Chance the Winds of Fortune

by Laurie McBain

  Rhea nearly choked. She turned from the warmth of the fire and stared in amazement across the room at the serious, straight-faced Caroline Winters. Rhea’s lips quirked as she suppressed a sudden urge to laugh, for Caroline really had been seriously considering Uncle Richard as a possible husband.

  “Of course, he is rather old for me, and forgive me but I just can’t abide those spectacles he wears. And…red hair…” Caroline said, shaking her perfectly coiffed head. “And I would never have accompanied him to that castle of his in Scotland. Such a godforsaken place, don’t you think so?”

  “I am quite certain that Uncle Richard took all of those considerations into account when he chose his bride. Naturally, knowing your delicate sensibilities, he would not have dreamed of risking your health by proposing to you when he knew he’d be taking his bride back up to Scotland with him,” Rhea said very seriously. But there was a teasing light already lurking in her eye when she thought about telling Uncle Richard how close a call he’d unknowingly had where Miss Caroline Winters was concerned.

  Caroline silently considered Rhea’s words. “Yes, I do believe you are quite right. I always had wondered why he’d never asked for my hand. I was most surprised when he up and married that little nobody.”

  Rhea’s amusement faded, and she said coldly, “That nobody, as you call her, happens to be somebody very important to my family and much loved by us all.”

  Caroline shrugged. “I only meant that she hardly seemed the type of person a marquis should select to marry. She has no fortune, no title, and certainly no position or friends in society. What on earth made your uncle choose a penniless orphan?”

  “He was in love with her,” Rhea said simply.

  “She’s not even pretty, so how can he be in love with her?” Caroline demanded. “And it is disgusting how big she is now.”

  “She is going to have a baby any day,” Rhea reminded her.

  “Well, I know that,” Caroline retorted snappishly. “That is why it is so disgusting. ’Tis quite outrageous of her to appear in public in her condition. Has she no modesty?” Caroline asked, her cheeks blushing with the thought of exactly how Sarah Verrick came to be with child. “’Tis indecent for Lady Wrainton to be displaying herself while so obviously enceinte.”

  “Would you have her lock herself up in her room for nine months?” Rhea asked, a smile of relief crossing her face as the door opened and two maids came bustling into the room, one carrying an armful of soft blankets. The other hurried immediately to the fire to add another log to the hungry flames.

  Rhea had removed her outer garments and had been standing before the fire in her petticoats and thin chemisette. Her wet and muddied riding clothes looked little better than a pile of rags. Wrapped now in the enfolding warmth of one of the blankets, she settled down before the fire and began to comb through the wet tangles in her hair. As she gave a small grimace of pain, another, older maid entered the room with a tray and two steaming cups of a dark-looking brew that Rhea knew well from past experience. “Mrs. Taylor’s Special Treat,” Rhea muttered, her grimace widening as she remembered the brew’s unusual flavor.

  “Her Grace’s orders,” the maid told her before Rhea could voice her objections. “Now the both of ye drink up!” she ordered gruffly, her sourpuss face masking a generous, warmhearted nature that she did her best to hide.

  “Very well.” Rhea capitulated and wrapped her cold hands around the hot mug. “But I swear sometimes that I become sick because of this concoction of Mrs. Taylor’s. Drink up, Caroline,” Rhea told the now silent girl, her smile mocking as she saw how suspiciously Caroline was eyeing the brew.

  “Me?” Caroline cried, her face puckering into a comical mask as she sniffed the evil-smelling potion. “Lud! Why, this smells horrible. What is it? Poison?” She pushed the mug away, but the work-roughened hand holding it out to her moved ever closer.

  “Her Grace gives me orders that Miss Caroline is to drink Mrs. Taylor’s Special Treat too, seein’ how she was complainin’ about the long, tiring carriage ride from Winterhall. Her Grace knows how delicate your health is, miss,” Rawley said, her face full of understanding as she moved the foul-smelling brew still closer to the young lady’s turned-up nose. “Her Grace won’t have no one gettin’ sick at Camareigh, not if she can help it. You don’t want to be displeasin’ Her Grace, now d’ye?” Rawley added persuasively. “Be a good miss and drink up Mrs. Taylor’s Special Treat.”

  Caroline’s lips trembled slightly as she finally accepted the mug. “Who the devil is this Mrs. Taylor?” she demanded, making a horrible face and swallowing half the contents of the mug, tears rolling down her face as she choked and sputtered at the taste.

  Rhea smiled in appreciation. “Mrs. Taylor is an old friend of my mother’s who lives near my mother’s old home, Verrick House. Mother says she makes the best mead between London and Land’s End. I haven’t seen her in a couple of years, but I remember her as being a robust and jolly woman. She has two sons, Will and John, who must be the size of mountains, or at least they seemed that big to me. They own a tavern.”

  “And Her Grace allowed you to associate with that type of rabble?” Caroline squeaked in amazement, her ill humor still sitting high in her stomach along with this Mrs. Taylor’s brew.

  “Mother is very fond of her, and especially of the Taylor brothers. She is godmother to all of their children, and between them, well…” Rhea paused as she tried to count up the sons and daughters of the two brothers. “I’m not sure how many there are, but there are enough little Taylors around to keep Mrs. Taylor a very busy and happy grandmother.”

  “What about His Grace?” Caroline asked. “Surely he can’t approve of such familiarity with…with common tavern keepers?”

  Caroline heard Rhea’s laughter, but she couldn’t see her face. The maids were preparing a bath for her and had poured hot and cold water into a tub set up before the warmth of the fire, and the steam rising up around it masked Rhea’s scantily clad form.

  “Actually, Father is quite fond of the Taylors. He threatens in that sardonic way of his to take them out behind the orchard and thrash the both of them with one arm tied behind his back. They all end up laughing, although I’ve never quite seen the humor in it.”

  “Now you’d best be getting down for your tea, Miss Caroline,” Rawley told her, holding the door open for the hoity-toity young miss who never could take a hint. “You don’t want it gettin’ as cold as Lady Rhea’s bathwater, now d’ye?”

  “Very well,” Caroline muttered as she sashayed to the door. “I s’pose Wesley will be wondering where I am. I hope he hasn’t been too concerned,” she added fretfully as she quickened her step and waved carelessly over her shoulder. “Wesley and I shall see you later, I s’pose. Lud, but ’tis going to take a whole pot of tea to wash that foul taste from my mouth,” she said, sending an unrepentant Rawley a baleful glare before she left the room in a swish of silk skirts.

  Rawley snorted in derision as she shut the door firmly on Caroline’s plump figure. “Like to wash that young missy’s mouth out with soap, I would. And, more than likely, Lord Rendale hasn’t even given her nibs another thought, especially after settin’ eyes on Mrs. Peacham’s gooseberry tarts. Reckon Mrs. Taylor would’ve gotten a chuckle out of seein’ her Special Treat poured down that young missy’s gullet. Only way to shut the girl up. Met Mrs. Taylor once, when I accompanied Her Grace to Verrick House. ’Twas for the buryin’ of her dear aunt Margaret, and Mrs. Taylor and me got together for some comparin’ of recipes for mead. Reckon hers is better’n mine, but mine packs quite a wallop, that it does. Now, what gown will ye be wantin’ set out fer ye, Lady Rhea Claire? The dark blue silk is mighty fine, reckon ye could wear it and the…”

  Rhea sighed and let the warm, lightly scented waters of her bath soothe away all her aches and pains as she drifted off into a daydream. Rawley’s voice droned on and on, her words gro
wing hazy and indistinct. The heady scent of roses suddenly intruded into Rhea’s thoughts, and she could not help but think of the mysterious woman in the carriage and wonder if she had reached her destination at last.

  * * *

  Arriving at her lodgings, the half-timbered Tudor building known to the locals as The Merry Green Dragon, Kate found her fine Billingsgate gentleman-for-hire nursing a bottle of the inn’s finest brandy, his much-darned, stockinged feet stretched out to the warmth of a blazing fire, a very mellow look of contentment on his features.

  “Enjoy your ride, m’lady?” he inquired without much curiosity, his speech slightly slurred. However, he still managed, much to Kate’s annoyance, to inject a wealth of meaning into the title “m’lady.”

  “Yes, ’twas most edifying,” Kate replied tightly, not caring one bit for his disrespectful attitude. “And you? Did you have an interesting exploration of your brandy bottle?”

  “Aye, ’twas most enlightening, m’lady,” he responded with a loud belch.

  “A pity, ’twould be, if you had to pay for it yourself. Then you would most likely find it to be most expensive,” Kate responded sarcastically as she held out her frozen hands to the heat of the fire. The flickering light danced on her veil as she stared, hypnotized, into the flames eating away at the logs.

  “I am quite famished,” she said suddenly, feeling oddly pleased with her day’s activities. “I see you have already supped,” she commented as she noticed the table laden with its layer of greasy plates and empty wineglasses.

  “Aye, enjoyed it well enough,” was Teddie Waltham’s compliment to their host. “But then, most anything tastes good if washed down with enough spirits,” he said calmly. At the same time he noticed his benefactress’s growing lack of composure as she paced the floor of the private dining room, her black veil floating out around her and her high heels clicking a regular beat across the wooden planking. She could not disguise her nervousness as she slapped her leather gloves continuously against her palm. “Ye seem to be a might upset, m’lady. How about a snort?” Waltham generously offered her his half-empty bottle of brandy.

  “Upset?” Kate retorted incredulously. “Not in the least. I just have to think, that is all,” she said shortly, her mind spinning with the innocently beautiful faces of Lucien’s children. “Go order yourself another bottle, and get me a bottle of wine. Oh, and while you are out there, send in the landlord,” she commanded, beginning to nurture the germ of an idea. “Well?” she demanded, staring down arrogantly at the still-seated Edward Waltham. “Don’t just sit there, man. I’m not paying you to warm your ass before the fire.”

  Waltham rose slowly and gracefully to his stockinged feet; then he pretended to sway slightly, for he had a feeling it would be better as well as safer to be underestimated by milady. She would make a dangerous enemy if she were to become mistrustful and suspicious, but a buffoon would be beneath her notice, and acting like one would give him some space to maneuver should the occasion warrant a change of plans. “M’lady’s wish is my command,” Waltham said now as he bowed gallantly, then padded from the room obviously attempting to maintain his dignity.

  With a satisfied sigh, Kate assumed Edward Waltham’s place before the fire, her thin hands beginning to tingle as the blood rushed back into them with the warmth. Rocco had assumed his usual protective stance beside the door, but Kate sensed a new strangeness about him, and for a brief, absurd moment she felt frightened of the big man with the child’s mind. Kate shook off her imaginary fears, ridding herself of her doubts as easily as she had her cloak only moments before.

  She was contentedly sitting before the fire when Teddie Waltham returned with their genial host in tow, who had the requested refreshments riding on a tray carried before him. Waltham quickly snatched the bottle of brandy and a clean glass and sequestered himself in the window seat, where he had an unobstructed view of the proceedings.

  “Ah, Mr. Higgleton, how very kind of you,” Kate said to her host in her most cordial tone. “But then the service in The Merry Green Dragon has been exceptional, and please, my compliments to your cook. The food has been unquestionably the finest I have had since arriving in England.”

  Mr. Higgleton puffed out his thin chest in obvious pleasure at this fine lady’s compliments to his service. “’Tis an honor, m’lady,” he responded graciously, “to serve so fine a gentlewoman as yerself.”

  “How very kind, Mr. Higgleton,” Kate replied with a humbleness that nearly made her nauseous. Her eyes glittered up at the fool of a landlord as he simpered and preened before her.

  Waltham took a deep swallow of fiery brandy, shaking his head in disgust, for he’d seldom heard such mealy-mouthed and toadying goings on, even from himself, and he had very little pride left. Even his best fawning ways fell short of her ladyship. Aye, she was something to behold, for he’d seldom come across an oilier character than m’lady here.

  “And for tonight’s repast, m’lady,” Mr. Higgleton continued, spreading out his hands as if waiting for applause, “we have spitch-cocked eels and a fresh loin of pork, as well as me wife’s famous jellies. No one makes them quite like her, bless her little heart. Reckon ye’ll be wantin’ that, eh?” He chuckled, thinking her ladyship wasn’t near as haughty as he’d originally suspected. “Give ye an extra big helping of the spitch-cocked eels, I will.”

  Kate smiled tightly. “How wonderful.”

  “Aye, thought ye’d like that. Says to the wife, I did, now there be a woman who enjoys a well-prepared meal. Never been wrong about people and their stomachs.”

  “Quite amazing,” Kate murmured as she sipped her wine, her attitude suddenly one of dismissal as she contemplated the fire.

  “Well,” Mr. Higgleton said awkwardly, “s’pose I’ll get the wife to work in the kitchen preparing that eel for ye.”

  He was halfway to the door when Kate suddenly spoke. “I came across several young people this afternoon while out for a ride. They were named Dominick. Do you happen to know them?” she asked casually.

  “Why, they be His Grace the Duke of Camareigh’s children. Fine young ’uns, them,” Mr. Higgleton said knowledgeably. “Spirited they be, like the young should, but never up to no malicious mischief. Just a spot of fun now and again. Especially young Lord Robin. Little devil, he is,” the innkeeper said with an indulgent look.

  “I don’t believe I had the pleasure of meeting him,” Kate commented lazily, as if the whole conversation were a bit of a bore. “However, I did meet Lord Chardinall and his sister, Lady Rhea Claire.”

  “Oh, aye,” Mr. Higgleton said with a nod. “His lordship is a fine young gentleman. Does His Grace proud, he does. And Lady Rhea Claire,” he sighed. “Ah, there is a true beauty, and with a heart just as pure. Takes after Her Grace, she does. A fine lady, Her Grace.”

  “A close family, are they?” Kate inquired softly.

  “Oh, aye, that they are. And until the little ’uns was born a while back, young Lady Rhea Claire was His Grace’s only daughter, as well as being the eldest. Reckon there’s always something special about firstborns,” Mr. Higgleton confided, not above enjoying a bit of gossip. “His Grace treats the young lady like a princess, he does. But then, I reckon she might as well be one, seein’ how she’s so pretty. Never heard a word spoken against the young lady.”

  “So, Lady Rhea Claire is much beloved by His Grace, is she?” Kate murmured thoughtfully, a half smile curving her lips beneath her mask and veil. “How very interesting. Now, please, I’ve kept you long enough. Please forgive me,” she said. “Oh, I also met an ancient gentleman by the name of Taber, I believe.”

  “Aye, ye be speakin’ of the elder Mr. Taber of Stone House-on-the-Hill. Been around forever he has. Most people around here think he helped to lay the first stone of The Merry Green Dragon, and it’s been here for nigh on to three hundred years now.”

  “A remarkably agile and sharp-
witted old man,” Kate said now, a slight worried frown crossing her brow. “Does he indeed remember everything and every person he has ever met?”

  “Aye, he’s a sly old fox. Never heard tell of him not remembering a face, or a happening hereabouts,” Mr. Higgleton replied with a chuckle. “Always got a mug of ale for him and a place by the fire,” he added, for he was proud to have as a fixture in his inn one of the oldest men in these parts. And it certainly didn’t hurt trade to have an old gent like Mr. Taber spinning yarns every afternoon with a crowd of thirsty listeners gathering close around the fire.

  “’Twas quiet at Stone House-on-the-Hill when I was there today,” Kate said. “Does he live there alone?”

  “Oh, no, he’s got his son and daughter-in-law,” Mr. Higgleton confided. “And plenty of grandchildren.”

  “I see,” Kate said as she held her hands out to the blaze.

  “But they be gone to visit her mother over toward Bath. Didn’t marry no local lass,” Mr. Higgleton said with a disapproving shake of his neatly bewigged head. “Knew she’d be trouble the minute I set me eyes on her pretty face and seen her fancy airs. ’Tis no good for a farmer’s wife.”