Checkmate, My Lord

by Tracey Devlyn

  A cold smile graced his lips. “Then let us give him the Nexus.”

  Twenty

  August 18

  Saturday morning dawned bright, matching Sophie’s winsome birthday smile. Her daughter’s infectious exuberance swept through the household with a velocity that would rival the ton’s most determined gossip. By the time the festivities started, Catherine’s entire staff was giddy with anticipation and Sophie was near bouncing off the walls.

  If Cochran’s threat hadn’t been hanging over her head and Sebastian’s peculiar statement ringing in her ears, Catherine would have enjoyed the day immensely. As it was, she glanced around the parkland like a nervous bird every five minutes, seeing strangers in their midst.

  “The gathering is a smashing success, Mrs. Ashcroft.” The vicar appeared next to her, juggling a heaping plate while following the children’s sack race. “Creating a life-sized version of Castle Dragonthorpe was no small feat.”

  Catherine agreed. A drawbridge made of burlap, a moat outlined by timbers, and trellises for turrets took a great deal of ingenuity, but all the effort had been worth her daughter’s jubilation. “I’m glad you could come, Mr. Foster,” she said. “The day would not have been the same without you.”

  “Meghan McCarthy’s violent death has shaken Showbury’s residents,” he said. “Some have gone so far as to whisper names for the missing father.”

  Catherine raised an eyebrow. “And, therefore, the murderer?”

  “Yes.” He wrestled a melon ball onto his fork. “This is a disturbing turn of events, but not surprising. In our grief, we believe the only way to set our loved one’s soul to rest is by punishing those responsible.”

  Catherine caught sight of the earl strolling along the perimeter—er, moat—of Castle Dragonthorpe’s inner bailey. He projected calm and idleness. Few would recognize the occasional narrowing of his eyes or his preference for hovering near her daughter.

  “But justice,” the vicar continued, “is mankind’s tool, not God’s, for keeping peace and is society’s attempt at soothing the hollow ache of those left behind.”

  Could the same philosophy be applied to Catherine? Was her effort to track down Jeffrey’s killer and bring the man to justice nothing more than an attempt to relieve the never-ending void of loneliness in her heart? Something she had lived with long before his death?

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Ashcroft.” His kind eyes roamed over her features. “This is not the place to discuss such a dreary topic. Today is about celebrating life and laughter.”

  She smiled, thankful to be quit of the subject, even though a shadow lingered in her thoughts. “Indeed, Mr. Foster.” For what seemed like the hundredth time, her gaze sought out her daughter’s location and found her playing quoits with Teddy. “How is your courtship going?”

  The vicar’s face reddened, then beamed with delight. “Miss Walker has consented to a drive and picnic tomorrow after services.”

  Catherine placed her hand on his sleeve. “That is good news, Mr. Foster.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your kind counsel on the matter.”

  “Good morning, Vicar. Mrs. Ashcroft,” a newcomer interrupted. “How do you fare today?”

  Catherine started. Sebastian’s voice sounded inches from her ear. Lifting her gaze, she found him staring at her hand resting on Mr. Foster’s arm. She eased her fingers away and clasped her hands together.

  “I’m doing very well, my lord,” the vicar said. “How goes the search for a new steward?”

  “Slow, I’m afraid.” He scanned the gathering. “If you know of a dependable gentleman with legitimate references and experience, please send him my way.”

  “As it happens, I heard from an old university chum yesterday,” the vicar said. “His employer passed on and the heir is a bit of a scoundrel, or so my friend tells me. Timms is now considering his options. You’ll never meet a more honorable man. Such a shame, what’s happening, but fortuitous, don’t you think?”

  “Sounds just the thing, Mr. Foster,” Sebastian said. “Please have him come see me.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” the vicar said. “He’ll be delighted—”

  “My dear Vicar.” Catherine’s mother sailed into their midst. “I see you have cleared a spot on your plate. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to Cook’s famous lemon cheesecake.”

  He hesitated, clearly not interested in giving up his tête-à-tête with the earl.

  “I promise you, sir,” her mother coaxed. “You shall not be disappointed.”

  Pasting a vicar-like smile on his face, he said, “Pardon, Mrs. Ashcroft. My lord. I will return in a moment.”

  “Please do.” Catherine followed the duo until her mother began an animated conversation on—she squinted to make out the object of their attention—she knew not what.

  Sebastian guided her away from her guests milling about. “You and the vicar were rather cozy.”

  She sent him a sidelong glance. “I’ve told you before, he’s a dear friend.”

  “Dear enough to marry?” He must have regretted his query the moment it emerged, for he followed it with a rough command. “Forget it.”

  “That’s not possible.” Her daughter’s laughter caught her attention. She watched Sophie’s next throw and smiled when the shoe hit the iron hob. “Where is this line of questioning coming from, Sebastian?”

  A full minute ticked by before he answered. “The vicar mentioned he was contemplating marriage during our ride the other day,” he said. “I thought perhaps you were his chosen bride.”

  His jealousy should have irritated her, but instead, his gruff explanation charmed her. “No, Sebastian. The good vicar has his sights set on Miss Walker, and she on him. But neither have had the gumption to approach the other.”

  “I suppose you have been encouraging him to declare himself during your long drives?” he asked.

  Fingers of heat spread into her cheeks. “Life’s too short to spend it alone and unhappy.”

  She felt his searing gaze on her, but did not dare meet it. “How is that particular endeavor coming along?”

  “They’re going on a picnic tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What of you, Catherine?”

  His low, intimate tone pierced her heart. “I don’t understand your question.”

  “What will you do once your mourning has ended? Will you seek a father for your daughter?”

  “Eventually,” she said. “I am wise enough to realize not all men are like my father and husband. Next time, I will choose more carefully.”

  “Indeed—” Something caught his eye over her shoulder. “Where is Sophie?”

  “She’s right over there.” Catherine swung around to where her daughter and Teddy were throwing quoits. Her eyes widened when she found nothing but two iron hobs sticking out of the ground and their discarded quoits. “Sebastian,” she whispered. “I saw them playing not but a minute ago.”

  “Calm yourself,” he warned. “There are many tempting items in your make-believe castle to draw their attention.” He peered over her shoulder and flicked his index finger in a sharp circle. “Let us make a circuit of the area.”

  “Yes, of course.” She accepted his arm. “Cochran would be a fool to attempt something while so many people are in attendance.”

  “And yet a crowd can provide the best cover.” He glanced down at her. “I mention this not to frighten you, but to keep you from becoming complacent. You must never, ever underestimate your enemy.”

  Catherine’s heart hammered within her chest. She did not like this spying business. Before this was all finished, she was quite certain her heart would never pound again.

  They made a full circle around the crowd without one glimpse of a golden-red mop of curls. Her trepidation grew. She had made Sophie promise to stay within sight today, an edict that engendered a great many moans.
But Catherine had never considered her daughter would disobey her in this way.

  When Sebastian finally drew them to a halt, the muscles in Catherine’s throat ached from her effort to hold back the compulsive scream of her daughter’s name. She peered up at him. “I will round up several of the adults to scour the area. I don’t want to scare the children.” The moment she made to pull away, he covered her hand.

  “A moment.” Rather than searching the area again with a thorough sweep of his gaze, Sebastian’s attention jumped from one point to the next.

  “Sebastian, please.” She pulled at her hand. “I cannot stand this inactivity.”

  He nodded at someone in the distance, and the tension faded from his taut features. “Come, I believe we missed a hiding spot.”

  Confused by his odd behavior, Catherine accompanied him across the lawn without a word, although she chafed at his unhurried pace. He stopped next to the dessert table and pointed to a two-inch gap between tablecloths. “Your damsel in distress, madam.”

  Catherine crouched down and peered into the gap. Sure enough, Sophie and the stable lad, Teddy, sat beneath the table, alternately stuffing chocolate puffs into their mouth and staging battles with pieces from her daughter’s Dragonthorpe collection.

  “Sophia Adele, may I see you for a moment?”

  Round blue eyes peered through the opening.

  Catherine crooked her finger.

  “Do not kill my gargoyle while I’m gone, Teddy. I’ll be vexed.” Her daughter scampered out from beneath the table. She brushed an incriminating crumb from her lavender skirts. The half-mourning color was a small concession for her party. “Yes, Mama?”

  Catherine grabbed her daughter’s hand and led her several feet away. “Did you not promise to stay within sight?”

  Sophie glanced back at the table.

  “I shall have your full attention, young lady.” Catherine waited until her daughter’s gaze returned to hers. “Did I not tell you, if you can’t see me, I can’t see you?”

  “But, Mama,” Sophie said. “I could see you.” She indicated the space between the tablecloths, where Teddy now watched her daughter’s scolding with rapt attention. “I saw you chatting with the vicar and strolling with the earl.”

  Catherine blinked, unable to think of a response to her daughter’s six-, or rather, seven-year-old logic. “Do you know the scare you gave me?”

  “I’m sorry, Mama.” Sophie turned her doleful blue eyes on her. “Please don’t be upset.”

  Cupping the back of her daughter’s head, Catherine kissed the vixen’s forehead. “I’m not, but allow me to clarify my statement. We must both be able to see each other.”

  Sophie nodded, her gaze going back to the table again.

  “None of that, dear,” Catherine said. “You have many guests to attend. All of your time cannot be spent with Teddy, no matter how tempting.”

  “Do you think the earl would mind if Teddy came along to see his horses?”

  Catherine glanced back to find Sebastian encouraging the boy from beneath the table. “There’s only one way to find out, and that’s to ask.” She held out her hand when Sophie started to rush over to her two favorite men. “Make your request like a young lady, title and all.”

  Her daughter smiled. “Thank you, Mama.”

  She took off, but immediately slowed her breakneck pace to a more sedate stroll. Well, almost sedate. She looked the epitome of sweetness from the waist up. However, her feet were throwing up patches of grass in her wake.

  Stopping before Sebastian, Sophie executed a perfect curtsy. “Good afternoon, Lord Somerton. Are you enjoying my birthday celebration?”

  He bowed. “Indeed, I am.”

  She waved her hand toward her friend. “I see you’ve met Teddy. Did he tell you about his mama?”

  Sebastian glanced at Catherine, a glint in his eyes. “I’m afraid not.”

  Sophie sent her friend a sympathetic look. “His mama is terribly ill.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Teddy.”

  The stable lad’s face flamed. “Thank you, sir.”

  “He loves horses.” Her daughter bent at the waist until Sebastian’s attention shifted back to her. “The only horses he sees all day are Guinevere and Gypsy. Sweet creatures, but they cannot compare to a whole barn full of horses.” She rose up on her toes as if to punctuate her statement, an expectant look lighting her cherub face.

  “Hmm.” Sebastian rubbed his jaw. “As it happens, I have a whole barn full of horses.”

  Sophie clapped her hands together, looking from Sebastian to Teddy. “I know.”

  In a conspiratorial whisper, Sebastian asked, “Do you think your friend would like to join us later this afternoon?”

  Her daughter let out an excited squeak. “Teddy, the earl has invited you to see his horses. Maybe he’ll let you ride Cira, too.”

  Catherine raised an eyebrow, but Sebastian kept his gaze on the boy.

  Teddy smiled, revealing the beginnings of a new tooth coming in. “Thank you, m’lord.”

  “Oh, dear me.” Sebastian laid an exaggerated hand to his chest, a look of consternation on his handsome face.

  Sophie and Teddy shared a worried glance. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I just recalled something very important. Something that might change your mind about visiting my stables.”

  Catherine watched her daughter slip her hand into Sebastian’s. “Don’t worry, sir. Teddy and I will want to see your stables, no matter what.”

  “Truly?” He looked between two pairs of earnest eyes. “Even if I don’t have a red horse?”

  Sophie frowned and Teddy looked bewildered. Catherine covered her mouth to hide her smile.

  Then Sophie noticed Sebastian’s lips twitch. “Oh, Bastian. Horses are nothing to joke about.”

  “Sophie,” Catherine scolded. “You must not be so informal with his lordship.”

  “I gave her leave to do so.” Sebastian sent her daughter a gentle smile. “Didn’t I, sprite?”

  She giggled. “Yes, Bastian. If I’m a sprite, does that make Teddy a brownie?”

  Sebastian, bless him, tousled poor Teddy’s hair. “What do you say, lad? Would you like to be a brownie to Miss Sophie’s sprite?”

  He gave them another gap-toothed grin. “Brownies like barns, don’t they, sir?”

  “Indeed, they do.”

  “Then I shall be a brownie.”

  “And I a sprite.”

  “And I Bastian.”

  Three pairs of eyes turned toward Catherine. “What?”

  “What shall we call you?” Sophie asked, bouncing with excitement.

  “Um… Mama?”

  Sophie groaned, Teddy ducked, and Sebastian smiled.

  “Let us give your mother’s nickname some thought, shall we?” Sebastian suggested. “In the meantime, I believe sprite has a few guests she needs to greet.” He glanced at Catherine for confirmation.

  “Off you go,” she said.

  “Come on, Teddy,” Sophie said. “Let’s see who we can get to bob for oranges.”

  “Oranges don’t float,” he protested.

  “Precisely, you silly brownie!”

  Catherine shook her head, enjoying Sophie’s boundless good cheer.

  “She is a marvel,” Sebastian said.

  “Yes.” Catherine peered up at him. “You’re very patient with her, Bastian.”

  A tinge of color darkened his cheeks, and Catherine’s unsteady wall crumbled to the ground.

  “Years ago, when my wards were young and grieving over the loss of their parents, I made many mistakes.” He met her gaze. “Not knowing if I would be alive or dead from one day to the next, I taught them skills that might one day save their lives, and I ensured they never had to be concerned about finances.”

&n
bsp; “Where is the fault in your actions, sir?”

  “I kept them at arm’s length, praising them rarely and hugging them never.” He released a shaky breath. “I told myself it was for their own good. So they would never feel the devastating loss of a guardian again.”

  “In your own way, you were trying to protect them,” Catherine said. “No matter how hard we try to do right by our children, we will inevitably get it wrong at times. Take my current circumstances, for instance.”

  As if they read each other’s mind, their gazes sought out Sophie.

  “Yes, well,” he said. “I lied. To myself. You see, before joining the Alien Office, I wanted a wife and family. Desperately. But after my mentor’s and his wife’s brutal murders, I suppressed the need. Keeping the two young deBeaus at a distance was as much for my protection as theirs. In the end, I fell in love with the little terrors anyway. Too bad they will never know.”

  “Pardon, m’lord. Ma’am.” A maid with cropped sable hair and a scarred left cheek held out a tray of oysters nestled in scallop shells. “Care for one?”

  Sebastian stiffened. “No, thank you.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” she asked. “I hear they’re a right treat.”

  Catherine noticed Sebastian’s complexion turned a nasty shade of red. Thinking he was upset by the maid’s interruption, she said, “Thank you…”

  “Belle, ma’am,” she said with a curtsy.

  “Belle, I should like to try one.” She picked up a shell. “My mother is quite fond of these. Please see if she would like one.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She curtsied again. “Sir.”

  The moment the maid turned away, Catherine saw Sebastian’s eyes narrow on the young woman’s back. “My housekeeper must have hired additional staff for today.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Besides Belle, I see two other unfamiliar maids and a couple new footmen.”

  He sent her a sidelong glance. “Care to point them out?”

  Feeling ill at ease with his request, Catherine located the older maid weaving through the guests. “The buxom maid striding by my mother.”

  Steel-gray eyes followed her direction, his lips thinned. “Who else?”