by Heather Boyd
Eventually, Beth dragged a frayed shawl from the chair by the hearth and motioned for him to sit in William’s former chair. Leopold took up his usual seat, on a three legged stool, on the other side of the fire.
Gingerly, Beth sat in William’s place. “If I may ask, what brings you back to us now after so long, Mr. Randall?”
“Family business, Beth. But I had intended to see William. How did he die?”
Beth tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and then rubbed her palms over her knees. “Poacher’s shot caught him in the thigh when he was gathering wood. Sawbones couldn’t save him.”
Appalled by her toneless statement, Leopold sat forward. “I’m very sorry, Beth. He was the best of men. I had intended to offer him a position now that I’ve returned to England for good. I wanted to bring you all with me to a better place.”
Beth shrugged and glanced over at her boy. “All I’ve got is my George now. We do all right here.”
“He looks to be a sturdy lad. Quite the image of his father at that age.”
The boy, laboring at his chores on the other side of the room, straightened his shoulders. Leopold bit back a smile. A little encouragement was all it took to make a boy see his future as a man. William Turner’s child would grow to be an honorable, proud man if given the chance. But not in this place as it was now. Leopold looked around him again, noticing the absence of small things that had come into the family upon William’s marriage to Beth. The delicate rosewood table and chairs he’d teased William about were gone. So too were the carpets. He worked to keep his face clear of emotion. They had fallen far in his absence, but getting distressed over the matter would solve nothing.
Leopold stood. “I will take my leave of you now. But I will want to hear if you have any more trouble. Be sure to send word to me.”
Beth scrubbed her hands over her knees again, a sure sign his request troubled her. “Where exactly are you staying?”
“The Vulture.” He’d not be welcome at the abbey beyond an hour, and most certainly never asked to stay so he might have the chance to decline graciously. The village inn was preferable to anywhere else. “I’ll expect to hear from you if there is trouble again.”
Beth Turner’s shoulders relaxed.
Leopold nodded then stepped out into the yard with Colby hurrying in his wake. At the horses, he set his foot into the stirrup with a heavy heart. “Make it right, Colby.” He swung into the saddle. “Food on the table for tonight, speak to Brown about fixing the roof, and see to it that the boy and mother are properly prepared for the coming winter. Tell Brown I’ll settle funds on him this evening to cover every expense required. Once I have matters settled at the abbey, I’ll make arrangements for their future.”
Colby’s eyes widened with surprise, but he wisely nodded and directed his horse back toward the village. As much as Leopold didn’t want the responsibility here at Romsey, he wouldn’t turn his back on William’s widow and son. He would see she had the protection of the Randall family, even if it was from the disreputable side.
Chapter Two
The trouble with Mercy Randall’s friends, childless friends in particular, was that they did not understand the great responsibility placed upon her shoulders as the widowed Duchess of Romsey. She shook her head to deny the latest invitation to revisit London and take in the delights of the capital. She was the mother of a young duke, the last of his line, and thus her sole responsibility. She could not come and go from Romsey Abbey at will, even if she might wish to run away at times.
The responsibility was so great that Mercy often had nightmares in which she imagined all manner of duties she may have neglected that day. Romsey Abbey comprised eighty-nine chambers, four green houses, various outbuildings, and one hundred souls dependant on her largess. Fifteen hundred acres of fertile farm land—hers to care for until her son came of age. What had she been thinking to accept a proposal of marriage from a seemingly healthy marquess seven years ago?
“You are kind to invite me again,” Mercy said firmly. “But my life is here now.”
Anna, Countess Barnet, gave her arm a squeeze. “Now, my dear, dear duchess, I shall hear no arguments this season. You are out of mourning and it is much too long since you’ve come up to London. I cannot allow you to wallow here forever. Your husband died a year ago now. He would never want you to remain after he was gone.”
Mercy glanced beyond the gardens to the dark woodlands and shuddered. “I could not leave Edwin here alone.”
When Mercy had married Edwin Randall, the Marquess of Manderson, at eighteen, she wasn’t told that he had a weak heart. If she had known from the start, she’d have at least considered the likelihood that she’d be left to manage everything should he die before her. But she’d lived in ignorance until the day he’d collapsed while out walking the grounds a year into their marriage.
At the time, the doctors had said the exertion, coming so soon after a mild fever, had brought on the attack and had cautioned Mercy to limit her demands on his time. Not something a new wife particularly wants to hear when she was just coming to know the man she had married. The year since her husband’s death had taught Mercy that she had to think of the future more often to avoid nasty surprises.
Anna waved her hand dismissively. “The child will go on well enough without you.”
If Anna knew the truth, she wouldn’t be so sure. There was danger circling her son. He was too young to face that alone. Mercy forced a bright smile to her face. “I do wish it were that easy, Anna. But I would not rest without Edwin.”
Anna shuddered. “A child in London is quite out of the question. How could you consider it? What if he should stumble into your private chambers while you were entertaining a friend?” Anna smiled wickedly. “I can think of no faster way to cool a man’s ardor than to have a child thrust into a room with him. I’m told it is quite draining.”
Although Mercy was terribly lonely, and at times desperately afraid, what Anna suggested was quite out of the question. As much as she might miss the intimacies of the bedchamber, she had no time to spend with a lover. All her energy was devoted to her son and his welfare. A lover would take her away from him for too long a time for her peace of mind.
Anna’s earthy laugh filled Mercy’s ears. “Speak of the devil. Look, here comes Shaw now.”
Lord Shaw, Anna’s elder lecherous brother, strolled about on the far side of the garden with Mercy’s sister, Blythe—Lady Venables—by his side. Blythe seemed content enough in Shaw’s dubious company for now, but Mercy would have to rescue her soon. Shaw was not the sort of gentleman Blythe approved of. He was too bold, too forward and lusty for long conversation. According to Blythe, a gentleman should convey his hearts desires discreetly. Shaw made no bones that he was eager for bed play with any woman he met.
If not for the much needed distraction of having guests at Romsey Abbey, Mercy wished with all her heart that Shaw would have stayed in London and found another lady to call on. He came to visit with too much frequency for her peace of mind. Despite all she had done to dissuade him, Lord Shaw was determined that he would spend a night in her bed.
Mercy stopped suddenly. “I care not if a mans ardor is drained or not by the appearance of my child. I have no intention of going anywhere without my son, and I have no intention of taking a lover. Why must you always be going on about that?”
Anna tipped her chin toward her brother. “You cannot deny Shaw hasn’t expressed a particular interest in you, and it is to his credit that he seeks to entertain Lady Venables in such a way. She has a prickly demeanor that you know I find unsettling. However, he sacrifices his time so we may have an enjoyable visit. What more could you want in a man?”
Mercy bristled. Perhaps what she wanted was someone who did not fake pleasing manners around her family in the hopes of getting beneath her skirts. “He does not need to play my sister false on my account. I enjoy my sister’s company and her visits.”
Anna’s brow rose as if she didn’t
believe her. “We shall never agree on her character and I want no ill will between us. However, in order for my brother to court you, you must see that a trip to London will give you time to come to know him better. He cannot spoil you as he wishes if your sister is close by. Oh, when you come up to London, things will be easy. No more bothersome Blythe shooting daggers at our conversations. It is hard to imagine a woman of her reticence captured a husband at all, let alone Venables. They say he had an adventurous disposition while he lived.”
Mercy smiled, but the conversation was growing tiresome. She liked Anna, when they discussed other matters besides Blythe and Lord Shaw. Her visits turned Mercy’s mind from the danger facing her son. They had been close friends since her first season, but Anna’s obsession with Mercy’s love life, or lack of, was driving her to the brink of being rude. The snide comments against her sister were a problem, too. Blythe might be laced up tighter than necessary, but she had a good and generous heart under all her frowning.
As Blythe and Lord Shaw joined them, Mercy forced herself to smile and pretend all was right with her world.
“Ah, Your Grace, you do know how to please a man.” He looked about the garden with a proprietary smile. “Nothing could give me more pleasure than to remain at Romsey Abbey for the rest of my life. The quiet, the solitude, the breathtaking vistas. I do not wonder that you prefer this locale to anywhere else. I know I would remain here for all my years if given a chance.”
A scandalized expression crossed Blythe’s face. Mercy could feel a headache coming on. The very unsubtle suggestion that Shaw particularly liked Romsey Abbey would bring on yet another lecture from Blythe later. Danger or not, Mercy couldn’t wait for Anna and Shaw to go away so she could put Shaw’s behavior from her mind. She would have to assure Blythe, again, that she wanted nothing from him. “You are kind, my lord. But obligations must be met, despite the disappointment of our feelings. Please give my regards to your mother. I look forward to seeing her again one day soon.”
He took up Mercy’s gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I look forward to that day as well. My mother is very fond of you.”
The look Shaw directed to her was hot and heavy with suggestion. Mercy ignored it, recovered her hand and led Anna toward the waiting carriage.
She gave her friend a quick hug. “I am so glad you could stay overnight, Anna. All going well, I’ll see you again next week, as we arranged.”
Anna lips turned up into a devious smile and Mercy’s heart sank. “Sooner than that, I should imagine.”
Anna kissed her cheeks and climbed into Lord Shaw’s impressive new carriage. One down, one to go.
Lord Shaw kissed the air above Blythe’s hand and then captured Mercy’s again in a firm grip. “Until we meet again, Your Grace.” When he squeezed her fingers, head dipping to kiss them too, Mercy tugged them back. The urge to remove her glove and throw it away grew at the smug smile curling his lip.
Insufferable bounder. Could he not take a hint that she wanted none of him?
He swept inside the carriage and raised his hand in salute as they started off.
As soon as the carriage was at a greater distance, Mercy turned to her sister. “Oh, thank heavens they are gone. I swear they visit every other day.”
“Lord Shaw does visit you too frequently.” Blythe scowled. “He is enamored of you.”
Mercy caught her sister’s arm and dragged her back toward the safety of the abbey. She did not like to be outside for long with so few people around her. The open spaces and dark woods beyond sent a chill racing up her spine. “I do not encourage that man. I enjoy Anna’s visits, but I do wish Shaw would take himself back to Town. He is forever gossiping and causing trouble between us. I do not like him at all.”
Blythe’s frown grew. “He is on good terms with many people. He is wanted everywhere. I cannot understand it.”
“Well, not by me.” Mercy shut the terrace doors quickly. “Come, let us take breakfast together. Cook wanted to try out a new dish. Hopefully, it has not been ruined by Anna’s tardy departure.”
Although Blythe moved along with her through the abbey, there was a stiffness to her posture that Mercy did not like. No doubt her feelings were still prickling over Shaw’s rather obvious intentions. She would be preparing yet more sternly worded lectures on the subject of a duchess’ responsibility to observe the utmost propriety. Mercy was all too aware of her responsibilities in that regard, and she was failing most of them quite deliberately.
They sat down in the morning room, a cozy space for just the two of them, and enjoyed cook’s decadent breakfast. The one thing Mercy whole heartedly enjoyed about being a duchess was how terribly spoiled her tastes had become. With a well supplied pantry, Mercy’s cook was a genius.
When no lecture was forthcoming immediately, Mercy thought it safe to resume conversation on another matter. “What are your plans for the day, dearest?” Mercy asked as she patted her napkin to her mouth, replete after a sumptuous feast.
Blythe shrugged and set her fork down after barely touching anything on her plate. “There is nothing at Walden Hall that requires my supervision today. I had not thought to return till the afternoon, unless I am in the way here.”
Mercy sighed in relief. She and Edwin wouldn’t be left alone just yet. “Then you will stay and, if I can convince you to remain tonight, I will be a very happy woman. It has been an age since we stayed up late as we did as girls. Remember how mama used to get so cross at our late night giggling?”
“We should have listened to her better. She meant the best for us and now we have the lines on our faces to reveal our age. If I had a dau—” Blythe’s words stuck in her throat suddenly. Her mouth sealed tight over her unfinished wishes.
Poor Blythe. She had been married the longest, and had nothing to show for her marriage now. She had lost her husband when she’d lost her son to a terrible fever that had swept the district. Even after these two years of widowhood, it was a subject that always changed her mood. Only Edwin’s company seemed to jolly her into a better frame of mind.
Blythe dragged in a shuddering breath. “What are your plans today?”
“Well,” Mercy stood and drew Blythe with her. “I thought we might visit the library, find a horrid novel each, and spend the day alternatively reading and playing with Edwin. Could we do that?”
The idea of lounging safely tucked away in her son’s playroom was vastly appealing. If Blythe could be convinced to remain idle in that room, and not fuss over Edwin too much, she might never think about her problems again today.
Blythe frowned. “We can do anything you wish, Your Grace. This is your house.”
“But you are my sister, so we will both decide on the entertainments of the day.” She carefully tucked a stray lock of her sister’s hair behind her ear. “I do not like to order people about, I most especially dislike that you think I should be bossy with you. What would you prefer to do, Blythe?”
Blythe smiled suddenly. “What you propose is perfect. I should like to spend time with Edwin very much. He is such a dear little lad.”
Mercy held in a sigh of relief. “Good. Let’s see what Hamilton & Gambrill Booksellers have sent to us. It was a very large crate that arrived yesterday, wasn’t it?”
Blythe smiled, too.
Yet, as Mercy sorted through the stacks of books arranged in the library for her perusal she could not help but wonder what thoughts swirled inside Blythe’s mind. Blythe had once been a daring, vivacious, and determined young woman. Out of all the Hunt girls—Mercy, Blythe, and their younger sister, Patience—Blythe had married first at just sixteen years of age. She had accepted a proposal of marriage from the darkly handsome widower, Lord Venables, a man seventeen years her senior. The match had set tongues wagging in decided shock. Despite all the whispers about the match, Mercy had liked Lord Venable because he had doted on his second wife quite sincerely. He had enjoyed a good laugh with their family, too. But Blythe did not laugh now and Mercy
fervently hoped that the woman she once was still lurked beneath her grief.
Selections made and arms stacked with new entertainments, they retreated to Edwin’s playroom.
“Auntie Bly, Aunty Bly,” Edwin called as he ran across the room, all arms and wildly swinging legs. “Did you not go home today?”
Blythe dropped her books and scooped Edwin up into her arms. “There you are my little duke. How could I leave you for long?”
Edwin kissed her cheek noisily and then wriggled to get down. “Come see what I did. Wilcox said I was very clever and even helped me knock down the tower we built. He’s genius.”
Mercy rolled her eyes at her son’s language as he dragged Blythe away to the far side of the chamber to admire the messy corner of toys. He was growing up so fast that she could almost see him grow out of his clothes.
Blythe set her hands on her hips, foot tapping. “That is a mess. Clean it up, Your Grace.”
Edwin’s eyes widened but then he stomped his foot. “No. I’m still playing.”
“Now, Your Grace. You cannot expect others to clean up everything after you.” Blythe gestured to the toy strewn floor. “You can play without making a mess. Be good for your mother.”
Edwin peered at Mercy from around his aunt. “I am being good, mama.”
Mercy grinned. “I can see that. But you will tidy them up later, won’t you, and not rely on Wilcox to do it? The butler has other work than cleaning up after one messy boy.”
Wilcox was indispensable. But Edwin was coming to rely on him too much. Her son shuffled uncomfortably. “Do I have to?”
Mercy nodded. “Later.”
Edwin reluctantly nodded and then dropped to the floor to return to his play.
Blythe crossed the chamber, picked up her books, and chose one. “You spoil him.”
Mercy settled on the chaise and lifted her feet to the cushions so she could stretch out comfortably. “He is my child to spoil. I will be the one to decide what needs to be done, and when, Blythe. Which book are you going to read?”
