Engagement of Convenience
Engagement of Convenience
Georgie Lee
Julia Howard longs for the freedom her inheritance will bring her – but with her controlling brother holding the purse strings she’s going to need a most convenient engagement… And an encounter in the woods with a dashing stranger couldn’t be more timely.Wounded, his life at sea at an end, Captain James Covington isn’t prepared for the dull ache of civilian life. He sees in Julia a fellow adventurous spirit – willing to risk all. Could agreeing to her outrageous proposal help him recapture a reason to live as they face the biggest adventure of all – marriage?
Two adventurous spirits
Julia Howard longs for the freedom her inheritance will bring her—but with her controlling brother holding the purse strings, she’s going to need a most convenient engagement… An encounter in the woods with a dashing stranger couldn’t be more timely.
Wounded, his life at sea at an end, Captain James Covington isn’t prepared for the dull ache of civilian life. He sees in Julia a fellow adventurous spirit—willing to risk all. Could agreeing to her outrageous proposal help him recapture a reason to live as they face the biggest adventure of all—marriage?
She whirled to face him, closing the short distance between them. ‘How dare you address me in such an intimate manner?’
‘I think it only fitting, since we’re engaged.’
There it was again, his knowing smile, the one she found so infuriating. What was it about this man who annoyed her with such charm?
‘Yes, engaged, and not even that, yet you already act like a husband.’
‘If I hadn’t undermined your authority some servant would have pummelled you.’
‘I do not wish to discuss it.’ She continued towards the house, too worked up by the fight, the wound and the Captain to stand still.
‘Julia, please stop.’
The tender request held more power than any of his commands, bringing her to a halt. He walked around to stand in front of her but she refused to meet his face. She kept her head down, studying his boots.
‘Whatever you think of my interfering, I only meant to help, and whether our engagement is real or fake doesn’t matter. I had no desire to see you hurt.’
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t play this game.’
He took her hand. ‘I very much enjoy this game, my little Artemis.’
AUTHOR NOTE
ENGAGEMENT OF CONVENIENCE was fun to write, but at times it proved a challenge. When I was three-quarters of the way through my first draft Julia and James stopped talking to me and everything stalled. I waited patiently for them to tell me where they wanted to go, and when they remained stubbornly silent I threatened to burn Knollwood to the ground if Julia didn’t start talking to me again. Thanks to a little inspiration from a history-themed daily desk calendar, and some research, I didn’t have to resort to such drastic measures.
Research was key to crafting this story, and I studied subjects ranging from Thomas Jefferson’s agricultural innovations to HMS Pickle’s return from the Battle of Trafalgar. I enjoyed weaving real events from the period into the lives of my fictional characters and using it all to help Julia and James reach their happy ending.
Now that their story is in print I’m enjoying something of my own happy ending, all the while heading back into my non-fiction history books to find more inspiration for my next novel. I hope you enjoy ENGAGEMENT OF CONVENIENCE. Please visit my website www.georgie-lee.com to learn more about me and my other historical works.
Engagement of
Convenience
Georgie Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A dedicated history and film buff, GEORGIE LEE loves combining her passion for Hollywood, history and storytelling through romantic fiction. She began writing professionally at a small TV station in San Diego, before moving to Hollywood to work in the interesting but strange world of the entertainment industry. During her years in La-La Land she never lost her love for romance novels and decided to try writing one herself. To her surprise, a new career was born. When not crafting tales of love and happily-ever-after, Georgie enjoys reading non-fiction history and watching any movie with a costume and an accent. Please visit www.georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books. She also loves to hear from readers, and you can e-mail her at georgie.lee@yahoo.com
This is Georgie Lee’s fabulous debut novel for Mills & Boon
Historical Romance!
Enjoy the witty, playful attraction between Julia and Captain Covington.There will be more historical novels by Georgie Lee, coming soon …
A very special thank you to Natashya Wilson for
seeing the potential in this story and for all her help.
Thanks also to my editor, Linda Fildew,
my agent, Ethan Ellenberg, and my friend Kristi
for sharing her knowledge of horses.
Also, thanks to my dear husband, Matt,
who always believes in me, even if he wouldn’t have
believed it if someone told him years ago
he’d someday be married to a romance writer.
Contents
Chapter One (#uf8c54da6-55cb-51f3-bb2e-2cf98d4e96b3)
Chapter Two (#u41214851-7295-579f-8a53-d118ab0cf60f)
Chapter Three (#uad10e4e1-3477-5a8e-8a04-efd6258b6509)
Chapter Four (#u7c950713-1c9a-5e15-a94c-74746d34d5e1)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
October 31, 1805
Julia heard the shot from the top of the hill. It split the early morning still, sending a shock through her body and silencing the birds in the surrounding trees. Pulling hard on Manfred’s reins, she brought the large black horse to a halt and examined the woods below the riding path for signs of the shooter. Brilliant shades of orange, red and yellow dominated the trees and a gentle breeze sent many of the leaves cascading to the ground. A flock of birds rose from the forest, indicating the shot’s origin, but she saw nothing of the gunman. Uncle George often hunted here, but he was not expected back from London until later today.
How dare they, she fumed, nudging Manfred down the sloping hill and into the thick cluster of trees growing along the small valley floor. Only a guest of their neighbours, the Wilkinses, possessed the audacity to hunt uninvited on Knollwood land.
Low branches tugged at her hair, freeing it from the loose bun fastened at the nape of her neck. Pushing it back out of her face, she knew her sister-in-law Emily would object to such a display, but Julia didn’t care. She wasn’t about to allow the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends to poach in her woods.
As she urged Manfred deeper into the thicket, it didn’t occur to her to fetch the gamekeeper until the horse stepped into a small clearing as the culprit let off another shot in the opposite direction. Julia flinched at the thunderous noise, but Manfred, true to his warhorse breeding, stood rock still. Only his twitching ears acknowledged the explosion.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ Julia demanded.
The stranger whirled to face her and she drew in a sharp breath. Here was no fat wastrel, but the most handsome rogue she’d ever seen. The low sunlight cutting through the trees highlighted the deep-red tones in his dark hair and sharpened the bones of his cheeks. The shadow of a beard marked the square line of his jaw, emphasising his straight nose and strong chin. Her pulse raced with an emotion far different from fear. She could not name it, but it emanated from deep within her body.
‘I’m hunting,’ he answered plainly. Leaning his gun against a tree, he straightened into a stance reminiscent of the one her brother Paul assumed when a superior officer commanded him to relax.
‘You are poaching in my woods. Now remove yourself at once before I call the gamekeeper. He’s only a short distance away,’ Julia lied, hoping he believed it. The knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips told her otherwise.
‘I’d like to see your gamekeeper try to remove me.’
Julia scrutinised him, hard pressed to imagine any of the servants, except perhaps the blacksmith, taking on such a sturdy man. He was tall and slender but solid, his wide shoulders and strong chest radiating a strength his loose-fitting hunting clothes could not hide. Following the line of his long arms to his hands, she imagined them around her waist, lifting her down from Manfred and pressing her against his body. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation of him claiming her mouth, the warmth of it driving away the morning chill.
Swallowing hard, the danger of the situation rushed back to her at the sight of the hunting knife dangling from his belt and she mustered her anger to counter the scandalous thoughts. His gun might be empty, but there was no way to know his skill with the blade. ‘I demand you leave, at once.’
‘I must say, I’ve never been addressed in this fashion before.’ His blue eyes dipped down the length of her, then rose to her face. ‘Especially not by such an attractive young lady.’
Julia grasped her riding crop tighter, ready to whip him if he threatened her, but he still did not approach. ‘If I were trespassing on your land, I’d have the decency to be humble, but since you are trespassing on my land I may address you as I please.’
‘You would have to travel a great distance to trespass on my land.’ He laughed, much to Julia’s chagrin.
‘Then be off,’ she ordered, ‘for the sooner you leave, the sooner you may reach your land.’ With all the grace of an accomplished horsewoman, she pulled Manfred around and cantered away.
* * *
James watched the woman disappear through the trees. Her horse, if one could call such a beast a horse, kicking up the soft earth, leaving behind clouds of dust to dance in the dappled sunlight. Nothing came to mind except pure awe, like the first time he’d been at sea with no sight of land. Neither the dark maidens of the islands hardened by tavern life, nor the plantation owners’ daughters with their languid speech, ever struck him as this woman had. No, she seemed too much of the world, yet strangely innocent of it. What would he give to slip her from her horse, lay her on the damp leaves and make her more knowledgeable?
His body stiffened at the delightful fantasy before the shifting sun piercing the trees nearly blinded him. Judging by its height, he knew it was time to go. Grabbing the haversack from the ground with his left hand, he felt pain tear through his shoulder and the bag fell from his weakened hand, landing on the ground with a thud.
‘Hell.’ He snatched it up with his right hand and flung it over his shoulder. The gun’s recoil had irritated his wound more than he’d realised. Despite the stinging ache, he didn’t intend to give up hunting. He’d already lost too much to sacrifice more.
Picking up the gun, he hurried through the woods along a small footpath leading up to the top of the hill. Climbing out of the shallow valley, the pain and all the emotions it brought with it taunted his every step.
Damn it, damn it all, James thought bitterly, striding off down the opposite side of the hill and up the next steeper one, scattering a small group of sheep grazing in the wet grass.
Up ahead, Creedon Abbey rose before him, its grey stone, small windows and numerous turrets and chimneys betraying its roots in the Middle Ages. James’s old friend Captain George Russell had done well for himself, investing some of the fortune he’d gained in the Navy in this small estate. Only the broken and charred roof timbers and smoke-blackened stone ruined the idyllic scene. George had failed to extinguish an oil lamp one night two weeks ago and the resulting fire had gutted a large portion of the house. Scores of workmen now bustled about the front drive, unloading large blocks of stone from carts or carrying wood inside to begin the first day of repairs.
James shook his head at the damage, not sure whether to feel sorry for his friend or to laugh. Thirty years in the navy, fifteen as a captain and George had never once lost a ship. Within four years of resigning his commission, he’d nearly burned his house to the ground. For all George’s bragging about how much he’d learned from his niece about running an estate, he’d failed to master the simple skill of not setting it on fire.
James’s amusement faded as he walked. He’d seriously considered investing his money in an estate like this, but now he wasn’t so sure. Whatever he decided to do, he needed to do it soon. With his wound sufficiently recovered, it was time to settle on something meaningful to occupy his days, instead of frittering them away.
He moved faster up the footpath following the drive, eager for activity, anything to shift the restless agitation dogging him this morning.
‘What’s the hurry?’ a familiar voice called out from behind him. ‘Run across a ghost in the woods?’
James turned to see George leading Percy, his large, cream-coloured stallion, up the drive. In his friend’s wide, carefree smile, James caught traces of the bold captain he’d first met in the colonies ten years ago. At fifty, the lines of George’s face were deeper now, while the quiet life of a country gentleman had lightened his once sun darkened skin and thickened his waist.
‘I might have.’ James fell in step with his friend. ‘Describe your niece again.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m curious.’
George shrugged. ‘Just what you’d expect from a girl of one and twenty. Clever, well formed, somewhat eccentric. Takes after me in that regard. Why?’
‘I met her in the woods.’ James remembered the striking young lady with her auburn hair falling in delicate waves about her face, her creamy skin flushed with excitement and a few headier emotions.
‘Really?’ A noticeable gleam danced in George’s eyes. ‘And?’
‘Eccentric, well formed. Though from all your descriptions, I’d taken her for more of a dour governess and less of an Artemis.’
‘When I described her she was still a girl.’
‘She’s no girl now.’ James wondered if such a woman had ever truly been a girl or if she’d simply sprung from the foam of the sea.
‘I’m glad to see you find her so interesting. Staying at Knollwood will give you a chance to get better acquainted. Who knows what you might discover?’
James shifted the haversack on his back, resisting the urge to run his fingers over the jagged scar on his left shoulder. ‘Must we go to Knollwood?’
‘Yes, it’s all been arranged. Besides, by the end of the day it’ll be more like a shipyard here than a house and, with the weather turning, you don’t want the rain leaking on your head.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve lost track of the number of storms I’ve slept through at sea.’
‘And my guess is you won’t miss it. We wouldn’t have stayed here last night if we hadn’t dallied so long at Admiral Stuart’s dinner, but I hated to disturb everyone at Knollwood so late at night.’
James laughed. ‘I wasn’t the one who insisted on opening another bottle of port.’
‘It doesn’t matter who caused the delay. I’ll be happy to sleep in a comfortable room that doesn’t smell like a cooking fire. And here I’d thought those bedrooms had escaped damage.’
‘You’ve gone soft.’
George shrugged. ‘You will, too, in time.’
James didn’t respond, this revelation not improving his mood. He’d already lost too much since resigning his commission to contemplate losing something as simple as his hardiness. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before we left London that the house wasn’t fit to live in?’
‘I think I greatly underestimated the damage.’ They stopped as two men carrying a large plank walked past them. ‘Besides, the ladies are quite excited at the prospect of meeting a new gentleman.’
‘You know I came here to escape such affairs.’
‘Does any man ever truly escape them?’
‘You seem to have avoided it.’
‘And you wish to follow my lead?’
James scrutinised his old friend, suspecting more to all this than the extensive fire damage simply slipping his mind. ‘What are you about, George?’
‘Nothing.’ George held up his hands innocently but only succeeded in looking guiltier. ‘I want you to enjoy yourself while you’re here. Now hurry and change. We’re expected at Knollwood.’
George pulled Percy off to the stables and James headed around to the back of the house, his footsteps heavier than before. Reaching under the loose jacket, his fingers traced the raised scar on his left shoulder through the thin fabric of his hunting shirt. Unconsciously, he flexed his left hand, feeling the weakness and cursing it. He stomped on a large clump of mud, mashing it into the earth. This was exactly what he didn’t want, the whole reason he’d allowed George to convince him to come to the country.
He cursed his luck and George’s carelessness. If his friend had extinguished the lamp instead of leaving it to overheat, James could have spent the next two weeks here, not forced into Artemis’s cave waiting to be ripped apart by her wild beasts. He’d experienced enough clawing and tearing in the ballrooms of London. He had no stomach for it here in the country. Give him a French fleet any day; it was preferable to a matron with a marriageable daughter.
A flash of movement on the opposite hill made him stop at the rear door. He watched the young woman ride at a full gallop over the green downs, the horse moving like a shadow, her amber hair a streak of sunlight through the dark clouds. The memory of the little Artemis astride the black beast, face flushed with anger, pert breasts rising and falling with each excited breath, filled his mind. His loins stirred with desire before he checked himself. It was one thing to idle away hours with the willing widowed sister of a provincial governor; it was quite another to dally with the niece of his best friend.
Besides, no spirited creature wants a broken man. He pushed away from the wall, angrily slapping the door jamb. The rough stone stung his palm, reminding him that any interest in Miss Howard could only be to learn from her estate management skills which, according to George, were considerable. If James decided to follow his friend into the life of a country gentleman, he’d need to know more about it than what little he’d learn from books.
* * *
Manfred reached the crest of the hill, breathing hard, his dark coat glistening with sweat. Julia eased him into a slow walk and they ambled down the bridle path tracing the top. A thin mist crept through the crevices of the valley while sheep grazed quietly in the green meadows. The three estates situated on the three high hills overlooking the rolling valley came into view. Creedon Abbey, the smallest, stood on the hill closest to Knollwood. Though some five miles off, the tips of the turrets were just visible above the surrounding trees. All the land here had once belonged to the old monastery before the Reformation and some debt-ridden descendant saw it sold off to create Knollwood and Cable Grange. There was little difference between Creedon land and Knollwood land, but drastic changes marked the boundary between Knollwood’s lush, well-tended meadows and Cable Grange’s weed-choked fields. Cable Grange stood on the third-highest hill in the area. Farther away than Creedon, she could just see it sitting on its hilltop perch, the distance obscuring its neglected state. Being so close to Knollwood, she knew Cable Grange could be one of the finest houses in the county.
If only it were mine. She didn’t know who to curse more, her brother Charles for inheriting Knollwood or Mr Wilkins for ruining Cable Grange.
Adjusting her leg against the pommel, she wished she’d chosen her standard saddle instead of the side-saddle. It was still early and the rest of the house had yet to rise, making it unlikely Emily would catch her riding astride. Soothed by Manfred’s gentle gait, she settled into the seat, her mind wandering back to the woods and the handsome stranger.
He called me attractive, she mulled, remembering the heady way his blue eyes raked her body, their heat warming her skin. Four years ago, standing against the wall during London balls, she’d seen gentlemen examine other young ladies with similar hot eyes, nudging each other knowingly. For all her London finery, not one gentleman had cast a single amorous glance in her direction. How strange to garner a lustful stare while dressed in her old riding habit.
If only he weren’t one of the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends. She sighed, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips tease her neck while he whispered forbidden things in her ear. A strange thrill coursed through her before she forced the wicked daydream from her head. He was a scoundrel and not worth a second thought.
Digging her heel into Manfred’s flanks, she drove him hard across the open ground, guiding him towards a hedge separating the fields. Pulling back on his reins, she sat forwards as he leapt and they easily cleared the bushes before landing on the other side.
‘Well done, Manfred!’
She slowed him to a walk and, coming to another path, looked longingly east. A smooth mound stood out against the flatter fields, the ruins on top silhouetted by the rising sun. At a full gallop, they could reach the old fortress in a few minutes and she might spend a quiet hour picking through the high grass searching for relics. Her heel itched to tap Manfred, but she resisted, reluctantly directing him back to Knollwood. Emily expected her at breakfast. Why, she couldn’t imagine. Neither Simon nor Annette, her stepcousins, had risen before noon since their arrival and when they were awake, they only complained about the country.
What could Uncle Edward possibly hope to accomplish by sending them here? she wondered, wishing he’d hurry up and recall them to London.
They trotted into the paddock, greeted by the fresh scent of hay and the sharper smell of horses.
‘I see you’ve had another fine ride, Miss Howard,’ John, the head groom, remarked, helping her down from the saddle. ‘I’ve always said the two of you were made for each another.’
‘That’s because I believed in him when no one else did. Didn’t I, Manfred?’ Julia rubbed the horse’s nose and he shook his head as if in agreement. ‘John, please speak to the gamekeeper. I saw a poacher in the forest this morning.’
‘A poacher?’ He held Manfred’s reins, disbelief deepening the lines of his forehead. ‘We’ve never had such trouble before.’
‘Well, I believe the man is a poacher, though it may have only been one of Mr Wilkins’s guests.’
‘Mr Wilkins has no guests, Miss Howard.’
Then who could he be? Julia tapped her riding crop against her palm, then handed it to John. ‘No matter. Please ask the gamekeeper to take care of it.’
‘Yes, Miss Howard.’
‘Oh, and please don’t mention it to Mother or Emily. They’ll only worry and then Emily will lecture me if she discovers I went riding without you.’ Emily had been married to her brother Charles for less than a year, but she’d prove his equal when it came to chastising Julia about proper behaviour.
‘I won’t say a word.’ John laid a knowing finger against the side of his ruddy nose before leading Manfred inside.
Thank goodness for his loyalty, she thought, fastening up the long hem of her riding habit. Without him, she and Manfred might never be allowed to enjoy their solitary rides.
Walking up the path from the stables, she passed through a small grove of trees and into the large, open lawn. Crossing the wide space, she kicked the head off a dandelion, sprinkling her skirt with bits of grass and dew.
I must speak to Bill about bringing the sheep here to trim the grass, she reminded herself before passing through a gate in the low stone wall surrounding the garden on the other side.
Wandering down the gravel path through the semi-formal plant beds, she saw the house rise up in front of her, its many windows reflecting the morning sun. She removed her right glove and grazed the top of a large rosemary bush with her fingers before snapping off a sprig and inhaling the tangy scent. All the troubles she’d forgotten during her ride came rushing back, especially Charles’s letter.
‘His estate.’ Julia threw the rosemary sprig on the ground, crushing it beneath her half-boot. ‘What does he know of running Knollwood?’
She’d burned the hateful parchment after reading it, watching with delight as the neat script crumpled and charred in the flames. However, all the burned letters couldn’t stop her brother from claiming his inheritance.
Pausing at the small pond in the centre of the garden, she stared into the dark water. Goldfish flitted beneath the glass surface, failing to disturb the reflection of the thick clouds passing overhead.
Why should he have Knollwood? Tears of frustration stung her eyes. He’s never taken an interest in it the way I have.
Nor did he appreciate all her hard work to keep it prosperous. Only Father and Paul had ever recognised it, but with Paul serving with Admiral Nelson’s fleet and Father—
No, she commanded herself, refusing to cry. Tears would not help her deal with Charles.
Heading up the garden path, she passed her mother’s cherished rose garden, then hurried up the stairs of the column-lined stone portico leading to the back sitting room.
‘Good morning, Miss Howard,’ Davies, the butler, greeted, pulling open the large French door.
‘Good morning.’ She handed him her gloves and he held out a small paper-covered parcel.
‘This arrived from Mr Charles Howard.’
‘My book.’ She tore off the wrapper to reveal a leather-bound copy of The Monk. ‘I can’t believe Charles sent it. He’s always so concerned about not disturbing my delicate female mind. It’s fortunate he doesn’t know the half of what Paul tells me.’
‘Yes, very fortunate indeed,’ Davies solemnly concurred. He’d been Paul’s valet when Paul still lived at Knollwood, making him well acquainted with her brother’s nature and most of his escapades.
‘Has Uncle George returned from London yet?’
‘Captain Russell arrived a short while ago to collect Percy and speak with Mrs Emily Howard. He’s returned to Creedon Abbey to see to the repairs.’
‘Uncle George was here and didn’t wait for me?’
‘No, miss, but it appears we are to expect another gentleman.’
‘Who?’
‘Mrs Howard did not say, but she instructed me to open Paul’s room for him.’
Julia chafed at the news. ‘When is he arriving?’
‘This afternoon.’
‘Thank you, Davies. Please tell Mrs Howard I won’t be joining her for breakfast.’
‘Yes, miss.’
Julia walked down the hall to the study, determined to avoid the breakfast room no matter how many lectures it might create. What right did Emily have to make decisions at Knollwood? The maids and footmen were stretched thin enough with Uncle George staying here and all her stepcousins’ demands.
Crossing the study’s large, woven rug, Julia sighed. Emily, as Charles’s wife, had every right to invite whomever she pleased, even if it did mean additional work for Julia and the staff. For a moment she imagined herself mistress of her own home, free to make decisions and live without her brother’s censure, then dismissed the thought. Once Charles took control, he’d soon realise the limitations of his estate management skills, or return to London for Parliament in the spring, leaving Knollwood in Julia’s hands once again. Or so she hoped. Her brother had a habit of being very stubborn.
She sat down behind the large, mahogany desk situated at the far end of the study. High bookcases lined one wall while south-facing windows with a view of the garden dominated the other. A tall, wooden bookstand supporting a fine atlas stood guard near the window, flanked by two leather chairs. Her father had decorated the room, choosing every element down to each book. From here he conducted all family business, patiently bearing Charles’s sermons about the proper education for Julia, dealing with one of Paul’s many near scandals or teaching Julia to run Knollwood.
It’d happened by accident, after she’d fled here one day to avoid drawing lessons. Sitting with her father while he reviewed the figures, she’d asked questions and he’d answered them, noticing her interest. The next day, he’d invited her to join him again and it became their habit. In the afternoons, they’d ride the estate, speaking with the workers and learning their methods and the land. Then, one day, he told her to do the figures, allowed her to sit in the room while he met with the overseer and gave her correspondence to read and answer. No one in the family except Charles questioned her strange education and Father would laugh him off, saying he wasn’t about to lose his best manager because she was a girl.
Julia smiled at the memory, then opened the large, leather-bound ledger. Settling herself over the accounts, she reviewed the figures, wrinkling her nose at the increased expenditures brought on by her stepcousins’ visit. Closing the ledger, she gathered up the large bundle of letters resting on the corner of the desk. She read through the missives, the minute details of the dairy and reports from the tenant farmers helping her forget the excitement of the morning.
Chapter Two
The study door swung open, startling Julia, and her pencil slipped, leaving a dark mark across two rows of figures.
‘Yes?’ she answered testily as Davies entered the room.
‘Captain Russell and his guest have arrived.’
Tossing down the pencil, she sat back in the chair, needing just a few more minutes to finish balancing the accounts. ‘They’re early.’
‘I believe they are on time.’
She looked at the windows, finally noticing how the sun and shadows had shifted in the garden and the room. ‘How long have I been working?’
‘All morning, Miss Howard.’
‘Then I’d better hurry and join them or I’ll never know a moment’s peace with Emily.’ Closing the ledger, she stood and started for the door. ‘Though I know Uncle George won’t mind my being late. He isn’t one for formality.’
‘Excuse me, Miss Howard...’ Davies coughed ‘...perhaps a change of dress is advisable.’
She stopped, inspecting the riding habit skirt, her loose hair falling over her face. Bits of leaves stuck to the honey-coloured fabric, making the damp hem noticeable and emphasising the creases along with the habit’s older style. She hardly ever wore this habit, but she’d soiled her better one yesterday by taking Manfred over a fence and through the mud on the other side. Had she seen the puddle, she wouldn’t have jumped him.
‘I’ll never hear the end of it if Emily catches me greeting guests in such a state. Where are they?’
‘The morning room.’
‘Do you think I can sneak upstairs and change before she sees me?’
‘It is quite possible, Miss Howard.’
‘We shall see.’
She hurried from the study and down the corridor. Approaching the entrance hall, she crept over the stone floor to the stairs, listening to Uncle George’s robust laughter followed by the deep tones of the other gentleman in the morning room. The stranger’s voice sounded oddly familiar, but she didn’t dare peek inside for fear of being seen. Stealing past the open door, she turned the corner to slip upstairs, coming face to face with her sister-in-law.
‘What are you doing in your riding habit?’ Emily demanded in hushed tones, her delicate eyes darting nervously to the morning room. ‘And your hair? You can’t welcome your guests looking like a dairy maid.’
‘My guests?’
‘Never mind. We’ll say you were out riding and then you can meet the captain now before Uncle George drags him off for who knows how long.’ Emily pulled her in front of the gilded mirror beneath the stairs and out of sight of the door.
‘Did you say Uncle George’s guest is a captain?’ Julia winced as Emily untangled a small twig from her hair.
‘Yes, Captain Covington.’
‘Uncle George’s friend from Tortuga?’ Julia twisted around to face Emily before her sister-in-law gently spun her back to the mirror, dividing her hair into three sections, then working them into a braid.
‘Yes, I believe so.’
Julia forced down a frustrated sigh. Single gentlemen were a rarity at Knollwood and Julia could practically see Emily’s matchmaking machinations. It was the only explanation for why she insisted on this hurried first meeting. Apparently, she didn’t know as much about Uncle George’s friend as Julia did or she wouldn’t be so excited, or eager to make the introduction. ‘Well, if Captain Covington is to stay with us, I’d better instruct Davies to lock up the brandy.’
‘Captain Covington isn’t that kind of gentleman.’
‘Then I’d better lock up the maids.’
‘Julia!’ Emily stared at her in the mirror, her pale face alight with shock. ‘Young ladies shouldn’t know about such things.’
Thankfully Paul thinks I should. If Emily and Charles ever learned the full extent of what Paul had told her, they’d probably chaperon their every conversation.
Emily smoothed the sturdy wool of Julia’s habit, picking off stray leaves, her hands fluttering while she worked.
‘You received another letter from Charles, didn’t you?’ Julia asked. Emily’s concern for propriety always increased after a letter from her husband.
Emily blushed, pink spreading from her cheeks to her light blonde hair. ‘Am I so obvious?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘It’s only because we want to see you well settled.’
‘No, it’s because Charles thinks I don’t act like a proper lady and such behaviour will cause a scandal and hurt his career in Parliament.’
Emily laid a motherly hand on Julia’s shoulder. ‘Your brother loves you and only wants to see you happy.’
Despite the well-meaning remark, Julia wasn’t ready to concede defeat. ‘I’m happy as I am.’
Emily moved behind Julia, fastening the braid into a small bun at the nape of her neck. ‘I know, but time doesn’t stand still. Some day you may want more.’
‘What about Simon and Annette? They aren’t greeting Uncle George. Why not censure them?’
‘It’s not my place to comment on their conduct.’ Emily frowned and pulled her lips tight. ‘They are both indisposed and will be down later.’
Julia bit back a sharp retort about the two of them always being indisposed when another idea came to mind. ‘Perhaps I can speak to Captain Covington about Paul’s promotion. Maybe he knows someone in the Admiralty who can arrange for Paul to get his own ship. I can’t believe he didn’t receive a command. If I ever find the man who wrote his bad recommendation—’
‘I’m sure your brother is capable of managing his own affairs,’ her mother interrupted, descending the stairs. Her grey eyes took in Julia, neither approving nor disapproving of her attire. Under her arm Charlemagne, her King Charles spaniel, panted, his pink tongue dangling from his mouth. Mother swept into the morning room, her plain dress whispering about her legs, her dark hair flecked with grey pulled neatly into a twist at the back of her head. Julia envied Mother’s refined presence and decorum, wondering how many difficulties she could have avoided if fate had given her even a small portion of Mother’s poise.
Emily, eager to fulfil her duties as hostess and, Julia thought, to fling her in the captain’s path, guided Julia to the morning room. ‘Come along. We’ve kept our guest waiting long enough.’
Inside, Mother exchanged pleasantries with Uncle George and the captain, who stood with his back to Julia.
‘Your lands are some of the best I’ve seen,’ he complimented, the rich, familiar voice vibrating through Julia. She noticed the dark hair curling just above the collar of his uniform and the way the sunlight falling through the window highlighted the deep-red tones.
The stranger! A sudden rush of excitement mixed with fear jolted her and she froze just over the threshold.
‘Are you all right?’ Emily whispered and Julia shook her head, taking a large step back.
‘No, I think I should change.’ He’d seen her riding without a groom. If he mentioned it to Emily, there’d be no end to the reprimands.
‘It’s too late now.’ Emily gripped her arm tight to keep her from fleeing as she motioned to Uncle George.
‘And here is the party responsible for Knollwood’s prosperity.’ Uncle George ushered the captain to them. ‘Captain Covington, Miss Julia Howard.’
If she had thought him handsome in plain hunting clothes, he took her breath away in uniform. The dark coat with the gold epaulettes emphasised his wide shoulders and the powerful presence she had felt in the forest. Without the advantage of Manfred’s height, she had to look up at him. Though not overly tall, he stood a good head above her. The fantasy of being swept into his arms filled her mind once again and she swallowed hard.
‘A pleasure.’ He bowed.
Her eyes travelled the length of him as he straightened. Well-muscled calves stretched his hose tight while slightly looser breeches could not hide his strong thighs and other unmentionable areas. Feeling her cheeks burn, Julia focused on his face as she held out her hand. ‘Captain Covington, welcome to Knollwood.’
He wrapped his fingers lightly around hers, then swept his lips across the bare knuckles. Julia drew in a ragged breath, trying not to tremble. The white-trimmed collar of the coat framed his now clean-shaven face and she curled her fingers slightly around his to stop herself from tracing the smooth line of his jaw.
‘Good morning, Artemis.’ His breath tickled the back of her hand and her body tightened in shock. ‘I assume I am no longer trespassing on your land?’
She leaned closer, inhaling the earthy smell of his lavender shaving soap. ‘That remains to be seen.’
He squeezed her hand, then let go. Julia stepped back, very aware of Emily shifting from foot to foot behind him.
‘Have you two met before?’ Emily asked in a high voice.
‘I had the privilege of encountering Miss Howard while she was riding in the forest this morning,’ Captain Covington explained, oblivious to the trouble he’d just caused.
Julia braced herself for the coming scolding, wishing the captain had held his tongue.
‘You were riding without the groom again?’ Emily asked, the nervous quaver in her voice more irritating than a bur in a boot.
‘No, the groom was with her,’ James lied before Julia could answer. ‘But I’m afraid I failed to properly introduce myself and she mistook me for a poacher.’
Julia gaped at him, surprised he’d lie for her after the way she’d addressed him in the woods.
‘George left no detail untold regarding your management,’ he continued. ‘You have quite an estate. I’m very impressed.’
‘Thank you,’ she faltered, the compliment catching her off guard. Usually gentlemen scoffed at her unusual accomplishment. ‘I’m quite protective of it, as you may have gathered.’
‘Indeed. I’ve never met such a fearsome protector of woodland creatures in all my life.’
‘I’m sure many innocent creatures need protection from Navy men.’
Emily inhaled sharply and Uncle George snorted out a laugh while her mother continued to pet Charlemagne, barely noting the exchange.
The captain’s lips tightened in an attempt to keep from laughing and suddenly Julia regretted her impudent tongue. With all she knew of him from Uncle George’s stories, to fire off such forward remarks, no matter how innocent, might give him the wrong impression and it wasn’t very gracious, especially after he’d lied to help her.
‘Shall we sit down?’ Emily interrupted, nervously studying Julia and the captain.
‘Yes, thank you.’ He allowed Emily to escort him to the sofa and chairs near the window, her mother following close behind.
Julia stayed by the door, hoping she could slip away without Emily noticing. Decorum dictated she stay and entertain the captain, but something about him unnerved her. It was one thing to speak so frankly to family, quite another with a stranger, no matter how well he knew Uncle George. Better to leave now than risk another slip.
‘I see you hiding there.’ Uncle George came up alongside her, thumbs hooked in his jacket lapel.
‘I’m not hiding.’
‘Then come and join us.’
Julia smiled half-heartedly, watching the captain as he answered one of Mother’s questions, his smile steady as he spoke. Whatever the captain thought of her unconventional behaviour, he’d already forgotten it. Deep down, some part of her wanted him to notice her, the way he had in the woods. As if sensing her, he shifted in the chair, meeting her eyes, and she turned to Uncle George.
‘No, I have business to attend to.’
‘Leave it for later. I think you’ll enjoy the captain. You two already have quite the rapport.’ He tugged her ear playfully, the way he’d done since she was a child.
The friendly gesture usually made her smile. Today it increased the irritation chewing at her. ‘My work can’t wait.’
‘If you insist. But you can’t hide at Knollwood for ever. Eventually, you’ll have to get out in the world and live.’
‘I’m not hiding,’ Julia protested.
‘Of course not. Silly of me to say it.’ He patted her arm. ‘Go back to the study. I’ll make your excuses.’
Julia left, pausing a moment to listen to the muffled voices, suddenly feeling very alone. Walking through the back sitting room, she took in the sturdy walls of Knollwood covered in hunting prints and old portraits of well-dressed ancestors. Here she felt safe and, when not entertaining guests, confident in herself. Anywhere else she felt awkward and unsettled. What would happen if Charles took this away from her?
She slipped out of the French doors and crossed the garden to the far corner where the tall boxwood hedges hid her from the house. At the centre of this private courtyard stood a fountain of a man and woman locked in a passionate kiss, a copy of some nameless Greek statue. It had been a gift to their father from Paul after his first visit to Greece. Having no use for the statue in the house, her father had it made into a fountain, scandalising Charles, who insisted on hiding it in this secluded corner.
Julia plunked down on the stone bench in front of the fountain, watching the water run over the naked marble bodies. The polished stone glistened in the noon sun, intensifying the urgency of the lovers’ embrace. The man’s fingers dug into the hard flesh of the woman’s thigh, his hands entwined in her hair as she pressed her naked form against his. Her long, gracefully carved fingers rested against the taut muscles of the male’s well-chiselled back. Studying the lovers’ embrace, their bodies so close not even water could separate them, Julia felt her chest constrict. What would it be like to inspire such passion in a man?
Picking up a small stone, she flung it into the pool at the base of the fountain, sending a large splash up and over the side. Reaching down for another rock, she heard the pitter-patter of paws on gravel as Charlemagne barrelled down on her. The small dog threw his front paws up on her knees, his wagging tail shaking his whole body as Julia stroked his soft fur.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ her mother said, scooping up Charlemagne and sitting down next to her.
‘Did Emily send you here to chastise me for not being a perfect lady?’
‘Emily is a sweet girl, good for Charles and I adore her,’ her mother remarked, settling the wiggling dog on her lap. ‘But I seldom listen to her advice or Charles’s. I suggest you do the same.’
‘I’ve tried, but it only makes them more persistent.’
‘Yes, he takes after your grandfather in that regard.’ Charlemagne refused to be still and Mother put him on the ground. ‘You’re worried about Charles taking over Knollwood, aren’t you?’
Like Uncle George, Mother could be very direct and Julia found it both helpful and at times hindering. She watched Charlemagne sniff around the fountain, jumping back when an errant bead of water landed on his nose.
‘When he does, what will I do?’ Julia choked, digging the toe of her boot into the ground.
‘I think you’ll find something. You’re much more resourceful than either Charles or Paul.’
‘But what else could there possibly be for me?’
Her mother took Julia’s face in her hands, pushing a strand of hair off of her cheek. ‘That’s up to you to discover.’
She kissed Julia’s forehead, then rose, snapping her fingers at Charlemagne.
‘Do I hide from the world here?’ Julia asked before her mother could leave.
‘Who put such an idea in your head?’
‘Uncle George.’
The older woman laughed softly. ‘Since when do you take my brother seriously?’
Julia shrugged. ‘Emily and Charles are always saying it, in their own way.’
‘I think only you know the answer.’ She strolled out of the garden, Charlemagne close on her heels.
* * *
The quick click of a lady’s perturbed step drew James to the morning-room door. Miss Howard strode into the entrance hall, moving like a tempest, oblivious to everything but her own energy. Fascinated, he wanted to draw her out, but hesitated. Better to let her go than risk the blunt blow of her dark mood. However, something in the troubled frown on her pretty face prompted him to speak.
‘Miss Howard?’
The stomping girl vanished, replaced by an awkward young woman conscious of the world around her. ‘Yes?’
She stood on the bottom stair, one small hand on the oak banister, poised like a doe to flee. He wondered what had happened to make such an exuberant creature so timid. ‘I want to apologise for this morning. You took me quite by surprise.’
‘Yes, I imagine I did.’ She moved to leave, but he wasn’t ready to let her go.
‘I don’t usually meet young ladies in the forest so early in the morning.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’ she demanded with startling directness.
‘You didn’t ask,’ he laughed, his mirth evaporating under her stern glare. ‘Allow me to apologise. I should have introduced myself.’ He offered a humble bow, but it did not soften the small crease marring her smooth brow.
‘I wish you had for it might have saved us both a great deal of trouble.’
‘I shall endeavour to be more agreeable to you the next time we meet in a forest.’ The image of them alone among the trees, her hair loose about her naked shoulders, their bodies entwined came to mind. His hand itched to reach up and trace the gentle curve of her cheek, slip his fingers behind her long neck and draw her close.
‘There will be no next time,’ she corrected, ending the pleasant fantasy.
‘I think it quite possible,’ he teased. ‘Judging by this morning, I assume it is your habit to ride out alone in the mornings.’
‘Shh.’ She stepped closer, waving a silencing hand and filling the air between them with the faint scent of rosemary.
‘Your mother doesn’t approve of you riding alone?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘Mother doesn’t care, but Emily does.’ She stepped off the stair and stood in front of him, her face softening. ‘Thank you for not telling her you saw me riding without a groom. You spared me a great deal of trouble.’
‘It was my pleasure, and I’ll gladly do it again if the need arises.’
‘I hope it doesn’t come to that.’ She smiled, her face glowing with amusement.
‘You’re very pretty when you smile,’ he offered without thinking, amazed at how much her pleasure delighted him.
Her smile disappeared and she raised one disbelieving eyebrow. Something of the confident Artemis he’d seen this morning flashed in her hazel eyes, rousing his blood.
‘I know the country is lacking in diversions, but do not think to amuse yourself with me.’
James straightened, forgetting his desire. He should have been insulted, but he could hardly blame her for saying what he’d momentarily imagined. ‘You misunderstood my meaning. I have never, would never behave as you intimate.’
She fixed him with the same scrutinising look he once used on seamen when they told him a tall tale to cover their misdeeds. ‘I am not naïve, Captain. My brother and uncle tell me everything, so I know what Navy men are about.’
‘Do you?’ He struggled to keep the laughter out of his voice, still unable to believe a young woman with her hair pulled back like a dour nun could be so forward. He leaned against the wooden banister, bringing their faces much closer than intended. She did not step back. ‘I may have to change your opinion of Navy men.’
‘I’m afraid you have only worked to confirm it.’
Her saucy eyes teased him. Were this Tortuga, he would have covered her full mouth with his, allowed his fingers to free her hair from the bun as he pulled her close to kiss away the wry smile dancing about her lips. However, his good breeding, not to mention his status as George’s guest, prevented such a blatant breach of etiquette.
* * *
‘Julia!’ Emily appeared at the morning-room door. Julia stepped back, her cheeks burning, awkwardness replacing her courage. Silently, she cursed her impetuous nature, wondering what it was about the captain that kept causing her to forget herself. A few minutes in the gentleman’s presence and she was once again acting like a strumpet instead of a lady. How much had Emily heard? Hopefully nothing or she and Charles would feel vindicated in all their chastising.
Before anyone could say anything, baby Thomas’s wail filled the upstairs hallway and the nurse appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying the infant. He was only two months old, but he’d been born early and Emily fretted over him like no other well-born mother in the county.
‘Mrs Howard, it is time for his feeding,’ the nurse called over the screaming baby.
Emily glanced from the captain to Julia to upstairs, weighing her desire to reprimand with the need to see to her child. Luckily, Thomas’s cries grew louder, making the decision for her.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I must attend to my son.’ Emily shot Julia a silent warning before hurrying up to escort the nurse to the nursery. For all of Charles’s and Emily’s priggishness, they were firm believers in Rousseau’s ideas of breastfeeding. It was one of the few things Julia admired them for.
‘Despite being born two months early, my nephew has a healthy appetite and powerful lungs,’ Julia observed.
‘His lungs will serve him well if he enters Parliament. Like his father, his opinions will always be heard,’ Captain Covington teased.
Julia laughed, the captain’s joke putting her at ease. She was about to respond when a small cough from the landing interrupted them.
‘Good morning, Captain Covington.’ Annette glided down the stairs, her blue eyes raking over him. Dressed in a fashionable walking dress of expensive yellow silk, she stepped in between Julia and the captain. Her haughty air irked Julia and she clasped her hands together to keep from smacking the chit on the back of her elegantly coiffed blonde head. Though they were the same age, they had nothing in common and had never been more than civil to each other since Annette’s arrival.
‘Miss Taylor, a pleasure to see you again.’ The captain bowed over her extended hand, the relaxed Navy man from a moment before replaced by a proper gentleman.
Julia noted the change and her heart sank. Obviously, he respected the polished manners of a London lady to the questionable conduct of a country girl.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Neither of them will be here for ever.
‘How are your dear sister and mother?’ Annette asked, her voice light and charming.
‘My sister Charlotte is in Wiltshire with her husband. My mother is with them at the moment, though she returns to town next week. She prefers London to the country.’
‘Who of us doesn’t?’ Simon yawned from the top of the stairs, his voice heavy with the Devonshire lisp so popular in town. Tall and lean, Simon wore a suit of the finest material cut tight to accentuate his slender body. He possessed the same sharp features as his sister, but the affected boredom of his dandified style softened them considerably.
Annette’s face reddened at Simon’s remark. ‘You remember my brother?’
‘Of course.’ Both men nodded to one another, no affection lost on either side.
‘We are going to the local town. Please join us for I’m eager for some society after such isolation.’
‘Did I hear someone suggest a ride into Daringford?’ Uncle George asked, coming up behind the captain.
‘Yes. Care to join us?’ Captain Covington invited.
While they made their plans, Julia started up the stairs, sure no one would notice her absence. They had each other; they did not need her. She froze when the captain called out to her.
‘Miss Howard, would you like to join us?’
Surveying the waiting group, Julia wondered how much more of his company she could endure without gaining a reputation as a hoyden. Until she could learn to control her tongue in his presence, it was probably better to avoid him. She moved to make her excuses when Annette’s condescending sweep of Julia’s riding habit changed her mind. ‘Yes, but allow me to change. I’ll only be a moment.’
‘Your dress is passable. Come and let’s be off,’ Uncle George impatiently called.
Julia reluctantly stepped off the stairs. Emily would have a fit if she knew Julia wore her old riding habit into town. Oh, well, what was one more reprimand? Besides, it was worth the rebuke to annoy Annette.
‘Come, Captain Covington.’ Annette motioned for his arm and like a true gentleman he offered it, leading her outside to the waiting carriage. Julia watched the way her stepcousin moved, the rich material and fine cut of her dress emphasising her willowy figure. A slight twinge of jealousy took hold and Julia wondered if things would be different if she made an effort to dress so well every day or demonstrate proper, genteel manners.
‘My lady.’ Uncle George offered her his arm with an exaggerated flourish.
‘Why, thank you, sir,’ she answered with equally false formality.
‘What do you think of the captain?’ he asked in a low voice as they strolled out to the waiting carriage.
‘He strikes me as quite the man about town. He’s already caught Annette’s attention.’
‘Any man with a pocketbook catches her fancy,’ George huffed. ‘You shouldn’t let her have him.’
‘I have no interest in a Navy man, especially one with a thin London polish.’
‘He’s no Simon, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s rich, too. Thanks, I might say, in part to many of my lucrative schemes.’
Julia suppressed a laugh, knowing how proud Uncle George was of the numerous profitable ventures he’d embarked on during his time in the Navy. ‘Why did the captain resign?’
‘George, stop gossiping and get in,’ Captain Covington interrupted from beside the open carriage door. ‘No need to give away all my secrets on the first day.’
‘Not possible, Jim. You’ve got too many.’ Uncle George chuckled.
‘May I?’ Captain Covington held out his hand, a playful smile lighting up his face. Julia reached for his upturned palm, hesitating a moment before pushing against the strength of it to step up into the carriage.
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t dare meet his eyes, but slid across the squabs and settled in next to the far window, her hand still tingling from his touch. Uncle George sat beside her in an attempt to place some distance between her, Annette and Simon and she was grateful. The captain took a seat across from them, next to Annette, much to the chit’s visible delight.
Simon paused to adjust his cravat, then carefully climbed into the carriage, moving like an old lady to avoid wrinkling his morning coat. The door closed behind him, but Simon wasn’t fully seated when Uncle George rapped on the roof. The vehicle sprung into motion, throwing Simon into the seat next to his sister.
‘I say,’ Simon complained to George.
‘Sorry about that.’ George shrugged, unruffled by Simon’s outburst.
‘Men can be so silly, don’t you agree, Captain Covington?’ Annette laughed, reprimanding her brother with a look he pointedly ignored.
‘Yes, they can be.’ The captain allowed the conversation to drop, watching the countryside pass by outside the window, a strange melancholy clouding his face. Julia noted the way the afternoon sunlight spread over his features, highlighting a very small scar on his cheek and giving him a bit of mystery and depth she’d never seen in any London gentleman. Then his eyes darted to hers and she turned away, her heart fluttering, the heat in the carriage rising sharply.
What’s wrong with me? she wondered, touching the warm skin of her neck. It wasn’t like her to act so hen-witted in the company of a man, especially a Navy rake like the captain. Struggling to regain control, she concentrated on the river flowing in the gully below the road. No matter how much she focused on the clear water pouring over the rocks, the captain lingered on the edge of her vision. When she dared to look at him again, she found him still smiling at her.
‘Captain Covington, were you at Lady Wellsingham’s ball last month?’ Annette asked.
‘No, I’m afraid business kept me away,’ he answered with a slight frown before covering it with a gracious smile.
Perhaps he’s not so taken by London charms, Julia mused, sitting back to observe the conversation with a new interest.
‘What a pity. You would have enjoyed it. All anyone could talk about was Lord Langston’s comment on Napoleon. He said the Emperor’s coat was too tight to suit a real gentleman, and if the Emperor had a better tailor, he might not be so fond of war.’
‘I thought politics a taboo subject at balls?’ Julia asked, more to annoy her stepcousin than out of any real interest.
‘We were discussing Lord Langston’s comment, not politics,’ Annette arrogantly clarified. ‘Surely you’ve heard of the earl, even here?’
Julia bit back a sharp retort, struggling through gritted teeth to remain cordial.
‘Yes. Charles keeps me abreast of the latest London news, though I pay it no mind. I hardly feel the comments of a man who thinks only of clothes and dancing is worth the breath to spread it. Were he a man of actual accomplishments, such as Lord Nelson, I might take more interest in what he has to say.’
‘Here, here, Julia.’ George slapped his knee and Annette pursed her thin lips.
‘Sounds like a rather American idea to me, Miss Howard,’ Captain Covington asked.
‘Have you been to America, Captain?’ Julia asked.
‘Yes, it’s an interesting country.’
‘I don’t agree with the Americans. The French followed their example and all their patriotism and liberty turned out dreadful,’ Annette interjected, but both Julia and Captain Covington ignored the remark.
‘I’m a great admirer of Mr Jefferson. Are you familiar with his agricultural inventions?’ Julia asked.
‘Yes, I read one of his books while I was in London. I read quite a number of books while I was at home.’ He paused, watching his left hand open and close before he looked up at her again. ‘I don’t recall the specific of Mr Jefferson’s designs, but I remember them being quite innovative.’
‘He devised a plough specifically for hills. It’s proved most beneficial to Knollwood,’ she volunteered, encouraged by his response. ‘Like Mr Jefferson, I’ve discovered the best way to develop new techniques is to ask the workers. I regularly speak with mine to keep abreast of their progress and any potential problems.’
‘How plebian to be so familiar with your servants,’ Annette sneered.
Julia went silent, the conspicuous difference between her and her London cousin making her self-conscious.
‘I agree, Miss Howard, servants are often aware of more than their employers realise,’ the captain offered with a smile.
‘Indeed, they know the land and conditions better than anyone else.’
Careful not to gloat over the obvious check to Annette’s mocking remark, Julia continued her discussion of agriculture, encouraged by the captain’s extensive knowledge. The bulk of it came from books, but he asked many questions about the practical application, eager to learn. While they spoke, Julia watched the way Annette hung on his every word, fluttering her eyelashes at him while praising his wit and intelligence. Each compliment brought a smile to his face and as much as Julia’s opinion of him rose with their current discussion, his apparent infatuation with Annette lowered it. Perhaps the captain thought her cousin a better country amusement than Julia. After all, the way Annette fawned on him made her interest apparent. How typical of a man to fall prey to such a shallow woman.
* * *
The carriage rattled into town, coming to a stop near the centre of the High Street. James stepped out into the crisp autumn air and took a deep breath. Being confined for so long next to Miss Taylor reminded him of a tight gun deck on a humid day in the islands. Only Miss Howard’s airy voice and sparkling eyes offered any respite from Miss Taylor’s cloying company.
‘What an exile,’ Mr Taylor sighed, taking in Daringford’s dusty streets lined with shops. ‘I’ll return shortly.’
‘I thought you were going to stay with me?’ Miss Taylor whined as James handed her out of the carriage.
Mr Taylor ignored her, strolling off towards the Sign of the Swan tavern, much to his sister’s visible displeasure.
James turned back to the carriage to help Miss Howard out, only to see her alight from the other side before hurrying around to join them.
‘I’m afraid I must leave you as well,’ George announced. ‘I have some business to attend to with my solicitor. Take good care of the ladies, Jim.’ He went off in the opposite direction, leaving James alone with Miss Taylor and Miss Howard.
‘Well, ladies, where shall we go?’
‘The milliner’s shop,’ Miss Taylor decided. ‘I must purchase some lace, though I doubt it will be of the same quality here as in London.’
‘The milliner it is, unless Miss Howard has somewhere she wishes to go?’
Miss Howard shook her head. ‘No, I’m simply here for the diversion.’
‘One could hardly call this place a diversion.’ Miss Taylor made for the row of shops lining the north side of the street, stepping gingerly around the dirt and mud.
‘I suppose we must follow.’ Miss Howard sighed.
‘I suppose we must.’
Their progress across the square was slow, with Miss Howard stopping more than once to speak to some farmers’ wives. He stood by while they conversed, noting how she addressed the women without arrogance or conceit. There were no signs of her former awkwardness and he thought it strange she should get along so well with these women, yet seem utterly out of place with people like the Taylors. It baffled him, but he enjoyed it, her friendly attitude a refreshing change from rigid London ways.
When they finally reached the milliner shop, James held open the door, then followed her inside. ‘Do you come to the village often?’
‘Yes, it seems I am always purchasing necessities for Knollwood.’
Miss Taylor ignored them in favour of the shopkeeper who hustled to help the London girl spend her blunt. Miss Howard did not shop, but loitered with him near the front window, as out of place here as Miss Taylor would be among estate labourers.
‘You have no interest in lace?’ James asked.
‘I’ve come to town in my riding habit. I assure you, I have no interest in lace.’
He noted the older cut of the habit with its lower waist and fitted bodice. The style skimmed her flat stomach and accentuated her curved hips. He preferred the form-flattering shape to the high-waisted style dominating Rotten Row. ‘I like your dress.’
‘Do you?’
He heard disbelief in the question, but also a note of hope. ‘I do.’
She played with a small piece of ribbon dangling off the table next to her, then nodded at Miss Taylor, who stood at the counter negotiating with the shopkeeper over the price. ‘She certainly drives a hard bargain. I’m amazed she bothers to be so economical.’
‘Perhaps her situation is not what it seems.’
Miss Howard’s puzzled face indicated her ignorance of the London rumours regarding the Taylors. However, before she could respond, a round matron followed by a blonde young lady with similar full features entered the store.
‘Miss Howard,’ the older woman called out, crossing to where they stood. ‘What a pleasure to see you in here. I didn’t think you one for the milliner’s shop.’
Miss Howard’s lips drew tight and James’s ire rose at the belittling way the matron’s eyes swept over Miss Howard, making her flush with embarrassment.
‘Mrs Johnson, may I introduce Captain Covington.’ Miss Howard motioned to him. ‘He is a friend of my uncle and staying with us. Captain Covington, this is Mrs Johnson and her daughter, Miss Caroline Johnson.’
The two ladies curtsied to James, sizing up his value as a potential husband.
He bowed, unwilling to remain here or give this woman another chance to insult Miss Howard. ‘If you’ll excuse us, we were just about to step outside and leave you lovely women to your shopping.’
He offered Miss Howard his arm. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and flashed the disbelieving Mrs and Miss Johnson a wide smile as he escorted her out of the shop.
‘I see some mamas are as rude here as they are in London,’ James fumed once they were outside. ‘What did she hope to gain by being condescending to you?’
‘I don’t know, but please pay it no mind. I’m quite used to it.’ Miss Howard withdrew her hand and placed a respectable distance between them. He brushed his fingers over the spot where she’d held his arm, missing the soft weight of her touch.
‘You should make a habit of responding to rude people,’ James suggested.
‘Why? Emily and Charles would only hear of it, then chastise me for being ill mannered. It seems I must be civil to everyone while everyone may speak to me as they please.’
‘There are many ways to appear courteous, yet still strike a cutting blow.’
‘Then you must teach me some for I’m tired of putting up with such nonsense.’ She laughed, the charming sound carrying over the noisy rattle of equipage in the street.
‘It would be my pleasure. What sort of remark would you like to learn first?’
‘James Covington,’ the long-forgotten but familiar female voice called out from behind them, slicing through him like a sword and shattering his jovial mood. ‘I can hardly believe it.’
He turned, watching Melinda Knight saunter up the street, a wicked smile decorating her full lips. A low-cut gown showed off her ample white bosom, much to the appreciation of the passing village men. Many paused to admire her, elbowing one another as their lecherous eyes enjoyed the well-displayed assets. They obviously deemed her a beauty, but James, who’d known her in his youth, saw the toll London indulgence had taken. Her dark-brown eyes seemed tired and dull while her once slender form had grown more stout, filling out her face and keeping away, for a few more years at least, the lines forming about her eyes and the corners of her lips.
‘Miss Knight,’ he greeted through clenched teeth.
‘I’m Mrs Wilkins now, or have you forgotten?’
James’s lip curled in loathing. ‘So you married him?’
‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’ Her seductive voice had once heated his blood; now it left him icy with disgust.
‘I would hardly call us friends.’
She wedged herself between him and Miss Howard, her bosom brushing his chest. ‘At one time you called me a great deal more.’
‘That was a long time ago.’ He stepped back, fighting the urge to push her away. The reaction unnerved him. He thought he’d forgotten her treachery years ago. Taking control of his surging emotions, he turned to Miss Howard, noting her stunned expression. ‘May I introduce Miss Howard of Knollwood.’
Melinda faced Julia, taking her in and dismissing her all at once. ‘We already know one another. My husband owns Cable Grange. My, what a pretty riding habit. Did you ride here?’
‘No,’ Miss Howard retorted, her dislike of Melinda palpable.
‘Must be the new fashion. I find it so hard to keep up. You country girls have such different tastes.’
Melinda laid a gloved hand on James’s arm and he pulled away, leaving her fingers hanging like talons before she lowered them. Far from being embarrassed, she seemed to take pleasure in his revulsion. ‘You should come and visit us, James. I know Rowan would love to see you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.’
She swept off down the street, collecting more appreciative stares as she went.
‘You know her?’ Miss Howard gasped.
‘I knew her once, a long time ago. It’s of no importance.’ He wondered how best to correct whatever false impression his acquaintance with Melinda left. He refused to be judged by a past mistake, but no proper explanation came to mind.
‘Here comes George.’ James motioned over her shoulder, thankful for the distraction.
George rushed along the road, the light of delicious news in his eyes.
‘I can tell by the way he’s hurrying, he’s heard gossip,’ Julia observed. ‘He enjoys a story more than any old matron in Daringford.’
James laughed at the candid and accurate description. ‘It is good to know some things haven’t changed.’
‘Julia, you won’t believe what my solicitor told me,’ George blurted out between winded pants when he reached them. ‘Cable Grange is to be sold at auction in ten days if Mr Wilkins can’t pay his London creditors.’
Chapter Three
Julia jumped from the carriage the instant it halted in front of Knollwood. Flying up the front stairs, she ran down the hall, throwing open her mother’s sitting-room door, not caring what anyone thought of her very unladylike entrance.
‘Cable Grange is to be sold by the bailiff in ten days. You must write to Charles and tell him to arrange for my inheritance at once.’
‘Julia, do not stomp about the house,’ her mother instructed without missing a stitch in her embroidery. Charlemagne watched from a basket at her mother’s feet, his tail wagging lazily.
‘Mother, did you hear what I said?’ she demanded, chafing in the face of her apathy.
‘You know he won’t approve.’ Her mother pulled a long, red thread through the fabric. ‘He hardly approves of you running Knollwood in his absence.’
‘That’s why I need you to write him. Demand my inheritance, but don’t tell him why. I can’t have him buying Cable Grange out from under me.’
‘I have little influence with Charles, especially in this matter.’
‘But he has to give me the money,’ Julia cried, pacing the room. ‘This could be my only chance to secure an estate of my own.’
Her mother paused mid-stitch. ‘Without a husband? He’d never allow it. You must be married first.’
‘To whom? One of the many young men throwing themselves at my feet?’
‘My dear, don’t sound so despondent. Some day you will find a gentleman who loves you.’
‘Not in time to purchase Cable Grange.’ Julia sat down hard in the window seat.
‘Perhaps George can supply the necessary funds?’
‘Creedon Abbey is profitable, but not enough to finance another estate, especially not with the repairs from the fire.’ She knew because she often helped Uncle George with his accounting.
‘Then I’m afraid Cable Grange will go to another.’
Julia bit her thumbnail in frustration, feeling like a rabbit caught in a snare. Though the money was hers, her father’s will gave Charles control of it until she married or Charles died. At the moment, she wanted very much to kill her obstinate brother.
She picked at the gold thread on a pillow. ‘Why did Father put Charles in charge of my inheritance? Why not Uncle George or even Paul? They wouldn’t be so difficult.’
Her mother rose, sitting down next to Julia and taking her hands. ‘It’s what his solicitor advised. Your father intended to change it once George purchased Creedon Abbey, but his illness was so sudden—’
Silence heavy with grief settled between them. Outside, birds chirped in a nearby tree and Julia heard the distant bark of Uncle George’s hunting dogs.
‘It’s not fair.’
‘No, it isn’t, but don’t fret, my dear. Nothing is hopeless. Now, go and change for dinner.’ Her mother kissed her gently on the forehead, then returned to her embroidery stand.
Julia wandered down the hall to her room, her mind working over the current dilemma. She had to have Cable Grange. She refused to be shoved aside at Knollwood by Charles or to let him control her life. Paul would never do such a thing if it were up to him.
Closing the door behind her, she wondered if Paul could arrange for the money. Knowing how freely he spent while in port, she doubted he possessed the means to buy an estate and his failure to gain command of his own ship hindered his ability to make his fortune. Even if he could help, there was no way to reach him before the auction.
Julia paced her room, her mind working to think of a solution. The only way to buy Cable Grange was to obtain her inheritance. The only way to get her inheritance was to marry. At present, she had no suitors. To be honest, she had never had suitors, not here or during her one Season in London.
Julia stopped pacing, her mind seizing on an idea. What if she was only engaged? If Charles thought she intended to marry, surely he’d give her the money in time to purchase Cable Grange. Even he could see the benefit of making Cable Grange part of the Howard lands. But what gentleman could she possibly convince to make her a false offer?
Through the window overlooking the garden, she spied Simon strolling among the roses. It wasn’t like him to be awake at this time of day. Usually, he napped in the late afternoon in anticipation of an even later evening. How a man could spend all night gambling was beyond her comprehension.
The idea hit her like a bolt of lightning. Simon. As a gambler, he must need money. They could make a deal, pretend to be engaged and once she had her inheritance and Cable Grange, she’d give him a few hundred pounds to jilt her.
She rushed to the door, eager to strike the bargain, when a terrifying thought froze her hand on the doorknob. If he accepted the deal, could she buy his silence at the end of the engagement? If not, it would create a scandal, then who knew how Charles or even Mother would react. Charles might force her to go through with a ruinous marriage to avoid disgrace.
Julia resumed her pacing, desperate for a solution. Simon was no different from other London peacocks. How hard could it be to use her money, or the future possibility of money, to snare him? Instead of entangling herself in a potentially shocking agreement, she’d flaunt her wealth, then allow his greed to lead him to her. Once she had her inheritance and Cable Grange she could easily dismiss him. Simon would suffer no more heartbreak than the other London pinks who proposed to every unmarried rich woman who entered a ballroom. Even if breaking the engagement labelled her a jilt, it wouldn’t matter. She’d have her inheritance and Cable Grange and everything else could go to the devil.
Standing at the wardrobe, Julia tore through the dresses, selecting one of her better frocks. Slipping off the habit, she put on the light-blue dress, then sat at her dressing table to do her hair. The sight of herself in the mirror dampened her enthusiasm. Though the cloth of her frock was fine enough, the cut was unflattering and her hair, which was still fastened in the simple braided bun at the nape of her neck, did nothing to improve her features.
‘If only I were pretty enough to catch Simon without my money.’ She sighed and then dismissed the ridiculous notion. ‘I might as well wish for gold to fall from the sky.’
Pulling out the bun, she brushed out her hair. A man like Simon couldn’t resist the allure of money and she’d parade herself in front of him like a fat cow at market. Dignity be damned. She had to have Cable Grange for if she ended her days as a spinster aunt, she’d do it on her terms in her own house.
* * *
‘I never thought I’d see Melinda again.’ James smacked the cue stick hard against the white ball, sending it skipping over the slate, off the table and across the library’s wood floor.
George picked it up, laying it back on the table. ‘You aren’t still chewing on that, are you? Let it go. No good can come of it.’
‘Except an estate. I wasn’t planning it—I couldn’t have planned it—yet here it is, in my lap. I only have to wait for the bailiff to act, then I’ll watch them go and be done with it.’ Revenge coiled inside him with unnerving force. Even in the days after Melinda betrayed him, he hadn’t felt this much hate, but things were different then. His naval career had stretched out before him to blunt the disappointment and at sea he’d been too focused on succeeding and surviving to dwell on lost love. Now, with his career a shattered heap, his whole life crushed and bruised with it, there seemed nothing to distract him from old wounds. He flexed his left hand, cursing the dull pain. How he hated it and the way it made him hate everything.
George shook his head. ‘That’s not the Jim I remember.’
‘A lot of things changed last year.’
‘No, you just think they have. Look to the future. Don’t concern yourself with some past offence that no longer matters.’
‘You think it doesn’t matter?’
‘I think Rowan did you a favour, showed you who she really was before she leg-shackled you.’ George leaned across the table and took a shot, scoring another point. ‘Of course it’s your decision and Cable Grange will suit you, but you’ll need something more or you’ll be bored in a fortnight.’
‘You thinking running an estate won’t be enough?’ He reached for his glass of brandy sitting on the edge of the table.
‘Not for a man like you. You need adventure and what better adventure than marriage?’ George announced.
James stopped drinking mid-sip. ‘Marriage?’
‘Yes, marriage.’ George hooked his thumbs in his coat, quite pleased with himself.
‘What new scheme are you planning?’ He didn’t trust George’s happy manner.
‘Scheme? I never scheme.’
‘Never scheme?’ James laughed. ‘What was all that business with the rum in Jamaica?’
‘Merely an investment.’
‘And the plantation owner’s wife in Barbados?’
‘One could hardly fault me for such an escapade.’
‘Except the escapade’s husband.’
George shrugged, unrepentant. ‘You’re a man of your own mind. I never forced you to participate in the rum venture or follow me to the plantation.’
‘I followed you to save your hide and keep her husband from running you through.’
‘Perhaps.’ George fingered his cue stick, then levelled it at James. ‘But you went along with the other ventures because you wanted to, making a handsome profit on more than one occasion if I remember correctly.’
‘Yes, I have a great deal of my current fortune to thank you for.’
‘So why distrust me now?’
It wasn’t George he distrusted. It was himself. He hadn’t seen Miss Howard since returning from Daringford, but following George through Knollwood, he kept searching for her in every room, hoping she might appear. Her presence touched a place deep inside him he thought destroyed with his career and the feeling left him wary and unsettled. One woman had already preyed on the weakness of his youth. He couldn’t allow another to take advantage of his ruined life.
George fixed him with a stern, superior officer’s stare. ‘Seriously, Jim, you had a bad run last year, but you can’t live in the past. You’re young, full of possibility. You need a good woman by your side.’
‘I suppose you have someone in mind? Your little Artemis, perhaps?’
George leaned towards James, the glint of mischief in his eyes. James knew this expression all too well. How many times had he followed it into a tavern, or the heat of battle? ‘Now that you mention it, perhaps Julia is just the kind of woman you need. Sizeable inheritance. Brother in Parliament. Adept at running an estate. She’s a good match.’
James shook his head as he readied his cue stick. Is this what his life had come to? Discussing marriage over a billiard table? Country life must be very dull to lead an old salt like George to such a pastime. ‘Interesting suggestion—however, it has two flaws.’
‘And they are?’
‘One, I have no desire to marry, which you well know.’
‘At the moment, yes, but there’s always the future.’
‘And two, your Artemis doesn’t like me.’
‘Of course she likes you. She’s just an awkward girl. Spent too much time in the country, odd relatives and all that.’
‘Odd indeed.’ James hit the cue ball and it sailed past the red ball. ‘I see a great deal of Paul in his sister.’
‘There you are with the past again. Forget it. Paul was young. You were young and both of you stupid.’
‘I’d hardly say stupid.’
‘Stubborn, then, if you like. You’d be surprised to see him now.’
‘“Surprised” is not the word. Does your Artemis know I wrote to the Admiralty against Paul’s promotion?’
‘I didn’t see the need to inform her and I suggest you don’t either if you wish to have a pleasant visit. You don’t want to be on the wrong end of my niece’s temper.’
As if I needed the warning. ‘You don’t think she’ll find out?’
‘He’s off at sea and you’re here, not likely to meet.’
James had to admire George’s devil-may-care attitude. Here was a man who always believed everything would work out swimmingly and somehow for him it always did. What James wouldn’t give for even a small measure of George’s optimism, but the last year had left him anything but optimistic. The long days of his recovery followed by the even longer days of stalking the Admiralty, asking, then begging for another commission, had taken their toll.
During the year of his recovery, younger, fitter men with more prestigious connections had passed him by, and not even his loyal years of service were enough to secure him another ship. He could almost smell the oil on the wood panels of Admiral Stuart’s office the day he told James there would be no more commissions and encouraged—insisted, one might say—James enjoy his fortune while he still could.
In the end, despite his disappointment, he’d secretly been relieved. It shamed him to admit it, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Death had passed over him. Ten years ago he’d have shrugged it off and raced to face the devil once more. This time he couldn’t. He wanted to live free of violence and risks, to take care of his family and see his sister’s future children grow up, but without his command he saw nothing, no meaning or activity, just an endless set of days stretching out before him.
James refilled his drink from the small decanter of brandy on the table near the window. He hated this emptiness. It made him feel like a ship in a storm with a broken rudder at the mercy of driving winds and an unforgiving sea. He took a deep drink, careful not to enjoy too much the burning in the back of his throat. He’d seen other men come home and lose themselves in gin, women and cards, their energy wasted by a lack of duty and direction. He put the glass down, knowing his future wasn’t at the bottom of a bottle, but was it really as close as Cable Grange? Perhaps an estate would give him a sense of purpose again, a chance to do something more than grieve for his past and the future he’d planned for himself.
James watched while George calculated his next shot. ‘Why isn’t your little Artemis already married?’
‘Says she’s not interested.’
‘A woman not interested in marriage? Next you’ll tell me you believe in mermaids.’
‘I do. I saw one off the coast of Florida once. She’s not interested in marriage. However, a man with an estate could change her mind. If you’re determined to buy Cable Grange, she’s the woman you need to run it.’ George took his time lining up his shot, looking quite proud of himself for what he considered a brilliant idea.
James couldn’t resist the opportunity to rib his old friend. ‘So your niece is only interested in marrying a man for his estate?’
George whiffed the cue ball then straightened up, indignant. ‘She’s not that kind of young lady. She’s clever, a real woman of substance, made running Knollwood her life, but the place isn’t hers. Charles plans to assume control when he comes home at the end of the month. Where will she be then?’
‘You could leave her Creedon Abbey.’
‘I probably will...’ George floundered. Clearly he hadn’t thought of this and James enjoyed watching the older man work to recover himself. ‘But I’m not at death’s door yet. I plan to live at least another twenty years. Spend some time with her, get to know her, you’ll see what I mean.’
James walked to the window, noticing the threatening clouds gathering overhead. Their darkness layered the hills with damp shadows, making the hour feel late. Somewhere across the hills and valleys sat Cable Grange. Watching the wind shake the tall hedges of the garden, he tried to picture himself as lord of the manor, spending his days in land management with all its hundreds of concerns, but he had trouble imagining it.
Reaching up under his jacket, he felt for the jagged, raised scar. Yes, he was lucky to be alive and sometimes it made him think he wanted a wife and a family. What would it be like to enjoy the kind of happiness he’d witnessed between his parents before his father died or the love he saw in his sister’s eyes when she walked with her husband? He’d tried so many times while convalescing to imagine the future, but always it remained shrouded in a grey fog of uncertainty. The sudden end to his naval career made the years before him seem meaningless while old wounds and betrayals arose from the past to dominate his mind.
A bolt of lightning split the distant horizon and the image of Miss Howard atop that beast of a horse commanding him like a common seaman seared his mind. Tight desire coursed through him at the memory of her tongue tracing the line of her lips and the curious need illuminating her face. Her free spirit and courage reminded him of Caribbean ladies, bringing a smile to his face at the memory of warm afternoons and even warmer nights in the islands. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago yet today, in Miss Howard’s presence, their carefree ease sparked deep inside him for the first time in over a year.
The feeling made him uneasy. He’d experienced something like it once before, allowing it to guide him, and he’d come to regret it.
He downed the last of the brandy, forcing back the encroaching sadness. He wasn’t ready for another life-altering change and certainly had no intention of courting Miss Howard.
As James examined the cut-crystal glass, an idea suddenly came to him, so simple yet brilliantly amusing. George was determined to meddle with yet another scheme. Why not catch him up in one of James’s devising, give him a friendly taste of his own medicine?
‘Perhaps you’re right. I should give more thought to the idea of marriage,’ James announced, strolling back to the table and scrutinising the position of the balls.
George’s smile broadened. ‘Indeed.’
‘A man needs a woman to make a comfortable home for him.’
‘One with a sense of how to run things properly.’
‘The perfect mistress to complement him.’
‘Exactly.’
‘A woman like Miss Taylor.’
‘Annette?’ George sputtered. ‘You must be joking.’
‘I’m quite serious. She’s well brought up and pleasing to view.’ James leaned over the table to take a shot, pretending not to notice George’s stunned expression.
‘But there’s nothing there, no substance.’
‘Good. It makes life less complicated.’ James hit the cue ball, sending it bouncing off the side to hit the red ball. Straightening up, he worked to contain his laughter as George stared slack jawed at him.
‘Annette?’
James smiled to himself, realising just how much fun this harmless revenge would be.
Chapter Four
The clock in the hallway chimed six times as Julia rushed across the marble floor, late for dinner again. Stopping outside the dining-room door, she ran her hands over her hair, tucking a loose tendril into her coiffure. Mary, her lady’s maid, had been too busy with Annette to arrange Julia’s hair so she’d done it herself, pulling it back into a more flattering bun and allowing a few curls to hang about her face. The coiffure was far from stylish, but it framed her features much better than Emily’s plain creation. Pulling the bodice of the light-blue muslin dress lower, she hitched up the pink sash in an effort to make it appear more fashionable. The ribbon refused to co-operate, slipping back down to her waist. With a sigh of frustration, she gave up, knowing she’d dressed as well as could be expected for dinner at Knollwood, which was never a formal affair.
Until tonight. The instant Julia stepped into the dining room she remembered Emily’s instructions to dress for their new guest. She’d been so distracted by planning her tactics with Simon, she’d completely forgotten.
‘I’m so glad you could join us. I was afraid Knollwood business would keep you away.’ Emily’s high, nervous voice pulled Julia out of her momentary shock and she took in everyone’s attire. Mother’s deep-maroon mantua, though of an older style, suited her matronly frame while Emily and Annette’s dresses were the height of London fashion. Simon wore a coat of the finest material and Uncle George and Captain Covington looked dashing in their uniforms. Plain muslin in the face of so much silk only emphasised her lack of fashion. For a moment, Julia contemplated making her excuses, feigning a headache or some other feminine nonsense, then changed her mind.
I’ve already made a fool of myself. No sense starving now. Throwing back her shoulders, she strode into the room.
‘Yes, Knollwood business can be quite exacting, but I wouldn’t dream of missing dinner.’ She took her place next to Simon, across from Annette and Captain Covington.
‘You look very lovely this evening,’ the captain offered across the table.
‘Thank you.’ Was he teasing her? It was difficult to tell. His beguiling smile reminded her of the one Paul always used to flatter pretty ladies at the assembly hall.
‘The affairs of Knollwood must be very demanding to make you lose track of time,’ Annette mocked.
‘No, I was quite aware of the time,’ Julia replied coolly, annoyed by her stepcousin’s condescending tone.
‘Perhaps you could learn a thing or two about managing your affairs, Annette,’ Simon suggested, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
‘Now you prefer bluestockings?’ Annette frowned. ‘I thought you felt education was wasted on women?’
‘I do. It leads a woman to interfere too much in a man’s business.’ He fixed an icy stare on his sister, who coloured under the remark, but said nothing.
Julia sensed more to this conversation than a simple debate of female education, but having no interest in the intricacies of the Taylors’ personal business, she concentrated on enjoying her meal.
‘Julia, Jim was telling us the latest news from London regarding Napoleon,’ Uncle George announced. ‘It appears Admiral Nelson will face him before the month is out?’
The food turned to dirt in her mouth. ‘Do you think so?’
‘It’s a very real possibility,’ the captain answered with measured words, fingering the spoon next to his plate.
‘Paul’s ship, HMS Pickle, is with Admiral Nelson’s fleet. He could be injured, or worse.’ Her voice quavered with worry and she didn’t care who heard it or what they thought.
‘Even if there is a battle, HMS Pickle is a small ship used to send messages or fetch supplies. She won’t see much action.’
‘But there’s still a chance Paul will be involved in the fighting?’
‘There is, but let’s hope if Admiral Nelson and your brother face him, the battle is quick and decisive in Britain’s favour.’
His sympathetic eyes touched her and she wished they were alone so she could pour out all her worries to him. He would understand, perhaps even take her in his sturdy arms and, with tender, reassuring words, drive away all her fears for Paul.
‘Admiral Nelson will lose more than a battle if he continues his indiscretion with Mrs Hamilton,’ Annette added, indifferent to Julia’s concerns. ‘Don’t you agree, Captain Covington?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow town gossip,’ he answered, but Annette refused to relinquish his attention or the table’s.
‘Don’t you find his indiscretion scandalous?’
Julia noticed the way his fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass. ‘Great men are always granted some leeway.’
‘If society shunned him, then who would lead the Navy against France?’ Julia demanded, irritated by Annette’s prattle. ‘Or would you prefer the French on our shores? Perhaps they would be more delightful in the drawing room.’
‘How droll to discuss politics at dinner,’ Annette sniffed. ‘Captain Covington, you must tell me all about your sister’s wedding.’
With a twinge of regret, Julia left the captain to Annette and focused on the dandy beside her. How could she possibly capture his interest? She couldn’t simply announce the size of her inheritance and hope he took the bait. Conversation seemed the key, but since his arrival they’d barely exchanged ten words. Now she had to captivate him with witty repartee? It seemed a Herculean feat, but one she had to accomplish.
‘Simon, do you ride?’ she asked in her most pleasing voice. The young man turned his pointed chin over his starched cravat, staring at her as though she possessed three heads.
‘Of course,’ he sneered.
Julia clamped her hands together in her lap, screwing the smile on her face. ‘I suppose no country ride could compare to the fashionable hour in Rotten Row?’
‘On at least that point you are correct,’ he lisped, returning to his meal.
Her cheeks burned with the strain of holding her smile. For a moment, the game felt like more trouble than it was worth, but the thought of having her own estate urged her on. ‘You must be an excellent horseman.’
Simon’s knife and fork clanked against the plate. ‘I prefer the elegance of a phaeton—surely you’ve heard of them, even here in the country.’
She resisted the urge to empty her plate in his lap, continuing to remain charming as though nothing was amiss. ‘Oh, yes. When I receive my inheritance I plan to purchase one. Perhaps you can help me select the best?’
‘Your inheritance?’ His bored eyes almost sparkled at the mention of money. She leaned towards him, dropping her voice.
‘Yes, I receive it as soon as I’m married. Tell me about your phaeton. I imagine it is one of the finest in London.’
Just as she suspected, flattery worked. Simon puffed up at the opportunity to discuss himself. ‘It’s second only to the prince’s.’
Despite the loss of her appetite, Julia soldiered on. ‘Oh, you know the prince? How wonderful.’
‘He complimented me on my rig.’ Simon’s voice dripped with pride.
‘Please, tell me all about it.’
* * *
What followed was the most boring and tortuous hour of Julia’s life as Simon described, in minute detail, his phaeton. From the corner of her eye she noticed Uncle George and Emily exchanging baffled looks. Even Captain Covington threw her a sideways glance and for a brief moment she felt ashamed of her plan. Only her mother seemed indifferent, slipping bits of food to Charlemagne, who sat on the floor next to her chair.
‘The squabs are far more comfortable than the average phaeton. I had the leather dyed dark green,’ Simon continued and Julia gazed up at him through her lashes, mimicking the way Annette flattered the captain. If only her dress were cut as deeply as Annette’s. However, such a ploy might make her scheme too obvious.
After what felt like an eternity, Emily rose, ending dinner. ‘Shall the ladies retire to the drawing room?’
Julia forced herself not to jump up and run into the adjoining room. Instead she smiled coyly at Simon as she rose. ‘Perhaps we can discuss it more later?’
‘Perhaps.’ He didn’t seem enthusiastic at the prospect.
Massaging her aching cheeks, Julia followed the other women into the drawing room. Taking The Monk out of her dress pocket, she situated herself on the sofa to read, hoping the others would leave her in peace. Her hope was short lived when Emily walked over to the card table near the window and shuffled the deck. ‘Ladies, would you care for a game of piquet?’
‘I’d love to play,’ Annette announced, choosing her place at the table and taking the deck from Emily. ‘I’ll deal.’
Julia buried her nose in her book, pretending not to hear the invitation, even when Emily cleared her throat to gain her attention.
‘Come play, Julia,’ her mother gently ordered.
With a sigh, Julia put down her book and joined the others at the table.
‘We’re always playing in London and the stakes are often very high. Sometimes gentlemen lose a great deal at the tables,’ Annette explained, dealing the cards.
‘Perhaps the men of London are not very sensible, for it takes only a tiny amount of sense to know one should not bet what one cannot afford to lose.’ Julia laid down a card, then chose another.
‘No gentleman worth his salt would dare refuse a wager.’
‘Then there must be many poor fools about the London ballrooms.’
‘Do you consider Captain Covington a fool?’
Julia shrugged, trying to imagine the captain dancing, but she could only picture him gambling in some tropical den of iniquity. She fought back a laugh, struggling to keep her face a bland mask of uninterest. ‘I haven’t known the captain long enough to comment on the merits of his wit—however, if he lives in London, the odds are against him not being a fool.’
‘I assure you, Captain Covington is no fool,’ her mother interjected. ‘He has proven himself a hero on more than one occasion.’
Julia didn’t respond, wondering what her mother would think if she knew about the captain’s involvement with the Governor of Bermuda’s widowed sister. She’d overheard Uncle George telling Paul about it once. It was quite shocking.
‘How long has George known Captain Covington?’ Annette asked.
‘Ten years,’ Mother answered. ‘Captain Covington was a lieutenant on George’s ship in the war against France during the First Coalition. His service was so distinguished he was given command of his own ship. He’s very well travelled, Julia.’
‘Is he now?’ Julia barely heard her. She was too busy concentrating on which card to play next so she could lose and end the game.
‘George tells me Captain Covington is a very sensible man when it comes to money, much like you, Julia,’ her mother remarked, attempting to draw Julia into the conversation.
‘Interesting,’ Julia mumbled, disappointed by her excellent hand for it made losing very difficult.
‘Captain Covington and I spoke a great deal this afternoon and it was as if we’ve known each other for years. We have a great deal in common for we both adore cheese,’ Annette continued.
Julia selected another card and scowled for it was a good one. ‘Most men in London adore food. That’s why there’s so much gout in town.’
Emily coughed disapprovingly.
‘London is a gourmand’s paradise,’ Annette insisted. ‘I advised Captain Covington to hire a French chef. All the best houses have them. He’s a very affable man. I’m surprised he’s not married for he’d do well with a wife.’
‘A man of thirty with a sensible head is a rarity these days,’ Emily said more to Julia than to Annette.
‘He’s very handsome,’ Annette added.
‘Yes, he is, don’t you agree, Julia?’ Mother entreated.
Julia took another card and smiled to find it a bad one before she noticed the three women waiting for her response. ‘Pardon me?’
Emily scowled at Julia’s inability to follow the conversation. ‘Captain Covington is very handsome, don’t you agree?’
Yes, she did, but she was not about to admit it. ‘I hadn’t thought on the matter.’ She rearranged her cards, needing only another bad one to lose.
‘I’m told he’s a very accomplished horseman,’ Emily added. ‘Perhaps, Julia, you could accompany Captain Covington on a ride tomorrow?’
Julia watched the rain hit the window, streaking down the panes. Without his afternoon ride, Manfred would need a good gallop. She did not relish the idea of trying to control him in a gentle trot alongside Captain Covington’s mount. Hopefully the weather would clear by morning and she could take Manfred out before duty intruded on the day.
‘I’m sure Uncle George will escort him if he wishes to ride.’ Julia continued to study her cards, avoiding Emily’s chastising scowl. ‘He’s better company for the captain than I am.’
‘Of course nothing can compare to Rotten Row at the fashionable hour. Captain Covington promised to join me there when we return to London,’ Annette said, drawing another card. Julia judged from the smile on her narrow face that Annette had a good hand. It was only a matter of moments before Julia could lose the game and put an end to this tiring conversation.
‘I won. I won,’ Annette announced much to Julia’s great relief, though she pretended, like Emily and Mother, to be disappointed. They slid their sovereigns across the table and Annette swept the coins into her palm, making Julia wonder how someone from London with a carriage and four could covet a few crowns.
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Georgie Lee
Julia Howard longs for the freedom her inheritance will bring her – but with her controlling brother holding the purse strings she’s going to need a most convenient engagement… And an encounter in the woods with a dashing stranger couldn’t be more timely.Wounded, his life at sea at an end, Captain James Covington isn’t prepared for the dull ache of civilian life. He sees in Julia a fellow adventurous spirit – willing to risk all. Could agreeing to her outrageous proposal help him recapture a reason to live as they face the biggest adventure of all – marriage?
Two adventurous spirits
Julia Howard longs for the freedom her inheritance will bring her—but with her controlling brother holding the purse strings, she’s going to need a most convenient engagement… An encounter in the woods with a dashing stranger couldn’t be more timely.
Wounded, his life at sea at an end, Captain James Covington isn’t prepared for the dull ache of civilian life. He sees in Julia a fellow adventurous spirit—willing to risk all. Could agreeing to her outrageous proposal help him recapture a reason to live as they face the biggest adventure of all—marriage?
She whirled to face him, closing the short distance between them. ‘How dare you address me in such an intimate manner?’
‘I think it only fitting, since we’re engaged.’
There it was again, his knowing smile, the one she found so infuriating. What was it about this man who annoyed her with such charm?
‘Yes, engaged, and not even that, yet you already act like a husband.’
‘If I hadn’t undermined your authority some servant would have pummelled you.’
‘I do not wish to discuss it.’ She continued towards the house, too worked up by the fight, the wound and the Captain to stand still.
‘Julia, please stop.’
The tender request held more power than any of his commands, bringing her to a halt. He walked around to stand in front of her but she refused to meet his face. She kept her head down, studying his boots.
‘Whatever you think of my interfering, I only meant to help, and whether our engagement is real or fake doesn’t matter. I had no desire to see you hurt.’
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t play this game.’
He took her hand. ‘I very much enjoy this game, my little Artemis.’
AUTHOR NOTE
ENGAGEMENT OF CONVENIENCE was fun to write, but at times it proved a challenge. When I was three-quarters of the way through my first draft Julia and James stopped talking to me and everything stalled. I waited patiently for them to tell me where they wanted to go, and when they remained stubbornly silent I threatened to burn Knollwood to the ground if Julia didn’t start talking to me again. Thanks to a little inspiration from a history-themed daily desk calendar, and some research, I didn’t have to resort to such drastic measures.
Research was key to crafting this story, and I studied subjects ranging from Thomas Jefferson’s agricultural innovations to HMS Pickle’s return from the Battle of Trafalgar. I enjoyed weaving real events from the period into the lives of my fictional characters and using it all to help Julia and James reach their happy ending.
Now that their story is in print I’m enjoying something of my own happy ending, all the while heading back into my non-fiction history books to find more inspiration for my next novel. I hope you enjoy ENGAGEMENT OF CONVENIENCE. Please visit my website www.georgie-lee.com to learn more about me and my other historical works.
Engagement of
Convenience
Georgie Lee
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A dedicated history and film buff, GEORGIE LEE loves combining her passion for Hollywood, history and storytelling through romantic fiction. She began writing professionally at a small TV station in San Diego, before moving to Hollywood to work in the interesting but strange world of the entertainment industry. During her years in La-La Land she never lost her love for romance novels and decided to try writing one herself. To her surprise, a new career was born. When not crafting tales of love and happily-ever-after, Georgie enjoys reading non-fiction history and watching any movie with a costume and an accent. Please visit www.georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books. She also loves to hear from readers, and you can e-mail her at georgie.lee@yahoo.com
This is Georgie Lee’s fabulous debut novel for Mills & Boon
Historical Romance!
Enjoy the witty, playful attraction between Julia and Captain Covington.There will be more historical novels by Georgie Lee, coming soon …
A very special thank you to Natashya Wilson for
seeing the potential in this story and for all her help.
Thanks also to my editor, Linda Fildew,
my agent, Ethan Ellenberg, and my friend Kristi
for sharing her knowledge of horses.
Also, thanks to my dear husband, Matt,
who always believes in me, even if he wouldn’t have
believed it if someone told him years ago
he’d someday be married to a romance writer.
Contents
Chapter One (#uf8c54da6-55cb-51f3-bb2e-2cf98d4e96b3)
Chapter Two (#u41214851-7295-579f-8a53-d118ab0cf60f)
Chapter Three (#uad10e4e1-3477-5a8e-8a04-efd6258b6509)
Chapter Four (#u7c950713-1c9a-5e15-a94c-74746d34d5e1)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
October 31, 1805
Julia heard the shot from the top of the hill. It split the early morning still, sending a shock through her body and silencing the birds in the surrounding trees. Pulling hard on Manfred’s reins, she brought the large black horse to a halt and examined the woods below the riding path for signs of the shooter. Brilliant shades of orange, red and yellow dominated the trees and a gentle breeze sent many of the leaves cascading to the ground. A flock of birds rose from the forest, indicating the shot’s origin, but she saw nothing of the gunman. Uncle George often hunted here, but he was not expected back from London until later today.
How dare they, she fumed, nudging Manfred down the sloping hill and into the thick cluster of trees growing along the small valley floor. Only a guest of their neighbours, the Wilkinses, possessed the audacity to hunt uninvited on Knollwood land.
Low branches tugged at her hair, freeing it from the loose bun fastened at the nape of her neck. Pushing it back out of her face, she knew her sister-in-law Emily would object to such a display, but Julia didn’t care. She wasn’t about to allow the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends to poach in her woods.
As she urged Manfred deeper into the thicket, it didn’t occur to her to fetch the gamekeeper until the horse stepped into a small clearing as the culprit let off another shot in the opposite direction. Julia flinched at the thunderous noise, but Manfred, true to his warhorse breeding, stood rock still. Only his twitching ears acknowledged the explosion.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ Julia demanded.
The stranger whirled to face her and she drew in a sharp breath. Here was no fat wastrel, but the most handsome rogue she’d ever seen. The low sunlight cutting through the trees highlighted the deep-red tones in his dark hair and sharpened the bones of his cheeks. The shadow of a beard marked the square line of his jaw, emphasising his straight nose and strong chin. Her pulse raced with an emotion far different from fear. She could not name it, but it emanated from deep within her body.
‘I’m hunting,’ he answered plainly. Leaning his gun against a tree, he straightened into a stance reminiscent of the one her brother Paul assumed when a superior officer commanded him to relax.
‘You are poaching in my woods. Now remove yourself at once before I call the gamekeeper. He’s only a short distance away,’ Julia lied, hoping he believed it. The knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips told her otherwise.
‘I’d like to see your gamekeeper try to remove me.’
Julia scrutinised him, hard pressed to imagine any of the servants, except perhaps the blacksmith, taking on such a sturdy man. He was tall and slender but solid, his wide shoulders and strong chest radiating a strength his loose-fitting hunting clothes could not hide. Following the line of his long arms to his hands, she imagined them around her waist, lifting her down from Manfred and pressing her against his body. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation of him claiming her mouth, the warmth of it driving away the morning chill.
Swallowing hard, the danger of the situation rushed back to her at the sight of the hunting knife dangling from his belt and she mustered her anger to counter the scandalous thoughts. His gun might be empty, but there was no way to know his skill with the blade. ‘I demand you leave, at once.’
‘I must say, I’ve never been addressed in this fashion before.’ His blue eyes dipped down the length of her, then rose to her face. ‘Especially not by such an attractive young lady.’
Julia grasped her riding crop tighter, ready to whip him if he threatened her, but he still did not approach. ‘If I were trespassing on your land, I’d have the decency to be humble, but since you are trespassing on my land I may address you as I please.’
‘You would have to travel a great distance to trespass on my land.’ He laughed, much to Julia’s chagrin.
‘Then be off,’ she ordered, ‘for the sooner you leave, the sooner you may reach your land.’ With all the grace of an accomplished horsewoman, she pulled Manfred around and cantered away.
* * *
James watched the woman disappear through the trees. Her horse, if one could call such a beast a horse, kicking up the soft earth, leaving behind clouds of dust to dance in the dappled sunlight. Nothing came to mind except pure awe, like the first time he’d been at sea with no sight of land. Neither the dark maidens of the islands hardened by tavern life, nor the plantation owners’ daughters with their languid speech, ever struck him as this woman had. No, she seemed too much of the world, yet strangely innocent of it. What would he give to slip her from her horse, lay her on the damp leaves and make her more knowledgeable?
His body stiffened at the delightful fantasy before the shifting sun piercing the trees nearly blinded him. Judging by its height, he knew it was time to go. Grabbing the haversack from the ground with his left hand, he felt pain tear through his shoulder and the bag fell from his weakened hand, landing on the ground with a thud.
‘Hell.’ He snatched it up with his right hand and flung it over his shoulder. The gun’s recoil had irritated his wound more than he’d realised. Despite the stinging ache, he didn’t intend to give up hunting. He’d already lost too much to sacrifice more.
Picking up the gun, he hurried through the woods along a small footpath leading up to the top of the hill. Climbing out of the shallow valley, the pain and all the emotions it brought with it taunted his every step.
Damn it, damn it all, James thought bitterly, striding off down the opposite side of the hill and up the next steeper one, scattering a small group of sheep grazing in the wet grass.
Up ahead, Creedon Abbey rose before him, its grey stone, small windows and numerous turrets and chimneys betraying its roots in the Middle Ages. James’s old friend Captain George Russell had done well for himself, investing some of the fortune he’d gained in the Navy in this small estate. Only the broken and charred roof timbers and smoke-blackened stone ruined the idyllic scene. George had failed to extinguish an oil lamp one night two weeks ago and the resulting fire had gutted a large portion of the house. Scores of workmen now bustled about the front drive, unloading large blocks of stone from carts or carrying wood inside to begin the first day of repairs.
James shook his head at the damage, not sure whether to feel sorry for his friend or to laugh. Thirty years in the navy, fifteen as a captain and George had never once lost a ship. Within four years of resigning his commission, he’d nearly burned his house to the ground. For all George’s bragging about how much he’d learned from his niece about running an estate, he’d failed to master the simple skill of not setting it on fire.
James’s amusement faded as he walked. He’d seriously considered investing his money in an estate like this, but now he wasn’t so sure. Whatever he decided to do, he needed to do it soon. With his wound sufficiently recovered, it was time to settle on something meaningful to occupy his days, instead of frittering them away.
He moved faster up the footpath following the drive, eager for activity, anything to shift the restless agitation dogging him this morning.
‘What’s the hurry?’ a familiar voice called out from behind him. ‘Run across a ghost in the woods?’
James turned to see George leading Percy, his large, cream-coloured stallion, up the drive. In his friend’s wide, carefree smile, James caught traces of the bold captain he’d first met in the colonies ten years ago. At fifty, the lines of George’s face were deeper now, while the quiet life of a country gentleman had lightened his once sun darkened skin and thickened his waist.
‘I might have.’ James fell in step with his friend. ‘Describe your niece again.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m curious.’
George shrugged. ‘Just what you’d expect from a girl of one and twenty. Clever, well formed, somewhat eccentric. Takes after me in that regard. Why?’
‘I met her in the woods.’ James remembered the striking young lady with her auburn hair falling in delicate waves about her face, her creamy skin flushed with excitement and a few headier emotions.
‘Really?’ A noticeable gleam danced in George’s eyes. ‘And?’
‘Eccentric, well formed. Though from all your descriptions, I’d taken her for more of a dour governess and less of an Artemis.’
‘When I described her she was still a girl.’
‘She’s no girl now.’ James wondered if such a woman had ever truly been a girl or if she’d simply sprung from the foam of the sea.
‘I’m glad to see you find her so interesting. Staying at Knollwood will give you a chance to get better acquainted. Who knows what you might discover?’
James shifted the haversack on his back, resisting the urge to run his fingers over the jagged scar on his left shoulder. ‘Must we go to Knollwood?’
‘Yes, it’s all been arranged. Besides, by the end of the day it’ll be more like a shipyard here than a house and, with the weather turning, you don’t want the rain leaking on your head.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve lost track of the number of storms I’ve slept through at sea.’
‘And my guess is you won’t miss it. We wouldn’t have stayed here last night if we hadn’t dallied so long at Admiral Stuart’s dinner, but I hated to disturb everyone at Knollwood so late at night.’
James laughed. ‘I wasn’t the one who insisted on opening another bottle of port.’
‘It doesn’t matter who caused the delay. I’ll be happy to sleep in a comfortable room that doesn’t smell like a cooking fire. And here I’d thought those bedrooms had escaped damage.’
‘You’ve gone soft.’
George shrugged. ‘You will, too, in time.’
James didn’t respond, this revelation not improving his mood. He’d already lost too much since resigning his commission to contemplate losing something as simple as his hardiness. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before we left London that the house wasn’t fit to live in?’
‘I think I greatly underestimated the damage.’ They stopped as two men carrying a large plank walked past them. ‘Besides, the ladies are quite excited at the prospect of meeting a new gentleman.’
‘You know I came here to escape such affairs.’
‘Does any man ever truly escape them?’
‘You seem to have avoided it.’
‘And you wish to follow my lead?’
James scrutinised his old friend, suspecting more to all this than the extensive fire damage simply slipping his mind. ‘What are you about, George?’
‘Nothing.’ George held up his hands innocently but only succeeded in looking guiltier. ‘I want you to enjoy yourself while you’re here. Now hurry and change. We’re expected at Knollwood.’
George pulled Percy off to the stables and James headed around to the back of the house, his footsteps heavier than before. Reaching under the loose jacket, his fingers traced the raised scar on his left shoulder through the thin fabric of his hunting shirt. Unconsciously, he flexed his left hand, feeling the weakness and cursing it. He stomped on a large clump of mud, mashing it into the earth. This was exactly what he didn’t want, the whole reason he’d allowed George to convince him to come to the country.
He cursed his luck and George’s carelessness. If his friend had extinguished the lamp instead of leaving it to overheat, James could have spent the next two weeks here, not forced into Artemis’s cave waiting to be ripped apart by her wild beasts. He’d experienced enough clawing and tearing in the ballrooms of London. He had no stomach for it here in the country. Give him a French fleet any day; it was preferable to a matron with a marriageable daughter.
A flash of movement on the opposite hill made him stop at the rear door. He watched the young woman ride at a full gallop over the green downs, the horse moving like a shadow, her amber hair a streak of sunlight through the dark clouds. The memory of the little Artemis astride the black beast, face flushed with anger, pert breasts rising and falling with each excited breath, filled his mind. His loins stirred with desire before he checked himself. It was one thing to idle away hours with the willing widowed sister of a provincial governor; it was quite another to dally with the niece of his best friend.
Besides, no spirited creature wants a broken man. He pushed away from the wall, angrily slapping the door jamb. The rough stone stung his palm, reminding him that any interest in Miss Howard could only be to learn from her estate management skills which, according to George, were considerable. If James decided to follow his friend into the life of a country gentleman, he’d need to know more about it than what little he’d learn from books.
* * *
Manfred reached the crest of the hill, breathing hard, his dark coat glistening with sweat. Julia eased him into a slow walk and they ambled down the bridle path tracing the top. A thin mist crept through the crevices of the valley while sheep grazed quietly in the green meadows. The three estates situated on the three high hills overlooking the rolling valley came into view. Creedon Abbey, the smallest, stood on the hill closest to Knollwood. Though some five miles off, the tips of the turrets were just visible above the surrounding trees. All the land here had once belonged to the old monastery before the Reformation and some debt-ridden descendant saw it sold off to create Knollwood and Cable Grange. There was little difference between Creedon land and Knollwood land, but drastic changes marked the boundary between Knollwood’s lush, well-tended meadows and Cable Grange’s weed-choked fields. Cable Grange stood on the third-highest hill in the area. Farther away than Creedon, she could just see it sitting on its hilltop perch, the distance obscuring its neglected state. Being so close to Knollwood, she knew Cable Grange could be one of the finest houses in the county.
If only it were mine. She didn’t know who to curse more, her brother Charles for inheriting Knollwood or Mr Wilkins for ruining Cable Grange.
Adjusting her leg against the pommel, she wished she’d chosen her standard saddle instead of the side-saddle. It was still early and the rest of the house had yet to rise, making it unlikely Emily would catch her riding astride. Soothed by Manfred’s gentle gait, she settled into the seat, her mind wandering back to the woods and the handsome stranger.
He called me attractive, she mulled, remembering the heady way his blue eyes raked her body, their heat warming her skin. Four years ago, standing against the wall during London balls, she’d seen gentlemen examine other young ladies with similar hot eyes, nudging each other knowingly. For all her London finery, not one gentleman had cast a single amorous glance in her direction. How strange to garner a lustful stare while dressed in her old riding habit.
If only he weren’t one of the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends. She sighed, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips tease her neck while he whispered forbidden things in her ear. A strange thrill coursed through her before she forced the wicked daydream from her head. He was a scoundrel and not worth a second thought.
Digging her heel into Manfred’s flanks, she drove him hard across the open ground, guiding him towards a hedge separating the fields. Pulling back on his reins, she sat forwards as he leapt and they easily cleared the bushes before landing on the other side.
‘Well done, Manfred!’
She slowed him to a walk and, coming to another path, looked longingly east. A smooth mound stood out against the flatter fields, the ruins on top silhouetted by the rising sun. At a full gallop, they could reach the old fortress in a few minutes and she might spend a quiet hour picking through the high grass searching for relics. Her heel itched to tap Manfred, but she resisted, reluctantly directing him back to Knollwood. Emily expected her at breakfast. Why, she couldn’t imagine. Neither Simon nor Annette, her stepcousins, had risen before noon since their arrival and when they were awake, they only complained about the country.
What could Uncle Edward possibly hope to accomplish by sending them here? she wondered, wishing he’d hurry up and recall them to London.
They trotted into the paddock, greeted by the fresh scent of hay and the sharper smell of horses.
‘I see you’ve had another fine ride, Miss Howard,’ John, the head groom, remarked, helping her down from the saddle. ‘I’ve always said the two of you were made for each another.’
‘That’s because I believed in him when no one else did. Didn’t I, Manfred?’ Julia rubbed the horse’s nose and he shook his head as if in agreement. ‘John, please speak to the gamekeeper. I saw a poacher in the forest this morning.’
‘A poacher?’ He held Manfred’s reins, disbelief deepening the lines of his forehead. ‘We’ve never had such trouble before.’
‘Well, I believe the man is a poacher, though it may have only been one of Mr Wilkins’s guests.’
‘Mr Wilkins has no guests, Miss Howard.’
Then who could he be? Julia tapped her riding crop against her palm, then handed it to John. ‘No matter. Please ask the gamekeeper to take care of it.’
‘Yes, Miss Howard.’
‘Oh, and please don’t mention it to Mother or Emily. They’ll only worry and then Emily will lecture me if she discovers I went riding without you.’ Emily had been married to her brother Charles for less than a year, but she’d prove his equal when it came to chastising Julia about proper behaviour.
‘I won’t say a word.’ John laid a knowing finger against the side of his ruddy nose before leading Manfred inside.
Thank goodness for his loyalty, she thought, fastening up the long hem of her riding habit. Without him, she and Manfred might never be allowed to enjoy their solitary rides.
Walking up the path from the stables, she passed through a small grove of trees and into the large, open lawn. Crossing the wide space, she kicked the head off a dandelion, sprinkling her skirt with bits of grass and dew.
I must speak to Bill about bringing the sheep here to trim the grass, she reminded herself before passing through a gate in the low stone wall surrounding the garden on the other side.
Wandering down the gravel path through the semi-formal plant beds, she saw the house rise up in front of her, its many windows reflecting the morning sun. She removed her right glove and grazed the top of a large rosemary bush with her fingers before snapping off a sprig and inhaling the tangy scent. All the troubles she’d forgotten during her ride came rushing back, especially Charles’s letter.
‘His estate.’ Julia threw the rosemary sprig on the ground, crushing it beneath her half-boot. ‘What does he know of running Knollwood?’
She’d burned the hateful parchment after reading it, watching with delight as the neat script crumpled and charred in the flames. However, all the burned letters couldn’t stop her brother from claiming his inheritance.
Pausing at the small pond in the centre of the garden, she stared into the dark water. Goldfish flitted beneath the glass surface, failing to disturb the reflection of the thick clouds passing overhead.
Why should he have Knollwood? Tears of frustration stung her eyes. He’s never taken an interest in it the way I have.
Nor did he appreciate all her hard work to keep it prosperous. Only Father and Paul had ever recognised it, but with Paul serving with Admiral Nelson’s fleet and Father—
No, she commanded herself, refusing to cry. Tears would not help her deal with Charles.
Heading up the garden path, she passed her mother’s cherished rose garden, then hurried up the stairs of the column-lined stone portico leading to the back sitting room.
‘Good morning, Miss Howard,’ Davies, the butler, greeted, pulling open the large French door.
‘Good morning.’ She handed him her gloves and he held out a small paper-covered parcel.
‘This arrived from Mr Charles Howard.’
‘My book.’ She tore off the wrapper to reveal a leather-bound copy of The Monk. ‘I can’t believe Charles sent it. He’s always so concerned about not disturbing my delicate female mind. It’s fortunate he doesn’t know the half of what Paul tells me.’
‘Yes, very fortunate indeed,’ Davies solemnly concurred. He’d been Paul’s valet when Paul still lived at Knollwood, making him well acquainted with her brother’s nature and most of his escapades.
‘Has Uncle George returned from London yet?’
‘Captain Russell arrived a short while ago to collect Percy and speak with Mrs Emily Howard. He’s returned to Creedon Abbey to see to the repairs.’
‘Uncle George was here and didn’t wait for me?’
‘No, miss, but it appears we are to expect another gentleman.’
‘Who?’
‘Mrs Howard did not say, but she instructed me to open Paul’s room for him.’
Julia chafed at the news. ‘When is he arriving?’
‘This afternoon.’
‘Thank you, Davies. Please tell Mrs Howard I won’t be joining her for breakfast.’
‘Yes, miss.’
Julia walked down the hall to the study, determined to avoid the breakfast room no matter how many lectures it might create. What right did Emily have to make decisions at Knollwood? The maids and footmen were stretched thin enough with Uncle George staying here and all her stepcousins’ demands.
Crossing the study’s large, woven rug, Julia sighed. Emily, as Charles’s wife, had every right to invite whomever she pleased, even if it did mean additional work for Julia and the staff. For a moment she imagined herself mistress of her own home, free to make decisions and live without her brother’s censure, then dismissed the thought. Once Charles took control, he’d soon realise the limitations of his estate management skills, or return to London for Parliament in the spring, leaving Knollwood in Julia’s hands once again. Or so she hoped. Her brother had a habit of being very stubborn.
She sat down behind the large, mahogany desk situated at the far end of the study. High bookcases lined one wall while south-facing windows with a view of the garden dominated the other. A tall, wooden bookstand supporting a fine atlas stood guard near the window, flanked by two leather chairs. Her father had decorated the room, choosing every element down to each book. From here he conducted all family business, patiently bearing Charles’s sermons about the proper education for Julia, dealing with one of Paul’s many near scandals or teaching Julia to run Knollwood.
It’d happened by accident, after she’d fled here one day to avoid drawing lessons. Sitting with her father while he reviewed the figures, she’d asked questions and he’d answered them, noticing her interest. The next day, he’d invited her to join him again and it became their habit. In the afternoons, they’d ride the estate, speaking with the workers and learning their methods and the land. Then, one day, he told her to do the figures, allowed her to sit in the room while he met with the overseer and gave her correspondence to read and answer. No one in the family except Charles questioned her strange education and Father would laugh him off, saying he wasn’t about to lose his best manager because she was a girl.
Julia smiled at the memory, then opened the large, leather-bound ledger. Settling herself over the accounts, she reviewed the figures, wrinkling her nose at the increased expenditures brought on by her stepcousins’ visit. Closing the ledger, she gathered up the large bundle of letters resting on the corner of the desk. She read through the missives, the minute details of the dairy and reports from the tenant farmers helping her forget the excitement of the morning.
Chapter Two
The study door swung open, startling Julia, and her pencil slipped, leaving a dark mark across two rows of figures.
‘Yes?’ she answered testily as Davies entered the room.
‘Captain Russell and his guest have arrived.’
Tossing down the pencil, she sat back in the chair, needing just a few more minutes to finish balancing the accounts. ‘They’re early.’
‘I believe they are on time.’
She looked at the windows, finally noticing how the sun and shadows had shifted in the garden and the room. ‘How long have I been working?’
‘All morning, Miss Howard.’
‘Then I’d better hurry and join them or I’ll never know a moment’s peace with Emily.’ Closing the ledger, she stood and started for the door. ‘Though I know Uncle George won’t mind my being late. He isn’t one for formality.’
‘Excuse me, Miss Howard...’ Davies coughed ‘...perhaps a change of dress is advisable.’
She stopped, inspecting the riding habit skirt, her loose hair falling over her face. Bits of leaves stuck to the honey-coloured fabric, making the damp hem noticeable and emphasising the creases along with the habit’s older style. She hardly ever wore this habit, but she’d soiled her better one yesterday by taking Manfred over a fence and through the mud on the other side. Had she seen the puddle, she wouldn’t have jumped him.
‘I’ll never hear the end of it if Emily catches me greeting guests in such a state. Where are they?’
‘The morning room.’
‘Do you think I can sneak upstairs and change before she sees me?’
‘It is quite possible, Miss Howard.’
‘We shall see.’
She hurried from the study and down the corridor. Approaching the entrance hall, she crept over the stone floor to the stairs, listening to Uncle George’s robust laughter followed by the deep tones of the other gentleman in the morning room. The stranger’s voice sounded oddly familiar, but she didn’t dare peek inside for fear of being seen. Stealing past the open door, she turned the corner to slip upstairs, coming face to face with her sister-in-law.
‘What are you doing in your riding habit?’ Emily demanded in hushed tones, her delicate eyes darting nervously to the morning room. ‘And your hair? You can’t welcome your guests looking like a dairy maid.’
‘My guests?’
‘Never mind. We’ll say you were out riding and then you can meet the captain now before Uncle George drags him off for who knows how long.’ Emily pulled her in front of the gilded mirror beneath the stairs and out of sight of the door.
‘Did you say Uncle George’s guest is a captain?’ Julia winced as Emily untangled a small twig from her hair.
‘Yes, Captain Covington.’
‘Uncle George’s friend from Tortuga?’ Julia twisted around to face Emily before her sister-in-law gently spun her back to the mirror, dividing her hair into three sections, then working them into a braid.
‘Yes, I believe so.’
Julia forced down a frustrated sigh. Single gentlemen were a rarity at Knollwood and Julia could practically see Emily’s matchmaking machinations. It was the only explanation for why she insisted on this hurried first meeting. Apparently, she didn’t know as much about Uncle George’s friend as Julia did or she wouldn’t be so excited, or eager to make the introduction. ‘Well, if Captain Covington is to stay with us, I’d better instruct Davies to lock up the brandy.’
‘Captain Covington isn’t that kind of gentleman.’
‘Then I’d better lock up the maids.’
‘Julia!’ Emily stared at her in the mirror, her pale face alight with shock. ‘Young ladies shouldn’t know about such things.’
Thankfully Paul thinks I should. If Emily and Charles ever learned the full extent of what Paul had told her, they’d probably chaperon their every conversation.
Emily smoothed the sturdy wool of Julia’s habit, picking off stray leaves, her hands fluttering while she worked.
‘You received another letter from Charles, didn’t you?’ Julia asked. Emily’s concern for propriety always increased after a letter from her husband.
Emily blushed, pink spreading from her cheeks to her light blonde hair. ‘Am I so obvious?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘It’s only because we want to see you well settled.’
‘No, it’s because Charles thinks I don’t act like a proper lady and such behaviour will cause a scandal and hurt his career in Parliament.’
Emily laid a motherly hand on Julia’s shoulder. ‘Your brother loves you and only wants to see you happy.’
Despite the well-meaning remark, Julia wasn’t ready to concede defeat. ‘I’m happy as I am.’
Emily moved behind Julia, fastening the braid into a small bun at the nape of her neck. ‘I know, but time doesn’t stand still. Some day you may want more.’
‘What about Simon and Annette? They aren’t greeting Uncle George. Why not censure them?’
‘It’s not my place to comment on their conduct.’ Emily frowned and pulled her lips tight. ‘They are both indisposed and will be down later.’
Julia bit back a sharp retort about the two of them always being indisposed when another idea came to mind. ‘Perhaps I can speak to Captain Covington about Paul’s promotion. Maybe he knows someone in the Admiralty who can arrange for Paul to get his own ship. I can’t believe he didn’t receive a command. If I ever find the man who wrote his bad recommendation—’
‘I’m sure your brother is capable of managing his own affairs,’ her mother interrupted, descending the stairs. Her grey eyes took in Julia, neither approving nor disapproving of her attire. Under her arm Charlemagne, her King Charles spaniel, panted, his pink tongue dangling from his mouth. Mother swept into the morning room, her plain dress whispering about her legs, her dark hair flecked with grey pulled neatly into a twist at the back of her head. Julia envied Mother’s refined presence and decorum, wondering how many difficulties she could have avoided if fate had given her even a small portion of Mother’s poise.
Emily, eager to fulfil her duties as hostess and, Julia thought, to fling her in the captain’s path, guided Julia to the morning room. ‘Come along. We’ve kept our guest waiting long enough.’
Inside, Mother exchanged pleasantries with Uncle George and the captain, who stood with his back to Julia.
‘Your lands are some of the best I’ve seen,’ he complimented, the rich, familiar voice vibrating through Julia. She noticed the dark hair curling just above the collar of his uniform and the way the sunlight falling through the window highlighted the deep-red tones.
The stranger! A sudden rush of excitement mixed with fear jolted her and she froze just over the threshold.
‘Are you all right?’ Emily whispered and Julia shook her head, taking a large step back.
‘No, I think I should change.’ He’d seen her riding without a groom. If he mentioned it to Emily, there’d be no end to the reprimands.
‘It’s too late now.’ Emily gripped her arm tight to keep her from fleeing as she motioned to Uncle George.
‘And here is the party responsible for Knollwood’s prosperity.’ Uncle George ushered the captain to them. ‘Captain Covington, Miss Julia Howard.’
If she had thought him handsome in plain hunting clothes, he took her breath away in uniform. The dark coat with the gold epaulettes emphasised his wide shoulders and the powerful presence she had felt in the forest. Without the advantage of Manfred’s height, she had to look up at him. Though not overly tall, he stood a good head above her. The fantasy of being swept into his arms filled her mind once again and she swallowed hard.
‘A pleasure.’ He bowed.
Her eyes travelled the length of him as he straightened. Well-muscled calves stretched his hose tight while slightly looser breeches could not hide his strong thighs and other unmentionable areas. Feeling her cheeks burn, Julia focused on his face as she held out her hand. ‘Captain Covington, welcome to Knollwood.’
He wrapped his fingers lightly around hers, then swept his lips across the bare knuckles. Julia drew in a ragged breath, trying not to tremble. The white-trimmed collar of the coat framed his now clean-shaven face and she curled her fingers slightly around his to stop herself from tracing the smooth line of his jaw.
‘Good morning, Artemis.’ His breath tickled the back of her hand and her body tightened in shock. ‘I assume I am no longer trespassing on your land?’
She leaned closer, inhaling the earthy smell of his lavender shaving soap. ‘That remains to be seen.’
He squeezed her hand, then let go. Julia stepped back, very aware of Emily shifting from foot to foot behind him.
‘Have you two met before?’ Emily asked in a high voice.
‘I had the privilege of encountering Miss Howard while she was riding in the forest this morning,’ Captain Covington explained, oblivious to the trouble he’d just caused.
Julia braced herself for the coming scolding, wishing the captain had held his tongue.
‘You were riding without the groom again?’ Emily asked, the nervous quaver in her voice more irritating than a bur in a boot.
‘No, the groom was with her,’ James lied before Julia could answer. ‘But I’m afraid I failed to properly introduce myself and she mistook me for a poacher.’
Julia gaped at him, surprised he’d lie for her after the way she’d addressed him in the woods.
‘George left no detail untold regarding your management,’ he continued. ‘You have quite an estate. I’m very impressed.’
‘Thank you,’ she faltered, the compliment catching her off guard. Usually gentlemen scoffed at her unusual accomplishment. ‘I’m quite protective of it, as you may have gathered.’
‘Indeed. I’ve never met such a fearsome protector of woodland creatures in all my life.’
‘I’m sure many innocent creatures need protection from Navy men.’
Emily inhaled sharply and Uncle George snorted out a laugh while her mother continued to pet Charlemagne, barely noting the exchange.
The captain’s lips tightened in an attempt to keep from laughing and suddenly Julia regretted her impudent tongue. With all she knew of him from Uncle George’s stories, to fire off such forward remarks, no matter how innocent, might give him the wrong impression and it wasn’t very gracious, especially after he’d lied to help her.
‘Shall we sit down?’ Emily interrupted, nervously studying Julia and the captain.
‘Yes, thank you.’ He allowed Emily to escort him to the sofa and chairs near the window, her mother following close behind.
Julia stayed by the door, hoping she could slip away without Emily noticing. Decorum dictated she stay and entertain the captain, but something about him unnerved her. It was one thing to speak so frankly to family, quite another with a stranger, no matter how well he knew Uncle George. Better to leave now than risk another slip.
‘I see you hiding there.’ Uncle George came up alongside her, thumbs hooked in his jacket lapel.
‘I’m not hiding.’
‘Then come and join us.’
Julia smiled half-heartedly, watching the captain as he answered one of Mother’s questions, his smile steady as he spoke. Whatever the captain thought of her unconventional behaviour, he’d already forgotten it. Deep down, some part of her wanted him to notice her, the way he had in the woods. As if sensing her, he shifted in the chair, meeting her eyes, and she turned to Uncle George.
‘No, I have business to attend to.’
‘Leave it for later. I think you’ll enjoy the captain. You two already have quite the rapport.’ He tugged her ear playfully, the way he’d done since she was a child.
The friendly gesture usually made her smile. Today it increased the irritation chewing at her. ‘My work can’t wait.’
‘If you insist. But you can’t hide at Knollwood for ever. Eventually, you’ll have to get out in the world and live.’
‘I’m not hiding,’ Julia protested.
‘Of course not. Silly of me to say it.’ He patted her arm. ‘Go back to the study. I’ll make your excuses.’
Julia left, pausing a moment to listen to the muffled voices, suddenly feeling very alone. Walking through the back sitting room, she took in the sturdy walls of Knollwood covered in hunting prints and old portraits of well-dressed ancestors. Here she felt safe and, when not entertaining guests, confident in herself. Anywhere else she felt awkward and unsettled. What would happen if Charles took this away from her?
She slipped out of the French doors and crossed the garden to the far corner where the tall boxwood hedges hid her from the house. At the centre of this private courtyard stood a fountain of a man and woman locked in a passionate kiss, a copy of some nameless Greek statue. It had been a gift to their father from Paul after his first visit to Greece. Having no use for the statue in the house, her father had it made into a fountain, scandalising Charles, who insisted on hiding it in this secluded corner.
Julia plunked down on the stone bench in front of the fountain, watching the water run over the naked marble bodies. The polished stone glistened in the noon sun, intensifying the urgency of the lovers’ embrace. The man’s fingers dug into the hard flesh of the woman’s thigh, his hands entwined in her hair as she pressed her naked form against his. Her long, gracefully carved fingers rested against the taut muscles of the male’s well-chiselled back. Studying the lovers’ embrace, their bodies so close not even water could separate them, Julia felt her chest constrict. What would it be like to inspire such passion in a man?
Picking up a small stone, she flung it into the pool at the base of the fountain, sending a large splash up and over the side. Reaching down for another rock, she heard the pitter-patter of paws on gravel as Charlemagne barrelled down on her. The small dog threw his front paws up on her knees, his wagging tail shaking his whole body as Julia stroked his soft fur.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ her mother said, scooping up Charlemagne and sitting down next to her.
‘Did Emily send you here to chastise me for not being a perfect lady?’
‘Emily is a sweet girl, good for Charles and I adore her,’ her mother remarked, settling the wiggling dog on her lap. ‘But I seldom listen to her advice or Charles’s. I suggest you do the same.’
‘I’ve tried, but it only makes them more persistent.’
‘Yes, he takes after your grandfather in that regard.’ Charlemagne refused to be still and Mother put him on the ground. ‘You’re worried about Charles taking over Knollwood, aren’t you?’
Like Uncle George, Mother could be very direct and Julia found it both helpful and at times hindering. She watched Charlemagne sniff around the fountain, jumping back when an errant bead of water landed on his nose.
‘When he does, what will I do?’ Julia choked, digging the toe of her boot into the ground.
‘I think you’ll find something. You’re much more resourceful than either Charles or Paul.’
‘But what else could there possibly be for me?’
Her mother took Julia’s face in her hands, pushing a strand of hair off of her cheek. ‘That’s up to you to discover.’
She kissed Julia’s forehead, then rose, snapping her fingers at Charlemagne.
‘Do I hide from the world here?’ Julia asked before her mother could leave.
‘Who put such an idea in your head?’
‘Uncle George.’
The older woman laughed softly. ‘Since when do you take my brother seriously?’
Julia shrugged. ‘Emily and Charles are always saying it, in their own way.’
‘I think only you know the answer.’ She strolled out of the garden, Charlemagne close on her heels.
* * *
The quick click of a lady’s perturbed step drew James to the morning-room door. Miss Howard strode into the entrance hall, moving like a tempest, oblivious to everything but her own energy. Fascinated, he wanted to draw her out, but hesitated. Better to let her go than risk the blunt blow of her dark mood. However, something in the troubled frown on her pretty face prompted him to speak.
‘Miss Howard?’
The stomping girl vanished, replaced by an awkward young woman conscious of the world around her. ‘Yes?’
She stood on the bottom stair, one small hand on the oak banister, poised like a doe to flee. He wondered what had happened to make such an exuberant creature so timid. ‘I want to apologise for this morning. You took me quite by surprise.’
‘Yes, I imagine I did.’ She moved to leave, but he wasn’t ready to let her go.
‘I don’t usually meet young ladies in the forest so early in the morning.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’ she demanded with startling directness.
‘You didn’t ask,’ he laughed, his mirth evaporating under her stern glare. ‘Allow me to apologise. I should have introduced myself.’ He offered a humble bow, but it did not soften the small crease marring her smooth brow.
‘I wish you had for it might have saved us both a great deal of trouble.’
‘I shall endeavour to be more agreeable to you the next time we meet in a forest.’ The image of them alone among the trees, her hair loose about her naked shoulders, their bodies entwined came to mind. His hand itched to reach up and trace the gentle curve of her cheek, slip his fingers behind her long neck and draw her close.
‘There will be no next time,’ she corrected, ending the pleasant fantasy.
‘I think it quite possible,’ he teased. ‘Judging by this morning, I assume it is your habit to ride out alone in the mornings.’
‘Shh.’ She stepped closer, waving a silencing hand and filling the air between them with the faint scent of rosemary.
‘Your mother doesn’t approve of you riding alone?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘Mother doesn’t care, but Emily does.’ She stepped off the stair and stood in front of him, her face softening. ‘Thank you for not telling her you saw me riding without a groom. You spared me a great deal of trouble.’
‘It was my pleasure, and I’ll gladly do it again if the need arises.’
‘I hope it doesn’t come to that.’ She smiled, her face glowing with amusement.
‘You’re very pretty when you smile,’ he offered without thinking, amazed at how much her pleasure delighted him.
Her smile disappeared and she raised one disbelieving eyebrow. Something of the confident Artemis he’d seen this morning flashed in her hazel eyes, rousing his blood.
‘I know the country is lacking in diversions, but do not think to amuse yourself with me.’
James straightened, forgetting his desire. He should have been insulted, but he could hardly blame her for saying what he’d momentarily imagined. ‘You misunderstood my meaning. I have never, would never behave as you intimate.’
She fixed him with the same scrutinising look he once used on seamen when they told him a tall tale to cover their misdeeds. ‘I am not naïve, Captain. My brother and uncle tell me everything, so I know what Navy men are about.’
‘Do you?’ He struggled to keep the laughter out of his voice, still unable to believe a young woman with her hair pulled back like a dour nun could be so forward. He leaned against the wooden banister, bringing their faces much closer than intended. She did not step back. ‘I may have to change your opinion of Navy men.’
‘I’m afraid you have only worked to confirm it.’
Her saucy eyes teased him. Were this Tortuga, he would have covered her full mouth with his, allowed his fingers to free her hair from the bun as he pulled her close to kiss away the wry smile dancing about her lips. However, his good breeding, not to mention his status as George’s guest, prevented such a blatant breach of etiquette.
* * *
‘Julia!’ Emily appeared at the morning-room door. Julia stepped back, her cheeks burning, awkwardness replacing her courage. Silently, she cursed her impetuous nature, wondering what it was about the captain that kept causing her to forget herself. A few minutes in the gentleman’s presence and she was once again acting like a strumpet instead of a lady. How much had Emily heard? Hopefully nothing or she and Charles would feel vindicated in all their chastising.
Before anyone could say anything, baby Thomas’s wail filled the upstairs hallway and the nurse appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying the infant. He was only two months old, but he’d been born early and Emily fretted over him like no other well-born mother in the county.
‘Mrs Howard, it is time for his feeding,’ the nurse called over the screaming baby.
Emily glanced from the captain to Julia to upstairs, weighing her desire to reprimand with the need to see to her child. Luckily, Thomas’s cries grew louder, making the decision for her.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I must attend to my son.’ Emily shot Julia a silent warning before hurrying up to escort the nurse to the nursery. For all of Charles’s and Emily’s priggishness, they were firm believers in Rousseau’s ideas of breastfeeding. It was one of the few things Julia admired them for.
‘Despite being born two months early, my nephew has a healthy appetite and powerful lungs,’ Julia observed.
‘His lungs will serve him well if he enters Parliament. Like his father, his opinions will always be heard,’ Captain Covington teased.
Julia laughed, the captain’s joke putting her at ease. She was about to respond when a small cough from the landing interrupted them.
‘Good morning, Captain Covington.’ Annette glided down the stairs, her blue eyes raking over him. Dressed in a fashionable walking dress of expensive yellow silk, she stepped in between Julia and the captain. Her haughty air irked Julia and she clasped her hands together to keep from smacking the chit on the back of her elegantly coiffed blonde head. Though they were the same age, they had nothing in common and had never been more than civil to each other since Annette’s arrival.
‘Miss Taylor, a pleasure to see you again.’ The captain bowed over her extended hand, the relaxed Navy man from a moment before replaced by a proper gentleman.
Julia noted the change and her heart sank. Obviously, he respected the polished manners of a London lady to the questionable conduct of a country girl.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Neither of them will be here for ever.
‘How are your dear sister and mother?’ Annette asked, her voice light and charming.
‘My sister Charlotte is in Wiltshire with her husband. My mother is with them at the moment, though she returns to town next week. She prefers London to the country.’
‘Who of us doesn’t?’ Simon yawned from the top of the stairs, his voice heavy with the Devonshire lisp so popular in town. Tall and lean, Simon wore a suit of the finest material cut tight to accentuate his slender body. He possessed the same sharp features as his sister, but the affected boredom of his dandified style softened them considerably.
Annette’s face reddened at Simon’s remark. ‘You remember my brother?’
‘Of course.’ Both men nodded to one another, no affection lost on either side.
‘We are going to the local town. Please join us for I’m eager for some society after such isolation.’
‘Did I hear someone suggest a ride into Daringford?’ Uncle George asked, coming up behind the captain.
‘Yes. Care to join us?’ Captain Covington invited.
While they made their plans, Julia started up the stairs, sure no one would notice her absence. They had each other; they did not need her. She froze when the captain called out to her.
‘Miss Howard, would you like to join us?’
Surveying the waiting group, Julia wondered how much more of his company she could endure without gaining a reputation as a hoyden. Until she could learn to control her tongue in his presence, it was probably better to avoid him. She moved to make her excuses when Annette’s condescending sweep of Julia’s riding habit changed her mind. ‘Yes, but allow me to change. I’ll only be a moment.’
‘Your dress is passable. Come and let’s be off,’ Uncle George impatiently called.
Julia reluctantly stepped off the stairs. Emily would have a fit if she knew Julia wore her old riding habit into town. Oh, well, what was one more reprimand? Besides, it was worth the rebuke to annoy Annette.
‘Come, Captain Covington.’ Annette motioned for his arm and like a true gentleman he offered it, leading her outside to the waiting carriage. Julia watched the way her stepcousin moved, the rich material and fine cut of her dress emphasising her willowy figure. A slight twinge of jealousy took hold and Julia wondered if things would be different if she made an effort to dress so well every day or demonstrate proper, genteel manners.
‘My lady.’ Uncle George offered her his arm with an exaggerated flourish.
‘Why, thank you, sir,’ she answered with equally false formality.
‘What do you think of the captain?’ he asked in a low voice as they strolled out to the waiting carriage.
‘He strikes me as quite the man about town. He’s already caught Annette’s attention.’
‘Any man with a pocketbook catches her fancy,’ George huffed. ‘You shouldn’t let her have him.’
‘I have no interest in a Navy man, especially one with a thin London polish.’
‘He’s no Simon, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s rich, too. Thanks, I might say, in part to many of my lucrative schemes.’
Julia suppressed a laugh, knowing how proud Uncle George was of the numerous profitable ventures he’d embarked on during his time in the Navy. ‘Why did the captain resign?’
‘George, stop gossiping and get in,’ Captain Covington interrupted from beside the open carriage door. ‘No need to give away all my secrets on the first day.’
‘Not possible, Jim. You’ve got too many.’ Uncle George chuckled.
‘May I?’ Captain Covington held out his hand, a playful smile lighting up his face. Julia reached for his upturned palm, hesitating a moment before pushing against the strength of it to step up into the carriage.
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t dare meet his eyes, but slid across the squabs and settled in next to the far window, her hand still tingling from his touch. Uncle George sat beside her in an attempt to place some distance between her, Annette and Simon and she was grateful. The captain took a seat across from them, next to Annette, much to the chit’s visible delight.
Simon paused to adjust his cravat, then carefully climbed into the carriage, moving like an old lady to avoid wrinkling his morning coat. The door closed behind him, but Simon wasn’t fully seated when Uncle George rapped on the roof. The vehicle sprung into motion, throwing Simon into the seat next to his sister.
‘I say,’ Simon complained to George.
‘Sorry about that.’ George shrugged, unruffled by Simon’s outburst.
‘Men can be so silly, don’t you agree, Captain Covington?’ Annette laughed, reprimanding her brother with a look he pointedly ignored.
‘Yes, they can be.’ The captain allowed the conversation to drop, watching the countryside pass by outside the window, a strange melancholy clouding his face. Julia noted the way the afternoon sunlight spread over his features, highlighting a very small scar on his cheek and giving him a bit of mystery and depth she’d never seen in any London gentleman. Then his eyes darted to hers and she turned away, her heart fluttering, the heat in the carriage rising sharply.
What’s wrong with me? she wondered, touching the warm skin of her neck. It wasn’t like her to act so hen-witted in the company of a man, especially a Navy rake like the captain. Struggling to regain control, she concentrated on the river flowing in the gully below the road. No matter how much she focused on the clear water pouring over the rocks, the captain lingered on the edge of her vision. When she dared to look at him again, she found him still smiling at her.
‘Captain Covington, were you at Lady Wellsingham’s ball last month?’ Annette asked.
‘No, I’m afraid business kept me away,’ he answered with a slight frown before covering it with a gracious smile.
Perhaps he’s not so taken by London charms, Julia mused, sitting back to observe the conversation with a new interest.
‘What a pity. You would have enjoyed it. All anyone could talk about was Lord Langston’s comment on Napoleon. He said the Emperor’s coat was too tight to suit a real gentleman, and if the Emperor had a better tailor, he might not be so fond of war.’
‘I thought politics a taboo subject at balls?’ Julia asked, more to annoy her stepcousin than out of any real interest.
‘We were discussing Lord Langston’s comment, not politics,’ Annette arrogantly clarified. ‘Surely you’ve heard of the earl, even here?’
Julia bit back a sharp retort, struggling through gritted teeth to remain cordial.
‘Yes. Charles keeps me abreast of the latest London news, though I pay it no mind. I hardly feel the comments of a man who thinks only of clothes and dancing is worth the breath to spread it. Were he a man of actual accomplishments, such as Lord Nelson, I might take more interest in what he has to say.’
‘Here, here, Julia.’ George slapped his knee and Annette pursed her thin lips.
‘Sounds like a rather American idea to me, Miss Howard,’ Captain Covington asked.
‘Have you been to America, Captain?’ Julia asked.
‘Yes, it’s an interesting country.’
‘I don’t agree with the Americans. The French followed their example and all their patriotism and liberty turned out dreadful,’ Annette interjected, but both Julia and Captain Covington ignored the remark.
‘I’m a great admirer of Mr Jefferson. Are you familiar with his agricultural inventions?’ Julia asked.
‘Yes, I read one of his books while I was in London. I read quite a number of books while I was at home.’ He paused, watching his left hand open and close before he looked up at her again. ‘I don’t recall the specific of Mr Jefferson’s designs, but I remember them being quite innovative.’
‘He devised a plough specifically for hills. It’s proved most beneficial to Knollwood,’ she volunteered, encouraged by his response. ‘Like Mr Jefferson, I’ve discovered the best way to develop new techniques is to ask the workers. I regularly speak with mine to keep abreast of their progress and any potential problems.’
‘How plebian to be so familiar with your servants,’ Annette sneered.
Julia went silent, the conspicuous difference between her and her London cousin making her self-conscious.
‘I agree, Miss Howard, servants are often aware of more than their employers realise,’ the captain offered with a smile.
‘Indeed, they know the land and conditions better than anyone else.’
Careful not to gloat over the obvious check to Annette’s mocking remark, Julia continued her discussion of agriculture, encouraged by the captain’s extensive knowledge. The bulk of it came from books, but he asked many questions about the practical application, eager to learn. While they spoke, Julia watched the way Annette hung on his every word, fluttering her eyelashes at him while praising his wit and intelligence. Each compliment brought a smile to his face and as much as Julia’s opinion of him rose with their current discussion, his apparent infatuation with Annette lowered it. Perhaps the captain thought her cousin a better country amusement than Julia. After all, the way Annette fawned on him made her interest apparent. How typical of a man to fall prey to such a shallow woman.
* * *
The carriage rattled into town, coming to a stop near the centre of the High Street. James stepped out into the crisp autumn air and took a deep breath. Being confined for so long next to Miss Taylor reminded him of a tight gun deck on a humid day in the islands. Only Miss Howard’s airy voice and sparkling eyes offered any respite from Miss Taylor’s cloying company.
‘What an exile,’ Mr Taylor sighed, taking in Daringford’s dusty streets lined with shops. ‘I’ll return shortly.’
‘I thought you were going to stay with me?’ Miss Taylor whined as James handed her out of the carriage.
Mr Taylor ignored her, strolling off towards the Sign of the Swan tavern, much to his sister’s visible displeasure.
James turned back to the carriage to help Miss Howard out, only to see her alight from the other side before hurrying around to join them.
‘I’m afraid I must leave you as well,’ George announced. ‘I have some business to attend to with my solicitor. Take good care of the ladies, Jim.’ He went off in the opposite direction, leaving James alone with Miss Taylor and Miss Howard.
‘Well, ladies, where shall we go?’
‘The milliner’s shop,’ Miss Taylor decided. ‘I must purchase some lace, though I doubt it will be of the same quality here as in London.’
‘The milliner it is, unless Miss Howard has somewhere she wishes to go?’
Miss Howard shook her head. ‘No, I’m simply here for the diversion.’
‘One could hardly call this place a diversion.’ Miss Taylor made for the row of shops lining the north side of the street, stepping gingerly around the dirt and mud.
‘I suppose we must follow.’ Miss Howard sighed.
‘I suppose we must.’
Their progress across the square was slow, with Miss Howard stopping more than once to speak to some farmers’ wives. He stood by while they conversed, noting how she addressed the women without arrogance or conceit. There were no signs of her former awkwardness and he thought it strange she should get along so well with these women, yet seem utterly out of place with people like the Taylors. It baffled him, but he enjoyed it, her friendly attitude a refreshing change from rigid London ways.
When they finally reached the milliner shop, James held open the door, then followed her inside. ‘Do you come to the village often?’
‘Yes, it seems I am always purchasing necessities for Knollwood.’
Miss Taylor ignored them in favour of the shopkeeper who hustled to help the London girl spend her blunt. Miss Howard did not shop, but loitered with him near the front window, as out of place here as Miss Taylor would be among estate labourers.
‘You have no interest in lace?’ James asked.
‘I’ve come to town in my riding habit. I assure you, I have no interest in lace.’
He noted the older cut of the habit with its lower waist and fitted bodice. The style skimmed her flat stomach and accentuated her curved hips. He preferred the form-flattering shape to the high-waisted style dominating Rotten Row. ‘I like your dress.’
‘Do you?’
He heard disbelief in the question, but also a note of hope. ‘I do.’
She played with a small piece of ribbon dangling off the table next to her, then nodded at Miss Taylor, who stood at the counter negotiating with the shopkeeper over the price. ‘She certainly drives a hard bargain. I’m amazed she bothers to be so economical.’
‘Perhaps her situation is not what it seems.’
Miss Howard’s puzzled face indicated her ignorance of the London rumours regarding the Taylors. However, before she could respond, a round matron followed by a blonde young lady with similar full features entered the store.
‘Miss Howard,’ the older woman called out, crossing to where they stood. ‘What a pleasure to see you in here. I didn’t think you one for the milliner’s shop.’
Miss Howard’s lips drew tight and James’s ire rose at the belittling way the matron’s eyes swept over Miss Howard, making her flush with embarrassment.
‘Mrs Johnson, may I introduce Captain Covington.’ Miss Howard motioned to him. ‘He is a friend of my uncle and staying with us. Captain Covington, this is Mrs Johnson and her daughter, Miss Caroline Johnson.’
The two ladies curtsied to James, sizing up his value as a potential husband.
He bowed, unwilling to remain here or give this woman another chance to insult Miss Howard. ‘If you’ll excuse us, we were just about to step outside and leave you lovely women to your shopping.’
He offered Miss Howard his arm. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and flashed the disbelieving Mrs and Miss Johnson a wide smile as he escorted her out of the shop.
‘I see some mamas are as rude here as they are in London,’ James fumed once they were outside. ‘What did she hope to gain by being condescending to you?’
‘I don’t know, but please pay it no mind. I’m quite used to it.’ Miss Howard withdrew her hand and placed a respectable distance between them. He brushed his fingers over the spot where she’d held his arm, missing the soft weight of her touch.
‘You should make a habit of responding to rude people,’ James suggested.
‘Why? Emily and Charles would only hear of it, then chastise me for being ill mannered. It seems I must be civil to everyone while everyone may speak to me as they please.’
‘There are many ways to appear courteous, yet still strike a cutting blow.’
‘Then you must teach me some for I’m tired of putting up with such nonsense.’ She laughed, the charming sound carrying over the noisy rattle of equipage in the street.
‘It would be my pleasure. What sort of remark would you like to learn first?’
‘James Covington,’ the long-forgotten but familiar female voice called out from behind them, slicing through him like a sword and shattering his jovial mood. ‘I can hardly believe it.’
He turned, watching Melinda Knight saunter up the street, a wicked smile decorating her full lips. A low-cut gown showed off her ample white bosom, much to the appreciation of the passing village men. Many paused to admire her, elbowing one another as their lecherous eyes enjoyed the well-displayed assets. They obviously deemed her a beauty, but James, who’d known her in his youth, saw the toll London indulgence had taken. Her dark-brown eyes seemed tired and dull while her once slender form had grown more stout, filling out her face and keeping away, for a few more years at least, the lines forming about her eyes and the corners of her lips.
‘Miss Knight,’ he greeted through clenched teeth.
‘I’m Mrs Wilkins now, or have you forgotten?’
James’s lip curled in loathing. ‘So you married him?’
‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’ Her seductive voice had once heated his blood; now it left him icy with disgust.
‘I would hardly call us friends.’
She wedged herself between him and Miss Howard, her bosom brushing his chest. ‘At one time you called me a great deal more.’
‘That was a long time ago.’ He stepped back, fighting the urge to push her away. The reaction unnerved him. He thought he’d forgotten her treachery years ago. Taking control of his surging emotions, he turned to Miss Howard, noting her stunned expression. ‘May I introduce Miss Howard of Knollwood.’
Melinda faced Julia, taking her in and dismissing her all at once. ‘We already know one another. My husband owns Cable Grange. My, what a pretty riding habit. Did you ride here?’
‘No,’ Miss Howard retorted, her dislike of Melinda palpable.
‘Must be the new fashion. I find it so hard to keep up. You country girls have such different tastes.’
Melinda laid a gloved hand on James’s arm and he pulled away, leaving her fingers hanging like talons before she lowered them. Far from being embarrassed, she seemed to take pleasure in his revulsion. ‘You should come and visit us, James. I know Rowan would love to see you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.’
She swept off down the street, collecting more appreciative stares as she went.
‘You know her?’ Miss Howard gasped.
‘I knew her once, a long time ago. It’s of no importance.’ He wondered how best to correct whatever false impression his acquaintance with Melinda left. He refused to be judged by a past mistake, but no proper explanation came to mind.
‘Here comes George.’ James motioned over her shoulder, thankful for the distraction.
George rushed along the road, the light of delicious news in his eyes.
‘I can tell by the way he’s hurrying, he’s heard gossip,’ Julia observed. ‘He enjoys a story more than any old matron in Daringford.’
James laughed at the candid and accurate description. ‘It is good to know some things haven’t changed.’
‘Julia, you won’t believe what my solicitor told me,’ George blurted out between winded pants when he reached them. ‘Cable Grange is to be sold at auction in ten days if Mr Wilkins can’t pay his London creditors.’
Chapter Three
Julia jumped from the carriage the instant it halted in front of Knollwood. Flying up the front stairs, she ran down the hall, throwing open her mother’s sitting-room door, not caring what anyone thought of her very unladylike entrance.
‘Cable Grange is to be sold by the bailiff in ten days. You must write to Charles and tell him to arrange for my inheritance at once.’
‘Julia, do not stomp about the house,’ her mother instructed without missing a stitch in her embroidery. Charlemagne watched from a basket at her mother’s feet, his tail wagging lazily.
‘Mother, did you hear what I said?’ she demanded, chafing in the face of her apathy.
‘You know he won’t approve.’ Her mother pulled a long, red thread through the fabric. ‘He hardly approves of you running Knollwood in his absence.’
‘That’s why I need you to write him. Demand my inheritance, but don’t tell him why. I can’t have him buying Cable Grange out from under me.’
‘I have little influence with Charles, especially in this matter.’
‘But he has to give me the money,’ Julia cried, pacing the room. ‘This could be my only chance to secure an estate of my own.’
Her mother paused mid-stitch. ‘Without a husband? He’d never allow it. You must be married first.’
‘To whom? One of the many young men throwing themselves at my feet?’
‘My dear, don’t sound so despondent. Some day you will find a gentleman who loves you.’
‘Not in time to purchase Cable Grange.’ Julia sat down hard in the window seat.
‘Perhaps George can supply the necessary funds?’
‘Creedon Abbey is profitable, but not enough to finance another estate, especially not with the repairs from the fire.’ She knew because she often helped Uncle George with his accounting.
‘Then I’m afraid Cable Grange will go to another.’
Julia bit her thumbnail in frustration, feeling like a rabbit caught in a snare. Though the money was hers, her father’s will gave Charles control of it until she married or Charles died. At the moment, she wanted very much to kill her obstinate brother.
She picked at the gold thread on a pillow. ‘Why did Father put Charles in charge of my inheritance? Why not Uncle George or even Paul? They wouldn’t be so difficult.’
Her mother rose, sitting down next to Julia and taking her hands. ‘It’s what his solicitor advised. Your father intended to change it once George purchased Creedon Abbey, but his illness was so sudden—’
Silence heavy with grief settled between them. Outside, birds chirped in a nearby tree and Julia heard the distant bark of Uncle George’s hunting dogs.
‘It’s not fair.’
‘No, it isn’t, but don’t fret, my dear. Nothing is hopeless. Now, go and change for dinner.’ Her mother kissed her gently on the forehead, then returned to her embroidery stand.
Julia wandered down the hall to her room, her mind working over the current dilemma. She had to have Cable Grange. She refused to be shoved aside at Knollwood by Charles or to let him control her life. Paul would never do such a thing if it were up to him.
Closing the door behind her, she wondered if Paul could arrange for the money. Knowing how freely he spent while in port, she doubted he possessed the means to buy an estate and his failure to gain command of his own ship hindered his ability to make his fortune. Even if he could help, there was no way to reach him before the auction.
Julia paced her room, her mind working to think of a solution. The only way to buy Cable Grange was to obtain her inheritance. The only way to get her inheritance was to marry. At present, she had no suitors. To be honest, she had never had suitors, not here or during her one Season in London.
Julia stopped pacing, her mind seizing on an idea. What if she was only engaged? If Charles thought she intended to marry, surely he’d give her the money in time to purchase Cable Grange. Even he could see the benefit of making Cable Grange part of the Howard lands. But what gentleman could she possibly convince to make her a false offer?
Through the window overlooking the garden, she spied Simon strolling among the roses. It wasn’t like him to be awake at this time of day. Usually, he napped in the late afternoon in anticipation of an even later evening. How a man could spend all night gambling was beyond her comprehension.
The idea hit her like a bolt of lightning. Simon. As a gambler, he must need money. They could make a deal, pretend to be engaged and once she had her inheritance and Cable Grange, she’d give him a few hundred pounds to jilt her.
She rushed to the door, eager to strike the bargain, when a terrifying thought froze her hand on the doorknob. If he accepted the deal, could she buy his silence at the end of the engagement? If not, it would create a scandal, then who knew how Charles or even Mother would react. Charles might force her to go through with a ruinous marriage to avoid disgrace.
Julia resumed her pacing, desperate for a solution. Simon was no different from other London peacocks. How hard could it be to use her money, or the future possibility of money, to snare him? Instead of entangling herself in a potentially shocking agreement, she’d flaunt her wealth, then allow his greed to lead him to her. Once she had her inheritance and Cable Grange she could easily dismiss him. Simon would suffer no more heartbreak than the other London pinks who proposed to every unmarried rich woman who entered a ballroom. Even if breaking the engagement labelled her a jilt, it wouldn’t matter. She’d have her inheritance and Cable Grange and everything else could go to the devil.
Standing at the wardrobe, Julia tore through the dresses, selecting one of her better frocks. Slipping off the habit, she put on the light-blue dress, then sat at her dressing table to do her hair. The sight of herself in the mirror dampened her enthusiasm. Though the cloth of her frock was fine enough, the cut was unflattering and her hair, which was still fastened in the simple braided bun at the nape of her neck, did nothing to improve her features.
‘If only I were pretty enough to catch Simon without my money.’ She sighed and then dismissed the ridiculous notion. ‘I might as well wish for gold to fall from the sky.’
Pulling out the bun, she brushed out her hair. A man like Simon couldn’t resist the allure of money and she’d parade herself in front of him like a fat cow at market. Dignity be damned. She had to have Cable Grange for if she ended her days as a spinster aunt, she’d do it on her terms in her own house.
* * *
‘I never thought I’d see Melinda again.’ James smacked the cue stick hard against the white ball, sending it skipping over the slate, off the table and across the library’s wood floor.
George picked it up, laying it back on the table. ‘You aren’t still chewing on that, are you? Let it go. No good can come of it.’
‘Except an estate. I wasn’t planning it—I couldn’t have planned it—yet here it is, in my lap. I only have to wait for the bailiff to act, then I’ll watch them go and be done with it.’ Revenge coiled inside him with unnerving force. Even in the days after Melinda betrayed him, he hadn’t felt this much hate, but things were different then. His naval career had stretched out before him to blunt the disappointment and at sea he’d been too focused on succeeding and surviving to dwell on lost love. Now, with his career a shattered heap, his whole life crushed and bruised with it, there seemed nothing to distract him from old wounds. He flexed his left hand, cursing the dull pain. How he hated it and the way it made him hate everything.
George shook his head. ‘That’s not the Jim I remember.’
‘A lot of things changed last year.’
‘No, you just think they have. Look to the future. Don’t concern yourself with some past offence that no longer matters.’
‘You think it doesn’t matter?’
‘I think Rowan did you a favour, showed you who she really was before she leg-shackled you.’ George leaned across the table and took a shot, scoring another point. ‘Of course it’s your decision and Cable Grange will suit you, but you’ll need something more or you’ll be bored in a fortnight.’
‘You thinking running an estate won’t be enough?’ He reached for his glass of brandy sitting on the edge of the table.
‘Not for a man like you. You need adventure and what better adventure than marriage?’ George announced.
James stopped drinking mid-sip. ‘Marriage?’
‘Yes, marriage.’ George hooked his thumbs in his coat, quite pleased with himself.
‘What new scheme are you planning?’ He didn’t trust George’s happy manner.
‘Scheme? I never scheme.’
‘Never scheme?’ James laughed. ‘What was all that business with the rum in Jamaica?’
‘Merely an investment.’
‘And the plantation owner’s wife in Barbados?’
‘One could hardly fault me for such an escapade.’
‘Except the escapade’s husband.’
George shrugged, unrepentant. ‘You’re a man of your own mind. I never forced you to participate in the rum venture or follow me to the plantation.’
‘I followed you to save your hide and keep her husband from running you through.’
‘Perhaps.’ George fingered his cue stick, then levelled it at James. ‘But you went along with the other ventures because you wanted to, making a handsome profit on more than one occasion if I remember correctly.’
‘Yes, I have a great deal of my current fortune to thank you for.’
‘So why distrust me now?’
It wasn’t George he distrusted. It was himself. He hadn’t seen Miss Howard since returning from Daringford, but following George through Knollwood, he kept searching for her in every room, hoping she might appear. Her presence touched a place deep inside him he thought destroyed with his career and the feeling left him wary and unsettled. One woman had already preyed on the weakness of his youth. He couldn’t allow another to take advantage of his ruined life.
George fixed him with a stern, superior officer’s stare. ‘Seriously, Jim, you had a bad run last year, but you can’t live in the past. You’re young, full of possibility. You need a good woman by your side.’
‘I suppose you have someone in mind? Your little Artemis, perhaps?’
George leaned towards James, the glint of mischief in his eyes. James knew this expression all too well. How many times had he followed it into a tavern, or the heat of battle? ‘Now that you mention it, perhaps Julia is just the kind of woman you need. Sizeable inheritance. Brother in Parliament. Adept at running an estate. She’s a good match.’
James shook his head as he readied his cue stick. Is this what his life had come to? Discussing marriage over a billiard table? Country life must be very dull to lead an old salt like George to such a pastime. ‘Interesting suggestion—however, it has two flaws.’
‘And they are?’
‘One, I have no desire to marry, which you well know.’
‘At the moment, yes, but there’s always the future.’
‘And two, your Artemis doesn’t like me.’
‘Of course she likes you. She’s just an awkward girl. Spent too much time in the country, odd relatives and all that.’
‘Odd indeed.’ James hit the cue ball and it sailed past the red ball. ‘I see a great deal of Paul in his sister.’
‘There you are with the past again. Forget it. Paul was young. You were young and both of you stupid.’
‘I’d hardly say stupid.’
‘Stubborn, then, if you like. You’d be surprised to see him now.’
‘“Surprised” is not the word. Does your Artemis know I wrote to the Admiralty against Paul’s promotion?’
‘I didn’t see the need to inform her and I suggest you don’t either if you wish to have a pleasant visit. You don’t want to be on the wrong end of my niece’s temper.’
As if I needed the warning. ‘You don’t think she’ll find out?’
‘He’s off at sea and you’re here, not likely to meet.’
James had to admire George’s devil-may-care attitude. Here was a man who always believed everything would work out swimmingly and somehow for him it always did. What James wouldn’t give for even a small measure of George’s optimism, but the last year had left him anything but optimistic. The long days of his recovery followed by the even longer days of stalking the Admiralty, asking, then begging for another commission, had taken their toll.
During the year of his recovery, younger, fitter men with more prestigious connections had passed him by, and not even his loyal years of service were enough to secure him another ship. He could almost smell the oil on the wood panels of Admiral Stuart’s office the day he told James there would be no more commissions and encouraged—insisted, one might say—James enjoy his fortune while he still could.
In the end, despite his disappointment, he’d secretly been relieved. It shamed him to admit it, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Death had passed over him. Ten years ago he’d have shrugged it off and raced to face the devil once more. This time he couldn’t. He wanted to live free of violence and risks, to take care of his family and see his sister’s future children grow up, but without his command he saw nothing, no meaning or activity, just an endless set of days stretching out before him.
James refilled his drink from the small decanter of brandy on the table near the window. He hated this emptiness. It made him feel like a ship in a storm with a broken rudder at the mercy of driving winds and an unforgiving sea. He took a deep drink, careful not to enjoy too much the burning in the back of his throat. He’d seen other men come home and lose themselves in gin, women and cards, their energy wasted by a lack of duty and direction. He put the glass down, knowing his future wasn’t at the bottom of a bottle, but was it really as close as Cable Grange? Perhaps an estate would give him a sense of purpose again, a chance to do something more than grieve for his past and the future he’d planned for himself.
James watched while George calculated his next shot. ‘Why isn’t your little Artemis already married?’
‘Says she’s not interested.’
‘A woman not interested in marriage? Next you’ll tell me you believe in mermaids.’
‘I do. I saw one off the coast of Florida once. She’s not interested in marriage. However, a man with an estate could change her mind. If you’re determined to buy Cable Grange, she’s the woman you need to run it.’ George took his time lining up his shot, looking quite proud of himself for what he considered a brilliant idea.
James couldn’t resist the opportunity to rib his old friend. ‘So your niece is only interested in marrying a man for his estate?’
George whiffed the cue ball then straightened up, indignant. ‘She’s not that kind of young lady. She’s clever, a real woman of substance, made running Knollwood her life, but the place isn’t hers. Charles plans to assume control when he comes home at the end of the month. Where will she be then?’
‘You could leave her Creedon Abbey.’
‘I probably will...’ George floundered. Clearly he hadn’t thought of this and James enjoyed watching the older man work to recover himself. ‘But I’m not at death’s door yet. I plan to live at least another twenty years. Spend some time with her, get to know her, you’ll see what I mean.’
James walked to the window, noticing the threatening clouds gathering overhead. Their darkness layered the hills with damp shadows, making the hour feel late. Somewhere across the hills and valleys sat Cable Grange. Watching the wind shake the tall hedges of the garden, he tried to picture himself as lord of the manor, spending his days in land management with all its hundreds of concerns, but he had trouble imagining it.
Reaching up under his jacket, he felt for the jagged, raised scar. Yes, he was lucky to be alive and sometimes it made him think he wanted a wife and a family. What would it be like to enjoy the kind of happiness he’d witnessed between his parents before his father died or the love he saw in his sister’s eyes when she walked with her husband? He’d tried so many times while convalescing to imagine the future, but always it remained shrouded in a grey fog of uncertainty. The sudden end to his naval career made the years before him seem meaningless while old wounds and betrayals arose from the past to dominate his mind.
A bolt of lightning split the distant horizon and the image of Miss Howard atop that beast of a horse commanding him like a common seaman seared his mind. Tight desire coursed through him at the memory of her tongue tracing the line of her lips and the curious need illuminating her face. Her free spirit and courage reminded him of Caribbean ladies, bringing a smile to his face at the memory of warm afternoons and even warmer nights in the islands. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago yet today, in Miss Howard’s presence, their carefree ease sparked deep inside him for the first time in over a year.
The feeling made him uneasy. He’d experienced something like it once before, allowing it to guide him, and he’d come to regret it.
He downed the last of the brandy, forcing back the encroaching sadness. He wasn’t ready for another life-altering change and certainly had no intention of courting Miss Howard.
As James examined the cut-crystal glass, an idea suddenly came to him, so simple yet brilliantly amusing. George was determined to meddle with yet another scheme. Why not catch him up in one of James’s devising, give him a friendly taste of his own medicine?
‘Perhaps you’re right. I should give more thought to the idea of marriage,’ James announced, strolling back to the table and scrutinising the position of the balls.
George’s smile broadened. ‘Indeed.’
‘A man needs a woman to make a comfortable home for him.’
‘One with a sense of how to run things properly.’
‘The perfect mistress to complement him.’
‘Exactly.’
‘A woman like Miss Taylor.’
‘Annette?’ George sputtered. ‘You must be joking.’
‘I’m quite serious. She’s well brought up and pleasing to view.’ James leaned over the table to take a shot, pretending not to notice George’s stunned expression.
‘But there’s nothing there, no substance.’
‘Good. It makes life less complicated.’ James hit the cue ball, sending it bouncing off the side to hit the red ball. Straightening up, he worked to contain his laughter as George stared slack jawed at him.
‘Annette?’
James smiled to himself, realising just how much fun this harmless revenge would be.
Chapter Four
The clock in the hallway chimed six times as Julia rushed across the marble floor, late for dinner again. Stopping outside the dining-room door, she ran her hands over her hair, tucking a loose tendril into her coiffure. Mary, her lady’s maid, had been too busy with Annette to arrange Julia’s hair so she’d done it herself, pulling it back into a more flattering bun and allowing a few curls to hang about her face. The coiffure was far from stylish, but it framed her features much better than Emily’s plain creation. Pulling the bodice of the light-blue muslin dress lower, she hitched up the pink sash in an effort to make it appear more fashionable. The ribbon refused to co-operate, slipping back down to her waist. With a sigh of frustration, she gave up, knowing she’d dressed as well as could be expected for dinner at Knollwood, which was never a formal affair.
Until tonight. The instant Julia stepped into the dining room she remembered Emily’s instructions to dress for their new guest. She’d been so distracted by planning her tactics with Simon, she’d completely forgotten.
‘I’m so glad you could join us. I was afraid Knollwood business would keep you away.’ Emily’s high, nervous voice pulled Julia out of her momentary shock and she took in everyone’s attire. Mother’s deep-maroon mantua, though of an older style, suited her matronly frame while Emily and Annette’s dresses were the height of London fashion. Simon wore a coat of the finest material and Uncle George and Captain Covington looked dashing in their uniforms. Plain muslin in the face of so much silk only emphasised her lack of fashion. For a moment, Julia contemplated making her excuses, feigning a headache or some other feminine nonsense, then changed her mind.
I’ve already made a fool of myself. No sense starving now. Throwing back her shoulders, she strode into the room.
‘Yes, Knollwood business can be quite exacting, but I wouldn’t dream of missing dinner.’ She took her place next to Simon, across from Annette and Captain Covington.
‘You look very lovely this evening,’ the captain offered across the table.
‘Thank you.’ Was he teasing her? It was difficult to tell. His beguiling smile reminded her of the one Paul always used to flatter pretty ladies at the assembly hall.
‘The affairs of Knollwood must be very demanding to make you lose track of time,’ Annette mocked.
‘No, I was quite aware of the time,’ Julia replied coolly, annoyed by her stepcousin’s condescending tone.
‘Perhaps you could learn a thing or two about managing your affairs, Annette,’ Simon suggested, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
‘Now you prefer bluestockings?’ Annette frowned. ‘I thought you felt education was wasted on women?’
‘I do. It leads a woman to interfere too much in a man’s business.’ He fixed an icy stare on his sister, who coloured under the remark, but said nothing.
Julia sensed more to this conversation than a simple debate of female education, but having no interest in the intricacies of the Taylors’ personal business, she concentrated on enjoying her meal.
‘Julia, Jim was telling us the latest news from London regarding Napoleon,’ Uncle George announced. ‘It appears Admiral Nelson will face him before the month is out?’
The food turned to dirt in her mouth. ‘Do you think so?’
‘It’s a very real possibility,’ the captain answered with measured words, fingering the spoon next to his plate.
‘Paul’s ship, HMS Pickle, is with Admiral Nelson’s fleet. He could be injured, or worse.’ Her voice quavered with worry and she didn’t care who heard it or what they thought.
‘Even if there is a battle, HMS Pickle is a small ship used to send messages or fetch supplies. She won’t see much action.’
‘But there’s still a chance Paul will be involved in the fighting?’
‘There is, but let’s hope if Admiral Nelson and your brother face him, the battle is quick and decisive in Britain’s favour.’
His sympathetic eyes touched her and she wished they were alone so she could pour out all her worries to him. He would understand, perhaps even take her in his sturdy arms and, with tender, reassuring words, drive away all her fears for Paul.
‘Admiral Nelson will lose more than a battle if he continues his indiscretion with Mrs Hamilton,’ Annette added, indifferent to Julia’s concerns. ‘Don’t you agree, Captain Covington?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow town gossip,’ he answered, but Annette refused to relinquish his attention or the table’s.
‘Don’t you find his indiscretion scandalous?’
Julia noticed the way his fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass. ‘Great men are always granted some leeway.’
‘If society shunned him, then who would lead the Navy against France?’ Julia demanded, irritated by Annette’s prattle. ‘Or would you prefer the French on our shores? Perhaps they would be more delightful in the drawing room.’
‘How droll to discuss politics at dinner,’ Annette sniffed. ‘Captain Covington, you must tell me all about your sister’s wedding.’
With a twinge of regret, Julia left the captain to Annette and focused on the dandy beside her. How could she possibly capture his interest? She couldn’t simply announce the size of her inheritance and hope he took the bait. Conversation seemed the key, but since his arrival they’d barely exchanged ten words. Now she had to captivate him with witty repartee? It seemed a Herculean feat, but one she had to accomplish.
‘Simon, do you ride?’ she asked in her most pleasing voice. The young man turned his pointed chin over his starched cravat, staring at her as though she possessed three heads.
‘Of course,’ he sneered.
Julia clamped her hands together in her lap, screwing the smile on her face. ‘I suppose no country ride could compare to the fashionable hour in Rotten Row?’
‘On at least that point you are correct,’ he lisped, returning to his meal.
Her cheeks burned with the strain of holding her smile. For a moment, the game felt like more trouble than it was worth, but the thought of having her own estate urged her on. ‘You must be an excellent horseman.’
Simon’s knife and fork clanked against the plate. ‘I prefer the elegance of a phaeton—surely you’ve heard of them, even here in the country.’
She resisted the urge to empty her plate in his lap, continuing to remain charming as though nothing was amiss. ‘Oh, yes. When I receive my inheritance I plan to purchase one. Perhaps you can help me select the best?’
‘Your inheritance?’ His bored eyes almost sparkled at the mention of money. She leaned towards him, dropping her voice.
‘Yes, I receive it as soon as I’m married. Tell me about your phaeton. I imagine it is one of the finest in London.’
Just as she suspected, flattery worked. Simon puffed up at the opportunity to discuss himself. ‘It’s second only to the prince’s.’
Despite the loss of her appetite, Julia soldiered on. ‘Oh, you know the prince? How wonderful.’
‘He complimented me on my rig.’ Simon’s voice dripped with pride.
‘Please, tell me all about it.’
* * *
What followed was the most boring and tortuous hour of Julia’s life as Simon described, in minute detail, his phaeton. From the corner of her eye she noticed Uncle George and Emily exchanging baffled looks. Even Captain Covington threw her a sideways glance and for a brief moment she felt ashamed of her plan. Only her mother seemed indifferent, slipping bits of food to Charlemagne, who sat on the floor next to her chair.
‘The squabs are far more comfortable than the average phaeton. I had the leather dyed dark green,’ Simon continued and Julia gazed up at him through her lashes, mimicking the way Annette flattered the captain. If only her dress were cut as deeply as Annette’s. However, such a ploy might make her scheme too obvious.
After what felt like an eternity, Emily rose, ending dinner. ‘Shall the ladies retire to the drawing room?’
Julia forced herself not to jump up and run into the adjoining room. Instead she smiled coyly at Simon as she rose. ‘Perhaps we can discuss it more later?’
‘Perhaps.’ He didn’t seem enthusiastic at the prospect.
Massaging her aching cheeks, Julia followed the other women into the drawing room. Taking The Monk out of her dress pocket, she situated herself on the sofa to read, hoping the others would leave her in peace. Her hope was short lived when Emily walked over to the card table near the window and shuffled the deck. ‘Ladies, would you care for a game of piquet?’
‘I’d love to play,’ Annette announced, choosing her place at the table and taking the deck from Emily. ‘I’ll deal.’
Julia buried her nose in her book, pretending not to hear the invitation, even when Emily cleared her throat to gain her attention.
‘Come play, Julia,’ her mother gently ordered.
With a sigh, Julia put down her book and joined the others at the table.
‘We’re always playing in London and the stakes are often very high. Sometimes gentlemen lose a great deal at the tables,’ Annette explained, dealing the cards.
‘Perhaps the men of London are not very sensible, for it takes only a tiny amount of sense to know one should not bet what one cannot afford to lose.’ Julia laid down a card, then chose another.
‘No gentleman worth his salt would dare refuse a wager.’
‘Then there must be many poor fools about the London ballrooms.’
‘Do you consider Captain Covington a fool?’
Julia shrugged, trying to imagine the captain dancing, but she could only picture him gambling in some tropical den of iniquity. She fought back a laugh, struggling to keep her face a bland mask of uninterest. ‘I haven’t known the captain long enough to comment on the merits of his wit—however, if he lives in London, the odds are against him not being a fool.’
‘I assure you, Captain Covington is no fool,’ her mother interjected. ‘He has proven himself a hero on more than one occasion.’
Julia didn’t respond, wondering what her mother would think if she knew about the captain’s involvement with the Governor of Bermuda’s widowed sister. She’d overheard Uncle George telling Paul about it once. It was quite shocking.
‘How long has George known Captain Covington?’ Annette asked.
‘Ten years,’ Mother answered. ‘Captain Covington was a lieutenant on George’s ship in the war against France during the First Coalition. His service was so distinguished he was given command of his own ship. He’s very well travelled, Julia.’
‘Is he now?’ Julia barely heard her. She was too busy concentrating on which card to play next so she could lose and end the game.
‘George tells me Captain Covington is a very sensible man when it comes to money, much like you, Julia,’ her mother remarked, attempting to draw Julia into the conversation.
‘Interesting,’ Julia mumbled, disappointed by her excellent hand for it made losing very difficult.
‘Captain Covington and I spoke a great deal this afternoon and it was as if we’ve known each other for years. We have a great deal in common for we both adore cheese,’ Annette continued.
Julia selected another card and scowled for it was a good one. ‘Most men in London adore food. That’s why there’s so much gout in town.’
Emily coughed disapprovingly.
‘London is a gourmand’s paradise,’ Annette insisted. ‘I advised Captain Covington to hire a French chef. All the best houses have them. He’s a very affable man. I’m surprised he’s not married for he’d do well with a wife.’
‘A man of thirty with a sensible head is a rarity these days,’ Emily said more to Julia than to Annette.
‘He’s very handsome,’ Annette added.
‘Yes, he is, don’t you agree, Julia?’ Mother entreated.
Julia took another card and smiled to find it a bad one before she noticed the three women waiting for her response. ‘Pardon me?’
Emily scowled at Julia’s inability to follow the conversation. ‘Captain Covington is very handsome, don’t you agree?’
Yes, she did, but she was not about to admit it. ‘I hadn’t thought on the matter.’ She rearranged her cards, needing only another bad one to lose.
‘I’m told he’s a very accomplished horseman,’ Emily added. ‘Perhaps, Julia, you could accompany Captain Covington on a ride tomorrow?’
Julia watched the rain hit the window, streaking down the panes. Without his afternoon ride, Manfred would need a good gallop. She did not relish the idea of trying to control him in a gentle trot alongside Captain Covington’s mount. Hopefully the weather would clear by morning and she could take Manfred out before duty intruded on the day.
‘I’m sure Uncle George will escort him if he wishes to ride.’ Julia continued to study her cards, avoiding Emily’s chastising scowl. ‘He’s better company for the captain than I am.’
‘Of course nothing can compare to Rotten Row at the fashionable hour. Captain Covington promised to join me there when we return to London,’ Annette said, drawing another card. Julia judged from the smile on her narrow face that Annette had a good hand. It was only a matter of moments before Julia could lose the game and put an end to this tiring conversation.
‘I won. I won,’ Annette announced much to Julia’s great relief, though she pretended, like Emily and Mother, to be disappointed. They slid their sovereigns across the table and Annette swept the coins into her palm, making Julia wonder how someone from London with a carriage and four could covet a few crowns.
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Georgie Lee
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Стоимость: 386.20 ₽
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Julia Howard longs for the freedom her inheritance will bring her – but with her controlling brother holding the purse strings she’s going to need a most convenient engagement… And an encounter in the woods with a dashing stranger couldn’t be more timely.Wounded, his life at sea at an end, Captain James Covington isn’t prepared for the dull ache of civilian life. He sees in Julia a fellow adventurous spirit – willing to risk all. Could agreeing to her outrageous proposal help him recapture a reason to live as they face the biggest adventure of all – marriage?