Chapter 2

CHAPTER

c

2

I saw two women walking down the lane. Were they visiting us?"

Winston, called Win by his friends, peered over at his aide, Jake Boggs, and said, "It was a woman and a girl."

"Who were they? And how did they find us? Aren't we hiding from the rest of the world for a few weeks? You didn't tell anybody we'd opened the cottage, did you?"

"No." Win stared out the window and he was scowling so hard that his face hurt. "The woman told the strangest story, but I was too irked to listen to her."

He was in the den, still seated at the desk. Before he'd agreed to speak with Miss Cronenworth—an appointment he definitely shouldn't have held—he'd been reading the morning mail. He picked up one of the letters and waved it at Boggs.

"I had just received a missive from Antoinnette, so I'm grouchy."

"Let me guess. She's demanded more money than you sent this quarter."

"Exactly."

Antoinnette was his sister-in-law. She'd been a London stage actress whom his deceased brother, Holden, had secretly married. He'd begged Win for permission to wed her, but Win had strict opinions about the upper classes sticking to their own kind, so he'd refused Holden's plea. Holden had shackled himself anyway.

The rash act had turned out to be just as big a blunder as Win had warned Holden it would be. But his younger brother had been their mother's favorite, so he'd been coddled in a manner Win had never enjoyed. He'd felt entitled to ignore Win's edict and the match had quickly descended into disaster. Antoinette occasionally wallowed in the vices available in the demimonde. Holden had joined her in her penchant for dissipation and his life had spiraled out of control.

He'd altered into a mean drunkard who'd fought with his friends and had run up huge debts he couldn't pay. He'd ruined himself with opium and whiskey and had become a pariah, both because of his low marriage, but also because he'd grown to be so unlikable.

Win hadn't helped the situation. He was vain and proud, his title one of the oldest and most prominent in the land. He'd inherited at twenty-two, and at age thirty, he'd been the family patriarch for most of a decade. He had strong views on how Society should be structured, and he would be the first to admit that he could be staunch and unbending.

When he'd commanded Holden not to wed Antoinnette, he should have realized Holden would defy him. Once the truth had been revealed, Win had lashed out in unforgiveable ways. He'd cut off Holden's allowance, had severed ties, had declined assistance when it had been desperately needed.

Holden had suffered greatly from his unwise nuptials, and it had been petty of Win to pile on in such a vitriolic fashion. He'd simply exacerbated Holden's problems, and in light of how the debacle had concluded, he was weighted down by crushing guilt. Until he was lying on his deathbed, he would regret how he'd treated his brother.

After a night of intense intoxication, Holden had committed suicide. The family had claimed he'd died in a hunting accident, which was the usual route in such a terrible tragedy, but no one believed it. It was common knowledge that he'd killed himself, so they would be forever marked by the stain of the scandal.

Win didn't necessarily blame Antoinnette for Holden's demise. Holden had had disgusting habits and unmanageable addictions, so he'd probably been doomed no matter what, but due to Win's cruel pride, his last months had been especially difficult.

It was a heavy cross for Win to bear, and as part of his atonement, he'd vowed to always be kind to Antoinnette, but she could be enormously taxing. With his just having perused her correspondence, his temper had been flaring, and he'd taken it out on poor Miss Cronenworth.

"What was the tale our visitor shared with you?" Boggs asked. "Is it worth repeating?"

"She was a teacher at a boarding school, and it closed with no notice, so the students were sent home. The girl with her had a file that listed Fog Bay as her address. The woman brought her here to leave her with her kin."

"At Fog Bay? It's nearly always shuttered. Who would use it?"

"I have no idea and I was too annoyed by Antoinnette to bother inquiring."

Boggs frowned. "Did you see the girl?"

"No. I just talked to the woman and I could tell she'd been a schoolteacher. She was snotty as a rich debutante."

"And you can't abide conceited females."

"No, I can't. She accused me of bad behavior, which I wasn't about to tolerate, so I ordered her to depart."

"You can be such a snob. After all the years we've been together, I've never been able to mold your character, so you'd act more like a human being."

Win scoffed. "I'm a nobleman who's just a few steps removed from the Crown. Why should I pretend to be a mere mortal?"

"Why indeed?"

Boggs tsked with irritation. It was the tenor of their relationship that Boggs tried to be Win's conscience, but he never had much luck. Win was who he was: a wealthy, imperious aristocrat who strutted about like a king. He reveled in his rank and position and he never apologized for his elevated status. The Good Lord had arranged the universe so the proper men were in charge. Why would Win question the heavens about how earthly affairs were structured?

Boggs had been with him through thick and thin, and he was who he was too: a pragmatic, sensible, and responsible servant.

As a boy, Win had been educated at a military academy, and at sixteen, he'd joined the Royal Navy. He was the eldest son and heir, so his parents had been vehemently opposed to the notion. They'd struggled mightily to dissuade him, but he'd enlisted despite their protests. He'd understood their concerns, but he'd yearned to experience some adventures before he was forced to settle down and become earl himself. He'd served for six years, only resigning his commission after his father had died.

Boggs was an army veteran who'd seen some of the world and who'd had his own adventures. He was a horse groom at Dartmouth and was two decades older than Win. The price Win had had to pay for his deployment was his father demanding he take Boggs along as his aide, but also as a sort of personal guard whose job it had been to keep Win alive and unharmed.

His father had insisted about Boggs, and if Win hadn't consented to the situation, he would have contacted his acquaintances at the Navy and had them kick Win out, so Boggs had been his devoted shadow for fourteen years. He was reasonable and sympathetic in all the ways Win wasn't. He shrewdly assessed every dilemma and he provided wise counsel. Usually, Win listened to him, but not always.

The one fact they both recognized about Win was his unrepentant view of his grandeur. Boggs could trim his sails in some circumstances, particularly when Win was being excessively foolish, but he had limited success. Win would do exactly what he wanted, even if his choice was ridiculous.

"They were walking," Boggs pointed out, "carrying their bags, and the afternoon is waning. Should we be worried about them?"

"No, and don't you dare nag at me for sending them away. I'm in enough of a temper from Antoinnette writing to me. I won't compound it by dealing with a rude harpy who doesn't know her place with regard to me."

"You should have a footman fetch them back," Boggs said.

"Why would I?"

"You didn't chat with the girl, but I got a good look at her. I hate to break the news to you, but I'd bet my right leg that she's a Wainwright."

Win glared at him. "Are you thinking she's someone's bastard?"

"Yes. Yours maybe?"

"You're aware of my opinion about bastards and I've never sired one."

"So you say," Boggs muttered.

"I haven't!" Win sternly retorted. "I've never sowed a wild oat in my life."

"Then maybe she's Holden's. Have you considered that?"

Boggs was fully cognizant of Win's lingering guilt over Holden's death, so it was easy to manipulate Win by mentioning his brother in any conversation.

"No, I didn't consider Holden," Win mumbled.

"What if she's your niece? After so much tragedy with Holden, wouldn't it be lovely to discover that he's left a child behind?"

"Who would have hidden her from me though? Who would have used Fog Bay as her address?"

"Your mother?"

He and Boggs had no illusions about Win's mother, Agatha. She was a complicated and disagreeable woman who'd birthed two sons for her husband, but who'd played favorites in her rearing of them. She'd doted on Holden and her detrimental smothering had had a deleterious effect on his brother.

It had rendered him weak and needy, so he hadn't developed the stronger attributes that might have saved him from destruction. When Win had put his foot down and refused to permit Holden to wed Antoinnette, Holden had simply waited until Win was out of the country, then he'd eloped.

With Win quitting the Navy, he'd been bored in England, so he'd joined an excursion to Egypt with some friends. It had ended in disaster, with their ship nearly sinking in a storm and their not reaching their destination. He'd slunk home in defeat, and had sworn he wouldn't journey out ever again, then he'd found out Holden had proceeded while he was gone.

Holden had confessed his mischief to their mother and Agatha had realized how enraged Win would be. She'd helped Holden to hide the awful news from Win, and when it had crashed into him like a runaway carriage, she'd had a thousand excuses at the ready as to why she'd had to oblige Holden in his folly.

After Holden's funeral, Win had wrenched a promise out of her that she'd never again conceal information from him. She'd vowed complete candor in the future, but he didn't believe her, and a bastard daughter was precisely the sort of secret she'd keep for Holden.

She was aware of how Win struggled in his relationship with Antoinnette, how irked he was at having to pay her bills. Agatha would have figured he'd be even more riled to have a natural-born daughter come forward. Was Agatha supporting the girl behind Win's back?

He didn't doubt that she would protect Holden even when he was in the grave, and Win fumed and stewed, then he rang for his footman.

Since the cottage was normally shuttered, the only regular employee was the caretaker who lived in a room off the kitchen. When Win visited, he brought a few footmen and maids, plus a cook, from Dartmouth Manor, so he had a very limited staff to tend him.

The boy peeked in and said, "Yes, my lord? What did you need?"

"Miss Cronenworth, the young lady who was just here? You escorted her out. Where were they headed?"

"They talked about the coaching inn in Baywick. They were hoping to arrive in time for supper."

Boggs said, "That's a hefty hike, so they can't have gotten far. They've probably barely made it to the main road."

Win sighed and told the boy, "Hitch the gig, would you? Then chase them down and deliver them to me."

The boy's eyes widened. "No offense, my lord, but she was quite vexed with you. I'm not sure she'd heed any request from me. She'd likely tell me to stuff it, then she'd continue walking."

Win glanced up at Boggs. "I warned you she was a nuisance and I don't like her. She has an attitude that's totally inappropriate in a female."

"Most women have an inappropriate attitude," Boggs responded. "They simply pretend they don't."

"She sassed me! Right in my own den."

"Obviously, she has some refreshing pluck." Boggs sighed too, then he said to Win, "I'll go after them. She's a mere sprite of a thing and she won't be able to refuse a request from me."

Boggs and the footman tromped out, leaving Win alone.

He'd traveled to Fog Bay to have a private holiday. It was one of the few spots in the kingdom where he could lock himself away and not be bothered. It was rural and isolated, and at the moment, he was reveling in a bit of dangerous sleuthing. There had been reports of smuggling along this portion of the coast, so he'd been working with some of the neighbors to watch for boats and intercept cargo. It furnished a chance for him to be out on the water, to patrol the area, and even engage in fisticuffs when they stumbled on ruffians.

It gave him a respite before he returned to London to face the proverbial music: In six weeks, he was marrying Jasmine Clement. She was a rich debutante and earl's daughter who'd been the belle of the prior Season's Marriage Market. He hadn't actually been keen to shackle himself to her—or to anyone else, for that matter—but he was thirty and his mother had been complaining about his constant delays.

Jasmine's mother had been a childhood friend of Agatha's and Agatha had pushed the match. Win had been ambivalent about Jasmine, but he agreed with his mother that he had to sire some heirs. Holden had been his only sibling, and if Win suffered a mishap, the next in line to inherit was an incompetent cousin. He would never let that happen, so ...

He would become a husband shortly, at the Cathedral in London, with a week of celebrations scheduled after the ceremony. Jasmine possessed his same sort of conceit about their elevated positions, and she was a stickler for pomp and circumstance, so her father was shelling out a fortune for it to be the grandest matrimonial event the city had witnessed in years.

Oddly though, as the big day approached, Win found himself balking. He didn't want to wed, and he didn't want to wed Jasmine, and whenever he thought about the entire situation, he'd feel claustrophobic to the point where he couldn't breathe.

Because of his mounting trepidation, he was at Fog Bay to relax and act as if his wedding wasn't about to be held. He was carrying on like a common man who was camping in low conditions. And he was greatly enjoying himself too.

He didn't need the complications Miss Cronenworth would create. He didn't need her snooty arrogance or condescending remarks filling the house. Most importantly, he shouldn't permit a gorgeous vixen to tarry and entice him.

He was a terrible rogue, and he'd already been thinking that, instead of loafing in the country, he should be in London and chasing doxies while he was still unattached. Miss Cronenworth, despite his dislike of her dour personality, was a stunning beauty: petite and shapely with lush brunette hair and huge, mesmerizing blue eyes.

Generally, he didn't like females who were too forward, but for some reason, she intrigued him. He concurred with the standard notion that women should be meek and modest, so he had no idea why he'd noticed her at all. But he had, and apparently, she was coming to stay for a bit as he investigated the antecedents of the girl she'd brought.

Due to his pathetic mood over his pending nuptials, he would be inordinately tempted by her. He eagerly wallowed in torrid affairs and he was very spoiled. He had an awful habit of reaching out and seizing what he craved. With him being so melancholy, he could picture himself falling into an illicit liaison with her, simply as a means to pass the time.

The quickest route to being shed of her was to unravel the girl's history. He pulled out a sheet of paper, dipped quill in ink, and wrote a letter to his mother. What was the girl's name? Polly? Who'd attended the Pemberton Academy for Girls? Was that it?

If there was mischief occurring, he doubted he'd get a straight answer out of Agatha, but he supposed she would be the best place to start.

v

"I wish I'd been introduced to him."

Polly voiced the comment wistfully and Charlotte tsked with aggravation. "You wouldn't have liked him, so you didn't miss anything."

"Maybe not, but I've never previously met a nobleman."

"Neither have I, but I've always been told that they are pompous idiots. My father dealt with plenty of them through his import business. He claimed they were foolish spendthrifts who didn't understand money or people."

"Well, when you're so incredibly special, it doesn't matter if you're foolish. You're forgiven for negligent behavior."

"There's no excuse for bad manners though," Charlotte said, "and I can't abide such overt rudeness. Lord Dartmouth exhibited those dreadful traits in spades."

They were strolling down the lane toward the main road. There were thick woods on both sides. Wind rustled the leaves in the trees and birds cawed overhead. Clouds were moving in and the blue sky was swiftly vanishing. She could smell rain in the air, and she figured it was entirely predictable that they'd be soaked in a deluge before they could stagger to the coaching inn. What else could go wrong?

She hoped another farmer would drive by and offer them a ride to Baywick, so they could escape the weather. If they were caught in a storm, she truly thought she'd plop down on the ground and weep like a baby.

"I'm glad we left," Polly said, "so please don't be irked about it. I wouldn't have liked to reside at Fog Bay."

"Why not?" Charlotte gazed over at her. "It was a very scenic spot and I could have been happy there. You would have learned to like it."

Polly shrugged. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"You'd better."

"I've just always assumed I was destined to live in a palace." Polly's cheeks heated. "I often dream about palaces, so this was quite a bit less than what I was expecting."

Charlotte sighed with regret. There had been so many rumors at school about Polly's likely sire and Polly had heard them all. Evidently, she'd taken some of them to heart, but she was only twelve, so she hadn't yet been pummeled by the reality that a common girl could never be altered into a princess.

"I can't guess where you'll end up," Charlotte said, struggling to sound confident, "but it will be somewhere wonderful. I'm sure of it."

"Before we arrived here, I had convinced myself to be positive. Now, I'm terribly afraid for the future."

Charlotte clasped her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. "Don't you dare fret. We've merely had a minor setback, but that's all it was, and we'll devise a new path. I was thinking we should contact the housekeeper at Dartmouth Manor. The Wainwright family owns Fog Bay, so there must be information about you, and housekeepers know everything. She might have some suggestions about how you're connected to this location."

Charlotte didn't mention that Polly looked exactly like Lord Dartmouth. In her opinion, she'd just spoken to Polly's father, but he hadn't seemed to realize she existed—and he definitely hadn't been curious about her. It was a frustrating development.

"I hate that you have to drag me to London," Polly said.

"I don't mind, so you shouldn't be concerned about it."

"You've explained how your stepmother won't want me to stay, and when you've been so kind to me, I can't bear to imagine I'll cause problems for you."

"Don't worry about my stepmother. If we have to tarry in London for a few weeks or months, she'll just have to accept it. She likes to complain, but I stopped listening to her years ago."

Behind them, a carriage was approaching. The lane led straight from the cottage, so it would be someone exiting the property. If it was the despicable Lord Dartmouth, he'd probably snicker and throw things at them as he raced on by.

She and Polly scooted over to the side to let the vehicle pass, but to her surprise, it slowed, then halted next to them. It was an open gig, pulled by a fleet horse, and an older gentleman was at the reins. He was fifty or so, slender and fit, with salt-and-pepper grey hair and friendly brown eyes.

"Miss Cronenworth?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"Lord Dartmouth sent me. He'd like you to return to the house."

It was the very last statement she'd anticipated and she was extremely dubious. "Why would he have you fetch us? And what is he intending? Is he eager to scold and insult me again?" It was an appalling retort, and she shouldn't have uttered it, but she was so irritated!

"You met with him when he was in a temper," the man said, "and he'd like to apologize. He's sorry for being so abrupt with you."

"Lord Dartmouth is sorry? You must be joking. I'm certain he's never been sorry for anything his entire life."

"Usually he's not, but he has some manners. He doesn't always display them when he should."

He slid to the ground, groaning slightly, as if his bones ached and his hips were protesting. "I am Mr. Jake Boggs, but everyone simply calls me Boggs. I hope you will too." He spun to Polly and said, "Who is your charge? May I be introduced?"

"Yes, of course," Charlotte hastened to say. She was being supplied with some assistance and she had to quit being so snotty. "This is my former student, Polly."

"How do you do, Mr. Boggs?" Polly responded. She was pretty and charming and had perfect manners—unlike her dastardly father.

"It's just Boggs, Miss Polly."

Polly smiled, liking him already, and Charlotte forced herself to like him too. She suspected he was the reason they were being conveyed back. Lord Dartmouth didn't have the sense God gave a gnat, but Boggs seemed pragmatic and normal. He'd recognized how shabbily Charlotte had been treated and he'd jumped in to fix the situation.

Without any discussion, he grabbed their bags and stuffed them behind the seat. Obviously, he wasn't offering them a choice, which was just as well. Charlotte was weary and out of options, and if she could hide for awhile at isolated Fog Bay, it would be a relief.

"What is your position with the Earl?" she asked him, anxious to be clear about where he stood in the household.

"I'm a Wainwright servant and the Earl's personal aide. When he joined the Navy at sixteen, I sailed with him. I've been by his side ever since, and he and I have had many adventures together." He extended a hand to Polly. "May I help you to climb up?"

"Yes, please," she said.

He got her up and settled, then he extended his hand to Charlotte. Before she took it, she asked, "I won't regret this, will I?"

"I don't think so, but I make no guarantees. The Wainwright family is as toplofty as they come, so they're prone to act in ways that are a mystery to ordinary people like you and me." He winked, as if they were conspirators, then he added, "If you ever repeat that comment, I'll heartily deny it."

Charlotte snorted with amusement, then he lifted her in and they headed to the cottage and whatever conclusion she would find there.