Free Tarleton's Wife by Blair Bancroft Page B

visited his aunt, we shared some good times.” Jack Harding paused, visions of sun-dappled trout streams, fleeing rabbits and startled partridges, moments of undeniable mischief chased through his head. As he and Nick grew older, they had shared other adventures. Not reminiscences meant for a grieving widow. “Later,” Jack said, “we shared a pint or two…and talked.” In an oddly boyish betrayal of emotion Jack Harding thrust a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. “My condolences, Mrs. Tarleton. He was a good man, I liked him.”
    “Daniel?” Julia turned away, gazing fixedly into the fire, while Daniel Runyon took Jack Harding to a far corner of the room and gave him a brief summary of their last days in Spain, finishing just as the door opened to admit a procession of Billings, his good wife and two maids carrying an array of heavy trays.
    Ignoring the bustle around the table, Harding returned to Julia, kneeling down so he might look up into her face which was as pale as a marble statue. His casual admiration for her stoic calm had taken on a new awareness. “My apologies for intruding on your grief, Mrs. Tarleton. Since we are to be neighbors, I look forward to becoming better acquainted. And now, you must be wishing me to the devil. I trust you will enjoy your supper.”
    As he started to rise, Julia reached out impulsively and touched his hand. “Please stay, Mr. Harding. We are deeply indebted to you. I was at a standstill, my small rebellion quite at an end. If you had not interceded, I think I would have fallen where I stood.”
    A warm glow lit the powerful contours of their rescuer’s strikingly handsome face. “Never, Mrs. Tarleton. I’ll not believe it. You’re made of sterner stuff.”
    Julia acknowledged his compliment with a gracious smile. “Indeed, we cannot put you out of your parlor. You will dine with us, I insist.”
    “I doubt Mr. Harding’s accustomed to dining with a batman and a lady’s maid, missus,” Daniel cautioned.
    “That cock won’t fight, Runyon,” Jack retorted. “I thought we’d settled that matter. Not to mention the food grows cold while we quibble. Cut line, man…or do you think me not grand enough to dine with your lady?”
    This last was purred to the accompaniment of glittering green eyes and a catlike stillness which sent a shiver through Daniel’s Irish soul. “Nay, lad, I’m thinkin’ I’d much rather have you as a friend than as an enemy. And the good Lord knows the missus will skin me if I stand here jabbering when she’s already invited you to join us.” Daniel stepped back and allowed the enigmatic Mr. Harding to offer Julia his escort to the laden table. Daniel, in turn, with his first smile in a good many hours, offered his hand to Meg O’Callaghan, seating her at the table with all the formality Jack Harding showed to Julia Tarleton.
    Within minutes the travelers recognized that they had tapped into a mine of information on their new world. Possibly Jack Harding felt the pull of old friendship, perhaps the poignant appeal of a lady newly widowed, or simply admiration for their heroic survival but he talked to them with a rare freedom. When speaking of matters in the area from Grantley to Nottingham, he veiled his anger, scorn and contempt with little more than a thin coating of humor. From the squire to the vicar to the social lionesses of neighborhood, his thumbnail sketches spared no one’s sensibilities.
    As Harding moved on to more serious matters, the traveler’s faces grew longer, worry once again rearing its ugly head. Apparently, their dreams of peace, quiet and safety had gone a bit wide of the mark. Though mobs of angry farm workers and factory laborers were a far cry from Napoleon’s Grande Armée, the refugees began to fear they had moved from one war zone to another.
    “You speak of enclosures, Mr. Harding,” Julia said. “I’ve lived out of the country most of my life and I confess it’s a word I’ve heard but