The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (48 page)

Kevin laughed now as he recalled the look of impotent fury on Gilly's face as she had stomped, sans breakfast, from the room. Still chuckling, he retrieved his horse and began the descent to The Hall.

Gilly. What a perplexing child he had wed. Kevin had hoped that by now he would have had a better understanding of the girl who was his wife, and at least the beginnings of an idea on how best to handle her. But with each passing day he saw another side of Gilly's personality, and he was forced to constantly reconstruct his mental image of her.

He had already heard her dress down a lazy tenant, warning him he'd be forced to pack and leave if he didn't work harder and drink less, and he had heard her talking to the oldsters, familiar with all their aches and pains and the names of each of their grandchildren.

He had seen her crabbed hand in the estate ledger and records, and marveled at her careful management even while he chuckled over her horrendous spelling.

He had listened while Hattie Kemp, Olive Zook, Mrs. Whitebread and everyone else he spoke with at The Hall praised his wife to the skies, telling him of her goodness, her charity, her concern for the estate and its people.

He had, thanks to Hattie Kemp, learned of Gilly's unhappy childhood, and thanked the kind spirit who had allowed her to have been in her mother's gentle hands at least until she was ten years old.

And he had looked deeply into those innocent blue eyes, been warmed by the blaze of her brilliant hair, and felt the stirrings of passion in his loins as he'd, just the once, laid pressed against her slim body.

Teaching Gilly the ways of society would be a challenge. Tutoring her on how to speak like a lady, not sporadically, but constantly; how to dress and how to walk; how to hold her fork; even how to tap an egg, would be an interesting struggle of wills.

Ah, but instructing her in the ways of love? That, he was beginning to believe, would be a delight!

A few days later, in the hope it might further their still somewhat strained relationship, Kevin asked Gilly if she would like to accompany him on an early morning ride about the estate. Gilly, weighing the plus of having one of her husband's prime horses under her against the minus of being forced into that same husband's company, decided to take him up on it.

Kevin chose to dispense with the services of the small, bandy-legged Willie, who usually companioned him whenever he rode out. As they cantered away from the stables, he asked Gilly: "How long has Willie been at The Hall? He doesn't seem the sort to take to such dull country life."

"He was originally a jockey," was all Gilly offered in answer, but it was enough for Kevin to understand at least a bit of the groom's idiosyncrasies; the skin-tight breeches that looked so laughable on Willie's bowed legs, the old jockey coat—once green, Kevin thought—and the ridiculously long, yellow neck scarf the groom affected.

After a moment's reflection, during which Gilly considered whether Kevin could be entertaining thoughts of turning the groom off, she decided to unbend enough to explain a bit of Willie's history. "Willie was once a fine jockey," she said of the short, skinny, mahogany-faced man. "He broke his leg at a local meet some three years ago, and I brought him home to The Hall to mend."

"I can't believe old Sylvester welcomed him with open arms," Kevin commented with a grin.

"Oh, Sylvester never knew," Gilly replied innocently. "I hid him easily enough, as the Earl so seldom went abroad, and of course there's been no need for secrecy since Sylvester was put to bed with a shovel. Willie's a bit, well, a bit
individual
, but he's a good groom and good man," Gilly pressed on, in hopes of convincing Kevin of the groom's worth.

What she did not volunteer was the information that at least one of the groom's less-endearing attributes, his gap-toothed smile, came from an altercation at a local tavern a little over a year ago. When someone had seen Gilly, and hinted that "the bastard filly looked ripe for her first ride," and he would like to be "first up in the saddle if she ain't yet been broken in by the old Earl himself," Willie had taken exception to the man's speech and, although he'd won the resultant fight handily, it had cost him four of his front teeth.

No, Gilly couldn't relate such a story to Kevin.

But she needn't have feared for Willie's fate. Her husband was an astute man. Obviously the moth-eaten, rank-smelling ex-jockey was important to his wife, and Kevin was not about to turn the fellow off and give the child yet another reason to resent him. He could only be thankful the man was good at his job and grateful he did not have to be within smelling distance of him outside the stable yard.

Kevin maneuvered his horse alongside of Gilly's. "I wouldn't turn Willie off, child, if that's worrying you. It's enough that you vouch for his honesty."

Gilly laughed then in genuine amusement. "I never said Willie was
honest
. I said he was good."

"He's not honest?" her husband asked, one eloquent eyebrow raised, but no longer capable of upsetting Gilly. In fact, she had begun to enjoy Kevin's mobile eyebrows. They acted very much like a barometer forecasting his moods. At the moment, he appeared willing to be amused.

"Honest? Lord, no. Old Willie's as crooked as a dog's hind leg. But he's a dear man for all that. He'd not nip the hand that feeds him though, if that's what's got you looking so out of sorts."

Kevin looked at his wife for some moments, taking in her heightened color and the dimple in her cheek revealed by her unaffected smile, and it suddenly became quite easy to see the humor in the situation. Soon he, too, was laughing and, from this shaky beginning the two went on to spend a pleasant few hours traveling over the estate, totally in charity with each other.

They had just decided to turn back toward the stables when they caught sight of two riders on the horizon. As they came closer, a bit of the light seemed to go out of Gilly's face. "It's Mr. O'Keefe and his sister," she informed Kevin in a voice suddenly devoid of enthusiasm.

"And neither is as welcome as the flowers in May, I gather by your look of distaste?" Kevin countered. "Exactly who are they, pet?"

Gilly tossed her head, causing her hair to rearrange itself in a living cloak around her shoulders. "Rory O'Keefe says he's a younger son with no inclination to serve the church. Instead, he's set himself up in the village, tutoring young boys. Glynis O'Keefe, or so he says, is his sister."

"Or so they say. I gather, Gilly, that you don't like them," Kevin added unnecessarily.

"I didn't say that," Gilly countered, and then went on as if she could not contain herself: "It's just that they live far too well for the small sum he must earn tutoring. Now, if he traveled with Har—er, well, never you mind. Besides," she added hastily, obviously trying to cover up for whatever she had been about to say, "Glynis O'Keefe is an out and out snob. Here they come now. Watch how she cuts me dead, as if I was made of wood or something."

The two riders were almost upon them now, and with their first words Gilly was momentarily shocked speechless.

"Good day to you Gilly, dearest," Glynis O'Keefe fairly gushed as her mount danced to a stop. "How terribly pleasant it is to see you again. I was just telling Rory this morning—wasn't I Rory, dear—that our sweet Gilly has had time and enough for her honeymoon, and we would not be considered forward if we came by The Hall for a visit. It's been so long since we've had the pleasure of your company, dear."

At this outright lie, Gilly found her tongue. "Glynis O'Keefe, the last time you saw me you switched your skirts at me and told me to get out of your way before you had me clapped up for pestering decent citizens," she accused, her blue eyes narrowing in fury. "Now you come here acting like we're all bosom beaux. Why, for two pence I'd—"

Kevin broke in quickly before Gilly could go any further. "We'd be delighted if you would both be so kind as to accompany us back to The Hall for some luncheon, Miss O'Keefe, Mr. O'Keefe. Isn't that right," he dared Gilly with his eyes,
"dearest?"

"I'd as soon break bread with Boney," Gilly grumbled, but under her breath, so that no one but her husband could hear her.

The O'Keefe's, as Kevin had anticipated, accepted his invitation with alacrity, and he took the time to study the pair as they rode toward The Hall.

Rory O'Keefe, riding just ahead of Kevin, alongside the stiff-backed Gilly, appeared to be a well set up looking gentleman of about eight and twenty years. He was handsome enough in a rather feminine, smooth-chinned sort of way, with black wavy locks hanging romantically above his soulful brown eyes. The man had the look and manners of an aristocrat, as he sat a horse well, had excellent manners (hadn't he only smiled indulgently at Gilly's ill-mannered outburst?), and there was an air of good breeding about him. Of course, he also had the definite look of a younger son, his well-cut clothes frayed a bit around the edges, and he lacked any jewelry save a rather unusual signet ring on the littlest finger of his right hand.

Kevin shelved his ponderings as he turned slightly in his saddle to listen to Glynis O'Keefe, who chattered inanely as she rode beside him. Now here was a real English beauty. Blonde curls, china blue eyes, small, well-rounded figure—she was the epitome of all that Englishmen for ages had fought and died to protect and then bed. A shame she talked so much; a greater shame, Kevin mused to himself, that she said so little.

Kevin knew he had displeased his wife by inviting the O'Keefe's to The Hall, but he had his reasons for getting to know this pair, reasons he most certainly was not about to divulge to his young bride. Heaven only knew what mad start she would go off on if she were gifted with such volatile information.

#

Over the course of the next fortnight—and much to Gilly's disgust—the O'Keefe's became almost constant visitors to The Hall. Soon Kevin had told them of the puzzle and the on-again off-again search he'd been on to discover the supposed treasure.

To say the O'Keefe's quickly entered into the search hammer and tongs would not be an understatement. In the following weeks, no one attacked the theater full of clocks with more fervor, and thanks to their help, it was not too many days before every timepiece in The Hall had been inspected and discarded as having nothing to do with the "endless time" in the puzzle.

Yet all this effort was not wasted. It was Glynis who declared the clocks a definite asset, pointing out their value on the open market and Rory, after astounding Gilly by whisking a small magnifying glass out of his waistcoat pocket and sticking it to his eye, who'd declared the shiny stones in at least three of the timepieces to be genuine diamonds and rubies.

The clocks were dispatched posthaste to a London dealer and soon Kevin was to witness a rare sight indeed, a smiling Mutter. The lawyer was more than pleased with the size of the proceeds from the sale, and even went so far as to congratulate the new Earl on his business acumen as well as allowing that, if his lordship so desired, some funds were now available for the Earl's personal use.

"I never thought I'd be grateful for Sylvester's penchant for hoarding," Kevin told his wife as he wrote out a list of what he had called "a few necessities of life."

"Ha! Grateful indeed. Lest you lose your grip entirely and begin to wax poetic over the old goat, let me remind you he also gifted you with
me
," countered a disgruntled Gilly, who had peeked over his shoulder and seen part of Kevin's list. Along with items such as roofing tile and mattresses he had listed "dresser for wife" and "wife's measurements for Madame Riche in Bond Street." And if he thought he could saddle her with some woman to dress her in satins and laces designed to, no doubt,
his
specifications? Well, then the high and mighty Earl certainly had another thought coming!

At Gilly's irritable tone, Kevin looked up from his task and measured his wife with one assessing look. "Oh-ho!" he observed, taking in her defensive stance; hands on hips, one shabbily clad foot tapping. Twisting in his chair, one arm draped negligently across its back, he drawled in his best London tones, "One might be excused for thinking that the lady is upset about something. Since it cannot be that she craves my affection so exclusively that the idea of me feeling even the slightest bit in charity with her late father offends her, one must seek elsewhere to discover the source of her agitation. Let me see," he paused to tilt his head inquiringly in her direction. "Now what can have sent my little Gilly into the boughs this time?"

"Oh, would you just listen to the man? You know damn full well, Kevin
Sylvester
Rawlings, and don't compound my anger by referring to the old Earl as any kin of mine. He didn't choose to acknowledge me when he was alive, and I disown him now that he's dead." She abandoned her threatening stance and advanced to the desk, snatching up Kevin's list, waving it in his face, threatening his aristocratic nose with violence. "This, as if you didn't know, is what has upset me. How dare you deign to hire me a—a
keeper?
"

"A dresser is not a keeper, infant, although, upon reflection, that idea does have some appeal." Before Gilly could come up with a suitable retort (or, worse yet, launch a frontal assault), Kevin rose and moved a few steps from the desk. "A dresser will only guide you as to the proper dress for social occasions and the like. She will not, as if any but an accomplished lion tamer armed with a stout whip could, dictate to you. Reconcile yourself to the idea, brat. I warned you this day was coming. As for the rest—and here I mean the other item on my infamous list that pertains to you—my part in dressing you ends with sending a list of your, er, pertinent measurements and the facts of your coloring to Madame Riche. It will be up to her to choose your wardrobe. My participation in the project ends with paying the bills. All I wish is to have my wife look as lovely as I'm sure she is able."

Gilly pulled a face. "I honestly don't know how you can talk, Kevin Rawlings, with your mouth so full of butter."