The Matchmaker's Rogue Read online

  “What could Mr. Denby have done to raise your concerns, Mr. Howland?” she asked.

  He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. She turned to see who he was intent on greeting, only to find Lark approaching.

  He was as well dressed as Lord Featherstone, if as dark as Mr. Howland. Yet the black coat only brought out the reddish threads of his golden-brown hair and made his brown eyes darker, more mysterious. He bowed to them both.

  “Miss Chance, Mr. Howland, a pleasure to see you here.”

  As if she’d be anywhere else.

  “Denby,” Mr. Howland said. But he did not go so far as to question Lark.

  Oh, why did gentlemen have to be so circumspect all the time? The trait was particularly vexing when she was attempting to arrange a match. So was a lady’s reticence. Sometimes she just wanted everyone to speak the truth and get on with things.

  “I believe you wanted to talk to Mr. Denby, Magistrate,” she said.

  Either Lark did not wish to speak to Mr. Howland, or he missed her pointed hint, for he turned to her. “I was hoping to offer myself as your next partner, if you haven’t already promised the dance to another.”

  She looked to the magistrate. He merely nodded. Oh! Must she arrange everything?

  She transferred her hand from Mr. Howland’s arm to Lark’s, only to find a similar tension there. “I’d be delighted, sir.”

  ~~~

  He hadn’t planned to ask her to dance. It seemed wrong to be enjoying himself when others were hunkered down in their villages, fearing the French might invade at any moment. He’d come to the assembly mainly because he’d wondered whether his quarry might attend, a forlorn hope at best. But he’d spotted the usual group from the spa—Lord Featherstone, the General, the Admiral, the Misses Montgomery, Mr. Crabapple, Mrs. Cole and her daughter, and Mrs. Harding. He’d also recognized the Greers and Miss Archer. He had considered leaving, until he’d seen Howland and Jess together.

  And then the blue walls of the elegant assembly rooms had turned rather green.

  Ridiculous feeling. He and Jess were not courting. They had been slightly more than friends eight years ago, and he wasn’t sure what they were now. But he could not deny the sense of purpose that came over him as Jess placed her hand in his keeping. Indeed, it was with a triumph as profound as if he had defeated Napoleon himself that he led her out onto the floor.

  He’d forgotten how light she was on her feet. She skipped through the steps of a country dance, her gloved hands lifting her lilac-colored skirts. The twinkle was back in her blue eyes, as if she encouraged him to smile along with her. He was almost disappointed when it came their turn to stand out.

  “Are you enjoying our little assembly, sir?” she asked.

  He almost asked her to call him Lark again, but he stopped himself. Such a request implied continued association, and he could not promise beyond tomorrow. “A fine showing,” he told her.

  She watched the couple threading their way toward them. “Particularly fine tonight. Mr. Howland does not always grace us with his presence.”

  Interesting. “Odd that a prominent fellow like the magistrate would avoid Society,” he commented. “Why do you think he came tonight?”

  Her sweet smile held just a hint of an edge. “I have no idea, but he seemed as interested in talking about you as you are about him. What have you done, sir?”

  Lark pressed a hand to his black satin-striped waistcoat. “Me? I scarcely know the man.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He was only glad the dance prevented private conversation for the remainder of the set. He was prepared to spin a tale if needed as he escorted her from the floor, but she excused herself to see about supper.

  He ought to see to his duties as well. Howland had been questioning Jess about him, it seemed. Why? The magistrate was the only one who knew the true reason for his visit. If he had questions, he could ask Lark. Yet, as Lark looked around, he could not spot the fellow. It seemed Howland had danced with Jess and left.

  Her aunt sidled up to him just then. “Dark of the moon tonight. You should be headed for France.”

  Not again. “I am not a French spy, madam,” he reminded her.

  She nodded sagely. “Smuggler, then. I thought I caught the scent of brine. The tide won’t turn until near dawn, worst luck.”

  Lark frowned, pulled into the story despite himself. “Why should I care when low tide falls?”

  She cuffed him on the shoulder. “How else are you to sail into the caves?”

  He certainly needed to sail somewhere at the moment, for he felt all at sea. “Caves?”

  “The caves, the caves,” she scolded, obviously exasperated with him. “Under the headland, below Castle How. My goodness, but you must be terrible at your craft. Small wonder you must work as an equerry to pay your bills. You will never amount to anything unless you apply yourself, sir.”

  “So it appears,” he said. She started past him, and he shifted to block her way. “Tell me, Mrs. Tully, are there other smugglers using those caves? I wouldn’t want to run into competition.”

  “Smugglers have used those caves for centuries,” she informed him, as if she’d lived to see it. “More than one drowned attempting it. See that you do better.” Head high, she embarked for the supper room.

  Could he believe her story any more than the tale she’d spun about sighting Napoleon on the headland? Who could he ask to confirm it? Surely not the magistrate. If the caves lay beneath Castle How, Howland might not want to admit it. Few of the others he’d met would be in a position to know the local legends.

  Except Jess.

  The air in the assembly rooms smelled sweeter, as if a cool breeze had blown in from a newly mowed field. He might have a clue at last. He had only to speak to her about it.

  He kept an eye out for an opportunity through supper and the last set of the night. But she was a butterfly, impossible to catch, flitting here and there, making sure everything was going smoothly and everyone was happy.

  Who made sure she was happy? Aside from him and Mr. Howland, no one had asked her to dance. She’d spent a few moments with Miss Archer, the painter, but all other conversations had been fleeting. No one singled her out for attention. Surrounded by acquaintances, she seemed all alone.

  He shrugged off the feeling. She had a purpose, prosperity, the respect of nearly everyone in the village. Who was he to pity her?

  Except, why hadn’t she wed? Surely the village held some eligible bachelors. There were even one or two in Upper Grace, from the letters his sisters sent. Howland was of an age to marry. Had none of them noticed the gem managing the spa? Or, because of the death of her father, had they all assumed she was beneath them? His fists bunched just thinking of it.

  Perhaps that was why he made sure to be waiting at the door when she ushered out the last attendee. An older man, coat sleeve pinned to his side where he’d lost an arm, was escorting a group down the hill under the light of an ornate lamp held high on the pole he carried. A young man was lowering the crystal chandelier, very likely to snuff out the lights. Her aunt came toward them, eyes bright. She’d darted from group to group all night, and she still walked with a lilt in her step.

  He turned to Jess. Her aspect was nearly as bright as her aunt’s. Tenacity must run in the family.

  “Might I have the honor of walking you home?” he asked.

  Lightning flashed in her eyes a moment before she dropped her gaze, and he wondered how he had finally incurred her wrath.

  “No need, Mr. Denby,” she said.

  Why had she put a wall between them? He could feel it looming up, shutting him out.

  “Well, I’ll accept your offer,” Mrs. Tully said, latching onto his arm. “Perhaps you might keep a bit of lace for me, or do you deal in spirits?”

  Jess followed them out the door, leaving her caterer to the cleaning. “Mr. Denby isn’t a merchant, Aunt.”

  “I know that,” Mrs. Tully threw over her shoulder. “He’s a smugg
ler. I’m simply trying to determine what sort.”

  “He isn’t a smuggler either.” Jess came up beside him with an apologetic smile and detached her aunt’s grip from his arm. “Forgive us, sir. We won’t detain you further.”

  Perhaps it was the late hour, perhaps her aunt’s folly, perhaps his frustration or desperation that forced the words from his mouth.

  “Are there smugglers in Grace-by-the-Sea?”

  Her pink lips tightened. “Certainly not. We have been fortunate to escape that blight. Now, goodnight, sir.” She took her aunt’s arm and marched for the cove.

  With a sigh, Lark watched the glow of the lamp carrier’s lantern fade down the hill. As darkness gathered closer, stars popped into view, twinkling. One burned brighter, and it was a moment before he realized what he was seeing.

  High on the headland, where Castle How stood guardian, a light flickered. Had the mighty Howlands returned at last?

  Or was someone else bent on using their grounds, perhaps illegally, despite Jess’s assertion? Is that why Howland had disappeared from the assembly early, to light the lamp that would guide smugglers to Grace-by-the-Sea?

  Chapter Eight

  “You must leave Mr. Denby alone,” Jess told her aunt as they hurried down the hill. Her feet protested. She loved the excitement of the assemblies, but she was always tired afterward. It didn’t help that Lark had asked to walk her home, as if he were a suitor. Did he simply not realize the ramifications? He had two sisters, one who had been married and widowed. Surely he knew how such a request would be viewed, by her and anyone else who noticed.

  She was just thankful to reach the cottage, until she spotted Alex warming himself in front of the fire. Instead of the coat and breeches of a gentleman, he wore a rough wool jacket and striped trousers favored by the local fishermen.

  “What are you doing?” Jess demanded.

  He shifted, and water ran off his clothes to pool on the floor. “Some of us went swimming for fun.”

  Jess shook her head. “In the dead of night, in your clothes?”

  He shrugged. “Too cold for bare skin.”

  “You need tea,” Maudie declared, bustling for the sideboard and the tin kept there.

  “I’m fine, Aunt,” he protested, before lowering his head and his voice to Jess. “Check the tin before she does. I left you something.” He straightened and set about pulling off his things.

  Jess went to intercept her aunt, taking the red-lacquered tin from Maudie before she could open it. “You must be tired, Aunt. Start for bed. I’ll come help you undress shortly.”

  Likely it was the late hour that made Maudie nod and head for the bedchamber she shared with Jess. As soon as the door shut behind her, Jess pulled off the lid on the tea canister.

  They were getting low on the dusky leaves. In the firelight, she could see the flash of tin below. Something brighter glimmered on top. Reaching in two fingers, she drew out a gold coin.

  She whirled toward the hearth. “Where did you get this?”

  But her brother had already climbed the ladder to the loft, leaving the jacket and trousers behind. The wool steamed by the fire as water puddled around them on the floor.

  She set the tin aside and went to the foot of the ladder to peer up into the darkness. “Alex?”

  “Sorry, Jess,” he called down. “I’m worn. We can talk in the morning.”

  No point demanding answers now. Even if he responded, she’d only bring Maudie into it. She didn’t need to hear more of her aunt’s dark fancies. Hers were dark enough at the moment.

  ~~~

  Jess rose early in the morning, but Alex was already gone. Once again she climbed the ladder to confirm as much. She walked to the spa with Maudie, feeling as if her legs had weights on them. She couldn’t help remembering Lark’s question last night, flung at her with desperation on its wings. But smugglers? Here? Grace Cove was small. Surely someone would have noticed strange vessels coming in. And why did Lark care? He could not wish to consort with smugglers! Nor could he be the French spy her aunt named him.

  Could he?

  As if ready for her questions, he was waiting for her at the spa door. His blue coat was neat, his cravat simply tied, but that look of determination was back in his eyes. She thought hers might be just as determined as she inserted the key in the lock.

  “Early again,” she commented.

  “Perhaps I’m just eager for the company,” he said, pushing the door open for her and her aunt to enter. “And good morning to you too, Mrs. Tully.”

  “Did you bring me something from your haul last night?” Maudie asked.

  He followed them as Jess headed for the desk. “Alas, my only haul was in dreams, and none interesting enough to relate.”

  Maudie sucked her cheeks a moment, then nodded. “You will have better luck tonight. I saw the light.”

  Lark went still. “Light?”

  “In the castle window.” She leaned closer and hissed, “It’s a sign.”

  Jess was so out of countenance today she could not appreciate Maudie’s whimsy. “Perhaps you could check on the glasses, Aunt,” she suggested. “I’ll start the impeller. You would likely enjoy seeing the mechanism, Mr. Denby. Gentlemen find it fascinating.”

  He looked every bit as eager, but somehow she didn’t think it was because of the fountain’s inner workings. His question proved as much as he followed her to the stone basin.

  “Did you see the light too?” he asked.

  “Alas, no,” she told him. “Did you?”

  She was sure he would deny it, but he nodded. “I did indeed. Someone lit a candle in Castle How. Have the Howlands come to visit, perhaps?”

  “Doubtful.” She pointed to the lever sticking out below the lip of the fountain before bending to pull on it. “This is connected to a pump designed after ones created in Rome. It uses water pressure to push the water up from the springs below the spa into the fountain.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, leaning closer.

  Jess frowned at him. “Certainly I’m sure. I’ve crawled down into the inner workings with my father.”

  “Not about the impeller,” he said as the mechanism woke up and began its low ticks and clanks that heralded the arrival of the water from the spring. “The light.”

  Jess straightened. “The Howlands haven’t visited since I was a child. The castle is shut up. Mr. Howland inspects it from time to time, but certainly not in the middle of the night.”

  “And the caves below the headland? Are they closed as well?”

  She hadn’t thought about the caves in years. How did he even know about them?

  “Not to my knowledge,” she allowed. “But they might as well be. You need a narrow boat with a shallow bottom to enter from the sea and as the tide is turning. And you’d have to know the channel well. Otherwise, you’d wreck on the rocks near the entrance.”

  “Who knows the route so well?”

  She felt as if his words pressed her against the unyielding stone of the fountain. “Most of us who were raised in Grace-by-the-Sea,” she told him over the splash of water bubbling out of the fountain’s mouth. “It’s something of an honor to be able to say you sailed in and out unscathed. But that has nothing to do with the light in the castle.”

  “Doesn’t it?” he challenged.

  Jess raised her head. “No. No one would be foolish enough to sail those waters after dark. And the passage from the caves up into the castle has been locked for decades.”

  He eyed her. “All I know is that a light was shining like a beacon from Castle How last night. There must be a reason.”

  A reason she feared to discover in front of him. Could Alex have tried to sail into the caves and overturned the boat? Was that why he was soaked? Better that he was trying to prove himself a man than that he was in league with smugglers. Yet, where had he earned that gold?

  “If there was a light, it is none of our affair,” she told Lark. “The waters should be at full strength in a few mo
ments. May I offer you a glass?”

  “No, thank you.” He turned and strode away.

  Jess pressed her hands against the cool stone to keep them from shaking. She had no idea why he cared, and he clearly cared more than someone looking for gossip. No, Lark was looking for a smuggler, and she feared he may have found it, in her brother.

  ~~~

  James Howland stood gazing out the window of his study toward the castle his ancestors had built. His great-grandfather had been earl, but James’ line descended through a number of second sons until there could be no thought of inheritance, only service. His was the key to the castle, the right to inspect quarterly. He hadn’t been inside since the storm in March.

  But someone had. Priestly, his secretary, had reported seeing a light last night. James would be up there investigating now if not for the appointment he had early this morning.

  Jaw working as he tried to stifle a yawn, Priestly showed the fellow in now. The timing of the assembly had been arranged with an eye toward keeping their guests entertained. Heaven help the person who had responsibilities the next morning. James wouldn’t have attended except he’d had an itch to learn how Larkin Denby fared. Nearly a week now, and he was still in Grace-by-the-Sea. What did the fellow hope to prove?

  “Major Stiverson, sir,” his secretary said.

  James turned from the view and his thoughts. “Thank you, Priestly. That will be all.”

  His secretary left, shutting the door behind him.

  James studied the major. Rugged face, with a hint of a scar along one sharp cheek. Lank brown hair held back in a queue. But that red uniform gave him an authority. Or maybe it was the glint in his green eyes.

  “Major Stiverson,” he said to James, voice hinting of a land farther north. “Recruiting Agent for the King.”

  James gave him a brief smile. “I heard you were in my district, Major. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. We have men serving as Sea Fencibles to protect the coast from invasion, but we have no young men capable of fighting in the king’s army.”