The Lodestone (3 page)

“How very Biblical!” Garnett exclaimed. “I say! I thought you were with Cleome and Old Sam. ‘Pears the joke is on me.” He held out his hand to Drake, who shook it heartily. “The country can become a frightful bore sometimes. You look a dashing gent who might enjoy an evening of dice or cards.”

“I’m simply looking for a clean place to lay my weary head,” was Drake’s easy response. “I’ve endured these past two nights on the hard ground.”

“You’ll want the Eagle’s Head,” Garnett replied, not the least discouraged. “It’s close by and I’d wager my best cravat that Desmond will put his birds in the arena if the bank is substantial enough.”

They introduced themselves all around and Drake noted how Lord Easton’s eyes traveled critically over his finely tailored clothes, his thoroughbred mount, his expensive leather saddle with its exquisite carvings, and finally to his hands. Though large, they were well cared for—a gentleman’s hands. The younger Easton was tall, but Drake towered over both Garnett and his father. From long experience in meeting and bettering such men, Drake knew that the uppermost thought in Lord Easton’s mind was whether or not he was to be treated with the minimum courtesy extended to any traveler who had lost his way, or as one whose company was acceptable in polite society. He realized that the laird of Easton Place was allowing him the opportunity to establish himself, but he waited for the polite inquiry he knew would come.

“What brings you to our countryside?” Lord Easton asked at last. “I do not recognize you as a neighbor, sir.”

“I hope I soon shall be,” Drake replied graciously. He explained that he was on the last leg of his journey and was hoping to find a house or lodge to let for the summer and perhaps part of the winter. As he was in the shipping business, he said at last to put Lord Easton’s doubts to rest, it was important he be situated somewhere between London and Newcastle. He would, he informed them, have dealings in both of those towns, as well as in Liverpool, at least until the gaming club he was building in London was ready.

“Oh, I say,” Garnett observed with the appropriate awe. “You’re
that
Mr. Stoneham.”

“You don’t mean Stoneham House?” Lord Easton was also impressed. “Why, the ton is wild with anticipation. When do you open it, sir?”

“Early in the new year, if all goes well,” Drake replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find lodging.”

“No rush, Mr. Stoneham,” Sir Laurence insisted. “Do take tea with us first. My wife would be quite put out if I let you get away before she’s met you.”

Garnett ordered the groom to see to Drake’s horse and then he and his father ushered their guest into the dining room. “After you’ve had your tea around a civilized table, I’ll take you to the Eagle’s Head myself,” the younger Easton offered. “I say! To think you have spent the night alone in the wilds with neither groom nor valet to see to your needs. I say!”

“That is precisely why I’ll accept your kind invitation, with my thanks, sir.”

Lady Elizabeth Easton joined the gentlemen at table then, and it was evident where Garnett got his blond good looks and high spirits. Much younger than her husband, Lady Easton was almost as tall, with a small waist, a voluptuous bosom and lovely features that reminded Drake of an eternally smiling china doll. She welcomed him warmly and took her place opposite Sir Laurence so that the gentlemen could be seated again.

As she poured out the tea and passed around flaky chicken pasties, fruit and cakes, she engaged in light conversation with Lord Easton. Garnett teased her by interjecting
double entendres
and scandalous bits of gossip at every opportunity, and she glanced lovingly at her husband whenever their son said something funny or bright. It was obvious that Lord Easton quite doted on her. While Drake was not especially flattered by the bold looks she cast at him from beneath lowering lids, he appreciated her discretion for not once did her husband or her son catch her at it. If he found lodgings nearby, he mused, he might try to see where her surreptitious flirtation would lead.

The subject of Cleome and her delinquent mare was not discussed straightaway, and Drake was content to let his hosts direct the conversation in spite of his curiosity. It was not until Garnett paid him a compliment on his own horse that Drake was inclined to bring it up.

“It was not intended to be a race,” Drake replied with a smile. “A young woman on horseback dropped her bonnet at my feet. I was simply trying to return it. That’s what brought me to your hospitable door, milady.”

“Upon my word!” Garnett exclaimed. “Cleome’s horse beat your own. Indeed!”

Lord Easton’s complexion took on a purple hue. “But of course, sir,” he said. “She must have had a good start over your horse. ’Tis unthinkable that the colt of a plow mare can better a thoroughbred.”

Drake shook his head. “My Prince Talleyrand closed the distance between us to only a length or so at least twice, but the colt pulled away as if chased by the devil himself. He is the fastest beast I have ever seen. Have you an idea of his age?”

“He should be . . . oh, almost two years old by now, eh, Father?” Garnett asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’ll not have it!” the old laird spluttered, and Garnett exploded in laughter as did his mother. Lord Easton was then compelled by good manners to explain the joke to their guest by relating the history of Molly’s scandalous behavior. “But it is impossible, sir,” he finished. “Cleome’s colt could not be a racing champion.”

“Do you suppose her grandfather would consider selling him?” Drake asked as Lady Elizabeth poured him another cup of tea, leaning toward him a little more than necessary to better display her enticing bosom.

“As I understand it, Mr. Stoneham,” Sir Laurence answered, “Desmond has given the colt to his granddaughter. He’s the owner of the Eagle’s Head Inn, and it brings him a good living. Though all this talk about connecting railroads from coast to coast could change that in the next few years.” He sniffed scornfully, as if William Desmond’s affluence was a personal affront. “There’s certainly no economic necessity for him to sell the colt, and I doubt the girl would want to part with it for any sum.”

“She did seem determined to ensure the safety of the mare,” Drake replied. He warmed at the mention of Cleome, the memory of her pretty mouth, and the way her color heightened when he spoke to her.

“The best way for you to procure the colt would be a game of cribbage with old Desmond,” Garnett advised Drake. “He cannot resist the game.”

“But if the colt belongs to the lass,” Drake began, only to be cut off by Lord Easton.

“In name only. Not by law, of course. And my son is correct. Desmond is hard put to resist a wager—of any kind.”

“I’ve often wondered how Cleome has fared since the death of her genteel Grandmamma,” mused Lady Easton, skillfully drawing their attention again.

“My dear, you should see her,” said Garnett. “She has such natural beauty. She makes those two shameless maidens at Fox Hall look ridiculous with their powders and paints.”

“I advise you to watch your tongue, Garnett,” Lord Easton spoke severely, his perturbation at his son’s continued interest in Cleome evidenced by the warning tone in his voice as well as his eloquence. “Those two shameless maidens, as you so blithely put it, are not only ladies of breeding and manners, they are the daughters of my closest friend. Sir Rudgely Foxworth has achieved the noble estate of knighthood, and he lives a decent Christian life. The mysterious man who so carelessly sired this person you praise to the heavens has never seen fit to recognize her birth. I have not forgotten why we are enjoying the unexpected pleasure of your company, sir; and I advise you to tread lightly until I come to a decision about the outcome of that disgraceful episode. Do not add to your sins by besmirching the reputation of ladies by comparing them in the same breath with that creature. I advise you further not to dwell on your somewhat less than honorable thoughts in regard to that common piece of baggage.” He paused and turned in an aside to his wife. “Her grandmother’s lineage notwithstanding,” he said and returned his attention to his errant son. “If you persist in this, you will further disgrace us, although you would have to go at it night and day to outdo yourself.”

A spark flared within Drake’s chest. He wanted to defend the girl and that surprised him. He knew nothing about her, except that she was fetching, had spirit and cared deeply for her animals—all qualities he admired. He’d never been one to condone society’s practice of condemning children for the sins of their parents. He was about to convey this thought to his host when Garnett spoke again, with a feigned air of pique.

“Does no one here appreciate an artistic endeavor?” he asked mournfully. “I have genuine talent and I was simply expressing my divine right as a creator of beauty!”

Lady Easton giggled and, making a hasty excuse, retired to the garden. When he could be sure his wife was out of earshot, Lord Easton exclaimed, “Artistic, my royal ass!” He turned to Drake and said in scandalous tones that did little to mask his pride in having such a virile offspring, “Do you know what this young rogue has done? He took it upon himself to illustrate
in detail
selected verses from the Song of Solomon!”

“
I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had withdrawn himself
,” Garnett quoted with irreverent glee. “It was purely a religious endeavor, I tell you. I really do not see how the chancellor could have read anything else into it.”

“Perhaps he would not have, sir!” Lord Easton said, trying unsuccessfully to repress his delight. “If it had not been his very proper
niece
with whom you chose to share this religious experience!”

“Ah, yes . . . such a pious girl,” Garnett acceded cheerfully. “So devout that she shared several of my sketches with a young Italian count she was trying to seduce!”

“If that is your only defense,” Sir Laurence replied, “’tis a damn poor one!”

The room then filled with the deep, resonant laughter of the three men and Drake was inclined to forget his previous ire. After all, it had nothing to do with him. He was not one to indulge in the wasted effort of defending a woman’s honor—that was for young fools like Garnett.

“I have an eye for fine art,” Drake volunteered when their mirth waned. “I would be happy to offer a critique of your work, sir.”

This brought forth another gale of laughter, after which Garnett responded, “Pity! They confiscated my sketchbook, you see. I rather suspect they have sent it to Father as evidence of my transgressions. I do not believe for one instant it’s the week-old
Herald
he sequesters himself with in the library every night after dinner.”

“Enough of this nonsense, now!” Sir Laurence ordered as his wife, holding a basket full of flowers, came back in to join them. “I’m sure Mr. Stoneham is eager for the inn and a comfortable bed.”

“No more eager than every man jack of us, if it is adequately furnished!” retorted Garnett. “I understand there’s a pretty little French serving maid at the inn nowadays.”

“Ah, but Desmond has taken that ’un for himself,” Lord Easton told his son. “Still, there’s nothing the man won’t wager for a good game. Now, you must be off if you’re to take Mr. Stoneham—”

“Garnett cannot possibly return in time to change for dinner at Fox Hall,” Elizabeth interrupted. “And he promised to let nothing keep him away this time. Mr. Stoneham is welcome to stay the night at Easton Place.” She bent to brush her lips against Lord Easton’s brow and then she turned to their guest. “If you don’t mind entertaining yourself, sir, as we’ll likely return quite late.”

“It would suit me perfectly, milady,” Drake answered smoothly. “Sleep is the only recreation that appeals to me at the moment.”

“I’ll have Martha prepare a room for you.” Her response was soft, like a caress. “Edwards will be in soon to take you up.”

“Splendid!” Garnett beamed at Drake. “I’ll show you to the inn first thing after breakfast, then, and perhaps tomorrow evening you’ll be up for a game or two. Mother doesn’t approve of gambling at home, fashionable as it is. How long do you propose to stop here?” he asked amiably, as if he had known Drake all his life. “I warn you, time can drag slowly in the country for one accustomed to the excitement of London or Paris.”

“The country also suits me, for the present,” Drake replied, smiling in spite of the contempt he felt.

“Well, we’re delighted you’ve come,” Garnett said, rising to kiss his mother on the cheek. “See to your flowers, m’dear. I’ll go and tell Martha to make a room ready.”

Here’s another one,
Drake thought as Garnett departed. Another young fool who simply could not wait to part with his money—although Drake rather liked this one. Playing games of chance with a dandy like Garnett would be almost immoral, and less trouble than relieving a babe of sweetmeats. That set him to thinking about the girl, Cleome.

“’Tis settled then,” Lord Easton agreed as his wife leaned on the back of his chair and pressed her breasts against him, looking over his shoulder at Drake. “Mr. Stoneham, I will speak to my solicitor about the matter of a house to let. If there’s one hereabout, he’ll know. By the time you return from Newcastle, I should have some news for you.”

“I would be most grateful,” Drake said, his eyes drifting up to meet Lady Easton’s brazen, inviting gaze.

**

In the carriage, on the way home from Fox Hall, Elizabeth Easton watched her husband sleep. It was a clear, moonlit night and his baldness shone in the darkness like a giant pearl. He had his head thrown back against the cushion and his mouth gaped open as he snored. Dinner with Sir Rudgeley and his large, extended family had seemed interminable and she’d been quite as bored as Garnett. She couldn’t blame him for bolting as soon as it was over, and she wished heartily that she could have gone with him to Brighton’s pub in Oakham, instead of back to Easton Place. She should have known the clever lad had a reason for taking his own horse rather than going in the coach with them.