Chapter 13

 

As soon as Harry closed the door to their chamber, Louisa spun around to face him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Have you no shame? Telling that nice couple we're on our honeymoon?"

He shrugged from his wet coat and hung it on a hook a foot from her pelisse. "You know little of human nature if you do not realize the Winstons are delighted to be of assistance to us. I fear their glee would vanish if they were to be apprised of the truth."

"I suppose you're right," she agreed, hands on her hips as she watched him standing there facing her, a look of sheer devilment in his black eyes. "But how am I to get into dry clothing with you standing there gawking at me?"

"I shall turn around and gaze at the wall until you notify me you are dressed."

"Very well," she snapped, "turn around." She watched as he presented his back to her. Why did the man have to have such broad shoulders? His size intimidated her. Looking at him, she backed away but was still not able to undress, even though she trusted him. Though the man had his faults, she had to admit forcing himself on a woman was not one of them.

She slowly unbuttoned her dress.

"If you need assistance, I shall be happy to oblige," he said mischievously.

"Just keep looking at the wall." She took a dry worsted dress from her portmanteau, then began to slip out of her wet travelling dress, clutching its skirt over the personal parts of her anatomy. Throwing one last look at him to assure herself he was not watching her, she quickly stepped into the dry dress and buttoned it.

"I am dressed now," she informed him. "I shall sit on the bed and turn my back so that you may don dry clothing."

"You can look if you like," he said teasingly.

"I don't."

Once they both were dry, Harry moved over to the bed and picked up Louisa. "I'll carry you downstairs. Taking stairs is the worst thing you can do for a bad knee."

She could not argue his point. Her knee was already throbbing from the weight she put on it while dressing. Though she allowed him to lift her, she vowed she would not put her arm around him. Which really was awkward, keeping her arms pressed against her sides.

When they got downstairs they found the Winstons' linen-covered table set in Sunday finest and spread with an array of steaming bowls.

Louisa fleetingly thought of the warmth and privacy of the parlors she and Harry were used to during their journey and vaguely missed them.

But as soon as they sat at the kindly couple's table, her misgivings vanished. This little farmhouse possessed more warmth and feeling of love than any impersonal inn could possibly offer.

Mrs. Winston could not have been more hospitable, and her quiet husband, dressed in Sunday wear that had become faded and shiny at points of use, was amiable.

"They're on their honeymoon, Jonah," Mrs. Winston informed her husband. Then, turning her attention to the presumed newlyweds, asked, "When did you get married?"

Louisa looked at Harry to answer.

He put down his fork, looked up at the farmer's wife with a smiling countenance, and said, "We married at my wife's home in Trent on Saturday and are now journeying to Penzance, where we shall make our home together."

"You are from Penzance?" Mr. Winston asked in a surprised fashion. Had Harry's lack of a local accent raised warning flags?

Harry nodded as he buttered his roll.

"However did a man who lives in Penzance meet a bride who lived so far away?" Mrs. Winston asked.

There was not even a second's hesitation on Harry's part. "My wife was introduced to me by my cousin, who also lives in Trent."

The man was a natural-born liar! My wife this, my wife that. Lying appeared to come naturally to him. Like stealing.

"Millie and I've known each other all our lives," Mr. Winston said. "Known since I was twelve I was gonna marry her."

Louisa smiled at this. "Was there never anyone else?"

Mr. Winston looked at Louisa as if she'd blasphemed the Lord he so obviously honored. "There weren't no one else to shower my affections on, lest you count Rosemary Penthorn, who weren't all right in the head, if you know what I mean."

All except Mrs. Winston laughed at this. The round, white-headed woman put her hands to her hips in protest. "I'll have you know, Jonah, I had my pick from four different lads, and you're the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."

At this, Mr. Winston lowered his head to his bowl of soup and began to slurp.

Louisa and Harry exchanged amused glances.

When Mr. Winston finished with his soup, he turned to Harry. "A little old aren't you to be marrying for the first time?"

"What makes you think it's the first time?" Harry asked.

Louisa felt her stomach drop.

"It's not?" Mr. Winston queried.

"Yes, it actually is the first," Harry said with a chuckle. "It took me six and  twenty years to find my sweet Louisa. I'd given up hope of ever finding one such as her."

Oh, please. Lord Wycliff had certainly missed his calling on the stage. A pity he did not make his fortune there. Then, thinking of the manner in which he had regained his fortune, she grew angry once again, and turned her complete attention to her pilchard.

"What do you do in Penzance, Mr. Smith?" Mrs. Winston asked Harry.

Louisa was astounded over the huge amount of food Harry had consumed as she watched him cut his fish and answer his hostess.

"I'm in imports and exports."

At least that was somewhat true.

"You have a boat?" Mr. Winston asked before shoveling peas into his mouth.

"Let's put it this way," Harry said. "My bank and I have a boat."

Hogwash.

When they were finished with their meal, Louisa insisted that she and her husband be allowed to clean up. "Please, Mrs. Winston, we have been sitting in a carriage all day and are longing to stand for a while. You and your husband go rest by the fire. You both have put in a hard day's work."

The old woman shuffled off, mumbling protests under her breath.

Once alone in the kitchen, Louisa lashed into him in a sing-song voice of mockery. "My wife and I this, my wife and I that. My bank and I. . .Honestly, my lord, you are a scheming, lying, cheating, good-for-nothing peer of the realm if ever there was one." For good measure, she added, "I do declare!"

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Don't forget to add thief."

She huffed. "If it weren't for the bandages on your arm I would hit you."

"But if you did, I wouldn't be able to help you with the dishes."

"As if you know your way around the kitchen." She issued a harrumph.

"Do you?" he asked.

"Of course." She took Mrs. Winston's apron and tied it about her slim waist. "The real question is if you know your way around a kitchen."

His face fell. "To be truthful, no."

"You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the nose."

"A very poor analogy, Louisa." He picked up a roughly hewn stool and placed it before the sink. "I order you to sit down."

She shot him an angry glance, sat on the proffered stool and began to run a wet cloth over a plate several times. "I told you not to call me Louisa."

"And I refused." He took a dry cloth and began to dry the plate Louisa had washed.

They worked side by side for some time, lost in their own thoughts, no conversation uniting them.

When they were more than half way through, he spoke. "It's clear that you detest your father, but what of your mother?"

She continued washing. "I loved her very much, but she died giving birth to Ellie."

"So you were almost like a mother to Ellie."

She nodded solemnly. "I suppose so."

"Did your father never remarry?"

"No, which seemed peculiar, given his delight in ordering others to do his bidding."

"But he was so selfish a man, he probably didn't want to feign affection for another that he did not feel."

She stopped washing and looked at him. "I believe you're right. He never needed anyone but himself. The only person he cared a fig for." Then she took up her cleaning again.

"Louisa?"

"Yes," she answered, averting her gaze from him.

"Is there nothing I can do to regain the affection I felt from you yesterday?"

She thought for a moment. "You could show your remorse by giving your money to the poor."

"You know I can't do that," he said somberly.

She turned to him, hardness in her steely eyes.

"It was never about the money," he said softly. "Always it was about family—my family—not only the ancient title and the wealth that had once gone with it, though those things were important to me.

"It was pride in my family name I wanted to recapture. I want to rebuild what my father had torn down." He dropped the cloth to the counter. "More than anything on earth I have wanted to rekindle the feeling of love I had known so thoroughly as a child. I wanted to reestablish that. I want my old home back. I want a woman whom I can love as my father loved my mother. I want a son who will proudly carry the title of Earl of Wycliff and grandsons and great-grandsons." He turned back toward her. "Are you understanding any of this?"

She swallowed. "I think so," she said, her voice wispy.

He felt a closeness to her he had never felt with anyone else. Why else would he have revealed so much about himself and become so vulnerable?

When the kitchen was spotless, Louisa and Harry said good-night to their host and hostess.

"Mrs. Winston," Louisa asked, "How did you know we were newlyweds?"

"My dear, I knew by the way Mr. Smith looked at you. It was the same as Jonah Junior looked at his bride the day of their wedding."

Louisa's cheeks grew hot. She left the parlor to climb the stairs to their room, grabbing onto the banister to carry her weight from her bad knee. Harry followed, picked her up and began to march up the stairs while holding her to him. How did he expect her to dress for bed with him in the room? A pity there was no tavern for him to go to tonight.

The taper Mrs. Winston lit still burned on the bedside table. The room was cold. Terribly so. Since there was no hearth in this room, Mrs. Winston had brought extra blankets.

Now Louisa knew why. "Turn around and close your eyes," she ordered.

For extra preservation of her privacy, she too turned around, her back to him as she quickly undressed and hurried into her woolen night gown.

Then she sat on the bed. "You may turn around and remove your shirt. I need to redress the bandages on your arms."

"Would you like me to come stand in front of the candle as I remove my shirt?" he asked teasingly.

She bent down to pick up her shoe and throw it at him. "You odious man!"

The flying shoe just missed one of his bandaged arms. She was all contrite when she said, "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt your arm?"

He stood beside her and slowly began to unbutton his shirt, not removing his eyes from her.

Embarrassed, she turned away until he had removed his shirt and came to sit on the bed next to her. "You called me Harry again," he said gently.

She was in no mood to be seduced by a thieving pirate. "Let me see your arms," she said harshly.

She proceeded to remove the bloodied bandages from his arm, gasping as she did so. "I am afraid infection may have set in," she solemnly announced.

He picked up the candle and held it to his arm. The gashes were still oozing, and his entire arm had begun to swell.

"No wonder the blasted thing's bothered me so much today."

Her voice was soft when she spoke. "You never said anything."

"We weren't speaking. Remember?"

She looked contrite. "I don't know what we can do for it. What have you learned about such treatment in your vast experience?"

"To bloody well hope it gets better. I'd rather not lose my arm."

She winced. "It's all my fault." With shaking hands, she removed clean linen from her portmanteau.

"I'm sure it will be all right," he soothed.

She ignored him as she gently cleaned the wound and began to wrap it in a fresh bandage. Then she leaned across him and began to minister to his other arm "This arm isn't nearly as bad as the other."

"I'm not such a bloody idiot that I don't already know that."

"Don't be so cross," she scolded. Then she was sorry she had snapped at him when he was obviously in a lot of pain. "I'm sorry if I'm hurting you, Harry. Would you like for me to go downstairs and see if Mr. Winston has some whiskey for you to take to dull your pain?"

"I don't need it," he said. "I've been through worse."

She saw by the scar low in his belly that he spoke the truth.

"Besides," he snapped, "you can't go down those stairs on your knee."

She stopped what she was doing, met his devilish eyes and began to giggle. "If we aren't a pair for sore eyes!"

He began to chuckle, his voice low and hardy.

When they stopped, she gave him a solemn look. "I shall put you in a sling in the morning. Perhaps that will help your bad arm."

"I'll not be wearing a sling."

She glared at him, then put the rest of the clean bandage back in her bag. "I suppose we had best blow out the light and go to sleep."

"I suppose we had."

She blew out the candle and scooted under the covers, shivering with cold.

Harry had walked around to the other side of the bed. She heard him removing his pantaloons and was thankful he could not see the blush creep into her cheeks once again.