. And we may be trapped down there for the winter, so as I say, it’s a fine excuse for a party.” She delved into her reticule and produced a little packet which she set in front of Caroline. “Cards of invitation for the Benedicts and you.”

  “For me?” Startled, Caroline paused with her hand on the packet. “You don’t invite the governess to parties!”

  “I invite you. Besides, there will be children present, so I have an ulterior motive. I hope they will bring Rosa.”

  “I think that might be moving too quickly,” Caroline said ruefully. “She will need to get used to one or two children before she can manage lots in a houseful of strange adults.”

  “Will her father not agree to that?”

  “He might, now…to be honest, they have all got out of the way of company.” And quite deliberately, from what Caroline could gather.

  “Well, you must write to me. I could bring Helen over by herself one day and then you could bring Rosa to the castle. If he agrees.” She waited until the waiter had set the coffee pot and cups on the table and departed, before she asked bluntly, “What is he like? Cold and terrifying?”

  “Not at all,” Caroline objected. “Nor does he eat children or keep his wife locked in a tower.”

  “I hope not if the poor creature is dead.”

  “It is Betty Smith’s theory that she isn’t, and that Miss Benedict is really Mrs. Benedict!”

  “Betty Smith always made up stories. They entertained Frances and me when we were young, but I’m not sure that one is so funny. Are you happy there, Caroline? Or is it just your need to help that keeps you with them?”

  It was the first time Serena had used her Christian name. The significance wasn’t lost on Caroline, although Lady Tamar herself didn’t appear to notice.

  Caroline shrugged. “Both, I suppose.”

  Serena gazed thoughtfully into her steaming coffee and added a little cream. “Does he grieve still for his wife?” she asked.

  It was a good question. “Certainly, he grieves for something. I suppose it must be her, though he doesn’t speak of her. No one does.” Which was odd. Miss Benedict never referred to her. Nor did any of the servants who must have known her.

  Serena’s eyes brightened. “It is a house of mystery,” she said, all but rubbing her hands with glee. “Most definitely I must bring Helen next week. Though the others will hate me for leaving them behind.”

  They talked of other things while they ate breakfast. Serena, bright and animated as she generally was, seemed to have an extra brilliance about her, an inner glow that Caroline eventually put down to happiness. She hoped Lord Tamar would never let her down, for Serena clearly loved him to distraction. And although Tamar always appeared to be equally enchanted by his wife, Caroline did not have a high opinion of men’s constancy.

  “Well, well,” a man’s jovial voice interrupted their chatter. “What a bevy of beauty to greet my old eyes this morning!”

  Caroline looked up to see the white-whiskered Colonel Fredericks, the retired commander of the 44th regiment barracked in Blackhaven. Serena had known him since childhood and immediately invited him to join them.

  “Very happy to,” he replied gratefully, easing himself into the seat opposite them. Colonel Fredericks gave a good impression of being merely a kind old gentleman well past his prime, though in fact, if one looked closely, his eyes were sharp and perceptive and, according to Serena, he still had charge of some intelligence matters relating to the never-ending war with France. He was also entertaining company, and Caroline was quite happy to spend half an hour drinking more coffee with him.

  “So, you have both managed to lose your charges for today?” he said at last.

  “Do you mean my husband?” Serena teased.

  “I do, of course! And to a lesser extent, your delightful sisters.”

  “I left the former painting and the latter sleeping,” Serena informed him. “But Miss Grey no longer looks after them. She has another position.”

  He seemed genuinely surprised. “Do you really? Well, well. Still in Blackhaven, I trust?”

  “Haven Hall,” Caroline replied.

  The colonel raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? Who is it who has the hall now? Tenants never seem to stay there.”

  “Mr. Benedict and his family,” Caroline murmured.

  He cocked his ear. “I beg your pardon? I’m a little deaf.”

  “Mr. Javan Benedict and his family,” Caroline repeated more clearly.

  His eyes widened and focused more firmly on hers. “Javan Benedict?” he exclaimed. “Colonel Javan Benedict?”

  “Oh no,” she said at once. “I don’t think—” She broke off, frowning. “They never call him that,” she finished lamely. And yet it would explain so much: his travels, his injuries…

  “Well, it is an uncommon name,” Fredericks pointed out. “I would be surprised if it weren’t him. How is he?”

  “Convalescing, I believe,” Caroline managed. “Are you acquainted with him, Colonel?”

  “Only by repute.”

  “Who is he?” Serena asked with much more blatant curiosity than Caroline felt comfortable betraying. “What happened to him?”

  “Oh, he commanded a crack unit under Wellington for a long time. Special duties, often behind enemy lines by all accounts. Was very good at it, too, or so I heard. But his luck ran out eventually, and he was captured. Months later, he escaped, but he was still direly wounded and he sold his commission almost immediately. Wellington himself regarded it as a severe loss, I’m told, but couldn’t convince him to stay.”

  “Goodness,” Serena said in awe. “A hero in our midst and we’re listening to stupid and frankly ugly gossip about him! I shall make it my business to turn that on its head.”

  “Don’t,” Caroline blurted.

  Serena blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I don’t think he wishes to be discussed at all,” Caroline said with difficulty, “let alone be recognized. Even the servants he brought with him never refer to him as Colonel Benedict. Neither does his sister. He obviously wants it that way. If it is him.” It was. She knew suddenly that Fredericks was right.

  “I suspect Miss Grey is correct,” Colonel Fredericks said apologetically.

  “Incognito,” Serena murmured. “Who am I to upset a hero? My lips are sealed on the subject.” She smiled at Caroline. “At least I can stop worrying about you at that place now.”

  *

  After parting from Serena, Caroline walked round to the circulating library and borrowed a novel and a book on botany, a subject on which she knew little. She then walked through the street market to the harbor, wondering if she should meet the Benedicts at one o’clock, or spend the afternoon searching for an inexpensive new gown to alter or to make up for herself.

  The trouble was, she mistrusted her motives for this sudden desire for new garments. Of course, she disliked her dull old gowns—who wouldn’t? But working for the Earl of Braithwaite, her dress had never concerned her. Why now, when she was employed by the most casual of families who barely noticed what they wore themselves? She refused to think of a reason, merely repeated to herself that it didn’t matter. And it didn’t. She just fantasized a little about appearing not to be dull. Just for an hour or two…

  As though she’d conjured his reality by refusing to allow thoughts of him into her head, Javan Benedict stood by the harbor wall, gazing out to sea. She recognized him easily from behind, even in his unfamiliar tall, beaver hat. There was something in his straight posture, in hi
s stillness. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

  Her step faltered. There was no trace of his family nearby.

  She hesitated. She had long made the decision in her mind that if she came upon any of the Benedicts in town, alone or singly, she would merely wave—if she couldn’t immediately duck out of sight. He didn’t see her. He had no idea she stood behind him. She had only to spin around and walk smartly back to the market, or swerve left and walk down the row of fishermen’s cottages where Lord Tamar had his studio.

  But why should she change her plans? Just because one man stood more or less where she had intended to. There was room for both.

  I’m fooling myself, she acknowledged as she walked on toward the harbor wall. I was always going to do this. Not that she expected a particularly warm response.

  She stood beside him, looking out to sea, over the fishing boats tied up, to the larger vessel drifting past in the distance. The sea was a brilliant, frothy blue, reflecting the sunny sky. The whole view could have been one of Lord Tamar’s more beautiful paintings, only the salty spray was damp on her skin and the scent of the sea strong in her nostrils.

  Although she’d meant to greet him politely, she said nothing, merely stood beside him until she was aware of his head slowly turning and taking her in. At least he didn’t swear, although he did turn back to the sea again.

  “Is it normal for you just to stand there, oozing comfort?” he said at last.

  She flushed. “I hope it’s not normal for me to ooze anything at all. But if it helps, I’m content.”

  He didn’t respond, merely gazed out to sea for a while longer, before he asked, “Was your business in Blackhaven successful?”

  “I have ordered new boots and I breakfasted at the hotel with Lady Serena—Lady Tamar,” she corrected. For some reason, it seemed too much information to mention Colonel Fredericks. “Have you sent Rosa shopping with Miss Benedict?”

  “I sent them on to the ice parlor without me. Once was enough for me, even for the pleasure of watching Rosa’s face as she eats.”

  “Two ices in one day! You are an indulgent parent.”

  “Well, I was never very moderate myself. I sympathize.”

  She could imagine it. Carefully, she avoided looking at him. Somehow, she knew it would make it easier for him to answer. “Are you quite well, sir?”

  “Not quite,” he replied. “But I’m getting there.”

  “Is that why you feel the need of comfort?”

  “No, it’s my self-pity that requires it. But I’ve done now.”

  “Then for your health, might I recommend the Blackhaven waters?”

  He glanced at her with amusement. “A little harmless trickery?”

  “Oh, there’s no trick. It’s only mineral water from the hills, which trickles underground and comes out at the Pump Room. But many people have noticed improvements in their health.”

  “Any reputable physicians?” he asked wryly.

  “I don’t know. But when Lady Serena was very down a month or so back, she took the waters and is now quite restored.” She didn’t mention that she was also restored to Lord Tamar, which was probably at least as much to do with the improvement. “But if you feel a physician would benefit you more, I believe Dr. Lampton is very well thought of.”

  “By the rich troubled with nervous disorders?”

  “By everyone, I think. I believe the 44th use him, too, now that their surgeon is abroad. It would do no harm if you asked Dr. Lampton to call. And in the meantime, it would certainly do you no harm to drink the waters.”

  He regarded her with some amusement. “Very well,” he said unexpectedly. “Take me to your wretched waters.”

  As they walked, a few acquaintances greeted her, one or two by name. All looked askance at her scarred escort. She wondered if the limp made him appear more or less of a threat. But since his temper was erratic at best, she was just grateful no one stopped to make conversation. Until, within sight of the pump room, they encountered Mrs. Winslow and Miss Muir.

  Mrs. Winslow’s eyes lit up at once. Fresh grist for her rumor mill, Caroline realized as she paused politely to greet the ladies. And as they both waited agog, there was nothing for it but to introduce her companion.

  “Allow me to present Mr. Benedict of Haven Hall, who has recently employed me to teach his daughter. Sir, Mrs. Winslow, the squire’s lady, and Miss Muir.”

  “Oh my,” said Miss Muir, who was deaf as a post and often spoke without seeming to realize other people could hear her.

  “What a surprise,” Mrs. Winslow commented after exchanging distant bows with Benedict. “And do we not get to meet the new pupil?”

  “One day, I’m sure,” Caroline said hastily. “She is currently in the ice parlor with her aunt.”

  “Ladies,” Mr. Benedict said coldly, raising his hat and walking on.

  With an apologetic smile, Caroline hurried after him. “There is the pump room,” she said as they reached the entrance with its fake Grecian pillars. “I believe you can swim. Or simply drink the water.”

  “Thank you,” he said gravely. She nodded and turned away. Mrs. Winslow and Miss Muir were still gazing in her direction. “What will you tell them about me?”

  “That you are grumpy and afraid of doctors,” she said and walked away.

  His surprised laughter followed her and made her smile as she raised a hand to the ladies and cut up the side road toward High Street.

  Chapter Eight

  Caroline didn’t return with the family to Haven Hall. For one thing, she needed time to think about Colonel Fredericks’s information, and for another, she felt unaccountably guilty that she hadn’t already told her employer what she knew. Nor did she understand why any of this should be so important to her. Her employer’s private life wasn’t really any of her business, except insofar as it affected her pupil.

  “I’m sorry to bring you out again,” she said to Williams when she finally met the carriage at four o’clock in the gathering dusk.

  “Don’t be,” Williams said cheerfully, stepping down from the box to open the door and let down the steps. “It’s good for me and the horses.”

  Although it was dark by the time they reached home, it was hardly late, and Caroline wasn’t prepared for the whirlwind that flew across the hall and into her arms with enough force to make her stagger. Tiny lolloped at her heels, barking. Caroline fended him off with one hand, distractedly ruffling his head while she hugged the child.

  “Rosa, what on earth’s the matter?” she demanded, peering down into her face.

  Rosa shook her head, smiling through dried tears.

  “You thought I wouldn’t come back?” Caroline guessed.

  Rosa nodded.

  “Well,” Caroline said. “I wouldn’t be a very pleasant person if I just wandered off without saying goodbye to you. Or to your father and aunt. Am I so unpleasant?”

  Smiling again, Rosa shook her head violently.

  “There you are then.” She hugged Rosa again, then released her. “Come, I think it’s time we both washed and changed for dinner.”

  As she turned to the stairs, she saw Mr. Benedict watching them from the corner of the passage that led to his study. He stood in the shadows, as if he hadn’t intended to be noticed, one shoulder leaning against the wall. Her heart gave one of its all-too-frequent lurches, but she carried on as if she hadn’t seen him.

  Twenty minutes later, having refreshed herself and changed into her slightly less dull gown, she straightened her shoulders, picked up the packet of invitations, and went downstairs in search of her employer.

  Caroline always preferred things to be straightforward and open. And yet, even as she sought to make them so, she was aware she now had her own secrets. She could never reveal the effect he had on her. She didn’t even know what it was. She just hoped it would pass, for it was entirely uncomfortable. And totally wonderful.

  I’m addled. I’m madder than all the Benedicts put together and I must pull my
self together.

  With this stern admonition to herself, she raised her hand and knocked smartly on the study door.

  “Come in,” said the distracted voice beyond.

  Had she really hoped not to find him? No, but she wasn’t looking forward to the difficulties of the coming interview.

  Opening the door, she walked into the study. From the hearth, Tiny didn’t trouble to even lift his head this time, though he did thump his tail on the floor a couple of times by way of welcome.

  His master kept on writing busily. “I thought it would be you,” he observed as his pen flew across the page. Impatiently, he dipped it in the ink and scribbled another couple of words, added a definite full stop, and all but threw the pen into its stand before he rose to his feet.

  “Miss Grey,” he acknowledged. “My train of thought tends to wander these days. I need to write it down while it’s still lucid. What can I do for you?”

  She set the packet of invitations on the desk in front of him. “Lady Tamar gave me these for you and your family. And me. They are invitations to a party at the castle.”

  His lip quirked. “I shall not stop you going.”

  “You are kind. But I wanted to talk you about taking Rosa.”

  “No.”

  “That’s not really a discussion,” she observed. “Sir, I do not wish to simply drop her in there and leave her to cope alone. I have a plan to build up her tolerance and even appreciation of company.”

  To her surprise, he gestured her to the sofa and came out from behind his desk. He limped over to the decanter and poured a glass.

  “No, I thank you,” she said hastily when he cocked an eyebrow in her direction.

  Taking his glass, he sauntered over to the sofa and sat beside her before taking a mouthful of brandy.

  “Very well,” he said wryly. “Now I’m ready.”

  So, she outlined her proposal to introduce Rosa gradually to greater intimacy with Helen and then with her sisters, and to the castle, all before the party which she hoped Rosa might actually enjoy, even for an hour or two.