She could lose everything now, if Minerva’s “helpful” reports weren’t contained.
“Minerva, you’re mistaken,” she said firmly. “You weren’t wearing your spectacles, and you don’t know what you saw.” To the others, she declared, “I swam out to check on Lord Rycliff’s health. We were discussing it when Minerva came along.”
“That wasn’t discussing, it was grappling,” Minerva said. “And I’m not that blind. I know very well what I saw. He kissed you!”
Mrs. Lange made an outraged squawk. “I knew it. Men are such filthy invaders. I shall write a poem.”
“He kissed you?” Kate’s eyes flew wide. “Lord Rycliff kissed you? Yesterday?”
“Yes, he did,” Minerva answered for her. “And it wasn’t the first time, from the looks of things. Clearly he’s been molesting her ever since he arrived in the neighborhood.”
Susanna lowered herself onto the nearest bench. She felt her life unraveling at its seams.
“Oh, this is wonderful,” Mrs. Highwood said, coming to sit at Susanna’s side. “I knew you’d caught his eye, my dear. And Lord Payne has shown a marked preference for my Diana. Just think, the two of you could be cousins by marriage!”
“I am not marrying Lord Rycliff,” Susanna insisted. “I don’t know what would cause you to say such a thing.” And she wished the older woman would stop saying it so loud. The man was still on the grounds of Summerfield, and there was no way of knowing when he might wake. He could be awake now.
He might be stretching, flexing those powerful limbs beyond the edges of the mattress and yawning like a grizzled lion.
“Lord Payne has not shown me any particular favor,” Diana said. “Honestly, I don’t wish him to.”
“Pish. The man asked you to cut his hair! He’s titled, handsome as the devil, and rich besides. Pretty as you are, he’ll no doubt offer for you soon. See if you can’t contrive to be trapped in a cove with him. A kiss would do the trick, I warrant.”
“Mama!” Diana and Minerva spoke in unison.
“What is wrong with all of you?” Mrs. Highwood asked, looking from one to the other. “These men are lords. They are powerful, wealthy. You ought to encourage them.”
“Believe me, encouragement is the last thing that’s needed.” Upon speaking the words, Susanna instantly worried. Would Bram take their encounter last night as encouragement? Did she wish him to? They understood each other now, on a level that went more than skin-deep. Assuming he retained some memory of the conversation when he woke.
“Lord Rycliff is not looking for a wife,” she said firmly. “And neither is his cousin. If we were so foolish as to ‘encourage’ them, we would risk not only our own reputations, but the reputation of Spindle Cove.” She looked from woman to woman around the group. “Do you all understand me? Nothing is going on here. Nothing.”
“But, Miss Finch—” Minerva objected.
“Minerva.” Susanna turned to her, hoping her new friend would someday understand and forgive her this harshness. “I am sorry to say it, but you are mistaken in what you saw, and your persistence is becoming wearisome. Lord Rycliff did not attack me yesterday, or any day. Nothing improper has transpired between us. In fact, he only made that jump from the cliff because he thought you had drowned and he hoped to save your life. To impugn his character after that brave, albeit misguided action seems most ungracious. My part in this conversation is concluded.”
Minerva blinked at her, clearly hurt. Susanna felt horrible, but the future of their community was at stake. Where would Minerva hunt her fossils if word reached London of spinsters gone wild, and the Queen’s Ruby was forced to close its doors?
“We’ll be called to tea shortly.” She picked up her basket and headed inside. “Until then, I’ll be in the stillroom, pounding herbs. I’m running low on liniment.”
Kate followed her. “I’ll help.” As they neared the house, she whispered, “How was it? The kiss.”
Susanna suppressed a little cry of frustration.
“You can tell me,” Kate said, propping open the stillroom door. When both had entered, she swiftly shut and locked it behind them. “Miss Finch, you know I won’t tell a soul. I have nowhere else to live but here. Spindle Cove’s fate is my fate, too.”
Susanna leaned against the door and closed her eyes.
“Was it wonderful?”
“Wonderful” wasn’t the word. There were no words to describe the wild, breathless flood of sensation.
And there was no way she could keep it a secret one instant longer. She gave a tiny nod and whispered, “Yes.”
Kate clutched her arm. “I knew it. You must tell me everything.”
“Oh, Kate. I can’t. I shouldn’t even have admitted that much.” She began taking bottles down from the shelves and snipped a bundle of dried St. John’s wort from its string. “And it won’t ever happen again.”
“Don’t you think he means to marry you?”
“Absolutely not. And I have no plans to marry him.”
“I don’t mean to pry,” Kate said. “Truly, I don’t. It’s just my only chance to know. I mean . . . It won’t ever be me, kissed in the cove by a lord.”
Susanna let pestle drop against mortar. “Why wouldn’t it be you? You’re beautiful, and so talented.”
“I’m an orphan of unknown family. A nobody. What’s more, a nobody with this.” She touched the birthmark at her temple.
Susanna set aside her work entirely and placed both hands on her friend’s shoulders, looking her square in the eye. “Kate, if that little mark is your greatest imperfection, then you are surely the most lovely and lovable woman I know.”
“Men don’t seem to agree.”
“Perhaps you’ve been meeting all the wrong men.”
At the echo of Bram’s words to her, Susanna bit back a rueful smile. No matter what happened, life would always be a bit different now. Because at last, Susanna knew what it was to feel desired, flaws and all. She felt the unexpected warmth of it lighting her from the inside, and she wanted Kate to experience the same.
“Your admirer will come along someday. I’m sure of it. But in the meantime . . .” She tugged one of her friend’s chestnut curls. “This is Spindle Cove, Kate. We base our self-worth on our qualities and accomplishments, not just the opinions of gentlemen.”
“Yes, I know. I know.” A sheepish look stole into Kate’s eyes. “But it’s impossible to stop thinking about them, just the same.”
Yes, Susanna silently agreed. It was. And with their leader indisposed upstairs, she suddenly worried what trouble the rest of the men were finding today.
In the shadow of Rycliff Castle, Colin Sandhurst regarded his troops.
They were his troops for the day, he presumed, since his fool cousin remained unconscious. Colin had warned him not to take that ridiculous dive off the cliff, but did Bram ever listen to him? Oh no. Of course not.
He’d half expected the whole militia business to be over after that show of absurdity. But apparently the lure of eight shillings and the promise of high entertainment had brought the recruits back for another day.
He clapped his hands together. “Right, then. Gather round, fellows. Over here.”
Nothing happened.
Thorne shot him a smug look. “Fall in line!” he barked.
The men fell in line.
“Thank you, Corporal Thorne.” Colin cleared his throat and addressed the men. “As you all know, our stalwart commander is currently flat on his back, nursing a head wound. A wound, I might add, given him by a little nothing of a girl. So today, as your first lieutenant, I am in charge. And we’re going to have a different sort of drill today.”
Keane, the vicar, raised a hand. “Are we going to learn a new formation?”
“No,” Colin told him. “We’re going to stage an invasion. Those little ladies down there in Spindle Cove have occupied what should be your village. Our village. Are we going to roll over and take that?”
The men looked from one to the other.
“No!” Colin supplied, exasperated. “No, we are not going to take that, not one evening more.”
Bram had the right idea, at least. These men definitely needed some help reattaching their bollocks and reasserting their dominance in this village. But his cousin had the wrong tactic, appealing to some vague sense of honor and duty. There was a much better source of motivation—that primal, undeniable impulse that drove every man.
Sex.
“Tonight,” he announced, “is the night we take back that village. And we’re not going to do it by marching in lines or committing acts of brave idiocy. We’re going to do it by being men. Manly men. The kind of men a woman wants to take control.”
Brows wrinkled in confusion.
“But . . .” The blacksmith looked around the group. “We are men. Last I checked, anyhow.”
“It’s not just a matter of having the proper equipment. It’s using the equipment properly.” Leaping up on a crate, Colin spread his arms wide. “Look at me. Now look at yourselves. Now look back at me. I am the man you want to be like.”
Dawes crossed his arms. “Why is that, precisely?”
“Do you know how many women I’ve bedded?” When Rufus and Finn perked, he waved at them. “Have a guess, boys.”
“Seventeen,” offered Finn.
“More.”
“Eighteen.”
“Still more.”
“Er . . . nineteen?”
“Oh, for the love of God,” he muttered. “We’ll be here all day. Let’s just call the number more than you can imagine. Because clearly, that is the case.” Under his breath, he added, “Perhaps higher than you know how to count.” He raised one arm over his head. “Tonight, we’re going to march down to that village, and we’re going to enjoy ourselves in our tavern.”
“You mean the tea shop?” Fosbury asked. “But this is the ladies’ card night.”
“ ‘But this is the ladies’ card night,’ ” Colin mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “That right there is your problem. You’ve all let yourselves be henpecked. Gelded, by this gaggle of bluestockings. Tonight, the ladies are not going to play cards. They’re going to dance.”
Fosbury scratched the back of his neck. “Well, that is what they do sometimes on Fridays. Dancing. But just with each other. They don’t ask us to join in.”
With a heavy sigh, Colin massaged the bridge of his nose. “We’re not going to wait for them to ask us, Fosbury.” He dropped his hand and motioned to Dawes. “You, there. How do you ask a woman to dance?”
The blacksmith shrugged. “I don’t. I don’t dance.”
Finn’s hand shot up. “I know! I’ve heard Sally saying it to the mirror. ‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?’ ” He affected a flourish and bow.
“Wrong,” Colin said. “All wrong.” He lifted his voice. “Every man, repeat after me. ‘I believe this dance is mine.’ ”
The men mumbled the words back at him.
Pathetic.
Colin drew out his double-barreled pistol, cocked it carefully, raised it level with his shoulder, and shot it into the air. The resounding crack caught the group’s attention. “Say it with conviction. ‘I believe this dance is mine.’ ”
The men cleared their throats and shuffled their feet, saying, “I believe this dance is mine.”
“Better. Try this. Your hair is a river of silk.” When he got only puzzled stares in return, he explained, “The first line gets her in your arms. If you’re going to woo a woman to your bed, you need a few more pretty words. Now repeat after me, damn it. ‘Your hair is a river of silk.’ ”