The Nightingale Legacy (Legacy 2)

“That’s quite enough, North. Be quiet.” She leaned toward Timmy, who, for the first time since being caught, had a gleam of hope in his very green slanted eyes. “Why did you really come in here, Timmy?”

He threw in his hand, hoping for a bit of pity from a female, for surely there wouldn’t be any from his lordship. “It were Mr. Coombe, miss. I ’eard him telling Mr. Tregeagle that you ’ad a gun, that ye’d pointed the thing at ’im, shocked to ’is slippers, ’e were. My pa’s gun is broke and ’e needs it when ’is snares don’t work. Me brothers ’n sisters are hungry, ye see, and they need food.”

“You were going to steal my pistol?”

He nodded his head.

“I see,” she said. Then she shrugged and smiled. “Very well. It sounds as if your pa has far more need of it than I do. However, there is a very bad man who is going to come after me. He wants me to marry him so he can have my money. I might have to shoot him to save myself. Let me take care of him and then I will give you the gun. All right, Timmy?”

“Won’t ’is lordship take care o’ ye, miss? Won’t ’is lordship pop the bad man’s cork?”

“No, it’s up to me to do any popping necessary. Now, after I take complete care of him I’ll give you the gun. What do you say, Timmy?”

“Oh, miss, that’s wunnerful, my pa’ll be grunting with the greatness of yer beauty and yer bounty and—”

“Put a cork in it, Timmy,” North said. “May I ask why you didn’t come to me?”

“Mr. Coombe says we’re never to bother ye, milord. Yer a lordship wot likes ’is solitude and privacy, that’s wot Mr. Coombe says. Mr. Tregeagle says no one ever bothers a Nightingale gentleman, it jest ain’t done. Thus, it’s true. Ain’t nobody to bother ye, milord. Mr. Coombe says we’re all to protect ye and that means keeping meddlesome folk away from ye, like female meddlesome folk.”

“I’m bothered now. Because of you I was jerked out of a very pleasant dream and forced to—”

“That’s enough, my lord. Timmy has apologized. All is well now.”

“Go to bed, Timmy,” North said, giving it up. “You and I will speak more of this tomorrow. Good night.”

Timmy nodded solemnly to North and gave Caroline a cocky smile. North said nothing until the boy had walked through the door and out of the bedchamber. He turned slowly to look down at her. “Your scream did scare the devil out of me.”

“I’m sorry. Timmy nearly scared me into old age. Your hair’s sticking up. It looks quite nice.”

He smoothed down his hair, then said, “That’s silly. Now, about you. Why, you’re a bloody angel, a precious princess, your beauty makes the seas recede, you are a fat-tailed peacock, in short, a—”

She laughed, actually laughed, and lightly punched his arm. “Oh, do stop before I laugh myself silly. Goodness, what a debacle. I’m sorry for awakening you, but he did scare me quite witless.” She looked down and said blankly, “You took off my boots.”

“Yes, but nothing else, as you know, since you’re not standing there naked as the statue in one of the east-wing recesses. Timmy got closer to you than I did. Your left stocking has a hole in it and you’ve rubbed a blister. It doesn’t look good. Do see to it in the morning.”

“All right. You called me Caroline.”

“Miss Derwent-Jones seemed a bit excessive when I was throwing myself headfirst into your bedchamber to save you from a dragon or a thief or that dastardly Mr. Ffalkes.”

“It’s all right. You can call me Caroline. I like the way you say it. It’s deep and dark and really quite exciting. It thrilled me to my female toes.”

“You think that, do you? Very well. Perhaps we haven’t known each other all that long, but I daresay our experiences have gone a long way to breaking down formality between us. You may call me North, though you already did, didn’t you?”

“North what?”

“Actually, it’s Frederic North Nightingale, Baron Penrith, Viscount Chilton, nothing more, really. It took my ancestors long enough to gain anything at all. When my long-ago ancestor became Viscount Chilton and built Mount Hawke, he changed the name of the village down below to that name.”

“What was the name before he changed it?”

He found himself giving her a slow, drawing smile. “Would you believe it was called Pigeon’s Foot?”

“No, I won’t. Come, what was it?”

He just shrugged.

She looked very thoughtful for a long time. Then she looked up at him, smiled, and said, “North Nightingale. That’s a lovely name. It’s very romantic. Did your mother select it?”

“I strongly doubt it.”