by Joan Vincent
Monsieur Mandel went to his desk and removed a small pistol. “Only for assurance,” he told her. Lighting the carriage lamp, he guided her from the greenhouse, halting when they reached the meadow’s edge.
Watching from a distance, Dunstan saw them speak briefly, then part. He shadowed Sarita until she entered the kitchen door, then headed back through the woods for a rendezvous of his own.
Trust her, his heart overrode his mind’s suspicions. Trust her.
Chapter 13
“Be careful, Father. Slowly now.” Deborah hovered nervously at the bottom of the steps as Reverend Durham assisted Lin down the broad stairs.
“Lean on me, my lord,” she told him when they reached the bottom. “We have a chair especially prepared for you in the garden.”
“I believe I can manage it, sir,” Lin told the rector as Deborah took hold of his right arm. “My strength has quite returned in the past two days. Lady Brienne was perfectly correct in thinking that walking in my chamber would aid my recovery.”
“But you must not overdo,” Deborah warned, her eyes brightening beneath his smile.
“Then I shall let you children go on,” Reverend Durham told the pair. “I shall be in my study if you require assistance.” Suppressing a chuckle when the two showed no sign of having heard him, he turned and walked away.
The sound of his footsteps broke the spell between the pair. “Father, where will you be if Lord Dunstan needs help coming in?” Deborah asked.
“In the study—the library. You had best go on. I believe everyone awaits you.”
“Yes, Mother and the dowagers have prepared a special tea to mark your coming from the sickroom,” Deborah told Lin as they walked slowly towards the front doors. “How pleasant it will be to have you join us once again.”
“I rather . . . regret . . . the change,” Lin said. He halted and gazed steadily at her. “The past few days that you have sat with me have been—” He coloured slightly. “I have—" Words failed.
A sudden shyness struck Deborah. “I, too, have found them . . . enjoyable,” she murmured.
“We mustn’t keep the ladies and your mother waiting,” Lin managed, and the pair continued through the hall.
Outdoors, the dowagers and Mrs. Durham awaited Lord Enoch, their tea and cakes in readiness. A chair with cushions had been placed in the arbour for his lordship, but he bravely disdained its use, insisting he was truly recovered.
“Were you not to be weeding the garden?” Lady Imogene asked Deborah, outmanoeuvring her from sitting beside Lin.
“Sarita said she did not mind doing it,” Deborah responded with a hint of a pout.
“She is far more content out of doors than Deborah,” Mrs. Durham said.
“She did want to do it,” Deborah added defensively.
“Very well, child. I meant nothing by the question.” The countess gave her hand a pat. “Here is your tea. Try one of these cakes,” she said, offering the platter of prettily decorated sweets.
“Your tea is excellent, Mrs. Durham, and I can only give the highest praise to your cakes, Lady Imogene,” Lin told the ladies sometime later. “This has been most pleasant. But now I would like to walk about a bit. Try my legs, so to speak.” He smiled, much of his former nervousness gone after such close contact with the women during his nursing.
Deborah stood. “I shall go with you, Lord Dunstan. There is a rather delightful brook—”
“We would all like to see it, would we not?” Lady Phillippa rose.
“But, my ladies, I would not wish you to strain yourselves,” Lin protested.
“Then Mrs. Durham and I shall remain behind,” Lady Brienne told him. “Someone must clear away the tea. If you see Josh or Ben, send them to me.”
“As you wish,” Sullivan acceded with a bow.
“May I take your arm?” Lady Phillippa asked, taking hold. “Deborah, you must walk before us to show the way.”
“Yes, my lady,” she answered, forgetting to pout under the warmth of Lin’s smile.
The baroness had observed the pair closely before Deborah reluctantly took the lead. The action and reactions between the young man and woman during tea confirmed her growing suspicions. A council would have to be held; for it was plain her sisters were still blind to the obvious.
* * * *
“I suppose your mother never speaks of us,” Lady Phillippa broached the tender subject.
“M—my mother?” Lin’s nervousness returned. He fidgeted with his cravat. “No, I don’t believe she does,” he managed through a large gulp.
“How is her health?”
“She is—well. I saw her before I left London, and she was very well,” the earl’s cousin said with slightly more assurance.
“Did she object to your coming to see us?” the countess asked, having come to Lin’s other side.
“Lady Dunstan—Mother—would never do that, would she? I mean you are her sisters . . ..”
Wonderment at that unusual reply lasted the fraction of a second before a shot rang out. The ball tore a slit in Lin’s left jacket sleeve.
At sight of the rip, Lady Imogene pushed against him with all her weight. Both sprawled forward and brought the marchioness down beneath them.
Seeing Dunstan fall, Deborah gave a deafening shriek and fainted.
The sound of the shot startled Sarita. Her sister’s scream propelled her from the garden at a dead run. Reaching the front of the house, she paused momentarily, searching.
The baroness, who had come to the front door, pointed towards the group in the meadow and the four figures on the grass. Flashes of petticoats and excited chatter told them the dowagers were unharmed. The sight of Lin trying to free himself from them confirmed his condition. Only Deborah’s plight remained uncertain.
Dashing to the group, Sarita panted, “What has happened?” She helped Lady Phillippa up while Lin, finally freed, assisted the countess.
“Has Deborah been shot?” She looked at her sister.
The countess grabbed hold of the torn sleeve. “Someone tried to shoot Enoch. See.”
“Deborah!” exclaimed Lin when he saw her prone figure. “She’s been shot.” He blanched white.
“She has only fainted, Enoch.” The marchioness looked up as she knelt with Sarita at the young woman’s side. “See, she is coming to her senses.”
The light brown lashes fluttered as he dropped to one knee at her side and took one of her hands in his. Her eyes met his concerned gaze as they opened. “Enoch,” she breathed.
“You are unhurt?”
“And you?” Deborah asked, nodding.
“Only my sleeve needs mending,” Lin assured her. “Let me help you rise, Deborah.”
The countess bent over and took hold of her elbow. Lady Phillippa took the other.
“Do you really think someone is—is attempting to murder you?” Sarita asked Lin. “Oh, where is Mr. Sullivan? He has been gone so much of late.”
“Cris has many business matters to attend—for me of course—especially since I have been disabled.” Lin’s gaze shifted back to Deborah. “Let us hasten indoors. Miss Durham looks far from well.”
* * * *
“How fortunate I find you here,” Pierre Mandel greeted Sarita later that same afternoon as she came from the garden, supper’s carrots cradled in her apron. “Is it true another attempt was made on Lord Dunstan’s life?”
“I fear so, although Lord Enoch insists that no one wishes him harm,” Sarita replied, continuing towards the kitchen door. She wished it were much closer.
“Certainement, he must jest,” Mandel said in surprise.
Sarita halted. “Why do you say that?”
“Not only are there many husbands seeking to reckon with him, but there is Monsieur Sullivan,” Pierre told her matter-of-factly.
“Mr. Sullivan? You cannot be serious,” she laughed. “No one is more concerned for Lord Enoch’s safety.”
“Oui? And where was he today?”
“Attend
ing to business. Lord Enoch told me,” Sarita threw back.
“Does it not seem at odds with his regard for his lordship to be absent on Lord Enoch’s first day from the sick chamber?”
“I am certain he felt there was no danger,” she insisted, angered at Pierre’s persistence.
“Did you know Monsieur Sullivan is a cousin of the earl’s?”
“Of course.”
“And that he is next in line for the title?” Pierre arched an eyebrow meaningfully.
“How do you know this?” she demanded.
“I have friends among the peerage who know Lord Dunstan. They believe Monsieur Sullivan covets his nervous cousin’s wealth.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Non? You have been beguiled, like many others. Monsieur Sullivan’s reputation as a womanizer is equal to that of his lordship’s.”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“But do you not recall how the man who shot Lord Dunstan escaped because of Monsieur Sullivan’s interference?”
Sarita shook her head in disbelief.
“I shall say no more. I wish only to warn you. Think.
Does Monsieur Sullivan act the humble secretary?
"Take care, mademoiselle. Feel free to call on me. I will gladly aid you in any way.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Mandel.” Sarita met his gaze, then flitted her eyes away, fearful he might read in them the uneasiness his words aroused. “Thank you. I must go,” she ended curtly.
“Adieu,” he called after her. “Ah, monsieur,” he said softly, “the seed is well planted.” Chuckling, he sauntered on his way.
In the kitchen Sarita dumped her bundle of carrots into a basin and scrubbed them furiously. Pierre’s words tumbled over one another in her mind. The slam of the front doors drew her attention. The first outburst was followed by a less violent, but loud, slam of the library’s door.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Sarita hurried to the library and entered without knocking. She stopped short at the sight of her father downing a stiff glass of sherry.
“Father,” she exclaimed, seeing his dusty, torn coat and bruised face. “What has happened?”
“Lord Pergrine tries Christian patience beyond endurance,” he rumbled.
“He did this to you?”
“No, some of his hired bullies did.” The rector sank into the chair behind his desk. I must think.” He dropped his head into his hands.
Sarita rushed to his side and dropped to her knees, reaching to draw his hands from his face. “Please, Father. Tell me what happened.”
“Lord Pergrine’s blackguards caught witless Tom Trumbull and his brother, Ned, poaching last night—or so they claim. I hurried over to Pergrine Manor as soon as I heard of it this morn.
"First, I was made to wait—for hours it seemed—and then I was finally allowed a few minutes alone with the two men. It was dreadful how they had been beaten. They told me Pergine means to hang them.”
“He can’t.”
“He can. A peer’s lands are inviolable and he is the magistrate. When I left the two, I demanded to see Pergrine. He knows they are harmless halfwits. I pleaded to see him, but his men laughed. I lost my temper and stepped toward one. I fully intended to hit him, but this happened,” he pointed to the bruise on his jaw, "before I could do any harm.”
“What will become of Tom and Ned?”
“They will be hanged in the morn unless something is done.”
“What are we to do?”
“You are to do nothing, my precious little princess. After I change, I will go to see Clem Traunt. Mayhap he will be willing to—”
“But couldn’t you be imprisoned for attempting to free them?”
“Hush, daughter. Go fetch me a fresh shirt and coat. I don’t care to have your mother see me thus. I will make for the kitchen and try to repair some of this damage.” He tried to smile and grimaced painfully instead.
Both saw the earl when they turned to the door.
“The latter would be wise, Reverend Durham, but I strongly advise against your former intentions,” Dunstan said. He stepped into the library and closed the door behind him.
“Mr. Sullivan, you are unfamiliar with our problems,” the rector returned carefully.
“But I do know the danger in which you would be placing yourself and anyone else who chose to follow you. Think of your wife—your family,” Dunstan continued persuasively. “What would they do, deprived of your presence—of the livelihood you provide?”
Reverend Durham burst into laughter. Sarita stared at him, hesitant.
The earl looked at the pair in rueful surprise.
“Pardon me, Mr. Sullivan, but is it really unknown to you that we have no funds? Lord Dunstan has been providing for all since his arrival.”
“He has?” Dunstan asked slowly. “Nevertheless, that does not alter my point.”
“You have no point, Mr. Sullivan. Lord Pergrine would not harm me.”
Dunstan waved at the rector’s battered face.
His men did this,” Reverend Durham said. “He would not have permitted it had he been present. I know the man better than you.”
“Father must do something,” Sarita said, stepping towards Dunstan. “Can you not see that?”
“There are more ways of helping them than by endangering others. What if Lord Dunstan were to speak with Lord Pergrine?”
“I do not believe that would alter anything.” Durham shook his head.
“You must let us try,” the earl insisted.
The rector studied the young man carefully. “Why do you take such an interest?”
“Do you intend to go ahead with your plan to rescue the men?” Dunstan asked coldly.
“Yes.”
“Then I shall be forced to warn Pergrine.”
“No,” Sarita gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“If I must. Don’t you see, Sarita, it is the only way to save your father, Clem, and any others foolish enough to attempt it.” His eyes pleaded for her understanding.
“But he won’t let you go,” Sarita told him, on the brink of tears.
“Quiet, daughter. Mr. Sullivan is only doing as his conscience bids. He should be respected for that.
"I will agree,” he told him, “if you can convince Lord Dunstan to call upon Lord Pergrine this eve and persuade him to delay the proceedings.”
“Good,” Dunstan said readily. “Where is his lordship?”
“In the solarium,” Sarita told him. Her large accusing eyes lurched his heart.
“Someone attempted to shoot Lord Dunstan this afternoon,” she told them.
“What?” both asked, Dunstan blanching.
“He is unharmed,” she hastened to add, relieved by Mr. Sullivan’s reaction.
“Thank God,” murmured her father.
“Where did it happen?” the earl questioned.
“In the meadow between the rectory and the woods. Deborah, the countess, and Lady Phillippa were with him.”
“The earl will have to be sent elsewhere to preserve his safety,” Dunstan told them. “But first we shall ride to Pergrine’s.”
Chapter 14
“Excuse me, my ladies.” Dunstan bowed to the dowagers. “Mrs. Durham, Miss Durham.” He included them all. “But I must deprive you of his lordship’s presence. A matter of grave importance has arisen. My lord.” He motioned for Lin to move to the door.
Hearing the urgency in his cousin’s voice, Sullivan rose at once. “Till later this eve,” he said, bowing and leaving the room, the earl hard on his heels.
“What is this about?” Lin asked when they reached the privacy of the bedchamber. “No,” he spoke animatedly, “first let me tell you that this switching of identities must end.”
“I know about the second attempt, Lin. I mean for you to depart from here in the morn. For your own protection,” he added at his cousin’s surprised look.
“That is not what I was speaking about.” Lin reddened slightly. “
I wish to propose to Miss Durham—to Deborah. I cannot as long as she believes me an earl.”
“Why not tell her the truth after you wed?” Dunstan returned with his characteristic humour.
“You are impossible, Cris,” Sullivan snapped. “Have you never cared what someone thought of you? Deborah may hate me when she learns she has been deceived.”
Sudden seriousness crossed the earl’s features. “If she loves you, it will not matter that you have no title. As for me, there is something far more important than personal wishes at hand now. Do you feel you could ride a short distance?”
“What has that to do with—”
“I’ll explain as we go.” Dunstan tossed Lin his hat and grabbed his own. “We ride to see Lord Pergrine.”
* * * *
“How much longer must we sit here?” Lin questioned, dismounting. “We must see Pergrine on a matter more important than personal wishes,” he mimicked the earl. “How is sitting in a clump of trees helping those two men you spoke of?”
“You shall see. All you have to do is agree to everything I say when we return to the rectory. We’ll go in a few moments.”
Another half hour passed; darkness fell. An owl hooted twice.
“We can go now,” Dunstan said. He untied their mounts and led them from the cluster of trees. “Remember, agree to what I say. Plead fatigue as soon as I finish and request my assistance in retiring. No questions, Lin. Not yet.”
“Bedlam or Newgate,” Sullivan muttered as he swung into the saddle. “The man must be headed for one or the other.”
* * * *
“A delay has been arranged, Reverend Durham,” Dunstan said as he and his cousin sat with the rector in the library. “Lord Pergrine has agreed to investigate the matter more fully.”
“Can the earl not speak of what passed between Lord Pergrine and himself?” Durham asked, puzzling over what he read as alarm in Dunstan’s features at Sullivan’s words.
“Cris speaks the truth,” Lin said, prompted by a nod from the earl. “He was with me when I met with Pergrine. Do excuse me.” He rose. “I am very fatigued from the day’s activities.
"Cris, come and assist me.” He turned to the door, unable to meet Durham’s eyes.
