by Amy Jarecki
The Frenchman smirked. “Someone is always at odds with me.”
“But—”
“I haven’t much time and I need your assistance now more than ever.”
“Oh?”
“The information you’ve provided has been invaluable, but James has asked for more.”
“You’ve received a communication from Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye? So soon?”
The man’s thin-lipped grin was a bit unsettling. Why was it everyone was behaving strangely this evening? Grasping her elbow, Dubois urged her to turn toward the wall. “I need you to leave a dining hall window unlocked. Will you do that for me on the morrow?”
“Why the dining hall?”
“’Tis at the side of the house and in the dark. My man will not be seen.”
She leaned closer and hissed, “I do not want someone slipping into my house like a thief.”
“Your house, is it now?”
When Evelyn threw back her shoulders, Mr. Dubois’s expression softened. “Ma chérie, I needn’t tell you your assistance is critical for the cause. If it is Mar you are worried about, I can attest no harm will come to your husband. I assure you his identity will be protected just as I protected your father.”
“Dubois,” John’s voice came from behind. His tone was deep and menacing and made a shiver course up Evelyn’s spine. “With what contemptible bile are you filling my wife’s head this night?”
“My lord.” As he turned with a false smile, a bead of sweat streamed from beneath the Frenchman’s periwig. “I assure you I was merely congratulating Her Ladyship on her fortuitous alliance.”
“Aye?” John pulled Evelyn behind him. “In the future I expect you to speak to Lady Mar only when in my presence.”
She inclined her head around her husband’s shoulder. “But Mr. Dubois and I have been acquainted for ages.”
“That is exactly what I am concerned about.” John turned his back on the Frenchman, grasped her wrist, and started for the stairs. “That man is under suspicion by the crown.”
“Suspicion for what?”
“Wheesht. You ought to ken by now, I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters. Friend or nay, I forbid you from consorting with that man from here on out.”
Evelyn jerked her arm away. How dare Mar tell her whom she could and could not befriend? John might blow with the wind when it came to his principles, but she did not. She stood by what she felt in her bones to be the most forthright and honorable values, and she would be loyal to her convictions.
She stopped on the landing. “Forgive me, my lord, but I have a megrim. I’m afraid I will be unable to endure the remainder of the opera.”
John’s blood boiled, but he withheld his ire until he deposited Evelyn into her chamber. “I would think the daughter of a duke would be better versed in how to conduct herself when under public scrutiny.”
“I beg your pardon?” The woman faced him with fury in her eyes, while her disagreeable dog growled from his place in front of the hearth. “You stepped away from me! What do you expect me to do—spit upon a man I’ve known and trusted for years and tell him I must ask my husband’s permission before he can congratulate me on my fortunate nuptials?”
“Och, you are not ignorant, lass. You ken exactly what I mean. Dubois had you turned toward the wall with his arm about your shoulders, whispering in your ear as if he were conspiring—”
“How dare you?” Evelyn turned and paced. “He and I spoke for less than two minutes and you’re accusing me of colluding with him?”
“Aye, and I’ve seen you speaking to Dubois before.”
“And you don’t like him. Why? Because he actually stands for something?”
A hot flame burst through John’s chest. “Stands for something? The man is a threat to Britain.”
“And there you have it. You are so worried about how you appear in the public eye, you side with the queen and her obsessive fear of her brother. The man who should be king. I knew it all along!” As Her Ladyship raised her voice, Brutus barked.
“You have no idea to what you are referring.” John kicked the stool in front of the toilette and watched it clatter to the floor while the damned dog launched into a snarling cacophony, acting as if John were the evil interloper in all this. Well, he wasn’t going to take a chiding from a Corgi. He glared at the hound, who then whimpered, tucked his tail, and scampered back to his rug.
Once fully in control, John focused on his misinformed wife. “If that is what you think, madam, then you are a fool. Do you believe it is easy to pick a side and run across the land proclaiming one’s desires, no matter how poorly conceived, meanwhile thwarting over half the noblemen in the kingdom?”
Clenching her fists, she stood her ground like a cornered badger. “At least Mr. Dubois has chosen a side. Something of which you seem to be incapable. In fact, you have so many faces I hardly know who I might see whenever we’re together.”
“So now you reveal what you think of me? You’re just like everyone else with their misplaced Bobbin’ John rubbish.” John thrust his finger at Brutus, commanding him to stay as he sauntered toward Her Ladyship. “My God, you have looked upon me with your haughty English ideals as if you were judge and jury. Well, I’ll tell you here and now, there has been a solid reason for my decisions and I will stand behind each and every one. Though I never thought I’d have to defend myself against my bloody wife!”
Without another word, John stormed out, slamming the door behind.
Chapter Sixteen
After she unlocked a window in the dining hall, Evelyn spent the remainder of the next morning in her chamber pretending she was unaffected by John’s tirade, yet under the surface she burned at his arrogance. How dare he accuse her of conspiring with Mr. Dubois? Even though he’d been too close to the mark. Evelyn crossed her arms and paced. She’d given her husband no cause to suspect her. And she’d only gathered information that might be of use to Prince James. Besides, Mar admittedly knew nothing of Dubois and their plans for the succession…to improve the lot of all Britons. Heavens, Mar accused the Frenchman of being under suspicion.
Claude Dubois? Under suspicion? Perhaps the queen has learned of his bent toward her brother?
And even if Evelyn didn’t feel quite right about leaving a window unlocked, John had certainly allayed any apprehension on her part.
Curses!
She pounded her fist on the back of the settee. Her husband had no idea how deeply she had allied herself with the French emissary, but she had conspired for the right reasons—at least when living in her father’s home. Here in Mar’s London island of Scotland, the line between right and wrong seemed to shift with each passing day. Or did it fade?
I am losing my mind.
“Couuuuntessssss?” Oliver hollered from the corridor right before there came a fierce knocking at the door.
Springing to his feet from his place in front of the hearth, Brutus launched into an onslaught of barking.
With a slice of her hand, Evelyn signaled to the dog to stop. “Come in.”
Brutus immediately lowered his head, baring his teeth and growling.
The door burst open and Oliver darted straight toward the Corgi, holding out a piece of sausage. “Can we take Brutus to the park?”
Bribed, Evelyn’s fierce protector swallowed the meat whole, then rubbed against the boy’s leg, begging for more.
Thomas sauntered inside, looking like a miniature form of his father. He tossed up a leather ball and caught it. “Does the old hound play catch?”
“He does, though you boys might be able to outrun him.”
“That’s okay.”
Huffing as if she’d just run a footrace, Mrs. Kerr stepped into the doorway. “Lads, I told you not to bother Her Ladyship.”
“Och, someone needs to exercise Brutus,” said Oliver. “He’s our dog now, too, isn’t he, Countess?”
“He is.” Evelyn glanced out the window. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Why not
step out with the boys? A bit of air might do her some good, might take her mind off last night’s disaster as well.
“A jaunt to the park is a delightful idea.” Evelyn turned to the governess. “Mrs. Kerr, why not take a little time to yourself? In my estimation, you have earned it ten times over.”
The woman’s face first brightened with elation—right before a pinch formed between her brows. “Are you certain, m’lady? The lads can be a handful.”
“I’m sure I can manage for a few hours—as long as Thomas and Oliver promise to be on their best behavior.”
The boys emphatically agreed, and Mrs. Kerr left them, looking as if she’d been given plum pudding with cream, which she planned to enjoy thoroughly. Brutus was all too happy to waddle to the park while Thomas and Oliver took turns at trying to coax him faster.
“I want a hunting dog,” said Thomas. “Corgis are useless.”
Though it was hard for Evelyn to argue, there was something endearing about her old hound, even if he was a grumbler. “I don’t know. Brutus is a good watchdog, not to mention a fine companion.”
“Aye,” Tom agreed. “If you do not mind having your hand bit off.”
She chuckled to herself. “He never bites my hand, only yours.”
Oliver tugged on the lead. “I think he likes me now. I sure have fed him enough sausages.”
“Perhaps that’s why he looks like a sausage.”
“Swensen calls him a haggis.” Elbowing his brother aside, Thomas took a turn. “I reckon the dog will soon grow so fat his legs will give out and then we’ll be forced to roll him everywhere.”
Once they rounded the corner and the park came into view, Oliver dashed into the street. “Come, Brutus. Fetch the ball!”
“Watch for horses and carts!” Evelyn raised her voice, grabbing Thomas by the collar before he stepped off the curb with Brutus. Her heart stopped as, ahead, Oliver dashed in front of a hay wagon.
The driver pulled on his horse’s reins, his cart teetering almost to the point of overturning. “Watch yerself, ye young whelp!” the man shouted, cracking his whip at Oliver. The boy threw his hands over his head and ducked behind the wagon.
“Cease your barbarism this instant!” Evelyn took Thomas by the hand and, after looking both ways, they marched directly toward the idiot. “Oliver, hasten to the footpath and wait for us there.”
Wide-eyed, the boy ran. “Aye, m’lady.”
The driver stood dumbfounded as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Your Ladyship?”
“Indeed,” Evelyn snapped. “I might have pardoned you because my son shouldn’t have blindly dashed across the street, but then to see you lash out at a defenseless boy of five with a whip? Your actions are deplorable and unforgiveable!”
“I dodged him, Countess,” Oliver yelled from the curb. “I am unharmed.”
Evelyn shook her fan at the driver. “It is a very good thing, else I would have no recourse but to have you reprimanded. Let me tell you here and now, the Countess of Mar will stand for no man whilst he raises his hand against one of my sons.”
The cart driver cowered, looking terrified. “’Pologies, milady. He scared me was all.”
“Apology accepted.” She squeezed Thomas’s hand. “Now go on your way and be mindful of children in the future.”
“Yes, milady.” The man tipped his hat. “Good day to you.”
“Holy Moses, you showed him,” Oliver said as Evelyn and Thomas joined him on the footpath.
Evelyn tweaked the child’s ear. “Let this be a lesson, young man. Even if you grow as large as your father, you still could be killed if you are struck by a horse and cart! From here on out, I expect you to show me the good sense God gave you to look before you cross any street. Am I understood?”
Hanging his head, Oliver kicked a stone. “Aye, m’lady.”
She took charge of the dog’s lead. “Promise me?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Very well then, since you promised, you can manage Brutus’s lead and take him all the way to the park.” She arched her eyebrow at the lad’s elder brother. “Understood?”
Thomas gave a nod.
But Oliver’s face brightened as if she’d just given him a present. “Thank you!”
They managed to proceed the half block to the park without another incident. Thomas threw first and Oliver second. Brutus lumbered to the ball and eventually brought it back. But on the third throw, the dog sat and refused to budge.
Oliver planted his fists on his hips and gaped up at his brother. “You threw it too far.”
“Did not. The old hound is just too lazy. We need a better dog.”
“I think we must learn to accept that which we have,” Evelyn said.
“I’ll go fetch it myself.” Oliver clipped the lead to Brutus’s collar. “But you’re going with me, ye huge haggis.”
Evelyn clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. But Thomas looked anything rather than amused. “How have you been faring of late?” she asked. “Is your heart mending? I’ve been worried about you ever since our chat in the library.”
The boy’s lips thinned as he glanced her way. “I do not ken. Mrs. Kerr never gives us a moment’s rest. I wish I could go home. There’s so much more to do at Alloa.”
“Oh? Have you grown bored with tossing the ball for Brutus already?”
“The silly mutt only went after it twice. He’s not much fun if you ask me.”
“But he’s a good companion. And he’s always good for a listen.”
Thomas shrugged.
Evelyn tried another tack. “So, what keeps you busy at Alloa?”
“My pony, mostly.”
“Do you like the stables? Do you clean her stall, brush her, and feed her?”
“Nay, the grooms do all that.”
“I think it would be good for you to learn. Hard work gives a young man a sense of accomplishment.”
Tom didn’t look convinced. “Mrs. Kerr has me working all the time.”
“True, but working in the stables is different. It exercises the body and feeds the soul. And I’d wager if you asked, one of the grooms would be willing to let you help, providing you’re open to taking direction.”
“Help with what?” asked Oliver, skidding to a stop with the dog dragging behind.
As the boy held out the ball, Evelyn took it. “I was just suggesting that Thomas master the art of caring for his pony by learning how things work in the mews here in London.”
“Can I do it, too?”
“You must first ask the stable master. I set to gardening when I was about Thomas’s age. The master gardener at Thoresby Hall took me under his wing and now I know almost as much as he.”
“You could be a master gardener?” asked Oliver.
Evelyn brushed the golden hair away from the boy’s face. “I think not. Ladies do not take up such posts.”
“But you could if you wanted to,” said Thomas.
Taking charge of Brutus, Evelyn started back to the town house. “I am a countess and already have a great deal of responsibility. The two of you will become important men. To prepare, a bit of hard work and sweat will do you good—give you a solid foundation upon which to build strong character.”
“Da says I’m already a character,” said Oliver.
Thomas cuffed his brother on the arm. “Not that kind of character, ye nut.”
“I’m not a nut. You’re a nut—you’re a hard-shelled walnut.”
“Enough!” Reaching the curb, Evelyn stopped and stretched out her hands to stop the lads from stepping into the street. “Oliver—watch the traffic and tell me when it is safe to cross.”
As John headed away from the queen’s antechamber at Kensington Palace, the Duke of Argyll pulled him aside. “May I have a word?”
“A word with me?” Everyone at court knew that though they were both Scottish peers, Mar and Argyll stood at odds on nearly every issue. “Something grave must be afoot,” he said, unable to keep his sarcasm f
rom showing.
The duke’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his periwig. “Treason, if my sources are sound.”
John checked over his shoulder. “Treason?”
“I’ve had a report that Louis of France is scheming—he wants the throne of Britain and will stop at nothing to turn the lot of us into French subjects.”
“Interesting, given the peace negotiations underway in the Netherlands.”
“What better time to stage an invasion than when your enemy thinks you are beaten?”
“Let us say your suspicions are founded.” John crossed his arms. “Who is your traitor? What proof have you?”
Argyll stroked his fingers along his chin, his gaze piercing. “The information I’ve received is enough to implicate any man on Anne’s cabinet. Even you.”
Och, another one of the duke’s schemes. John threw up his palms. “That is preposterous, and I resent the implication.”
“Do not be so quick to anger, Mar. My guess is the leak may not be coming from you directly, but from your house.”
“I beg your pardon?” John’s hand slipped to the hilt of his dirk. “Surely you do not wish a duel, for everyone kens you’d be no match for me, Your Grace.”
“Stop thinking with your brawn and reason.” Argyll cupped a hand to his mouth and lowered his voice. “You’ve recently married, have you not?”
“Aye, ye ken I have.”
“And I’m certain it is not news that your bonny wife has been seen in the company of Mr. Dubois.”
Hot ire twisted in John’s gut. Damnation, he knew Evelyn’s alliance with the Frenchman would start the gossip mongers. “Her Ladyship is acquainted with the man—though it goes no further.” He held his tongue from commenting more. Surely the man wasn’t hugely dangerous. Rumor was Dubois had Jacobite leanings and, since 1707, Jacobite sentiment had grown quiet. In fact, John’s allies, the Marquis of Tullibardine and the Earl of Seaforth, who were firm supporters of James Stuart, had confided that the exiled royal intended to wait out his sister’s reign before he considered the pursuit of his rightful place as king, which he hoped to achieve peaceably and with parliament’s blessing, God willing.