Lydia turned to her. “I will have you know that those are for educational purposes only. I seek to improve my Greek and Latin, so that I might make some dull Duke exceedingly proud one day. He can parade me in front of his peers and have me recite ancient languages in a most fluent tongue.”
“Your Greek and Latin are already perfect, Lydia. Mother and Father may believe your excuses, but I do not. You would do well to replace them with some sermons. I can recommend several, if you would be interested?”
Lydia grinned. “I think I will stay with my selections for now, dear Sister.”
“Much good may they do you,” Caroline muttered.
“I should like to read Lydia’s books!” Mary shrieked, as she shuffled to the edge of the bed and dangled down. Caroline crossed the room and pulled her back onto the bed, giving her a smarting slap on the wrist as she continued with her nightly sermons.
Lydia’s gaze stretched towards the expansive fields that reached the very horizon. She paused upon a figure that stood close to the riverbank, half-bathed in the silvery light of the full moon. At first, she thought she was imagining things, or envisioning a tree that had somehow warped into a person, prompting her to blink rapidly to clear her vision.
There was no mistaking it. A man stood on the edge of the river, shrouded in a dark hood. A shiver of fear shot through her body as the figure lifted his head, his shadowed gaze lifting to meet hers. Even at such a distance, she could feel the malevolence brimming from the unknown figure.
She turned quickly. “I think there may be a stranger in the grounds.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.
Caroline snorted. “Yes, we know all about the new stable boy, found half-nude in the bushes. A disgraceful affair. Why father has thought to give him employ here, I cannot understand it.”
Lydia shook her head. “No, there is another man. Come and see!”
Mary and Caroline rushed over, seeing the fear in Lydia’s eyes. However, as she turned her gaze back out toward the riverbank, the figure had vanished…as if he had never been there.
“What a fevered imagination you have, Lydia,” Caroline chided. “You see, Mary, what reading too many novels may do to a young lady’s mind?”
“But…he was right there.” Lydia prodded her finger against the glass.
“I think you need your rest, Sister.” Caroline shook her head and wandered away from the window.
“But he was right there,” Lydia repeated, in a hushed whisper.
Mary cast her a sympathetic glance. “I believe you, Lydia. Probably one of the cottagers on their way home, taking a swifter path along the river.”
She frowned. “Perhaps.”
No…I know what I saw. There was a man there, and he did not mean well. But how could she convince anyone, when the shadow had vanished into the night?
Chapter 5
A figure lurked in the trees surrounding Greenwick Abbey, watching the house from behind the dense line of woodland. He knew he could not be seen, for he had spent two days coming back and forth to the forest to check on his quarry. For a time, he had lost the Duke on the road, though he had followed him closely since Summerhill Hall.
Had it not been for the Duke’s unique silver gelding, ambling aimlessly down a nearby path, he knew he might never have discovered the Duke’s whereabouts. Fortunately, the horse had led him right to Greenwick Abbey, for it had been grazing in the woods that bordered the property. He had caught sight of the Duke by chance, after retrieving the beast.
He smirked as the Duke walked out of the stables with several bales of hay. The great Duke of Summerhill, brought so low. He did not understand why the Duke had taken on such work, and he did not care to dwell on it. It did not matter, for it would produce the same outcome. Silently, he took out one of his pistols and aimed it at the Duke, training the barrel so that the sight fixed on the Duke’s skull.
I could fire at you from here, and nobody would know who killed you where you stand.
It was a tempting prospect, but he knew he needed to bide his time. He did not want the Duke’s death to be over quickly. He wanted to personally watch the light go out of his eyes, so he would have that memory to warm him through whatever may come. If he found himself dangling from the gallows, then so be it. At least it would have been worth it.
You are on borrowed time, Duke of Summerhill. By the week’s end, you will be dead.
* * *
Back at Summerhill Hall, the house was in total chaos. Edward was supposed to have returned from London three days ago, but he had never arrived back. One of the watchmen had seen him appear at the gate, only to turn around and ride away. It had thrown the household into disarray, with nobody able to settle, least of all Edward’s mother, Her Grace, the Duchess of Summerhill, Felicity Godwin.
“Have you heard nothing from him, James?” she asked, her eyes wide with panic.
James Godwin shook his head, as he held the morning’s mail in his hands. “I have written to everyone we know who may be discreet about the situation, but they have heard nothing of his whereabouts. There are others I thought to write to, but they may not be quite so generous in their silence.”
“We cannot have this news escaping,” the Duchess mumbled, wringing her hands.
“He will return, Mother. He is resourceful and brave—he will discover a way back to us, I am certain of it.”
“But why would he have disappeared in such an abrupt manner?”
James frowned. “I do not know, Mother. I wish I did, for I am as eager as you to have him back with us.” Indeed, he had found the house rather quiet and uncomfortable without his brother around.
Although Edward did not care for the dukedom, he held a natural authority that James often envied. Men and women alike fumbled over themselves to do his bidding, for he was kind and gentle in his approach to discipline, where their father and grandfather had been terse and unfeeling.
His father, the late Duke, Leonard Godwin, had survived the Consumption that had stolen his grandfather away, but it had left him with a weak heart and weaker lungs.
After some years, a bad winter had arrived in England. It had covered every inch in snow and ice, and a frost had slithered inside his father’s feeble lungs.
The ensuing symptoms had been similar to the Consumption that ought to have claimed his life. In a mass of blood and pain, he had finally lost his battle against the sickness that had plagued him for nigh-on five years after the death of his grandfather, Francis. And, with that tragedy, Edward had gained the title he had never wanted.
James, on the other hand, often wondered what he might be like in such a prized position. The two brothers shared an amiable relationship that their mother admired, but they frequently disputed the state of the dukedom. Edward lacked a maturity and a desire for responsibility, which James felt keenly.
Edward did not want to sit in the House of Lords, and he did not want to engage in the daily disputes of the elite. Those endeavors did not interest him, and James did not think they ever would. But, he had to do his best to support his brother, for Edward was a decent man with a great deal of potential, if he could only shake off his unwillingness to bear the weight of his title.
“I fear for him,” the Duchess murmured. “I know he has stayed away for days on end, doing whatever it is you young gentlemen do in London, but there is something amiss here. He would at least send word, if he was safe.”
James battled with the urge to bite back. “Maybe he has unpaid debts,” he said coolly.
“Impossible.” The Duchess shook her head effusively. “He may have his flaws, but he is not so reckless as that. He understands the affairs of our estate; he would not fritter money away without thought, and he would certainly not allow himself to be indebted to somebody.”
Then you do not know your son. He had watched Edward lose plenty at the whist tables, though it was never remarked upon. However, the moment James lost a sum at the tables, it became common knowledge, and he did not hear the end
of it from his mother.
“I thought I might ride out on the morrow, to see if I can discover any word of him on the road. The watchman said he turned east, so that is where I ought to go.” He crossed the room and knelt at his mother’s feet, taking her hands in his. “I will find him, Mother. No matter where he is, I will find him and bring him home to us.”
Tears glinted in the Duchess’ eyes. “I cannot lose another, James.”
“I will not allow you to.”
“I feel as if a dark shadow lies across our house, James. I cannot explain it, but it seems as though we are cursed for eternity. First, my sweet Amy—the angel of my life. And then, my husband. I could not bear it if I were to lose another.”
He squeezed her hands. “It is the Greenwick curse, Mother. They jinxed us with it the moment that harlot ran from grandfather, and we have never shaken it. The lies they wove into society, the evil they permeated into the ton—this is all their doing, but we shall break the spell, Mother. Edward will see our name restored to the position it deserves. I will bring him back and insure we achieve greatness once again.”
She gave the ghost of a smile. “I pray that you do, James. If you only do one good thing in your life, I pray that it is bringing my son back to me alive.”
Am I not your son, too? He sighed but forced away his sad thoughts. His mother was in the throes of panic and grief; she did not know what she was saying.
He, however, knew precisely what he was saying. He believed it with every breath in his body, that the Greenwicks were responsible for every terrible thing that had happened to the Summerhills. They had tarnished the Summerhill name, and turned polite society against them. And all because of one foolish woman.
James had never been one to tolerate the whims of women, though he fervently wished he had the same effect on them as his brother. James did fairly well with the ladies, but once Edward entered a room, he was the only one the ladies could focus upon.
Perhaps I ought to leave Edward to his vanishing act. Although, he realized he could not. Edward was the Duke of Summerhill, and his mother would be destroyed if he continued in his absence, without a word of what had happened to him or where he was. No, he would have to be found, one way or another. That was the only way they could carry on rebuilding the Summerhill dynasty, from the ashes of its former destruction.
“I know of one man I may speak with, who might be able to assist us in finding Edward,” James said, as he got back to his feet.
The Duchess widened her eyes. “You do?”
“I will see if I can locate him. If I cannot, I will ride out on the morrow, as agreed.”
The Duchess nodded. “Please do, James. I beg of you.”
“You may rely on me, Mother.”
Now, he was more determined than ever to show his mother how worthy he was of her love. He had spent so many years in conflict, trying to find his place, but he knew that this would see him succeed in the eyes of the one person he adored above all others. He would show his mother, and he would see her heart restored to peace, just as he would see the Summerhill legacy restored, brick by brick, stone by stone, piece by piece.
* * *
In the distant, mountainous countryside of Carigswell, where he was looking after his wife’s family seat for a time, Adrian Godwin received a letter that turned his heart over in circles. The cousin of James and Edward Godwin, Adrian had always been close with the family, particularly with Edward. They had shared in a brotherhood that he had only otherwise experienced in the military, when he had battled alongside his fellow men on the fields of Waterloo.
“What is it, m’love?” Rhiannon asked, in a faint Scottish brogue. She glanced over his shoulder at the letter in his hands. They had not been married long, but theirs was a charmed romance. They had fallen for one another upon his return from the battlefields of the continent, at a ball held for returning officers, and they had never looked back.
Indeed, it seemed all the Godwin men were destined to marry Scotswomen, for their disgrace had not reached the border between England and Scotland.
He showed her the letter:
Dear Cousin,
It pains me to write to you of this, but Edward has disappeared under rather suspicious circumstances, and we fear the reasoning to be questionable at best, dire at worst. If you can offer any suggestion of how to discover where he has disappeared to, I would be most grateful. My mother is distraught, as you can imagine. Please write back at your earliest convenience, though do not trouble yourself in returning to Summerhill. You are better served in Scotland, though your advice would be welcome. And please, insure your discretion in this matter, as my mother is resolute in her desire to have the dukedom remain in as little uproar as possible. I am certain you will understand.
Yours Faithfully,
James
Rhiannon gasped. “Ach, goodness. He’s disappeared?”
“It would appear so.”
“What will ye de, m’love?”
Adrian stared at the page and reread the words several times. “I must go to them, darling. I know James has asked that I remain here, but I can be of no service here. My expertise is more useful to them if I am nearby.”
She nodded. “Then ye must leave at once, fer it’ll be several days travel.”
“I am long overdue a visit to the Langshire estate, so I may kill two birds with one stone. Would you care to join me, my love?”
As the Earl of Langshire, he had been somewhat neglectful of his own seat, whilst he took care of his wife’s family estate. Now, it was time for him to return, to attempt to fix this fissure in his family’s happiness.
In truth, he could not understand why his cousin might have disappeared, but he knew it could not be good news. He had learned enough in the militia to know when something smelled off, and this certainly stank of a rat. Whether it be an unfortunate situation with a debtor, or a dart away from the imminent responsibility of the dukedom, Adrian did not know. However, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
“Aye, I’ll remain, ma sweeting. I’ll await yer return here an’ look forward te promising news of yer cousin.”
Adrian smiled and kissed his wife on the lips. “You are wonderful, Rhiannon. I do not know what I should do without you.”
“Just find yer cousin, dearest, an’ come back te me.”
“I will.” He kissed her more deeply, although his mind was already on the road ahead.
It had been some time since he had visited Summerhill Hall, and he did not know what changes he might find when he returned to its gates. He had spent much of his life trying to escape the tarring brush of his family name, but now that late Duke of Summerhill and his son—Adrian’s uncle— were gone, he hoped his loved ones might recover their former grace.
For now, though, he had only one thought—Where are you, Edward? Why have you vanished? Has someone taken you, or have you gone of your own accord?
If it was the last thing he did, he would find his cousin. He had not lost a fight yet, and he would not lose this one either. If something terrible had happened, he would bring the fellow who had brought his family harm to justice.
After all, he was not afraid to get his hands dirty. He had killed men before—what was one more?
Chapter 6
Lydia hurried down the stairs on Edward’s fourth day at Greenwick Abbey and raced across the grounds towards the stables. She skidded to a halt as she spied a stranger on the path, wearing a leather satchel and a strange, too-bright smile on his face. The man was on the short side, with dark hair and near-black eyes.
“May I help you, sir?” she asked politely, smoothing down the front of her skirt.
“I was attempting to speak with His Grace, but I could not find the entrance.”
She frowned. “It is rather obvious, I should think?”
“I am new to the position, My Lady. I do not know the household well.”
She eyed the satchel strapped across him. “Are you the new postman?�
�
He gave an awkward bow. “My name is Patrick Smith, and I am temporarily in the position, yes. Mr. Redwood has taken ill, and I am to cover his rounds until he is feeling better.” He offered a kind smile that instantly softened her manner.
“Send him our good wishes, won’t you?”
“I will, My Lady.”
She clasped her hands together. “Do you have anything in your satchel for a Lady Lydia Bradford?”
“Alas not. Is that you, My Lady?”
“It is.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, if you could point me in the direction of the front door?”
Wicked Temptations For The Seduced Duchess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 4
