“How goes the improvements, Mr. Randall?” She asked her question firmly without sparing him a single glance. “Is everything working out with the new farmhands as you hoped?”
Oliver’s leg remembered her touch far longer than was good for him. As the discussion progressed, he studied his dinner companion, impressed by her skill at steering conversation away from an emotional subject. Her pale blue eyes were fixed on Leopold, silently encouraging him to speak of estate matters, and did not veer once in his direction no matter how long he observed her.
While his brother spoke so expansively of crops and likely yields, Oliver resumed his meal in silence, listening with half an ear, discontent with the small, never-ending concerns that filled his brother’s days yet aware of the woman at his left. She puzzled him immensely. If he didn’t know better, he’d believe that she’d used her allure to tie his tongue on purpose.
“What do you think, Oliver?”
He raised his head and met Blythe’s gaze. “Forgive me. I wasn’t paying attention just then,” he admitted honestly.
Her brows rose. “As I thought. You and I, sir, need to have a little chat very soon.”
Tobias laughed. “Now you’ve done it, Ollie.”
Oliver had respected Blythe’s opinion from the moment they met, but he was in no way intimidated by her. “I cannot imagine what you hope to gain by such a candid discussion but if you feel compelled to lecture me, then by all means, you may do your worst at your earliest convenience.”
“Oliver,” Elizabeth hissed.
He slid his glance sideways, face warming at her rare use of his given name. He wanted to hear it again. “I beg your pardon.”
A frown line formed on Elizabeth’s brow. “Nothing.”
When Oliver glanced back across the table, Blythe’s lips had pressed together in a tight line. Blythe might not like it, but he wouldn’t be taken to task over the dinner table. She said nothing, so Oliver returned his attention to the meal and stayed silent until the end.
Elizabeth stood as the other women rose; her hand brushed his coat sleeve lightly. “You hurt Lady Venables’s feelings,” she said softly, blue eyes flickering to his face, disappointment clear in her gaze. “Apologize to her.”
He remained on his feet until the ladies had swept out in a rustle of silk and animated chatter and then sank into his chair again. Yet he couldn’t work out what he should apologize for. They had disturbed him. He would have happily remained apart in the library but he’d been given no choice. And now he had to remain here for at least another half hour, drinking and discussing the estate yet again.
Leopold handed around glasses of port. “I am always amazed that someone with your intelligence, Oliver, could irritate almost every person they meet.”
Tobias grinned. “Imagine the damage he will do on the continent.”
“Please, I’m trying not to picture that.” Leopold sat forward. “Are you sure you must go? We’ve only just got you back.”
A brief rush of heat swept his skin again. Devil take it! Perhaps he was not yet fully recovered from his ordeal. A light sweat broke out over his skin, and he pushed the port away untouched. He could not risk missing his ship because he had sickened. “Are you sure you shouldn’t just come with me,” he countered as he steadied himself against the table.
“I need to stay with Edwin,” Leopold said immediately. “I would never be easy to leave him behind.”
Oliver frowned. Leopold’s strong feelings for the child baffled him. He’d only known the duke for a short time. What difference might another year or two make?
Tobias lifted his feet and set his heels to the edge of the table. “Blythe would never forgive me if I left her behind and I have no intention of exposing her to the dangers beyond England’s borders. Honestly, I’m not keen on facing them again myself. Life is much better here than away.”
When Leopold nodded his agreement, Oliver stood and stared around him, irritated beyond belief. They would never yield and he should stop expecting them to fall in with his plans. “Then I go alone and from now on you pair can keep your opinions to yourself.”
Tobias, ever the peacemaker, leapt to his feet and laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Do not be cross with us.”
Oliver shrugged off the weight of Tobias’s grasp and faced them. “I am not cross. Only disappointed. You are each determined to remain leashed to the estate and the past. I will not.”
Tobias’s smile dimmed. “Can you not wait for news of Rosemary? The advertisements have been published in the Times and she will want to see you.”
Oliver shook his head, ignoring the hurt forming in his younger brother’s eyes. “Rosemary will understand my restlessness and I am sure you can write to me of her triumphant return when I’m settled in Rome.”
Rome, with her classical ruins and spluttering volcano, was his ultimate destination. The thought of seeing both had kept him alive. They didn’t understand. Without those marvels to explore before him, he had no reason to exist.
Chapter Two
“I SWEAR THAT man is impossible!”
Beth Turner didn’t have to raise her head from her embroidery to understand exactly which gentleman Lady Venables referred to. In her experience, Oliver Randall had a profoundly unsettling effect on everyone he met and he’d been in fine form during dinner. Perhaps it was how his deep brown eyes stared through a person or how he paused so long before making any response. Beth had become accustomed to the way Oliver judiciously weighed his answers before speaking long ago. He never said what was on his mind without due consideration and inner debate. But neither the duchess nor the countess had grown used to his ways yet.
“Do not distress yourself, my lady,” Beth soothed. “At least Oliver is well enough to come down now.”
The countess continued to pace, moving behind Beth’s chair and occasionally tapping the carved wood. “Well, it is very annoying. Attending dinner and being agreeable enough to converse is hardly considered a chore in civilized circles. How does he imagine he’ll get on? Does he plan to speak to no one, or just carelessly offend them all?”
Beth pressed her lips together to cover an unwise response. What went on within the Randall family was none of her concern. She shouldn’t interfere even if she had an idea of how to head off future discord. But it would be best if they reconciled to the fact that Oliver Randall was incapable of doing exactly as he pleased and damn the consequences.
The duchess caught her sister’s hand, forcing her to cease her pacing. “Blythe, dear, do stop fretting about him.”
The calmly spoken words gave Beth hope that they would move on to another topic quickly. One more suited to her immediate needs.
The countess dropped into a chair and picked up a fan, idly waving it before her face. “Yes, well, I suppose you are correct. I shouldn’t vex myself.”
The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “What was Oliver’s disposition like before, Mrs. Turner? Did you know him well? Is he much changed by his time in Skepington?”
Pain caught Beth unaware. When she was young and unmarried, she’d thought she had known his character best of all the gentlemen she’d met. But she’d fooled herself quite thoroughly. She pulled her stitch tight before answering and smoothed out the shirt she was mending for her son. “Not well, but he is little changed from what I remember.”
Lady Venables’s fan snapped shut. “And Mrs. Randall put up with his rudeness without a word of protest?”
A smile pulled at Beth’s lips at the memory of the late Mrs. Jane Randall, furious over a birthday dinner ruined because of Oliver’s tardiness. Mrs. Randall had possessed quite the temper when pressed beyond endurance. “I don’t think that statement is entirely accurate. They did each inherit more than a passing amount of her character.”
The duchess sighed. “I do wish I could have met her. From all I hear she was an outstanding woman.”
Beth’s smiled dimmed as she returned to her needlework. “She was wonderful.”
> “Tobias says much the same,” Lady Venables murmured. “Mercy, when will you send invitations for the wedding?”
Beth’s attention was drawn to the mantel clock and she counted the minutes since their arrival. Although she strained to hear, she detected no sound of approaching servants. That could only be in her favor.
The duchess groaned. “Very soon. It all depends, of course, on securing a reliable and efficient housekeeper. I cannot invite anyone without filling the position.”
The sisters exchanged a look full of understanding and Beth dropped her gaze to her work, stomach churning into knots. If all went well, she hoped she would be the housekeeper of Romsey when the wedding date came around.
The countess stood suddenly and jerked the bell repeatedly. “Have you had any likely candidates for the position yet?”
“A few.” Her Grace let out an undignified huff and flopped back into her chair. “It seems finding just the right person on short notice was an impossible dream. Everyone we have interviewed has not suited my needs. If not for Mrs. Turner’s assistance these past weeks, I am sure the abbey would have fallen into complete disarray.”
Beth steadied her nerves. She shouldn’t be ecstatic that the tea was so late in arriving, but that did work in her favor. This lapse could only strengthen the proposition she would make to the duchess about the housekeeper’s role. The new servants were still finding their feet and required someone competent to guide them.
So far, Beth had enjoyed the challenges she’d met assisting the duchess in running the abbey. She would like to continue on a permanent basis. Beth set her needlework aside, heart beating faster. “Thank you, Your Grace. Perhaps I can offer a suggestion with regard to the vacant housekeeper position.”
The duchess met her gaze directly, appearing eager to have all her problems solved with as little disruption to her life as possible. “You have my complete attention, my dear,” she said.
“I should like to suggest myself as the new housekeeper of Romsey Abbey,” Beth said boldly, hoping she was not about to be laughed at.
The duchess’s mouth fell open. Silence held for a long, anxious moment. “Absolutely not,” she cried out eventually.
“No. Never.” Lady Venables agreed. “The situation is not so desperate as all that.”
Beth clenched her hands together. “I have been giving the matter a good deal of thought and it seems the perfect solution to all our problems. The duchess requires a competent woman to run her house and servants and I need the security of a secure position for my son. Surely you can see the sense of it. Small matters, such as delivering tea after dinner, are a regular part of your routine and there is no reason for mistakes of that kind.”
The duchess closed her eyes. “I see the sense in having a woman I trust run my house. However, if you were to assume such a position then your circumstances and status would change considerably.”
Beth frowned, confused. “You are pleased with my assistance so far, yet you do not wish me to continue?”
Lady Venables moved to sit at Beth’s side. “What my sister is trying, and failing, to delicately point out is that if you became housekeeper of Romsey you could not sit with us in the evenings.”
“Or participate in outings with Edwin,” the duchess added urgently, as if that loss was the ultimate horror. “You would have to stay behind when we go to London next season and could not enjoy the company of the guests invited for the wedding.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but you forget that I have not lived in luxury my whole life. In fact, living here is as idle as I have ever been. It is true that the few outings with the young duke have been enjoyable treats. My son, George, has also relished the additional comforts afforded living here, particularly the library. But I’m sure you can understand my anxiety that my arrangement with Lady Venables is coming to an end.” Beth smiled a little sadly. “I don’t imagine Lady Venables will need my company once she becomes Mrs. Tobias Randall and moves to Harrowdale.”
The one thing Beth wanted in particular was to be settled with the security of a stable position and roof over her son’s head. She most certainly didn’t want to be a burden or in the way of a pair of ardent newlyweds.
Her employer had the grace to appear a little guilty. “Mercy and I have been discussing what’s best to do for you, too.”
Panic threatened. Had they decided she was no longer needed already? Beth pressed her knees together and folded George’s shirt over them, desperately trying to control her fear. Securing another position, particularly during the winter months, would be difficult in the extreme. She had not saved nearly enough funds to stand on her own two feet again and there was George to consider, too. She needed the housekeeper position to support her small family.
“If you feel the position is beyond my abilities, I assure you I would seek Mrs. Finch’s advice when needed,” she added quickly. Lady Venables housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, had been managing both Romsey Abbey and the smaller estate of Harrowdale without complaint since the previous housekeeper had fled into the night along with half the indoor staff last month.
But of late, Mrs. Finch had mentioned a growing tiredness and pain in her knees. She shouldn’t be asked to continue for much longer at Romsey with its many stairs. The smaller house at Harrowdale suited her age and stamina far better. Beth was still young and the stairs didn’t bother her. She would work hard to become worthy of the position, but she had to convince the duchess to let her try, first.
“I’ll need to think about it,” Her Grace murmured, “and discuss the matter with Leopold at length.”
Beth gripped the shirt. “Of course.”
The clock chimed the hour and Beth risked a quick glance at it again. It really was getting late for the tea to arrive. George would be already tucked up in bed, waiting for her to say goodnight, if he hadn’t fallen asleep already. “If I may suggest, I should like to pay a visit to the kitchens to determine what the delay may be.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Turner,” Lady Venables agreed with a warmer smile. “That would be much appreciated. I cannot imagine what could be keeping them.”
Beth stood on shaky legs and quickly dipped a curtsy. “I will be back in a moment.”
The duchess held up her hand. “After you have sorted out the kitchen and staff, we will completely understand if you would prefer to retire so you may say goodnight to your son. Do not feel compelled to return if you would rather stay with him.”
Beth glanced between the two ladies but could not determine if she was being shown a kindness or being sent away so they could talk about her when she was gone. In the end, she chose to believe it was from kindness. “If you no longer need me, I should like that very much.”
Lady Venables waved her toward the door. “How many times must I mention that your duties were not so rigid that you could not slip upstairs without waiting for permission? Go and tuck George into bed. We’ll see you at breakfast as usual, but remember tomorrow is your morning off.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Beth curtsied again. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
Lady Venables smiled fondly. “Goodnight, Mrs. Turner.”
“Sleep well,” Her Grace added.
Beth scurried for the doors and pulled them closed behind her. As they clicked shut, she clearly heard the duchess exclaim. “Well, how was I supposed to answer her? The discussion was completely intolerable.”
Beth’s heart sank. She’d overstepped with her offer but it was done now. If the duchess refused, she didn’t know what the future would hold. She hurried for the kitchens, chastised a maid who had delayed the footman with her flirtations, and saw that the tea tray was properly prepared and sent up. Then, with no other demands on her time save her worries, she trudged up the long flights of stairs, through deserted corridors, and stepped into the pair of rooms she shared with her son.
The pretty bedchamber did nothing to ease her nerves. She’d known from the start that she was being granted a boon larger than she deserved when
Lady Venables had employed her as a companion. Her duties to the countess had been hardly taxing on her abilities and she’d thought herself better suited to the housekeeper role. Clearly the duchess hadn’t agreed with her assessment.
She slipped into the smaller adjoining chamber and leaned against the doorframe to observe her son. His dark head was bowed over yet another book from the Romsey library and he didn’t notice her at first. A wave of sadness flooded her. Being in service of any kind at Romsey Abbey had proved a very good circumstance for him. The duchess and Leopold Randall treated him very kindly and encouraged him to borrow whatever books they agreed were appropriate reading material for his age. The promised tutor had not been found as yet, but Beth had never pinned her hopes on that extravagance. “Is it not too late to be reading, George?”
His head rose quickly, an expression of guilt crossing his face. “Is it bedtime already?”
Beth walked forward and tousled his hair. “It’s one quarter after ten o’clock. You should have been asleep long ago.”
He grinned. “The story was too exciting to stop.”
“That is what you always say.”
He marked his place with a scrap of parchment and closed the book. “What shall we do tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure.” She picked up her son’s hand and squeezed. “I had the opportunity to speak to the duchess about the position of housekeeper tonight.”
George came up on his knees, his face keen with anticipation. “What did she say?”
“She said she’d think about it.”
George nodded slowly. “She will choose you. I’m sure of it.”
“Thank you, George. Let’s hope you’re right.”
George fell back against the mattress. “She has to choose you. I never want to leave Romsey.”
Beth laughed. “You only say that because you are young and easily impressed. When you’re older, you’ll want to have an adventure or two to brag about.”
A frown clouded his features. “Do you think my Uncle Henry is happy on his adventure in America?”
Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) Page 2