Temptation and Surrender (3 page)

E
m walked briskly back down the drive and turned onto the lane that led to Colyton village.

She could barely keep from skipping. She’d got the job—convinced Mr. Jonas Tallent to give her the job—despite the thoroughly peculiar, thoroughly unnerving effect he’d had on her usually reliable senses.

Just the thought of him, the mental mention of his name, evoked the memory of how breathless his steady regard had made her feel, of how giddy she’d felt when she’d looked into his fathomless brown eyes, not soulful, as she’d noted from the first, but alive with intense and hidden depths—tantalizing depths her inner self had, entirely unexpectedly, longed to explore.

It was just as well he hadn’t offered to shake her hand. She wasn’t at all sure how she would have coped if his touch affected her to a commensurate degree as his gaze. She might have done something truly dreadful, like shudder revealingly, or shiver and close her eyes.

Luckily, she hadn’t had to endure that trial.

Instead, all was well—
excellently
well—in her world.

She couldn’t stop grinning. She allowed herself a little skip, an expression of pure exuberance, then looked ahead as the first cottages came into view, lining the road that ran north to south through the center of Colyton.

It wasn’t a big village, but it was the home of her forebears, and that endeared it to her. To her mind, it was precisely the right size.

And they were staying.

At least until they found the treasure.

It was Monday, late afternoon, and other than herself the road was deserted. She looked about her as she walked to the inn, noting the blacksmith’s forge a little way up the lane to the left, and beyond that the graveyard rising to the church, perched atop a ridge that formed the western boundary of the village proper. In front of the church, the common rolled down to a large duck pond, and then further, to eventually border the road. Directly opposite sat the Red Bells in all its flaking splendor.

Halting at the intersection with the lane, she paused to study her new responsibility. Other than the peeling shutters, the front façade would pass muster, at least for now. There were trestle tables and benches set outside; all could do with a good scrub, but were otherwise serviceable. Three window boxes stood empty, devoid of life, but that could easily be rectified—and they would benefit from a coat of paint, too. The window glass needed a good wash, and the rest could do with a thorough brushing, but beyond that, the front would do.

She looked up at the attic windows above; at least the rooms up there would have plenty of light—or would once the windows were cleaned. She wondered what state the other rooms—especially the guest rooms on the first floor—were in.

Glancing further along the road, she let her gaze sweep the line of small cottages facing the common, all the way to the larger house at the end of the stretch—the first house if one came in from the north.

She suspected that house was Colyton Manor, her family’s ancestral home. Her great-grandfather had been the last Colyton to reside there, many years ago. She doubted anyone still living would remember him.

After a moment, she shook free of her thoughts, looked again at the inn, and felt her smile grow. Time to put her siblings’ worries to rest. Her smile widening into a beaming grin, she headed for the inn door.

They were in the corner where she’d left them, their boxes and trunks piled about them. She didn’t need to say anything for them to know. One look at her face and the twins, blue-eyed, blond-haired angel-demons, let out unladylike whoops and came pelting up to fling their arms around her.

“You did it! You
did it
!” Caroling in unison, they danced around her.

“Yes, but hush now.” She hugged them briefly, then released them and walked on, her gaze going first to meet Issy’s blue eyes in quiet triumph, then, smile deepening, she looked at Henry, who of them all remained somber and serious.

“Was it all right?” he asked.

Henry was fifteen-going-on-forty, and felt the weight of every one of those years. Although taller than Em, indeed even taller than Issy now, he shared Em’s coloring—light brown hair and light brown eyes, not as complex as Em’s hazel—while his face was a much stronger casting of his sisters’ delicate features.

She didn’t need him to say it to know he’d worried that someone at the Grange might take advantage of her. “It was entirely civilized.” She smiled reassuringly as she set her reticule on the table they’d gathered around. “Mind you, it turned out that the Mr. Tallent who’s presently in charge is the son, not the father, but he—Mr. Jonas Tallent—was perfectly gentlemanly.” Seeing that that news hadn’t allayed Henry’s concerns—quite the opposite—she smoothly added, “He’s not young. I’d say he’s somewhere in his thirties.”

Barely
thirty would be closer to the mark, but the mention of the figure thirty—to Henry at fifteen an unimaginable age—was sufficient to dampen his worries.

Hopefully by the time he met Jonas Tallent, Henry would have realized that their employer posed no threat to either her or Issy. That, indeed, Jonas Tallent was a far cry from some of their uncle’s friends.

His effect on her aside—and that hadn’t been his fault but a product of her own unprecedented sensibility—she was entirely confident that Jonas Tallent was the sort of gentleman who played by society’s rules, when it came to ladies probably to the letter. There was something about him that, despite her unsettled nerves, had made her feel entirely safe—as if he would protect her from any threat, any harm.

Unnerving he might be, but he was, she judged, an honorable man.

Freeing Tallent’s folded note from her reticule, she brandished it to attract her siblings’ attention. “I have to give this to the man behind the bar—his name is Edgar Hills. The only other person currently employed at the inn is the ostler—John Ostler by name. Now”—she looked pointedly at the twins—“please behave yourselves while I sort things out.”

The twins dutifully sat on the bench alongside Issy, who smiled in wry if cynical amusement. Henry sat quietly and watched as, again carrying her reticule, Em walked to the bar.

Edgar Hills looked up as she neared, faint curiosity in his face. He’d heard the twins’ exclamations, but wouldn’t have been able to make out anything more. He nodded politely as she halted before the bar. “Miss.”

Em smiled. “I’m Miss Beauregard.” She handed Tallent’s message across the bar. “I’m here to take charge of the inn.”

Not entirely to her surprise, Edgar received the news with subdued and relieved joy; in his quiet, rather lugubrious way, he welcomed her and her siblings to the inn, smiling at the twins’ exuberance, then showing them over the entire inn, before putting himself at their disposal for moving their trunks and boxes upstairs.

The next hours went in cheery, good-humored bustle, a much brighter and happier end to their day than Em could ever have dreamed. The upper rooms of the inn were perfect for her siblings—Issy, Henry, and the twins divided up the attic rooms surprisingly amicably; there seemed an ideal spot for each of them.

Somewhat to her bemusement, she found herself installed in a private set of rooms. Edgar shyly led her to a narrow door at the top of the stairs that led from one end of the common room up to the first floor. To the left of the stairhead, a wide corridor ran the length of the inn with the guest rooms giving off to both sides, overlooking the front and back of the inn. The door Edgar opened stood to the right of the stairs, facing down the corridor. It gave onto the innkeeper’s domain—a generous parlor, leading to a good-sized bedroom, with a dressing room-cum-bathing chamber further back. The latter was connected by a very narrow set of stairs to the back hall beside the scullery.

After showing her through the rooms, Edgar murmured that he’d fetch up her things, and left her.

Alone—she was so rarely alone she always noticed and despite her fierce love for her siblings, she savored those moments of solitude whenever they came her way—she walked to the front window of the parlor and looked out.

The view was to the front of the inn. Across the road, the common was already bathed in purple shadow. Up on the ridge, the church stood starkly silhouetted against the still sunlit western sky.

She opened the casement window, breathed in the cool, fresh air that drifted in, spiced with the smell of green grass and growing things. The distant clack of a duck, the deeper bell-like tone of a frog, reached her on the evening breeze.

Issy had already taken charge of the kitchens. She’d done most of the cooking at their uncle’s house. She was a better cook than Em, and enjoyed the challenges. Contrary to Em’s expectations, Issy had reported that the inn’s storerooms and pantries were about half-stocked, with a variety of staples available for creating meals. She was presently in the kitchen, creating dinner.

Hitching her hip onto the wide windowsill, Em leaned against the open window frame. She would still need to replenish the inn’s supplies. Tomorrow she’d investigate the wheres and hows.

Edgar didn’t live in, but came in every day from a cottage on his brother’s farm just outside the village. She’d asked him about his duties; aside from tending the bar, he was happy to continue to act as the main body manning the inn’s counter. He and she had very easily come to an agreement; she would take responsibility for all the supplies, all the organization, and everything to do with getting the food and accommodation side of the inn functioning again, while he would oversee the running of the bar and keep track of liquor supplies, although she would order and organize to have the liquor delivered.

She’d had Edgar introduce her to John Ostler, who lived in a room above the stables. Stables that were neat and clean; they hadn’t had any horses in them for some time. John lived for horses; a shy, reticent man in, she judged, his late twenties, in light of the dearth of equine guests, he’d kept his hand in by helping out with the horses at Colyton Manor.

From him, she’d learned that the manor was indeed the large house further along the lane, and that it was presently the home of a family named Cynster—and the lady of the house was Jonas Tallent’s twin sister.

Looking out into the deepening shadows, Em took mental stock of her new domain. The inn had only a single public room—the common room—but it stretched the length of the ground floor. The front door gave onto its center; the long bar stretched more to the right than left, leaving a good space in front of the door to the kitchen, to the left of center, with the staircase beyond, toward the rear left corner of the room. Set in the center of each side wall were large, stone-manteled fireplaces.

The common room could, she estimated, seat forty or more. There were various tables, benches, and chairs, including more comfortable wing chairs in a semicircle around one hearth. Long custom, it appeared, had made the area to the right of the front door the tap, with round tables with wooden chairs and benches along the walls. The area to the left of the door held padded benches and cushioned chairs, and more wing chairs, arranged in groupings about lower tables. Further back, between the hearth and the kitchen door, stood rectangular tables with benches—clearly the dining area.

From the dust that lay on the more comfortable chairs and the lower tables, Em surmised that area—presumably for women or older folk—hadn’t seen much use in recent years.

That, she hoped, would change. An inn like the Red Bells should be the center of village life, and that included the female half of the population and the elders as well.

Aside from all else, having females and older folk in the common room would help modulate the behavior of the men. She made a note to set standards and institute some method to enforce them.

Edgar had already told her, in one of his quiet murmurs, that the clientele of the inn had dropped away over the tenure of her predecessor, a man called Juggs. Even the travelers who used to regularly break their journeys at the inn had, over time, found other places to stay.

She had a great deal of work before her to restore the inn to its full potential. Somewhat to her surprise, the challenge filled her with real zeal—something she certainly hadn’t expected.

“Ooh—this is nice.” Gertrude, Gert to the family, came into the room. Beatrice, Bea, followed at her heels, likewise round-eyed, exploring and noting.

Henry trooped in behind the twins; Issy, in a check apron and wiping her hands on a cloth, followed.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” Issy announced with some pride. She glanced at Em. “It’s quite a well-set-out kitchen, once I unearthed the pots and pans. Someone had put them in the root cellar.” She tilted her head. “Have you any ideas about kitchen help?”

Straightening from the windowsill, Em nodded. “Edgar’s told me who used to work here as cook and the helpers she had. They’re all locals, and likely still available, if we want them, which I said we do.” She fixed Issy with a firm gaze. “I’ll be glad of your help with the menus and the ordering, once I learn where to order from, but I don’t want you cooking, only in emergencies.” Issy opened her mouth; Em held up a staying hand. “Yes, I know you don’t mind, but I didn’t get you out of Uncle Harold’s kitchen just to install you in another.”

She let her gaze sweep over the others’ faces. “We all know why we’re here.”

“To find the treasure!” Bea promptly piped.

Leaning back, Em grasped the latch and pulled the window shut; the twins’ high-pitched voices carried, and no one else presently needed to know their reason for being in Colyton. “Yes.” She nodded decisively. “We’re going to find the treasure,
but
we are also going to live normal lives.”

She regarded the twins, not entirely mock-severely; she knew their propensities all too well. “We’ve spoken of this before, but Susan sadly neglected your education. You cannot be Papa’s daughters and not have the basics of a gentlewoman’s upbringing. Issy, Henry, and I had governesses to teach us. You can’t at the moment have a governess, but Issy—and I’ll help when I can—can at least start you off with your lessons.”