Jilted By a Scoundrel

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CHAPTER TWO

What a cheeky tart!

John Dunn stared at his widowed sister-in-law, Melvina.  They were in the main hall, the Justice Day proceedings finally at an end.  The ale cask had been opened, and people were drinking and clucking over his various decisions as if they’d been watching horse races or boxing matches.  The winners were celebrating, and the losers had slinked off to lick their wounds out of sight.

He was so exhausted from listening to complaints all afternoon that he could have collapsed by the fire and taken a nap. 

Who was cheeky? he asked her.

The shrewish Miss Watson.  She was insolent and overbearing, which I’m certain means she has many other dubious qualities.

That seems a bit harsh.  I’d have described her as brash, brave, and too smart for her own good.

She was brave all right, Melvina fumed, but not smart.  How dare she waltz in and disparage your poor, deceased sister.

Yes, it was badly done of her.

She’s lucky you didn’t have her flogged.

Yes, I’m definitely the sort of fellow who would flog a woman.

John rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

Melvina was vain, grouchy, and impetuous, and she’d been in charge at Dunworthy—with no male guidance—for far too long.  She could be petty and cruel, and she enjoyed tormenting others.  In the period since he’d returned, he’d heard numerous horror stories about the punishments she meted out for the smallest infractions.

She thought John relished that type of malicious conduct and would behave the same way if given a chance, but he wasn’t a malicious man.  He’d spent the prior fourteen years in the army, having purchased his commission when he was sixteen.  He’d witnessed plenty of violence, and he’d just as soon not witness more of it. 

Why do you suppose Miss Watson really visited us? he asked Melvina.

She probably discovered we’re wealthy and prominent, and she assumed she could swindle some money out of us.

We’re broke though, so that plan wasn’t much of a plan.  And that girl—Jane—didn’t look like Rebecca.

No, she didn’t.

But as John repeated the claim, he scowled.  He didn’t have a clear picture of Rebecca in his head.  How old had he been when she died?  Sixteen?  Seventeen?  He could scarcely recollect.

He’d already been in the army and out of England, so he hadn’t been able to attend her funeral.  Before her death, he hadn’t seen her in ages.  As had happened for John, their brother, Duncan, had insisted Rebecca escape Dunworthy.  Despite their mother’s strident objections, he’d sent her to boarding school, and once she’d had a taste of freedom, she’d shunned their isolated, backward island.

Duncan had been partially crippled in an accident as a boy, so he’d been trapped in his injured body and trapped at Dunworthy.  Yet he’d been bright and kind, had constantly read books, studied maps, and dreamed of all the places he’d never go.  He’d been adamant that John and Rebecca experience the adventures he never would.

Their father had perished when they were little, so Duncan had inherited when he was very young.  His great burden had been their mother who’d been tediously pious and completely mad, and he’d had to deal with her all his life.

She’d wasted away on her knees in the chapel, and in her later years, he’d begun locking her in her room to keep her safe, but also to keep others from having to put up with her.  The entire debacle had been hideous, and John had missed much of it by joining the army.

Duncan had had a dreadful time of it though.  He’d yearned to travel the globe, but his accident and their mother’s lunacy had ensured he rarely set foot off Dunworthy. 

Rebecca had passed away from the flu when she was sixteen and away from home.  There had never been any question as to what had laid her low, and John was flummoxed over Miss Watson and her story that contradicted their facts. 

He shouldn’t have been so rude to her.  He had some manners after all, but his wound was bothering him, so he wasn’t feeling well.  Plus, he hated the routines and customs that went with being lord and owner of Dunworthy.  The traditions left him surly and abrupt, as Miss Watson had learned to her detriment.

He didn’t like to judge the trivial squabbles at Dunworthy, and he viewed the arguments as petty family fights.  Nearly every single inhabitant was a cousin of some sort.  They were born on Dunworthy, they grew up on Dunworthy, and they died on Dunworthy, residing either in the castle or down at the harbor in Dunn village. 

The bolder members had migrated over to the main town of Dunworthy across the water, but that was as far as they ventured.  Their situation had been the same for centuries, and he’d been ensnared in their tiny world like a fly caught in a spider’s web. 

He had naught but bitter memories of his childhood on their remote, barren island, and on the final occasion when he’d spoken to his brother, Duncan had made him swear he would never come back.

John had had fourteen glorious years of liberty, but circumstances had dragged him home against his will.  Did the accursed island cast an evil spell on the man who ended up owning it?  Was escape impossible?  It certainly seemed that way.

She had some gall to besmirch Rebecca, Melvina said, yanking him out of his pathetic reverie.

Who?

Miss Watson.  It was outrageous that she insulted Rebecca like that.

Rebecca is dead, so I imagine she’ll get over it.

That’s not funny, Melvina huffed, and Miss Watson should pay a price for her mischief.  I hope you won’t allow her to saunter off without at least tendering an apology.

John sighed.  Let it go, Melvina.  I’m weary, and the woman departed without incident.  I don’t care to fret over her.

You shouldn’t be so forgiving, John.  There’s never a benefit in being sympathetic.

I’ll try to remember that.

He was thirty and Melvina was thirty-two.  She’d run Dunworthy by herself for most of a decade after Duncan’s death.  John had been busy and happy in the army, and he hadn’t worried over how she was managing things.  But she was pompously proud of her position as Mistress Dunn, Mistress of Dunworthy, and she acted as if she were John’s wise grandmother, as if she had all the answers and he had none. 

Often, he listened to her, but more often, he didn’t.

She’d run the island and the castle all right—right into the ground.  The whole place was a decrepit, crumbling wreck, and they were almost bankrupt besides, with no money to fix any problems.  If he’d had any sense, he’d have been in London, searching for an heiress with a fat dowry.

Her negligence had forced him to resume the family business of smuggling to generate some income.  He was angry and worn out and too old to engage in criminal activity, but his penury meant he had few choices as to how he could repair his finances.  Smuggling was a trade the Dunns had practically invented. 

It was the prime reason he couldn’t have a guest like Miss Watson stay for supper.  She’d snoop around and butt her nose into every nook and cranny.  Rumors frequently leaked out about the illegal conduct of the Dunn clan, and he wouldn’t be surprised to discover she’d been sent by the tax collectors as a spy.

May I speak, Lord John?

The question had been posed by Melvina’s daughter, Ellen.  She was sixteen and John’s niece, but he never recalled that she was.  It was odd to envision Duncan siring a child on Melvina, but apparently, any miracle could occur.

Ellen could be sweet, but was also silly and flighty.  She was a romantic dreamer who yearned to flee Dunworthy, but Melvina wouldn’t permit it.

She was nicer than her mother, smarter and kinder than her mother, and she had a sly way of handling Melvina that he liked to watch.  She was thin, petite, and pretty, with the typical dark hair and eyes of everyone on the island.  As she gazed up at him, her expression was derisive and scornful, making him feel petty and small.

Don’t pester your uncle, Melvina said.  He’s tired after sitting through so many hearings. 

John ignored her.  Go ahead, Ellen.  What is it?

I thought you were horrid to Miss Watson.

Melvina bristled.  When your uncle wants your opinion, he’ll ask you for it.

How was I horrid to her? he inquired of Ellen, but he knew.

First off, she’s a stranger, and you didn’t offer her any hospitality.

He shrugged.  Maybe.

And second of all, what if that girl, Jane, is actually Aunt Rebecca’s daughter?

She’s not, he said, but without much conviction.  Your aunt died of the influenza.

According to who?  Your mother?  Didn’t you all agree she was mad?  Why believe her on any topic?

Honestly, Ellen, Melvina scolded, don’t drag your deranged grandmother into it.

"If Jane is Rebecca’s daughter, then she’s my cousin and a Dunn, and she deserves our help.  Even if she’s not my cousin, we should still help her.  We could at least give them supper and a bed for the night."

Miss Watson is a liar and a confidence artist, Melvina insisted.  Anyone could see that about her.

I couldn’t see it, Ellen staunchly declared, and the tide’s rolled in.  What are they supposed to do?  Answer me that—if you can.  Will they sleep on the street in Dunn harbor?

The villagers will assist them, Melvina said.

What if they don’t?

There was a lengthy pause where Melvina stewed and groused, and John was ashamed of himself.  Normally, he wasn’t so awful.  For fourteen years of his life, he’d been an officer and a gentleman, proudly serving King and country, but after a few short months of residing at Dunworthy, he’d become someone he didn’t like very much.

He’d grown suspicious, surly, and unfriendly.  But…

He couldn’t have strangers visiting, and he refused to have more mouths to feed.  The castle operated as if it were still the Middle Ages and Henry Tudor on the throne.  His family assumed it was his duty to take care of them, yet he was broke, the castle was deteriorated nearly beyond repair, and he was nobody’s savior.

I’m going to fetch them, Ellen announced.

You are not, Melvina scoffed.

I am.

Ellen glared at John, daring him to prevent her.  Although he’d been a soldier, he wasn’t a fighter.  Potent sentiment exhausted him, and he hated to bicker over any issue.

He wondered what sort of catastrophe he’d set in motion if he welcomed Miss Watson.  She was full of sass and vinegar.  She’d argued with him and had stood her ground as if it was entirely appropriate for her to have an opinion different from his.

She had no notion of a woman’s place in the scheme of things, no notion of her place in relation to a man, in relation to John.  She was bossy and domineering and generally unlikeable, but she was quite beautiful.  He couldn’t have failed to notice.  He was only human after all.

With that glorious blond hair, and those big blue eyes that had sparked with fury, she’d definitely been a sight when riled.  Since the day he’d trudged onto the sand that led to the island, he hadn’t seen a female who wasn’t a direct relative. 

What could it hurt to have a guest?  Why not enjoy a new person’s company?  She would poignantly remind him that there was a wide, interesting world outside Dunworthy and he’d once been part of it.

He was certain he’d wind up regretting his decision, but he curtly gestured to Ellen, granting her permission to chase after Miss Watson.

Thank you.  Ellen didn’t gloat over her victory.  I’ll be right back.

I can’t wait, John churlishly muttered.

While I’m gone, have a bedchamber opened for them.

I won’t, Melvina said.  They can sleep by the fire with the scullery maids.

John tsked with exasperation.  I’ll handle it, Ellen.  Hurry and locate them, so we can get this over with.

Ellen flounced out, and she was grinning, delighted with herself and her firm stance.  He went to the ale keg and filled his glass to the rim, knowing he’d need extra fortification before Miss Watson arrived.  A fellow shouldn’t spar with her until he’d strengthened his defenses.

*          *          *          *

Miss Watson!

Winnie was so surprised to hear her name called that, at first, she didn’t pay attention.  The castle looked particularly ancient, so there were probably ghosts everywhere, and they were taunting her.  When the summons was shouted again, she halted and spun around.  Bobby and Jane spun too.

A young lady was rushing down the trail toward them.  She was petite, dark-haired, and pretty and, as opposed to every other person Winnie had encountered inside, she actually appeared cordial.

Winnie braced, curious and alarmed over what was about to happen.

I’m Ellen Dunn, she said as she raced up.  We weren’t introduced, but I’m so glad I caught you.

Winnie nodded a greeting.  Hello, Miss Dunn.

Lord John is my uncle, and the woman on the dais with him, Melvina, is my mother.

How awful for you.  Winnie couldn’t bite down the horrid words, and she blanched with dismay.  Oh, Miss Dunn, I most humbly apologize.

Miss Dunn laughed in a merry way.  You haven’t told me anything I hadn’t figured out on my own.  They can both be very offensive.  It’s not news to me.

It may be the truth, but there’s never a reason to be rude.

It’s not easy to live with all my Dunn relatives.  They’re a surly bunch.

That was my view exactly.  What can I do for you?

I’ve talked to Lord John about you, and he’d like you to come back to the castle.

Bobby snidely asked, Why?  Will he lock us in the dungeon?

No, silly.  Miss Dunn waved away his comment.  He’s embarrassed by how he acted, and I’ve reminded him that he needs to offer you our hospitality.  We’re a seafaring family here on Dunworthy.  It’s our custom to be kind to strangers.

Kind! Bobby sneered.

Bobby! Winnie cautioned.  Miss Dunn is trying to help us.  Let’s be a little more gracious, shall we?

Sorry, he mumbled, his aristocratic temper bubbling just below the surface.

My uncle’s not himself lately, Miss Dunn said.

Why isn’t he? Winnie inquired.  It’s not ever difficult to be courteous.

He’s only recently home from the army.  He was wounded, and usually, he doesn’t feel very well.  He’s really quite grand when you get to know him.

I won’t reply to that remark, Winnie said.  I wouldn’t want to upset you with candor as to my genuine sentiment.

Miss Dunn gestured to the ocean surrounding them.  The tide has turned, Miss Watson, so you’re trapped with us.  Won’t you let us give you bed and board for the night?  I can’t have you wandering Dunn village and begging for aid.

Winnie hadn’t yet thrown off her indignation, so her initial inclination was to be haughty and boorish, to mock the assistance being extended.  If she’d been by herself, she might have behaved that foolishly, but she had to think of Bobby and Jane.

They were children, and they couldn’t fend for themselves.  She had stepped forward to take charge of them, and she had to always conduct herself in a manner that would keep them safe.

Lord John asked us to stay? Winnie said.  You’re certain?

I won’t lie to you, Miss Watson.  He wasn’t too keen on the idea, but yes, he agreed.

It’s simply that we’ve traveled such a long distance, and we’re weary and worn down.  We weren’t anticipating such a cool reception.

I was, Jane claimed.

You were not, Winnie scoffed.  We were all hoping your uncle would be happy to see you.

"I was hoping, Jane said, but I wasn’t expecting good treatment.  I’m never that lucky."

Don’t you dare be despondent, Winnie told her.  Not now.  Not when we’re finally here, and Miss Dunn is being so friendly.

Jane’s cheeks flushed.  I apologize, Miss Dunn.

It’s all right, Jane, Miss Dunn said, and just so you know, I completely believe Miss Watson when she insists you’re my Aunt Rebecca’s daughter.

Jane looked stunned.  You do?

"Yes, so that would make us cousins, wouldn’t it?  First cousins.  I’d like you to sit with me at supper so you can tell me all about your life at Benton.  I’m eager to learn every detail about you."

Really?

Yes.  I’ve never been more than two towns away from Dunworthy.  My mother would never let me leave.  So I haven’t been to London or anywhere, and you’ve journeyed clear across the country!  I’m so jealous.

Of who?  Of me?

Yes.  You’ve done things I can only dream of doing.  Miss Dunn peered over at Winnie.  Will you come back with me, Miss Watson?  Please don’t refuse.  Lord John is having a bedroom opened for you.  Don’t force me to admit it wasn’t necessary.

There were a thousand responses Winnie could have offered, but the one that emerged was, "Why is he called Lord John?  The Dunns aren’t aristocrats, are they?"

No, but it’s a sign of respect.  Dunworthy seems like our own little country, and the oldest male family member is our lord and master.  We address him accordingly.

I understand.

Winnie blew out a heavy breath.  She studied the swirling ocean, the mainland that was so far away it might have been on the other side of the moon.  Then she glanced over her shoulder at the looming castle up on the edge of the cliffs.

It was such a sinister place that she actually shivered, and she suffered a terrible sense of foreboding, which was ridiculous.  It was merely a building, a dark, decrepit building.  It couldn’t hurt her, could it?

What do you think, Miss Watson? Bobby asked.  Should we risk it?

I suppose we should.  It’s not as if we have any other viable option.

Bobby turned to Miss Dunn.  We’ll accompany you, Miss Dunn, but if Lord John is rude to Miss Watson a single time, we’ll depart again immediately.

I’ll make him behave, Miss Dunn said.  I promise.

She grinned such an impish grin that Winnie grinned too.

Perhaps it would be fine.  Perhaps everything would work out for the best.  It hadn’t yet, but maybe their fortunes were about to change.

CHAPTER THREE

Winnie stood on the walkway that rimmed the interior walls of Dunworthy Castle.  The sun had set, but it was July, so dusk was lingering.  The sky was a deep purple, slowly fading to indigo and black.  Lamps were being lit, fires ignited in hearths. 

It was a chilly evening, the brisk breeze adding to the sense of windswept isolation.  She tugged on her cloak, wishing she had one sewn from a sturdier fabric.

She couldn’t stop staring at the scenery.  There was a stark, unrivaled beauty to the barren spot, and she comprehended why a person would live on the island, why a person might never leave.  It would be a good place, a safe place to wile away the years.

Considering how life and Fate had battered her out in the greater world beyond, it was mesmerizing to imagine herself hunkering down at Dunworthy, how she could hide and think and regroup.  When she caught herself yearning to stay and let it become her haven, she shook her head with