A Warriner To Rescue Her

He watched Jack’s dark eyebrows come together in confusion while he tried to come up with a suitable response to what was undoubtedly meant as the most grievous of insults. As usual, his brother resorted to diplomacy, although those who knew him well heard the steel embedded in his words.

‘Perhaps the Warriner family of old, sir, but I trust you are not suggesting those of us who stand before you today are the unjust?’

Jamie felt his own eyes narrow and would have intervened if he had not seen Miss Reeves stare at him, her sorrowful expression completely wretched. He held his tongue reluctantly.

The vicar was unrepentant and glared back at his brother as bold as brass. ‘The whole of Nottinghamshire is rife with stories about the Warriner family. Cheats, liars, debauchers—fornicators! But fear not!’ One bony finger pointed heavenward. ‘It is not too late to save your miserable souls.’

Had the man come here to preach at them? How dare he? Jamie had had quite enough. ‘If your intent was to come here and grossly insult my brother and his wife, Reverend, you have succeeded...’

His brother stayed him with a placating hand and a warning glance. ‘Reverend Reeves, it is true the Warriners of old were a thoroughly bad lot—and I include my own father in that generalisation—however, I can assure you that his sons have chosen to tread a very different path.’

The bony finger pointed directly at Jack in accusation and wiggled menacingly an inch away from his brother’s chest. ‘“Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men.”’ Almost as an afterthought he added, ‘Proverbs,’ in case they had the urge to look it up in the Bible to check the validity of his unwarranted sermon.

Miss Reeves, Jamie noticed, had now completely covered her face with her hands and was bent over in the chair, almost as if she were trying to become part of the upholstery. It was obvious she wanted no part in her father’s zealous tirade, but felt powerless to stop it. Jack tried to reason with the vicar again. Clearly he had far more patience than Jamie gave him credit for as he’d have sent the man packing smartly. His fingers itched to grab the man by the lapels, toss him on the newly gravelled drive and to hear the satisfying thud as he slammed the door on him. But he and his elder brother were vastly different in character, therefore, Jack still persisted. ‘As I have just said, Reverend, my brothers and I have chosen a different path to our ancestors and I can assure you none of us are cheats, liars, debauchers or—’

‘“Behold, the day of the Lord cometh, cruel both with wrath and fierce anger, to lay the land desolate. And he shall destroy the sinners thereof out of it.”’ The vicar’s eyes were wide and he was practically quaking with righteous indignation. ‘Isaiah!’ His finger jabbed Jack’s ribs for emphasis and Jamie saw his brother’s expression harden although he still did not pull the obnoxious preacher up. ‘Repent, Mr Warriner! Before it is too late and your souls are banished to the fiery torment of hell!’

‘Oh, this is beyond the pale!’ Jamie briskly limped towards the vicar, snatched the teacup out of his hand and clattered it noisily on the table. ‘My brother is an earl, Reverend Reeves, not a mister, therefore when you next address him it had damn well better have the words my lord at the end of it, else you will have me to answer to. And, whilst we are quoting the Bible, he who is without sin, let him cast the first stone!’ He grabbed the vicar by the elbow and unceremoniously hauled him towards the door. ‘John! Chapter Eight, Verse Seven, I believe. Now, good day to you, Reverend Reeves! Take your unsolicited sermons elsewhere.’

‘Do you refuse to hear the word of God, sir?’

‘I refuse to listen to a sanctimonious, judgemental, self-righteous diatribe from a man who is little more than a gossipmonger.’

‘Gossipmonger!’ This, apparently, was the highest of insults as the vicar began to turn alarmingly purple. ‘I have it on the highest authority that—’

‘Highest authority? Whose?’

The vicar’s mouth opened to speak, then closed again, giving Jamie his answer.

‘I see. Hearsay? Gossip? History? Surely that is not what the Bible condones, Reverend?’ Jamie continued to walk the man to the door where Chivers stood waiting, still holding his elbow firmly.

‘Jamie.’

His brother’s calm voice penetrated his roiling temper. He understood the implication.

Stand down. We have to be above this.

He glanced at the wide-eyed Miss Reeves and saw the horror in those chocolate-brown depths and realised that his coarse physicality probably frightened her. Freckled-faced vicar’s daughters, as a rule, would not be exposed to such aggressive behaviour. Or at least he hoped she wasn’t.

Jamie let go of the man’s arm and forced his next words to be cold and final. ‘I believe the Gospel of John, Chapter Seven, Verse Twenty-Four, also tells us, “Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgement”. Righteous judgement. Based on actual facts rather than salacious rumours. Something, Reverend Reeves, you appear to be incapable of. Show him out, please, Chivers.’

The well-trained butler tried to manoeuvre the outraged vicar towards the hallway.

‘Cassandra. Come along, girl. Let us leave this house of sin!’

Jamie turned to see her stand, those beautiful brown eyes awash with tears. She sailed towards him miserably, wringing a handkerchief in both of her hands, and as she came level she never even looked at him. Whether that was out of embarrassment for her father’s behaviour or complete disgust at Jamie’s flash of temper he had no idea, but she continued towards the door in the wake of her father. Hunched. Afraid. Subservient. It was a horrible thing to see.

Chapter Five (#u05cc69e1-038e-5785-90dc-ebf52b4e31a9)

No matter how much Cassie willed them, the words would not come. She was too distracted to write tonight, not when her cheeks still scalded with shame and her heart was heavy with bitter regret. She had hoped she had finally found a friend in Letty and did not dare put a name to what she had imagined between herself and Captain Galahad. But alas, like all of her brief and transient attachments, her interlude with the Warriner family was dead and buried. Unlike her, she doubted they would be holding a wake to lament its passing.

She closed her journal and carefully hid it under her mattress, sitting down on the bed afterwards and simply staring at nothing. Even by his usual standards, her father had been scathing. He had not even given the poor Earl a chance to defend himself against all of the slander laid at his family’s door and that was unforgivable. She had almost said as much to her father as they made the depressing walk back to the village. Almost, because the moment she had asked where he had acquired all of his salacious evidence against the family, he had pinned her with his penetrating stare and shaken his head in outrage.

‘Do not dare to side with those heathens over me, Cassandra. Where my information comes from is no concern of yours. “Honour thy father”, Cassandra!’

As always, he omitted the end of that particular biblical quote. ‘And thy mother.’ Her name was never brought up unless it was to compare Cassie’s unfortunate wayward tendencies with the legendary wanton wickedness of her father’s absent wife. The wife who scandalously took a lover and then shamelessly ran away with him when Cassie was but a babe. She had no memory of the woman apart from those planted in her head by her father. Memories which should haunt her, but threw up more questions than answers. Answers she would never get, from questions she did not dare ask. However, she envied her mother the escape, understood it and yearned for her own one day. In fact, it really could not come soon enough.

‘I was not siding with them, Papa, merely questioning the validity of the charges made against them. They did seem to me to be very pleasant.’

Her father pinned her with another outraged stare, as if she had gone quite mad and needed to be incarcerated in a lunatic asylum. ‘Have you learned nothing from my teachings, Cassandra? Appearances can be deceptive!’ Then, as he often did, he looked up towards the heavens to seek forgiveness for the silliness of his only daughter. ‘Help her, oh, Lord, to develop the fortitude and character you granted to me rather than the weakness cursed upon her by her mother.’

As she supposed it was meant to, this swiftly put a stop to any further impertinent questions. If she pushed too far, he would lock her in her bedchamber again for days on end, forced to pray and endure hour upon hour of his sermons behind the closed door while the inherited badness was exorcised from her soul. It was an ever-present threat; over the years those interminable hours in cloying solitary confinement had made her fear locked doors and crave a constant link to the fresh air of outside. Even in a blizzard, her bedchamber window remained steadfastly open. Just in case. ‘Honour they father, Cassandra.’

Cassie watched the satisfaction in his cold eyes as he spied her fear. ‘I always do, Papa.’ A lie that would probably doom her to an eternity in hell. She obeyed him, sort of, and hated him at the same time. There was no honour in that.

They had walked the rest of the way in complete silence. Despite the utter humiliation, she admired James Warriner’s loyalty towards his family. He had stepped in to defend his brother without a moment’s hesitation and then he had not thought twice about manhandling her father out of the house. Cassie had never seen her papa so flummoxed before or so effectively silenced.

The Bible quotations he threw back were also to be commended. If her father would listen to her, which of course he never ever did, she was sorely tempted to tell him a man who could correctly quote chapter and verse from the Good Book, without the need to first check the Good Book for reference, was hardly ungodly. Captain Warriner knew chapter and verse and wielded them with the same deathly precision her father did. Yet to better effect.

Then the Captain had practically lifted her father off the floor with those impressive strong arms of his, forcing her papa to do a funny little tiptoe dance as he was removed swiftly from the Warriners’ drawing room. Cassie would have enjoyed that particular part of the awful memory had she not been completely mortified by everything which occurred beforehand. She would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the spectacle. Perhaps she would be able to find the wherewithal to laugh if she ever managed to escape.

It was funny, but in her mind her father had always been such a towering, terrifying man. A man to brook no argument. Up against her dashing, serious pirate he was little more than a weed stood next to a mighty oak. Solid. Strong. Dependable. And oh-so-handsome Captain Warriner made her want to swoon. Perhaps, as her father was wont to point out, she was her mother’s daughter after all if she was so easily impressed and overwhelmed by the sight of a gorgeous man. A gorgeous man who probably wanted to wring her by the neck now. So far, she had inconvenienced him, squashed him, forced him to lie on her behalf and allowed him to be grossly, unforgivably insulted in the comfort of his own home.

* * *

Now, to compound her misery and right the wrong which he had perceived had been done to him, her father intended to vilify the poor family further from the pulpit. Cassie had already endured an hour of it over dinner, scathing, hateful words which blackened the Warriner name and cast fresh aspersions about their characters, and that was only the first draft of his sermon. There would be more fire and brimstone by Sunday. No mercy would be shown. Cassie’s only hope was that the family did not attend the service. She had not noticed them sat in the pews in the fortnight she had been in Retford, although that was hardly a surprise when she rarely paid attention in church at the best of times if her father was preaching the sermon. However, she had a feeling she would have seen Jamie. The sight of his fine shoulders in his Sunday best combined with his dashing good looks would have brought her out of even the deepest of daydreams. And those penetrating, soulful eyes... But there was nothing to be done about it now. Those eyes, quite rightly, would only regard her with wariness in future.

With a sigh, she blew out the candle on her nightstand and swung her legs into bed. She doubted she would sleep, but as Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle had come to a shuddering halt in her mind at least she would be comfortable while she stared listlessly up at the ceiling.

* * *

As bad ideas went, this one ranked as one of the worst Jamie had ever come up with. It made no difference how well trained he was in covert reconnaissance, lurking in the bushes outside a lady’s open window at midnight was not really something any decent gentleman should do under any circumstances. As a Warriner, with the absolute worst of reputations, the repercussions for both himself and poor Miss Reeves did not bear thinking about. Nobody would believe he was there out of necessity because his conscience needed to know that she was safe and well. In fact, he had needed to know so badly he had even braved the darkness to find out, skulking in the bushes for the right opportunity to present itself.

But he had lurked for the better part of an hour already, waiting for her awful father to finally leave his study and head to bed, and now that he was sure the man must be fast asleep, regardless of the impropriety, he simply had to see her. Properly see her, to speak to her, rather than the fleeting glimpses he had seen of her moving about her bedchamber from his hiding place in the foliage.

At least she was still awake. The dim light of her candle did little to illuminate the darkness, but it was some light. There was also a full moon which offered a little more and a reassuring sprinkling of twinkling stars to alleviate the paralysing fear which came from total blackness. In view of the clandestine manner of his visit he had had to leave his lantern hidden down the lane with Satan, which was beyond unnerving. Without thinking, he checked the waistband of his trousers and settled his hand on the solid comfort of the handle of his pistol. Just in case.

In case of what, he would not be able to articulate to anyone. He certainly had no intention of using it on either her father or any locals who might happen to discover him in his current precarious position. Except, the incessant feeling of unease was his constant companion during these dark hours, and he could never let down his guard even though he understood the threat was gone. No matter how many times he gave himself a stern talking to, Jamie knew all too well that bad things occurred at night when he had least expected them, so it made perfect sense to him that he should always face it armed, even though the only danger nowadays came from himself.

The light from her window suddenly died and fear clenched his gut as the darkness choked him. The rational part of his mind reasoned with the irrational and he remembered his mission. Irrational fears had to be ruthlessly ignored until he knew Cassie was safe. Stealthily, Jamie crept out of the bushes and limped towards the vicarage. Her window was tucked to the side, offering him some camouflage. Fortunately, she had also left it open.

‘Miss Reeves.’ The rustling leaves stole his voice although he dared not speak any louder. Jamie chose the smallest of the stones in his hand and tossed it at the glass, then waited.

Nothing.

The next two stones tapped the window in quick succession. After half a minute of standing poised, Jamie decided there was nothing else for it. A handful of gravel pelted the darkened window as hard as he dared without shattering the glass. Finally, his perseverance was rewarded by the sight of her face peeking through the new crack in the curtains. He waved like an idiot, watching her eyes widen with alarm, and suddenly wished he had given up on his foolhardy plan an hour ago. As if the poor girl would actually want to see a broken, useless former soldier stood below her like Romeo. What the hell had he been thinking?

She flung open the curtains and pushed the window open further. Her head followed. Only then did he realise her hair was unbound. It hung down above him like a silk curtain, momentarily distracting him from the dark or from immediately explaining his presence and making him wish he was Romeo. If there had been a trellis, and if he hadn’t been lame, then he would have eagerly clambered up it then. Just to touch her hair.