With one last hug, Mercy hurried out the door, a sniff and a sob drifting to Beth’s ears just before the door closed.
Lady Venables shook her head. “You’ll have to forgive her tears. Mercy never likes to part from friends and in her condition she’s less likely to refrain from saying what’s on her mind.”
Beth frowned. “Her condition?”
A sly smile twisted the countess’s lips. “I believe she may be with child, though she’s not said a word. However, her emotions are running high right now because of you and Oliver leaving, so allowances for her theatrics must be made. For myself, I never noticed my emotions changing one way or another during my confinement.”
Beth thought back over her pregnancies, wondering if she could remember how it felt to have a life growing inside her. The memory was vague, but she thought she’d never been happier. “Now I feel worse for leaving at such a time, my lady.”
“Blythe,” Lady Venables corrected. “There is no point in adhering to the formalities now.”
More tears raced down Beth’s cheeks and she quickly dabbed them away.
“Mercy is more worried about your happiness, and I must say I agree with her,” Blythe said as she picked up a wrapped parcel and began to uncover it. “With some difficulty, I have pried information from Tobias about life both at sea and in America and he has some suggestions for you. The first, keep my sister’s letter on your person at all times, including any money you have. It is far too easy to become separated from your baggage and the docks are rife with pickpockets.”
Beth glanced at her gown. If her pockets were not safe from thieves, where else could she hide her few valuables?
Seeming to read Beth’s mind, Blythe picked up the muff and gloves and set them aside. “Not inside something so easily discarded or lost as these.” When Blythe picked up her warmest pelisse and studied the garment, Beth drew closer. “This could be the perfect hiding place. However, you would always need to wear it during your travels.”
Fear of pickpockets and thieves filled her mind. Beth agreed quickly. “I can do that.”
Blythe examined the stitching. “If we unstitch the hem here in the front, we’ll be able to make concealed pockets for some of your valuables. Also here at the sleeve cuff. Show me what you will take with you.”
Beth scrambled for her meager collection of coins and her wedding ring. She laid them out on the bed, set Mercy’s letter of introduction beside them, and stood back. There really was little value in her possessions. Most items she had were sentimental rather than financially valuable. The lack caused a blush to climb her cheeks.
Blythe removed a narrow length of blue silk from her pocket and unwound it slowly. When she was done, two thin ties could be seen and it issued an odd crinkling sound. “Another of Tobias’s suggestions. Wear this belt tied about your waist snugly, beneath your gown, and don’t let anyone know of it.”
She held out the strip and Beth took it, examining the belt’s construction. Two long ties, a thicker section in the middle, and long enough to tie about her waist and wear in reasonable comfort. She saw an opening and peered inside a cleverly designed pocket. The edges of paper notes could be seen. Her heart raced as she checked each pocket in turn. The whole belt was filled with more money than she had ever had in her life. She handed it back. “I gladly accept the belt, but nothing else.”
Blythe sighed and refused to take it. “My gift to you is the means of hearing you are well. Some of it is paper to write upon. Do you honestly believe Henry Turner will allow you to correspond with a duchess for whom he barely hides his contempt? I do not. Take the money so you may at least be able to write to us to say you are well and happy. The way George reads, you may need the remainder to feed his intellectual appetite.”
Beth could see the sense in her suggestion, but yet again, she was taking charity. It had never sat well with her. Would she ever have the means to repay them? If not for George, she would refuse outright. But she did have a son to consider and he counted on her to make his world right. She curled her fingers over the belt and held it tightly. “Thank you.”
Blythe quickly embraced her and then set her hands to her hips, glance sliding to the bed. “We’ve a lot to do today.”
Beth shook her head. “There’s no need. I’ll be fine on my own, thanks to your suggestion.”
“Nonsense. I’ll not listen to Mercy’s weeping for the entire day.” Blythe laughed. “Besides, I’d enjoy spending one more day with you. George is otherwise occupied, isn’t he?”
Beth nodded slowly. “He went for a walk with the Randall men and then he’ll probably return to the library.”
“Or stay in Oliver’s company,” Blythe replied with a direct look that unnerved Beth considerably. Did she know that Beth had spent several pleasant interludes in Oliver’s arms? She must not or she wouldn’t be so friendly.
Beth hated lying or withholding the truth from people she cared for. She fingered the belt and then set it aside. She should get started on altering her pelisse. She fetched her scissors and needle and thread and then laid the garment over the bed.
Blythe said not one more word more on the subject of Oliver Randall while they worked through the morning. Luncheon was sent up to an unused room nearby and they paused to eat and talk when Tobias joined them. His mood was somewhat bitter and eventually, Blythe left them in a huff over his surliness.
Tobias stared after Blythe’s departure with glum expression. “Now she’s angry with me.”
“Hardly,” Beth murmured. “She just cannot help you convince Oliver to stay and sees no point in a conversation that goes nowhere.”
Tobias leaned back in his chair, hands sliding over his skull in a way that showed his frustration. “He’s just so damn stubborn.”
“And are not all Randalls stubborn, determined to go their own way? If I remember correctly, you never backed down from a dare.”
“No one is daring Oliver to leave Romsey.”
Beth smiled. He made his own rules and to hell with anyone else. “Oliver is different. He’s always set his own challenges.”
Tobias snorted. “He should have married you. You understand him better than anyone.”
She choked on the tea she’d just sipped and had to cough in order to breathe normally again.
Tobias’s expression grew smug at her discomfort. “Well, it’s bloody obvious there’s been a change between you. I’ve never seen him smile so much. And he has never liked children, but your child is always in his company. What else could account for such behavior?”
Beth set the cup down carefully, horror trickling through her. She did not care to have this conversation with anyone, least of all Oliver’s inquisitive younger brother. “He is merely helping George find material for study.”
Tobias sat forward, peering at her intently. “Is he Oliver’s son?”
Beth stood, shock thrumming through her. “Do not insult me.”
“That wasn’t meant as an insult. That was hope.” Tobias winced. “He’s a fine lad and doesn’t look a bit like William Turner.”
“Well, he certainly is William’s son and you should not repeat that question to me again. I thought you were my friend.”
“I am.” He grimaced and raked his fingers through his hair again. “I just hoped we might be family and you could prevent Oliver from leaving.”
Beth pressed the heel of her hand to her temple. “Oliver alone will choose his future, just as I have chosen mine and George’s. We leave for America in a few days and I’d like your promise not to mention your hopes again. It is doubtful we will ever see each other again once we go, but I should not like bad feelings between us.”
Tobias stood and took her hands in his. The scars on them reminded her that he’d lived as harsh a life as her brother-in-law. Yet Tobias had retained his good temper and kind nature. Except for his insulting suggestion that she’d cuckolded her husband or married another man after being intimate with Oliver, they’d never seriously dis
agreed. Beth would hate to part at odds with him.
“Forgive me. I spent my life hoping for miracles and when one is just out of reach, I struggle to bring it to life.” Tobias folded her in his arms and crushed her against him. “I’m sorry to have upset you. Be safe, my dear girl. Don’t forget to write us of your journeys and let us know where you are. When Rose comes home, she’ll want news of you, too.”
Beth looked up at Tobias when he released her, sympathy overriding her outrage. “I’m so sorry she’s not come. Have your brothers made any decisions on how else to locate her?”
Tobias shook his head. “Leopold will go to London in the spring and hire runners, but without leads I’m not optimistic. Maybe she is dead.”
Sharp pain squeezed Beth’s chest at the idea. Rose couldn’t be dead. The idea was preposterous. Beth pressed Tobias’s hand in hers, trying to instill hope in him. “She’s alive and will be home before you know it. Just remember when she is, you’ll likely wish for peace again.”
Tobias laughed at her prediction. “You and Rose were the best of friends. As good as sisters, or would have been if my brother had shut his books long enough to consider it. Where do you think she could be?”
“I’ve done nothing but worry for her welfare for ten years, too. I’ve no idea where she’d go. What of your mother’s friends? Do you remember any of them?”
“No.”
She sighed, unable to think of a single name that would not have already been investigated. “If she doesn’t see the advertisements placed in the papers, and her whereabouts is not known by any past acquaintances that Leopold or Oliver can recall, then all we can hope for is that Rosemary chooses to return on her own.”
“Getting Rosie to do anything in the past was an uphill battle,” he quipped morosely. “She’s likely to be even more stubborn now.”
Beth laughed to lighten the mood. “Have faith. I’m sure the right incentive will occur to one of us soon.”
Tobias gestured to the chairs again. “Will you sit with me until Blythe comes back?”
As much as she’d love to sit and talk of times past, she couldn’t bear it. The last few days had been exhausting and emotional and she just wanted to prepare herself to leave. Part of that was a trip to the churchyard to bid farewell to her children buried there. She wanted no company for that journey, not even George. She was sure she would break down and cry if anyone was with her. Leaving them would be painful and she’d been trying not to think about it.
She straightened her shoulders and faced Tobias with a smile. “There’s nothing else to be done but to pack for my son now. Blythe had mentioned spending some time with the young duke. If you wanted to find her to mend things between you, she’ll likely be there.”
“You know, my brother may consider himself remarkably clever, but he really has no sense.” Tobias sighed and moved to the doorway. As he opened it, he glanced over his shoulder. “You really would have made the perfect wife for him. No one knows the Randalls better than you. You’d have kept us all in line just as Mama used to do.”
He ducked out before she could chastise him for bringing up the subject again. Beth waited until her heartbeat slowed before she made her way out of the abbey and down the drive on her way to visit the little graves for the last time. Clever or not, if Oliver couldn’t express love then she didn’t want to marry him. He hadn’t meant one word of the proposal he’d made. There were no words to describe how sad that made her.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE SECRETS OF the Dukes of Romsey were always hidden in plain sight. A man only needed to walk about with his eyes off the finery and look to the bones of the house to discover the truth for himself.
“Quietly now,” Oliver warned as he cast an anxious glance along the deserted long gallery behind him. It had taken an hour to shake off his brothers and Eamon too, without alerting them to his intentions. Thankfully, Elizabeth and the ladies were occupied elsewhere and the boy had freedom enough to sneak away from the library with him at short notice.
He hurried George to the far end of the long gallery, past the benign painted smiles of former dukes of Romsey. Let them smirk in their gilt frames. Oliver was about to disclose the greatest family secret to a child unrelated by blood and there wasn’t a thing that could be done now to stop him.
He approached the tall windows leading to the west gardens, checking that no servants toiled beyond the glass. Thankfully they were completely isolated from others and could proceed as he hoped. He approached a blank piece of wall and studied the moldings running down the wall. There was a slight difference in hue to one small section. A man only had to be observant to spot the discoloration. Press, turn, slide, and the narrow entrance to the sanctuary was revealed.
“Blimey,” George whispered in awe as the door swung open with the slightest groan of protest. His eyes widened impossibly and then his smile grew. “I hit a ball against that panel the other day while playing ninepins and you didn’t even blink. You’re very good at keeping secrets, sir.”
Oliver quickly oiled the hinge to stop further noises sounding and set the oil bottle just inside. When they came back out, it was essential to be quick and quiet. Any shriek would draw unwanted attention.
“A useful trait when you want your way. Remember that.” Oliver lifted the lantern he held above the boy’s head and lighted the way. “Quickly now. Inside.”
George hurried in and Oliver quietly closed the doorway behind him so their adventure couldn’t be interrupted. He drew in a deep breath and shuddered. He’d never liked the scent of underground spaces. The cloying damp of earth and stone made him want to turn about and leave immediately. However, he’d made a promise to the boy that he wouldn’t break.
They made slow progress down the narrow staircase, headed for the large cavern below. Each shallow step brought darkness closing in on them. The roughhewn walls brought apprehension. Although Oliver knew full well the design and space ahead was large and perfectly safe, tension still caught him in its grip and he longed for the bottom step to be closer.
George’s footfalls grew slower and slower until he stopped completely, blocking the path ahead. He barreled around, breath rasping from his lungs in a quick pant. “It doesn’t go anywhere. We’ll be trapped.”
Oliver drew the boy against him to ease his panic and held him close. “I did mention there was a long flight of steps. Very soon we come to a corner in the staircase and then you’ll see light ahead. There’s no need to be afraid. I’m here with you.”
When Oliver released him, George reluctantly let go but slipped his hand into Oliver’s free one and clung. The odd sensation brought a smile to his lips. How funny that such a small gesture could make his day so much brighter. He doubted Elizabeth would smile with him if she saw them like this, but Oliver was very glad to have earned the boy’s trust.
With a bit of shuffling, they switched positions so Oliver led the way down. As he’d predicted, the corner was close, just beyond the reach of the lantern, and he drew George toward the faint light ahead.
They stepped onto the landing and, after another three shallow stairs, stood in the dim light of the Duke of Romsey’s Sanctuary, the room that had caused so much trouble.
Sunlight filtered down from the ceiling through cleverly concealed air vents, casting a dim glow that revealed shapes and lumps untidily stacked ahead of them. But that meager light wasn’t sufficient to view the contents of the chamber properly. Oliver handed George the lantern, drew a taper from inside his coat, and held it to the flame until it caught. He then turned to light the lanterns set on each side of the staircase and moved about the chamber until the remaining dozen shone with welcoming light.
He faced George, saw him craning his neck in every direction, and gestured to the room. “Be my guest. There’s no danger here. Well, maybe a rat or mouse at most,” he added a touch ruefully. There was no getting away from them in a place like this.
The boy didn’t look impressed by his observation
and slowly shuffled deeper into the room. Curious as to what the boy would do when faced with another man’s spoils, Oliver opened a chest containing gold coins and beautiful gems, most set into jewelry, likely stolen from past friends, and waited to see his reaction. George ran his fingers through the profits of the family’s unspoken profession without too much interest in the wealth stored there. People had likely died for these treasures. Blackmail and revenge had been the former Dukes of Romsey’s preferred mode of business. In Oliver’s opinion, that was adventure of the worst kind.
George stared at the chest a long time. “And this is all his.”
“The young duke’s? Yes. Every bit of smuggled or stolen goods in this room are part of his inheritance.” Oliver sighed at the likely impact of that confession to come. The young duke would be intrigued, but Oliver hoped the boy would be wise enough, thanks to Leopold’s influence on his life, to keep the secret of this chamber from others—only passing it along to his own son one day when the child was old enough.
A sudden chill swept him. He was still a pawn in the old duke’s game. With his cousin dead long before he could share the secret of this room with the young duke upstairs, it now fell to Oliver to reveal it when the time was right. He cursed at the idea of being caretaker to this terrible legacy. If he never returned from his travels, if he settled elsewhere, this room and its contents would likely be lost to generations of Randalls.
The boy moved along the row to some paintings propped up against a wall and rifled through the smaller ones he could easily manage without help. George set each back carefully, wiping his hands together when he was done.
Oliver closed the chest, rather proud that his instincts about the boy’s honesty were sound. He’d made the right decision to befriend the child. Elizabeth’s son might be young, but he had a good heart and could be trusted.
Racks of guns and boxes containing dueling pistols lined another wall. There was enough to furnish a small uprising and Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if they had been used for that purpose before. George stopped before them but didn’t touch. “My father died from a ball in the leg,” he said, breaking the hushed silence with his abrupt confession.
Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) Page 17