Page 8 of The Smuggler’s Escape

“Such a comprehensive character assessment,” Richard mused. “I thought the proverb said to hear no evil, but all that licentiousness must have affected my memory.”

Lucretia cringed visibly, and Noelle bit her lip to keep from laughing. If she betrayed amusement, Lucretia would be the one to suffer. Not for the first time, Noelle found herself wishing her uncle might die of apoplexy on the spot.

Unfortunately, he got himself under control. “I had great hopes of my niece’s salvation at the hands of a godly man.”

Richard’s profligate lips twitched. He raised an eyebrow at Noelle. She forced a frown and said flatly, “The vicar.”

Richard hooted. “Daniel Davison? Trust me, Tifton, she’s better off with me. She’d destroy the poor fellow within a twelvemonth.”

“I would not!” Noelle retorted. “Mr. Davison is a forward-thinking man who cares about the lot of the poor and oppressed. We have had many stimulating conversations.”

“Been casting lures at Daniel, have you? Tsk, tsk.”

“No, I have not! That was my uncle’s notion, not that it is any of your business either way.”

He eyed her, and a hard note entered his smooth voice. “Now, that is where you are much mistaken.”

“Aye, you’ll have to keep a close rein on this shameless hussy,” Uncle Matthew said. “She’s been making sheep’s eyes at Lord Harry Walsh, among others.”

Sheep’s eyes? She wasn’t a silly sixteen-year-old. She was a smuggler with alternate plans.

“She could do with a good beating, if you ask me,” Uncle Matthew said.

“I shan’t ask you,” Richard said. “Been flirting, have you, sweetheart?”

Noelle felt herself reddening. “And why shouldn’t I?” She put up her chin. “I wasn’t betrothed to you then.” Nor am I betrothed to you now. “As you, I might add, were not betrothed to me.”

With a wicked, wicked smile that sent her quivering all the way to her toes, Richard said, “You’ll have much more fun now that I’ve returned.”

Matthew’s mouth pursed in distaste. “You will doubtless live to regret this evening’s folly, Boltwood, but it is now impossible that the vicar or any other decent man will want Noelle. You must marry her immediately, despite being in mourning.” He frowned at his wife. “Take your niece upstairs and see that she stays there. Boltwood and I shall settle the details.”

Lucretia, obedient as always, reached for Noelle. “Come, dearest.”

Noelle patted her aunt’s hand, but didn’t move. “This is my marriage, Uncle Matthew. The details are as much my affair as Lord Boltwood’s.”

Uncle Matthew’s scowl flickered to Noelle and back to his wife. “You see what comes of revolutionary notions? But then, your sister always was a fool. As for that French rabble-rouser she married—”

Rage flared up in Noelle. She could ignore almost anything her uncle said, but not when it came to her parents. “My father was a renowned intellectual. My mother was an educated woman and so am I.”

“You see?” Uncle Matthew shouted. “Educated woman? A contradiction in terms!” He shook a finger at Noelle. “The only result of your education, miss, is scandalous behavior and a taste for low company.”

Lucretia quailed. “Come, Noelle. We shall have such fun planning your bride-clothes.”

Noelle set her hands on her hips and glared at her uncle. Off to one side, Richard quivered with barely-suppressed laughter.

“The sooner I’m rid of you the better, baggage,” Sir Matthew said. “There will be no time for bride-clothes.” He rounded on Richard. “Boltwood, I require you to arrange for a special license tomorrow. The wedding will take place on the following day.”

Panic flooded Noelle, followed immediately by unmitigated rage. She opened her mouth to say exactly what she thought of her uncle’s command.

Richard stopped chuckling and put a restraining hand on her sleeve. “That’s too soon. Even though we’re in mourning, my mother will wish to put together a wedding breakfast, perhaps invite a few close friends. The funeral must be arranged, too.”

Noelle’s anger drained.

“My mother will be entirely in agreement with Lady Tifton about bride-clothes,” he added. “And mourning clothes, too. These things take time.”

Uncle Matthew opened his mouth to bluster, but nothing came out. He closed it, opened it again and said, “Needless to say, Lady Boltwood’s wishes are paramount, but considering the disgraceful circumstances—”

“Disgraceful indeed,” Richard said, “that my betrothed has been so deprived of pin money that she is completely unprepared to dress as befits my wife. But no one expects otherwise from you, Sir Matthew, so don’t let it worry you.” He smiled at Lucretia. “Madame Lisette in Chichester will work quickly to oblige my mother. A week should do it, don’t you think?”