“I am not marrying you, Felix,” she said.
“Heh heh. I shan’t give up trying yet. It is a lady’s prerogative to change her mind, you know.” He never pressed too hard. He wanted a free hand in case of finding a lady with deeper pockets or a prettier face – or a less shrewish manner.
He left as soon as breakfast was over. It never occurred to him to speak to the bailiff, gamekeeper, gardener or even the butler of this estate that was his in all but name. Amy had her daily consultation with the housekeeper. The winter blankets were being hung out to air, and it was washing day besides, which meant less lavish meals than usual.
“Serve lunch and dinner in the morning parlor,” Amy said. “Some ham and an omelette will do.”
“Mr. Bratty likes his dinner in the dining room,” she was reminded.
“When Mr. Bratty is Lord Ashworth, he may eat where he likes. Meanwhile I am mistress of my father’s house. We shall eat in the morning parlor.”
“If Felix bothers to come home,” she added to herself. She was through catering to his whims. Let him see she was a shrew, if it would kill his interest in her.
After looking over her papa’s correspondence and answering what she could, she set the rest aside to discuss with the lawyer who was handling financial matters during Ashworth’s illness. She went outdoors to have a word with the gardener about planting bulbs for the spring and putting the garden away for the winter.
“We got very few flowers on that bed of red tulips outside Papa’s window this spring,” she said. “It is time to replace them. They cheer him on a dull day.” She wondered, even as she spoke, if he would be there to appreciate them, come spring.
“Red again?” he asked. “There’s a dandy new yellow one I would like to try.”
“Red for that spot,” she insisted. “Try the yellow ones in the border.”
“And the new Queen Charlotte rose?” he asked hopefully.
“In the ladies’ garden. Buy only a few until we see if we like them.” Bell tended to get carried away with roses.
He was trying to convince her that a dozen of this new strain would “be the making” of a corner he was redesigning. “I’ve put in the white climber over the new trellis. The Queen Charlotte on either side would set it off beautiful, and plant some bluebells to hide Queen Charlotte’s feet. White, pink and blue, a dandy ladies’ garden.”
“Three on either side,” she said, relenting. He was trying to talk her into half a dozen on either side when she saw Lord Ravencroft’s tall, elegant form coming down the garden walk.
Amy felt a heat rise to her face and was so embarrassed she could hardly meet his eyes. Would he see reflected in hers the things she had been imagining as she went about her customary chores? Apparently he saw nothing out of the ordinary, and as he behaved just as usual, Amy recovered from her fit of gene.
He bowed to her and exchanged a few knowledgeable words with the gardener about roses before returning his attention to Amy. They began strolling toward the house. He didn’t offer his arm and Amy was too shy to take it without invitation.
“I met Felix on his way into town,” he said. “I hope that does not mean trouble with your papa?”
“No, he is feeling stouter this morning. On the contrary, Felix’s going is good news. It means we shan’t be bothered with him. How is the horse race going? Are the men in town interested?” In her nervousness she rushed from topic to topic.
“A good reception thus far. My friend Aldritch came to town last night and is holding forth at the Greenman. Lord Mercer is puffing the race off at Canterbury. Mr. Ford has entered a filly, Go Girl. Aldritch will see that his race is run last. Rumor has it that his friends will go with him.”
They walked through the fading garden, that still had some remnants of flowers. The pinks and chrysanthemums lent some color, along with a few roses. “You don’t think the money might be moved out before tonight?” she asked.
“Spinks, my valet, is keeping an eye on the place. There’s been no action so far.”
“I wish the whole thing were over and done with. Waiting for tonight is the hardest part.”
“I’m glad you added that explanation.” He peered down at her quizzically and added, “I feared your eagerness was to be rid of me. “
Amy wanted to howl in protest: “No, it isn’t fair; not just when we – “ Seeing he was waiting, she said calmly, “You will be leaving when this is over, of course.”
He assumed an expression of mock sorrow. “Not even one tiny protest? You won’t miss me?”
She looked at him from the corner of her eyes. “As much as you will miss me, sir,” she said archly.
“That will teach me to go fishing for compliments in a dry stream.”
Amy led him into the house by the library door, that was closest to the path they took. “Have you time for some coffee, or must you rush back to town?”
“I would love a cup of coffee. What they serve at the Greenman is closer to tar.”
“There is a fire laid in the morning parlor. Do you mind if we sit there?”
He stopped and smiled down at her. Then he took her fingers and squeezed them. “The where is not important, so long
as I am with you, Amy.”
The breath went out of her lungs. She didn’t reply, but just went floating silently to the morning parlor, with her heart in her throat. He didn’t let go of her hand until she stopped to ask the butler for coffee.
She thought, when they were alone in the cozy room, that he would continue in this promising vein. But that seemed to be all the flirtation he had in him. He stood by the fire, saying how nice a fire was in autumn, and wasn’t that wood from an apple tree they were burning? It had a lovely smell.
Yet he was not quite so at ease as he pretended. His movements were jerky, he glanced at her with a certain apprehension. Was he waiting until the coffee came, so that they would not be interrupted? The coffee came and she poured two cups. Ravencroft then sat in one of the padded chairs by the grate and inquired again for Lord Ashworth, then looked sheepish when he remembered he had already done this. He spoke of parliament and Napoleon and his horses. He spoke of everything except what she hoped to hear.
He accepted a second cup of coffee but when his cup was full he set it aside, cleared his throat in a most promising way and said, “Amy, there is something I must say.” He looked wonderfully nervous.
That familiar tingling was back in her veins. “Yes, what is it, Ravencroft?” she asked in a trembling voice.
“About this raid on Ford’s place tonight, Amy. Glover and Spinks will be along, as well as George and myself. Four able-bodied men. I wish you would let us handle it. It is not the thing for a lady to be involved in such a dangerous exploit.”
This was so far from what she had expected to hear that she was momentarily speechless. When it finally sunk in that he had come here, nervous and lover-like, not to court her but to get rid of her, her temper flared. She leapt to her feet and harangued in a loud voice.
“I have done more dangerous things without the benefit of four able-bodied men, sir. You forget I am the one who discovered this whole scheme, when I acted
as lookout for the smugglers. I am the one who eavesdropped on Ford and Fairmont. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be making this raid! You may be able-bodied men, but you are not so able-minded. And my reward is to be left out when it comes to catching them! You will go back to Sir George, heaped with honors!”
Ravencroft instinctively rose along with her. “I shall make sure Sir George knows of your part in it. Your vital part.”
“My vital part of sitting at home twiddling my thumbs while you arrest the culprits!”
“But if anything happens to you – Good God, Amy, I can’t take a lady along.”
“Then don’t. I don’t need you to ‘take me along,’
as if I were a child. I can and most certainly will go by myself. I will be there. Whether you choose to accompany me is your affair. No one will hold you responsible for my behaviour. I have done without a nanny for some years now.”
“Yes, too many years! It is time someone –” He saw the fire in her eye and wisely stopped.
“Thus far I have not met any gentleman brave enough to undertake what you were about to suggest, milord. You might want to finish your coffee and leave now.”
Ravencroft glared down from his lofty height, suppressing the urge to wring her proud, foolhardy neck. He said, “Bah!” and stormed out, before the passion that was rising in him should take a twist. Amy, with the glow from the fire burnishing her hair to copper and her eyes flashing green fire, had never looked more desirable. He wanted to ravage her on the spot.
When he was gone, Amy stood a moment, panting from the emotional strain. Then she ran after him, and caught him just as the front door slammed. He had let himself out.
She ran out after him. “Ravencroft!”
He stopped and turned back, surprised that she had come down from her high horse to apologize.
“Ten o’clock tonight at the abandoned house, as planned?”
“The arrangements have not been changed.”
“You will be there? You won’t sneak off early without me? Word of a gentleman?”
“I wouldn’t dare disappoint you.” Then he turned and went toward the stable, laughing quietly.
Amy was not sure she heard the words “Demmed shrew!”, but it sounded like it.
She felt exhausted after his visit. What an idiot she was, thinking a kiss meant anything to an admitted rake like Ravencroft. He had probably kissed half the ladies in London. Such a dasher was not for her – but she would not settle for Felix either. She only hoped that essential spark she had experienced with Ravencroft would happen again. But she felt a weary intuition that it would not.
Chapter Twenty
The remainder of the day was long and tedious. Amy took a basket of food and clothing to a tenant farmer’s wife who had just had her third child. The woman was the same age as herself. It made her realize how time was passing by, and how little she was accomplishing with her life.
The afternoon interval was enlivened by six pigs breaking out of their pen when their gate was left open. She wielded a broom, helping to round them up before they devastated the home garden. Ravencroft was much on her mind. While it was extremely unlikely, she had a fear he would come back and find her splattered in mud with her hair flying about her face. But of course he didn’t come.
She thought of Mr. Bransom, too, and wondered if she were being foolhardy to insist on accompanying Ravencroft that night. Why had she insisted? It would be uncomfortable and dangerous. Perhaps she should send him a note telling him she had reconsidered – No, she would not truckle under to him, or any man.
Yet it really was very dangerous. What if she was killed? Who would care if she were? Her papa would never realize it. Felix would scoop up her share of the fortune. But what if Ravencroft was killed? The ache in her heart was not really for the possibility of his death. It was because he didn’t love her. He had kissed her like that, and forgotten all about it.
After they caught the criminals tonight, he would go back to London and she would probably never see him again. Or perhaps she would see him about London in a few years’ time, and he would nod with a frown, trying to remember where he had met her.
Felix left early for the races at Canterbury, which was one relief at least, but it meant she took lunch and dinner alone, with too much time to think about Ravencroft. As the shadows of evening drew long, her mind switched forward to the night’s job ahead of her. She was dressed in her smuggler’s clothes waiting for George at the appointed hour.
When she stepped out to meet him, the gibbous moon cast a pale, milky light on the countryside, that was bathed in the perpetual mist of the
sea. She rode her own blood mare; George, a fine rider, rode Lord Ashworth’s Arabian gelding, with a dark lantern looped over the pommel. As they cantered through the meadow to the abandoned house, the worries that had plagued her all day fell from her like magic to be replaced by a singing joy. This was the life! Dangerous, exciting, romantic. Doing something not only worthwhile but important to the nation.
She saw two mounts tethered behind the house, and her heart soared. Ravencroft was here; he had kept his word. He hadn’t shabbed off on her. She knew one of his servants was on watch at Ford’s house. The dark blinds she had arranged at the windows were effective. No lights were visible from outside this abandoned house. When she let herself in, she saw a faint ray of light coming from the kitchen.
Ravencroft came forward to meet her. Even his scowl wasn’t enough to dampen her mood. She had seen the way his eyes raced to hers when she entered, seen the eager, unconscious smile that lifted his lips, and his quick effort to control it when he realized he was smiling.
“Did you bring a gun?” he asked, without the courtesy of saying good evening. George had chosen another gun for her from the armaments room to replace the one Kirby had taken. She drew it from her pocket. “Do you know how to use it?”
Her only answer was a quelling stare. George said, “Miss Bratty’s a crack shot, your lordship. I taught her myself.”
“I was taught by a man, Ravencroft, so you need not worry that I shall shoot you.”
“Not by accident, at least,” he replied with a glinting grin.
Glover and George exchanged a meaningful glance. Glover had heard enough condemnation of Miss Bratty to realize his lordship was caught in her apron strings
.
George had suspected his mistress’s condition from the beginning and thought it a very good thing.
Some bottles of wine and filled glasses sat on the table. “A drink before we go?” Ravencroft suggested, handing her a glass and taking one himself.
“If you feel the need of false courage,” she replied with a shrug. The servants also took one.
“Glover has been speaking to Spinks,” Ravencroft said. “He tells me Ford’s guests went to the races with him. The servants are at home.”
When he urged more wine on her
as soon as she set her glass down, she gave him a blighting stare. “There is not enough wine in the house to make me fall into a drunken stupor, if that is your simple plan.” Then she set the glass down hard and turned on him in fury. “Did you drug my wine? Is that why it was already poured when we arrived?”