‘You need not take me to him,’ retorted Gabriel. ‘I do not need a nursemaid. Simply point me in the right direction and your part in the matter will be finished.’
For a few seconds the only sound that could be heard in the kitchen was Freddy’s gentle snoring, then the Reverend shook his head in regret. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible Mr Atwood, or whoever you are.
‘The Duke of Blackmore just happens to be my son-in-law and he is currently spending the festive season at a house party together with the rest of my family.’
Chapter Two
Gabriel did not feel any of the expected pleasure at the feel of a comfortable bed underneath his aching limbs. Despite his exhaustion, his mind refused to shut down. His frustration at the stubbornness of his host warred with the total surprise that his one-time friend and mentor had actually wed. And a commoner at that.
The Nicholas Sinclair he’d known in the Royal Navy was a stern, solemn man not disposed to much laughter - understandable given the personal tragedies he’d experienced. However, despite Sinclair’s serious nature, he was known to be scrupulously fair, honest and above all compassionate. Indeed, his crew would have followed him to the ends of the earth.
But married? Gabriel could not imagine his erstwhile Captain leg shackled at all. Since leaving the Navy, Gabriel had spent as little time as possible in England, and none at all embroiled in the endless merry-go-round that composed the London Season, so had heard none of the gossip. He shook his head in the darkness. Mayhap the Duke’s demeanour had changed since they last met. God knew, the man deserved some happiness. He only hoped that the Reverend’s daughter possessed the qualities to provide it.
Unfortunately, Gabriel very much feared that whatever hard won peace Nick had found was about to be thrown out of the window. But while he bitterly regretted bringing his troubles to a man he considered a friend, there really was no-one else he could trust.
Grunting, he turned over and plumped up his pillow. While Gabriel knew Nicholas would not refuse aid to his former First Lieutenant, things had changed. The Duke of Blackmore had other responsibilities now. Other loyalties. Sighing he flung himself back onto his back. At this rate, he was never going to get any sleep.
He thought back to the conversation in the kitchen earlier. The striking red-haired chit - what was her name? Hope. Just before he’d entered the kitchen, he’d heard her bold assertion that they should help him, but her manner when she spoke to him directly had been wary, even distrustful. Inexplicably he found himself disappointed that her defence of him had seemed to waver once she’d had the opportunity to speak with him face to face.
Chuckling grimly to himself, he marvelled at the ridiculousness of his thoughts. Here he was, running for his life and he was actually bemoaning the fact that an admittedly tempting armful had not swooned over his pretty face. He lifted his arm to rub at his sore eyes, then winced at the smell. God’s teeth, if she’d gotten a whiff of him, he wasn’t surprised she turned her nose up. Ripe didn’t begin to describe the unpleasant odour radiating from his armpits. He could only hope that the Reverend’s charity ran to a bucket of water and some clean clothes.
∞∞∞
Hope tossed and turned for what remained of the night, going over and over the earlier conversation with the enigmatic Mr Gabriel Atwood. Shivering, she remembered the desperate intensity in his eyes and her belief that he was more than his appearance suggested.
Unexpectedly she found herself wondering what he’d thought of her, which was entirely ridiculous since it was possible given his desperate actions that the man was in mortal danger. In such a situation he was hardly likely to have taken any note of her at all.
And if she was being truthful, he would be unlikely to have taken note of her in more normal circumstances either. Hope was honest enough to accept she was no raving beauty and possibly lacked the moresparklingpersonalities enjoyed by her older sisters. Even her twin, Faith had more wit than she.
In truth the only talent she possessed was a singularly loud voice and even then, it wasn’t at all a melodious one. Naturally, being described as possessing a deafening pair of lungs was not a gift she was particularly proud of, though her sisters had thought it a great advantage when they were children. Indeed, Hope had spent most of her time alone on lookout duty during their childhood escapades. It was most likely the sheer amount of time she spent waiting and watching that taught her to value her own company over that of her more boisterous siblings.
Sighing at the absurd direction her thoughts had taken, Hope finally abandoned her attempts to sleep and climbed out of bed though it was still well before dawn. Shivering uncontrollably, she hastily dressed in the freezing chamber whilst lamenting the supposed peaceful contemplative Christmas Eve and morning she’d envisioned.
Hurrying downstairs to the kitchen, she found Mrs Tomlinson already up and about as the cook set about packing them enough food to sustain them on their journey to Ravenstone. Hope grabbed a freshly baked scone and took her bounty to sit by the already roaring fire, juggling the hot cake as she warmed her hands next to the crackling flames. Taking small nibbles, her thoughts returned to the strange events of the night before.
Their unexpected guest had infuriatingly refused to be tell them anything further and just as stubbornly, her father had refused to tell him where the Duke of Blackmore was currently residing. After such a stalemate, Gabriel Atwood was finally persuaded to return to his bed only after the Reverend promised him that they would personally escort him to Nicholas at first light. And now, despite dawn being at least an hour away, she was unsurprised when Gabriel Atwood appeared only minutes behind her.
Thankfully Hope did not have to introduce him to Mrs Tomlinson. The cook had been present at the midnight service and only eyed the stranger curiously as she handed him a bowl of porridge.
There was no sign of either her father or Percy and Hope guessed they would already be preparing for the first service of Christmas Day. Given the unusual circumstances, it was also likely to be the only Yuletide service as it was now crucial they leave at the earliest opportunity to ensure they reached Ravenstone in a single day.
Covertly she watched as their guest ate his porridge in silence, hugging the fire much as she. He ate with polite precision, emphasising her belief that he was not the vagrant he resembled. Indeed, once finished, he thanked Mrs Tomlinson courteously before standing. After a few seconds she realised he hadn’t moved. When she looked up at him enquiringly, he gruffly enquired if there was a possibility he could wash. ‘A bucket of water in the stable will do,’ he added quickly, no doubt lest she consider his request to be overly presumptuous.
Hope rose and tutted, irritated with herself. ‘I’ll have some hot water sent to your bedchamber,’ she stated nodding towards Mrs Tomlinson. He bent his head in thanks and turned to go.
‘And some clean clothes,’ she added tartly to his back.
∞∞∞
In fact, the Reverend’s first and only sermon of Christmas Day was the shortest he’d ever given and contained none of Percy’s usual dire warnings. Under normal circumstances, the early service was rarely attended by more than a handful of villagers, however, on this occasion the church was packed to bursting with parishioners eager to get a peek at last night’s dramatic interloper. Consequently, Reverend Shackleford went through the Eucharist at breakneck speed secure in the knowledge that God undoubtedly approved of their quick departure as evidenced by the fact that almost the entire village had risen so early to get it over and done with.
By seven thirty am they were cosily ensconced inside the Earl of Ravenstone’s luxurious carriage and on their way to Cranborne Chase, the location of Adam Colbourne’s Estate on the borders of Wiltshire.
While the carriage was undeniably a little small for four adults and a large dog, the press of bodies generated enough heat to ward off the bitter chill of the early morning. And for Hope, a cloth wrapped brick continued warm against her feet until they were well out of Devon and into Somerset.
The Reverend made no bones about his relief that their guest no longer smelled worse than Freddy, but despite gritting his teeth, Gabriel did not rise to the bait. In fact, whoever the clothes he was wearing had previously belonged to, the foxhound clearly approved and lost no time in jumping up on to the seat and snuggling into the newcomer with a contented sigh. After a startled grunt as the dog leapt on him, Gabriel was grateful for the additional furry warmth and finally, for the first time in what felt like forever, managed to close his eyes and actually sleep.
Sitting opposite, Hope watched with a mixture of surprise and amusement as Freddy climbed all over their unexpected passenger. Indeed, for one ridiculous moment, she found herself wishing she could do the same. With an almost audible gasp at the absurd direction her thoughts had taken for the second time, however briefly, Hope felt her face suffuse with colour. What the deuce was wrong with her? Granted, there had not been a surfeit of attractive men passing through the vicarage of late… Her ponderings screeched to an abrupt halt, and she couldn’t prevent a small chuckle escaping. The truth was there hadneverbeen a surfeit of men, attractive or otherwise, passing through the vicarage. Indeed, especially given their unruly behaviour growing up (and sadly she had to include herself in this), it was a miracle that three of her sisters had married and married well. It certainly hadn’t been due to the machinations of their father. From both Tempy’s and Faith’s accounts, it appeared they both may have gone as far ashoodwinkingtheir lovers into marriage. Hope pursed her lips. A scandalous state of affairs that she had no intention of emulating. Faith might be her twin sister, but in truth they were like chalk and cheese and Hope could not imagine herself taking such a wanton tack with a would-be suitor.
