Seducing the Earl

by Andersen, Maggi

  Parnham scratched his head. “The Duke is a favorite of King George, but the king won’t be there, of course. St. Paul’s Cathedral will draw quite a crowd with members of the ton and the regent attending, and possibly Viscount Sidmouth and Lord Castlereagh as well.”

  “We must take precautions,” Strathairn said uneasily.

  “The prince is well guarded and won’t take kindly to us making an unnecessary fuss. His relationship with the people is bad enough. We’ll throw all our resources at the gala.” Parnham folded his arms. “Vauxhall Gardens has been advertised. Moreau will know of it.”

  “Still,” Strathairn said thoughtfully, “with that gun, he could pick off the prince and several others right in front of the cathedral. He may even get inside.”

  Parnham’s brows lowered. “The difficulty we have is that the prince never takes attempts on his life seriously. He will insist on attending, and the rest of the guests can hardly cry off.”

  “We could throw a net around the whole place and seal off all the roads,” Strathairn said. “Check every carriage before it reaches the cathedral.”

  “How can I justify the expense of both venues when this madman might have decided his cover is blown and has gone back to France?”

  “If Moreau turns up, I can get him,” Strathairn said forcefully. “Don’t you see? He may have both affairs in his sights. If he fails to strike at the wedding, he will try again at the gala, and maybe with some success.”

  “It will be on your head if all this expense is for naught,” Parnham said. “We can hardly bring in the army. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to the home office.”

  “Let it be on my head.” Strathairn pushed back his chair and stood. “If you don’t need me for the following week or so, I’ll take a sojourn to the country.”

  Parnham’s brows flew up. “Yorkshire?”

  “Kent. I’ll alert the Brandreths. And I think a visit to advise the Duke of Lamplugh and his son is politic.”

  “I will send word. Better perhaps to handle this in person if you’re down that way,” Parnham said, drumming his fingers on his desk. “No sense in alarming them too much. Assure them that St. Paul’s will be made secure. Tell them we have no concrete proof there will be any danger.” He leaned back. “I can’t say I like you being caught up in this, though. You have a personal interest in getting this man, which is never good—one can lose one’s perspective. And this Moreau might be after you.”

  Strathairn grinned. “I didn’t know you cared, Parnham.”

  Parnham gave a wry smile. “I just don’t want to have to go to the trouble of replacing you.”

  Strathairn left the building. He had a more personal interest than Parnham realized. There was a lot riding on the success of this mission. The safety of Sibella and her family, revenge for Nesbit’s death, and, if he was honest, the desire to have people respect and honor the work he did instead of viewing him with doubt in their eyes. He rubbed his neck. If he was wrong, he would come under serious censure.

  He doubted the Brandreths would change their plans. Well, he would be there to take care of Sibella, whether Coombe liked it or not.

  *

  On Saturday, Sibella and Maria journeyed to Lamplugh Abbey, as the duke and duchess were now in residence. Relieved to be at last actively tackling her concerns, Sibella attempted to ignore her irrational disappointment at missing Strathairn’s visit to Brandreth Park.

  Some hours later, the carriage traveled through a handsome park of chestnut, oak, and beech. “Lamplugh Abbey has a five-hundred-acre deer park,” Maria said, gazing out the window.

  The massive roof of the abbey appeared against the backdrop of a tumultuous sky. Maria turned to Sibella. “Storm clouds. You can’t go in bad weather.”

  “I have to Maria,” Sibella said through tight lips.

  Maria sighed. “You will take a groom with you tomorrow?”

  “I can’t trust any of the duke’s grooms to be discreet. Word is sure to reach him.”

  “Then take Manley. You can trust him. He’s been with us forever.”

  Involving their groom in her scheme didn’t seem wise, but Maria would fret if she didn’t. “I’ll consider it,” she said, as they drove past an ornamental water feature graced with a majestic stone fountain.

  Their carriage stopped in front of the building where four large wagons stood, with grooms at the horses’ heads. Liveried footmen assisted a group of workmen as they carried crates up the steps and through the towering arched doorway. Some appeared to be very heavy.

  A tall, slim figure emerged from the house. Harry came down the steps to greet them. He kissed them both on the cheek. “My parents have purchased all the statues and paintings in Italy,” he said, his brown eyes smiling.

  Sibella laughed. “I can’t wait to see them.”

  “Father is like a boy at Christmas opening the crates. Mother sends her love and her apologies. She is resting as she is exhausted after the trip and will join us at dinner.”

  Harry led them through cavernous rooms filled with exquisite furniture, paintings, and tapestries to a huge echoing chamber where his father stalked about issuing orders to the workmen. More than a dozen paintings in gilt frames were lined up along the walls. Statues draped in white cloth stood around like ghosts.

  The duke was an older version of Harry, tall and slim with greying brown hair. “My two favorite young women.” He strode over with a glint in his eye. “Not one of these paintings can rival your beauty.”

  Maria stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

  Sibella gave him her hand to kiss. “Your Grace, you spoil us with your compliments.”

  “Impossible, my dear.” He swept an arm around to encompass his new acquisitions. “What do you think?”

  Sibella wandered along the row of paintings. Many of the artists were unknown to her. Some depicted historical battles. Yet not all were Italian. She spotted a delicious dainty Fragonard among them. “They are magnificent, your Grace.”

  “I’m glad you approve, my dear. Harry, ring the bell for tea. These ladies will be parched and require refreshment after their long trip.”

  After tea, Sibella left Maria alone with Harry. She went to the bedchamber she was to share with her sister. Too fidgety to do more than flick through a magazine, she gave up and went to the window to gaze at the grounds. Tomorrow, she would ride through those woods that separated them from Coombe’s estate.

  At dinner, Sibella entered the dining room on Harry’s arm. She had always been interested in decoration and approved of the furnishings in this elegant room. The carpets and curtains were of rose and gold, the walls papered in soft mint-green damask, the cornices picked out in gold leaf as was the elaborately carved ceiling, from which hung a magnificent Italian chandelier.

  The duke apologized for not providing more company. “It must be just a family affair because the duchess is still a little fatigued.”

  Some twenty dishes were laid out over the table, salmon at one end and a turbot at the other. Each was a masterpiece, the oyster sauce superb. Sibella sipped the delicious wine from grapes grown in sun-kissed Italian vineyards. Any other time she would enjoy the amusing and light-hearted conversation which took place. The duke carved the haunch of venison and the footmen served dishes on silver salvers. Maria looked beautiful in her gown of white silk and lilac net and seemed so much at home it gladdened Sibella’s heart. It was good they had come, she decided, as long as tomorrow’s escapade remained undiscovered.

  The duchess spoke fondly of the Italian climate as plates of cheese and salad appeared, along with creams, a Ragout a la Francaise and pastries.

  Sibella retired to the drawing room with the ladies, leaving Harry and his father to their port. The duchess, declaring herself refreshed from her rest, was keen to discuss the wedding with Maria.

  The two men entered as Maria, with a shy glance at Harry, described her wedding gown made by the renown French couturiere, Madame Le Roy, to her fu
ture mother-in-law. While Harry attempted to overhear them, Sibella beat him at chess. He promptly demanded a return match. Fired up by masculine pride, he beat her soundly while Maria entertained them at the pianoforte. Her sister then joined them for a game of whist before they retired early, keeping country hours.

  They picked up their candleholders. Harry dismissed the footman and escorted them up the carved oak staircase and along shadowy paneled corridors to their bedchamber.

  Harry and Maria left Sibella at their bedchamber door. She said goodnight to Harry and as the door closed, Maria giggled. Harry must have stolen a kiss.

  Sibella had just dismissed the maid when Maria reappeared with a blissful smile. She danced across the deep rose-pink carpet and perched on the edge of the bedcover of silk damask. Her expression grew somber. “Aren’t you afraid you might arrive tomorrow and find Lord Coombe still there?”

  “Not much chance of it. He must make an early start for Bristol. He’ll be long gone by the time I arrive.”

  Maria plucked at a gold tassel. “What will you tell his servants?”

  “That I hoped to see him before he left. That my groom’s horse lost a shoe and had to return to the abbey.”

  Maria rose and turned her back for Sibella to untie her stays. “You’re not taking Manley with you?”

  Sibella’s fingers paused. “I can’t take the risk. Harry’s parents must never learn of it. Your wedding is to be a splendid affair. Every important personage in the government as well as royalty will be there.” She finished and stood back to study her sister. “Aren’t you nervous?”

  “A little.” Maria wriggled out of her petticoat. “But I’m looking forward to it, the honeymoon especially.”

  Sibella laughed. “I’m surprised you two have been able to wait.”

  “Now we’re under the same roof it becomes more difficult, especially as all the footmen are engaged in helping with the new acquisitions. Tonight, we were quite alone, and Harry pulled me into an empty chamber.” She giggled. “He made me leave him there because he was…you know.”

  Sibella raised her brows. “Now how would I know?”

  Maria scoffed. “You don’t think you had the same effect on Strathairn when he kissed you in the garden?”

  Sibella closed her eyes and gloried in the night they were alone in his house. Why hadn’t he made love to her? “I didn’t notice.”

  Maria made a rude noise of dismissal. “What about Henry? He has kissed you, has he not?”

  “My dear, Henry Coombe’s kisses are chaste!”

  “That will change after you’re married.”

  “I hope never to find out.” She drew off her dressing gown and retied the ribbon on her lawn nightgown. When she climbed into the massive carved four-poster, she uttered a heartfelt prayer to that effect as she warmed her feet near the foot warmer.

  Maria donned her nightgown and joined Sibella in the bed, pulling the curtains closed against the draft. “Dearest, what if you can’t find anything there to aid your cause? What on earth will you do?”

  A sob rose in Sibella’s throat. She hastily swallowed it down and huffed with frustration. “As soon as you are wed, I will end the engagement. Then I might as well spend the rest of my days shut away in the country!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sibella’s bite of toast stuck in her throat and she hastily took a sip of tea to force it down. “I fancy a ride over the grounds this morning.” She warmed her hands around her teacup. “I simply must see more of the deer park.” As the duke and duchess failed to make an appearance at breakfast, there was no one to dissuade her but Harry.

  He glanced at the sky through the window. “I don’t like that bank of dark clouds on the horizon. The wind’s picked up, see how the trees sway? The storm will reach us soon.”

  “If I leave straight after breakfast, I can be back before the bad weather arrives.”

  “I’d accompany you, but I woke with a headache,” Maria said, putting a hand to her forehead.

  Harry eyed her anxiously. “Would you like me to ask mother for a restorative?”

  “Heavens no,” Maria said. “I’m sure I’ll feel better soon.”

  “I’m sorry your head hurts, dearest,” Sibella said sympathetically. “Please don’t worry. I’ll take Manley with me.”

  Maria cast her an anxious glance. “Good.”

  Harry signaled the footman to refill his coffee cup. “You’d best take one of my father’s grooms. Then there’ll be no likelihood of you getting lost. They know the estate whereas Manly doesn’t.”

  “Manley has a wonderful sense of direction,” Sibella said hastily. “I think I’d hurt his feelings if I didn’t allow him to come.”

  Harry picked up his fork and drew on the white tablecloth. “If you follow the path, you’ll come to the river. There’s a bridge about a mile along. Cross it and keep to the east. You should have little difficulty. Then you can retrace your steps. The bucks won’t give you any trouble this time of year.”

  “Are you sure, Harry?” Maria asked, her eyes like saucers.

  Harry reached across and patted her hand. “Only in spring when they get frisky. I did hope to show you some of the estate, my sweet.”

  Maria laid a languid hand on her temple. “I couldn’t manage to ride, but a walk through the gardens would be perfect. They are known to be glorious.”

  “Mother’s roses gain first prize at the church fete every year, but this is not the best season to view them,” Harry said. “But I can show you the hot houses.”

  “How perfectly lovely.” Maria sent him a melting smile, and Harry grinned back.

  Sibella worried that they might succumb to passion in a potting shed. She had certainly thrown opportunity their way. She stood. “I must go and change.”

  “I’ll keep you company.” Maria followed her from the room.

  Upstairs in their bedchamber, Sibella pulled on a boot. “Do be careful of your behavior with Harry. Caught in flagrante delicto and facing a scandal two weeks before your wedding would scarcely be wise.”

  Maria laughed. “You are instructing me on appropriate behavior?”

  “I feel entirely responsible. After all, I made you come here.” She angled the black riding hat on her head. “I must see this through. I hope you understand.”

  “Yes, of course I do.” Maria sighed. “Please don’t worry about us. Harry is a gentleman. You have enough to deal with. I shall ask the duchess to give me a tour of the gardens.”

  Sibella grimaced. “I didn’t intend to be a spoil sport.” She picked up her crop.

  Maria kissed her. “Please do take care, Sib.”

  “I will.” She forced a smile on her face. “After all, I’m hardly walking into a lion’s den.” She wondered if she indeed might be, as she descended the stairs.

  Sibella slipped outside without encountering the duke or the duchess and walked to the stables. Manley waited with a dainty chocolate-colored mare. The grizzled haired groom approached her, his weathered face cheerful. His presence calmed her, for he’d ridden behind her when she was a child. But this time it wasn’t simply a matter of picking her up when she fell off her pony. “This is Clara, milady.” He led the horse to the mounting block.

  As Manley adjusted the stirrups, Harry walked into the stable mews. “Thank you, Manley,” Sibella said after he’d assisted her to mount. “Saddle a horse. You shall accompany me.”

  “I have one saddled, milady.”

  Surprised that he’d taken it upon himself to ride with her, she walked her horse over the quadrangle to Harry. With a worried frown, he shaded his eyes and stared up at the sky. “Keep your eye on the weather, Sibella. Those clouds are marching toward us with the wind behind them.”

  “But the sun is shining. It’s a heavenly day. Perhaps the storm will blow away before it arrives.”

  “I doubt it. But I can see there’s no point in arguing with one of the Brandreth girls.” Harry grinned. “We’ll expect you at luncheon. Enjoy your
ride.”

  When Manley led a tall gray horse out of the stables and leapt into the saddle, Sibella gathered up the reins. She walked the horse over the cobbles. “Take good care of my sister while I’m gone,” she called over her shoulder. Harry’s enthusiastic affirmation reached her as she and Manley rode away.

  The horses broke into a fast trot. They rode through the park, the air perfumed with pine. Stately statues dotted the grass among magnolia trees. Sibella had questioned Coombe about the proximity of his property to the abbey during their last meeting, and he’d been only too eager to explain. His park wasn’t large, but one corner separated by a stream ran with the southeastern border of the duke’s estate. Although the Lamplugh acres stretched for many miles to the north and west, the border of Arrowtree Manor was only a few miles as the crow flew, Coombe had told her, with a look of pride. She could not avail herself of Harry’s instructions, she would ride east toward the morning sun, and should reach the stream. Once across, she would turn south, which would take her onto Coombe’s land.

  When Sibella took a path leading in an easterly direction, Manley rode up beside her. “His lordship said to ride north to the river, my lady.”

  So Harry had given the groom instructions. “I desire to visit my fiancé, Lord Coombe, before he departs on a trip and didn’t wish to worry the marquess,” she said to the groom. “I trust you to be discreet.”

  Manley nodded. “You know the way, Lady Sibella?”

  “I believe I do, but it’s quite a distance, so we must hurry.” Sibella nudged her horse into a canter along a well-used bridle path.

  Trees gave way to scrub woodland. Apart from the flutter of wings and the twitter of birdsong, it was quiet among the trees. The horse’s hooves stirred the carpet of rotting leaves, releasing the smell of damp-leaf mold into the chilly air. She raised her eyes to confirm their direction, noting where the rays of morning sun flitted through the trees.

  They rode steadily east. Almost an hour passed with no sign of the stream. It was further than she expected and time was passing. She gripped the reins. It appeared unlikely she could be back at the abbey until after luncheon and hoped no one would grow concerned. A branch caught at her sleeve as the bridle path narrowed and meandered down a slope. With a gasp of relief, she heard the rush of water. They pushed through bushes and came to the deep-sided stream burbling over rocks.