Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [16]
The dining room door swung shut behind him before she could respond, which was good. The cook was, after all, right in that. He was a gentleman, destined from birth to become a clergyman. Third sons of Cherretts always became clergymen. If no third son existed, then the honor and living went to a male cousin. Second sons became Army officers.
Cherretts did not become redemptioners in lands barely developed out of the wilderness.
He set the linens on the table and began to inspect each piece. If he’d been an obedient son, if he’d been interested in being a politician vicar instead of a man serving God, Dominick would be sorting altar cloths for imperfections instead of serviettes. But from the moment he’d set foot in Oxford, he’d determined to destroy any of his father’s hopes that the third son of this generation would step into the role of vicar.
He’d considered himself a success until his downward trajectory flew out of control and he found himself facing a scandal that hurt his family. He chose exile to spare them. More than exile—a chance at redemption.
As he spread a cloth over the table and arranged serviettes and silver for two diners, he wondered if he could bear four years of servitude and no hope of redeeming himself, rather than take the next step in his plans. Acting as a butler-cum-valet was proving onerous. Less onerous than all the things his uncle said he might have to do to accomplish his mission. But he’d agreed. He’d practiced with his knife, the only weapon he could get away with as an indentured servant. If his life depended on it, he could use the slender, Italian blade.
But he couldn’t use it on a female.
No, now that he knew more about the lady, Dominick Cherrett made other plans to ensure Tabitha Eckles, the mermaid midwife, didn’t speak out of turn where his activities were concerned.
Tabitha crouched beside a bed of roses, breathing deeply of the heady scent. Weeds grew in too much profusion around her precious herbs, and she should be pulling them up to protect the stock that produced necessary medicines for her work and other ailments for which people came to her for help. But the roses held her attention with their deep red hues and fragrance like the oh-so-precious vanilla bean. Only the most perfect, most succulent petals would she pluck to create her favorite treat, the indulgence she allowed herself other than walks on the beach—candied rose petals. The previous month, she had plucked and preserved the violets. Already, she tasted the aromatic sweets on her tongue, the best medicine in the world for perking up the spirits.
Except her spirits shouldn’t need perking up. God, apparently, had listened to her after all. Raleigh had come home. He was too late for their wedding, too late to comfort her through the deaths of her mother and grandmother. Yet not an hour earlier, he had stood in her parlor, as large as life.
Larger than life. Years of hard labor aboard a British naval vessel had developed his physique. He stood no more than average height, but his arms and shoulders bulged beneath the confines of his coat as though the muscles strained for freedom. His skin glowed a healthy bronze, while gold streaks lightened his oak-colored hair. With his bright blue eyes, the entire effect pleased Tabitha’s eye.
Her heart remained still, cautious, dried at the edges like a rose petal left too long in the vase.
“I’ve come home,” he’d announced with his grin that created a dimple in one cheek.
“To take up where you belonged?” She knew her tone held no warmth of welcome and didn’t know how to change it. “Were you not happy with a life of freedom, wandering the world?”
His smile wavered. “I wasn’t happy with being alone on my travels. I thought of you every day. And aboard the man-of-war was worse. I wished I’d stayed behind. I plotted every day to get here, to you.”
“I expect so.” The ice broke through, cutting with every word and the sharpness of her tone. She needed it to keep