A Lady Unrivaled

by Roseanna M. White

  His eyes went soft, though it did little to ease the shadows under them. “Still inside with Abingdon and their nurses. I saw you walking this way when I dropped Troubadour back at the stable and thought I’d see how you are this morning.”

  After yesterday, he meant. “Ducky.” She evened out the hitch in her stride that his appearance had caused and kept moving toward the castle.

  He fell in beside her. “Was that sarcasm? From Lady Ella of the Laugh?”

  “Well, you looked far too agreeable, so I figured I’d better take up your role, since you’d neglected it.”

  A grin touched the corner of his mouth before it flitted away on the breeze. “You look tired.”

  “So do you.”

  “Because I slept as poorly as you appear to have done.” He walked at her side, yet not close enough to touch. He didn’t offer his arm. “Stafford said Brook got rather ill yesterday when she learned of it all.”

  Poor Brook. Ella sighed and nodded. “The very thought of it, I suppose . . . and Stafford said that the constable verified that it was that Stewart fellow?”

  He took her sigh and deepened it. “Felicity is in a shambles. Rightly so. And everyone else feeling like utter dunces for insisting all these months that he’d run off.”

  Silence walked between them for several yards. Until she drew in a breath and said, “Someone searched through my things during the night. My jewelry case.”

  His stride faltered, and he picked it up again in rhythm with hers. “Thanks to Rush, no doubt. Looking for the diamonds. You did have Stafford put them in the safe, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not an idiot.” Though she felt far more like a crab than she usually did. “I haven’t told him yet. I haven’t seen anyone yet this morning, I was in too foul a temper.”

  “Mm.”

  She looked over at him, eyes narrow. He had sounded . . . Yes, he was. Amused! “Is something funny?”

  He didn’t have the courtesy to hide his grin. “Yes. You, in a foul mood. It suits you so ill that I can’t quite help but find it absurdly amusing.”

  She wanted to be angry at his grin, his chuckle. His teasing. Shouldn’t she be, given the mood under discussion? And yet it made the shadows edge back, let a little more of the sunshine filter in. Made her consider smiling in return.

  They passed by the paddock where trainers were putting Oscuro through his paces, no doubt preparing him for some race or another coming up. She watched the horse’s muscles flow as he ran at the end of the tether, a symphony in black coat and power.

  Only once they were by did Cayton draw in another breath. “Ella.” His voice was barely audible over the sounds of the vibrant estate. “What were you doing there yesterday? With Kitty?”

  She saw no point in hiding the truth now. “I told you yesterday, didn’t I? We took tea together. In the village.”

  He came to a halt, which drew her to one too. When she looked over at him, his face was a work in negativity. Shock, rebuke, perhaps a bit of fear. “I thought perhaps I’d heard you wrong. Have you gone daft?”

  Well, at least he was concerned about her well-being. That was something. And look at that, her mood was improving by the second. She fluttered her lashes and put on a mockingly demur smile. “Not yet. But you can ask me that again if I obey Kitty’s advice and let her brother court me.”

  Cayton blinked at her and folded his arms over his chest. “On behalf of your brother, the Staffords, and everyone else who knows you even a bit, allow me to say, ‘Don’t even consider it.’”

  She pushed out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “But don’t you want to know why she thinks I should?”

  He blinked again.

  She leaned closer and let the ridiculous expression fall from her face. “Because, you see, if I love him, she says, then I won’t have to hate him or fear him.”

  Now Cayton’s brows knit. “She actually said that to you?”

  “She did. She seems to think that my only hope of avoiding some foul fate as a result of the diamonds is to make certain he’s in love with me.”

  Cayton muttered something under his breath and turned back to Ralin. She wasn’t sure what the something was, but it had the tone of the vicar’s last sermon on the dangers of sin leading straight to Hades.

  Ella scurried to keep up with his renewed strides. “She also said something about how he would ‘unleash the monster’ to get them. That he would stop at nothing. Cayton, we know crimes have already been committed in their pursuit of this. Surely we can find evidence of them.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what he might have done. And I’m certainly no detective to figure it all out.” His brows had pulled down again into that perpetual glower of his. Her fingers itched to smooth it away. He shook his head, as if in opposition to that thought.

  Ella sighed. “So you’ll just sit there, with him under your roof?”

  He turned the scowl on her. “No, I’m not just sitting there. But in the entire two days since his arrival, I haven’t exactly had the chance to catch him in a crime and turn him in, have I? I’ve been a bit distracted with finding my footman in a ditch. Which even your imagination can’t link to this diamond business, so I do beg you to have patience, my lady, as one trouble momentarily derails another.”

  “You don’t give my imagination enough credit.”

  He rolled his eyes and increased his pace.

  “And it’s not about what you’ve already done in those entire two days. It’s about what you intend to do.”

  He turned his face away, toward the nearer paddock. “I don’t know yet. But something, rest assured.”

  “And he’s back to surly,” she said to a passing bird.

  “And she’s smiling about it,” he growled to a squirrel.

  Indeed she was. Just to needle him, she moved to his side and tucked her hand in where the crook of his elbow would be, had he bent it for her like a gentleman. Which he didn’t, so she mostly just held onto his arm. “One of these days, we’ll both be in a good mood at the same time.”

  “More likely a foul one, given all on our horizon.”

  That probably was more likely, but such thoughts would do nothing to help them. So she grinned. “If not before, then certainly on our wedding day. You won’t be able to scowl when you see Addie with flowers in her hair.”

  His sigh could have blustered down the house around the hair of the three piggies’ chinny-chin-chins. “Must you continue with that ridiculous jest?”

  “Oh,” she said on a laugh, all but hugging his arm to her. “Oh yes, I must. You look so delightfully irritable when I say such things.”

  And delightfully exasperated when he turned those deliciously green eyes on her. “Why in the world do you find my irritation delightful?”

  “Because you’re rather handsome when you scowl.” Gracious, when had she turned into such a flirt? Perhaps it came naturally, having watched her brother make a career of it before his marriage. But at least she’d managed to surprise Cayton.

  He shook his head, but he didn’t look away quite fast enough. Not if he intended to keep her from seeing the quick flash of pleasure in his eyes. “You’re an odd duck, Lady Ella. But then, I’d always heard that redheads had unpredictable emotions.”

  She let go his arm so she could slap him on it. “You are supremely lucky that I’m willing to put up with you for the rest of our lives.”

  Rather than laugh her off or scowl at the continued joke, he sighed again. “No, you wouldn’t be.”

  His voice pulsed with ache, with insecurity and self-recriminations. Far more of them than she could soothe away in the remaining few minutes of their walk. Possibly more than she could soothe away in a month, a year.

  But as she let her gaze wander over his profile, as she noted the tic in his jaw and the exhaustion around his eyes, something resonated inside her.

  She wanted to soothe it away. Today, tomorrow, next month. Next year. She wanted to make him laugh when he was surly and
listen to him talk about castles in the clouds when he was happy. She wanted to watch Addie grow and see the light in his eyes as he did too, beside her.

  Good gracious, was it possible that she was falling in love? With a man who seemed to think that if he liked her, he had better push her away, using whatever insults the task required? With a man Brook barely tolerated, of whom her brother would likely not approve? A man with skeletons in his proverbial closet . . . and half-buried on his land. A man with trouble dogging his steps.

  Well, there was trouble dogging hers just now too. How better to face it than with a friend by her side? She could be that to him, even if neither of them was ready for her to be anything more.

  “I should get home.” He put more space between them, angling toward one of the side doors of the castle. It was the one that led most directly to the nursery, she was fairly certain. “I may . . . I may discontinue my morning studies with Stafford until this blows over. Until Brook feels better.”

  Until Ella was gone? She linked her hands behind her back and followed him. “You think that wise? I should say that now more than ever the both of you could use that time of edification.”

  “I frankly don’t know what is wise right now.” His mumble was directed away from her, so that she barely caught it.

  “Well, I am certainly not your tutor, to insist you study. And I imagine I shall see you now and then when I visit Lady Pratt, anyway.”

  That brought him to a halt, though his pivot back to face her was slow. And his face was a thunderhead. “You’re jesting again. Please tell me you’re jesting.”

  “I think . . .” How to put words to the impressions she had formed yesterday? Words that would actually convince him she had a bit of insight and wasn’t an utter fool? “I think she is too desperate with grief to want more of it—and she is convinced the diamonds will bring more. I think she could help us, if we ask her the right questions.”

  He shook his head, so slowly it looked painful. “Please don’t. Please.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was give him more reason to worry, to sorrow, to regret. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should, no matter who argued with her. That no matter how many times she’d been wrong when it mattered, this was something different. A whisper from the Lord, not an assumption or judgment of her own.

  Hoping he could see the apology in her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry, Cayton. I don’t mean to cause you any trials. But I must trust what I feel to be the Lord’s guidance—even if no one else believes me.”

  He worked his jaw for a moment, as if struggling to get his mouth around the proper words.

  Before he managed it, a figure moved into sight at the edge of the gardens. One with gleaming blond hair and a jacket far too heavy for the lovely spring day, which of course meant it was Brook. “Ella?”

  Ella waved. “Good day, Cayton.” She knew well he’d say nothing more now, with Brook’s attention on them. “Tell Addie I said thank you for taking such good care of me yesterday.”

  His answer was a breath that may have been a laugh, a lift of his hand that may have been a wave. And then he vanished behind the hedges while she headed toward Brook.

  Brook was already sitting back down, her exhale shaky enough to prove she still felt nauseated. A cup of tea steamed on the little wrought iron table beside her.

  Ella frowned. “Tea?”

  Brook closed her eyes. “Mrs. Morris assured me that nothing cures an upset stomach like a good cup of tea.”

  “Assuming you like tea. Which you don’t.”

  “The very smell may do me in—though my coffee did as well. Would you be so kind? I don’t want to hurt Mrs. Morris’s feelings.”

  “Well, just to be a friend.” And perhaps to calm the beast gnawing away at her insides. She plunked in two cubes of sugar, gave it a stir, and took a gratifying sip. “Oh, this is lovely. I’m famished—I missed breakfast.”

  “Me too.” Brook opened an eye a slit. “You’ve shadows under your eyes. Oh, je suis désolée!” She sat up straighter, though the way her face washed pale, she probably shouldn’t have. “You probably had an awful time sleeping! And here I’ve been moaning all morning, without giving you a thought—what a terrible friend I am.”

  “Nonsense.” Ella took another sip and reached for one of the biscuits. Perhaps not the healthiest breakfast, but it would do in a pinch. And she was feeling rather pinched. “I only just rose and headed directly outside—I was in far too foul a mood to make anyone suffer my company.”

  Brook’s lips twitched as she eased back again. “Sorry I missed it. Ella in a foul mood. . . . I can scarcely imagine.”

  “The rest of the world is filled to bursting with ill-tempered people. It’s my solemn duty not to be one of them.”

  “Hmm. Speaking of ill-tempered people . . . Cayton?”

  Ella darted a glance toward the castle wall, as if she could see through it to the nursery. “He was asking how I am today. I was a bit upset when last he saw me yesterday.”

  “I should think so. You should have waited until you were back here to go for a promenade, Ella. What were you thinking?”

  She still hadn’t confessed that she’d been walking with Catherine. Perhaps she should, but . . . She shrugged. “There was a path.”

  “And so you must explore it. But it is not safe to be wandering about with them in the neighborhood. I ought to insist you at least carry a weapon when you go out of doors.”

  Ella shook her head, her stomach rebelling at the thought. “I’ve had enough of guns for one lifetime, thank you.”

  Brook’s lips twitched. “I won’t tell you, then, that I have one on me even now.”

  Her appetite fled. “Brook! In your own garden?”

  “I was once accosted in my own stable, remember. I’ll not take chances, not while they’re here. And neither should you. I’ve another holster that straps to your leg, you can—”

  “No! No, I can’t. Not after Stella . . .” She shook her head.

  “I know. And I’m sorry. But I worry for you, Ella.”

  Ella forced her fingers to relax around the teacup’s handle. Forced herself to smile. “You oughtn’t—you need to rest. I’ll take care, I promise you. And I’ll entertain myself in a properly boring way. Perhaps I’ll set myself up in the library and . . . and write a novel!”

  Amusement kindled in Brook’s eyes. “A novel.”

  Warming to the idea, if only as an excuse for the research she’d barely begun on all things India related, she bounced a bit on her seat. “Yes! Why have I not thought of this before? I’ve had stories running through my head often enough, of course, it’s high time I put one to paper.”

  Brook grinned, though it still looked a little green around the edges. “I’ll make sure stacks and stacks of it are delivered to the library for you. Do you need a typewriter?”

  Reaching for another biscuit, Ella waved that away. “Not yet. Notes, you know. I’ll have to take mountains of notes, and I can’t imagine typing those. I’m far too slow on a typewriter. Perhaps I should take a correspondence course to improve my skill.”

  Brook closed her eyes again, pressed a hand to her stomach. But still smiled. “A fine, safe pastime. I’m glad you’re here, Ella. Even if I’m too sick to do much of anything for the next few weeks and sleeping as much as I’m awake, I’m glad you’re here for those moments I’m up. Very selfish of me, isn’t it?”

  “Not given that I’m glad of it too. Even though . . .” Her confession about her things being searched got no farther than the tip of her tongue. But it was no fault of her own.

  Brook, a hand clamped over her mouth, shot out of her chair and vanished.

  Poor thing. Ella sighed and finished her biscuit.

  Fifteen

  Cayton signed his name to the last of the correspondence needing his attention and handed it with a cursory smile back to the steward. “I believe this is the right move, Mr. Thomas.”

  The older man received t
he paper with a nod. “I at once hope you’re right, my lord, and pray you’re wrong. Thus far, stretching ourselves has paid off, but if war should not come . . . And yet I cannot pray for war.”

  “Nor I. But even if it holds off, the increase in the navy will not disappear, not now.” And he had worked—actually worked—to get those military contracts for Adelaide’s mills. It was now Rosten cloth outfitting all those new sailors on the dreadnoughts.

  Germany may have given up racing them on the naval front, but they wouldn’t just back off. Not entirely. “Everything my cousin tells me, everything my friends mention in their letters, says that war is imminent. I don’t want such things to occur simply for my profit, but . . .” But someone would have to provide the cloth for all those uniforms if war was declared—and it might as well be him.

  “Quite so, my lord. And if I may say so . . .” Thomas straightened and gave him a small smile. “Mr. Rosten tried for years to get such contracts. He would be glad and proud to know you have succeeded.”

  It shouldn’t have made Cayton’s chest go tight. He’d scarcely known the late Mr. Rosten, and it wasn’t his wife’s grandfather’s approval he’d always craved—it was his grandfather’s, in place of the father he scarcely remembered. Still, the thought of anyone being proud of him . . . of perhaps his mother looking at him, when she returned from the Continent, with respect along with the never-faltering affection . . . He cleared his throat and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Thomas. I appreciate that.”

  Mr. Thomas, apparently no more comfortable with the words than Cayton, edged toward the door. “I’ll stop on my way out to pay my respects. Terrible shame about Stew.”

  “Indeed—thank you. Felicity and Mrs. Higgins will be in the kitchen.” Cayton rubbed at his eyes. Locals had been dropping in all morning. Mrs. Higgins had made her a comfortable seat in the kitchen, which was where all the traffic directed itself.