Elizabeth’s soft chuckle filled the room and Oliver’s cheeks heated again. Perhaps he should retire before he sickened. He pressed his fingers to his wrist and counted the pulses until he was certain no significant change had overcome him.
“They have all been most kind,” Elizabeth murmured to Colby. “This would be my second tea tray this afternoon.”
China rattled. “Well, perhaps I can help you in other ways.”
Hearing Colby’s response, silky smooth with tones of imminent seduction, caused the hair at the back of his neck to rise. Colby was a single man and Elizabeth a widow. If she planned to take on the duties of Romsey’s housekeeper, an idea he deemed foolish, she must ignore flirtations from the male members of staff. An alliance of a romantic nature between a valet and housekeeper was out of the question. The other servants would not appreciate any appearance of favoritism.
Oliver stood and faced Colby. “You may set the tea tray down and return to your usual duties.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks had pinked slightly. Was she flattered by Colby’s rather obvious attempts to ingratiate himself into her company?
Colby smiled smoothly, and stepped into the room. “Excuse me, sir. I did not see you sitting there.” He slid the tray onto the table, a sly smile twisting his lips. He wiped it away as he faced Elizabeth. “Will there be anything else, Mrs. Turner?”
“Not for now, Mr. Colby.” She smiled, eyelashes fluttering a little. “Thank you for delivering the tea tray.”
“My pleasure.”
When Colby had gone, her smile dropped away. “I see you’re still as rude as ever.”
Oliver shrugged. “People do not change.”
She sighed. “Yes, I’ve heard you claim that before and in your case, I am sure you are correct. Did you apologize to Lady Venables for being so short with her at dinner last night?”
“No.”
Her lips pursed as she poured a cup of tea, added milk, and handed it to him. “Can I offer you a biscuit, sir?”
Oliver declined and tipped his head toward the partially closed door. “The boy might like one, however.”
Her head whipped around to the slowly opening door. “George?”
The boy timidly stepped up to the table, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Elizabeth fussed over him, straightening his hair and coat. “Don’t worry about it now. Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
The boy kept sneaking peeks at him from behind his over-long hair while he ate and answered Elizabeth’s quiet questions. The more Oliver observed, the more certain he became that her child had untapped potential. There was a watchful intelligence gleaming from those pale blue eyes as he gobbled his biscuit, something that had been completely lacking in the boy’s father at that age.
Intrigued by the surety he was being studied in return, Oliver shifted his attention to Elizabeth. “Will you introduce us?”
Her lips pursed but in the end she complied.
George appeared unmoved by his presence. “How do you do, sir?”
Oliver nodded. “Very well.”
The boy lapsed into silence, but his scrutiny did not cease. His gaze raked him from head to toe. George had little of his father in him by way of appearance. Oliver had no sense the boy would erupt into energetic ramblings at any second. In fact, he appeared of a serious nature. Quite a rarity in Turner offspring.
Oliver was rather puzzled by the child. “How are you enjoying Romsey?”
“Very well, sir. There’s always something to see and do here.” His reply, voiced clearly and calmly, added to Oliver’s opinion that George Turner possessed a balanced temperament.
Oliver took a sip from his cup of tea, noted it was made with the perfect ratio of milk, and then nodded. “The abbey is steeped in history and intriguing artifacts.”
The boy bit his lip. He glanced at his mother swiftly and then back to Oliver. “Do you know if there is a book written about the abbey’s history? I should like to read it if one exists.”
Another biscuit disappeared from the plate as Oliver weighed the value of his answer with the boy’s likely disappointment. However, disappointing the boy couldn’t be helped. “There isn’t one, to my knowledge. If there was, it is likely the former dukes destroyed it. They were intensely interested in preserving their privacy. Many things have been forgotten or hidden away.”
George’s face fell and Oliver was pleased to see he did not pout. He did lean against his mother’s side and took comfort from her embrace. “Guess I’ll never know who’s in the painting or where it was painted now,” he said to his mother.
Oliver frowned. “Is there one in particular that interests you?”
“The one in the other room.”
Oliver stood and returned to the other chamber, George scrambling to follow. When he’d been here before, his attention had been focused on the sleeping boy rather than the contents. There was only one painting, hanging opposite the mantel, so he didn’t have to ask for clarification. It was painted in the fashion of years gone by, a stable, lone horse, and a comely maid hugging a pail to her chest. Some might call it merely pretty. However, thanks to his unending memory, he knew the scene depicted a piece of Romsey history. “The stables of Romsey, as they were before the fourth duchess’s expansion changed them.”
George came to his side, staring up at the painting. “How can you tell?”
“There is a similar painting in the east wing. The rooms once belonged to my grandmother. Clearly she preferred the stables as they once were, too.” He leaned closer to the boy. “Given the maid’s appearance, I believe that could in fact be Her Grace dressed in disguise for the effect.”
“Gawd, you’ve a good eye for detail.”
Oliver smiled tightly. “I remember everything.”
His gaze moved to Elizabeth where she stood at the doorway, hands clenched at her waist as if she were uneasy. Her hands stretched toward her son. “George, that’s enough now. Don’t pester Mr. Randall with your chatter.”
George tugged on his sleeve and Oliver glanced down again. “Will you tell me more about the abbey another day? It must be exciting to know everything.”
Oliver considered the request. He did know quite a bit more about the abbey than most and he was happy to share his knowledge of some of the abbey’s history. However, he should tell a member of the Randall family first rather than an unrelated boy. Yet curiosity burned in the boy’s pale eyes and Oliver sympathized with George’s thirst for knowledge. Without sufficient encouragement, he could soon lose all interest and become disillusioned with study. The idea of a fine mind going to waste disagreed with him.
“Perhaps I misspoke. I don’t know everything,” he corrected. “I simply remember well what I’ve seen with my own eyes and I shall be happy to answer your questions where I can. Shall we meet tomorrow at ten?”
George almost danced on the spot. “Yes, sir.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose, highlighting that his agreement had surprised her. “Thank Mr. Randall, George, and then would you mind fetching my shawl from my bedchamber? I am feeling a little chilled this afternoon.”
“Yes, Mama.” George nodded to Oliver. “Thank you, sir. Excuse me.”
He skipped out, leaving them alone again.
Elizabeth closed the door, hands resting on the wood as if it held her up. “What game are you playing?”
He frowned. “I play no game.”
Her hands curled into fists as she faced him. “I will speak plainly since I know you incapable of understanding subtlety. George is easily impressed and a man of your substantial intelligence, willing to converse with him about inconsequential matters, will go straight to his head. I will not have his affections toyed with by you, of all men. You don’t even like people, so why pretend otherwise with my son.”
Oliver moved until they stood inches apart. Elizabeth’s display of temper did not concern him. In fact, he found her protectiveness of the b
oy quite reminiscent of his own mother’s odd behavior. Both had fussed when there was no need for concern. He carefully placed his hand against Elizabeth’s upper arm and gave her a pat that he hoped would prevent any unnecessary theatrics. “The boy has a curious mind and I have the time to answer his questions. What harm is there in that?”
Elizabeth jerked away. “Because you have made it plain that you are leaving, despite the urgings of your brothers to remain. I will not have him caught under your spell and then be discarded without a backward glance as you do with everything and everyone.”
Oliver shook his head. “Boys are resilient and not so easily guided by their emotions that they see deeper relationships where none exist. He will understand and survive my leaving without any burden on his emotions. George has asked a question I can answer and I will continue to do so until my ship sails. Why do you deny him the opportunity to enrich his mind when the opportunity costs you nothing?”
“Only you cannot see the cost is far too high.” She glared daggers at him.
The conversation and Elizabeth’s ungrounded fears were quite absurd. The boy would view him as a tutor at the most with no harm coming to him at the end of their time together. Oliver had had many tutors, each one discarded without a backward glance when it became clear he’d exceeded their abilities. Eventually he’d pursued his own education without assistance. Those previous tutors were admired for their patience and willingness to guide him, but he’d cared little for them beyond that. However, convincing Elizabeth that George would be similarly unaffected would be impossible in her current agitated state. She was a creature ruled by her heart rather than her head.
He bowed to her, fully prepared to end the discussion. “I will see George in the library each day at ten o’clock.”
Elizabeth shook her head stubbornly. “Do not expect him.”
Oliver loomed over Elizabeth. She was being foolish in the extreme. Time would prove him correct, he was sure of that. He clasped her upper arms. Her scent and warm softness drew him closer. He breathed deep, holding her gaze steadily. The dark of her eyes widened; her hands touched his chest to hold him back.
“Since you understand my preference for honesty, I shall tell you straight that you are a fool to think your temperament suits the position of housekeeper,” he informed her. “Why did you not stay as you were?”
“The reasons for my decisions could not remotely be of interest to you,” she shot back instantly, scowling. She glanced toward the doorway. “Shouldn’t you return to your plans to travel?”
He frowned. Elizabeth was trying her hardest to send him away, but he wasn’t inclined to go. Not when he was enjoying their conversation so much. An odd yearning rose within him but he fought it back into the quiet, lonely corner of his mind and dropped his hands. “If George is not in the library by a quarter past the hour, then I shall come looking for him to ensure I keep my end of the bargain.”
Chapter Six
A week later…
“MAMA,” GEORGE GROANED. “I’ll be late again.”
Beth set the heaped tray of silver on the table in the sitting room and handed over a cloth, ignoring her son’s protests. “There, this is the last. Just polish those and then we can have luncheon together. Won’t that be nice?”
George jumped up from his chair. “But what about Mr. Randall? He’s been waiting for an hour already. We were going to explore the abbey today.”
Regardless of George’s protests, Beth could care less if Oliver Randall was kept waiting. As she had predicted, George had lapped up the man’s attentions, stealing away to the library whenever her back was turned so that he might not miss a moment. He couldn’t seem to understand that there was a line they could not cross. Beth was a servant now and by extension so was George. He should not be wandering so freely about the abbey, even when encouraged to do so at every turn. “The duchess’s wedding will require much preparation and I have need of you,” she insisted. “We can explore the abbey together after you’ve completed the chores I’ve already set you.”
If Beth was lucky, that would be another hour yet and he might forget all about Oliver Randall and his never-ending stream of confidences and shared secrets.
“But I want to see it with Mr. Randall. He knows all about the abbey. Maybe you could come with us and he could help you learn the history too.”
“You will do as you’re told,” she snapped, furious at yet another mention of Oliver Randall and how she should accompany him. Beth turned back to her office but then jumped. The Duchess of Romsey was sitting before her desk, her nose close to the open top of a canister. She appeared to be inhaling deeply. Her head lifted and she smiled a little sheepishly at Beth as she handed the canister over. “A gift to sweeten your day. They smell divine.”
“Thank you.” Beth pried the lid off and glanced at the contents. Caramels, straight from the new cook’s talented hands. “You’re very generous, but I fear these won’t last long.”
“Treats are for eating, especially by hungry boys.” The duchess glanced into the adjoining chamber. Her smile slipped as she observed George furiously polishing a silver serving spoon. “I would have been here earlier, but Edwin wanted to play a bit longer today and Leopold was elsewhere. I had a hard time getting away.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Beth cleared a space on her desk and drew a scrap of paper from the drawer in case notes were needed. “I quite understand.”
Her Grace’s frown deepened. “We must discuss the arrangements necessary for housing the wedding guests.”
“Certainly.” Beth dipped her quill in the inkpot and prepared to write.
“We will need the rooms prepared.”
Beth made a note: Bedchambers. “How many?”
“I should think all of them. I must show my Leopold off properly and ensure any gossip is of the favorable variety. I’ll provide you with a guest list shortly so we can decide who to put where, but there should be sufficient chambers. They’ll just need a bit of cleaning.”
Beth held in a groan at the work ahead and nodded. It was the duchess’s prerogative to invite as many guests as she deemed suitable for her wedding. However, a great number of bedchambers within the abbey had fallen into disuse long ago. There would be much work to do to make them acceptable for guests.
“The public rooms will need to be reorganized to ensure appropriate seating arrangements are available. The pianoforte hasn’t been used in some time and I’m uncertain if it still plays in tune.” The duchess sat forward. “It is important that the wedding week goes off without a hitch. We will need to hire more staff, but we can of course count on those that come with their masters. My sister has some thoughts on the subject. She’ll share them with you later.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Beth made a note to discover who could attend to the pianoforte properly and looked up. “Is there anything else?”
The duchess’s expression grew serious. “I don’t wish to interfere with the way you raise your son, Mrs. Turner, but George isn’t required to do the work of servants. He’s just a boy.”
Beth put aside the quill carefully. “He must do something with his days.”
The duchess leaned back in her chair and studied her. “It was my understanding that Oliver has offered to tutor the boy until he leaves Romsey.”
“Mr. Randall has been far too generous with his time as it is,” Beth said quickly.
“I was speaking to Leopold just last night about Oliver and from what I understand, he has never exhibited such a generous nature before. We believe tutoring George is good for him and the improvement of his social skills is promising.”
Beth frowned. “Oh, how so?”
“For whatever reason, George’s presence has had a positive impact. Oliver, as I’m sure you’re aware, prefers his books to people. However, the last few days he’s changed. I saw him smile yesterday for no reason at all.”
Beth focused on a spot beyond the duchess’s left ear. She’d known
Oliver would cause her trouble, but encouragement from the duchess was not what she’d thought to hear. “Oliver rarely shows his emotions.”
“Did his mother tell you that?”
“In a way.” Beth forced a smile to hide the lie. “She was always concerned he would offend those he met. The man is incapable of pretending to feel one thing when he feels another. He would make a terrible diplomat.”
“I knew you knew his temper better than you let on.” The duchess crowed. “I agree. He’s too honest by far. I do dread him meeting the wedding guests. Compared to him, some of them are quite frivolous in nature, but they do have feelings that can be crushed. I hope he will not be unreasonably cold if he does not like them.”
“If I may be frank, Your Grace. It would be best to keep them apart from each other as much as possible and hope for the best.”
The duchess tapped the arm of her chair. “That will be a difficulty as he is impossible to pry from the library. My guests, particularly the gentlemen, will congregate there.”
Getting Oliver from the library would be next to impossible. When she’d surveyed the public rooms last night before bed she had noticed the disorder Oliver had begun in one corner of the library was spreading. In his search for information, he was casting the whole room into extreme disarray. Someone would have to clean up after him.
By rights, she should instruct the maids to do it. However, Annie was noticeably uncomfortable around Oliver and he would likely dismiss her before she could start. Only the strongest of temperaments succeeded in withstanding his arguments. The abbey couldn’t afford to lose any servants this close to the wedding if he barked for them to get out. “Let me think on it a moment.”
She cast her mind back to the time before her wedding when she’d been on intimate terms with those living at Harrowdale. The only way the late Mrs. Randall had contained Oliver was to restrict him to one particular room in the house. The book room at Harrowdale had been for his exclusive use, even casting the senior Mr. Randall’s possessions to another lesser chamber.
Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) Page 5