Chapter Fifteen
AFTER HAVING HER IN HIS arms for that one fleeting moment, Erik wished the coach to lurch again so he could easily catch her for another stolen moment of sweet nearness. He swallowed his sigh. However, she only wished to be friends, and despite the temptation to change her mind on that score, he had his calling on the high seas.
Unfortunately, even the Prince Regent had hinted that Erik’s letter of marque would most likely not be renewed as the war was nearing a close, despite Erik’s stellar reputation in bringing in enemy merchant ships full of cargo that would have aided Napoleon’s troops and potentially elongate the war. He had pledged his heart and life to serve the Crown for honor’s sake, not for reward. He shouldn’t cease now. Not when he was so close to finding out who Requin was through the grocers’ guild—something he never would have been able to do if he were at sea. Perhaps it was the Lord’s way of telling him that his calling was changing with his new responsibilities to the village of Draybridge and its people. A castle needed an earl’s leadership and protection. And so did Miss Beau … because of Requin.
He shifted in his seat, angling himself as if he were sleeping, and allowed himself to study Muriel’s sleeping face. Her beauty had certainly captured his attention at first, along with her baking. But her spirit and strength of character were what drew him to her, and now that Erik knew her, he was unable to imagine spending his life with another.
Despite the serious nature of the threat, he couldn’t help but be thankful she would be so near him in the weeks to come. If God was indeed calling him back to Draybridge, he was thankful she would be by his side. It was too bad Traneford would also be in attendance. If Erik lost her to Lord Traneford due to his confounded indecision regarding his pursuit of her … He grunted in frustration. Such vacillation.
While aboard his ship, he was used to thinking on his feet in the heat of the moment, determining in a breath the best way to take the enemy’s ship without a drop of blood spilled. On land, everything seemed muddled until he paused and allowed the waters to clear. Now all he saw was Muriel and her sweet heart. He had been lying to himself. He could not stand idly by and watch Muriel fall in love with another … marry another—not when he had yet to speak his true feelings to her. Despite the circumstances, the proximity alone would present him with opportunities to woo her into becoming his countess if she did indeed feel more for him than friendship.
At last, the coach rolled over the familiar bridge leading toward his castle, the clatter of the wheels over cobblestones startling the two women awake. Muriel blinked her large eyes at him before turning away and discreetly wiping the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief.
“Are we near, my lord?”
“We are arriving now.” Erik lifted the curtains to admire the moonlight on the lake, shimmering and reflecting upon his castle. With Muriel at his side in Draybridge, he no longer felt a rush to return to his mission at sea. However, now that Requin was threatening Muriel, it was time to end this pursuit and put the man before the king’s justice, with or without the aid of the Crown.
The coach crossed the drawbridge and swayed to a halt in the first courtyard, and he hopped out, surveying the turrets for anything out of the ordinary before lifting a hand to Muriel and Charlotte as Guy Mayfield, Trumbull, and a handful of footmen stumbled out of the castle in their nightclothes.
“My lord?” Guy secured his banyan’s ties more firmly at the sight of the women. “We had no word of your arrival, or we would have kept the staff awake.”
“There wasn’t time to send word.” And I didn’t wish to chance the missive being intercepted. He cleared his throat and nodded to the housekeeper, who appeared in a plain dressing gown and a mob cap. “Mrs. Hodge, I fear I must apologize. I know you will not be pleased with my announcement. I am hosting a house party here.”
“What?” Her jaw dropped for a moment before she snapped it shut and inclined her head. “I mean, of course, my lord … When exactly are you planning on hosting this party?” She lifted her candle, shielding the flame from the breeze drifting through the drawbridge, her gaze resting on Muriel. “Why, is this a wedding party, my lord?”
“Miss Beau is the first of the guests, to be followed closely by her guardians, Sir Alexander and Lady Ingram, within a few hours.” He looked to Guy. “Until the Ingrams arrive, I wish for you to draw the bridge. Lower it only for their arrival and that of any known guests and draw it again at once afterward. I will provide a list directly.”
Guy’s brows rose, and Erik knew there would be questions later. “Certainly. It will take some doing, as we haven’t drawn it since testing and repairing it last summer.”
“Whatever it takes, Mayfield. We shall draw it every evening at dusk for the duration of the house party.” He lowered his voice so that only Guy might hear him. “Requin would not be so foolish to attack during daylight hours.” He cleared his throat and turned to Mrs. Hodge. “Speaking of guests, after the Ingrams, I expect the next in our party to arrive at first light.”
Mrs. Hodge pressed her hand to her chest, sending a wide-eyed glance to the butler. “Lord, have mercy. Mr. Trumbull, we will have to wake the village to order enough food to supply the castle for a breakfast, as well as wake the staff before dawn to ready the castle.”
“I realize my timing is not ideal. Please send a few maids to make up two rooms for the Ingrams and Miss Beau. Oh, and her maid, Charlotte, will be acting as her chaperone and shall be staying with her in her chambers at all times.”
Mrs. Hodge pressed her lips into a firm line and nodded. “Very good, sir. It will be a mighty busy night.”
Erik gently grasped Muriel’s elbow and guided her inside, loving the way her lips parted at the sight of his fine castle in the moonlight. Step one, impress her with your castle. Step two, impress her with your nonexistent skills as a host.
The creaking of the ancient stairs was enough to make even the firmest nonbeliever in ghosts take a glance over her shoulder. With their candles casting long shadows against the time-glazed browns of the paneled walls, Muriel wished for Erik’s presence on the chilly walk down the long gallery and up the second set of stairs to the bedrooms. Instead, she clung to Charlotte’s trembling arm.
“This is most irregular,” Mrs. Hodge tsked. “First, the earl is home after his uncle’s death only long enough to assume the earldom and install his second-in-command from his ship as steward here. Then he disappears for nigh on three years. Now he’s been home twice in such a short time? And hosting parties? Most unusual indeed.” She opened a door, motioning them inside, where two maids rustled about making up the bed while a scullery maid readied the fire.
Muriel felt a twinge of remorse, knowing they had been roused from their beds to see to her needs after a long day’s work already. She smiled to them and nodded to the scullery girl in thanks before taking in the pretty pink silk-covered walls. “How lovely.”
Mrs. Hodge folded her hands at her waist. “Yes, the previous lord had this room done up for his future daughter. But, when one didn’t arrive, it was given to female guests.”
Muriel ran her fingers along the elegant, gilded furniture and moved to the window, gasping at the bright full moon outlining the vast upper garden across the lake. She could hardly wait until morning to fully bask in its blooms, for she hardly had time to appreciate it during the garden party.
“It’s a lovely view in the morning light. The former Lady Draycott loved her gardens.” Mrs. Hodge looked around to see all was in order, then nodded to the maids and ushered them out. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
Muriel drew off her cloak but kept her reticule. “Would you show me where the kitchen is? I have some thinking to do.”
Mrs. Hodge frowned. “The kitchen? If it is a respite you are seeking, the maids can wake the cook, Miss Beau.”
Charlotte giggled. “I assure you, baking is her respite, Mrs. Hodge—one that Lord Draycott is well aware of. He would not mind.”
“Well, if that is the case, of course,” the housekeeper prattled, confusion mottling her tone. “Right this way, miss.” She led Muriel out to the hall stairs down to the long gallery. “Now you can either take the steps to exit the gallery and run across the second courtyard or, as I prefer, take the route through the banqueting hall to the kitchen to avoid being outside at night. It’s perfectly safe, mind you. I simply don’t fancy it.”
“Another courtyard? I was only here for a short time after his lordship’s garden party moved inside. We had only just run inside from the abbey—”
“You are Miss Muriel? Of course! That makes much more sense why the earl has taken such a sudden interest in entertaining. I was so exhausted from planning the party on short notice that I fell asleep during the excitement and only heard of a lady called Muriel and never caught sight of you.” Her eyes sparkled. “It is exciting that he brought you back. I wonder what he intends.”
Uncertain how to interpret this, Muriel laughed as she strode out into the second courtyard, lifting her gaze to the stars. In their light, the chill of the castle being haunted faded. “One never knows what the Lord has in store, I suppose. Now, where is that kitchen?”
After insisting she preferred to be alone and the staff should return to their beds, Muriel baked a plate of Shrewsbury cakes and brewed a pot of ginger tea and took a seat, eyes on her reticule. After several bracing sips of tea to settle her stomach, she reached for the letter and turned it over in her hands, her heart aching in anticipation of the vicar’s scolding. He had always been kind to her. It was going to be dreadful to read the evidence of how she had lost his respect after her social misstep. If she didn’t read it, she could at least keep the illusion that the vicar still esteemed her. She also knew if she did not read it and returned home after her trip, he would ask about it, and she would be forced to say she didn’t read it, which would be hurtful after the vicar had taken the time to copy a verse for her.
She broke the seal. As promised, the vicar had copied lines for her, from Psalm 103. She turned the sheet over, but there was nothing more, no note, no scathing advice. Thoroughly taken aback, she read,
“Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits:
Who forgiveth all thine iniquities...
Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies;
Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”
She pressed her hand to her lips, reading the words again—steeping her soul in them.
The vicar was not condemning her for her actions. The vicar was reminding her of the Lord’s goodness, His forgiveness, and His promise to grant the deepest God-given desires of her heart. She lifted her face, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “Lord, redeem my destructive actions to see to my desires on my own—in my own timing—when I should have been trusting You to satisfy me with good things.” She kneaded her hand over her heart that ached yet for a husband and children. “Renew my spirit, Lord, and help me to trust in You and Your timing for my future.” She read the verses again and again, until the cakes were gone and her pot of tea grew cold.