Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3) (9 page)

The duke’s face tightened and his deep blue eyes alighted with anger.  He rose to tower over her.  “Ten thousand pounds.”

She almost choked.  Christamighty, ten thousand pounds!  “Pray, Your Grace, you misunderstand.  I shall leave straightaway, but not for money.  If my presence is at all distressing to your daughter, then it is for that reason and that reason alone I will depart.”  Setting her shoulders, holding her head up high, Amelia swept past the duke as gracefully as her injuries would allow.  “Good day, Your Grace.”

Without glancing over her shoulder once, she climbed the stairs.  The agonizing pain in her ribs made her light-headed.  She had no alternative but to endure it.

Hearing someone enter his room, Alex lowered his book.  One glance at his mother’s over-bright smile and he knew something bad had happened.  He scrambled to his feet.  “What is wrong?”

She shook her head, her smile widening.  “Nothing is wrong, Alex.” Her sweetest voice only confirmed his suspicions.  Something had to be wrong.  But before he had the chance to ask again, she spoke.  “I must leave for about an hour.  While I’m away, I need for you to pack up your things.  Mine, too, if you have the time.”

Alex went still, unable to believe his ears.  “We’re leaving?”

His mama sighed and the smile disappeared from her lips.  “I am afraid our presence is causing Megan some distress.  We must leave so she doesn’t become ill.”

Feeling a painful jab in the center of his chest, Alex shook his head.  “I don’t understand.  I thought the duchess liked us.”  Then a terrible thought occurred and he stumbled back a step.  “Did I do something wrong?  Is it my fault we have to leave?”

Mama walked to him and wrapped her arms around him.  “Of course this isn’t your fault, my sweet.  It’s nobody’s fault.”  She loosened her grip and looked into his eyes.  “The duchess likes both of us very much.  That’s why we must leave.  So nothing happens to her or the baby.”

Recalling how pale Megan looked earlier, and knowing Mama to be an excellent healer, he didn’t argue.  Instead, he nodded and turned toward the wardrobe.  It hurt to have to leave, but he’d known all along they weren’t going to stay forever.

Nothing good ever lasted.

CHAPTER 8

“Thought that was you, old man.”

Julian glanced over his shoulder.  Seeing Jeremy Longwell’s smiling face, he frowned.  The man knew something.  Turning back to his companions, he added another hundred pounds to the growing pile of blunt on the center of the table.

“Lord Fielding,” one of the younger men greeted in a disgustingly cheerful manner.

“Care to join us?” another asked, then swallowed and looked down after receiving a dark look from Julian.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Jeremy took the empty chair.

While Julian scooped up his winnings and another hand was dealt, Jeremy asked, “So, how long have you been back?”

“Four days,” Julian said, tossing some gold coins onto the center of the table without bothering to count them.

Two of the men swore, threw down their cards, and stood.  “Too rich for my blood,” one said and they both left.

Jeremy and the other remaining player added their coins.

“Something is bothering you, old man.” Jeremy arranged his cards. “I’d like to know what it is.”

With a frown, Julian pitched another handful of coins on the table, causing the man across the table to throw down his cards and leave, sputtering in indignation as he marched from the room.

“Nothing is bothering me,” he snapped.  Then he realized how he’d reacted and heaved a sigh.  “That was rude.  I’m sorry.”

Jeremy shook his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.  “Not to worry, I understand.”

“You understand?”  He didn’t like the sound of that.  “What do you understand?”

The smile on his friend’s lips widened.  “Now that you’re home for good and have agreed to find a wife, every debutante’s mother is scheming and plotting to have you married to her daughter.”  He added some paper notes to the pile.  “It’s an unnerving thought.  I’d be hiding out, too.”

With an inward sigh of relief, Julian relaxed back against his seat.  Thank God.  For a moment, he’d been afraid that Amelia’s return with a son whose features mirrored his own had gotten out, although Megan assured him it wouldn’t.  If it did become public knowledge, however, it would be an utter disaster.  Especially since his parents didn’t know yet.  But how could he tell them when he had yet to decide what to do about Amelia and Alex?

He scowled down at his cards.  Usually, decisions, even hard ones, came easy to him.  But not this time.  This time, he couldn’t see the path clearly enough to follow.

And that made him crazed.

“Nick, old man, come join us.”

Jeremy’s greeting pulled Julian out of his thoughts.  He glanced toward the doorway and found his other good friend coming toward them. 

“No, thank you, Jeremy, I need a word with Julian.” Nicholas halted at the card table, his expression solemn.

Julian jumped to his feet.  Had something happened to Amelia or Alex?  “Excuse us, Jeremy.”

When they entered the deserted reading room a moment later, Julian spun around.  His anxiety increased when he noticed the dark smudges beneath Nick’s eyes.  “Has something happened?”

His friend expelled a weary breath.  “After returning from Gentleman Jackson’s a few hours ago, I found Megan in bed.”

“What?  Is she…?”

Shaking his head, Nick answered, “No, she’s fine.  The baby, too.  She simply forgot luncheon while writing to Silver and Torie.  It made her feel faint.”  Nick turned away, then rubbed the back of his neck.  “But that’s not all I found when I came home.  Your parents were having tea in my drawing room.”

“What?” Julian almost roared.

“They never saw Alex, Julian.  They don’t know.”

His shoulders relaxed in relief.  However, something in Nick’s eyes indicated there was more.  “Tell me.”

“Your father did see Amelia.”

“I thought you said they didn’t know,” Julian stated, his mind whirling.  Why hadn’t his father sent for him?

Nick shook his head.  “They don’t.  While Joseph was berating me on endangering Megan’s life by giving a strange woman sanctuary from her abusive employer, I realized he had no idea of Amelia’s connection to you.  In fact, you weren’t even mentioned.”

Julian stared blankly at Nicholas for several seconds, then realization dawned.  “Amelia didn’t tell Father?”

“No, it’s clear she didn’t.”

Why, he wondered?  He began toward the door.  “I’m going to find out exactly what Amelia—”

“She isn’t there, Julian.”

It took several seconds for those words to sink in.  Then he stopped and turned.  “Not there?  What do you mean?”

Nick stepped up to him.  “Amelia and Alex are gone.”

“Gone?” Anger ignited within him.  “What do you mean they’re gone?”

When sadness filled Nick’s blue eyes, he knew the answer.  Amelia had taken his son and left without any intentions of returning.  They were out there somewhere alone, penniless—anything could happen to them.

Julian spun toward the door.  “I’ve got to find them,” he said as he hurried from the room.

Amelia slid an anxious gaze to her son.  “Well, darling, what do you think of our new home?”

Alexander gave a shrug, clearly unimpressed.

“It may not be the loveliest house in the world, but it is next to the sea.” She hoped that would boost his flagging spirits.

Another shrug met her statement.

Releasing a sigh, she turned to the weather-beaten door, raised a fist and knocked.

When thirty seconds went by without a reply, she knocked again, trying not to grow frantic.  Evening shadows had already begun to set in and she had no idea where they would go from here.  She banged even harder.

After another thirty seconds, Amelia heard Alex take a deep breath.  She turned and found him lifting one end of the heavy chest.  “Come, Mama, there isn’t anyone here.”

She was just about to say something when the door started to creak open.  Quickly, she forced her lips into a pleasant smile and faced the door.  However, the tall, imposing woman glaring down at them caused her smile to waver somewhat.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

“Hello.  I am Amelia Wesson and this is my son, Alex.  Mr. Tuttle from the
Times
sent us here for the job.”  When the woman’s expression turned even more forbidding, Amelia rushed on, praying she wouldn’t sound as desperate as she felt.  “He said the job would be mine if just I showed up.  He guaranteed it.”

The woman heaved a sigh, lifting her ample bosom several inches.  “This way.”  She turned, disappearing into the darkness behind her.

Releasing her breath in a relieved whoosh, Amelia picked up one end of the chest with her good hand.  “Come, Alex.”

As they followed the large woman up two flights of stairs, Amelia’s strength evaporated.  She gritted her teeth and continued to put one foot before the other, knowing this job to be the only one open to her.  Mr. Tuttle told her she’d not find another position without references.  Beggars couldn’t be choosers, she supposed.  She just prayed this job wouldn’t be anything like the disaster with Mr. Giles.

Amelia resisted a shudder at that thought and continued to follow the housekeeper.

Finally, the woman halted in one of the small attic rooms.  “Here, Mrs. Wesson, this is your room.”

When the woman lit a candle, Amelia found the room coated with at least two inches of dust, and spider webs clung to every corner and along most places where the ceiling and wall met.  The small bed, table and washstand were no exceptions.  She couldn’t even discern the color of the wood for all the dust.  Sensing the housekeeper watching her, Amelia refused to grimace.  Instead, she turned with a sunny smile.  “This will do nicely, thank you.”

After issuing a displeased ‘hrumph’, the woman turned to Alex.  “You may go to the stables and see Mr. Gunney about your duties, young man.”

“Pardon me?” Amelia gasped.

The housekeeper turned with her lips compressed into a thin line, her gaze icy.  “Everyone here earns his keep, Mrs. Wesson.”

Amelia shook her head.  “But my son cannot—”

“Do you want this position or not, Mrs. Wesson?” The woman folded her arms, waiting an answer.

Alex stepped forward.  “Yes, she does.”  He gave one of his special smiles.  “It’s all right, Mama.  You’ll see.”  And before she could react, he left.

When the woman started speaking, Amelia pried her eyes from the deserted doorway.  “You may address me as Mrs. Briggs.  Our employer, Mr. Mountjoy breaks his fast at precisely seven o’clock in the morning, has luncheon at twelve o’clock, tea—when he remembers—at four o’clock and dinner at seven o’clock in the evening.  Be particularly quiet during those hours because Mr. Mountjoy cherishes his privacy above all things.  The rest of the day, he works in the dungeon, oblivious to all of us up here.  I will make a list of your duties and a strict schedule in which to perform them.”  Her eyes hardened.  “Do not deviate from the schedule.  I run a tight ship around here and will not suffer any misbehavior.”

Mrs. Briggs halted and looked around.  “You may get your room in order.”  She lifted the small watch hanging on a brass chain around her neck to check the time, then turned toward the door.  “Servants eat dinner at precisely nine o’clock.  Don’t be late,” she added before disappearing through the door.

Amelia blew out a breath as she turned and surveyed the dusty room, wondering the best place to start.  Across from her, the small round window coated with dingy brown muck beckoned her forward.  As she neared, she swiped a sticky spider web from her path, and picked up a piece of cloth lying on the ground.  She pressed it to the window until she was able to see out.  “Oh, my,” she whispered, observing the endless expanse of steel-gray water in the distance.  It reminded her of the voyage from America, causing a strange stirring deep in her stomach.

It took Amelia a full minute to identify the feeling, then she was aghast.  She backed away from the window and spun around, wagging her head from side to side.

No!  She couldn’t actually miss that scoundrel.

Choked on that realization, Amelia focused on a broken web dangling from a rafter above.  Grateful to have something to do to take her mind off Julian, she began cleaning the room.

Alex listened to Mr. Gunney’s wheezed words, wondering how the poor horses ever got fed at all.  Mr. Gunney looked at least a hundred and twenty-three years old.  As the thin old man scuffled around the dim stable, explaining his duties, Alex couldn’t help but think of Lord Julian.  Especially since he could hear the roar of the surf in the distance and smell the tanginess of the sea, reminding him of his time aboard the
Sweet Siren
.

Too bad he never got to tell Lord Julian good-bye, Alex thought, watching Mr. Gunney hobble toward a pitchfork near the door.  Nor had he the chance to tell the Duke and Duchess of Claremont farewell.

“’Ere ye are, lad.  See wot ye can do with this,” Mr. Gunney said, handing Alex the pitchfork.

Nodding, Alex turned to the stall behind him and began to work.  “Mr. Gunney?” he asked several minutes later.

“Aye?”

Alex halted and turned.  “Is Mr. Mountjoy a nice man?”

Mr. Gunney lowered the hoof he had been examining and lifted his head.  He studied Alex for a minute with rheumy eyes filled with curiosity.  “Well, now,” he pushed back the dusty old sailor’s hat he wore; “’e’s nice enough.”  After a long pause, Mr. Gunney continued.  “Ye had a bit o’ trouble before, lad?”

After a slight hesitation, Alex nodded, then turned back to the stall and pitched more hay.  He heard Mr. Gunney scuffle closer.  “Ain’t nothin’ to worry about ‘ere,” the old man said.  “Mr. Mountjoy be a nice man.”

****

Glancing at the small clock she’d dug out of her chest, Amelia gasped.  Eight fifty-two.  She swiveled around to check her appearance in the cracked mirror, and groaned.  A sprinkling of dust coated her hair and a streak of dirt smeared across her nose and cheek.  She looked down and gasped at the filth beneath her fingernails and covered her hands.

Knowing she had little time to retrieve Alex for dinner, she grabbed the candle from the table beside the bed and rushed from the room, praying she could remember the way.  She couldn’t.  After descending the stairs, she found three different doors.  She held up the candle to each, trying to recall which one of them led to the kitchen.

Knowing she ran short of time, she bit her lip and opened one of the doors.  And came face to face with a large man, features obscured in shadow.

Unable to help herself, Amelia shrieked and stumbled back, the candle slipping from her fingers.  The door swung shut.  Doused in darkness, her heart pounded against the back of her throat.

When the door inched open, filling the servant’s entrance with pale, yellow light, her breath caught.  She stood motionless, unable to move an eyelash as the man’s form filled the doorway.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said softly, lifting his candlestick so that she could see his face, “I certainly didn’t mean to frighten you.”