Authors: Shirlee Busbee

Desire Becomes Her (24 page)

BOOK: Desire Becomes Her

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“Violence?” Simon asked uneasily. “You don’t really think ...”

Barnaby shot him a look. “If Nolles is involved, you can bet there’ll be violence.”

“Perhaps I’m wrong,” Simon said, “Maybe Canfield knew the others were coming and I was mistaken in my assumption.”

“Do you think so?”

Simon thought back to last night to that moment when Canfield had spied Padgett and Stanton and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Canfield had no idea Padgett and Stanton were in the area, but Nolles and Townsend seemed not the least surprised.”

“If you’re right about that, how interesting that Townsend appears to be in Nolles’s confidence,” Barnaby muttered. “But not at all astonishing.” A bite in his voice, he added, “And I suspect you’re right about Townsend, too. I’ve known for some time that our dear squire is exceedingly friendly with Nolles and that most nights he is to be found at The Ram’s Head. With all we know about Nolles it’s not a far stretch to think that he is tolerating Townsend and underwriting his gambling for use of The Birches.”

“I was half-hoping that you’d laugh me out of the house,” Simon admitted.

“Believe me, I would be happier if I could, but while this may all turn out to be useless speculation on our part, with Nolles in the mix and rubbing shoulders with Thomas’s friends at The Ram’s Head, I doubt that will be the case.” Barnaby scratched his chin. “I think our next step will be to apprise Luc and Lamb of the situation. Between the four of us we should be able to discover if we are jumping at shadows or if there is real mischief afoot.”

Simon cleared his throat. “Uh, I was thinking that Mathew might be able to, uh, help us. Another pair of hands and eyes and all that.”

Barnaby shot him a shrewd look. “Distraction? Instead of brooding over Thomas’s death, give him a chance to bring down Nolles?”

“Well, it would give him something else to think about,” Simon said. Glumly, he added, “I doubt he’ll respond if the information comes from me—he’d most likely toss any letter from me into the fire.” He smiled innocently at Barnaby. “However, if
you
wrote and invited him to Windmere to help you with the situation, I’m sure he wouldn’t refuse.”

Laughing, Barnaby rose to his feet. “Tell me,” he said, “how is it that you are not a member of the Diplomatic Corps—that was most masterful of you. My compliments—I almost didn’t see it coming. Now let us adjourn to my office where I shall compose an appropriate letter for your brother—after I’ve sent Lamb to Ramstone with a note for Luc. The sooner they know what is in the wind, the better.”

Simon supposed he should have felt guilty for letting Barnaby be the one to write to Mathew, but he knew his brother well enough to know that in his present mood Matt
would
have thrown anything from him into the fire.

Less than two hours later, the letter to Mathew at Monks Abbey was on its way and Lamb had arrived back at Windmere with Luc at his heels. Barnaby could only be grateful that the ladies were busy at the vicarage for most of the day. The ladies of his household were far too intelligent for his liking, and Emily and Cornelia would have been instantly suspicious when Luc and Lamb disappeared into his office to join him and Simon for a private meeting. There would have been questions, questions he wouldn’t have wanted to answer. Barnaby smiled. The last thing he needed was a pregnant Amazon, ably assisted with her cane-wielding great-aunt, demanding to take part in whatever they planned.

Before he’d been dispatched to Ramstone to bring Luc back, Lamb had been made privy to Simon and Barnaby’s conversation and he’d relayed that information to Luc. Once the gentlemen were assembled and refreshments served, there was little time wasted on repeating Simon’s observations and speculations.

Simon found it gratifying and a bit unnerving that the three American Joslyns accepted his speculations without question. Only when he learned of Luc’s beating at the hands of Nolles’s men and Barnaby and Lamb vouched for the fact that Emily’s cousin was both weak and perfidious did he understand how his observations tied in to what they already knew.

“Thomas’s connection to Padgett, Stanton and Canfield was part of the puzzle that was missing,” Barnaby explained. “We still may not have all of the pieces, but we know more than we did before this morning.”

“But what can we do about it?” Simon asked. “Everything I’ve told you is speculative at best. Tom was friends with Padgett, Stanton and Canfield, but that doesn’t prove that they’re in league with a smuggler. Townsend may be a feckless, despicable man, but that doesn’t prove he’s part of Nolles’s smuggling operation.”

“We can confirm one thing,” Luc said idly, “and within a day or two.” When all three men looked at him, he said, “Townsend is known to be at The Ram’s Head most nights. All I have to do is make certain he is and then there is nothing to stop me from making a midnight exploration of the inner reaches of The Birches. I’ll either find it’s being used to store Nolles’s contraband ... or not.”

“Not alone,” Lamb growled, giving him a sharp look. “I’ll come with you.”

Barnaby hesitated. What Luc proposed made sense, but he didn’t like it—as much because he wouldn’t be part of it as the prospect of danger to the two men he loved most in the world. He should be with them, Barnaby thought grimly. He knew the house better than they did, and with three of them involved, they’d present a better defense should trouble arise. He considered the situation, deciding that it would be possible, after Emily retired for the night, for him to slip out of the house and join the other two... .

Luc and Lamb knew that expression on his face and almost as one, they said,
“No.”

“Why not?” Barnaby asked, taken aback.

“Because,” Luc said from between his teeth, “you are the Viscount Joslyn and your wife is pregnant, for God’s sake! The last place you need to be found is sneaking around another man’s house in the dead of night.”

If it was possible for one of his maturity and nature to do so, Barnaby pouted. “I don’t see why this damned title means I have to remain out of the action,” he complained. A guilty look crossed his face. “Emily’s pregnancy is another matter though.” Resigned, he admitted, “You’re right. In this case, I should remain behind.” He pointed a finger at Luc. “But being a viscount and a married man with a child on the way doesn’t mean I can’t still hold my own against a varmint like Nolles.”

“No one believes that,” Lamb said. “But it’ll be better if Luc and I do this on our own.” He grinned. “Just think, if we are caught you can disown us and be as outraged as anyone at our nefarious actions.”

“I may anyway,” Barnaby growled.

“Then we are agreed?” Luc asked, glancing around at the other three men. “Lamb and I shall, ah, visit The Birches this evening and confirm whether or not the place is being used by Nolles and his gang?”

Simon cleared his throat. “Um, perhaps I should go with you. After all, it’s my information that is precipitating your activities.”

Luc looked at him. “Have you ever done any housebreaking?”

“Of course not,” Simon answered. “Have you?”

Lamb laughed. “You don’t want to know. Leave this part of the situation to Luc and me. We know what we’re doing.”

Barnaby supposed he should be pleased that, for one of a few times he could remember, Luc and Lamb appeared to be in complete harmony with each other. He was, but he was uneasy about what they planned to do—if the place was guarded, they could run afoul of more danger than they were prepared to handle. “Are you certain that the two of you will be enough?” he asked.

“More than enough,” Luc replied. He smiled at Barnaby. “What would you have us do? Ride in with a troop of revenuers at our backs? Lamb and I know what we are doing. We will be in and out of there before anyone suspects we are in the area.” He looked at Simon. “Would Padgett be suspicious if you appeared at The Ram’s Head tonight?”

Simon thought back to the exchange with Padgett and winced. “More than likely. Before we parted I made some comment about being cup shot and losing money not being my idea of a pleasant evening.”

“But you didn’t say anything like you’d never darken the doors of The Ram’s Head again?”

Simon shook his head. “No. Why?”

“It would be good to have someone inside The Ram’s Head who could let us know if Townsend is there before we ride to The Birches tonight,” Luc said. “And delay his departure if for some reason he decides to leave earlier than usual.”

“I can do that,” Simon said slowly. He grinned at Barnaby. “No one would find it strange, even if The Ram’s Head isn’t my first choice of where to spend an evening, that I would prefer its delights to the boredom I’d experience visiting with my stiff-rumped cousin, his pregnant wife and her totty-headed great-aunt.”

“I suppose,” Barnaby said with a laugh, “that I should be insulted, but in this case, I’ll swallow my pride.” He glanced to Luc and Lamb, who were smiling. “Do you think it will suffice?”

Luc nodded. “Knowing the reputations of the men involved, yes. Not one of them could imagine a duller way to spend an evening and wouldn’t question Simon bolting for The Ram’s Head.”

Barnaby summoned Walker and if the butler thought it strange to be questioned about the exact location and entrance to the cellars beneath The Birches, beyond a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, he said nothing. Before he left the room, Barnaby said softly, “And, Walker, please don’t mention what we just spoke of to
anyone.
Not Mrs. Eason or, God forbid, my wife or her great-aunt.” Barnaby sent him a meaningful look. “Lives may depend upon it.”

One of Emily’s cohorts in the smuggling ring she’d run before her marriage, and well aware of Jeffery Townsend’s contemptible nature, Walker had a very good idea why Barnaby had asked the questions he had. Bowing low, Walker murmured, “Not one word, my lord.” Reaching the door, Walker looked back and said, “My lord, if
someone
was seeking to enter the house, er, unnoticed, I’d suggest the door on the east side of the building—it isn’t as exposed as the kitchen entrance. It opens directly into the pantry and to one’s left is the passageway to the cellars.”

Barnaby grinned at him. “Thank you, Walker. I’ll make certain that
someone
keeps that in mind.”

The door shut behind Walker and the gentlemen decided upon a plan. With nothing else to be accomplished at Windmere, Luc rode back to Ramstone. Lamb would join him later, and after dark, they would ride to the village, hide their horses nearby and slip into concealment near the back of The Ram’s Head: Lamb knew just the place. Simon would already be inside. If Townsend wasn’t there, at eleven o’clock, Simon would leave The Ram’s Head and ride away to meet up with Luc and Lamb where they had left their horses tethered. If Townsend
was
there and all appeared normal, Simon would step outside for a breath of air. Before returning inside, when he could clearly be seen by Luc and Lamb in the glow coming from the lights of the inn, he’d take out his watch and glance at the time and then stroll back inside the inn.

Luc and Lamb were hidden in position near The Ram’s Head well before eleven o’clock, and once Simon gave them the signal that Townsend was inside the inn, they slipped to their horses and galloped through the night to The Birches. Except for a fitfully burning torch near the front door, a careful reconnoiter of the grounds revealed no sign of human activity.

Using Walker’s advice, they entered the large pantry of The Birches. It was black inside, but flint and a small candle provided a faint light. They glanced around, noting that the door from the kitchen into the pantry was closed. Empty shelves and cupboards, dust and cobwebs revealed that the pantry was seldom used these days. Only at the end of the room where Luc and Lamb stood was it obvious from the shine of the floor that someone, several people, had been making frequent use of the pantry. Over the flickering candle they exchanged glances and moved on to the wide passageway that led to the cellars.

There was a whispered, short, vehement argument over who would go down and who would remain on guard. Luc won. Seconds later, leaving Lamb behind, Luc disappeared down the rough-cut stone steps that led to the bowels of the house.

The extent and size of the cellars of The Birches could not compare to the space the smugglers had used at Windmere, but it was enough to allow Nolles and his crew to store a sizeable amount of contraband. Holding a candle in front of him, Luc hurried down the haphazard row of smuggled goods in the center of the cellar, easily identifying tubs of over-proof brandy, packets of lace and silks and ropes of tobacco. A tidy haul, he decided, heading back toward the stone steps, but not nearly as much as he would have expected to be stored here. If he were a gambler, he thought with a feral grin, he’d wager that Nolles was expecting another shipment. Soon.

Luc didn’t linger. The whole point of tonight was to confirm that Townsend was, indeed, allowing Nolles to store contraband at The Birches and he’d done that.

Rejoining Lamb at the top of the steps, he nodded curtly. Lamb cursed beneath his breath, but like Luc saw no point in lingering in the area. Seconds later, the two men exited the pantry entrance and melted into the darkness.

Chapter 13

B
arnaby was
not
happy when he heard Luc and Lamb’s report. Barnaby left his wife’s bed well after midnight and, feeling like a felon, slunk out of the main house to meet with the others at the Dower House. Learning that contraband, obviously with Townsend’s cooperation, was being stored in the cellar of Emily’s beloved former home enraged him and made him long to get his hands on the squire. Preferably around Townsend’s neck. His face hard, he glanced at Lamb and growled, “We should have killed him when we had the chance.”

Lamb shrugged. “I agree ... now.”

The hour was past one o’clock, and biting back a yawn, Luc muttered, “At least we know that Townsend is in bed with Nolles and allowing him the use of the cellars at The Birches.” Thinking of the contraband he’d seen that night, he added, “It’s likely that a shipment will be landed sometime soon.”

Barnaby looked at Simon. “Padgett wasn’t suspicious when you arrived at The Ram’s Head tonight?”

Simon shook his head. “No.” He grinned. “In fact, I think I went up in his estimation by complaining about how stultifying it was visiting relatives.”

“Do you still believe that he is one of Nolles’s London investors?” Luc asked.

“I’m almost positive of it. We were in one of the private rooms, and though he left from time to time to, I assume, to take care of business, Nolles was frequently with us and treated by others, I might add, with an easy familiarity. Townsend’s manner is understandable: he lives here and smuggling aside, no doubt, has known Nolles a long time. The others acted as if Nolles was a boon companion.” Simon frowned. “It’s been my observation that gentlemen like Padgett,” he said slowly, “and the others, aren’t usually on such intimate terms with the common man, a common man, that until recently, they’d apparently never met. To my knowledge Padgett, Stanton and Canfield are strangers to the area, yet ...” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but I’d swear that there’s something going on between them and Nolles.”

There was more discussion, but little else could be gleaned from the night’s discovery and no practical plans to expose Padgett’s suspected partnership with Nolles were laid. Mention of Lieutenant Deering was made, but any idea of apprising him of the goods stored at The Birches or that a group of London dandies might be in league with Nolles was rejected. Nolles and the London set could go hang for all Barnaby and the others cared, but Townsend’s relationship with Emily made the idea of involving Deering unattractive—for now. Deciding that they could do nothing until the next shipment, and hoping to God they’d be able to disrupt it, the four men parted.

Walking Luc to his horse, Barnaby offered him a bed, but as he swung into the saddle, Luc smiled and said, “Ramstone isn’t far and if Emily found me here in the morning she’d start to wonder and before long would be pestering you with questions you’d rather not answer.”

Barnaby’s servant returned on Sunday with a note from Mathew. Reading between the lines of the curt missive, Barnaby smiled. It didn’t matter that his cousin didn’t appreciate being summoned to Windmere by veiled insinuations, what mattered was that Mathew planned to arrive tomorrow.

Emily sent him a long look when he mentioned that Mathew would be arriving sometime on Monday afternoon for an indefinite stay. “If he and Simon are at odds,” she murmured, “do you think having him here now is such a good idea?”

“Why not?” Barnaby asked innocently. “You know that Simon cannot bear a grudge. I’m certain he will be pleased by his brother’s arrival—and perhaps a change of scenery will drive away Mathew’s doldrums.”

“Of course,” Emily said dryly, “allowing him to stay on the estate he once thought to inherit, the site of his brother’s death, will cheer him immensely.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Barnaby muttered and like a man avoiding a dangerous pit, he escaped out of her presence. Dealing with intelligent women, he decided, was a dicey business. He grinned. But not boring.

Emily might have been more suspicious of Mathew’s sudden visit if she and Cornelia hadn’t been preoccupied with plans to learn more about Mrs. Gillian Dashwood—and Luc’s interest in the young widow ... a young widow who may have murdered her husband. They had their campaign mapped out and were impatiently waiting for Tuesday when a stroke of luck came their way. After church on Sunday, as Emily and Cornelia were waiting for their carriage to be drawn up, the paths of the High Tower group and that of the ladies of Windmere converged.

Cornelia had spotted them right away as they came down the steps of the church and nudged Emily. Before Emily knew what she was about, Cornelia had stepped forward and said to Silas, “Good morning, Mr. Ordway. Lady Joslyn and I were sorry to hear of your accident, but we’re pleased to see that you are recovering and able to be out and about.” She tipped her head in acknowledgment of the presence of the rest of the family who accompanied their uncle. “You must be quite gratified to have your family visiting.”

Silas smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Townsend.” He glanced with pride and affection at Stanley, Gillian and Sophia clustered around him. “Allow me to introduce my nephew and nieces to you and Lady Joslyn.”

The introductions were made and polite chatter ensued. The carriage for the Windmere ladies arrived and good-byes were exchanged, but not before Emily had mentioned that she and Cornelia would like to call and officially welcome the newcomers to the neighborhood. “Tuesday then?” she asked, as her footman opened the door to the carriage.

Aware of the honor of being sought out by Viscountess Joslyn and her formidable great-aunt, Silas accepted straightaway, almost rubbing his hands together in glee as he watched the Windmere carriage roll away. For himself it didn’t matter, but to have Stanley, Sophia and Gillian welcomed by members of the leading family in the area thrilled him.

Sophia and Stanley were equally flattered and pleased but while aware of a pleasant flutter at the introduction, Gillian couldn’t quell an anxious niggle. Had Lady Joslyn and Mrs. Townsend heard the ugly gossip about her? She wasn’t so vain to suppose that all of England had heard of Charles Dashwood’s death or that she may have been the one who murdered him, but she knew that at the time she and Charles had been the subject of avid speculation in many circles of the
ton.
Was curiosity about the murder, and her part in it, behind their interest in calling at High Tower?

It wasn’t until that evening as they climbed the stairs toward their bedrooms that Gillian was able to voice her concerns to Sophia. Reaching the landing, Gillian said, “May I have a word with you before we retire for the night?”

“Certainly, my dear,” Sophia said. “Is something wrong?”

“Not exactly,” Gillian muttered and led the way into the sitting room they shared. Shutting the door behind them, she asked, “Do you think that Lady Joslyn and her great-aunt have heard the gossip about me?”

Sophia sent her a look. “Does it matter?”

“Well, of course it does! Especially if their reason for calling here is to ogle the reputed murderess.”

“Do you think that is what is behind their proposed visit?” Sophia asked calmly.

Gillian bit her lip. “I don’t know. But if they’ve heard the gossip, and I’ll wager they have ... what other reason could they have for wanting to visit?” She sank onto one of the sofas, her lips set. “I-I-I don’t want them coming to stare at me like a two-headed heifer at a fair.”

Sophia laughed and sat down next to her. “You hardly resemble a two-headed heifer, poppet.” She patted Gillian’s hand. “I don’t know either of the ladies, but I do know that Mrs. Smythe and everyone that we’ve met speak highly of them. They are both held in high esteem.” Gillian nodded and Sophia went on, “You know how it is in the country—I’m sure that Mrs. Smythe and some of the other ladies have talked about us to them and aroused their interest.” Gently, she asked, “Have you considered that all that motives them is simple curiosity? We
are
new to the area, so it’s perfectly reasonable that they would like to know us better.” She tapped Gillian on the cheek and smiled affectionately at her. “You know, my dear, not everyone listens to gossip or gives it credence. It’s very possible they may have heard the gossip but have dismissed it as just that—gossip.”

Gillian took a breath, a rueful smile lurking at the corners of her lips. “I am being silly, aren’t I? And terribly vain to think that I am the sole reason they are coming to call.”

“Oh no,” Sophia said. “I do think that you
are
the reason behind their visit.”

“But you just said—!”

“That you are the reason they are coming to call,” Sophia interrupted serenely. “I didn’t say, however, that it was because they think you are a murderess.” She paused, looked thoughtful. “Of course, they may think that and simply want to reassure themselves that they are wrong.”

“So you think that I am right, after all?” Gillian asked, confused.

Sophia shook her head. “Not if you believe they are coming to, er, ogle you like a two-headed heifer.” Sophia laughed at the expression on Gillian’s face and, taking pity on her, said, “Luc, my dear. They are coming to see you because of Luc.”

Gillian stared openmouthed at her. “But what,” she finally managed, “does he have to do with anything?”

Sophia glanced down at folds of her green cashmere gown and smiled. “My guess is that he has said something that gave them the idea that he has more than just a passing interest in you and they want to see for themselves just what sort of woman has caught his fancy.” Rising to her feet, Sophia said prosaically, “And, of course to assure themselves that he has not involved himself with a murderess.”

After Sophia’s startling pronouncements, Gillian did not find sleep easy that night. It was ludicrous, she decided, to think that Luc had any interest in her beyond that of a healthy male for the nearest available female under forty. She snorted. He’d kissed her and she’d responded, but that was all it had been. Then why, asked a sly voice, were her dreams full of him? Why each night did she toss and turn and burn to know the magic of that knowing mouth on hers again and to feel those strong arms tighten around her? Why, that nagging voice asked, was he constantly at the back of her mind?

As for being thought a murderess by Lady Joslyn and her great-aunt, Gillian didn’t even want to examine how she felt about that. She already knew. It was humiliating and infuriating. More so because she could say nothing, because no one would ask her outright about her part in her husband’s murder and if by chance someone was bold enough to question her, anything she said in her defense was likely to be dismissed as a pack of lies. It was a battle she could not win.

Gillian woke Monday morning cross and out of sorts. Noting that she did not seem her usual agreeable self when they met for breakfast downstairs, Sophia said, “Why don’t we take a ride today? The sun is out—at least intermittently—and while there are a few clouds and a bit of a breeze, it is not an
unpleasant
day. What do you say? Shall we have the horses saddled and do some exploring on our own?”

“If you wish,” Gillian said indifferently, picking at her eggs and toast.

By the time she’d gone back upstairs and changed her clothes, Gillian’s mood lifted somewhat. She glanced at herself in the cheval glass, deciding that despite its age, her decade-old amber velvet riding habit trimmed in black braid did not look too dowdy. She liked the way the jacket nipped in at her waist and the black braid on the cuffs, around the collar and down the front gave the garment a military air. The ruffled linen fall that draped down across her breasts needed something, a pin to keep it from flapping about as she rode, and looking through her jewelry box, her fingers lingered on the topaz and diamond brooch. Why not? It would go well with the riding habit, and reminding herself why she had kept it, hoping it would indeed act as a talisman against the charms of perfidious men, she defiantly fixed it in the middle of the linen fall. After placing a small russet hat with a long feather dyed green on her head, she left her room. Meeting Sophia in the foyer, she was surprised to find Stanley in breeches and boots standing next to Sophia.

He flashed her an uncertain smile. “If you have no objections, I’ve invited myself along for your ride.”

There had been a time Gillian would have taken Stanley’s inclusion as just another sign of his overbearing manner, but in light of their changing relationship, she accepted it for what it was: a simple offer of companionship. She smiled at him. “Now why would I refuse the escort of a handsome man?” she teased.

Several minutes later, the cousins were mounted and riding away from High Tower. Enjoying the feel of the fine bay gelding she had chosen to ride today under her and the caress of the breeze on her face, the last of Gillian’s doldrums lifted. Smiling over at Sophia, astride a skittish sorrel mare, Gillian said, “You were right. A ride was exactly what I needed.”

“It’s good for the horses, too,” Stanley added. “Uncle says that they need far more exercise than he gives them. More so since he broke his arm.”

“Oh, I do so look forward to the day that he can join us. Even though he insisted, I felt guilty leaving him behind,” Gillian admitted.

BOOK: Desire Becomes Her

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