The Regency Season

by Ann Lethbridge

  Jones looked startled, then shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ He swept up the pouch and locked it away again. ‘I’ll have a footman see you out.’ He reached out and pulled at the bell on the wall behind him. The liveried footman had clearly been waiting nearby, since he appeared almost immediately. ‘Good day, Mr Gilvry. Jeremiah, please escort Mr Gilvry to the stables.’ He gave Drew a look that contained an element of triumph. ‘You will find your horse ready and waiting.’

  He walked out.

  Outside in the corridor, another footman was also waiting. He fell in behind Drew as he followed Jeremiah out of the house and across the stable yard. They weren’t taking any chances. What, did they think he would steal the silver?

  Not that a couple of pampered footman could stop him if he decided he wanted the silver. But he didn’t. He just wanted to be on his way. To be rid of the sickening emptiness in his gut that accompanied the understanding he would never see Rowena again. He recognised the feeling. Loss.

  He’d had the same one when he’d said goodbye to his family six years before. And again when he’d realised just how permanent Ian had intended that parting to be. Well, Ian was in for a shock. And it would give Drew a good deal of satisfaction to see it in his brother’s face when he met his end.

  He mounted up and his escort saw him out of the gate.

  He focused his mind on the form that shock would take and not on the distance he was putting between himself and Mere Castle.

  * * *

  The suite of rooms assigned to Rowena were at the far end of the west wing. They were sumptuous indeed. A sitting room adjoined the bedchamber to which was also attached a dressing room with a truckle bed for her maid.

  Luxury, indeed. She had not lived in such fine surroundings since she’d left her father’s house after his death.

  ‘I hope you have found Pockle to your satisfaction,’ Lady Cragg enquired after showing her around her apartments. ‘She is the only maid I have available at the moment. We keep minimal staff here at Mere.’

  ‘I can’t say I have had much of an opportunity to judge,’ Rowena replied. ‘We were separated from the Pockles after the first night of our journey.’

  ‘Separated?’ Lady Cragg’s voice rose in shock. ‘You were left alone?’

  ‘No. Mr Gilvry was with me.’ She blushed at the sight of the other woman’s horrified countenance.

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ Lady Cragg’s voice faded. ‘Think of your reputation. Of Mere’s good name. Never speak of it again.’

  ‘Very well,’ Rowena said. ‘But—’

  Lady Cragg raised a hand. ‘Pockle tells me you do not have attire suitable for mourning. It must be attended to at once. We should not wish to show any lack of respect, either for your husband, or the duke, should we?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Rowena said, as expected.

  ‘In the meantime, you will keep to your rooms if you do not mind. We have guests at Mere who would be shocked if... Well, you do understand, do you not?’

  The question was purely rhetorical.

  Lady Cragg smiled. ‘In the meantime, do, my dear Mrs MacDonald, make yourself comfortable. I am sure you need to rest after your journey. I will have supper sent up to you later.’

  ‘When will I meet the duke?’

  The woman paused, her expression altering into lines of sorrow. ‘The duke is much affected by all the bad news. Prostrate upon his bed. Perhaps when you are appropriately gowned? Believe me, you will see him at the earliest opportunity.’

  She bustled out.

  Rowena sat down in the armchair beside the window that looked out over the formal grounds. To her surprise, a small boy of about five, bundled against the chilly air, was skipping along one of the walkways trailed by what she could only assume was a nurse. The duke’s child? Or perhaps he belonged to one of the visitors. The nurse caught him and swung him around before carrying him out of sight.

  Rowena stared at the long drive leading out to the gate. No sign of Drew. He would be long gone by now. She would have liked to have discussed in more detail his impressions of Lady Cragg and the duke’s household. For example, why was Lady Cragg so evasive? So set on her having gowns made before she saw the duke? Still, it was no secret that the grandest families set a great deal of store by the proprieties and she certainly didn’t want to do anything that would set up the duke’s back. Not before she had a chance to air her concerns.

  But she was going to miss Drew. Both his company and, if she was honest, the unbelievable pleasure she had experienced only once.

  She closed her eyes to ward off the pain she felt around her heart. Because it was nonsense.

  * * *

  Someone was watching him. He could feel their gaze like a knife piercing a layer of skin between his shoulder blades.

  It wasn’t the first time he had been hunted.

  And his discomfort had nothing to do with the regret he’d felt at leaving Rowena; that was a hollow ache in his chest. It would fade. Eventually. And besides, he wouldn’t have to suffer it long, once he carried out his intent.

  But this other sensation was annoying. The sensation of being watched by a predator. And since there were neither bears nor wolves nor large cats in Scotland, there was only one other alternative. Men.

  He rose up in his saddle and looked about. Hills and rocks, scattered pine trees, clumps of gorse rising from the snow. All could serve to hide a man who did not wish to be seen. Footpads? One look at his nag and mean dress and no self-respecting thief would be interested in such poor pickings.

  Though there were a great many in poorer case than he was. He’d seen that in the streets of Dundee. But his size and obvious strength should act as a deterrent. And if it did not, he had his pistol.

  Something rustled in the gorse off to his right.

  He brought his horse’s head around to face the danger as his right hand went for the pistol in the holster on his saddle. His heart hammered a warning in his chest. His gaze narrowed, inspecting the gorse for signs of movement, then wandered up the hillside to the line of trees not far distant. Holding the horse steady with his knees, he slowly undid his coat buttons for ease of access to his knife.

  Nothing.

  He turned to continue down the road. A man stood in the road five yards ahead, a rifle levelled.

  A man he recognised. One of McRae’s smuggler friends, the one he had thought of as their leader, Morris.

  The rifle barrel jerked. ‘Get off the horse,’ the smuggler called out.

  Drew weighed the odds of riding away without taking a bullet. Not good. Not with a rifle, if the man knew how to use it. He swung down out of the saddle and put his hands up.

  More men rose up from behind the gorse and heather on each side of him, their pistols cocked and levelled. It seemed he’d made the right choice.

  Drew cursed as the men closed in on him.

  Morris wagged the rifle and grinned. ‘Now, there’s blasphemy for you.’

  ‘I’ve verra little coin,’ Drew said. ‘And only the clothes on my back and the horse. It’s no’ a verra good horse, but you are welcome to it.’

  ‘It’s not what you have that McKenzie cares about. It’s what you Gilvrys already cost him.’

  Drew gave him a level stare. ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’

  ‘Edinburgh. O’Banyon,’ the man said, as if those two words held all the information he needed.

  Ian. It had to be some underhanded dealing his brother was involved in. ‘I’ve not been in Edinburgh in six years. I have never heard of O’Banyon.’ He started lowering his hands.

  ‘Hands up,’ the man said. ‘Take his pistol,’ he ordered.

  One of the other men sidled up to him and took his gun. Drew dropped his hands and let them hang loose at his sides, aware of the knife nestled against his spine beneath his shirt.

  ‘There’s also the matter of Geordie.’

  At Drew’s blank look, he grinned, revealing two missing teeth. ‘The man you killed at McRae’s.’
r />   ‘You don’t blame a man for defending his lady, surely?’

  ‘Your lady, is she? Then, where is she now?’

  He gritted his teeth. Of course, Rowena wasn’t his in the sense the smuggler meant. ‘She employed me to see her safe to her destination. And I have.’

  ‘Sandy, take charge of that there sad-looking beastie. You—’ he grinned at Drew ‘—start walking. That way.’ He pointed up the steep valley side. ‘It seems there’s more than McKenzie who wants a slice of your hide. And is willing to pay handsomely for it, too.’

  ‘More than one? Who would the other be, then?’

  The man shook his head. ‘Not your business, my lad. On ye go.’

  Could Ian have heard about his return? It was possible. Did that mean his brother intended to finish the job he had started six years ago?

  * * *

  The next morning the skies over Mere were clear. Having nothing to do while she waited for her new clothes, and needing some fresh air, Rowena slipped down the servants’ stairs and out into the gardens. As long as she avoided any guests, who were unlikely to be abroad at so early an hour, she couldn’t see how a walk in the grounds could cause any problem. Since her cloak was black, she wouldn’t be offending anyone’s sensibilities even if she was to encounter someone.

  And if she just happened to run into the duke, that would not be such a bad thing. If only she knew what he looked like.

  According to Pockle, the park stretched for miles, but since it was covered in snow, Rowena confined herself to the formal gardens she had seen from her window.

  She toured the rose garden, laid out with fine gravel walks between the beds. Not that there were any flowers or leaves to be seen. It was simply a matter of stretching her legs and getting some fresh air into her lungs. It was something she always insisted on for her pupils, winter and summer.

  As she turned a corner of the leafless hedges that formed a maze, she saw two men deep in discussion in the parterre. Mr Jones and someone she did not recognise. The duke? If she could be sure it was he, then she might consider approaching him, but if it was not the duke, it would be highly embarrassing. And Mr Jones would have no hesitation in reporting her to Lady Cragg.

  The men were deep in conversation and had not noticed her. It would be rude to interrupt, so she slipped into the maze where she found a stone bench. She would sit here until they were gone and then return to her room.

  The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel on the other side of the hedge brought her to her feet.

  ‘He seemed a decent enough man,’ Mr Jones’s voice said.

  She should not be listening. It was extremely rude. She started to move deeper into the maze, away from the men.

  ‘A pity about the scar, though.’

  They were talking about Drew. She couldn’t help it; she stopped to listen.

  ‘His face won’t matter where he’s going,’ another voice said. A deep voice with a strong Highland burr. ‘You are sure McKenzie’s men have him?’

  ‘They do, my lord,’ Jones said. ‘I spoke to their leader this morning.’

  ‘They know they are to take him to Edinburgh and put him on the convict ship leaving for Botany Bay next week? He survived my efforts to be rid of him once. He won’t do so again. They are to let McKenzie know he’s to leave the rest of them to me.’

  Who did he mean by the rest of them?

  ‘And Mrs MacDonald?’ Mr Jones asked.

  Rowena stifled a gasp with her gloved hand. She tiptoed closer to the hedge, which despite its lack of leaves was tangled and woven and so wide she could not see either man with any clarity.

  ‘I’ve already advised Lady Cragg on the matter. Get her married off to a relative of Mere’s and furnish him with a nice competence. I’ll provide the land in America. There can be no possible objection to such generosity.’

  Really? No objection?

  The sound of gloved hands rubbing together filtered through the hedge. ‘With all legal concerns put to rest, I’ll expect those who owe allegiance to Mere to support me against Gordon, when he speaks in the House in the new year.’

  ‘Have no fear of that, my lord.’

  What legal concerns was he talking about? What possible harm could she do to a duke? The footsteps crunched away. Rowena sat down to wait until she was sure they had gone.

  Marry her off? Send her to America? Why on earth would they think they needed to do that? All she was asking for was what was rightfully hers, so she could go about her business. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure there was anything left from her husband’s estate. Who was this other man who had spoken with such authority, dishing out orders as if he was in charge? At first she’d thought he must be the duke. But Mr Jones had called him my lord, not your Grace.

  But she could not worry about that now, not when she knew the smugglers had captured Drew. She had to find him before they put him on board a ship bound for Australia.

  Chapter Eleven

  When she got upstairs to her room there was no sign of Pockle. Just as well given her plan for immediate departure. She picked up her reticule with its few coins and changed into a pair of sturdy shoes. She looked regretfully at her valise. Anyone seeing her with that would guess at what she was doing and she had the feeling that letting them know she was leaving might be a bad idea.

  Reluctantly, she removed her cloak and hoped she’d be warm enough in her riding habit. When she opened the door a footman was standing outside.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

  Shocked, she stared at him. ‘I...er... Yes, do you think you could direct me to the library?’

  ‘Certainly, madam.’

  She ignored his unspoken question. It was none of his business if she was bored and wanted a book to read. ‘Please, lead the way.’

  He set off down the hallway and she followed along. They went down one flight of stairs, which brought them to the first-floor landing. He opened a set of double doors. ‘The library, madam.’

  She stepped inside. ‘Thank you. That will be all.’

  ‘I’ll have Arthur let Mrs Pockle know where you are, shall I, madam? She was in a bit of a taking when she discovered you were not in your room. Luckily one of the gardeners saw you taking the air and was able to set her mind at rest.’

  So that was why they had posted a footman outside her door. ‘Thank you. Have him tell her I will expect at least one of the gowns to be ready by noon.’ Hopefully that would keep her plying her needle instead of checking up on Rowena’s whereabouts.

  The footman went out and she heard him conversing with one of his fellows in the hallway. Was it normal for ducal footmen to follow guests around? Or was it something they were doing especially for her? It would make slipping away far more difficult, but then she supposed that was their purpose.

  She went to the door and, as she suspected, her footman was standing just outside. ‘Can I help you, madam?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Oh, no, thank you. I am just going to close the door to keep out the draught.’ She swung the door shut and eyed the key. Should she lock it? He would hear her do so and that might make him suspicious.

  She hurried over to the window and looked out. The library overlooked the back of the house. Beyond the balcony and down a set of stone steps was a large expanse of lawn. Off to the right she could make out the gardens where she had walked earlier. And to the left the stables.

  There was no one in sight.

  She ran to the shelves and pulled a book at random. If anyone came in she wanted to be ready with her excuse. Then she went to one of the French windows leading out to the balcony. After a bit of a struggle with the latch, she managed to get it open. She shivered in the cold blast of air. She waited to see if the footman noticed anything and decided to take a look.

  Nothing.

  Drawing a deep breath, she stepped outside on the balcony, and, preferring not to know if anyone was watching from the windows, she walked briskly to the stables as if she had every right. Wi
th each step, she expected to hear a cry of alarm, until finally she entered the building.

  The smell of sweet hay, manure and warm horse filled the air. Now to find the beast she brought with her. To her surprise, there was a horse saddled and waiting. Not her horse, though. A big chestnut gelding. The groom must have readied it for one of the guests and then gone off on another errand.

  Hanging on a peg nearby was a rather ratty-looking frieze coat and an old battered hat. Belonging to one of the grooms, she supposed. Just what she needed to keep her warm. She slipped the coat on and after a moment’s hesitation put the hat on, too.

  ‘Caleb,’ a rough voice shouted down the length of the stables, ‘get a move on. Her ladyship won’t be best pleased if she’s ready to go riding and that horse be misbehavin’ for want of a run.’

  Lady Cragg’s horse, then. She touched a hand to her hat, hopped up on the mounting block and climbed aboard. Would the groom giving the orders notice her skirt? She glanced his way, but he had already disappeared back into one of the stalls.

  Praying her luck would hold, she rode out of the stables and headed for the gates at a canter. She didn’t dare look back to see if she was pursued, but she couldn’t help straining her ears for a shout. It wouldn’t be long before Caleb returned and discovered the horse missing.

  Wind whipping her cheeks, her breath rising in front of her face, she dashed through the gates and out into the road, where she turned the horse in a circle. Which way?

  Well, she’d come from Dundee and it lay to the right. Ergo, Edinburgh lay in the opposite direction.

  She put her heels to the horse and set off.

  * * *

  As a lad, Drew had spent many nights outdoors in the Highlands and thought nothing of it. But it wasn’t the cold that had his nerves stretched to their limit. It was his anger at being hog-tied for the second night in a row.

  Last night their leader had left him in a small cave in the hillside while he went off to confer with someone he called the chief. He’d come back and announced they were headed for Edinburgh. Away from Dunross. Completely the wrong direction as far as Drew was concerned. But he’d said not a word. All day, as they’d walked parallel to the road, he’d done his best to allay any fear they might have that he’d run, and they’d still tied him hand and foot.