Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Arrangements had been made for what appeared to be a fourth outing on their part. Carter arrived in the hired hack, but this time he sent the driver toward the city’s outskirts. Through one of his agents posing as Mrs. Warren’s cousin and claiming to have invited her and the boy for a holiday to Warwickshire, Carter had paid the lady’s rent in advance to keep Mr. and Mrs. Peterman’s silence. Questioning the man Thornhill had captured had proved fruitless. All they had discovered was the man who had hired her culprit was an older gentleman of some wealth for Mrs. Warren’s enemy had paid the man well to spy upon her. The hireling, who gave his name as Jacob Parker, had sworn no knowledge of the attempts to harm the lady.

  When they reached the country roads, Carter transferred the last of her belongings to his personal coach. “Where are we going?” Simon asked as he lifted the boy into the coach. Purposely, they had not told the child of their plans. Mrs. Warren feared Simon might accidentally inform Mrs. Peterman of their whereabouts.

  “Sir Carter has suggested we might partake of a short holiday in the country,” she explained as she followed the child into the coach’s interior. “He is escorting us to his estate.”

  “You will enjoy the opportunity to ride and to play with the other children, will you not?” Carter added in encouragement.

  The boy’s eyes grew wide with anticipation. “Oh, yes, Sir Carter. That would be most excellent.”

  Mrs. Warren breathed easier. Carter whispered in her ear. “His Grace has sent a maid to chaperone us. The duke thought it best if you did not arrive in Kent with a spoiled reputation.”

  She glanced up at him, and Carter’s heart flipped in his chest when their eyes met. Whenever the lady was close, he fought the urge to touch her. “I appreciate the duke’s forethought, but I fear my husband’s reputation has doomed mine.”

  Carter stood in the carriage’s opening while she crouched in the doorway. “Thornhill means well.” He was not certain how the ton might react to what she had suffered. Some might celebrate her determination, while others would shun her. “I will see you safely settled at Huntingborne, and tomorrow, I will return to London and the investigation,” he confided.

  Mrs. Warren frowned deeply. “So soon?” she whispered.

  Carter leaned closer. Close enough to claim her lips if he did not restrain his desires. “I fear so.”

  Her cheeks flushed with color before she blew out a sigh. “It is just that I have enjoyed our conversations…” The red upon her cheeks deepened. “It has been so long since I have known a person who takes interest in what brings me pleasure.”

  Carter’s lust raced to notice. He could think of several “interesting” means to bring her pleasure. Yet, before he could respond, his coachman announced, “The lady’s belongings are secured, Sir.”

  Carter released her hand–a hand he did not even realize he still held. “Excellent.” He cleared the rasp from his throat. “Set a course for Kent, Watkins.”

  Simon had asked what seemed a hundred questions upon the journey, but Carter had enjoyed explaining to the boy about the different terrain and vegetation. He even answered a few of the child’s questions regarding the war. “Did you know my father?”

  “I fear not,” he had said honesty, “but perhaps you could direct your questions to the Duke of Thornhill. His Grace is my nearest neighbor, and it is my understanding your father and the duke were at university together.”

  The boy looked pleadingly at Mrs. Warren. “Would it be acceptable, Ma’am, if I speak to His Grace?”

  The lady smiled indulgently at the child. “You did not seek my permission to question Sir Carter,” she teased.

  “Sir Carter is not so grand as a duke,” Simon reasoned aloud.

  Carter barked out a robust laugh. “I must remember to convey your opinion to Thornhill,” he said good-naturedly. “I am certain the duke will be pleased to know someone views him as grand.”

  Mrs. Warren suggested, “Permit me to speak to His Grace first. If the duke agrees, then you may ask of Mr. Warren.” Her words had satisfied the child.

  That had been several hours prior. They had spent the afternoon settling in. Carter had felt the shame of having his renovations incomplete. He would have preferred to introduce the lady to a showcase manor.

  “I am often in London, and the former owner left the estate in a deplorable condition,” he offered in explanation for several of the still empty rooms.

  However, rather than to snarl her nose in disgust, the lady appeared delighted with the size of the rooms and the prospect. “It is beautiful, Sir Carter,” she freely declared, and he experienced pride for the first time in the manor house he had received as a presentation from the Prince Regent. “The rooms are neither too large or too small. Each has plenty of natural light.”

  “I hope to improve the vista,” he said lamely to impress her.

  She drew back the drapes. “In time, it will be a very inviting house, one any family would welcome as its home.”

  “Supper is served, Sir Carter,” Mr. Vance announced. The butler held the door for them. Mrs. Warren had seen the child to his bed, and one of the new maids tended the boy.

  “Shall we go in?” Carter offered his arm to the lady. He enjoyed the idea of their extending their time together. Like her, he had found their conversations stimulating. In the small dining room, Carter seated her on his right. “As I said previously, I am rarely in attendance at Huntingborne Abbey, but while you are here, I wish you to treat the house as your own. I hold no objections to your setting your own rules in my absence.” He had purposely said the words before his servants so they would know his wishes.

  “You are most generous, Sir Carter,” Mrs. Warren murmured as the footman served the first course. “But I am certain Simon and I shall require nothing special of note.”

  “Nevertheless, I have left specific orders for someone to escort you and the boy when you are outside the house, and Thornhill has placed additional men to guard the immediate estate.”

  Mrs. Warren responded with weariness. “You and His Grace have acted with such honor. I despise the fact Simon and I have brought distress to your doorstep.” Pride and stubbornness laced her tone. They were excellent defenses, means for the lady to hide from the world.

  “Thornhill and I will have no words of gratitude, Mrs. Warren. We have chosen to serve English citizens on British soil or elsewhere.”

  “As you wish, Sir Carter,” she said softly, “but I cannot imagine my dilemma being of any significance in comparison to England’s diplomatic and political issues.” A hint of disapproval marred her all too handsome features.

  His lips twisted with sardonic amusement. “Humor me, Mrs. Warren. With fortune’s freewill, we will discover the truth of your situation in a timely manner, and then you may return to your life.”

  A flare of heat colored her skin before she tamped down her emotions. “I am in no hurry to return to London’s summer,” she admitted with a small smile, and Carter returned a sympathetic one. The lady reached for her soupspoon. “While I enjoy your cook’s talents, I mean to learn more of your relations, Sir Carter.”

  With a choked burst of surprise, Carter remarked, “You may be sorry you asked, Mrs. Warren. I come from a hearty family.” What was it about this woman, he wondered, that set his heart reeling whenever he looked upon her countenance? When she did not respond immediately, Carter began ticking off his siblings upon his fingers.

  “I am the youngest of the Lowery brood,” he confessed. “My father’s spare. My brother Lawrence is the heir, and the oldest among the Lowery off-spring. He has recently married an American, Miss Arabella Tilney, who is the granddaughter of the Earl of Vaughn. Law and Arabella have spent the winter months at one of the minor estates in Scotland, but I have had a recent letter from Bella announcing their plans to return to Derbyshire.”

  “Your family seat is in Derbyshire?” she inquired.

  Carter nodded his acknowledgement. “In the northern section, near
the Dark Peaks. Ironically, my friend James Kerrington’s estate is the largest in Derbyshire. You likely recall Lord Worthing from Lady Eleanor’s ball. The viscount pursued Thornhill’s sister with a singularity. They recently welcomed their first child, a girl.”

  “And your brother?” she asked. “Has he his own estate?”

  Carter laughed ironically. “Father would never have tolerated Lawrence so far from his control. My older brother was known to toe the line, that is, until he chose Miss Tilney as his bride. My brother’s joining has forced the baron to relinquish his hold on Law’s life. The next few months will determine how Law weathers this change. He and Lady Hellsman have chosen to reside in the dowager house rather than to share Blake’s Run with our parents.”

  Her lashes elegantly swept downward, as if she chose her words carefully. “Then perhaps it is best you are situated in Kent.”

  “Trust me,” Carter said bitterly. “Baron Blakehell holds no interest in anything or anyone beyond his estate.”

  Mrs. Warren’s lips tightened in condemnation, but the lady judiciously chose not to comment on Carter’s admission. Instead, she asked, “How many years are there between you and your brother?”

  Carter swallowed the anger, which always flooded his chest when frustrations ruled his tongue. “Over eight. Law saw his birthday before he claimed Miss Tilney’s hand. He is three and thirty.”

  “Eight years?” Her eyebrow rose in curiosity. “A long time between sons…”

  Carter laughed easily. “Three daughters filled the void. My sisters adore me, as they should,” he said teasingly.

  Despite the lady’s best efforts, her lips twitched with a growing smile. “Sisters always adore the baby in the family,” she mocked. After a sip of her wine, she asked, “Have they each married?”

  “I fear I am the only one remaining upon whom my mother may ply her matchmaking skills.” He smiled easily with the memory of his dear mother. “The baroness is quite tenacious in her efforts. She easily maneuvered Louisa into Ernest Hutton’s path. Lord McLauren is the eldest son of mother’s dearest friend, Lady Edna McLauren. Louisa and McLauren live in Lincolnshire; they married some years prior and have presented my mother with two grandchildren, Ethan and Lisette.”

  Without waiting for her response, Carter continued his recitation. “Mother had more difficulty bringing Delia to heel. My youngest sister is a bit of a hoyden.” He offered her a silly grin. “If one saw her now, he would not believe Viscountess Duff could be the same cheeky minx. Delia had always declared never to marry, not because she objected to men’s attentions, but because she refused to relinquish her independence to any man; however, when my sister met Stewart Roxbury during her first Season, Mama had to reel in her youngest daughter’s enthusiasm for the man.”

  “Does Miss Delia claim a family?” Mrs. Warren asked in earnest. Carter liked the idea of another person holding interest in his family. He held great pride and respect for each of his siblings.

  “Delia and Roxbury have a daughter Catherine. When I was last in Warwickhshire, she confided there will be another addition to Viscount Duff’s brood shortly before Christmastide.”

  Mrs. Warren sighed heavily. “Such a large family. How wonderfully delicious! I have no siblings. It would have been heavenly to squabble over dresses and beaus with a sister or to challenge a brother’s stubbornness.” A second sigh slipped her lips, and Carter considered how alone in the world she must feel. “And what of the middle sister?”

  “Marie is the one most like me in personality. She resisted the idea of marriage even after she had accepted Jonathon Laroche’s proposal. If possible, Marie would have ridden off to war with me; yet, finally, she succumbed to Viscount Sheffield’s charms. She welcomed her first son in late November. My darling sister glows with love for her family.”

  Mrs. Warren leaned closer. A flicker of candlelight illuminated the golden highlights of her hair. The light framed her in softness, and Carter fought the desire to touch her. “It is as it should be, Sir Carter. You possess the best gift God can bestow upon a man.”

  Carter could not deny the Lord had extolled upon him a loving mother and siblings. It was only his father who had denied Carter recognition. However, when he compared his blessings with Mrs. Warren’s bleakness, he felt petty for wanting more than he deserved.

  “I will send word or return for you when I have news of import regarding your situation,” Carter had told her while he waited for the groom to bring his horse about. Mrs. Warren had insisted on seeing him off, and Carter was aware of how intimate the moment felt. The lady never seemed conscious of how their relationship crossed the lines. “You and the boy should enjoy the country air and the estate.”

  Mrs. Warren sighed deeply. “It has been since before my marriage that I spent time in the English countryside. The landscape is quite different,” she swept her hand in all-encompassing gesture toward the groomed lawns, “from what I knew in Devon, but I shall cherish each minute.”

  Carter thought the change in location had already brought a kiss of freshness to her countenance. Mrs. Warren’s posture had lost the stress in her shoulders. He hated to issue his warning for it would bring her more worry, but Carter would be remiss if he did not. “I must add a caution. Although we have executed diversions, if someone wishes to follow you, our trail is not invisible. The duke and I mean to exercise vigilance, but it would make our task easier if we could capture the perpetrator in the act.”

  Her eyes and mouth scrunched in disapproval. “Is my stay at Huntingborne Abbey meant to be a designed trap, Sir Carter?”

  He confessed, “Not intentionally so. Thornhill and I believe the country would make it more difficult for a stranger to hide than upon a busy city street. It is simply more practical.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “As I am known for my practicality, I shall acquiesce to your experience.”

  Carter had the urge to chuck her chin good-naturedly and then kiss her lovely mouth before departing. Instead, he accepted Prime’s reins from his groom. “I will contact you whenever I have anything to share.” He touched his hat with his crop. “Farewell, Mrs. Warren.”

  She stepped back as he mounted, and Carter felt bereft of her closeness. He stared down upon her, memorizing each line of her countenance, before he touched his heels to Prime’s flanks. Her voice followed him across the circle. “Safe journey, Sir Carter.”

  “Mrs. Warren?” Sir Carter’s butler appeared in the library’s doorway. Lucinda had permitted Simon to choose among the baronet’s books, and she and the child now shared a volume with fabulous etchings of butterflies and birds and dragonflies.

  Lucinda glanced at the man. “Yes, Mr. Vance.”

  “The Duke and Duchess of Thornhill have asked to speak to you, Ma’am.”

  Lucinda sprang to her feet and tucked a strand of loose hair into her chignon. The butler’s face spoke of his surprise to have the pair upon the Huntingborne threshold. “The duke…” She caught her breath and swallowed slowly. “Please show His Grace and the duchess in, Mr. Vance, and then bring tea and refreshments.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” When Mr. Vance exited, she reached for the boy to straighten his clothes and wipe a smudge of jam from Simon’s cheek. “Mind your manners,” she said through trembling lips.

  The child nodded nervously. “Why has the duke come?” he whispered.

  Lucinda smoothed the wrinkles from her day dress. “A duty call,” she murmured. She wished she had something new to wear before the beautiful duchess. She could barely breath by the time Mr. Vance ushered the Duke and Duchess of Thornhill into the room. Lucinda curtsied while bracing Simon’s awkward bow. “Your Grace,” she murmured, and then offered a second curtsy to the duchess.

  “None of that,” Thornhill declared and caught Lucinda’s fingers to assist her to stand. “We are friends of long-standing, Mrs. Warren.”

  Lucinda shot a quick glance at the duchess to discover a look of dissatisfaction upon the woman’s countenance. The
duke may consider her a “friend,” but his wife held a different opinion.

  Judiciously, Lucinda said, “’Tis true, Your Grace, but I have only a brief acquaintance with your duchess, and I owe her my respect.” The girl’s countenance softened when she looked upon her husband, but Lucinda recognized the frown, which tugged gently at the duchess’s mouth. “Please join me.” She gestured to the chairs. “I have asked Mr. Vance to bring tea.” It was very odd to be acting as hostess in Sir Carter’s house.

  The duke paused to assist his wife to her seat. The duchess was heavy with child, but even so, Velvet Fowler was magnificently beautiful. Hair the color of midnight and violet eyes, which spoke of spring. It was a breath taking combination. Lucinda motioned Simon forward to make his addresses to the couple. Catching the child’s small hand in her damp one, she said, “Your Grace, please permit me to introduce my late husband’s son, Simon.” The boy executed another awkward bow.

  Thornhill studied the child before saying, “Your father was a fine soldier, Boy.”

  Lucinda thought Thornhill had spoken the only truth they shared about Matthew Warren: the captain had served his country honorably; it was only her he had betrayed.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Simon said maturely, and Lucinda knew a moment of pride.

  She explained, “Simon would wish to know more of his father. Mayhap before we leave Kent, you might indulge the child with tales of your university days, Your Grace.”

  Unsurprisingly, Thornhill readily agreed. “What say you, if you spend the day at Thorn Hall with my daughter Sonali and me. I have promised the duchess to spend the entire day with the child on Friday.” Again, Lucinda cautiously glanced to the duchess to determine whether the woman would approve of her husband’s easy nature. The duchess delivered a hard stare, her eyes hooded. Again, the tension in the lady’s shoulders said her endorsement was not forthcoming. Purposely, Lucinda returned the duchess’s gaze with a noncommittal one. “It will be Sonali’s seventh birthday, and I am certain my daughter would enjoy a playmate with which to share the day. Of course, you would be forced to eat your share of apple tarts, if you attend.”