by Jo Beverley
As Verderan had predicted, the Stillbeck Woods were a little cooler. In the torpid heat there was no sign of the reported hawks, but the two men wandered over the leaf-molded floor, enjoying the temperature.
Verderan stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Randal asked.
The darker man shrugged uneasily. “A prickling between my shoulder blades. Is this wood haunted?”
Randal looked around more alertly. If Ver felt it too, perhaps it wasn’t just his imagination, this feeling of being watched. “Not to my knowledge,” he said. “It’s very quiet, but that’s doubtless because of the heat and the fact we’ve invaded.” His nerves settled. The woods were totally still. No other creature was so foolish as to be out on such a day. “There’s a stream over here,” he said. “I could do with a drink.”
They found the fast-flowing water, laid their guns against a log, and made their way down the shallow bank. Both men used their hands as cups and drank.
Randal perched on the raised root of a tree and rubbed his damp hands around his neck. “I’m all in favor of fair weather but this is excessive. Might as well be in Italy. I hope it breaks before the wedding.”
Verderan leaned against the trunk of an ash tree. “What are your plans for after you’re wed?” he asked lazily.
“Apart from the obvious, my imagination doesn’t stretch that far,” said Randal drily. Verderan laughed.
“Will you live on your estates?” Verderan asked. “You’ve made the Towers and the London house your base up till now.”
“Fairmeadows will be our home,” said Randal, idly throwing buttercups to float on the stream. “I’ll even have to settle down and manage the place.”
“How very dull,” drawled Verderan.
Randal looked at him. “You manage Maiden Hall.”
“I enjoy being a tyrant and cracking the whip over my wretched serfs.”
Randal laughed. He knew that Verderan’s people did rather well out of him and only worried that one day his luck would fail and he’d lose everything on the roll of the dice.
“What of your military ambitions?” Verderan asked.
“Hopeless unless Chelmly marries. My father takes a fit, literally, whenever the matter is mentioned. It could be the death of him and I daren’t risk that. I suppose if I have a string of boys ... But I doubt I’d want to go off to the wars by then.” Having rid his immediate area of blossoms, he pulled up some grass and cast that upon the stream. “I wouldn’t want to drag Sophie after the drum, anyway. She thinks of it as a great adventure, but she doesn’t realize what it would really be like.”
Randal looked sharply behind Verderan and the other man turned.
“What?”
“I thought I saw something move. There’s no deer hereabouts, though.”
Verderan looked closely at him. “Your nerves are shot to Hades, my friend, and my healthy instinct for dangers is clamoring like a fire bell. Would you mind telling me what is going on?”
After a moment Randal pulled out the letter and passed it over. “It’s utter nonsense,” he said.
Verderan read it. “Can you be sure? Who wishes you ill?”
Randal laughed but looked around carefully. “No one.”
“It could come from a disappointed suitor of Sophie’s,” suggested Verderan.
“They are legion, but none so demented as this.”
“Seriously, Randal. Have you caused anyone to hate you? Have you injured anyone?”
Randal shook his head, but he remembered Edwin Hever. He’d killed him, though, and it had all been covered up, made to look like a suicide, as much for the man’s family as for Randal’s sake. He’d been a villain, but once he was dead there had been no point in dragging his name through the dirt.
Verderan shrugged and returned the letter. “Despite your obvious lily-white innocence, Randal, I feel a pressing need to leave this place and have strong stone walls around me. Come.”
Their sense of danger was alert and they watched the wood carefully as they picked up their guns and retraced their steps. Nothing moved. It was silent. Too silent.
They both breathed easier when they left the woods and were in the open again, though they were not particularly safer if there was any danger. All the way back to the Towers Randal felt as if he had a bull’s-eye pinned to his back and forced himself to ignore the feeling.
If he ever discovered the author of that damned note, he’d kill him.
6
THE NEXT day, the day of the latest picnic arranged by Lord Randal, proved an embarrassment to Beth.
Everyone from Stenby was riding to the old abbey which was the chosen site, but Beth had to admit that she could not ride. She nervously refused to even consider the gentlest slug in the stables while awkwardly aware that she was being difficult.
No one would accept her suggestion that she stay home and so it would seem that the carriage would have to be brought out just for her.
“Well,” said Sir Marius. “Why don’t I drive you in my rig, Mrs. Hawley? If I know anything this is going to be an ambling kind of ride, and in that case I’d rather drive, and I’d appreciate the chance to test it after the repairs.”
She accepted gratefully. It was only later that she wondered if she wanted to be by his side for a whole half hour. When she climbed into his curricle, she wondered if she wanted to be behind his horses. The muscular matched chestnuts had obviously recovered well from the journey north and they champed at their bits and shifted their weight from hoof to hoof as if longing to be off at a gallop. The ground seemed a long way down and Beth clutched at the rail by her hand.
“Nervous, Mrs. Hawley?” drawled the Corinthian as he gave the horses the order to go. “I won’t overturn us.”
“I’m sure you won’t, Sir Marius,” lied Beth gallantly. “I am just unaccustomed to an open carriage other than a simple gig.”
“I’m delighted to be able to enlarge your experience, dear lady. I’m sure we can find other new experiences for you during your stay at Stenby.”
For some reason Beth found nothing to say to that but was conscious of a strange flutter of excitement at the prospect. “Do you know where the picnic is to be held, Sir Marius?” she asked quickly.
“If not, how could I take us there, Mrs. Hawley?”
Why, thought Beth, do I always end up saying something goosish to this man? “I mean, do you know anything about it. Sophie referred to it as the old abbey.”
“So it is,” he said. “There’s not much to it, though. Not like Fountains, for example, or some of the other great ruins. Just some low walls covered by ivy. Very appealing though to the modern taste for the picturesque. And the Gothic.”
There was something in his tone which started the flutter again. “But I thought you had no taste for the Gothic, Sir Marius,” said Beth.
“Oh, I’ve decided it grows on one remarkably. In fact,” he said casually, “I am thinking of making a change in my home along Gothic lines.”
“Really? Pointed windows and battlements?” she asked.
He rumbled a deep chuckle. “Not precisely. Something more internal.”
“Carved woodwork with points and spires,” said Beth sagely. “But I do feel, Sir Marius, that if one already owns a house of character and charm, it is a shame to alter it merely in pursuit of fashion.”
“How true. One day I hope you will tell me if my house has character and charm, dear lady.” Before Beth could make any objection to this, he carried on. “I hope not to have to make substantial changes, however. It is more an addition I contemplate—in the drawing room, and in particular in the master bedroom.”
Beth imagined a huge new bed with cathedral-like carving on headboard and tester. Not to her personal taste but of course it was no concern of hers. She felt the silence called for a comment, however. “I’m sure you know best how to ensure your comfort, Sir Marius.”
“Oh, I do,” he said with a smile. “And I’m most particular and determined when
it comes to my comfort in my sleeping quarters.”
Which, Beth thought, was a perfectly unexceptionable thing to say. So why did she feel color heating her cheeks? Since arriving at Stenby not three days ago she seemed to be turning into a different person altogether and her mind was becoming positively flighty.
She quickly raised the subject of Sophie’s letter, as a much less personal topic.
Sir Marius was inclined to discount it, however. “I have to admit that Randal has had his share of devoted females at one time or another. That letter was doubtless the work of one such, driven crazy by jealousy. If David checks the post from now on, there is no need for concern.”
Beth couldn’t help but be reassured. Sir Marius was a very reassuring gentleman. She couldn’t help thinking how wonderful it would be to have a man like Sir Marius to take care of one.... She forced the thought away and kept the conversation determinedly on politics for the rest of the drive. There was plenty to discuss in the increasingly optimistic developments on the continent and the declaration of war on France by Austria. Sir Marius followed her lead tamely enough.
When they arrived at the picnic site, the abbey was as he had described it—often not more than grassy humps with occasional stone walls rising higher. For the rest it was smooth grass well populated by people. Grooms were taking care of horses and other servants were setting out food. About fifty guests strolled around the ruins or down near the river, and sat on rugs laid under the trees. There was a handful of children running around under the supervision of nurses and governesses. Master Delamere, however, was by far the youngest. Beth couldn’t help feel that his mother’s fondness for Stevie’s company, though doubtless admirable, was perhaps unwise.
Even as she walked over to join Jane beneath an oak tree, Beth saw Stevie tugging his nursemaid off toward the river. And Verderan. She sat beside Jane on a rise of ground ideally situated to watching events around them as they sipped appreciatively at chilled sangaree. The afternoon was turning very hot and a cloudless sky offered little hope of relief.
Beth hoped she was not going to develop one of her sick headaches, for she was prone to them in the heat. After being such a problem to transport to the picnic, she would die with mortification to have to be especially taken home again.
Sophie, she saw, was firmly by Randal’s side and it was clear from the way they moved together that he would have it no other way. Though this affair might be less than Sophie would like, it must be a delight to her to be with him for a whole afternoon.
They and some other young people wandered down to the river and began to play ducks and drakes. The stones went skimming across the water with quite remarkable skill. Fascinated, Beth went down to a rise closer to the river to watch.
Most of the young ladies lacked the skill, but some were not averse to learning, especially as their swains had to encircle their bodies to show them the correct flick of the wrist. Sophie, perhaps to her disappointment, needed no such lessons. She was holding her own with Randal, Verderan, and another young man called Tring.
“Care to chance your arm?” said a voice close to her ear and Beth started around to see Sir Marius behind her. “I’d be pleased to instruct you.”
“I’d need to see your talent first, sir,” said Beth. Then realized that could be seen as a challenge, and one with a forfeit attached.
She heard the conversations, applause, and small splashes as she looked nervously into those fine eyes. Then he smiled and looked away. “You’ve caught me out. ‘Fraid it’s not one of my skills. Some lack of flexibility in the wrist, or so they tell me. Same reason I’m no great hand with a sword.”
“I’m too old anyway for such things,” she said.
“Nonsense,” he replied, almost angrily.
Sophie was about to attempt another spin when a small figure dashed by her legs, knocked her to the ground, and flung a tiny wooden horse out onto the water.
For a two-year-old the action wasn’t at all bad. Unfortunately, Stevie’s follow-through was too good and he threw himself into the water to lie there facedown, half submerged.
It was as if everything were slowed down. The careless nursemaid set up a screech; Beth began to run forward but she was a fair distance away; Randal went straight to Sophie, who was already sitting up and looking cross. It was Verderan who walked into the shallow water and picked Master Delamere up by the back of his cambric dress.
He looked at the still child and gave him a hard slap on his padded behind. Stevie immediately screamed. The erring nursemaid came running up red-faced and had the damp bundle dropped in her arms, presumably with a caustic comment, for she went even redder. Chloe and Justin hurried over to add to the mayhem. Stevie screamed even louder.
By the time Beth had reached the riverbank it was clear to all that Stevie was not screaming in fright, or in outrage because of the blow, but because his horse was now bobbing in the wide river. His mother promised him a new one; his father told him it was his own fault for throwing it there; someone even tried to tell him it was a sea horse and much happier in the water.
Stevie screamed on and the horse bobbed into the deep water. There were no boats in sight.
“Someone should throttle that child,” muttered Sir Marius and Beth felt a touch of sympathy with the remark.
Lord Randal said, “Ver!” in a tone both shocked and hilarious. Beth turned and saw that Piers Verderan had stripped down to his cotton small-clothes and was wading out into the river. A few ladies emitted mild screams. There were not a few sighs, however, at the sight of that magnificent tanned body. When he was deep enough he slipped into a smooth, athletic stroke and cut through the water to the bobbing object.
Stevie abruptly stopped screaming. Quite clearly in the watchful silence he said, “Ver. Horsey.” Then he started sucking his thumb.
Horse in hand the man flipped easily around and stroked smoothly back. When he rose majestically from the water his clothes clung to every inch of him. There were a few rather more genuine screams and a couple of mothers turned their fascinated daughters’ eyes away.
The Dark Angel walked over to the child and gave him the toy. “Not a bad first throw, brat,” he said lightly. “I must thank you for giving me the chance to get into the water. The only civilized place to be on such a hot afternoon.”
He then turned, waded back into the river, and went swimming.
Sir Marius broke into laughter. “The man’s a genius. Damn it if I don’t wish I had the nerve to follow him!”
Beth could see not a few of the men had the same longing, and perhaps some of the ladies too. Though she had never swum in her life, the notion of lazing in cool water on such a hot afternoon was very appealing. She looked curiously at Lord Randal, surely the other man present most likely to follow his friend.
If he was tempted he showed no sign, merely called over a footman and told him to find some kind of towel and dry underclothes for when his friend emerged.
He walked back to Sophie’s side. She was watching Verderan thoughtfully.
“Care to tell me?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your thoughts,” he prompted. Sophie blushed. She’d been wondering if Randal’s body would look like that when she saw it fully exposed. She hoped so. She could tell by his tone that he guessed. She didn’t particularly mind. A bit of jealousy wouldn’t do him any harm at all.
“Do you swim?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
“Will you teach me, after we’re married?”
“Yes,” he said softly. “After we’re married I’ll teach you anything you want.”
Sophie felt as if her lungs had shrunk and were totally inadequate. “After we’re married ...” But why then would he not teach her anything now? Was he really saying, “When I’ve no choice anymore I’ll make the best of it”?
She laid her head on his chest. “Why must we always wait?” she asked.
H
e pushed her away gently. “Because it’s time for tea,” he teased and led her toward the rugs and the food.
Sophie resisted. “Do you have any idea how much I hate it when you do that?” she snapped.
He looked at her as if she were a conundrum. Suddenly he drew her closer and placed a firm, yet gentle kiss on her lips. He kept his lips against hers so she felt them move as he murmured, “Little more than a week, Sophie. That’s all.”
A promise and a threat. Sophie was trying to frame the question she must ask, one that allowed him no space for soothing platitudes, when they were interrupted by administrative details. Randal went off to handle a case of bad wine. Sophie gave up and went to join Jane.
As she crossed the grass, one of the footmen came up to her. “You must have dropped this, my lady.”
Sophie took the letter. It was the one she had received yesterday. David must have dropped it. She opened it with fingers that trembled a little and saw it was not the same. “Be brave and steadfast. Remember your true love. The debaucher will soon be no more.” What on earth was that supposed to mean? How could she forget her true love, Randal? Who was the debaucher? Verderan was the only one who sprang to mind.
Beth saw Sophie standing frozen with a letter in her hand and hurried over. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” said Sophie quickly. Then she shook her head. “It’s just another note, as silly as the last.”
Beth took it and read it. “Indeed it is,” she said reassuringly. “But you must show it to your brother. We need to know how it came to be delivered.”
The earl was clearly angry and Lord Randal was furious. The footman was questioned but could add nothing. He had found the letter on the ground with Lady Sophie’s name on it and assumed she had dropped it.
