When someone loves you

by Susan Johnson

  Dr. Stewart said as much when he arrived. “A little too much activity, I see,” he noted casually, tactful enough not to allude to the pungent aroma of sex in the air. “We’ll have you bandaged up again in a thrice,” he added briskly.

  “Tell Annabelle wounds bleed at times. I’ve had enough to know. She’s overly concerned.”

  Annabelle had chosen to sit behind Duff’s desk, since her muslin gown was wrinkled beyond redress at the moment.

  “Duff is right, Miss Foster. He will have occasions like this before he’s fully recovered. There’s nothing to worry about.” James Stewart was a worldly man, and knowing Duff as well as he did, he expected he might be called to minister to him once or twice again before his wounds had healed. Particularly if Miss Foster continued in residence.

  As the bandages were being replaced, James Stewart and Duff conversed as though they were meeting under normal circumstances, the men remarking on some recent events in Edinburgh as well as an upcoming sale at Tattersalls. Once his task was complete, the doctor left with only a bland admonishment to rest for the remainder of the day.

  “I’m not coming anywhere near you,” Annabelle asserted as the door closed on the doctor.

  “I will oblige James.” Duff grinned. “I’ll give you my pledge in writing, if you come sit by me.”

  He was content when she did as he asked.

  He didn’t think beyond that simple joy.

  Annabelle was less prone to carpe diem conceits, but in the snug comfort of Duff’s affection, she allowed herself to relish her happiness.

  At least for now.

  Chapter 30

  Giles burst into his father’s library as the duke was conversing with his steward. “Sorry, sir,” he muttered, standing in the doorway for a moment before striding into the room. “Do you mind, Galworth?” He dipped his head toward the steward. “I won’t be long.”

  “I gather this is of some import,” the duke said, leaning back in his chair as the door shut on his steward.

  “It’s of considerable import!” Giles shifted his stance as he stood before his father’s desk. “Walingame is alive!” he blurted out. “They brought him home this morning!”

  “So I understand.” Nothing moved in the duke’s placid pose save for a deadly gleam in his eyes.

  Giles didn’t question his father’s sources nor the look in his eyes. “Good.” With an exhalation of relief, he dropped into the chair Galworth had vacated. “You’re going to do something, then.”

  “Naturally.” Julius steepled his fingers under his chin and smiled faintly. “I have a vested interest in my children living long and productive lives. And men like Walingame who frustrate my plans must be dealt with.”

  “Let me go with you.” His father wasn’t the kind to let others fight his battles.

  “If you promise not to do anything hasty. One son shot by Walingame is quite enough.”

  He shrugged. “I promise. What do you propose to do?”

  Julius glanced at the small clock on his desk. “Your brother has gone out with Miss Foster. I’m only waiting for your maman and sisters to set out for their daily perusal of the shops on Oxford Street before calling on Walingame.”

  “He might not let us in.”

  The duke’s lashes fell slightly. “I don’t anticipate that happening. However, I suggest you arm yourself.”

  “There’s no doubt the world would be a better place without Walingame,” Giles said bluntly.

  Julius sighed. “Much as I agree with you, his cousin seems to be cut from the same cloth. I’m not sure sending Walingame to Hades will solve our problem.”

  “Get rid of them both.” Blunt, gruff words.

  “So bloodthirsty, my dear Giles. Recall the legalities, if you please.”

  “I’m not sure Walingame understands such niceties.”

  “He will, you can be sure,” the duke said, his voice hard as nails. “I intend to make my position uncompromisingly clear.”

  ———

  Forty minutes later, the Duke of Westerlands’ carriage drew up before Lord Walingame’s house. Julius and Giles exited the carriage, two men jumped down from the driver’s seat, a groom was left to tend the horses, and the small group proceeded to knock on Walingame’s front door.

  The footman who answered the knock opened the door without comment, as did a second servant who merely indicated the floor above with a raised hand. Without further communication, the duke and his entourage raced up the wide staircase lined with portraits of Walingame ancestors. Striding down the corridor, Julius counted doors as though he knew exactly where he was going, and having reached the fourth door on his right, he pushed it open and entered Walingame’s bedroom.

  His sources were excellent.

  Walingame sat upright in his bed as they strode in, shock writ large on his face.

  “You should pay your servants better,” Julius said suavely.

  “Get out!” Walingame shouted. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

  “You may shout, but I fear no one will hear you. Or at least the men at your front door.” Who were even now on their way to Westerlands House to enter the duke’s employ.

  Julius nodded at his two henchmen, and as though responding to previous orders, one man shut the door and stood guard while the second walked to the windows overlooking the street and took up watch.

  “This won’t take long,” the duke murmured—whether to himself, his partners, or Walingame was unclear.

  “I’ll have you dragged into court for this!” Walingame blustered. “I’ll have you sued for assault! For breaking and entering!”

  “Let’s be done with him,” Giles muttered, pointing his pistol at Walingame’s head.

  “Perhaps later, Giles.” Julius’s voice was bland as he moved toward Walingame’s bed, his booted footsteps on the carpet whisper-soft. Coming to a halt at the end of the bed, the duke surveyed the earl for a fleeting moment, his mouth set, his dark gaze malevolent. “I should kill you now for what you did to my son,” he said softly. “No one would fault me for it. But I’ll allow you to live under certain conditions. And you’d do well to pay attention to what I say, for I’ll say it but once.”

  Walingame heard the suppressed violence in Julius’s voice, saw the enmity in his eyes, and shrank back against his pillows. Julius had a dark side, rumor had it, the death of the duchess’s first husband having always been open to speculation. Lord Grafton had been in the midst of a very public divorce case against his wife when he’d suddenly died of an apoplexy—at the same moment Julius had returned to London with Lord Grafton’s wife.

  The timing had been suspect to those who thrived on tittle-tattle, talk of foul play rampant. Then, with the rushed nature of the widow’s new marriage—Elspeth and Julius had been wed within hours of Grafton’s death—there were those who said Julius D’Abernon, then Lord Darley, had done in his rival.

  “If you so much as look askance at anyone in my family,” the duke began, disrupting Walingame’s fearful musing, “I will have you killed. And I won’t take the time to go through any of the formalities. You will be shot, or drowned or thrown down a cliff. Do you understand? The means of your death makes no difference to me. You put yourself beyond the bounds of protocol when you shot my son. Will or Morgan, here,”—he gestured at his men guarding the room—”will take your life without a qualm. Or I will, or Giles, or any one of my many friends who will be apprised of my warning to you. In fact, England will not be to your liking. I suggest you take yourself abroad forthwith. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  “You can’t make me go,” Walingame challenged heatedly.

  “It’s your choice, of course,” the duke said, his voice silken. “Go or die.”

  Walingame blanched before the ruthlessness in Westerlands’s gaze.

  “I believe we’re done here.” Julius stepped back from the bed and said in parting, “You will be watched until you leave England. If you return I will know it the moment you set foot on
English soil; you won’t reach London alive.” Turning without another word, Julius signaled his men, and taking the lead, walked out of Walingame’s room.

  “Do you think he’ll leave?” Giles asked as they strode down the corridor.

  “He has a choice, but my guess is he’ll find the Continent more salubrious,” the duke murmured. “Men like Walingame are cowards at heart. Until the earl has departed England, however, there’s no need to mention any of this to Duff. I don’t want him calling out Walingame.”

  “He might have heard already that Walingame still lives.”

  The duke smiled and shook his head. “Byrne sent word chat Duff and Miss Foster are enjoying some solitude in St. James. I doubt we’ll hear from him anytime soon. And Walingame will be gone by morning. Either willingly or not.”

  Before the carriage drove away, Julius spoke quietly to Morgan and Will, who stayed behind.

  As he entered the carriage a few moments later and took his seat across from Giles, he said, “In the interests of safety, I’d appreciate it if you’d not go much abroad tonight. Stay at your climbs or with the ladies you favor, but don’t go out alone into the night. I don’t trust Walingame. Once he sails tomorrow”— the duke waved his hand negligently—”life will return to normal.”

  Chapter 31

  The duke was right about Duff and Annabelle. They stayed in St. James until evening, when Duff accompanied Annabelle home. On the pretext of fatigue, he spent the night there playing cards with Miss and Mrs. Foster, entertaining both the ladies with exceptional charm. Unfortunately, he slept alone in Annabelle’s guest chamber in the interests of propriety, but after his very enjoyable afternoon, he accepted his solitary bed with equanimity.

  The duke, however, was not correct about his life returning to normal. Shortly after breakfast, he’d no more than received news that Walingame was being driven south to Dover, than a footman entered his study to inform him that a Mr. and Mrs. Harrison were at the door asking to speak with him.

  Since he had no knowledge of such persons, he sent them on their way.

  The Harrisons refused to take their congé, telling the footman with a great deal of belligerence that they had no intention of leaving until they met with the duke on a matter concerning Miss Foster and a child.

  The butler was called to the entrance hall to deal with the recalcitrant couple.

  Mr. Harrison threatened to strike old Bamford, while Mrs. Harrison told the duke’s butler in no uncertain terms that she was the daughter of a solicitor and she would be given the courtesy due her station in life or know the reason why.

  As the dispute escalated and the shouting became audible in the duke’s study, Julius put his fingers to his brow, sighed in frustration, then rang for a servant. “Show them in,” he ordered grudgingly.

  He was grateful that Elspeth was busier than usual in the city and was out with their daughters. He wouldn’t have wanted her involved in what looked to be an irksome incident.

  A rotund man and woman, squeezed into their country best, appeared in his study a short time later, red-faced from their skirmish in the entrance hall. Looking up from his desk, Julius bid them enter with civility if not warmth.

  Neither moved for a moment, as though suddenly struck dumb in the presence of such distinctive rank.

  Understanding two such persons weren’t often—if ever—in the presence of nobility, Julius did his best to put them at their ease. “I understand you have some matter you wish to discuss with me.”

  An act of courtesy he regretted a moment later when the corpulent Mr. Harrison, apparently shaken from his stupor, strode up to his desk and said, “I’ve come here to do you a favor, Your Grace. And you are going to thank me for doing it.”

  Knowing full well he required no favors from men such as Mr. Harrison, the duke sighed silently and said, much against his will, “Is that so?”

  He didn’t ask them to sit, but the man’s wife came up nonetheless and sat, plopping down in a chair before his desk as though she had the right. Julius winced slightly, but otherwise gave no indication of his displeasure.

  “It is indeed so, Your Grace. You see, my wife called my attention to a piece in the paper a few days back that mentioned a Miss Foster and a child. I would be willing to take that child off your hands”—the man smiled greasily—”for a price, you might say.”

  “I’m not altogether sure I require any child taken off my hands,” Julius replied. But intrigued with learning the identity of his visitors, he asked, “Are you related to this child?”

  The woman sniffed. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

  “And how is that?” The duke raised his brows.

  “Our son made a very deplorable marriage,” the woman said with another sniff. “His wife was quite beneath his station. Fortunately, she died in childbirth, but the child did not,” she noted with pursed lips.

  “And yet you do not have this child, if you think it here?”

  “That actress”—another sniff of disapproval—”Miss Foster has the child.”

  The picture was suddenly clear. The duke had heard the story from Duff; the Harrisons were the ones who had incarcerated Annabelle’s sister. “What makes you think Miss Foster’s connection is of interest to me?” he asked, a new coolness in his voice.

  The man smirked. “You know as well as I that the piece in the paper gave everyone to suspect the child is your son’s. We’d be happy to acknowledge the babe as our son Thomas’s, take the child away, and be done with it. For a price, of course.”

  “You wish to raise the child?”

  “Not in the least!” Mrs. Harrison retorted contemptuously. “It could be sent to some foster home.”

  “They don’t last long there, if you know what I mean, my lord,” Mr. Harrison said with a wink. “So you see, if you’d like to pay us a reasonable sum, we could allay any further hint of scandal, and your son, Lord Darley, would be completely exonerated.”

  “What sum did you have in mind?” the duke inquired, whisper-soft.

  “I was thinking perhaps ten thousand pounds.”

  “A tidy sum.”

  “We didn’t think it would be an overlarge sum for Your Grace—if we cleaned up the scandal, as it were.”

  “Unfortunately,” Julius murmured, “our family is immune to scandal.” He nodded in dismissal. “I wish you a pleasant journey home.”

  “Just a minute,” Mr. Harrison protested. “Do you realize we could make a deal of trouble for you? Accuse you of abducting our child or worse?”

  “You are delusional if you think you can trouble me. Now, leave or I’ll have my servants escort you out.” Picking up his pen, the duke went back to his letter-writing.

  The Harrisons turned red, then white, with anger, but they didn’t move. When the duke finally reached for a bell to summon his servants, they stalked from the room in a rage, threatening any number of dire ramifications.

  Had Annabelle and Duff arrived five minutes later, they would have been spared a meeting with the Harrisons. But as bad luck would have it, just as they entered Westerlands House, the Harrisons were stomping out.

  “Slut,” Millicent Harrison hissed as she passed Annabelle.

  “Strumpet,” Jeremiah Harrison growled. “You haven’t heard the last from us.”

  Chapter 32

  Annabelle turned white.

  Taking her hand, Duff drew her close. “No one can hurt you,” he whispered, knowing without question who had brushed past them in a huff. “You’re safe with me.” Then, lifting his gaze, he surveyed the numerous footmen in the entrance hall. “If those people return,” he said crisply, “they’re not to be admitted. And someone follow them. I want to know where they’re lodging.”

  As one of the footmen dashed for the door, Bamford stepped forward. “The duke just spoke to that common, may I say extremely ill-bred, pair.” The butler rolled his eyes, the motion almost imperceptible. “His Grace is in his study, sir, should you wish to speak to him.”


  “Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down, darling,” Duff murmured, gently squeezing Annabelle’s hand. “I’ll handle this.”

  She shook her head. “If they’ve come for Cricket, I must know.”

  But her voice had quavered at the last, and Duff understood the magnitude of her anxiety. The Harrisons had killed her sister. They were not the sort one could cavalierly dismiss. “We’ll find out, but in the meantime, why don’t we have your family brought here for safekeeping. Don’t look at me like that. It’s the simplest solution—the most sensible, and, without question, the most secure.”

  “I don’t know, Duff,” she equivocated, all the strictures of rank and society aligned against such a proposal. “Think of your family—they might not approve.”

  “Of course they will,” he disputed—unlike her, without equivocation. “My family adores you. You single-handedly brought me back into this world, and for that, they are more than happy to give you carte blanche in all things. Now, sit for a minute,” he added, easing her into a nearby gilded chair, one of several that had graced the splendid entrance hall since the structure had been built a century ago. “And once I’ve given Bamford instructions for delivering your family to us, we’ll go and see my father.”

  He spoke quietly to the butler, who nodded once or twice but spoke not at all, eminently capable of carrying out any task assigned him. “With all haste, now, Bamford,” Duff added as he turned back to Annabelle.

  “Yes, your lordship.” Without looking either left or right, the tall, elderly man snapped his fingers and two young footmen ran forward.

  ———

  Moments later, as Duff and Annabelle entered the duke’s study, Julius looked up and immediately took note of Anna-belle’s pallor. “I surmise you had the misfortune to see the Harrisons. Do not be alarmed, Miss Foster. They can be dealt with easily enough.”

  “What did they want?” Duff asked, handing Annabelle into a chair near his father’s desk.