The Pirate's Desire (6 page)

He could not become her guardian! Lucinda swallowed, and tried hard to prevent her distress from showing. Riel could not suspect how frightened and hopeless she felt right now. She could not bear it.

Even worse, what would become of Ravensbrook and her beloved servants? What did he intend to do with her family’s home during the two years he would be in charge?

How could her father leave her fate and that of Ravensbrook in the hands of this man?

The carriage drew up in front of the solicitor’s house. If only she could stop this meeting from taking place! But short of ripping the parchment from Riel’s pocket, Lucinda could think of nothing she could do to stop it.

Her gaze slid to that jacket, wondering if the note still resided in the same pocket.

“After you.” Riel stood aside, so she could enter the house first. His black gaze held hers, as if he knew what she was thinking. Flushing, Lucinda looked away and followed the butler into the stately mansion.

“In here.” The servant bowed, and Lucinda entered a lushly appointed office. A Persian rug covered the floor, the chairs were of the finest black leather, and the desk shone. Law books filled the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

“Lady Lucinda.” Portly Mr. Chase stood up behind his desk, beaming. His smile wavered when he took in Lucinda’s unhappy face. “My dear.” His hand closed around hers, a shade firmer than his usual, tepid shake. “I am so sorry for you loss. Your father was well loved and respected in this community.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. From an unknown source, she summoned enough strength to straighten her shoulders. “As you know, that is why I am here today.”

“Of course, my dear.” Mr. Chase’s gaze swung to Riel, and he put out his hand. “I am Thomas Chase. You might be…”

Riel’s hand engulfed the other man’s in a firm shake. “Gabriel Montclair, Baron of Iveny.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. Why don’t we sit?”

When Lucinda sat, she realized her chair and Riel’s touched arms. A silly thing to notice, but it disturbed her, as did everything about her enforced relationship with the Baron…if indeed he was a Baron. Baron of Barbary perhaps, she thought darkly. Or perhaps Lord of the Pirates would be more apt. Although clean shaven this morning, he still wore his long black hair in a tail, and now that she was nearer to him, she could clearly see the faint indentation in his ear lobe where an earring must have hung, long ago.

His dark eyes caught her staring, and she narrowed her gaze. Much as he might fool everyone else, he would not fool her. Not ever. She knew very well what sort of a man lived beneath his finely tailored clothing. Truly, a brigand of the worst sort. Hadn’t he treated her roughly? Hadn’t he physically forced her to succumb to his wishes?
Twice.
Never mind her own questionable behavior. A true gentleman would never have responded in such a manner.

Averting her gaze, she sat ramrod straight and folded her hands in her lap. “Mr. Montclair has a letter addressed to you from my father.”

“A letter?” With alacrity, Mr. Chase accepted the parchment.

“I was with the Earl when he died,” Riel said in a low voice. “The letter states his final wishes.”

The solicitor frowned. “His final wishes? I have his last will and testament on file.”

“As I understand it, that document will remain the same. This is an addendum until such time as Lady Lucinda marries, and can take over running Ravensbrook on her own.”

Mr. Chase nodded, and broke the seal. Silence ensued, except for the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Each tick sounded like a hammer striking a nail into Lucinda’s coffin. Why did she have the dreadful, absurd feeling that her father’s letter would bind her to Riel for eternity?

Surely, she was being fanciful. Melodramatic, as Mrs. Beatty had often chastised her in the past.

It was only for two years. Right? Lucinda wished her stomach would stop roiling.

“I see.” Mr. Chase lowered the letter and adjusted his glasses.

“May I see it?” Lucinda requested.

“Of course, my dear.” When the solicitor handed it over, she quickly read the note.

Mr. Chase,

Please add this letter as an addendum to my will. In the event of my untimely death, Gabriel Montclair has agreed to assume guardianship of Lucinda until her twentieth birthday, or until she is married, whichever comes later. As you know, I love Lucinda dearly, but she can be a headstrong young lady. By this, I mean occasionally hot-headed and impulsive. She needs a steady influence and guiding hand to help her choose a suitable husband. Riel is that man. I trust him with my life, and I also trust him with Lucinda’s, as well as with the responsibility of running Ravensbrook until Lucinda is married.

Please forward the monthly stipend to his hand to distribute as he sees fit for the running of Ravensbrook and everything that entails, including Lucinda’s wardrobe. If extra monies are needed on occasion, Lucinda and Riel must petition you together for them. If it seems prudent to you, advance those sums to Riel, as well.

After Lucinda is married, my original last testament will take over.

Thank you, my good friend, and God bless you.

Peter Hastings, Earl of Ravensbrook

Tears filled her eyes as she read her father’s last wishes. Truly, he had trusted Riel Montclair completely. Why, however, she still could not fathom.

And he had loved her very much to the end.

Still, it did not take away the sting of his descriptions of her being hot-headed and impulsive. Lucinda was honest enough to admit they were true; at least, on occasion. And thus Riel was to be her guardian. Her father had supposed he would be a steadying influence in her life.

But Riel did not steady her at all. He unsettled her, and had from the first. And her father hadn’t seen her in two years. She was nearly eighteen, and had matured a great deal in her father’s absence.

Her behavior to Riel being the exception, of course.

She certainly did not need a guardian. The panicky, sickly feeling boiled up again as she cast a quick glance at Riel’s profile. The blunt angles of his face looked cut from stone, and his personality reflected an equally unyielding nature.

She bit her lip. This was wrong.
All of it.
It should not be happening. Her father should not be dead. This…this man should not be taking over her life.

At least her father had put a limit on the amount of Ravensbrook’s money that Riel could access. Still, each month he’d fully control
how the monthly stipend was spent. Could he be trusted to use the money as her father had intended?
At least his possibly grander, fortune-hunting desires would be squelched; unless he had some other plan afoot that she could not yet imagine. Still, she did not know how he would run Ravensbrook, or treat its servants…or herself.

The lurches of her stomach made her feel sick.

“Very well.” Mr. Chase cleared his throat, and Lucinda’s thoughts returned to the gleaming study, which smelled faintly of orange oil. She realized he wanted the letter back. With reluctance, she returned it.

“All appears to be in order, Mr. Montclair. I will take care of the necessary paperwork. Perhaps you will return at the end of the week and sign the documents?”

“That would be fine,” Riel said.

Lucinda did not reply. But a small, unexpected bit of hope bloomed. Apparently, the agreement would not go into effect until Friday. But on Friday, when Riel signed those documents, her fate would be sealed. She would be forced to submit to his leadership in every aspect of her life…including his guidelines for a suitor. In fact, for all intents and purposes, Riel would choose her husband.

She bit down hard on her inner lip to keep from moaning in protest. Three days of freedom remained. Surely, within that time she could discover a way to escape from her impending doom.

“At that time,” Mr. Chase continued, “I will deliver the monthly stipend into your hand, Mr. Montclair, so you may pay estate expenses.” He smiled. “Frankly, I will be glad to see an end to that task.”

“May I have the account books in advance? I leave for my ship at the end of the week, and would like to understand how the estate runs before then.”

“Of course.” Mr. Chase retrieved several leather bound ledgers. “When will you return, Mr. Montclair?”

“Within two weeks. I need to oversee repairs, and then ready my ship for dry dock.”

“You own your own ship, Mr. Montclair?”

“Riel. Yes, a merchant ship.”

“You would put your livelihood on hold to care for Lady Lucinda?” Mr. Chase gave a jovial laugh. “That is most self-sacrificing, Riel.”

“I owe the Earl a deep debt. It is the least I can do.”

“Very well. I will see you on Friday.”

“Mr. Chase.” Lucinda sat forward on her chair. “Father’s funeral will be tomorrow evening at Ravensbrook. If you can come, I would be most pleased.”

“Of course. Of course.” Mr. Chase nodded once, as if bestowing a great favor upon her.

“Also,” her fingers smoothed her black crêpe dress with suddenly nervous fingers, “I will require an advance on my clothing stipend to pay for more black gowns.” The last thing Lucinda wanted to do was beg Riel for dresses. She hoped Mr. Chase would give her the money now. In the past, he had been amenable to any requests she had made. All reasonable, of course. She had no wish to squander her father’s money…
her
money, now.

“Certainly. I have saved a bit from last Season, and will advance that to Mr. Montclair, as well.”

Lucinda slid a dismayed glance at Riel. “Please, may I have the money now? I must commission the gowns immediately.”

The solicitor glanced at Riel. “Very well.” He pulled a metal box from a drawer and counted the money it contained. “Forty pounds. Enough for a dress or two, eh?” With a chuckle, he handed it to Riel.

Lucinda gritted her teeth in annoyance.
Apparently
, she would have to beg Riel after all. Adopting a small, pleasant smile, she turned to the man beside her.

“If you would be so kind, Mr. Montclair? Please. Give the money to me.” She couldn’t help the faint, hostile note in her voice. “I will give it to the seamstress in the village so she can begin work today.”

How she hated begging him for money. And this was just the beginning. Her spirits sank still further. He had all but gained his objective. In three short days—unless she somehow discovered a way to extricate herself from this distressing quagmire—he would win the permanent victory.

What triumph he must be feeling. What satisfaction.

Lifting her chin, she forced herself to meet his dark, pirate eyes. But instead of the triumph she’d expected to see, she saw soberness. As if he fully realized the great responsibility he had taken on.

He rumbled, “How many black gowns do you have?”

“This one.”

He nodded. “One more can be made.”

“One!” Lucinda sat a little straighter. Here it was. The beginning of his authoritarian rule. “One will not suffice. I need at least two. Preferably more.”

Mr. Chase laughed loudly, clearly feeling uncomfortable. “I’m sure you can come to an agreement later.” He stood and extended his hand. “I’ll see you both on Friday, then.”

A clear dismissal. Equally clear, Mr. Chase would be no champion for her. He
want
ed to wash his hands of the mess and return to his comfortable life.

She followed Riel into the bright sunlight and the awaiting carriage. She settled herself inside, properly arranged her skirts, and waited until the driver shut the door. Anger and frustration seethed in her bosom. A jerk, and they moved toward the seamstress’s house.

“Is this the way it will be?” she said grimly.

“What do you mean?”

“I
mean
are you relishing this? From now on you can squish me under your thumb, and deny my every wish.”

“Is this only about the dresses?”

“No! And well you know it.”

His dark eyes held hers. “Rest assured, you will be provided with all you require.”

She glared. “I cannot live off a few garments in a canvas bag.”

“I understand that you will need more black gowns, Lucy. But one extra will serve for now. You will need new dresses for the upcoming Season, as well. Your mourning period will be finished by then.”

“I realize that,” Lucinda managed to speak in a reasonable tone. “However, I do not think two new black dresses would be extravagant. I have no intention of spending all of my clothing allowance now.” In truth, the idea that buying too many gowns now might crimp the number of gowns she could purchase for the Season had not entered her head.

It would have, however, once she’d given it more thought.

“We will commission one gown for now,” Riel told her. “Then I will study the ledgers and see how many more can be made.”

The man was unbending, and it scraped on her last nerve. “Very well.” Lucinda crossed her arms. “I would like to see the ledgers, too. I want to learn everything about Ravensbrook’s finances.”

To her surprise, Riel gave her a steady, considering look. “All right,” he said. “In two years you will be responsible for them. It’s a good idea for you to learn about them now.”

Lucinda felt a flush of pleasure…and a flare of unease, too. Learning about the books meant she’d have to work closely with Riel. But perhaps that would be a blessing in disguise. Three days remained to discover the chinks in his armor. The time spent together, learning how to run Ravensbrook, would provide her with ample opportunity to discover his weaknesses and use them to her best advantage.

If all went well, not only would she learn how to run the estate, but she’d discover a way to convince him to leave before he signed the final documents. Lucinda settled back, feeling her first flicker of hope in hours.

Happily, the village modiste
had a length of black bombazine silk on hand. She agreed to sew it into a dress immediately. Since she knew Lucinda’s measurements, the fitting did not take long. She promised the dress would be ready in time for the funeral tomorrow.

Twenty pounds remained when Lucinda and Montclair headed for the parsonage attached to the village church. Lucinda had stuffed the money into her reticule, after snatching it from the seamstress when she’d held out the change to Riel.

“If it is all right, I will leave you here to speak to Pastor Bilford,” Riel said, offering her an arm to step down from the carriage. For the sake of polite courtesy, her fingertips touched his proffered arm for the briefest moment possible. Even in that fleeting touch, she felt the raw strength of him. It disturbed her. He said, “I need to visit the mercantile.”

“Very well. I am pleased to take your leave, Mr. Montclair.” She turned away and headed down the pebbled path to the parsonage. Guilt for her dreadful manners assailed her conscience, and she bit back the apology that rose in her throat. Had her rude comment bothered him? No sound came from behind her, as if Riel watched her. And then the sound of boots on gravel reached her ears, and the carriage rolled down the country lane.

Unfortunately, the idea of prickling under Riel’s skin elicited a wicked feeling of pleasure. Definitely not a good thing, Lucinda thought with a further sting of remorse, and glanced at the church. If only he wasn’t such a thorn in her side. If only he would go away, then she would not have to behave like an annoying fox hound.

An unexpected thought crossed her mind. If she behaved badly enough—if she managed to infuriate him so frightfully that he couldn’t stand to be near her—would he run from Ravensbrook? What was the saying in Proverbs? Better a corner of a roof than living in a house with a quarrelsome woman?

Well, maybe not quarrelsome. That did not appeal. Neither did acting like a harridan.

But if it worked… Would it be worth the cost, she wondered. Could she stomach behaving like a vixen for the next three days? The self-inflicted wounds to her self-respect might prove difficult to mend. Especially since she had struggled so hard over the last year to try to conform to the mature requirements of a young lady. This plot might erase all of her gains.

In truth, the plan did not appeal at all, but as of right now, she could think of no other way to convince Mr. Montclair to leave.

She climbed the step and rapped on the parsonage door.

Mrs. Bilford, a thin, sprightly woman with coiled iron gray hair and snapping black eyes saw Lucinda and said merely, “Lucinda,” before wrapping her in a tight hug. “My child. I am so sorry. Won’t you please come in?”

Lucinda blinked back tears. “Thank you.” She followed Mrs. Bilford into the crowded front parlor. A secretary desk sat in one corner and a large wooden wardrobe in another. The room also contained a horsehair couch and an armchair. All sorts of knickknacks were scattered on every available surface.

“Please sit down. I will fetch the tea and send in Mr. Bilford.”

Lucinda had always thought it funny the Bilfords called each other Mr. and Mrs. Bilford. A faint smile touched her lips as she sat on the slippery couch, but it vanished as she waited. What would she say to the pastor? How did one go about arranging a funeral service?

Mr. Bilford hurried in with his wife, who carried the tea tray. “Lucinda.” He pressed her hands between his own. His kind eyes, behind round spectacles, looked concerned, and his bushy gray brows furrowed together. “I am so sorry. Your father was a good man.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda whispered, and bit her lip. Mrs. Bilford looked on, worried lines crinkling her forehead. The kindness and concern in both of their eyes was suddenly too much, and Lucinda burst into tears. Flustered, she fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief, but Mr. Bilford pressed one into her hand, instead.

“It’s good to cry,” he said gently. “You miss him very much. So will we all.”

“Y…yes,” Lucinda sniffed, and tried to blot the tears from her eyes. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t stop.

Mr. Bilford gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder and sat in an adjacent chair. “Take all the time you need.”

Lucinda did not like to weep in front of others. She’d much rather cry in private and keep her deep emotions to herself. It felt strange and frightening that she couldn’t stop crying. At long last, however, her sniffling sobs shuddered to a stop.

“There.” Mrs. Bilford pressed a clean hanky into her hand.

“Don’t be surprised if you weep often in the next few weeks,” Mr. Bilford said kindly. “Little things will set you off. Take advantage of those times and cry. You need to grieve.”

Lucinda nodded, but couldn’t speak.

“And pray to God when you feel down, Lucinda. I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you this. He cares for you and will give you comfort.”

“I’ll try,” she said in a small voice. Goodness knew, she didn’t pray enough. Hadn’t Riel been the one to remind her to pray at dinner last night?

Pastor Bilford said, “And always remember this; your father is in heaven. It’s a wonderful, glorious place, and some day you will see him again.”

Lucinda’s mind flashed to all of her misdeeds; many of them recent. “I hope I will,” she mumbled.

Pastor Bilford chuckled. “Faith pleases God, Lucinda. If you’ve committed transgressions, repent and move on.”

What if she planned more transgressions? Lucinda felt uncomfortable, and decided to change the subject.

“We’re having Father’s funeral tomorrow evening at Ravensbrook. Will you be able to conduct the service?”

“I would be honored. If you wish, I will arrange the burial as well. In your family plot?”

“Yes.” Grateful tears hovered, but she managed to blink them back. “Thank you. And I wondered about a grave stone.”

Pastor Bilford motioned to his wife, and she immediately turned to the desk and withdrew a paper, quill and ink. “I will commission one made. Write what you would like engraved on the stone.”

Lucinda accepted the items. But her quill hovered, unmoving, over the paper. Part of her could not believe she was about to write words that would commemorate her father’s grave forever. It seemed a momentous task. Her words would be read for centuries to come.

She drew a breath, and tried to marshal her thoughts. Above all, she wanted everyone who read the epitaph to know a little about her father. She did not want him forgotten. Not ever.

After a long hesitation, she dipped quill into ink and wrote, “Peter Hastings, Earl of Ravensbrook, Commodore in the Royal Navy, professor, well loved for always. 1759 – 1812.”

Hands trembling, she handed the sheet to Mr. Bilford. He smiled when he read it. “Very good. The stone should be ready in about three weeks.”

Lucinda reached into her reticule and pulled out the twenty pounds. “Will this be enough? Or will it cost more?”

Mr. Bilford accepted the money. “A few pounds more, but don’t worry. We can collect it in the future, Miss Lucinda.”

A knock sounded at the door, and every intuitive fiber in Lucinda said it was Riel. She stood, clutching her bag. “It’s time for me to go.”

Mrs. Bilford welcomed Riel inside. Montclair looked very large standing in the doorway, with his black clothing accenting the lean, muscular lines of his body. He bowed over Mrs. Bilford’s hand and introductions were made. Neither the pastor nor his wife seemed put off by Riel’s long hair, pulled back in a tail, nor his unfashionable preference not to wear a cravat.

“I’ve just finished,” Lucinda said, clutching her reticule tightly. She wanted to go. She didn’t want Riel to guess at the tears she had shed here, nor the vulnerable emotions that still threatened to engulf her.

His black eyes ran over her face. “All is well?” he asked quietly.

Lucinda bit her lip and glanced at Pastor Bilford. “All is arranged.”

“Is more money required for the stone?”

“Yes, but Mr. Bilford said it can wait. Perhaps until Mr. Chase gives you the monthly stipend.”

“I will pay it now.” Riel pulled a money clip from his inner jacket, and when Pastor Bilford named the remaining sum, he paid it in full.

Pastor Bilford’s gaze met the younger man’s and he offered a firm handshake. “You will take good care of Lucinda.” It sounded like both a question and a command.

Riel returned the shake. “I will, sir.”

Pastor Bilford smiled. “Good. I will see you both tomorrow night.”

Lucinda followed Riel to the carriage and settled herself inside. “You did not need to do that.” For the first time, uncertainty gripped her. Surely a dishonorable man would not have paid her debt with his own money. Of course, he could replace it later. But still.

“I like to pay debts in full. I do not like owing anything to anyone.”

Lucinda nodded slightly. A policy her father had championed, as well.

She glanced at him, and then away. The man unnerved her, and on more than one level. She didn’t want to admire anything about him. It disrupted her sense of purpose.

At Ravensbrook she hurried inside. She had plans to make. Plans she must carry out, for the good of everyone on the estate. More than that, she needed to rest. Her father’s coffin would arrive this afternoon and she must gather her strength.

* * * * *

Later that afternoon, wagon wheels rattled down the lane to Ravensbrook. With trepidation, Lucinda slid aside a curtain and looked out. Sure enough, an open wagon with a wooden coffin bumped into view. Grief gathered into an aching lump in her throat. Father was home for good. She bit her lip, but refused to cry. It felt as if she’d cried enough for one lifetime already.

A British soldier, clothed in dark blue, accompanied the wagon driver. Following them was a dun colored horse and a rider with long, scruffy blond hair smashed beneath a black, bicorne hat. From this distance, it was hard to guess his age, but his clothes looked worn. Definitely those of a commoner. Who could he be, and why was he accompanying her father’s body to Ravensbrook?

Lucinda gathered her skirts and rose to her feet. She must welcome her father home for the last time.

Blinking quickly, she descended the wide, winding staircase and discovered Mrs. Beatty waiting at the bottom, wringing her hands. “He’s here, miss,” she whispered.

A knock sounded at the door. Riel appeared from Father’s study and strode to open it, but Lucinda lifted her chin and hurried abreast of him. Her father had arrived, and she would welcome him home.

“Excuse me.” With a scampering double-step, she achieved the front door ahead of him. Wilson, the butler, swept it open before her.

“Lady Lucinda.” A tall British soldier bowed. “I am Lieutenant Simmons. I…I am sorry for my duty this day.”

She nodded. “Do come in. Perhaps my father could rest in the parlor.”

“Of course.” He bowed again, and Lucinda, Riel and Mrs. Beatty stood aside as two soldiers carefully carried in the large mahogany box.

It did not seem real that her father lay within that sealed box. Lucinda turned back to the soldier, her vision blurry. “You have had a long journey. Would you like tea, or perhaps refreshments?”

“Thank you Lady Lucinda, but no. We will refresh ourselves in the village. I also have a flag for you, and a tribute written by Admiral Smythe.” He pressed both items into her hands, and then, with another bow, he and the wagon driver made their exit.

Lucinda looked into the parlor, and then anxiously at Mrs. Beatty. She whispered, “Should we leave the door open, or shut?”

“Whatever makes you feel comfortable, miss.”

Lucinda blinked quickly. “We will leave it open. It’s Father’s home. He’s welcome, and he belongs here.”

“Very good, miss. But perhaps you would like a spot of tea in the kitchen?”

“Yes, thank you.” Gratefully, Lucinda latched onto this excuse to move away, at least for a few moments, from the coffin holding her father. It was too much to bear, to know he was in the next room, but would never speak to her again in this lifetime. Sorrow billowed up and tears slipped down her cheeks.

Still, as Mrs. Beatty disappeared, Lucinda glanced back, feeling guilty and remiss in her duty. She should say something to her father, and be with him for a minute, instead of running away like a tearful coward.

Yes. Her father deserved nothing less. Slowly, Lucinda returned to the parlor. “I love you, Father,” she whispered, and touched the box. “Welcome home.”

Tears overflowed, and she sat on a chair and let them come, sniffing and sopping them up with the handkerchief she’d begun to carry with her. Mr. Bilford had said to cry whenever she needed to.

She sniffled into silence. A low rumble of voices tickled her ears. They came from the next room, which was her father’s study. Riel. She frowned, puzzled. To whom was he speaking?

The man on the dun colored horse. Could it be him? She hadn’t seen him enter Ravensbrook, but then again, she had only focused upon her father when the soldier arrived.

Rising to her feet, Lucinda slipped close to the waist high bookcase which was pushed flush against the wall that adjoined with her father’s study. Sure enough, she heard another man’s coarse voice. Not Wilson, the butler’s, for it sounded far too rough. Curiosity and suspicion arose. If he was indeed the man on the horse, why would Riel speak to such a disreputable-looking stranger?

Unless, of course, the man was no stranger to Riel at all, but one of his crewmen. Unsavory, too, by the look of him.

From the first, she had suspected Riel possessed a dark secret. Now could be her opportunity to discover it. A plan sprang to mind. Unfortunately, she knew quite well that her father, lying silently behind her, would have heartily disapproved of her intended course of action.

Lucinda tried to ignore this fact. She pulled out a thick book and found the round peg imbedded in the back of the bookcase. She pushed it hard, and the bookcase shifted left. Quickly, she withdrew her hand and slid the rolling bookcase left. A small, dark opening appeared, about three feet high and two feet wide. It was the only secret passageway Ravensbrook possessed; at least to Lucinda’s knowledge. She’d loved playing in this one as a child.