The Wayward Son

by Warfield, Caroline

  “I may not plan to live here, but my family does, and neighbors I give them will matter. I’m reluctant to sell to someone sight unseen, especially someone who wants it as badly as that offer implies. I’ll want to know their intentions for the land. Besides that, I don’t like secrets. Or mysteries. My business won’t conclude until I know who caused my father’s injuries, who’s trying to drive you out, and who stands behind the tempting offer. I’ll see to it Spangler has been put in his place before I go, as well.”

  Joy bubbled up. My family… He said, ‘my family.’ He cares more than he likes to pretend. But her heart sank quickly, remembering his determination to leave. “Sufficient for today is moving your father,” she said. “Shall we get to it before Emma comes to harangue us?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Moving the old man home solved little for Rob. His concentration still wavered, scattered between his father, the situation at Willowbrook, his obligations in London—and Lucy. The woman haunted his nights and invaded his thoughts in the daytime. He had admitted to her face that he felt protective and came close—too close—to saying more. The more time he spent with her, the harder it became to hide the obvious.

  I want her—but at what cost? Hell, I almost kissed her. Would she come to London? That meant marriage, of course. The question, once asked, beat like an echo in his mind. He hadn’t given much thought to a wife before, but now? Marriage might suit him very well—with Lucy Whitaker—if he could pry her out of Willowbrook. Would she come?

  He wouldn’t know unless he asked, and even asking would be a step too far to pull back. He could find himself trapped in a web of obligation, the very thing he was determined to avoid, though with every day that passed, it became harder to remember why.

  The rhythm of life at the Willow provided order to his days. The royal mail came and went, the lunchroom filled and emptied, patrons piled in for dinner, and overnight guests had their needs met, as they always had. With Emma back home, Ellis relieved Rob part of every day, and Eli obtained leave to manage two days a week. Morgan lingered, coordinating guard duty with Gibbons. The irony of a half-pay colonel running his errands wasn’t lost on Rob. Though he suspected Morgan had his own reasons for staying in Ashmead, he planned to send his friend to London with yet another report to Viscount Rockford.

  Their father, commanding from his sick bed, kept them all focused on the workings of the inn. After several days, it became easier to bring the old man down every morning and prop him on a hastily moved settee in the taproom where he could oversee activity. Emma tutted and fretted, but it seemed to Rob the patient did better with his mind occupied. When he nodded off midafternoon, they carried him back up.

  Later, Rob remembered that day, the one on which three things happened at once, as the point at which everything changed.

  He and Morgan discussed his report to Rockford, and agreed Rob would fire the London agent. That managed, Morgan went up to pack.

  Shortly after, one of the Thatcher boys arrived with a note from Lucy. The simple message, “When you have a moment, please come to Willowbrook,” sounded innocuous enough, but he thought he better ride over when Morgan left.

  Before either could happen, the earl turned up. It began innocently enough.

  While Rob spoke with Alfred about having Khalija ready for his ride to Willowbrook, Clarion came, or so he claimed, to check on the patient. When he requested ale, took the comfortable settle by the window, and invited Rob to sit with him, Rob had his doubts.

  It isn’t like my blue-blooded brother to seek me out…he must want to escape Caulfield Hall badly, Rob thought, bringing ale for both of them and taking a seat. “I gather the countess is in residence. Ashmead seems to believe that is unusual.”

  Clarion’s eyes raised to the heavens, and he sighed deeply. “She rarely comes with me unless it is to complain about her allowance. This is no exception. My secretary has been diligent in carrying out his instructions.”

  “Cut off her credit, did you?” Rob asked, keeping his amusement under control.

  Clarion’s humorless gaze struck Rob forcefully. “She refuses to accept our circumstances. My father left me with obligations and no assets, as Eli will have explained to you in painful detail. I can’t let her force me into more debt, and that earns me her burning resentment.”

  Clarion broke eye contact and sipped his ale before going on. “I suspect she hopes that terrorizing me and harassing my children will make me back down. It won’t. And yet I see her in new gowns. She brought a blasted corgi. With a jeweled collar. Neither Jenkins nor I know how she pays for things.” He took a deeper swallow of his ale. “Anything new at Willowbrook?”

  “Not much. A few missing sheep my men can’t account for—livestock not being their specialty. I was about to ride over for a report when you came. What news about Spangler?”

  Clarion shrugged. “The fool tried to renege on the repayments he agreed to, claiming he can’t find all the heirs who got cash bequests. The threat of jail forced a trickle of funds into an account I set up in Ashmead Bank, one he has no control over.”

  “Trickle of funds! You should toss his sorry carcass in a cell.”

  Clarion leaned forward. “Then what? We still won’t be to the bottom of the sabotage. If he’s behind it, sooner or later, he’ll show his hand. Give me some credit, Benson. Besides, your brother Eli and I have people watching his office and home.”

  Rob interrupted to tell him about Spangler’s offer and about Robbins showing the worm off the property at Willowbrook. “Coming to Caulfield Hall is one thing. Turning up at Willowbrook on his way is another. I don’t want that man within three feet of Lucy Whitaker.”

  Under the earl’s knowing gaze, Rob shifted in his seat. “She’s your responsibility, Clarion.”

  “Agreed. Make sure you remember that. She isn’t without protection.” The earl studied his half-brother with narrowed eyes.

  What do you take me for? I have more honor than— Rob swallowed those words. He didn’t know if he would have said than you or than your father. He ignored the earl’s warning frown. “We can guard Willowbrook. If he comes to the hall, you warn him.”

  The earl appeared deep in thought, as if considering a mystery. “Did you say Spangler made you an offer to buy the place?”

  Rob explained the two offers.

  “Why would he sabotage a property he hopes to own?” Clarion mused. “Even if he were capable of a plot like that, why would he do it?”

  Rob’s sigh came from a deep reservoir of frustration. “So my brother Eli also asks. What else has he done? You said you have people watching him. Any funny business?”

  “I was getting to that.” Clarion clamped his lips shut, staring at the table for a long moment in grim silence as if gathering strength. Rob waited, the tension putting him on alert.

  The earl spoke through a thickness in his throat. “My mother has gone to Nottingham to shop twice since she came home. She claimed she borrowed money from my sister. Lady Madelyn denies it.”

  Rob sat up straight. “And—”

  “The men I have watching reported that she met with Spangler—in a coffee shop, as if it were a chance encounter.”

  “Two chance encounters? Unlikely.”

  Clarion nodded grimly.

  An unexpected swell of sympathy for the earl came to Rob. He certainly didn’t envy the man his mother. Before he could react, Clarion spoke slowly, as if pulling the words out one by one. “You need to know, Benson, that my mother believes I married beneath me. She bullied Marjory and loathes Lucy for her independent spirit and refusal to be cowed.”

  “Did you confront her? Your mother, I mean,” Rob asked softly.

  “Not yet. You’re the security expert. What do you advise?”

  Rob had to respect his old nemesis for the integrity it took to come to the Willow with the revelation and a question that had to be painful. It was, without doubt, why Clarion had come.

  “How would she react if you
did?” Rob asked.

  “Deny it. Attempt to bully me—I’m used to standing my ground, though. I could have her confined to the house. Even—” Clarion waved his hand as if to push the thought away.

  “Even what?”

  “Useless thought. There’s a small manor on the borders in Northumberland, an odd little parcel left in the entail. The house is gone to ruin, so sending her there seems unlikely.”

  “Your thoughts about Spangler—give him rope to hang himself—made sense as it turns out. However much I wanted him slapped in prison, this information proves you were right to let him go and watch him.”

  “If I make accusations, I’ll never know whether she is complicit or not.”

  And he needs to be sure for his own sake. Rob lifted one questioning brow. “Neither you nor Eli believes Spangler is capable of orchestrating a plot against me. Someone else might be.”

  Who that someone might be hung in the air between them. The earl nodded miserably. “Are you putting it about that you’ve had this generous offer from London? It might force their hand.”

  “It might, unless his coconspirator is behind the offer.”

  “If there is a coconspirator, and the offer came from them, they would have to have money,” the earl said.

  And the countess has none. Rob slumped back in frustration. “None of what we know fits easily together. Why would the countess want Willowbrook anyway? She prefers London, does she not?”

  The earl shifted in his seat.

  He looks like a man carrying the world on his shoulders. Perhaps he is, Rob thought. “What are you thinking?”

  “She pressures me to open Caulfield land to mining—coal to fill the earldom’s coffers,” Clarion said. “I refuse to do it.”

  “If there is coal beneath the limestone ridge, it is as likely to be on Willowbrook as the Caulfield estate. The deed comes with mineral rights.”

  In the end, they agreed that Rob’s family would unleash rumors that he had three offers, each one more generous than the previous.

  The earl left, looking even more burdened than when he arrived. He agreed, for his part, to pretend ignorance where the countess was concerned.

  Rob still had to deal with Sims, the London agent. Morgan flushed the nervous little man from his comfortable suite on the top floor of the Willow and escorted him to the inn office, where Rob interrogated him once more. Sim blinked uneasily, but, when pressed, again refused to name his client.

  “If you can tell me nothing, our business is concluded. Your services are no longer required.”

  “You won’t receive a finer offer, and our agreement…” Sims blustered.

  “You think not? I have reason to believe otherwise,” Rob said. It had been Clarion’s suggestion to hint at the nonexistent third offer and send Sims scurrying to report to his client, hoping he made the conspirators uneasy enough to make a mistake.

  Rob sent the man off to pack. “Colonel Morgan leaves for London in an hour. You will accompany him.”

  Morgan’s slow malevolent smile urged Sims to move.

  “Sorry about Sims. He came recommended,” Morgan said, after the agent left, sputtering and complaining.

  Rob brushed the apology, not Morgan’s first, aside. “I need to impose on you for something else.”

  “Talk to Rockford, I know.” Morgan patted his coat where Rob’s messages lay. “I can explain your dilemma myself.”

  “It’s something else,” Rob said. “The earl believes his mother has no funds and yet appears to have ready cash when she needs it. Something odd is going on. Rockford can tell you who would be able to follow the money to its source. Explain my problem, see what you can find.”

  “I begin to regret your heroics in Spain, Benson. I owe you my life, but banking?” Morgan made an elaborate shudder.

  Rob grinned back. “Talk to Rockford—and offer him your services. Quit hanging back. He needs men like you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Rob’s eagerness to see Lucy drove him swiftly across to Willowbrook. If, God willing, her business was as simple as her message implied, and all was at peace, he might have a quiet word. He might ask her what she thought of London.

  He reached the bridge to find it deserted. No workers. No guard. Odd that. Where are Abbott and Robbins?

  He urged Khalija faster up to the manor, slid from the saddle, and ran up the steps. He burst through the door to be greeted by silence, the house equally deserted. Lucy’s study door hung open, the room empty. Even the kitchen lay silent.

  “Lucy? Agnes?” He went out the back to find Cilla and Molly, the maid he had sent to help, clinging to one another in the kitchen garden.

  Cilla rushed up to him, wringing her hands. “Thank goodness yer here, Sir Robert. There’s been an attack. Blood everywhere,” she moaned.

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Where is Miss Whitaker?”

  The girl froze, eyes wide. “I dunno.”

  He pushed her aside in disgust. “Can you talk sense?” he asked Molly. “What is going on. Where is everyone?” Is Lucy safe? The words froze in his chest.

  “I, I think the soldiers are at the stable, saddling up to go after him.”

  “Who?”

  “That Miller person you’ve been looking for.”

  Rob was already halfway down the path, having lost all patience. He needed facts, and his men damned well better have them. And Lucy.

  He hit the barnyard at a dead run and skidded to a stop at the sight of Corporal Goodfellow and Martin Abbott lifting the lifeless body of Lieutenant Robbins from the bed of a farm wagon. He opened his mouth to ask what happened just as Goody shifted to the ground, and Rob saw what had been hidden behind him. Lucy, covered in blood and slumped against the side of the wagon.

  To his right, Gibbons spoke, but Rob didn’t turn, nor did he make out the words. He leapt onto the back of the wagon and knelt next to Lucy. The urge to grab her into his arms warred with common sense. What if she’s injured?

  “Rob, thank God,” she said, and she began to shake as if she had been holding herself together and could now fall apart.

  “You’re injured.” He tried to move her to search for the source of the bleeding.

  “No, no. It isn’t my blood.” She reached for him, and he sat down on the bloodstained planks to pull her into his arms. She clung to him like a limpet, beginning to weep. “Robbins,” she sobbed.

  Rob looked over at Gibbons, who held two saddled horses. Robbins had been laid out on the ground, and Agnes attempted to pull a sheet around him. Gibbons nodded at the corporal who rose from the side of the dead man to stand at the end of the wagon.

  “Miller,” Goody said, horror giving his voice unfamiliar depth. “Miss Whitaker went off toward that high ridge to look for missing sheep, and Lieutenant Robbins followed.” He looked apologetically at Lucy. “We couldn’t leave you unprotected like that, ma’am,” he said. “So, when he wasn’t back, I followed, too.”

  “Tell me.” Rob held Lucy close as her storm of sobs subsided.

  “When I found the lady, she was coming down the hill carrying a lamb. You know that ridge, sir. Boulders and scrub.”

  “Places to hide,” Rob said, picturing it.

  “I didn’t see Miller, and he must not have seen me, because he had her quick as a wink, then Robbins—” Goodfellow swallowed hard, grappling for control.

  Lucy spoke up, lifting her head from Rob’s shoulder. “Miller clamped one arm around my throat and started to pull me up hill. I tried to go slack, but I couldn’t breathe. When I kicked him, he hit me with his pistol.”

  Rob felt her hair until he found the lump. She shuddered. “Miller threw that poor lamb down the ridge,” she cried.

  “Robbins?” Rob asked, his words for Goodfellow, but his eyes never left Lucy.

  Goodfellow took up the story. “I didn’t see him either at first, but he must have come up the other side because, before I could move, he leapt down from above, tackled Miller, and tried
to grab the pistol. I ran up the hill, but I had no safe shot and… It happened so fast, and—” The man fought for composure.

  “The gun went off.” Rob, watching Goodfellow closely, didn’t make it a question.

  “Robbins pushed me free,” Lucy whispered, sitting up and pulling away. Rob tugged her back.

  “Did you get him?” Rob demanded.

  Goodfellow shook his head morosely. “He ran. My shot missed. I started to follow, but I couldn’t leave Miss Whitaker.”

  “Goody brought me down here to gather a search party. We had to leave Robbins on the ridge.” Her voice had wavered.

  Rob glanced at Gibbons. “I repeat. Did you get him?”

  “Goody and I followed a bit of trail over the ridge, but he disappeared into the neighboring estate.”

  “Caulfield Hall.”

  “Aye.”

  What was the wagon doing with a search party, and what was Lucy doing in it if Goodfellow brought her down to safety? “Do I understand that you came back here to fetch a wagon. Then you went back to fetch Robbins?”

  Gibbons shifted uneasily, and Lucy stood up. Goodfellow took her hand before she could jump down.

  Rob had a sick feeling. “Gibbons, you were saying…”

  “I told Miss Whitaker not to follow us, but I turned around, and she and Abbott had the wagon halfway up the path. She tended to his body and then waited for us to ride back and load the wagon.”

  Rob jumped from the wagon and confronted Lucy. “You realize you forced them to cut the search short because you foolishly endangered yourself.”

  “I had the musket,” she retorted, chin high. “And Martin came with me. I couldn’t leave Robbins alone up there. He saved my life, Rob. He—”

  Rob raised his face to the heavens. “And it would have been for nothing if Miller circled back. You could have been killed.” He wanted to shake her but was afraid to touch her, afraid he’d never let go if he did.

  Rob turned from Lucy abruptly. He took comfort in command.

  “Let’s move Robbins into the house. Agnes, get Miss Whitaker some strong tea. Put brandy in it. Abbott, take that musket and plant yourself at the front door.” He looked around the barnyard. “Thatcher, you and Pomfret watch the back of the house until we get back. Can your boys send a message to Ashmead? Does Isaac Norton, the carpenter, still serve as undertaker?” He waved it away. “Just send word to the Willow. They’ll know who to send. The rest of us are going after Miller.”