Rexanne Becnel Read Online Free Page A

primary arbiter of class. But British society was more complex, as Duff had swiftly apprised him.
    “Fell flat, did you?” the outspoken fellow had said when the Englishwoman’s coach had left Marsh standing in the yard, covered with dust.
    Marsh had fixed him with a thunderous glare, but the man had continued on unperturbed. “The thing is, guvnor, this ain’t America. There’s women, an’ then there’s ladies. You’ve got to decide which ones it is you’re interested in.”
    “And what of servants? Are they different here too, speaking up even when their opinions are not welcome?”
    Unfazed by his new employer’s ire, the man squinted at him. “You look the sort who kin handle hisself in a brawl, otherwise I wouldn’t’ve took you on.”
    “You took me on?”
    “That’s the right of it. You’re up to somethin’, even if you ain’t ready to tell me what. But I’m the adventurous sort, meself. I don’t take you for the type as needs someone to fold his clothes and carry his bags. I’m thinkin’ you have other reasons for hiring me than that. Don’t know what, not yet. Meanwhile, best you understand that we Scots got our own ways. If you want to get along here, best that you learn ’em. An’ I’m the one as can teach you.”
    Much as he’d resented the man’s observant remarks, having lived by his wits all his life, Marsh had respect for others who survived the same way. Now, as he stared after the carriage ahead of him, he considered Duff’s words. Maybe he could use a little assistance on that score. After all, that coachman hadn’t been especially forthcoming, and even less so when the red-caped beauty had advanced so regally upon them.
    Marsh rubbed one hand across the back of his neck. Damn, but she was a self-possessed little tart. Like a succulent red cherry, she looked delectable enough to eat. And well she knew it. Those bright blue eyes had sparkled with awareness when he’d approached her. She’d not been at all opposed to their flirtatious encounter—at first. But then he must have done something and she’d recognized his lack of social acumen. That’s when her interest had cooled.
    Was that what had cooled his father’s interest in his mother? Had she overreached her bounds? Cameron Byrde must have been a man of some means if he’d settled a hundred pounds on her. But Maureen MacDougal, for all her gentle manner and quiet beauty, had been a simple lass from ordinary stock. She’d worked her whole life as a domestic in other people’s homes. That’s probably how she’d met the heartless Cameron Byrde.
    Marsh’s gaze narrowed on the luxurious coach up ahead. If his father was from anywhere around Kelso, then the pretty little snob in that behemoth carriage was sure to be acquainted with him. After all, like gathered with like.
    By the same token, they excluded everyone they deemed not like themselves. He’d learned how to travel those circles in Boston and in Washington. He had the money to fit in when he worked at it, and the social skills as well. But here he was less certain. Though he now had the requisite servant, carriage, clothing, and horse flesh—and plenty of money—he could see already that it might not be enough. Perhaps Duffy Erskine was right. Perhaps the man could help him with the rest of it. All he needed was entrée into the right society. After that he could manage on his own. He’d done so in Boston, and he could do so here.
    He was resolved on the matter several hours later as they crossed a narrow stone bridge to enter the town of Kelso. It was a prosperous-looking place centered around a village green. He stared around him at close-set cottages, painted shop fronts, and busy village folk. Had his mother once walked these cobbled streets?
    His palms began to sweat. Did his father walk them still?
    He reined in at the sign of the Cock and Bow and handed his weary animal over to the ostler. “A room for me. And for my man,” he said to the