He reached up and gathered the dog in his arms. He did it carefully. The creature’s legs still looked as if they could be snapped as easily as dry twigs. Its ribs were still clearly visible, though they were beginning to acquire a thin covering of fat. He turned, the dog still in his arms, and caught a look on Lady Barclay’s face that surely teetered on the brink of laughter.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Something.”
“I was reminded,” she said, “of a picture Aunt Lavinia has hanging in her bedchamber. It is a sentimental depiction of Jesus holding a lamb.”
Good God!
He set Hector down on the sand, and the dog gamboled off to visit a pair of seagulls, which did not wait to be greeted.
“It is to be hoped, ma’am,” Percy said, “that you never have a chance to make that observation in the hearing of any of my acquaintances. My reputation would be in tatters.”
“Your reputation for manliness, I suppose you mean,” she said. “I daresay that is more important to you than anything else.”
“You have a caustic tongue, ma’am,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and squinting down the beach toward the sea. Actually, everything looked a bit better from down here. The sea was still far enough away to seem unthreatening.
“I merely meant to suggest,” she said, “that there is nothing particularlyunmanlyabout caring for a dog that cannot care for itself.”
He had no desire to pursue that particular line of conversation. “I can see,” he said, “that this would be a perfect spot for smugglers.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “The bay is sheltered, and there are no dangerous rocks to make a landing treacherous. There is a way up the cliffs too. There is even a cave.”
“Show me,” he said.
It was a large one and conveniently close to the path up to the top. It stretched deep into the cliffs. Percy stood on the threshold, peering in.
“Does the tide reach this high?” he asked.
“Almost never,” she said. “The high-tide mark is well below here.”
Yes, he could see the dividing line between soft, powdery sand and hard, very flat beach that got watered every twelve hours by the tide.
“There is no smuggling in this particular bay any longer?” he asked.
“If there is,” she said, “they do not come up onto Hardford land. Not that I would know for sure, I suppose, unless I sat at a darkened window deep into the blackest nights. They certainly do not use the cellar of the dower house any longer.”
“Why did you use the wordvicious?” he asked her as they turned from the cave to stroll along the beach, the chilly salt breeze in their faces.
She shrugged. “The leaders can be bullies and tyrants. They sometimes press men into service, I have heard. And they have been known to enforce loyalty and secrecy with threats and even violence. There was a young groom here who worshiped my husband and loved to work for him. He begged to go to the Peninsula as his batman, but he was only fourteen at the time and his father refused his permission. He remained here in safety. I do not know exactly what his transgression was—we were away from here by then—and he would not say the only time I asked him after I came back, but they broke both his legs. He still works in the stables—Aunt Lavinia saw to that. But the bones did not set well. And his spirit was broken.”
Lord, he did not need this, Percy thought. His life to the age of thirty had been remarkably serene and trouble-free. He had been careful to keep it that way. And he had no wish to change things. Why should he? He liked his life just the way it was. Well, except for the boredom, perhaps, and the general feeling of uselessness and time passing him by.
“Wenzel fancies you,” he said, bending to pick up a piece of driftwood to hurl for Hector’s entertainment.
She turned her head sharply toward him at the sudden change of subject. “He is a good man,” she said. “He was my husband’s closest friend.”
“But you do not fancy him?” he asked her.
“I do not believe, Lord Hardford,” she said, “my personal life and fancies are any concern of yours.”
“Ah,” he said, grinning at her.
Her cheeks were pink—from the wind rather than from indignation, he guessed, for her nose was a bit rosy too. She looked very wholesome—neither marble nor granite. Though definitely peeved. “But you are my third cousin-in-law once removed and therefore of familial concern to me.”
“I am not at all convinced Aunt Lavinia is certain of her facts,” she said. “But even if she is right, it is averyremote connection and not one of blood. I do notfancyMr. Wenzel or any other man, Lord Hardford. I have no interest in courtship or remarriage, as I believe I have told you before.”
