Kitabı oku: «Engagement of Convenience»

Chapter One

October 31, 1805

Julia heard the shot from the top of the hill. It split the early morning still, sending a shock through her body and silencing the birds in the surrounding trees. Pulling hard on Manfred’s reins, she brought the large black horse to a halt and examined the woods below the riding path for signs of the shooter. Brilliant shades of orange, red and yellow dominated the trees and a gentle breeze sent many of the leaves cascading to the ground. A flock of birds rose from the forest, indicating the shot’s origin, but she saw nothing of the gunman. Uncle George often hunted here, but he was not expected back from London until later today.

How dare they, she fumed, nudging Manfred down the sloping hill and into the thick cluster of trees growing along the small valley floor. Only a guest of their neighbours, the Wilkinses, possessed the audacity to hunt uninvited on Knollwood land.

Low branches tugged at her hair, freeing it from the loose bun fastened at the nape of her neck. Pushing it back out of her face, she knew her sister-in-law Emily would object to such a display, but Julia didn’t care. She wasn’t about to allow the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends to poach in her woods.

As she urged Manfred deeper into the thicket, it didn’t occur to her to fetch the gamekeeper until the horse stepped into a small clearing as the culprit let off another shot in the opposite direction. Julia flinched at the thunderous noise, but Manfred, true to his warhorse breeding, stood rock still. Only his twitching ears acknowledged the explosion.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ Julia demanded.

The stranger whirled to face her and she drew in a sharp breath. Here was no fat wastrel, but the most handsome rogue she’d ever seen. The low sunlight cutting through the trees highlighted the deep-red tones in his dark hair and sharpened the bones of his cheeks. The shadow of a beard marked the square line of his jaw, emphasising his straight nose and strong chin. Her pulse raced with an emotion far different from fear. She could not name it, but it emanated from deep within her body.

‘I’m hunting,’ he answered plainly. Leaning his gun against a tree, he straightened into a stance reminiscent of the one her brother Paul assumed when a superior officer commanded him to relax.

‘You are poaching in my woods. Now remove yourself at once before I call the gamekeeper. He’s only a short distance away,’ Julia lied, hoping he believed it. The knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips told her otherwise.

‘I’d like to see your gamekeeper try to remove me.’

Julia scrutinised him, hard pressed to imagine any of the servants, except perhaps the blacksmith, taking on such a sturdy man. He was tall and slender but solid, his wide shoulders and strong chest radiating a strength his loose-fitting hunting clothes could not hide. Following the line of his long arms to his hands, she imagined them around her waist, lifting her down from Manfred and pressing her against his body. She bit her bottom lip in anticipation of him claiming her mouth, the warmth of it driving away the morning chill.

Swallowing hard, the danger of the situation rushed back to her at the sight of the hunting knife dangling from his belt and she mustered her anger to counter the scandalous thoughts. His gun might be empty, but there was no way to know his skill with the blade. ‘I demand you leave, at once.’

‘I must say, I’ve never been addressed in this fashion before.’ His blue eyes dipped down the length of her, then rose to her face. ‘Especially not by such an attractive young lady.’

Julia grasped her riding crop tighter, ready to whip him if he threatened her, but he still did not approach. ‘If I were trespassing on your land, I’d have the decency to be humble, but since you are trespassing on my land I may address you as I please.’

‘You would have to travel a great distance to trespass on my land.’ He laughed, much to Julia’s chagrin.

‘Then be off,’ she ordered, ‘for the sooner you leave, the sooner you may reach your land.’ With all the grace of an accomplished horsewoman, she pulled Manfred around and cantered away.

* * *

James watched the woman disappear through the trees. Her horse, if one could call such a beast a horse, kicking up the soft earth, leaving behind clouds of dust to dance in the dappled sunlight. Nothing came to mind except pure awe, like the first time he’d been at sea with no sight of land. Neither the dark maidens of the islands hardened by tavern life, nor the plantation owners’ daughters with their languid speech, ever struck him as this woman had. No, she seemed too much of the world, yet strangely innocent of it. What would he give to slip her from her horse, lay her on the damp leaves and make her more knowledgeable?

His body stiffened at the delightful fantasy before the shifting sun piercing the trees nearly blinded him. Judging by its height, he knew it was time to go. Grabbing the haversack from the ground with his left hand, he felt pain tear through his shoulder and the bag fell from his weakened hand, landing on the ground with a thud.

‘Hell.’ He snatched it up with his right hand and flung it over his shoulder. The gun’s recoil had irritated his wound more than he’d realised. Despite the stinging ache, he didn’t intend to give up hunting. He’d already lost too much to sacrifice more.

Picking up the gun, he hurried through the woods along a small footpath leading up to the top of the hill. Climbing out of the shallow valley, the pain and all the emotions it brought with it taunted his every step.

Damn it, damn it all, James thought bitterly, striding off down the opposite side of the hill and up the next steeper one, scattering a small group of sheep grazing in the wet grass.

Up ahead, Creedon Abbey rose before him, its grey stone, small windows and numerous turrets and chimneys betraying its roots in the Middle Ages. James’s old friend Captain George Russell had done well for himself, investing some of the fortune he’d gained in the Navy in this small estate. Only the broken and charred roof timbers and smoke-blackened stone ruined the idyllic scene. George had failed to extinguish an oil lamp one night two weeks ago and the resulting fire had gutted a large portion of the house. Scores of workmen now bustled about the front drive, unloading large blocks of stone from carts or carrying wood inside to begin the first day of repairs.

James shook his head at the damage, not sure whether to feel sorry for his friend or to laugh. Thirty years in the navy, fifteen as a captain and George had never once lost a ship. Within four years of resigning his commission, he’d nearly burned his house to the ground. For all George’s bragging about how much he’d learned from his niece about running an estate, he’d failed to master the simple skill of not setting it on fire.

James’s amusement faded as he walked. He’d seriously considered investing his money in an estate like this, but now he wasn’t so sure. Whatever he decided to do, he needed to do it soon. With his wound sufficiently recovered, it was time to settle on something meaningful to occupy his days, instead of frittering them away.

He moved faster up the footpath following the drive, eager for activity, anything to shift the restless agitation dogging him this morning.

‘What’s the hurry?’ a familiar voice called out from behind him. ‘Run across a ghost in the woods?’

James turned to see George leading Percy, his large, cream-coloured stallion, up the drive. In his friend’s wide, carefree smile, James caught traces of the bold captain he’d first met in the colonies ten years ago. At fifty, the lines of George’s face were deeper now, while the quiet life of a country gentleman had lightened his once sun darkened skin and thickened his waist.

‘I might have.’ James fell in step with his friend. ‘Describe your niece again.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m curious.’

George shrugged. ‘Just what you’d expect from a girl of one and twenty. Clever, well formed, somewhat eccentric. Takes after me in that regard. Why?’

‘I met her in the woods.’ James remembered the striking young lady with her auburn hair falling in delicate waves about her face, her creamy skin flushed with excitement and a few headier emotions.

‘Really?’ A noticeable gleam danced in George’s eyes. ‘And?’

‘Eccentric, well formed. Though from all your descriptions, I’d taken her for more of a dour governess and less of an Artemis.’

‘When I described her she was still a girl.’

‘She’s no girl now.’ James wondered if such a woman had ever truly been a girl or if she’d simply sprung from the foam of the sea.

‘I’m glad to see you find her so interesting. Staying at Knollwood will give you a chance to get better acquainted. Who knows what you might discover?’

James shifted the haversack on his back, resisting the urge to run his fingers over the jagged scar on his left shoulder. ‘Must we go to Knollwood?’

‘Yes, it’s all been arranged. Besides, by the end of the day it’ll be more like a shipyard here than a house and, with the weather turning, you don’t want the rain leaking on your head.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve lost track of the number of storms I’ve slept through at sea.’

‘And my guess is you won’t miss it. We wouldn’t have stayed here last night if we hadn’t dallied so long at Admiral Stuart’s dinner, but I hated to disturb everyone at Knollwood so late at night.’

James laughed. ‘I wasn’t the one who insisted on opening another bottle of port.’

‘It doesn’t matter who caused the delay. I’ll be happy to sleep in a comfortable room that doesn’t smell like a cooking fire. And here I’d thought those bedrooms had escaped damage.’

‘You’ve gone soft.’

George shrugged. ‘You will, too, in time.’

James didn’t respond, this revelation not improving his mood. He’d already lost too much since resigning his commission to contemplate losing something as simple as his hardiness. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before we left London that the house wasn’t fit to live in?’

‘I think I greatly underestimated the damage.’ They stopped as two men carrying a large plank walked past them. ‘Besides, the ladies are quite excited at the prospect of meeting a new gentleman.’

‘You know I came here to escape such affairs.’

‘Does any man ever truly escape them?’

‘You seem to have avoided it.’

‘And you wish to follow my lead?’

James scrutinised his old friend, suspecting more to all this than the extensive fire damage simply slipping his mind. ‘What are you about, George?’

‘Nothing.’ George held up his hands innocently but only succeeded in looking guiltier. ‘I want you to enjoy yourself while you’re here. Now hurry and change. We’re expected at Knollwood.’

George pulled Percy off to the stables and James headed around to the back of the house, his footsteps heavier than before. Reaching under the loose jacket, his fingers traced the raised scar on his left shoulder through the thin fabric of his hunting shirt. Unconsciously, he flexed his left hand, feeling the weakness and cursing it. He stomped on a large clump of mud, mashing it into the earth. This was exactly what he didn’t want, the whole reason he’d allowed George to convince him to come to the country.

He cursed his luck and George’s carelessness. If his friend had extinguished the lamp instead of leaving it to overheat, James could have spent the next two weeks here, not forced into Artemis’s cave waiting to be ripped apart by her wild beasts. He’d experienced enough clawing and tearing in the ballrooms of London. He had no stomach for it here in the country. Give him a French fleet any day; it was preferable to a matron with a marriageable daughter.

A flash of movement on the opposite hill made him stop at the rear door. He watched the young woman ride at a full gallop over the green downs, the horse moving like a shadow, her amber hair a streak of sunlight through the dark clouds. The memory of the little Artemis astride the black beast, face flushed with anger, pert breasts rising and falling with each excited breath, filled his mind. His loins stirred with desire before he checked himself. It was one thing to idle away hours with the willing widowed sister of a provincial governor; it was quite another to dally with the niece of his best friend.

Besides, no spirited creature wants a broken man. He pushed away from the wall, angrily slapping the door jamb. The rough stone stung his palm, reminding him that any interest in Miss Howard could only be to learn from her estate management skills which, according to George, were considerable. If James decided to follow his friend into the life of a country gentleman, he’d need to know more about it than what little he’d learn from books.

* * *

Manfred reached the crest of the hill, breathing hard, his dark coat glistening with sweat. Julia eased him into a slow walk and they ambled down the bridle path tracing the top. A thin mist crept through the crevices of the valley while sheep grazed quietly in the green meadows. The three estates situated on the three high hills overlooking the rolling valley came into view. Creedon Abbey, the smallest, stood on the hill closest to Knollwood. Though some five miles off, the tips of the turrets were just visible above the surrounding trees. All the land here had once belonged to the old monastery before the Reformation and some debt-ridden descendant saw it sold off to create Knollwood and Cable Grange. There was little difference between Creedon land and Knollwood land, but drastic changes marked the boundary between Knollwood’s lush, well-tended meadows and Cable Grange’s weed-choked fields. Cable Grange stood on the third-highest hill in the area. Farther away than Creedon, she could just see it sitting on its hilltop perch, the distance obscuring its neglected state. Being so close to Knollwood, she knew Cable Grange could be one of the finest houses in the county.

If only it were mine. She didn’t know who to curse more, her brother Charles for inheriting Knollwood or Mr Wilkins for ruining Cable Grange.

Adjusting her leg against the pommel, she wished she’d chosen her standard saddle instead of the side-saddle. It was still early and the rest of the house had yet to rise, making it unlikely Emily would catch her riding astride. Soothed by Manfred’s gentle gait, she settled into the seat, her mind wandering back to the woods and the handsome stranger.

He called me attractive, she mulled, remembering the heady way his blue eyes raked her body, their heat warming her skin. Four years ago, standing against the wall during London balls, she’d seen gentlemen examine other young ladies with similar hot eyes, nudging each other knowingly. For all her London finery, not one gentleman had cast a single amorous glance in her direction. How strange to garner a lustful stare while dressed in her old riding habit.

If only he weren’t one of the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends. She sighed, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips tease her neck while he whispered forbidden things in her ear. A strange thrill coursed through her before she forced the wicked daydream from her head. He was a scoundrel and not worth a second thought.

Digging her heel into Manfred’s flanks, she drove him hard across the open ground, guiding him towards a hedge separating the fields. Pulling back on his reins, she sat forwards as he leapt and they easily cleared the bushes before landing on the other side.

‘Well done, Manfred!’

She slowed him to a walk and, coming to another path, looked longingly east. A smooth mound stood out against the flatter fields, the ruins on top silhouetted by the rising sun. At a full gallop, they could reach the old fortress in a few minutes and she might spend a quiet hour picking through the high grass searching for relics. Her heel itched to tap Manfred, but she resisted, reluctantly directing him back to Knollwood. Emily expected her at breakfast. Why, she couldn’t imagine. Neither Simon nor Annette, her stepcousins, had risen before noon since their arrival and when they were awake, they only complained about the country.

What could Uncle Edward possibly hope to accomplish by sending them here? she wondered, wishing he’d hurry up and recall them to London.

They trotted into the paddock, greeted by the fresh scent of hay and the sharper smell of horses.

‘I see you’ve had another fine ride, Miss Howard,’ John, the head groom, remarked, helping her down from the saddle. ‘I’ve always said the two of you were made for each another.’

‘That’s because I believed in him when no one else did. Didn’t I, Manfred?’ Julia rubbed the horse’s nose and he shook his head as if in agreement. ‘John, please speak to the gamekeeper. I saw a poacher in the forest this morning.’

‘A poacher?’ He held Manfred’s reins, disbelief deepening the lines of his forehead. ‘We’ve never had such trouble before.’

‘Well, I believe the man is a poacher, though it may have only been one of Mr Wilkins’s guests.’

‘Mr Wilkins has no guests, Miss Howard.’

Then who could he be? Julia tapped her riding crop against her palm, then handed it to John. ‘No matter. Please ask the gamekeeper to take care of it.’

‘Yes, Miss Howard.’

‘Oh, and please don’t mention it to Mother or Emily. They’ll only worry and then Emily will lecture me if she discovers I went riding without you.’ Emily had been married to her brother Charles for less than a year, but she’d prove his equal when it came to chastising Julia about proper behaviour.

‘I won’t say a word.’ John laid a knowing finger against the side of his ruddy nose before leading Manfred inside.

Thank goodness for his loyalty, she thought, fastening up the long hem of her riding habit. Without him, she and Manfred might never be allowed to enjoy their solitary rides.

Walking up the path from the stables, she passed through a small grove of trees and into the large, open lawn. Crossing the wide space, she kicked the head off a dandelion, sprinkling her skirt with bits of grass and dew.

I must speak to Bill about bringing the sheep here to trim the grass, she reminded herself before passing through a gate in the low stone wall surrounding the garden on the other side.

Wandering down the gravel path through the semi-formal plant beds, she saw the house rise up in front of her, its many windows reflecting the morning sun. She removed her right glove and grazed the top of a large rosemary bush with her fingers before snapping off a sprig and inhaling the tangy scent. All the troubles she’d forgotten during her ride came rushing back, especially Charles’s letter.

‘His estate.’ Julia threw the rosemary sprig on the ground, crushing it beneath her half-boot. ‘What does he know of running Knollwood?’

She’d burned the hateful parchment after reading it, watching with delight as the neat script crumpled and charred in the flames. However, all the burned letters couldn’t stop her brother from claiming his inheritance.

Pausing at the small pond in the centre of the garden, she stared into the dark water. Goldfish flitted beneath the glass surface, failing to disturb the reflection of the thick clouds passing overhead.

Why should he have Knollwood? Tears of frustration stung her eyes. He’s never taken an interest in it the way I have.

Nor did he appreciate all her hard work to keep it prosperous. Only Father and Paul had ever recognised it, but with Paul serving with Admiral Nelson’s fleet and Father—

No, she commanded herself, refusing to cry. Tears would not help her deal with Charles.

Heading up the garden path, she passed her mother’s cherished rose garden, then hurried up the stairs of the column-lined stone portico leading to the back sitting room.

‘Good morning, Miss Howard,’ Davies, the butler, greeted, pulling open the large French door.

‘Good morning.’ She handed him her gloves and he held out a small paper-covered parcel.

‘This arrived from Mr Charles Howard.’

‘My book.’ She tore off the wrapper to reveal a leather-bound copy of The Monk. ‘I can’t believe Charles sent it. He’s always so concerned about not disturbing my delicate female mind. It’s fortunate he doesn’t know the half of what Paul tells me.’

‘Yes, very fortunate indeed,’ Davies solemnly concurred. He’d been Paul’s valet when Paul still lived at Knollwood, making him well acquainted with her brother’s nature and most of his escapades.

‘Has Uncle George returned from London yet?’

‘Captain Russell arrived a short while ago to collect Percy and speak with Mrs Emily Howard. He’s returned to Creedon Abbey to see to the repairs.’

‘Uncle George was here and didn’t wait for me?’

‘No, miss, but it appears we are to expect another gentleman.’

‘Who?’

‘Mrs Howard did not say, but she instructed me to open Paul’s room for him.’

Julia chafed at the news. ‘When is he arriving?’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Thank you, Davies. Please tell Mrs Howard I won’t be joining her for breakfast.’

‘Yes, miss.’

Julia walked down the hall to the study, determined to avoid the breakfast room no matter how many lectures it might create. What right did Emily have to make decisions at Knollwood? The maids and footmen were stretched thin enough with Uncle George staying here and all her stepcousins’ demands.

Crossing the study’s large, woven rug, Julia sighed. Emily, as Charles’s wife, had every right to invite whomever she pleased, even if it did mean additional work for Julia and the staff. For a moment she imagined herself mistress of her own home, free to make decisions and live without her brother’s censure, then dismissed the thought. Once Charles took control, he’d soon realise the limitations of his estate management skills, or return to London for Parliament in the spring, leaving Knollwood in Julia’s hands once again. Or so she hoped. Her brother had a habit of being very stubborn.

She sat down behind the large, mahogany desk situated at the far end of the study. High bookcases lined one wall while south-facing windows with a view of the garden dominated the other. A tall, wooden bookstand supporting a fine atlas stood guard near the window, flanked by two leather chairs. Her father had decorated the room, choosing every element down to each book. From here he conducted all family business, patiently bearing Charles’s sermons about the proper education for Julia, dealing with one of Paul’s many near scandals or teaching Julia to run Knollwood.

It’d happened by accident, after she’d fled here one day to avoid drawing lessons. Sitting with her father while he reviewed the figures, she’d asked questions and he’d answered them, noticing her interest. The next day, he’d invited her to join him again and it became their habit. In the afternoons, they’d ride the estate, speaking with the workers and learning their methods and the land. Then, one day, he told her to do the figures, allowed her to sit in the room while he met with the overseer and gave her correspondence to read and answer. No one in the family except Charles questioned her strange education and Father would laugh him off, saying he wasn’t about to lose his best manager because she was a girl.

Julia smiled at the memory, then opened the large, leather-bound ledger. Settling herself over the accounts, she reviewed the figures, wrinkling her nose at the increased expenditures brought on by her stepcousins’ visit. Closing the ledger, she gathered up the large bundle of letters resting on the corner of the desk. She read through the missives, the minute details of the dairy and reports from the tenant farmers helping her forget the excitement of the morning.