Free Regina Scott by An Honorable Gentleman Page B

covert glances at the wealthy parishioners, waiting for them to turn and notice him, wondering if they would throw him out.
    But the good people of Blackcliff were the ones craning their necks and casting him glances when he took his place at the front of the chapel. St. Martin’s was more welcoming inside than out. Pale stone arches held up the heavily beamed ceiling. The narrow windows let in rays of light that etched the dark wood pews with lines of gold. Warmth seemed to curl from the candles; compassion echoed in the upraised voices that chanted the proper replies to David Newton’s lead. Again that feeling of peace stole over Trevor.
    Yet he could not believe they would want him worshiping with them if they truly knew him. In fact, he was fairly certain that if he was unable to open the mine, he would be wise to mount Icarus and escape to Carlisle at the first opportunity.
    He had exited to the churchyard, where many of the congregation were loitering to exchange greetings after service, when Gwen brought a gentleman to meet him. Squire Lockhart was a tall, rugged fellow, with silver hair and a growing paunch that stretched his fine paisley waistcoat.
    “Determined to make your acquaintance,” he assured Trevor, wringing Trevor’s hand in his meaty grip.
    “Squire Lockhart has an impressive estate beyond Blackcliff,” Gwen explained. Her wide smile said she thought she’d brought something akin to an Eastern potentate to Trevor’s side.
    Trevor was used to moving in the highest circles, if only on the edges of their august lives. Meeting a squire with an estate, no matter how impressive, did not discomfort him.
    “And do you spend the entire year on your estate?” Trevor asked.
    “Generally,” the squire allowed. “Though I expect I’ll need to go up to London once my granddaughter is in long skirts. Best place to catch a husband, my dear wife used to say, God rest her soul.”
    Trevor eyed Gwen. Though he thought her cheeks had darkened inside her veiled bonnet, she kept hergaze on the squire. Nothing about the fellow discomfited her, either, but then Trevor thought not even his exalted father would have discomfited Gwen.
    “And didn’t you tell me, sir,” she said to the squire now, “that you had an express purpose in wanting to meet Sir Trevor?”
    The squire, who had tipped his tall hat to Ruth Newton as she passed, set it back on his head with a flourish and eyed Trevor congenially. “Indeed I did. We expect a large party up from London tomorrow for a week of hunting. Perhaps you’d care to join us.”
    He was expected to agree; both Gwen’s eager look and the squire’s inquisitive blue gaze said so. Trevor enjoyed a good hunt the same as the next fellow, but he wasn’t sure he should raise Gwen’s expectations any further. He wasn’t going to stay; he couldn’t afford to stay. Still, what was a day?
    “You are too kind,” Trevor said. “But won’t your other guests mind a stranger joining them?”
    “Not such a stranger,” Lockhart insisted. “I spent twenty years in the navy before retiring to the family estate after my older brother passed on. Several of those who are coming could tell similar tales. My last berth was the Pegasus in the Caribbean.”
    His gaze met Trevor’s, sharper suddenly, assessing. Trevor refused to let him see that he’d hit a vein. “I know little about the navy, I fear. I would only bore your guests. Perhaps another time.”
    He thought the squire might press him, but Lockhart allowed the conversation to wander into predictions of harvest and the weather for the upcoming winter and commonplaces far less troubling than the name of the ship Trevor’s father had captained. He was merely thankful the squire was a gentleman and would not demand that Trevor act in kind.
     
    Gwen was highly tempted to stomp her foot or utter a shriek to voice her frustration. Unfortunately, St. Martin’s churchyard was no place for such dramatic demonstrations of