Change of Address (9 page)

“Yes. Yes of course.” Charlie waved toward the door. “You
may go ahead of me and I shall ride my own mount back. I need to leave a few
instructions with the servants who will be staying here as temporary help.”

Thankfully, his father accepted that excuse and left without
protest. After he closed the door behind him, Charlie collapsed against it with
a heavy sigh.

“When did Puckett leave?” Amanda asked immediately. “I am so
surprised I did not hear his departure—it must have been rather raucous.”

“It was rather fictitious is what it was,” Charlie admitted.
“He is still upstairs asleep.”

“So all that you said about him running off in fear of the
magistrate was a lie?”

“I prefer to think of it as a wish, but yes, it has not yet
come to pass.” With another sigh he pushed himself away from the door. “I will
now test my powers of persuasion on Mr. Puckett.” He started toward the stairs.

Amanda followed him. “You could do as your father suggested
and simply pay the man to leave.”

“Ah,” Charlie explained as he started up the spiral
staircase, “but Papa was correct in thinking that when the money is gone, the
scoundrel will return for more.”

“Perhaps a combined bribe and threat?” Her voice sounded
behind him, so she was following him up the stairs.

He turned back to her and grinned. “I had much the same
thought myself. Superior minds operate in tandem.”

“Or perhaps one merely copies the other,” she teased.

“Hmpf,” he scoffed as he faced forward and continued his
climb up to the landing. “You cannot prove you were the originator of the
idea.”

“I have no need to prove it. You did not voice the idea so I
could not have possibly copied it from you. You must have copied from—”

The door to Amanda’s bedchamber opened inward and slammed
into the wall. “Aw now will ye give over with all the bickering?” Puckett
demanded. “Yer both givin’ me a mighty ache in m’skull.”

Amanda yelped and started immediately back down the stairs.
Oliver jumped forward and placed himself between Puckett and Charlie. “Sorry,
sir,” he apologized. “I was not keeping watch as I ought.”

“It is of no consequence,” Charlie assured him. “Bartholomew
Puckett means no harm to any of us, I am certain.” He turned to Puckett. “Am I
not correct?”

“Oh no, don’ go embroilin’ me in any of yer arguments. I
won’ take sides.”

“So you
do
mean to harm us then?”

“What? No, ‘course not Master Charlie.”

“Very good, then. Well, if you will agree to clear off and
never to return, then I think nothing more need be said of the night’s
unfortunate incidents.”

“Incidents?” Puckett looked around. “Where’s yer father?
Afraid to show?”

“Hardly. He is waiting downstairs for you, in fact. But it
is you who should be afraid to show.”

“I amn’t afraid of no one.”

“I did not mean to imply that you were. However, should you
set foot outside, then the magistrate we summoned will have no choice but to
arrest you for the various crimes of the past evening, and you cannot even
begin to explain your presence in this house without admitting to at least half
of them.”

He swallowed. “Ye brought ole Beardsley here? On Christmas
morning? Are ye stark ravin’? He’d commit murder hisself just to lay the blame
on me.”

“I will admit the errand did not seem to bring him much
Christmas joy.”

“I should say no.” Puckett rubbed his chin, which was so bristly
Charlie could have sworn he heard the coarse hairs rub against one another. “I
gotta go.” He pushed past Oliver.

“Yes,” Charlie agreed with a nod as he started back down the
stairs “and you must stay. Away, that is.” He turned around to make certain
Puckett understood him. “Preferably far away. For good.”

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Puckett
stopped and rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand. “Where am I t’go,
though? I’ve no money.”

“I have no answer for your destination, but as for your
monetary difficulties, I believe I can be of some assistance. However, you must
first make your escape from this property with all due haste, and without being
sighted by either Mr. Beardsley or my father. I suggest you make use of that
side window again.”

“Excellen’ suggestion, Master Charlie.”

He bristled at Puckett’s continual use of a name which
should have been discarded along with short pants, but decided if he was never
to see the wastrel again, it would not matter how the man addressed him now. He
gestured toward the window. “Make your way to the Crooked Billet—you are
familiar with the pub?”

Puckett nodded. “Aye.”

“Then wait for instructions there. I will see to the
necessary arrangements.”

With another nod, the man started past him toward the
window, but Charlie held up his hand.

“And Puckett,” Charlie warned with a smile, “should you
think of returning to the region, I would advise against it. We will continue
to collect evidence of your misdeeds for presentation to the magistrate and he
has not the scruples against capital punishment that one finds so often in
other localities. I imagine were you to return, you would find yourself on the
docket of the next assize.”

With a grunt of agreement Puckett plunged toward the side
window, scrabbling to open the cracked shutters and flinging himself out into
the cold, wet grass.

For a moment everything was quiet. A gust of wind smelling
faintly of the sea sliced through the open window and Amanda shivered. Charlie
had almost forgotten that she was still there.

He stepped over to the window immediately to close the
shutters, struggling to connect the latch where the wood had split. “He really
made a hash of these, remind me to have them replaced.”

“Oh, I shall,” Amanda promised.

“Allow me, sir,” Oliver offered, stepping toward him.

“No, Oliver.” He turned to the footman. “If you do not
object, I will send you to the village to find a carter, someone interested in
earning a good bit of extra money by working this holiday.

“Sir?”

“Hire someone with a cart to drive Puckett to an inn at
least two days ride away.”

“In which direction, sir?”

“I don’t care, preferably downwind, I suppose. Once you’re
there, leave him money to provide lodging and board for a month. And remind him
of his notoriety in these quarters.”

“Yes sir.”

“See Jameson before you set off and he’ll set you up with
the necessary funds.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Well? You’d better hurry. Papa and the magistrate will be
looking for him at any moment.”

Oliver looked distinctly confused. “Y-yes, sir.” But his
instructions were clear even if the motivation was not, so he quickly departed.

That left him alone with Amanda again. But strangely enough,
now that all the anxiety had passed, instead of feeling ecstatic at the chance
to spend a few moments with the beauty of his dreams, he just felt drained and
exhausted.

She said nothing and he wondered whether all the falsehoods
he’d just told had disgusted her. He had been surprised at how readily the lies
sprang to his tongue.

Stifling a yawn, she returned to the settee.

He stepped over to the window, glancing out at the wet, gray
countryside which looked as if it had just been washed, somewhat worn and dull
but clean and fresh at the same time. He leaned against the window frame. “I
thought of writing a note to Puckett, to remind him of why he should not
return.”

“I doubt the man can read.”

“True, he’d most likely use the note for bum fodder.”
Horrified, he straightened up and hoped she hadn’t heard him.

She laughed.

“I’m so—” He raked his hands through his hair. “I cannot
believe I just said that.”

“Why?” She laughed again. “It’s closer to the truth than
anything you’ve said so far this morning.”

He grimaced. So she did not approve.

“That was a most impressive display of quick wit,” she
continued. “Did you sit up the rest of the night planning it all out while I
slept?”

“Oh no. I just said whatever came to mind.” He felt a bit
hopeful—she actually seemed more impressed than disgusted. “Whatever I needed
to say to prevent two men from fighting senselessly.”

“On Christmas morning, no less.”

“Yes.” He was suddenly struck with the urge to look for
mistletoe such as the servants might hang in the hall during their Christmas
revels. Silly, of course, the Castlings had no servants and no servants’ hall
and scarcely any furniture, so the last thing they would think of would be
superstitious bits of Christmas greenery.

He was tired. His thoughts were making little sense.

“Come sit by me again,” she urged with a shy smile. It was a
new expression; whatever characteristics he had seen before, shyness was not
one of them.

It made the command impossible to refuse.

As soon as he was seated she laid her head on his shoulder.
“This is completely improper, isn’t it?” she asked, seeming serenely
unconcerned about the answer.

“I believe it is,” he murmured into her hair, stopping
himself just before he kissed the top of her head. Despite their easy
familiarity now, she really had known him only a short time and he did not want
to frighten her.

“Does my hair smell funny?”

He laughed and she joined in—exhaustion made everything much
more amusing than it should have been.

“Why were you sniffing my hair?” she asked, looking up at
him.

“I wasn’t sniffing it.”

“Then what were you doing?”

He wanted to confess but couldn’t believe his nerve, and
that made him laugh again. “If you must know, I wanted to kiss it.”

“Kiss my hair? Really, Charlie.” She sat back, away from
him. “And I had almost begun to think you were not such a dunderhead.”

“I’m sorry.”

A smile hovered on her lips as she leaned close to him
again. “If you gave the matter any thought at all, I’m sure you would realize
that I would much rather be kissed here.” She raised a hand to her lips.

“Would you?”

“Well, at least in preference to the top of my head.”

“We will compare to be certain. Do you prefer this?” He
planted a kiss on the crown of her head. “Or this?” Gently he reached out to
tilt her chin up toward him. Despite their silly banter of only a moment ago,
they suddenly both grew shy again. On Charlie’s part, he realized that this
kiss would have more significance than any he’d ever given or received before;
it was more than the result of a juvenile flirtation or infatuation or game. It
would mean something.

Amanda hesitated. Her first kiss, other than of a close
relative, was supposed to be reserved for the moment of her betrothal, wasn’t
it? She shouldn’t kiss just any young man, even if he had good looks and a
pleasing manner and together the two of them had thwarted a foolish plan to
bring death and disgrace on both their families. But then she decided that last
circumstance might be as good an occasion as a betrothal. Reaching out, she
pulled him close and brought her lips to his.

After a wonderful, totally indeterminable amount of time had
passed she pulled away from him. “My mother and sister will be returning soon
to dress for church.”

“Don’t worry. We will hear the horses.” He drew her close
again.

“You realize,” she murmured as she paused for breath, “that
if my mother comes in and sees us in such compromising circumstances you shall
have to offer for me immediately.”

“I don’t mind.”

She sat back. “I do. I scarcely know you. We’ve only met the
Wednesday past.” Though given the events that had transpired in those few days,
she felt she knew him far better than would be expected in such a short
acquaintance. She had seen him behave foolishly and admirably under duress, and
even the foolish behavior, she had to admit, had a certain gallant charm.

She leaned forward to plant one final kiss on his lips
before rising from the settee and trying to tuck her hair back into some
semblance of order. “I will see you at dinner.”

“Yes, and at church, too,” he reminded her with a pout. “But
it won’t be the same.”

“No, it will not,” she agreed, trying to eye her reflection
in a brass wall sconce to see if she looked presentable enough to convince her
mother that nothing untoward had happened in her absence. She paused. “I
believe I do hear the carriage.”

With a sudden burst of speed, he sprang from the settee,
wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. “I will not be
able to do this at dinner.”

She laughed. “No, I should think not. Nor in church either.”

“I promise you I will be thinking about it all the while,
though.”

“Isn’t that a sacrilege?”

“I’m willing to take that chance.”

“So you are willing to let me be the instrument of your
eternal damnation?” She glanced at door. “I am not certain Mama would approve.”

“I assume,” he said with a sigh, “that is a hint that I
should let you go?”

She disentangled his fingers from around her waist, stepped
aside and smiled up at him. “For now, yes.”

Chapter Five

The sun never gained much strength during the day, but even
now, as it began to sink in the sky, its distant fragile beauty still lent a
note of grace to the stark, windswept countryside. Amanda would have preferred
a few more trees, but she was learning to appreciate the wildness of the
coastal landscape and the knowledge that the sea lay just out of sight was
somehow exciting and comforting at the same time.

She turned to her mother as the Hilliar carriage came into
view. “Have you any idea of the time? I would hate to be late for Christmas
dinner.”

“What time are we expected?” Honoria asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Then we cannot very well be late, can we?” she pointed out.
“In any case, they have not supplied us with a clock so how could they expect
us to keep to a specific time?”

“We will arrive before early candlelight, and that should be
sufficient,” her mother reassured her.

Amanda bit her lip and paced a few steps before turning back
around. “Robin was looking somewhat distressed before we sent him to fetch the
carriage. I think he meant for us to do so sooner but could not bring himself
to say so.”

“Why are you so concerned with proprieties, daughter?” Her
mother smiled gently. “I’ve never known you before to care whether you kept
friends waiting.”

Honoria leaned toward them with a big smirk. “There is a
particular friend that she does not wish to keep waiting.”

Amanda had to curb the urge to smack her in the face with
her reticule.

“Oh dear. Unless she refers to Miss Hilliar, and I think
from the murderous look on your face that she does not, then I believe I must
have words with you, daughter. Honoria, it is a lovely afternoon and I think
you would very much enjoy riding with the coachman.”

“You wouldn’t!” Amanda was appalled at the impropriety and
at the same time gratified that her mother would subject her younger daughter
to such indignity just to have a few moments private conversation. Then again,
given her mother’s love of horses, she probably considered it an honor to ride
in view of them.

Honoria was helped up on to the box with an extra muffler
tucked around her head to keep off any chill from the wind. Then Amanda and her
mother took their seats inside.

She felt her nose wrinkle. “I did not notice such an odor of
pickle when we rode in this vehicle last night.”

“We all had other things to occupy our attention,” her
mother pointed out. “And one of those things is still occupying yours. Honoria
seems to think you’ve shown a decided preference for young Mr. Hilliar’s
company. Is that true?”

“Well, at first not so much, but then recently, yes. I do
enjoy his company.” Her face heated as a vision of their kisses on the settee
flashed through her mind. She hoped it was dark enough inside the carriage that
her mother would not notice.

“You must be very careful around men, my dear. Up until now
you’ve shown little interest in the weaker sex, so I’ve seen no need to enter
this discussion but now I fear I may be too late.”

“Certainly not.” She must be red as a ripe cherry by now.

Her mother put her hand on Amanda’s knee. “My child, you do
not yet know what men are capable of. They make promises with no intention of
keeping them. Do not let yourself be swept away by a dashing figure and
handsome promises. Do not be free with your affection.”

The sadness in her mother’s voice made her wonder whether
she herself had once been swept away by such promises.

“You must exercise prudence when looking for a partner,” she
continued, “but you must not be so concerned with practicality that you marry
solely for pecuniary reasons.”

“I understand.” Why was she so determined to impart all this
information now, when they had so little time?

She smiled. “You are confused. I should have had this discussion
with you long before, but as I said, you seemed so disinterested and we had so
few young gentlemen among our acquaintance at Holingbroke.”

“True enough.”

“It was not until John Castling—” Her mother stopped and
turned away. “Ah, but see? We have almost arrived.”

Then Amanda remembered her conversation with Charlie. “Did
our cousin offer for my hand?”

Her mother turned back to her, eyes wide with surprise. “How
did you know? Did he speak to you directly? I told him under no circumstances—”

She shook her head to interrupt. “No, he said nothing to me.
Charlie—Mr. Hilliar—suggested that might have been the case. He said it would
be usual, in our situation. That makes sense. He is the heir to the property
and I am the eldest daughter. It would have been the smart thing to do, would
it not?”

“Please believe me, Amanda. I would never sell you to John
Castling or any other man just to see to our physical comfort.”

“But you could not let me make that decision for myself?”
She didn’t know exactly why, but it angered her that her mother had exercised
the choice on her behalf, even though it was what she would have chosen
herself.

“I’m couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“You did not trust me to make the right choice.”

“There is no right or wrong choice, but there are choices
that may be best for you and some that may be better for others. I wanted what
was best for
you
.”

Amanda paused, realizing she had not been fair in voicing
objections. “I believe you did. Thank you, Mama.”

“Now we’d best get out or we really will be late for dinner.
And do mind my warning. Charles Hilliar is a handsome young gentleman who is
plainly besotted with your beauty—”

She groaned. “Oh, Mama…”

“You know it’s true. But he is too young to know his mind
yet. As are you. I will try to cultivate a good circle of acquaintance for us
here so that you may meet other eligible gentlemen before you make your
choice.”

“You wish me to shop for a husband? As I would shop for a
bonnet?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“But you detest shopping.”

“It might have served me better if I had forced myself, on
occasion.”

Before Amanda could inquire into her mother’s hints of past
regrets, a knock sounded on the carriage door.

“Mama?” Honoria asked. “Is something amiss?”

Amanda opened the door in her sister’s face, nearly knocking
her over. “Sorry!”

“Not bloody likely,” Honoria muttered with dark look.

Amanda waited as a footman lowered the steps. “I hope Mama
did not hear you say that.”

“And I hope you both are seated at opposite ends of the
table at dinner,” her mother announced as she stepped out. “Or they may not ask
us back again.”

Charlie grimaced and shook his head as the footman offered a
dish of cauliflower pudding to Amanda. “Skip that one as well. It is atrocious.
I should not have asked for it.”

She tried not to laugh too loudly as she shook her head to
the footman to allow him to replace the dish on the other side of the table.
“Will you let me try nothing for myself?” she asked in a low voice.

“I am simply trying to spare you the pain, but please, feel
free. In fact, I shall not take any of this oyster pie and you may taste it for
me.”

“Very well.” She nodded but started to wonder at the wisdom
of her choice when Charlie ladled a gray lump of undercooked pastry and
shellfish onto her plate. It tasted as bad as it looked—slimy, doughy and with
a surfeit of salt.

Then she looked at the table heaped with platters of food,
jugged pigeons, potato pudding, calves foot pie, ragout veal and more, covering
most of the Hilliar’s enormous dining room table. And all of it inedible. The
only exception thus far had been the roast goose, which shone like a pearl on a
table full of sludge.

“Well?” Charlie asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“You may try the next dish first.”

He shook his head. “It is much as I suspected. The goose is
cooked to perfection, because it is a favorite of Papa’s. And in the next
course, there will most likely be a good joint of beef and a haricot mutton of
which he is particularly fond.”

“But why is every other dish ruined?”

He took a sip of his wine and pretended not to have heard
her.

“I heard one of the footman say that your Cook does not like
guests,” Honoria announced from across the table.

“Honoria!” Amanda was not certain whether she felt more
embarrassed over her sister’s uncouth recounting of servant’s talk or the fact
that she had uttered her own words loudly enough for them to be heard on the
other side of the table.

Isabel, who sat next to her on her left side, sighed. “It is
true, she does dislike guests. But soon enough you will be considered more as
members of the family and then she will become used to the idea of cooking for
you.”

“Members of the family?” Amanda repeated uncertainly.
Suddenly everyone seemed to be making assumptions about her relationship with
Charlie and she was not sure whether that pleased her or not.

“Because you live so close in the Dower house,” Isabel
explained quickly, “and you will be here often I know because I am starved for
good company. At least, I hope you will be here often.” She took a sip of wine
and turned her gaze toward Mrs. Castling. “But I did wonder whether your mother
might prefer to move to a larger establishment.”

“Nonsense,” her mother said firmly. “The stable is just the
right size.”

“And the house?” Charlie asked, masking a smile. “It is only
the remaining wing of an ancient family seat. Well made, but very small and
very, um…”

“Traditional,” her mother insisted.

“I was going to say antiquated. Or outmoded. Or just plain
old.”

“Age has a great deal to recommend it, Mr. Hilliar,” she
said with a smile, “as you will find out yourself one day.”

Charlie colored. “Forgive me, I meant no—”

“No offense is taken, of course. I find that this
neighborhood will suit us well. The countryside is ideally situated for riding,
the house will not tax our income and will in fact allow us to set aside enough
money for a London season, should Amanda so wish it.”

Amanda felt her fork slip through her fingers. “But you said
a season was a preposterous waste of money.”

“And so it is, but the economies of living here will enable
us to waste a
small
preposterous amount, should you so desire.”

“I-I hadn’t considered such a thing before.”

“You have time to think on it. Ah, here they’re ready to
clear for the second course.”

“I’m not sure it is worth the effort,” Amanda said
sotto
voce
to Charlie.

“Don’t worry,” Charlie assured her. “In addition to the beef
and mutton we will have Cook’s Christmas pudding, which she prepared many weeks
before she became aware that we would have guests.”

“Then perhaps she will encourage the footmen to drop it on
the way out of the kitchen?”

“Ah, no they would not. They like you.” His smile said so
plainly what he could not add aloud in words, that he shared their opinion.
Then his countenance clouded. “Do you really mean to go to town? Would you go
this spring?”

She laughed. “I honestly don’t know. I think Mama intends to
take me shopping.”

She could not be certain whether he guessed at the commodity
for which her mother wished her to shop, but he did say, “There is no need to
go so far as London for that. You can find
everything
you need right
here. Oh, damn, she set the holly on fire.”

“What?”

“S’cuse my language.” He reached out into the middle of the
table where the plum pudding had been set in a pool of flaming brandy. The
green holly branch which at first stood tall like a flag on a mast was rapidly
turning black and curling downward in surrender. An acrid, burning smell filled
the air.

At first, she thought he might stick his hand into the
comestible inferno, but he apparently changed his mind and instead grabbed his
father’s wineglass and dumped the contents on the blaze, quickly dousing it.

“Eh?” His father squinted at the sopping mess in confusion.
“What on earth are you about, Charlie?”

He replaced his father’s empty glass at his place. “It is
your fault for not firing that dreadful women years ago.”

His father signaled the footman for more wine. “Her
grandmother was my nurse, you know. I could never fire her.”

“I see. Just as you could never ask Puckett to leave.”
Charlie sighed. “Very well, then. May we hope that her insults never gall you
to the point that you feel the need to demand satisfaction.”

“What? Oh that would never happen. I am too much the
gentleman for that. Would you pass me the bread?”

Charlie selected a Sally Lunn roll from the basket in front
of him and hefted it for a moment as if testing the weight. Then he winked at
Amanda. “Why certainly, sir.”

“I hope your aim is good,” she whispered.

“When I keep my eye on the target,” he answered, “I never
miss. And I don’t intend to start now.” And though he was looking at her
instead of his father when he said the words, somehow he managed to succeed.