Just when Belle was certain she'd embarrass herself and her daughter by bursting into tears, Master Wyatt stepped out of the hall's door. Her gaze clung to his familiar face and form as he strode toward the waiting mob. Gone was his traveling attire, replaced with breeches of black and a sleeveless brown doublet atop a white shirt. In keeping with a country lifestyle he’d eschewed a ruff and left his collar open, revealing the strong column of his neck. Beneath his brown cap, his neatly combed hair gleamed a deep red as it framed his sun-browned face. His expression was relaxed, the tiny lift of his lips confident.
“Hello, hello, Master Wyatt,” Lucy sang out, waving as she recognized him. “Welcome to my new home!”
A grin flashed across his lips. The crowd behind him wasn't as amused. Closing ranks, folk clutched together. A steely murmur rumbled from them.
Master Wyatt shot a swift glance over his shoulder. His frown told Belle that whatever it was they said hadn't been either friendly or welcoming. Belle’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. Beside her, Peg's eyes widened with the first inklings of fear. Brigit, who’d glanced up from her prayer book at Lucy's call, freed a quiet moan and turned her gaze back to its pages. No longer was her prayer silent. Instead, whispered pleas to the Almighty hissed steadily through her tight lips.
Richard pulled the wagon to a halt a few yards from the hall door. Master Wyatt stepped forward to catch the front horse's reins.
“Well now, if it isn’t Mistress Lucretia Purfoy,” he said to Belle's daughter, his voice lifted so it carried, his tone warm and kind. “I see you finally found yourself a mount.”
Oblivious to the glares aimed in her direction, Lucy beamed down at him. “Aye,” she chirped. “Do you see me riding?” She gleefully kicked her heels into the big horse's sides. The massive beast grunted at this assault.
He laughed, the sound deep and rich. “That I do, you little imp. But then I never doubted you’d charm your way onto a horse's back.”
Whether it was his words or his laughter, tension nigh on melted from the surly group. Men's arms were loosening, their fists opening. Women’s faces had relaxed, with more than a few smiling at Lady Purfoy’s daughter.
Belle looked back at Master Wyatt, only to find him watching her. His expression was noncommittal, but she read it in his gaze. He’d seen the hostility aimed at her and her party and had purposefully set out to diffuse it. Belle wished there were some way to let him know how great his gift was. Instead, all she had to offer was her smile and even that came too late, for he’d already turned away.
A wave of his hand brought one man forward to take the lead horse's harness. The two footmen who had journeyed with them from Richmond followed to lift out the wagon’s back gate. As they leaned it against the wheel, the elder of the two men glanced at her. A quick smile flashed across his lips. Although this was more an indication of recognition than welcome, Belle sighed. In that simple gesture lurked a promise. Given time, the other servants would come to accept her, just as he had.
Master Wyatt strode down the wagon’s length to stand before the opening. Belle searched his face. There was nothing for her to read in his expression.
“Welcome to Graceton Castle, Lady Purfoy,” he called out loudly enough that his voice rang against the enclosing walls.
Only then did it occur to Belle that she should say more than
thank you
in return. Pretty words congealed on her tongue only to melt away before she could string them into something both coherent and gracious. Scrambling desperately to say something, anything, she lurched to her feet, forgetting the sewing in her lap. Caught in the half-made petticoat, her needle box thudded hollowly against the wagon's bed. Without thought, Belle bent to snatch it up.
Instead, the tangle of box and linen flew from her grasping fingers to strike Master Wyatt mid-chest, then drop to the sod at his feet. Mortified at her display of clumsiness, she straightened, fingers pressed to her lips.
Master Wyatt glanced from the pile of fabric on the ground to her face. The tiniest gleam of humor came to life in his blue eyes. “Was that some sort of attack?” he whispered, his voice held so low that only she could hear him.
Instead of easing the situation, which was surely what he intended, a hysterical laugh filled Belle's throat. She tried to swallow it. Bad enough to be thought a clumsy fool; she wasn’t going to guffaw like a madwoman. Despite her efforts, a mewling sound slipped past her restraining fingers.
Pity softened his expression. Reaching up, he caught her by the elbow and drew her a step closer to the wagon’s end.
“Just say you're glad to be here, my lady,” he whispered.
His words worked like a key turning in a lock. Belle’s tangled emotions eased. Air again filled her lungs. She looked down at him, something deeper than gratitude curling through her heart for him this time. Against that subtle sensation, the words she'd sought for and couldn’t find a moment ago now sprang to her lips.
“My thanks for your kind welcome, Master Wyatt. My thanks, as well, to all of you who took time to come and greet me,” she said, proud that not a single quiver marred her voice. “I am very glad to be at Graceton Castle.”
Peg was right. This wasn’t going to be as horrid as she'd imagined, not as long as she had Master Wyatt as her protector.
Jamie stared at Nick's wife. Her hat was askew. Dust streaked her face and tired rings clung beneath her eyes. Wispy strands of hair escaped her braid to waft along the slim column of her neck. As she offered him a tremulous smile, gratitude nigh on pulsing from her, he thought he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
Catching her by the waist, he lifted her from the wagon. A nod to Watt and John sent them leaping to help the remaining women to dismount. Jamie sighed, never so grateful to see men do as he commanded, especially since Graceton’s folk had been muttering about driving the lady’s party back out the gate only a moment ago.
“Mama!” Mistress Lucy came dashing toward them. Beneath the brim of her hat, her pretty face was reddened. Jamie guessed her head covering had been off more than on while she rode.
Lady Purfoy caught her daughter by the hand. “What are you to say?” she whispered.
“Oh.” The child’s brows pinched as if in concentration. Spreading her skirt wide, she curtsied. It was sloppily done, for she nearly toppled. When she was again steady, she raised her head to smile up at him.
“I am very glad to be at Graceton Castle, Master Wyatt.” This obviously rehearsed speech was followed by a sweet shrug of her shoulders. “I forgot to say that earlier,” she explained, then her smile widened. “Was I not riding well?”
Lord, but she was a cheeky thing. Aye, and with her face, a few more years would see men aplenty ready to tell her whatever she wished to hear. For today, he would happily fulfill her demand for a compliment.
“You were indeed,” he replied.
As she squealed in pleasure Lady Purfoy turned her child. “Run to Brigit, love,” she murmured.
Truly, the lady’s lack of formality was stunning. It was more than passing strange to hear a child's tutor referred to by her Christian name.
“Oh aye!” Mistress Lucy cried, her eyes widening in new excitement. “She'll be waiting to know about my ride.” Tiny arms pumping, she dashed to the wagon's end.
Her keeper was watching Watt and the lady's footman pull a heavy chest from the wagon’s bed. As the governess caught the child’s hand and leaned down to listen, the two men paused in their task. Their heads lifted as they looked out into the yard.
It was Sir Edward coming toward them with Tom following miserably in his wake. The knight was enraged, or so said the way he strode across the yard. Jamie sighed. Really, he was too tired for this.
The knight stormed past the servants and came to a halt before him. Jamie caught the flicker of movement behind him as Lady Purfoy sidled a little nearer. Without thought, he shifted, placing his body between knight and lady, only to flinch inwardly at the meaning in that motion. Aye, but once done, he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself by undoing it. Instead, sweeping his cap from his head, Jamie offered the bow due the knight's rank.
“Welcome to Graceton Castle, Sir Edward.” Despite his efforts, his tone was no friendlier than the greeting the lady had received from the castle folk.
“What sort of insult is this?” Sir Edward snarled in response. “You dare to quarter the queen's proxy in a gatehouse?”
“Pardon Sir Edward, if my servant didn’t explain,” he replied, knowing full well Tom had, or had at least attempted it. “The gatehouse contains our best rooms. It was refitted for the squire's father. He was a scholarly man in need of privacy for his studies.” It was an oblique way of saying Nick's sire had abandoned his wife and children for his books.
“Indeed, yon oriels,” he pointed to the gatehouse's inner face where two fine bay windows let light and air into what had once been the castle's barracks, “are the most expensive windows in the castle. Of course,” he continued, brows lifted, “if you prefer to stay within the house we can accommodate you with a lesser suite.”
Trapped, Sir Edward could but glare silently. Enjoyment at this brief advantage emboldened Jamie to take a final jab. “Moreover, in the gatehouse you can come and go as you please, or receive messengers in private, something I thought you might appreciate.” It never hurt to let a schemer know his cloak of secrecy was opaque.
Sir Edward's eyes narrowed to vicious slits. “I require a bath.”
“Already awaiting you there,” Jamie replied briskly, “as is a warm meal.”
“Inform the squire that I'll meet with him presently as regards this wedding.”
Jamie forced himself to relax before he ground his own teeth to dust. “The squire cannot see you until this evening.” There was nothing gracious in his refusal.
“He dares deny the queen's proxy?” Beneath the knight’s outrage, threat hung heavy in every word.
“He denies nothing,” Jamie replied evenly. “He sleeps. Given the fragile state of his health, all audiences must wait until he awakens this evening.” The fact of Nick’s health merely lent sincerity to what was otherwise a half-truth.
Sir Edward glared a moment longer then turned on his heel. He collided with Lady Purfoy’s footman, who was coming toward them holding one end of his mistress’s trunk in his arms. The knight stumbled to the side, caught his footing and stormed away; the footman reeled, feet sliding out from under him. Watt shouted as he lost his grip on the chest's other end. Lady Purfoy's footman collapsed.
The chest hit the ground beside him with a weighty thud, bounced to the side, then slammed atop him.
With a quiet shriek Lady Purfoy shot out from behind Jamie. Thinking she went to rescue her belongings, Jamie started after her to tend the servant. To his surprise she was there before him.
“Richard,” she cried, kneeling at her man's side.
In an instant, the other two women in her party were at her back, while her daughter completed the vignette, squatting at the footman's head to pat his face. Not one of them thought to set a hand to the trunk and free the man. Nay, all they could do was murmur like a flock of agitated doves.
“I'm not hurt, my lady,” Richard said, shoving at the chest atop him.
As Jamie took one handle, Watt caught the other. Together, they lifted the trunk off the man and set it to one side. Jamie looked down at the fallen servant.
His hat under his lady's knee and his hair mussed, Richard returned Jamie’s look with one of healthy and hale chagrin. It seemed he didn’t much like the fuss being made over him. Being that sort of man himself, Jamie held out his hand. With a fleeting smile of thanks the servant let his new steward pull him to his feet.
“You’re certain you're well?” his mistress demanded, brushing at the clots of grass that clung to her servant's doublet.
“I am, my lady,' Richard said, backing away from her, then bending to retrieve his cap. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t see the knight. I hope your trunk isn’t damaged.”
She didn’t spare a glance for the chest. “If it is, I daresay it can be mended,” she replied with a smile. “Better it than you.”
From the watching servants at the kitchen there rose a new wave of whispering. Jamie glanced at the servants. They were watching their squire's new wife with consideration. Even Will Prentiss's mouth was pursed in thought, Nick's cook being the most vehement Catholic among them, next to the housekeeper.
Jamie’s hope for Nick's title’s restoration doubled, as did the possibility the lady might survive past her wedding day. Lady Purfoy appeared to have no idea she’d just wrought a miracle as she watched Richard and Watt again pick up the trunk. Only when they’d carried it past her toward the hall door did she sigh as if finally assured her servant was uninjured. When she rejoined Jamie, she stepped a shade closer than he had expected.
Startled, he took a backward step. “My lady?”
A worried frown touched Lady Purfoy’s smooth brow. She shot a nervous glance across the yard at the retreating knight. “I know you’ve no reason to trust me or my words but I feel I must tell you. I’ve refused to aid Sir Edward as he seeks to use your squire to his own advantage,” she whispered. She stared at him, nothing but honesty shining in her clear gray eyes.
Jamie went breathless in surprise.
Artifice, mimicry!
his mind tried to shout but ten days of observation refused him that dodge. She was what she appeared, the pawn Percy named her.
Jamie offered her his arm. “If I could escort you to the hall, my lady?”
“Thank you, Master Wyatt,” she said, peering up at him from beneath her hat brim. A sudden, shy smile flitted across her sultry lips.
Jamie’s head took to throbbing. The desire to lock himself into his bedchamber, to carve out a few hours’ peace away from this woman, Sir Edward, Nick’s plot to escape marriage, hostile servants and everything else that had gone wrong these past weeks rose until he’d never wanted anything more.
There was a tug on his doublet's hem. Mistress Lucy stepped out in front of him. “May I have your arm, too?”
“You may have my hand,” her mother replied for him, offering her free hand to her child.
Disappointment flashed through the lass’s eyes, just deep enough to stir Jamie from his self-pity. He put out a hand. “I would be honored, Mistress Purfoy.”
A glorious smile bloomed on the child's face. Before her mother had a chance to remind her, she offered him a far steadier bob this time. “Thank you Master Wyatt,” she said politely, then curled her tiny fingers into his palm.
He smiled down at her, ignoring the throbbing of his head. Despite her strange rearing, Lucy Purfoy was a well-behaved and likeable child. Together, the three of them started toward the hall door, with the lady's servants following.
After a few steps, the lass lifted her heels into a skip, needing the extra bounce to keep pace with the longer-legged adults. “I'm to meet my stepfather soon,” she said between hops.
“You are?” Jamie asked in surprise. He'd no intention of introducing her to Nick.
“Aye, and I'll like him,” she replied.
“You will?” he asked again, even more startled now.
“Aye.” The child released his hand to race up the porch's three steps. The door at the top was ajar. Prying it open a stitch farther, she stepped into the opening then turned to smile back at him. “I must like him, for he'll climb trees with me and teach me to ride his horse.”
Jamie watched her disappear inside then shot a sharp look at the lass's mother. “You promised her the squire would do these things?'
The lady gave an apologetic shake of her head and released his arm to lift her skirts and start up the steps after her child. “Nay, I fear Sir William Purfoy did, daring to speak for an unknown man before he died. The worst of it is,” she said as she went, “I don't know how to tell her the squire isn’t well enough to do any of what her father promised.”
The pounding in Jamie's head worsened. Nick was easily charmed. If he were to hear of the child's expectations, he'd seek out someone to do for the child what he couldn’t. Jamie's jaw tightened as he watched Lady Purfoy step into the hall. Well, it wouldn’t be him. He was Nicholas Hollier's proxy only in his legal matters, not in the raising of his stepchild.
The need to escape grew far beyond merely retreating to his apartments. Unfortunately, his loyalty and his love for Nick had him trapped here. He'd simply have to come to terms with the fact that he’d lost the uncomplicated life he’d once enjoyed at Graceton.