He’d interrupted another conspiracy.
“Looking very spry this morning,” the countess said.
“Feeling spry, good lady. Morning to you, Mrs. LaCroy.”
Lionel was in the nanny’s lap nestled in a blue blanket against the folds of her rust gown. It was good to see LaCroy in a color, something other than blue or gray. He rode closer, close enough to claim her gaze, every bit of those wide topaz eyes. “How are you and my ward this morning?”
Her cheeks fevered. “Fine.”
The countess chuckled. “Your leg is better, but don’t be reckless and rush your recovery.”
Not her, too. Gantry was enough of a mother hen. He adjusted his hold on the reins. “Reckless is in the eye of the beholder, Lady Shrewsbury. Lionel, you’ll ride someday. I can’t wait to select a pony for you.”
“He’s a baby.” Mrs. LaCroy’s hand tensed on the arm of her chair. “I mean. Good.”
Two sets of three words. Progress. “It won’t be tomorrow. He has to master crawling and walking first.”
The countess laughed. “An old bull like the duke was practically born on horseback. He’ll be a great teacher.”
He winced at the comment, the unavoidable reference to his scandalous mother, but the nanny didn’t smile or offer a pacifying head nod. “I suppose, I’ll just have to show you how well I can handle a horse. You’ll learn to trust me.”
He tipped his shako again and turned his horse toward his men.
Once the parade was done, he’d repair the good working atmosphere he’d begun with the nanny. A last glance at the tense LaCroy, and he knew the battle would be difficult, but he’d win. He was Wellington’s best when it came to war strategies.
CHAPTER 16
A PARADE WITH LEMONADE
Hoping the duke knew what he was doing, I cradled my son and waited for the pressure in my stomach to ease. The thing knotted again and again as the duke’s horse leaped ahead of his marching men. The grounds of Hamlin were sloshy and wet. Sliding would be too easy.
“Dear,” the countess sank deeper into her chair, a finely carved seat of zebra wood. She tapped the lion head sculpted into the leg. “We’re outside on the balcony. It hasn’t started to rain. A lovely military theater is before us. Why do you look as if you might be sick?”
Because I was.
“I should be happy this wasn’t one of the duke’s crazed baby drills. Three-month-olds do not crawl. They tip over. They don’t repeat words. They burp. Lionel’s passage of man-size gas was not a sentence.”
Well, I was sort of proud of that. It meant his little belly was full.
The duke stopped in front of his eight-man battalion. One person shouted. The soldiers, sharply dressed in scarlet regimentals, tossed flintlock rifles over their shoulders and marched in lines of four.
As if he knew I was fretting for his safety, the duke decided to canter his horse around and around the procession.
One misstep and both man and horse could fall.
The duke’s balance had to be perfect or he’d hurt himself.
Or worse.
Something could happen to expose his war injury. The private man loathed to acknowledge it. I understood this. I felt his pain in having to risk others’ scorn.
I splayed a pinkie over Lionel’s lips. “If the clouds don’t hold, rain will come. It will get very slippery, and men could fall.”
Thunder crackled in the offing. Strong and loud, heading for us.
“Dear, he’ll be a wet duke on a horse. He’s fine. And Lionel looks quite comfortable. What has you so anxious?”
Nothing I could say aloud, but every muscle felt ready to rip apart. Disaster loomed. I hadn’t been this way since Markham locked me in the nursery, complaining I was too loud and that I talked too much when I’d said nothing to him. “This all makes me uneasy.”
I tried to hug Lionel for comfort, but his wiggling and coos didn’t work their magic, not this morning.
From her reticule, the countess pulled her gold-framed theater lens and stared at me. “You’re one of his marks, but you don’t look tampered with.”
I almost jumped to my feet. “What? What, ma’am, are you insinuating?”
“Has the duke pulled you aside into one of Hamlin’s secret corners to give you a private lecture, one that involved kisses and promises that go nowhere? We call that tampering in England.”
“The man has lectured on schedules but nothing in a corner. And definitely no kisses.”
But my cheeks flushed when he complimented my bread and when he insisted Lionel and I oversee his troops this morning. I leaned closer to the countess. “I’m not looking for promises from anyone but you. I need to be employed long enough for the Widow’s Grace to figure out how to regain custody of my son. He wants to take my boy with him to war.”
Lady Shrewsbury set down her lenses. “You must’ve misunderstood. You . . . Oh my!”
With Lionel hugged to my bosom, I jumped up and scanned the field. “What?”
“Just making a point.” The countess groaned. “You’re besotted by a man in uniform. Didn’t they have those in Demerara?”
“Yes, we had soldiers. Plenty of your soldiers. One of your regent’s brothers, too. Prince William Henry was known to strut about our shores, dance and become a drunkard in the island hotels.”
I returned to my seat, easy like I was light with no cares. “I’m not besotted. I’m concerned.”
Jemina came onto the balcony bearing a silver tray with a pitcher and glasses. “She’s not besotted. She just won’t admit to liking the duke, that’s all.” Jemina set the tray onto the table with a heavy plunk. “Lemonade?”
The countess poured herself a glass of the tart yellowish liquid and sniffed the contents as if it were medicine. “Very lemony.”
Pushing up her dark gray sleeves, Jemina sat in the vacant chair among the three. “Extra lemony.” Her voice sounded happy and loud, no longer mouselike. She’d grown stronger working at Hamlin. That was good, for she was good.
Lady Shrewsbury set the glass aside. “Have you two found anything? You’ve been installed here a little over three weeks. Your father’s payment will be sent soon. Once that’s dispensed, the main reason we suspect Markham of trying to harm you would be no more.”
Jemina’s lips puckered with each sip of her concoction. “We’ve found nothing, but we haven’t been able to search the drawing room. If anything is here, it has to be in that room.”
I tried to keep listening, but my head kept turning to the field. The duke raced back and forth again. I held my breath until he slowed.
The countess coughed.
Those cheeks of mine felt on fire. “Yes. We’ve found nothing so far. I’m confident that there’s something in the drawing room. But the duke or Lord Gantry is always in there, or the house is too full of soldiers.”
“You have to search that room. Markham’s still in the village. If he had what he needed, he’d be gone. There’s something in this house that has his attention. We must find it.”
The skunk stayed close.
Jemina lifted her fingers, she seemed to be counting. “There’s no one in the house now and on the field, there are less men. Have they disappeared, too?”
“Too?” I caught Jemina’s hand. “What do you mean too?”
“One of the loaves of bread we made is gone. There are only eight in the kitchen. We pulled and twisted nine. Each baked perfectly, golden brown in the hearth, I might add.”
And Jemina’s laundry bundle went missing.
Had it been stolen? Those odd noises I heard coming from the attic. I still believed I heard something in the attic the other day.
Was there a thief in the house?
Or was Markham somehow getting into Hamlin? That jittery feeling in my stomach lodged and turned cold and black with fear.
The countess clasped both of our hands. Her gold rings clinking against Jemina’s and my wedding bands. “Do be at ease, dears. The duke has let som
e of his men go this morning. They’ve returned to their families. He doesn’t need as many men now that he’s secured Hamlin. A soldier surely took a loaf as a meal for the journey home.”
Lady Shrewsbury moved to the knee wall. “His Grace is keeping a smaller contingent. Those fellows marching can keep Markham and his ilk away. A smaller number of men mean—”
“Less things to clean? Less things missing?” Jemina lifted her glass as if it were a goblet for a toast. “This is wonderful. The soldiers left a ladder under the grand chandelier. They didn’t finish setting it. Some of the glass globes aren’t even on it.”
What? Half cleaning the chandelier? I looked down at Lionel and tried not to fume. I wanted things back in order, how I had it when Hamlin was under my control. “The chandelier should have all its globes.”
The countess looked to the field for a moment. “I guarantee you two will have more liberty to search the drawing room. Perhaps tonight, when everyone is asleep.”
Lip biting, gaze narrowing, Lady Shrewsbury placed a palm about the beaded trim of her redingotes lapel. “I hate to say this, Patience, but our friends in London have uncovered staggering debts for Colin Jordan. The tally at a few gaming hells are over two thousand pounds. Hamlin may even be encumbered. My nephew is checking.”
I closed my eyes. I sought to be numb to Colin’s recklessness. We’d be so unprotected if not for my father’s provisions. “My husband was clearly bankrupt when he committed suicide. I thought the fact that his grandfather willed Hamlin to his mother and then to him meant this place was special.”
“Desperation changes things. My nephew is looking for a financial transaction. The encumbrance is speculation. The gambling vowels are most pressing. The holders of those IOU debts are not the type to take excuses. Markham will lead them here for payment.”
Perhaps the duke’s battle plan would protect us against creditors.
Jemina sat up straight, her eyes scattered like she’d seen a ghost. “Is that why Markham is lurking in the village? Is he going to try to take Lionel for ransom?”
The countess bent and covered Lionel’s escaped feet. “Markham can’t best Repington’s men.”
Jemina stirred her concoction, then clanged the glass pitcher with a wooden spoon, “But if anything happens to the duke, Markham is next in line to be guardian. Then he’d again control Lionel’s fortune.”
I looked at Jemina, the way she held the spoon and her cups, pinkie extended, she either had a societal background or was a teacher of etiquette like a true governess. My friend and her scary insight fit well with Hamlin and its secrets.
My heart pounded when Repington slipped a little on a turn. I wasn’t numb when it came to him. I was a slow rolling boil, a lobster pot trying hard to not foam over.
The duke took another jump. I pretended to drink the lemonade and glanced at him between lower lashes. How does one dissuade a man from folly? Nagging, letters . . . subtle requests. Begging. Submission.
None of that worked with Colin.
Nothing broke the grips of his depression or his belief that Markham was always right, that he needed to be loyal to the cretin.
My stomach couldn’t hold more knots, any more than I could hold my tongue. “This has to end. I should tell the duke the truth and all that Markham has been about. The duke needs to take more care.”
“Be at ease. Repington likes risk, but he’s no fool.” The countess reclaimed her chair. “He’s relaxed his forces, but he hasn’t reduced them to nothing. The man likes to show off, but he’s settling into life here at Hamlin. The truth now would be inconvenient. We need proof of Markham wanting you gone. Men are guardians. Mothers, particularly ones who’ve fostered deception, have little say.”
“This mother needs to say more. We need to be done with this masquerade.”
“I think you’re right.” Jemina said between sips of her lemonade, wetness circling her upper lip like a mustache. “And he won’t dismiss you. Who would he stare at if you weren’t here?”
“Maybe he’d pay more attention to that horse if I were gone.”
I snuggled my son as if he’d slip away. No more duke’s or countess’s rules but mine. I needed my trust documents. Lionel was healthy enough for a boat trip.
“Lady Shrewsbury, we need more cloth and linens. Can you convince the duke to allow us to go to Town? Perhaps there’s something Jemina and I could discover while we’re there. My husband stayed in London often.”
I blew kisses to my son and made a face that made him squeal. “Wouldn’t you like to go to Town?”
“I’ll see what can be done,” Lady Shrewsbury said, “but I doubt he’ll let you take Lionel. You sadly underestimate the power of an instant father, especially a man determined to prove something.”
“What is there to prove? He has the power. He’s Lionel’s legal guardian.”
“Busick Strathmore’s father, Lord Bodonel, was sickly. Then he broke his neck in a horsing accident.”
“What?”
“Yes. He was an invalid for years. Everyone’s fighting something.” Lady Shrewsbury grasped my hand. “There’s nothing to fret about. The duke is healthy. He can handle a horse. Can’t you see how he’s enjoying this? With Markham still poised to strike, he’ll not risk Lionel being out of his sight.”
“I don’t know.”
The countess released a little huff as if she knew she were imploring a stubborn daughter. “Patience, see this through. You’ll have custody. You must learn to trust.”
“I trust you, Jemina, and my own strength. Is that enough to win?”
The countess picked up her glass of lemonade. She drank it, her mouth drawing up to a pucker. “A woman has to stake her claim and fight for what she’s due. You’re a fighter, Patience. You will win, my dear. Your prayers to be safe with your son will manifest. We must continue to be diligent. The Widow’s Grace will prevail.”
I put Lionel’s cheek, soft and sweet, next to mine. I may have even nodded in agreement, but my heart was in the drawing room getting my documents.
“My nephew is approaching peers at the Court of Chancery for advice. All have said that things may go easier with evidence of Markham’s duplicity. It could outweigh you being committed.”
May and could were not the same as will.
Lord Gantry came up the stairs, his footfalls rushing. “Lady Shrewsbury, Mrs. St. Maur, Mrs. LaCroy.” With a quick dip, he bowed his head, then stopped in front of the countess. He rolled his beaver-domed hat in his hands as if his nerves had gotten to him. “May I speak with you, ma’am? The duke says you’re good at finding people, and I’ve decided this is what I must do.”
“Me, finding people?” She fanned and offered him demure eyes, demure red-goddess-controlling eyes. “I have a few connections. Who are you looking for, sir?”
“May I speak to you alone, Lady Shrewsbury?”
“Yes, let’s take a walk. Mrs. LaCroy and Mrs. St. Maur can occupy themselves as we take a turn.” She took his arm, her long crimson pelisse trimmed in Vandyke lace flounced above her sleek short boots. “The scarlet and yellow pimpernel flowers have burst through the snow. It looks hopeful, battling against the grips of winter. A perfect place to exchange confidences.”
Her hint to Jemina and me was not subtle, but we watched as the dear woman claimed Lord Gantry’s arm and headed him down the stone steps.
Jemina rose. “Let’s search the drawing room, Patience. We don’t have much time.”
I rose and cooed at Lionel. “You want to help Mama look for the secret? Of course—”
The duke rode close to the balcony. “Mrs. LaCroy, I’ve dismissed the troops. See? Nothing to worry about. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
So much for searching now.
The duke wasn’t done showing off, and I wasn’t done fearing for his safety.
CHAPTER 17
IN THE CORNER WITH YOU
From the stone balcony, I watched the duke spirit his horse to the odd wood struct
ure he’d erected. It was an eyesore to the newly manicured grounds, but he seemed gleeful riding at top speed toward it.
A groom handed him his crutch, and he charged back to me.
I turned to my friend. “Later, I suppose. When everyone’s asleep, we’ll search.”
Jemina stood and smoothed her charcoal gown. “The duke’s trying to impress you. Let him know you are. Then he’ll take more care.”
She slid the beverage tray closer to me. “Give the man some lemonade. It’s refreshing after a hard ride. I’ll go set out breakfast before the soldiers return to the house.”
My humored friend went back inside, but her words made me think. If admitting that I was impressed and fearful made the duke slow down, that would be best.
“Mrs. LaCroy, here.” The duke rode up close to the balcony knee wall and lifted his crutch to me. “Grab hold of this.”
Cradling Lionel in one arm, I gripped his staff with the other.
He waved at a groom but looked dead at me. “Did you enjoy the review? Was my ward attentive?”
The baby stuck his hand onto my lips. Lionel’s eyes were light and searching. Maybe he did see.
“Yes, I guess.”
“Three words? Was that a torture?”
“No.”
A soldier came to the gray horse and grasped the reins.
The duke lifted his one leg over the pommel until both boots were in front of him. Then the foolhardy man jumped. He hit the ground with a little wince, then straightened.
I wasn’t going to let him fall. Lionel and I went to him, dragging the crutch behind me. “You’re not toppling over, not if I can help.”
“Woman, I’m not—”
“Hush.” I put the crutch under his armpit. “There.”
He held on to my hand before I could withdraw. “That was more words you’ve said to me than all of yesterday, but don’t fret. There’s one child at Hamlin, and he’s on your hip. That’s not me, though his position is enviable.”
The duke tugged off his gloves and put his big thumb on Lionel’s nose. “You hold on tight, little soldier. Hold on to her. She’s a difficult one to befriend.”
A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby Page 14
