The Smuggler and the Society Bride

‘Enjoy your ride, then, dear. I will see you at dinner.’

Honoria set off a short time later in high good spirits. Her aunt’s equally spirited mare, once given her head, seemed as delighted as Honoria to begin with a good gallop. Urging the animal on, revelling in the sweet, sun-scented air rushing past her, Honoria savoured the simple joy of being young and outside on a glorious early summer day as if she’d never experienced it before.

Perhaps, in a way, she hadn’t. Until a month ago, a carefree canter through the countryside had been so ordinary an event she would never have thought to take note of it. How short-sighted she had been to prize it so little!

She slowed the mare to a trot along the route the carriage had followed yesterday, her anticipation heightening as she approached the village. Though she tried to tell herself she was only mildly curious about him, she found herself hoping that during her time in Sennlack, she would encounter one charming Irish free-trader.

Chapter Five

A short time later, Honoria pulled up the mare before the vicarage. She was about to ring the bell when she spied Father Gryffd in the distance, descending the church steps.

‘Miss Foxe, how nice to see you,’ he said, walking over to meet her. ‘Won’t you step in to the vicarage and let me offer you some tea?’

‘Thank you, Father, but I have several commissions to complete for my aunt. I wished to inquire about primroses. After speaking with Mrs Dawes, I believe Eva Steavens may have found the flowers near your brook.’

The vicar nodded. ‘I seem to remember a riot of them blooming there when I walked by last week.’

‘If there are enough, would you permit me to carry some home?’

‘Of course. Help yourself to as many as you wish. I must say, I am glad you stopped by. Might I walk along with you for a bit? It so happens that I’ve been thinking about you.’

Dread twisted in her gut as the prospect of discovery flashed through her mind. ‘Of course,’ she managed through a suddenly dry throat.

He fell into step beside her. ‘I have a project in mind I’ve been thinking of implementing for some time. If you could lend a hand during your stay with Miss Foxe, I might be able to begin it.’

Relief washed through Honoria. ‘What sort of project?’

‘Since the old master retired, there’s not been a school in the village. Some of the boys attend grammar school in St Just, but there’s nothing for the girls. I’ve been wanting to establish one in which they might be taught to read and write and do simple sums. Despite what some might think, with mines and manufacturers hiring both sexes, it’s as necessary for females as it is for the boys to understand the words on an employment list or to total their wages correctly. And to read their Bible, of course, should they earn enough to purchase one.’

‘Why, Father Gryffd, I believe you are a Methodist!’

A light flush coloured the vicar’s cheeks. ‘I had the honour of hearing a disciple of Charles Wesley speak once, and was much struck by his message to do as much good to as many as one can. A directive I have tried to implement.’

‘Establishing a school for girls would do much good,’ Honoria said, immediately drawn to anything that would better the lot of females. ‘How can I help?’

‘I know you are well educated—and kind, judging by your treatment of Eva Steavens. Would you consent to helping the girls learn their letters? I’m sure they would admire you as much as Eva does and put forth their best efforts, in order to earn your approval.’

She, the bane of several governesses—to become a sort of schoolmistress? She suppressed a giggle at the thought.

Misinterpreting her silence, the vicar went on quickly, ‘You might think such a task below your station, but truly it is but a variation on the service genteel ladies have always performed in making calls upon the poor.’

Given her present circumstances, not much would be considered beneath her station, Honoria thought. ‘Indeed, I know it is not!’ she assured him, smiling at the irony of it.

At this hour, Lady Honoria Carlow, Diamond of the Ton, would usually have been yawning over her chocolate while she flipped through a stack of invitations, all begging her presence at the most select functions offered by Society. She would have dressed, and paid calls and shopped, later stopping each evening at several events where she would be trailed by a crowd of admiring gentlemen and a bevy of ladies anxious to divert a share of those gentlemen’s attentions.

If anyone had suggested that in a few short weeks she would count it a blessing to fill her idle hours assisting a bespectacled Welsh vicar to teach a passel of grubby Cornish children their letters, she would have laughed herself silly.

Even though, if one truly considered the matter, helping children learn to read was far more worthy of her time than listening to a buxom soprano sing arias or some infatuated moonling intone bad verses to her eyebrows.

As worthwhile as attempting to rescue a drowning man, she thought, feeling again the glow of satisfaction that had warmed her after that effort.

Offering village girls the gift of literacy would give them a bit more control over lives now wholly controlled by men. To females even more dependent for their welfare upon the whims of that gender than she was, that was a precious gift indeed.

She’d already decided to agree when the thought struck her. ‘Will Eva Steavens be able to attend?’

The vicar considered the question. ‘I don’t see why not. The other children might tease her, though—or their parents might object.’

Honoria recalled the disagreeable man at church who had snarled at the child. ‘Are Mr John Kessel’s views widely held?’

Father Gryffd sighed. ‘I’m afraid they are more widespread than a good Christian would like.’

Trying to alter deeply ingrained prejudices would be a difficult task, she suspected. ‘What if Eva were to come after the other children went home?’

‘We don’t know that she’d be responsive to teaching,’ the vicar reminded her gently.

‘But you said yourself you don’t believe her to be a halfwit. Certainly she communicates with her mother, albeit in a way none but the two of them understands. I think she might be very quick to learn.’

The vicar nodded. ‘She might well be, and you are correct to remind me it is Eva’s welfare, rather than the townspeople’s prejudices, with which we should concern ourselves. I am willing to try, if you are. After you’ve dug your flowers, would you like to accompany me to the Gull’s Roost? Eva’s sister Laurie works there. We could ask her about Eva attending the school while I offer you a mug of cider as my thanks for agreeing to help with the children. And you should still have time to complete your commissions for Miss Foxe.’

Honoria smiled. ‘That sounds delightful.’

And so it was, after digging up several prime specimens of primroses and having the vicar’s housekeeper wrap them in newsprint for the transit back to Foxeden, Honoria found herself walking with the vicar into the tap room of the Gull’s Roost.

With its low-timbered roof, wide hearth, kegs of ale by the bar and the luscious scent of roasting meat emanating from the kitchen, the inn reminded her of those she’d visited in the villages near Stanegate Court.

Mr Kessel hurried over to greet them, calling for the barmaid to bring a mug of ale for the vicar and a glass of cider for the lady. After a few minutes’ chat, Father Gryffd asked if the innkeeper might spare Laurie Steavens for a moment, as he wished to speak with her.

Mr Kessel stiffened. ‘If you’re wanting to chastise her, I promise you, I got nothing to do—’

‘No, not at all!’ the vicar interrupted. ‘I hope you think better of me than to believe I would take you to task for another’s failings.’

The innkeeper’s face reddened. ‘Aye, you’re right. My apologies, Father. I’ll get the wife to fetch Laurie for you. Sadie,’ he called to the barmaid, ‘see that you keep their mugs filled.’

With a bow, the innkeeper went off to the kitchen. A few minutes later, wiping her reddened hands on an apron, a girl entered the tap room. Slender but lushly curved, with blonde hair and a matching set of bright blue eyes, there was a sweetness about her face that reminded Honoria of her little sister.

After looking Laurie up and down with a disdainful sniff, the barmaid walked out.

‘You wanted to see me, Father Gryffd?’ the girl asked, her face guarded.

‘Yes, Laurie. I wanted to ask about Eva.’

Then Laurie’s eyes widened in concern. ‘Nothing done happened to her, did it?’

‘No, she’s fine,’ Father Gryffd assured her. ‘At least, she was when I saw her after church yesterday.’

Laurie sighed with relief. ‘Thank goodness. Ever since the Lizzie D went down, I’ve worried about her every minute. Last week some of the village boys chased her, throwing stones.’ After glancing over her shoulder, she added in a lowered voice, ‘Johnnie Kessel urged ’em to it, the varmint.’

As Honoria’s dislike for the innkeeper’s son deepened, the vicar shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Laurie. I’ll speak to him.’

The girl tossed her head. ‘You do that, vicar, though it won’t do no good. Thinks he knows better ’n everybody. And won’t let nothing or no one get in his way, neither. So, what did you want to say about Evie?’

‘I’m opening a school for the village girls and wanted your sister to attend—after the others have gone, perhaps, so she wouldn’t be subjected to any unpleasantness. Would your mama agree? And do you think Eva would be, ah, receptive to learning?’

Laurie’s face lit. ‘Evie would love it! She’s so much smarter than anybody hereabouts could credit! Ma would be thrilled to have her go—’ she broke off suddenly, the smile fading ‘—but sorry, Father, we just can’t afford it. I barely earn enough here to keep food on the table and the…other—’ the girl lifted her chin, a defiant look on her face ‘—it don’t pay regular.’

‘There won’t be any charge, Laurie.’

The girl stared at them. ‘You’d let her come…for nuthin’?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Why, when Maimie Crawford went to school in St Just, her da complained every time he stopped for a brew about how it cost the trees to keep her there!’

‘Fortunately, since Sennlack has so few of them, it won’t cost the trees here,’ Father Gryffd answered, smiling. ‘With Miss Foxe’s help, I think I can manage without paying a teacher.’

Laurie gestured toward Honoria. ‘What does she know about my sister’s…trouble?’

‘I met Eva at church yesterday,’ Honoria replied.

Laurie gave her a speculative look. ‘And you’re still willing to teach her? Why?’

‘She seemed very bright to me,’ Honoria replied. ‘Deserving of the same chance to learn as the other girls.’ She smiled. ‘And she gave me flowers.’

Laurie subjected her to a hard scrutiny. Honoria returned her stare without flinching.

Finally, Eva’s sister nodded. ‘Don’t see how you could—a rich, manor-born lady like you—but maybe you do understand. Thank you, then. You, too, Father.’

The vicar nodded. ‘We’re all here to help each other, Laurie. There’s a place in God’s heart for everyone.’

The girl swallowed hard. ‘God and I ain’t exactly been on speaking terms of late, Father, but if you’re willing to do this for Evie, I might have to rethink that.’

The vicar smiled. ‘I hope you will. And you’ll speak to your mother about Eva coming to school?’

‘Aye, I will. Best be getting back to work now, though.’

With another nod, the girl disappeared up the stairs. Turning to Honoria, the vicar said, ‘I ought to stop and check on Mr Kessel’s ailing mother. Will you be all right waiting here, Miss Foxe, until I return?’

‘You needn’t feel you must escort me back to the vicarage,’ Honoria assured him. ‘Sennlack is small enough that I’ll have no difficulty finding my way back to retrieve my horse after I complete Aunt Foxe’s errands.’

After proposing that they discuss the school again after services the next Sunday, Father Gryffd thanked her for her help and walked out. Watching him go, Honoria reflected with amusement that, though the vicar had thanked her, it was really he who was doing her the kindness.

Satisfaction filled her at the thought that, while she was marooned here unscrambling her future, she might use such modest talents as she possessed to help other girls—especially Eva. Something about the little girl touched her heart, even beyond the fact that they had both been cast out of the societies into which they’d been born by circumstances over which neither had had any control.

She was surprised how cheering the idea of being useful was. She didn’t think herself a particularly selfish person, but for all her life up to this point, she’d filled a role—daughter, sister, gentlewoman in the country, member of Society in London. She’d always been busy with a variety of activities—but never, that she could recall, with any tasks she would describe as being truly useful to anyone.

Since her ability to choose which role she would play in future had recently been drastically restricted, perhaps she ought to seek out other ways to be useful. Once her true identity was discovered, which was bound to happen eventually, Father Gryffd might have second thoughts about employing her to assist in a school for innocent girls.

She’d like to have accomplished something towards improving Eva’s situation before that happened.

Sipping the last of her cider, she was wondering over her unexpected connection to an illiterate Cornish child when a deep, melodic voice tickled her ear, stirring every nerve as the sound resonated through her body.

‘Why, Miss Foxe! How delightful to see you again.’

Chapter Six

After spending the morning supervising the crew repairing rigging on the Flying Gull, Gabe walked into the inn to find the very woman whose voice and image had been teasing his thoughts.

She’d been playing an active part in some very lusty dreams, too, he thought with a sigh, but he’d do better to suppress those memories, particularly if he wanted to beguile her into speaking with him. Since he had nothing better to do the rest of the afternoon than read the week-old London papers, attempting to charm this luscious and resistant lady would be a welcome diversion.

Obviously not aware that he resided in one of the inn’s bedchambers, as he addressed her, she gasped in surprise. He had to give her credit, though, for she quickly recovered her countenance and assumed the faintly haughty air she’d employed in the churchyard.

He barely suppressed a grin. Her reaction was like the dropping of a handkerchief at the start of a race: he couldn’t wait to charge forward.

‘Mr Hawksworth,’ she replied with a regal nod. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be off somewhere robbing someone?’

‘Nay, lass, ’tis full daylight. I endeavour to constrain my nefarious activities until after dark,’ he replied.

She stiffened when he called her ‘lass,’ and he could almost see her rapidly reviewing phrases to find one biting enough to put him in his place. She looked so intent—and so indignant, he was hard put not to laugh.

He hadn’t encountered a chick with feathers this easy to ruffle since leaving his brother’s home.

Before she could unfurl her blighting phrase of choice, he continued, ‘Mrs Kessel brews a superior cider. Won’t you share one with me before you leave? It would be entirely proper, I assure you.’ He gestured around the room. ‘We have the whole inn to act as chaperones.’

‘There is such comfort in numbers,’ she replied, irony in her tone as she nodded toward the currently deserted tap room.

To his disappointment, their tête-à-tête ended practically before it began as Sadie rushed in. ‘Mr Hawksworth, sir, what can I do for you? Some ale? The missus be cooking a fine roast. If you’ve a mind for a bite, I’ll see if I can persuade her to fix you a plate now.’

Gabe suspected the persistent tavern maid had been lolling about the corridor, watching for him as she’d developed an irritating tendency to do—and was not at all interested in assisting the inn’s other customer. ‘Just a mug of your finest, Sadie. And a bit more cider for the lady.’

The distinctly unfriendly look Sadie cast at Miss Foxe confirmed Gabe’s suspicion. ‘Think she was about leaving, weren’t you, miss?’

‘Nay, no one could resist a wee bit more of Mrs Kessel’s excellent brew. Why, ’twould be near an unforgiveable insult to that good lady’s skill, and I’m certain you wouldn’t wish to insult the innkeeper’s wife, would you, Miss Foxe?’

The girl’s expression said she was about to do just that when the lady herself walked in. ‘Welcome, Mr Gabe, and you, too, miss! How go things with the Gull?’

‘Tolerable, ma’am. She’ll be ready to hoist sail by nightfall, should it be needful.’

Mrs Kessel nodded. ‘Dickin said his ship’d be ready any day now and he just awaiting word. What can I get you?’

‘Some ale, please. Mrs Kessel, have you met Miss Marie Foxe, Miss Foxe’s niece?’

‘Why, no! Excuse me, miss, I had no idea—’ Breaking off hastily, the innkeeper’s wife dipped her a curtsy, clearly distressed at having perhaps given offence to the relation of such an important area resident. ‘A pleasure to welcome you! Your aunt’s always been good enough to honour us with her custom.’

‘I’ve just been telling her she needs another mug of your cider, which is the best on the coast. Did you not find it so, Miss Foxe?’ Gabe looked at her, grinning.

‘It is excellent, ma’am,’ she allowed, darting him a dagger glance.

‘Why, thank ye kindly, miss. Sadie,’ Mrs Kessel called to the girl lounging near the bar, a sullen look on her face. ‘Another cider for Miss Foxe, and be quick about it!’

There was no way now she could politely refuse, a fact of which she was well aware. Gabe watched her almost grind her teeth in frustration before her expression cleared and she gave the innkeeper’s wife a smile, so unexpected that its warmth and brilliance dazzled him.

‘Thank you, ma’am. I should enjoy one very much.’

Still bedazzled, he scarcely heard her reply, his brain unable to progress beyond thinking that he’d never seen her truly smile before and that, when she smiled like that, half the gentlemen on the Cornish coast would fight each other for the honour of throwing themselves at her feet.

How had she ever escaped London unwed?

Along with his realization of the feet-worshipping power of that smile came a wholly unexpected flash of emotion that felt uncomfortably like jealousy. Quite understandable, he told himself: he had seen the goddess first, and it was only natural to dislike the notion of other acolytes trying to join the procession.

Fortunately, he reflected, after mentally ticking off the possibilities, only a handful of gentlemen resided in the area, half of them already married and the other half attending the Season in Penzance or London. Unless, like some Lady Bountiful, she liked to cast her lovely smiles like coins to the poor, his only competition hereabouts for the pleasure of crossing wits with her would be fishermen, farmers and day labourers.

From Sadie’s expression as she returned with their mugs, the barmaid didn’t like Miss Foxe sharing her brilliant smile with him any more than he liked the idea of some other gentleman basking in its glow. The barmaid tossed Miss Foxe’s mug on the table, splashing a bit of cider on her gown, then sidled up to Gabe and bent low to give him a good view of the assets bulging out the top of her tight bodice as she carefully placed his mug before him.

‘Here ye be, Mr Hawks worth. Anything else you be needing, you holler.’ Slowly she traced her lips with her tongue and smiled. ‘Just…anything.’

Gabe might be sitting across the table from a lovely lady who possessed the most dazzling smile he’d ever beheld; he might be mindful that three strapping brothers with strong protective instincts stood between him and accepting the invitation the wayward Sadie had just tendered him—which truly didn’t interest him in any event. But he was still man enough to enjoy the hip-swaying show Sadie put on as she sashayed back to bar.

He looked up to see Miss Foxe rolling her eyes. ‘Don’t let me keep you from pursuing more satisfying company, Mr Hawksworth,’ she said sweetly.

Her knowing expression said she’d understood perfectly just what sort of offer Sadie had laid on the table with his mug. Whatever her past, she was not a total innocent, then. Her aunt might receive such information with alarm, but for Gabe, interest—and a significant part of his anatomy—stirred at that pleasing conclusion.

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