Page 9 of The Untamed Heart

Still, the garden tugged at a long-neglected part of him. He had always loved the out of doors. Being cooped up drove him distracted. The little house he had rented was charming and perfectly adequate for his needs, but the tiny patch of garden at the back was neatly tended by a local fellow on behalf of the landlady and not so much as a dandelion dared show its face among the neat rows of onions, leeks, and cabbages.

As much as he was certain it was a ploy, it was a well-aimed bullet that had hit its mark squarely. He was dying to get a look at the tangled mass of weeds and disorder. Not that he wanted to stand about doling out advice. He wanted to get his hands dirty, and the wretched woman bloody well knew it.

“Perhaps instead of a walk along the seafront tomorrow, I could come as arranged? I’ll hire a horse so you’ll not have the bother of reviving my half-dead carcass again, but I could inspect your garden. I assume the sea air is just as bracing from that elevated location as it is from the shoreline?” he asked gruffly.

She hid her triumph remarkably well, for she sounded perfectly nonchalant when she replied, yet there was a glint of satisfaction in her remarkable blue eyes that did not escape him. “Oh, indeed. More so, probably. Don’t bother wearing a hat, you’ll likely lose it.”

He grunted at this observation and helped himself to another sandwich. They were excellent, and all that fresh air must have worked upon his appetite, for he was as famished as Miss Foxworthy had pretended to be, though she had eaten little so far. Another ploy, he thought darkly. She really was the most managing creature.

“Have a cake, Miss Foxworthy. You’ve hardly eaten enough to keep a sparrow alive,” he said, issuing a challenging glance as he pushed the plate towards her. She met his gaze, smiled, and took a large slice of seed cake.

“You must have seen remarkably fat sparrows on your travels, Colonel,” she said with amusement as she broke off a piece of cake and ate it with relish.

“I think we might drop the formality in the circumstances,” he said, avoiding the twinkle in her eyes and focusing on devouring the last of the sandwiches before starting in on the cakes. “You may call me Marcus.”

“Thank you. I shall, but only if you call me Eustacia, or Stacy if you prefer.”

He shook his head. “Eustacia is your name. I shall use it if you have no objections.”

“None whatsoever.”

Marcus nodded and focused his attention on clearing the plate of cakes. Everything has a price, his father’s grim voice of doom echoed in his mind. Well, no doubt. He was too bored with life to care right now. He’d enjoy the bloody cakes and look forward to discovering the long-abandoned garden.

No doubt something else unpleasant would raise its ugly head and bite him on the arse soon enough, but it would just have to get in line.

Chapter 3

A Dubious Reinforcement

Darenth Knole, Sevenoaks, Kent, 21st September 1816

Darenth Knole glowered balefully in the rapidly diminishing daylight, a sprawling leviathan that covered vast acreage and spoke of generations of wealth and power. No light shone in the windows, and Hawkney was uncomfortably aware that their arrival was unlikely to be met with overtures of delight.

Its owner was a man he did not know well, even though they had spent time together one summer as children. He doubted anyone could claim that dubious pleasure, but they’d had cause to work together a time or two since and Hawkney respected the fellow, and most especially his towering intellect, a good deal more than he liked him.

“What’s he like, then, the Earl of Darenth?”

Hawkney glanced over at Sheringham, who had been remarkably uncomplaining about their impromptu jaunt into Kent, considering how much he liked his creature comforts. He seemed curious indeed to meet the reclusive earl, who was renowned for both his brilliance and his rudeness.

“A conundrum,” Hawkney replied with a smile after contemplating the question. “He is a polymath and at last count spoke five and thirty languages. No doubt it’s more than that now, as it’s over a year since I last spoke to him. If it is a question of science, mathematics, or a puzzle that seems to have no solution, he’ll amaze you with a response so lightning quick it will make your head spin. If you ask him if he thinks it will rain, his lengthy answer will make you wish you might throw yourself in the nearest river just to make it stop. And if you sit him down at a dinner table among society guests, he’ll have insulted every one of them before they’ve picked up their napkins and not have the slightest idea why they are all furious with him. He’ll probably have thought it a kindness to inform the duchess that chewing cloves would sweeten her foul breath, or that the earl’s recent investment will certainly ruin him before the end of the year, and he’d best make contingency plans now. It would simply never occur to him not to say these things, or at least to do it in private.”

Sheringham perked up. “I cannot wait to meet the fellow.”

“So you say now,” Hawkney replied with a snort. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The carriage rocked to a halt, and they climbed out, greeted at the door by the earl’s long-suffering butler, a stoic-looking stocky fellow by the name of Mitten.

“Good evening, Mitten.”

“Your grace,” the man said, bowing deeply.

“Sheringham and I are here to see Darenth. Is he in?”

“No, your grace,” the fellow said, his expression apologetic.

“No, I didn’t think he would be. We’ll go through, anyway. I’ll tell him we overpowered you and left you tied up in the hallway,” Hawkney replied with a smile.

“If you would. I should consider it a kindness,” Mitten replied gravely.