The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(44)
Well, his departure had been more of a tactical retreat than a defeat. For in the tavern, he had heard all Blackhaven’s rumors about the family at Haven Hall. And had begun to tell his old stories.
Today, he had almost missed Miss Grey as the cart in front of him had disgorged several female servants. It had taken several seconds to connect her dowdy, respectable person to the beautiful lady he’d seen with Benedict last night. He’d followed her into church from instinct, listening and learning as he went.
Oh yes, there were possibilities there. Smiling, he raised his brandy to his lips just as someone large and clumsy bumped into him. Remembering where he was, he slapped his hand to his pocket and caught a grubby hand. It belonged to the man who had bumped into him, a big, villainous looking individual with his hat pushed to the back of his unclean head.
Swayle did not underestimate the difficulties here. The landlord didn’t like trouble and apparently, he didn’t take a moral stance over events like this, just took the quietest way out. Swayle was likely to be thrown out for any accusations of theft. Or the villain could simply stab him where he sat and walk away.
He suspected the man thought about it. Then the brute grinned. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he observed. “Not when he’s hard-up.”
An idea began to dawn in Swayle’s head. He would find a way to a devastating revenge on the man who had humiliated and impoverished him. But he would need help.
“Hard-up,” Swayle repeated. “Then you are a man open to earning a little money, with no questions asked.”
The large man pushed his hat even further back. “Might be,” he admitted. He smiled in what he probably imagined was an ingratiating manner, but in fact was quite terrifying. “They don’t call me Killer Miller for nothing.”
*
“I was thinking,” Miss Benedict announced at luncheon.
“Congratulations, Marjorie,” her brother said provokingly.
She cast him a quelling look.
“What were you thinking?” Richard asked.
“That we should invite Lord and Lady Tamar to dinner,” Marjorie said in a rush.
Javan laid down his knife.
“Ah, the mythical Lord Tamar,” Richard observed, “who turned out not to be a myth at all. Did he really marry Braithwaite’s sister?”
“Yes,” Caroline said since no one else answered him.
Javan’s gaze was locked with his sister’s, though he looked more stunned than annoyed. Eventually, he picked up his knife again. “Ask the Grants, too, if you like. He’s a good man for a vicar.”
Marjorie’s jaw showed an initial tendency to drop at this easy victory. Then she frowned. “You confuse me. Isn’t a vicar meant to be a good man?”
“Never confuse your definition of the word good with Javan’s,” Richard advised. “The Reverend Mr. Grant will no doubt be discovered to be a man of wit and sound strategic knowledge in military matters. And probably learned in botany.”
Javan raised his wineglass to him.
“I hope they have well sprung carriages for getting up the drive,” Richard added wryly.
“Try to contain your concern,” Javan said. “I have some men coming over to clear and repair it next week.”
“Have you?” Marjorie said in surprise.
“They should be here first thing in the morning, so there’s no cause for panic if you hear a racket.”
“Goodness,” Marjorie said, clearly impressed. “What evening shall I invite them, then?”
“Whichever suits. I have,” Javan said self-deprecatingly, “no unbreakable plans.”
“Wednesday?” Marjorie suggested. “Richard, you will still be here, will you not?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Richard drawled.
“Excellent. Miss Grey, should we invite the Braithwaite children?”
Rosa’s head snapped up as she smiled from her aunt to Caroline and back.
“They are quite civilized,” Caroline replied, “and will be thrilled to attend an adult dinner. Especially with Rosa. I’m sure Lady Tamar will be happy to bring them.”
Miss Benedict beamed.
After lunch, Caroline and Rosa went for their daily walk. As was usual, Javan and Tiny accompanied them, although rather to her surprise, Richard did not.
“Does Mr. Benedict not care to walk?” Caroline asked lightly.
Rosa grinned, pointing to her feet and then leaping back as though horrified by the mess appearing on her boots.
Javan laughed. “You think he’s afraid of dirtying his fine footwear? He has a very superior valet to clean his boots. I expect he’s just tired after his journey. It’s a long way from London.”
Rosa shrugged and ran ahead with Tiny. Silence lapsed between Caroline and Javan, but in truth, she only noticed when he said, “You are quiet. Are you wondering how to treat me after yesterday evening?”
Caroline drew a breath for courage. “Actually, no. I have been wondering whether or not to worry you with something else entirely.”
“My shoulders are broad,” he said flippantly. “Go ahead and worry me if you can.”
“I spoke with Marcus Swayle this morning.”
Although she was gazing deliberately straight ahead at Rosa throwing a stick for Tiny, she was aware Javan’s head turned toward her, almost felt the new tension tighten within him.