One could not raise the dead through guilt and blame, so what was the point in it?
"T'was so strange, your Grace," Gallant replied, his brow wrinkling in confusion, "I checked the carriage the night a'fore we left, oiled the springs and tightened the hub-caps myself—"
"Go on," Rob said, as the old man trailed off uncomfortably.
"Well, it's just," Gallant began, scratching his head in drunken confusion, "After the accident, after Lord and Lady Dunstable had been brought back to the house, the footmen and I went down to examine the carriage. The wheel that was lost...well there was no hub-cap on it, your Grace. I swear by all the saints that I tightened the bolts myself the night a'fore, so it got me thinking that—"
Again, Gallant hesitated before he spoke, but Rob knew exactly what the old man was thinking.
"You think that somebody deliberately removed it?" he asked, a note of dubiousness in his voice.
"Aye," Gallant heaved a sigh and nodded, "That's exactly what I thought, but why?"
Why indeed?
Michael had not had any enemies that Rob could think of; a few disgruntled Mamas of the ton had complained bitterly of him marrying a "foreigner", but Rob doubted that their rancour would have led to murder. And there was no one who would have stood to benefit from Michael's death, excepting young James, and the idea that he had somehow masterminded a murder plot was laughable.
"Thank you, for telling me," Rob said, as he noted that Gallant was waiting for his reply, "I shall think on what you have said."
"Aye, your Grace," the man replied, "I would not have told you had it not been weighing on my mind."
"Indeed."
Marion bustled back into the bar, with a plate of mutton and potatoes, and the conversation mercifully came to an end. Gallant took his leave, back to his seat by the corner, and Rob sat down at a table alone to eat.
"Is he here every day?" Rob asked the barmaid in a whisper, as Marion dropped him over another pint of ale.
"Ever since he was dismissed from Blakefield," Marion replied, with a worried glance toward Gallant.
"Who dismissed him?" Rob questioned curiously; if the accident had been accidental, there seemed little need to dismiss the driver—especially one who had served the family for so long.
"Her ladyship's first son," Marion answered, wrinkling her nose in distaste, "They've awful tempers those Italians. He threw poor Christopher out on his ear and not a penny of a pension."
So it was Fabrizio who had dismissed poor Gallant. Rob frowned; the lad had not had the right to dismiss any servants, he was not the guardian of young James' estate, at least not yet.
"I will make sure that Gallant is looked after," Rob whispered to Marion as he took a few coins from his purse, "Though I must ask that you speak of this to no one."
"My lips are sealed, your Grace," Marion replied brightly, pocketing the few coins into her apron.
Rob left The Dog and Duck deep in thought. Gallant had not been obliged to tell him about the wheel's missing cap—indeed, it rather did the man's reputation little favour. Something—probably a gut feeling—had compelled Gallant to reveal his suspicions, though what good was that, when there was no one to suspect?
The only person one could easily assume was the culprit was Robert himself. As James' guardian, he had access to all the lad's funds, and he knew that many a guardian had squandered a ward's inheritance before they came into it.
Fabrizio.
Rob halted in his tracks; the young man would soon come of age and once he did, he would then become his sibling's official guardian.
Ridiculous, Rob thought, trying to brush the maudlin thought aside. Fabrizio had worshipped his mother and he had rubbed along well enough with Michael. He would never have plotted to kill them for his own financial gain.
Or would he?
Rob recalled the last time that he had seen Fabrizio in London. The lad had been sporting a black eye that he had claimed had come from some ruffians outside Crockford's, but what if the assault had not been a random mugging, but something else?
Gambling was, for some men, more than a simple pastime--for some it was a madness, a compulsion they could not control. The ton was filled with families whose sons had gambled away fortunes; some lived with the shame of what they had done, but others were driven to their own destruction. And if somebody could destroy their own life to escape their gambling debts, was it so hard to think they might also take the life of another?
Preposterous, Rob thought again, before mounting his horse and turning in the direction of home. Fabrizio would never have murdered his own mother.
Perhaps he did not mean to kill her... a needling voice whispered.
Rob quashed that thought and concentrated on the road before him, though a sense of unease pervaded. His suspicions were based on nothing more than the ramblings of a drunkard, he argued to himself, as he continued on his journey back to Hemsworth House.
A mile or two outside the village, the sound of children's laughter heaved him from his thoughts. Across the field to his left, he spotted Cressida and James, dressed in their mourning black, racing around outside an abandoned crofter's cottage. He squinted against the low sun, searching for Miss Smith, and when he finally spotted her, reading under a tree, her hideous cap replaced by a fetching bonnet, he felt his heart leap.
She was exquisite; the profile of her high-boned face was bathed in light and shadow and her luscious lips were set in a perfect pout, as she considered what she was reading. A shout from the children caused her to look up and as she turned her head, she must have caught sight of him, for she scrambled to her feet nervously.
Dash it.
Rob had rather been enjoying his private viewing of Miss Smith and was a little embarrassed to have been caught ogling her so obviously. His earlier intentions of distancing himself from his delightful governess quickly vanished and he dismounted his horse and led him across the field toward her.
"Your Grace," Miss Smith called, alerting the children to his arrival.
Rob was met by two hellions, who threw themselves at him, jabbering in unison about their day.
"—And we sang a French rhyme, and memorised the names of all the kings and queens of England—right up to Queen Ann—and then we solved a riddle."
James was quite out of breath as he finished speaking, his big brown eyes staring up at Rob beseechingly for praise.
"Very good," Rob replied, having only half listened to the boy's stream of words, "What was the riddle?"
"What has to be broken, before you can use it?"
James looked up at Rob, waiting expectantly for his answer, but Rob's attention had been somewhat diverted. Miss Smith had glided across to them, a book tucked under her arm and a warm smile upon her face.
"Hullo," Rob offered gruffly, feeling—for the first time in all his thirty years—nervous at the sight of a woman. Lud; he was a grown man with vast experience of the fairer sex—not to mention a duke—so why did he feel like a boy just in his teens?
"Your Grace," Miss Smith bowed her head, "I fear you have caught us playing again. You must think me most remiss?"
Rob thought a lot of things about Miss Smith—a few of them completely unmentionable—but he would never think her remiss in her duties. It was clear, from the children's smiling faces and enthusiasm, that she was an exemplary carer for his two wards. The words to form this praise, however, became stuck in Rob's throat at the sight of two, dancing green eyes, and he merely shook his head.
"Not at all," he barked, blustering a little with nerves. "Lovely day to be outside."
An awkward silence ensued, in which Rob tried to recall how he had once been considered the most charming of all London's rakes. Today it felt as though he could barely string a sentence together.
"An egg," James interrupted, tugging on the tails of Rob's coat.
"What?" he turned to look down at the boy in confusion.
"You have to break an egg, before you can use it," James ex
plained patiently.
Ah, the riddle. Rob clapped the boy on the back—nearly sending him sprawling—and gave him an approving glance.
"Very good," he said, before glancing once again at Miss Smith.
Her cheeks were now stained pink, in a most becoming blush, and her green eyes were cast down at the grass. Was it possible that she was as affected by him, as he was by she? This thought bolstered Rob somewhat and he felt himself relax a little.
"Miss Smith was helping us to identify flowers and leaves, before you arrived," Cressida said, holding out a hand for Rob to inspect the foliage she clutched.
"Very good," Rob said again. While he had relaxed a little, it appeared that this had not extended to recalling any vocabulary beyond two syllables.
"And we found this cottage," Cressida continued, waving a hand at the abandoned homestead behind her. "What happened to the people who lived there?"
"They left," Rob replied lightly, avoiding Miss Smith's inquisitive gaze. His father's ducal reign had been rather a dark stain on the history of the Hemsworth title. For centuries, the Dukes of Hemsworth had been duteous and generous landlords to their subjects, but his father had been of a miserly disposition and had refused to invest any funds into the lands. Tenants had left, seeking employment in the city, leaving behind empty cottages, which still pained Rob to see. When his father had died, more than a decade ago, Rob had inherited estates which were in vast need of improvement and funds. He had worked diligently alongside his land agents, to improve the lot of those who lived on his land, and had taken pleasure in funding new, industrial ventures, such as the mill, just outside the town.
The children soon lost interest in him and ran off to gather more flowers, leaving Robert alone with Miss Smith.
"I wish that I had a blanket for you to sit upon," he said, as they stood under the shade of a tall oak tree.
The meadow surrounding the cottage was quite lovely; early spring flowers swayed in the tall grass and the sun cast a warm light down upon them. It was idyllic, Rob thought, and a far more romantic setting than the crowded, stuffed ballrooms of London.
Not that you are thinking to woo the girl, a voice in his head reminded him sternly.
Ah, yes. The fact that he was a duke and Miss Smith his employee had almost left him in this scenic venue, for a moment he had been able to imagine himself leaning over, to tuck the loose strand of hair back under Miss Smith's bonnet. The idea was quite arousing, which was astonishing, given how jaded Rob had been of late.
How had his taste changed so much, in such a short space of time?
In London he had always been drawn to women who exuded sensuality and experience, and Miss Smith was quite the opposite of that. She was soft, and pretty, and innocent—the latter of which was the crux of his problem.
No matter how much of a cad he had been throughout the years, he had never seduced innocents.
"I don't mind a bit of grass, your Grace. I have three brothers and am quite used to grass stains," Miss Smith replied, tearing Rob from his thoughts. She gathered her skirts and sat down happily upon the grass, turning her face toward the children.
"Three brothers?" Rob echoed, as he joined her upon the grass, "Forgive my impertinence, but could one of them not have taken you in? It seems rather remiss of them to have sent a sister out to work—not that I am not happy to have you, of course."
Miss Smith stiffened and her face paled. It was quite obvious that she had not intended to let slip anything about her family and now regretted speaking at all. Rob frowned with concern; was there something amiss? He was startled by the wave of protectiveness, which stole over him at the very idea that Miss Smith might have been mistreated by her siblings. Anger, violent anger, stirred in his belly, and he felt that he would happily kill the man who had hurt Miss Smith.
"I wanted to earn my keep," Miss Smith replied with a gentle shrug, her easy manner intended to deter Rob from his inquisition.
"Did you not wish to marry and keep a house of your own?" Rob prodded, aware that he was overstepping the line, but not caring. His need to learn more about Miss Smith far outweighed his desire to adhere to social diktats.
"Your Grace is as incorrigible as the children," the governess replied, with a light laugh.
Her reprimand was quite the accomplishment, Rob thought with admiration; it would seem that Miss Smith was as tactful as any society hostess. Her simple rebuke to his bad manners had been delivered with a note of humour, but was so clear that it could not be misinterpreted. Miss Smith did not want to discuss her family situation with him, a fact that left Rob only more curious than ever.
"Forgive me," he offered her a smile, which she readily returned.
"There is nothing to forgive, your Grace," she said, as she stood in one fluid motion, brushing the grass from her skirts. "Though I fear we must return to the house, it looks as though it might rain and I would not like the children to catch a chill."
Rob looked up at the sky, where a lone, puffy cloud drifted in an endless blue sky.
"Indeed," he replied dryly, and Miss Smith flushed with embarrassment.
She turned away, to hide her discomfort, and called out to the children, who were squabbling nearby. They reluctantly returned to her, still arguing over some minor infraction that had occurred.
"Come now," she called gaily, "We must get back in time for dinner."
"We've only just eaten luncheon," James argued in confusion.
Miss Smith pretended she had not heard him and shepherded the children along. Rob untied his steed, who had been happily munching on marigolds, and fell into step alongside them.
"After dinner can we practice on the pianoforte?" Cressida called as she skipped ahead.
"Yes," Miss Smith replied, with a quick, worried glance toward Rob.
"Do you play?" he enquired curiously. A pianoforte was an expensive instrument and the learning of it required instruction—also expensive. If Miss Smith was accomplished enough at playing to teach young Cressida, then she must have had years of instruction. Which meant, he thought with a frown, that the home she had come from was quite well off. And if that was the case; why in heaven's name was she working as a governess?
Two mysteries had been presented to him that day, though Rob reluctantly conceded that investigating Miss Smith's family background could not take precedence over Gallant's tale. He would, he decided, make some discreet enquiries with the servants of Blakefield, to see if any of them felt something was amiss.
"Cressida said she knows the answer to the other riddle you told us," James whined, as they neared the gates of Hemsworth House, "But she won't tell me what it is."
"Let me have a guess," Rob called, delighted to be distracted by something as innocuous as a riddle.
"If one has it, they can't share it, for if they share it they no longer have it."
Rob almost snorted with laughter, for he knew the answer straight away. He cast a meaningful look at Miss Smith, who had the good grace to blush, before he answered.
"I believe the answer you're looking for, my boy," he said cheerfully to James, "Is a secret."
It was no wonder the answer had come so easily to him, he thought with a smile, for the beautiful woman beside him was certainly harbouring a secret of her own, and Rob was determined to discover what it was.
CHAPTER NINE
9
For the next few days, Emily tried her hardest to avoid the duke. Her silly slip of the tongue had been both a blessing and curse, she decided. A blessing, because it had reminded her of the fact that she was simply pretending to be a governess, until she returned to London and her sister, and a curse because it had been obvious that her idle chatter had stirred the duke's interest in her background.
Thoughts of Ava and London had rather slipped her mind since her arrival at Hemsworth House, instead her attention had fixated on something else.
Someone else, a deeply sarcastic voice goaded her.
The Duke of Hemsworth, with his de
ep blue eyes and wicked smile, held for her a thrilling fascination. There was something about the man, and not just his handsome good looks and charm, that drew her toward him. Sometimes his expression took on a faraway look and his face was lined was with pain, but the expression disappeared in an instant.
It was clear to her, that beneath his venerable charm, the duke hid a deep well of sorrow and pain. Emily had gleaned, from conversations with Mrs Ilford, that Hemsworth's childhood had not been a happy one. His mother had died in childbirth and his father, a cantankerous man by all accounts, had shown him little affection or love. He had found a sort of makeshift family when he had befriended the late Lord Dunstable; the pair had been as close as brothers, according to Mrs Ilford. But now, Lord Dunstable was gone, and Hemsworth was quite alone again.
He's not alone, she reminded herself, he has the children.
Emily could not deny that part of her attraction to the duke was on account of how wonderful he was with James and Cressida. He had settled into his role as guardian so well—after an admittedly disastrous beginning to his tenure, that is—and it warmed her heart to see both the children, and Hemsworth, revel in each other's company.
She was, she realised, becoming hopelessly attached to the little family that she had found herself in, and every day she had to remind herself that this was only temporary.
She was nothing more than a liar, she thought ruefully, as she led the children downstairs to the library. When she had impulsively suggested swapping places with Ava, she had not considered the consequences of her actions. She had thought it would be a lark, or an adventure of sorts, but now she saw that with each passing day, her lies affected the lives of others.
The two children raced ahead of her, eager to reach their destination. Emily had—via Mr Brown the butler—requested that she and the children pick out their next novel together, in Hemsworth's library. They had finished Robinson Crusoe and both Cressida and James were hungry to start another tale.
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