Blythe’s smile returned. “That and the fact that he may be too young to understand what has upset her.”
Oliver nodded. Elizabeth’s reluctance to explain made better sense now. “He will have to wait until he is older to become her confidant. I will remember that for future reference.”
“What you should also remember is that Mrs. Turner is a proud woman and would only confide in someone she trusts completely. I’ve yet to meet that person and I hope one day to earn that right. I suggest you do the same.” She sighed. “Until then, take care of her reputation. She has enough on her plate as it is with her brother-in-law visiting.”
Elizabeth didn’t trust him? The idea that she didn’t have faith in him set his teeth on edge. “Why?”
“Because Henry Turner has the look of a man prepared to do battle and take what he wants without thought to the consequences. I don’t know him but I’ve seen a man wear that same determined expression before. Your younger brother wore that expression on the day we met. He frightened me half to death.”
That wasn’t the answer he was looking for but Blythe’s answer was intriguing on its own. “Why would you marry a man who frightens you?”
“Because in the end he proved himself to be different from that terrifying first glance. He’s not afraid to show kindness and was willing to sacrifice his needs, even his very life, for the sake of another’s happiness.”
Tobias had almost died saving Oliver from the blaze at Skepington Hall. No matter how much his younger brother tried to make light of his rescue, his selfless bravery had made him so proud. Despite the years apart, he had not changed. “Tobias always did try to make everyone happy when he was young.”
A dreamy smile passed over Blythe’s face before she recovered and remembered their topic of conversation. “I may prove to be wrong in the end but in the short time I was with Henry Turner I’m convinced he possesses not one shred of human kindness.”
“That may be true.” Oliver shrugged. “However, Leopold will know how to deal with Turner.”
“Deal with him?” Blythe shook her head. “There is nothing to be done when George is Henry Turner’s heir. Without a husband to lend his support and protection, I’m sure Henry Turner will pressure her to take him to that dreadful place.” When he frowned, she added, “To America.”
“Ah.” Oliver considered the likelihood. She could be correct about Turner’s immediate plans, but he didn’t believe Elizabeth would enjoy relocating. She had friends here that she liked to call upon. He could not imagine her living happily anywhere else. No, she and the boy belonged here. Turner would see that eventually.
Blythe stood. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must find George and return below to offer my support. I’m sure Beth will want George presented to his uncle shortly and in his best clothes, too.”
Oliver stood. “I’ll fetch him and bring him here to await the summons.”
Blythe’s expression grew puzzled. “That is unexpectedly kind of you.”
He nodded and, although puzzled by her comment, he hurried back to the east wing. The fewer people visiting his new apartment until he had fully moved in, the better.
The boy was exactly where Oliver had left him and very dusty. “Mr. Randall, come see this.”
“No time for that now.”
“But wait, I have to show you before I forget.”
When Oliver crouched low beside the boy and looked at the model, his blood ran cold. “Interesting,” he managed to choke out.
“I was poking the study furniture with my finger and a section of the wall swung open. There are stairs going down from the study. Of course, it’s only a model and stairs are painted in, but how clever it is. I wonder if the stairs are really there.”
Oliver closed his eyes. George had found the location of another hidden passageway in the abbey. This could be a problem. He had done his best to assure the abbey’s inhabitants that the Duke’s Sanctuary was lost so they might be safe from further villainy. However, he had not known the existence of this model or that it was so accurate. There were three secret passageways built into the design of Romsey, which he’d discovered in his youth. One was blocked. This one led nowhere. A trap for the unwary. The last led to the Duke’s Sanctuary, and if George continued to poke and pry, he might very well stumble onto its location, too.
He grabbed George’s arm and lifted him to his feet.
“Ouch,” George complained as he was released.
“Your mother needs you.”
“I cannot wait to tell her about what I found in the model.”
Oliver rubbed dust from the boy’s shoulders and chest. “You must wait.”
“But why? She’ll be curious too and she is the housekeeper of Romsey.”
If he said no, would George listen or grow stubborn and tell her anyway? Would he run off alone to explore the abbey and draw attention to what he found? Oliver had to take a chance that the boy possessed sense. In this, George must learn to hide the truth from everyone, especially his mother. He leaned down to the boy’s level. “The abbey holds many secrets. Some of them are quite dangerous and it’s best that no one learns all the secrets of Romsey. You must promise me you will mind what I say on this.”
“I already told Mama about the model.” His eyes widened. “Should I not have?”
Oliver winced. “I mentioned it too. Perhaps she will forget in time. It is in her best interest that she does so.”
George’s expression grew thoughtful. “Will you show me someday?”
Against his better judgment, Oliver nodded. “When your uncle has gone we will explore the abbey together, but you must not make the attempt on your own. Promise me.”
George’s eyes widened. “Uncle Henry has come?”
Oliver nodded again, disturbed by the happy light in the boy’s eyes. “You’re to change and wait with me until summoned.”
George grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of the doorway, practically running. “Mama said Uncle Henry went to America to make his fortune. Is he very grand, do you think?”
“I have not seen him to be able to say.”
“Papa spoke very highly of my uncle, too. He said America was filled with wonders. Do you think they have many grand buildings there that could be studied the way you like to do?”
The boy prattled on without pause until they reached his bedchamber. Oliver breathed Elizabeth’s scent as soon as he stepped through the doorway and that odd sensation that had possessed him when Elizabeth had been in his arms returned. It was a pleasant sensation.
The boy rushed to the cupboard and Oliver followed. He’d never assisted a child in dressing and wondered what exactly was required. In the end, he need not have fretted. George selected suitable clothes, changed himself into them, and when he was done the only thing required was for Oliver to suggest George run a comb through his hair. They strolled back to his new chamber and sat down.
As they waited, Oliver recalled their previous conversation had not been completed to his satisfaction. “You didn’t promise,” he said quietly.
“Oh, I promise, sir.” George nodded emphatically. “I won’t poke or pry or say a word without your permission.”
George fidgeted then and poked into the corners of the room while Oliver strove to describe what he was feeling. There was little in his life to compare with the emotions the boy stirred in him, but he thought he might be proud of George Turner. That thought made no sense at all. He’d had nothing to do with the boy’s life or in forming his character except for these short weeks. Yet he could not wait to see what the boy would do or say next.
Footsteps approached and he stood expectantly. Elizabeth came to a stop just outside the doorway. She’d changed from her drab housekeeper’s gown and looked so lovely that he took a pace toward her before he considered her likely reaction. She scowled and then held out her hands to George. The boy hurried to her side and she hugged him tightly. “Your uncle is here and wants to see you.”
“Is he rich?”
Elizabeth smoothed her son’s hair and the gesture reminded Oliver of her hands threading through his own locks while they kissed. He’d liked the sensation very much. He moved to the doorway to hear her answer.
“He says he is.”
The touch of doubt in her voice propelled him out the door and into the hall.
Elizabeth glanced at him. “Excuse us.”
She caught George’s hand and towed him toward the main staircase. Just before they reached the top of the stairs the boy dug his heels in and faced Oliver again. “Are you not coming to meet my uncle?”
Oliver considered and, seeing the expectation in the boy’s eyes, he closed the door to his new chamber and moved to join them. “It’s been many years, but I would be happy to.”
Beth appeared dubious of his company, but she was silent as they descended. She allowed him to open the door for them and he followed. The next instant, George stepped back onto his right foot. He winced and caught the boy by the shoulder. “Steady there,” he warned.
“My word, he’s grown,” a deep voice rasped. “I hardly recognize him.”
Oliver faced the sound and determined Henry Turner’s pockmarked face as the cause of his bruised toes. He forgave the boy immediately, squeezed his shoulder, and then stepped around him to thrust out his hand in greeting to the newcomer. “Turner.”
Henry Turner squinted at him and then began to chuckle. “Good Lord, Oliver Randall, as I live and breathe. Now, I would never have recognized you if we were not standing here inside Romsey Abbey itself. By the devil, you look positively decrepit.”
In Oliver’s opinion, Henry Turner lacked the intelligence to imagine very much of anything. He studied him as he would an unstable element. The meaty paw pumping his hand lacked any kindness, the eyes darting about the room only to return to stare at George set his teeth on edge. Oliver increased his grip, only satisfied when the man’s smile disappeared. “Some things change and some do not,” he murmured as he studied Turner. He let the man’s hand go and returned to his position behind George.
Beth nudged her son forward. “Are you not going to greet your uncle?”
“Of course. Sorry, sir. How do you do?”
When George stuck out his hand as Oliver had, Turner looked at it and then pulled the boy into a rough embrace. Elizabeth’s breath hitched and Oliver could see the boy struggling to get away from the man holding him. After a moment, George was released and Turner made a show of wiping at his eyes. “My own flesh and blood. I never thought it would take so long to see you again. You were just a wee babe when I left. I suspect you don’t remember me.”
Beth slid her hands over George’s shoulders and pulled him closer to her. The boy appeared to prefer it. “His father spoke of you often and George asked after you just the other day.”
Henry Turner beamed and there was suddenly no trace of tears in his eyes. Intrigued, Oliver moved away to stand at the sidelines to better view proceedings. His brother’s face was set in grim lines as he conversed with Turner. In the past, Leopold and Turner had been close acquaintances, but Oliver had a feeling that something bothered his brother about this visit.
Turner spoke of a grand house and the even grander society he moved in. Henry Turner professed himself a pillar of the community and that made Oliver doubt his stories. People did not change, no matter how fine the suit they wore. Turner had been a bully as a boy and he doubted he was any different now. His face and rough, scarred hands gave away his lifestyle.
When Turner took his leave with a promise to return tomorrow, Oliver followed him to the door, ensuring he heard every single word he spoke. George trailed after, his face eager for stories of how wonderful his uncle’s life was, and Turner was happy to embellish quite liberally.
When Henry Turner’s horse disappeared from view, George tugged his sleeve. “May I return upstairs again?”
Oliver took a moment to consider where the boy should be. If he knew anything about Elizabeth and her moods, she was upset again. If George was here she might not speak her mind. Perhaps the boy did not need to be present. “Off you go.”
George sprinted up the main staircase as if the devil chased him.
“He looks to you for advice,” Eamon murmured at his side.
Oliver shrugged. “Take the afternoon off, Eamon. I’m sure you deserve a pint or two at the tavern.”
His friend hesitated. “Won’t I be needed here?”
“No, Eamon,” Oliver said as he cast one final glance outside before the door closed. “Your gift for ferreting out the heart of important gossip will serve us better. Find out everything you can about Turner and particularly his business interests in America.”
“Do you believe he’s lying?”
Oliver shook his head as Elizabeth was led to a chair and comforted by Blythe and the duchess. His disquiet grew. “I cannot determine that until I have more than just his word. I need facts and you’re the man to furnish them.”
Chapter Ten
BETH STARED INTO the flames as panic clawed her throat. She’d done her best to hide her emotions while her brother-in-law had been present, but she had no desire to comply with his wishes and travel to America. How could she take her son away from everything he’d known?
A soft, comforting arm curled around her shoulders and drew her back to the chairs. She was pushed into a well-padded seat, fussed over, and then a teacup appeared before her. The tea was black, the way she liked it. “Drink this. I’m sure you’ll feel better soon,” the duchess murmured.
She lifted her arm to take it and when she did, the cup rattled on the saucer. The duchess swiftly took it back and drew her into her arms. “Shh, my dear. We’ll muddle through this.”
Her embrace was firm and comforting and for a moment Beth needed that. “I do not see how. He threatened to take George whether I like it or not. I did not imagine that, did I?”
She dropped her face to her hands to hide her distress, but Lady Venables settled on her other side and rubbed her back. “I’m sure it will not come to that,” the lady murmured soothingly.
“It may,” Oliver interjected abruptly.
Beth jumped. She thought he’d returned to his studies, but she could see his boots at the edge of her vision. She wished he would go away. He was not one to hold back an opinion to spare her feelings. When she lifted her head to look at him, he’d taken a chair opposite. His expression was full of speculation, but he kept any further thoughts to himself.
She sat up straight again, determined not to appear weak and emotional. “Thank you for your assistance in this, Your Grace, but I should return below.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ve too much on your mind now to bother with your duties. Why don’t you spend what is left of the day with George? I’m sure he’d enjoy that very much.”
“I’d much rather be gainfully employed, given the circumstances. I don’t want to leave you in the lurch with the wedding so close at hand. I’d like to do what I can before I leave.”
“Leave?” several voices said at once, Oliver’s the loudest.
Beth nodded but wondered why he cared enough to comment. It wasn’t as if he would be here to miss her or George. It wasn’t as if he missed anyone. She wiped away the tears pooling in her eyes. “I’ll not let Henry take George away without a fight, and if he will not relent then I will accompany my son. I haven’t any choice.”
Oliver stood abruptly. He took a pace away and then turned back. “Excuse me.” His footsteps were loud and hurried as he departed.
“Now he remembers his manners. Usually he just leaves the room without a word,” the duchess grumbled under her breath. “The wedding preparations can be managed by others. In light of your decision, I’m afraid I must insist that you give up the position now. I was never easy about you taking on so much.”
Beth gulped and clenched her hands together to still the tremble. If she did not have the position at Romsey then she did not have a r
eason to remain and couldn’t claim to even have a roof over their heads. She’d have no choice but to comply with Henry’s demands and leave England. “As you wish. I’ll leave immediately.”
The duchess patted her hand. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m not letting you or George out of our sight for another moment.”
She stared at the duchess, puzzled by her remark. “What? Why?”
She squeezed Beth’s hand again. “Did you really believe I would give in to such a bully? I consider you a friend and you have far better bargaining power as a guest in my home than as a mere servant in my employ. You were far too good for that position anyway. Desperation is my only excuse for allowing it.”
Beth held her hands to her face. “Are you still not in such dire straits, Your Grace?”
“My name is Mercy and I will not answer to anything else from you from this moment forward.”
Beth swallowed the lump in her throat and tears sprang to her eyes at the kindness she was being offered. It might not be for long, but she would take any help she could get in this matter and later revert to formality. The duchess nudged her. “Go and see George. Spend the day with him and do not think about your brother-in-law again. Despicable suggestion. I’m certain there is a way around the problem and we will find it together.”
“Thank you,” Beth said and then remembered, “Mercy.”
The duchess released her with a delighted smile and Beth tottered from the room on unsteady feet. The move to Romsey and giving up her independence had been a painful choice. Leaving her home, a failure in her mind. Although life had not always been easy she had never considered striking out to find a better situation. That she could one day be on first-name terms with the Duchess of Romsey had never occurred to her.
At the first landing on the staircase, she passed Oliver. She did not meet his gaze and he offered no greeting. But he fell in step beside her as she continued upstairs. When she turned in the direction of her bedchamber, where she hoped to find George, he called her back. “George is this way.”
Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) Page 8