“Aaron?” Dahlia started up from her chair.
“I am afraid so,” Roger said, slapping his hat against his thigh. “I, my watch, and the household gentlemen have queried all up and down the waterfront. The last word we have, he was bound and being led aboard one of the ships that sailed out with the tide early this morning.”
“Ah, no,” Cottleroy groaned. “Not my son.”
“Sir,” Roger fixed him with a stare, “I understand how easy it is for a man to slip into debt and to become obligated. But it passes my understanding how a loyal British citizen could take up with a plot to free Bonaparte. Go ahead, Lady Dahlia, and tell us the pattern you found in that bundle of old newspapers.”
“Each of the ships that disappeared was insured by Lloyd’s of London. That is significant of itself because Lloyd’s is an important part of the way the British money works. I won’t pretend to completely understand how, but several editorials commented on it. That would be enough, all by itself.”
“But there is more, isn’t there?” Roger’s eyes smoldered with something indefinable.
“Much more, Your Grace,” Dahlia affirmed. “While it was not true of every ship, most of them either had someone on it who supported the Prince Regent, or they had vital goods that would have gone to the troops who were fighting in Spain and France.”
“All of that from some old newspapers?” Major Tomlinson entered the room. He, also, was spattered with mud and soot. His comment was couched in jovial tones, but his eyes looked weary as if he had seen far too much that night.
“Yes,” Dahlia said. “It isn’t obvious when you just read one paper at a time over several months, but I was truly bored. The library had a great stack of papers intended for the rag and bone man. There were nearly five years of the Post and the Herald to read from. But please, Your Grace, Major, what of my brother?”
“I have three fast sloops out in pursuit of the ship, Lady Dahlia, and runners going overland to where I think they might be headed. With the best will in all the world, there is no more I can do until we have word.”
“But how can you get it?” Dahlia’s eyes were large and bright in her very pale face.
“Pigeons, My Lady, pigeons. There is a cageful on each sloop, and another with the men who are riding overland. If it at all possible, we shall catch up with them. Do you mind if I smoke? I promise my pipe will not smell as foul as the floor sweepings Miss Scarlett prefers.”
“I like a stout smoke, just as I like a stout beer and a stout man,” Scarlett said, “Begging your pardon, Lady Dahlia, but I do believe in speaking plainly.”
“It is no matter,” Dahlia said. “And certainly, Major, you may smoke. Indeed, my wits are wandering. You and His Grace must both be famished. I’ll ring for something.” She didn’t notice thesmile that seemed to play around Roger’s mouth.
The major sat down with a sigh. Pulling out his pipe, he loaded it with dark colored tobacco mix. As he puffed on it, the clouds that arose from it smelled of rum and something else. It was as strong and heavy a scent as the tobacco used by Scarlett, but it was somehow subtly different.
Dahlia gave a tug on the bell pull, and Peter appeared, once again in his correct butler attire. She heard herself giving instructions for food and drink to be brought. Then they waited.
With the swirls of tobacco smoke, the morning sun streaming through the dining room windows, and her father lying so still on the reinforced cot, the whole thing took on a surreal tinge. It was as if someone else was sitting in her chair making small talk.
I am free of Goldstone, but will the price be my brother’s life, as well as of my father’s reputation? I do not think I can bear it.
Chapter 32
Roger hid a smile as he watched Dahlia take charge of his household as if she was already his wife.
She is so beautiful, and she is brilliant.
Then he sobered. He wanted her. She was everything he had ever dreamed of and far more besides. But their happiness should not come at the loss of her brother. He chided himself mentally for having lost sight of the young gentleman, then chided himself again for thinking of young Bochil as a child.
Aaron Lovell, the Marquess of Bochil, at the age of four and twenty had a competent living, is well respected by his peers and was a brilliant scholar by all accounts. Whereas I Roger Kingman, Duke of Shelthom, have spent two years wallowing in self-pity while there was a good chance that my parents might yet be alive. No, Aaron was no child. He was a self-made man with his own competency. Own…wait, something Aaron had said.
“Sir,” Roger said, “I am curious. Lord Bochil said something about having paid his own school fees for the last two years?”
“Must you taunt a dying man?” Cottleroy rasped. “I had not the funds to pay his schooling and was hard pressed to keep my girls in the ribbons and fripperies needful to get them successfully wed. And now it all comes to naught. The man I selected for my daughter turns out to be a treasonous coward, my son is his captive, and I don’t even know where my two younger daughters might be. I sent to Bochil for them yesterday, and word came back that they were not there.”
Aaron’s voice rang in the back of Roger’s head, “An invitation or two from friends, and my father will be hard pressed to find them.”
“I think you might rest easy on their account, Cottleroy. I believe they have gone to visit with some friends. It is as well that you could not reach them, for that puts them beyond the reach of Goldstone, as well. Your son had a thought for his younger sisters before leaving your house.”
Something wet slid down the side of the old Duke’s face. “My son had a thought. My son! It should have been I. What a fool I have been.”
The silence in the room stretched because no one could contradict that statement. The Duke of Cottleroy broke it. “Shelthom, tell me something. Is it truly my daughter you want, not her competency?”
Roger just looked at him for a moment. “Sir, I want her more than life itself. Over these last few days I have seen her exhibit forethought, bravery and kindness under circumstances that would have caused most ladies to retire to their chambers with their hartshorn and vinaigrette. She is grace under fire.”
“She is sitting right here,” Dahlia put in, a bit of her spark showing in spite of the circumstances.
“Yes, you are, my daughter,” Cottleroy said. “Now, let me ask you something. Is this truly the man you wish to marry? Or have you fled to him to escape a difficult situation?”
“Father, the afternoon that I did not come down to dinner I was not in the house. I had run away and taken a job as a maid in this very household. I would have remained so employed had I not had the misfortune or good fortune, depending on how you look at it, to be recognized before my position was six hours old. I don’t have to marry to get out of the toil in which you had placed me.”
“Life as a serving maid would be very hard, my daughter,” Cottleroy said gently. “It would be made even harder when members of the ton learned of it. Duke’s daughters do not become serving maids. You would have found it almost impossible to obtain a position.”
“Easier than life wed to Goldstone. However he might have been with you, he beat the bootblack and terrorized the maids. Do you really think I would have fared any better once I was in his power?”
“You have still not answered my question, Dahlia,” Cottleroy reproved.
“Father,” Dahlia said, “Roger has been everything that is kind and good to me. More than that, his serving staff treat him as if he were family. His valet is his friend; he has a kind word for the stablemen. The men he served with speak well of him.”
She paused, then went on. “Father, he has asked me, and I have said yes. I love him. It is bold to say so, but you have requested an answer. If it pleases you to cut me off without a penny, although it sounds as if you have few enough of them, then go ahead. I believe we can make our way in the world without your help. But Father, in spite of all that has transpired, I would like your ble
ssing.”
Cottleroy sighed. “Then, if you would send for my lawyer, I will sign a writ of consent so that you shall have your mother’s portion, Dahlia. That remains untouched. My only request is that when your sisters make their way home again that you will care for them.”
“Of course, Father,” Dahlia clung to his uninjured hand.“Did you ever think otherwise?”
“Shelthom?” Cottleroy asked.
“As if they were my own sisters,” Roger said. “But have a little faith. Major Tomlinson is not a navy man, but he is acquainted with one or two. Those sloops he sent out are good British navy issue, and there are none better. We shall yet bring your son home.”
The solicitors were sent for, and a proper nuptial agreement was drawn up. Scarlett, Major Tomlinson, Aunt Garrity and Lisa stood as witnesses to the agreement. Mr. Sharp pointed out that it was highly irregular to have persons such as they to witness such an agreement. Roger declared that he didn’t care because this was mostly to please Dahlia’s father.
With the ink still wet on her signature, Lisa, in her oddly accented English said, “I am glad to see such lovers united, but you do know that you are not dying, do you not, Your Grace?”
“If Goldstone’s knife has not done for me, Lady Physician, then the hangman’s noose surely will. I am relieved to give my daughter into the hands of a loyal protector.”
“So, now,” Lisa said, “If you are to live to be hanged, you need some quiet rest. Gentle folk, I do not wish to be forward, but His Grace needs quiet. He needs to sleep.”
Roger held his hand out to Dahlia, and they all quietly filed out of the room. Of one accord, they drifted away from the others, through the ballroom and out onto the wide veranda. There, Dahlia gratefully sat down on a wide, wicker lounge and buried her face in her hands.
Roger sat down and put his arms around her, and she leaned into his embrace. Her form was slender and light against him, the light silk covering of the green ball gown that she still wore no barrier to the warmth of her body. He wanted to put himself between her and all the ills of the world, and yet it almost seemed as if he had upset her world beyond retrieval. He rested one cheek on her hair, and she nestled into him as trusting as a child.
“I love you,” he said. “And everything I have is yours. Or as much as is mine to give, anyway.”
“And I love you,” Dahlia replied. “Oh, Roger! Is Aaron’s life the price of our happiness?”
“I hope not, my sweet,” Roger said. “And we shall do everything possible to find him and bring him home.”
Gods! What a mess. I should be thrilled. I have everything I set out to accomplish. I have the heiress, she will have her inheritance. But in the end, I find that all I want is the beautiful, wonderful Lady that she is and her happiness.
Chapter 33
Dahlia found time heavy on her hands as the day wore on. Roger went back out with the Major, pursuing any avenue for information. She saw them off, then helped Lisa, Mrs. Garrity and Scarlett tend the injured who remained in the dining hall. She took time to change out of her gown, which miraculously had survived the night.
Her father was sleeping, under the influence of a healing draft administered by the odd little doctor. In desperation, she sent for some of the damaged linens that had been washed after her brief employment as a maid. Although stitching patches on the heavy cotton did little to occupy her mind, it kept her hands busy. If her sisters and Miss Emma had been there, one of them would have read aloud while the others stitched. Except that it would have been embroidery, not worn sheets.
Where is Aaron and what has happened to him? Will Roger come to harm looking for my brother? My poor, foolish father!
The great house was still all about her, without the cheerful bustle that had preceded the party. She pricked her finger sharply enough that it bled, and a tear slid down her cheek. If only I could do something!
Lisa came into the library where she was working, and sat down beside her. “It is good to keep the hands busy, but it does very little to soothe the mind. You did very well tending your father.”
“Thank you,” Dahlia replied. “I wish I had been able to stop his involvement with Goldstone.”
“It might have been wished for, but I think you give yourself too much credit. It seems to me that your father had drifted into his influence long before either the Duke or the Earl requested your hand.”
“That is true,” Dahlia said. “I cannot help but wonder what it was that Lord Goldstone thought that he would gain through a union with me. I am not an influential member of the ton. My father had said that it was for the connections, but I have to wonder what connections he thought he would gain.”
“Perhaps it was the connections as your father’s daughter. Or perhaps a relative on your mother’s side?”
“That hardly seems likely. My mother died in childbirth when Violet was two. The baby would have been another son. My father was never a frequent visitor in the nursery or schoolroom, and after her death, we scarcely saw him.”
“Friends that you might have made after coming out?”
Dahlia shook her head. “I am a very solitary creature by nature, being fonder of books and music than balls and afternoon teas. I made the effort for my father, and I frequently acted as his hostess.”
“Perhaps Goldstone saw that you dealt well with your father’s business associates. Or perhaps you know someone needful to his plans and he thought you would be the link between himself and that person.”
“It is hard to know.” Dahlia sighed and looked at the spot where her finger had been pricked and bled on the nicely washed white linen. “I . . .”
A door opened and closed, and there were footsteps in the hall. Dahlia rose quickly, setting her needlework aside. In a few moments, Roger entered the room.
“Any word?” Dahlia asked. But she knew from the look on Roger’s face that there was none.
“The sloops lost sight of the ship not long after it left the Thames. Pigeons have come back from all three, but there is no word. It is as if they vanished into the air. If it were on land, I could track them with my hounds. Indeed, I do have men scouring the coast. I am so sorry, my love.” He sat down heavily on the sofa and held his arms out to her.
Dahlia sat next to him and buried her face in his shoulder. The coat he wore smelled of horses and hounds with the underlying scent of soap, cologne, and the bitter tang of smoke. He was warm and solid, an island in the chaos that her life had become. For a moment, she let the cares of the moment go away from her. “If we have children,” she said, the words muffled in the wool of his coat, “Will you see them in the nursery?”
“Wild horses could not keep me away from them. “Especially, if they are little girls like their mother.”
“You do not want a son for the succession?” Dahlia asked.
“If you are his mother,” Roger said. “Although, with you and I as his parents, he is likely to be a little hellion.”
“I will just retain Miss Emma,” Dahlia said, snuggling into his side. “She did a lovely job with Aaron. I cannot but think . . . Oh, Roger, why would Goldstone capture and hold my brother?”
“I am not sure,” Roger said, “but I have a feeling that it has more to do with having something to hold over your father than anything else. What could he have gained by marrying you?”
“I am not sure. But I think that it had something to do with the little island I inherited from my mother. Just before I ran away, I found part of a note that Goldstone had hidden in his boot.”.
“In his boot?”
“Yes. In the boot that Aaron’s dog chewed up. I saw a scrap of something white in it when Aaron gave Goldstone back his boot, and later I found the piece in the hallway and picked it up for fear that Father would chastise the maids for carelessness.”
“Would he have done so?” Roger frowned.
Dahlia nodded. “He was terribly angry with me, and likely to take it out on anyone. So I picked it up. But I didn’t read
it until much later. It was what made me feel so desperate that I had to get away. Even if I died on the streets, it was better than my certain fate at Goldstone’s hands.”
“An island,” Roger pondered the idea. “And he had been skimming goods out of shipments insured by the Red Star Assurance Company to send to Napoleon’s troops. I’m not sure if it will help us, but tell me where your little island is located.”
“A short distance off the coast of Wales, in the Thames Estuary. It is just south of Bochil Island. We used to plan what we would do when we grew up. He would raise sheep on his island, and I would grow vegetables and bunnies. But now . . .” Dahlia’s voice broke with a sob.
Roger’s arms tightened about her. “Have no fear, we are not yet done looking. The sloops are quartering the sea, looking, and the riders and hounds are scouring the shore. I’ll go back out, myself, shortly.”
The Hazardous Gamble of the Alluring Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 24
