Sweet Bargain (6 page)

She weighed the idea. Emily was waving from John Lyde's curricle across the road. To say yes would be a kindness to her friend, but Darlington's friendly offer coming so soon after he had vowed revenge against her made her wary. She could not think properly. Somewhere behind the breadth of Darlington's shoulders was the earl with his dark, piercing glance. She had seen him take a step toward her. Was he watching at this moment?

"Your parents would like you to favor my suit, Bel," said Darlington, "and you know you should. You will in the end anyway."

She forgot the earl in a surge of irritation with Darlington. When had he begun to think that the friendship of their two families made a marriage between the two of them as inevitable as next Sunday's sermon?

She answered in her coolest tone. "I will go driving with you, Mr. Darlington, thank you, but anything more I cannot promise."

He shrugged. "We'll see. Two?"

She nodded, and he bowed and strolled off.

The earl was standing quite close really, preparing to mount his horse. He regarded her briefly with that gaze of his, and she looked away at once. Had he overheard her conversation with Darlington? She looked again in his direction, but he was riding off. Would he think she had meant something by looking at him so? How silly she was about the Earl of Haverly. She had best put him out of her mind.

At two Farre found Nick's horse back in his stall as neat as could be. All that a groom might teach a peer Farre had taught Nick, but in this matter of love, the groom's hands were tied. And in this matter, Farre suspected, his lordship was still something of a boy in spite of all that the boy had seen in the odd household of his parents.

Today Farre had been caught napping, for he meant to keep a sharp eye out for every promising sign of the lad's interest in their neighbor. The girl with the blue, blue eyes and golden curls seemed to have caught his lordship fairly, and Farre could not let the boy go it alone. Nick would be at the river, and Farre would just wander down to see what had come of his lordship's fine dreams of revenge.

"So you went," said Farre. Nick was standing on a rock overhanging the first of the deep, well-shaded pools that distinguished Courtland's stretch of the Ashe. "Did you see Miss Shaw?"

"Yes." Nick did not look up, but made a show of watching the drift of his line in the current.

"Speak to her?" Farre had the satisfaction of seeing his lordship jerk the line in a manner unlikely to deceive the least canny trout.

"No. She had an admirer."

"A golden-haired fellow with shoulders you could hitch a plow to?"

"How did you know that?" Nick was frowning at the water. He lifted the lure from the stream with a deft flick of his wrist and pulled in to prepare another cast.

"Squire's boy. Met him when I spoke to the agent about this property. Stands to reason he'd be after the prettiest girl about."

"So you think she's the prettiest girl about?"

The studied indifference of the question gave Farre a good bit of encouragement. "A great bull like the squire's boy, his importance won't let him notice anyone but the prettiest."

Nick made a clumsy cast, allowing fly and line to slap the water. He swore and withdrew his line again. "The fellow is welcome to Miss Rag Manners, of course," he said, bringing his arm back for another try.

"You think she wants him?" asked Farre.

At that Nick turned, and the smooth curve of his line, instead of floating gently down to the glassy surface of the pool, caught on a branch. "If you want supper tonight, Farre," he warned, "you had best be gone and let me forget Miss Shaw."

"If you think you can, lad." Farre found himself whistling a bit as he went up the path, an old tune, one that hadn't come to mind since … since Nan was alive.

AT TWO BEL found Darlington in her mother's rose drawing room talking with Auggie. Her visitor half-lay, half-sat on a silk sofa with his long legs stretched out as if he were at home before his own fire. When he saw Bel, he stood and strolled her way.

"I was just offering your brothers a chance to fish our end of the Ashe," he said.

"How kind," said Bel, looking at Auggie, unable to conceal her surprise.

"Well, it is pretty sporting," said Auggie, not quite meeting his sister's gaze. He bent over and gave the retriever at his feet a gratuitous rub.

"Of course," she said. Auggie's expression was decidedly sheepish and unlike him.

"Now, Bel," said Darlington, "is this coolness to be my only reward for trying to make amends?"

"Thank you, Mr. Darlington," she said. "It is kind of you to think of my brothers. Your father has no objection to their fishing his waters?" The Darlingtons had never before been so generous with their stretch of the river.

"None."

"Hurrah!" shouted Auggie. He dashed off with what seemed to Bel an uncharacteristically craven air, the dog barking excitedly at his heels.

"Shall we, Bel?" Darlington asked, offering his arm to escort her. She nodded. He seemed too pleased with himself for her comfort, as if he'd won some victory over her.

In the drive, her father's coachman held the heads of Darlington's team, a pair of grays that Tom had always admired. Emily Pence and John Lyde, newly betrothed, called greetings from a second carriage. Bel chided herself at the sight of them. Perhaps Darlington's intentions were kind after all, and she merely cynical. Surely the friendship of their families mattered as much to him as it did to her, and if he sometimes lost his temper and made threats, weren't they just threats, such as her brothers made to one another?

Darlington didn't speak again until they passed her father's gates and turned onto the open road. Then he began to question her about Tom's ship and situation. The gradually rising road gave them wide prospects of the valley below.

Just as Bel began to feel ashamed that she had unjustly suspected some trick in Darlington's kindnesses to herself and her brothers, Darlington turned his team aside and stopped the phaeton at the brow of the hill. He pointed to the sparkle of the Ashe far below them. They were alone. Somehow, without her noticing it, their betrothed companions had fallen behind. Bel glanced along the road they had come, but there was no sign of the other carriage.

"Now, Bel, we can come to an understanding," he said.

"Mr. Darlington, we
have
an understanding. Our parents are friends, you and my brothers are friends, I would remain your friend."

"You are too proud, Bel. All you Shaws. You think you still have acres and acres behind you and a fair dowry." He laughed. "Or is it Haverly? I wonder, does his fortune tempt you? Did you mean to gain an advantage over all the other fair damsels of Ashecombe by poaching his stream and gaining his notice first?"

Bel stiffened. Auggie must have told him of their encounter with the earl. "What advantage could I have or want?" she asked as coolly as she could. "What do you mean bringing me here and having the effrontery to speak so?"

"I'll speak any way I want to. You owe me. An earl is not for you. Pretty as you are, a hundred a year is all you will have from your proud papa." He paused and turned to her, letting his gaze slide over her. "Even for me that's low."

"You needn't lower yourself, Mr. Darlington. I have never encouraged you to think of me in any way."

"But you have, Bel, you do. How could I not want the prettiest girl in Ashecombe? How could I not win the prize now when I've come so close?" His voice was soft, his hands careless on the reins, his assurance the most maddening thing of all.

"I'm not a prize to be won, and you may court whom you please."

"It pleases me to court you, and you know it is what the Shaws expect. What Tom expects. You can't do better, and you must do something for Diana so she can have a come-out and Arthur so he can go to Oxford." Darlington set the brake and secured the reins to it.

"Mr. Darlington ..."

"Alan," he said, "or
darling
. You didn't call me
Mister
when you were fourteen, Bel. Didn't you dream of my kisses that summer you followed Tom and me everywhere?"

"No."

"That's a lie, Bel. You kissed Lyde."

"Years ago."

"And that fellow from Ireland, that friend of Tom's. You're kissable, Bel, but I'll wager you've not been properly kissed yet." He reached out and caught her hand. She pulled away, but he stopped her, pinning her arms behind her and securing a hold on her with one hand.

"Let me go," she demanded.

"No." He pulled her close on the narrow seat and brushed the folds of her pelisse back over her shoulder, exposing the neckline of her dress. Bel squirmed, fighting his hold. She looked toward the road, hoping to see the others. The horses stirred restlessly in response to the jiggling of the carriage, but Darlington spoke reassurances to them. He turned back to Bel, and with the forefinger of his free hand he traced the edge of her bodice, letting the weight of that finger pull the delicate muslin lower than the modest height at which she wore it.

Bel glared at him defiantly, refusing to be intimidated by his tactics. "If I ever wanted you to kiss me, Mr. Darlington ..." He squeezed her wrists painfully, and she went on, "... it was because I thought you were like my brother, kind and honorable. But I see you are not."

"Oh, I'm like your precious Tom, all right. I can tell you things about your dear brother, Bel, but let's not quarrel." The words slowed, and his voice thickened. He pulled her so close that they were pressed together, hip to knee. "I just want a kiss. You'll like it, Bel. Girls do."

Darlington slid his free hand up her arm along the bare skin between her wrist and shoulder, slowly lowering his face to hers. Bel struggled helplessly, her mind considering and rejecting means of escape. She felt his breath hot against her skin and redoubled her efforts, tossing her head from side to side. Darlington caught the ribands of her bonnet and yanked hard. Her hat fell back, and he caught her chin in his hand.

"Give it up, sweetheart," he said. "I've caught you fairly this time, and there's no Auggie to save you."

The mention of Auggie put an idea in Bel's mind, and she stopped fighting Darlington's hold on her chin as if resigned to his assault. He leaned forward, his fingers loosening to stroke her skin. She waited motionless as he drew near, slowly filling her lungs, afraid lest he suspect her intention. Just as his lips were to touch hers, she turned her head slightly and gave the loudest, most piercing whistle her brothers had ever taught her.

Darlington started back, cursing and clutching the ear that had borne the brunt of her attack. The horses reared and backed against the carriage, rocking it dangerously. Darlington released Bel to control his team, and Bel, her hands freed, twisted away from him and leapt down from the phaeton. The landing jarred her feet in her thin slippers, but she didn't flinch. She righted her bonnet, retied the strings, and pulled her pelisse about her shoulders. With these repairs to her person accomplished, she faced her brother's friend.

"Mr. Darlington, neither your friendship with my brother, nor your parents' friendship with mine, obliges me to endure your conceit or your attentions any longer. I do not and will not favor your suit." She turned and slipped into the woods.

"A fine speech, Bel," Darlington called after her. "But it doesn't end what's between us."

NICK STARED AT the surface of the pool that had in a fortnight become his favorite. It was the largest and deepest of three shady pools that descended like a short flight of sleek, black steps from the hill on which Courtland Manor had been built to the meadows below. This morning, however, hunks of bread, thickly strewn, lay on the water as if there had been a bread blizzard in the night. While peppering the waters of a stream with bread was an old practice that even Walton recommended, someone had gone far beyond that angler's technique. As Nick watched, a trout rose lazily, nibbled with unhurried delicacy at the soggy mass, and slipped back into the depths.

Nick swore.

"Not likely manna from heaven, is it?" said Farre at Nick's side.

"Rather malice from a much more local source." Nick stepped forward, but Farre's hand on his arm stayed him.

"Let's have a close look at the ground here, lad," said Farre, pointing at several boot prints visible in the mud. He put his own boot alongside one of the clearest prints as a measurement. The intruder had worn a small but decidedly masculine boot.

A thorough examination of the edge of the pool revealed more of the same boot prints and dozens of dog prints.

"Whoever your visitor was," Farre speculated, "he isn't a hungry fellow. He needs neither bread, nor trout. Spent good money, too. Fine white bread."

"Boys, a dog, no hunger, and enough knowledge of the Ashe to spoil the best pool. I can guess who the trespassers were," said Nick.

"Perhaps," said Farre. "But you might want a bit more evidence yet."

Evidence proved easy to come by. Two days later someone attempted to dam a portion of the stream above the pools and left a distinct shred of wool breeches on the end of a sharp branch. Twice Nick had the satisfaction of scaring the trespassers off, if not the satisfaction of apprehending them. Then, the day they succeeded in damming one of the pools with a large boulder, he found the green cap. He knew he'd seen it before on one of the Shaws.

Farre, currying a promising mare, only grunted when Nick showed him the incriminating article.

"Well, it's the proof I need, isn't it?" Nick asked.

"So," came the reply, "are you going to take your accusations to her father?" Farre's head came up, and his gaze met Nick's squarely.

Ay, there's the rub, Nick thought.

He could not see white morning light on the surface of the Ashe without recalling Bel Shaw. The jars and baskets his neighbors had brought lined a shelf in the great bare kitchen of the manor, reminding him of Bel. And the girl whose gaze had caused him such confusion outside the little stone church invaded his dreams nightly. It was a mere two days till the Shaws' dinner. He returned to his library and dropped the cap on his desk. He could afford to be patient for two days.