“I wonder what our life might have been like, had we lived in Lancashire. At Vallant Castle. Our true home. Henrietta might still be alive.”
Liam placed a hand on hers. “She died in a riding accident. It could have happened anywhere.”
She yanked her hand away. “They have fields in Lancashire. She could have ridden in a field instead of the woods. She could have lived. You don’t know.” She suddenly threw her cup, wine spilling out as it flew, staining the expensive carpet. “It is their fault. All of it. The Camdens. If they had not stolen what is ours….”
She shook her head and then fixed her eyes on her nephew. “That is one thing Harry understands that Lysander cannot. Lysander has these daydreams about ending the feud. Did he tell you his plan?”
Liam nodded. It was, in fact, their plan. A plan they had come up with together shortly after Lysander had inherited the title. They’d decided to do something good with it, this unwanted new life that had been placed upon Lysander’s shoulders.
“Go to London and meet the Duke of Oxshire. Challenge him to a game of billiards or whist at Brooks without telling him who we are. Pretend as though we are just two young lords trying to find our way in London.”
His aunt scowled. “I should have known you were in on it too, Liam.” She shook her head. “Charm the old dodger and then reveal yourselves. So he can no longer hate you because you’ll have already charmed him.”
Liam smiled as she recounted their plan to him. “Indeed. An excellent plan.”
“An idiotic plan. It would never work. Oxshire will hate Lysander just for being the Duke of Emberborough. He’ll hate him regardless of how much you think you can charm him. He’ll hate you too. That is just what they are like, the Camdens. A hateful lot.” She shook her head. “That, and only that, is where Harry is smarter than his brother. If only Harry could find the same conviction that he has for hating the Camdens for something else, he might have a chance in life.”
Liam decided to drop the matter of the feud and instead, defend his cousin.
“Harry will find his calling. He is a tremendous help to Lysander; he always says so. He might make a good estate steward.”
She shook her head. “Lysander is too kind. I see everything. I hear everything. Harry is but a puppy following his brother around. He might think he could be duke, but he does not have what it takes.”
To his surprise, his aunt chuckled. Liam moved back a little, growing ever more concerned for her health.
“Heaven forbid if that ever came to pass. This estate would be doomed. Doomed, I declare. The line will certainly die out with Harry.”
“You don’t know that. First, Lysander will return, there is no question about it. And second, even if the worst happened, Harry could marry and produce an heir.”
His aunt smiled, but there was a bitterness in it. “Harry? No. Even if he found someone willing to marry him for the title, I doubt he could produce an heir.”
Liam’s blood ran cold. His aunt’s attitude toward Harry was gut wrenching. While he did not care for his younger cousin, he did not deserve to be thought of or spoke of in such a way. Before he could say anything to defend his cousin, his aunt spoke again.
“It would be ironic, would it not? If this is how the feud between the Keswicks and the Camdens end? Both lines simply die out.”
Liam frowned. “Both lines? How?”
His aunt shrugged, “You don’t know anything about your fellow peers, do you? The Duke of Oxshire has no heirs. No sons. And his brother is long gone, so are both of his sons. There are no men to inherit the title. It will revert to the crown upon his death. Just like ours,” she giggled to herself.
“Aunt Yolanda, let me take you to your chamber. I believe you need to take a rest.” He got up and stretched his arms out toward his aunt.
To his relief, she did not resist and allowed him to help her up. The moment she stood, she began to sway, requiring him to tighten his grip on her.
“Mr. Redding?” he called out to the butler who arrived at once. Alarmed at the sight of the Duchess, the butler rushed to his side and assisted Liam.
Together, they escorted the lady, who still giggled under her breath to the parlor where her lady’s maid and the housekeeper took over and ensured she was taken to her chamber. Liam sighed. Suddenly he remembered the maps which he had placed on the table in the drawing room. Quickly he returned, refolded them, and tucked them under his arm.
He rushed out of the drawing room, unsettled by the conversation with his aunt.
I fear she is losing her mind. If Lysander does not return, I fear she will be utterly lost.
He sighed and made his way toward his chamber. He knew the only thing that could soothe his mind now was to write to Lorraine. Yes, communicating with her always eased his mind. He began to compose the letter in his head, smiling to himself once more.
He found himself so utterly consumed by his own thoughts that he did not notice how, a moment after he departed from the drawing room, Harry stepped out of the shadows, his nostrils flaring and his eyes narrowed into angry slits.
Chapter 15
Oliver patted the beautiful white stallion on the back after cleaning his hooves.
“Good boy. Now you’re ready for your big hunt.” He stuffed the hoof pick into his back pocket and escorted Authority out of his box and into the saddle room.
“Ye must’ve been around the cuddies in yer past life, laddie. They take to you with ease,” George said as he brought the horse around to be saddled up. “Not sure if ye ever held a pitchfork before,” the groom added.
“I shall take it as a compliment, George,” he said with a grin. The coachman continued to look at him as if there was a question he wanted to ask but didn’t dare.
“What is it? Have I done something wrong?”
The older man shook his head. “It isnae what ye’ve done. It’s what yer gonna do,” he paused and blinked. “’bout Lady Seraphina.”
“Oh,” Oliver had all but forgotten that the old man had seen him and Seraphina the other day. Had he also seen him out at the paddock with her? “I assure you, George, there is nothing—”
He waved him off dismissively. “It isnae me business.” As if he’d thought about it as he spoke, he leaned in. “She’s a good lass. Lady Oxshire is mightily hard on her daughters, Seraphina ‘specially. Wouldna want to see her in more kauch than usual.”
“I have no intention of getting her into trouble. She has just been so kind to me as I go through all of this. I am so grateful to her. She has been such a wonderful support.”
George rolled his eyes at this declaration. “She’s a spitfire, that much is true. And I can see she’s taken to ye,” he shrugged. “Whit’s fur ye’ll no go past ye, I suppose.”
Oliver frowned. He’d managed to understand most of George’s Scottish expressions, and when he didn’t, he’d usually spell it out to him in plain English. As would be necessary now.
“Means if it’s meant for ye, it’ll come to ye. Might be a wee bit difficult, in this matter. Being how ye have no memory of who ye are, and the Duke is mighty set on finding the lassie a good match.”
Meant for me. What does he mean by that?
It was true, he had been thinking of Seraphina often. Whenever his mind was not occupied by thoughts of who he was and what was to become of him, he thought of her. There was a fire about her that mesmerized him; as well as a kindness, sweetness that touched his heart.
With everything else, all the uncertainty and upset, he found that being near her calmed him, even when she herself was wrapped up in a storm of emotion, as she had been yesterday. He thought back to the flowers he’d collected.
Did she like them? Was it too much? Should I not have done that after all?
For, as he had found out in a rather unexpected manner, her father had intentions to wed her to this man whose name had inspired hope within Oliver. Lord Alderbridge, who might be the answer he’d been seeking as to his identity.
> “Are ye with me, laddie?” George growled at him. “I told ye to make sure the carriage is ready to collect the Duke and Lord Alderbridge from the Castle.”
Seeing his chance at setting his eyes on Lord Alderbridge, he jumped at it.
“Of course, I will check. But I thought…perhaps I can take the carriage and collect them, to bring them here to fetch their horses?”
At this, George broke into laughter. “Ye wanea collect His Grace and his esteemed guest? Ye? Have ye remembered how to drive a carriage then? Are ye a coachman after all? Go on, show me. If ye can do it, ye can fetch them.”
He motioned for Oliver to go across the yard, where the various vehicles for the family were kept. George followed him, calling out to the coachman, Mr. Fornsham, who was taking a rest nearby.
“Oliver is gonae show us how to drive a carriage to fetch His Grace. Gonnae put ye out of yer job!”
The older coachman broke into laughter.
“That so, Ollie? Go on then, show us.”
Oliver felt himself breaking into sweat as he entered the building.
Why did I request to fetch them? They are right to make fun of me. How do I know I can drive a carriage?
He entered the building which housed the Duke’s collection of carriages. Oliver knew the carriage, the stately barouche, was ready behind the building. Although he had to pass through the storage house to get there.
Standing in the room, he scanned the vehicles. The second barouche, the one the Duke had arrived in the previous day, was there. As was a large black coach and a curricle. Suddenly, it was as though a part of his brain that had laid in darkness came to light. He turned to face the two men who were standing behind him, smirks on their faces.
“I can drive all of these vehicles.”
The two men exchanged a glance. “That so?”
Oliver nodded, feeling confident for reasons unknown to him. “I can. Any one of them.”
The coachman, Mr. Fornsham, shrugged. “If he wants to prove himself, let him. Heck, the barouche is already ready to go. Why don’t you show us you can drive that?”
Oliver shrugged and walked past the carriages and stepped out behind the building. The vehicle was indeed ready. The pulling great for the four horses had been attached. The horses were majestic, each a beautiful shade of hazel. He walked around and made sure everything was attached as it should be and then climbed atop the driver’s seat.
Taking the whip in his right hand he trapped the left rein between his thumb and index finger. Then he did the same for the right rein, trapping it between the middle and ring finger. Oliver looked at his hands for a moment, certain he’d held reins many times. He held them half an arm’s length in front of his body, feeling a calm settle over him.
I have done this before. Maybe I am a coachman after all.
He glanced to his right, where George and Fornsham were standing. Pride washed over him when he saw how surprised they looked.
“I wouldn’t mind riding with you, if you don’t mind. Keep an eye on you,” Fornsham said and made his way up onto the seat beside Oliver before he could say anything.
“How about ye go one round around the stable yard?” George called up. Oliver nodded.
“Trot, trot,” he commanded the horses who set into motion at once. They went straight, with Oliver ordering them to “Trot on” as they went. After they had gone the length of the stable yard, he reached his right hand in front of the left, grasped the right rein between his index and middle fingers, and gave a gentle tug to bring the reins to the left. The horses responded at once, turning to the left.
“You have done this before,” Fornsham said, the surprise evident in his voice.
“It appears I have. Though I do not know how or when.”
He felt the coachman’s eyes on him when a thought came to him.
“You were there the day I was found, were you not? Lady Seraphina told me the maids Hester and Lottie found me, but that it was you who carried me from the ditch.”
The man cleared his throat. “It was me, indeed. You were in a terrible state, my boy.”
“Well, I thank you for what you did.” He hesitated a moment, turning the horses left once more as they were at the halfway point. To his surprise, he noticed that the stable yard was slowly filling with people. Stable hands, grooms, and maids stood and watched.
It was almost as though seeing the boy without a memory do something as complicated as drive a carriage boggled their minds. He had to admit, it boggled his.
“Fornsham,” he began, “was there anything at all that would indicate who I am, when you found me? Anything you saw or noted?”
The man sighed. “I wish there was, Ollie. I wish I could give you a clue as to who you are, but I have nothing.” He shook his head with regret. “Perhaps it will all come back to you, just as driving the carriage has come back to you. Maybe it never left.”
They had arrived back at the edge of the stable yard where George stood and waited, arms crossed.
“Stand,” he ordered the horses who did as they were told.
“Well done, laddie,” George said not without pride when the carriage came to a stop.
“Now that I showed you I can drive it, may I collect His Grace and his guest to bring them here for their horses?”
George swallowed and glanced at Fornsham, who shrugged.
“All the same to me. Alas, I’m afraid it won’t be to His Grace. He is not fond of change.”
George nodded. “And there is the matter of yer attire.”
Oliver looked down on himself and sighed. He was dressed in the same thin trousers he’d been wearing for days. They were stained from the hard work. So was his shirt, the top button of which had popped off, leaving the upper part of his chest exposed.
Meanwhile beside him, Fornsham was dressed as though he were taking His Grace to a formal ball. He even wore a top hat. Suddenly, Oliver understood. There was no way he could drive the carriage. His Grace was not going on any ordinary hunt. This was to impress the man he intended to wed to his daughter.
He had to make a good impression. The barouche he was presently on was newer than the one the Duke had used the previous day. The coat of arms for House Oxshire was emblazoned on the side in vivid colors and the seats behind him had been newly upholstered. This carriage, and the coachman, were meant to impress.
He glanced at George, momentarily angry that he had been led to think there was a chance he could drive the Duke. Then he realized. George had been certain he’d fail. That he’d climb atop the carriage and lose his way. Then there would have been no question about the matter. He’d not expected him to do well.
With a sad nod, he handed the reins to Fornsham.
“Perhaps another time, lad,” the older man said as he gave him a pat on the arm.
“Perhaps,” Oliver said as he jumped off the carriage. Feeling dejected, he began to walk away when Fornsham called back to him.
“There was something. I didn’t see it myself but perhaps you might ask Lady Seraphina about it.”
Oliver looked up, squinting against the sun. “Ask her about what?”
“The day we found you. As I said, I didn’t see it, but she seemed to think there was someone in the woods with you. Not sure why she did but she mentioned it to His Grace.”
“Someone was with me?” The mere mention of this instilled hope inside Oliver.
“Perhaps not with you. Just that someone was there. She told His Grace she thought she saw movement in the woods. Could have been a person, or a horse, or a wild animal. Didn’t feel it worth mentioning, to be honest. But I suppose any little thing might help. As I said, ask her when you see her.”
With that, he set the carriage into motion again, the horses trotting along the cobblestone and out toward the Castle.
Oliver bit his lip, suddenly filled with another glimmer of hope. Perhaps somebody had been there after all. Perhaps there was a chance.
Then another thought came to him.
I never once asked to be taken to where I was found. There might be all manner of clues in the woods. Why haven’t I asked?
He looked after the coachman who was disappearing into the distance. Should he ask Fornsham to take him out into the woods, to show him the spot he’d been found?
Oliver shook his head. No. Not Fornsham. The man was pleasant enough but there was somebody else he’d rather ask. Somebody whose company he much preferred. And someone who might have seen more than she’d revealed thus far.
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