A Husband Apologizes on Behalf of His Wife
A few hours later, at the Reading stables east of London
Alistair Comber pulled back on the reins of a matched pair of greys, his phaeton coming to a stuttering halt beyond the large double doors of the Reading stables. He wrapped the ribbons around the pole next to his seat and hopped down from the black equipage. All the while, his gaze stayed on the huge white stucco building trimmed in dark red that stood before him.
“’Bout time you came out here,” Randolph said from where he stood next to a bay brood mare. The horse was obviously pregnant, which seemed odd to Alistair. It was far too early for horses to be dropping colts. Christmas was still a few days away, and horses didn’t usually foal until the later spring months.
“Exactly how many do you have in there?” Alistair asked as he made his way to Randolph’s side.
“There are eight in there now,” Randolph replied. He waved to the adjacent fenced pasture, a thin layer of snow providing a white blanket on which there were at least a half-dozen more horses standing about. “I’m nursing a couple of lame bays and a shire,” he added as he gave the mare a pat on the side of her neck. “And this one, who always seems to drop her foals three months before everyone else.”
“That would be because your stud—”
“Yes, I know why. It’s just she’s been like this since her first foal. She was in heat before any of her sisters her first year, which means she is always early,” he complained. “I have to keep her newborns in the stable for their first couple of months to make sure their ears aren’t frostbit.”
He motioned for Alistair to join him, and they made their way into the barn, new-fallen snow crunching beneath their boot heels.
“I’m so jealous,” Alistair breathed as he took in the sight of sixteen stalls, all recently cleaned. Tack was neatly hung from hooks along the front wall, and hay was stacked nearly to the ceiling along another. Above, in the loft, was more hay. Although most of these horses were used for pulling carriages and coaches, there were a few saddles spanning a trestle.
“Don’t be. I don’t have room for the number of horses you do,” Randolph said with a grin, referring to the Harrington House stables. “What brings you all the way out here?”
Alistair jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Got a pair that needed some exercise, and I owe you a huge apology.”
Randolph furrowed a brow. “Whatever for?” He picked up a brush from a nearby table and moved to the nearest stall.
“Lady Dunsworth and her timid filly,” Alistair spat out.
Rolling his eyes, Randolph said, “There’s no need. Truly. It’s fine.” He opened the stall, where a Cleveland Bay stood.
“My wife wasted your time—”
“She didn’t. Lady Dunsworth’s brandy was most excellent,” Randolph said as he began brushing the horse. A quiet nicker followed the first stroke of the brush.
Alistair sighed. “I swear, if Julia wasn’t with child, I would have sent her to bed without dinner and...” He shook his head. “I don’t know what else I would have done.”
“You wouldn’t strike her, I hope?” Randolph asked in alarm, his arm pausing in mid-stroke. The horse’s head swayed, and his neck curved as if he seemed about to complain.
“No! Never. But she needs to understand she cannot go about playing matchmaker under false pretenses. No matter how much...” He clamped his mouth shut.
“How much... what?” Randolph prompted.
Alistair crossed his arms, his head dipping to indicate the horse. When Randolph didn’t continue with the brushing, Alistair reached over and took the tool from his hand.
“What?” Randolph repeated.
“Have you considered courting someone?” Alistair asked in a quiet voice, his attention on the horse as he drew the brush from its withers to its flank. “Your son... he needs a mother.”
Randolph blinked. “He has plenty of attention. He has a nurse, and my stepmother dotes on him almost as much as she dotes on my little brother,” he argued, hardly noticing his use of the words ‘stepmother’ and ‘brother.’
“You need a wife.”
Randolph nearly took a step back, and would have if the stall wall wasn’t directly behind him. “Says who?”
Alistair paused mid-stroke, which had the bay giving a loud and long whinny of complaint. “Damnation. Do you spoil these beasts?”
“No, but they do have expectations when they’re forced to stand still,” Randolph remarked as he indicated the rope that tethered the bay to a pole in the corner of the stall. He smirked when he noted how the horse gave Alistair a side-eye. Randolph was sure that if he’d been able, the beast would have hit Alistair with his head—hard.
Alistair quickly resumed brushing the bay. “I had a long discussion with Julia last night. She’s convinced she did the right thing, even after I scolded her.”
Randolph winced. “Did she cry?”
“No,” Alistair replied with a sigh. “She only seemed more... determined. That was before she...” He sighed again.
“Dismissed you from her bedchamber?” Randolph guessed. He rolled his eyes. From his experience with Barbara, he knew how a woman with child might demand a husband’s attentions. Despite Barbara’s growing displeasure with him, she still desired him—or at least his cock—until the last month of her pregnancy.
“Something like that,” Alistair admitted. “She must have missed me, because I woke up with her in my bed this morning,” he said in a quiet voice. “Although I’d like to think it was because she forgave me, I rather think it was more because the fire had gone out in her bedchamber, and she wanted to sleep somewhere warm.”
Randolph tried hard to suppress his smirk. He knew all too well of nights like that.
Winter nights.
Nights like last night.
Nights like what was to come tonight.
He had a fleeting thought of Lady Dunsworth. Of how cold she might become should her fire die down before the maid had a chance to add more coal to the fireplace in the early morning hours. How warm she would be if she were tucked against his body.
How warm he would be.
Randolph cleared his throat, his gaze focusing to discover Alistair staring at him. “What?”
“Just.... think about it.”
Furrowing a brow, Randolph said, “Apparently, I’ve been doing nothing but.”
Alistair’s expression matched his own. “What are you saying?”
Randolph blew out a breath. “I’m taking Lady Dunsworth for a ride in the park this afternoon. He’s going to pull the phaeton,” he said as he indicated the horse Alistair was absently brushing.
“Oh,” Alistair replied. “Well.”
“Whatever you do, don’t tell Lady Comber,” Randolph warned. “It’s just a ride in the park. Nothing more.”
“When are you going?”
“I’m going to fetch her at half-past-three.”
“It’ll be dark by the time you return,” Alistair remarked.
“I’m going to stay in town tonight,” Randolph replied, patting a waistcoat pocket that bulged with full a purse.
“Hazard?” Alistair guessed.
“Billiards. I’m hoping to lighten the purses of a certain Frenchman and his Belgium counterpart.” He didn’t add that he had turned over his last haul to the head of the Foreign Office just two days before. A few hours after he had spotted his father leaving The Queen of Hearts.
By now, the legitimacy of the bank notes would have been determined. It was possible an agent would be dispatched as soon as this evening to arrest the two for passing counterfeit notes. With any luck, they were also the ones creating the blunt, in which case, their arrest would mean a new assignment for Randolph.
If not, then Randolph would have to discover the source of the counterfeit money.
Alistair winced at the mention of Belgium. Only a decade ago, he had spent many a cold night in the Belgium countryside—behind enemy lines—spying on Napol
eon’s forces. As an earl’s son, he was an officer in the army, but he preferred his undercover work to leading troops.
“The pay must be shite,” Alistair remarked.
Randolph furrowed a brow. “Playing billiards?”
“Working for the Foreign Office,” Alistair said. “Chamberlain never did have much of a budget.”
“And how would you know?”
Alistair gave him a quelling glance. “It’s no secret. During the wars with Napoleon, we relied on the intelligence of reporters who worked for The Times. They had the blunt to send investigators to the Continent. We didn’t.”
Randolph’s frown deepened. “How long did you work for Chamberlain?”
“I wasn’t aware we could stop,” Alistair replied with an arched brow. He gave a long sigh. “That’s not true. He hasn’t employed me for...” He paused mid-sentence, although he continued to absently brush the horse.
“Since you married.”
Alistair gave a start. “True. I suppose I am of no use if he cannot in good conscience send me across the Channel.”
“I was sent to Calais. Once,” Randolph remarked. “Had to follow a shipment of wool that was used to pay for illegal liquor. Worst time ever on a ship.” He feigned sea sickness by rubbing his mid-section.
“Wool?” Alistair repeated. This time he did stop brushing the horse, and the resulting complaint was long and loud. “Were you on the Molly?” Outfitted to look like a pirate ship, the Molly was actually a vessel of the Foreign Office, dispatched to intercept ships carrying smuggled goods and illegal liquor.
Randolph laughed as he pulled a carrot from his great coat pocket and offered it to the annoyed horse. “The one and only. Damn thing is still seaworthy, if you can believe it, and a more motley crew you’ll never find.”
“Good men, though,” Alistair said. “So... this ride with Lady X—”
“Lady X?”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Her name is Xenobia. She’s actually one of Julia’s cousins. They always called her Lady X. That was before she married Dunsworth, of course.”
“Who was her father?” Randolph decided anything he could learn about the young matron before he took her for a ride would help with conversation. They wouldn’t have the benefit of brandy to help loosen their tongues.
“Oh, you would have to ask that,” Alistair complained as he moved to the other side of the horse. “Do you know how many Harrington daughters there were?”
“Five, if you’re referring to the sisters of the current Earl of Mayfield.”
Alistair blinked. “Oh. Well. She’s the daughter of Edith, the Dowager Duchess of Pendleton.”
Randolph took a moment to sort the relationship. “The Duchess of Pendleton? Xenobia is a duke’s daughter?” he asked in disbelief.
“No,” Alistair quickly replied. “Pendleton died more than a year before Xenobia was born. At least Edith had already given him his heir.”
Wincing, Randolph knew the Dowager Duchess of Pendleton hadn’t remarried, instead enjoying the very public life of a Merry Widow. With her red hair and bright green eyes, she was said to bewitch gentlemen into her bed. Given her beauty, Randolph sorted casting spells wasn’t required.
But Alistair’s mention of the timing of Xenobia’s birth meant she was illegitimate.
“So... Dunsworth did her a favor?” Randolph murmured, referring to his marriage to Xenobia.
Alistair seemed to think on the comment for a time before he said, “I suppose. I believe her father was a captain of some sort. Alton Bradley. Not sure if he was in the army or a ship’s captain. Anyway, the townhouse she lives in was once his, so that meant Dunsworth didn’t have to put out any blunt for a house in town.”
“Hmm,” Randolph murmured as he considered the possible topics for conversation during their ride. She already knew he was illegitimate, although it did help that his father had publicly acknowledged him as his son. He had done so with all four of his bastards. “It could be worse, I suppose,” he said suddenly.
Alistair’s head popped up from the other side of the horse. “What do you mean?”
“She could be my sister.”
His eyes darting sideways, Alistair finally allowed a guffaw. “I don’t think Reading is capable of fathering a girl,” he replied.
Considering he now had five brothers, Randolph would have agreed—if his father hadn’t just told him he had a sister that night before. He cleared his throat. Loudly.
Alistair raised his head from the chore he had taken on as a sort of penance for his wife’s machinations and stared at Randolph. “You have a sister?”
“Rachel Roderick. Richard’s twin. Apparently she’s in finishing school and was a friend of Lady Dunsworth’s when they were in school together.”
“How old?” Alistair asked, his eyes wide.
Randolph allowed a shrug as he did the calculation in his head. “Twenty?”
Alistair blew out the breath he’d been holding. “That’s a relief,” he murmured. “No, I don’t know her.”
Randolph gave him a quelling glance. “Does the name Violet Higgins ring a bell?”
“Only if you’re referring to the Queen of Hearts,” Alistair replied. “Lost more than my fair share of blunt under her former roof before she took over the Queen of Hearts. When I was younger, of course. Why do you ask?” He paused his brush strokes. “Is she under investigation by the Foreign Office?”
“No. She’s Rachel and Richard’s mother.”
Alistair blinked. “I cannot... I cannot even imagine her—”
“Nor can I,” Roderick said, cutting off his friend’s comment. “According to my father, she was a brunette and a beauty at one time.”
“But surely she didn’t raise the babes.”
“Not Richard,” Roderick agreed. “On the one hand, I want to meet my sister, but on the other...” He allowed the sentence to trail off as he gave his head a shake.
“Is someone providing protection?”
Randolph nodded. “Since Father’s arranged for her dowry, I rather imagine someone is.”
“You needn’t feel guilty for not wanting to make her acquaintance.”
“I’ve met all my brothers. Not nearly as awkward as I was expecting those introductions to be,” he countered.
“Do you think she lives in London?”
Randolph shrugged. “I suppose. I’m sure my father knows.”
“And your stepmother?”
Straightening, Randolph considered the query a moment. “I don’t know. Father was very keen to let her know about all of us before he asked for her hand in marriage. Perhaps he did then.”
“If he knew about her.”
“If she and Richard are twins, then surely Father would have learned about them at the same time,” Randolph argued.
“Then why not tell you before last night?”
Randolph gave his head a shake. “Why not, indeed?” he countered.
Cousins Contemplate
Meanwhile, at Bradley House
“You don’t hate me?”
Xenobia gave her cousin a quelling glance. “Of course not,” she replied as her lady’s maid pinned up her honey blonde hair into a style suitable for her carriage gown’s matching hat. She had already clipped off its longer peacock feather, sure she would impale poor Sir Randolph should she turn her head too far to the side whilst they rode on his phaeton.
“Alistair scolded me. It was awful.”
Staring at Julia’s reflection in her dressing table’s mirror, Xenobia’s eyes widened. “He didn’t...?”
“No,” Julia replied. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, but I was so vexed, I... I told him to leave my bedchamber.”
Xenobia blinked. Given the stories Julia had put voice to over the years she had been married to Alistair, Xenobia wondered if this might have been their first tiff. “Did he?”
Julia sighed. “Yes. I had to go to his bedchamber when mine grew too cold. I blame this all on the baby, of cou
rse.”
“Julia!”
“I’m normally not like this,” Julia insisted. “But it matters not, since you’ve received an invitation to ride out of it.”
Xenobia allowed a wan grin as she watched her lady’s maid finish styling her hair. “That will be all, Sullivan,” she murmured.
The young woman dipped a curtsy and hurried from the bedchamber. Xenobia was sure she would spread the news to the other servants that her mistress was going for a ride in the park. At no point had she said with whom, nor did she intend for them to know.
There would be gossip, though, but for once, she didn’t care. She’d had quite enough of caring what others thought of her.
“You might have mentioned he is Rachel’s brother,” Xenobia whispered when she turned to regard her cousin.
Julia gave a start. “I... I didn’t think of it. Why, I haven’t thought of Rachel in years. I haven’t seen her in years.”
“That’s because she hasn’t been in London since I married,” Xenobia countered. “Her mother took her to the Continent. Something about attending a different finishing school until it was time for her come-out.” She didn’t add that she thought it was because Rachel’s mother had become too well-known as a madam in London.
The Marquess of Reading had probably arranged the move.
Frowning, Julia considered the timing. “A bit old for a come-out, is she not?”
“Twenty?” Xenobia offered. “I suppose, but that’s not what has me bothered.” At Julia’s questioning glance, she added, “Last night, when we spoke of his family, never once did Sir Randolph mention her, or ask about our friendship.”
Julia allowed a shrug. “Perhaps he doesn’t know.”
“That he has a sister?”
Arching a brow, Julia regarded Xenobia for a moment. “Different mothers. Different classes. Sir Randolph’s mother is a member of the ton and Rachel’s mother is not,” she offered.
“Do I mention her whilst on this ride? Should I ask about her?”
“Do,” Julia replied. “Then you’ll know if he knows about her.”
Xenobia gave her cousin a quelling glance. “You’re incorrigible.” She might have chided Julia a moment longer but she had other concerns. Given what had happened the night before, though—just before Randolph Roderick had departed the parlor for the second time—Xenobia had spent the day in a constant state of anxiousness. She looked forward to the ride, of course, but facing Sir Randolph after his scorching kiss would have her cheeks flaming red.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 19
