David blinked. “He told you that? All of us?”
“Yes. I asked if he meant me to keep that secret, and he said, ‘I shall inform your mother when she is able to discuss the matter. I should prefer you not tell your sisters.’”
Astonished, David said nothing. Was that what the Earl had meant when he said that he would see to it that the girls were provided for? He was inclined to believe that their father had made the bequest to his daughters, equally, and Amelia had interpreted that more broadly, but what of it? It was her welfare, and Genie’s, that really mattered.
Will didn’t seem to notice his silence. “So, my lady, you do not believe he told your brother?”
“Not if he has made the changes as he promised—and I have never known Father to break his word. It seems to me that he is keeping his conversations with Ronald to the very minimum.”
“I hope he does tell Ronald,” David said. “And soon. That is the one thing I can imagine that might turn our brother sweet—and safeguard Father’s life. He’ll want to be sure the will is changed again, in his favor.”
Will frowned, but Amelia nodded. “To hear him talk, one would think Father was already in his grave. Ronald was always selfish, but this surpasses all—to write his own father off so blithely!”
“‘Only a matter of time,’” David said. “He is quite looking forward to our loss.”
“Indeed!” She hesitated, then said, “Would it be harsh to say this makes me wonder about Mark’s accident? It was the last thing in the world one would anticipate; he was always so careful with guns!”
“I’ve had the same thought,” Davy said. “It seems Ronald was in London, though, and we’ve no way to prove otherwise, or even inquire.”
“Of course you can inquire,” Will said. “Why could you not? The Army must keep records of officers’ leave, and where they may be reached when they’re away.”
“Father,” Amelia said simply.
“But surely, in so serious a matter…” Will’s protest dwindled away as both Archers shook their heads.
“We might hire a solicitor to make very discreet inquiries,” David said. “Though it would have to be done without my father’s approval. He may not be pleased to have Ronald in Mark’s place, but he would never approve of an inquiry.”
“Still…”
“No, Will. Mark’s death was ruled
accidental
. No one needs an alibi for an accident. I can only imagine the uproar if we were to be found investigating Ronald’s whereabouts at the time of Mark’s death.”
“I wish that we might do it, though,” Amelia said. “And I wish that I could be shocked at the thought of it being necessary, but Ronald has changed for the worse since he joined the Army. I never thought he cared much for the rest of us, except Grandmama, but he was not so utterly hateful. It seems that none of us matter now, save to serve his purpose. But Davy, really—to kill his own brother!” She faltered, looking from David to Will as if hoping for a contradiction. “Even he would not do such a thing...would he?”
Was there any point in lying? David shrugged. “We both know that answer, Lia. Of course he would, if he thought he could do so without being caught. The question is not would he, but
did
he? And if so, how?”
“That’s not the only question,” Will said. “The critical one is—if he did, how can we prove it? It would take a local magistrate to hand the case over to the Assizes. Who is that, in this district?”
David sighed. “The Earl of Grenbrook, of course. My father.”
* * * * *
A conspiracy, that’s what it was. And Dearest Mama, of all people, to thank for it! Of course she had always coddled that superfluous whelp. The runt of the litter...if he had come home alone, dealing with him would’ve been a trifling matter, but he’d found himself a protector while he was away, and apparently found a backbone as well. It would be a challenge to hunt the pair of them...But no. Best to get over heavy ground as lightly as possible. The war would resume, they would depart, and the women could be brought to heel easily enough. Compromise the cousin, by force if necessary, and once her belly started to show she’d marry readily enough; her marriage portion would pay off all outstanding debts.
If one had any belief in a power higher than oneself, one would pray for war.
Chapter Eight
Ronald’s absence at tea provided a much-needed break in the domestic drama. The Earl, Lady Anne reported, was having tea with his wife in her chambers, so the only gentlemen present were Davy and Will. Lady Eugenie seemed to be feeling more herself, and more determined than ever to practice her feminine wiles on a hapless naval officer. She fluttered, she gazed upon Will with wide admiring eyes, she spoke in reverent tones of the pride a woman must feel to know that the lord of her household was off fighting His Majesty’s enemies...until Davy kindly turned to his baby sister and said, “You’d hate it, you know.”
She faced him with all the injured dignity of naïveté. “How can you possibly say that?”
“Genie, you are not the sort of young lady who enjoys being left alone. Think of how long it’s been since I was last here at home. I’ll give you a five-pound note if you can even remember the date you last saw me.”
The dignity vanished as she strove to summon a date from her memory, without success. “Well—but—but you are my
brother!”
“I am well aware of that, and glad of it. The year, please?” He gave her plenty of time to respond, to no avail. “I know men who have not seen their ladies in two years’ time—and I mean officers, not those poor foremast devils who only have their wives in to visit on board when the ship’s in port. And even when his ship is in port, a captain is obliged to sleep aboard, as an example to his crew.”
Her eyes widened. “You cannot mean that!”
“I can and I do, little sister. Exceptions are made if a captain is required to travel far from port, but that is the general rule...a captain is married to his ship. If you give your heart to a sailor, you will spend most of your life alone.”
Did the tone of his voice have a tiny edge of pain to it? Will wasn’t sure himself, and no one else seemed to notice as Davy continued, “A Navy wife can go from bride to widow without spending one week of the year under the same roof as her husband. That may be an honor, but I think it must be a lonely one. I cannot help but believe that when you give your affections to a gentleman, you will expect him to be on hand to appreciate you.”
Jane Winston asked demurely, “So, Cousin, is it your opinion that sailors ought not to marry at all?”
“No, of course not,” he said. “It would be disaster for the breed to die out. But I do believe that ladies should be aware of the disadvantages. We may have splendid uniforms in His Majesty’s Navy,” he brushed a nonexistent speck of lint from one shoulder, “but you must not be swept away by them.”
“Perhaps Genie finds the notion of being her own mistress an attractive proposition,” Lady Amelia said. “If one must have a husband, it might be convenient to have a spouse who spent all his time aboard his—” She glanced at Lady Anne and said, “Oh, I am sorry, dearest. Forgive my poor attempt at humor.”
“You needn’t apologize. I will concede your point,” Lady Anne said. “Of course I would prefer to have my husband at home, but when I was increasing, and now, with the girls so young, there is much to be said for Gilliam being in the Service. My life is more serene than if he were present to take me out on the social rounds, and domesticity has made me so content that I must seem rather dull. I truly prefer a quiet life, spending the day with my sewing, or perhaps visiting with a friend or two.”
Will caught the twinkle in her eye, and did not miss the consternation on Lady Eugenie’s pretty face. “That sounds much more pleasant than what befell Lady Pellew when Sir Edward made his famous rescue of the
Dutton
,” he said. “Do you know the story?”
“I know he saved almost the whole ship’s company,” Lady Anne said. “Several hundred souls, was it not?”
“Over five hundred,” Will said, “the youngest a baby who had been born during the voyage. The ship ran aground in a storm, and all her officers were able to do was get a hawser to shore. Merchantmen, of course,” he added. “Not Navy. The ship was in confusion, and being knocked to pieces.”
“I had heard nothing of Lady Pellew. What was her part in the rescue?”
“Prayer and patience.” He saw that he had Lady Eugenie’s rapt attention as well, and explained, “Sir Edward was taking her to dine with the vicar when their carriage was halted by the hubbub of people watching the wreck of the Dutton. He went off to see what the trouble was, and immediately took command of the situation—leaving her ladyship in the carriage whilst he swam out to the ship along the hawser and organized a rescue. His own ship—the
Indefatigable,
I believe—” He looked to Davy, who nodded, “was also attempting to assist the
Dutton,
and eventually they brought everyone safely to shore.”
“But Lady Pellew,” Eugenie said. “What became of her, that night?”
“We must assume she either continued on to dinner or went home to await news and notify a physician to stand by. Sir Edward injured his back on the way out to the ship, and spent a week in bed afterward.”
“Ah, that foils my argument,” Davy said. “He
did
spend an entire week at home. And I’m sure her ladyship was gratified when Sir Edward was made a baronet for his heroism.”
“I think I should rather have my husband whole and sound,” said Lady Anne. “I am proud enough of him without such extraordinary exploits. What a long night that must have been for Lady Pellew!”
“Sir Edward has always had a reputation as a fire-breather,” Will said. “I believe her ladyship is well accustomed to sitting at the hearth, waiting for news of his latest exploit.”
Lady Eugenie shook her curls. “How could anyone be accustomed to being left on the side of the road?”
“Well, I’m certain you would not appreciate it,” Davy said. “Nor would you like to see your spouse lying prostrate, unable to squire you to a ball.”
She bridled. “If he had come by his injury so honorably, I would sit beside him and tend his injuries! I am
not
a silly little girl, you know.”
“Of course not,” he agreed. “You are a silly young lady.”
She turned to Will. “I am convinced, sir, that if you had sisters you would not tease them so!”
“No, never,” he said quickly. She smiled, and he added, apologetically, “I should probably be much worse.”
Lady Amelia took pity on him, and addressed her elder sister. “Anne, you said you had a letter from Gilliam this afternoon. Is there any chance he will be given leave to come home?”
The conversation wandered away into more general channels, and Will was able to stop feeling like an East Indiaman with a privateer bearing down with the weather-gauge. But the mention of letters reminded him that he had not yet written to let Sir Percy know that they had arrived safely, and he decided to put pen to paper as soon as he had a chance. There was still a world outside Grenbrook Manor, even if its crises were taking up all his attention.
* * * * *
The Heir Presumptive chose once again to deprive them of his presence at the dining table. If anyone noticed, they did not object. Afterward, the long-delayed game of whist was proposed and entered into, and David Archer had the immense satisfaction of seeing Will foiled at last, and by his own partner. Genie understood the game no better than David did himself, but he, at least, had experience enough to keep from disgracing himself. When they exchanged partners he persuaded Jane to take his place to give poor Will a respite, and joined his sister where she sat knitting some sort of fluffy thing for the imminent nephew or niece.
“Had all you can stand?” she asked slyly.
“It was never my favorite pastime,” he said. “Poor Will!”
She chuckled, tsk’d as she dropped a stitch, and said, too quietly to be heard over at the card-table, “Father has made the changes. He has his draft copy, and the signed original went off with Mr. Beauchamp. I must say I am very much relieved.”
“Do you know if he explained the changes to our beloved brother?”
“I believe he has. The subject arose when I told him that Ronald had proposed a match for me with his friend Dixon.”
Her matter-of-fact tone surprised him. “How did you ever manage to bring
that
up without a tempest?”
“Why, gratitude, of course. I thanked him for taking such swift action to protect us from Ronald’s ill-judgment—and of course he wanted to know what I meant by that.”
He nearly whistled, but caught himself so as not to attract attention. “My God, Lia, you’re a veritable Hercules.”
“I had to let Father know of Ronald’s intentions. How would it be if the odious Mr. Dixon were to show up at the door with his luggage and servants, and say that the heir of Grenbrook had invited him to come courting?”
“To a house in mourning? I can’t believe anyone would be so graceless. That reminds me, thank you for putting Will at his ease. When he saw the black bunting, he was mortified at the thought of intruding.”
“You needn’t thank me, dear. I have been dying to meet him. As for Ronald’s friend, well...I would not rely on his good manners.”
“You’ve met him, not I. Poor girl! But that reminds me, where has Ronald hidden his batman—that slinking little weasel? I would expect to see him lurking behind th’ arras, or listening at keyholes.”