Jane Feather - [V Series] (34 page)

“I thought you might like some company for dinner,” he said, as if he didn’t notice her pallor or the sheen
of tears in her eyes. “Mrs. Cunningham informs me that she has a carp in parsley sauce and a boiled fowl with mushrooms. Sounds quite appetizing, I thought.”

Judith managed to blink back her tears. “Thank you, Sebastian,” she said with composure. “I was dreading a solitary dinner.”

“I rather thought that might be the case.” He bent to kiss her. “Blue-deviled?”

“An understatement,” she said. “What are we going to do about Gracemere?”

“It’s not important at the moment.” He pulled the chess board over to the fire. “We’ll work something out once you’ve recovered your equilibrium.”

“But—”

“Which hand?” Sebastian interrupted, offering his clenched fists.

“I only want—”

“Which hand?” he repeated.

Judith pointed to his left. He opened it to reveal the black pawn.

“Oh, good, I have the advantage,” he said cheerfully, sitting behind the white pieces. “Sit down, Ju, and stop looking like a week of wet Mondays.”

She sat down and watched him move his pawn to king four. She moved her own in response. “Have you seen Marcus?” She tried to keep the quaver from her voice.

“He paid me a visit this morning.” He moved up his queen’s pawn.

She made the ritual responding move. “What did he say?”

Sebastian examined the neat center arrangement of four pawns. “He wanted to know where you were.” He brought out his knight.

Judith moved her own knight and they exchanged pawns. “What did you say?”

“That I was sworn to secrecy.” Sebastian sat back. The ritual opening moves made, the real play would begin.

“Was he angry?”

“Not pleased,” her brother said, bringing his queen’s bishop into play. “But then you wouldn’t expect him to put his neck under your foot, would you?”

“I’d expect him to be more understanding,” she snapped, hunching over the board. “He makes no effort to understand me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Sebastian said judiciously, waiting for his sister to make her move. “I think on the whole he has a fairly good handle on you, Ju.”

“How can you say that?” Judith’s hand hovered over her knight.

“He knows damn well that if he allows you to ride roughshod over him, you’ll have no relationship at all,” Sebastian said. “Be honest, Ju. Do you want some nodcock for a husband, a man who couldn’t stand up to you?”

“No,” she said. “Of course not. But why do we have to stand up to each other, Sebastian? That’s what I don’t understand.”

Her brother shrugged. “It’s the kind of people you are. I don’t think you’re going to change that, quite frankly.”

“Harriet won’t stand up to you,” she observed.

“She won’t have to,” he responded promptly. “I won’t give her cause. I intend to become a country bumpkin—a squire, devoted to farming and hunting and my children.”

“Yes, because when you and Harriet make your vows, you’ll do it without deception,” Judith said, bitterness
lacing her words. “You’ll be the person she believes you to be. She’ll know nothing of father, of Gracemere … and she’ll never have to know. All of that will be in the past forever. It won’t come back to destroy your marriage before it’s ever really begun.” Her voice choked and she turned aside from the board. “I’m sorry.”

Sebastian handed her his handkerchief. He had no doubts now that his interference had been justified. “Make your move, Ju,” he said, indicating the board. “It’s true that my marriage would be founded on something different from yours, but maybe you could move beyond that with Marcus. Once it’s all over—”

“How could I possibly?” she exclaimed. “And how can you talk like this anyway? After what he believes, what he’s said, what he intends to do …?”

“I know,” Sebastian said soothingly. “It’s insupportable, I agree. I was thinking you might consider going to that little village in Bavaria, where the Helwigs are. They invited you to stay with them whenever you wished. It might tide you over an awkward few months.”

“Yes,” Judith agreed, wondering why Sebastian’s company was so irritating. She couldn’t remember ever before finding it so.

It was close to midnight when he left. Young Tom, shivering in a doorway opposite, heaved a sigh of relief.

Surveillance was a tedious business, he reckoned, setting off after the gentleman-cove in the beaver hat and long cloak. It involved hanging around for hours outside houses and clubs, going without his dinner in case the cove came out unexpectedly. However, he could take his lordship unerringly to every one of the places visited by his quarry.

Sebastian hailed a passing hackney and the jarvey pulled over immediately. If Sebastian was aware of the nonpaying passenger clinging to the back of the carriage
as it swung through the quiet streets of nighttime London, he gave no sign.

Tom sprang off as the carriage turned into Albemarle Street. It seemed his quarry was going home for the night, which left his follower free to make his report to his lordship, and hopefully find some supper in the kitchen, before seeking his own bed above the stables.

Marcus had had no stomach for company that evening and had remained by his own fireside, trying to divert his thoughts with Caesar’s
Gallic Wars.
The diversion was only minimally successful since he found contemplation of the war in his own back garden to be much more compelling.

The library door opened. “Young Tom is here to see you, my lord.”

“Send him in, Gregson.”

Tom came in on the words. “Take your cap off, lad,” Gregson directed in an outraged whisper. Stableboys were not usual library visitors.

Tom snatched off his cap and stood awkwardly, twisting it between his hands. “The cove’s gone ’ome to ’is bed, m’lord,” he offered in explanation for his end of duty. “I thought as ’ow you’d like me report straightway.”

“I would, indeed. Have you had your dinner?”

“No, m’lord. I didn’t know as ’ow I could leave the doorway … although the cove stayed put all evening,” he added, somewhat aggrieved.

“Gregson, make sure there’s a good supper waiting for him in the kitchen,” Marcus instructed.

The butler bowed himself out in silence, and if he felt discommoded by being instructed to see to the welfare of a stablehand he managed to keep it hidden.

“So, Tom, what have you to report?”

Tom faithfully detailed Sebastian’s movements
throughout the day. Uninterestingly routine for the most part: Jackson’s saloon, Watier’s, Viscount Middleton’s lodgings, a drive in the park. However, the gem came at the shank of the rigidly chronicled day.

“Kensington, you say?” Marcus looked into the deep ruby depths of his glass of port. It sounded promising … unless Sebastian kept a mistress there. But Sebastian was in love with Harriet Moreton, and Marcus didn’t think his brother-in-law would deem a mistress compatible with courtship, despite his unorthodox lifestyle.

“I could take you there, m’lord.”

“Tomorrow will be soon enough, Tom. Get to your dinner now. You’ve done well.”

Beaming, Tom left the library, basking in his god’s approval that made an empty belly and the long hours of shivering in doorways well worth while.

Marcus threw another log on the fire and refilled his glass. Tomorrow he would retrieve his wife, and he’d make damn sure he hung onto her from now on.

M
arcus was up early the next morning, and within minutes the household was scurrying under a barrage of orders. Gregson was informed that his lordship was going into the country for a couple of weeks. Cheveley and Millie were instructed to pack for their employers and then to travel immediately to Berkshire. The traveling chaise with two outriders was ordered to be at the door by ten o’clock.

Marcus then strode down to the breakfast parlor, a distinct spring in his step. He was addressing a platter of sirloin when Charlie precipitately entered the parlor.

Marcus looked up in surprise, a smile of greeting on his lips. It died as he recognized Charlie’s air of somewhat defensive bellicosity. It was a look he’d worn as a child when he considered his guardian guilty of some
injustice and had screwed up his courage for a confrontation.

“What’s to do, Charlie?” Marcus asked, without preamble.

“Where’s Judith?” his young cousin demanded. “Gregson says she’s gone to look after a sick aunt, but she doesn’t have an aunt … sick or otherwise—at least not in England.”

“Oh, how do you know that?” Marcus inquired calmly, refilling his coffee cup.

“Because she told me,” Charlie stated. He glared at Marcus. “So where is she?”

“Sit down,” Marcus said, gesturing to a chair. “And stop glowering at me, Charlie.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” Charlie said. “I want to know where Judith is. I saw her yesterday and she didn’t say she was going anywhere.”

“Does she give you a report on all her movements?” Marcus asked gently.

Charlie’s neck reddened and his scowl deepened. “Of course not, but she wouldn’t go off without telling me. I know it.”

Marcus sighed. “So what are you suggesting? You’re surely not accusing me of disposing of her in some way, are you?” His eyebrows lifted quizzically.

Charlie’s flush deepened at the sardonic question. “No, of course not … only … only …”

“Yes?” Marcus prompted.

“Only maybe you upset her in some way,” his cousin blurted out. “I know how deuced cutting you can be when you’re displeased.”

Marcus frowned. “Am I really that unpleasant in our dealings, Charlie? I intend only to stand your friend.”

“Yes, I know.” Charlie fiddled with a fork on the table, in evident embarrassment. “It’s just that you’re
devilish strict in some things, and you’ve a rough tongue that can make a fellow feel like a worm.”

Marcus winced at this plain speaking, but was obliged to acknowledge there was some justice in the complaint. He examined his cousin thoughtfully. This couldn’t be easy for Charlie, who was never comfortable asserting himself. Judith certainly had the power to inspire loyalty and friendship. He wondered why he hadn’t been struck before by the strength of the attachments she’d formed in the few short months since she’d been in London.

“I only want to ensure that you have a fortune to come into when you reach your majority,” he said mildly.

“But where’s Judith?” Charlie sat down abruptly and stabbed at a rasher of bacon with the fork. “She’s not hurt, is she?”

Marcus shook his head. “Not as far as I know, Charlie. And certainly not at my hands, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Charlie chewed bacon and swallowed. “But where is she?”

Marcus sighed. “In Kensington. But we’re going to Carrington Manor today for a couple of weeks.”

“Kensington?” Charlie’s amazement was as great as if his cousin had said Judith was on the moon. “Whatever for?”

“Now that I’m afraid is a secret I’m not prepared to divulge,” Marcus said firmly. “I appreciate your concern, Charlie, but I have to tell you that it’s a matter that lies between Judith and myself. I don’t mean to snub you, or to be in the least harsh, but I’m afraid it’s none of your business.”

Charlie stabbed a grilled mushroom from the serving platter. “But she’s all right?”

“Yes, Charlie. She’s perfectly all right.” Marcus smiled, watching with great amusement his cousin’s careless, unconscious consumption of a considerable breakfast.

“Oh, well, that’s all right then.” Charlie heaved a sigh of relief. “I didn’t mean to pry, but, well, you know how it is with Judith … a fellow can’t help worrying about her.”

Marcus nodded. “Yes, Charlie, I know just how it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do, so I’ll leave you to your breakfast.”

“Oh, I don’t want breakfast,” Charlie said. “I breakfasted in my lodgings before I came.”

“Really? I wonder how I could have thought otherwise.” Laughing, Marcus flung an affectionate arm around his cousin and squeezed his shoulders.

A short while later, he emerged from the house and climbed into the waiting chaise with the Carrington crest emblazoned on the panels.

Tom scrambled onto the box beside the coachman and proceeded to direct him through the streets to Cambridge Gardens.

Marcus stepped out and stood for a minute looking around the quiet crescent, then up at Judith’s hideaway: a discreet, modest accommodation patronized by solid burghers and their ladies, he decided, stepping up to the door.

Mrs. Cunningham gazed from her front room window at the magnificent emblazoned equipage, with its two outriders, drawing up at her doorstep. Its tall, elegant occupant in buckskins and top boots, a cloak thrown carelessly around his shoulders, jumped down and stood looking at the house for a minute before approaching the front door.

“Dora … Dora … the door, immediately!” she
called, smoothing down her skirt as she billowed into the hall to greet her visitor.

Dora flung open the door before Marcus could touch the door knocker. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning,” he said with a pleasant smile, seeing the ample figure of Mrs. Cunningham behind the maid. “I understand you have a lady residing—”