Regency Scandals and Scoundrels: A Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Scarlett Scott

  “I am not dramatizing the situation, Mrs. Pollitt.” Jenny tried not to show her annoyance at the housekeeper’s insinuation. “Something happened during the night that His Grace must be made aware of.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Lady Barbara’s kitten escaped and…”

  Mrs. Pollitt clucked and held up a hand. “I don’t see that it’s anything to bother the duke with.” She lowered her head over her accounts book. “His Grace has sent word that he will not require either breakfast, or luncheon. You might ask Mr. Forrester if you wish to know more.”

  “I shall. Thank you, Mrs. Pollitt.”

  Jenny left her, chewing her lip in frustration. Mr. Forrester was polishing silver plate and glassware in the butler’s pantry. He informed her that the duke had gone to London, but would return tonight.

  She had to be content with that. The children would spend the day in the schoolroom. Any outdoor activities must be curtailed to keep them safe. William would be like that caged lion they’d taken him to see in the Royal Menagerie at the Tower, she thought, as she climbed the stairs.

  Mary had the children washed and dressed. They both sagged with tiredness. Barbara was playing with Carrot, dangling a piece of wool for it to catch in its tiny claws. William listlessly turned the pages of a picture book. “Did you speak to my father, Jenny?”

  “I’m afraid he has gone to London. But I will tonight.”

  William wearily nodded his head.

  Jenny sat down while she considered what she might do to keep them busy during the long day. The children’s breakfasts arrived; hers came over an hour later, and was cold.

  She sighed and picked up the milk jug, hoping it was just a mishap. They must be busy with the guests. That would be the reason. But after she pushed away the congealed porridge and cold toast, the concern that the staff were against her remained, and it made her feel homesick and terribly alone.

  *

  Andrew entered the London morgue to be greeted by the foul odor of death. After explaining what he wished to see he was shown into an office. Minutes later, a box was brought, containing the ball dug out of his friend and colleague, Richard, Earl of Winslow. He removed the ball from his pocket to compare them. They matched.

  As the carriage took him to his Mayfair house to wash away the stench and change his clothes, Andrew speculated about what he’d found. It could mean nothing. The ball was not unusual, except that it was of a better make than the cheap shot poachers and London footpads might use. But the one thing that he was sure of was that the gun had not come from the gun room at Castlebridge.

  After he’d changed he partook of a light meal in his dining room, and then visited his club in Pall Mall. It was too early to find any friends at White’s, and he wasn’t in the mood for socializing in any event. He’d sent a footman around to Castlereagh with a request to meet him there.

  Andrew sat in White’s library reading the newspapers. Winslow’s murder still made the front page. Although nothing new had been reported, the way he’d been laid out with the white lily caught the imagination of the public.

  Castlereagh entered minutes later.

  “Anything new on Winslow’s murder?” he asked Castlereagh after their initial greeting.

  Castlereagh shook his head, clearly frustrated. “What brings you to London?”

  “I’ve just come from the morgue.” As another man entered the library, Andrew dropped his voice. “Someone on the estate fired off a gun near where William was riding. The ball lodged in a tree. On a hunch I dug it out, and it matches the ball they extracted from Winslow. It’s a common enough belted ball from a Brunswick rifle. The Brunswick rifle uses a special round ball with raised ribs that fit into two spiraling grooves in the barrel. Castlebridge uses the Brown Bess which is a smaller caliber.”

  “Bloody hell! Surely no one would deliberately target William?”

  “One would think not,” Andrew replied gruffly. “I’ve questioned the stable staff and the guests. No one saw anyone carrying a rifle, but it stands to reason that whoever fired the shot didn’t wish to be seen. My gamekeeper hasn’t found any evidence of poachers.” He shrugged in frustration. “But nor can I discount that possibility.”

  “Are you aware of anyone with a grudge against you? Someone who might get at you through William?”

  It sounded so brutal that gall filled Andrew’s throat. He took a sip of coffee. “One cannot escape upsetting a few people on one’s journey through life. And I can’t dismiss the possibility that it might be connected to Winslow’s murder. But why William?”

  Castlereagh raised his eyebrows. “If Winslow’s death has something to do with the discontent stirred up by the Vienna Congress, it’s unlikely they’d travel to Oxfordshire with the intention of killing your son. They’d murder the other delegates, or I’m afraid, they’d assassinate you. That’s why we must watch our backs.”

  Andrew eyed his paranoid friend sympathetically. “I must depart for the country, I have guests who regard me as a poor host.”

  “The baroness?”

  Andrew nodded.

  “If she loves you, she will understand.”

  Andrew ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure she does love me.”

  “Really?” A smile toyed with Castlereagh’s lips. “Most women fall at your feet in a dead faint.”

  Andrew cocked a brow. “And you used to scoop them up.”

  The Irishman’s brief smile reminded Andrew of how rarely he saw it. “You’ve a shooting party planned. Is it to go ahead?”

  “The birds have been allowed to breed for several seasons. They need culling.” He frowned. “I may delay it until next month. Hopefully this matter will then be dealt with.”

  “Might be wise. It’s a perfect time for them to make another attempt. And this time you could be the target.”

  Andrew nodded. “I’d rather it was me. That I can handle.” He consulted his watch and put down his coffee cup. “Now I really must go, if I’m to arrive back before midnight.”

  “You’re traveling the roads after dark. It will make you an easy target,” Castlereagh said. “Why don’t you stay tonight for the Carlton House dinner?”

  Andrew shook his head. “I declined the king’s invitation. I prefer to be in the country with my children.”

  “And the baroness,” Castlereagh amended, eyeing him.

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Who doesn’t love you?”

  “I didn’t say that, precisely.”

  “Perhaps you aren’t in love with her.”

  “Now you’re going too far.” With a shake of his head, Andrew rose to his feet.

  Castlereagh stood and placed a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “It is only what your good friends will tell you.”

  “Mm. Sometimes friends can be the most annoying pests,” Andrew said with a brief grin. They walked out of the club into the street where Andrew hailed a hackney. “Will we see you at Castlebridge if this business is quickly resolved and the shooting party goes ahead?”

  Castlereagh sighed. “I will if I’m in the mood for company, but thank you, my friend. I hope you discover who is responsible for this disturbing business.” He started off down the street. “Take very good care, duke,” he called back and patted his coat and the two flintlocks he was never without. “Stay armed.”

  Within the hour, Andrew was in his coach on the road to Oxford. He wouldn’t reach Castlebridge until well after dark. Never happy while traveling in an enclosed vehicle, he leaned back against the squabs and closed his eyes as Castlereagh’s words, designed to provoke this very reaction, made him question his future. If Greta married him, was he capable of offering her enough of himself? After Catherine, he doubted he’d fall in love again. The deep well of sadness he carried in his heart would be difficult for any woman to overcome. He folded his arms. Perhaps Greta wouldn’t care.

  What did Greta feel for him? It was useless to speculate at this early stage of their
relationship. But there was attraction, and some measure of affection between him and Greta. He didn’t wish for more, did he? Greta was a social butterfly. If her social life was vibrant and the marriage bed satisfying, she would be content. He pursed his lips. He might be doing her a great disservice. She might want his love.

  Chapter Eleven

  Forced to remain indoors, the day seemed interminably long. Jenny had given up on lessons and instead chose the children’s favorite pastimes to distract them. After they played a board game, she’d suggested reading “The Tortoise and The Hare,” but they demanded one of hers. She made up a story about Heggie, the baby hedgehog one of her sister, Beth’s stray animals, which even William enjoyed. The puppet show employing hand puppets she made from sewing button eyes onto old stockings held their interest for a time, but soon they became tired and restless.

  After luncheon, Jenny decided the best course would be for them to have an afternoon nap. Barbara began to fret and was constantly distracted by the kitten, and William was close to falling asleep, but he repeatedly asked Jenny when his father would come home.

  “I’m too old for naps,” William protested as she settled him in bed. She handed him a book, but he only read one page before falling asleep.

  Quiet descended. Still tense and worried by the frightening experience of the previous evening, Jenny opened her sewing-box, then sat in a chair and hemmed a shift. Did the staff suspect her of making up stories merely to see the duke? She’d had to distract William when he had noticed her breakfast had not been served. Her luncheon, however, arrived on time. So perhaps it would not happen again. If it was a comment on her conduct, she imaged it wouldn’t be the last of it, because she was determined not to let another night pass without informing His Grace of the terrifying episode on the roof. She would not trust Forrester to tell him, for he could not have learned the whole of it from Mrs. Pollitt.

  George stood guard at the nursery door, and as soon as the duke’s coach arrived, no matter what the hour, she would speak to His Grace before he retired to his apartments.

  After the children woke, the rest of the afternoon dragged on into the rose and purple light of evening. Jenny stood at the nursery window, her gaze caught by the golden ribbon of driveway lit by flickering braziers.

  It approached midnight when the duke’s coach, pulled by six handsome dappled grays, drew up before the front entrance.

  Jenny cast a quick glance in the mirror and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She looked tired and pale but her determination to seek help for the children did not falter. It was worth all the condemnation of the staff, and possibly the duke’s anger to approach him at this hour. In the corridor, George rose from the chair to greet her. “His Grace has arrived, George. I’ll go down to speak to him. I don’t expect it will take very long.”

  “You do what you have to. I’ll be here, Miss Harrismith.” As she approached the stairs, George sat again, folded his arms, and leaned back.

  Much of a footman’s life required great patience, Jenny thought sympathetically, as she darted downstairs. For such strong, active young men that could not be easy. She began to form her thoughts into a cohesive description of what had happened to William, aware she needed to grab the duke’s attention, when he would be tired from his journey.

  Jenny considered it best to use the great staircase. She hoped she wouldn’t meet any of the servants at this time of night. It was a foolish hope, for below in the entry hall, the butler, who would normally have retired by this hour, and a footman, stood with the duke. Her hand tightened on the banister as she descended. Forrester conversed with His Grace as he divested himself of his hat and greatcoat into the footman’s arms.

  The duke looked up and saw her, and his brow furrowed. He said something to the butler who in turn glanced up, then His Grace strode across the vast echoing marble floor. When she reached the bottom step, he held out a hand to assist her down.

  His serious blue eyes surveyed her, his eyebrows raised. “Miss Harrismith?”

  “Your Grace, I must speak to you.” She took his large gloved hand in hers and stood before him, swallowing nervously. Her anxiety came more from the upsetting news she must tell him than the man. He exuded a kind of strength and power which she welcomed.

  In fact, after the dreadful happenings of last night, she would dearly love to step into his arms and rest her head on his broad chest. The thought startled her, and she gazed up at him anxiously. His expression was hard to read. Concern, and something else, indefinable.

  “What is it you wish to speak to me about, Miss Harrismith?”

  Aware she’d become tongue tied, she glanced at the butler, whose stiff stance and frowning countenance conveyed outrage. “Might we talk…”

  “Come to the library.” The duke turned. “Go to bed, Forrester.” He strode with her down the hall.

  The footman preceded them and lit the candles. “Do you wish me to light a fire, Your Grace?”

  “No need Jeremy.” He turned to her. “I apologize for the cold room, but I don’t anticipate this will take long, Miss Harrismith.” He eyed her carefully as he smoothed a hand over his hair. “Who is with the children?”

  “The footman, George.”

  He nodded. “Sit please, Miss Harrismith. This must be important, but before you tell me, I believe a drink is in order. What will you have?” He walked over to the drink’s table. “Brandy? Or I can send for coffee?”

  “Brandy, thank you.” Jenny had never so much as tasted it in her life, but right now, she felt a definite need of it.

  He nodded approvingly. “Good choice. I always find coffee disturbs one’s sleep.” He poured two glasses and walked over to hand her one. He sat on the chair on the other side of the fireplace. “Now, what must you tell me at this ungodly hour of night?”

  Jenny held the balloon glass in both hands and took a hurried gulp. The brandy lit a fire in her throat and brought on a coughing fit.

  “It’s generally wise to sip it, Miss Harrismith.” A slight smile tugged his lips.

  “Your Grace.” Jenny breathed deeply. When more confident of her voice, she launched into a hurried description of the episode at the tower from the beginning when she’d woken to find William gone.

  He sat forward frowning and fired off a question. “Why did you assume William would go up to the tower? He might have gone downstairs.”

  “I wasn’t sure, but if he’d gone downstairs, he would soon return. I couldn’t take that chance.”

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  At the point where she and William regained the nursery to find George with Barbara, she paused for breath.

  “Good God,” he murmured, shaking his head. Obviously shocked, he rose to his feet, and stalked around the room. Then, retracing his steps, placed his glass on the table beside hers and stood looking down at her. “Is William quite sure he saw someone?”

  “He is not entirely convinced. As I followed close behind him, I would have come across them, surely.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said heavily. “There are secret passages all throughout this old house, Miss Harrismith. One on that floor leads down to the garden. As a child, I used it often.” He frowned. “But I gave orders for it to be boarded up years ago after my son was born.”

  “Your Grace, I don’t want to dramatize what could be a simple matter of the cat escaping, but coming after the episode in the wood…” Her throat was still horribly dry, so she took another deep sip of brandy which made her cough again. She wasn’t getting any better at drinking it, but the liquor did add a warm glow to the spot where a cold chill lodged in her chest. “And I’m now unsure if it was Nanny Evans who left the candle burning and set the curtains on fire. I wondered at the time why the candle hadn’t burned down to a stub.” She searched his concerned face. “I hope I am right to have come to tell you delay.”

  “You did right, Miss Harrismith. I can hardly ignore the distinct possibility that someone has made three attempts to harm my s
on,” he said. “If there’s a villain’s hand at work, then thank God you were there to thwart the attempts.” He stood. “Come. I need to see my children.”

  They reached the top of the stairs. In the corridor outside the nursery, George rocked gently on his chair.

  The duke raised his eyebrows, blue eyes incredulous. “You gave George a chair, Miss Harrismith?”

  “He will be more alert if he’s rested.” Jenny didn’t wish to point out the long hours the poor footman had remained at his post.

  “Unless he’s made too comfortable,” the duke murmured. “Perhaps a nice warm shawl?”

  At their approach, George jumped to his feet and bowed. “Your Grace.”

  “Keep alert, George, with a primed flintlock. Expect trouble. Jeremy will relieve you shortly,” the duke said. “It will be the routine from now on. Forrester will be informed.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” George leapt forward to open the nursery door. The duke motioned Jenny inside and followed her.

  In the dim light of the argand lamp Jenny now used instead of candles, both children slept deeply. William was curled up as if he suffered from bad dreams. Barbara lay on her back with the kitten stretched out beside her.

  The duke stared down at William. He bent and gently eased back a lock of hair from the boy’s brow. William stirred, and half opened his eyes. “Father?”

  “It’s all right now, William, go back to sleep. I’m here.”

  William murmured something indecipherable and rolled over.

  The duke moved to Barbara’s bed. The kitten raised its head and stared at him. It opened its pink mouth and yawned, stretched, and closed its eyes. The duke pulled the blanket up to cover his daughter’s shoulder.

  “Now, Miss Harrismith,” he said, turning toward her. In the poor light, his eyes looked strained. “What shall we do?”

  The duke didn’t require an answer, and she couldn’t have given him one. He approved of the arrangement she’d made with the footman, and he knew she was here for the children. That didn’t need to be repeated. After a moment, he walked over to the door. He turned, a hand on the latch and searched her face. “I am asking a lot of you, Miss Harrismith.”