A Question for the Ages (Questions for a Highlander Book 7)

by Angeline Fortin

  “Aye, yer grace,” the stablemaster stammered.

  “See to it.”

  “Hold that command!”

  Chapter 24

  How is one to plan for a happy future when all they can think of is the past?

  ~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, June 1893

  The words snapped with the force of an even mightier lash. Eyes like an early morning frost shifted to him, raked down his length with enough frigid disdain to douse the fires of hell. It was a look that had probably sent many a man cowering.

  Connor was in no mood to oblige him. His righteous anger on Piper’s behalf was too great. Imagining the hand that held that whip touching her, hurting her, made his blood boil. Although it wasn’t in his best interest to initiate a fight with her mere steps away, he welcomed the tiniest bit of provocation to unleash his wrath upon the man.

  “Hold?” The duke’s icy demeanor extended to his voice. “Who are you to command me?”

  “A person wi’ far more authority over these people than ye.” Using his height advantage, Connor stepped close to force the duke—accustomed to subjecting everyone—to look up at him. “Hand over that whip.”

  “Again you dare to make demands of me?”

  “Aye, I dare. Gi’ it to me.”

  With a lifetime of entitlement and self-importance to stand on, Rutledge didn’t blink. Didn’t give an inch. Not an ounce of emotion flickered in his eyes. Everything about him, from his pale blond hair to his cool gray suit, exuded a chilling reserve. Connor longed to put a dent in it.

  “I’ll have you know I’m the du—”

  “I ken who ye are, Rutledge,” he cut in, reaching out to yank the whip from the man’s grasp. “It disnae gi’ ye the right to whip one of Aylesbury’s men.”

  The duke’s empty hand curled into a fist. Clearly, he wasn’t accustomed to opposition and guff. “He refused my direct ord—”

  “He refused ye on my direct orders,” he interjected, because, despite the duke’s stoicism, Connor sensed it maddened him to suffer such continued audacity from anyone. “The horse in question was mine, no’ yers. Ye overstep yer position. Ye have nae power over the people here.”

  There was a fight brewing, one with an unpredictable adversary. It would be a lie to think Rutledge didn’t have the power to unnerve him. His frigid demeanor combined with a loathsome reputation would make any sane man bear misgivings about antagonizing him. And yet Connor was not only antagonizing but baiting the duke.

  Enough lethal rage simmered in him to vanquish any reservations he should have entertained. Additionally, it had the power to shed him of his common sense. With an inward laugh, he gave his full attention back to the duke and doubled down on his bravado.

  “Yer title provides ye nae right to demand another person’s property nor any degree of power over these people. They are the marquis’s, no’ yer own.”

  Rutledge’s posture grew more erect, shoulders squared. Beyond that, not so much as a scowl or twitch marred his aristocratic hauteur. “I’ll not have some low—”

  “My name is Connor MacKintosh.” Coiling the whip, he slapped it against his thigh, wishing all the while he could flog the man before him. “I’m brother of the Marchioness of Aylesbury and of the Earl of Glenrothes. I’m in charge here in Aylesbury’s absence, no’ ye.”

  A tiny tick jerked at the duke’s upper lip. “In charge? They’re as insolent a lot as—”

  “Yet they are mine to command. No’ yers,” Connor berated flatly, taking another step forward.

  “Let us all attempt some degree of civility, shall we?”

  The plea came from Celeste, tempered with a surprising degree of timidity. She stood off to the side of the room with none of the haughtiness she’d conveyed that morning. Wringing her hands, eyes downcast, she gave the appearance of being cowed by the duke.

  Rather than the woman who colluded with him.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Lady Sedmouth what was civilized about selling her daughter off to the likes of Rutledge. Moreover, he was curious what drove her to continue to participate in this madness. He refrained from asking, refusing to betray Piper’s presence. As far as they were aware, he knew nothing about her or the dastardly deeds they’d heaped upon her.

  “I’ll no’ have an uninvited guest…nay, intruder to Dinton Grange, trod upon my authority. I’ll ask ye kindly and once to remove yerself immediately. From the house and this property.”

  For Piper’s sake alone, he prayed the duke would somehow capitulate to the power of social convention here when all of London hadn’t been able to bend him. While it would be a pleasure to apply force, he was aware that Harry and Fiona hadn’t imbued him dominion over the household to make or enforce such a demand.

  Be that as it may, there was satisfaction in goading Rutledge, and the bold mandate earned him the reward he sought. A reaction. The duke’s pale eyes hardened with malice, his nostrils flared, and the slightest curl lifted his lip. Connor considered it a win to have unsettled to any degree a man known to be unflappable.

  Pressing his advantage, he summoned a sneer of his own and let the storm of hostility and fury raging within reflect in his eyes. He might not be able to intimidate the man, but he might make the duke consider his actions with care.

  Rutledge tensed and huffed with what might have been amusement. An outward show of swagger, yet Connor saw his eyes shift to the side ever so briefly. Another victory.

  “You might have authority over these men, however you haven’t the power to evict me from Dinton Grange. I’m a guest of Lady Sedmou—”

  “Who is, herself, trespassing upon this property.”

  “You will stop interrupting me,” Rutledge spat out, finally losing a fraction more of his glacial constraint.

  “Ye dare to make demands of me?” he taunted.

  “Mr. MacKintosh,” Celeste spoke up, regaining some of her nerve. “I do not trespass here. Dinton Grange is my home.”

  “I believe we’ve already had this discussion, Lady Sedmouth.” Connor cast her a glare that had her retreating a step. “Ye will both vacate this property. Wi’ naught but what ye came wi’.”

  Celeste clasped a hand to her throat with an offended gasp at his insinuation. Rutledge said nothing, though his jaw clenched and unclenched. As did his fists. Connor watched them, hoping to see them fly. Much to his chagrin, the duke visibly relaxed and turned away. He sauntered into the adjacent drawing room, leaving them to follow.

  Connor did, only because he wasn’t finished. The duke’s retinue were quicker to respond. The guards stationed themselves around the room while the stablemaster had the good sense to flee. The crimson drawing room roused visions of blood and mayhem, along with a resurgence of Connor’s need to avenge Piper. He stayed the urge, waiting for an opening that wouldn’t get him killed in turn, and more importantly, betray Piper’s presence.

  Lady Sedmouth perched on a davenport of plush vermillion velvet, a tea tray laid out on the table before her. She must have had it delivered before the raucous in the hall interrupted her.

  Rutledge found his way to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port. He swung back to Connor, calm and collected once again, though his eyes spewed venom enough to kill a man. He sipped his drink.

  “Nice suit. Turnbull and Asser?” Rutledge drawled. “I hadn’t imagined them talented enough to make a gentleman out of any piece of rabble.”

  “He’s gifted,” Connor shot back. “Perhaps ye should try him, since Poole is obviously no’ up to the task.”

  The duke’s nostrils flared. “Once I’ve retrieved my wayward fiancée and my purpose here is accomplished, I will leave of my own accord. Not before.”

  “Ye’ve misplaced yer fiancée? And such fine company ye are.” Connor crossed his arms over his chest and clucked his tongue, hoping to provoke him anew. “Who is she?”

  “Lady Sedmouth’s daughter, Lady Phillipa Brudenall. The marquis’s sister,” he added when Connor did not
hing more than stare blankly.

  He widened his eyes then with mock surprise. “Sister? Harry has a sister? I dinnae even ken,” he quipped lightly, while he inwardly fumed at the sound of her name on his lips. “Too bad that. I’d like to meet a lass wi’ the refined taste to abstain from yer company.”

  For the first time something warmer than a block of ice flared in the duke’s eyes, and a flush of red crept up the tendons bulging in his neck.

  “And ye believe she’s here?” Connor persisted. “How is that? I’ve been in residence for several months and there’s no’ once been a true lady hereabouts since my sister departed.”

  Celeste’s face mottled at the slight. “His Grace has it on good authority that she is here.”

  “What better authority is there than the person in charge of Dinton Grange at the moment?” Connor pressed. “Surely Harry would have mentioned a sister in residence before leaving a bachelor like myself alone wi’ her. Imagine the scandal.”

  Rutledge remained ominously silent.

  “Have ye quizzed Mrs. Davies on the matter? I swear naught gets past that woman’s notice. The servants?” Connor turned to the footmen at the door. “Lads? Any of ye seen this Lady Flippa about?”

  “Her name is Phillipa,” Celeste ground out as the men shook their heads. “And for your information, the servants here know they would be promptly sacked were they to withhold such information from me.”

  “Ye’ve no’ questioned them? At all?” Connor’s query held none of the mockery of his previous questions. His astonishment was genuine.

  Rutledge, too, frowned at the viscountess. “Surely I misunderstand, Lady Sedmouth. Are you saying that you haven’t interrogated the servants here regarding Lady Phillipa’s disappearance? In all this time?”

  Celeste dismissed the question with a flick of her wrist and sipped her tea. “Now you sound like Aylesbury. He was forever harping in his letters about whether I questioned them…once he discovered she was missing, that is. I finally told him I had, to cease his ranting.”

  “You haven’t then?”

  “Why would I?” Evidently, she couldn’t perceive the same deadly tone in the duke’s voice as Connor could or she wouldn’t be so dismissive. “They know who pays them and who they owe their livelihood to.”

  “Aye, the marquis,” Connor pointed out. A rift between allies would better his position. He raised a brow at the duke. “I’m surprised ye’d take her at her word. I was in her company nae more than five minutes and kent no’ to trust a word she said. I’d heard ye were more discerning than that. Gossip is rarely reliable, aye?”

  Rutledge seemed like he would choke on his anger. “You’re far worse than a bitch, Celeste, you’re a fool.”

  Connor nodded in solemn agreement. “All things considered, I will order an immediate search of the property, Duke.” He dusted off the sleeves of his immaculate wool suit. As if he could rid himself of the duke’s stench in the process. He’d had enough of both of them. Since there could be no progress made toward either of his goals, there was no reason to linger any longer. “I doubt ye’ll find what ye seek, though I’ll do whatever it takes to wish ye Godspeed in all haste.”

  “Godspeed?” a cheerful voice called from the door. “Och, we just got here.”

  Chapter 25

  I used to see friendly faces in strangers. Now every one of them is suspect.

  ~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, July 1893

  “What timing! Just in time for tea.” One of a pair of identical, red-headed behemoths trouncing into the drawing room clapped one of the guards on the shoulder as he passed. Archie and another of the footmen took station near the door.

  “’Tis been a dreich day! I could use a hot drink,” the other announced as they dropped onto the settee on either side of Lady Sedmouth in unison.

  As they tended to do nearly everything. As one. As if one were a shadow of the other. Or a reflection, since one of the pair was right-handed and the other left.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lady Sedmouth’s mouth regained the derisive pucker that had marked his first encounter with her. “Who are these ruffians?”

  “My brothers. Two of them, at any rate,” Connor answered as the pair dug into the array of tiny sandwiches and tarts on the tray. They were as notorious for their appetites as for their combined wit. “Mr. Ian MacKintosh and Mr. Tam MacKintosh.”

  “Why did ye introduce him first?” Tam protested with a full mouth.

  “Because I’m the oldest,” Ian answered for Connor. Following his twin’s example, he laid into the food, leaving precious little on the platter.

  “No’ that I’m no’ glad to see ye…” He was. In fact, satisfaction poured through Connor. The odds in the room were looking to be more and more in his favor Even if he didn’t gain the chance to introduce Rutledge’s teeth to the back of his throat, there would undoubtedly be some degree of satisfaction to be found in the next few minutes.

  Rutledge was on the brink of a fit, in need of nothing more than a wee nudge. If there was ever a pair who could drive a person over the edge, it was Ian and Tam. The twins had an innate ability to read their audience, and if it suited them, find the singular thread of what might drive a person to the brink of madness. And pluck it relentlessly. What he hadn’t been able to accomplish—killing the duke regrettably off the table for the time being, and all—they might.

  “Why are ye here?” he asked them.

  “Come to see our darling Blossom,” Ian told him. “Make sure Aylesbury’s treating her a’right before we go home.”

  “She’s no’ returned from her honeymoon as yet,” Connor informed him.

  “She’ll be here soon enough. Francis had a telegram and wired us, asking we stop by,” Tam confessed.

  “We volunteered,” Ian added. “He would have come himself but his wee bairn Alice is colicky.”

  Tam held up one of the delicate teacups. “Have ye any whisky?”

  Connor nodded at one of the footmen, who scurried away, while Celeste and Rutledge both stared at the twins in the manner one did caged beasts during feeding time at the zoo. With fascination and a touch of abhorrence. As his brothers were as capable of proper manners as he, Connor knew they were playing to their audience.

  The footman returned with a bottle of Scotch and poured drinks for the three brothers. Ian threw back his and got a refill before he cast a smirk upon the duke. “Ye’re Rutledge, aye?”

  “I am.”

  Ah, and so it began. With a tug of anticipation, Connor slapped his hand against his thigh then lifted the whip he hadn’t realized he still held. He tossed it aside, knowing a verbal lashing would sting more than the leather. Leaning his shoulders on the mantelpiece, he let the twins do what they did best.

  “What’s he doing here?” Tam addressed Connor as if Rutledge couldn’t hear the rude question.

  “They are searching for Aylesbury’s younger sister,” Connor told him.

  “Shut yer geggie. Harry has a sister?” Tam paused mid-chew to ask.

  Not only did seeing Lady Sedmouth’s eyes bulge at such boorishness delight Connor, his brother’s unsolicited confirmation served his purpose all too well. Rutledge had doubted him earlier when he’d made a similar claim, now he’d gained another voice to divert the duke’s suspicions.

  Rutledge transferred his frown from Tam to Connor. “I find it hard to believe that none of you knew of the marquis’s sister.”

  Connor waited to see how his brothers would respond and wasn’t disappointed. The helpful thing about his family, no matter how they rankled, was that they always came through when he needed them most.

  “Dinnae ken him well, actually,” Tam said around a mouthful of cherry tart.

  Ian nodded. “Whirlwind romance and all that.”

  Tam shrugged. “Harry sticks to the ladies of the family…”

  “Hiding behind their skirts.”

  “Under them?” Tam laughed. “Courted most of them.”

  “N
ay, he’d no’ have courted Blossom if he had.”

  Tam: “Then we beat him…”

  Ian: “Pummeled him really…”

  Tam: “No’ much of a vote of confidence, aye?”

  Ian: “Or hand of friendship.”

  Rutledge pinched the bridge of his nose. “This conversation is dizzying.”

  “I’ll say,” they both answered while a welcome hint of laughter welled up in Connor.

  On a roll now, Ian waved his sandwich at the duke. “Ain’t ye Dormer’s da?”

  Tam made a face as he stuffed another tart into his mouth. “Gah, bad blood, that. Yer git’s a bowfing tosser.”

  “Aye, heard he ran starkers about Hyde Park last year, wagging his twigs and berries.”

  “No’ much to be chuffed about there.” Tam nudged Celeste with his elbow and winked. “No’ much a’tall, if ye catch my meaning.”

  Celeste gasped in horror.

  “Bloody knob,” Ian agreed. “Gives me the boke.”

  The duke’s fingers tightened around his glass with each word until his knuckles were white. “Insolence runs in your family, I see.”

  “Rampantly,” the twins agreed in unison.

  They lifted their glasses in toast, drawing a tart pucker from Lady Sedmouth and rousing a fair amount of irritation in the duke, if his rise in color were any indication.

  This was exactly what he’d needed. A moment to shed the red cloak of violence and mayhem long enough to think more clearly. And chaos enough to keep Rutledge and his men occupied until Piper was well away.

  Rutledge’s eyes narrowed, his nose and lips twitched as if he smelled something foul. “You MacKintoshes are very much like Aylesbury.”

  Connor recoiled, not entirely in jest. “I say, there’s nae need to get nasty.”