by Amanda Scott
She knew that, after Monday’s episode and with Dambroke having made it clear that the association with Nat Tripler was to be discouraged as much as possible, MacClaren had begun to increase his study load. But she also knew that Teddy had not been at his books all afternoon and suspected that he had been with Nat instead. The earl was also aware of his disappearance, because he had looked for him to take him fishing. He didn’t ask for any explanations, however, and Miss Westering applauded his restraint. But when they rose to adjourn, Dambroke laid a restraining hand on the boy’s good shoulder.
“Where are you off to, my lad?”
“Oh, nowhere in particular. Just out, I expect.” Teddy’s voice was airy and casual, though not enough to be impertinent.
“I hesitate to contradict you or to bring up unpleasant subjects, but did not Mr. MacClaren leave lessons to be done?”
“Yes, sir.” Some of the air had gone.
“Have you done them?”
There was a slight hesitation while Teddy clearly weighed the possibility of asserting that of course he had done them. He sighed. “No, sir. But I can do them later,” he added hopefully.
“You ought to have done them this afternoon,” Dambroke said gently but with a glint of amusement. He ruffled the boy’s curls. “I do understand, you know, that other things seemed more important at the time. I have often been in that position myself. But the lessons must be done and not, I’m afraid, at your convenience. Go now, and when you have done I think you had best go straight to bed. No,” he added when Teddy looked up in protest, “I am not punishing you, but I am going to insist. You still need a good deal of rest, my lad. Whether you like it or not, you are not yet entirely mended, you know.”
All the air had gone and Catheryn couldn’t bear it. The evenings had somehow become precious and she knew this one would be spoiled if the boy were banished to the lonely schoolroom. “Perhaps Teddy might bring his work down to the library,” she suggested almost shyly. “He can do his lessons just as well there, and it will be warmer than the schoolroom.”
Dambroke consented immediately, but Catheryn was surprised to note that Teddy seemed to weigh the suggestion for a moment before going up to get his books and papers. By the time he returned the earl was seated in his favorite chair with his feet stretched out to the roaring fire, a small glass of port resting companionably on the table at his elbow. Catheryn had sent for extra working candles and was in the process of arranging a branch in such a way that they would cast their light most beneficially upon Miss Lucy’s knitting.
“Thank you, my dear. Quite admirable. I shall now have no excuse for dropping my stitches.”
“I don’t believe you’ve dropped a stitch in all your life, Miss Lucy,” Catheryn retorted, laughing. “Come in, Teddy. I’ve cleared a space on the long table. Will these candles do? I thought two branches would be better than one.”
He put his paraphernalia down and grinned. “Thanks, Cathy.” He pulled out the heavy chair and, with a sigh nearly as heavy, slid into it and opened his book. Hiding a smile, Catheryn turned to find the earl’s amused gaze upon her. Warming to him, she chuckled and moved to pick up her workbasket. She had nearly finished Teddy’s shirt, but she still had to attach the narrow lace at the cuffs. It required tiny blindstitches, and she hoped she would have enough light. The room was still except for the noise of the crackling fire and Miss Lucy’s clicking needles. Dambroke shifted his feet. Teddy turned a page. She missed Sense and Sensibility and the earl’s deep, steady voice as he read. Somehow sewing in silence was not as much fun, but it would be worth it for Teddy’s sake. She had reckoned without the earl.
“Must you fuss with that thing now, Catheryn?” he demanded after a quarter hour of silence. “I’m persuaded there is not sufficient light in here.”
“Have you another suggestion, my lord? I assure you it would be more than welcome.”
“Good. Let’s have a game of backgammon. Or perhaps,” he added with more grace than sincerity, “Cousin Lucy would care to take a hand of whist?”
Miss Lucy declined politely, assuring him with a laugh that she preferred to finish her shawl, thank you, and Dambroke unfolded from his chair to procure the backgammon set from the high cabinet near the fireplace. They pushed their two chairs closer together, facing each other across the low table, and he laid out the leather board and ivory stones.
Catheryn was experienced and conservative, but she rapidly discovered the earl to be a daring and innovative player, much like her grandfather had been. Playing carefully, and with the aid of some lucky throws for herself and several disastrous ones for her opponent, she won the first game. Without looking up from the board to comment, Dambroke began to set out his stones once more.
“Another game, my lord?” she asked demurely.
“Silence, Impertinence.” But he grinned at her.
Thinking her luck was holding, Catheryn cheerfully covered her five-point when she won the opening roll. His lordship, however, promptly retaliated with double sixes and covered both bar points. Her next roll proved singularly unhelpful. Dambroke, with a smile that was nearly smug, managed to complete a four-point block, and Catheryn rolled double sixes. She had only one option and made the move with a grimace.
“At least it has the advantage of leaving you with no major decision to make,” Dambroke teased.
“If,” she replied with dangerous calm, “you have nothing to say to the purpose, my lord, I beg you will hold your tongue. You disturb Teddy.” She glanced at the boy and found him grinning from ear to ear. Dambroke winked and Teddy stifled a laugh. The earl rolled double twos. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Catheryn exclaimed.
“Sh-h. You’ll disturb Teddy.” The earl chose to leave a blot, quite impudently, she thought, on her twelve-point.
“You will be well served if I roll double ones, my lord,” she whispered.
“Never mind, my girl,” he answered with a grin and in his normal voice. “Your luck is out, and I shall soon have my prime.” He was right. She rolled a double but useless six, and he promptly rolled four-two, giving himself prime and effectively trapping two of her stones on his one-point. From then on it seemed hopeless. Catheryn moved her pieces methodically into her inner board, except for the two that had, so to speak, been caught behind enemy lines. The earl gloatingly maintained prime until the last possible moment. When he began to bear off, she was still stuck. By the time he had removed four stones, she had only succeeded in closing her board.
“Sir?” Dambroke, about to throw the dice, looked up to find Teddy at his elbow.
“Yes, what is it?”
“I’ve finished.”
“Well, then, off with you.”
“May I watch the end of this game?”
“No need for you to gloat over Catheryn’s ignominious defeat, my boy,” his brother laughed. “Just bid the ladies good night and be off.”
Catheryn wrinkled her nose at the earl and turned to Teddy. “Do you want Mary, Teddy? I know it’s still difficult for you to manage shirts and so forth.”
But he declined, grinning. “I hope you trounce him!”
“Begone, rascal!” Dambroke raised a hand in mock threat, but Catheryn only sighed.
“Do go, Teddy. He has it all his own way, and you are only delaying the inevitable. I need a miracle to save me.”
Teddy obediently began gathering his books while Dambroke flourished for the throw. The dice rattled out of the leather cup and across the board. “Damn!”
“Richard, mind your tongue!”
“Sorry, Cousin Lucy. But of all the luck! It would try a saint, I promise you. I’ve rolled double sixes.”
“Is that so bad?”
“Not usually, but this time … disaster?”
Miss Lucy only commented that it seemed insufficient reason for blasphemy and went back to her knitting. Catheryn twinkled at the earl. “I don’t know why you make such a piece of work about a single blot, sir. My luck being what it is, I doubt I’ll
hit it.” She rolled double fours and sat staring at them. Dambroke swore again, but under his breath this time.
“She did it! She did it!” Teddy crowed. “Now you’ll sing a different tune.” Ignoring the earl’s glare, he moved closer; and, while Dambroke sat helplessly, unable even to throw the dice because of her closed board, Catheryn alternately threw and moved her stones to the inner board. When, finally, she opened the six-point, he was allowed to throw but, with perverse consistency, threw none but low numbers. He fumed while Catheryn continued to bear off. Not until the three-point was open was he able to escape. He did not, however, avoid sound defeat.
“Good show, Cathy!” Teddy applauded. “Oh, well done!”
Dambroke pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’ll take you upstairs myself, you scallawag!” He shook his fist at Catheryn. “And don’t you dare move, miss. We’re having another game!” She only chuckled, watching them go. Teddy’s protests that he could so put on his own nightshirt and didn’t need a nursemaid of any sort, let alone one who still needed a valet to put himself to bed, were effectively squelched by the calm rejoinder that his lordship would just see about that. The door closed behind them.
“That goes rather well now, does it not?”
Catheryn turned to smile at Miss Lucy. “Very well, I think. I’m glad his lordship decided to stay on.”
“Humph!” snorted Miss Lucy, as though she had her own ideas about that. “Told him about Eton yet?” It had not been long once the ice was broken before Catheryn had confided most of what she knew about Teddy and his family to the old lady.
She sighed deeply. “Not yet. I haven’t really spoken privately with him since just after he arrived, you know.” She could feel color creeping into her cheeks and, though Miss Lucy seemed not to notice, went on quickly, “I don’t want to tell him if it means he will exert pressure on Teddy about his lessons. Mr. MacClaren handles him well, but Dambroke might replace him if he thought a stricter man would get Teddy back in school sooner. He sets great store by Eton.”
“’Course he does,” replied Miss Lucy crisply. “His old school. Though, considering he was there under George Heath, I don’t know why he would retain a fondness for the place. Used to flog the boys for the fun of it, I think. Hear that Keate fellow is cut from the same cloth, too.” She paused.
“Dr. Keate said boys don’t care about the flogging,” Catheryn observed uncertainly.
“Much he knows.” Miss Lucy paused again to begin a new ball of yarn. When she spoke, her attention was divided between the task and her words. “I suppose you know best, my dear,” she said doubtfully, “but I believe you ought to tell him. Dambroke don’t look kindly on female meddling.”
Catheryn sighed again. “I know. He isn’t likely to approve of my private conversation with Dr. Keate no matter when I tell him about it. He warned me, too, but I couldn’t help meddling. I think he will be pleased that Teddy can return. I’d just prefer to wait till I know Teddy will also be pleased.”
“Up to you, of course, my dear,” Miss Lucy replied equably. She turned the subject, and Dambroke soon returned. Catheryn had rearranged the board.
“So, you are ready for me,” he laughed.
“As you see, sir. Did Teddy get to bed all right?”
“Of course. He made a few faces while putting on his nightshirt and protested the whole time that he didn’t need any help from the likes of me.”
“Being yourself, as he said, the sort who needs a valet to tuck you up at night,” Catheryn mocked.
“I am not!” he retorted indignantly. “I’ve survived more than once without Landon, I assure you. It was a good line, though. I’ll give him that.” He hitched his chair up to the board. “Now, miss, are you ready to pay the piper?”
Catheryn chuckled at the reference but agreed that she was ready. She concentrated upon her careful play, but the earl’s superior skill and daring tactics began to have their effect. It seemed that he left blots indiscriminately, keeping an eye only for the main chance. He did not play that way with impunity, of course, but her strategy could not prevail against him. At the end of the first game she found herself humiliatingly gammoned, but the play was more even in the next and she held her own. When Dambroke bore off his last stone, she had only one remaining.
“A win, but scarcely worthy of being called so,” he observed. “If you had thrown a double any of the last few times, you would have won. So, now we must have a tie-breaker.” He raised his brows hopefully, much as a child does who wonders if he has pushed his luck too far.
“No, sir! Not until I have had my tea, my lord. And I will not be bullied.” She began putting the stones away, but his expression did not change. She laughed. “If Miss Lucy can bear to stay up, I shall allow you one game after tea.” He grinned, but she ignored him. “I daresay your sense of propriety is interfering with your usual early hours, ma’am, but you must not let us take advantage of your good nature.”
“I enjoy the company,” Miss Lucy admitted with a placid smile. The door opened to admit John and a maidservant with the tea tray, and the old lady briskly bestowed her knitting.
“Are those apple tarts?” Dambroke inquired with interest.
“They are. Help yourself.” Liberally taking her advice, he passed the plate to Catheryn and the three of them tucked into their tea with energy, while conversation ambled from one topic to another as cozily as though they had known one another forever. It occurred to Catheryn once again that it was the night of the Clairdon masquerade, and she noted that the ball must be well underway by now.
Miss Lucy’s only comment was a snort, but Dambroke smiled contritely. “I’m sorry you’re missing the fun.”
She felt very comfortable with him tonight. “Rubbish, sir. I’ve no great yen to disport myself as a shepherdess.”
He cocked his head quizzically. “I only approved the plan because you said you’d always wanted to go to a masque.”
“Did you?” She grinned.
“I did. I expect you said so in the hope that I would do just that. You are incorrigible, little one.” Mentally hugging herself, she suggested he have another tart. “Baggage. I hope my sister is enjoying herself. I don’t suppose you know what costume she finally decided upon.” Catheryn shook her head. “Well, she never confided in me. Probably a shepherdess.” As John and the maid began to clear away the tea things, Dambroke brushed crumbs off his cream-colored breeches. “Ready, miss?”
She cast a doubtful glance at the old lady. “Are you so set upon this game, sir? Miss Lucy must be longing for her bed.”
“Nonsense. We’ll play rapidly and she won’t mind a bit. Will you, ma’am?” The appeal, accompanied as it was by his most charming smile, achieved its purpose. Miss Lucy drew out her knitting again, observing as she did so that they might as well get on with their silly game, since she wanted to knot her fringe and could do so as well tonight as tomorrow.
Accordingly, the stones were once again set out in the starting pattern, but the new game soon promised, despite the earl’s assurances, to be a long one. By midnight, they were well into the middle game when John came in and began replacing burnt candles with new ones. Diverted by his entrance, Dambroke glanced up and told him he might take himself off to bed when he finished. Both players forgot Miss Lucy who, though her fringe was but half done, had dozed off in her chair. John headed for the door, his tray full of candle bits. Dambroke threw the dice.
“The devil!” he exclaimed. “Now, how in blazes do I make use of that!” His attention was fully engaged, so he did not notice John’s sudden start when he opened the door into the East Hall. Catheryn did, however, and likewise heard the gruff voice speaking from beyond.
“His lordship there, is ’e?”
“Aye,” John answered in surprise. He looked back over his shoulder. “It’s Mr. Straley, my lord.”
“Straley!” Dambroke muttered, counting his move. “What’s he want at this hour? Poachers?” He looked up to see his footman still
poised at the door and looking very uncomfortable. “Why does instinct warn me that it’s nothing so simple as mere poachers? Send him in, John.”
John motioned to the keeper with a nod and stood aside. The reason for his discomfort as well as his subsequent hasty exit became perfectly clear when Straley entered, a shotgun under one arm and a wriggling, red-faced Teddy under the other. The elderly man set the boy on his feet, retaining a grip on his arm, and made his bow. Miss Lucy came wide awake.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord, but I had no choice,” Straley growled. “I’ve sent my Jack to the Running Bull with t’other, but this’un I’m delivering myself.” He seemed to realize the boy wasn’t going anywhere and released him. Teddy looked as though he’d sell his soul to be elsewhere, but he stood his ground. He even braved a glance at his brother but blanched at the expression he encountered and lowered his eyes quickly to the floor.
Since they had long since thought him asleep, it took a moment to recover, but Dambroke was not long in demanding an explanation. Straley answered, his anger still patently obvious. He and his elder son, making their usual rounds, had discovered Teddy and Nat Tripler playing at smugglers in the Home Wood. In order to add a touch of realism, they had appropriated one of Dambroke’s shotguns and were pretending to find revenue men behind every bush. Straley and Jack had spent the best part of the afternoon and early evening laying rabbit snares, hoping to decimate the inordinate number of rabbits presently abiding in the Park. The boys had sprung nearly every trap.
At this point, Dambroke interrupted, his steely gaze upon the culprit, his tone withering. “I trust there was an excellent reason for destroying the snares.” A terrible silence followed his statement. Miserably, Teddy shifted his feet “Well, Edward?”
The boy swallowed audibly. “I … I’m sorry,” he muttered. Dambroke looked ready to explode, but Catheryn gathering her courage, laid her hand upon his arm and spoke calmly.
“Teddy, dear, please explain why you released poor Mr. Straley’s traps after he and Jack worked so hard to lay them.” She caught his gaze and held it, giving him time to compose himself, knowing he was on the verge of tears. He swallowed again and, by avoiding Dambroke’s eye, contrived to answer her.
