It hadn’t occurred to Joshua that Peabody might resent his interference, but now that he thought about it, it made sense. “It’s no trouble. To be honest, I’d rather be out here in the wind and rain any day. A stifling coach, with a duchess, a duke, and a duke’s sister for company, is no place for a soldier like me.”
The coachman chewed on that a moment. “I was a soldier meself once upon a time, you know.” His resentment seemed to have lessened a fraction.
“I did not know. Army or navy?”
“Army. I was a sergeant in the Nineteenth Regiment of Foot till I got a load of grapeshot in me chest and shoulder and nearly died.”
“Looks like you came out of it well enough in the end,” Joshua said. “You must have a constitution of iron.”
Peabody shrugged. “My chest pains me from time to time, especially in the winter. But at least I didn’t lose a limb.”
Or damage one irrevocably, Joshua thought.
The coachman shifted on the perch. “You were in the Royal Marines, right?”
“Still am.”
“Ah. You’re on the half-pay list, then. That’s lucky.”
Only officers had the choice of going on the half-pay list, so Joshua supposed he was lucky. He’d never looked at it that way before.
Peabody clicked his tongue at the horses. “I would have had a rough go of it if His Grace hadn’t given me this post. He’s a good man. For a duke.”
Joshua chuckled. “Indeed.”
They rode a while in silence.
“Tell me something,” Joshua said. “I gather that you come this route often now that His Grace’s mother lives at Armitage Hall.”
“Often enough.” The man expertly tooled the horses around a sharp curve.
“Have you ever encountered any highwaymen?”
“Not in some years, sir. That’s why I was so surprised to have His Grace be worried about it when he ain’t been worried before.”
Joshua debated whether to tell the coachman the truth of things, but he figured he owed it to the fellow. “Actually, last night I caught a man attempting to tamper with this perch. I’m just not sure who he was or why he was doing it. He . . . er . . . got away from me before I could find out.” When Peabody looked alarmed, Joshua added hastily, “Never fear—I tightened the bolts he’d loosened. But you might want to keep a close eye on things whenever we change horses.”
Peabody nodded. “And ye’re thinking it was highwaymen what done it? Don’t seem like that’s how they work. How would they know where to make us stand to?”
“I’m assuming that the villain would simply follow us at a distance until we were stranded. It’s been so dry of late that the dust we kick up would hide anyone behind us.”
“True.”
“In any case, someone wished to halt the coach—or cause it to have an accident. We’re simply not sure of who or why.” He paused a moment. “Have you ever heard His Grace speak of a man named Malet?”
The coachman frowned in thought. “Can’t say as I have. Is he the one you think is behind it?”
“Perhaps. Whatever the case, we need to be especially alert.” He patted his greatcoat pocket. “I’ve got a pepperbox pistol here that would give them hell. Between that and your Brown Bess, no one is coming near this coach to do anyone harm.”
Peabody puffed out his chest. “Aye, sir. We got our own army here, don’t we?”
For the next several hours, Joshua and Peabody discussed their lives in the military. Fortunately for Joshua, Peabody had a flask full of brandy to keep himself warm, and he was willing to share. But Joshua did notice that the fellow was careful only to sip the liquid fire, so he could keep alert and aware of any impending threats to the coach and its occupants.
To Joshua’s relief—and surprise—there proved no need for caution. If someone had been lying in wait for them, he never showed himself. Perhaps he’d grown tired of eating their dust, waiting for them to break down.
Or, what would be infinitely worse, perhaps the fellow hadn’t ever intended to follow them. Perhaps he’d hoped for a fatal accident that killed everyone involved.
A chill ran down Joshua’s spine. It seemed unlikely. Who would wish to kill him, for instance? Then again, who would have thought that the third and fourth Dukes of Armitage would die within months of each other, both of them murdered, according to Sheridan?
By the time they reached the outskirts of London, it became clear that whatever the villain had been planning had not come to fruition. So, for now, Joshua wasn’t going to be able to thwart the fellow. He could only hope he got another chance to do so in the City. Because he did not like the idea of Gwyn and her family being vulnerable to attack.
As they pushed farther into the City proper, Joshua began to relax. What’s more, he realized that London had changed a great deal in the decade or more since he had last come here. It had grown filthier, but that was to be expected as it grew. Yet there were more exciting developments, like the gas lighting on Pall Mall, which he’d heard about but hadn’t witnessed.
And the area of Mayfair, which Park Lane skirted, had become very built up with elegant mansions. They soon pulled into a semicircular drive in front of one such mansion, which Peabody informed Joshua was called Thorncliff. It, of course, belonged to the dukedom of Thornstock.
“It’s grand, ain’t it?” the coachman said with obvious pride. “His Grace oversaw the renovation of it himself. Before that, it wasn’t near so grand.”
Joshua gazed up at the sumptuous marble and Palladian architecture and felt his stomach drop. “Grand” didn’t begin to describe it. Magnificent, perhaps. Palatial even. What it was not was the home of a man who would let his sister marry the likes of a lame Royal Marine with a tendency to explode into anger for little cause.
Not that Joshua hadn’t already realized he was beneath Gwyn, but this . . . He could never belong in such a place. He could never belong with her.
Thornstock climbed out of the carriage. “You might as well take my spot inside, Wolfe,” the duke said cheerily to Joshua. “Peabody is carrying the three of you to Armitage House farther south.”
Joshua declined the offer. He wasn’t about to climb down from the perch while Thornstock looked on. He still had some pride, damn it. But as Peabody pulled the carriage around, it belatedly dawned on Joshua that now he would have to climb down while Gwyn looked on. And that would be even worse.
He turned to Peabody. “How far are we from Armitage House?”
“Once we round Hyde Park on that corner up ahead, it’s about a mile straight down that side of the park.”
Joshua glanced back, relieved to see that Thornstock had already gone inside. “If you don’t mind, sir, would you pull over and let me down? I need to stretch my legs some before I reach the place.”
“Of course, Major. I understand.”
Since it took Joshua a few minutes to disembark using his cane, his aunt and Gwyn were already poking their heads out of the carriage once he reached the street.
“What’s wrong?” his aunt asked.
“Nothing,” he said genially. “I just thought I’d walk the rest of the way.”
“I’ll come with you,” Gwyn said, and before he could even dissuade her, she had called for the footman on the back perch to put down the step so she could climb out. “We’ll be there shortly after you, Mama,” she said, and then waved as the carriage started off again.
“I could use a bit of exercise myself,” she said as she joined him. “As soon as we’re inside, Mama will want to go right into unpacking, and then we’ll head down for dinner, and I will lose my chance to talk to you privately.”
Damn. Private conversations with her never went particularly well. “Talk to me about what?”
“You know. Our lessons.”
He gave her a blank look.
“Our shooting lessons. I wanted to know when they would commence.”
“After what happened yesterday in the streets of Cambridge, you still
want to learn to shoot?”
“Well. Yes.” Then a frown knit her brow. “I mean, not if it will . . . not if you will . . . you know, have trouble with it.”
He had half a mind to lie and tell her that teaching her would be too upsetting for him, but the idea of her thinking of him as a half-mad soldier or milksop society fellow who couldn’t endure the sound of a pistol didn’t sit well.
Besides, he’d already made a plan for dealing with her “lessons.” Better to continue on the way he’d started than to chance her looking for someone else to teach her, some tall and handsome marquess or duke who didn’t have a hair-trigger temper and wasn’t on half-pay.
That train of thought alarmed him. It implied jealousy, which he surely wasn’t foolish enough to feel. “I won’t have trouble with it. If I know to expect the noise, it’s not a problem.”
She released a long breath. “Then I hope we can start tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Damn it all, he would have to shift his plans.
“Well, yes. Beatrice and I are to be presented at court in a couple of days, and once that happens, a steady string of social events will follow—fêtes and balls and musicales and such. I won’t have time then.”
She thought he could train her to shoot in one day? She was the one who was half-mad. Or she believed him to be a magician.
But he did find her urge for speed curious. “You never said why you wish to learn to shoot. I’m assuming you have no weapon, and because your brother hired me to protect you, you don’t need one. So why insist on this nonsense?”
She stiffened. “Never mind that. It’s my business, not yours.”
Nothing like putting him in his place. If he’d been starting to feel guilty over how he was planning to thwart her tomorrow, her answer squelched that. She didn’t want to confide in him? She wanted to use her exalted rank as an excuse for hiding the truth from him?
Fine.
“Well, then,” he said, “we can meet tomorrow morning at ten. Just tell your mother we’re going riding. We’ll have to, actually, in order to practice shooting. That has to be done in the country.”
“I suppose you will provide the firearm?”
“I will provide everything,” he said.
But she was not going to be happy when she saw what he provided, although at the moment, he honestly didn’t care. He didn’t. Absolutely not.
“By the way,” she said, “did you spot anything odd on the trip today? I mean, concerning that fellow you thought might follow us?”
“Afraid not. I looked for him, but even if he were trying to catch us in a moment of distress, I wouldn’t have been able to see him, with the horses kicking up so much dust. And because we didn’t break down—”
“He probably gave up before we reached London.”
“Precisely.”
“Not to change the subject,” she said, “but there is one thing I should warn you about Armitage House before we reach there. Sheridan is trying to avoid having to rent it out until after the Season, so at present it is in a state of some disarray. Most of the rooms aren’t open, for example.”
“The way it was at Armitage Hall.”
“Precisely. While that will save the dukedom money, it makes finding one’s way around a bit . . . disconcerting. It took me nearly a week to figure out where the servants’ quarters are.”
Obviously that veiled reference was meant for him. “I assume that is where I will be staying.”
She blinked. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re Mama’s nephew—you’ll be in a room upstairs, probably in the wing where Sheridan’s room is, though you and he will be the only two in it.”
An entire wing? Bloody hell, another mansion, then. He kept forgetting that the dukedom extended back to the early 1700s. “I did wonder if Sheridan would be coming for the Season.”
“We’re not actually certain.” She glanced away. “He will need a wife at some point, so he might as well start the process now. But he seems to be dragging his feet.”
“Can you blame him? Faced with the prospect of assessing all the—as you put it—‘walking banks’ in society, he is probably not eager to begin looking. Few men enjoy being fortune hunters, despite what women think.”
Her gaze shot to him, full of curiosity. “If you say so. You don’t . . . see yourself as a fortune hunter, do you?”
“How can I? Unlike your brother, I own no property to support.” He wouldn’t say more than that. She didn’t need to know about his hopes to return to the Royal Marines. He could hide as much as she could, and be better at it besides. She would find that out soon enough.
After another moment staring at him, she sighed. “Fortunately, we won’t be doing any entertaining ourselves because Mama is still in mourning, so we won’t have to deal with the gossip about why Armitage House has so many closed rooms, even during the Season.”
He nodded. He was not in the mood for casual conversation with her. You’re being the grumbler she always accuses you of being.
Yes, he was. To hell with it. To hell with her.
Chapter Seven
Gwyn awakened far too early. She generally did during her first day back in London. The excitement of being in the City was so palpable, she could hardly sleep. But she had even more cause for it today. At last, she was going to learn to shoot! It was all she could do not to shout it to the rooftops.
Instead, she leaped from the bed and dressed in her favorite riding habit, careful to tell her maid that she was riding with Major Wolfe and they would be suitably chaperoned by a groom. Then she tripped down the stairs to breakfast well before nine a.m. To her surprise, the footman serving at table informed her that Joshua had not only already eaten but had gone for a walk.
“I was that taken aback, I was, my lady,” the footman confided. “I didn’t think the major would wish to walk, with his leg like that.”
“He’s actually quite the walker,” she said. “Apparently, it helps loosen up the calf muscles.” When the footman eyed her with thinly veiled astonishment, she added, “I believe his sister mentioned it.”
His face cleared. “That reminds me, my lady—the duchess paid us a visit yesterday to leave a message for you and the mistress. She intends to call on you this evening with the duke. I am to send a note if that is not convenient for you.”
“That is perfectly convenient, thank you.” The footman nodded, then went off to fetch her coffee.
Her thoughts wandered back to Joshua. How curious that he would be walking this morning when surely he needed to save his strength for riding. Indeed, she’d been shocked to learn yesterday that he could ride, because she’d never seen him do so on the estate. But if a woman could ride sidesaddle, then it made sense that Joshua could ride with only one good leg. The principle was the same.
“Oh, Gwyn,” her mother said from the doorway, “I’m so glad you’re up already. Eliza wanted to say good morning before she goes shopping.”
Gwyn rose, as always delighted by a visit from the Dowager Countess of Hornsby, the woman who’d be presenting her and Beatrice for their debuts. Though Gwyn hated that Mama couldn’t, Lady Hornsby was the next best thing.
“Gwyn, my dear,” Lady Hornsby said as she entered with Gwyn’s mother. “How wonderful to see you in something other than black or gray at last. You look positively radiant in that jonquil color!”
“Thank you,” Gwyn said as she kissed Lady Hornsby’s perfectly rouged cheek. Gwyn only hoped that Joshua would find her new riding habit attractive. It stuck in her craw that he could kiss her and afterward seem as unaffected by her as before.
Lady Hornsby patted her gray hair, which was carefully coifed into a mass of ringlets that fringed her very fashionable pink turban. “How I wish I had your natural curls. Mine take my maid forever to create.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t wish to have my outrageous color, I imagine.”
“Instead of my gray? Absolutely.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Besides, as your mother can tell you, redheads h
ave more fun. Particularly in the bedchamber.”
“Eliza!” Mama said.
“What? Gwyn’s not some blushing schoolgirl. I’m sure with a brother like Thorn, she’s heard a few salacious stories. And met a few salacious gentlemen.”
“It does me no good when I do,” Gwyn quipped. “Thorn acts as if I’m a nun whom no gentleman should sully. He would certainly never introduce me to anyone salacious.” And he’d had no trouble running off the only salacious gentleman she’d ever known. Though much as she hated to admit it, that had probably been wise.
“Such a pity,” Lady Hornsby said. “What are brothers for, if not to give their sisters a look at how gentlemen really behave?”
Mama cast her eyes heavenward. “I’m beginning to regret asking you to present my daughter, Eliza. I forgot how . . . brazen you can be.”
“What fustian,” Lady Hornsby said. “You could sing a bawdy song in your youth as well as the rest of us, Lydia, and you know it.”
Gwyn’s jaw dropped. “Mama? Singing bawdy songs?”
Lady Hornsby patted Gwyn’s hand. “It was a different time, my dear. We all sang the occasional bawdy song, didn’t we, Lydia?”
“Oh, Lord,” Mama muttered, her cheeks stained a bright red.
“I promise not to tell anyone,” Gwyn said. “If you will promise to sing me a few of them.”
“If she won’t, I will.” Lady Hornsby then added, sotto voce, “And by the way, have you heard the latest on-dit?”
She paused for dramatic effect, and Gwyn had to swallow her laugh. Lady Hornsby was a shameless gossip, and despite Mama’s protests that she didn’t approve, she secretly lapped up every word.
Lady Hornsby lifted one brow. “Lady Winslow is breeding again. What does that make, ten children now?”
“Good heavens,” Mama said. “I can scarcely keep up with my five. I can’t imagine managing twice that number, poor woman.”
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