The Duke’s Obsession Bundle

by Grace Burrowes

  “Damn you, too.” Val stepped close, and mostly to give himself a moment to swallow back the lump in his throat, hugged his brother. “Sometimes”—he dropped his forehead to St. Just’s shoulder—“I wonder if it isn’t all just a lot of noise. It’s good to know somebody was listening.”

  “I was listening. I heard every note, Val.” St. Just held him a little tighter then let him step back. “Every note.”

  St. Just shot him a look then, one that allowed Val to see just a hint of the weary soldier St. Just had been, a hint of the despair and bewilderment that had followed him and so many others home from Waterloo.

  “Write,” Val said, unwilling to hold that gaze. “I promise to reply within two years at least.” He walked with his brother over to where the horse was waiting. “Don’t take stupid risks, give Emmie and Winnie all my love, and here.” He reached into his waistcoat and drew out a folded piece of paper. “For Winnie.”

  “A letter?” St. Just tucked it inside his own pocket without unfolding it.

  “Something like that.” Val smiled a little. “A love letter, maybe. Be off with you, and my thanks for all you’ve done here.”

  “My pleasure.” St. Just grabbed him by the back of the neck again, kissed his forehead, and swung up on the horse. “Marry the widow, little brother. She makes you smile.”

  Val nodded, saying nothing, as there was a damned lump in his throat again preventing speech. He watched St. Just canter down the lane on his fine chestnut horse and knew the urge to scream at him to turn around, not to go, not to leave him all alone. It was an old memory, of the times when St. Just had come home from the Peninsula on winter leave and enjoyed the holidays with family, only to depart again when the campaigns resumed after the New Year. Bart had come home with him, all jolly swagger and loud stories, and then Bart had never come home again.

  But Val also wanted to bellow at St. Just to tell him—just one more time—that the music had meant something. That somebody had been listening.

  He blew out a breath and forcibly turned his gaze to the manor house, where his crews had started work for the day. The roof would be completed by the end of the week, and the interior work was moving along nicely. It would soon be time to move in furniture and even people.

  How had that happened, and then what would he do with himself all day? Val’s gaze strayed down the empty lane, and the lump in his throat ached almost as fiercely as his hand might have several weeks ago.

  “You’re back.” Darius strode out of the house. “Wasn’t sure the roads would be passable after that damned storm. Did St. Just take off without a farewell for me?”

  “I’m sure he meant no offense, and we about farewelled him to death.” Even as he said it, Val was convinced Darius had waited in the house on purpose just to avoid the parting scenes. “How was the weekend?”

  “The weekend was quiet except for that damned storm. Your home wood is probably a wreck, but I was too busy at the home farm on Sunday to really inspect. Your father sent you the largest crate of something mysterious, by the way. It arrived Saturday, thank the gods, and you’re to keep the team that hauled it in.”

  “I’m to keep the team?” Westhaven had sent a team north to St. Just as part of a housewarming. Maybe it was to be a family tradition, and any team was going to be a useful addition, since Axel would need his own back when the boys went home.

  “As I live and breathe.” Darius exhaled, his gaze going past Val’s shoulder. “Is that my brother-in-law dragging Mrs. Fitz through the woods?”

  “It is.” Nick was not the type to hurry needlessly. “And something is wrong.”

  “Valentine.” Nick wasn’t panting, but at his side, Ellen was. “You’d better take a look at Ellen’s property, and you won’t like what we found.”

  “Ellen?” Val held out an arm, and she went to his side then turned her face into his neck. He kept his arm around her as they made their way back through the wood, and he noted plenty of damage. One of the old pensioners Ellen had warned him about had crashed to its side, taking down limbs and saplings with it.

  Blazing hell. The enchanted home wood had gone and changed on him when he’d been unwilling to deal with the need for change himself.

  “Oh, ye gods,” Darius said softly behind him. Val followed his friend’s gaze across Ellen’s back gardens to her lovely little cottage.

  Her formerly lovely little cottage. Another tree had toppled, landing mostly in Ellen’s side yard, but clipping the south side of her cottage by just enough that the roof was ruined and the wall sagging dangerously beneath it.

  The sight was ominous, and to Val, somehow profane, as well.

  “We’ll fix it,” he said, tipping her chin up so he could see her eyes. “Your conservatory was going in on that side, and this will just speed up construction. Dare, get my crews over here to clear this mess. Nick, we’ll be needing the team for sure. Day and Phil can go through the outbuildings and find a suite of bedroom furniture, then pick out a room in the house that’s close enough to done we can move Ellen into it.”

  He braced a hand on either side of Ellen’s neck. “You are going to let me take care of this and no argument, please. God”—he hugged her to him—“if you’d been home, puttering at your embroidering, putting up jam…”

  She nodded, eyes teary, and let him hold her.

  “Ah, look there.” Val pointed to the base of the fallen tree. “Your greatest treasure is unscathed.” Marmalade sat on his fluffy orange backside, washing a front paw as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “I want…” Ellen stretched out a hand toward the cat, who pretended not to notice.

  “I’ll fetch him for you.” Val kissed her nose and made for the cat, who strolled back a few paces closer to what had been the bottom of the tree. Val reached for the beast then froze and looked more closely at the tree. He tucked the cat against his middle and stole another glance around at the surrounding trees before taking Marmalade back to Ellen.

  Val handed her the cat. “He says you have abandoned him shamelessly, and for your sins, you must allow him to accompany you up to the manor, where all his friends, the mice, are waiting to welcome him.”

  “Oh, Val.” Ellen managed a watery smile but leaned against him as she clutched her purring cat. “I’m so glad he’s unharmed. You’re a good kitty, Marmie. A very good, brave kitty.”

  “He’s also a very heavy kitty.” Val said, taking him from her grasp. “Let’s move him up to the manor, where I’m sure we can find him a dish of cream and you a cup of tea.” Or something stronger. He certainly needed something stronger—to think she could have been killed, or worse.

  The thought gave him pause, for even if she were maimed, Val would be grateful she was alive and no less interested in her company. It flummoxed him, that twist in his thinking, but he set the thought aside on the growing pile of things to consider later when he had peace, quiet, and solitude. He settled Ellen in the kitchen of the manor, putting a mug of brandy in her hand. He also scrounged up paper and pencil and had her make a list of what she wanted immediately from her cottage.

  The rest would be moved as needs must into the outbuildings. For the present, getting her settled upstairs was going to take most of the day.

  “May I leave you here while you finish your list?”

  “You may,” Ellen said. “I shouldn’t be so dramatic. Trees have fallen all over the shire, and I live among a wood. You are kind to offer me your house.”

  “Kind.” This talk of kindness made him want to bellow and throw fragile objects against the hearthstones. “There’s nothing kind about it, Ellen. If you think…” He caught himself and let out a breath. “We can talk more about that later, my love. For now, steady your nerves, pet your cat, and we’ll have your things moved in no time.” He hugged her tightly, kissed her, and made himself go find Darius and Nick.

  Nick was easy to spot, of course, by virtue of his golden hair and striking height. Then too, he was walking the new team—th
e one sent by Moreland—down the lane toward Ellen’s cottage. No matter what had possessed the duke to make such an extravagant gift, the timing was more than fortunate, and Val would have to write and thank the old boy lest Her Grace chide Val for forgetting his manners.

  “Nick!” Val hailed him and caught up easily, for the horses were nothing if not deliberate in their paces. “How’d you get them hitched up so fast?”

  “They came with a groom,” Nick said. “Your papa sent along old Sean, and you’re to keep him as long as you can stand his cursing and grumbling.”

  “Sean’s here?” Val’s brows rose. Sean was one of the most senior grooms at Morelands.

  Nick shrugged. “Sean said foaling is done in Kent, and His Grace didn’t think you’d hired talent adequate for these two yet.”

  “His Grace has spoken and I suppose I’m to make a go of this place.”

  “Or maybe,” Nick suggested gently, “he simply wants to be helpful, Val.”

  “Maybe.” Val nodded, unwilling to waste time arguing. “Let me show you something before you start hauling away next year’s firewood.”

  Nick signaled the horses to stand and followed Val around the side of the cottage.

  “Look closely at the stump, Nick.”

  “Well, bugger all, would you look at that,” Nick growled, eyes traveling upward. “That tree fell into its neighbor, there.” He pointed to another stout tree in the hedgerow, one sporting a bright, pale gash in its bark several feet long at a height of maybe thirty feet. “And probably caught fairly snugly until someone sawed through what remained of the trunk at the base. Bloody hell, Val. You’ve got problems.”

  “And Ellen has, too,” Val rejoined. “What if she’d been home, sleeping or working at her books? Baking?”

  “We have to hope whoever did this took long enough to comprehend she wasn’t home,” Nick said. “Sawing green wood, even a few inches of it, makes noise.”

  “You think I want to risk Ellen’s life on a hope?” Val spat bitterly. “The hell of it is, I can’t determine if it’s her enemies or mine doing this. Axel told you about the bonfires?”

  “He did. Which just means we have to be careful, and at the least, you are the target. Burning down the house would not harm Ellen.”

  “And wrecking her cottage would not harm me. So maybe it’s the combination of me and Ellen someone objects to.” He paced off a few feet, staring at the ruined cottage. “She loved her little house, Nick. I think it was all she had and the only place she felt really safe. Would you take her to Kent? Or to David and Letty?”

  “Of course. Leah would love some civilized company. But let’s get this mess cleaned up and put our heads together later. For now, you have a widow to console.”

  ***

  “This is the last of it,” Day said as he and Phil came in, arms full of the details Ellen hadn’t realized she’d miss until she was in the middle of making her bed: She spied in Phil’s arms some embroidered pillows, her old quilt, her favorite mug, and her brush and comb. She took each item from Phil then stopped and drew in a breath when she saw Day holding out a plant to her.

  “What is that, Dayton?”

  “It was sitting on your counter. I didn’t know if you’d want it, but it looked lonely and will need watering.”

  “You found this weed on my counter?” Ellen took the plant, trying to keep the outrage from her voice.

  “I can take it back, Mrs. Fitz,” Day offered as she snatched the plant from his hand.

  “God damn him to hell,” Ellen muttered as she hurled the plant, pot and all, out an open window. “Thank you, gentlemen, I’d like some privacy now.” Her back was to them, as thorough a dismissal as she could imagine.

  “Mrs. Fitz?” Phil’s voice was tentative. “Shall we send Mr. Windham to you?”

  “No thank you,” Ellen said quickly enough that they both beat a hasty retreat. Ellen waited to make sure they’d gone, closed her door, sat on the bed, and cried.

  Again.

  Out in the yard, Phil and Day crossed paths with Val and Nick, who were returning from an afternoon hauling, sawing, and patching on Ellen’s cottage.

  “Are we due for a swim?” Val asked his younger assistants. “Or do we attack the hampers first, and what is this doing in my tidy yard?” He knelt to pick up a badly cracked clay pot, a crumpled plant still housed within.

  “We found it on Mrs. Fitz’s counter,” Day replied. “I thought it might be a house plant or one she’d like for her room, so I brought it to her. She pitched it out the window and said it was a weed.”

  Val’s brows arched in consternation. “Ellen pitched a plant out her window? You saw her do this?”

  “We both did,” Phil said, “but it isn’t a weed; it’s pennyroyal. It makes a nice tea and soothes the digestion like peppermint.”

  Nick reached out a long arm and pinched off a leaf.

  “Phil’s right,” Nick said, bringing the leaf to his nose. “Pennyroyal can be confused with spearmint because the scent and flavor are similar, but it’s pennyroyal all right.”

  Val frowned, trying to recall what the apothecary had said about pennyroyal. “Why don’t you repot it? We’ll take it to your father on Saturday. He can find a use for it, but meanwhile I’d keep it out of Ellen’s sight.”

  “Right.” Day nodded. “So dinner or a swim?”

  “I vote dinner,” Nick said. “The swim will settle the meal and cool us off before bed.” The boys concurred and struck out for the springhouse.

  “Which reminds me,” Val turned to regard Nick as the boys moved off, “where will we put you, my friend? The cots in the carriage house are too small for me and Dare, but they would torture you.”

  “I have a bedroll.”

  “Would you be willing to take a hammock? Ellen has one that is quite sturdy and she won’t miss it.”

  “A hammock would be lovely, but how is it you vouch for the sturdiness of this hammock?”

  “Shut up, Nicholas.”

  “Valentine?”

  “What?”

  “There is another use for pennyroyal.” Nick’s tone was thoughtful. “It settles the digestion, true, but women use it to bring on their menses.”

  “Why would a woman want to do that?” Val asked as they headed toward the carriage house. “Seems to me the ladies are always complaining about the cramps, the mess, and the inconvenience of it all.”

  “Let me put this less delicately. Women use it to bring on menses that are late, sometimes very late.”

  “To abort?” Val shot a curious glance at his friend. “Lord above, Nick, the wicked things you know will never cease to appall me. Is this an old wives’ tale or documented science?”

  “I don’t know as science had gotten around to considering the subject, but I know of many women who swear by it, if used early in the pregnancy. I also know of one who died from overusing the herb too late in her pregnancy.”

  “So this plant is a poison. Just what we need.”

  “What do we need?” Darius asked from the porch of the carriage house, “and where are our pet heathen?”

  “Laying out supper,” Val replied. “Somebody left a poison plant on Ellen’s counter.”

  “Pennyroyal,” Nick added. “And she pitched it out the window while Day and Phil watched.”

  “Ellen pitched a plant? She was offended, I take it? I didn’t know the stuff was poison. I thought pennyroyal was for bringing on menses and settling the digestion.”

  Val rolled his eyes. “Does everybody but me know these things? Let’s go get dinner before the locusts devour all in their path. And Nick, I elect you to go fetch Ellen.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Nick bowed extravagantly and spun on his heel, while Darius—the lout—guffawed loudly.

  Dinner was good, the hampers having been prodigiously full, owing to the addition of Nick to the assemblage. Ellen didn’t say much, but she did eat, mostly because Nick pestered and teased and dared her into taking each bite. Val sat ba
ck and watched, wishing he could do something besides feed the woman and put a roof over her head. Those were necessities, things Freddy Markham should have been doing out of sheer duty, things Francis had intended Ellen never want for again.

  Hoof beats disturbed the meal, and Val got up and went to the door of the springhouse. A rider was trotting up the lane on a winded, lathered horse. The man swung down and approached Val directly.

  “Are you Valentine Windham?” He was a grizzled little gnome, and he looked vaguely familiar.

  “I am Windham.”

  “This be fer you.” The man thrust a sealed envelope into Val’s hands. “I’m to wait for a reply, but I’ll be walking me horse while I do. Poor blighter’s about done in with this heat.”

  “There’s water in the stable.” Val eyed the envelope—no return address, but he recognized the hand. “We’ve a groom who can walk the beast. Yell for Sean and then hold your ears while he cusses a blue streak. When you’ve seen to the horse, come to the springhouse, and we’ll find you some tucker.”

  “Obliged.” The man nodded once and led his horse toward the stables.

  “We have callers?” Darius asked, emerging from the springhouse.

  “A courier from Hazlit.” Val eyed the packet dubiously.

  “The snoop? I didn’t know you used him.”

  “Needs must.” Val tapped the edge of the envelope against his lips. “And he’s an investigator, not a snoop. Moreover, he was critical in securing your sister’s safety, so have some respect.”

  “Val?”

  He glared at Darius in response.

  “Ellen is safe now,” Darius said gently. “I know you want to break somebody’s head, but how about not mine, at least not until I’ve updated you on your home farm?”

  “This is not good news, I take it?”

  “Not good or bad. The storm did us the courtesy of removing most of the roof remaining on the hay barn. The Bragdolls and I spent Sunday morning getting it tarpaulined, but another steady blow, and that won’t serve.”