Henry looked around the room blearily. He shouldn’t even be here. His father was supposed to have taken charge. Swept in and become the Viscount everybody wanted while his only son and heir resigned his commission and concentrated on enjoying the carnal delights of London.
His father had promised him he wouldn’t have to stay in the bloody Navy. It was only temporary until people forgot. But here he was, still Captain Atwood while ViscountfuckingNorthwood languished in his tattered, tired old manor. Nobody had seen him in months.
And to top it all, Henry couldn’t rid himself of the notion that Gabriel wasn’t really dead. That despite being thrown from the top of a bell tower, his cousin had somehow survived.
Unable to shake the feeling, he’d had someone watching Blackmore. That was where the bastard would go if he managed to crawl back to England. He’d even had his men chase down a bloody carriage from Blackmore on Christmas morning in case it turned out to be hisdeadcousin.
Clearly the whole thing was turning him addled. Somehow, he had to get a grip. He emptied the bottle of port into his glass and rang for the butler. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would take charge.
Chapter Ten
Luckily the snow did not linger for the promised weeks, and a mere three days later, Roan was on his way to London accompanied by a determined Faith.
‘We can tell everyone that we are seeking a house in town,’ she’d commented when her husband protested. ‘It is a perfectly feasible excuse for me to be there.’ To Roan’s frustration, the rest of the family believed it a worthy idea and Adam offered the use of his town house for them to stay in. In fairness, the former sea captain did not put up much of a fight having been down this road with his extended, not to mention single minded, family before.
It was decided that the rest of the party would continue with their previous plans to return home but with an additional coachman. As he climbed on top of the box, Gabriel was mainly grateful that this time he was wearing woollen undergarments.
The only alteration to their previous intent was to return to Blackmore in a single day, though the Reverend grumbled that he’d been looking forward on this occasion to the prospect of not having an arse like a pancake by the time he got to his destination.
Once at Blackmore they would endeavour to hide their unexpected guest. Pear Tree Cottage on the Duke’s estate was decided upon as the ideal location. Aside from its obviously negative memories for Grace, it was far enough away from both the village and the house to avoid any gossip or undue interest from either villagers or outsiders.
From there, the intention was to wait a few days while life ostensibly returned to some semblance of normality before planning their next move. A move that would depend entirely on whether Roan uncovered enough or indeedanydamning evidence against either the Admiral or Henry Atwood.
Fortunately, the journey home to Blackmore, though tedious, passed uneventfully without any added excitement, much to the younger Shacklefords’ disappointment as they spent the whole journey watching eagerly on the off chance another vicious highway man might happen by.
Installing the rightful Viscount Northwood into his temporary abode also went without observation.
As the Reverend commented piously on his first night back in the vicarage, ‘Things always work out for the righteous.’
Percy didn’t trust himself to comment.
∞∞∞
In the three days since they’d smuggled him into Pear Tree cottage, Hope had not managed to find an excuse to visit Gabriel Atwood.
That wasn’t to say she hadn’t tried, but in truth her time was entirely taken up with looking after her siblings. Although their father had recently instructed Patience to assume a share of the responsibility, the sixteen-year-old preferred to spend her days roaming the countryside generally dressed as a boy.
The rest of the family had long since given up trying to put a stop to it, mostly because Patience had proven herself a consummate lock picker. Where she had obtained such an unladylike skill was entirely debatable since Patience had persistently refused to divulge the name of her tutor. Between that dubious talent and the fact that she could also climb like a monkey, it was virtually impossible to ensure she remained anywhere she didn’t want to be.
And besides, in their father’s view, Temperance had already plumbed the depths of depravity (or etiquette anyhow) with her actions a couple of years earlier and according to his wife’s periodicals, she was now all the crack.
Or it might also be, as Hope privately believed, that the Reverend had simply surrendered to the inevitable.
But today, she was resolute. The last evening, she had tracked Patience down and made her sister promise to take over the classroom on the morrow. Naturally the agreement had not been elicited without cost but Hope tried not to dwell too much on exactly what kind of favour Patience might choose to ask for at an unspecified time in the future.
Obviously Hope refused to ask herself the question ofwhyshe wished to see the Viscount again so desperately. Indeed, it was entirely unlike her to be quite so vehement about anything, so accustomed was she to fading into the background. But somehow, the thought of his piercing grey eyes and crooked smile did something to her insides. It was an experience she’d never had before.
Their last private conversation had been a disaster, but if she did nothing else in her entire life, Hope was determined that she would not have him leave with the impression she was simply totty-headed.
Although she was assured that Gabriel was being provisioned extremely well from the Duke’s household, nevertheless, as soon as she was dressed, she headed into the vicarage kitchen to see if Mrs Tomlinson had done any baking. Luckily the room was empty aside from Freddy in his customary place by the fire, but the first thing she spied was a bread-and-butter pudding on the side which had clearly been made for tonight’s supper. Shuddering, she wondered what excuse she could come up with to avoid eating any. Mrs Tomlinson’s bread and butter pudding was legendary in its awfulness. Indeed, if it hadn’t been produced for consumption, it could feasibly be used to block up incoming drafts.
She didn’t think she would win the Viscount’s heart by presenting him with that… Her train of thoughts skidded to a halt. What the deuce was she thinking? Win his heart? Was she addled or just plain stupid?
She sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. Clearly, she really was totty-headed if she believed there was even the smallest chance that Gabriel Atwood would be interested in her. Oh, she filled out her clothes well enough - a little too well if she was honest, but her hair was an unfashionable red and she was reliably informed by the boys in the village that no man would willingly put his baubles anywhere near a redhead ‘lest’n she cut ‘em off.’
In truth, Hope was not entirely sure what a man’sbaubleswere or why any woman would want to cut them off, but the upshot of the matter was that clearly women with red hair were simply not popular.
There was absolutely no point in her making a complete cake of herself.
