Chapter 8
SEBASTIAN CONSIDERED MOST OF THE JOBS he took rather easy, despite how difficult they might appear at first. Apply a little English logic, perhaps a military approach if needed, and voilà, he’d pick up his substantial fees.
But for Sebastian there was nothing easy about crossing the channel into English waters.
Standing on the deck of the ship that was taking him back to his homeland brought it all back, the horror of killing his best friend, the surprise on Giles’s face as he dropped to the ground.
It was still so vivid in his mind. He’d had so many nightmares about that day that changed his life so drastically.
So many times he’d wondered if he could have done something differently to prevent it.
Fall was ending and the chill of winter was already creeping in, particularly out on the water. He could feel the damp chill even under his greatcoat, which flapped in the wind on the deck. He didn’t like traveling in winter, didn’t like his ruins at this time of the year either.
He usually took a sojourn during these months in southern France or Italy.
It wasn’t necessary for him to work year-round with the fees he commanded.
In another few days he would have departed northern France, and Margaret Landor probably wouldn’t have heard of The Raven.
She would have continued on her way home alone—to find what, when she got there?
He frowned and glanced at her farther down the deck, where she stood gazing out to sea as well. The late afternoon sun added golden highlights to her light brown hair. He’d rather not have found out how pretty that looked.
She’d been wearing a bonnet earlier, but the wind had caught it and whipped it across the deck and over the railing on the other side.
The face she’d made as she watched it fly beyond her reach had been rather amusing.
And she hadn’t gone to fetch another bonnet, despite the brisk wind playing havoc with her hair.
When the last of her chignon tumbled down and her long hair was flying every which way, she’d simply grasped the lot of it in her fist and held it tightly to her chest. That wasn’t how most vain, aristocratic women behaved, which was rather odd.
Most ladies were concerned with their appearance at all times, but apparently Margaret wasn’t one of them.
He’d hoped to avoid discourse with Lady Margaret for most of their short journey. She seemed to prefer it that way. But there was pertinent information he needed from her before they reached home, a few things he had to impart to her as well. He approached her now to get it over with.
“You may not have considered this,” he said, drawing her attention, “but my presence will need to remain unknown for several days while I ascertain the situation. The only way to do that is to abide in your house, with your servants sworn to secrecy, in case any of them happen to recognize me. I assume you will accommodate us?”
She was frowning by the time he finished. He guessed she hadn’t planned on putting them up, had possibly thought her involvement was done. Bring him home and leave the rest to him, as it were.
She took a moment, he supposed to grasp all the implications of having a bachelor as a guest, then surprisingly didn’t offer a single argument about it. “Certainly,” she said. “You should remember White Oaks. You were there for my sister’s engagement party.”
He wondered at her sudden blush, until he remembered the last time he’d seen her. “Yes,” he replied. “As I recall, it had a nice garden.”
Her blush deepened and was accompanied by a glare now. He nearly laughed. Apparently proper Margaret Landor would rather not remember how impulsive and improper she’d been as a child. Or maybe she still liked breaking rules but just didn’t want anyone to know about it.
He decided to let her off the hook. “We should have no trouble keeping out of each other’s way, since I also recall that White Oaks was nearly as big as Edgewood.”
“Bigger,” she rejoined with a tight little smirk, yet another indication of her competitive nature. “My father did some renovating after Eleanor ran off. And I added a conservatory off of the dining room when I decided I’d like to garden year-round rather than just in the warmer months.”
“Another gardener?” he replied with a roll of his eyes.
She raised a brow. “You enjoy flowers?”
“Not in the least, but my man John does.”
“It’s very relaxing, you know,” she imparted. “You should try it.”
“Flowers tend to die when I’m around them.”
She blinked, then made a moue. “That wasn’t very funny.”
“Was I laughing?”
She snorted. “I believe you’ve forgotten how to. Tell me, what have you been doing with yourself all these years, aside from building that remarkable reputation for accomplishing impossible tasks? Wasn’t it rather—difficult—having your base in France, with Napoleon so annoyed with us?”
He did have to work at not laughing this time.
“Annoyed? That’s a rather gentle way of expressing the little tyrant’s sentiments toward Britain.
He had us blockaded from every one of his conquered countries and forced his allies to do the same, whether they wanted to or not.
He was planning on invading England, you know, and probably would have, if he hadn’t been distracted by the Russians. ”
“Yes, I know we finally got fed up with the trade blockades and took the war to him,” she replied. “But did you get involved at all?”
He shrugged. “A little. My particular talents came in handy during the Peninsular War, especially since I’m fluent in the French language, so I offered my services.”
“You acted as a spy!” she guessed.
“How astute of you. But I wasn’t involved for very long, just toward the end, when they forced Napoleon’s brother Joseph to flee from Madrid.
And I wasn’t in France when Napoleon marched across it in 1815, gathering his last army, after his abdication.
I had several jobs in Italy that year, didn’t even hear about his last effort to regain his throne until he was exiled again.
But to answer your question, I bought those ruins only four years ago, after his exile, so no, I haven’t experienced any difficulty making my home in France. ”
“You actually call that pile of stones a home?”
“Slip of the tongue, Lady Margaret. You’re right. It’s no more than a convenient place where I can be contacted. As it happens, I’m not there often, and rarely at this time of the year. If I hadn’t had a delivery to make near there, I probably would have been on my way to Italy by now.”
“How fortunate for me that—”
“And unfortunate for me,” he cut in. “Now to the matter at hand. I’ve been away from Kent for eleven years. I need to know what has occurred during that time. Any changes I should be aware of?”
Her look was annoyed for a moment over that ‘unfortunate’ remark, but then she briefly ignored him while she gave the question some thought.
Even in the full afternoon light, her eyes were still so dark, the brown in them was barely noticeable.
She was still gripping most of her hair to contain it, but a few shorter strands kept floating across her cheek.
He wondered if she’d notice if he pushed them behind her ear.
Possibly not, she was so deep in thought, but he restrained himself.
She was charming in her dishevelment. Not many women were, but with Margaret, it made her seem more—accessible.
She was too pretty by half, actually. And she wasn’t even trying to be attractive, far from it.
It really did seem as if she couldn’t care less how she was perceived, which was quite odd for a woman.
Or perhaps she just felt that way when she was around him.
Disliking him, she wouldn’t put any effort into attracting him, he was sure.
He found her attitude unique. Never before had a woman hated him. He was almost tempted to win her over—not bloody likely.
She finally said, “Aside from the assorted deaths and births in the neighborhood—”
“My grandmother?” he cut in with dread.
“No, no, Abigail is just fine—or was, before I left for the Continent. But she’s quite batty now, you know.”
“Nonsense—”
“No, really. Her eyesight isn’t so good, which might be why she sees things that aren’t there. During my time at Edgewood, she was forever finding me to tell me we had intruders in the house, and whispering it, afraid they’d hear her when there was never anyone there.”
He actually smiled at the picture that conjured. “Very well, so she’s a little batty. She is eighty-seven now, after all. I’d say she’s allowed.”
Margaret said nothing for a moment, was staring at his lips, which he found quite disconcerting. The smile vanished before he was even aware he’d smiled. Her lips twisted in a moue of mild annoyance before she continued.
“I’m extremely fond of the old bird, but it took me a while to get into her good graces.”
“Impossible. She’s the sweetest—”
“Not anymore,” Margaret cut in. “She took your side, you know. In fact, she hasn’t spoken a single word to her son since he disowned you. If she needs to communicate with him a’tall, she sends someone else to do it.”
Sebastian was incredulous. He’d never guessed that his father and grandmother would have a falling-out after the duel. They’d always been in accord, agreeing on everything—two minds thinking as one, as it were. More guilt to take to his breast, as if he didn’t have enough.