Chapter 4
Much to his surprise and disappointment in himself, the moment that Mrs. Floyd blurted the word “money” in the long hall of Heron House was the first moment that Calchas had felt intrigued in some time.
And…alive. Shaken. Sucked in to something other than his own rather pathetic self-pity. It was a revelation in a single moment. For no one had been this blunt with him since his return home. And he was a Briarwood, and Briarwoods were terribly blunt, even if they were amusing about it.
She was clearly as shaken as he.
She looked alarmed, very alarmed. Her cheeks flooded a bright pink. Her eyes flared. Her gloved hands gripped her reticule, and she shifted from booted foot to booted foot. He had exceptional powers of observation, and he had noted that the boots which she now stood firmly in had been mended.
“And what is the money for?” he asked gently. “I am happy to oblige. A lady in need is someone who must always be helped. My grandmother did make certain that all of us Briarwoods knew that from the beginning… Since she came from quite humble origins herself.”
And the moment the words were out of his head, he felt like a total arse. They had made him sound so privileged, so arrogant. Hadn’t they?
She cleared her throat and took a step back. “Forgive me. This is a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.”
“No,” he countered quickly, taking a step forward to balance the distance between them.
That seemed to alarm her more. “It is not a mistake,” he rushed.
“It is,” she said swiftly, pivoting on her mended boot and heading for the door. Her black bonnet, a sign of widow’s garb, like the rest of her clothes, bounced with the intensity of her attempt to escape.
The bonnet had no feathers or ribbon. It was a simple affair. Her entire ensemble was a simple affair. Mended, carefully so, but clearly worn. Something deep inside him wanted to run forward, grab her hand, make her stay, and shower her with clothes.
He’d never felt the intense need to do anything like that before, and he knew what it was.
It was extremely shallow of him. He was, if he was honest, unfulfilled, and suddenly she was an outlet.
He could help her. He could help someone in need, the wife of someone he had known. Surely, that would be a good thing.
“Mrs. Floyd,” he called, determined to make her stay and turn back to him, “you are mistaken. You came here with a purpose. Do not leave without getting what you came for.”
She paused, but with her back to him, and let out a horrified note. “This is not at all me. You must understand, I did not come here to be a bother, a difficult—”
“You came here to be bold, and you have done so,” he said with great admiration.
She hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. “Perhaps,” she said, “but it is most difficult. You see, I never wanted to…”
He held her gaze, willing her to stay, to turn to him.
“What?” he prompted carefully. “What did you never want to do? Be beholden to anyone?” His brows rose, and he took a step back, hoping this would lure her back towards him.
As he waited, he considered her from the top of her head all the way down her frame.
She was slight. He was fairly certain she wasn’t eating particularly well.
This also awoke a protective instinct in him, which was another powerful shock.
It slid through him, taking root, not where most men would expect, but in his heart.
It wrapped around the muscle with a veracity that was white-hot and indelible.
He’d heard the legend of the Briarwoods. He’d seen it. Every Briarwood found their one. No Briarwood had missed this feeling, but surely not… This surely couldn’t be happening to him. Here. Now. With a widow who was asking him for funds.
What would she think of him if he suddenly started making overtures? She’d think he was a despicable lecher.
The last thing he felt like was a lecher. He wanted to protect her. Keep her safe. Destroy anyone and anything which might harm her. He wanted to burn any who would even give her the slightest pain to a cinder.
More immediately, he wanted to grab her hand, take her down to the kitchens, and make certain that she was stuffed with buttered bread, cheese, good meat, and good drink.
“Mrs. Floyd,” he said softly, still trying to manage the barrage of feelings flooding him. Still, he was determined to make an impact and to assuage her difficult feelings. “We are all beholden to someone.”
“That’s not true,” she said defiantly.
And he adored her even more for her defiance.
“Yes, it is,” he insisted gently. He licked his lips, then explained, “Whether they realize it or not, people are always beholden. I am beholden to my family. Everything that I am is because of them. All of the good.”
“And the bad?” she blurted again before she winced.
He smiled at her seeming inability to speak with diplomacy. “There is no bad in my family.”
She laughed.
He laughed too, but for a very different reason, and he felt a note of sadness that the idea of a family that did no harm was so very foreign to her. “No, no, I mean it.”
She cleared her throat. “Forgive me. I did not mean to be rude or presumptuous.”
“It’s quite all right. Most families have a good bit of bad in them, but not mine.”
She frowned. “I don’t believe you. How is that possible? Your family is so impossibly large.”
“My goodness,” he said. She was quite logical. He did have a very large family. But in his family, any bad was immediately corrected with love, understanding, patience, and a good many people giving guidance. “You are one for strong statements.”
The color of her cheeks only deepened to a brighter red, which actually made her quite beautiful. There was something about the cresting color, the plumpness of her lips, and the brightness of her eyes that only amplified her beauty.
“Have you met the Briarwoods before?” he asked. “Or are we merely some sort of fable that your husband told you about?”
She straightened. “Your grandmother recognized me.”
“Did she?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” she replied, clearly hesitant. “I’ve met several of you, but only in passing. I know the legend of the Briarwoods, how notorious you all are, but I am also aware of how good you can be too. My parents did not care for you though.”
He laughed. Oh how he was laughing! And oh how good it felt! How could he laugh and not feel good? “Many parents do not care for us.” He leaned forward and said with an exaggerated whisper, “Because we lead their young astray.”
“Astray?” she queried, her brow furrowing. “In what way? In sin?”
He snorted. “I suppose it depends on your definition of sin. But we have and will always lead others to do things that are not in the typical line of thinking. To make choices that are quite bold. But you already seem to have a knack for that.”
Her discomfort dimmed and she seemed to ease ever so slightly as she stood before him, turning at last to fully face him.
“So,” he breathed, triumphant that he had not driven her off, “do tell me what the money is for. Or I can simply go upstairs, grab a few Bank of England notes, and bring them to you. If that is enough. But I have a rather strong feeling there is more to this story than what you are telling me at present.”
She winced and fidgeted with her reticule again. “This is much harder than I thought it would be.”
“Am I making it difficult?” he asked.
“No.” Her lips curved in an unwilling smile. “Actually, you’re being quite lovely about it.”
“Thank you,” he said, rather liking the idea of being lovely to a young lady such as herself. Especially one who was no doubt followed by a cloud of grief.
“I am very sorry for your loss,” he said suddenly, realizing that if he didn’t address it, he’d be the worst sort of cad.
“I had heard about your husband’s passing.
It was a very difficult battle that he died in.
Sea battles always are. But that one was…
spoken of in whispered tones by many officers. ”
She nodded, her eyes shining for a moment with the undeniable intensity of her dismay. “Thank you. He almost made it out of the war,” she whispered. “We were so certain that he would make it, or at least I was, but like so many others, he did not come home.”
“Did you wait long for the news?” he asked softly.
“No. The government was very efficient, actually, and I was given a pension.”
“I see,” he said, trying to be gentle and hide his abrupt concern for her. “But that is so very little.”
“It is,” she agreed.
His gut tightened as the full ramifications of her circumstances set in. “And you have no other personal income?”
“No,” she said softly. “Unfortunately, I do not.”
“That is a great difficulty,” he said. “And any way I can help a fellow officer out by taking care of his widow, I am happy to do so.”
Though as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he cringed inwardly, because the truth was that many, many wives had been left in such a horrible state.
Many of his compatriots had started pension funds for them, and he swore on the spot that he would do so himself as soon as she departed.
He had been so lost these months, looking to rejoin society, looking to be a merry Briarwood. Maybe merry was the worst thing for him. Wild, yes. He’d always be wild, looking to the horizon, called by the sea, untamed by land, though he was trying so hard to stay. But merry?
Maybe duty was all he’d ever known and all he ever could know, and she was providing him an opportunity to fulfill that.
He found himself incredibly grateful. “I think, Mrs. Floyd, you may not understand it, but you are doing me a very good turn.”
“Am I?” she whispered, astonished. “I feel as if I am making a total muck of this.”
“Sometimes a mess results in something very good.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Tell me your proposal.”
She nodded, though worry danced over her face before she rushed, “I want to open a tea shop.”