“That would be premature, my lord. Annabelle hasn’t yet agreed to be my wife. Can you imagine? Indeed, I fear that I may have to resort to seduction to bring her to the mark.”
There was a tic in Douglas’s left cheek. “Seduction, Hollis?”
“Yes, my lord. I realize it is indeed a grave step to consider, but I believe it to be one I may have to undertake.”
“I wish you luck.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“You have never before been married, Hollis. My father said once that you’d been the victim of a tragic love affair. Was he correct, or didn’t you appreciate the fairer sex until now?”
Hollis saw that the dowager countess was still concentrating on her prunes, but still he moved a bit closer to Douglas. “I was a victim of a love, my lord, and a sad time it was. Her name was Miss Drucilla Plimpton, and I worshiped the very air she breathed. It is an amazing stroke of circumstance-Annabelle actually knew my own dear Miss Plimpton. Ah, so many years ago it was.
“Ah, my lord, I have always appreciated the fairer sex. But after I lost my precious Miss Plimpton, I came to view wedlock as not enough wed and perhaps too much lock.”
“No wonder. You lived here.”
“There is that, my lord. However, I believe being locked up by Annabelle might be vastly amusing. So many stories Annabelle remembers about Miss Plimpton, even though she was younger than Drucilla. Drucilla, I believe, was very kind to her, teaching her stitching, correcting her manners. Of course, Annabelle also remembers me clearly as well, particularly my very fine head of hair.”
“It has remained very fine. Are you certain that my mother hasn’t kept you away from matrimony, Hollis?”
“Not at all, my lord.” Hollis took another quick look at the dowager, leaned closer, and added, “Although the notion about too much lock-well, never you mind. Robbie has informed me that Master Jason is waiting for you at the stables.”
“All right, curse him. At least James is in the estate room with Danvers.”
“Poor young man. Danvers will work Master James until his head is an empty gourd, an exceptional empty gourd I might add.”
Douglas sipped his tea. If Hollis only knew. James was not only enamored with celestial bodies and Kepler’s laws, he was also fascinated in every facet of the estate’s workings, had been from his earliest years, even before he’d fully grasped that Northcliffe would someday be his responsibility. No, it was James who would work Danvers to near exhaustion, not the other way around.
When Douglas rose, tossed his napkin on his plate, and strode from the room, his mother’s voice hit him squarely in the back. “I need more wallpaper samples, Douglas. Alexandra is incapable of making selections pleasing to anyone blessed with extraordinary taste, such as I.”
“I’ll see to it, Mother,” Douglas said, and wondered if there were any samples left in the warehouses in Eastbourne. Well, he supposed there could be samples found in New Romney, though he doubted it.
He met Jason in the paddock where Henry VIII was having a fine time trying to kill Bad Boy, James’s horse. Lovejoy was trying his best to save his favorite of the two, but Henry wasn’t having it. Douglas walked to the fence and whistled. Henry eyed Bad Boy for another moment, then wheeled about and came trotting over to his master, head high, tail swishing. Douglas patted his shiny black neck while he butted his head against Douglas’s shoulder.
Douglas held out his hand. Weir, the head stable lad, slapped two carrots sharply onto his palm, and stepped back because he wasn’t stupid. “All right, my big brute,” Douglas said, and watched with a smile as Henry ate the carrots.
“I’ll saddle him up, Weir,” he said. Two minutes later, he and Jason were riding toward Branderleigh Farm to look at the new hunters that had just arrived from Spain. Douglas was very aware that Jason was trying to look in all directions at once for a villain bent on murder.
Jason said, riding close to his father, giving him as much protection as he could, “Mother told me that the Virgin Bride had visited you, Father, when Mother had been kidnapped by that fanatic Royalist, Georges Cadoudal. She said you hated it, but if you were pushed, you would admit it because you don’t lie, at least not usually, at least not to her, usually.”
Douglas rolled his eyes.
Jason sighed. “Did you really see her, Father? What did she say?”
Douglas turned in his saddle to look at his boy-tall, straight, an excellent rider, a big man now, not a boy. At least the twins’ respective characters didn’t appear to be ruined by their incredible good looks, and surely that was a victory over nature. Where had the years gone? “Forget that ridiculous phantom, Jason. Whatever happened in the distant past will remain there. It is forgotten. Do you understand me?”
Jason said, “No, sir, I can’t forget, but I do recognize a granite wall when I see it. I believe I will go swimming later.”
“You’ll freeze your parts off.”
Jason grinned like a bandit. “That, sir, is an image that truly appalls.”
“It should. Forget that damned ghost.”
“Yes, sir.” But of course Douglas knew he wouldn’t.
He couldn’t for the life of him decide if the first shot had been intentional or not. Just because that damned phantom had predicted it-well, that made him want to dismiss it without another thought. However, he wasn’t stupid, curse it.
LATE IN THE afternoon, three days later, a messenger arrived at Northcliffe Hall with a message for Douglas from Lord Avery at the War Ministry.
The earl left for London the following morning, alone, his wife refusing to speak to him, and his two sons, whom he suspected would follow him, staring after him.
MICHAELMAS WAS THREE weeks away, Douglas thought, as he rode Garth into the stable entrance off Putnam Square, and he would be a year older, and wasn’t that the strangest thing. George IV had died in June, bringing his brother, the duke of Clarence, to the throne as William IV. William was good-natured, but, truth be told, he wasn’t smart enough to give wise counsel or recognize it when it smacked him in the nose. He had more enthusiasm than sense, was indiscreet to the point of lunacy, causing one wag to say, “It is a good sovereign, but it is a little cracked.” It remained to be seen what would happen, particularly since the duke of Wellington was at the helm and had offended Tories and Whigs alike. It was an extraordinary year, Douglas thought, as he walked into the Sherbrooke townhouse. Revolution everywhere-in France, Poland, Belgium, Germany, Italy, but thankfully not here at home, even though there were hardships, no denying that, grave hardships. After the duke had achieved Catholic Emancipation, he’d turned against all reform. His inconsistencies boggled Douglas’s mind, but since he owed Wellington his allegiance, he would support him in the House of Lords, although he hated politics, would swear until he was out of breath that the vast majority of the Tories and the Whigs alike were power-mongering, flatulent liars. He recalled that his father had felt the same way. Douglas smiled at that. He would have to ask James and Jason their opinions.
He went to his club that evening, chatted with old friends, realized that there was more divisiveness in the government than he’d thought, won a hundred pounds at whist, and fell asleep with a warm belly, the result of a snifter of French brandy that, he would swear, had tasted much better when it had been illegal and smuggled into England in the dead of night.
He was surprised when he entered Lord Avery’s large ornate office at the War Ministry the following morning to see Arthur Wellesley, the duke of Wellington, standing by one of the long windows, staring at Westminster in the distance, now visible because the morning fog had lifted. He looked weary to his bones, but when he saw Douglas, his eyes lit up and he smiled.
“Northcliffe,” he said, turning. He strode forward to shake Douglas’s hand. “You are looking fit.”
“As are you. It is a pleasure to see you, your grace. I will not speak of either Tories or Whigs for fear there may be one hidden in the closet, ready to jump out and clou
t the both of us. I congratulate you on achieving Catholic Emancipation. You can count on me in the House of Lords, though to be honest about it, to listen to those weasels whine about any- and everything makes my belly cramp.”
The duke smiled. “I have many times thought the same thing. I am a soldier, Northcliffe, and now I am called upon to perform a vastly different job. It is a pity I cannot have the opposition whipped with a cat o’ nine tails.”
Douglas laughed.
“But you know, I have decided that what will happen, will happen,” he said, his voice more bitter than angry. “It is one of those newfangled trains that is now in motion. There is no stopping it. Further, I am no longer in control of it.” When Douglas would have questioned him, he waved his hand and said, “Enough of that. I wish to speak to you because Lord Avery has discussed with me a threat to your life that comes from a trustworthy source. You have served your country well, Northcliffe. I wished to tell you that and to inform you of the nature of this threat.”
Well, blessed hell. That damned phantom was right. The bullet that hit his arm wasn’t from a poacher’s gun. He and the duke spent the next hour together.
When Douglas arrived back at the Sherbrooke town house some two hours later, it was to see his wife and two sons standing in the entrance hall, their luggage piled around them, surely denoting a protracted stay. All three of them stared him down, daring him to say a word.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The English never smash in a face. They merely refrain from asking it to dinner.
MARGARET HALSEY
DOUGLAS DIDN’T SAY a single word. He just sighed and said, “Wellington met me at the ministry. There is indeed a threat, dammit.”
Alexandra was in his arms in a moment. “I knew it, I just knew it,” she whispered against his neck. “What sort of threat? Who is behind this?”
Douglas kissed the tip of her nose, hugging her tightly. The twins were practically en pointe, and that made him smile.
James said, “I don’t understand, sir, you haven’t been involved in any missions for a very long time.”
Douglas nodded. “It is, I believe, a matter of revenge, and the exacting of revenge is something that one can savor for years before acting. Enough now. Alexandra, call Willicombe and get us something to eat and drink. Come along, and I will tell you all about it. Oh, there you are, Willicombe. Please see to the valises and-”
“Aye, my lord, all is done. If you would repair to the drawing room, everything will be as you wish in but a matter of moments.”
Willicombe, at fifty, quite young enough to be Hollis’s son, wanted more than anything in his life to be just like Hollis. He wanted to talk like him, he wanted to fetch up the perfect word at exactly the right time, he wanted to inspire the household staff to regard him as God. He wanted all of this, but he wanted to do all of it better and faster than Hollis. Perhaps Willicombe would be faster since Hollis was beginning to creak. Douglas wondered what Willicombe would do were he to tell him that Hollis was in love, mayhap even set upon seduction, just to see the look on his face. Would he then try to seduce one of the maids? Or perhaps Mrs. Bootie, the housekeeper, who had more hair on her upper lip than Douglas did before he shaved in the morning?
No one settled into comfortable chairs, no one relaxed. Tension flowed throughout the large room. Douglas looked around at his family and said, “Lord Avery received a letter from an informant in Paris that I was to finally get my just desserts. The informant believes it has something to do with Georges Cadoudal.”
Alexandra was shaking her head. “No, that couldn’t be possible, could it? You parted friends with Georges. Goodness, Douglas, it was years and years ago, before the twins were even born.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Who is this Cadoudal, Father?”
Douglas looked at James, who was standing, shoulders against the mantelpiece, arms crossed over his chest, exactly in the same way that Douglas stood, and said, “Georges Cadoudal was a madman and a genius. Our government paid him vast amounts of money to kill Napoleon. He killed a lot of Frenchmen, but not the emperor. I heard he’d died some time ago.”
Willicombe entered, carrying a beautiful Georgian tea tray on his arm. Douglas remained silent until finally, seeing that Willicombe could think of nothing that would allow him to remain and eavesdrop, and thus know more than Hollis knew about this situation, whatever it was, raised an eyebrow.
But Willicombe didn’t move, couldn’t move. Something bad had happened, that was all he knew. The family was in trouble. He was needed. It was time to prove his worth. He tried manfully to dredge up a wise word. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, Willicombe?” Alexandra asked.
He could tell she was so upset she was white as the lovely lace at the neck of her gown. He drew himself up to his full five foot, six inches and squared his shoulders. “I am your man, my lord. I am resourceful. I learn quickly what is what. I could pick out an enemy from fifty feet. I am a man of action when the need but offers itself. I am the soul of discretion. Pull out my fingernails and nothing will pass my lips but an occasional scream.”
James looked at Willicombe with great respect. After all, when James was born, Willicombe was a footman who’d occasionally played with him in the back gardens, tossing him a red ball, James remembered. “Nothing but a scream, Willicombe?”
“That’s correct, my lord. I can be trusted to go to the grave carrying any secrets you would wish to confide in me.”
Douglas said, “I thank you, Willicombe. Fact is, it appears that someone with revenge on his mind is out to cut my days short, something I really don’t want.”
Willicombe stood en pointe.
“I will assign the footmen to guard duty, my lord. I, myself, will take the first watch, eight o’clock until midnight, each and every night until the enemy is dispatched. No one will come into this house, this I swear.”
“How many footmen are there, Willicombe?” James asked.
“There are three now, Master James. I will myself tell them what is what. You don’t have to worry, my lord.”
“Thank you, Willicombe,” Douglas said. “I am certain that Hollis would be very impressed with your resourcefulness.”
“Robert, the second footman, my lord, comes from a noxious area near the docks. He still knows some of the miscreants there. I will have him sniff around to see what he can learn.”
“That is an excellent idea, Willicombe,” Alexandra said and gave him a big smile.
They watched Willicombe stride from the room, taller, straighter, a man on a mission.
Jason stood. “Did Georges Cadoudal have family? Children?”
“I believe he married a woman whose name was Janine. I don’t know about children.”
Jason said, “We must find out. Now, I’m off to visit my club. I want to know if anyone has heard anything.” He rose, straightened his waistcoat.
James said, “Father, we both have friends who will want to help. I don’t think we should keep this a secret. I think we should announce to the world that someone-some Frenchman-is trying to kill you. Everyone will rally. Everyone will keep his eyes open. Jason and I will divide up the clubs between us. We will find this person, Father, and we will destroy him.”
Douglas and Alexandra watched their sons walk from the drawing room. She said quietly even as she burrowed against her husband’s shoulder, “They are not boys any longer, Douglas.”
“Yes, you’re right about that. Where have the years gone, Alex?”
“I don’t know, I just want them to continue going into the distant future. Our sons want to protect you now as you always wanted to protect them.”
“I still want to protect them.” He held her a moment, saying against her hair, “I fear they are too brave.”
Alexandra raised her head, and Douglas saw that she was smiling. “I too have many friends. Ladies, you know, hear many things. We must find out about children Georges could have left when he died.”
&nb
sp; “Alex, you will not involve yourself in this!”
“Do not be a blockhead, my lord. I am your wife and thus I am more involved than anyone, with the possible exception of your stubborn self. Yes, I shall begin with Lady Avery. I wonder if her spouse ever tells her anything.”
Douglas’s face was red. “Alex, I forbid-”
She gave him a lovely smile and said, “Would you like a cup of tea, my lord?”
He growled and took his tea. “You will take no risks, madam, do you understand me?”
“Oh yes, Douglas. I understand you perfectly.”
Sometime later, Douglas said to his wife as they walked up the central staircase, “Well, damnation. I forgot all about Corrie.”
“It’s all right, Douglas. I didn’t. I selected several lovely patterns for her and some very nice white muslin and pale blue satin.”
Douglas knew it wasn’t going to be good. He cleared his throat. “Did Miss Plack sew up the gowns?”
“No, there wasn’t time, but Maybella assured me that all would be well. She said that Corrie’s maid could sew in a closed carriage. Indeed, I am expecting them to arrive in London today-even though Simon was complaining that he had contracted the plague-and Corrie will be wearing one of her new gowns.”
It was difficult, but Douglas did manage not to put his head in his hands. “Simon’s town house is on Great Little Street, is that right?”
Alexandra nodded. She was thinking hard, not about Corrie but about Georges Cadoudal. She said, “It’s been so long since Georges kidnapped me and took me to France. It was a matter of revenge then, Douglas, against you. But it isn’t the same now. This is someone hiding, lurking in the shadows, trying to kill you without you seeing his face.”
Douglas grunted.
“I wonder if Georges did marry Janine, that wretched hussy who betrayed you.”
“We’ll find out.”
“Could he have spoken with such hatred of you that any children he might have had are now out to avenge him? It makes no sense for the simple reason that there wasn’t any hatred. You and Georges parted amicably, like you told the boys, and I should know. I was there. I wonder, do you think perhaps that Georges is still alive?”
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