The Unlikely Heroine Page 3

  Something sinister was underfoot, and if Arnald had to eavesdrop to discern his information, then so be it. He smothered another outburst. A tryst? Could she be in a tryst? And with whom?

  “Well, he’s very tall, and well, attractive,” Lady Pricilla continued.

  Who? Arnald wanted to yell.

  “He does not interest me,” Lady Esmeralda sniffed. “I have no interest in devil’s eyes.”

  “Whyever not?” Lady Pricilla sounded shocked.

  Devil’s eyes? Arnald groaned.

  “What are you about, an agent for the Spaniards?” Lady Esmeralda demanded.

  That statement brought him up. He edged closer to the door.

  “If you find him so attractive, then you are welcome to him. Leave me be,” Lady Esmeralda said.

  “You know I have no desire for marriage or children,” Lady Pricilla said in her matter-of-fact, “that-is-that” tone. “But you, however, do. You have been acting strangely since supper last eve.” Lady Pricilla said this slowly, almost accusatorily.

  Arnald would have given his right arm to be a specter hovering in the atmosphere or a spider in the corner to see their expressions.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lady Esmeralda snapped.

  Lady Pricilla’s voice took on a teasing quality that made him want to chuckle, doing something decidedly ungentlemanly-like to his nether regions. “You have been all over Cinde and Prince since that child popped out.”

  “Popped out!” Indignant. Then her voice softened. “He is adorable, non?”

  “Ugh! Spare me, s’il vous plaît.”

  “Coming from anyone else, that statement would surely be considered high-treason,” Lady Esmeralda defended.

  Perhaps Lady Esmeralda would not have made his cousin such a bad Princess had Prince not found his mysterious princess. Lady Pricilla, however, was in an entirely different league. One of her own, he decided.

  Arnald felt a stirring sense of relief. Well, ’twould seem they were not conspiring against the Royal Family after all. He grinned. Lady Pricilla was a most entertaining listen. While he could not claim to know her as well as Lady Esmeralda, mayhap he would not mind the notion.

  She was attractive enough, if one preferred a stubborn jaw and storm grey eyes that could shift to iced silver in an instant, eyes that gave away nothing but abject disapproval. Admittedly, the silky, blond curls framing that heart-shaped face left a man’s fingertips tingling with an urge to touch—but he’d never seen a hair out of place, or a crease in her dress. Ha, he would be surprised if something other than a scowl appeared on those full lips of hers.

  Non, ’twould ne’er happen. Lady Pricilla seemed most happy delving into her duties as Chalmers first female Land Agent. So it mattered naught. Her time was better spent with Landsome, her Bailiff, or Solicitor Milburn, or any number of tenants. The lady was much too controlling for his liking.

  She always seemed somewhat oblivious to him on the social occasions in which he’d encountered her, besides. Except for the evening before perhaps. He’d never seen her look so…vulnerable, so lost. Their business meetings were always just that—strictly business. Avoiding him looked to have become a nicely formed habit of hers, even having managed in delivering his reports through Landsome.

  Arnald tapped a forefinger against his lips. Mayhap, he should remedy that... Her voice lowered and his ears perked, confiding some secret to her sister.

  “I need your advice,” Lady Pricilla said. Arnald made out but a few words. “Profit ... wheat... harvest.” In a matter of seconds, their voices sounded at the door. Close but with quick thinking agility, Arnald made a dash round the corridor before he should be discovered.

  It was a near miss.

  “Did you hear something?”

  He peered round the corner to see Lady Pricilla’s delicate curls bounce as she stepped into the darkened corridor.

  She shook off the angst, then said, “It’s awfully quiet in this area, Essie, doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Of course not. I am usually mangled in numbers so deep, I rarely hear a thing,” she answered absently.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Lady Esmeralda laughed.

  Lady Pricilla sighed, and said, “Come along then.”

  Arnald stepped from his shadowed position, gazing thoughtfully upon the two retreating figures. Lady Pricilla’s blue and white striped muslin hugged delicious curves that, indeed, set his fingers tingling. He pulled himself back round the corner and thought on the words she’d uttered softly about the wheat harvest. It was much easier to concentrate when she was out of sight.

  Something was definitely amiss.

  What it could be was left for him to determine.

  ***

  Pricilla walked to the windows of her office, pulled aside sheer linings, and looked out at the lush, colorful gardens. Spectacular lilies in yellow and purple dotted the landscape.

  “There does seem to be a misappropriation of the figures,” Essie said.

  She turned back and watched as Essie trailed a finger down a column of numbers. “’Tis quite clever in its simplicity,” she said appearing somewhat awed. “It could easily be overlooked by someone less tenacious and astute.”

  Pricilla’s frustration mounted. “But who? Who would dare to try such a thing?” Brow furrowed, she paced a worn path, oblivious to her lavish surroundings. She paused at the window again, and fingered the lace linings. “I had Monsieur Landsome send a note to Silas Huntley, the north tenant. I am to meet with him later just before lunch.”

  “’Tis probably wise,” Essie nodded. “But you would do well to take someone with you,” Essie said.

  Pricilla faced her, arms folded across her chest. “Completely unnecessary. You know Prince availed us of instruction on how to defend ourselves from unwanted overtures. ’Twould only be a matter of pushing a man’s nose in his face whereby he would drop like a pile of stones. Or mayhap a well-placed knee.” She grinned at the image. No such luck witnessing such a thing in action, she supposed. Pricilla moved to the velvet corded chair before her desk and sat. “It only reinforces the notion that females have no perception of business.”

  “Nevertheless, you’ve no idea what you are up against.” Essie frowned. “Take Sir Arnald with you. I vow he is quite capable.”

  Pricilla pressed her lips together irritated Essie had the gall to suggest such a thing. “Why should—” Pricilla stopped, considering her sister’s ridiculous insistence. If she denied Essie’s suggestion outright, ’twould send her running straight to Prince—or worse, Sir Arnald—who would, no doubt, absolutely insist on accompanying her. Ha! She had no intention of spending any time in Sir Arnald’s company. He was an annoying man with women, literally, falling into his path. ’Twas nothing short of appalling. A groom would do just as well.

  “At least allow me to speak to Sir Arnald about the situation?”

  Pricilla lifted a shoulder feigning indifference, not daring to object. “Feel free to mention my plans to him,” she smirked. “But mind your feminine sensibilities when you locate him slinking from some woman’s chambers. Age notwithstanding.”

  Essie pierced her with a quelling glance. “That is uncalled for, Cill.”

  Pricilla narrowed her eyes on her sister. “Are you sure you are not in a tryst?”

  Essie rolled her eyes heavenward. “Cill—”

  “’Tis true, I don’t know exactly what I am up against,” she granted with a long-winded sigh. “But just the same, what if it turns out to be of naught? Just a minor mishap in the accounting? I shall appear an incompetent fool, and a woman to boot.” She propped her chin in her palm.

  “Then again, what if it’s not?” Essie shot back.

  ***

  At ten past eleven that morning, Arnald had the pleasure of observing Lady Pricilla step aboard one of the smaller hansom carriages with the assistance of a footman. It sat only two. The fabric of her blue and white dress, trimmed in its soft lace, sh
immered in the late afternoon’s sun. She looked quite picturesque with her matching bonnet, flaxen curls peeking from beneath. She looked much too delicious for a visit to the sour-faced Silas Huntley.

  Confronting Lady Esmeralda proved no contest at all. She’d seemed most relieved in spilling Lady Pricilla’s intentions to meet with Silas.

  All in all, Arnald was able to reassure Lady Esmeralda that her sister’s meeting with Silas would be short-lived. And certainly Arnald believed it so. Silas was nothing but a blow of hot air. He grinned.

  Whatever Lady Pricilla hoped to gain from her northern tenant should be pure torture for the chit. He chuckled at the idea. She was young, he was old. She was direct, he was stubborn. He was massive in stature, she was petite.

  In fact, the more Arnald thought about it, the more he decided he should like to witness the show. Silas was not known for his genteel manners to the fairer sex, or his estimation in their ability to handle diversity with their brains. Actually, the man was not the most congenial to his underlings, certainly not his wife, Sophie. Though, no one had voiced any suspicions outright.

  Something snapped. Arnald straightened.

  Mayhap, Lady Pricilla had discovered something.

  Damnation! He hastened to the stables, breaking into a dead run. She already had a good ten minutes on him.

  Chapter 5

  Pricilla was not quite sure what she hoped to accomplish in her assembly with Silas Huntley. As Head Tenant over the northern portion of Chalmers, her figures and general information alluded to adequate managerial skills. Granted, he was nowhere near as meticulous in his bookkeeping aptitude as Giles Haddock to the east or Carrick Viceroy in the south. Her concerns veered more towards her feminine predisposition.

  With the wheat harvest so soon upon them, Pricilla felt pressure that all should be in order. She could not bear the thought of celebrating the harvest ball with this glaring aberration hanging over her head.

  What she found so simplistic in the numbers was either so clever in how they’d been incremented through seasons past, as Essie had so ingeniously pointed out, or she must admit to a ridiculous unyielding tendency due to female fostering. In other words, her unheeded need for control.

  It stood to reason over the course of one season, that adding additional laborers was perfectly acceptable. But Pricilla refused to ignore the brilliance of an added percentage of increased laborers over the next ten to twelve seasons. Had she not been so new to her position and diligent in her efforts in being the best Land Agent for Chalmers, she may never have thought to peruse previous the records. One had to measure and illustrate carefully for the growth and future of crops for the good of the kingdom. A position she took extremely seriously, she thought with pursed lips. After all, as a mere woman she had much to prove. Ha! As if she considered herself mere.

  The amount of land used for the wheat crop had not increased so significantly as compared to the number of laborers. And Monsieurs Haddock nor Viceroy had seen fit to increase their workers through those same years. Well, not by as much anyway. Therein, lay the discrepancy. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

  A warm wind whipped the ribbons of her bonnet furiously. Shielding her eyes, she squinted into a clear blue spring sky. The Harvest Ball should herald excellent weather this season.

  Silas’s wife, Sophie, opened the door as the driver handed Pricilla down from the carriage. “Good morning, Madame,” Pricilla called. “How are you this fine day?” Sophie was the typical tenant’s wife with work worn hands and a large able body. Tenant notes showed she hailed from Scotland through her father, and Pricilla had to listen closely to decipher her heavy brogue.

  “We are in wonderful spirits, deary. I hope the same cannae be said for ye. Are ye lookin’ forward to the harves’ ball, are ye?” She pushed a heavy lock of graying red hair from twinkling green eyes.

  “I am indeed.” Pricilla forced a bright smile. “Monsieur Huntley should be expecting me, I believe, non?”

  “Aye. That he is, but he asked me to inform ye of his run to the stables. He shall return shortly. We can have a spot of tea while we’re awaitin’, if ye’ve a mind.”

  Pricilla acknowledged the maneuver at which Silas was playing. She kept her smile in place resisting the urge to grind her teeth. ’Twas not Sophie’s fault, after all. Silas would ne’er have the nerve of forcing an agent of the court to wait had said agent been male.

  “Merci, Sophie. That sounds wonderful.” Pricilla made quite careful in her tone, pausing inside the quaint cottage to slip off her bonnet. She hung it on a hook next to the large wooden door and followed the matronly woman’s bustle toward the kitchen.

  ***

  Arnald sat astride his mount peering from the trees. He kept a hawk’s gaze on Silas Huntley’s massive form strolling through high grasses from the direction of the stables. A fierce frown and furrowed bushy brows indicated just how pleased he was to be summoned by one Lady Pricilla, Land Agent of Chalmers Kingdom. Not to mention she was more than half his years in youth.

  Arnald was singularly aware that certain members of the kingdom were not thrilled with Prince’s new bride, her own stepmother included. Neither were they so inspired with the appointments of Princess Cinderella’s two sisters.

  Not that anyone would dare to say anything specific. As Prince’s right hand man and cousin, it would be out and out treasonous of one to be so forthright. But gossip flowed in small communities. Arnald touched the top of his boot for reassurance. He did not think he would need the knife he stowed, but it assured him some comfort.

  Silas stormed through the front of the small cottage. The heavy oak door slammed, reverberating through the ground. Maintaining his position, Arnald waited somewhat impatiently, until he saw Sophie Huntley appear from a side door. She paced in a small attached herb garden, wringing her hands. Ah. The time had come for intervention.

  Arnald sauntered forth and dropped to the ground with a silent graceful plop. He pitched the reins to Lady Pricilla’s driver. “Be ready to move on command, my good man,” he instructed with a brusque nod. He ignored the short bow of acknowledgement and hastened to the door.

  Sophie spotted him and rushed over. A sultry change seeped into her expression. “Sir Arnald,” she cooed, dipping into a deep curtsy. “Ye, deary, are looking ’specially delicious.” Her smile, coy, lashes fluttering ridiculously fast.

  Arnald stifled a groan with compressed lips and snapped his fingers. “How is Lady Pricilla’s assembly going with Silas, Sophie?”

  It did the trick. She blinked, coming back to her rightful senses, cheeks flaming.

  He let out a breath. Maman was back to playing Fairy Godmother, it appeared. Mayhap, was time for an assembly of his own.

  “Oh, sir. Thank ye to the God in our heav’n ye happened by. Me ‘usband is not what ye’d called too ‘appy with the situation.”

  “Not to worry, Madame. I shall handle matters.” With an index finger to his lips he slipped through the front door.

  “Just what are you implyin’ my lady?” Silas growled.

  “Monsieur Huntley, ’tis only a simple question,” Lady Pricilla said primly.

  Arnald detected her frustration as surely as Silas’s irritation. He imagined her lips in a grim line, and he’d be surprised if she were not standing with her hands on her hips. He hoped that was not the case.

  “It sounds more like’n an accusation,” he returned. His tone hovered in a dangerous resonance.

  “’Tis not an accusation, sir,” she said stiffly. “All I know is that there is a problem with the figures on your report. My research indicates this has been going on for some ten seasons. Perhaps longer.”

  Arnald lifted his eyes to the low ceiling.

  As intelligent as he attributed Lady Pricilla, he’d have to take off marks for lack of subtlety. And what did she mean ‘ten seasons’?

  “Monsieur Huntley, kindly remove your hands from my person!” Lady Pricilla’s fury snapped Arnald into action.
He swept into the room almost bumping into Lady Pricilla “kindly” being escorted from the small parlor. The sight that greeted him had him hard-pressed to keep his lips from curling. Dainty slippers dug into the shiny wood floors, gliding easily with Silas’s unwanted help.

  Arnald wisely hid his amusement, noting the heightened color of her fury, tension blatant.

  “Silas,” Arnald acknowledged coolly.

  “Sir Arnald.” Silas’s hands dropped from Lady Pricilla’s arm so suddenly, she would have tumbled backward had Arnald not snatched an arm to keep her upright. With a deft move, he maneuvered her slightly behind him. A slight huff of disgust reached his ears.

  “I’ll not be accused of any misappropriation by the mouth of a chit,” Silas thundered. The walls shook with his condescendion.

  Arnald felt his self-appointed charge stiffen with outrage. “Silas,” Arnald said coldly. “Might I remind you, sir, you are speaking with an agent of the Crown. Designated, I might add, by Prince Charming, himself.”

  Silas may have dropped his head in a submissive gesture, eyes lowered, but his shoulders registered his disrespect.

  “My apologies, Lady Pricilla,” Silas deferred in a mild tone; the gesture was offered as subterfuge, not genuine acquiescence.

  Lady Pricilla bristled, ready with a retort of her own. At once, Arnald realized, she had not appreciated someone speaking on her behalf. “Monsieur Huntley—” she started.

  On the other hand, it seemed knowing when to stop was not in her conscionable abilities. “Lady Pricilla,” he interrupted smoothly. “Might I escort you on to your next appointment?” He directed her toward the door with a firm hand, laughing softly under his breath. She grabbed her bonnet from the hook just as he hustled her through.

  “I have no need of your escort, sir!” she snapped. Voice low, out of Silas and Sophie’s hearing, she struggled demurely against his hold. He followed her quick glance over her shoulder where the Huntleys stood side by side eyeing them curiously.