The Returned Lords of Grosvenor Square: A Regency Romance Boxset

by Rose Pearson

  “Yes, miss,” the man replied, glancing towards Stephen with an almost awestruck air. “This is my place.”

  “‘The Old Fox’,” Miss Edgington murmured, reading the name of the tavern and then smiling at the man. “Would you have a private parlor or anything of the like, where the Duke might rest for a time? Just until I have found what I need?”

  The man’s eyes flared wide and he looked at Stephen as though he were an angel sent from heaven. “’Course I do,” he said at once, scraping a bow. “My name is Arthur. If you would just come this way, Your Grace, then I will do my very best to serve you.” He gave Stephen a grin, which, Stephen noticed, lacked a few teeth. Stephen quickly managed to suppress a shudder. It was clear what Miss Edgington intended to do, but to have to go into a tavern such as this was not something he was relishing.

  “Thank you,” he replied, walking quickly past Miss Edgington and towards the open door. He threw a glance in her direction and saw her give him a small nod, as though he were doing just as she had expected and she was pleased with him in some way. “One drink, however. Miss Edgington, I shall only be a few minutes. Pray find whatever it is that you are seeking and return as quickly as you can. I would like to return home very soon.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Miss Edgington murmured, lowering her head in deference as he nodded at her, turning his head away before stepping into the tavern.

  Some twenty minutes later, Stephen was more than ready to depart. The tavern had not been as terrible as he had thought, for Arthur, the proprietor, had treated him to a private parlor which was, in fact, very clean and well laid out. The drinks that had been pressed upon him, whilst not the finest ale he had ever encountered, was not stomach-churning, and he had managed to drink both. Now, however, he was more than ready to leave, silently praying that Miss Edgington had managed to maneuver John back into the carriage without another thought.

  “Your lady be waiting for you outside, Your Grace.” Arthur’s head appeared, sticking around the edge of the door, rapping sharply with his knuckles as he did so. As though he wanted to capture Stephen’s attention. “Will I tell her to wait?”

  “No, no.” Stephen rose to his feet briskly, giving Arthur a quick smile. “My very good thanks for your kindness here today. It was a pleasure to linger within such a welcoming setting whilst I waited for the governess to find what she needed.” He fished a few coins from his pocket, knowing it was far more than was due and set them on the table. “I thank you.”

  Arthur’s eyes widened as he took in the coins, stumbling slightly as he pushed the door open fully for Stephen. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he muttered, as Stephen made his way to the door. “Most kind of you.”

  Hurrying outside, Stephen was more than relieved to see Miss Edgington waiting for him. By the look on her face, she had been able to retrieve John and, as she gave him a quick nod, he felt reassured that all was well.

  “Thank you, Arthur,” Miss Edgington said to the fellow, smiling lightly at him. “Oh, before I forget, I discovered this on the ground near to the tavern.” She held up a thick gold ring on a thin chain. “Do you know to whom it belongs?”

  To Stephen’s surprise, Arthur reached out and tugged it from Miss Edgington’s fingers, his relief more than apparent.

  “It be mine,” he said, gruffly, looking at the ring gratefully. “I had it in my pocket and the next thing I know, some imp’s gone and fished it out of there and set off running out of here!” He shook his head, his voice nothing more than a growl. “If I’d found him, I’d have……” Trailing off, he glanced at Stephen and then looked away, clearly a little embarrassed. “The child must have dropped it. I am very grateful, miss.”

  Miss Edgington smiled back at Arthur, not showing any sign of strain or tension. “I am glad,” she replied, beginning to turn away. “Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, miss,” Arthur replied, scraping a bow once again as he looked towards Stephen. “And good day, Your Grace.”

  “Good day,” Stephen murmured, giving the man one last glance before hurrying after Miss Edgington. It would not do to think of what Arthur might have done to John should he have caught the boy, for the anger on the man’s face as he had spoken of being stolen from was more than a little frightening.

  “You have him, Miss Edgington?”

  Miss Edgington nodded, her face set. “I do, Your Grace,” she replied, calmly. “He is awaiting us in the carriage. He has taken nothing other than the ring and chain from the tavern proprietor, and that was simple enough to return.” She glanced up at him, a look of concern growing in her eyes. “Pray, do not be overly harsh with the child, Your Grace,” she finished, quickly. “There is a reason to what he has done, I know it.”

  “You think my lack of interest in my son has sent him down this particular path,” Stephen bit out, finding a knot of anger settling in his stomach. “But leave me to deal with my son in my own way, Miss Edgington. I do not require your assistance in this matter.”

  Miss Edgington made to say something, only to bite her lip and turn her head away. Stephen stalked to the carriage, ready to speak his mind to his son – only to see a small, white, scared face looking back at him.

  His heart dropped, his stomach tensed and a feeling of nausea rushed over him. He stared back into his son’s face, recalling the times that John had been afraid of a storm or of shadows playing in the gloom, and how Martha had always been there to comfort him. She was not here now. She was not present, ready to step in with arms wide open for an embrace and words of sympathy and understanding ready to be whispered into his ear.

  “Your Grace?”

  It was only then that he realized he had come to a dead stop, standing a few feet away from his carriage. With an effort, Stephen forced his stiff limbs to move and he hurried forward, climbing into the carriage and sitting down opposite his son. Once Miss Edgington was seated – next to John and not next to him, Stephen noted – the carriage began the journey back to the manor house.

  “I will not tolerate this behavior under my roof, John.”

  The boy’s eyes dropped to the floor of the carriage. His head lowered and his hands tightened in his lap. “Yes, Your Grace,” he replied, his voice weak and tremulous.

  “That fellow would have beaten you until you could barely stand,” Stephen continued, aware that his voice was harsh but feeling a deep surge of protectiveness crash over him. “It was more than foolish, child.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Again, those whispered words. That broken spirit. Stephen felt plagued with guilt and fear and horror over what might have occurred, had Miss Edgington not stepped in to save John from Arthur’s fury.

  “You will take yourself to your room and remain there for the rest of the day,” he finished, seeing Miss Edgington watch him steadily. “Do I make myself clear?”

  John glanced up at him, his eyes still wide but with two spots of color now in his cheeks. “Yes, Your Grace,” he agreed, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his head again. Miss Edgington reached across and rested one hand on John’s arm and, much to Stephen’s surprise, the boy leaned into her.

  His heart burst with something akin to relief. It was as though he were glad to see John so willing to accept Miss Edgington’s aid. As though he realized that the child needed someone to stand alongside him and care for him in the way that Stephen could not. And then came the barrage of guilt, the knowledge that he himself had done nothing to help his son or his daughter through their grief at the loss of their mother. Instead, he had simply sent them away, back to England, so that he might deal with his pain in his own way. Yes, he had told himself that he believed it to be for the best and yes, even now, he might agree that it had been the correct decision, but he had not needed to linger behind for so long. He had not been required to wait on the continent, to return to the army and to attempt to find a life there instead of coming home to England. To his estate and his children. What had they endured without him?

 
The guilt that assuaged him was so fresh, so sharp and so troubling that, when the carriage arrived back at the manor house, Stephen could not bring himself to say another word to his son. John left the carriage and waited patiently for Miss Edgington, looking up at her with grateful eyes before walking back to the house alongside her. No doubt she and John would have many a conversation soon, where he would tell her the truth of his actions and she would try and express to him her own fears over his disappearance and her concern for his behavior. Whilst he himself would do nothing other than return to his duties and his brandy, continuing to avoid the friendship and closeness with his children that could so easily be a part of his life, if only he would reach out to accept it.

  It was the one thing he could not yet bring himself to do, and so, with the familiar, heavy burdens now settling themselves back on his shoulders again, Stephen turned back to the house and walked inside, as alone as he had always been.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I do not think our father likes us very much.”

  Jenny’s heart tore as she turned to look down at Mary, who was busy gazing at the many beautiful flowers that graced the estate gardens. “What, may I ask, makes you believe such a thing, Mary?” she asked, gently, trying to encourage the girl to speak openly. “Your father is a very busy man, you must recall.”

  “I am aware of that,” Mary agreed, softly, not looking up at Jenny, “but he is very distant. He does not come to the schoolroom to look over our work. He does not ever want us to join him for dinner, nor does he come to bid us goodnight as he used to.” Slowly, her eyes drifted from the flowers to look up at Jenny, a solemnness in them that did not suit her age. “I think that he must be very angry with us in some way.”

  John, who had been wandering around nearby, came closer. “It is not you that he is angry with, Mary. He is angry with me.”

  Jenny felt her stomach tighten, her whole being filling with tension as she tried to explain such matters to the children. “His Grace has not held onto any anger with regards to your behavior, John,” she said, firmly, a little surprised to hear the boy suggest such a thing when it had been over a fortnight ago. “I am certain of that.”

  “Then why does he never seek us out?” John challenged, shrugging his shoulders. “He has never once come to speak to us simply because he wished to do so.”

  “I am aware of that,” Jenny replied, quickly, dampening down the sharp anger that flared within her. “And yet I am certain that he is neither angry with you nor dislikes being in your company. You must recall that I have barely seen your father either, and that is not because he is attempting to stay away from my company. It is simply because the Duke is very busy, caught up with all that he has to do.”

  Jenny knew that this, whilst true, was not the entirety of the matter, and from the look on John’s face, she feared that he knew she was not telling him everything. The child was sharp-eyed and very intelligent, which meant that he might well be able to decipher the fact that the Duke was continuing to deliberately avoid spending time with his children.

  “I shall take him some flowers, then.”

  Mary’s simple request brought a small smile to Jenny’s lips. “Indeed?”

  “I shall ask the gardener to help me,” Mary continued, looking up at Jenny with a small smile brightening her expression. “Father might be glad to have them in his study, and if he does not dislike us nor is angry with us, as you say, then I am certain he will be happy to see me.”

  Ignoring the sudden stab of tension in her stomach, Jenny gave the girl a warm, encouraging smile. “I think that is a wonderful idea, Mary. The flowers are beautiful, and I know the colors and the scents will bring joy to any heart.” She had to pray that the Duke would be amenable to accepting a gift such as this from his daughter. She was a trifle afraid he might turn around and reject the gift from Mary without any explanation as to why. Jenny had hoped that her conversation with the Duke some weeks ago when they had first been looking for John, would have made an impression upon him and helped him to change his attitude and behavior towards his own children but, as yet it seemed, nothing had altered significantly in any way.

  “You will come with me, will you not, Miss Edgington?”

  Jenny nodded at once, seeing the relief on Mary’s face and, in turn, feeling the anger rise up within her again. This was the Duke’s doing. There was no need for him to be turning against his children, no need for him to be pushing them aside as he seemed to do with such ease. If only he would reach out, then they would be by his side in an instant.

  “Of course I will go with you, Mary,” she said, as gently as she could. “But you have nothing to fear from your father. I know he will be glad of them.”

  A full hour later and Jenny was standing beside Mary. In her hands, she held a small glass vase with a bouquet of flowers within. Mary had taken her time to decide what flowers she would have cut and had carefully and meticulously made her arrangement to give to her father. Jenny had been pleased to see the girl’s considerations, marveling at how altered she was to when Jenny had first arrived. Despite her father’s inattention, she had become a sweet, placid little girl who loved the outdoors and, in particular, riding her pony whenever she could. Jenny had been glad to see the change but still found herself longing for the day that the Duke would take a greater interest in his children and see the joy on their faces as he did so.

  “Enter.”

  The Duke’s voice was gruff. Jenny felt her heart climb into her throat as she pushed the door open and allowed Mary to enter first.

  “Good afternoon, father,” Mary said, her voice a little quieter than usual. “I have picked you some flowers for your room.”

  Jenny saw the Duke freeze, his quill held tightly in his hand as his eyes fixed themselves on the bouquet that Mary now carried. His face drained of color, his eyes roving towards Mary’s face as he drew in a long breath.

  Jenny willed him to speak, willed him to say something that would alleviate Mary’s obvious tension.

  “I brought them for you, father,” Mary said again, taking a couple of steps closer to the Duke’s desk. “Can I set them here?” She reached up so as to place the glass vase on the desk, only to be stopped by the harsh, rough voice of her father.

  “No.”

  Closing her eyes, Jenny fought back her anger as she heard Mary’s quiet gasp.

  “Set them over there.”

  Her jaw set, Jenny opened her eyes and glared at the Duke, seeing him direct Mary towards one of the windowsills in his study. Mary stared at her father for a few moments, clearly distraught over the harsh way he’d spoken to her as well as his lack of thanks, and Jenny had to step in so as to guide the child to where the Duke requested for her to go.

  “He does not like them,” Mary whispered, tears splashing down onto her cheeks as she turned to Jenny, the bouquet now safely on the windowsill behind them. “I told you that he dislikes our company and now –”

  “I am certain that your father greatly appreciates the time and the effort you went to, to bring him such a gift,” Jenny said loudly, interrupting Mary and shooting an angry glance in the Duke’s direction. “After all, this idea was entirely of your own doing, was it not?”

  Mary frowned a little, her eyes confused as she looked back at Jenny. “Yes,” she replied, not turning around to glance at her father. “But my father does not care for them.”

  Jenny looked back at the Duke, her anger boiling away within her with such rapidity that it felt as though every part of her was being filled with fury. This dear, sweet child was being wounded, yet again, by her father’s self-centeredness and lack of consideration, and it pained Jenny to see it occurring. The Duke held Jenny’s gaze for a long moment, his pallor a little grey as he looked down at Mary. Moments passed before a long sigh emitted from his lips and he rubbed one hand across his forehead.

  “I am sorry I spoke harshly, Mary,” he muttered, making the child turn around to look at him. “Your mother used t
o bring me flowers such as you have.”

  “Oh.” Mary sounded surprised. “Then does that not make you happy, father? To have flowers in your study again?”

  Jenny saw a flash of pain cross the Duke’s face, his lips pressing together tightly as he fought for an answer.

  “It should,” he agreed, eventually. “Thank you for doing such a kind thing for me, Mary. I am grateful for them.”

  Mary said nothing but looked up at Jenny, her eyes holding more confusion than before. It was clear that she did not understand why her father was not pleased to see the flowers in his study again, especially since the late Lady Carrington had done much the same.

  “Your father is obviously very busy,” Jenny said, quickly, ushering the girl towards the door. “Might you go to find John and tell him that a tray will be sent to your rooms? You must both be hungry by now.”

  This brought a smile to Mary’s lips and she nodded, but not before throwing another look over her shoulder at her father, her small forehead furrowed with confusion and doubt. Jenny felt her heart slice open, wanting to rail at the Duke and yet being fully aware that she would have to do all she could to keep her temper.

  “I shall be along in a few minutes,” she reassured Mary, as the girl turned to leave the room. “I have something to discuss with your father.” She smiled again and waited for Mary to scamper down the hall before turning around, closing the door tightly and leaning back against it.

  Her heart was racing, blood roaring in her ears. The Duke had not asked her to stay and certainly this was more than a little improper to remain in his study without invitation. The thought of Mary’s tears on her cheeks forced her to remain. She had to say something, had to do something to let the Duke see just how troubled his children were over his behavior towards them.

  “I do not think I have asked you to remain, Miss Edgington.”

  “And yet, remain I shall,” she retorted, her voice seeming to fill the room as she glared back at the Duke. “I have been governess to your children for some time now and I must tell you that you are quite breaking them apart.”