by Cora Lee
Rhuddlan leaned back against his desk, studying her face. “Of course. I’ll send a couple of footmen with you for protection and a carriage will come for the three of you and your things in a few hours. Will that be sufficient time to prepare?”
She nodded quickly. “For me, yes, though I can’t speak for my neighbors.”
“Of course.” He strode across the room and pulled a cord, summoning a servant to the door of the office. Orders were given to prepare chambers and ready carriages, and Miss Stone was escorted out.
Vaughn came in a few minutes later carrying a stack of papers, a frown on both his mouth and his brow.
“Out with it,” Rhuddlan said, leaning back in his chair.
Vaughn didn’t dissemble. “Miss Stone is to be your guest, Your Grace?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
Rhuddlan slid his fingers into his hair and touched the healing wound. Vaughn had asked the same question before Rhuddlan had ridden out the day he was attacked. “Clearly I do, or I wouldn’t have extended the invitation. But you have misgivings, I see.”
“Not about the lady herself, Your Grace,” Vaughn replied quickly. “But if she’s the object of Sir George Grayson’s affection—”
Rhuddlan held up a hand, cutting off his secretary before the man could finish his thought. “First of all, if threatening the life of a woman is how Grayson expresses affection there is something grossly wrong with him. Secondly, Miss Stone is my tenant and therefore my responsibility. And thirdly, were you listening at the door?”
Vaughn swallowed hard. “Oh no, Your Grace. Sir George is briefly mentioned in the investigator’s report on Miss Stone, and I know him by reputation.”
“You think he’s trouble?”
“I think you have enough trouble of your own to deal with,” Vaughn said slowly. “You don’t need to invite more.”
Rhuddlan rose from his chair and came around the large desk, pacing around the open space in the room. “And you think sheltering Miss Stone will encourage Grayson to come knocking on my door.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Vaughn was pale, his posture rigid. “Did he really threaten to kill Miss Stone?”
“That is what she alleges,” Rhuddlan replied, pausing at the window to flick back the heavy curtain for a glance outside. “And I believe her. I’ve promised to speak with Grayson on her behalf.”
Vaughn, still in his place near the door, sucked in a quiet breath and Rhuddlan turned away from the window. “You think that’s a mistake?”
“No, Your Grace,” Vaughn replied, his voice firm. “As you said, Miss Stone is your responsibility. But perhaps, after you’ve seen to Sir George, you might consider disappearing for a while.”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed, stalking back over to his desk. “There is far too much to do for me to run off and hide.”
Vaughn lifted his chin, meeting Rhuddlan’s gaze head on. “Don’t forget, Your Grace, that your lawful heir is Lord Nicholas.”
And Nick would use the dukedom as his own personal bank—to hell with the welfare of its people. “For now,” Rhuddlan returned. Unless he sired a son, there was no way to stop his brother from inheriting the title. But not all of the dukedom’s assets were entailed. “And while that is the case, perhaps we should have another look at my will.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Vaughn replied. “Would you like me to fetch your copy from the strongbox? Or do you want to go through your correspondence first?”
“Leave the correspondence—I’ll start going through it while you go to the strongbox.”
“As you wish.” Vaughn placed his stack of papers on Rhuddlan’s desk and let himself out.
Rhuddlan dumped himself back into his chair and started to reach for his wound again, but thought better of it. It would likely heal faster if he left it be, though that philosophy hadn’t worked so well with is brother. Or George Grayson, for that matter.
“I hope I have enough strength to deal with them both,” he murmured, straightening up and sorting through the pile of correspondence. “My life is not the only one that depends on it.”
~~~
“No.” Mrs. Davies crossed her arms over her chest and set her mouth in a hard frown.
Olivia looked to Miss Hatch, standing beside her companion in their small parlor.
“Stay in the same house as the Duke of Rhuddlan?” She shook her head. “Not me.”
Olivia threw up her hands and turned away. “I understand how you feel about His Grace, but you must realize the danger we’re in.” She turned back, pointing alternately to the two footmen in blood red livery trimmed in black standing guard, one in front of the little cottage and one in the back. “They aren’t here for decoration.”
Mrs. D. came forward, holding out her hands and clasping Olivia’s. “Oh, dear, we know that. We’ve both seen firsthand what Sir George has done to you.”
“Then why are you fighting this?” Olivia asked, the exasperation evident in her voice. She took a deep breath and tried again, clinging to Mrs. D.’s hands. “I know you’re wary of His Grace, but we’ll only be there for a few days at the most, and we’ll likely only deal with servants. You’ll never have to see the duke, and I won’t have to worry about what Sir George might do to you.” She paused again, swallowing hard. “Who will look after Artie if something happens to you?”
Miss Hatch made a little choking sound and Mrs. D. turned without letting go of Olivia. They exchanged a look, and Mrs. D. had tears in her eyes when she turned back. “You really believe George Grayson will kill you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Olivia replied, trying to ignore the catch in her voice. “I’m afraid of what he’ll do to the both of you, too.”
“And you think we’ll be safe at Rhuddlan Hall.”
“Yes,” Olivia repeated more firmly. “I don’t know what His Grace is going to do, but I know Sir George can’t get to us there.”
Mrs. D. glanced back at Miss H. one more time, then nodded to Olivia. “All right, then. We’ll gather our things.”
“Thank you.” Olivia hugged Mrs. D. tightly, then hugged Miss Hatch, too.
Olivia walked next door with one of the footmen and gathered her own things, taking care to bring Artie’s few possessions along as well. The carriage arrived as promised, and the three ladies arranged themselves inside while the footmen stowed their luggage. Artie hopped in last, climbing up on the seat beside his mistress and whacking her with his wagging tail as he looked out the window.
“Do you think he knows what’s happening?” Miss Hatch asked with a little smile on her lips.
“He came part of the way home from Belgium in a carriage with Mr. Davies,” Olivia told her, trying to stroke Artie’s fur and defend against his tail simultaneously. “If he remembers that, he’ll know we’re to travel somewhere.”
The carriage gave a little jolt and rolled forward. “What will he make of Rhuddlan Hall, I wonder?” Mrs. D. said, flattening her hand against the seat to steady herself.
“What will we make of it?” Olivia said, laughing as Artie’s ears stood at attention and his nose pressed against the glass. “Have either of you ever been inside?”
Mrs. D. and Miss H both shook their heads, and the conversation shifted to speculation about what exactly they’d find during their short stay at the duke’s home. Only a few minutes later they were pulling into the circular drive and coming to a halt. One of the footmen that had been assigned to them opened the carriage door and, after Artie barreled his way out, assisted the three women down.
Olivia whistled to her dog and he came running back, trotting at her side as she was escorted inside the large front door. The first time she’d been here, she’d been half out of her mind with fear and nervousness, and had only seen the corridor and His Grace’s study. This time she and her companions were whisked away up a wide staircase to the second floor by a housekeeper who pointed out important items in the house to help the newcomers find their way around. The
y stopped in what the housekeeper called the guest wing.
“His Grace has said you are to be allowed to choose your bedchambers,” she said, gesturing to three open doors. “The two on this side of the corridor connect through a shared sitting room. The doors leading to the sitting room are equipped with locks, should you need them. The one on this side has a slightly larger sitting room, and does not connect to any other suite.”
Olivia exchanged looks with Mrs. D. and Miss H. “Would you two like the connecting rooms?”
“If you don’t mind, dear,” Mrs. D. replied.
“Not at all.” In fact, having a chamber all to herself with only one outer door to monitor might give her some of the piece of mind she’d been lacking these past months.
“Very good,” the housekeeper said briskly. “I’ll have the footmen bring up your things.” She turned to walk away, but paused. “Will the, erm, dog be needing anything during your stay?”
Olivia smothered a smile. “He’s very well behaved, I assure you. The only thing he’ll need is a footman to escort us on our walks. His Grace says I am not to leave the house alone.”
The housekeeper shot a skeptical glance at Artie, who had wandered into the suite his mistress had chosen as her own and was giving the sitting room a vigorous inspection. “I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, letting her smile break through.
The housekeeper nodded and headed back toward the staircase, leaving the three guests to explore their new, if temporary, home.
Olivia’s sitting room was decorated in shades of gold, which ought to have been ostentatious but somehow wasn’t. There was a small fire crackling in the fireplace, banishing the autumn chill from the room, and two beautifully carved chairs set before it. Near the large windows sat a small, upholstered settee positioned to take advantage of the sunlight pouring in.
“That is where I shall work,” she said, gesturing to Artie as he came to meet her at the door. “Do you think you can keep off the furniture here?”
He wagged his tail in response, lifting his head for a scratch which Olivia obligingly gave him.
Never in her life had Olivia been in a house so grand, let alone invited to stay. But watching bits of fur loosen wherever her fingers traveled filled her with horror—they were going to get dog hair all over His Grace’s beautiful carpets!
“Maybe we can ask for a blanket for you,” she said, brushing her hands together to slough off the fur sticking to them. He gave himself a little shake and went to one of the windows, pressing his nose against the sparkling clean glass, and Olivia sighed. “Are you so untidy at home? Or do I simply not notice anymore?”
A footman arrived then with her luggage, and she set about making the suite feel more like home. She hadn’t had much to bring so the effort didn’t take much time, and soon Olivia had settled herself on the settee with the dress she was finishing for one of her long-time customers.
After two days of sewing, sometimes with Mrs. D. and Miss H. sitting by the fire, sometimes with just Artie snoring softly in the sun, Olivia began to ask the footmen who took turns escorting her outdoors with Artie if they knew anything about her situation. They deflected her questions, as she’d expected.
“Do you think he’s forgotten about us?” Mrs. D. asked as they took their after dinner tea in Olivia’s sitting room.
Miss H. snorted. “This place is certainly large enough. He could house a school for the entire village here and never even notice the students.”
“That’s not all that far from the truth,” Olivia laughed. “But I’m sure His Grace hasn’t forgotten about us. He’s a busy man.”
The two older women exchanged a look, but neither said anything else.
That night, Olivia sat at the beautiful maple writing desk situated inside her bedchamber and wrote two short notes: one to Mr. Vaughn to inquire whether or not she could schedule an appointment with the duke, and one to His Grace to ask if he’d made any progress with Sir George.
She gave both notes to the footman who arrived for Artie’s morning walk, and he promised to deliver them to their respective recipients. But the rest of the morning, then the entire afternoon passed with no word from either man.
Finally, after three days of waiting, Olivia was ushered into the duke’s dim study. “Have you any news, Your Grace? Not that we aren’t grateful for your generous hospitality, but my neighbors and I are looking forward to returning to our own homes.”
“I suspect Artie will be happy to return, as well,” the duke returned with a small smile. “The footmen tell me he’s been patrolling your wing of the house like a sentry. You ought to call him Cerberus instead of Loup Garou.”
Olivia stifled a grin. Artie had also been pestering every servant that came his way, sniffing and following and demanding attention. “All your servants have been very kind to him, which I appreciate very much.”
“It’s good to have a dog about the place again,” His Grace said amiably. He opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off when the door flew open.
“Your Grace!”
“Mr. Lewis, what is the meaning of this? I am not to be disturbed!”
“It’s Mr. Vaughn,” the interloper continued. “He’s been attacked.”
Chapter Three
Once Rhuddlan sent Miss Stone back to her chamber and calmed Lewis, one of his regiment of secretaries, the details began to emerge. Vaughn had apparently been meeting with one of Rhuddlan’s investigators off the estate and had been set upon during his journey back. A tenant farmer had found him by the side of the road, beaten within an inch of his life but with just enough strength left to ask for his employer.
“How many attackers?” Rhuddlan asked quietly, behind the closed door of his study.
“Mr. Vaughn wasn’t sure,” Lewis answered. “But it was more than one. He’s in a bad way, Your Grace.”
Rhuddlan felt a scowl forming on his features. Who would attack a man in broad daylight? “Send Bates for the physician, and tell him to take Hermes.”
Lewis nodded and made for the study door. Hermes was the fastest horse in the Rhuddlan stables and Bates, the head groom, was one of the few men who could control him at full speed.
“Lewis?”
The man froze with his hand on the doorknob. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Where is Vaughn now?”
“Sanders offered up his own chamber.”
Rhuddlan gave a short nod of approval. The butler’s quarters were easier to carry a bleeding man to than any of the guest chambers. “Good. I’ll go to him myself in a moment.”
Lewis hurried out the door and Rhuddlan took a moment to collect himself. Was this simply more bad luck? Or the work of his brother? Was Vaughn’s connection with Rhuddlan the reason he was targeted? He swore under his breath. Maybe Vaughn’s suggestion to disappear wasn’t as ridiculous as he’d at first thought.
Rhuddlan found his principle secretary lying in Sanders’s bed, quiet and still with bruises already forming on the exposed skin that wasn’t bloody, his eyes closed. For the briefest of moments Rhuddlan thought the man had already died, and a wave of guilt crashed over him. But then Vaughn took a shallow breath and Rhuddlan took his own, deeper one.
“Mr. Vaughn,” he said, keeping his voice low even though the room was devoid of other people. Vaughn struggled on the bed as if he were trying to sit up, but Rhuddlan laid a hand on his shoulder. “No need for that. You just be still and rest—the physician is on his way.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Vaughn croaked slowly. “I thought I was careful...”
“This is not your fault,” Rhuddlan said firmly.
Vaughn moved restlessly on the bed. “I should have been more discreet...”
“This is not your fault,” Rhuddlan repeated. “I will have questions for you about who did this—” Vaughn opened his mouth to speak, but Rhuddlan patted his shoulder “—later. The only thing I want you to do right now is focus on healing. You follow whatever instruc
tions the physician gives you, and don’t worry about anything else.”
Vaughn licked his bleeding lips. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said with what sounded like reluctance.
Rhuddlan pressed his lips together. How could he ease his secretary’s mind? “I need you hale and hearty again, Mr. Vaughn. Without you to keep me organized, I’m not sure how I’ll manage the dukedom.”
The secretary offered a painful smile. “That’s kind of you to say, Your Grace.”
“Kind, but also true.” Rhuddlan stood awkwardly beside the bed for what was surely one of the longest moments of his life. What else could he say to this man to distract him a bit from the pain? “You know the clerks in my employ better than anyone—who do you recommend I lean on while you recuperate?”
“Mr. Lewis,” Vaughn answered with a half suppressed grimace, shifting his body gingerly into a more comfortable position. “He will see you through until I can return to my post.”
Rhuddlan heard the door swing open behind him, and turned to find his personal physician entering the room. “Thank you,” he said, turning back to his secretary. “Now you remember what I said about following the doctor’s orders. Lewis and I will muddle through until you are well.”
After a brief word with the physician Rhuddlan went back to his study, towing Lewis along behind him. After informing the man of his temporary promotion and conveying his duties for the rest of the day, Rhuddlan sent him off to begin his work. He waited a few minutes more for the physician to report back—a couple of broken bones and at least one blow to the head, but the lacerations were mostly superficial—then took himself off to the village with clenched fists. Anger and frustration were boiling inside him, and he needed an outlet—something that he could fix quickly and easily to regain his sense of control.
It wasn’t difficult to find Sir George Grayson. Rhuddlan stopped at the village tavern, ordered a tankard of ale, and carried it to the table in the corner indicated by the publican’s daughter.
“Mind if I join you?”
Grayson’s head came up slowly, then jerked the rest of the way when he saw who was standing before him. “Certainly, Your Grace.”
