by Sahara Kelly
“I cannot applaud their sentiments, but in this case, it made our process much easier, and I have been granted full and permanent guardianship.”
She smiled. “I’m so happy. And thankful. I know this must seem like a burden to you, Giles…”
He stopped her with a slight movement of his hand. “No more, if you please. I believe any burdens there are, are being born by Lady Maud and Sir Laurence…”
“There are none Giles, believe me.” Maud shook her head. “Having Judith here is a pleasure to us both. Especially Laurence. You didn’t mention her skill at piquet.”
Giles blinked. “You play piquet?”
Sir Laurence walked in, crossed the room and put his hand on Judith’s shoulder. “Does she play? Might as well ask if a bird chirps. We’ve enjoyed a morning game or two over the last couple of weeks. She’s beaten me twice, and the rest of the time I have to work damn hard to come out ahead.”
“Twice?” Giles’s eyebrows rose rapidly, and he transferred his gaze to Judith. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The subject never came up,” answered Judith with a little shrug.
“She’s a natural, Giles. An absolute natural. She doesn’t linger over her discards, her declarations come so easily…it’s a joy to watch her play.”
“Sir Laurence,” whispered Judith. “Please. You’re putting me to the blush.”
“Nothing but the truth, my dear.”
“Well,” Giles spread his hands wide. “I have no idea what to say to all this.”
“Nothing need be said,” grinned Sir Laurence. “This young lady is now my protégée. I’m putting her under my wing, so to speak.”
Judith let a quick laugh escape her. “Goodness, this is my lucky day. I went from a girl with no family to a girl with two esteemed gentlemen looking out for me.”
Giles grinned. “A lucky day indeed. Perhaps I can beg a hand of piquet before I leave for Wolfbridge.”
“Of course. I would love that,” Judith clapped her hands in excitement.
“But before we turn to the pleasures of piquet, my dear…” Giles reached for a roll of papers atop the mantel, “We do have some business to attend to.”
Judith cocked her head to one side. “We do?”
“It’s about Fivetrees,” answered Giles. “The family have decided that selling it is the best option. I have been formally notified by the Fairhurst lawyers.”
It was a small blow. Judith took a breath, realising that she was feeling some regrets, some sense of loss, even though she’d not lived at Fivetrees for very long, and it had been the scene of her late uncle’s tragic passing.
“Is there any word on my uncle’s death, Giles?”
“It has been confirmed as poison. But as yet, the authorities are not close to making any kind of arrest.”
“And Trick…” She had to ask. Trick was the Wolfbridge groom who had been held on suspicion of involvement in the death of Sir Amery Fairhurst.
Judith knew it was untrue. She had been there at the moment her uncle passed. Poison? Most probably. But Trick? No.
“Still awaiting justice to free him,” answered Giles quietly.
“Too long,” she muttered. “Much too long.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said. “But…moving to another result of the family’s decision…they are granting you a third of the sale proceeds.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “The trust is being set up as we speak. There are details you will need to know, but for now it will be sufficient to hear of your good fortune.”
Judith looked at him. “They are not interested enough to propose anyone as a family guardian, but they’ll offer me a third of the sale price of Fivetrees?”
“I would assume that some strong factors stimulated a familial sense of duty where you’re concerned. You are a Fairhurst.” Giles’s face was expressionless.
“Giles?” Judith looked him straight in the eyes. “Is it possible that you were one of the strong factors stimulating this alleged sense of duty?”
He cleared his throat. “I may have been instrumental in bringing about this decision, in a very minor way, of course.”
Her lips curled into a grin. “Thank you. I believe you just gave me a future.”
He grinned back. “It was my pleasure. Live it well.”
Maud and Laurence, who had listened in silence to these revelations, broke into quiet applause.
“Congratulations, Judith,” smiled Maud. “You’ll be enjoying an income soon and, I should imagine, perhaps a dowry.”
“Good heavens, won’t that be wonderful,” she giggled. “And yet I feel just the same as I did five minutes ago.”
“There’s bound to be more activity on our door knocker now though. Whispers of ripe fruit bring feet into the orchard quicker than anything else…”
Laurence’s words caught Giles’s attention. “Oh dear.”
“Exactly, old chap. Oh dear indeed.”
“Don’t worry, Giles,” said Judith. “I have Lady Maud and Sir Laurence to act as advisors. You trust them, and so do I.” She looked at Maud. “It’s all right if I send some of the throngs of suitors who’ll be arriving shortly over to you, yes?”
Maud bit her lip, but contained her laughter. “Of course, my dear. I’ll happily set up appointments to deal with ‘em.”
Sir Laurence rolled his eyes. “Are you sure you can’t stay longer, Giles? It’s never dull around here with these two…”
“I can see that,” he answered. “Already I feel a longing for the quiet field and streams of Wolfbridge…”
“Coward.”
“Unquestionably.”
Judith and Maud exchanged satisfied smiles.
*~~*~~*
He’d promised, mused Ragnor as he approached the door of Rolfe’s Rooms. He’d promised Miles he’d visit this place and share his opinions.
But he knew he’d be biased, since he’d not found Lord Rolfe to be a congenial fellow.
Well, perhaps that was not quite correct; Lord Rolfe presented himself as a very congenial fellow, but Ragnor had a habit of trying to make sure that what he observed was the genuine article. If he sensed it wasn’t, he looked at the eyes.
Rolfe’s eyes? Not quite reptilian, but as blank of expression as any Ragnor had ever seen.
He smiled, laughed and did everything appropriate. But not once had Ragnor seen any of those emotions make it to his eyes. They were expressionless, betraying absolutely nothing at all.
It was not unusual; in the course of Ragnor’s odd travels, he’d come across eyes like those before, especially when gaming. Once or twice they’d been behind a pistol pointed directly at him. But that was to be expected if one went hunting brigands in the Spanish hills. Rolfe was no brigand, and this was Pall Mall not the wild scenery of Spain.
But the sense of deliberate calculation had been the same. Lord Rolfe was nobody’s fool.
Pulling his collar further up around his ears, Ragnor strode the last few yards to the old Norford House. Lights gleamed from the large front windows, illuminating a good portion of the small street. Carriages came and went, several as Ragnor made his way to the door, disgorging mostly well-dressed gentlemen who hurried from the cold into the brilliance of a well-lit foyer.
Ragnor fell in with the last of them, noting the excellent restoration that had been accomplished on the marble steps, the doorway itself, and of course the interior which was discreet but as elegant a sight as money could buy.
“Sir?” A very burly man in a smart uniform touched him lightly on the arm. “May I see your membership?”
“Ragnor Withersby. I’m here by invitation of Lord Miles Linfield? He tells me I may obtain a membership with him as my sponsor…”
The man bowed, showing a gleaming bald pate. “Of course, Sir Ragnor. Our Mr Johnson will be pleased to accommodate you. You’ll find him just inside that room? Lord Postley has just walked out…”
“Ah yes. Thank you.”
Not inexpensive but within reach of plenty of gamesters, he mused as he walked up the massive staircase and straight into what must originally have been a ballroom.
Now, it was a delightful area re-designed exclusively for gaming.
Chandeliers flooded the centre with light; enhancing the brilliant colours of the guests, their ladies and the cards and tables. There was even a rouge et noir wheel, something Ragnor hadn’t seen. The game was popular in Paris, he knew, and was just becoming of interest to the English gambler.
To the sides of the room, smaller areas were designated by screens or plants, tables for two or four or even six players, depending on the game.
Ragnor nodded to one or two people he knew, smiled at others and finally found Miles who stood by a refreshment table pouring himself a small glass of port.
“Ho, Rag,” he said, his customary welcome making Ragnor grin. “I’m glad you’re here.” He glanced around. “Any first impressions?”
Ragnor took a small tart from the table, and munched, his eyes also wandering over the throng. “Interesting décor,” he said, swallowing the last of the pastry. “Tarts are good.”
“I was hoping for something with a little more depth,” quipped Miles. “Nice room and good food aren’t exactly revealing and incisive reviews.”
“All right then.” Ragnor turned and encouraged Miles over toward one wall, where two chairs were placed by a small table. “Given that I’ve been here for all of ten minutes…first off, I’m surprised at the number of female guests. But then again, there are always those who can’t wait to sample the latest potentially scandalous venue.”
“Agreed.”
“Cordelia Mannering, I heard…”
“Turning into a regular…she’s dealing now, I see.” Miles nodded at the tall beauty laughing over a game of hazard.
“The rest of them…well, I suppose you’d call it the usual mix? I see nothing untoward. If you ignore the obvious…” he let his gaze dance across the room from blue gown to blue gown.
“Yes, there they are,” said Miles. “All the loveliest of hostesses, all in that particular shade of blue—which, you will note when you see him, exactly matches Lord Rolfe’s jacket for the evening—and all wearing silver masks.”
The masks were the same, the gowns identical, and the only difference seemed to be the hair colour of the hostesses and the amount of skin they revealed. But no matter their size, the bounties of femininity were well presented. Ivory cleavage abounded.
“It is striking,” observed Ragnor. “Are they good at what they do?”
“I’ve heard no complaints, either from the players or from the ladies themselves.”
“You asked?”
“Only in a casual way. I spoke with a lady who said her name was Lavender. Which I tend to doubt, but…anyway, she was well-spoken despite a slight Russian accent, and knew her cards better than I’d expected. She was holding the bank at a faro table.”
“So probably not a whore, then?”
“I’d say no. And in spite of Cordelia’s reputation for being fast, she’s certainly not of that category.” Miles thought for a moment. “In fact, I saw one guest over imbibe freely, and make quite a nuisance of himself to one young lady. Within moments, she’d left, and the guest was quietly escorted out. Timothy Majors, it was. He hasn’t been back since.”
“Hmm.”
Ragnor could find no fault with that, but something was just a little off.
“You’re not impressed?” Miles watched his friend.
“I don’t know,” Ragnor answered honestly. “On the surface, it all seems ideal, perfect in fact. But there is no such thing as perfection. And Lord Rolfe…well, there again, there’s something not quite right…”
“Let’s try one or two tables. Perhaps you’ll be able to settle on whatever it is that’s making your brain itch.”
Ragnor nodded and followed Miles.
His brain was itching. It was an excellent description of the small sensation lurking behind his left ear that told him something…somewhere…was wrong.
But damned if he could place it, try though he might. He and Miles wandered around, tried their luck at a few tables—Miles lost, Ragnor covered his membership fee with a lucky throw at hazard—and generally behaved as any two Society gentlemen out for an evening of gaming.
After a couple of hours, Ragnor sighed. “Miles, I’m done.”
His friend nodded. “As am I. Brandy at the club?”
“Yes, I think so. Then home.”
They’d not seen hide nor hair of their host, realised Ragnor as he claimed his hat and cloak. But that was quite all right as far as he was concerned. The man wasn’t on his list of potential friends.
One who was, Matthew Davenport, hurried up the steps as Ragnor and Miles emerged.
“Ragnor, there you are. I’m very glad to see you. I’ve been looking for you everywhere…” sputtered Matthew. “I really need to speak with you on an urgent matter…”
Miles touched Ragnor on the shoulder. “I should leave you to it…”
“Well, actually…” Matthew glanced at Miles. “We’re not that well acquainted, sir, but you’re a friend of Ragnor’s and that is recommendation enough. I need some help. Two minds may be better than one in this instance…”
Ragnor sighed. “Best use your carriage, Miles. Looks like we’re all off to get that brandy…”
Chapter Nine
I n spite of the surprisingly involving stories within the Cytherean Tales, which had given Judith much to think about, she still rose on time and expressed some surprise the following morning when Lydia arrived not long after breakfast.
She was happy to greet her but revealed her emotions quite clearly as the two girls walked into the small parlour. “What the devil are you doing here at this hour?”
Lydia shook her head. “I had to talk to somebody. And I trust you above everyone else.”
They sat on the sofa, and Judith saw concern on her face. She covered the other girl’s hands with her own. “Tell me. What’s the matter?”
Her friend closed her eyes for a moment or two. “It was a letter, Judith. The one I got the other morning? I’m not sure if you recall my leaving you to Ragnor while I spoke with Matthew…”
Judith nodded. “I do. I remember that quite clearly. From Fiona, I think you said.”
“Yes, it was from Fiona. She’s very sweet, and very correct about everything. We’ve known each other for years, and although I wouldn’t say we’re terribly close, she and I will keep up our correspondence and meet at various events. She’s an innocent and guileless friend who wouldn’t harm a fly. And her gentility sometimes seems like weakness.”
“I understand.”
“Well…this letter…” Lydia swallowed. “She asked me for my help, so I went to see her yesterday evening.”
“All right,” said Judith carefully. “It wasn’t about money or anything, was it?”
“No, no. I almost wish it had been.”
“Lydia, just tell me?”
“She’s in a bit of a mess.”
“Oh dear. How so?”
“She wants to end her engagement to her Duke and marry someone else.”
Judith’s jaw dropped, and it took her many seconds to absorb those three simple words. “Uh…”
“That’s just about what I said as well.” Lydia leaned back on a sigh of relief. “Let me tell you the rest of it.”
“You’d better.”
So Lydia related the sad tale of a young and virtuous maiden, informally engaged to an equally virtuous and strait-laced Duke, who was lured into the garden during a late summer alfresco party, and consequently indulged in some compromisin
g activities with a known Rake.
“Which one?” asked Judith, curiously.
“Lord Rolfe,” muttered Lydia. “He’s…well, he’s tall, dark and handsome. And there’s something about him that…I don’t know. He makes my earlobes tingle.”
“I don’t think I’ve met him,” Judith frowned, trying to put a face to the name. “Oh…I do remember someone mentioning his new gaming establishment.”
“Yes. That’s the one.”
“So there would be considerable objections to such a union,” Judith couldn’t quite grasp the notion.
“Undoubtedly. Also, she’s convinced that if she follows through, then Rolfe wouldn’t want her because declining the Duke would damage her reputation.”
“And he’s offered? I haven’t seen the announcement…”
“It’s all but finalized,” said Lydia. “The families are currently negotiating the settlements.”
“Bit bloodless, isn’t it?”
“Given that it’s Fiona’s family and the Duke’s men of business? It’s a riot of emotions,” declared Lydia.
“Uh…wait…” Judith blinked. “She’s worrying that if she renounces the Duke for Lord Rolfe, Lord Rolfe wouldn’t want her anymore because she renounced the Duke?”
“Yes.”
“Lydia, I’m confused. I don’t know Fiona. But…”
“It’s her way.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “She’s a lovely, gentle and warm-hearted…widgeon.”
Judith bit her lip. “Yes. I can’t help but agree with that. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard such a circuitous absurdity.”
Lydia stared at Judith for a few moments. “Well put,” she said. “Very well put. Oh, and she wants me to help her.”
“How? And to do what? Get engaged to the Duke in her place? Or kidnap Rolfe and make him marry her after she has rejected this aristocratic God of Propriety?”
“It’s completely outrageous, isn’t it?”
Judith nodded. “I think dear Fiona needs a good talking-to, myself. Din a bit of commonsense into her brain.”
“I tried that.” Lydia answered dryly. “She fainted.”
“What about telling her parents?”