by Wilma Counts
“Oh, please, do be at home,” Kate prayed as she set the bag down and lifted the door knocker.
After some time, the door opened a crack and an imperious male voice said, “Ye-s-s?”
“I am Lady Arthur Gardiner and I wish to see Mr. Phillips. It is a matter of some urgency,” Kate announced.
The butler seemed unsurprised by the anxiety she could not quell. He gave her a penetrating look that also took in the boy standing quietly at her side. The servant weighed her words, then opened the door wider and motioned them in. He took their bags and the instrument, set them inside the door, and motioned mother and son to a nearby bench.
“Wait here. I shall see if Mr. Phillips is in.”
Presently, Phillips himself appeared along with the butler. Phillips was a sandy-haired man in his thirties.
“Lady Arthur. What a pleasant surprise. Come in. And Lord Spenland. How nice to see you.” Phillips greeted the child in an adult manner, giving him a slight bow, which the little boy returned politely and expertly.
“I am not at all sure you will deem it such a pleasure once you know why I am here,” Kate said.
“A crisis, I take it?” Phillips responded. “Well, let us deal with it over tea. Martin, another pot of tea, please—and some of those ginger cakes for young Lord Spenland.”
“Right away, sir.”
Kate removed her cloak and her son’s outer coat and handed them to the butler, who then promptly went to do his master’s bidding.
Phillips ushered mother and son into a drawing room containing furniture that appeared to be valued for comfort as much as style. A fire burned in the fireplace and a lamp on a side table between two winged chairs splashed warm light into the room. One of the chairs was occupied by a plump, pretty blond woman.
“You remember my wife, do you not, Lady Arthur?” Phillips said.
“Yes, indeed.” Kate smiled at the other woman, who immediately stood and curtsied politely.
Mrs. Phillips held a book she had been reading, her finger marking the place. “I shall ring for more tea.”
“Already taken care of, my dear,” Phillips assured her.
“Oh. Then, as I presume this call involves some legal business, I shall excuse myself,” Mrs. Phillips offered.
“I would not drive you from your own drawing room!” Kate said. “I came because Mr. Phillips was a particular friend of my husband—as well as his solicitor.”
“Never mind, my dear. It happens all the time. But if you prefer that I stay . . .”
“By all means,” Kate said politely.
“Perhaps you would rather your son had his tea in the kitchen?” Mrs. Phillips had apparently noted a degree of anxiety about their guest. “We have a new family of kittens next to the cooker,” she said warmly to the little boy and laid aside her book.
“Thank you, Mrs. Phillips. Ned would like that, wouldn’t you, son?” Kate nudged the child to accompany the woman to the kitchen.
When the door closed behind them, Phillips pointed to a place for Kate on the sofa, sat himself on a chair nearby, and said, “Now. What is it that has you so upset?”
“Does it show that much? I thought I had calmed myself during our long coach journey.” The sympathy and concern in his voice nearly undid her careful control. “Oh, Mr. Phillips, I made such a terrible mistake in taking Ned to Wynstan Castle.”
“I feared as much,” Phillips said, “but we all hoped it would work for the boy’s sake, his being the heir and all.”
“That’s precisely why I agreed to go, despite Arthur’s careful plans. His grace offered such a plausible argument. Since Ned will eventually become the duke, his grandfather insisted that it would be best if he grew up on the land he would one day inherit. I had misgivings, but I was persuaded to that viewpoint.”
Phillips nodded. “At the time, I must admit I was inclined to agree with you. I mean to say, Arthur could not have foreseen that his older brother would die within months of his own demise. With young Ned now heir to the Wynstan dukedom, it made perfect sense to all of us.”
“Still—I should have remembered Arthur’s stories of his childhood. I should never have given in to my father-in-law’s arguments,” Kate said. “Nor should I have pestered you and Captain Lawrence to agree.”
“I do not recall such a deal of pestering, Lady Arthur,” Phillips replied with a smile. “Captain Lawrence—it’s Major Lawrence now—and I readily accepted our joint guardianship of young Ned, but we both knew that your husband would have made you sole guardian—were one allowed to name a woman to such a position.”
Mrs. Phillips returned, followed by the butler bearing a tea tray. “I left your son happily consuming ginger cakes and playing with the kittens.”
“Thank you,” Kate said, accepting the cup of tea Mrs. Phillips offered her.
“We were discussing the boy’s guardianship,” Mr. Phillips explained. “You recall the case, I am sure.” He turned to Kate. “My wife has a fine hand—and a fine mind—and she often copied documents for me until recently.”
“I see,” Kate said.
Mrs. Phillips settled herself on the sofa next to Kate. “I do recall the case. I distinctly remember questioning why a duke’s son would take such extraordinary measures to eliminate members of his own family as possible guardians.”
“My husband spent an unhappy childhood under his father’s iron hand,” Kate explained. “The duke was not just strict with Arthur. He was decidedly cruel at times.”
“Good heavens!” Mrs. Phillips said. “His own son?”
“Arthur was under the impression that his father thought not,” Kate said quietly.
“What are you saying?” Mrs. Phillips wore a frown of consternation and her husband too focused a curious gaze on Kate.
“Arthur thought perhaps he was not Wynstan’s son, though the duke never publicly questioned his paternity and certainly his brother Frederick and his sister—both some years older than Arthur—were the duke’s children.”
“But the duke told Lord Arthur this?” Mrs. Phillips asked in an appalled tone.
“I do not think he said it very precisely, but that was the impression Arthur had from some things the duke did say and, of course, from his rather bizarre behavior toward Arthur. The duke favored the others inordinately, especially his heir, Frederick,” Kate said. “That much was clear in the time Ned and I were at Wynstan Castle. The duke’s treatment of Ned and me was, I think, an extension of his treatment of Arthur.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Mrs. Phillips murmured sympathetically.
Phillips broke in matter-of-factly. “So what happened? What brought you here?”
“I—I knew of nowhere else to turn.” Kate took a swallow of the hot tea, savoring its warmth, then set the dish down. “And I wished to discuss the funds Arthur left.”
“Give us the whole story,” Phillips said. “After all, I have neither seen nor heard from you since you left my office nearly a year ago.”
“It is not pretty,” Kate warned. “Once Ned and I removed to Wynstan Castle, we became virtual prisoners. I did not mind so much for me.” Her hands in her lap, she twisted the wedding ring she had never removed and cleared her throat. “I am somewhat embarrassed to tell you this—but without Arthur, it really made little difference where I was.”
“But you had your son,” Mrs. Phillips said gently.
“Yes. And a blessing he is. I honestly thought he might thrive in the country.”
“Did he?” Phillips asked.
“He would have done so. He did—at first. But the duke kept demanding more and more of him. And Ned tried so hard! The duke required that he learn fencing and boxing. When Ned did not immediately take to swords and fisticuffs, Wynstan accused him of being a silly female and a mama’s boy. Ned has only eight years!”
“Good heavens!” Mrs. Phillips said again. “What did you do?”
“I tried to reason with the duke, but he said I had ‘coddled the boy long enough. The fut
ure Duke of Wynstan should be made of sterner stuff.’ ” Kate tried to affect the duke’s cold tone.
Phillips shifted in his chair. “Somehow, I doubt this is the whole story of why you are here.”
Kate sighed. “No. It is not. He . . . he insisted that Ned learn to shoot and hunt. Ned is terrified of guns. Even now he occasionally wakes up with nightmares in which he relives hearing guns in battle—especially that last battle at Toulouse.”
“Go on,” Phillips urged.
“The duke forced Ned go on a rabbit hunt. There were several men and boys and a pack of dogs.” She closed her eyes against the memory.
Mrs. Phillips, perched on the edge of the sofa, turned toward Kate. “You were there too?”
“Oh, no. This was a men-only affair. I just heard about it afterwards. It was terrible, though. This was not a hunt to rid farmers of pests. It was only for sport. There were loud shots. And blood. A great deal of blood. Ned was sick and vomited. The duke insisted Ned try shooting, but he couldn’t—in part because the duke’s gun was far too large for a small boy. But Ned was also terrified, you see?”
Again Mrs. Phillips gave a sympathetic murmur and reached to place her hand on Kate’s.
Kate went on. “The duke was embarrassed in front of his friends.” Even now, in the retelling, she felt herself trembling at what was coming next. “He—he was so angry he picked up the bloody carcasses of two of the rabbits and draped them around Ned’s neck and made him carry them home that way.” She stifled a sob.
“Good grief!” Phillips said.
Kate nodded. “Ned was nearly hysterical. He kept saying to me later, ‘That was how Papa died, Mama. I know it. In a field with blood everywhere.’ ” Now, weeks later, remembering the utter despair in her son’s voice, Kate felt tears on her cheeks.
“No wonder you wanted to leave,” Mrs. Phillips said, motioning to her husband, who eventually understood that he should hand over his handkerchief to their visitor. “I cannot imagine how Mr. Phillips and I might react if such a thing happened to one of our sons!”
“Oh, there’s more,” Kate went on bitterly after wiping her eyes. “Later, the duke called Ned down to the library. I went with him, but Wynstan would not allow me in. However, I stood outside the door—and I heard it all.”
“Heard what?” Mrs. Phillips asked in an appalled whisper.
“The duke shouted that he would teach Ned a lesson he would not forget. Ned was, he said, just like his father and needed the same treatment. Then . . . there was a horrible slapping sound. He was using a leather strap on my little boy! Ned screamed. I screamed too, and pounded on the door. Finally, it stopped. The duke jerked open the door and cursed at me, but I shoved past him to Ned, who was cowering over a chair, sobbing his heart out.”
“As well he might be!” the other mother said.
“You indicated that you were virtually held prisoner at Wynstan Castle,” Mr. Phillips reminded her in a lawyerly tone meant, she supposed, to defuse the emotions aroused by her story.
“Yes. He refused to allow us to leave. I could leave, but ‘the boy will stay here,’ he insisted. He even set the servants to watching us.”
Mrs. Phillips gasped. “My heavens! How utterly dreadful for you.”
“So how did you make your escape?” the husband asked.
“I waited. Eventually, they would let their guard down. And they did. It happened when Wynstan came here to London—something to do with Parliament. One of the grooms whom Arthur had rescued years ago from a beating helped us. I had a little money hidden away. We took the mail coach three days ago and arrived here this afternoon.” She paused, exhausted by her emotions—anger and fear had assailed her anew as she told the tale. “Will you help us?”
“I will do what I can,” Phillips said. “Arthur deserves that and more from me. Do you have something in mind?”
“I—I am not sure. At first all I could think was to get away—as far from Wynstan Castle and the duke as possible.”
Phillips gave a rueful chuckle. “So you came to London—right where the duke is.”
She smiled feebly. “I thought he would not expect that. He will probably think I have gone to my parents in Surrey, though he cannot know how unlikely that would be.”
“You may be right about his not expecting that course of action. But eventually he will trace you here. He knows of my connection to Arthur.”
“I know,” she said glumly, “but I cannot allow that evil old man to hurt my son again. There must be some way—some place—we can hide. Arthur left us some funds. I intended to save them for Ned—that is, until . . .”
“Until he was no longer the penniless son of a second son, but the heir to a very rich, very important dukedom,” the lawyer supplied. He stood and began pacing the room.
“I . . . I could go to the United States—the war has long been over there too—or to Canada, perhaps,” Kate said. “I think there is enough money for passage.”
He paused in his pacing. “Yes. There is. And you could manage for two or three—perhaps four—years, but then what?”
“Something will turn up. It always does,” she said brightly—too brightly.
“No. No. That will not do,” he muttered and continued his pacing. “You must also consider the fact that the present duke will not live forever. Your little Ned will one day be a very important man in England .”
All three were silent for several moments. Then Mrs. Phillips spoke again.
“Husband, you can help her, can you not?”
“I shall do my utmost,” he said.
He rested one elbow in the palm of the other hand and stroked his chin thoughtfully, frowning in concentration. “Hmm.” He paced some more, lost in thought. “Perhaps—” He turned to Kate. “Can you manage a large household?”
“Well . . . I—I don’t know. I managed—or helped to manage—my father’s household when I was growing up. There were only ten or twelve servants, but I had six brothers and sisters—I mean six who survived.”
“That should do. Kenrick is a desperate man.”
“Kenrick? Desperate?” Kate felt she was floundering in a great bowl of jelly.
“Do stop pacing and explain yourself, my dear,” his wife demanded, but her tone was indulgent.
He resumed his seat. “The Earl of Kenrick. He too is one of my clients. He needs someone to bring order to his household. In Yorkshire. Which is quite some distance from Wynstan Castle in Devon.”
“Has he no wife to do so?” Mrs. Phillips asked.
“She died,” he said abruptly. “Five years ago or more. There’s a young child—a girl, I believe.”
“He has no housekeeper, either?” Kate asked.
“Not any more. She was elderly and went off to live with her sister or cousin or some such. The dowager countess lives in Bath. There is an elderly aunt at Kenrick, but she is crippled with arthritis and somewhat blind. Of course, it would not be a permanent solution, but it could buy you some time in which to come up with a better plan.”
“Possibly . . .” Kate said slowly.
“An earl? He surely would not entertain the idea of the mother of a future duke as his housekeeper!” Mrs. Phillips was clearly scandalized.
“No-o-o,” Kate said, turning the idea over in her mind. “But he might welcome plain Mrs. Gardiner and her son Ned.”
“Well, he should know what—or whom—he is getting involved with,” Phillips said.
“No!” Kate said sharply. “Please. No one but you—and Major Lawrence—should know where we have gone. This Lord Kenrick might not want us if he thinks we are not just ordinary people.”
Phillips agreed reluctantly. “Perhaps you are right. The fewer who know, the better. However, first you must get past the hurdle of an interview with Kenrick. Then—if he hires you—you can decide yourself how much to tell him and when.”
They were all silent for a moment, then Kate had a thought. “No. Not Mrs. Gardiner. That is Wynstan’s family name. I shall be
Mrs. Arthur. Just plain Mrs. Arthur. And her son Ned. Wynstan and his servants never referred to Ned as anything but ‘Master Edward.’ The duke hated calling Arthur’s son ‘Marquis of Spenland.’ Spenland had been his precious Frederick’s title.”
Phillips took a deep breath. “As you wish, my lady. ‘Mrs. Arthur’ it shall be. I will send word around to Kenrick tomorrow morning—I think he is still in town.”
“Meanwhile, you and your Ned can stay here until all is decided,” his wife said, patting Kate’s hand again.
“That is very generous of you, Mrs. Phillips. Frankly, I don’t know what I would have done had you not offered such hospitality.” Kate hated being in such a vulnerable position, but lately she had had to swallow much of her customary pride.
Later that night, tucked into a spare room with a now sleeping Ned, Kate had thought with no small degree of apprehension about the coming interview. She found herself in a familiar, if one-sided, discussion with her dead husband.
“Oh, Arthur, this just has to work for us!”
She hoped the Earl of Kenrick would not prove crotchety and difficult to please. She gave an inward shrug. What did it matter? Yorkshire was far enough from Devon and Wynstan Castle to ensure safety for Ned. For that, she could endure almost anything. This was a temporary solution.
She supposed she could have sent Ned away to school—there were children as young as he in boarding schools—but she was sure that Wynstan would have found some way to foil that plan. And besides, she could not face the idea of giving up her son so soon. Eventually, she would have to make a decision about Ned’s education—about a proper education for a future duke. For now, though, she could continue to teach him, but bright, eager Ned would—all too soon—grow beyond what his mother could give him.
She sighed. That bridge would be crossed in due time.
CHAPTER 3
Wishing himself on the road back to Yorkshire, Jeremy Michael Chilton, Earl of Kenrick—seventh of that line—paced about his suite in Grillon’s Hotel, awaiting the arrival of his solicitor. He fervently hoped this delay would prove to be worth the wait. The note from Phillips said he had found a housekeeper for Kenrick Hall. Would that it could be so!
