“Now you will have to be on your guard.” Ashleigh stood looking down, apparently lost in thought and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “You have changed,” he said abruptly. “I have seen that. Hell, anyone with half a brain can see that.”
Merton smiled wryly. “I presume you exclude my relations with that comment.”
Ashleigh shook his head impatiently. “You were a boy when you disappeared. But not any longer.”
“No, not any longer. I don’t see the world the same way any longer. I cannot just dismiss those thousands of people who would not be invited to my grandmother’s parties as unimportant.”
“You have always cared for your tenants, as did your grandfather.”
“It is not a matter of caring for them. Why should they have to depend on fate to give them a landlord who will care for them? Fate is just as likely to give them a landlord like Edgar who thinks his responsibility ends when he collects the rent. No. Those fellows at Spa Fields were right you know.”
Ashleigh looked at him with disbelief. “That rabble demonstrating in London? The ones following Thistlewood and Watson? The ones rioting and smashing things? Oh, I know that the charges of treason failed, but it’s revolution they want all right. It is simmering all over the country, and we will be damned fortunate if it doesn’t boil over.”
“I went to the meeting in Spa Fields with Dick the first day and heard that fellow Hunt, the one they call Orator. He was calling for an end to pocket boroughs, for annual parliaments and votes for every man. What’s so terrible about that? Little enough, in justice.”
“A jumped-up farmer.” Ashleigh waved his hand dismissively.
“Justice,” Merton repeated. “For a generation, we asked them to fight the French for us, and when they finally come home, they find their old homes are gone, their families have vanished, and there is no work for them. When they protest, the troops are called out against them.” He glared at the duke. “I need to take my seat in the Lords, don’t I? Someone has to speak out, so Liverpool and Sidmouth don’t get it all their own way. Their answer to everything is to hang some more men.”
Ashleigh gave a rueful smile and shook his head. “You have changed, and I suppose it’s a change for the better. I look forward to hearing you in the Lords.”
Merton stood and all solemnity seemed to fall away from him. He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Now that is settled, will you stay for dinner? We can find you a bed for the night as well.”
“No, thank you. I need to return home. Alice has come back with her daughter and they are not quite settled in yet.”
“I see. I heard that Talmadge had died. Is she very distressed?”
Ashleigh snorted in derision. “Upset to be rid of a profligate brute thirty years her senior? I can only thank God that he left her with a daughter and not a disease. No, but she’s a timid little mouse now and is only slowly coming to realize that she is safe, that she no longer has anything to fear.”
Merton stood still, his face shocked. “Safe? I never knew… we were still children when they married…”
“She was still a child when they married. She was only sixteen. And now she has a daughter close to that age. Even if I had known, I could not have protected Alice then. I saw her so rarely after her marriage—I disliked Talmadge, but I assumed she was happy enough being a countess. It was only when she came home—God, Tom, you would never recognize her. She is four years older than I and she always used to order me about when we were children. Now, she doesn’t dare express an opinion until I have done so, and then she inevitably tells me I am perfectly right. The other day, I came up behind her and touched her on the shoulder to get her attention. She flinched.”
“Peter, I…” Merton silently shook his head.
“I wish the bastard were still alive so I could kill him.”
“Understandable. I would gladly stand your second. However, I confess some relief that all your distress was not simply on my behalf. Take care of her, and do not worry about me. I can protect myself.”
Ashleigh started to leave, but turned back to say, “Do take this seriously, Tom. You may have grown up in some ways, but you have still managed to get yourself into a devil of a scrape. This is not some prank. Someone is trying to kill you. If you will not think of yourself and all those who depend on you, think of me. Imagine what it will be like for me to have Edgar and Pamela as my nearest neighbors.”
Chapter Seventeen
The cloaked figure made use of the side door once more, and joined the other conspirator in the folly.
“You fool! That was a disaster. An absolute disaster.” Even the cloak seemed to swirl in anger.
The dark man shrugged. “They arrived too early. Who would have expected a pair of chits to be that eager to see a shipyard.”
“The problem is not simply that you failed. It’s far worse than that. Now you have aroused suspicion. I heard Merton and the American talking. They do not think it was an accident. They think someone is trying to kill him, and they have even put a name to that someone: Montague. They know who you are!”
“How?”
“She saw you, did she not? The American chit?”
There was a mutter of acknowledgement.
“Apparently, she was able to describe you well enough for Merton and that Hodgson fellow to recognize you.”
“Damnation!” He marched to the window and stared out into the darkness, scowling. “I should have pushed her over the cliff as soon as I realized she had seen me.”
“But you didn’t. As you have not done all sorts of things you should have done. Things that would have ended this ages ago. Now they have men out looking for you as well as the ones watching and guarding Merton.”
“That won’t do them any good.” He had recovered his complacency. “An accident, a trap is set. My presence is not required, so I will be keeping well out of sight. In a day or two or three, it will be all over.”
“What do you mean, a day or two?”
He shrugged. “I cannot guarantee when it will happen, but it will. Trust me.”
“Trust you? Why should I? I’ve trusted you far too many times already.” The words were said with a sneer. “My patience is not unlimited. If you fail this time…”
Chapter Eighteen
“The trick is to get her slim enough for speed, but still broad enough to ride out rough weather and have enough cargo space,” Merton said. The drawings of the ship’s plans were unrolled on his desk in the library. He held down one side while Miranda held the other.
She studied the diagrams carefully. “The bow looks to be unusually narrow, rather like a Baltimore clipper.” She turned and frowned at him. “You aren’t thinking of building a slaver, are you?” That type of ship had become notorious for transporting slaves from Africa to America, even after the slave trade had been outlawed.
“No, never that,” he reassured her. “The Ulysses was in the West Indies for a time, and I saw things—I saw things I would rather forget. Even if the slave trade had not been made illegal in both your country and mine, I would not choose to batten on human misery. But there are always cargoes that need to be delivered speedily, to say nothing of the mail. A reliable mail service between England and America—now there is something that could not only make a fortune for someone, but be of real use as well. Imagine the lives that could have been saved if those armies at New Orleans had known that the war was over before they’d begun to fight.”
Reassured, she looked back at the plans, and he bent over her. He came closer and closer. “You smell of lemons,” he whispered.
She turned, blushing a bit. “It was Lydia’s idea. She said that rinsing my hair with lemon juice would make it lighter, blonder.”
He was close enough for the loose tendrils of her hair to tickle his nose. “Why would you want to do that?” He turned slightly so her hair caressed his cheek. “Your hair is so soft and lovely.”
She wanted to lean into him. Her hand ha
d a will of its own. It wanted to reach up and bring his face closer to hers, bring his mouth closer. Her mind ordered her hand to behave itself. She said, “Blonde hair is more fashionable.”
“Such nonsense,” he said. His hands had left the roll of drawings and slipped around her waist. He drew her closer. “But I love the smell of lemons. Like lemon tarts. Delectable.” His lips were almost brushing her ear.
A cough in the hall called him to himself and he sighed regretfully but drew no closer. A footman appeared in the doorway. “Beg pardon, my lord, but Lady Merton is looking for you. She wishes everyone to leave for the picnic.”
“Thank you, Hobbes. We will be right with her.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away from Miranda, and she made no move to go, so for a long moment they stood there, just barely touching.
Finally, she stepped away. “I should get my bonnet and a shawl.”
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “We would not want your nose to turn red.”
*
Most of the gentlemen were going to travel on horseback. But even so, it required four carriages to get all the ladies to the picnic site. The destination, the remains of an old castle, was more than a mile from the Hall even if one went across the fields, much too far for the more delicate of the ladies. When a walk was proposed, Pamela Wortham’s voice trailed off as she said, “I could not possibly…” whereupon Miss Singleton declared that though she loved to walk above all things, such a distance was really… and Miss Barbury said nothing but put her hand to her forehead and fluttered her eyelashes. Miss Rokeby had promised her cousin that she would be good, so she managed not to roll her eyes. Miss Saunders, who had been eyeing her cousin nervously, looked relieved.
Lady Merton and Lady Carraby looked approving and, between them, maneuvered things so that Lord Merton and Miss Saunders ended up in the phaeton while Miss Rokeby was in a landau with three other ladies and Mr. Saunders was driving a gig. The only one of the young people who was pleased with this arrangement was Mr. Saunders, who dearly loved to show off his skill with the reins, and didn’t even mind having Miss Barbury next to him. Edgar was riding a docile hack, keeping well away from the carriage that carried his wife.
Merton’s phaeton was a high perch one, and he would have enjoyed flying along in it. However, one glance at Miss Saunders was enough to tell him that speed was out of the question. She was clutching the side, as far away from him at it was possible to be, and there was a greenish tint to her complexion. He was not sure whether she was more frightened of him or of the phaeton, but she was clearly terrified.
He sighed and eased the carriage away from the rest of the party. The horses were a pair of bays that Edgar had acquired a few years ago, beautifully matched in color, but possessing neither speed nor stamina. He consoled himself that it was just as well since he needed to proceed at a moderate pace. There would have been no pleasure in trying to race them.
Once they were out of hearing of her mother and his grandmother, he turned to Lydia. “Miss Saunders, you seem to be a trifle nervous. I promise to drive slowly so that you need not doubt that we will arrive safely.”
Lydia flushed. “I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to offend you by implying any doubt of your skill. It is just that I do not care for heights.”
“I am not in the least offended,” he assured her. “Many people dislike heights. We had a cabin boy on the Ulysses who could not climb more than a few feet above the deck without casting up his accounts.”
“The poor boy,” said Lydia, instantly sympathetic. “How did he manage?”
“Well, as no one cared to be in the vicinity when he…” Merton interrupted himself with a cough. “We saw to it that whenever someone was to be sent aloft, he was nowhere in sight.” It had not been difficult, he recalled. The boy was small enough to be hidden behind a barrel or in a coil of rope whenever Lieutenant Montague appeared, and no one else would have sent the boy up.
“Oh. That was kind of you.” Lydia sounded somewhat surprised, which did rather offend Merton.
“Miss Saunders,” he said firmly, “I assure you that you need not fear me. I do not kick puppies or throw stones at kittens or whatever it is you seem to think I do.” To his horror, rather than reassuring her, this little speech put her on the brink of tears. “Miss Saunders, what is it? Shall I take you back? Would you prefer to ride in the coach? I’m sure one of the ladies would be willing to trade places.”
“No, please, my lord.” The suggestion seemed to frighten her even more. “Mama would be very annoyed with me.”
“I see,” he said, and he finally did. “Your mama and my grandmama would like us to make a match of it, is that not so?” At her reluctant nod, he continued, “Are you afraid that you will be unable to bring me up to snuff, or are you afraid that I will propose and your family will bully you into accepting?”
Lydia was by now blushing furiously. She took a sidelong glance at him and saw that he was smiling quite kindly. “I truly do not wish to offend, my lord,” she began and trailed off.
“But you do not think we would suit,” he finished for her. “I am not in the least offended, and I hope you will not be overly offended if I say that I agree with you. You are an extremely pretty girl and a charming one, but not, I think, one who would be happy with me, and I would prefer a happy wife. Now, if I give you my word that I will not offer for you, today or at any other time, do you think we could manage to complete this ride as friendly companions?”
The look of relief on her face transformed her from a timid mouse to a quite attractive little thing. It was lucky that Merton was not particularly vain. Such palpable relief at not having to marry him was hardly flattering.
Lydia still clutched the side of the phaeton, but relaxed enough to look around at the scenery and the riders and other carriages. “It’s Miranda, Miss Rokeby, isn’t it?” she asked suddenly.
Merton managed not to jerk the reins, but it was a close thing. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her.” Now that she felt safe, Lydia began to chat quite happily. “You always seem to be aware of her, just as she is aware of you.”
“Is she?” Merton felt quite pleased at the notion, but not at all certain of its truth. “I had the impression that there might be some agreement between her and your brother.” He did not truly think there was anything serious between them, but their easy, flirtatious companionship bothered him.
“Oh no, not at all. She and George only play at flirting because it worries Mama. You see, Mama wants George and me to marry well, so she is always trying to push me at titled gentlemen, even when it is obvious that we would not suit. So to give me a respite, Miranda and George begin to flirt madly, and then Mama spends all her time trying to separate them.”
“Is it the closeness of the relationship that bothers her? Miss Rokeby’s mother and your father are brother and sister, are they not?”
“Yes, but it isn’t that. It’s Miranda’s ideas that worry her. You see, she is always teasing George about being a wastrel, and Mama is afraid she will persuade him to do something unsuitable.”
“Like become a shipbuilder?” Merton smiled.
“Well, yes,” said Lydia, a trifle apologetically.
“Am I failing to understand something here? Your mother objects to Miss Rokeby because she might persuade your brother to become a shipbuilder, but she pushes you at me even though I am a shipbuilder?”
Lydia looked at him as if he were slightly dim. “She, and your grandmother as well, assume that were we to wed, you could be persuaded to give up such activities.” She smiled when he shook his head in irritated disbelief. “I know they are wrong, but they cannot conceive that you are doing this for any reason other than to irritate your family.”
“And you?” he asked. “Do you understand why I do it?”
She shook her head. “No. It makes no sense to me, but it does to you, and I do not think you will be easily moved.”
“And Miss
Rokeby?” He tried to ask the question casually.
“Oh, it certainly makes sense to Miranda. I think that is why she thinks well of you when she thinks so poorly of the gentlemen Mama introduced her to in London.” Lydia stopped and turned to look at him with a triumphant grin. “I was right, wasn’t I? You do have a tendre for Miranda. I am so pleased, and not just because I am the one who noticed. George noticed, too. Indeed, I think everyone noticed, except perhaps Mama. But if you marry Miranda, then she will stay in England and that will be lovely because we have become such friends.”
“It is, perhaps, a bit early to be planning the wedding.” Merton could feel himself blushing. “Miss Rokeby has known me for such a short time.”
“I am running ahead of myself, aren’t I? It’s entirely your fault. Now that you aren’t going to propose, I’m not afraid of you any longer. In fact, as a friend, I quite like you.”
“And you have been so busy talking that you have forgotten to be afraid of the phaeton,” he said, pulling up beside the other carriages.
When he lifted her down, they were both laughing, a fact that was noted by others. Lady Merton and Lady Carraby shared looks of smug self-satisfaction. Miranda, however, felt a sudden chill. She turned away and walked toward a clump of trees.
She had been foolish, she decided. She had mistaken his casual flirtation for something more. That she found him attractive, even wildly attractive, did not mean that he felt the same way about her. At least not in any serious way.
She could have sworn he was about to kiss her when they were in the library. She shivered at the remembrance of his hand at her waist, his breath on her cheek. If the footman hadn’t come in…
That did not mean he had any serious intentions. It did not even mean he had any honorable intentions. She could feel the blush heating her face. He could probably tell that she had wanted him to kiss her. Perhaps he thought that since she was an American, she must be a loose woman. They seemed to have some odd notions about Americans over here.
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