Miss Farrow's Feathers (22 page)

"Seems you've ended too early," Nigel scoffed.

Max shot a hateful glance at him.

"Perhaps there is something more you can do," Miss Farrow suggested.

"There is
always
something more I can do," Max replied, making sure Nigel knew exactly what he meant by that.

"What other instructions are there? Surely the bird repeats more phrases than those," Mr. Farrow said.

Meg held up a paper and waved it. "
The heart is the key!
Look, carved into her bodice..."

And Max knew that was it. The heart. He reached around to feel for it, the rough outline of a heart, carved into the figure years ago. It was nearly smoothed out from layers of paint, but he could still feel it.
He'd seen it from a distance, wondered at it for years, assuming some drunken sailor had carved it. Gingerly now, he pressed it.

It gave. The heart was not merely carved into the figurehead, it was actually a
separate piece. With a faint click, Max felt something unlock. The heart-shaped piece came loose, protruding just slightly from the figurehead's form.

"It came undone!" Miss Farrow cried.

She was so excited, so fetching with her wide eyes, pink cheeks, and innocent enthusiasm in the face of these appalling rhymes, Max thought he just might come undone, too. Surely his heart already had.

Meg watched breathlessly as the earl carefully extracted the little heart-shaped piece of wood that served as a plug for a small opening into the body of the figurehead. She was not particularly thrilled to be watching the man run his hands over the fantastically huge, round bosoms of the wood carving, but she forced herself to remember Dot was not an actual woman.

It didn't help very much.
She still wanted to file the flirtatious little moue right off the tawdry tart's painted face.

"There's an opening there!" Papa declared.

"Can you feel if there's anything inside?" Meg asked.

The earl seemed oddly hesitant to poke his fingers inside, but after a long, deep breath he finally did. She watched his face, watching a smile come over him. He drew his fingers out slowly.

"There's something inside," he said.

He withdrew a small bag, just large enough to fill the palm of his hand.

"That's it?" Nigel complained, craning his neck to see. "That can't be much of a treasure."

"
Perhaps our great-grandfather wasn't much of a pirate," the earl replied.

But he opened the bag and carefully tipped the contents into his hand. It was treasure, indeed! A fortune in glittering gems of all sizes and colors made a beautiful pile. Meg had to blink her eyes a few times to really see all of it.

"Or perhaps he was ruthless," the earl added.

"Jewels!" she exclaimed.

"All unset, too," the magistrate commented. "No way to know where any of them came from."

"I'm sure they are all stolen, just the same," the earl said.

"Half of them are mine!" Nigel insisted. "Give them over. I'll buy my way out of jail."

"
You don't really believe I'll do that, do you?" the earl asked.

Nigel shrugged. "You are rather a stickler for justice. Perhaps you might give me my share now
in the interest of fairness."

"Perhaps
first we'll determine if these stones can be considered legitimately part of the Glenwick estate or if they need to be returned to someone."

Mr. Barrelson took his turn leaning in to see the treasure. "Don't see how anyone could possibly know who to return them to. No charges were actually ever levied against your great-grandfather, as I recall. All those piracy tales could be just legend, for all we know."

"We'll see that the matter is fully investigated," the earl assured.

Meg couldn't have been prouder of him, both for figuring out how to locate the treasure as well as for being willing to verify his claim to it. He may have spent the past week lying to her face every day, but he really was an honorable man. All the more reason she should be ashamed of herself for getting caught up in the treasure hunt and being so free with those dreadful rhymes. That could not have presented her in the very best light.

But Nigel was a bit less than pleased with his cousin's actions.

"You cannot be serious. After all this, all these years of hunting that damn treasure, you're just going to try to give it away? That's shameful, it is. You're probably not even going to properly debauch the Farrow chit either, are you?"

"That's enough, Nigel," the earl growled.

"You're damn right it is. I've had enough of all of you!"

And suddenly Nigel bolted from the room. During the excitement of the treasure hunt everyone had moved in closer to see what was happening. Nigel, on the other hand, had inched closer to the door. Now he had violently shoved poor Mrs. Cooper out of the way and run off, Mr. Perkins trailing desperately after him.

Mr. Barrelson swore then sprinted out, too.
Hugh gave the earl a questioning look and the earl's shrugged reply seemed all that was needed to send Hugh tearing out after them. Papa and Mr. Henning followed, with Mrs. Cooper behind them yelling for everyone to have a care on the stairway and watch out for the loose tread near the bottom. Bartholomew screeched from his perch.

Meg would have followed the noisy troupe, but the earl caught her arm.

"Wait," he said calmly. "Let them manage this."

"But he's getting away!"

"Where will he go? He's penniless, family-less, homeless, and unloved. He won't get far, I assure you. Besides, we have some unfinished matters between us, I believe."

She lowered her eyes. "Yes... and I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Whatever for?"

"For the dreadful way I've treated you, my lord. I've been so very rude, and then I read through that book in the most hoydenish way, and I accused you of being a criminal, and I behaved like a... like a very loose woman with you!"

"And I would not for the world have you apologize for any of that. In fact, is there any chance I could get you to commit more of that last reprehensible transgression?"

She was confused by his words. "
Last reprehensible transgression?"

"The one where you behave like a very loose woman with me."

Clarifying his words, he pulled her into his arms. Heavens! It was the place she most wanted to be so she folded herself into him instantly. And then he was kissing her.

His lips were much more insistent than before
. Or perhaps it was hers that demanded more than just a simple taste of his essence. She pressed her body into his and gave in to the urgency growing inside her. This might be her last chance for the rapture of his kisses, his embrace, so she was determined to take all that she could.

She was weak from the feel of him
—and perhaps lack of oxygen—when he finally pushed himself slightly away.

"My God, Miss Farrow, you are a very loose woman, indeed."

"I'll apologize again for it, if you like."

He tipped his head and eyed her suspiciously. "I think not. I'm worried that any more apologies might get us both into trouble."

"Perhaps your cousin is a good runner and they'll have to chase him halfway through the village," she suggested, eager to make the best use of whatever time alone they had left.

"I do not mean to limit my
kisses to the time it takes Nigel to evade capture," he said. "Miss Farrow, I intend at the earliest possible moment to kiss you without any worry for pesky interruptions."

"I rather like the sound of that, Mr. Shirley."

He frowned at her. "And I'll thank you not to call me that. Shirley is my mother's name, as a matter of fact."

"It's going to take me some time to get used to calling you Glenwick, I'm afraid."

"Then don't call me that, either."

"What, then?"

"Well, my mother calls me Max and my grandfather called me Web. Once I was presumed dead I took to signing my letters to him with X..."

"You wrote that letter!" she exclaimed. "They lied to me about it."

"They did. I'm fairly certainly the lied about all of it. I'm sure when we look into things further, we'll find that no document exists at all that will tarnish your reputation, my dear. How could it? Nigel failed in his efforts with you."

"Indeed he did, Mr. Shir... oh, what did you tell me to call you
?"

"I think I prefer Darling. Definitely Darling
."

Whether he expected more pesky interruptions or not, he pulled her tight and kissed her again. Ah, but if he kept this up all the practice was going to make her very, very good at this sort of thing. Perhaps if she displayed enough expertise he would welcome further opportunities for more of it. She'd have to think of as many excuses as possible to visit at Glenwick Downs once he was installed there.

This training session, however, was called to an abrupt halt when Papa's violent throat clearing could be heard from the doorway. Her face burned as she pulled herself away from Max and stared shame-faced at the floor.

"Has Nigel been captured?"
the earl asked, his voice as calm and assured as if he'd been caught reading his Bible.

"He has," Papa replied, not quite so calm and assured. Definitely winded. "And some men have arrived from London looking for him."

Max nodded, as if he'd been expecting this turn of events, too. "I see. Very well. Let us get the unpleasantness over with. I'm sure there will be countless reports to write and people to talk to. Everyone will have plenty of questions for me."

"I know I certainly do," Papa grumbled.

Max piled the last of his things into his little bundle. The evening had dragged on and it was well into night. Candlelight flickered against the walls, sending grotesque shadows over the figurehead in the corner. Bartholomew slept peacefully on it.

Max almost hated to go.
By God, he'd miss this tidy little room here at the parsonage, but Mr. Farrow was right. It would be most improper for him to remain under this roof now.

"And I hope I don't need to remind you the eternal consequences upon your soul should you not live up to your commitments, sir," the vicar said bluntly
as he watched over Max's departure.

"No, no reminder is needed."

"You may be the heir to Glenwick and you may have the respect of men here in this world, but if you play fast with my daughter's affections, you'll answer to your maker for it."

"I know,"
Max said without any hint of the frustration he felt. "You've made your position quite clear."

"
She deserves better than a man who shows up full of lies and deception."

"I know that."

"She deserves the luxury of time to make her decision. She should not be forced to accept in haste simply because she was lured into a compromising situation."

"I understand, sir. I acted badly; I admit it."

"She deserves a man who can love her forever."

"Now there you will find no fault in me. I do love her. Completely."

"After a mere week of acquaintance?"

"Perhaps after a day. Maybe an hour, sir."

"Sentimental drivel."

"I can only tell you what I know to be true. I am in love with her and have every intention of begging her to have me for a husband."

"And if she refuses, or puts you off in any way?"

"I will make no complaint and I will not breathe one word of my ungentlemanly behavior
to anyone."

That was an accurate recitation of the reverend's instructions. Max was beginning to feel a bit like Bartholomew here, being told what to say and how to say it.
At this point he half expected the vicar to hand him a biscuit. He did not, though. Simply more rules and reminders.

"You will not use flattery or sugary words to sway her to your will
."

"Of course not, sir."

"You will beg her forgiveness for your rash actions."

"Of course I will."

"You will promise her undying faithfulness and loyalty."

"Of course I will."

"You will grovel at her feet if she asks it of you."

"Of course I... wait, what?"

"Will you or won't you, sir?"

"Grove
l? Oh, but now sir—"

"I believe God the Almighty would have you grovel, sir."

"Oh, very well. I will grovel if it means she might have me."

At last the vicar's stern face finally broke into a smile.

"Very well, my lord. I think, perhaps, you just might be telling the truth. You
do
love her."

"I do, sir. More than I could have ever thought possible," Max replied, hoisting his things and standing ready to leave. "

"Good. Now go say your farewells, and God help you both."

The sounds of footsteps and baggage and low voices woke Meg. She roused herself quickly, not having intended to drift off but the late hour and the hectic events of the day
made it impossible for her to remain alert. She glanced up, finding Max watching her from the doorway of the drawing room where she had tried to entertain herself with needlework.

"The carriage is here to take me to Glenwick," he said. "I'm sorry to keep the household up at such a late hour."

"I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable at Glenwick," she said, rising from her armchair but too timid to move toward him.

He was leaving. Papa had made
his disappointment known when he found them in heated embrace and they'd not had one moment for private conversation since. And now he would be gone. He would be caught up in managing his new estate, he'd be courted by all the local gentry and she'd be lucky to see him on Sundays in church. Her efforts to find ways to be in Max's company would certainly be thwarted by Papa, and this dashing new earl would no doubt find plenty of other things to occupy his time.

"It's been years since I stayed at
the Downs," he said. "But I suppose it's where I belong now."

"Yes," she agreed. "It's a fine home. You'll be quite happy there."

There was apparently nothing more to say. Meg could hear men in the entrance way, carrying Max's few things out to the carriage. Papa's voice was out there, too, as he directed them. Yes, Papa would be only too happy to see the man who had lied to them and taken liberties with her gone from their house. It was unlikely he'd ever be invited to return.