She laughed. “Most families in the vicinity are known to me, but I have never heard of Mr. Abbott. Baron Langston, may God rest him, was said to have no family and several unpaid debts. I’ve no idea who might be providing the living for a caretaker.”
“Well, he does reside in the attic of a carriage shed,” said Luke. “And he has the look of someone who eats grubs and moss to stay alive. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a man’s skin quite so...”
“Gray?” she provided.
“That’s putting it kindly. If we survive this tour, my first order of business is to pay the man a living wage. My second is to furnish a clean change of clothes and new boots.” Luke had never bothered with a kit for his crew, but if he intended to set up Danielle Allard in this massive house, her servants should be clean and well presented.
“It’s happening,” Danielle whispered, stepping around him.
“What?”
“Men will be offered honest work. They’ll earn a reasonable living. It’s happening.”
“Oh, that,” he said. “Right. Mr. Abbott has the look of someone who prefers a more informal existence, but it can’t hurt to offer.”
Miss Allard wasn’t listening, she’d drifted through the door and walked to the center tile of the mosaic on the floor. The entryway was a wide corridor that stretched twenty yards in both directions. Revolving slowly, she took in every detail, from the salon at one end, to the closed doors at the other. Draped furniture lined the walls and paintings leaned in uneven stacks. A large staircase rose behind them, leading into darkness. In place of a chandelier, a stained-glass skylight beamed bright shafts of color to the tiles below.
Miss Allard positioned herself in the middle of the colorful spill. “But can you believe it?” she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
Luke had taken in everything with a glance, and now he watched her. She revolved beneath the skylight, the butter yellow of her skirt stained by the translucent colors from overhead. It was very safe to say he couldnotbelieve it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered the beauty of anything. He was hardly a man who spouted affirmations, but he’d seen the world. He knew mountaintops, and cathedral buttresses, and the perfect curve of a woman’s waist where it sloped into her hip. But not in a long time—not since his friends had been drowned and the man he loved like a father had been captured—had he acknowledged loveliness.
What was the point of beauty if not to admire, and to admire was to want. Wanting led to acquiring and why acquire if not toshare? Where was the justice in Luke wanting or sharing while his dearest friends lay dead at the bottom of the sea? While Linus rotted in a French dungeon? There was no justice in it. Luke had survived, this could not be changed. He was hailed as a hero, a phenomenon he’d not been able to stop. But now to be presented a clever, spirited, beautiful girl and this palatial house? It made no sense. And Luke didn’t trust it. He hadn’t earned it and didn’t deserve it.
Since the night of the attack, Luke had justified his survival by living out his own version of dying. His only desire was to avenge his friends and recover Linus.
Until now. Some mix of this girl’s beauty and youth and spirit had been perfectly calibrated to distract and enchant. He could not look away. He could pretend—he’d pretended for all of yesterday. But today she’d emerged in the sweet yellow dress, with white trim and little bows. She’d endeavored to converse with him so earnestly, with such openness and innocent curiosity, he’d been compelled to prattle on. And now she knew details of his family, a circumstance he’d shared with almost no one. His mother’s letters? Discussing Linus by name and referring to him as a surrogate parent? Conversing with her, he reasoned, formed a kinship. The discussion had also been a way tonotanswer questions about the betrothal, but my God. Why reveal so much?
Because she’d bloody asked.Unless he was mistaken, she’d asked because she wanted to learn about him. In all honesty, Linus had done the same all those years ago. He’d been the only person he’d ever encountered who asked how Luke’s day had gone, or why he collected fossils, or whether he preferred cream, or sugar, or both.
And now, just like then, Luke looked into the eyes of Danielle Allard andwanted. Not the same things he’d wanted from Linus, obviously, but he could feel some part of himself turning toward her, like her curiosity gently called his name.
There was a solution for want. The rescue mission demanded his attention, there was no time for wanting. Also, the mission would position her as a pawn, a role she would resent. As well she should. And it wouldn’t matter if he wanted her or not, her curiosity would cease—along with any notion of warm regard—and she would not have him. And order in the universe would fall back into line. No smuggler should have a beautiful, young princess for his wife. Nor a palatial manor house. Nor a full, happy life when his friends were dead.
In the meantime, until his distraction and her resentment set in, he mustn’t be drawn into personal conversations. He mustn’t look at her. He must not touch her. He must walk the fine line of luring her into marriage, of using her as bait for Surcouf,but notenjoying her. He must do nothing with her that did not serve recovering Linus and avenging his friends.
“Captain?” she pressed. “Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”
“I think it is not small,” he said, squinting at the skylight. His voice echoed in the empty corridor. This space wanted rugs and drapes and tapestries for the stone walls. The fireplaces needed fuel. No wonder the house was unoccupied; who could afford it?
Luke thought of the money he’d spent years accumulating: banknotes under floorboards, gold coins in caves, bonds in banks, investments in ledgers. Could he give it all away? When Linus was safely home and healthy, could he pile his small fortune on the doorstep of this drafty house and leave her to it?
Yes, he thought. Of course he could. Small price to pay, if that’s what it took to recover Linus. There had never been an end goal for the money he’d squirreled away, even before the attack. He treated both smuggling and investments like a problem to be solved, and the money he earned had no specific application. To Luke, the money was proof that he’d risen above. Born into illiteracy, saved by Linus Welty. In the end, more than his destiny. The money represented this; if it also provided for Danielle Allard, then fantastic.
He glanced at her. She’d walked to the door and ran a gloved hand along the intricate carved oak. The sail inside his chest snapped and puffed out. He looked away.
“Which way?” he asked, frowning at the unnecessary lantern in his hand. The windows were foggy, but sunlight filtered through the glass.
“You decide,” she said. “It’s your house, Captain Bannock.”
It isyourhouse, he thought, but he nodded toward closed doors at the end of the corridor. Every sealed-off corner of this pile would be opened, exposed, and inventoried. His failure of research ended today.
“Why not?” she said, her smile bright. She crossed to him and took up his arm with no invitation. They set out with her tucked against his side. He told himself it was unavoidable that they roam the property clasped together. He told himself that he’d demonstrated the pleasure of touching to her, and now she touched him. He told himself, justice aside, this was preferable tonottouching.
There was a ballroom behind the double doors. Large, sunken, a sprawl of marble at the base of a cascade of stairs. There were shadowy alcoves along one side and a wall of windowed doors along the other. Beyond the doors stretched a terrace that overlooked an expansive garden, wildly overgrown. He saw the empty fountain she’d promised and a ramshackle outbuilding that could only be the dower house and carriage shed in which Mr. Abbott roosted.
To say that each new discovery delighted Miss Danielle Allard was like saying swans were partial to lakes. She gushed and gasped and exclaimed. There could be celebrations in the ballroom, and botanists in the garden, and, although she did not specifically ask this, her parents could move into the dower house. “Because of the cats.”
Luke surprised himself by speculating about the ballroom inside Fern Vale, the estate of his maternal grandfather, the house where his mother lived. He’d never been inside, but he knew it to be old and grand and considered a Cornish landmark. Was it possible that his mother’s ballroom was as large and grand as this? Could guests overlook a fountain from a terrace? Were there fluted columns and chandeliers with cups for fifty candles? It didn’t matter, of course—he’d never wanted the life of his mother or grandfather—but the question did cross his mind.
