Blackhaven Brides: Books 5 - 8 Read online

  Shivering, she began to walk around, past the rows of bottles and the barrels of ale, all lined up, as far as she could tell, as they had been the last time she’d been here. Years ago.

  “I should have brought Paton,” she said ruefully. “He would have known.”

  “Known what?” Jem asked.

  “If there’s anything unusual here.”

  “Why would there be?”

  “I heard something the other night.” She glanced at him. “And I saw smugglers rolling barrels in here.”

  “No.” Jem shook his head. “They leave it at the gate or down on the beach. Paton always knows. So do I since I do the lifting these days.”

  “Then you’re down here quite a lot?” Serena said eagerly. “Is everything as it should be?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, patiently accompanying her on her tour. “There’s nothing…wait, what is that under the stairs?” He held up the lantern to illuminate the deeper gloom beneath the stone staircase.

  Serena went closer. Four barrels and several smaller casks stood there. “Are those usual?”

  Slowly, Jem shook his head. “No. No, they shouldn’t be there at all.”

  A door banged at the top of the stairs, making Serena jump. Jem swung around, staring at her in alarm.

  “M’lady?” came the familiar voice of George the footman.

  Serena closed her eyes in relief.

  “Are you down there, m’lady?” George called.

  “Yes, yes, I’m here,” she replied. “What is it?”

  “Mrs. Grant is here.”

  Serena looked blankly at Jem. “Who the devil is Mrs. Grant?”

  “The vicar’s wife,” Jem murmured.

  “Oh, of course, Mr. Hoag has left us. I suppose I’d better… Thank you, Jem. Um…best say nothing of these barrels for now, but if you know of any intruders, if anyone knows… Oh dear, I feel people should be on their guard, but I don’t want to alert whoever stole Paton’s key. I’ll think what’s best, but for now, I’d better go and welcome the vicar’s wife!”

  Hurrying back to the main part of the castle, Serena brushed the cellar dust off her woolen gown.

  “Mrs. Grant is in the drawing room, my lady,” Paton told her as she crossed the front hall to the staircase.

  “Thank you, Paton.”

  It was only when she walked into the drawing room and saw Lady Crowmore by the window, that she remembered the gossip. Wicked Kate Crowmore had married a mere country vicar.

  “Yes, it is I,” the lady said sardonically. “In fact, I married a curate, but he got swift promotion shortly afterward, thanks to your brother. How do you do, Serena?”

  Remembering her manners, Serena went forward to shake hands. “I am well, just surprised. For some reason I never connected you with our new vicar! Braithwaite might have said. I’m very glad to see you.”

  “Are you as bored as all that?” the new Mrs. Grant said sympathetically.

  Serena couldn’t help giggling. “Actually, I’m not bored in the slightest.” She rang the bell and told George, who entered immediately, to order tea and cakes.

  “I heard you were in disgrace,” Mrs. Grant said bluntly when the door closed. “It is something I am used to, so I have called with sympathy. Do you mind very much? About Sir Arthur, I mean.”

  “No, actually, though I suppose I wouldn’t like that to get back to him.”

  Mrs. Grant peered at her. “You are a kindhearted girl, aren’t you? We never had much to do with each other before. You were too young, and I wasn’t respectable enough for us to mix together.”

  Serena laughed. “And now our roles are reversed! You look well as the vicar’s wife.”

  “Thank you, I enjoy it,” Mrs. Grant said surprisingly. “And if you want my opinion—though I can see no reason why you would—you wouldn’t have enjoyed being Lady Maynard.”

  “He is very…staid,” Serena allowed. “And I am not.”

  “All the same, flirting with Daxton is a dangerous game for anyone. Did you know he was married a few weeks ago? I met his wife. She is delightful.”

  “Yes, London is bursting with it,” Serena said impatiently, more concerned with how Mrs. Grant had met the wife. Especially since the artist had seemed to know exactly who Daxton was. Well, he’s a fun person to be with. I’d probably flirt with him myself. “He isn’t here, is he?” she asked uneasily. “Dax?”

  “No, they vanished into thin air. I believe they went to his estate at Daxton. Why?” She sat on the sofa, and when Serena sank down beside her, she said with surprising kindness. “You’re not carrying a tendre for him, are you?”

  Serena gave a slightly lopsided smile. “No. He’s a lot more entertaining than Sir Arthur, but I knew he was only flirting. So was I. I’m afraid I was bored being good, but I’d honestly forgotten about the first dance when I stood up with him for the third.”

  “And so Sir Arthur got on his high horse, you broke the engagement, and Lady Braithwaite sent you up here in disgrace.”

  “Something like that,” Serena admitted.

  “Well, London’s loss is our gain. The Assembly balls are still in full swing this month, so if you’d like to go this week, you must come with Tristram and me. I have an extra voucher.”

  “Oh, that would be lovely,” she said wistfully. “I suppose Catherine Winslow will be there, and Bernard Muir, all my old friends. And I would meet your husband.”

  “You would,” Mrs. Grant said gravely.

  Serena was very tempted to keep her constrictions quiet and accept. She sighed. “I’m confined to barracks,” she said humorously. “I’m not even meant to receive visitors or go into the garden without a chaperone.”

  “Well, you’ve broken both of those, haven’t you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because I would have.” Mrs. Grant regarded her thoughtfully. “What if I write to your mother, pleading your cause and offering to chaperone you to a few unexceptional events?”

  “Could she reply in time?” Serena asked doubtfully.

  “Sadly, no,” Mrs. Grant mourned.

  Serena cast her a speculative look. “You mean you are prepared to take the chance?”

  “That she’ll agree? Of course, she will. You are riper for mischief shut up here than going about and mixing with people. I should know. I’m only surprised you haven’t got into trouble already,”

  Serena smiled, thinking of the artist and the dagger-wielding smuggler. “What trouble could one possibly get up to here?”

  Chapter Four

  As she’d planned with Mrs. Grant, Serena was driven the short distance into Blackhaven in the carriage the following day, accompanied by Miss Grey and Alice, who needed a new bonnet.

  In the end, she’d said nothing to the rest of the household about the strange barrels, although she did tell Paton she’d glimpsed strangers in the grounds and that he should personally make sure the house was secure at night. She wasn’t sure he took her terribly seriously, she didn’t know what else she could do at this point. She comforted herself with the fact that no one else had been threatened. Her own experience would never have happened if she hadn’t pursued the villain.

  So, she let her mind dwell on more frivolous matters, like the Assembly ball, and the possibility of seeing, even encountering, the artist in town. She wished she knew his name. At least, since this was her first visit to Blackhaven since the spring, she had an excuse for gazing out of the window at everything and everyone and darting about the carriage for better views. But she didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of his distinctive figure in the high street. He was probably in hiding from the bailiff.

  The carriage dropped her at the vicarage and waited until she was admitted. She waved at Alice and Miss Grey and entered the domain of the lady once known as Wicked Kate.

  In fact, Kate herself came bustling out of the kitchen at once and took her up to the bedchamber that would be hers for the night and duly admired the gold embroidered white bal
lgown she would wear for the evening.

  “Let’s have tea,” Kate suggested, “and then we’ll go and beard Tristram in the church. His christenings should be over by then.”

  “The house looks so different,” Serena blurted. “So much brighter and yet more…comfortable.”

  “I like to think I have made it my own.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Kate why she had made such a peculiar and unfashionable marriage, but fortunately she managed to bite her tongue. And when they duly walked along the path to the church and met Mr. Grant, her question was answered.

  He wasn’t just the most handsome vicar she’d ever met, but would stand out as a handsome and distinguished man in any company. His manners were easy and friendly as he greeted her, not remotely obsequious or superior, and his few words exchanged with Kate were humorous. And Kate adored him. Not that she fawned upon him, but it stood out clearly in her eyes when she looked at him.

  Serena was stunned.

  Of course, she had encountered people content in their marriages before. Her sister Frances for one, and Gillie Muir for another. But they had both made advantageous, even brilliant matches. By the world’s standards, Kate Crowmore’s second marriage was beneath her. It served no duty to her family, brought her no wealth or position. And yet, she was happy.

  It was a great deal of food for thought for Serena, who had gone so blithely into an engagement to the worthy man her family had approved over all her other suitors.

  Emerging from the church, leaving Mr. Grant to go about his good works, the two ladies took a walk about the town until they came, inevitably, to the art gallery, where one could buy paintings of very mixed quality.

  “Shall we go in?” Serena suggested. “I’m sure Gillie wrote to me that the paintings are much improved.”

  “I would say so,” Kate agreed, pushing open the door. Inside, she was almost immediately besieged by two ladies quite unknown to Serena, who was thus deprived of her opportunity to ask the questions that might lead to the identity of her own artist. She couldn’t even tell which paintings in the gallery might be his since she didn’t know his name, and had never seen his style.

  He might, she reminded herself as she examined each picture in turn, be a terrible painter. It might explain why he had so little money that the bailiffs were after him. Some of the paintings were certainly terrible. Kate, who was an accomplished water colorist, was much better than some of the artists who exhibited here. Serena turned impulsively to tell her so, since she sensed a presence beside her, only she found herself gazing at a gentleman instead.

  Her breath caught, because just for a moment, she thought it was her artist. But this man was slightly shorter and better dressed, and when he glanced down from his scrutiny of a landscape, she saw that in fact he was nothing like him. His lips were too thin, his eyes too flat, although a gleam of admiration did begin to sparkle as he bowed politely.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured, stepping around him.

  In the end, it proved rather difficult to see all the pictures for both she and Kate both encountered old acquaintances who distracted them, and by the time they emerged from the gallery, Serena was no wiser about her artist. The only thing she knew for certain was that he hadn’t been there when she had.

  Their next call was to the smart new French modiste, Madame Monique. Kate wished to have a fitting for a new morning gown she was having made. While Kate and Madame vanished into the back of the shop, Serena admired the beautiful gauze muslins and silks and the fine gowns already made up and on display. It was a dangerous place to stay very long when one didn’t wish to annoy one’s parent by spending excessive amounts of money on gowns.

  Which I’ll never wear here in any case, she told herself. Certainly not while I’m confined to barracks. I already have a trunk full of gowns I shan’t wear for the foreseeable future.

  Eventually, she called out to Kate that she was going to the hat shop to see if Alice was still there, and dragged herself away from Madame Monique’s creations. Not that the hat shop didn’t provide temptations of its own, but at least if Alice was there, she could concentrate on her and make sure she bought nothing unbecoming.

  From habit, she glanced in the coffee house window as she passed—and her heart gave a sudden dive. For there was her artist at a table with several other men who formed a comfortable, laughing group. Slouching back against the wall, he had one leg resting on a spare chair from the next table. He looked a perfect picture of idle decadence. And Serena had never seen anyone so carelessly yet so utterly attractive.

  Before she could drag her gaze free, he glanced round and saw her. The smile just dying on his sensual lips, he held her gaze for an instant. She managed to nod before hastening across the street to the hat shop. Ridiculously, her heart hammered.

  There was no sign of Alice or Miss Grey in the shop. Nor were there any other customers, but Mrs. Drake, the proprietor, was as delighted to see her as ever.

  “I have only just had the pleasure of serving dear Lady Alice,” she gushed. “Who chose exactly the right bonnet! I have to say I itched to find something for that nice Miss Grey, but I suppose she will not have the money or the time for such frivolities. Now, Lady Serena, are you looking for something in particular or would just like to look around for inspiration?”

  A favorite game of Serena and Frances’s had been to give each other characters, and then find hats to suit them. Mrs. Drake had indulged them, and it seemed she remembered, for she was quite happy to collect a fine selection of hats and leave them with Serena behind the screen, where her most favored customers could try her wares before the glass in greater privacy.

  From the back of the shop, a baby cried.

  “My granddaughter,” Mrs. Drake said proudly. “I’m looking after her today while Harriet is in Carlisle. “You will forgive me if I…”

  “Of course,” Serena said, “providing you let me see her before I go! I shall be quite happy for now.”

  Removing her bonnet, Serena laid it on the chair and commenced randomly trying on hats—wide brimmed bonnets, frivolous little chip hats with gorgeous plumes, and mysteriously veiled confections with ornamental flowers.

  In the back, the baby quieted for a few moments then set up a renewed bellowing. When the shop door opened and closed, Serena, tying a bonnet’s silk ribbons under her chin, doubted Mrs. Drake heard it. At least her soothing voice did begin to comfort the crying child, reducing her to an occasional hiccup. If Serena hadn’t known it would shock everyone, she would have offered to sit with the baby while Mrs. Drake served her new customer. Serena liked babies and was looking forward to being an aunt when Frances gave birth to her first child next month.

  The footsteps in the shop paused. And abruptly, the artist’s face appeared behind Serena’s in the glass. Gasping, she tugged the bonnet ribbons tight in surprise and swung round to face him.

  “What in the world are you doing in a ladies’ hat shop?” she demanded.

  His eyebrows rose. “Looking for you. I saw you from the coffee house and by the time I came out to speak to you, you’d vanished in here.”

  Clearly, he saw nothing odd or wrong in this. He truly was a free spirit, simply following his impulses. She should probably have been wary of the chaos he surely brought in his wake, but in fact, she found it curiously exciting.

  “You’ve escaped,” he remarked.

  She frowned, trying to think for both of them while she plucked nervously at the ribbons. “I have. And you need to, before Mrs. Drake gets back. She doesn’t like men in her shop, even husbands or fathers.”

  Ignoring that, he took a step nearer.

  She warded him off with one hand. “Seriously, sir, we cannot talk here…”

  “Where, then? You’ve knotted the ribbon. Let me.”

  To her astonishment, he raised both hands under her chin and began working on the knot. Her face and neck flamed under the light touch of his warm fingers. Although his attention was all gi
ven to his self-appointed task, and the brushing of his fingers against her skin was purely incidental, this did nothing to soothe her. No man had ever touched her so intimately before. She could smell the coffee on his breath, grew fascinated with the texture of his lips, which had already kissed hers. She felt oddly breathless and trembly. Most worrying of all, she had the insane urge to kiss him again.

  In agitation, she caught at his wrist. “Stop, you mustn’t…!”

  “It’s done.” He let the ribbons fall through his fingers. “It doesn’t suit you anyhow. Try this one.”

  He picked up a jaunty little red chip hat with two beautiful feathers, one curling down the side. Before she could snatch it from him, he placed it on her head and smiled into her eyes. Ignoring the tumbling sensation in her stomach, she scowled and pointed toward the door.

  He threw up his hands in surrender and, still grinning, sauntered off. Serena wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved.

  What just happened? She gazed at herself in the glass, somewhat numbly and began to smile.

  He was right. The little red hat did suit her best.

  Hastily, she snatched it off and crammed her own back on her head.

  *

  It had been a long time since Serena attended the local Assembly Room ball, and despite the far more glittering affairs she’d known in London, she looked forward to it with eagerness. Perhaps the fact that she was going against her mother and brother’s stated wishes had something to do with her sense of excitement. Or the fact that she went chaperoned by someone as young, beautiful, and fashionable as Mrs. Grant. But mostly, although she knew it was unlikely in the extreme, she hoped her artist would be there.

  Although he spoke like a gentleman and was clearly well-educated, he hardly looked as if he moved in polite society. And his bailiff troubles did not suggest a man who could afford a subscription to the ball—or even a single voucher. Still, as she entered with the Grants, she couldn’t help looking around for his tall, dark figure. However, all the gentlemen she could see wore smart black coats and satin knee-breeches or well-fitting pantaloons. And they all had short, fashionable haircuts, not untidy mops. Clearly, this was not an event for a poor artist.