The Pirate's Secret Baby (28 page)

"Many predicted I would come to a bad end and not inherit Huntley, Lionel. My father. Your father. You. The only important thing is, I'm still alive and I intend to remain that way. I have a great deal of practice at staying alive and ensuring that those who would wish otherwise--well, let's just say most no longer concern me."

"I heard you were a pirate," Lionel sneered, and Robert had to give him points for not cowering in fear. "I also heard you were hanged by the navy."

"Really? I cannot imagine how those rumors start," Robert said, reaching for a glass. He thought better of it when he saw its condition, and took a wine bottle in hand, drinking directly from it. It was an excellent vintage, a burgundy. Thank heavens Lionel hadn't drunk his way through the cellars yet, because that was one expense Robert hadn't factored in for his return to Huntley. He had a feeling he would need all the alcohol in the house before he was finished here.

His men hustled the drunks out the door, and blessed silence descended when they were gone. He looked around the hall. There was the crack in the ceiling between the center timbers, the one he'd thought looked like a dragon when he was a little boy. There was still a gouge in the paneling near the door where his father had thrown a silver platter at Nicholas. It was a room full of memories.

Robert sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Life was much more complicated now that he was back on land. He'd known it wouldn't be easy. There was damage, but it was fixable, he hoped. If his drink-sodden cousin hadn't spent down all the funds, it could be restored to its former glory.

Huntley could be a home. A home for Mattie, and maybe, for the first time in many, many years, a home for Robert.

He looked longingly at the wine bottle as the footman in too-small livery poked his head in, looking around the empty room until his eyes settled on Robert.

"Is there anything you need, m'lord? I'm William, sir. Mr. Braxton sent me."

Word had gone belowstairs quickly. Robert counted on Braxton's assistance to make the change as smooth as possible, but he knew it would take time. In the interim, change could begin.

"Yes, William, you may begin clearing this away. Open some windows too, and air this out."

Odd, how the miasma of a good debauch would once have been exactly what he wanted to bring his mind to a happier place. Clearly, whether Miss Burke realized it or not, Robert had changed.

"Do you need something to eat or drink, my lord?" William asked.

"No, I'll go to the kitchens, and yes, I know the way," he said, pushing himself to his feet. William warily watched him and Robert wondered what stories were already circulating downstairs and buzzing off to town. He stopped first at the front where Lionel and his cronies were being stuffed into their carriages or hoisted onto their horses. They protested, but were not about to argue with the well-armed pirates assisting them on their way. Fuller had brought the other crewmen from the inn in Ashwyn where they'd been established, getting the lay of the land in advance of Robert's arrival. Since Fuller had everything under control here, Robert went to hunt down the rest of his crew.

Mattie and Lydia were seated at a well-scrubbed table in the kitchen. This room at least was clean and well maintained, and Mrs. Farmer and her helpers stopped their work to greet the master of the house.

Mattie had a large mug of milk and a plate of chicken and potatoes and was making inroads into the grub while the governess sipped a cup of tea. Jolly was eating from a plate on the floor. The dog looked up to acknowledge Robert's presence, but then went back to his meal.

"That looks good, Mattie. May I join you?"

"Oh no, m'lord, you cannot eat here in the kitchen!" the cook said in horrified tones.

"I have eaten in far worse places, Mrs. Farmer. Your kitchen is warm and inviting and the prettiest ladies in the house are here. Why would I want to eat elsewhere? Miss Burke, I can hear your eyes rolling."

Mattie giggled. "That's silly, Papa, you cannot hear Miss Burke's eyes rolling!"

"Your father has a way with words," she said tartly. "But
as long as he tells me the truth
we deal well together."

She skewered him with that last statement, and he knew there would be a reckoning soon, but for now, he was hungry. His appetite had been off this morning, an unusual occurrence. Normally before a battle he ate well, and after a battle he'd wipe the gore off his cutlass and sit down with a will to celebrate ending the day alive once again.

Returning to Huntley changed it all. He could not let memories overwhelm him. He had a task ahead that would take all of his concentration.

What to do about the governess was one of those tasks, albeit one that could be most pleasant if he played his cards right. For some reason though, with Lydia Burke, he was more prone to annoying her than charming her. He glanced at the kitchen maid who placed a white dish in front of him heaped with chicken pieces in a brown gravy, potatoes, fresh bread and beans from the kitchen garden. Mrs. Farmer was new since he'd been away, but as he dug into the plain fare he knew one thing on the estate would not need to be replaced or changed. Provided she wasn't robbing the household accounts, she was well worth keeping.

"Did you brew this excellent ale, Mrs. Farmer?"

"No, milord, it comes from the village. They don't like it upstairs, but it's good enough for folks who don't have London ways." She sniffed. "Begging you pardon--I didn't mean you--"

"I am quite content with good home brew. It is one of the things I missed most on my travels, so please keep ordering it. My men enjoy it as well."

He finished by giving her a smile that had the red-faced cook dimpling and fluttering her plump hands at her helpers. He glanced at the governess, but she calmly sipped tea and ignored him.

"When you are finished, Braxton will show you the nursery. See if you can get it usable for Mattie to sleep tonight."

"What is a nursery, Papa?"

"It is a place where children have their rooms, Mattie. Miss Burke, whatever you need, tell Braxton."

She looked at him steadily, then looked around the kitchen. The servants were listening to this conversation with interest, as he intended. He wanted to establish Miss Burke's authority as second to his own, and she understood this. Her role at Huntley needed to leave no question she was there as governess, not pirate doxy. Housing Mattie in the nursery also clarified for the staff
her
place in his life.

"Don't you want to see the nursery, to assess its condition, Captain?"

He hesitated but Mattie spoke up.

"Please come with us, Papa. You said a good captain always makes sure the crew's quarters are shipshape."

"Aye, Mattie, I did say that. Well then."

He rose and the ladies followed, Mattie thanking the cook for feeding her and Jolly.

"I'll keep a bowl of fresh water here for the pup, Miss Mattie, don't you worry."

The carved staircase was as he remembered, though his perspective was off as he climbed. He'd been far smaller when he last trod these worn steps. Some of the portraits were missing from the walls, others were splattered with unknown substances. There was a damp patch over the front entranceway where a leak had gotten through to the plaster and he made note of all of the depredations Huntley had suffered.

Odd. Once he thought he'd never walk this hallway again, and was glad of it. Now, as he trod the worn runner, there were remembrances of bad times, but others too, like the time he balanced along the rail overlooking the hall below, nearly giving poor Braxton a heart seizure.

The nursery was not as bad as he'd feared. It needed a good airing, but most of it was covered with dust cloths and he and the governess removed them carefully, taking them out of the room to the hallway so they wouldn't make a mess.

Mattie exclaimed with glee over the toys. There was a rocking horse, missing one glass eye, a battalion of tin soldiers he remembered well, a battered desk and chair sized for a youngster, wooden balls and cricket gear.

He heard Braxton's faltering step in the hall and turned.

"It has not been used in a long, long time, m'lord. I will fetch bedding and coal for the fire."

"Braxton, where are the maidservants? They should be doing this."

The old man sighed. "We couldn't keep maids, m'lord. The late baron--none of the girls from the village would work here. It wasn't safe. The ones in the kitchen return home each night."

"What about footmen?"

"There's only William. The others left when their wages weren't paid."

The governess looked up at that, but Mattie distracted her with a request to help rescue a wooden puppet from Jolly, who'd thought it was for him to chew on.

"I'll get Paget up here to help get your quarters ready, Mattie. Miss Burke will put you to bed tonight."

"No story, Papa?"

He hesitated, but shook his head. "I will have to owe you two stories on the morrow, poppet. Right now I'm needed elsewhere."

The child looked troubled, but she nodded. "I understand. You're the captain. That has to come first."

He opened his mouth to explain to her that she would always come first, but it wasn't the time or place for that conversation. The child understood that a vessel--even if it was landlocked Huntley Manor--needed to be cared for even if the needs of its crew had to wait.

"Speaking of wages,
Lord Huntley
..."

"Not now. Come to the study, later, after Mattie's asleep."

The governess did not look happy about this, but didn't argue with him. He gave her a smile that only earned him a scowl in return, then he kissed and hugged Mattie good night. Robert wanted to retire to his room with a bottle of brandy, but knew he'd never sleep. Too many memories, too many unanswered question, and an interview with an irate employee awaited him.

That last problem kept his smile in place.

Robert adjusted himself in the chair, a massive leather throne that had been his father's seat of power for so many years. It was disorienting to see the study from this angle. As a lad he'd stood on
that
spot on the Axminster carpet, a rosette he'd seen all too often, his eyes cast down as his faults were enumerated for him. The listing of those faults usually culminated in a whipping as he gripped the edge of the desk where he now sat as master.

He would burn the desk. It was time to replace it with something more to his taste. This chair also. It would make a lovely bonfire.

Until then he was going to savor the moment, and to celebrate, he pulled a cheroot out of its case, took the lamp and lit it, leaning back, putting his boots on his father's desk, and blowing smoke rings up at the Greek gods decorating the ceiling.

Right on cue, the door slammed open. He grinned to himself but didn't rise from his chair. It was a calculated move to enhance the fireworks about to erupt. He didn't analyze why annoying lovely Lydia entertained him so much. It was sufficient to enjoy the moment.

"You! You are...you... Aargh! Stand up when a lady is addressing you, you mannerless blackguard!"

He peered at her. Was that steam coming out of the governess's ears? No, only the smoke from his cheroot, which he reluctantly put out for later.

"I have a better idea. Why don't you sit down, and then we can both relax."

"Relax? Relax! I am not relaxed, Captain St. Armand or Lord Huntley or whoever you are today! You lied to me all along about your identity!"

He folded his hands on his stomach, knowing he looked nonchalant and at ease. Truly, it was a wonder she didn't go up in flames like a misfired rocket. Her hands were clenched and he would wager she was sorry now she hadn't taken him up on his offers of weapons practice.

"I never lied."

"What? How can you say that?"

"At the inn when you accused me of perpetrating a fraud, I only said telling people I was a peer earned me better accommodations. You jumped to conclusions. Will you please sit down so I do not have to resurrect my fading memories of being taught proper behavior?"

She sat ungracefully, almost collapsing into the chair in front of the desk, a poorly upholstered seat which he knew to be purposely uncomfortable. He'd burn that one on the bonfire as well.

"I came in here to tender my resignation," she said, gripping her hands together. "I want my wages and I want a letter of recommendation. I will stay to get Mattie settled, but then I want to
leave
."

Now he came around the desk and sat on the edge. She didn't move.

"You don't want to leave, Lydia," he said gently. "You want to hear the whole story, unvarnished, and you want to stay and see what happens next."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. He knew he was correct.

"You should not address me in such a familiar manner, Capta--Lord Huntley," she finished lamely.

"Please, continue calling me Captain. The men address me so, and you are part of the crew, aren't you?"

"We are not aboard ship now, Captain. We are in the countryside."

He shrugged. "It's a different command, but I'll adjust, as will the crew. I need you, Miss Burke," he said seriously. "As you can see, this house is sorely neglected. I have no idea how badly the rest of the estate has been damaged and I can't take time to get the house in order. I need your help with that while I tend to the estate. I need your help with Mattie. It is important to me that she adjusts well to life here, and you are vital to her continued development. I will be occupied with sorting things out, reviewing the books--"

He stopped abruptly, looking down at his hands as a memory passed through his mind, then he took a deep breath.

"I never expected to inherit. I was not supposed to inherit."

"What happened?"

"People died. Come, I want to show you something."

He stood and offered her his hand, and didn't release it when she was on her feet in front of him. Her hand was soft, but strong, capable, and he longed to feel her hands on his body as she learned all the things that brought him pleasure. He suspected the real pleasure in his bed would come from him learning what pleased her. Her affection was hard won, but worth so much, so genuine and real, not the paid affection of whores pleased that they had a client who didn't beat them, but the pleasure of a strong woman who knew her mind, knew the best and the worst a man could offer her. He wanted to offer her his best. Whatever he'd learned in his travels and voyages, he wanted to share with her. All of that was only a prelude to making a life with Lydia by his side.