Chapter One
Romney Marsh, Kent
March 1812
Colin Hoskins moved to the window. There was nothing to see, but his instincts told him something wasn’t right. It was bitterly cold and definitely too late for anyone to be about outside. Moving quickly, he went up the staircase to the watchtower he had built when he’d purchased the old manor house.
With its position along the coast, Romney Marsh was an ideal location for French agents to attempt to enter England. Though the other sheep farmers in the area thought him eccentric at best, he took his assignment from the Earl of Wellington seriously. That commitment included not letting on that he had been tasked to both gather intelligence and to ensure that no one entered the country through the marsh. The latest reports he had received indicated the French were focused on Russia, but that didn’t preclude them from sending agents into England. In fact, it would be an excellent time to do so when no one would expect it.
His house was built atop a hill where it was less likely to flood, which also created an opportunity to see for miles in every direction. He reached the watchtower and a brief flash of light shone not far from shore. Seconds later, his guard dog gave a warning bark from below. Someone was on the beach. Reversing his path, he rushed back down the staircase and grabbed his quiver and bow, then exited out the front of the house, where Sampson greeted him. It had taken months for him to teach the Pyrenean Mountain Dog to not to bark excessively, but instead to give one signal bark when he sensed danger. Though his job was to guard the sheep from danger, he also considered humans a threat to his flock, so he served to guard the house as well.
Together they moved down the hill toward the beach. Cold gusts of wind off the ocean coated them with sea spray. The bleat of a lamb sounded to his left and he stopped. Sampson stiffened, sniffing the air. He took his job of guarding the sheep quite seriously, especially during lambing season. All of Colin’s sheep were in the stable for the night. It was a bit early yet for the lambs to be born, but it wasn’t unheard of for them to begin birthing in early March, and a new born lamb would not survive a night outside in this weather. However, this wayward lamb did not belong to him.
Sampson took off down the hill to find the lamb and Colin followed behind at a slower place, searching the coastline for signs of a lantern or the slightest flash of light where it shouldn’t be. Though he didn’t wish for the wayward lamb to freeze on this cold night, he was more concerned about someone coming ashore. A sudden thought stopped him in his tracks. What if someone was using the lamb as a distraction to keep his attention away from nefarious activity elsewhere? Pulling an arrow out of his quiver, he nocked it to the bowstring and rushed down to the beach, splashing himself with cold water as he hit low patches in the marsh. A cloud shifted and the moon lit the shoreline. There was nothing there. No boat. Nothing out of the ordinary. Another scan of the visible parts of the beach revealed nothing. Either he had been mistaken about seeing the light earlier, or whoever landed on the beach had already escaped. Another warning bark sent him racing back toward Sampson. Breathing heavily, he caught a flash of the white dog in the moonlight and slowed to a walk. Someone held a lantern up behind his dog, revealing the lamb in his mouth. As he drew closer, the outline of a woman’s cloak took form.
“Is this your dog?”
What was a woman in formal dress doing traipsing around on the marsh? Her cloak was much too short for her and the shiny fabric of a ball gown shown below it. “Yes.”
“Will you please order it to drop my lamb?”
He stowed his bow and arrow and stopped a few feet from her. “That would be counterproductive, I believe. Were you not attempting to catch the lamb?”
“Just like a man to underestimate the situation,” she mumbled. “I don’t wish to have the lamb injured.”
“I should think not, but you have no reason to worry. Sampson is a very well trained guardian of livestock. He will not hurt your lamb, nor will he allow it to wander off again.”
The clouds shifted and a patch of moonlight shone upon them. The bright green of her gown blended with the grass, aside from the mud caked on the hem. What was she doing out on the marsh, alone, at this time of night? In a ball gown, no less?
“Please allow me to introduce myself, Miss…?”
“I am Miss Pottinger, and this is my farm.” She tilted her head to the house that lay about half a mile down the hill from their position.
Ah, that explained it. Mr. Pottinger had taken ill more than a year ago and was rarely seen outside even in summer, but surely there had to be someone in charge of this young lady who would soon notice her absence. “Sampson.” The dog immediately came to him and dropped the lamb at his feet. The creature was no worse for the wear except for a bit of slobber on his fleece. He picked it up and handed it to her.
“Thank you, Mr…”
“Hoskins.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I am Colin Hoskins. I live on the estate just above you.” He pointed to his house, which stood rather prominently on the highest point on the hill.
“I see. Papa has not yet introduced me to all of the neighbors since I left school to join him in Kent. My apologies for not inviting you to the dinner party tonight, but it would’ve been very hard to send an invitation to a person of whose existence I was unaware.”
He had to toss her words around in his head for a few moments before he could make any sense of them. A proper response likely didn’t exist. “Miss Pottinger, may I assist you in carrying your lamb back to the stable before it freezes?”
“There is no need. I am perfectly capable of carrying a tiny lamb.” She muttered something else that he couldn’t quite hear.
“I can only agree with your hypothesis, however, I offered to carry the lamb to save you from transferring anymore mud and slobber from the lamb to your gown.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at the streaks of muck across her abdomen. “Well, that was rather careless of me.”
The strangeness of the situation swept over him. What if this odd girl was being used to distract him from whatever he had seen earlier? He needed to search the beach as soon as possible and also learn more about this woman. “Since you don’t need any more assistance with the lamb, may I ask that you allow me to accompany you back to the house so I may wash the mud from my hands?”
“Of course. I need to bring this little hellion into the kitchen to warm him before giving him back to his mother.” She cooed at the tiny creature. “Yes, I do. I’m sure your mother is very worried about you.”
Colin thought otherwise. There were no frantic bleating noises coming from the stable, or any other signs that any of the sheep were restless. There was definitely something suspicious going on. Having known Mr. Pottinger for years, Colin was certain he was not a threat, but that didn’t mean his daughter couldn’t have been persuaded or even tricked into helping French agents. He would have to watch their house until he could be sure.
She handed him the lamb and turned to head back down the hill.
“Miss Pottinger, may I ask where you lived prior to joining your father here?”
“I attended Madame Delacroix’s School for Girls in Suffolk, then stayed on to teach French until Papa’s condition deteriorated to the point that I needed to return home.”
A headmistress of French origin and a woman who was fluent in French. He needed more information about Miss Pottinger, that school, and its proprietor and other employees. Mr. Pottinger had been a tutor to the sons of several noble families prior to acquiring his farm, so it stood to reason that his daughter would be well educated, but his instincts were telling him there was something more to this situation.
His boots squelched as they completed their wet, muddy journey down the hill. When they arrived at the Pottingers’ home, the door stood ajar, which put him on edge immediately. “Do you always leave your door open when you leave, Miss Pottinger?”
“Only when I’m chasing an escaped lamb and time is of the essence, Mr. Hoskins,” she threw over her shoulder.
He gave Sampson the signal to stay, and the dog settled with his back against the house so he could keep watch. Colin removed his bow and quiver and followed her inside.
The moment they entered the house, she immediately went to the fireplace and threw a few pieces of wood onto the fire and placed the screen on the hearth. After a quick glance around the room, she removed the scarf from her head, took the lamb from him, and wrapped it tightly before placing it on the hearth in front of the screen. Once the creature was settled, she washed her hands in a basin and gestured for him to do the same.
The first thing he noticed was her rather remarkable golden-red hair shining in the firelight. The second was her emerald green eyes. Her mother must have been stunning because though Mr. Pottinger was a good man, his daughter’s beauty had not come from him. Coming to his senses and remembering his duties, he glanced around the large room. There was no sign that a party, let alone any other gathering, had taken place that night. To his knowledge, Mr. Pottinger had only a woman who came from the village a few times a week to help him. Perhaps she had been hired to help with the party and had left while they were slogging about on the hill.
“Is your father about?” he asked.
“I fear he’s already retired for the night, but I will give him your regards in the morning.”
For a moment he thought she was going to ask him to leave, but then she surprised him by asking if he’d like tea. The house was quiet, peaceful even. Though he wasn’t sensing any discomfort from her, that did not mean she was innocent. It was entirely possible she was a very good actress.
She placed the tea service on a table and waved her hand to indicate he should serve himself. “So, Mr. Hoskins, how did you come to live in Romney Marsh?”
“I planned to farm sheep, and this seemed like the best place to do so.”
She nodded. “What did you do before you moved here?”
He narrowed his eyes. Her questions came across more like she was interrogating him than making polite conversation. “A great many things, but none of them compares to having a sheep farm.”
Her eyes widened. “I shudder to think what you must’ve been doing before then, Mr. Hoskins.”
He laughed--he couldn’t help it. “What’s wrong with sheep farming?”
“Nothing, it’s just that it’s hard work. Every time I turn around another lamb is escaping, and don’t even get me started on harvesting the wool. Papa can sheer ten sheep in the time it takes me to finish one, and he never cuts them.”
Hmm. Perhaps she really was just his daughter and not a threat if she was so familiar with sheep farming. “Is it just you and your father, Miss Pottinger, or do you have other siblings?”
She moved to the hearth to check on the lamb. “Two older sisters. Both married and living too far away to come visit us. At least that’s what they say in their letters.” She turned and met his eyes. “What about your family, Mr. Hoskins?”
“I don’t have any family”
“None at all? No parents, siblings, wives, children?”
He nearly choked on a mouthful of tea. “No. And I’m not certain I want even one wife, let alone two.”
She bit her lip in a rather appealing fashion, then smiled. “No, I don’t suppose it would be much of an advantage to have two wives. They’d constantly be fighting to win your attention. One would be more than enough.” With that, she commenced unwrapping the lamb.
“Miss Potter, have you had experience of a man with more than one wife?”
She shook her head. “Of course not, but I lived and worked at a school for girls. I also witnessed my father trying to keep both his mother and his wife happy, and it was definitely an uphill battle.”
“I should think so.” Normally he could judge a person’s character almost immediately, but he was having trouble with Miss Pottinger. She was an enigma, and one he needed to solve. Her knowledge of human interaction made him wonder if she had received training somewhere. She was very astute for someone of her experience and background.
With the lamb in her arms, she moved to leave the house. He retrieved his wet cloak from a hook near the door and opened it for her. “This is my cue to leave. I thank you for the tea, Miss Pottinger.”
“You’re quite welcome, Mr. Hoskins. Thank you for your help with the lamb.”
He whistled to Sampson and headed up the hill far enough that his dog went back to his station outside his stable. Once he was certain she couldn’t see him in the darkness, he circled back toward the house and sought the window to her father’s bedchamber. It was possible that she wasn’t his daughter at all. She might be a French operative who killed him and was masquerading as his daughter. This house would be the perfect place to plan and execute an invasion.
The first window he peered through was an empty bedchamber, and the second was a parlor. Thankfully the house wasn’t overly large and consisted of one story only. Snores sounded from the next chamber he came upon. A quick glance revealed the rather broad outline of Mr. Pottinger. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was still a chance that she really was his daughter and that she might be trustworthy.
He continued his circuit round the house so he could return home along a path that wasn’t visible to others. There was one more window. He ought not to look, but he couldn’t help himself. The fire burned brightly in the chamber, illuminating everything. Miss Pottinger reached over her shoulder to unfasten her gown, and he itched to offer his assistance. It was an arduous task for her, but would take him no time at all. Once she freed a few of the buttons, the gown slid down her slim figure. Her corset went next, though it was unlike any he had ever seen, and he had seen his fair share. Usually a lady could not remove her own corset without assistance, but she had modified it somehow to allow her to remove it on her own. Unfortunately, the shadows cast by the flickering fire obscured his view. That was, until she turned, showing off her full silhouette. The firelight highlighted all of her curves and hollows while she stood in nothing but her shift. He swallowed and sucked in a deep breath, trying to control his reactions. Good grief. He was the worst sort of Peeping Tom. He turned and stalked away before he lost the willpower to leave without finding out if she slept in the nude.
By the time he made his way up the hill, Sampson had settled into his place in front of the closed doors of the stable. Try as he might, he could not get the animal to consent to stay in the stable with the livestock. Every time he tried, the dog barked incessantly until he freed him. Granted, with his double layered coat he never seemed to be cold outside regardless of the weather, but it still didn’t sit well with him to leave an animal exposed to the elements. For now, he was glad the dog would be on watch until he figured out whether Miss Pottinger was a threat. To that end, he entered the house and went straight to his study where he poured himself a very large amount of brandy and sat down to write a request to Captain Grant Alexander to send him as much information as he could find about Miss Pottinger and Madame Delacroix’s School for Girls.
*** End of excerpt The Archer’s Paradox (The Heart of a Hero Series) by Ally Broadfield ***