‘Yes, your Grace, but I am most grateful to you for stepping in,’ Pettit said, nodding to Oberon. ‘I scarce can believe what I’ve been hearing.’
‘Tell us, Mr Pettit, what do you think about these happenings?’ Miss Bamford asked. ‘Should Glory close the spa?’
‘Of course not,’ the duchess said. Her sharp answer made Oberon wonder whether nostalgia had completely overtaken her wits.
‘But what of the well’s…curse?’ Miss Bamford asked in a dramatic whisper.
‘I’ve never heard anything about a curse, and I’ve been living here for… How low long has it been now?’ Pettit asked.
He looked to Oberon’s mother, who shook her head rather vehemently. ‘I’m sure I don’t know.’
Oberon tried not to read anything into the behaviour of those at the table, but, as Pearson said, his habits were ingrained, and he watched carefully as they discussed the events of the past few days. He had hoped that a different perspective, that of someone who knew the village and its inhabitants well, might provide new insights into the troubles. But Pettit could add little to the conversation and expressed his bafflement as to the culprit or the cause.
They lapsed into silence then, everyone seemingly deep in thought, but Oberon noticed that Thad was staring at the mural. Apparently, Pettit noticed as well.
‘We wrote to London this very morning to find someone who can restore it,’ the man said, nodding towards the painting that covered one wall of the dim room.
But young men like Thad were not known for their patience, and he did not seem keen upon waiting for expert advice. ‘Yet you must know… Does it show Queen Elizabeth presenting a gift?’
Pettit shrugged. ‘I’ve never paid any heed to it until now, seeing as how I was not to make any changes to the…’ His words trailed off and he reached for his wine, taking a big gulp.
Oberon slanted the man a glance, for he was unsure what to make of Randolph Pettit. In another situation the fellow’s demeanour would be cause for interest, but Pettit had been ill and it might have affected his behaviour. And, as Pearson reminded him, they were not in London. Yet there appeared to be plenty of intrigues in tiny Philtwell. Gesturing to the serving maid, Oberon made a quiet request and she bobbed a curtsy before heading off.
‘But you have heard of the Queen’s Gift?’ Thad asked his host.
‘Yes, there have always been rumours of that nature,’ Pettit said. ‘I cannot tell you whether the legend is based upon fact, but I am hardly a scholar of either the spa or the period in question. However, if you are interested, there is much in the Sutton House library upon Elizabeth, quite a collection, in fact. Perhaps you should take a look.’
Thad frowned, apparently none too eager to delve into historical study. ‘But do you think the gift, if there really is such a thing, could be somewhere here at Sutton House?’ he asked. ‘The mural seems to show the queen standing on the grounds.’
Pettit shook his head. ‘I catalogued everything when I moved in and there was nothing that would qualify, unless it was artwork or the like. Perhaps that’s all it was and the tale grew in the telling, as they say. In those days, people imagined treasure everywhere for the taking, especially after Elizabeth’s father dissolved the Catholic church, with its hoard of relics and riches. Religious sites became a favourite spot for excavating, but even old mounds and ruins did not escape the shovel.’
Thad brightened. ‘So you think it’s buried outside?’
Pettit laughed. ‘No, my boy.’
‘But if the queen is standing in front of—’ Thad began, only to be cut off by his sister.
‘Thad, you are not to start digging up Mr Pettit’s property,’ Miss Sutton said in an admonishing tone. ‘The mural might have been painted long after the fact, simply to depict the queen visiting the house, especially since she doesn’t appear to have a gift in her hand.’
‘Perhaps it is hidden away,’ Miss Bamford said, looking over her shoulder as though something might suddenly leap out at her. ‘These old houses are riddled with priest’s holes and the like.’
Like an eager pup, Thad seized on that notion and glanced at Pettit, who gave the boy his blessing. ‘I have found none, but you are welcome to search all you like. This is Sutton House, after all.’
‘I don’t know whether you should, Thad,’ Miss Bamford said ominously. ‘If there is a curse, perhaps you had better leave well enough alone.’
Oberon’s reservations were more pragmatic, for if the boy should find a prize, it would belong, not to him, but to the owner of the residence. However, Oberon said nothing; when the maid returned with the requested items, he rose to his feet.
‘I’ve some experience with delicate documents and the like,’ Oberon said, not going into detail. ‘So with your leave, I shall see if I can remove the dust, without harming the painting.’
‘Of course,’ Pettit said.
‘Do you really think you ought to?’ Miss Bamford said, eyeing the mural warily. ‘Meddling with such things might simply call more troubles down upon us.’
‘Nonsense,’ Oberon’s mother said briskly.
Ignoring their aunt’s warning, the Suttons took up the candelabras from the table and brought them over to the wall. The brightness illuminated new details, although the background remained dark and impenetrable.
‘What have you there?’ asked Thad.
‘A soft paintbrush,’ Oberon said. Positioning the brush over the outstretched hands of the female figure, he carefully dusted away what he could. And after several strokes, the area between the queen’s fingers grew brighter, as if radiating light.
‘Maybe it’s a crown,’ Thad said. ‘Do you know how much something like that would be worth?’
Oberon shook his head and glanced towards the boy, whose face was shining with excitement. But his sister was not as enthusiastic. ‘It’s probably only a symbol for her reign,’ she said.
‘You might find out more in the library,’ Pettit reminded Thad.
‘Or in the cottage,’ Oberon said, slanting Miss Sutton a glance.
She refused to look at him, but acknowledged his suggestion with a nod. ‘Yes, Thad, perhaps we can have a look there.’
‘Why don’t you two go?’ Thad said. ‘I’m no good at reading through old papers.’
‘Yes, I would be interested,’ Oberon said. ‘There might be some hint to the current troubles amongst the past records.’
Still not meeting his gaze, Miss Sutton turned to Miss Bamford. ‘Aunt? Will you join us?’
‘Oh, heavens, no,’ Miss Bamford said, with a shudder. ‘I refuse to have anything to do with that mural or whatever might invoke the curse. And you shouldn’t either.’
Miss Sutton did not bother to respond, but eyed Oberon warily, ‘Very well, then, your Grace,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘Let us see what we can discover.’
Oberon felt a surge of anticipation, which he firmly dismissed. This was an opportunity to further his investigation, not an assignation. And thankfully, there would be no chance of temptation. Along with the burly characters he had hired to watch the cottage, the additional servants would make for a full, rather than empty, house.
The two of them would not be alone again.
Oberon frowned at just how wrong he had been, a rare occurrence theses days. His instincts were strong, his judgements astute, but in this instance, he had miscalculated. So he ducked under old beams under the eaves with Miss Sutton. And the assurances he had given himself were for naught because there weren’t any servants up here. Hell, there wouldn’t be any room for them.
Mercifully, the dismal space with its shrouded objects and aged crates did not invite intimacy. Dark and stuffy and crowded with forgotten items covered with a thick layer of dust, it did not even invite exploration.
‘Perhaps you should have one of the maids tidy up here before you begin searching,’ Oberon said.
‘I didn’t think of that,’ Miss Sutton admitted as she knelt before a crate. ‘When
I was up here before, I left…rather abruptly. Can you move this lid?’ she asked, setting down her lantern.
Obviously, she was not bothered by the state of her surroundings, a trait that Oberon could only admire. Now he could add gritty work to the long list of things that Miss Sutton did not fear. Her only concession was to wear an apron over her sprigged muslin gown, which somehow managed to make her look even more appealing.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Oberon wondered whether he should leave Miss Sutton to her searching, for she was in no danger up here from anyone—except perhaps himself. But he took a seat upon a wooden box on the chance that she might need him, if only to move heavy items, and told himself he could prove useful. He was not prepared to admit how much he craved her company.
Leaning back against the wall, he watched her pull various pieces of clothing from the crate, dust motes drifting about her in the lantern light. And despite the peculiar circumstances, Oberon again felt that sense of rightness, just as though she was right where she ought to be—and so was he.
Even though he shook his head at such nonsense, Oberon took the opportunity to study his subject more carefully than ever before. There, in the quiet confines of the attic, he noted the tempting expanse of her throat, the quirk of her mouth as she examined a new object and the excited murmur she made when she found something of interest.
She chatted amiably over her discoveries, speculating on their past histories or possible uses, and Oberon was content to listen. There was something soothing about her voice, and yet, when it dropped to a husky whisper, he was stirred in a way that had little to do with comfort. In those instances, his gaze lingered on the slender curves he well remembered until he shifted uncomfortably and looked away.
‘What’s this?’ she asked, recapturing his attention as she bent down to shine her lantern deep under the eaves. ‘It looks like an old trunk that has been pushed out of sight.’
Her enthusiasm was refreshing and Oberon decided that was part of her attraction. When he returned to town, he would set his sights upon a different diversion from his usual mistress, cool and jaded. But as he got to his feet, carefully avoiding the beam overhead, Oberon suspected Miss Sutton would not be replaced that easily. And he felt a certain uneasiness at the prospect.
He had barely dragged the trunk forwards when she reached out to lift the lid, so Oberon crouched beside her to place the lantern close. The dark interior was soon flooded with light, revealing a stack of thick record books or ledgers, as well as loose papers.
‘At last,’ Miss Sutton said, her voice low and breathless, and Oberon felt anything but soothed. When she turned to him, her face glowing, temptation rose, swift and fierce. And despite his best efforts, she must have seen something in his face, for she stilled and stared at him in silence, her green eyes wide.
Heat stained her cheeks and Oberon saw that a smudge of dirt marred her flawless skin. Lifting a hand to cup her chin, Oberon wiped it away with his thumb, a simple gesture that was far too intimate. It seemed even more personal than when he had held her in his arms, perhaps because this was no accidental encounter. He could make no excuses for his behaviour now.
And though Oberon was well aware that he had no business touching her, he couldn’t seem to pull his hand away. Instead, he lowered his thumb to her lips, running the pad over the silken surface and parting them. He paused, expecting her protest, but she only stared at him with eyes bright and feverish, so he leaned close to brush his mouth against hers.
The contact sent heat surging through him and Oberon deepened the kiss, revelling in the sweet, fresh taste of her. When she made a low sound of pleasure, he reached for her, his vaunted restraint slipping further with every breath. He needed her nearer, in his arms, wrapped up in him, and all the reasons why he dared not act upon that need faded away.
But the close quarters that were his undoing were also his saving grace. For as he pulled her to him, the lid to the trunk fell from its precarious position, brushing against them on its way down. The resulting thud raised a cloud of dust and Miss Sutton turned away to cough against her hand.
That ingenuous response brought Oberon to his senses at last, and he wondered what the devil he was doing. Pulling out a handkerchief, he handed it to Miss Sutton, an apology upon his lips. But the sight of her, wide-eyed and flushed, only made him want to capture her face in his hands and begin again, to take her right there upon one of the dusty sheets that had fallen to the floor.
‘Hello? Are you up there?’
The sound of his mother’s voice sent Oberon shooting to his feet and he stepped in front of Miss Sutton just as the duchess appeared in the doorway. She blinked at the sight of them, then turned to go with amazing speed.
‘I’m afraid it’s too crowded up here already,’ she called over her shoulder.
‘No!’ Miss Sutton said. ‘That is, the attic has become quite stuffy in the heat of the day, so I shall go with you. I crave some fresh air.’ She scurried towards Oberon’s mother as if the duchess were a lifeline, leaving her precious finds behind without a second glance.
‘I’ll have the trunk sent to Sutton House, where you can examine the contents at your leisure,’ Oberon said, but Miss Sutton made no reply. His mother reached out to brush dust from her back as she slipped by, and then the duchess, too, disappeared down the stairs, leaving Oberon alone to compose himself.
Flexing his fingers repeatedly, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. There could be no excuses this time, for he had not disarmed an assailant. He had known full well whom he was dealing with and yet he had acted anyway, against all the dictates of propriety, jeopardising years of hard work in a single instant.
Yet even now the longing lingered, making him feel rather like Darcy of Miss Austen’s popular tale, struggling against a passion that could come to nothing. But unlike his fictional counterpart, Oberon could not resolve the situation with tender words and fine deeds.
Miss Sutton’s place was here, with the spa that she loved, while he belonged back in London, where his duty lay.
Letitia found Randolph in the garden, sitting on a stone bench that stood in the sun, and she made no effort to curb her steps as she hurried to join him. He glanced up, a greeting dying on his lips when he saw her agitation.
‘What is it? Has something else happened?’ he asked with an expression of alarm.
Letitia nodded. ‘I have made a dreadful muddle of things, Randolph!’
‘Letty, you didn’t do something to Queen’s Well, did you?’ he asked, paling.
‘No, of course not, you old fool,’ Letitia said. ‘I imagined the two of them cooped up with a pile of mouldy papers, surrounded by the servants to fetch whatever they cared to investigate. How was I to know that they would go into the attic themselves?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Randolph asked, looking bewildered.
‘What do you think?’ Letitia asked, tempted to smack him, if only she had a fan. ‘Oberon and Miss Sutton! Our very purpose, Randolph.’
‘What of them?’
Letitia sighed. ‘I had hoped to throw them together upon a long walk by having them attend me only to conveniently fall behind.’
‘Of course,’ Randolph said, wryly.
Ignoring his sour tone, Letitia leaned close and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Instead, I interrupted what can only have been a tête-à-tête.’
‘What?’
Letitia nodded, her elation at the discovery tempered by the disappointment of her blunder. ‘I stumbled across the two of them alone in a place where they were certain to be undisturbed.’
‘The attic?’
At her nod, Randolph wrinkled his nose. ‘It hardly sounds like the ideal location for romance.’
Letitia frowned at him. ‘Well, to the young anywhere serves as a possible rendezvous.’
‘I suppose,’ Randolph said, doubtfully. ‘But how do you know that they were doing anything other than exploring the place?’
‘I k
now for a fact they were exploring each other because Miss Sutton sported a dusty handprint on the back of her gown.’
Randolph’s brows shot upwards. ‘If that is the case, why didn’t you have a talk with the boy about his responsibilities to his gender and to his name?’
Letitia waved away the suggestion. ‘Should I try to prod him to do the right thing, he will only dig in his heels. I have seen it many times before when I have put forward a suitable candidate for marriage. This is my main chance, and I am not going to risk it by interfering.’
‘Well, what will you do, then?’
Letitia frowned thoughtfully. ‘I will simply have to try again tomorrow, weather permitting.’ Feeling better now that she had decided to implement her original plan, though later than she would have wished, the duchess sat back and smiled. She did not see Randolph roll his eyes heavenwards.
‘I’m not sure what you’re calling it,’ he muttered, ‘but to me that sounds like interfering.’
Chapter Nine
It had been an awkward trek back to Sutton House, with Glory trying to hide her distress while the duchess prattled on as though rattled, making Glory wonder just what the older woman had seen when she’d entered the attic. Her face flaming, Glory had been unable to look at the duchess and responded to her chatter with monosyllables.
Once inside the residence, Glory was relieved to part with the older woman, who hurried off in search of Mr Pettit, while she secluded herself in the library. Earlier, Glory had been studying some of the materials to be found there and she opened a thick volume, hoping to gain an escape from her own thoughts.
But she could not so easily forget that she had been kissed—and by whom. Glory bent her face over the pages, unseeing, as she attempted to sort it all out. When had she gone from fearing the duke as a powerful adversary to welcoming his…advances? Glory shook her head. Lately, she had come to admire the man; their conversations, whether over supper or upon walks or in the attic, had become less antagonistic and more congenial. But that hardly explained her shocking lapse in behaviour.
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