The Wayward Son

by Warfield, Caroline

  Still, another day awaited, and from the look of the sun in the window, she had overslept greatly. She fastened her stays, amazed her body didn’t vibrate still. Picking up the frock, she considered her situation. She knew enough of men to know most took pleasure when they could. The experience probably meant nothing to him beyond a moment’s pleasure snatched in an opportune moment.

  Most mornings—far earlier than this—Lucy went to the kitchen with her dress unfastened and let Agnes do her up. When Old Robert Benson had been in the house, Emma helped some days. She tried to reach the ties and failed, knowing the dress gaped in back. With Rob in her guest room, she had a dilemma. She hadn’t heard him go down, but she may have slept through it. What if he’s in the drawing room? I have to walk past it. Worse, what if he’s in the kitchen and I—

  There was nothing for it. She opened her door a crack and peeked down the hall. The guest room door, firmly shut, gave her little information. She was about to withdraw when she saw Molly emerge from the servants’ stairs at the end of the hall.

  The little maid smiled up at her and dipped a curtsy. “Mrs. Spears sent me to see if you were awake, Miss Whitaker. Shall I bring you chocolate?”

  Lucy smiled. Chocolate! Like I’m some London society matron. Where did the girl get that notion? “No, thank you, Molly, but if you’ll assist me with my dress, I’ll go down and fetch coffee.”

  It took but a moment. “You look very fine in that dress, ma’am, if I can say so,” Molly said.

  Do I? Lucy had put on her newest dress, the one she wore to Mr. Benson’s birthday party. Foolish chit, she chided herself. Why would you do that?

  Most mornings, she might have sped down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen. With Molly staring at her wide-eyed, and her finest gown wrapped around her person, she turned to the main stairway, descending like the lady her sister had wanted her to be. When she cared. Before she became ill.

  The drawing room sat empty, and he missed her grand descent. She turned her steps toward the kitchen.

  What will I say to him? She thought, leaving the foyer. As she passed her office, she laughed nervously. “Good morning” will do.

  She prayed her smile looked steady when she opened the kitchen door. It faltered. He wasn’t there.

  Agnes looked up from her kneading and scanned Lucy from toes to top knot. “Take a seat. You can relax and enjoy your breakfast. His nibs rode out when the sun came up to oversee the bridge building. He sent the guards home for some sleep, them being up all night.”

  She nibbled a bit of the roll Agnes served her and took two bites of the eggs before picking up her coffee and standing. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

  *

  Abbott appeared at the bridge just as the sun passed midday. “I can take over now, Sir Robert, if you have elsewhere to be.”

  “Stay aware while you oversee the work, Abbott.”

  Abbott nodded. “We don’t have much more. The bridge’ll be ready in three days—more if the weather’s against us.”

  Rob shook the man’s hand. “The musket is leaning on yon tree if need arises. Stay sharp.”

  “You’ll be at the manor?”

  “I’m riding to Caulfield Hall. I’ll be back by nightfall and, if things go as I expect, Gibbons and Goodfellow will be with me.”

  “And Miss Whitaker?”

  Rob considered his options. However willing, Abbott’s attention belonged with the bridge builders. The tenants are needed in the field, too. Lucy’s guards are strung too thin; if I ride to the hall, I leave her vulnerable.

  “I’ll keep her with me.” If I go, she’ll have to come.

  Walking back to the manor, the thought of Lucy in front of him on Khalija nestled between his thighs sent his blood heating, and his body stiffened. He had as little control over his desires where she was concerned as he had as a lad. Kissing her had been a mistake. He avoided it for days, and now what lay between them couldn’t be changed. He couldn’t retreat, and he couldn’t go forward without upending his life and every carefully laid plan.

  He found her in her office bent over her ledgers. Da really could use her skills at the Willow. That random thought was followed by another. The spot on the back of her neck needs a kiss.

  She stood as soon as he entered, and the sight of her nape disappeared. He swallowed to ease his dry mouth.

  “Are you free for the afternoon?”

  Her eyes widened, and her fingers gripping the back of her chair turned white. “Why… I mean, what do you have in mind?”

  Studying her face, he saw apprehension but not fear. As moments passed, he recognized desire in her eyes. A small voice inside him whispered to beware, riding out with her might not be wise. Standing here isn’t wise either. I want her. Here. Now. On the desk.

  “Come with me to Caulfield Hall,” he said. She’s wearing the dress from the assembly, the one that makes her eyes glow. To work in the office—no. She wears it for me. Foolish chit. I want you out of it, not in it.

  She blinked and stood upright. “To check on the palace guard?”

  The moment had passed, and he knew what to do. Focus on the inquiry.

  “And the earl. With luck, Gibbons will have dragged Spangler there by midafternoon. I want to be there to ask the questions.”

  “What of Robbins?”

  She watched grief flash across his face and disappear, swiftly suppressed. “If someone comes for the body, Agnes is here. I need you with me.”

  “I’ll have the pony and trap brought around.”

  “You could ride with me.” Speaking seemed to make his mouth go dry. “That is, we can get the trap across the plank bridge, but it will take a long time. It’s faster to ride across the fields and through the woods.”

  “All I have is the pony. She isn’t used to a rider.” She missed Buttercup.

  “Khalija can manage both of us. Ride up with me,” he said. “Behind me.” Better, he thought, until he thought of her astride, her thighs along his.

  He spun away, pausing with one hand on the door frame. “I’ll have Khalija brought round.”

  I should leave her here. His heart—and his protective instincts—objected. Damned if I do; twice damned if I don’t.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Lucy didn’t know what to make of him. He overran her objection that she didn’t own a riding habit, insisting it wasn’t needed, but waited patiently while she changed out of her favorite gown and into a simpler frock, one she wouldn’t mind wrinkling on horseback. David wouldn’t notice how she dressed, and Rob didn’t seem to, either.

  Though he said she would ride behind, he tossed her to the front of his great beast and climbed up behind her, anchoring her to his chest with one muscled arm and cantering off toward Caulfield Hall. His nearness stole the breath from her body and set her heart cantering in time with Khalija.

  “I’m sorry to do this, but I can’t leave you unprotected.”

  He doesn’t want my company; he’s forced to endure it. Disappointment washed over the pleasure of his touch. She didn’t respond. She couldn’t speak and could think of nothing to say.

  He rode with confidence across the fields to the place where the ridge began its rise, the easiest spot to cross to Caulfield land, without ever saying a word. As he directed the horse unerringly through the woodland, Lucy pondered with amazement that a man she had never met a month or two before had such knowledge of terrain she held dear. He’s comfortable here, at home. Foolish thought, that. He wants only to leave.

  “What do you think of London?” His breath, warm in her ear, startled her as much as his gruff voice.

  The question baffled her. After a long pause, she asked him what he meant.

  “Simple question. Do you like London?”

  “I hardly know. I’ve never been.” Silence greeted that. “It’s the great capital, is it not?”

  “In its way, yes. It isn’t Paris, but it is ours.” He sounded disappointed in her answer.

&nbs
p; Paris. Emma said he spent over a year there after Waterloo. Consorting with grand duchesses and princes. He must think me a backwater simpleton.

  “Would you live there?” His words flowed like molasses, slow, thick, and dark. The sound warmed her, but the words baffled her.

  “Why would I? I’m a countrywoman. I need a place for my bees. A house in London would never do.”

  He didn’t respond. They rode without further conversation to the hall, where he dismounted. “I hope the countess makes herself scarce,” he muttered.

  Lucy felt the blood drain from her face. She’d rather face a poacher than the Dowager Countess of Clarion. She could address a poacher with a musket. She gripped the horse’s mane and stared down at him, ignoring the hands raised to lift her down. “The countess? You should have warned me she’s here.”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “Take me to visit Maddy—Lady Madelyn!”

  He grabbed her waist and pulled her down. “Sorry. I can’t do that. Until we solve this mystery, I won’t let you out of my sight.”

  She gave his shoulder a shove and glared at his high-handed remark.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a cocky grin, sobering quickly. “Until this mystery is solved, we must keep you safe.”

  Safe. How could she argue when it made her feel warm inside? Warm and loved. The foolishness of that thought made her turn away and head to the door.

  A red-haired footman opened the door; the butler was nowhere in sight. “Welcome back, Sir Robert. The earl said to show you to the breakfast room when you came.” He bobbed a bow to Lucy. “We weren’t expecting you, Miss Whitaker. Would you like to…”

  Rob interrupted him. “Please send word to the dower house and inform Lady Madelyn that Miss Whitaker has visited and requests her presence.”

  So I won’t be caught alone with the countess.

  “No need, Sir Robert. The lady is already here.”

  “Is the countess with her?” Rob asked.

  The young man’s face lit up, eager to supply news. “No, sir. The countess left before dawn this morning. She took that dog with her. And her maid.” He paused for effect before adding, “And Higgins went with her,” as if it were the most important point.

  Lucy’s puzzlement at the abruptness of the old woman’s departure was surpassed by her astonishment over what Rob said next.

  “Did anyone go in pursuit?”

  The footman appeared equally puzzled. “No, sir. Should we?”

  “We’ll see what the earl has to say. Kindly show Miss Whitaker to Lady Madelyn.”

  The irritating man strode off toward the breakfast room without any word of explanation about the countess and why he thought she ought to be pursued. Lucy loathed being kept in the dark. Her feet itched to follow him. She decided to consult with Maddy first.

  *

  Clarion looked up from papers he was reading through. “Benson! Excellent. I have news.” He rose and stuffed the papers in a dispatch box.

  “Where is Spangler?”

  “Cooling his heels in the estate office with Corporal Goodfellow for company. I thought it expedient to let him think in solitude for a while. I also waited because I thought you’d wanted to be here when I questioned him.”

  Rob liked the workings of the earl’s mind. “I understand your mother scampered.”

  The earl’s lopsided smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I doubt she’d choose that word, but yes. She departed without notice before I rose this morning. And I was up at dawn.”

  “Are you going to pursue her?”

  “Lieutenant Gibbons took one of my grooms. I suggested he simply follow and watch. Dragging her back may not help us.”

  “And you didn’t mention it to your house staff. Cautious that.”

  “Two of my tenants reported a man matching Miller’s description housed in the shepherd’s hovel at the far north edge of the estate. We found it empty.”

  “Of course, you did. He’s probably halfway to Scotland.”

  “They told me something else.” The earl paused to be sure Rob listened closely. “One saw Higgins riding that way twice in the past few weeks.”

  “Higgins left with the countess.”

  “That he did. I always knew he was her creature, her eyes and ears, her hands attempting to control the running of my house.” The bitterness in the earl’s words carried longstanding anger and frustration. “I should have dismissed him soon after my father died, the first time he countermanded my orders. She forbad it.”

  “Peace through appeasement never works.” Rob’s sympathy for the earl had limits.

  “So I’ve learned, to my regret.” The earl closed the dispatch case with a snap. “When I told Spangler that I had words with my mother, he paled. I left him there to think about it. Shall we see what he’s prepared to tell us?”

  The earl led Rob past the breakfast room, through a servants’ door, and past the kitchen and scullery, all familiar to Rob from his youth. From there, a brick-floored corridor bent to the right. At the end, Goodfellow stood guard at a closed door. Rob glanced to his left and saw a cellar of sorts, not quite below ground, stacked with barrels and bushels, paved in the same brick. Goodfellow moved to the side for Clarion and Rob to pass through.

  A massive desk sat to the left, empty of any sign of work, reminding Rob that Caulfield Hall had no steward but the earl himself. Spangler leapt to his feet when they entered.

  “Sir Robert! I don’t understand why the earl is holding me and on what—”

  “A man is dead. The earl, as magistrate, wants to hear what you have to say about it. So do I.”

  Spangler paled at the news about Robbins but claimed to know nothing. He had things to say as it turned out, but not enough, in Rob’s opinion. Not nearly enough.

  “Skimming the bequests was her idea entirely,” the worm claimed. “She came to me before the will was even read, had me alter the amounts in the copy I read. She threatened me, my lord. Else I never would have. She claimed I tricked him, and she’d see me hanged. What could I do?”

  “Tell me the truth?” Clarion suggested.

  “She said you would agree with it. Said it was only justice. Justice. That was her word. Put the money back in the estate where it belongs.”

  “How much did she pay you?” Rob asked.

  “Ten percent.” Spangler’s eyes skittered away, regretting the admission.

  “It explains your mother’s source of funds,” Rob said. “Or at least some of it. It can’t have been enough for what we suspect.”

  “I might be able to help you locate those funds. And more.” Spangler’s gaze darted between the two men.

  They stared at him. “What more?” Clarion demanded after a moment.

  “I don’t know where the money came from, but she had a tidy bundle. I can identify the account. If you’re disposed to be kind.”

  “Before we talk about kindness, suppose you explain the attacks on Willowbrook,” Rob said. He leaned over the man, menace in every line of his body. “And I suggest you tell us all of it and quickly.”

  “I know nothing of that.”

  Rob grabbled the front of his waistcoat and hauled him to his feet. “Care to think again?”

  “I had nothing to do with that!” Spittle ran down Spangler’s chin. “I wouldn’t damage the property. Want to live there, don’t I? I would never hurt Miss Whitaker. I want—”

  Rob shook him, rattling his teeth and causing his head to snap back and forth.

  “Easy, Benson. You don’t want to harm the witness,” the earl murmured, making no effort to stop him.

  When Rob dropped Spangler, the solicitor fell into his seat, and Clarion soothed his lapels. The steel in the earl’s eyes and voice didn’t match the gesture. “Tell us everything you know about the threats and sabotage.”

  “Nothing! I know nothing.”

  “But you suspect much,” Clarion countered.

  “Higgins. He did her bidding. Always ran her errands, c
arried her threats to my doorstep.”

  “Who hired Aaron Miller?” Rob demanded.

  “I tell you, I don’t know. But Higgins could have. Likely did.” Spangler fussed with his twisted neckcloth.

  “It sounds reasonable, Robbie,” Clarion said.

  “Now I’m Robbie?” Rob glared at him but let it go. “Reasonable isn’t always true. Did Higgins make the anonymous offer to buy Willowbrook?”

  “You said it came from London,” Spangler said. “Beyond Higgins, anyway. It would have been her ladyship. Damned woman tried to outbid me. She knew I wanted it.” He glared up at Rob.

  “Why?” Clarion murmured.

  “A gift for her beloved son?” Rob said, mockery dripping from his words.

  The earl snorted. “Unlikely.”

  “Coal,” Spangler said. “She complained you wouldn’t mine Caulfield land. Nattered on and on about it every time I saw her. Called you a fool, going poor with wealth under your feet. ‘A real man would take the money,’ she would say, begging your pardon, my lord. She’s your other offer. I’m sure of it—and probably that surveyor you accused me of sending, too.”

  This time, Rob’s sympathy was undiluted. What a harridan he has for a mother. “And you, Spangler? What did you want to do with it?”

  “What do you care, Benson? You want rid of it, and off to London. I want to live there. I wouldn’t damage it, and I wouldn’t harm the lady. I offered—”

  Rob’s hand grabbed Spangler’s neck before either man could blink. “You will not approach Lucy Whitaker again or even mention her name. The next time you do, I will squeeze the life out of you.” He punctuated his words by tightening his grip. When he let go, Spangler sank back, gasping for air.

  “Try not to murder the man in front of the magistrate,” his brother murmured.

  The earl spoke after a pause. “Howard Spangler, I’m detaining you for fraud. Additional charges depend on what we learn from your coconspirators.”

  “Can you manage this worm? I need Goodfellow at Willowbrook.”

  “I’ll have him confined in the locked storeroom in the cellar for now. We may need to question him again once we have the others.” Clarion’s voice came cold and hard as if ice shards lodged in his heart.