Читать книгу The Unconventional Maiden - June Francis, June Francis - Страница 7

London—May 1520

‘So what do you think of my Beth?’ asked Master Llewellyn, handing a goblet of ruby-red wine to Sir Gawain Raventon. ‘Would she not make the right man a wonderful wife? She has kept house for me since the death of her mother and she has proved to have a good head for figures and is thrifty, so I have allowed her to do my business accounts.’

‘You have a husband in mind for her?’ asked Gawain, who had met that young woman only a quarter of an hour ago and had found her extremely self-possessed. Master Llewellyn shook his head. ‘She is adamant that she will not marry. I tell her that she must get herself a husband. This whole matter concerning Jonathan has aged me and is keeping me awake nights.’ He sighed heavily as he gazed into the strong handsome face of the man sitting opposite him.

‘In the light of the evidence I uncovered I do believe your son Jonathan’s death to be highly suspicious,’ said Gawain. ‘Do you have any notion of who might have wanted him dead?’

‘A madman, for what sane person would want to kill my dear Jonathan?’ said the old man huskily. ‘He was well liked and did good business selling our services and wares. It is true that sometimes he would absent himself for days. I didn’t know his whereabouts, but he always returned with more business for us.’

Gawain frowned. ‘You have questioned these customers?’

A muscle in Master Llewellyn’s cheek twitched. ‘No, Jonathan dealt with them himself, although I did once meet … Now, I wonder …’

Gawain raised an interrogative dark eyebrow. ‘You have thought of someone who might know something?’

Master Llewellyn pursed his lips and he looked unhappy. ‘I could be mistaken and I do not wish to damage a man’s reputation. I would rather not name names.’

‘If you do not mind my saying so, remaining silent could prove a mistake if we are dealing with a possible murderer,’ Gawain pointed out.

The old man remained stubbornly silent.

Gawain was exasperated. ‘Does your daughter know aught about this person or anything that could help us?’

Master Llewellyn looked shocked. ‘She believes that Jonathan’s death was an accident and I want her to continue to do so. The truth might prove too much for her to bear. The fair sex are not as strong as us men,’ he added, taking a hasty gulp of his wine.

Remembering the firmness of Mistress Llewellyn’s chin, Gawain thought the other man underestimated his daughter’s strength. ‘You should tell someone,’ he said firmly.

‘When the time is ripe I will,’ assured Master Llewellyn, downing the rest of his wine and banging down his goblet. ‘But I would ask of you a boon, Sir Gawain. If I were to die before this matter is cleared up, would you be Beth’s guardian and take on the task of choosing a husband for her? I must have a grandson,’ he added fretfully.

Gawain could understand the old man’s need for a male heir to carry on his line. He thought of his own son, who had died when he was only two years old, and the pain was as fresh to him now as it had been then. Indeed, it had intensified in the weeks since his wife, Mary, had disappeared with their daughters and he had feared the boy’s death had caused her to lose her senses.

‘I do not wish to gainsay you, Master Llewellyn,’ he rasped. ‘But I know more about timber and shipbuilding, and even what is happening at King Henry’s court, than what kind of man would make a suitable and pleasing husband for your daughter.’

‘I think you underestimate your judgement,’ said Master Llewellyn persuasively. ‘I believe you to be sound and I entreat you to grant me this boon. Women so often do not know their own minds and need a man to guide them in the right direction. You will not lose by it, I promise. I will bequeath you shares in my company and I cannot say fairer than that.’

‘That is indeed generous of you,’ said Gawain, taken aback. ‘But surely you have a close friend to whom you can entrust this task?’

Master Llewellyn grimaced. ‘At my age I have few friends left and they are enfeebled. I have appreciated the manner in which you took my suspicions seriously and investigated Jonathan’s so-called boating accident.’ His voice trembled. ‘You have a strength of character I have seen in few men. Please, let me have your hand on it, so I can have my will rewritten before I leave for France next month.’

Gawain experienced a pang of pity for the old man; as he was to return to his home in Kent that afternoon, and had to make all speed to Dover Castle the next morning, he decided that the only way to terminate this conversation swiftly was by agreeing to do his best for Beth Llewellyn, if the need should arise. At least she would not be short of suitors—she would inherit her father’s thriving printing and bookselling business and his aunt could chaperon her if need be. ‘All right, I will do as you ask,’ he said.

He was rewarded by Master Llewellyn’s relieved smile and they shook hands.

Gawain drained his cup. ‘I also am bound for France at King Henry’s bidding. You go there on business?’ he asked politely.

‘Aye, I hope to meet an old friend in my line of business in Calais,’ replied the older man, his rheumy eyes bright. ‘Also, the king, who occasionally patronises my shop, has generously said I may attend some of the festivities on this occasion if I wish, so I have suggested to my daughter that she accompany me.’

‘Then it is possible I might see you there,’ said Gawain, taking his leave.

On the way out of the chamber he collided into Beth Llewellyn. He steadied her and was aware of the softness of her breasts pressed against the wall of his chest and the swell of her hip nestled against his thigh. For a moment her startled, luminous chestnut-brown eyes rested on his face with an expression in them that caused him to remain as if cast in marble whilst his heart thudded against his ribs. Then he snatched his hands away as if she was a hot brand. ‘I beg your pardon, Mistress Llewellyn!’ he said stiffly and hurried away before he gave way to the urge to taste lips the colour of raspberries that were parted as if she were holding her breath—no doubt fearing what he might do next.