His Spoilt Lady (2 page)

“So sorry,
John, my fault entirely. I’ve quite spoiled her, you know,
understandable now you see what a delectable little thing she is.
Actually, she doesn’t mean to be rude, just her little way you
know. Now come along in, how about a brandy, m’boy? Follow me.” He
led the way into his comfortable library, where a fire burned
cheerily in the large stone hearth, the yellow flames throwing
reflections onto the many richly adorned books that lined the
walls. The warm flickering light picked out the odd gleam of gold
lettering on the books’ spines. After pouring out two goblets of
brandy, Sir Thomas gestured John towards the chairs placed
invitingly either side of the welcoming fire. They both sat in
companionable silence for a while, sipping the warming liquid and
contemplating the flames.

Eventually Sir
Thomas spoke. “So to business, John: have you any more information
about that pirate rogue Jacques?”

John shook his
head. “Nothing, the man is like an eel; each time he slips away
without a trace. Still we are lucky we’ve not lost as much to him
as others. George Hayden has been unlucky, a whole cargo of the
finest silks and satins, gold leaf for braid and ribbon. He has
lost a small fortune.” Sir Thomas reached up and scratched under
his wig thoughtfully. “All that finery being worn by those poxy
French whores by now, I shouldn’t wonder. God damn the man to hell
and back! Those Frenchies don’t even drink tea! Wonder where our
cargo ended up, eh?”

John laughed
and shook his head. “We shall never know. He will have got a good
price for it, of that you may be sure. Tea is worth almost as much
as gold these days! Providing we don’t experience any more
misfortunes of the kind, we can cope with the loss of one cargo. We
were lucky not to lose the ship as well. Our next shipment out is
in three weeks, aboard the Tempest. Do you plan to travel with it
on your return to Boston?” Sir Thomas rose to fetch the brandy
decanter, and John nodded assent to his enquiring gaze, holding out
his goblet for a refill.

“That was my
plan, yes. There is a problem, though. This tea levy that Lord
North has introduced -- the colonists are enraged by what they see
as an attempt by the English Government to redeem their losses from
the war with France by exploiting them. So they are simply not
buying tea,” John explained, shaking his head.

Sir Thomas
looked thoughtful. “Well, there was a great fuss made about the
Declaratory Act in ‘66, after the Stamp Act was repealed in
Parliament. That blew over, but I tend to think this will lead to a
temporary dip in relations with America, only a minor business
setback I am sure.”

John shook his
head pensively. “I wish I could share your confidence, sir, but the
mood in Boston is very anti-English, especially now with a garrison
stationed in the town. Mother, however, continues to hold her
lavish tea parties, and so far has kept up at least our regular
sales.”

Sir Thomas
chuckled, saying, “Wonderful woman your mother, has a head for
business as sharp as any man! Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look at
the possibility of carrying some other cargoes, just in case this
gets out of hand. You are still adamant I suppose that we shouldn’t
touch on the slave market?” John nodded his face grim, “I will not
be involved in trading in human misery, Sir Thomas.”

“Well, well, we
could think about cloth then eh? The mills in the North of England
are churning out some wonderful materials, thanks to the new
machinery and at a good price, too. We could make quite a profit,
I’d be bound. Leave that to me; I’ll make some enquiries, my boy.
Now then, what do you think of my girl Linnett, a little beauty
eh?”

John sipped his
brandy, pondering his careful reply. “She is certainly a rare
beauty. I wonder, though...will I have enough time to court her?
She seemed a trifle, er, frosty, when we were introduced just now.
Three weeks seems a short time to woo a reluctant bride. Have you
told her of your intention to arrange this match for her?”

“Well,
ye....es... I said what a handsome fellow you were and told her
that you were my partner in business now that your father had
passed on. I said it would be a splendid thing if the two of you
made a match. Linnett’s a little umm, highly strung….all came as a
bit of a shock for her!” Sir Thomas refilled John’s glass. “Give it
a few days, John. I know my girl, see if I don’t! She’ll come
around. Why, I’ll wager by this time next week, you will have her
eating out of your hand!”

During the next few days, John had difficulty spending
any time at all in Linnett’s company. She was always out of doors,
generally riding. Sir Thomas’s appeal to her to show John the
estate was simply ignored. After a spending a day or two trying to
track the elusive Miss Wainwright down, John was despairing of ever
having the opportunity to acquaint himself with her. He enlisted
the help of an under-groom at great cost -- a gold sovereign no
less. The groom was to let him know when Linnett next went out
riding for he was to have a horse saddled and ready for John’s use.
Word duly came that Linnett had requested her horse Pango to be
ready for ten o’clock that morning, the third since John’s arrival
at the Hall.

John hurried
for his horse only to see his quarry disappearing out of the stable
yard at a canter, into a chilly morning lit by bright, pale
sunshine. Muttering a curse, he yelled for the boy to bring round
his horse quickly, but by the time John had ridden after her,
Linnett was out of sight. John rode in the direction he had first
seen her on the day of his arrival. He gave the horse its head and
urged him on at speed, both man and horse enjoying the freedom and
exhilaration of the ride.

John slowed his
horse to a trot, and they were approaching a thicket of trees when
a rider suddenly burst forth and galloped away in the direction
John had just travelled. It was, without a doubt, Linnett
Wainwright, her hair flying out behind her like a streak of bright
lightning. John urged his horse forward and gave chase. Linnett
knew that he was pursuing her and determined to lose him. John,
however, was an excellent horseman and had no intention of losing
sight of his quarry again. They raced on until, to Linnett’s
furious dismay, John drew alongside of her mount, riding at
breakneck speed for a mile or so until he drew close enough to lean
over and grab Linnett’s reins. Holding tight to the leather halter,
he gradually slowed both horses to a walk, all the while calming
Linnett’s mount with soothing words in his deep American drawl.

Indignantly,
Linnett tried to slap John’s hands away from the reigns, but to no
avail. She turned on him furiously, her green eyes flashing with
rage. “You utter fool! What do you think you are doing? You might
have killed me!” John studied Linnett’s flushed face, his eyes then
straying to the swell of her rounded breasts, and immediately he
experienced a tightening in his loins. He shifted uncomfortably in
the saddle, trying in vain to ease the uncomfortable increasing
tightness of his breeches. He was most pleasantly surprised by his
body’s instant reaction to the girl. A smile twitched at his lips
as he attempted to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Oh, come now. I
think you exaggerate, Miss Wainwright, a fine horse woman such as
yourself? It would take at least a thunderbolt to unseat you.”

Or a lusty
fellow such as myself, he thought privately. “What is it that you
want with me, Mr. Foster?” Linnett interrupted him impatiently.
John raised an eyebrow at her abruptness, but he made no comment,
deciding it was a good thing she was no mind reader, for she would
flee if she could discern his thoughts.

Linnett sat
awaiting his reply, glowering, a mulish expression marring her
pretty features. When John made no attempt to reply, she tossed her
head and looked haughtily in the other direction, thinking that
since he had engineered this encounter he could carry the
conversation; all she wanted was to be left alone to her own
devices. They sat in an uneasy silence until the horses, growing
restless, began to dance around, snorting and stamping their feet,
impatient to be on the move again.

John openly
assessed Linnett. He admired her proud profile and straight back
and the soft wisps of her dark honey-coloured hair that had escaped
the chignon in which she’d tried to arrange it and floated around
her pretty, if sullen, face. John had a sudden urge to reach out
and smooth back the silky strands, but he resisted and kept firm
hold on his reigns. Shifting his weight in the saddle, he sighed
heavily. “I suppose,” he drawled, “it was too much to expect
courtesy from you, Miss Wainwright, although I thought that at the
very least you would honour your father’s request that you show me
over the Lavenstock estate. Perhaps you are unaware that I am a
very stubborn man, Miss Linnett Wainwright, and I will not leave
your house until I have spent some time with you, especially since
it is your father’s wish that we become further acquainted. I would
have thought that to accomplish this, you would see the sense in
our continuing to ride together to fulfil your obligation to your
father.”

Two spots of
red colour appeared on Linnett’s cheeks. Who did this man think he
was, to point out her duty to her father, knowing nothing at all
about her! Instantly she came to a decision, at least if I show him
around the estate my duty is then done and I can then ignore the
wretched man, she reasoned.

The truth be
told, Linnett felt very uneasy in John’s presence for some reason,
and she could not fathom why he made her nervous. He was so
arrogant, so darkly forbidding, not at all the type of man she
would consider for her husband. Taking a sideways look at him from
beneath lowered lashes, she observed his stern, hawk-like profile,
his hooded pewter gaze. Linnett cast her eyes downwards over his
self-assured body, the powerful shoulders, sturdy thighs clad in
fawn riding breeches, muscles standing out as he controlled the
restless movements of the horse between his thighs. Linnett
shivered at the very thought of enduring such a man as a husband.
Her taste ran to an altogether different breed of gentleman, one
man in particular with merry blue eyes and a quick and ready
smile.

Taking a deep
breath, Linnett said coldly, “Very well, Mr. Foster, I will escort
you on a tour of our estate because my father has requested it of
me. Will you then agree to leave me in peace?”

John frowned
thoughtfully. “Do I invade your peace of mind so much then, Miss
Wainwright?” he asked mildly.

Linnett
flushed, lifted her chin and glared at him. “You seem to be
ignorant of the fact that since my mother is dead. I am not Miss
Wainwright but Lady Wainwright. Please try to remember that fact,
Mr. Foster. Come along… if you still wish to see the estate, that
is?” Without waiting for a reply, Linnett turned her horse with a
flourish and cantered off. John urged his mount forward and
muttered an acerbic curse, one definitely not for a lady’s ears,
before he galloped after her.

First, they
rode the estates boundaries, and then Linnett led John to a small
row of farm cottages. All were in reasonably good repair except the
first, which had a battered, dilapidated front door and shutters
missing from most of the windows. Linnett jumped down from her
horse and was greeted by a pair of yapping mongrels, which she
stooped to pat, before walking to the cottage and rapping at the
door with the end of her riding crop. John dismounted and followed,
assuming that was what she expected.

The door was
opened by an elderly, unkempt man. His hair, what remained of it,
hung in thin, greasy strands. His clothing was stained, and he
emitted a pungent odour of unwashed body. At the sight of Linnett,
however, his face broke into an almost toothless grin. “Ah, ‘tis
yerself is it? Come to see Esmerelda, have ee!” He flung the old
wooden door wide for Linnett to enter. John followed behind,
listening to Linnett chatting easily with the old man.

“Has she
whelped yet, Jacob?”

“Ay, she has
that, Miss, yesterday t’was.”

“How many?”
asked Linnett.

“Would ye
believe nine?”

“Nine!?”
Linnett exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Shamus led them
through the untidy, foetid cottage and out of the back, where a
large brick pen, smelling strongly of pig, stood. Linnett leaned
over the wall, excitedly exclaiming over the nine small piglets
that lay nestled close to their large pink mother. “Hello, my
darling, what a clever girl you are. Nine little babies just as
lovely as their mam! You will let me hold them in a day or two
won’t you, Esmerelda? Look at the little sweetings!” she said,
turning shining green eyes to John. He listened in amazement as
this aloof and beautiful girl cooed lovingly at a large, rather
dirty, not to mention smelly, porcine mother. All her past
animosity towards John seemed forgotten as she explained that pigs
liked to keep their piglets to themselves for a few days before
they allowed others to hold them.

“How did you
become so enamoured with hogs, Lady Wainwright?” he asked her
curiously. Linnett gave Shamus a wide smile and he gave her a wink,
breaking into a phleghmy cough before saying, “Ah, well t’was like
this -- I’ve two dogs, d’y see, always ‘ad two, blest if I knows
why?” Jacob stopped speaking and scratched his stubbly chin
thoughtfully.

Linnett
chuckled and carried on the tale. “One of Jacob’s dogs was known to
be fierce; in fact, my father was always saying that he would knock
it on the head, if ever it bit anyone. When I was eight or
thereabouts, I was down here in the apple orchard scrumping apples
with the village children, well strictly speaking they were
scrumping but since we own the orchard, I was not.” Linnett waved a
hand at the orchard that ran up almost to the back of the
cottages.