Glory and the Rake

by Deborah Simmons

‘You don’t think there’s anything to that old legend about Queen’s Well, do you?’ she asked, She had dismissed the notion, for no reasonable person could believe the waters acted as some kind of love potion. But the closer she was to the duke, the closer she wanted to be, which explained her reluctance to join him in his household. She had pushed a heavy chair in front of her door last night, unsure whether she was keeping him out or herself in. And the pistol she found lying on her bureau did little to reassure her, for it meant he had been there…in her room.

  ‘Why?’ Thad asked, suddenly at her elbow, and Glory started. He stood beside her, cocking his head to one side, as if to study the painting. ‘Do you see something?’

  Glory blinked, confused, until she realised her brother was talking about the story of the Queen’s Gift, which she had passed on from Mrs Goodhew. Too embarrassed to pursue her enquiry, Glory followed Thad’s gaze to the mural, where the figure of a woman dressed in a magnificent costume stood holding out her hands.

  ‘Dem,’ Thad muttered. ‘Do you suppose that’s Queen Elizabeth herself?’

  Glory chided his language, but she was inclined to agree with him. Although the background was too dark to see clearly, there appeared to be the outline of a building that might well be Sutton House. Was the monarch actually giving its residents a precious gift?

  ‘I wonder what she’s got,’ Thad said, echoing Glory’s thoughts. He stepped closer to squint at the wall, lifting a hand as though to remove a smudge there.

  ‘Don’t touch it; you might wipe away something.’

  The sound of that voice, deep and rich and compelling, made Glory swing around too quickly. At least that’s how she explained her sudden dizziness. It certainly wasn’t the memory of the man’s arms around her that made her giddy. Still, it was probably best not to focus on his tall form, Glory decided, glancing towards her brother.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Thad muttered, letting his hand fall. ‘I was just trying to see what the woman’s holding. Do you know?’

  Westfield stepped forwards to eye the mural, his mother close behind him. ‘Her hands appear to be empty,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps she has already given the Suttons her gift,’ the duchess said.

  Glory scanned the background, but could not recognise anything except the outline of the house.

  ‘Or someone could have rubbed it away, as I was about to do,’ Thad said, glumly.

  ‘The lighter area might be a symbol of her approval or patronage,’ Glory suggested. ‘Maybe that’s all the gift ever was.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ the duchess said. ‘But I think it high time Randolph arranged to have an expert work on the mural before it fades away for ever. I must admit that I hadn’t paid any attention to the painting before, but, naturally, it would have to do with the well. This is Sutton House, after all, and was in the family for generations.’

  She paused to smile at Glory. ‘And how well you look back here again. It is so good to have you,’ she said before heading towards the sideboard to fill a plate.

  Glory felt churlish at her reluctance to come, but she could not tell the duchess the truth either. The fact that Westfield had held her to him, making her even more wary of him, did not seem like something to share with the man’s mother.

  ‘Ah, the Post,’ the duchess said, taking a seat at the table near Thad’s abandoned paper. ‘Is there anything of interest in it?’

  ‘Just news of the war,’ Thad said, looking a bit sheepish.

  ‘But I thought Napoleon had been forced to abdicate, and we shall soon see an end to it all, for good this time,’ Glory said. England had been battling France during most of her lifetime, and she glanced towards the duke, who was likely to be more knowledgeable than the rest of them, but he did not comment.

  Instead, it was the duchess who spoke. ‘What’s this?’ she asked as she scanned the open page.

  Thad lurched towards the table as though he would snatch the paper from her very hands, if Glory had not reached out to restrain him. She frowned in dismay at his behaviour, but the duchess paid him no heed.

  ‘Foul Waters?’ she said.

  Thad fell back, looking uncomfortable, and Glory realised why when the duchess began reading bits of the article aloud. The re-opening of Queen’s Well was announced, but what followed was hardly a recommendation to visit. ‘Consumptives were drawn to the spa…? Many deaths in the past…? Lack of decent lodging…? A fearsome, murderous blaze?’

  The duchess pushed aside the paper in disgust. ‘They make it sound as though the fire killed all of the guests when it was your grandfather who saved them,’ she said. ‘And the rest of the piece is a pack of lies. I shall write to the editor at once with the information that I am at Queen’s Well with a host of friends, enjoying the new facilities.’

  ‘Thank you, your Grace,’ Glory said, too shaken to say more. She could understand why Thad hadn’t wanted her to see the notice. It seemed that her plans to revive her family’s heritage were met with trouble at every turn. What began as a labour of love had become a frustrating struggle that forced her to take refuge with strangers. And rather than face their pity, Glory headed towards the sideboard and began picking over the delicacies, despite her lack of appetite.

  ‘Someone is trying very hard to drive away your business,’ Westfield said, and Glory heard Thad’s murmured assent.

  ‘Perhaps you should have another chat with that horrible doctor, dear,’ the duchess suggested.

  ‘Perhaps I will,’ Westfield said. ‘But who would benefit most from the closing of the well?’

  ‘I don’t see how Tibold would benefit at all,’ Thad said. ‘If the spa closes, he loses access to the waters and whatever patients he has managed to acquire.’

  ‘Unless he—or someone else—took my advice, presumably before I gave it,’ Westfield said.

  Glory turned in surprise to see the duke wearing a thoughtful expression.

  ‘Whatever are you talking about?’ the duchess asked.

  Westfield turned to address his mother, and Glory tried to concentrate on what he was saying, instead of the curve of his lips. ‘When I first met Dr Tibold, he complained about the Suttons having a monopoly on the waters and I asked him why he didn’t put down a new well himself.’

  Thad snorted. ‘He can’t even afford a new frock-coat.’

  ‘Yes, he denied having the necessary funds to launch such a venture, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there doing just that,’ Westfield said.

  Thad snorted again. ‘Here? We’re as far from anywhere as you can get and the spa has been closed for years. Why would anyone else be interested in starting up a new one?’

  ‘Competition has been the death of many,’ Glory said, returning to the table. ‘It happened at Epsom, once New Wells was established. And I believe Mr Pettit originally wrote to me because someone was nosing about our buildings.’

  ‘But Philtwell is so small, I can’t imagine something like that happening without it becoming common knowledge,’ the duchess said.

  ‘Maybe someone has tapped the same source of waters in a nearby field or the next village and is keeping it quiet,’ Westfield said. ‘I’ll send Pearson out to see what he can discover.’

  ‘Your valet?’ the duchess asked.

  ‘No one knows him, yet he has a common touch that should serve us well in dealings with residents of the area,’ Westfield said, rising to his feet and putting an end to the discussion. ‘I have some questioning of my own to do, including a visit with the good doctor.’

  He paused to eye Thad. ‘You will stay with your sister at all times?’

  Thad looked reluctant, for he could hardly be eager for such a task, but when the duke lifted a brow, he nodded. And when Glory opened her mouth to protest that she needed no bodyguard, least of all her brother, Westfield turned that dark gaze upon her. A silent contest of wills ensued before Glory finally glanced away, for fear her thundering heart could be heard by all.

  The man was trying to pr
otect her, she told herself, and she should be grateful for his efforts. So why did it feel like he was a tyrant, manipulating her at every turn?

  As soon as Letitia stepped into the dim bedroom, she was tempted to turn around and exit. It was as stifling as a tomb and nearly as dark. Walking to the windows, she pulled aside the heavy curtains and lifted the sash. The suite had long needed renovation, but perhaps soon it would be bright and airy and filled with love…

  ‘What’s that? The sun? I’m blinded,’ Randolph said in a mocking tone. ‘A fresh breeze? I might choke.’

  ‘I think it is time to set you free.’

  ‘Hallelujah,’ Randolph said. ‘If I lie here any more, I’m sure to have a relapse.’ He paused to turn a sharp eye on Letitia. ‘What prompted my release? A betrothal, perhaps?’

  Letitia shook her head. ‘Nothing quite so dramatic, but I think we’ve made enough progress to allow for your recovery. If Oberon shows signs of bolting, you can always worsen.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Randolph said, sourly. ‘Or I’m the one who’s liable to bolt.’

  Letitia eyed him askance. ‘Not after all our work.’

  ‘Our work?’ Randolph said. ‘It is I who have been cooped up here, regretting my every correspondence with you.’

  Ignoring his complaints, Letitia walked towards the bed to take up her usual chair nearby. ‘Of course, you won’t be up to your magistrate duties, so Oberon can continue in that role. But I think our success is such that he would do so, anyway. He has been most determined in his investigation.’

  Randolph frowned, as though mulling over that statement. ‘I’m not sure I care to face your son when he is determined. I don’t want him asking me questions that I’d rather not answer.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Letitia said. ‘It is the doings with the spa that has his attention.’

  Randolph slanted her a glance. ‘Letty, you haven’t had a hand in that, have you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Letitia answered. ‘Do you think me capable of vandalism, home breaking and the like? Besides, I didn’t need to do anything other than put those two together and watch the waters do their magic. You will soon see, Randolph. When they are near each other, the air fairly crackles with it.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Randolph said. ‘I don’t want to return to this bed, but the last time I saw them together, the crackling was due to antagonism more than anything else.’

  ‘Electricity, Randolph,’ Letitia said, with a smile. ‘It is a force of nature.’

  Randolph frowned, his enthusiasm for their scheme having been dampened, either by recent developments or his enforced idleness. But Letitia knew it would revive once he was up and about and could see the results for himself, especially with Miss Sutton living under their very roof. And so she ignored the dark look he sent her, as well as his warning.

  ‘Lightning is dangerous, Letty,’ he said. ‘Someone might get hurt.’

  Chapter Eight

  As Oberon expected, Pearson accepted the assignment with his usual alacrity, changing into clothes that would help him blend in among the residents of the area. A man of medium height and build with receding brown hair, the valet was unremarkable and could adopt nearly any speech required of him.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be in any danger, but take one of the pistols as a precaution,’ Oberon said.

  Pearson eyed him askance. ‘Surely you don’t expect a rival well digger to shoot should I ask…probing questions?’

  Oberon ignored the pun. ‘It can’t hurt to be prepared. We still don’t know what is going on here; she could be up to her pretty neck in something.’

  At his words, Pearson eyed him once more. ‘Surely you do not refer to Miss Sutton? I assumed you had abandoned your suspicions of the young woman.’

  Oberon bristled at being questioned by his valet, but he forced himself to answer reasonably. ‘Although Miss Sutton is the victim of we-know-not-what, she might have brought it upon herself, unwittingly. She wouldn’t be the first to be duped into aiding and abetting others, less innocent, in some shady scheme.’

  Although Pearson said nothing, Oberon sensed the man’s scepticism. ‘What?’ he asked, more sharply than necessary.

  ‘I beg your pardon, your Grace, but we are in a sleepy village far from London or any known hotbed of foreign activity. Might I suggest you more closely examine your…feelings about the young woman.’

  Oberon paused in the act of slipping his knife into his boot and glared at his valet, who bowed serenely and turned to go. Muttering a few choice curses about meddling servants and ill-advised confidences, Oberon was tempted to dismiss the man’s words. But he did not need his observant valet to tell him what he already knew. He had only to remember his behaviour yesterday to realise his interest in Miss Sutton went beyond mere duty.

  In the course of an afternoon, the cool demeanour he had so carefully cultivated for years had nearly been undone by a slew of emotions: fear, protectiveness, passion… Although not that long ago Oberon had vowed to uncover all of Miss Sutton’s secrets and purge himself of his unwelcome attraction to her, it only seemed to grow stronger.

  Rising to his feet, Oberon revised his original plan to focus on fulfilling his responsibilities as magistrate, for the sooner he discovered whatever threatened Miss Sutton, the sooner he could do away with it. And then, perhaps, he would be rid of his fascination with her, as well.

  With Miss Sutton under his roof, Oberon was free to resume his investigation, and he headed into the village without a backward glance.

  However, throughout the day Oberon was aware of a certain tension, which expressed itself in the clenching of his fingers and repeated glances in the direction of the Pump Room. It wasn’t until he was back at Sutton House, stripping off his gloves, that the sensation receded, driven away by the sight of her.

  Miss Sutton was safe, and that accounted for the relief that surged through him. But as he stood watching her talk to her aunt, he was struck by something else, too: a sense of rightness. Miss Sutton simply looked right standing in the doorway to the parlour. And it felt right to be returning to her.

  Oberon ought to have been alarmed at such nonsense, but he could not work up any indignation. Instead, he wondered what it would be like to return to her after every journey, after any hours spent away. It had been a while since he had been home to Westfield, even longer since he’d felt any anticipation upon travelling to the family seat.

  But he pictured her waiting for him there, a greeting upon her lips, an emerald spark in her eyes. And in that instant, she turned to look towards him. Their gazes met across the space of Sutton House and Oberon felt a sudden jolt that could not be denied. Was he still imagining things, or did he really see his own strange yearning reflected back at him?

  ‘Oh, your Grace, you have returned!’

  Miss Bamford’s shrill voice put an end to the moment. Miss Sutton looked away and Oberon was reminded of the circumstances in which he found himself. Miss Sutton made her home in this remote village, running a business, while he had resided for years in the London town house, where his life had no place in it for a waiting woman—this one or any other.

  Assuming an impassive countenance, Oberon answered Miss Bamford’s hail and listened to her chatter. But his attention was caught by Miss Sutton’s hair, tied neatly in a knot at the back of her head. Simple. Utilitarian. Perhaps even prim. But he remembered when the thick strands had fallen loose and flexed his fingers at the thought.

  ‘Oh, I believe her Grace is calling us in to supper,’ Miss Bamford said, before turning to head towards the dining room.

  Left behind, Oberon fell into step beside Miss Sutton, which gave him a chance to remind himself of her scent, some kind of rosewater perhaps, deceptively light but intoxicating.

  ‘Did you speak with Dr Tibold?’ she asked.

  Oberon nodded. ‘I did, but I’m afraid I did not learn anything new.’ In fact, the normally disgruntled physician seemed eager to entice new patients to Philtwell, not
drive them away. And as for the possibility of taking his business to another well, the man seemed far too volatile to be entrusted with such secrets.

  ‘However, he did direct me to your maid’s young man,’ Oberon said. ‘It seems that Edward Plummer has quite a reputation with the ladies, but his interest in Cassie came on suddenly, thanks to a boy who offered him good coin to woo her away from the cottage.’

  ‘What?’ Miss Sutton glanced up at him sharply. ‘Do you suppose it was the same boy who gave the cook her message?’

  Having wondered that very thing, Oberon inclined his head. He had even returned to Miss Sutton’s work site, where much progress had been made in the absence of the former overseer, who had not returned. If questioned, would the missing man, too, mention a boy?

  Miss Sutton appeared thoughtful. ‘But surely someone must know this youth?’

  ‘One would think so, if he is a local resident,’ Oberon said. And he had gone straight to those who would know, offering a reward to a group of Philtwell youngsters for any information on the lad. ‘However, there is always the possibility that he is an outsider, in the employ of a resident or someone unknown in the area.’

  They had reached the dining room, so Oberon said no more. In fact, he was surprised into silence at the sight of his mother on the arm of a stranger. A slender gentleman of middle age, the fellow had light brown hair and a wary air about him that invited suspicion.

  ‘Mr Pettit!’ The chorus of greetings told Oberon that he was meeting the owner of Sutton House at last. After introductions were made and many queries tendered about his health, Mr Pettit took a seat at the head of the table and began accepting large portions of all that was offered him.

  ‘You don’t want to overdo it,’ the duchess warned. ‘Remember, that you are still a recovering invalid.’

  ‘Oh…uh…yes, of course,’ Pettit said with a bleak expression. He took no more, but seemed to heartily enjoy his food when no one was looking, making Oberon wonder whether the duchess was running roughshod over his sickroom. As if to confirm his suspicions, she soon announced that Mr Pettit was not well enough to assume his magistrate duties as yet.