‘Am I to understand you’re dangling after Mr Carlyon?’ he commented bluntly as they carefully picked their way up the street, while Freddy sniffed happily at the interesting smells lingering on the cobbles.
‘What a thing to say, Father?’ Charity protested, her face flaming.
‘Well, I’m not sure about setting your cap at someone who might well have more skeletons in his closet than an undertaker,’ the Reverend sniffed.
Charity looked over at her father, alarmed at his vehemence, especially given that she was hoping Jago intended to ask for her hand in marriage in less than an hour’s time.
‘I believe Mr Carlyon to be an honourable man,’ she commented carefully. ‘I certainly do not believe him cognisant of the havey-cavey business his father may or may not be involved in.’
‘I must concur with Miss Charity,’ Percy interjected unexpectedly, earning him a sour look from the Reverend. ‘Without Mr Carlyon’s intervention, we might well even now be languishing at the bottom of Dartmouth harbour.’
‘And consider, Father,’ Charity went on, getting into her stride. ‘If it’s the thought of scandalising polite society that concerns you, our family have probably got more skeletons in the closet than the whole of thetonput together. Indeed, I’m persuaded we would be entirely ostracised if those overstuffed turkeys knew the half of it.’
The Reverend opened his mouth, then closed it again. The chit was right. He’d lost count of the number of times the Shackleford family had courted disaster, and in truth he did like Jago Carlyon. He and Charity would be a good match providing they could solve the problems of his murderous father, put the whole George Barnet thing to bed and the poor fellow could put up with her deuced sharp tongue.
Sighing, the Reverend sat down on a convenient bench while Charity perused a modiste’s window. Absently stroking Freddy, he gave thought to their current situation. Truly, he was of the opinion that God was taking it all a bit far. Naturally, he hadn’t expected to be handed eight perfect suitors on a plate, but he’d never imagined the Almighty might have such a partiality for drama. Mayhap he’d have a bit of a word when they got back to Blackmore.
∞∞∞
George Barnet leaned against the harbour wall and picked his teeth with the quill of a seagull feather. Since arriving the day before, he’d had no sleep and had lost count of the number of people he’d questioned about a Jago Cardell. To no avail. Angrily throwing the makeshift toothpick over the wall, George looked around the bustling quayside. In truth, he felt … uncomfortable, exposed. This wasn’t his usual way of doing business at all. A few broken teeth in the early hours of the morning was generally all it took to get what he needed from most people.
He began to regret not bringing Will along with him. But his second-in-command needed to make sure they were ready for the next run, and in truth, George was … well …embarrassedas well as furious at the way Jago Cardell had hoodwinked him. If he didn’t deal with the bastard soon, his reputation might never recover.
Shaking his head, the smuggler pushed himself off the wall and hesitated, unsure which way to go. In truth, he was bloody starving, and he remembered spying a pasty seller earlier. Thatand a tankard of ale would see him right. Once his attention was no longer on his stomach, he could decide what to do.
Deep in thought, he strode along the quayside towards the town. He hadn’t yet tried asking in any of the taverns further away from the harbour. Generally, the less fortunate tended to stay in the rougher areas around the port. And beggars were more inclined to talk for the price of a husk of bread. But he realised he was going to need to cast his net wider.
Gritting his teeth, he waited for a carriage to go past, idly watching as it stopped a few yards along the street. Initially, he didn’t register the dog as it jumped down the moment the coachman opened the door. But the next to descend was a clergyman. His heart suddenly thumping, George stepped back into the shadows and watched as the next passenger alighted.
It was her, the chit who’d unmasked him. He wanted to punch the air with glee. She turned back towards the coach to speak to another God botherer who was climbing down after her.
Then his heart slammed against his ribs as the last person finally alighted the coach. Initially unsure, as soon as the man lifted his head, George knew he’d found his quarry.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Well, my girl, if it’s this fellow you want, I have no objection.’ If her father’s words were lacking in a little finesse, Charity didn’t notice it. Indeed, she noticed very little except the smiling face of her newly intended as he rose to his feet and held out his hand.
With a bubbling laugh, she allowed him to seat her at the table. Percy, who’d appointed himself chief parcel carrier, was last to sit down after being divested of his veritable mountain of packages.
‘I am delighted, Sir,’ he enthused, leaning forward to shake Jago’s hand.
‘That’s another one gone, Percy, only two more to go,’ the Reverend commented jovially, having already partaken of two excellent tankards of ale.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some Champagne,’ Jago grinned to the curate. ‘I hope you’ll assist us in drinking it.’
‘Indeed I will,’ Percy beamed before turning to Charity. ‘My dear, I am truly happy for you. I think you and Mr Carlyon are admirably suited and will deal very well together.’
‘Thank you, Percy.’ Charity’s flushed face radiated happiness. ‘Naturally, aside from Jago’s father we will keep the news to ourselves until we’ve had chance to share it with the rest of the family.’
‘I will compose a letter this very evening,’ the Reverend declared as the Champagne was brought to their table along with a generous portion of fresh bread and cheese.
‘Well, this is likely to set you back a pretty penny,’ Augustus Shackleford mused after they’d toasted the happy couple. ‘Let’s hope your father doesn’t cut you off when he hears about the engagement.’
‘Father!’ Charity scolded, glancing anxiously up at Jago. To her surprise, he didn’t show any anger at the Reverend’s rudeness, only giving a rueful shake of his head.
‘My father is much changed since I left two years ago,’ Jago sighed. ‘It’s my fervent hope that news of my engagement will encourage him to begin living again.’ He took Charity’s hand and raised it to his lips, adding, ‘But whatever my father’s opinion, my happiness is my own to seek.’ Charity felt her eyes fill with tears, and she gave a watery smile.
‘It’s just as well I’ve got plenty of other wealthy sons-in-law then,’ the Reverend muttered with a sigh, holding out his glass for a refill.
