Chapter Eight
The Queen’s Barque Inn, The next day
Beuth’s message arrived just after luncheon.
“Would Mr. Copefort please ride out to Salt Hall for a short two o’clock meeting regarding his purchase of the property?”
Since Kit never offered for Salt Hall, Beuth could only mean Meg had visited the shopkeeper. The meeting was arranged at Salt Hall. No one would expect Meg to be there, especially if she was never seen leaving Beuth’s shop.
A glance at his pocket watch showed Kit had a slim half hour to prepare. He arrived at the gates to Salt Hall with moments to spare.
Meg wore a fetching blue dress. A matching ribbon secured her bonnet, and she drove a smart silver and black curricle with a pair of handsome matched grays. An elaborate crest decorated the door panel.
Beuth, seated on a chubby gelding, spoke quietly with Miss Fenneman.
“Oh, look,” she said, noticing Kit’s approach. “Mr. Copefort’s here at last. Thank you, Mr. Beuth, for your kind escort today,” she dismissed the shopkeeper.
“I’ll bid you good day, miss.” Beuth doffed his hat. “Keep her safe, Mr. Copefort.”
Kit bent his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll endeavor to do so.”
As Beuth rode off, Kit found himself both relieved to see the man go and reluctant to be alone with Meg. If they were discovered by anyone, she would be ruined. He would offer for her, of course. Oddly, the idea appealed.
He blinked in silent surprise at the thought. Then, before his eyes Miss Fenneman transformed. Oh, she looked the same charming lady she always appeared. However, something about her features was abruptly more priceless than the very air he breathed.
Kit shook his head. What’s happening to me?
“Are you well, Mr. Copefort?”
“Ah, yes, certainly. Quite all right. Very! All right.”
Stop babbling, fool. He’d not been so tongue-tied since being forced to partner his cousin’s pimple-faced, younger sister for all her dance lessons. His toes still recalled the pain.
“Perhaps you’d care to secure your mount behind the curricle and join me. We can talk while I drive. Hmmm?”
“An excellent idea.” Which has nothing to do with the itch of my fingers to touch Meg’s… hand. He hurried to secure his horse at the rear of the carriage then climbed up beside her.
She gathered the reins, preparing to give her team the office. “Where shall we go, Kit?”
“Where would you like to go?”
“Perhaps the Salt Hall grounds to explore the property? You did invite me to tour properties with you.”
“The idea’s agreeable to me, but not at Salt Hall. On careful thought, I’ve decided it will not suit my needs. I want to be closer to Fenwick, if I remain in the area.”
“Where then?”
“That empty parcel I told you of. The one near Trout Creek.”
“The empty parcel then.” She signaled the grays into motion.
Were he honest with himself, he couldn’t imagine settling anywhere other than Fenwick on Sea. Nor could he picture any other woman sharing his home than Miss Margaret Fenneman. When did his admiration for her character become more? When did respect and appreciation become love?
Love?
“I was relieved to receive Mr. Beuth’s note,” she said. “I didn’t know if my message would reach you, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who might be able to help.”
“Your confidence flatters me, Meg. I’ll do all in my power to lend you aid. However, at the moment, I’m uncertain how best to render assistance. Tell me, is the assistance you wish from me aid in breaking up the smuggling ring?”
“Among other things.”
“Such as?”
“Mr. Beuth confessed he told you of my father’s plan for me to wed Brookbank. I despise the man for more reasons than I can count, but mostly for coercing my father into committing crimes.”
“Your father performed those crimes nonetheless.” The statement lacked empathy, but Kit couldn’t allow any misunderstanding about his certainty of Squire Fenneman’s guilt.
Her shoulders dropped a bit, but her hands on the reins remained steady. “I know coercion’s no excuse, especially when Father possessed ample opportunity to change his ways and report Brookbank to the authorities.”
“I’m glad you understand, Meg.” Kit wanted to hold her and comfort her, but the carriage and propriety prevented him. “Do you also understand your father will have to pay the price of his law-breaking?”
“Yes. He’ll lose everything, perhaps even his life, though I plan to make a plea for some clemency.”
“What your father loses, you lose as well.”
“Probably. However, I’ve skills in estate management Fenwick’s absentee land holders might find useful.”
“Think you they would hire a woman for such work?”
“Our location, off the beaten path, makes my identity as a woman less of a factor than if I were to be managing a place in a more populus area, especially one where I was not already known.”
“You’ve given this much thought.”
“When I became aware of the extent of Father’s crimes, I knew I would have to accept a great deal of change in my life. I also have skills appropriate to be a governess. Were I to do that, I’d look for a position with a family who travels, as I should very much like to see some of the world.”
“I’m glad to know you are planning carefully for your future. However, if you don’t escape your current dilemma, all those plans will be for naught.”
“Precisely. Have you any course of action to recommend?”
“Don’t go home?”
“Where would I stay that Father and Brookbank wouldn’t find me?”
“You must have some friend or neighbor in Fenwick willing to take you in.”
“Several households might take me. However, I’ll not put my friends at risk. Brookbank would terrorize the entire village until someone gave me up.”
Kit fell silent while she negotiated the curricle around an especially tight curve.
“I suppose you’re right. You could leave Fenwick entirely.”
“No,” she shook her head. “Running away is the action of a coward. I’ll not allow Brookbank that much power over my life. Besides, Father will need me when he realizes how truly evil Brookbank is.”
Kit admired her courage and fortitude but knew remaining at Sea Grange was more dangerous than she might imagine.
“The only option I’m willing to consider,” Meg continued. “Is to go home and pretend compliance until Brookbank and his gang are caught. If I am present, I can devise ways of sending information to you, just as was done today”
Kit did not agree. He could compel her to remain in Fenwick proper, or spirit her away by force, but that did not solve the smuggling problem. The potential for disastrous retribution was great. Greater than the risk she took in going home? He could not know.
“Didn’t you tell Beuth, Brookbank’d sent for a prelate from Yarmouth?” Kit asked.
“I did.”
“If that man arrives before the gang’s arrested, how will you avoid the marriage?”
“I’ll become ill and take to my bed.”
“I doubt that’d stop Brookbank.”
“True. However, illness would stop Father. When Mother died of consumption, he couldn’t leave fast enough. He claimed urgent business on behalf of the Crown. However, I saw his reaction when the doctor finally arrived and said nothing could be done to save her.”
“You think the squire will have the backbone to stand up to Brookbank and forbid the marriage until you recover?”
“For a while. A week at best, a day or two most likely.”
The road began to rise, as they approached the center of the empty parcel.
“I hate for you to go to such extremes, but if you can delay until after the new moon, my ability to help’s more certain.”
***
“I hope you plan to explain.” Meg considered telling Kit about Brookbank’s intention to dose her with laudanum.
Kit would insist she not risk that danger.
She felt strongly the best chance of destroying the smuggling operation lay in allowing Father and Brookbank to believe their plan would succeed.
Besides, she knew how to avoid the drugs. Telling Kit was pointless.
Meg pulled the carriage to a halt at the highest point of the rise. “I was able to get a picnic basket from Mrs. Brewster. What do you think about spreading our cloaks beneath that tree where we can have shade and a good view of the stream?”
“Did you bring cider as well?” The smile wreathing his face suggested he thought a picnic an excellent idea.
“Indeed. The basket and jug are in the boot. If you will bring those, I’ll spread our cloaks.”
They spent a quiet fifteen minutes or so preparing their picnic, then indulging in Mrs. Brewster’s excellent repast.
The basket held only one cup, so they were forced to share.
Meg carefully turned the vessel to the same spot where Kit drank. Staring at him across the top of the cup, she imagined the touch of his lips on hers.
She’d been kissed before, but never by anyone she thought about as often as Kit. She stroked the ceramic across her cheek. Would his fingers on her face be as smooth and cool?
Yes, Kit Copefort’s appearance pleased the eye.
However, he’d a great deal more to offer a woman, if that woman wanted a thoughtful, careful, honorable man who treated everyone—even Father and Brookbank—with courtesy and respect.
That he could respect her father in the same moment that Father threatened him, spoke volumes about Kit’s composure, confidence and strength of will.
“Are you going to hold that cup all day?” His gaze fixed on her mouth rather than the cup. “I find I’m quite thirsty.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Here.” She extended the cup to him. The working of his throat as he drank fascinated her.
“Ah,” he lowered the cup and licked his lips.
She’d just eaten her fill, but hunger grew in her belly.
“Mrs. Brewster makes an excellent cider,” Kit continued. “If I build my house here, I will certainly contract for a large supply.”
Throat unaccountably tight, Meg swallowed. “The slight hollow on the lee side of this hill’s excellent ground for an orchard. You might consider becoming Mrs. Brewster’s supplier. Then you could have as much cider as you like.”
“An excellent idea. If you’ve finished eating, perhaps you’d care to walk the property with me. I have a number of ideas about where I should put a house.”