The Caress of a Commander [retail]

by Linda Rae Sande

  Will’s attention went to the dog. He watched as Harold merely walked alongside Hannah as he had done for his entire life. A quick calculation had Will realizing this Harold couldn’t be the same Harold his father had brought home all those years ago, though. “How old is Harold?” he asked suddenly as he nodded toward the Alpenmastiff.

  Henry swallowed, realizing Will would have known the original Harold from when he was about the age this Harold was now. “Just a bit over two years old,” he replied.

  Will sighed. “I take it the original Harold died?” he murmured, daring another glance at Hannah’s back.

  Henry nodded, remembering the cold, snowy night he had come home to discover his wife missing from Gisborn Hall. He had found her nearly frozen as she wept over Harold. The poor dog had died after saving Henry’s son, Nathaniel, from the river. “My son is alive because of that dog,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Nathan?” Will asked, remembering the boy’s name from a letter he had received from Hannah. At Henry’s look of surprise, Will gave a shrug. “Hannah wrote about him in one of her letters. She’s rather fond of him,” he said with a nod. “Where is he, by the way?” he asked.

  Henry’s gaze fell on the back of his wife, his eyes glued to the gentle sway of her hips beneath her day gown. “Abdington,” Henry replied. “For school,” he added, realizing Will might not be familiar with the prep school.

  Will nodded his understanding. “I’m surprised you didn’t hire a tutor and keep him here,” he commented.

  Henry wondered at the man’s words. “He had a tutor in the village for several years, and I was tempted to keep him here,” he admitted. “But I was educated at Abdington and thought I owed him that. And a few years at Oxford.”

  Will chuckled. “Like father, like son?” he teased.

  “Indeed,” Henry replied.

  Parkerhouse, the ancient butler who had worked at Gisborn Hall since before Henry’s birth, opened the front doors and stepped aside to allow the party to enter.

  “Could you see to tea and a luncheon and biscuits in the parlor, please?” Hannah said as she led everyone through the vestibule. “Cakes, too, if the cook has any made.” Before she had made it to the stairs, she paused. “Oh, and Parkerhouse, please do have a guest bedchamber prepared for the Earl of Bellingham and his wife. And their son can stay in Nathan’s room. And be sure to let Cook know there will be five for dinner and that we’ll have guests for several days,” Hannah added before she led the entourage up the marble stairs to the second floor.

  The butler bowed and made his way toward the kitchens as Hannah continued up the stairs to a newly refurbished parlor.

  When Will caught Barbara’s look of alarm in his direction, he gave her a nod of understanding. “I don’t think that will be necessary, sister,” he started to argue, rather shocked to hear Barbara referred to as his wife. He rather doubted Barbara would be willing to share a bedchamber. As for their son, well, his sister did have that detail correct.

  Was it that obvious? Or had Barbara said something to her?

  Or was Hannah merely covering for him?

  Hannah turned on the landing and regarded her brother with wide eyes. “You cannot walk all the way back to Broadwell tonight,” she countered. “Why, it’s...” She turned to Henry, figuring he would know exactly how far it was to the village.

  “Four miles,” he said under his breath, one of his eyebrows arching in amusement.

  “Four miles,” Hannah repeated, as if her brother didn’t already know the distance, and four miles may as well have been four hundred miles.

  Will allowed a chuckle. “I know how far it is, Hannah,” he replied with a grin. “Which is why we don’t need to be availing ourselves of your hospitality tonight.”

  “Nonsense. What else are you going to do?” Henry argued as he continued through a set of double-doors into what appeared to be a newly refurbished parlor.

  When Will noted his sister’s crestfallen face, he sighed. “We can discuss it later,” he murmured, realizing the earl had a point. They may as well stay. Perhaps he could convince Barbara to return to London with him. Agree to marry him. Move into a townhouse in Park Lane. Live the life he had imagined them living all those years ago.

  Hannah’s smile returned, as if she had won an argument.

  Chapter 30

  A Marquess Confronts a Viscount

  Back in London...

  William Slater took a deep breath before making his presence known to Matthew Fitzsimmons, Viscount Chamberlain. The slightly younger viscount had just finished a hand of cards when he noticed William giving him a nod.

  “I’m done for the evening, gentleman,” he said as he pushed away from the card table in White’s. A few groaned their displeasure at losing the fourth man in their game before another stepped up to take his place.

  Matthew joined William, taking the glass of brandy a footman held for him.

  “Devonville,” he said with a nod. “Should I be concerned?” he wondered as he indicated the brandy balloon, giving the glass a quick swirl before lifting it to his nose.

  William shook his head. “Depends, I suppose. I’m in search of information about Greenley and have reason to believe you may know what’s become of him.”

  Matthew hesitated before taking a sip of the brandy, wondering why the marquess would think to come to him with questions about the Earl of Greenley. Had someone said something?

  He pointed toward a pair of upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace. The other marquess moved to take a seat and noticed how a nearby butler quickly took his leave of the room. A nearby footman also disappeared. Well, at least their conversation wouldn’t be overheard by any of the staff at White’s, he considered.

  Once he was settled in one of the chairs, Viscount Chamberlain regarded William for a long moment. “He owes money to nearly every gaming hell on the east side,” he whispered. “He’s mortgaged to the hilt. His unentailed properties have all been sold in attempt to pay off what he owes, but he simply owes too much. He’s about to land in debtors’ prison.”

  William hissed, the news surprising him. Why hadn’t he heard the man was about to go to prison? “What the hell happened?” he wondered in a quiet voice. “He never used to gamble—”

  “He never used to drink to excess or miss entire sessions of Parliament, either,” Matthew interrupted, his manner suggesting he wasn’t comfortable speaking about Maxwell Higgins, Earl of Greenley. The two had been friends at one point, before their political positions forced them onto the opposite sides of issues. And before the issue with the missing British pounds had the Foreign Office deciding to use the earl as bait.

  The Marquess of Devonville sighed. “So, what happened?”

  Matthew allowed a sigh, his brandy forgotten. “His wife died shortly after his fifth child was born and died. He sent his youngest daughter to live with a relative and a few years later, he sent the oldest away.”

  The other marquess couldn’t help but notice Lady Barbara’s name wasn’t mentioned specifically, nor was she said to have been banished. “But, why?” William asked, his head shaking in confusion.

  Matthew shrugged, tempted to tell William the truth. He knew the marquess would keep the information quiet. Instead, he gave him the line he’d rehearsed for moments such as this. “Broken heart. Broken spirit. I know you’ve probably heard he beat his wife, but he swears he never did such a thing to her or the girls,” he explained. “While he was in mourning, he started drinking too much, and pretty soon he was losing at the tables. He was too proud to get his daughters back, too proud to admit there was a problem. That is, until someone started buying up his markers. Even then, he didn’t tell anyone he owed more than his worth in debt.”

  William hissed at hearing the words. “Who owns the markers?”

  Matthew blinked. Damn! He could claim he didn’t know, but at that moment, he decided he had better give the Marquess of Devonville a bit of the truth. “The Crown,” he replie
d simply.

  William blinked. And blinked again before setting his brandy balloon onto a side table and leaning forward. “How long have we known each other, Chamberlain?” he asked in a low voice.

  Matthew Fitzsimmons sighed before rolling his eyes. “If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I can have you brought up on charges of treason,” he whispered.

  Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, William thought with a bit of satisfaction. “Not a word,” he agreed with a shake of his head.

  Leaning forward so he could whisper and still be heard, Matthew said, “What I said about his drinking and gambling was true. And the Crown does own a few markers from gaming hells,” he added with an arched eyebrow. “But Greenley is working for me right now. Has been, off and on, for almost eight years.”

  William allowed a nod. “But not because he wanted to,” he guessed, a graying eyebrow cocked up in query.

  The viscount shook his head. “It took some persuasion, it’s true, but the man did owe money. We just made it possible for him to continue to gamble in a effort to determine where his losses were going after they left the gaming tables.”

  The marquess considered this bit of information and finally nodded. “For eight years?”

  Matthew sighed before settling back into his chair. “As I said, off and on. Some investigations take longer. This one... this one is about to wrap up. The guilty party—a foreign party, I might add—will be apprehended within the month, and justice shall finally be served.” He paused a moment. “The first one only took a few months. Others... a year or more.”

  Eight years? William was beginning to see a connection. “And once this justice is served, what will become of Lord Greenley?” he asked, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

  Frowning, Matthew shook his head. “Well, he won’t be going to debtor’s prison, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied.

  “His family?”

  The viscount gave a shrug. “His sons will be informed they have their inheritances, and his daughters...” Here, he stopped and frowned. “The youngest has been living with an aunt in Staffordshire. She’s still of an age to make an advantageous marriage.”

  William waited, wondering if the viscount would admit to knowing the whereabouts of Barbara. When Matthew didn’t say anything more, he sighed. “And Lady Barbara?” he prompted.

  Closing his eyes a moment, Matthew shook his head. “If Greenley’s damnable solicitor wasn’t so honorable, we would know where he sent her,” he complained. “Barton arranged for her to live somewhere. We know he was secretly sending her funds, but we could never figure out to where they were being sent,” he explained. “Even after Greenley fired him, he still wouldn’t tell the earl where he had sent Lady Barbara. We thought cutting off her funds would drive her back to London—”

  “What?” William interrupted, stunned at the viscount’s information. “You had a solicitor send an unmarried woman away from London without... without protection? Without money?” he questioned, his voice rising above the whisper the two had been using to converse.

  The viscount held out a hand and glanced around, his nervousness apparent. “We truly thought Barton would divulge her location, but the man—”

  “Oxfordshire,” William said before glaring at the viscount for several seconds. When he noted Matthew’s look of surprise, he added, “My son just found her in Oxfordshire.”

  “Jesus,” Matthew whispered. “Is she...?”

  William shook his head. “He said he found her, and she’s unmarried. I’ve no idea if she’s well or sick or working as a prostitute or—”

  “Christ,” the viscount whispered, his head shaking from side to side. He suddenly arched an eyebrow. “Your son, did you say? Why was he looking for her? And who told him where he could find her?” He paused a moment and furrowed his brows. Barton, no doubt. Bastard!

  “Bellingham, yes,” William replied. “He... loves her. Has since before he left London. Wants to make her his wife.”

  A profound sense of relief settled over the viscount just then. “She left London in a bit of a hurry,” he said in a low voice. “And not because we encouraged it, or because Greenley did, as far as we know. We could have provided protection had she stayed. She was the one seeing to Pendleton House. Seeing to providing Greenley a bit of a normal life given everything we had him involved in,” he added with a shake of his head.

  The news rankled William a bit. “She’s been gone from London for over seven years,” he stated with a hint of anger. “No protection, no funds. Had she been my daughter—”

  “I know, I know,” Matthew replied, one hand held up as if he could shield himself from the marquess’ scolding. “My niece was missing for a time. I remember the sense of hopelessness. The sense of dread.”

  William allowed his anger to dissipate a bit. His oldest son was somewhat to blame for Barbara’s quick departure from London. But to withhold funds in an effort to force a stubborn woman to return to London? A woman who probably thought the worst of her father and everyone else in the ton, for that matter? Desperate women could—and would—do desperate things. He had to hope Barbara was all right.

  Well, he would know more just as soon as the mail coach arrived in the morning. Hannah would send word if William and Barbara had made their way to Gisborn Hall. She would let him know the situation.

  “My son’s future wife had better be all right,” William said firmly. “And whatever you have Greenley doing on behalf of the Foreign Office had better be finished soon,” he warned.

  Matthew Fitzsimmons, Viscount Chamberlain, allowed a nod. “Understood,” he replied.

  Chapter 31

  Tea Time

  Meanwhile, back in Oxfordshire

  Although Donald tried his hardest to keep his eyes open, the long day of travel and several biscuits had him nodding off in the chair nearest where Harold had plopped down to watch over everyone.

  “Poor thing,” Hannah murmured as she glanced over at the boy. He may have only been a few years younger than her stepson, Nathaniel Forster, but he was so much smaller. Frail, almost. At Barbara’s look of alarm, Hannah was quick to add, “He’s had a rather busy day for one so young.”

  Barbara relaxed a bit. “He has,” she agreed with a nod.

  “I know you’ve already traveled too much today, but would you like to take a turn with me in the garden?” Hannah asked, noticing how the men were suddenly engaged in their own conversation.

  The older woman dared a glance in Will’s direction. She couldn’t help but see how comfortable he seemed in the upholstered chair, one booted ankle resting on the opposite knee while he spoke of his time at sea. Despite his having walked the entire distance from Broadwell, his boots were still reasonably polished, the dust having been wiped off whilst they were in the vestibule. “I would like that,” Barbara agreed, setting her cup and saucer on the low table in front of the settee on which she sat. A quick glance at the other furnishings in the parlor had her realizing that although the room looked newly refurbished—fresh paint lightened the walls and new drapes framed the mullioned windows—the furniture was old and a bit shabby.

  Hannah stood from her place on an adjacent settee, which had the men suddenly standing. “We’ll be in the garden.” She lifted her chin in Donald’s direction. “If you could just let him know when he wakes up. I shouldn’t want him to wonder where his mother is,” she added with a shrug.

  Henry moved to take Hannah’s hand. He lifted it to his lips. “I’ll let the nurse know if she brings Randolph down,” he murmured before kissing her knuckles.

  Hannah grinned. “I should think his uncle will want to spend some time with him,” she replied, giving Will a teasing grin.

  Will smiled. “I must be the only uncle in England who hasn’t seen his nephew,” he murmured. He pointed to Donald. “And Randolph is Donald’s cousin,” he added, meaning to ask Barbara if any of her brothers had children of their own yet.

  Hannah and Hen
ry both turned to regard Will. “Two times over, if you count Nathan,” Hannah said proudly. “But Randolph should be in the nursery napping for another hour. You can meet him when he wakes up.”

  Nodding, Will and Henry remained standing as the two women took their leave of the parlor and headed for the garden. Once they were out of earshot, Henry turned to regard Will with an arched eyebrow. “Something tells me we have a lot in common.”

  Will angled his head to one side before he realized what Henry might have meant with his comment. “If you mean we’re both the fathers of bastard boys, then, yes, we have that in common,” Will admitted with a nod. He just then realized he was part of a large contingent of aristocrats who had fathered bastard children. At least he intended to be a father to his son, though. The boy already had his name. Even if he could never inherit the marquessate, at least he could be raised as a Slater.

  Henry shook his head. “There is that, I suppose,” he agreed, his brow furrowed. “I was thinking more about our women, though. They’re far more... industrious than typical chits of the ton, wouldn’t you say?”

  Will blinked before giving his brother-in-law a nod. Industrious? Stubborn was probably a more appropriate term, but he wasn’t about to counter the earl’s claim.

  Chapter 32

  A Stepmother Warns of Trouble Ahead

  Back in London...

  Stephen reread the invitation for Lady Torrington’s musicale, remembering his brother’s edict that he attend. An invitation to one of Aunt Adele’s musicales is the most coveted invitation of the Season since she manages to get the best sopranos and musicians to perform. You have to go.

  Well, he would definitely be attending—he had promised Will he would attend as many ton events as he could while the commander was off in Oxfordshire with his Lady Barbara. From what his father had said at breakfast that morning, he and Cherice would be at the musicale, as well. “I can’t very well miss my own sister’s soirée,” William had said with an arched eyebrow when Stephen asked if he would be attending. “Besides, it’s high time you met her.”