Catherine's death; though in truth Lavelle hadn't spent that much time in St. Jarvis at all past the age of eighteen. Once he had inherited, he had moved to London to engage in debauchery on a grander scale, and forgotten clean about the small seaside village. Ruan could see the wistful look in his friend's eyes, as he thought on the place they had spent so many of their youthful summers.
"Is that where you're headed now?" Lavelle asked, his expression thoughtful.
"Aye, it is -- and if you'd like to join me, you'd be more than welcome. I think I might need my second, if Lord Keyford spies me there."
His late wife's father despised him, and with good reason, for he thought Ruan responsible for his daughter's death. The Duke knew for certain that if he saw him, Keyford was liable to do anything, such was the venom he held for Ruan.
"Good God," Lavelle put down his glass. "Keyford has an estate nearby, do you remember Catherine used to say he spent half his time down this way?"
Ruan had, and the same suspicions had crossed his mind. Keyford held a small estate in Nursling, and half the world knew that this was where he had housed his mistress, and his illegitimate offspring. It had been a bone of contention between Catherine and her father; another thing to argue about in a family that had made hurt and anger into an art form.
"We'll deal with Keyford, when we see him," Ruan finally said, a note of regret to his tone. The ghosts of his past kept resurfacing, and it seemed that to claim his future with Olive, he would have to confront them all.
The next day Olive awoke to the scent of baking bread, wafting from the kitchen below her. She washed and dressed quickly, ashamed that she had slept so late, when she had guests to feed and serve.
"You find your way about very quickly," she said with surprise to Polly, who had the entire table set, as well as fresh bread made, and sausages, rashers and pudding frying in a pan on the hob.
"If you can find your way around one kitchen, then you can find your way around them all," the young woman said cheerily, with a smile on her face, which was slightly red from the heat of the oven and the steam rising from the various pots.
"Let me help you," Liv said, reaching for an apron so that she could muck in with the cooking.
"Oh, no m'am," the other woman shook her head stubbornly, "That's what I'm here for, the grunt work. You shouldn't be serving meals, not when you're the proprietor."
"But I've been serving the guests since their arrival," Olive replied with a laugh, "They'll think me bone idle if I suddenly sit down at the table."
But Polly was not to be deterred, and so Olive took her place at the head of the table, as breakfast was served to her guests. They arrived in dribs and drabs; the Hamerstone twins were the first to sit down, both girls in high spirits as was usual.
"A Lady must never offer too many opinions in public, Poppy" the twin's beleaguered Aunt Augusta said, closing her eyes as though in pain, as Poppy entered into a heated debate with Mr Jackson on the merits of daily exercise for ladies.
"But you've never had an opinion you didn't care to share, Aunt," Alexandra replied innocently,coming to the rescue of her twin, to which Augusta scowled.
Olive bit back a smile; it wouldn't do to be seen taking sides. Instead she engaged Augusta in mild conversation about local gossip, while Poppy continued to argue with Mr. Jackson. Olive kept half an ear on what was passing between the two; it seemed Mr. Jackson had strong beliefs on what a woman should do in her spare time -- and exercising wasn't one of the activities he deemed acceptable. On his list of preferred activities for young ladies were reading, sewing, painting, dancing...Olive stifled a yawn. She hadn't expected a man who had been so enthusiastic about the boarding house reopening to be so stiff and rigid in his beliefs.
Mercifully Mr. Jackson soon excused himself for a morning of scouring the coves for water-born insects. As he left the room, Olive saw Poppy stick her tongue out at his retreating back, though luckily Augusta missed this very unladylike act.
The other guests arrived down after the twins and their harassed Aunt had left for a day of walking the impressive cliffs around St. Jarvis. Audrey Dunham, the willowy poetess amongst their ranks, sipped at black tea absently while Petronella Devoy, the daughter of a Viscount, happily ate everything that was set before her. The two had been friends for years, they explained to Olive, and had spent many summers at Mrs Bakers', where the freedom St. Jarvis granted gave them time to pursue their literary inclinations.
"And what do you write, Miss Devoy?" Olive asked, casually, though once she brokered the question the two women exchanged rather furtive glances.
"Pamphlets mostly," Petronella said in a whisper, her eyes on the door lest anyone walk in on their conversation. "They're of a rather political persuasion."
Gracious; Olive tried not to look too alarmed. She hadn't known she was housing political activists under her own roof. Petronella was beautiful and titled, and probably could have her pick of any man of the ton -- even though she was now miles past marriageable age. Olive had to admire her bravery and her convictions; she was certain that Viscount Devoy did not approve of his daughter's interests.
The final guests to take breakfast were Mrs Actrol, an author who had been close to the late Mrs Baker, and her travelling companion Beatrice, who seemed to exist only to do Mrs Actrol's bidding. Both women chatted politely to Olive, expressing their happiness that she had now found help for the domestic tasks.
"You can take your place at the head of the table," Mrs Actrol sniffed, "And stop that flibbertigibbet Mr Jackson monopolising all conversation."
Beatrice nodded furiously, her soft, mousy face crossed with an expression of disdain at the mention of the in-house entomologist.
"Oh, dear," Liv put down her tea cup, "I hadn't realised he was upsetting you Mrs Actrol."
"Upsetting me?"
The older woman drew herself up imperiously,casting Liv a rather disdainful look.
"I have lived through several wars, young lady," she said evenly, "Pursued a career that many thought scandalous. I have dined with kings and thieves, and traveled the continent alone. That dullard Mr Jackson could no more upset me than you could. He bores me, nothing more, nothing less. But I do hate to be bored. Especially by men who think that by speaking to you, they are bestowing on you a great favour."
Beatrice, Liv decided, was just short of banging the table, her approval of Mrs Actrol's speech was so great.
"Flibbertigibbet," the mousy lady whispered instead, her lips pursed in disapproval. Both women departed soon after, for a boating trip around the cove, leaving Liv to ruminate on what they had told her.
"You were right," she said later to Polly, as they were stripping the linen from the beds. "I do need to be present at meal times."
The other woman smiled, but said nothing, and continued folding the sheets. They were on the final room, having worked quickly as a team. Polly had initially protested when Liv had offered to assist her, but she had put her foot down. She had to do some of the work.
Outside the open door, there was the sound of footsteps scurrying up the stairs. Whoever was approaching seemed in a desperate hurry.
"Olive, there you are!"
It was Jane, her cheeks rosy and pink from the exertion of her climb.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner, but Julian has a guest arriving to stay, and he insisted I was there to greet him. I --oh--hello."
Jane paused, as she caught sight of Polly, her face curious.
"Jane this is Polly Jenkins," Liv made the introduction, for they had not met the night before. "Polly this is Miss Jane Deveraux, my good friend and sister to Lord Deveraux."
"Don't hold the last fact against me," Jane quipped, with a bright smile to Polly, who seemed nervous about being introduced to one of the gentry. "When did you arrive? This is marvelous, I've been telling Olive that she needs some proper help."
As she and Polly finished dressing the bed, Olive relayed the story of Lord Keyford's dreadful behaviour
at the inn, and how Polly had come to her rescue.
"Oh dear," Jane chewed on her lip, as she took in all that had been said. "It is abominable behaviour on Lord Keyford's part, but --"
Olive watched Jane carefully; a cascade of emotions were passing across her face. Sadness, fear, anger, as she thought on the belligerent Lord.
"But what?" she gently prompted, and Jane blinked.
"Lord Keyford is the father of the late Duchess of Everleigh," Jane whispered, as though afraid someone might overhear them. "Catherine was close to my brother growing up, but she was even closer to Mrs Baker, for she loved to read and daydream."
Olive nodded, not wishing to say anything lest she interrupt Jane's reverie. She was more than a little curious to know about the late Catherine Ashford, and with a quick glance at Polly, she saw a similar interest in the other woman's eyes. She thought nothing of it, for the story of Catherine's demise had made the papers, and was known the length and breadth of the country. What Olive wanted to know, was if Ruan had spoken the truth when he told her that he had not killed his wife.
"Catherine was beautiful, but impetuous," Jane continued, sadly, "She was given over to great mood swings, and her father blamed Mrs Baker. He said she had corrupted his daughter with libertine ideas -- but he was wrong. Catherine was happiest here. She had such a wonderful mind, but when it wasn't being stimulated, she became bored, angry, even reckless. She was not well, I think, not well at all."
Jane paused, looking at the two women who were watching her, avidly hanging on her every word.
"All this," she whispered, nervously, "Is of course highly confidential. Poor Catherine was a troubled soul, I should not have gossipped about her so."
"You're not gossipping," Polly spoke firmly but kindly, "You're merely informing Mrs Black of why she should be cautious around Lord Keyford."
Olive started at the mention of her name, for her mind had wandered. She had not known anything about the late Duchess, and what she had learnt now left her confused.
"You said," Olive ventured,wondering if she was overstepping a line, but not caring in her urgency to know. "The first day that we met, that you didn't think that the Duke had killed his wife."
"I don't," Jane shook her head fiercely, as though to banish the very idea from the room. "I knew Everleigh as a boy, and he was kind. He married Catherine because he loved her, he would never have hurt her. It was an accident, I swear it."
The room was silent for a moment, as the three women thought on the tragic fate of Catherine Ashford. Liv felt a momentary pang of regret for Ruan, who had been castigated by society for a murder he apparently had not committed. Though he had killed Catherine's lover, that much was true.
"Well," Liv brushed down the front of her dress, and said the only thing she could think of. "How about a cup of tea?"
The ladies trooped down the stairs to the kitchen, where Liv set about boiling water for their well deserved libations. Jane had manoeuvred the conversation from the morbid to her favourite topic: Mr. Jackson.
"He simply has the most marvellous brain," she was enthusiastically telling Polly, who looked rather unimpressed. "You should see his collection of preserved larvae, simply fascinating to view."
"I'll take your word for it," Polly looked rather green around the gills at the thought of a case full of dead insects. "Is he very romantic?" she asked, accepting a cup of steaming tea from Liv, who joined them at the table. "Your Mr. Jackson? Does he read you poems and the like?"
"He's not my Mr. Jackson," Jane protested, but Polly simply guffawed in disbelief. Shyly Jane gave both women a tremulous smile, and lowered her voice as she began to speak.
"Though, actually," she whispered, her ears turning red, "Even though he's not mine just yet, he has asked me to meet with him here, this evening. He says he has most important business to discuss."
"Cor."
This was from Polly, whose Northern accent was more pronounced when she was excited. Liv felt a strange stab of nerves for Jane, who looked so hopeful. She was no longer sure what she thought of this Mr. Jackson, now that she had heard him pontificate to the twins, and Mrs Actrol's damning opinion of him. Perhaps he was too stuffy for Jane, who though bookish and outwardly meek, was at heart a romantic.
"I hope whatever he's proposing is in your best interests Jane," she cautioned,
"I hope he proposes," Polly interjected, with a giggle, which left Jane even more red-faced.
"Oh, hush," she whispered, glancing at the kitchen door as though she feared Mr. Jackson was outside listening. "What Mr. Jackson and I share is a mutual love of the academics. I couldn't hope that a man of his ilk would even deign to consider marrying me."
"But you're the daughter of a Viscount, and pretty as a peach!"
Jane started at Polly's indignant outburst, though she looked terribly pleased to have been called pretty. She was, in fact, very pretty; with soft, alabaster skin like fresh snow and huge amber eyes behind her spectacles. It was a wonder no one had ever told her before.
"Oh," she brushed away Polly's compliment. "I'm not. Julian says I'm as pale as a ghost from staying indoors reading, and that no man would ever love a woman as bookish as I."
"Who's this Julian then?" Polly snorted, "He sounds like a right prig."
"My brother."
There was an awkward silence, in which Liv felt herself seething with anger at the bullying Lord Deveraux while Polly frowned.
"Don't listen to a word he says, Jane," she consoled her friend, reaching across the table and patting her hand.
"Oh I'd love to have to never listen to a word he says again," Jane pasted a brave smile on her face, and stood up, "But, alas, I must attend luncheon back at the house with him. For Lord Payne is visiting and I have been summoned to the table."
Olive blinked; she recognised that name from her season in town. Lord Payne was next in line to the ducal seat of Hawkfield, though until he came into his title, he seemed content to merely entertain the ton with his outrageous hi-jinx. The papers had recently been filled with tales of a phaeton race he had orchestrated on Rotten Row, which had ended with him being thrown bodily into a fountain, and his expensive new vehicle smashed to smithereens.
"I can see you've heard of him," Jane noted Liv's raised eyebrows with a wry smile, "Just thank goodness that you don't have to dine with him."
With that she was gone, with promises to return later that evening. Polly and Liv were silent for a few minutes after she left, each sipping thoughtfully on their tea.
"Well," Polly finally spoke, setting her cup down firmly. "It seems St. Jarvis is the Cornish outpost for the whole of the ton, from what I've gathered this morning. Dukes, Viscounts -- I wouldn't be surprised if the Prince himself appears."
"Nor I," Liv gave a faint laugh; Prince George she could deal with; the only member of the aristocracy that she didn't want to show up in the little village was the Duke of Everleigh.
"Good Lord, Everleigh, it's been years!"
Julian Deveraux, Viscount Jarvis, greeted his old friend with a resounding clap to the back, that was so enthusiastic it nearly sent Ruan flying across the marble entrance hall of Jarvis House.
"Haven't seen you since--ah--ah--"
"It's been a long time," Ruan smiled tightly. He and Jarvis hadn't crossed paths since Catherine's funeral; not out of intention, but their ways had simply parted. Jarvis spent most of his time in town, falling out of gentleman's clubs at dawn, whilst Ruan had resolutely avoided such establishments.
"I'm told you have company," he said, as the Viscount led him into the elegantly appointed drawing room, where Jane, Deveraux's sister sat. Her face was pained, as the man opposite her spoke, gesticulating wildly, a grin as wide as the Avon Gorge across his handsome face.
"Payne," Deveraux called, and the young buck stopped mid-sentence to look up at his friend. "Have you met Everleigh?"
Lord Payne stood to greet the Duke, his hand outstretched. "Can't say I've had the pleasure, though I'v
e heard of you, of course."
"Of course," Everleigh took the young man's hand, in a firm grip. "And I you. Your altercation with a fountain was all the papers could talk about for weeks."
"Oh, that," Lord Payne ruffled his hair with his hand, so that it fell in the same dishevelled manner that Byron had made so popular. "I was just telling Jane all about it. Riveting stuff."
"Truly riveting," the young woman echoed, though her tone was less than impressed. When her eyes fell on Ruan however, they lit up with warmth. She stood, and took his hand in hers, giving a squeeze to convey her happiness. "Everleigh, it's so lovely to see you again. I have missed you so."
"You do me a great honour, Jane," he said, bestowing a genuine smile on her. "Tell me, what have you been up to since we last spoke?"
"Oh," Jane blinked, and earnestly pushed her glasses up her nose. "I've been writing an essay on the morality of the Romans. It's quite fascinating, I--"
"Everleigh was just being polite," Julian drawled, rudely interrupting his sister mid-speech. "He doesn't actually care what boring bit of history you've decided to resurrect."
Ruan watched Jane's face flood with embarrassment, and the urge to strike Lord Deveraux filled him. Julian had always shown disdain for Jane, when they were younger, but Ruan had thought it merely the natural emotion that a teenage boy would feel for his younger sibling. Ruan, himself an only child, had always envied Julian his adoring little sister, but the pompous git had never appreciated her. It seemed he still didn't, even all these years later.
"I should be most grateful to receive a copy of the essay, when it's done," he said pointedly to Jane, ignoring Lord Deveraux who was rolling his eyes. "I always find your work fascinating, Jane."
Jane blinked at him shyly, the tips of her ears going red. She cast a glance at her brother, and Lord Payne, who looked bored beyond belief, then smiled at Ruan.
"I must leave now, your Grace," she said brightly, the relief at not having to suffer any more of her brother's company evident on her face. "Will you be here when I return?"
The Duke of Ruin: Reluctant Regency Brides Page 9