Chapter 3
Leaning against a fence post the next morning, testing Ajax’s ability to follow any scent he gave her, Will watched a steady trickle of guests departing down the drive.
He’d been waiting until he was certain the household was awake before inquiring about the mystery child. Consumed with curiosity about the unhappy, anxious parties deserting the castle, he debated the wisdom of heading that way. His business was with the duke, after all, not the duke’s afflicted daughter. He had no right to approach her.
Deciding he had a right to inquire after the child, he returned Ajax to her pen and descended the kitchen stairs. He might possess the blood of an aristocrat and the privilege to enter the front door, but the staff accepted him as one of their own. He preferred the back stairs.
Lady Aurelia and her maid were already there, bundling the girl into what he assumed were outgrown attic discards. Clean, fed, and dressed in a well-made child’s frock, the girl appeared much sturdier than she had the prior night. She still warily backed away from him, but she did not cry.
“Oh good,” the lady said in relief. “I need to go into the village and make inquiries. I cannot persuade her to even give me her name.”
Horrified at the thought of the delicate lady descending to the rough-and-tumble cottages that constituted Yatesdale, Will put a halt to that dangerous thought. “I can go,” he said. “You have guests.” That was easier than putting together the retinue required to surround her.
The lady stubbornly set her small chin. “The guests are leaving. And the child won’t go with you. I need to see if anyone recognizes her.”
“Then send your maid with me,” Will argued, horrified down to his toes at the notion of allowing the princess out of her castle.
An older woman with threads of gray in her brown hair, the maid sent him an approving look but said nothing. Will felt as if he were leaping ice floes over a raging river. What was she proposing? They couldn’t question a soul if she was surrounded by servants.
“I want to go,” the lady insisted. “The child can’t talk, but I. . .” She sent him a piercing look. Apparently deciding he’d already called her addlepated, she continued. “When people speak, I can sometimes. . . sense. . . if they’re hiding anything.”
“Why would anyone hide their knowledge of a lost child?” he asked in genuine puzzlement.
The lady exchanged looks with her maid, who nodded approval of some unspoken question.
“She is badly bruised. Not all of them are fresh.” She waited for him to understand.
Appalled, Will studied the silent little girl playing with her puppy. The bloody scene he’d caught in the dog’s mind had played through his sleep, but the scene hadn’t included the child. Of course, dogs reacted stronger to smell than other sensations, and blood was a particular trigger. That brief glimpse reflected the dog’s reaction more than the actual sight.
He frowned as he followed the path of her thoughts. “You cannot go about confronting violent men. Or women,” he added out of fairness.
For a moment, the lady looked relieved. Then she rubbed her temple and studied the child. “No confrontation,” she agreed. “I am very bad at it. If I hear or sense anything untoward, I will wait until we’re away before telling you.”
Will wanted to shout that fairy princesses should stay in their damned fairy hills where they were safe, but the lady was of age and knew her own mind. Well, her own addlepated mind anyway. Reluctantly, he admitted it was not his duty to tell her what to do, although he was beginning to understand why the duke kept such a close guard on her. Her beauty attracted too much notice, but her eccentricity no doubt led to dangerous behavior—like this.
“I’ll agree only if you take a closed carriage, a groom, and a footman. A maid isn’t sufficient,” he said, brooking no argument. Although by all rights—he had no means to stop her.
She scowled. “I sent some of our guests home in the barouche. I’ll have to take the curricle.”
Which she no doubt meant to drive herself. Will had an inkling of why his half-brother, a powerful marquess, spent half his life growling and shouting at the reckless behavior of people for whom he was responsible. Which was why Will didn’t want responsibility for anyone but himself and certainly not the sheltered daughter of a damned duke.
Miranda had her own small acreage and had been taking care of herself for years. The widow was definitely his best choice if he meant to marry and continue his guilt-free travels.
“Take the safest carriage you possess,” he ordered unhappily, “and the largest footman or stable hand you can summon to ride on back. I’ll ride beside the carriage.” With anyone else, this would be a ridiculous request. For this sheltered, retiring—addlepated—princess, a full retinue was a necessary safeguard.
She considered his command. “An entourage like that will not terrify everyone in the village into hiding?”
“Of the two of us, which do you fear will cause terror and consternation?” he asked dryly. “I don’t think the people whose business depends on your family will cower at sight of you.”
“And they know you,” she said in relief. “That will be all right. If you’ll call for the curricle, I’ll verify that our guests have departed. I don’t wish to bump into them on the road after I’ve heaved them out.”
Will would have liked to have heard the story behind that statement, but he’d already tested his limits. He’d hear the tale from the servants later.
“I should have left Mr. Madding to protect my sisters,” Aurelia murmured to Addison, her maid and companion. Now that she was away from the Hall and not yet at the village, she could think more clearly. The trotting click of the horses almost nullified distant sounds. “I am not convinced some of the guests won’t turn around and come back.”
“Your man-mountain goes where he wishes, and he wishes to know about the child as much as you do,” Addy said. “Besides, you are as valuable as your sisters.”
Addy was twice Aurelia’s age and had been her nurse when she’d been an infant. Bossy and efficient, her maid hadn’t given up teaching lessons once she’d taken over Aurelia’s wardrobe. Aurelia would resent that, except Addy was as close to a mother as she’d had since the duchess had died giving birth to her youngest son almost a dozen years ago.
“My sisters are sensible. They will become the women behind powerful men that they’ve been raised to be, if we protect them from their adolescent foolishness.”
“You do not need a man to make you valuable. But they are very convenient beasts of burden when we want them.” Addy stole a glance around the hood at the large man trailing behind them. “Maeve’s son grew up nicely, didn’t he?”
Aurelia wasn’t supposed to know about innkeepers and their bastards, but everyone in the village had known Maeve and her son. Mr. Ives-Madden had gone off to school at some point, then left home entirely to live with his father’s family after Maeve died of a painful wasting disease, but he’d not forgotten his old friends.
And yes, he’d grown up nicely, although he dressed like a farmer in baggy clothing and slouchy caps, with his overlong hair rubbing his neckcloth. But she’d noticed his boots were well made and well kept, and she really shouldn’t be noticing his form in the saddle. But she did. He was an expert horseman.
“The Ives men tend to be large,” Aurelia said dismissively. “They are also said to be stubborn, autocratic, and eccentric. I understand Maeve was no better, so he is probably twice as bad as the others.”
“You, above all else, ought to know better than to judge by appearance.”
Which nicely put her in her place. How else was one to judge when appearance was all one saw—until it was too late. Her looks belied her disability so gentlemen trusted her form and not her behavior. She should wear sacks.
The child wriggled between them, trying to hold onto her pet and stare at the countryside at the same time. Now that she was cleaned up, she didn’t appear to be a forlorn waif any longer. She had
brownish curls and brown eyes in a heart-shaped face on a small but sturdy body. Judging from her missing front teeth, Aurelia guessed her to be about six, so she should be talking. Occasionally, she made sounds that sounded as if she meant to speak, but no one could understand her.
“Mmmnnn?” she asked now, watching Mr. Madden ride ahead to chase sheep from the road.
“Man,” Aurelia responded, looking for words with a similar sound. “Gentleman.”
The child sat back, unsatisfied, to judge by her frown. “Bbbbdmmmnn.”
“Bad men?” Addy guessed, speaking louder to catch the child’s attention.
The girl swung around, pressed her fingers against Addy’s lips, and repeated, “Bbbdmmnn.”
With her sensitivity to emotional sound, Aurelia heard the child’s fear, and her heart fell to her stomach. “Bad men?” she said loudly, loud enough to cause Mr. Madden to startle and turn around.
Frowning worriedly, the child pursed her lips and repeated, “Bbbddmmn.”
“My word, she’s almost deaf,” Aurelia said.
Her expression must have alerted their escort. He trotted back, Ajax at his gelding’s heels. “What is it?”
“You wouldn’t happen to carry pencil or paper on you, would you?” she asked.
“We can find some in the village. Are you preparing a ransom note?”
She could see curiosity and amusement in the way his dark eyes danced and his lips curled. Really, the gentleman, if he could be called that, was too annoying and too forward. And she had no idea how to treat him. “I think she’s almost deaf and wondered if she might be able to read and write. It would help to know her name.”
Amusement turned into a frown. “That would explain her inability to speak. How the deuce will we find her parents if we don’t know her name?”
“I had hoped you would take Ajax out to follow her trail today. She didn’t fall from the sky.”
“We went as soon as the sun was up. But the rain last night has washed away the scent. Ajax followed for a little while, in the opposite direction of the Castle. But she lost the trail before we were half way up the hill.”
That took her down a notch. He’d been out at dawn, after she’d kept him up half the night. “I’m sorry. I’m not accustomed to gentlemen who rise with the birds. I don’t think there is much in that direction but sheep crofts, is there?”
“Not that I’m aware. I’ll take Ajax around to that side of the valley if we find no answers in the village. It would be useful to take her terrier, but I’m assuming that’s not possible.” He studied their small passenger’s defiant frown and determined grip on her dog.
Aurelia shook the reins to speed up her team. “All we can do is ask around for now. Let’s start there.”
He made her impossibly nervous for no good reason. Perversely, she trusted him, perhaps because she sensed his reserve hid secrets like her own. He had Malcolm ancestors, just as she did. He’d not questioned her ability to hear things he couldn’t. All in all, Mr. Madden was rather restful to be around. At least he wasn’t calling her a stupid cow and thinking of her as a pot of gold waiting to be claimed.
He was, of course, bossy and autocratic. When they reached town, he directed her to the inn he preferred, not the larger one she had intended to visit. He ordered the stable hands around as if he owned the place, which made her give herself a mental slap.
“Is this his mother’s inn?” she whispered to Addy.
“His now, I reckon,” Addy said. “Old Butler’s been running it forever, though.”
This was what happened when she never left the house—she knew nothing of the people around her. Mr. Madden offered his gloved hand to help her down before her footman could clamber off his high perch on back. Usually distracted by the din in her head, she seldom noticed when other men did this, but Mr. Madden’s hand was large, and powerful enough to muffle the noise for the brief moment he held her.
But the cacophony of an entire village shouting, singing, and laughing intruded, and she hastened to hide behind the thick stone walls of the inn.
Will had known Butler would hear about the lady’s arrival well before the curricle pulled into the yard. It would have been worth his life to bypass the inn without stopping. He not only wouldn’t insult the older man by doing so, he relied on his trusty innkeeper to provide a secure and private room for the duke’s daughter.
By the time Will had directed a stable hand to look after the team and followed the ladies inside, Butler had donned a crisp white apron over his portly belly and combed his thinning gray hair out of his face. He had the maids lined up to curtsy a greeting, and a tea tray waiting in the private salon Will used when he was here. The maids were so awed by the presence of aristocracy that they did not even bother to flirt with him for a relaxing change.
The fairy princess had no inkling that this was not normal behavior. Winking at the staff, Will let the lady’s servants surround her while he held back to order refreshments and pencil and paper. The maids giggled and fell all over themselves in their effort to please him and see a duke’s daughter. The modest inn seldom attracted aristocrats.
“I heard there was mumps up at the Hall,” Butler whispered as the salon door closed. “They not be bringing ’em down here, be they?”
“Mumps?” Will chuckled after working that through the other gossip circling the servants hall. “More like the lady was tired of her guests and had better things to do.”
Butler nodded in relief. “The duke ain’t home to make the young louts behave. What brings her here then?”
Will turned serious. “The girl. Did you see her? Do you recognize her? She may be deaf and mute.”
Butler wrinkled up his already wrinkled brow in thought. “Can’t say that I’ve heard of such. Want me to ask around?”
Will hesitated. That was the method he would prefer, but if the lady had some Malcolm means of determining if a man was lying. . . “Ask if anyone has heard about a missing child. Don’t be specific. Bring anyone here who might know something. And send for the vicar, if you will.”
Butler snorted. “He’ll be on his way soon enough. The church needs a new roof.”
There were many reasons a duke’s daughter might not visit the village, Will realized. But he was reasonably certain that money wasn’t one of them.
When he entered the salon, the lady, her maid, and the girl were already sipping hot drinks and working with a pencil and paper. The girl shot him a suspicious look but bent determinedly over the paper, nearly crushing the pencil with her small hand.
“She can write,” Lady Aurelia said aloud. Since the child apparently did not hear well, they had no need to whisper.
“I’ll send for a slate and chalk if she can write more than her name. She’s a bit young for writing more than her alphabet, isn’t she?” Will nodded gratefully as one of the inn maids handed him his preferred mug of coffee. Tiny teacups didn’t fit his fingers well.
The child smiled triumphantly and pushed the pad at the lady. In the big awkward letters of a beginning writer, she’d printed ROSE.
“Rose!” the lady shouted in delight. The child apparently heard, because she looked pleased.
The lady printed LELA in large letters and pointed at herself. Lela? That must be her pet name Will realized in amusement.
Rose attempted to sound out the letters by watching the women’s lips as they repeated the name. Clever, Will concluded. “What is the dog’s name?” He pointed at the skinny creature.
Rose followed his gesture, held up her terrier questioningly, and at Will’s nod, eagerly picked up the pencil again. She printed TINY with a backward N.
“Tiny!” the lady shouted, and the child beamed.
Behind her back, the lady gestured at Will, then turned to cast him a warning glance. Not entirely certain how he should interpret her request, he angled his head at the door, and she nodded. All right, then, silent communication it was. Weird, but not dangerous.
She’d already pr
oved she could hear what he couldn’t. He slipped away to find out what she might have perceived. He recognized nothing untoward in the inn, so he stepped outside. He had to leave the yard and walk into the street before he caught more than the whickering of horses.
“My daughter’s been missing this year or more!” a big blustering fellow roared from well down the street.
How the devil could the lady hear that from deep inside the stone walls of the inn? Will studied the burly, disheveled man approaching with a rolling gait, shouting at no one in particular. He looked too old to have fathered a young child. No wife walked beside him, but she could be young, he supposed. He also appeared to be a sailor if his bearing was any indication. A sailor this far from the water wouldn’t find much work.
One of Butler’s young messenger boys ran to keep up with the man’s hurried stride. Will was reluctant to let such a dubious specimen in the lady’s presence. He stepped back inside and signaled to the innkeeper. “Do you know the fellow? I don’t recognize him.”
Butler peered out the mullioned window as the loud sailor approached. “The blacksmith’s brother, cashiered out of the Navy, I heard.”
“Married?” Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to find the child’s family, given the bruises on her.
“He has a woman,” Baker said. “Don’t recollect a child.”
“Hold him out here until I speak with the lady.” Will strode back to the parlor where the women were merrily feasting on teacakes and shouting at each other, presumably so the girl could hear.
The lady actually smiled when he entered the room. He wasn’t certain he’d ever seen her smile. Perfect, petite features, big blue eyes, rose lips, and stacks of golden silk were enough to make a man twist his head backward to watch her. But that smile altered pleasant into radiant. No wonder she had men groveling at her feet! He waited warily for explanation.
“Shouting is very useful,” she told him with amusement. “I cannot hear others over my own voice.”
“And it took a child to teach you this?” Not that he totally understood, but he was learning more about her idiosyncrasy with each passing insane minute. “You heard the bluff fellow heading this way?”
No Perfect Magic Page 4
