Jack spent the rest of the journey raking his memory to discover something he might have heard about the Butterstones, both father and daughter. By the time he entered the village high street and dismounted at The Dun Cow tavern, he’d failed to come up with anything. Annoyed with himself he strode inside.
Half an hour later, Jack returned to his horse. An exercise in futility. The town was a busy place with passing trade. The proprietor saw fresh faces almost every day.
“You could try the coaching inn,” he’d said as Jack drank his ale. “But unless someone goes out of their way to make themselves known, they would go unnoticed amongst those piling in from the coaches.”
He was right.
As he mounted his horse, he noticed a cleric in black garb trudging into the town. He rode over to him. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day, my good man.”
“I wonder if I might have a word.”
The man, not young his hair grizzled, nodded wearily. “But of course.”
Jack dismounted. He explained what had occurred. “Have you heard anything about it on your travels?” he asked him.
The man removed his hat and scratched his head. “Might have done. Not sure if it’s helpful.”
“Anything.”
“Well, two riders did pass me in the woods. I took note of it due to their urgency.”
“When was this?”
“Late morning, it would have been. Took me another hour before I reached open country. They rode east, away from Dunstable.”
“What did they look like?”
The cleric shrugged. “A well-dressed gentleman and a scruffy one. His servant perhaps.”
“Ages? Size? Anything about the horses of note?”
He shook his head. “The well-dressed man was older but apart from that nothing. They had their horses at a gallop.”
“The servant was not leading the other horse by the reins?”
He widened his eyes. “I don’t believe so. I think I would have noticed that.”
“You’ve been most helpful, thank you. Can I stand you an ale? A glass of wine?”
He smiled. “Kind of you. But I must get on. I’m on my way to my new Parish.”
“Far to go?”
“Another eight miles.”
“I hope the weather holds.”
“Thank you. God speed.” He squared his shoulders and trudged on.
Jack rode east into the woods. It proved fruitless. There was nothing to show where the holdup took place. Interesting though, if the cleric was right. Might it not have been an abduction at all?
On his way back to Ivywood Hall he had no idea what else he could do. Unless he could learn more from Lady Ashley or Lady Butterstone. He remembered how little surprise she’d shown at her husband’s confession. In what manner had he been a fool? Had some dreadful mistake on his part resulted in his death? Lady Ashley might have some suspicion. If she didn’t at least toss him a crumb, something to lead him in a new direction, he might as well continue his journey.
It was dark when Jack arrived back at Ivywood Hall. He was dusty and smelled strongly of horse and wished to wash and change before he met Lady Ashley.
In the entry hall, Billings relayed the invitation for Jack to dine with the ladies. “Lord Butterstone’s valet is happy to assist you to dress,” the butler said with an eye on Jack’s leather breeches.
“Thank you, Billings, I should like a bath and a shave,” Jack said, thinking of his limited wardrobe. One thing was sure if his services were required for a few days or more he would have need of better clothing than he’d brought with him.
~~~
On Wednesday afternoon, Erina waited for Harry in Hyde Park. She’d sent her maid to purchase a posy of violets from a flower seller near the park gates and sat alone on a bench beneath the trees. There was a pleasing view of the rippling waters of the Serpentine Lake. It was a mild day, the worst of the chilly weather behind them, the air sweet with the scents of wild flowers and trees painted in their new spring green.
Perhaps because she wanted to ensure Harry would keep his promise, she had taken great care with her appearance. Her Indian muslin with its broad flounces of lace was pretty, the blue velvet spencer tied with bows in front very smart. She’d teamed them with white chamois leather gloves and French Grey kid half boots, and a bonnet of spotted blue velvet with an embroidered feather.
Harry bowed. “Lady Erina, how delightful to see you again,” he said as a couple strolled past. “Is your father in good health?” He slid onto the bench beside her.
“Father is quite well, thank you.”
“Are we all set?” Erina sounded a little breathless. She’d packed her bag in readiness, proud of her restraint in choosing only necessary items. She had no idea how much luggage one could take in a curricle.
“There’s a hitch,” Harry said, while his gaze took in her outfit from her boots to her hat.
“A hitch?” Was he trying to wriggle out of it?
He leaned back against the bench and folded his arms. “No need to look at me like that.”
“Like what?” she asked impatiently. Now that her mind had been made up she wanted to be gone.
“You think I’m backing out.”
She noted the wry twist of his lips, annoyed with him for toying with her, while at the same time distracted by his well-shaped mouth. She grabbed his arm. “Oh, Harry you aren’t, are you?”
“I jolly well should! I’ve received a note from Jack. He’s stumbled into an unfortunate affair at Ivywood Hall. Lord Butterstone has been murdered.”
“How dreadful.”
“Jack has had to change his plans. He intends to stay on until he can consult with the magistrate. He’s in need of evening clothes. Asked me to take them to him.”
“Is that far out of our way?”
“Less than a day’s ride from here.”
“Well that’s not so bad. In the scheme of things.”
“Better I go alone. There’s no sense in risking more exposure than is necessary. But you won’t wait here for me to return, will you.” He sighed. “You’ll be riding in my wake.”
“Then take me with you.” She eyed him suspiciously.
“What do I tell Jack about you? You two have met.”
“He has mentioned me?”
“In passing.”
“What did he say about me?”
Harry shook his head. “Has Jack claimed another scalp?”
“How prettily you put it.” She scowled. “I was merely curious.”
“He said I would be lucky to marry you.”
“Oh.” Erin smiled. “Wouldn’t Jack keep our secret? He could tell the Butterworths I’m your cousin and you’re escorting me home to Ireland.”
Harry snorted. “I’d trust Jack with my life. In fact, I have done on occasion. But fooling the Butterworths might be more difficult. Will you leave a letter for your father?”
“I plan to.” Her face heated. “I don’t want to upset him.”
“And this won’t of course.”
It would, she knew. She was letting her father down most dreadfully. But he did want her to give up her life. It wasn’t fair. When he learned the reason, he might forgive her although she wasn’t confident of it. “I’ll explain that I’m with you. He won’t worry.”
“Not initially perhaps. Then again, he might send someone after us.”
“I don’t think he will, because after all, I am of age.” She’d given it some thought. “Father will be more concerned for my reputation.”
He frowned. “That is something I am also concerned about. And I’m surprised that you are not.”
She couldn’t afford to be. Her father was not to learn about Cathleen until she stood before him. Then she was sure his good heart would triumph. “But no one will know except our parents.”
She gazed into his serious brown eyes. Did he consider her very bad? He surely wouldn’t want to marry such a dreadful person. A very tall dreadful pers
on. Well the answer to that was he didn’t.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Sometimes rash actions can come back and bite us.”
“And sometimes they can change one’s life for the better.”
He drew in a breath. “Right. I see your mind is made up. I shall wait in the lane behind your house tomorrow at nine o’clock.”
She grinned at him. “I’ll be there. Thank you, Harry.”
When her maid arrived clutching a bunch of violets, he stood and saluted. “Always happy to please a lady.”
Chapter Seven
In the salon after a sumptuous dinner that only Jack seemed to enjoy, he had questioned Lady Butterstone in as gentle a manner as he could. She clamped her lips and refused to discuss her husband’s work in France. Despite his dying declaration, Lord Butterstone was incapable of error in her eyes. “Butterstone was an exemplary diplomat,” she insisted. She fingered the black pearls at her throat, her dove gray eyes cold. “My daughter believes you can help us, Captain Ryder. I am yet to be convinced of it.”
“You might consider employing a Bow Street runner, my lady,” Jack said, moving his shoulders uncomfortably in a coat too small for him. It would be a good outcome for them both.
Her eyes would once have been as beautiful as her daughters. Uncertainty filled them. “I prefer not to.”
Lady Ashley patted her mother’s hand. “I should like Captain Ryder to stay, Mama.” She turned to him. “If he could spare us a few more days.”
“I’d be happy to.” Jack wished she didn’t look so beautiful in blue satin. The gown was molded to the curves of her body in such a way that…. He swallowed a mouthful of cognac and put down the snifter. “But without anything to go on, I’m not sure that I can be of help to you.”
Lady Ashley looked imploringly at her mother.
Lady Butterstone drew a lacy shawl around her shoulders, her face ravaged by grief. “My husband’s correspondence has arrived with his luggage. Perhaps his letters might reveal something important.”
Her daughter stood. “Then we shall go to the library and peruse them.”
“Should your mother wish it,” Jack said.
“I… I’m… not sure that Butterstone would approve of you reading his letters, Captain Ryder,” her ladyship stuttered.
Her daughter was already walking to the door. “Father has gone, Mama. And he did ask for Captain Ryder’s help.”
Lady Butterstone nodded wearily. “Very well. I shall retire.”
In the library, a room of immense proportions lined to the ceiling with tomes, Lady Ashley rang for a footman and instructed him to light the fire.
“Do you care for more cognac?
Jack refused. “Best keep a clear head,” he said concerned at how easily he might lose his.
After the wood in the hearth blazed, the footman departed. They went to an inlaid mahogany desk on which someone had placed a large leather valise. “Father’s secretary has not yet arrived to deal with this matter. Please take Father’s seat. It’s more comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
Jack drew up a chair for her. He took the leather chair behind the desk.
She drew the valise toward her and opened it. “I’ll separate all the correspondence pertaining to France. I doubt the rest is of much interest.”
“An excellent idea,” Jack said, watching her. Everything about her delighted him, from her long slim fingers to her delicate throat caressed with fair tendrils. He sighed, leaned back, and tapped his fingers on the leather desktop. He had left London so that he would never want what he could not have. And here he was, hopelessly, foolishly, caught up. “Perhaps we can uncover the mystery tonight.”
She raised her eyes to his, a letter in her hand. “You are anxious to leave us.”
“My reason for that may surprise you.”
She flushed slightly. “But you won’t tell me.”
“Not a good idea.”
She traced her full bottom lip with her tongue. “If you don’t wish it.”
Jack’s blood heated. He pushed back his chair. He’d been accused of being hotheaded in his time. And damn it, it was true. Why stop now when it really mattered? He came around to where she sat, reached down, and removed the letter. Took her hands and drew her to her feet.
She didn’t protest her gaze locked with his. He slid an arm around her waist and raised her chin, brought his mouth down on hers. Oh, but she was sweet; he lost himself in her scent and her slim body as she kissed him back while her fingers threaded through the hair at his nape.
He drew away. “I should apologize. But I’m not sorry.”
“Neither am I.”
He studied her face for a moment then pulled her close again, breathed deeply of flowers, and woman. “Why haven’t you married?”
She moved back away from him. “Oh, but I was. Didn’t you know?”
“No. I assumed…”
“I am Lady Ashley Lambourne.”
“Lambourne. The Duke of Westmore’s second son?”
“Yes, Charles and I married when I was seventeen and he nineteen. It was thought he would not live to be old. He died two years ago.” She sighed. “He was always quite frail.”
Now he remembered hearing of it. Her husband had been crippled since birth. His father had gone to his funeral. Lambourne’s elder brother was also sickly and had died early this year.
“No children from the match?”
She shook her head. “Regrettably that side of our marriage was not successful.”
“Perhaps we should continue looking into this.” He gestured to the letters.
She slipped her small hand in his. “Perhaps we can enjoy the fire, first.”
He smiled. “The fire?”
“I’m ashamed to admit I wanted you from the first moment I saw you,” she said simply.
“And I you.” He drew in a breath. “Are you sure, Ashley?”
“Yes. I’ve had enough sadness in my life.” She placed a hand on her breast which rose and fell with each quick breath. “I need something vital, alive, to warm me. I’m cold, Jack.”
He pulled her down onto the soft carpet. “We will create our own fire tonight.”
She cradled his cheek in her hand. “And tomorrow?”
“We’ll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow.”
Sometime later, he buttoned her dress, regretting losing sight of her lovely body. She was an exciting and abandoned lover although she had admitted her knowledge of lovemaking was limited. As they’d lain quietly while their breaths slowed she’d told Jack about her marriage. Lambourne had been her best friend. They’d shared an interest in art, he an excellent painter, but they had not often shared a bed. Then Jack had tried to put into words the reasons behind his need for travel.
Ashley rang for coffee for him and hot chocolate for her and they returned to her father’s correspondence. She smiled at him and put a hand to her mouth to smother a yawn. “I’m not sure I can let you go on your journey now.”
Jack was reluctant to think of leaving here but knew he must. They sifted through his lordship’s letters.
They found nothing. The last was from Lord Caindale stating he would call at Ivywood as soon as they returned from Paris.
“Did your father keep a diary?”
“Yes, I’m sure he did. It will be here somewhere.” She searched the valise, then turned it upside down.
“Give it to me.”
Jack checked inside. “Might be something beneath the lining.”
He felt all around the interior. “Nothing there.”
Turning the bag upside down he examined the bottom. Pressed the metal studs. Suddenly a false bottom opened. A black leather-bound book fell out.
Ashley put her hands on her cheeks. “Heavens!” She came to lean over his shoulder as he turned the pages. He pulled her down onto his lap and moved the candelabra closer. As she leaned her soft fragrant body against him, they read it together.
Lord Butterworth wrote that he’d uncover
ed a plot to assassinate Napoleon Bonaparte. He did not explain how it was to be carried out. The general was to be poisoned. Two men, Lord A and a Mr. W. were underlined with a question mark. But their involvement in the affair was not recorded.
“I remember hearing of Bonaparte’s final words when he drew up his last will and testament,” Jack said. “He said his death was premature, assassinated by the English oligopoly and their hired murderer.”
“His death wasn’t from natural causes?” Ashley tensed against him. “Something did happen in France. Father’s manner changed. He became distant and preoccupied.”
“Who would he have confided in do you think?”
“Lord Caindale. He visited us in Paris.”
“Do you think your father told him?”
“They were closeted in the bookroom for some hours. And then we returned to England. Father went to see someone in the government before we left London.”
“Did he say who it was?”
“No.”
He slipped an arm around her waist and stood to help her to her feet. “You’re exhausted. You must go to bed. There’s nothing more we can do about this now.”
“Yes, you’re right Jack. I only hope Uncle George is safe.”
“There’s a good chance he is,” Jack said.
~~~
Perhaps it was the freedom of leaving home and beginning a new chapter in her life. Perhaps Harry’s amusing company. While veering from trepidation one minute, and wild enthusiasm the next, Erina remained glad of her decision.
Harry slowed his pair of grays and threaded his curricle through the gates of Ivywood Hall. “You haven’t changed your mind?” he asked. “Not too late to await me at an inn.”
“No.”
As he drove down the avenue, the grand mansion appeared, twice the size of her home which wasn’t small. Several gardeners slipped from view among the aged trees in their leafy splendor.
She watched them as they passed. “The Butterstone’s gardeners must lop off an unwanted leaf as soon as it grows.”
“Mm. Impressive.”
A footman in puce and gold livery came out the front door followed by the butler. Behind them, Jack appeared.
Captain Jack Ryder -The Duke's Bastard: Regency Sons Page 5
