by Jane Godman
“Vanished?” Lady Harpenden turned so abruptly that her sister took a step back and looked around her as though seeking a means of escape. “Must you be so melodramatic? I hope you did not partake of the sherry at that dreadful inn where we were forced to spend the night?”
Lady Drummond buried her face in her hands. “How can you ask me such a thing, when you must recall that fortified wines bring on my most alarming spasms?”
Jack, judging it to be time to put an end to this sisterly exchange, strolled forward to greet the arrivals. It was an action that provoked an extreme reaction from both guests. Lady Drummond forgot her woes and appeared to have been fixed to the spot. Her sister raised a long-handled lorgnette to her eye and regarded Jack through its lens as though he was a particularly distasteful specimen.
“I must confess my surprise, Lord St. Anton. You are the last person I had expected to find here at the childhood home of my nephew’s wife.” The emphasis on the last word was deliberate and pronounced.
“The reason for my presence will become clear once you have seen Lady Sheridan.” Jack bowed and gestured for the two ladies to enter the house in front of him. “I am sure she will be cast into transports of delight to have the pleasure of your company.”
His sarcasm earned him a look of intense dislike from Lady Harpenden as she stepped across the threshold. Her ladyship was a commanding presence at any time, and Mrs. Glover, caught in the act of berating a housemaid for not polishing the front door knocker properly, was more than a little overawed by her hauteur. Bobbing a nervous curtsy, she invited the two ladies into the drawing room and said she would inform Lady Sheridan of their arrival. Lady Harpenden thanked her with benevolent hauteur and went to gaze out of the window at the immaculately tended gardens.
“Well, what a delightful room.” Lady Drummond untied the ribbons of her bonnet and cast it aside before taking a seat on a sofa. “Such a pleasant aspect with the morning sun entering the windows as it does.”
“Pray do not waste time on small talk, Cordelia. Lord St. Anton must know we have not travelled all this way for a social call.” She turned to face Jack. “Where is my nephew, my lord?”
Jack smiled. “That is the burning question of the day,” he informed her. “And one which, I am afraid, I am not able to answer.”
Her frown deepened, but before she could embark on one of her scathing putdowns, a sound behind her made her swing around. For possibly the first time in her life, Lady Harpenden was bereft of speech.
Rosie appeared in the doorway, leaning on Harry’s arm, and Lady Drummond was so shocked at her appearance that she let out a most ungenteel exclamation. One side of Rosie’s face was black and blue, her right cheek swollen and marred by a cut caused by Clive’s ring. Her left arm was in a sling. The dark shadows under her eyes were emphasised by her pallid complexion and vied with her bruises for depth of colour. Her short curls refused to be restrained, and they clustered like a halo about her head, accentuating her fragility. Her eyes went straight to Jack’s face as if seeking reassurance, and his features automatically softened into a smile.
“My dear child, what on earth has happened to you?” Even as she asked the question, it was apparent that the horrible, sickening realisation of exactly what had happened to Rosie was dawning on Lady Harpenden.
“No. Oh, please, tell me it is not so.” Lady Drummond raised a shaking hand to cover her lips.
Rosie did not really need Harry’s support, but her brother had become quite alarmingly attentive, and she did not want to offend him. As it was, he was glaring at their visitors in a most unwelcoming manner.
“Your nephew did this to her!” Harry burst out before Rosie could speak. “And he shot my dog. He tried to kill Beau, although his intended victim was Jack.”
Mumbling an apology to Rosie, Harry threw himself out of the room. Rosie took a seat next to Lady Drummond. Lady Harpenden took a chair opposite, her features rigid.
“I must apologise for my brother’s heat, but I am afraid what he says is true. My injuries were caused by Clive.”
She proceeded to fill in the details of what had happened, starting with Clive’s abduction of Xander and ending with the violent aftermath when he was discovered in the old dower house. Lady Drummond wept openly while Lady Harpenden’s face grew increasingly stony.
“But what you have described is villainy beyond comprehension,” she exclaimed in outraged tones when Rosie had finished speaking. “I am aware that Clive’s estates are grossly encumbered. And that he is near breaking point. You must believe me, child. I would not have believed him capable of such conduct. And where is he now? Does anyone know?”
“We do not, my lady, which is why you see me here.” Jack spoke for the first time since Rosie had come into the room. “And this is where I will stay. At least, until he is found and brought to justice. My concern in all of this is the safety of Lady Sheridan, her son and her brother.”
Lady Harpenden was clearly torn by this pronouncement. “While I applaud the sentiment behind your resolve to protect Lady Sheridan, my lord, my notion of propriety is offended at the suggestion of a married lady and a single gentleman living under the same roof with no chaperone other than a young boy.”
At that moment, Mrs. Glover bustled in with the tea tray and Rosie dispensed refreshments. Lady Drummond’s spirits were revived somewhat as she selected several dainty iced pastries and a number of macaroons.
When the housekeeper had left, Jack’s irreverent smile flickered into life. “It may console your ladyship to learn that I am sharing a room with Tom Drury, the manager of this estate. I know you will be considering the potential for bad-minded gossip, but the proprieties are taken care of. And in any case, Lady Sheridan, as you can see, is in no fit state to present a risk to my good name.”
Rosie bit back a smile but threw him a reproachful look, which he countered with one of his innocent stares. Lady Harpenden had sustained a severe shock, and Rosie, who was genuinely fond of the irascible old woman, did not want to add weight to her cares by subjecting her to Jack’s tormenting.
“You are both very welcome to stay here,” Rosie said. “I believe there is a reduced staff at Sheridan Hall, and the servants will not have been expecting you—”
Lady Harpenden interrupted her. “You are very good, my dear, and very diplomatic. Let us not dissemble. Sheridan Hall has been shamefully neglected. In short, Clive has gambled away the whole of his fortune and, I gather, mortgaged the estate to the hilt. Do you know the extent of his debts?”
Rosie shook her head. “All I know is that, if he does not secure an extensive sum immediately, Sheridan Hall will be seized by his creditors. He also spoke of owing money to some very dangerous characters who would do him serious harm if they were not repaid on time.”
“I very much hope they do!” Lady Drummond spoke up sharply, in a manner quite unlike her usual fluttering tones. “Because if they don’t harm him, you can rest assured that I will.”
“My dear, we will leave you now. Thank you for your offer of hospitality, but I fear we would be very poor company, having sustained this severe shock about the true nature of one of our family members. Besides, you must be wishing us at the devil.” Lady Harpenden held up a hand to silence Rosie’s protests. “When Clive is found, we will talk further. In the meantime, Cordelia and I will make the best of things at Sheridan Hall. Now, Lord St. Anton, perhaps you could be useful—rather than merely decorative—and escort us to our carriage?”
Jack, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, rose and, with exaggerated courtesy, offered her his arm. Rosie walked with them as they made their way in silence to the waiting vehicle. As he handed her into it, Lady Harpenden turned to Jack and spoke in a softer voice than Rosie had ever heard from her before. “Take care of her, my lord.”
Jack bowed. “That is my intention, my lady.”
Chapter F
ourteen
Jack was giving Harry a fencing lesson on the lawn, that young gentleman having expressed a determination to become proficient in the sport. From his grim expression, Jack surmised that this newfound interest had something to do with a desire to rid the world of his sister’s husband. Jack reasoned, however, that the lad needed a distraction, and when the time came, he himself would know how to deal with Sheridan. He had scores aplenty to settle with that gentleman, even though Rosie begged him not to do so at the end of a rapier. He had promised not to kill him. And he would not do so. However tempted he might be, Jack was not about to risk all he had recently found with Rosie and Xander just for the pleasure of running his sword through Sheridan’s black heart. He would find another way to bring him to justice. Unless he gives me no choice.
During the days which followed her encounter with Sheridan, Rosie’s bruises had faded. Her arm remained in a sling, annoying her when it impeded her movements, but Jack was pleased to see the tension within her beginning to uncoil slightly as the time passed. He was starting to catch glimpses of the old Rosie. The ready laughter was returning to her lips and the spring to her step. He ascribed much of this change to the fact that she was back in the home she loved. Dare he also hope some of it was due to a return to something approaching their former intimacy? Hang it all! He would take that credit. He felt it too, in every look, in every light touch, each time he heard her voice. His nightmares were a thing of the past. She had brought him back to life, and he hadn’t realised until now that he really had been dead for the past two years.
He had also discovered a new love. A laughing rascal of a child in his own image. Jack was entranced by Xander, falling instantly under his son’s spell. If anything had been needed to bind him closer to Rosie, it was this affinity they shared. Xander, only too happy to have another admirer, accepted this new addition into his family with pleasure, allowing Jack to dote on him and play games with him. The word “Jack” was soon added to his vocabulary, and even though he seemed inclined to use it a hundred times a day, Jack decided he would never tire of hearing it from him.
Rosie had come out to watch the swordplay, bringing Xander with her. That young gentleman toddled off in the direction of some blackcurrant bushes, and Rosie went after him. Speeding up with an agility quite remarkable in one relatively new to the art of walking, Xander started to chuckle when Rosie swooped down on him. Their laughter was like music carrying on the soft breeze.
“Are we going to get on with this, or would you prefer to stand about ogling my sister?”
Begging Harry’s pardon, Jack returned to the lesson. He explained the correct grip on the foil to his pupil, who grasped his sword eagerly, impatient to get started. “Slowly, scrapper! This is an art which cannot be rushed. If you are too fierce, your opponent will pink you easily, thus.” He demonstrated a feint.
Before it had properly begun, the sword-fighting instruction was interrupted by a shout from Joseph, the groom, who, with an unaccustomed burst of energy, rushed around the side of the house. His face was beetroot red, his sides heaving. “Fire, my Lord Jack! There is a fire in the stables.”
Throwing down their swords, Jack and Harry started after him. “Take the boy inside. Remain there until I come for you,” Jack called over his shoulder to Rosie. He noted with relief that she lifted Xander onto her hip with her right arm and hurried to do his bidding.
By the time they reached the stables, the blaze was spreading rapidly. Tom was already there, directing the stable hands. “Turn the horses out,” he yelled to them above the roar of flames and the desperate, terrified whinnying.
Jack and Harry rushed to help Joseph carry out Tom’s orders. Once the horses were safe, they joined the stable hands and farm workers who formed a line, passing buckets of water from hand to hand until they managed to get the fire under control. Even Mrs. Glover and the maids from the house came out to help. It took some time, but due to Tom’s decisive actions, there was no major damage. A quick check showed that all of the horses were unharmed.
Stripped to waist, his flesh blackened with ash and damp with sweat, Jack leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Tom, meanwhile, began to berate Joseph. “For the Lord’s sake, man, how could you have let this happen?” In the face of Tom’s fury, Joseph’s mouth set in a stubborn, defensive line.
Before Joseph could answer, Jack intervened. He had noticed a nasty, fresh lump on the back of the groom’s thinning scalp. A shadow of foreboding began to loom in Jack’s mind. “What happened to your head, Joseph?” he asked.
Joseph’s scowl deepened. “Aye, my lord, well might you ask,” he answered gruffly, throwing Tom a dark look. “I was minding my business, getting the feed ready, when something hit me across the back of the head from behind. I think it must have been that shovel.” He pointed to the offending item, which lay abandoned—as though thrown carelessly aside—on the flags. “I fell to the floor, blacked out a bit, like. When I came round again, the fire had already been set.”
“Set?” Tom’s brows drew together.
“Aye, sir. The way those flames took hold so fast, this weren’t no accident.”
“He is still here. Sheridan is close by.” Jack’s vague premonition was now a fully formed certainty.
Tom nodded grimly. “And hell-bent on revenge, if this little stunt is anything to go by.”
Jack’s head snapped round towards the house, his eyes narrowing. “While we have been occupied here—”
“—who has been with Rosie?” Both men had broken into a run before they finished speaking.
The gravel crunching under Jack’s boots could not drown out the pounding of his heart. How could he have been so stupid? He had told himself he was ready for any stunt Sheridan might pull, yet he had fallen for the very first thing the man’s twisted mind had devised. How Sheridan must be laughing! Even as the thought struck, he tossed it aside. Let him laugh until he chokes so long as he does not harm Rosie or the child.
Jack reached the house slightly ahead of Tom. He hurtled through the front door, his booted feet skittering wildly on the marble tiles of the hall. Panting heavily, Tom caught up with him, and they reached the double doors of the parlour together. Rosie was seated on a chair near the window, reading a book, and she looked up in surprise as they burst into the room.
Raising a finger to her lips, she pointed to Xander, who had fallen asleep and was sprawled on the sofa. “Pray do not disturb him, he will be fractious if he wakes too soon. I take it you have managed to get the fire under control? Are the horses safe? Was there much damage?”
Jack’s answers to her questions were perfunctory as he scanned the gardens beyond the room. The cosy normality of the scene almost made him feel foolish. Almost. The sixth sense that he had developed over the years he had spent serving as a soldier in Bonnie Prince Charlie’s regiment and honed further at the Falcon’s side told him he was not wrong. This little exploit had Sheridan’s signature all over it, of that he was sure. And yet Rosie was unscathed. Should he confess his fears, or leave her in ignorance?
Her face, the bruises fading to yellow, was completely trusting as she lifted it to him. To tell her would forewarn her. It would also change that expression to one of fear.
“I will go back out and see what can be done to make the stable block fit for the horses tonight.” Tom took his leave of them.
When the door had closed behind him, Rosie blurted out the words that had clearly been troubling her. “Was it Clive, Jack? Did he do this?”
So much for protecting her. He should have known she had her own, equally keen extra sense where Sheridan was concerned. “I thought it was. I have just been cursing myself for leaving you. But if it was him, why did he make no attempt to come for you while we were all occupied with the fire?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. But the strangest thing happened while Xander and I were alone here. I heard raise
d voices—men’s voices—coming from outside, followed by sounds as though of a pursuit. When I went to the window, I could see nothing. Do you think perhaps it was not Clive who set the fire? Mayhap someone else was responsible. I did wonder if the men I heard might have been plotting to rob us.”
“Then why did they not do so? They had the perfect opportunity. And who chased them off?”
Rosie sighed. “Indeed, I know not. It is a mystery.”
“Mystery or not, I will be remaining at your side from now on until he is behind bars. Except for right this minute”—he indicated his bare chest and soot-blackened breeches with a grimace—“when I need to bathe and change my clothes.”
“Yes, you do.” There was a gleam of humour in Rosie’s eyes. “I take it you do not need me close by your side for that task?”
“Not unless you wish to accompany me?”
Laughing at the blush that stained her cheeks with pink, Jack checked that Mrs Glover had returned before he made his way up the stairs. He had not been entirely truthful with Lady Harpenden. Face it, you lied to her. It had been his intention to follow the dictates of propriety and share a room with Tom. Instead, he had yielded to the promptings of caution and taken up residence in the room next to Rosie’s, so he could be close to her should Sheridan try to enter the house during the night. And after today’s activity, I will be sleeping in her room, he decided, as he closed the door to his bedchamber behind him.
“Really, Jack, when you send for a chap to come all this way with no explanation, the very least you can do is be here to greet him.” The clipped, upper-class tones were mildly complaining. The tall figure stretched out on his bed regarded his appearance with amusement. “Although I am prepared to forgive you on this occasion, since it appears you have been otherwise engaged.”
