Hugo hadn’t expected that he’d have to face any questions about Martha until after work—when he’d agreed to meet her at the Greedy Vicar.
But the people of Stroma once again surprised him.
“You’re a good lad,” Mr. Stogden said once his last day was finally over. “If you ever need a job, you’re welcome back here.”
Hugo was humbled by the compliment “Er, thank you, sir.”
“I understand you’re to marry Martha Pringle.”
Hugo gawked.
Mr. Stogden chuckled. “Even a hermit like me gets news like this quickly.” His face became stern. “I know the vicar regarded you highly, Hugo. He would be pleased with this,” Stogden said, adding to Hugo’s surprise. “Clark is a solid man, but Mr. Pringle wanted the best for Martha. And life on Stroma—well, let’s just say that I encouraged my children to find work elsewhere.” He paused, his eyes suddenly as flinty and hard as the stone in his quarry. “You make sure you do well by her, Hugo Buckingham.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
Stogden handed him a small stack of coins. “Here is your pay.” He smiled and winked. “I hope to see you down at the Vicar later so I can buy you a congratulatory pint.”
“I’d like that, sir.”
It didn’t take Hugo long to clean up and change into his better set of clothing, and he was soon on his way down to the tiny pub. While he wasn’t looking forward to the grilling he’d likely face, he could hardly leave Martha to answer all the questions alone.
“Evenin’, ’Yougo.”
He turned to find Jem Packard ambling toward him.
“Hello, Mr. Packard.”
“I gather I’ll not be takin’ you over quite so early tomorrow?”
Hugo snorted and resumed his trek. “Does everyone on the island know?”
“Aye, and probably on the mainland, too.” Jem fell into step beside him. “Martha says that you’ll get married when the curate comes tomorrow.”
Hugo didn’t hear any judgment in his tone.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ll still need you to take us over after the wedding breakfast—weather permitting, of course.”
Jem didn’t answer immediately
They trudged in silence.
“Aye, reckon I can do that. You talked to Clark?”
Hugo glanced at the older man; Jem had never been this chatty with him before. “No. Why should I have?”
Jem shrugged. “No reason.”
Hugo suspected there was one but that he was too dense to have guessed it.
“I need to stop by Mrs. Fergusson’s,” Hugo said as they neared the small stone cottage where Cailean lived with his aunt and cousin. “Are you going to the Vicar?” That was a stupid question, where else would he be going?
“Aye.”
“Tell Martha I’ll be along shortly.”
Jem looked like he wanted to say something, but just nodded and continued down the path.
Hugo took a deep breath and then knocked on Mrs. Fergusson’s door. He heard the woman yell inside the house and a moment later the door opened.
He grinned up at Cailean. “Ah, just the man I was looking for.” Cailean stepped back into the house without looking at him.
“What’s wrong?” Hugo asked. “Cailean?” But the boy shuffled into the little kitchen with his eyes downcast, leaving Hugo to follow.
“Who was it?” Mrs. Fergusson snapped rudely, not turning from the cookstove where she was cutting potatoes into a pot.
Hugo bristled at her tone; why did she have to speak to her nephew so harshly? “Good evening, Mrs. Fergusson.”
She yelped and spun around, flustered. “Oh, Mester Yougo, er, I didn’t—”
“I want to take Cailean with me,” Hugo blurted, spurred by anger into speaking bluntly. Hugo turned to the lad. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you before—”
Cailean flung his arms around him.
“Cailean,” Hugo wheezed, pounding on the other man’s back when he couldn’t force any words out.
“Let ’im go, Cailean,” the old woman scolded.
Cailean’s vise-like grasp fell away and Hugo sucked in a lungful of air. Yes, one of his ribs definitely felt bruised.
“You awright, Mester Yougo?”
He met Cailean’s worried stare first. “I’m fine.” He smiled to show he meant it. “I take it that’s a yes?”
Cailean nodded vigorously.
Hugo looked at his aunt. “Mrs. Fergusson?”
She swallowed under his harsh stare and glanced at her nephew. Hugo saw regret flicker across her face and knew that she would miss the lad, even though she viewed him as a burden. “You’ll take care of ’im, aye?”
“I will.”
Mrs. Fergusson said something in Scots to Cailean, but Hugo recognized the word Martha, so obviously she already knew about their impending marriage.
Cailean nodded at whatever she said, and the old woman turned back to Hugo. “I told him to be a good lad and mind you and Martha.”
Hugo suspected Cailean didn’t need to be told that, but he understood it was probably the old woman’s way of showing that she cared.
“If he doesn’t like it in London, I’ll make sure he gets back to you safely,” he promised her.
Beside him, Cailean bounced on the balls of his feet, staring at Hugo as if he were a god.
Bloody hell.
“You want to come over to the Vicar to see Martha?” Hugo asked, more than a little embarrassed by Cailean’s worshipful stare.
Cailean bolted out of the kitchen and Hugo smiled at the old woman. “I guess that’s a yes, too.” He hesitated, and then added, “I hope you’ll come and enjoy a celebratory glass of sherry with us, Mrs. Fergusson.”
Her wrinkled face creased into a smile. “Aye, thank you. I’ll be over in a bit.”
Hugo left, pleased with himself for offering the olive branch.
The Vicar was already crowded when Hugo and Cailean arrived. For a moment, everything went silent, and Hugo felt the weight of several dozen eyes.
But then somebody yelled, “Hugo!” and the room erupted into warm, noisy chaos as the people he’d come to know over the past weeks shouted out congratulations, clapped him on the shoulder, and generally roasted him on his impending nuptials.
Martha sat at the table closest to the tiny bar and Hugo made his way over to her, having to stop frequently for good wishes and congratulations.
“Good evening, Mistress Pringle,” he teased.
She gave him a shy smile, her cheeks rosy. “Mr. Higgenbotham.”
Hugo laughed.
“Hello Cailean. I hope—” Martha bit her lip and looked at Hugo.
“Cailean has agreed to join us.”
Her smile was glorious. “Oh! I’m so happy to hear that.”
Hugo grinned at Cailean, who looked fit to burst. “Why don’t you go tell Joe what you want to drink, Cailean. And bring me a pint of bitter, if you don’t mind.”
The lad nodded and darted toward the bar.
Hugo dropped into the chair next to Martha with a sigh.
“I’m so happy he’s coming with us, Hugo.”
Her adoring look made him want to preen like an idiot. “Well, me too,” he said gruffly. So,” he said, changing the subject, “Was it a rough day?”
“Not as bad as I feared.”
“Everyone I talked to already knew,” he told her. “You must have been busy.”
“I only had to tell Joe and Mary and they did the rest.” She hesitated and then added, “But the day felt endless; I’m glad you’re here.”
Warmth spread inside him at her words. “Me too,” he said quietly, and then noticed the slight tightness around her eyes and frowned. “Was anyone unkind about our decision to marry so quickly?” Like Clark.
“No, not at all,” she assured him. “It’s just, well, I—I spoke to Mr. Clark first thing—I felt he deserved to know before anyone else. He was a perfect gentleman and wished me all the best.”
“Of course, he was.” Hugo scowled at the surge of jealousy in his belly.
“Everyone understands why we are doing it this way.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “People like and respect you, even though they’ve not known you long, and they care about me and are happy for us both.”
Hugo wasn’t so sure of her assessment, but, as the evening wore on and more people came to congratulate them, and he realized that she was right. The people of Stroma saw Hugo as a man who’d been wronged by the law and worked hard over the past weeks. Also, many of them still hadn’t forgiven Robert Clark for the help he’d given McCoy. The cynical part of Hugo—the larger part—suspected that was the true reason that so many people seemed happy about Martha’s decision to marry Hugo.
Whatever the reason, Hugo’s face hurt from smiling by the time the little taproom began to empty out.
“Do you need a lantern?” Martha asked as Hugo walked her upstairs to the inn’s one guestroom.
“No, there’s moon enough.” Hugo opened the door to her tiny bedchamber.
She cut him a furtive glance. “Well, good night, then.”
Hugo caught her arm before she could slip away. “Surely I can give you a kiss?”
She blushed adorably. “Well—”
Hugo gave her a chaste peck on her flushed cheek.
She frowned. “Is that all?”
Hugo laughed and claimed her petal-soft lips with a real kiss. “Sleep tight, Martha. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He winked. “At our wedding.”
He’d only gone a short way up the road when he noticed somebody with a lantern approaching from a cluster of cottages.
Hugo stopped. “Good evening, Clark.”
Clark didn’t stop walking until he practically stood on Hugo’s toes. “I’ve been waiting for you, Buckingham.”
If Clark thought his behavior was intimidating, he was deeply mistaken.
Rather than step back, Hugo stepped forward. “Why, Robert,” he purred suggestively. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Clark jerked back so fast that he stumbled and Hugo caught his arm before he could go arse over tip.
Clark yanked his arm away. “There’s something rotten about you, Buckingham.” He snorted. “Even your name sounds false.”
He was right about that much, at least.
“I think what you are trying to say is ‘congratulations, Hugo.””
Clark’s jaw moved from side to side, his hands fisted at his sides.
Hugo’s body remained taut as he waited for the other man’s attack.
But then Clark’s shoulders slumped and all the rage seemed to drain out of him. He shook his head, his expression one of resignation and disgust. “I can’t blame Martha for choosing you—she’s just a simple country lass who lost her father and is confused and scared. Life on the island is hard and I’m sure that London must sound exotic and appealing to her. But she belongs here with people who will care for her. I think you know that Buckingham. If you care for her then you should think of her best interests. Don’t do this to her; don’t take her away from the only home she’s ever known.”
Clark’s threats had only amused him, but Clark’s plea?
Well, that was another matter, entirely. Maybe his words wouldn’t have been so affecting if Hugo didn’t completely agree with the other man.
“Martha is a grown woman,” he said. “She can make her own decisions.”
“Do you even love her?”
“What I feel for her is none of your concern.”
“Well I do love her,” Clark said.
Fury—and something very much like envy—flared inside him at Clark’s claim, and the ease with which he made it. Hugo sneered. “How nice for you, Clark. But Martha doesn’t love you; she loves me. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”
Clark gave him a sad look. “You don’t love her, do you? You’re the sort of man who can’t love anyone but himself. Because if you did, you’d do what was best for her and leave her alone.” Clark turned on his heel and headed toward the little stone cottage that Hugo knew he shared with his mother, widowed sister, and her children.
Hugo opened his mouth to yell something—to taunt the other man and make him come back and fight—but he shut his mouth without uttering a sound. Because he agreed with Clark’s accusation.
If he truly loved Martha, he would want her to have what was best for her. And Hugo wasn’t best for anyone—especially not a woman.
Instead of leaving her here with a man who loved her, he was going to take her as his wife without ever telling her the truth: that he was a lying whore incapable of love.
If he were a better man, he’d steal a boat and row himself across to the mainland and disappear from her life.
But he wasn’t a better man, and there was no way on God’s green earth that he was ever going to let Martha go.