The Smuggler and the Society Bride (11 page)

The Gypsy cut a compelling, dynamic figure, Gabe thought. There was an intensity about him which made one believe he was the type of man one wanted on one's side in a pitched battle…and as the innkeeper said, not a man one would want to cross.

‘You seem the sort who gets what he wants,' Gabe observed.

‘So I do, my friend,' he replied. ‘And so, I understand, do
you. There are many goods to be exchanged. I wonder, with your contacts among the gentry of Ireland, whether you would be interested in some trade?'

Somewhat taken aback, for he'd made no mention of his roots since coming here, Gabe said, ‘And where did you hear that?'

‘A man of enterprise has many sources. Many interests. And pays well to know of what's afoot.'

Gabe thought of the coin and the pretty words he'd tossed to Sadie. That artless girl probably would be a good source of information about everyone who came and went in the Gull and around the coast.

‘By the bye,' Beshaley continued, ‘if you have a mind to invest your profits in something easily portable which holds its value and is quickly convertible into hard currency, gems are ideal. If such a proposition interests you, we could talk. But not now! This is not for business, but to toast, as one enterprising trader to another. So you will drink with me, and perhaps talk of business later, eh?'

‘Perhaps,' Gabe replied.

After draining his glass with a flourish—as he seemed to do everything—Beshaley said, ‘I must go now and visit the mines. Perhaps I will see you when I return?'

‘Perhaps,' Gabe repeated. ‘As you can imagine, my schedule is…fluid.'

Beshaley nodded. ‘One strikes when the time is right.'

‘If I should not see you here, might I find you in London?'

Beshaley gave him a non-committal wave of the hand. ‘I am in places from Calcutta to Flanders, Cadiz to Cornwall. And occasionally, London. As my people say,
A rabbit with only one hole is soon caught.
You also know the worth of that saying, lest the revenuers would have confiscated your ship long since. Well, I must go.'

Gabe rose with him and bowed. ‘Thanks for the drink, Mr Beshaley.'

‘My privilege, Captain.'

He strode out with the same fluid gait, exuding confidence and an air of command. He might be a man who'd hold his own in a fight, Gabe thought—but never one to trust.

He'd quickly abandoned his idea of asking about trading contacts. A man who dealt in gems and contraband would hardly be interested in handling a mundane item like mittens.

He'd just drained his ale when Kessel returned to the tap room. ‘So, what did you make of him?' he asked Gabe.

‘Interesting,' Gabe replied. ‘And you're right; I'd be on my guard around him. Have you any specific cause to think him dangerous?'

‘Did you see how he handled that knife?' When Gabe nodded, he continued, ‘Usually he shows off that skill right away—to put others on guard, I suppose, or maybe scare them a little. One never knows what them Gypsy types be thinking, what with their spells and potions, their hatreds and vengeance. If you're considering a business venture with him, I'd be careful.'

‘Anything more you can tell me of him?'

‘He first came here…oh, five or so years ago. No sparklers then, dealing only in silver. Asked if we wanted any cargo moved, said he had a buyer in London. He made several runs—a shrewd bargainer, by the way. Don't know if he paid off the revenuers—or if he spooked them. We've not done business for some time. But he's bolder now, with more of a swagger. If you want my advice when you've not asked for it, stick to dealing with good Cornishmen and leave that one alone.'

Gabe nodded. ‘It's best to know where the shoals are, before sailing into uncharted water.' Nodding, Mr Kessel walked back out to the kitchen.

An intriguing man, Beshaley, Gabe thought, who wore power and daring like a cloak and carried himself with the bearing of a natural leader. Gabe suspected he'd make an excellent pirate or smuggler, inspiring admiration and fanatical loyalty in his crew. But not an Army officer, who must follow rules and obey orders.

With regret, Gabe decided it was best to dismiss Stephano Beshaley and his offer.

He wished he could dismiss Miss Foxe as easily. She was taking up far too much of his thoughts. Itchy with inactivity, he had a strong urge to invent some excuse to see her. But as with gentling any wild creature, after one catches its attention, in order to lure it into letting down its guard, he'd found it was best to back off and let it follow him, rather than try to pursue.

So he wouldn't seek out Miss Foxe for a few days.

And if he wanted to keep that resolve, now might be a good time to put
Gull
to sea, sail toward a falling barometer and take her into a storm to test her new rigging, making sure her ropes would hold through the howling dark, high winds and rough sea that were the smuggler's natural ally.

And while he was gone, hope the tentative new line he'd strung to Miss Foxe would also hold and strengthen.

A
week later, Honoria sat at a table in the converted glass-house-schoolroom while Father Gryffd had the girls go over a page in their primer. In an astonishingly short time, the vicar had managed to convince the families of five girls, ranging in age from six to eleven, to attend school for several hours in the morning, before they were needed home to help their mothers with the chores.

He'd begun by teaching alphabet letters, then reading stories while they followed along, connecting word to sound. Numbers and sums came next, and then before lunch, Mrs Steavens came with Eva, who would go into the garden with Honoria while her mother helped the girls practice knitting. The older girls were already becoming proficient with the simpler stitches.

Since Eva could not sound out letters or respond verbally to words, the vicar used a different method with her. One might not always be able to tell whether or not she was comprehending, but there was no question about her level of excitement or intense concentration, clearly visible in her eager face and beaming smile.

Honoria, though pleased with the progress of her project, found herself still restless. After meeting the captain almost
every day, she had expected him to turn up at the school, but she'd not seen him for an entire week. She missed the challenge he presented, the chance to match wits. Of course she missed his handsome face, his teasing banter and, Heaven help her, the potent sensual undertow that pulled her to him.

The prudent side of her warned, as it had on the ride home from the vicarage that first day she'd realized the power of his attraction, to beware his ability to tempt her to imprudence. But his absence and her solitude were hushing that voice.

Her restless, more wilful side replied that it was hardly necessary to be so careful, since she was ruined already. She had too much sense to allow things to go too far, so she might as well enjoy the much greater freedom she had in the country to talk and walk and bandy words with him, unfettered by the irritation of the trailing chaperone that would have been unavoidable in London.

Why not take advantage of her freedom to enjoy his company? Having been a reigning Belle, she'd grown accustomed to being surrounded by handsome young men; it was only natural she appreciated him providing a pleasure that had once filled so much of her life. She squelched the little voice pointing out that, during the month after her arrival in Cornwall before she met him, she had lived quite satisfactorily without being attended by handsome young men.

It was more difficult to suppress the woebegone feeling of missing a friend. Which ought to be reason enough for her to try to wean herself from the addictive pleasure of his company, the prudent voice reasserted with asperity.

‘Well, Miss Foxe, shall we have some tea before Eva arrives?' the vicar's deep baritone interrupted the arguments.

Startled, Honoria turned to him, jolted further still to find the room now deserted. A guilty flush mounting her cheeks, she realized she'd been wool-gathering so intently, even the noise of the little girls' departure had not recalled her. ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you. I believe I shall take a turn about the garden and watch for Eva, if that would be convenient?'

‘It will do you good to stretch your legs,' he approved. ‘I'll call when tea is ready.'

They walked out together, Father Gryffd heading into the vicarage, Honoria into the garden. Determined to put into practice the last, more prudent counsel to purge herself of longing for the presence of Captain Hawksworth, she set off at a brisk pace. She'd made two purposeful circuits around the kitchen garden when, in the distance, she spotted a single figure approaching.

Her pulse jumped in anticipation, until she almost immediately discerned the stranger walking toward the vicarage was female, rather than male. Impatiently stifling an immediate disappointment, as the newcomer drew closer, she realized it was Laurie Steavens, looking lovely in a smart new pelisse and bonnet.

Concerned, Honoria walked out to meet her. ‘Is something wrong? Is Eva ill?'

‘No, she and Ma are both fine.' Giving a furtive glance toward the vicarage, she continued, ‘I'm glad to have caught you alone, miss. I wanted to let you know if you need me to tell Ma anything about Evie, you won't find me at the Gull no more, though you can still leave a message for me there.'

‘Have you lost your job?' she asked in alarm.

‘N-not exactly,' Laurie said, avoiding Honoria's gaze. ‘I'm…with Mr John now. He didn't want me working at the inn no more, cleaning gentlemen's bedchambers.'

The captain's chamber? Honoria wondered. ‘I'm surprised,' she replied carefully. ‘He seemed to have an aversion to Eva, and I got the impression you didn't like him very much.'

Laurie gave her the flicker of a smile. ‘But he likes me and don't mind Eva long as she keeps out of the way. He promised he'd be generous with his blunt, and he has. Been able to buy fine wool stuff for a new cloak for Ma and shoes for her and Eva. He sent around a whole haunch of beef from the butcher's, too. I can't recall when we last had meat, other than a stew Mrs K let me bring home sometimes from the Gull.' Finally looking
up, she met Honoria's eye, in hers a plea for understanding. ‘I…couldn't exactly refuse him.'

Honoria nodded. ‘I don't suppose you could.' Honoria thought of the man's previous treatment of Eva. Something about Kessel's eyes and harsh line of mouth made her uneasy. ‘Does he treat you well?'

Laurie shrugged. ‘Well enough, I suppose.'

Honoria wasn't reassured; indeed, her feeling of foreboding deepened. ‘If there is a…problem, will you promise to tell me?'

Smiling, Laurie shook her head. ‘If there was a problem, miss, what could you do?' She straightened her shoulders. ‘I don't mean to refine on it. What happens, happens. If this lets me take better care of Ma and Evie, I mean to do it while it lasts. You won't tell Father Gryffd, will you? I know, he'll find out soon enough, but I'd rather it be later than sooner. Foolish, I know, since it isn't any worse than what I already done and some might think better. Just…I'd rather he not know yet.'

Everything in her protested Laurie's situation. But the girl was right; there was nothing Honoria could do. Even Aunt Foxe, liberal in thinking as she was, was unlikely to upset her household by employing a girl who'd taken to Laurie's occupation. Nor had she any money to offer in compensation for Laurie's refusing to accept the landlord's son's protection. Besides, truth to tell, she had no right to interfere in whatever Laurie decided to do with her life.

Still, impotent rage flamed in her breast at the path Laurie had felt necessary to take. And she'd never felt more helpless.

‘Well, I'll be going now, miss,' Laurie said.

When Laurie turned to walk away, Honoria impulsively grabbed her sleeve. ‘All the same, will you let me know if there is trouble?'

Laurie studied her a minute, then shook her head. ‘Kind of you, but it be best if you don't get involved. Mr John's got a wicked temper and he don't like nobody interfering in his business.'

She paused, then added in a wondering tone, ‘I don't know why a lady like you'd be concerned about the likes of me, but I thank you for it. For watching Evie, too.'

‘You're welcome. I wish…I wish I could do more.'

Laurie smiled. ‘Mostly all we females can do is endure and survive. A good day to you, miss.'

She walked away, the jaunty feather in her new bonnet bobbing in the breeze.

Honoria watched her retreating figure, not able to shake that uneasy feeling. She wished she might confide in Father Gryffd, who had care for all his parishioners and seemed to have a special interest in Laurie. He was certainly in a better position to protect the girl—but she had specifically asked Honoria to keep the news a secret. She couldn't justify breaking a confidence just because she disliked the landlord's son.

The girl was out of sight when Father Gryffd appeared at the door, calling to Honoria that he was bringing tea and some macaroons fresh from the oven to the schoolroom—and Eva arrived.

Seeing the eager girl always lifted her spirits. Running to Honoria, Eva gave her a hug, and began the rapid series of gestures Honoria was just beginning to comprehend.

Laughing, she caught the girl's hands. ‘Slower, Eva, slower! I'm not so clever as you!'

That earned her a look of surprise followed by a grin so big, Honoria's heart ached. How often in the girl's short life, Honoria wondered, had the intelligent mind Honoria knew was trapped within Eva's mute body been abused as backward and dull-witted?

Taking the child's hand, she led her to the schoolroom and poured tea. Another pang went through Honoria as she saw how, watching her intently, Eva mimicked the set of Honoria's fingers on her teacup, the curl of her finger, her upright posture sitting just at the edge of her chair.

Tea drunk, Honoria settled back to watch while Father
Gryffd worked with the child. Soon, she was overcome again with the feelings of restlessness that had afflicted her the last several days.

She'd already decided to stop on her way back to Foxeden and do some sketching. By now she'd about picked the spring garden clean and buried Aunt Foxe's rooms in floral arrangements and the stillroom in drying herbs. She'd found some charcoal and paper in her aunt's library, which her aunt had said she was welcome to use.

She hoped the pastime would absorb some of her energy and distract her, if only for a time, from the gnawing sense of uncertainty that dogged her more and more frequently as her distress over her ruination dissipated and her concern about the future increased.

With the vicar and Eva absorbed in work to which she could add nothing useful, Honoria was thinking to slip away early, when a knock sounded on the schoolroom door. Mrs Wells peeped in to announce that Mr Hawksworth had called, wondering if the vicar would allow him to visit the schoolroom.

A surge of gladness carried away Honoria's restlessness with the force and freshness of the sharp southeast wind on the Cornish cliffs. Her nerves hummed with anticipation and every sense seemed to heighten as he appeared in the doorway.

‘Mrs Kessel told me upon my return this morning that you'd begun your school, Father. I thought I'd stop by and see how our prospective knitting venturers are doing.'

‘Do come in! Though, as you see, most of our scholars have left for the day. If 'tis agreeable to you both, while I finish today's lesson with Miss Eva, Miss Foxe can acquaint you with our progress.'

Though Honoria didn't remember rising as he walked in, she found herself on her feet, her gaze locked on his face. He bowed and a guilty thrill made her heart hum as he gave her the smile she'd been trying not to crave for these last seven days.

‘Miss Foxe, so good to see you! Though the
Flying Gull
racing through the sea is a pretty sight, 'tis nothing to the beauty awaiting me on land.'

‘Ah, so that's why I've not seen—' Flushing, Honoria caught herself before she sounded as moonsick as Tamsyn. ‘That is, nice to see you, too, Captain. I note the sea's saltiness has not leached the sweetness from your tongue.'

He grinned, blast him, as if he'd seen through her reply all the eagerness she'd been trying to mask. And whatever possessed her to mention ‘tongue,' which immediately prompted her naughty mind to wonder what he'd taste like when she kissed him?

If.
If she kissed him. Honoria shook her head, trying to clear it. But that was ridiculous, for she was
not
going to kiss him. They were going to talk about schoolgirls and mittens and commerce.

She was
not
going to note how his vitality and force and sheer maleness seemed to fill up the small room, forcing out air and making it more difficult to breathe—while making each breath more intense. How lips that spoke such honeyed words hinted how much sweeter they'd be pressed against her own.

‘So school is well begun?' he was asking, jolting her back to the present. She blinked rapidly, noting that his expression had softened, as if taking pity on her speechlessness.

Heavens, what was wrong with her? Back in a London ballroom, she would have laughed behind her fan to see some other maiden so flushed and tongue-tied before a handsome young gallant.

Please, not ‘tongue' again.

Angrily calling her wits to order, she said, ‘The girls are making good progress on their letters and sums. Mrs Steavens has some of them already on the way to mastery of basic knitting patterns. It remains to be seen, of course, if any achieve the level of skill necessary to complete the complex designs we think more likely to be saleable. My aunt has agreed to
write to some friends in London, asking their opinions of the possibility of marketing them there.'

The captain nodded. ‘I will be interested in hearing their replies. I know you expressed concern about whether fashionable ladies would wish to purchase plain woolen mittens. But I've been thinking that, even if the Ton are not interested, London is full of maids and shop girls and governesses who care as much about comfort as fashion, who must go about in wet and chilly weather. Girls who would be delighted to purchase such necessities at a fair price, if they were available.'

Though it was impossible to truly ignore it, Honoria blessed him for distracting her from the disturbing force of his presence by making her picture the appealing notion of Mrs Steavens, Laurie and Eva, receiving enough blunt for honest labour that Laurie could retire from her current occupation, without leaving the family always teetering on brink of destitution.

‘An excellent plan!' she exclaimed. ‘Perhaps we could offer not just mittens, but scarves, caps, even reticules knit in matching patterns.'

He nodded, smiling at her enthusiasm. ‘You do have a knack for trade which, as I said before, I find admirable, though I suspect neither your family nor mine would share that opinion.'