His eyes widened in sudden delight. “So long ago? How did it get here?”
Wondering if Valeria’s brother had given the child any attention or education on anything other than perpetrating practical jokes, Lorenzo sat back on his heels. “The Romans came here then and conquered the island.”
“Us?” His thin chest puffed out, and he repeated with schoolboy pride, “No one has invaded England successfully since the Norman William the Conqueror came to claim his throne.”
“That happened when?”
“In 1066.”
“Which was nearly 700 years after the Romans came to this part of England.”
David muttered something in surprise under his breath. Lorenzo decided it would be best not to ask him to repeat it more loudly, because he suspected the words were some that Valeria would chide the boy for speaking.
Turning the coin over and over, Lorenzo said quietly, “Long before the Normans, long before the Vikings came to pillage England, even before King Arthur created his round table not far from here at Camelot, the Romans arrived to the island they called Britannia to conquer and to settle and live and die.” He reached out to touch the stones protruding in a regular pattern from the earth near the base of the wall. “This may have been a wall of a building or the foundation of a house.”
“A house? Is that all?”
“You might find the most interesting artifacts around this wall. People have been tossing aside their possessions for centuries.”
“I have no interest in Roman garbage.”
He tossed the coin and caught it “You’ve seen the amphorae—”
“The what?”
“The big vases with stoppers on the top. They were used for shipping wine and grain. I know you have seen those about Moorsea Manor.”
“Broken for the most part.”
“There is that one with the painting of a young man that is still miraculously complete.”
David shook his head again. “That’s boring.”
“True, but one never knows what one might find if one keeps searching.” He picked up the shovel and lifted out another layer of dirt. “Remember the Romans were invaders and overlords here. They would have brought many of their best warriors to England to help stave off the threat from the Picts and the Celts.”
“Warriors?” His eyes widened, and Lorenzo knew he had the boy’s attention now.
“Of course. Exmoor would have been at the edge of the Roman Empire. Beyond the sea awaited the heathen tribes of Ireland, who could have, at any moment, been washed up out of the sea to battle for these lands. Just across the channel to the north is Wales where even more clans hid in the highest valleys, rejecting Roman rule. Those who lived here must have been constantly vigilant.”
“Real warriors?”
“The best.” He smiled. “And, when they left, they were being recalled to defend Rome from the barbarians laying siege on it, so they could not have taken all their possessions with them. What remained was tossed aside or buried, so their enemies could not use them against the retreating Romans. Years upon years of building on this moor have buried the remnants more deeply, but century upon century of wind and rain have given us the chance to find them again.” He poked at another dull glint of tarnished silver with his toe. “I believe that is a match for the coin you found.”
David scooped it up and brushed the dirt from it. “It’s the same on one side, but the other is different. Mine has a angel on that side. Yours has a lady with a staff.”
Lorenzo took both coins and balanced them in his hand. They weighed about the same, and they both had a bust on one side. He squinted to read the letters.
IMP TRAIANO AVG GER DAC PM TR P was on the coin David had found. M COMMODVS AVG circled the head on his.
“Yours is from the time of Emperor Trajan,” he said as he handed David the coin. “Mine is not quite so old, for it is labeled Commodus, who was emperor of Rome almost a hundred years later.”
“So mine is older?” His thin chest puffed with pride.
Lorenzo struggled not to smile. “Quite a bit older. Congratulations. When we return to the manor, we can see what among my uncle’s collection is of an age of your coin and of mine. If you will allow me to take this with me, I shall make sure it is put in the glass case in the library.”
“Really?”
“It may be the oldest item of all.”
David grinned and picked up the shovel. “Take it back with you if you wish. I think I’ll spend some more time working here. I want to see what else I can find that’s older than you.”
“Older than me?”
The boy flushed. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean. Older than my coins.” Standing, he said, “Good luck with your search, David.” He wiped his hands and called, “Gil, David could use your bucket to carry more dirt.”
“Aye, my lord,” the footman said, popping over the wall. “I’ve been—”
“I know what you’ve been doing.” He glanced at David who was listening with a guilty expression on his young face. “I know what you both have been doing. After you finish your work here today, please join me in the library. I think I can show you some other items that you might want to keep an eye out for.”
“Warrior’s things?” David asked.
“Mayhap.”
The boy grinned and bent to his digging as Lorenzo walked back to his horse.
That should solve the problem of what to do with the boy. Now if he could devise a way to solve the problem of the boy’s aunt with equal ease, he would finally have the quiet life he wanted at Moorsea Manor.
Thirteen
When a knock came at Valeria’s door, she hurried to answer it. This was the hour when Lorenzo usually finished his work and once had sought her out for some conversation or maybe a ride along the moors. In the past fortnight, he had not come to ask her to join him for an afternoon outing or even for tea.
She had no cause to lament his manners since their conversation in his room after David had set what she hoped was his last hoax. Lorenzo’s demeanor had been as perfectly polite as any member of the Polite World, but she missed his unexpected remarks and unique insights. When he had spoken to her, which was seldom, for he seemed always busy in some other part of the manor house, it was as if they were strangers. She had not guessed that, by denouncing his plans for her with Tilden, she would lose Lorenzo’s friendship.
Friendship and trust … She could not fault him for being hurt when she had owned, aloud to her immediate regret, that she was not sure if she could trust him. She wanted to, but in the wake of his agreement to allow Tilden to call on her, she could not be sure if he had her best interests or his own in mind. She doubted if her best interests and his were the same.
Mayhap that was changing. Mayhap he was ready to try again at their uneasy friendship. If he came to her door to ask her to ride with him across the moors, she would agree wholeheartedly. A ride and a chance to clear the air between them would be just the cure for her dreary spirits that had preyed on her since she woke this morning.
Not that she should be in dismals. The past week had brought a sense of peace to Moorsea Manor that she never had known here or in London. Even as Lorenzo seemed to be shutting her out of his life, he and David had developed a common interest in all the debris the old earl had carted into the house. After David returned to the house each day, sunburned and covered with dirt and with Gil in tow, Lorenzo and the boy spent every evening pawing through the boxes. She should be glad that they had found something that brought them together instead of driving them apart.
And she was glad.
They had made it clear that she was welcome to join them in their perusal of the dusty potsherds and illegible coins. Mayhap if she did not sneeze the entire time they were pulling dusty things out of the crates, she might have been able to stay in the room. Instead she banished herself to her chambers where she could pretend she was reading or working on correspondence.
She glanced at the pile of unanswered letters on the table by her bed. All of them were from Tilden Oates. Although he had not presented an offer of marriage to her, she knew it was forthcoming. The first letters had been signed Your Servant, Sir Tilden Oates. The most recent With fondest regards, Tilden.
Marrying him would be the sensible thing, and she had always been sensible. What did it matter that she didn’t love the baronet? She had married Albert Fanning, and she had not loved him when she pledged her life to him at the altar of St. George’s Church near Hanover Square. Love had come later, an abiding warmth as he introduced her to the exciting world of the ton and treated her with a kindness that had been missing from her life. The previous Lord Moorsea had seen something in his friend that suggested the match would be perfect, and he had been right. Mayhap she should trust his nephew to do the same for her. Then Lorenzo could ask Miss Oates to be his wife, and David would have the family he had lost and two men to help guide him as he became a man himself.
It was a reasonable and unquestionably convenient arrangement for everyone.
Then why did she quiver with fear every time this obvious solution filled her head?
Pushing her uneasy thoughts aside, Valeria threw the door open and tried to mask her disappointment when she saw Gil standing there, tugging surreptitiously at his light blue livery which he was apparently already out-growing. The lad would be ten feet tall at the rate he was still sprouting.
“My lady,” he said with a half-bow, “a gentleman has arrived and asks to speak with you.”
“A gentleman? Sir Tilden?”
“No, not him. This gentleman came in a fancy carriage that looks as if it has traveled a goodly distance.” Gil’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “From the way the gentleman hobbled when he came to the house, I’d say the trip had been long and hard.”
She did not scold him for speaking so of a guest to Moorsea Manor, because a wave of exhilaration swept over her, washing away her disquiet. A gentleman who had traveled far could be a friend among the ton who had not forgotten her once she had banished herself from London.
“Have the gentleman wait in the library, and I shall be with him posthaste.” She turned from the door, then asked, “He did not give a name?”
“Not in my hearing, my lady.”
Another thing she must discuss with Mrs. Ditwiller. Instead of being a good influence on the household here, the servants Lorenzo had brought with him to Moorsea Manor were becoming more lackadaisical in their duties. Not that that had eased the tension between the newcomers and the staff. Only Earl seemed more than outwardly accepting of Lorenzo’s changes.
With more haste than usual, Valeria changed from her everyday gown to a tea gown of her favorite gold. She had set it aside for a special occasion, and a caller from Town was just that. Curling her hair up around her face, she pinned it in place with some silk flowers. She tossed her beloved paisley shawl over her shoulders, so it caught the vibrant glow of both her gown and her hair.
She was nearly giddy with anticipation as she came down the stairs. Mrs. Ditwiller was waiting for her, a smile on her face.
“I’m having him wait in the library as you instructed, my lady. Shall I send for some refreshments?”
“That would be a good idea.” She did not want to loiter to chat.
“And shall I send for Lord Moorsea?”
“I shall when I ascertain who is calling. I don’t want to disturb Lorenzo.”
Mrs. Ditwiller nodded and smiled. “A good idea, my lady, and, if I may say so, this caller is as handsome as Sir Tilden Oates and has the manners of a real gentleman. Gave his hat and gloves at the door as neat and polite as you please.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ditwiller.” She silenced her groan. The housekeeper was becoming as outrageous in her behavior as the rest of the household.
It was something she would handle later. For now … Valeria went to the library door, being careful that her gown did not catch on one of the lances still gathered in the hallway. Taking a deep breath, she walked in.
Her smile vanished as she gasped, “Lord Caldwell! What are you doing here?” She had never considered that her caller would be Austin Caldwell, who had led her brother into utter ruin.
As he reached for her hand and bowed over it, the tall blond man gave her a smile that was better suited to a snake, for his eyes retained a reptilian chill. “I decided if you weren’t going to come back to London any time soon, Valeria, I would call on you in this horrible place.” His nose wrinkled as if some foul stench had assaulted him.
“Why?”
“Because there remains business to be dealt with between us, Valeria.”
She shook her head as she snatched her hand out of his grasp. “You are quite mistaken, my lord. There never has been and there never will be any business between you and me. I have nothing to say to you other than that you should take your leave now if you wish to reach Minehead and an inn before dark.”
As she walked toward the door, he seized her arm. She stared at him in amazement. His manners had never been, in her memory of the few times she had been forced to speak with him, even as poorly polished as a rough diamond’s, but this was the first time he had treated her so uncouthly.
“Valeria, there is business between us, and I wish to discuss it now.”
“And I do not. Good day, my lord.”
His fingers bit into her arm, and she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out in pain. She would not give him that satisfaction. Keeping her chin high and her gaze focused directly on his, she peeled his fingers off her.
“Have a pleasant journey,” she said quietly.
He stepped in front of her. When he reached to seize her again, she grabbed a bookend from the table. Books clattered to the floor as she raised the brass pinecone.
“I hope,” came a welcome voice from the doorway, “you are going to show off the bookend’s excellent craftsmanship, not demonstrate how far you can throw it.”
“Lorenzo!” she breathed, lowering the bookend. She set it on the table and pushed past Lord Caldwell to stand beside Lorenzo. When he gave her a quick smile, she wanted to fling her arms around him and thank him for choosing this moment to come to her rescue … yet again.
“Mrs. Ditwiller informed me that we had a caller,” he said, his tone still even.
She glanced at Lord Caldwell. He still wore that superior smirk, so she guessed he had been bamblusterated by Lorenzo’s words and had not noticed how Lorenzo was balanced on the balls of his feet like a boxer about to strike. She almost gasped at the thought. She could not envision Lorenzo coming to fisticuffs with anyone. His weapons were words, not fists.
“I’m glad she told you, Lorenzo,” she said, although she knew she was being as ill-mannered as Lord Caldwell. “I had told her not to bother you.”
“She apparently took it upon herself.”
When Lorenzo offered his arm, Valeria was grateful to let him draw her hand within it. She forced her feet to match his paces as he led her back into the room and to Lord Caldwell. Wanting to warn Lorenzo not to trust this most untrustworthy man, she remained silent.
“Welcome to Moorsea Manor,” he said.
“Thank you.” Lord Caldwell shot her a satisfied grin, and she resisted firing back one in return. She knew Lorenzo Wolfe, and he did not.
She glanced again at Lorenzo’s face, which suggested every word he had spoken was sincere. Mayhap they had been. Was she the one who was mistaken? After all, she had been so many times before.
“You’re quite welcome,” Lorenzo answered. “However, I do have a single question.”
“Of course. Ask what you wish.”
“Who are you?”
“Austin, Lord Caldwell.”
Lorenzo smiled. “Ah, the viscount.”
“Yes,” he replied, his voice abruptly terse.
Valeria dug her nails into her palms to keep from laughing at Lord Caldwell’s irritation at having to own that his title was of f
ar less prestige than Lorenzo’s. She glanced again from one man to the other. They were of a height, although Lord Caldwell was more muscular. Yet, she did not doubt that Lorenzo would be his match in any battle—of wits or of a bunch of fives.
It must not come to that. All she wanted was for Lord Caldwell to take his leave and never return. The very sight of him reminded her of her brother Paul’s despair at having lost everything he owned and everything she possessed as well. She shivered as she pondered, as she tried never to do, if that despair had led directly to Paul’s death on that rainy night.
“Sit down, Caldwell,” Lorenzo said, motioning toward the chairs by the fireplace. “Valeria, please ring for something to ease our guest’s thirst.”
“But, Lorenzo—”
He squeezed her hand out of the viscount’s view. “I would prefer brandy, and I suspect our guest will as well.”
She turned, but not before she saw Lord Caldwell’s brows rise at the words our guest. The stray, absurd thought that he must be the only man who was unable to raise a single eyebrow shot through her head like the anguish of the headache left in its wake.
“Stay, Valeria,” Lord Caldwell ordered.
“Caldwell,” Lorenzo said with the same quiet dignity, “I believe you have spoken poorly. Lady Fanning is a lady, not a dog to obey one’s orders.”
The viscount ran his hand through his blond hair and scowled. “Forgive me. I wish to speak with Valeria alone about some private business.”
“Mayhap it would be more appropriate for you to discuss that business with me.”
“Why?”
“I am her guardian.”
“Guardian?” He laughed. “She is a widow, not a maiden. She has nothing for you to guard.”
“I would guard her ears from your crude words to begin with.” Lorenzo held out his arm to her. “Valeria, if you will allow me …”
Valeria almost put her hand on his arm, then drew it back. Although she knew very little about Lord Caldwell, save for his tarnished reputation, she had heard one rumor she knew was a fact. He was as tenacious as a mud turtle and would not leave until he had accomplished what he came here for.
The Convenient Arrangement Page 16
