Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  Hunt thought it odd that the duchess and the countess had become ready friends, for Etta had commented earlier that their mother had only of late come to think of the countess as part of her inner circle, but he could think of no reason the women should not share confidences. Perhaps his qualms came with the knowledge Lady Gunnimore professed her affections for Mr. Lovelace.

  “If I am to sever ties with Miss Lovelace, it would be easier if the duchess did not take an active interest in the chit’s life.”

  Miss Lovelace’s approach brought his mother and the countess to their feet. Angelica delivered a message to Lady Gunnimore, who made a quick curtsey to the duchess and turned to leave, but the lady stumbled, and both Angelica and his mother reached for the plump countess to steady the woman’s stance.

  Hunt looked on with amusement as the ladies chatted and blushed and giggled in the way of all women, no matter their age.

  He smiled as his statuesque mother locked arms with the delightfully petite Miss Lovelace.

  “Such a contrast,” he murmured.

  Her dress and turban straightened, Lady Gunnimore made another curtsey, which his mother and Angelica returned in unison, but theirs would have put the royal family to shame—a deep curtsey such as one would find in the most formal drawing rooms. He enjoyed observing the unlikely pair’s playfulness and easy camaraderie.

  Unable to watch what might have been, Hunt meant to return to the room behind him. However, a flash of color along the tree line caught his attention. Leaning out the window, he yelled his warning, but it was too late. The three women collapsed into a pile upon the graveled path only a split second after the shot rang out.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Oh, God!” Hunt growled as he ran toward the servants’ entrance. “Mangan! Find my father! Someone shot at the duchess in the garden!” He did not slow down to observe his valet rushing in the opposite direction. Instead, Hunt darted through the narrow passages to half slide down the stairs. Bursting into the busy kitchen, he shoved one of the scullery maids from his way, apologizing, but not stopping his progress. He had to reach them! As he leapt over the kitchen’s low garden wall, bracing his good hand against the loose stones, Hunt said a silent prayer for both the safety of his mother and the woman who had become essential to his peace of mind. He ground up the gravel as he darted around flower-covered structures. From the corner of his eye, he noted various members of his mother’s house party huddled together near the patio.

  “Rem! The tree line!” Hunt motioned frantically in the direction from which the shot came.

  The earl, who approached at a run from the direction of the library, turned to the area beyond the groomed lawns and the rose arbor.

  Hunt could see the women attempting to untangle limbs as he skidded to a stop beside them. Kneeling, he assisted Lady Gunnimore to her knees, all the while his eyes seeking the now familiar countenances of his mother and Angelica.

  “They saved my life,” the countess insisted over and over in teary sobs as she clung to his arm.

  “Permit me to see to the others,” he said with impatience. Removing his arm from the woman’s grasp, Hunt caught Angelica by the shoulders to roll her gently to her back, pushing her hair from her cheeks and forehead. “Are you injured?”

  She shook her head in the negative. “Just a few scrapes.” She exhaled heavily, and then panic crossed her features as she realized her head rested upon the duchess’s hip. “Your mother!” She scrambled to her knees. “Duchess?” Her hands traced his mother’s limbs, and Hunt recalled her doing so with him on the rainy road. He wondered where she had learned to tend others’ injuries. “Oh, ma’am,” she moaned when she pulled her hand away to show him drops of blood upon her white lace gloves.

  “Bloody hell,” Hunt growled.

  His mother stirred, stiffly lifting her head from the ground. “I will tolerate no profanity from you, Malvern,” she reprimanded upon a raspy breath as she lifted her upper body onto her forearms.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said involuntarily. “Permit me to lift you to your feet.”

  The duchess swatted his hands away. “You will injure your shoulder further.”

  “Do you think I give a fig?” he protested.

  “Then I will lift you, Duchess.”

  Hunt looked up to see his formidable father bending down to cradle his wife in his embrace.

  “The duchess knows an injury, Your Grace,” Miss Lovelace warned. “There is blood on her left sleeve.”

  The duke nodded his gratitude. “Mr. Mangan, send someone for Mr. Roddick.”

  Hunt’s valet had followed the duke into the garden. “Immediately, sir.”

  Hamilton McLaughlin lovingly edged the duchess closer. “Permit me to have a look at your arm, my love,” he encouraged.

  “It burns like Hades,” his mother confessed as she gave herself up to the duke’s administrations.

  “Appears to be a graze from a bullet,” the duke assessed through tight lips. He directed his remarks to Harry, who appeared from somewhere in the direction of the stable. “Harry, escort the countess into the house and ask Mr. Strasser to assure the duchess’s guests everything is well. A hunter simply came too close to the manor.”

  Harry frowned, but he did as their father instructed. “Yes, sir. Permit me to assist you, Countess.”

  No one said anything until Harry and Lady Gunnimore made their exits. When they were well from earshot, the duke demanded of Hunt. “What happened, Malvern?”

  “I am not certain, sir,” Hunt admitted. “I noted the duchess and her guests from my window, but as I turned away, I spotted a bit of color—one of red—along the trees, and then I heard the shot.”

  “Miss Lovelace?” the duke said pointedly.

  His father’s imposing presence did not appear to intimidate Angelica, a fact which did not go unnoticed by the duke, for his father’s lips turned up at the corners.

  “I brought Lady Gunnimore a message from my father.” Angelica blushed, and Hunt realized she found the situation between Mr. Lovelace and the countess a bit awkward. “The duchess offered a teasing innuendo to the countess, which brought us hearty amusement. The countess, flustered by the good-natured banter, stumbled, her awkwardness bringing another round of laughter. The duchess and I executed a deep curtsey as part of our taunt, but when I turned my head, I noted a man with a gun stepping from the woods. I—I attempted to knock the duchess from danger.” Angelica looked at Hunt and then back at the duchess, in a manner of one encountering a disconcerting anomaly. “Please forgive me, Duchess. I meant only to protect you.”

  “My duchess and the countess are in your debt, Miss Lovelace,” the duke announced. “And I will not forget your kindness.” He assisted his wife to her feet. “Malvern, you will see Miss Lovelace safely delivered to her father’s care and then you will join me and the duchess in my study—that is if Her Grace is well enough to speak of this matter.”

  After his earlier private conversation with the duchess, it pleased Hunt to observe the duke’s solicitous concern for his wife had returned. “Certainly, sir.”

  Hunt and Angelica watched his parents’ departure.

  “How may I thank you?” Hunt did not look away from the loving picture of the Duke and Duchess of Devilfoard, his father’s arm around the duchess’s shoulders. Instinctively, he knew he had always hoped for a like relationship. His heart once again called out to the woman who stood beside him. Yet, before he could say more Lord Remmington returned.

  “Is anyone injured?” the earl inquired.

  “The duchess experienced an injury to her upper arm. The duke summoned the surgeon,” Miss Lovelace explained.

  “And what of you?” His friend’s concern was quite genuine, and it grieved Hunt to observe the affection with which Remmington held Miss Lovelace.

  “I knocked the duchess from the way, and we all took a tumble,” Angelica explained with a calmness Hunt admired. “But I know only a few bruises.”

  Hunt loo
ked upon his friend’s countenance to discover a like veneration for the woman. “Did you discover anything of import? The duke will want to know,” he asked to place an end to the scene playing before him. With difficulty, he recalled his earlier declaration to distance himself from the pair.

  “A spent cartridge.” While Hunt’s emotions reeled from the chaos, the earl remained businesslike. “Sir Alexander dispatched several of the duke’s men to search the area. Is there anything of which you took note that I should share with the baronet?”

  Hunt frowned as he attempted to organize his thoughts. “Only a bit of red. The person wore red.”

  Miss Lovelace touched Hunt’s arm in a move he knew to be part of the lady’s nature. “I saw it also. A bit of red upon a man’s waistcoat.” Her fingers wrapped around Hunt’s forearm, and the familiar heat returned to his body. He noted the lift of the earl’s eyebrow in disapproval, but the lady did not. She reasoned, “If it were a waistcoat, that means it was a gentleman, not a tenant or villager as the duke supposed. Yet, it was not truly red.” Angel directed her statements to Remmington. “More of a burnt brown— the color of rust.”

  “Could you describe the man?” Remmington asked with true esteem in his eyes, and it was Hunt’s turn to know the sinking feeling of jealousy in his stomach.

  Angelica shook her head in the negative. “The shadows and the man’s hat covered his face. And it all happened so quickly.”

  “You did well,” Hunt assured her. He glanced at the house. “I promised the duke I would see to Miss Lovelace’s safety. Might I impose upon you, Remmington, to escort the lady to her father’s side? I should look to my mother’s injury.”

  “Certainly, Malvern.”

  Hunt made himself take her hand. His heart ceased its beating, but the lady would be more well served by Remmington’s attentions. At least with the earl, Angelica would not be in danger.

  “As the duke pronounced previously, the McLaughlin family owes you a debt of gratitude.” He bowed over Angelica’s hand and walked away from her yet again.

  * * *

  With a heavy heart, he made his way through Devil’s Keep’s passages, all of which now appeared so familiar, Hunt wondered why he held no memory of them only a fortnight prior. He stopped periodically to assure his mother’s harried guests that the duchess did not suffer unduly from the accident. “Occasionally, those the duke permits to hunt upon his lands wander closer to the house than we would like. It happens on all great estates. I assure you Devilfoard has located the man and has addressed his ire,” he repeated.

  When Hunt reached the duke’s study, he met Mr. Roddick, who had rushed to his patron’s care.

  “My mother?” he demanded of the man.

  “The duchess has an abrasion, but the bullet did not pierce her arm. She will heal well.”

  Hunt breathed easier. “Thank you for your fine care, Roddick.” Hunt watched the man’s exit. He wished he could avoid the interview with his father. The duke would expect more answers than Hunt possessed. With Roddick’s exit, the door to his father’s study remained open, but Hunt hesitated when he heard his parents’ voices.

  “You are not to scare me so,” his father lovingly admonished as he gathered the duchess in his arms.

  His mother rested her head upon the duke’s chest and closed her eyes in contentment. It did Hunt good to observe that the affection between them had returned. He did not like to think upon the possibility of his father keeping a mistress.

  The duchess caressed her husband’s cheek. “You will join me in the drawing room when the Sandahls return this afternoon?”

  “Is it your wish, Duchess?”

  “Your presence will quell any high tempers,” she reasoned. “And after this afternoon’s fiasco, I think it best if we are the portrait of a united front.”

  His father ran his hands over the rise of the duchess’s hips. “We are united in the eyes of God.” The duke edged her closer. “Have you missed my attentions?” he asked huskily.

  “Always.” The duchess’s fingers traced the duke’s chin line. “Come to me tonight, Devilfoard.”

  Hunt found it awkwardly fascinating to observe how his father tenderly kissed his duchess. Hunt would prefer to make his escape, but a passing servant said “Lord Malvern” in respect just as his father looked up to note Hunt’s presence in the open portal.

  “Eavesdropping?” the duke accused.

  Hunt had the good sense to look shamefaced. “Forgive me. I did not think it proper to interrupt.”

  His mother smiled, an act that warmed Hunt’s heart. “I should change my gown before the afternoon tea and express my gratitude to the Lovelaces.” She went on tiptoes to kiss the duke’s cheek. “I shall send word when the refreshments are served.”

  The duke squeezed her hand before releasing her.

  As his mother exited, she paused to add a tease. “Is it still terribly embarrassing to know your parents often share the same bed?” she teased.

  Hunt’s cheeks reddened. “It is not an image I would wish to add to my weakened memory.”

  Patting his cheek, the duchess laughingly exited, but Hunt waited for his father’s invitation to enter. When the duke chuckled also and gestured to a nearby chair, Hunt did as his father requested.

  “Your mother is quite resilient,” his father declared as he poured them both a drink. “I still recall the first time I laid eyes upon her.” If Hunt had heard the story previously, he held no recollections so he permitted his father the lead. “I was close acquaintances with her elder brother, and I joined Conrad Huntington for a party at Ashley Falls. I was Malvern then and thought myself quite the man of the world. Even so, Rad’s fifteen-years- old sister did not see me as such. All legs and arms and vinegar. She was so clumsy she, literally, stumbled into my arms upon the dance floor. I should have known her actions for the guile it was, but your mother took me to task for touching her inappropriately. She offered me an unspoken challenge, but I thought myself superior—thought myself above her charms.”

  “I cannot imagine the duchess as inelegantly awkward, or you as considering such ungainliness as charming,” Hunt observed as he sipped his drink.

  “In our conceit, Rad and I enjoyed free rein in describing his sister to our former university chums, but I ate those words when three years later, Lady Alberta Huntington made her Come Out. The girl had grown into the promise of a body she once displayed from her schoolgirl days. She was graceful and utterly enticing. I could not remove my eyes from her. Many spoke their pledges, but Lady Alberta refused them all. Some even thought she had set her sights upon your Uncle Harold, but I knew otherwise. From the time I caught her upon that crowded dance floor, she belonged to me. Of course, it took my brain several uncomfortable weeks to catch up with my heart, but once it did, I resolved to make Lady Alberta mine. I never regretted a day of our life together. She has made me an exemplary duchess, as well as a wonderful lover.”

  Hunt cringed. “I did not need to know that last fact.”

  “But you did,” his father insisted. “Someday, such a woman will walk into your life, and you must not reject her because of your supposed consequence.”

  Hunt squirmed as thoughts of Angelica Lovelace’s words crept into his heart. “If this is a new appeal for my accepting Lady Mathild as my wife, save your speech, sir.”

  “Do as you wish on that point,” his father explained. “I have had second thoughts upon such an alliance. In truth, I was thinking of Miss Lovelace. True, the chit does not possess a title, but her connections are acceptable. More importantly, the duchess believes you have developed a tendre for the girl.”

  Hunt pushed the growing panic aside. “I suspect Miss Lovelace will soon be the Countess of Remmington.” The words ripped his heart from his chest.

  The duke said nothing for several minutes. “I cannot give voice to the possibility any woman would choose Levison Davids over a son of mine, but I will remain silent upon the matter if you so wish.”

&nbs
p; Hunt swallowed hard. “It would be best, sir.”

  “Then perhaps you should tell me what you know of this shooting.”

  “I explained what I observed from my window,” Hunt hedged.

  “That is not what I asked,” his father warned.

  Hunt’s heart jumped. Even without his familial memories, he recognized his father as a powerful man. The calm determination found in the duke’s voice quickened Hunt’s pulse. “I am not certain I understand, sir.”

  The duke sighed in frustration. “Then permit me to enlighten you. What does this shooting have to do with your position with the government?”

  “You are aware of my time with Sir Alexander?” Hunt asked in disbelief.

  “Do you think there is anything about your life of which I am not aware?” his father asked aristocratically. “You are my eldest son and the heir to the dukedom. When I agreed to permit Sir Alexander to lead men into that prison to save you, I knew the baronet meant to recruit you for his service. I held no objections because I thought your involvement would provide you a better knowledge of the issues England faces and would make you a better duke when the time came. I instructed Sir Alexander I would not tolerate your being in danger, but it appears the baronet ignored my wishes.”

  A helpless yearning emanating from deep within Hunt’s soul filled him. As if he were a small child threatened by the headmaster, he sat with his eyes downcast. He did not like the idea of disappointing his father. “Do not blame Sir Alexander. The baronet has done all he could to decipher the puzzle that plagues me. Someone has been following me, as well as your and Etta’s households. All initial investigations pointed to Lord Newsome.”

  “Newsome?” the duke declared. “That nitwit?”