A Pirate for Christmas: A Regency Novella (3 page)

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

She eyed him uncertainly, but plowed on. He commended her determination. “There’s no need to feel awkward about your past crimes, my lord. Here at Penton Wyck, we take people as we find them.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” Her tone firmed. “When we
do
find them.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “You’re about to start nagging again. I feel it in my piratical bones.”

She made a conciliatory gesture. “I know you think I have no right to lecture you. After all, I’m only the vicar’s daughter.”

He didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “That would sound more convincing if you injected a wee ounce of genuine humility into your tone.”

She cast him an impatient glance. “Penton Wyck is small and isolated and the residents rely on each another. We rely on the lord of the manor most of all.”

“If my brother wasn’t well, I can’t imagine he was a mainstay of the community.”

“But he was. All right, he wasn’t out amongst us as much as he might have liked, but he played his part. He employed the villagers in the house and on the estate, he supported those in need, he attended church until he was too sick to manage it. We all sincerely mourned him when he passed away. He was a good man.”

A horrible thought struck Rory, and he frowned. “Were you in love with him?”

She met his gaze. “I did love him. He was the kindest man I ever knew. Everyone in Penton held your brother in the highest esteem.”

Relief flooded him, completely disproportionate to the length of time he and Miss Farrar had been acquainted. Her feelings for his brother hadn’t gone beyond friendship. “I’m sorry I didn’t know him.”

“So am I.”

“Now you’re saddled with an unknown master.”

Her voice was sincere as she stepped closer. “You don’t have to stay unknown.”

“And already talk is raging—I’m a pirate, and worse, a pirate from Scotland. I’m surprised the villagers haven’t made for the hills. What else are they saying?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

He could tell from her expression that there was more. He guessed that his unmarried state at the grand old age of thirty-two left him open to accusations of chasing the lassies. Especially when coupled with the ludicrous pirate rumors.

“Now I suppose you want me to fill the house with servants,” he said in a long-suffering tone. Of course he intended to staff the Abbey—even someone who’d spent his life aboard ship understood enough about great houses to understand that they needed a crew. But there was something pleasurable in having a pretty girl look to his welfare.

“You certainly need help.”

“I like the simple life.”

She didn’t grace that with a reply. “What happened to all the furniture? The great hall used to contain more than just two uncomfortable chairs.”

“It discourages visitors.”

“Not all of them.”

“No.” If he’d known the woman at the other end of those admonishing letters was so breathtaking, he’d have requested a meeting straightaway. “According to the lawyers, my brother had the place cleared while he was in Italy with the idea of renting it, then nothing came of the plan. There’s piles of furniture scattered between the attics and the barns.”

“I don’t remember the house being this gloomy either. When I was a girl, his lordship often had parties. A highlight was Christmas dinner for the villagers, then a ball that night.”

When he’d learned about his unexpected inheritance, Rory had just docked in Portsmouth after a stormy voyage from New South Wales. He hadn’t welcomed the change in his circumstances. He’d spent the last month struggling to accept jettisoning a career he loved in favor of landlocked life in an England less familiar than any ocean.

Now he felt a pang that his parents’ difficult marriage had turned his brother into a stranger. The late earl had featured largely in recent discussions with lawyers and men of business. But for the first time, listening to Miss Farrar, he gained a sense of George as a man and not just a predecessor. “My brother died at an age when he was capable of siring an heir. In fact, I always assumed he’d married and had children. I never expected to inherit.”

“In that case, you should appreciate my advice,” she said, humor making her blue eyes sparkle.

He had a sudden, extremely cunning thought, worthy of the pirate king she accused him of being. “You’re clearly a resource, Miss Farrar, and one I’d be a fool to ignore.”

“Oh?”

The suspicious syllable made him want to laugh. She was quick, this miracle of a lassie. His abrupt change of attitude would strike her as unlikely. “I’ll put you in charge of preparing the house for Christmas.”

She straightened and regarded him warily. “Surely a permanent housekeeper is a better solution.”

“Is the task too much for you?” he said in a pitying voice intended to lift her hackles. “After all, it’s so much easier to give orders from afar than get your hands dirty addressing the problem.”

“I’m busy with the play.”

“And here you are, telling me Penton Wyck is suffering because I don’t employ enough people. I’m guessing with my brother’s absence, life has indeed been tough these last few years. That’s too bad of you, Miss Farrar. You’re either deceiving me about local hardship, or putting your own selfish wishes ahead of your neighbors’ needs. What would that reverend gentleman, your father, say? Especially at this time of goodwill to all men.” He clicked his tongue and settled a benevolent and innocent expression on his face.

He caught a swiftly hidden flash of guilt. “My father would say that it was inappropriate for an unmarried lady who is no relation to play mistress of a bachelor household.”

Ah, mistress was such a bonnie word. Although if he wanted Miss Farrar in his bed, he already knew he’d have to persuade her to marry him.

Rory wondered why the prospect didn’t make him yelp with horror. He’d always avoided entanglements carrying any whiff of forever. Half an hour of Miss Farrar’s company and he was itching to call the banns.

Until today he’d been sailing rudderless all his life. Now he had accurate charts and the wind behind him.

Did she share this powerful affinity? Their conversation ranged beyond the usual polite nothings one exchanged with an acquaintance, and a respectable lady at that. But he’d learned from her letters that she wasn’t the most conventional of creatures, for all her harping on duty and obligation.

“Come, Miss Farrar,” he said in a chiding tone. “It’s clear that you and my brother worked together for the common good. Won’t you extend me the same courtesy?”

“You’re not like your brother.”

“Surely your reputation will be safe if you’re surrounded with a crowd of helpers.”

She sighed. “You think I’m absurd.”

He hid a smile. He thought her instincts right on the money. His intentions were far from pure. Although he meant marriage, he also meant to gain her gloriously sensual surrender. She was made for his bed. And he intended to see her there before too much longer.

It wasn’t yet snowing, but Rory could smell it on the air as they left the house through the warren of kitchens and storerooms. Miss Farrar strode along beside him with a firm ground-eating countrywoman’s gait. She was more at home on dry land than he was. Although he gradually found his feet in this new life he must learn to inhabit.

A flush marked her cheeks. Perhaps because of the chill wind, perhaps because she was with a man who stirred her blood. He dearly hoped the second reason was the right one. He’d lent her a greatcoat for their excursion to catch Daisy, and between that, the scarf she’d drawn from a pocket and tied over her shining hair, and her sensible half-boots, she looked ready to march to China.

“I hope you know where to find Daisy.” His breath formed clouds as he spoke. Odd to be so perishingly cold and so overheated at the same time. “It’s too cold to go to the ends of the estate.”

“Haven’t you seen her?”

He shook his head. “I might have. I’ve inspected so much livestock in the last few weeks that all the cows and sheep and pigs have become a fog in my mind. I’m a man of the sea, not a farmer.”

She sent him a sympathetic look. “You’ll have to learn fast, or every fellow north of London will try to cheat you. What you need is a good steward.”

“Do you know someone?”

“Not in the village. And Banks, your brother’s steward, retired last year. His son is working as assistant to Lord Leath’s man down in Yorkshire. Perhaps the chance of promotion and a return home might coax him back.”

“You see?”

“See what?” she asked and to his satisfaction, didn’t withdraw when he took her elbow to help her over a muddy patch.

He’d never touched her before. Her arm was strong and slender in his grasp, and even through several layers of good English wool, he could swear he felt her vitality. Touching her certainly helped to keep out the cold.

She couldn’t be further removed from the delicate beauties who had clustered around him when he’d dropped in on London, freshly in possession of his title. He’d been cynical enough to note that ladies who might flirt with a younger son had much more serious plans for a rich, unmarried earl. Not that he’d lacked for gold even before inheriting. He’d taken enough prizes on the high seas to set himself up very nicely indeed.

“How I need your help.”

“I can look into finding you a good housekeeper, too.”

“You’re the only person I’ll trust the house to.” He drew in a lungful of winter air and caught her scent. Lavender and lemon. Slightly astringent. Like her. With a base note of sweet honey. Again like her.

The path took them through wintry woods. Dead leaves crackled beneath their boots and bare trees stretched their branches to the pewter sky. When she turned to study him, the shadowy light turned her into a creature of beguiling mystery. “I’m not sure.”

It was better than a no. Especially when he still touched her.

He drew her to a stop. “Can I do something for you in return? A new roof for the church? Repairs to the vicarage?”

“No, thank you. Your brother kept everything in good order.”

Again his saintly brother. The laddie seemed never to have put a foot wrong. “Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to help me?”

“Actually…”

“Aye?”

She sent him a quick smile. “You might be sorry you asked.”

Rory had an inkling that she might be right. On the other hand, when she set up the house, she’d be under his feet and ripe for courting. She wasn’t quite as ahead of him as she imagined. “Try me.”

“You can reinstate the village Christmas party.”

He regarded her steadily. “That means getting the house into fit state in a hurry.”

“Only the public rooms. Just the great hall really.”

“Aye, very well. I agree.”

His swift capitulation obviously surprised her. “I haven’t finished yet.”

He’d had a feeling there might be more. Nothing he’d seen so far indicated that she was an easy mark. Although he still held her arm and that had proven simpler than he’d expected. “What else?”

“Joseph from the play has broken his leg.”

Hell’s bells. Theatricals had never been his forte. As a lad before he’d gone to sea, his stepsisters in Edinburgh had loved to dress up and playact. He’d preferred to be outside riding or playing a rough game of football. “Joseph?”

”Yes.” She shrugged. “If you feel it’s beneath your dignity—”

He snorted. “Anyone who’s been a midshipman gets all notions of dignity knocked out of him quick smart.”

Her brilliant smile made his foolish heart leap like a salmon up a Highland burn. “So you’ll do it?”

“Aye, if you promise to bring my house up to scratch and run this Christmas party—and never send me another letter.”

“Thank you!” For a moment, he thought she might hug him, but unfortunately, she thought better of it. She regarded him thoughtfully as they continued along the path. “I hope you’ll help me with the house.”

“If I must,” he said, hiding his glee. Days in Miss Farrar’s company. Days to convince her he’d make a deuced fine husband. And all he had to do was put on Christmas dinner for a lot of rustics.

“Excellent.”

“Who’s playing Mary?”

She met his eyes and at last noticed that they were arm in arm. With a fluster that hinted she was unused to the wiles of determined gentlemen, she pulled free. “I am.”

Marvelous. “Then I’d better make sure I have the measure of this elusive donkey.”

They emerged into a wide field with a burn running through it. A post and rail fence separated the wood from the meadow. In the distance, an open byre sheltered a wee black donkey.

“Stay here,” Miss Farrar said, placing a hand on his arm. “Daisy can be skittish after she’s been left to her own devices.”

He liked that she touched him so unselfconsciously. “Still giving orders, Miss Farrar?”

She cast him an unimpressed glance. “It’s for your own good. She bites.”

So do I.
“I bow to your local knowledge.”

He leaned on the gate and watched as Miss Farrar slowly crossed the grass in Daisy’s direction. With seeming docility, the donkey turned to observe her approach. Then when Miss Farrar was a matter of feet away, she trotted out of the byre.