by Allison Lane
“So we have no choice.”
“Exactly. Even Blake agrees that there is nothing we can do just now. Ultimately Dornbras must pay, but not until we are sure he cannot retaliate. In the meantime, we will watch him closely. I found him trying keys on the office door this morning, so I will rig a bar as I did in the stillroom. And you can relax soon.”
She raised her brows.
“Rain won’t hamper a trip to the theater, though if it softens the roads too much, we may spend the night in Exeter.”
“I must pray for more rain,” she murmured.
He laughed, lightening his expression. “Please don’t. Your other suggestions require dry weather.”
“True.”
“In three days, they will all leave.” He paused as if unsure of himself. “Can you tell me more about Missy’s injuries?”
“Not really. I peeked in on her an hour ago, but she was asleep. Why?”
“Dornbras was looking for her – at least that was his excuse for trying to enter here. I told him that Cook sent her to the doctor because she’d fallen on the stairs.”
“And he believed that?”
“Of course. Why would he not?”
She compressed her lips lest she call him a fool. “I wish I could have seen his eyes,” she muttered at last.
“Why? He would have questioned me if the tale seemed suspicious.”
“Of course he wouldn’t.” She glared at him. “He knows what he did, but he can hardly deny your claim without admitting his guilt. On the other hand, he may think that you are stupid enough to believe such nonsense.”
“I am not stupid!”
“I did not say you were, but since he’s been using you for so long, he may well believe it.”
He turned another protest into a decent imitation of a cough.
“How did that come about?” she asked, seeking to understand him a little better. No matter how hard she tried, she could not feel threatened by him.
“I’ve known him since school.” He leaned forward to stare into the fire. “Heirs to great titles are plagued by toadeaters, even as schoolboys. One learns to question the motives of nearly everyone. But Dornbras’s father is powerful in his own right. And both of our fathers are disapproving, autocratic martinets who criticize everything we do and make impossible demands.”
“Such as?” She hardly breathed the words.
“Cut all friends and stay at home so he can supervise every minute of my life.”
“So you had a bond,” she said when he fell silent.
He nodded. “I did not see him for several years after Eton, for he went to Cambridge, while I attended Oxford. Nor did he come to London until three years ago – at least not to respectable parts of London. I now suspect he was very familiar with its less reputable sections. But he called one day, asking me to introduce him to society, flattering me and expressing gratitude for how I’d helped him endure his father’s animosity.”
“So you took him under your wing.”
He shrugged. “Blake warned me against it, but I ignored him, for they have never liked each other. In retrospect, I was especially receptive to puffery, for I’d just had a nasty row with my father.” He cursed himself. “Blind, as Blake has often claimed. I did not even consider the significance of being the only one Dornbras would obey. I thought we were friends.”
“But why pick you? Surely your reputation makes your recommendations suspect.”
He smiled, rather grimly. “That is innocence speaking, Miss Ashburton. Even if that exaggerated reputation were true – which it is not – expectations count for much, and mine are among the best. Eventually I will control the power and wealth of the Montcalm title. In the meantime, few willingly court my disdain. I would have to do far worse than Dornbras to draw any serious antagonism. Society teases me by exaggerating my foibles into lurid tales, but the tenor is what one would use on a favorite scapegrace nephew. While I admit to any number of youthful pranks, I have never lied, never cheated, and never harmed another of any class – at least not knowingly,” he added in an undertone.
“So if you demand acceptance for Dornbras, you will receive it.”
“In most places.” Clenching his fists, he rose to pace the floor. “Damn me for a fool,” he muttered. “I should have seen his purpose.”
“Why? You said yourself that his birth is high enough that he shouldn’t need you.”
“Not for the usual things, but the other side of power is responsibility. I should have stopped him before he harmed others. But I didn’t think. Perhaps Father is right. I am no fit heir to the marquessate,” he added so softly that she barely heard.
“No one is perfect,” she murmured. “And now that you know the truth, you will rectify any damage.” The words surprised her as much as him. She did not like having her instincts so at odds with her training, but perhaps he could explain how her thinking had gone awry. “You puzzle me, my lord. You claim that gentlemen should not hurt others, yet they do so every day. Uncle Edward has conspired against us for years. Millhouse ruined the innkeeper’s daughter with impunity, and she was far from his first. Sir Virgil’s tenants suffer from exorbitant rents. And Dornbras must have a long history of black deeds. Do you not consider those harmful?”
“You are correct.” He resumed his chair. “Selfish, greedy men have always used their positions unwisely, but that does not make it right. Even my father, who has long preached responsibility for one’s dependents, is not immune. He is so stubborn that once he makes a decision, he never changes course. The steward urged him to redirect the stream last year so it flowed behind the village rather than through it. He refused. His great-grandfather had put that stream there and no one was going to change it.”
“It overflowed?”
He smiled. “Exactly. It flooded half the village, sweeping a dozen people into trees and many more downstream. No one died, thank God, but we found Mrs. Haskell sharing her bed with a pig.”
“A pig?” She burst into laughter.
“It must have been looking for shelter. A cupboard had tipped over, trapping her. The pig was happily munching the turnips that had spilled out.”
A rap on the window froze her response. Merimont had not closed the draperies when she’d arrived.
“Damnation,” he muttered, stalking across to throw open the window. “What the devil are you doing, Terrence? You are supposed to be changing for the theater.”
“I heard voices.” He obeyed Merimont’s gesture and climbed through the window.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” growled Merimont.
“Not unless he is unreasonable.” Hope smiled at the blond gentleman who had alighted from the second carriage. He appeared younger than Merimont, and more carefree. But his eyes were honest.
“No wonder you released Annette,” Terrence murmured, quizzing her with his glass. “Very nice. She makes a refreshing change, Max.”
Merimont flushed. “Terrence, may I present Miss Hope Ashburton, niece of Lord Ashburton. This is Terrence Sanders, one of my better – and more discreet – friends. Miss Ashburton and her mother lease the east wing,” he added.
Hope smiled as horror burst through Terrence’s eyes.
He murmured a conventional greeting, then turned to Merimont. “How could you put her in this position, Max?” he hissed. “You’ve compromised her beyond redemption.”
“Hardly,” murmured Merimont in reply. “Our establishments are completely separate, and she is well chaperoned.”
“Then why are you here alone?”
“A small matter of business,” he said shortly.
“You should never have invited us.”
“I did not know of this arrangement until I arrived.”
“No need to whisper.” Hope was enjoying herself vastly. There was something very satisfying about watching Merimont being scolded by his friend. For all his protestations – to say nothing of the high rank he had boasted of only a short time ago – he was plainly in the w
rong. “I am well aware of the situation, and am sure that Lord Merimont is doing whatever he can to maintain propriety.”
“Hardly. This may be on the right side of the line – though you are skirting very close, Max – but it will raise more than a few eyebrows. We should all be packing.”
“Even Dornbras?” asked Merimont. “Demanding that everyone leave will arouse his curiosity. What do you think he will do then?”
“Crucify anyone he can identify,” Sanders said, glancing at Hope. “Though I am surprised to hear you say it. You usually turn a blind eye to his antics.”
“I had not spent time with him outside of society gatherings.”
Even to Hope’s ears, the excuse sounded feeble. Sanders shook his head, but his expression darkened as Merimont explained Missy’s fate.
“He is worse than I thought,” murmured Sanders.
Merimont nodded. “Miss Ashburton is innocent, as you pointed out. To keep her reputation intact, we must end this party naturally, with no hint that the east wing is not an empty ruin.”
“I can see why you must follow that course, but I cannot stay. Sound carries. My conscience balks at introducing courtesans into a genteel household, no matter how divided.”
“If that is your choice. All I ask is that you keep your reasons private.”
“Of course.” He frowned. “My aunt has been ill for some time, though not seriously. I believe she has gone into a decline. I must hurry home.”
“Of course. She dotes on you.”
“I will escort Annette as far as London,” he continued. “She would be bored here alone.”
“We will miss you, but I understand your concerns.”
Terrence smiled at Hope. “Farewell, fair lady. Perhaps we will one day meet under more favorable circumstances.”
“I will look forward to it, sir.” She smiled, then murmured, “The Spotted Pony in Oakhampton is useful when roads turn to quagmires.”
His eyes twinkled. Without another word, he climbed back out the window.
“Forgive me, Miss Ashburton,” Merimont said, drawing the curtains tight. “This is yet another reason to keep everyone occupied.” He glanced at the mantel clock. “We have spoken longer than I intended. I will have to bar this door after we return.”
“And we must not meet in here again. What if it had been Dornbras who heard us talking?”
He nodded, dropping his voice to a whisper as his friend loudly greeted Sir Reginald in the hallway. “At least you can trust Terrence. I have placed you in an untenable position. Though the arrangement is proper enough, a malicious tongue could make it seem that I had set you up as my mistress – please forgive my plain speaking,” he added. “But we must be clear on the danger.”
“Then let us pray that you can truly trust your friends. Too many people know I am here.”
“I would trust those two with my life – which I am doing, in a manner of speaking. I regret this situation more than I can say.”
“Very well. Have a pleasant journey to Exeter. If I learn anything new from Missy, I will leave you a note.”
Chapter Nine
Hope peeked through the library doorway, scanning the terrace and garden in case any of Merimont’s guests were taking the air.
Yesterday had been the most relaxed since Merimont had walked into her house. There had been no need to scurry from place to place, fearful of making a sound or hearing lewd encounters. Her imagination had not attributed every squeak and thump to Merimont, painting lurid pictures of what he might be doing. And though her mother had remained critical, the situation had not seemed as terrifying.
His party had returned well after midnight, though she suspected that the delay was due to high spirits rather than bad weather. Terrence’s departure seemed to bother no one. The girls were giggling and the men appropriately coarse, but she detected no signs of tension. Even Dornbras had sounded relaxed.
She regretted listening to their return, though, for it had triggered new speculation. If she understood Terrence’s accusation, Merimont had released his mistress. Was he sharing the other girls with his friends, or had he satisfied his own cravings in Exeter?
The answer was important, for a rake in need was more likely to turn on her. But the question embarrassed her. And last night’s dreams had been more disturbing than ever.
Relieved to see no one outside, she strode briskly toward the village. Her problems were multiplying, she admitted as she plunged into the woods. Missy’s hours huddled on a cold, stone floor had brought on a fever. Thrashing about had worsened her pain.
Hope had dosed her with every remedy she knew, which had eventually induced sleep. But her supplies were now dangerously low. She must visit the apothecary.
“What are you doing here, Miss Ashburton?”
She screamed.
“I did not mean to startle you.” Lord Rockhurst’s face twisted in chagrin as he stepped onto the path.
“I had not thought anyone was about.” Though the sun had cleared the trees, barely five hours had passed since everyone had returned.
“You should not take the air until we leave,” he said quietly. “If your identity comes out, you are bound to suffer.”
“I’ve an errand that cannot wait.”
“Which is?”
“I must visit the apothecary.”
“Why not send a servant?”
She shrugged. “Rose is sitting with Mother – her fever has returned. Mrs. Tweed is watching Missy. That night on the laundry floor did her little good, I fear. Neither can walk this far, and Ned can hardly harness the gig for someone the other grooms know is not part of Merimont’s staff. Besides, Mrs. Tweed’s tongue often works faster than her mind. I would prefer not to raise questions.”
“I will gladly fetch whatever you need.”
She stared at him, surprised by the offer. But it would not do. “I doubt you could explain why you require healing herbs without raising the very suspicions you claim will harm me. Mr. Winters is accustomed to my visits.”
“But he is bound to ask questions,” he said, falling into step beside her. “Everyone must know that Redrock has a new owner, and they will have heard of his house party.”
“In which case my reputation will be in shreds anyway, so nothing I do can make it worse.” She kept her voice light, though a chill ripped through her chest. With her other troubles, she had not considered the very real curiosity that must be sweeping the neighborhood. Her tenants might be keeping mum, but others would have seen the carriages arrive. Only recognition that his party was little better than Millhouse’s could account for the lack of callers.
“You do not know that. Why would everyone assume that you remained in the house, considering the company Max invited?”
“Because they know I have a lease and have nowhere else to go.”
She could hear the despair in her voice. She was ruined. Never mind her twenty-six years of exemplary living. Most people welcomed scandal, for it enlivened their staid lives. And this was the biggest scandal since the innkeeper’s daughter, she admitted grimly. If only she had learned feminine wiles in her youth. Surely throwing hysterics or fainting or something could have prevented this mess.
Or perhaps not. Merimont was exceedingly stubborn. Her mother could not move. And she could not leave Redrock for even one night.
“Is there nowhere on the estate that you could have moved for a week or two?” Rockhurst was clearly surprised.
“The dower house is tiny and in poor repair. Mother is too ill to move.” She clamped control on her temper. “Why am I discussing this with someone I barely know?”
“Because you recognize that you have a problem,” he said calmly. “And because you know you can trust me.”
Startled, she stopped to stare into his eyes. “I suppose I do.”
He nodded, taking her arm to assist her, for the path was rough and slippery with mud. “You must have an explanation ready for Mr. Winters if you wish to protect your reputati
on. How bad is the dower house?”
“I offered it to Lord Merimont, but he refused.”
Rockhurst grinned. “I detect an interesting battle of wills behind that statement. That would explain why you two are sharing a house. Max does not take direction well.”
“True. He is the most stubborn man of my acquaintance.”
“He gets it honestly. His father is worse.”
“So I gathered. Is that why he is so determined to live at Redrock? I have trouble accepting that he needs it, for his father has many estates.”
“But none that Max can oversee.”
The path twisted downhill toward the footbridge, narrowing so they could no longer walk side by side.
“Consider my curiosity piqued,” she said over her shoulder. “What has that to do with Redrock?”
“The Marquess of Montcalm hates London, shuns local society, passes his time alone, and refuses to admit that Max does not share his interests. His wife died when Max was a child, and his few friends are just like him. He and Max have fought for years.”
“I take it he is master of all he surveys, and likes it that way.” Many lords had that failing, especially those who achieved their titles late in life. After waiting so long for power to fall into their hands, they had to exercise it at every opportunity.
“Precisely, though the conflict with Max goes beyond the usual pattern of demanding parent and rebellious child. Montcalm hates embarrassment. Even mentioning Max’s name infuriates him, whether the comment is good or bad, for it is proof that Max is making himself a topic of conversation.”
“Even praise? He must embarrass easily. Most people are proud of their children’s accomplishments.”
“So is Montcalm, but he would rather keep Max locked away under his parental eye to avoid the least hint of scandal.”
“That sounds farfetched even for an autocratic lord.”
“Life is rarely simple, Miss Ashburton. And you should be careful of judging without all the facts.”