by Joan Vincent
As appetites eased, conversation flowed. “Reverend Durham,” said Lady Brienne, “when you first entered the dining room tonight you appeared very anxious upon not seeing Sarita. Did you actually fear that something had occurred to harm her?”
“Yes,” he answered simply.
“Who would want to harm her?” Lady Phillippa gasped.
“She has no enemies—of her own,” the minister assured them. Seeing his wife blanch, he laughed easily. “It was only the bothersome worry of a father. So many small things can occur in the most ordinary of days,” he said, trying to dismiss the matter.
“Yes, so many things,” the baroness agreed, with a smile at Mrs. Durham. Her eyes swept back to Reverend Durham, but he would not meet her gaze.
* * * *
The dowagers, safely ensconced in Lady Brienne’s chambers, animatedly discussed the day’s happenings. They were speaking of Pierre Mandel when Lady Phillippa suddenly clapped her hands. “I just remembered my decision,” she explained to her sisters, her eyes twinkling merrily.
“Ah, yes, Sarita,” Lady Brienne nodded. “But if you intend to match her with Mandel, you are ready for Bedlam.”
“What is this about a match for Sarita? Will you speak more plainly?” Lady Imogene pouted.
“You know ‘decision’ to Philly means ‘match,’” the baroness frowned. “The poor girl had better beware.”
“A match for Sarita? Excellent.” The countess turned eagerly to Lady Phillippa. “But you cannot meant Mr. Traunt. A good man, to be sure, but—”
“Both of you are far from the mark,” Lady Phillippa tossed back languidly.
“Perhaps the young woman does not wish to wed,” Lady Brienne objected.
“That is what you yourself said until you met Baron Mickle,” Lady Imogene poohed at her. “What better reward could there be for all the kindness Sarita has shown us than a good match?”
“Do you disapprove of a match, or of Sarita?” questioned the marchioness, wondering at the baroness’s sudden sourness.
“Miss Durham is a fine young woman,” said Lady Brienne irritably. “More sensible than most. I simply do not see why you must dabble in her affairs. She appears well enough content.”
Lady Imogene waved a pudgy hand dismissing her sister’s objection. “Pay no mind to Brenny, Phillippa. Whom do you intend for her? Does Lord Pergrine have a marriageable son?”
“Poor choice that would be, even if one did exist,” said the baroness coldly. “If you must pursue this, I pray you find someone worthy of the honour and able to fend off whatever danger exists here.”
“Oh, I think I have,” smiled Lady Phillippa. “Would you say the Earl of Dunstan was a worthy enough individual?”
“Impossible!” scoffed Lady Brienne.
“How?” came from Lady Imogene. “We are far from his usual ground. Besides, Henrietta would never permit it.”
With a sparkling smile Lady Phillippa drew a letter from her pocket. “This afternoon I wrote this note,” she began.
Chapter 6
“It should be clear to you, Lord Dunstan, that we must have someone near Hastings or at least near the coast in that area. Someone who can move about freely, unquestioned. Your rank would enable you to do this.
“These reports that Napoleon has managed to place someone in the area who sends dispatches about our fortification efforts have to be investigated. With all the preparations the First Consul is making for an invasion, we must take precautions. Why, we have had word that over one thousand transport craft are being built.” The undersecretary paced to and fro under the calculating eyes of the Earl of Dunstan.
“If only we knew for certain who this man is,” the undersecretary continued. “Lord Pergrine’s estates are in the Hastings area and could be used as a base. Can you manage an invitation for an indefinite stay?”
“Lord Pergrine left London with the season only half accomplished,” the earl drawled.
The undersecretary waited patiently, his eyes lightly upon the brawny young man before him. Experience had taught him the deception of the casual dress and oft indifferent ways of the earl.
“Give me a day. I’ll manage something.” Dunstan flicked his gloves absently against the arm of his chair, then rose. His height was two inches less than six feet, but his solid, firmly built form belied the fact. The broad, muscular shoulders were disguised by a loose-fitting coat, carelessly worn open. A simple cravat, unstarched in open defiance of the Beau’s mandates graced the thick neck. Form-fitting breeches showed taut muscled legs; dusty Hessians completed his attire.
“If there are questions on my report, send word to my house,” he said. “I will remain in London for two or three days. Communiques can be managed as usual when I reach the coast.”
“Will you have ample time to set your personal affairs in order?” the undersecretary asked, also rising.
“You’ve never been concerned with that before,” Dunstan smiled. “Perhaps you take my mother’s gossip too seriously. I have no intention of wedding. Much to her dislike, Mother has become accustomed to my . . . meandering ways.”
“You don’t bloody well think she has guessed what you’re about?” the startled man asked.
“No. Mother’s thoughts have never taken a turn in that direction. Her machinations deal only with the serious problem of my lack of an heir,” Dunstan said lightly with a shrug of his wide shoulders. Then he turned serious.
“Have adequate preparations been made for a defence should Napoleon prove intent upon this invasion?”
“We are safe enough until his transport craft are completed. After that—” The undersecretary turned his palms upwards in a gesture of hopelessness. “The local citizenry have been called to arms, but they are untrained and without reliable weapons or leaders—useless, in plain words. We desperately need the information you can get.”
“‘Twill be yours. Now I must go. Wouldn’t want to arouse suspicion by being too long.”
The two men shook hands in farewell. Loosening his cravat and ruffling a hand through his already disarrayed curly dark brown hair, Dunstan sauntered from the private chamber at the Cat and Mouse Inn. With a broad smile and a wink at the innkeeper, he flipped the man a gold piece.
“Glad to be a help, milord,” the man returned the wink. “Is yer friend to be usin’ the back door?”
With a nod and a look that bespoke his reliance on the silence and trustworthiness of the innkeeper, Lord Dunstan ambled out into Covent Square. No one took note of him. This establishment was oft frequented by the ton in search of idle pleasure.
The raggedly dressed boy holding the earl’s bay stallion stared in wonder at the coin placed in his hand—enough to provide food for his family for a week.
Dunstan wended his mount skilfully through the crowded streets of London, halting only when he reached his bachelor quarters on Chesterfield Street.
“My lord, Mr. Sullivan awaits you in your study,” the butler told him as he took the earl’s hat and gloves.
“Have my phaeton with the matched blacks brought around in half an hour,” Dunstan ordered, and strode briskly to his study.
“Lindsay, good fellow, are the papers ready for my signature?” he greeted his cousin, who served as his agent and personal secretary.
The foppish young man was attired in a blue long coat, with white-and-blue striped lapels, tight blue pantaloons, and black pumps. He was three years younger than the earl’s one and thirty years but his usual stern countenance, at odds with his mode of toilet, gave him the appearance of being ten years older.
His features lightened into a smile at sight of his cousin. “Cris, I was glad to learn you had returned once again.” His brows arched in a rare glimpse of his humorous side. “How long will it be this time?” He held his hand out in greeting.
“Two—three days. Are there any letters of import among these?” The earl waved a hand at the stack of material awaiting his attention.
“There are the usual bids
from those in London and some rather heavily perfumed missives.” Sullivan cocked his head pensively as they sat down, “and a note from your aunt, Lady Bawden.”
“Aunt Philly? But I thought she was travelling with her sisters. Where is it?” Dunstan looked up from the document he studied. “I find her letters as entertaining as any play at Covent Garden.”
“To your right.” Lindsay motioned towards the upper portion of the huge desk. “With the others.”
While the earl read, Mr. Sullivan shifted uneasily, his features more forbidding than usual. “Cris,” he began tentatively, “I realized when you gave me my position that it was only because you felt bound by family ties.” His eyes contemplated the intricacies of his shirt’s pleating.
“I appreciate all that you have done for me. I’ve always tried my best to handle your affairs wisely. Now, however, I feel it is time for me to strike out on my own,” he ended in a rush.
Dunstan looked up from the marchioness’s letter. “Pardon me, Lin, I didn’t hear you.”
“I was saying—That is, it is time . . .. You have to find—find someone to take my place.”
“Whatever for? You haven’t been cobbled by some wench who is pushing you into this, have you?” the surprised earl asked. He leaned back, his eyes keen upon his nervous, red-faced cousin.
“No, no one I would choose would have me,” blurted Lindsay, his embarrassment complete.
“Now look, man, you’re the best manager to be found. I’ll double your wages—”
“No, Cris, listen. You’ve enabled me to make good investments. I’ve enough to buy my own land. Nothing like Dunstan’s Keep, but it will be my own,” the young man said, regaining his composure.
“I’ve been interviewing, discreetly, of course, and believe I have found the man to handle your estates.”
Dunstan ran a finger tentatively along the line of his firm, square jaw. “You have been more than an agent. You’ve been a friend, Lin. I can only wish you well. This man you think capable—”
“Turrel,” Sullivan supplied the name.
“Turrel. Could you have him settled in, say in two or three days?”
“Cris—my lord, I did not mean to leave you so abruptly.”
“Can you do it?” Dunstan insisted.
“Yes, my lord.” Lindsay straightened his striped lapels, his back rigid.
“Good. Hand over to him all matters concerning my estate.” He paused. “And do me the honour of remaining as my secretary until I return from one last excursion.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Lin answered stiffly.
“You will need to travel with me this time,” the earl pressed on with a smile, “for an extended stay in the country. An invitation from Aunt Philly,” he pointed to the letter he had dropped upon his desk.
“But you haven’t seen your aunt in,” he counted mentally, “in years.” Pallor came over him. “Your mother?”
“Mother will present no problem.”
“You may manage to handle her, Cris, but I would rather face a starving mob than Lady Dunstan when she has been crossed,” Sullivan answered heatedly.
“Lin, you need to view Mother as someone with an unjust dun on my accounts. You handle that very well; apply it to Mother.
“Stop underrating yourself. Why, when I first asked you to take over my business matters, you were certain you couldn’t handle them and yet you’ve managed a profit for me every year.” The earl nodded as if to confirm a thought.
“It is time you were more in society.”
“A secretary rates attention from chambermaids and housekeepers, not from your set,” Lin corrected him. He flicked a piece of offending lint from his pantaloons.
“Your lack of title is no dishonour. Your blood is as good as mine. You yourself said you have your own means. Lady Phillippa and Lady Imogene will take you in hand, I am certain.”
“We are to visit both your aunts?”
“No, all three. They are staying with—let me see,” his eyes flew over the letter, “with the Durhams at Braitlathe. Reverend Durham has two daughters, according to this, and Aunt Philly assures me they are most delectable.”
“‘Pon my soul, no wonder Lady Dunstan has forbidden you to be familiar with her sisters.”
“Calm yourself, Lin, that was my wording.”
“Cris, I have never enjoyed travelling. I think it would be best if—”
“Oh, no. I need you. There are matters I must attend to during this visit and I need someone to—to cover my absences.”
“Not another—Cris, why don’t you look about and settle on one petticoat? Surely it would be much easier to wed than to rush about the country chasing from one—well, doing as you do,” Lin finished vaguely, disturbed by the annoyed look, which had come over the earl’s features.
Dunstan studied his cousin and considered taking him into his confidence, but the danger such knowledge would place him in outweighed the urge.
“Was there something you would have me know?” Lin prompted.
“Affairs of the heart are personal, my friend—as you will one day come to know.” The earl forced a laugh.
“Now where do I sign these?” He waved a hand at the documents before him.
* * * *
“Mother, I thought you had returned to the country. How well you look.” Lord Dunstan bowed as he took her hand and kissed it.
“I am ghastly ill, far too ill to travel.” Lady Dunstan sniffed into her lace kerchief as she gazed accusingly at her son.
“Doing it too brown, Mother. You haven’t been ill a day in your life.” The earl took a seat opposite the settee she lay upon. “Why are you still in London?”
Simpering having proved ineffective, Lady Dunstan turned to umbrage, and rose angrily. “How can you regard my health so nonchalantly?” she asked. “Why, Lord Brambye took his mother to Bath to partake of the waters simply because she sneezed.”
“You would never consent to being seen in so unfashionable a place,” her son teased.
“And Lord Naptel was faithfully at his mother’s side during the entire season. But you,” she continued undaunted, “you must be from one end of England to the other.”
Patiently awaiting the end of her tirade, Dunstan showed little irritation. In fact, he smiled, causing his mother to drop her ploy.
“I thought you wished me wed,” he noted innocently. “One must first court.”
“Can you tell me the name of one marriageable miss you have encountered on these forays of yours? A miss who would be a fitting bride for the Dunstan name?
“None, I tell you. All eligible misses were here in London for the season,” she replied sharply, then softened. “I have been thinking of having a summer party, a few of your friends—”
“I sincerely regret that I shan’t be able to attend, Mother. Business matters call me away.” He smiled.
“Business! Another light skirt. I don’t mind your chasing after them, but can you not pause long enough to find a wife? I have introduced you to several—”
“Ghastly creatures,” he ended for her. “Mother,” he cautioned.
“But if only— You are already one and thirty,” she said, changing tactics again. “I shall go to the grave without seeing a grandchild.” She sniffed, sitting upright.
Rising, Dunstan kissed her brow. “Never fear, Mother. I can always bring my by-blows to you,” he teased.
“Oh, you are impossible, just as your father was.” Her anger melted into sadness. “And I do love you as I did he.”
“I know, Mother.” Dunstan took her hand and gazed at her fondly. “And you have many days before you. Perhaps you may even see my heir and wheedle him into squiring you about.”
“Oh, you have met someone! Is she eligible? When can I meet her?” Lady Dunstan gurgled excitedly.
“You shall meet her whenever I do,” he smiled. “I have met no woman able to entice me to the altar. To bed, perhaps.” He winked.
“Wicked, wicked boy,” Lady Du
nstan scolded irritably. “Mind your tongue. Where are you off to this time?” she asked resignedly after a pause.
“To Braitlathe, a small village near Hastings. Lin is to go with me.”
“I do wish you were more like your cousin. Just look at your toilet. Lin is always immaculate and serious, as you properly should be but aren’t.”
“Lin is a good man,” Dunstan agreed readily.
“But you should do something about his manner. Every time he is near me he squirms like a child who didn’t eat all his porridge. But never mind. Why are you going to such a place?”
“Actually, Aunt Philly has invited me—and Aunt Imogene,” he answered lightly.
“You mean they escaped Brienne?” Lady Dunstan asked scathingly. “You know I have forbidden you to see them.”
“And I have not seen them for nine and ten years, Mother. I feel the need to renew family ties, and to see if my aunts are half as entertaining as their letters imply.”
“I never could understand why you kept up correspondence with them. You were disobedient even at a tender age. I should have been forewarned of what you would become.”
“I do everything you forbid, Mother.”
“Phillippa will have some simpering miss she wishes to match you with. You wait and see. I have told you how her mind runs,” she warned.
“Never fear, Mother. I have escaped your best-laid plots to ensnare me. Why should Aunt Philly be more successful?
“ Till next we meet.” Dunstan squeezed her hand and then bowed over it.
Lady Henrietta watched him go, pondering what her sisters, with whom she had neither spoken nor written to for years, schemed for her son.
* * * *
“You are finished,” Lady Brienne informed Deborah after the last portrait frame in the corridor had been dusted. “Lady Imogene promised to have tea ready beneath the oak.”
“Yes, my lady.” Deborah bobbed a curtsy and followed the baroness tiredly. Lady Brienne had proven a much sterner taskmistress than Sarita had ever been.