The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead (23 page)

“Revenge? I’ve got that already. She and I have wed, you see, despite you. What I cannot see is why everyone else should suffer for your imbecility. Jacob? Where can we go to write up the documents?”

Jacob settled the two in the estate office and returned to the party where he found Melissa chewing her nails, fretting and worrying and very nearly beyond Mary’s control. Mary gave him a look and he grinned, approaching them just as the housekeeper approached from a different direction.

“You can stop worrying,” said Jacob. “Your father will be leaving shortly.” He turned to the housekeeper, “Yes, Mrs. Brownley?”

“There is a packman in the kitchen, my lord,” she said, knowing full well Jacob had no right to such a title. “He has asked if it might be possible to show his wares to the lady guests. I will say they are of an unusually good quality.”

“A peddler?” asked Melissa who had instantly ceased to concern herself about husband and father once she knew she was not to be torn from Lester’s side and thrust into the possession of her father’s choice of husband. She looked around. “Why not? It would be an unusual addition to a wedding feast, would it not? The chance to buy odds and ends of items.”

“Which, as a wedding gift, I will offer to pay for,” said Jacob smoothly. “Wedding favors of a sort.” Even if the blasted man overcharged him a hundredfold, it might be a way of getting the guests’ minds off the recent contretemps and into a more pleasant channel.

“I will take him to the sewing room across from the breakfast room,” suggested the housekeeper. “There is a good table there for him to set out his wares. When he is ready I will come tell you.”

Jacob nodded and, his eyes meeting Verity’s, he crossed the room. He explained to her what Lester had decided and then about the peddler. “I should announce his arrival and that he’ll be available soon for anyone who wishes to choose something as a memento of this, hm, happy day.”

Verity quickly repressed a grin. “But it
is
a happy day. Melissa is safe. She and Lester will contrive to have a good if not outstandingly happy marriage.” She shrugged.

“Not the sort you wish, however,” said Jacob and surreptitiously touched his coat over the hidden pocket in which lay still another license—this one for Verity and himself, assuming he could ever get up the nerve to propose…which he would do if he could ever believe she’d say yes.

Love… If only he could teach her to love him as he loved her…

* * * * *

The packman readied his remaining merchandise and wished he’d not sold quite so much of his better wares along the way in the process of learning his new trade. What was left was good but there had been better. He stood behind the table and awaited the ladies.

Awaited one particular lady…

Chapter Fifteen

Mary and Rube climbed the stairs. Rube had had quite enough of the celebration. He was always tense, worried and unhappy, when Mary lost herself in a crowd of people he didn’t know, didn’t trust.

“I could not have avoided the ceremony, Rube,” said Mary. She knew how he felt, felt more than a little the same way.

“We might have excused ourselves from the meal.”

“A breakfast after the ceremony is traditional. It would have been awkward.” She shook his arm a trifle. “It is over, Rube. We need not join in on the rest of the celebration.”

He nodded but still felt as if there were something wrong. Something he’d missed. At the top of the stairs to their floor, they turned down the hall. Halfway along a wall had been removed, opening up the room all the way to the front windows. Mary tugged Rube toward them. “It is such a beautiful day,” she said, coaxing.

He wanted nothing more than to close the door to their suite behind them, lock it, change the tight clothing of her culture for the loose robes of his own. But she had come docilely when he’d asked it of her and there was no one on this floor—he’d had that checked before they’d come up—so he indulged her wish to stand in the warmth of the sun streaming in onto the somewhat faded Axminster carpet. He pulled a couple of chairs around so they faced the windows and they sat, putting their feet up onto the low sill, and relaxed.

They talked. A marriage ceremony was something Rube had not experienced and he hadn’t understood all that went on. Mary explained the meaning behind the rite they’d watched, the promises made.

“But
you
.
You
’
d
not promise to obey any man, Mary. I now see why you’ve remained unwed.”

She chuckled. “I would probably add a few words—perhaps something along the lines of ‘I promise to obey when I think him right’. Can you see how shocked everyone would be?”

He smiled and reached a hand toward her. She put hers in his and they sat there, saying nothing, staring out over the long drive down to the lane that led one away from High Moor. They sat that way for some time and then Rube leaned forward. “I don’t believe it,” he said softly. “Why?”

Mary swore ever-so softly under her breath. “Your brothers, Rube. Your father has sent them? He wishes you to return perhaps?”

“Or he is ill… Mary, I must go down. You stay up here in our rooms with the door locked. It is possible they’ve learned of a further plot against you and come to warn us.”

“Nonsense. They’d not have come with such pageantry. They’d have come fast and in secret.” She rose to her feet. “I must be there to greet them, Rube.”

His lips compressed. His shoulder bothered him and he was tired. The day had been even more worrying than he’d expected. “I must change. They’ll not understand why I wear your foreign clothing.”

She laughed again. “Besides, it is a very good excuse for getting out of our foreign clothing, is it not?”

He smiled at that. “You know me well, Mary.”

“Very well,” she said and followed him to their rooms where she went into her own little inner side room while he changed. She resettled a few pins in her hair and shook out her skirts, wondering if they’d become too crushed, but decided it would take too long to change into another gown. And just as she made that decision, Rube rapped at her door. They went down to the front hall just as Reading and several footmen headed for the front doors. A maid could be seen scurrying off down a side hall and Mary suspected it was with orders to find Jacob.

The clatter of so many hooves brought any number of guests to front windows. They watched as the ensigns with their banners pulled up in front of the main entrance. They dismounted and hurried to place themselves, facing each other, at the foot of the steps going up to the now-open doors. Rube, with a quick searching glance around the front grounds, went to stand on the narrow terrace at the top. Mary, ignoring his hissed command that she remain safely inside, stood beside him.

The guards dismounted, one guard of each pair catching hold of three horses and the other half joining the two ensigns. Once all were in place, the three brothers dismounted. By this time Jacob had joined Rube and Mary.

“Who are they?” he said, barely moving his lips.

“My brothers,” said Rube, his lips moving even less. He stepped forward and made a speech of welcome in his own language. Then he introduced Jacob.

Mary, refusing to acknowledge the ceremonial style, moved forward and rushed down the steps and into the arms of the middle of the three men. She kissed him on both cheeks and, her skirts swirling, moved to the second and then to the third, the youngest. Here she paused. “Good heavens,” she said, her eyes widening. “It cannot be young Ali, can it?”

He grinned at her. In his almost-perfect English, he said, “Greetings to you, Lady Mary. We have come far to visit you.”

“So you have. Farther than you expected, I’d guess,” she responded, smiling. And then kissed him as she had the others. Linking arms with two of the brothers, the youngest and the oldest, she led them up the stairs. At the top, she introduced them to Jacob.

“I fear, my lord,” said the middle brother, translating as his elder brother spoke, “that we have arrived at a difficult time. You appear to have many guests.”

Mary quickly explained about the wedding. “But why do we stand here?” she continued. “Do come in.”

The wedding guests goggled at the richly robed, exceedingly dignified newcomers. The youngest guests, the least socially adept, whispered behind their hands. More and more guests arrived in the drawing room where Mary and Rube, wishing they could take his brothers somewhere private, talked of Rube’s family and the journey and those trivial things one discusses in such a situation.

Finally curiosity drawing him in behind the guests crowding the room, the former slave edged along the wall until he could see. His brows arched above his eyes and then sweat broke out along his upper lip. He recognized the garments even though he didn’t know the men. And fear that his presence in the area had been discovered made him shrink back until he actually leaned against the wall, his knees nearly buckling and letting him down. But he needed to know anything he could learn and listened avidly to the disappointingly banal talk.

Finally the eldest brother lost patience. The middle brother translated his quick words. “We have come at our father’s desire to escort you home, Rube.” He turned slightly, bowed and added, “Lady Mary, we are pleased to inform you, you are no longer in danger. Your enemy is dead.”

“Dead?” Mary glanced at Rube who was looking at her. A smile broke through and Mary, being Mary, twirled in a circle like a young girl might do. “Free! The danger is over!”

Rube stopped her. “Not yet.”

“Not?” She stared up at him.

“Not until his agents here in England know he is dead. Only then will you be safe.”

“But…how will they know?”

The packman, the weight of his duty sliding from his shoulders, fainted. A thump as his body hit the floor drew eyes. Jacob, seeing, forced a way through those crowding ‘round and ordered everyone back. “For the love of mercy, give the poor man air. It is the packman, is it not?” he finished after getting a good look at the creature. He leaned down and, grasping the protruding hilt, withdrew a long narrow knife from the man’s garments. He held it up. “Never seen the like,” he muttered, inspecting it.

Rube reached his side and took the blade. He growled, staring down at the man on the floor. “I believe,” he said, his tone dry, “that we no longer need to worry that Mary’s enemies will be unaware their king is dead.”

Mary squeezed in beside Rube. “Oh dear. The poor man.” She turned and made shooing motions. “Do go away,” she said, the order mitigated by a quick smile. “We cannot help him if we haven’t room to move, can we?”

Footmen came at her order and the man was removed to the small parlor Rube had occupied when he was first wounded and they’d not dared to transport him farther than necessary. Mary placed wet clothes on the packman’s brow. Lightly, she slapped first one cheek and then another. Finally she accepted the vial Verity handed her and wafted the open container under the man’s nose. He snorted, jerked, his eyes opening. He stared up at Mary—and reached for the knife Rube still held.

“Looking for this?” asked Rube, his tone unpleasant.

Memory returned and the man lifted himself on his elbows and forearms. “He is dead? The king is truly dead?”

“He is dead,” said Rube’s youngest brother, peering over Mary’s shoulder.

The man turned and prostrated himself, a long string of words poured from his mouth.

Mary tipped her head, listening closely. She nodded and, her hand on Rube’s arm, rose to her feet. “He is praising his gods that he is free. I believe we need no longer fear him.”

* * * * *

Gradually, the wedding guests tore themselves from the party. They talked of the wedding, the wonderful breakfast that had followed it, the fun the women had had choosing party favors from the packman’s supply—and then of the final unbelievable display of wealth and horrid revelations supplied by Lady Mary’s foreign friend’s brothers. No one had been the least aware of the problems Mary had faced and the story was one that would make the rounds for months, very likely
years
, to come.

As would speculation concerning the
form
Lady Mary’s friendship with the overly handsome foreign prince had taken. Mary’s father’s ghost growled and groused about the gossip about his daughter to the point Jenna told him it was Mary’s business and to be still about it. She wasn’t particularly polite about it either.

But you know there is nothing between them that should not be
.

“And knowing that, you should stop worrying.”

I do not like it that anyone should think
…

“The problem, my beloved,” said Jenna quietly, “is that I think the both of them wish it were otherwise.”

He was silent.
You mean
…

“I think they’d like to wed.”

But
…

“Remember my sister and your son,” said Jenna even more quietly.

After a long pause, he responded.
Oh
. After a still longer one, he added a very quiet,
Yes
.
Of course
.

* * * * *

The wedding was over. So was Mary’s danger. Melissa and her husband returned to his estate but Rube’s brothers had settled in in a rather determined fashion. The arguments were all in a foreign tongue so Verity hadn’t a clue what was being said. She finally cornered her Aunt Mary and asked.

“They want Rube to go home. Now it is safe I mean to leave England on another of my little explorations. Rube thinks I shouldn’t go alone. He wants to continue protecting me.”

“So?”

“It is simple. In their society, a father’s word is law.”

“Oh.” Verity thought about that. “Then…”

“I cannot interfere.” A mischievous grin tipped her lips. “That is, I cannot yet interfere. I’ve a suggestion but until they all calm down they won’t listen to a mere woman.”

Verity chuckled. “You? A mere woman?”

Mary tried to suppress a smile but the twitch to her lips gave her away. “Awful, isn’t it? This being merely a woman?”

They joined arms and strolled out into the walled garden. They had nearly circumnavigated the rose beds when Verity asked, “Do you think that packman will take up your suggestion? A suggestion from you, a
mere
woman?” She flashed her aunt a quick, teasing glance.

“Since it is one he is already thinking possible, he very likely will.”

Verity had also thought it a good notion, her aunt supplying the man with English goods that he’d take home and peddle much as he’d done here. “But in his country? Will such things find buyers? Can they afford them?”

“Needles and pins are useful everywhere. Nor can I believe there is a culture in which the women will not want pretty things. I suggested he might also try to find small kitchen items such as metal cooking pots. Ones with looped handles that can be hung over a cooking fire…knives…ladles perhaps?”

“You talked to him for a very long time.”

“Poor man. He was a slave, you know.”

“To be a slave.” Verity shuddered at the thought.

“Hm. But a lucky one. His master was a kind man, evidently. Our packman has a family, which he should
not
have and his going off to visit them now and again was ignored. Now he can go home to them, a free man, wealthy as he’ll count wealth.” She chuckled. “He discovered, while playing the packman, that he is a very good salesman and he enjoys the life a great deal. His childhood and early youth were good. Then slavery—but under a good man—and now he can finish his years a free man and, as I said, a rich one, doing a thing he will enjoy doing. He is blessing his lucky stars.”

“And you, Aunt Mary?”

She sighed softly. “It depends…on how Rube settles
his
problem. To occupy my mind, I planned several trips during the years I feared I’d end up in that madman’s hands and, therefore, dead. Now I am surprised to find that I’ll not really enjoy my explorations as I used to do. Not if Rube cannot go with me…”