I Loved a Rogue The Prince Catchers (25 page)

Daily I go about my tasks with tears on my cheeks. I have lost so greatly that my sorrow is a living creature threatening to consume me. But this I vow: I do love you. You must never doubt that I love you.

Grace T

“Who could this mysterious colonel be?” Fanny said. “For this must be the same woman on the manifest.”

Fanny and her brother sat across the table. Taliesin stood by the window as though he wished to be outside. To be gone already.

“This came from the captain’s box of
Lady Voyager
too?”

“We don’t know for certain,” Fanny said. “But when Robin found it bound into that book”—she leaned forward—“for he could not halt the search for clues even after your departure”—she cast him a proud smile—“we knew it must have been written by your mother.”

Eleanor’s fingers slid along the edges of the page, creased from old wrinkles. Was this the writing of the woman who had abandoned her and her sisters twenty-three years earlier? But why would such a note have been stored in the captain’s safe box aboard a ship her mother had not even boarded? A
love letter
? Had her father been a colonel in the army? Had she sent it on the ship hoping that he would receive it in England? But why had she needed to assure him of her love? And what had she lost?

“I found nothing else, I’m afraid,” Mr. Prince said, his eyes sympathetic. “Though I searched through several hundred books. When I return to Drearcliffe, I will continue searching.”

“Will you return with us, Eleanor? It is only a two-day drive and then we might renew your search and the labor of the three of us will meet with more success.” She lifted speaking eyes to Taliesin. “Or the four of us.”

“Mr. Wolfe has other plans,” Eleanor said swiftly. “In fact”—she set down the letter and stood up—“he was just leaving St. Petroc when you arrived. Weren’t you, Mr. Wolfe?”

“As you say.” He looked at the Prince siblings. “Mrs. Upchurch. Mr. Prince.” He bowed. Then he turned to her. “Give your father my regards.”

Eleanor could say nothing. The cacophony of loss filled her throat and crippled her lips.

Mr. Prince rose to his feet. “I will walk with you to your horse, Wolfe.”

They went from the room. Eleanor sat and took up the letter and pretended to read it again and pretended to listen to Fanny. But she saw nothing and heard nothing, only her heart as it shattered into pieces again.

THEY HAD BARELY
stepped from the paving stones to the pebbled yard when Prince said in a strained voice, “I told her that you intended to offer for Fanny. At Kitharan that night. Rather, I suggested it to her.”

Taliesin halted.

“I don’t know if you had any such intention,” Prince hurried to add. “Fanny never said so. She is a fine person—much finer than I am, in truth. I think she likes you very much. But she would never tell an untruth.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“It should be obvious to you.” Prince’s jaw was hard. “I am in love with Eleanor, Wolfe. The fewer men I must contend with in this competition, the greater my chance of success.” His mouth made a grim line. “She didn’t like it. She . . . admires you.”

“We have known each other many years.” And he’d been a fool for her every one of them. He should not have kissed her. Touched her. Even now he could feel her in his hands.

“You are a clever man, Wolfe. I can see that. But I’m not a simpleton, whatever else you think of me.”

“I think nothing of you at all, Mr. Prince.”

His hands flexed at his sides. “I know it was you.”

“What was I?”

“Almost as soon as we met at Drearcliffe I recognized you. But I refused to believe it. I convinced myself that my memory was mistaken. And you were so changed. But now—here—it’s clear. Shackelford’s house isn’t two miles away. I visited it on several occasions while Thomas and I were in school together.” His brow was low. “I know it was you, that day in the woods. The fight. And now . . .” A hard flush colored his cheeks. “Now I realize that Eleanor must have been the girl. The vicar’s daughter.”

Taliesin said nothing.

“I expect it will mean nothing to you now,” Prince said. “But I’m sorry for what Shackelford did. I’m even sorrier that I did not stop him from it. I could have. I should have. Afterward, I regretted that I hadn’t.”

“For how long did you regret it, I wonder. As long, perhaps, as it took my broken bones to mend?”

Prince’s eyes flared. “If our positions had been reversed, would you have acted differently?”

Taliesin didn’t even bother laughing. Prince had no idea of what he spoke.

He started toward the stable. “Leave it be, Prince. Some mistakes are better left in the past.” She hadn’t been a mistake. Never that.

He entered the stable, took up Tristan’s saddle, and lifted it onto his back. The stallion sidestepped. Taliesin stroked the ebony coat and his horse twisted to nudge him on the shoulder.

“Where to now, my friend?” he murmured. He would not return to Kitharan immediately, not if she were headed to Drearcliffe. He had business elsewhere he could see to. “Back to Plymouth, you say? To visit Elijah Fish? I was thinking the same thing.” Whatever the jeweler had told her, he would learn it. Until she had her wish to discover what had become of her parents, he would not give up the search.

He turned to remove the bridle from the peg. Prince stood in the doorway. With a great breath that lifted his shoulders, he reached into his pocket and withdrew an object. He stretched his palm open. Upon it was a flat silver case.

“This belongs to her family. To her father. Last winter I found it in the captain’s safe box from the
Lady Voyager
. It bears a family crest that was easy to trace.”

Taliesin steadied his stance, every muscle tight as steel. “A moment ago, Prince, because of that apology, I admit that I had been thinking more highly of you than you probably deserve. But that you could have known this, possessed this, and withheld it from her, alters my opinion. I recommend taking yourself out of my sight now—to the vicarage with that, or to anywhere swiftly—or you will soon find yourself in need of a physician.”

Prince stepped backward and his shoulders heaved. “You don’t understand.” He spoke rapidly. “At first I said nothing of it because I didn’t know if she was truly who she said she was. Traveling alone, with only a Gyp—
you
. What was I to think of her? When her character became clear to me, and I could see what this search for her family meant to her, I intended to give it to her. I did. But she departed so swiftly, I hadn’t the opportunity to . . . to . . .”

“To admit that you had lied to her?”

“To explain to her the situation,” he said firmly. “I haven’t lied to her in the most important matter. I have told her how I feel about her. I want to make her happy. I don’t believe that meeting her real family will accomplish that.”

“Perhaps you should allow her to make that decision.”

“I would, but— For God’s sake. You don’t understand. It’s not a simple matter. I went there. To her family’s house. Her father’s. I met him. That is, I was
shown
him.” He seemed to choke. “The family did not want it, but I was in possession of this case and I insisted. When I saw him I understood why.” He shook his head. “Wolfe, her real father is a madman.”

Chapter 22

A Proposal of Marriage

P
rince walked toward him. “I want you to have this.”

Taliesin made no move to accept the silver case. Prince placed it on the ledge of the open stall. “I owe it to you, for not defending you all those years ago. It’s too little too late, I think, but it’s all I have to offer you.”

“You haven’t the courage to tell her yourself?”

“No. That isn’t it.” He straightened his shoulders. “You aided her in this search until she came to my grandfather’s house, and then afterward in Plymouth. I want her. Make no mistake about that. And I intend to have her. But if finding her family helps her decide where to rest her favor, then you deserve her.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You shouldn’t. When Fanny told me she admired you, I wrote to several friends of mine in London. One of them discovered that the new master of Kitharan has a checkered past. He provided me with details.” Prince looked him up and down now, as though Taliesin still wore the threadbare clothes and fight-blackened eyes he’d worn then.

“That life is behind me.”

“But it needn’t be.” Prince’s bright eyes were hard. “If you tell Eleanor that I found that case in the captain’s box—or if you tell my sister, who doesn’t know anything of it—I will make your criminal past known to your neighbors at Kitharan. And to your servants. Many of them are having trouble enough accepting you. If they learn this, you’ll be damned there. You’d be as well to sell the property, if anyone would buy it from you. Baron tried for a decade to rid himself of it before you took it off his hands.”

“I’ve never been particularly fond of threats, Prince. How do you know I won’t simply walk into that house now and tell her all you’ve just said?”

“Because you want her happiness too.” Prince’s lips were tight. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Wolfe. I think you must be a decent man. She wouldn’t trust you if you weren’t. But I intend to win this competition. She deserves a man who understands her. A man of her own kind.”

WITH THE SILVER
case in his pocket, Taliesin rode to London. The Adler family’s emblem was etched into the case and easily identified. Nearly a century had passed since, lacking an heir, the title had reverted to the crown. But the Bridgeport-Adler branch of the family still held property in east Devonshire. A modest estate, it nevertheless spanned acres in two shires.

The tavern master in the village told Taliesin where to find the lane to the main house. All the while he assessed Taliesin with suspicious eyes. Taliesin had long since grown accustomed to such assessments, and he hadn’t broken any furniture or split anyone’s lip in this tavern in particular. But nine years ago he’d spent plenty of time in this county, enough to be escorted from it by the law. And he supposed that a Rom who spoke as a gentleman and didn’t try to sell anything was a memorable enough stranger, drunk or sober.

The house of the Bridgeport-Adlers sat at the top of a gradual rise from a lake, a brick building of relatively recent construction from the look of it: rectangular from the front and subtle in its classical adornments. Settled amidst clustered evergreen shrubs and flanked by a formal garden enclosed in a hedge, it bespoke modest prosperity. The absence of any view of outbuildings from the curving drive suggested the family cared for appearances; vulgar barns, brewery, and other buildings in which work occurred were hidden out of sight of approaching guests. Only the carriage house could be seen peeking out opposite the garden.

Taliesin dismounted before the house and waited for a stable hand. None appeared. He walked Tristan to the stable and startled an old groom awake.

“Sir! That is . . .” The groom peered at him, then scratched his head. “Er . . . What can I do for you?”

“You can stable my horse while I call upon your master.”

The groom tugged his cap and took the stallion in hand. Tristan never failed to impress men who knew horseflesh. The groom was whistling by the time Taliesin rounded the house again.

The front door was open. A man in neat servant’s garments stood in the doorway. “Your business here, sir, if you please?”

Taliesin considered that perhaps he had become too accustomed to doing business with the same breeders and traders who knew him well. He hadn’t been so keenly assessed in years, not even at Kitharan when they’d come to gawk at the Gypsy landowner—the Gypsy landowner who would no longer be welcome when Prince spread the news of his past.

He would not hide the truth from Eleanor. But he didn’t trust Robin Prince. He’d come ahead to ensure the truth, to protect her from unnecessary hurt. In that, Prince had pegged his man.

“I wish to speak with your master. Is he in?”

The manservant’s nose inched higher. “Who, may I ask, is calling?”

Taliesin offered his card. The servant studied it, then studied him again. Taliesin waited. He’d waited like this hundreds of times before, scrutinized by servants from the lowest stable boys to lords’ secretaries.
If their positions had been reversed
. He wondered if Robin Prince had ever waited for a servant to do anything. But he was not a wealthy man, rather dependent on his grandfather. Bound to his family. To his sisters as well.

He had once enjoyed bonds like that. Then he learned that a man who trusted in such bonds could have it all swept away from him in an instant.

Easier to remain unshackled.

The manservant turned Taliesin’s card over and read the words he’d written there. His eyes widened.

“If you will wait here, sir,” he said swiftly and went inside the house, leaving the door open. Taliesin had often been told to wait on door stoops. On occasion when doors closed at this moment, he liked to imagine a bevy of servants rushing about and hiding all the small valuables.

Now through the open door he saw a high-ceilinged foyer paved in costly stone, with intricate crystal wall sconces and, above the landing at the break in the stairs directly ahead, a full-length painting of a uniformed soldier.

Taliesin crossed the threshold and walked to the foot of the stair. The young officer in the painting was Eleanor and Arabella’s father. Or a very near relative. Without doubt. The portraitist had perfectly captured the curve of lips, cast of brow, and shape of eyes that two of the three Caulfield sisters shared, and the white Burgundy flavor of Eleanor’s hair.

In London he’d learned that the head of the Bridgeport-Adler family had the name Edward Bridgeport, and that he had spent time in the West Indies many years ago. Taliesin took the stairs two at a time and came to the painting. The bronze plate attached to the bottom of the gilt frame read “Capt. Edward Bridgeport-Adler.”

“Sir! You must come away from there at once,” the manservant insisted from the base of the stair. “The master is not receiving at present. He kindly asks you to leave.”

Taliesin turned away from the face of Eleanor’s father as soft footsteps pattered and a woman hurried into the hall. Her features were more delicate than Edward Bridgeport-Adler’s but almost identical. She was perhaps forty years of age.

“No, Stoppal.” Her voice vibrated with agitation. “You mustn’t do this. The baroness is wrong.” She held Taliesin’s card between the fingers of both hands, as though she were praying with it. “Mr. Wolfe, thank you for calling. I wish very much to speak with you, but I—” She looked over her shoulder. “My aunt is coming.” She hurried to the base of the stairs. “She will make you leave now,” she whispered. “But you
must
return. And bring them with you. She cannot deny
them
entrance into his house. I beg of you, return as soon as you are able.” Straightening her shoulders, she glided through the doorway she’d come from, saying loudly, “Stoppal sent him away, Aunt Cynthia. You needn’t fret.”

Stoppal stood at the open front door. “Sir?” he said sharply.

Taliesin descended the stairs and went to the stable. He had sufficient proof. And whoever the woman was, Eleanor and her sisters had an ally in the house. The master might truly be mad, as Prince had said, but at least one member of the Bridgeport-Adler family wanted to know Edward’s daughters.

Leading Tristan out, the groom looked him over appreciatively. Then he looked over Taliesin again.

“Fine animal, sir.”

“He is indeed.”

“Master Edward used to have a black horse a bit like this one. Gelded, a’course. The master was just a boy at the time. Couldn’t handle a stallion.” He patted the stallion’s rump for emphasis. Tristan bore it with disinterest.

“I suspect Mr. Bridgeport-Adler became a . . . bruising rider.” Taliesin stroked his horse’s neck and withheld his smile. “He must have a fine mount now.”

“Aw, no, the master don’t ride these days.” The groom wagged his head sorrowfully. “Not since they sent him home with his head all in a muddle. He likes the horses, you see. But between you and me, sir, I think in that prison they mixed up his noggin a bit. A shame, I say. A man don’t deserve to be locked up in a dark hole for so many years he forgets what he knows, no matter what wrong he did all the way across the ocean years ago.” He slapped the stallion’s rump again. Tristan flared his nostrils and grunted.

“No doubt you’re correct about that.”
Prison
.

“But, you watch, I tell you: he’ll be back in the saddle before the season’s out. Came around here just the other day telling me he wanted to drive. Drive, if you can believe it! And him not even climbing on a horse’s back since I’ve seen him. Well, I said, I’d be glad to teach him how to drive if he’d like, but that I didn’t know that her ladyship’d be having any of it. She likes matters arranged her way, you see. But he said he already knew how to drive, that I’d been the one to teach him years back when he was a boy. I told him he sounded right like young Master Edward before he went off to war, and he said as that was a good thing, being he was one in the same. We had a good laugh over it. Yessir, mark my words, he’ll be riding come summer.”

“I’m pleased to know it.”

“I won’t keep you now, sir, and I’ve got my work to do. Fine animal you’ve there. Mighty fine animal.”

WHEN A MAN
went to his knees to offer marriage to a woman, she should feel something, if only gratitude for his willingness to scuff his trousers.

Eleanor felt more than gratitude. With his strong jaw and brilliantly blue eyes full of sincerity, Robin Prince was an attractive man. In the fortnight since he had appeared in St. Petroc with his sister, he had proved to be everything she’d thought him at Drearcliffe: amusing, good-humored, well-mannered, and intensely interested in her.

Fanny, in whom Eleanor could truly see no fault, adored her brother. She had confided in Eleanor that if Sir Wilkie gave Drearcliffe to her, she would sign it over to her brother without hesitation. Her husband had left her nothing, yet Robin kept both her and Henrietta comfortable on an excessively modest allowance from their grandfather. Robin had plans to restore Drearcliffe and was eager to be busy and useful.

Looking down into his handsome, hopeful face, Eleanor felt a weight upon her breast more painful than she had expected.

Her papa liked him. Agnes liked him. Betsy liked him. Even the squire’s wife liked him. Everybody in St. Petroc liked him. Only her knee-weakening desire for a Gypsy horse trader stood in her way of this.

“Robin,” she whispered. “I cannot.”

“Eleanor.” He grasped her hand in both of his. “Dearest Eleanor, do not refuse me with such finality. Tell me only that you must have more time to consider. We have known each other a short month. Allow me another sennight—a fortnight—as many weeks as it requires to win your affection.”

She bit down on her lip and for an instant the discomfort of it smothered the discomfort in her chest. “More time will not alter my response.”

He smiled gamely. “Since ladies often spend an hour choosing a hair ribbon, you will not convince me that you can decide on a life’s partner in the space of a month.”

“I am sorry, Robin. I know my mind on this.”

He came to his feet but kept hold of her hand. “Your mind is formidable, indeed. But what of your heart?”

Her heart
. Empty. Full. Confused. Furious. A jumbled bag of contrary emotions she’d been struggling for a fortnight to set in rational order. With no success.

“I cannot assure you with complete finality that my feelings will never alter,” she said honestly. “But I do not believe they will.”

“Then I am content. Even a small lack of certainty allows me to hope.”

She drew her hand away. “You are generous,” she mumbled.

“My constancy has nothing to do with generosity. I am simply a man in love.”

Of all the expressions of admiration he had offered her over the past weeks, this statement made her heart thump with excruciating force. A man in love was, apparently, a directed and definite creature. Like her brother-in-law Luc, he would pursue the object of his affection the length of countries and seas until she succumbed to him. Like Ravenna’s husband, Vitor, he would relinquish the life he had known for her. Like her papa, he would remain alone for decades until she appeared. And like Robin Prince, he would smile when she offered him even the slimmest ray of hope.