Jackie Manning - A Wish For Nicholas

“Oh, besides,” Hazel went on, her hands fluttering like a startled wren, “Thornwood Hall is much too much work for you, Becky. My dear, you’re not getting any younger. You should marry again, not worry over those crofters.” She made a face as if she smelled something rank.

Sally’s head bobbed from Hazel to Becky, her blue-eyed gaze finally resting on her cousin, waiting for her defense.

“Those crofters,” Becky said, her voice even despite the emotion she felt, “are my family, in case you’ve forgotten, Hazel. My parents were crofters, and their parents, as far back as the time of King Harry. If I hadn’t married Ol’ Winky, I’d still be grubbing in the soil, paying my rents to the master of Thornwood Hall.”

Hazel’s face blanched. “Oh, Becky. Oh, Becky, I meant no disrespect, dear.”

Becky sighed, immediately sorry for her outburst. She rubbed her temples. “Aye, it’s I who am sorry, Hazel. This heat has me out of sorts.” She smiled. “If you and your husband want to welcome the man who’s tossing me out, I can’t stop you. But don’t expect me or my family to attend or to be festive about it.”

Hazel’s green eyes rounded. “Oh, I daresay I’m shocked by your words, Becky. Your dear mother and father, God rest their souls, would expect you to leave here with your pride.”

“Aye, but not throw rose petals in Sinclair’s path when he comes to throw me out.” Becky turned and glanced out the window. Thornwood Hall stretched as far as the eye could see. She had put her heart and soul into the land since her marriage to Ol’ Winky, and she wouldn’t give it up without a fight.

“I’m sorry, Hazel. You’ll have your celebration without us.”

“Oh, Becky, it’s not a celebration. It’s our Christian duty to welcome a new neighbor. Mr. Willoughby says Sinclair is a war hero, rewarded by the king with a title and an estate.”

“My estate,” Becky shot back.

Hazel’s eyes widened, and she drew back, her fan clucking like an angry hen.

Becky regretted her outburst at once. What Hazel said was undeniably true, but when she thought of that gray-eyed Sinclair kissing her as bold as sin…

“Oh, I think having Sir Nicholas Sinclair assume the affairs of Thornwood Hall is divine intervention,” Hazel said.

So that was it, Becky thought, finally realizing what was behind the Willoughbys’ support of Sinclair. They wanted to toady up to Sinclair in order to retain the free use of the water rights that Becky had allowed her neighbor, as Ol’ Winky had done.

Becky felt the threads of her best-laid plan begin to unravel. Fear, revitalized by the threat of loss, rushed at her. She gripped her hands together. She had hoped for Willoughby’s support against Sinclair.

Becky whirled back toward Hazel. “When will this affair take place, Hazel?” Her voice was so sweet, Sally glanced at her with a suspicious look.

“Oh, in two weeks. I’ve just now posted the invitations. Sir Nicholas Sinclair will be staying with us until…” Her voice dropped, as though she wished she hadn’t divulged the fact that they had obviously offered Sinclair their hospitality until he took over Thornwood Hall.

Hazel rose to her feet, averting her gaze.

“Until Sinclair takes over Thornwood Hall,” Becky finished for her.

“Oh, Becky, I wish there was something I could do.” Hazel’s mouth sagged with frustration.

Becky sighed. More than likely, the party was her husband’s idea, and poor Hazel was only playing her required part. She moved beside Hazel as they crossed the room and paused at the door. “I understand your need to do your Christian duty, Hazel. Truly, I do.”

Appreciation lit Hazel’s round face. “Do give it thought, dear. With the proper attitude, Sir Nicholas might make you an offer of compassion.”

Pity was more like it. But Becky bit back the scathing reply. Suddenly, she thought of the ghost of Ol’ Winky. What a perfect time for the spirit of the general to appear. Besides frightening off the prospective buyers, Ol’ Winky’s ghost would terrorize most of the guests, and the news of the haunted estate would spread through the shire like a grass fire.

“I’ll not need time to think about my duty. You’re absolutely right, Hazel. It’s my Christian obligation to meet my enemy with forgiveness. After all, I’m General Forester’s widow.”

Sally shot Becky a look brimming with questions, but thankfully kept them to herself.

Hazel’s face froze with surprise. Becky could only imagine how Hazel would try to explain to her husband this evening that she’d persuaded Becky to accept their invitation.

Becky forced a dazzling smile as she escorted Hazel to the waiting coach. “Thank you for inviting us.”

After the footman had helped Hazel into the coach, and the rumbling vehicle clacked down the drive, Becky buckled her sword’s belt to her chest and grabbed her bonnet.

“Where are you dashing off to, Becky?” Sally asked.

“I’m off to see Ben Twaddle,” Becky tossed over her shoulder. “Both of them!”

Nick glanced around for a place to run in case the enormous, black bull suddenly charged. He noticed several sycamore trees that might provide a few stout limbs if he needed an immediate haven. Damn Keane, he thought. He’d deal with that bounder when—

The beast bellowed, charging to his feet. For a moment that felt as though time stood still, Nick froze, not wanting to show fear as he stared at the bull. Eyeing the nearby arm of the tree, Nick held his ground, waiting for Tumbledown Dick to charge.

Neither man nor beast moved. The bull stared—not with anger, Nick decided after a few minutes, but with curiosity. The huge brown eyes were as soft as a spaniel’s; the thick fan of eyelashes brushed his black curly cheeks when he blinked. Finally when Tumbledown Dick swung his massive head in the air, he swiped at a clump of daisies nearby, chomping a mouthful.

Nick’s experiences with bulls were the few times cattle had been freighted as cargo aboard ship. Although this bull was enormous and sported a deadly pair of horns, Nick remembered the scene in the pasture yesterday. He doubted Keane would have browbeaten the animal before Becky came roaring in to stop him if the bull possessed an ornery disposition.

Nick took several strides toward the beast, whose watchful eyes remained fixed on him. A rope dangled from the ring in his nose, and Nick decided that if a slip of a woman like Becky Forester could bring the beast to heel, then damned if he wouldn’t do the same.

Cautiously, Nick crept toward the tree where the lead rope was tied to the trunk. He hesitated, watching. The bull returned to his grazing, a serene look on his curlyhaired face.

With a steady hand, Nick reached for the rope and untied the loose knot. When he’d finished, he tried not to think that at the end of the rope was a beast that could gore him to shreds if he had a mind to.

Tumbledown Dick munched happily, seemingly oblivious to him. Nick presumed that Keane would expect him to yank on the bull’s ring. Likely, Keane would wait, then drive back, making sport of Nick the way Becky had done to him.

“What a sweet boy you are, Tumbledown Dick,” Nick crooned softly, ready to lunge for the overhead tree limb, if necessary. Instead, the bull ignored him, munching noisily.

The idea to sing in the bull’s ear was ridiculous. Besides, although Nick’s singing carried fair for the sea chanteys he’d sung with his crew, he doubted his voice would calm wilder beasts.

“Tumbledown Dick, I think you’re all bluster.” Nick reached to scratch the glossy curls between the bull’s eyes.

The animal blinked, stretching his powerful neck closer, obviously enjoying the attention.