An Earl Like No Other (2 page)

One of his reasons for leaving England was not wanting to see such people reduced to penury or sent to workhouses. While his father and brothers lived, he could have done nothing. But now? Wally Phillips had always been a sensible sort and he seemed to think one Jeremy Chilton could turn things around.

But what about Cassie? How would she react to being uprooted? Well, children often adapted to change more easily than adults did. His daughter was resilient; she blended easily with her cousins in the Indian village—and with her white relatives in St. Louis. Since her birth and her mother's death, he had been determined to see that she had the best he could offer, including a decent education that would allow her entrance to any society of her choice. To that end, he had a good deal of money saved—not a fortune, but a start. But—did he dare require that Little Willow become Lady Cassandra?

Could he live with himself if he failed even to try to save the earldom—to preserve a heritage that his daughter had a right to? And what about all those others? Did his very name not carry a responsibility to them?

He wrestled with the dilemma for three days, but in the end he saw little real choice in the matter. He would have to take on the task of trying to save Kenrick.

London
Spring, 1816

 

K
atherine Emma Newton Gardiner arrived one evening in late March on the doorstep of her husband's solicitor, gripping her son's hand in one of her own and clutching a large traveling bag in the other. The boy carried a smaller bag and the mother had a guitar slung across her back.

“Oh, please, do be at home,” Kate prayed as she set the bag down and lifted the door knocker.

After some time, the door opened a crack and an imperious male voice said, “
Ye-s-s
?”

“I am Lady Arthur Gardiner and I wish to see Mr. Phillips. It is a matter of some urgency,” Kate announced.

The butler seemed unsurprised by the anxiety she could not quell. He gave her a penetrating look that also took in the boy standing quietly at her side. The servant weighed her words, then opened the door wider and motioned them in. He took their bags and the instrument, set them inside the door, and motioned mother and son to a nearby bench.

“Wait here. I shall see if Mr. Phillips is in.”

Presently, Phillips himself appeared along with the butler. Phillips was a sandy-haired man in his thirties.

“Lady Arthur. What a pleasant surprise. Come in. And Lord Spenland. How nice to see you.” Phillips greeted the child in an adult manner, giving him a slight bow, which the little boy returned politely and expertly.

“I am not at all sure you will deem it such a pleasure once you know why I am here,” Kate said.

“A crisis, I take it?” Phillips responded. “Well, let us deal with it over tea. Martin, another pot of tea, please—and some of those ginger cakes for young Lord Spenland.”

“Right away, sir.”

Kate removed her cloak and her son's outer coat and handed them to the butler, who then promptly went to do his master's bidding.

Phillips ushered mother and son into a drawing room containing furniture that appeared to be valued for comfort as much as style. A fire burned in the fireplace and a lamp on a side table between two winged chairs splashed warm light into the room. One of the chairs was occupied by a plump, pretty blond woman.

“You remember my wife, do you not, Lady Arthur?” Phillips said.

“Yes, indeed.” Kate smiled at the other woman, who immediately stood and curtsied politely.

Mrs. Phillips held a book she had been reading, her finger marking the place. “I shall ring for more tea.”

“Already taken care of, my dear,” Phillips assured her.

“Oh. Then, as I presume this call involves some legal business, I shall excuse myself,” Mrs. Phillips offered.

“I would not drive you from your own drawing room!” Kate said. “I came because Mr. Phillips was a particular friend of my husband—as well as his solicitor.”

“Never mind, my dear. It happens all the time. But if you prefer that I stay . . .”

“By all means,” Kate said politely.

“Perhaps you would rather your son had his tea in the kitchen?” Mrs. Phillips had apparently noted a degree of anxiety about their guest. “We have a new family of kittens next to the cooker,” she said warmly to the little boy and laid aside her book.

“Thank you, Mrs. Phillips. Ned would like that, wouldn't you, son?” Kate nudged the child to accompany the woman to the kitchen.

When the door closed behind them, Phillips pointed to a place for Kate on the sofa, sat himself on a chair nearby, and said, “Now. What is it that has you so upset?”

“Does it show that much? I thought I had calmed myself during our long coach journey.” The sympathy and concern in his voice nearly undid her careful control. “Oh, Mr. Phillips, I made such a terrible mistake in taking Ned to Wynstan Castle.”

“I feared as much,” Phillips said, “but we all hoped it would work for the boy's sake, his being the heir and all.”

“That's precisely why I agreed to go, despite Arthur's careful plans. His grace offered such a plausible argument. Since Ned will eventually become the duke, his grandfather insisted that it would be best if he grew up on the land he would one day inherit. I had misgivings, but I was persuaded to that viewpoint.”

Phillips nodded. “At the time, I must admit I was inclined to agree with you. I mean to say, Arthur could not have foreseen that his older brother would die within months of his own demise. With young Ned now heir to the Wynstan dukedom, it made perfect sense to all of us.”

“Still—I should have remembered Arthur's stories of his childhood. I should never have given in to my father-in-law's arguments,” Kate said. “Nor should I have pestered you and Captain Lawrence to agree.”

“I do not recall such a deal of pestering, Lady Arthur,” Phillips replied with a smile. “Captain Lawrence—it's Major Lawrence now—and I readily accepted our joint guardianship of young Ned, but we both knew that your husband would have made you
sole
guardian—were one allowed to name a woman to such a position.”

Mrs. Phillips returned, followed by the butler bearing a tea tray. “I left your son happily consuming ginger cakes and playing with the kittens.”

“Thank you,” Kate said, accepting the cup of tea Mrs. Phillips offered her.

“We were discussing the boy's guardianship,” Mr. Phillips explained. “You recall the case, I am sure.” He turned to Kate. “My wife has a fine hand—
and
a fine mind—and she often copied documents for me until recently.”

“I see,” Kate said.

Mrs. Phillips settled herself on the sofa next to Kate. “I
do
recall the case. I distinctly remember questioning why a duke's son would take such extraordinary measures to eliminate members of his own family as possible guardians.”

“My husband spent an unhappy childhood under his father's iron hand,” Kate explained. “The duke was not just strict with Arthur. He was decidedly cruel at times.”

“Good heavens!” Mrs. Phillips said. “His own son?”

“Arthur was under the impression that his father thought not,” Kate said quietly.

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Phillips wore a frown of consternation and her husband too focused a curious gaze on Kate.

“Arthur thought perhaps he was
not
Wynstan's son, though the duke never publicly questioned his paternity and certainly his brother Frederick and his sister—both some years older than Arthur—were the duke's children.”

“But the duke
told
Lord Arthur this?” Mrs. Phillips asked in an appalled tone.

“I do not think he said it very precisely, but that was the impression Arthur had from some things the duke did say and, of course, from his rather bizarre behavior toward Arthur. The duke favored the others inordinately, especially his heir, Frederick,” Kate said. “That much was clear in the time Ned and I were at Wynstan Castle. The duke's treatment of Ned and me was, I think, an extension of his treatment of Arthur.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Mrs. Phillips murmured sympathetically.

Phillips broke in matter-of-factly. “So what happened? What brought you here?”

“I—I knew of nowhere else to turn.” Kate took a swallow of the hot tea, savoring its warmth, then set the dish down. “And I wished to discuss the funds Arthur left.”

“Give us the whole story,” Phillips said. “After all, I have neither seen nor heard from you since you left my office nearly a year ago.”

“It is not pretty,” Kate warned. “Once Ned and I removed to Wynstan Castle, we became virtual prisoners. I did not mind so much for me.” Her hands in her lap, she twisted the wedding ring she had never removed and cleared her throat. “I am somewhat embarrassed to tell you this—but without Arthur, it really made little difference
where
I was.”

“But you had your son,” Mrs. Phillips said gently.

“Yes. And a blessing he is. I honestly thought he might thrive in the country.”

“Did he?” Phillips asked.

“He
would
have done so. He
did
—at first. But the duke kept demanding more and more of him. And Ned tried so hard! The duke required that he learn fencing and boxing. When Ned did not immediately take to swords and fisticuffs, Wynstan accused him of being a silly female and a mama's boy. Ned has only eight years!”

“Good heavens!” Mrs. Phillips said again. “What did you do?”

“I tried to reason with the duke, but he said I had ‘coddled the boy long enough. The future Duke of Wynstan should be made of sterner stuff.' ” Kate tried to affect the duke's cold tone.

Phillips shifted in his chair. “Somehow, I doubt this is the whole story of why you are here.”

Kate sighed. “No. It is not. He . . . he insisted that Ned learn to shoot and hunt. Ned is terrified of guns. Even now he occasionally wakes up with nightmares in which he relives hearing guns in battle—especially that last battle at Toulouse.”

“Go on,” Phillips urged.

“The duke forced Ned go on a rabbit hunt. There were several men and boys and a pack of dogs.” She closed her eyes against the memory.

Mrs. Phillips, perched on the edge of the sofa, turned toward Kate. “You were there too?”

“Oh, no. This was a men-only affair. I just heard about it afterwards. It was terrible, though. This was not a hunt to rid farmers of pests. It was only for sport. There were loud shots. And blood. A great deal of blood. Ned was sick and vomited. The duke insisted Ned try shooting, but he couldn't—in part because the duke's gun was far too large for a small boy. But Ned was also terrified, you see?”

Again Mrs. Phillips gave a sympathetic murmur and reached to place her hand on Kate's.

Kate went on. “The duke was embarrassed in front of his friends.” Even now, in the retelling, she felt herself trembling at what was coming next. “He—he was so angry he picked up the bloody carcasses of two of the rabbits and draped them around Ned's neck and made him carry them home that way.” She stifled a sob.

“Good grief!” Phillips said.

Kate nodded. “Ned was nearly hysterical. He kept saying to me later, ‘That was how Papa died, Mama. I know it. In a field with blood everywhere.' ” Now, weeks later, remembering the utter despair in her son's voice, Kate felt tears on her cheeks.

“No wonder you wanted to leave,” Mrs. Phillips said, motioning to her husband, who eventually understood that he should hand over his handkerchief to their visitor. “I cannot imagine how Mr. Phillips and I might react if such a thing happened to one of
our
sons!”

“Oh, there's more,” Kate went on bitterly after wiping her eyes. “Later, the duke called Ned down to the library. I went with him, but Wynstan would not allow me in. However, I stood outside the door—and I heard it all.”

“Heard what?” Mrs. Phillips asked in an appalled whisper.

“The duke shouted that he would teach Ned a lesson he would not forget. Ned was, he said, just like his father and needed the same treatment. Then . . . there was a horrible slapping sound. He was using a leather strap on my little boy! Ned screamed. I screamed too, and pounded on the door. Finally, it stopped. The duke jerked open the door and cursed at me, but I shoved past him to Ned, who was cowering over a chair, sobbing his heart out.”

“As well he might be!” the other mother said.

“You indicated that you were virtually held prisoner at Wynstan Castle,” Mr. Phillips reminded her in a lawyerly tone meant, she supposed, to defuse the emotions aroused by her story.

“Yes. He refused to allow us to leave.
I
could leave, but ‘the boy will stay here,' he insisted. He even set the servants to watching us.”

Mrs. Phillips gasped. “My heavens! How utterly dreadful for you.”

“So how did you make your escape?” the husband asked.

“I waited. Eventually, they would let their guard down. And they did. It happened when Wynstan came here to London—something to do with Parliament. One of the grooms whom Arthur had rescued years ago from a beating helped us. I had a little money hidden away. We took the mail coach three days ago and arrived here this afternoon.” She paused, exhausted by her emotions—anger and fear had assailed her anew as she told the tale. “Will you help us?”

“I will do what I can,” Phillips said. “Arthur deserves that and more from me. Do you have something in mind?”

“I—I am not sure. At first all I could think was to get away—as far from Wynstan Castle and the duke as possible.”

Phillips gave a rueful chuckle. “So you came to London—right where the duke is.”

She smiled feebly. “I thought he would not expect that. He will probably think I have gone to my parents in Surrey, though he cannot know how unlikely that would be.”

“You may be right about his not expecting that course of action. But eventually he will trace you here. He knows of my connection to Arthur.”

“I know,” she said glumly, “but I cannot allow that evil old man to hurt my son again. There must be some way—some place—we can hide. Arthur left us some funds. I intended to save them for Ned—that is, until . . .”

“Until he was no longer the penniless son of a second son, but the heir to a very rich, very important dukedom,” the lawyer supplied. He stood and began pacing the room.

“I . . . I could go to the United States—the war has long been over there too—or to Canada, perhaps,” Kate said. “I think there is enough money for passage.”

He paused in his pacing. “Yes. There is. And you could manage for two or three—perhaps four—years, but then what?”

“Something will turn up. It always does,” she said brightly—too brightly.

“No. No. That will not do,” he muttered and continued his pacing. “You must also consider the fact that the present duke will not live forever. Your little Ned will one day be a very important man in
England
.”