Lords of Misrule (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 4)

by Stella Riley

  ‘And visit more often?’

  ‘That, too.’ Eden thought for a moment and then said, ‘Or if, like the last few months it becomes impossible, perhaps you could spend a few weeks with Uncle Toby and me in London.’

  The boy’s face lit up.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course.’ Eden smiled, ridiculously pleased at his son’s reaction. ‘You’d like that?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve never been to London. Neither of us has.’

  Us?

  Pleasure dimmed and the solid ground Eden thought he’d found turned back into a swamp.

  Meanwhile, Jude was rushing on.

  ‘We could see the lions at the Tower and London Bridge. And you could show us Westminster and Whitehall and we might even be able to see the Lord Protector. And --’

  ‘Wait. Jude – just wait a minute. Mary could come with you if it was possible – but it isn’t. My household in London is a bachelor establishment and, though that would be all right for you, it isn’t remotely suitable for a little girl.’

  Instantly, Jude looked suspicious.

  ‘You’re just making excuses.’

  ‘No. I’m not. There’s Toby, my friend Sir Nicholas, a kitchen-maid and a new housekeeper I’ve barely met yet. Your grandmother would have a fit if I even suggested it.’ He ran a hand through his hair, thinking furiously. ‘I suppose … I suppose it might be possible for you to stay with me and for Mary to go to Aunt Amy but --’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Aunt Tab asked Aunt Amy to invite us last year but she wouldn’t. She said she has enough to do looking after her own children without taking on yours as well. And even if she changed her mind, Mary wouldn’t go.’

  ‘Let me guess. She doesn’t like Amy?’

  ‘Neither of us do.’

  ‘Why does that not surprise me?’ murmured Eden with a sigh. His younger sister’s pretensions meant that contact between them had become as near to non-existent as made no difference. Then, ‘It’s not an excuse, Jude. Mary could stay in Cheapside if there was a suitable female to look after her – but there isn’t. Unless that changes --’

  ‘It would change if you got married.’

  This time, Eden’s laughter was perfectly genuine.

  ‘You don’t let go, do you? All right. No promises … but I’ll bear it in mind. Meanwhile, you’ll have to make a decision. It’s London without Mary or not at all. Think it over.’

  * * *

  Certain elements of this conversation cropped up with Tabitha the following afternoon. He found his sister in the rose garden, helping Mary with her embroidery and, mindful of his promise to Jude, Eden leaned over the child’s shoulder to admire her work. Mary looked as shocked as if a camel had just sauntered out of the shrubbery … which made it easy for him to smile.

  ‘That’s very pretty,’ he remarked. ‘Are those roses?’

  ‘P-peonies,’ she stammered and bent her head over her work again.

  Having no idea what to say next, Eden looked helplessly at his sister who immediately filled the void by saying lightly, ‘Mary likes to make her own designs. But she’ll probably monogram a handkerchief for you if you ask very nicely.’

  ‘Would you?’ he asked, once more looking down at the girl. ‘Please?’

  She shot him a lightning sideways glance. ‘I – I suppose.’

  ‘Thank you.’ God. Why am I so bad at this? ‘I’d like that.’

  Once again, Tabitha took pity on him.

  ‘You look hot, Mary. Why don’t you go inside and see if Flossie has something cool to drink? Oh – and ask her if Uncle Ralph has left any of last night’s bread-and-butter pudding. I don’t suppose he did but one never knows.’

  Mary nodded, scrambled to her feet and made a rapid escape.

  Tabitha grinned at her brother. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘Not particularly. But it’s a start.’ She continued with her own sewing and, when Eden neither advanced nor retreated, said, ‘If you’re staying, why don’t you sit down? We haven’t had a moment to talk properly yet, have we?’

  ‘No.’ He dropped neatly on the grass as her feet and searched her face. ‘How are you, Tab?’

  ‘I’m well. Don’t I look it?’

  ‘Yes. But Ralph’s twitchy and Mother thinks she knows why.’

  ‘I’m aware of what Mother thinks,’ she replied tranquilly. Then, seemingly apropos of nothing, ‘Toby says your housekeeper has got married.’

  The pause before the word ‘housekeeper’ was infinitesimal but Eden heard it anyway. He sighed. ‘Toby has always had a big mouth where you’re concerned. But I’ll bet he doesn’t tell you everything he gets up to himself.’

  ‘He tells me enough for me to guess the rest.’ She set her work aside and gave him her full attention. ‘Women like him.’

  ‘They certainly do. But he doesn’t have to say yes to all of them.’

  ‘What are you saying? That he’s a rakehell?’

  ‘No. But it’s borderline.’ Eden grinned suddenly. ‘Take no notice of me, Tab. I’m just jealous. The girls never swarmed over me even when I was young.’

  ‘You never gave them a chance, did you? You didn’t look beyond Celia and you married her when you were only twenty-one. Then the war came.’ The grey eyes, so like those of her twin regarded him with disconcerting clarity. ‘As to ‘when you were young’, you’re not exactly in your dotage. Yet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

  ‘Then there’s Deborah Hart. Yes – of course I know her name. Toby said she was in love with you.’ She paused invitingly and then, when he said nothing, ‘He also said she was your mistress.’

  Damn Toby. I’ll have a few things to say to him myself in due course.

  ‘As I said – a big mouth.’

  Tabitha shrugged impatiently.

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Eden! You know Toby and I don’t have secrets with each other.’

  ‘And Ralph? And Mother? No secrets there either?’

  ‘Not from Ralph in the things that matter – of which, oddly enough, your love-life isn’t one. As for Mother … how stupid do you think I am? Not that she’d mind, of course. But what she really wants is to see you happily married. As do we all.’

  ‘Oh God – not that again!’ he groaned. ‘I’m fully aware of that fact, thanks to Jude.’

  ‘Really?’ Her brows rose. ‘That’s interesting. What did he say?’

  ‘He thinks I ought to consider providing Mary with a step-mother.’

  ‘Ah. And will you?’

  Eden got to his feet in one fluid movement.

  ‘Let’s say it’s about as likely as hell freezing over and leave it at that, shall we?’

  * * *

  The week wore on and grew increasingly comfortable. Eden made a conscious effort to forget Mary’s probable parentage and to treat her like any other child. She still never spoke to him unless he addressed her first … but his efforts were rewarded by the approval he read in Jude’s eyes.

  His relationship with Ralph also slid back into its usual rhythm and, on the night before he planned to leave, the two of them sat up late over a deck of cards and a couple of bottles of claret.

  For a time, they talked about nothing in particular. But eventually Ralph said, ‘Jude tells me you invited him to London for a visit. Did you mean it?’

  ‘Does he think I didn’t?’

  There was a pause while Mr Cochrane stared intently at the cards in his hand.

  ‘It’s not him that’s asking.’

  ‘Hell’s teeth!’ Eden threw his own cards down. ‘I realise I haven’t been much of a parent – but give me a little credit, can’t you?’

  ‘All right.’ Ralph looked up. ‘I apologise. You meant it. But why now?’

  ‘Why not now?’

  ‘That’s what I asked.’

  Eden stared at him, somewhere between fury and grim laughter. He said, ‘I think I preferred it when you just hit
me. However. If you must know …because it’s high time I made the effort to get to know him properly and I realise that I’m lucky he’s still willing to let me. He’s old enough to enjoy the sights and he’ll like spending time with Toby in the workshop when work prevents me being there myself.’

  Ralph nodded. ‘And?’

  ‘That’s not enough?’

  ‘It’s enough. It’s just not the whole story. If it was, you could have suggested this a year ago, couldn’t you?’

  Since I wasn’t about to have my son under the same roof as my mistress, no. I couldn’t.

  ‘Circumstances have changed since then,’ said Eden curtly. ‘And much though I appreciate everything you and Tabitha have done for the children, I’m damned if I’m going to either excuse or explain my life to you.’ He stood up. ‘This is quite possibly a pointless conversation anyway. Jude hasn’t said he wants to come to London.’

  ‘Because Mary can’t go too,’ agreed Ralph calmly. ‘And, of course, she can’t. Tab has reiterated pretty much what I gather you said yourself – so I think it’s only a matter of time before he accepts your invitation.’ He rose and stretched. ‘And since Toby will almost certainly turn up in the next few days, Jude doesn’t need to travel with you tomorrow.’

  Eden’s expression changed.

  ‘It’s true, then? Tabitha’s pregnant?’

  ‘Yes. Since everybody appears to know anyway, we might as well just have admitted it.’

  ‘How far along is she?’

  ‘Just over three months.’

  ‘You must be worried sick.’

  ‘Worried?’ grunted Ralph. And then, ‘Eden … you have no bloody idea.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  SIX

  In London, meanwhile, when the first weeks of August brought no more troopers to the door in search of Aubrey, Nicholas suggested that it was probably safe for Lydia to visit Shoreditch. She agreed with alacrity and the two of them set off from Duck Lane in a cart so that any casual observer would suppose them merely going to collect supplies for the lorinery.

  Annis Morell greeted her guest warmly and sent Nicholas to find Aubrey.

  ‘It was extremely good of you to take my brother in,’ said Lydia. ‘I hope he’s been no trouble and is as grateful to you as I am.’

  ‘Oh – he’s quite one of the family now. Jack is always happy when he finds somebody who has as much fun with a tub of grease and a grinding wheel as he does himself.’

  Lydia stared at her. ‘Aubrey? Dirtying his hands with manual work?’

  ‘At every opportunity.’

  ‘Good God.’

  Annis laughed but, before she could reply, the door opened on a young woman engaged in drying her hands on her apron and who immediately halted on the threshold to say, ‘I beg your pardon, Annis. I didn’t realise you had company.’

  ‘Come in, Verity. This is Aubrey’s sister. Mistress Neville – allow me to present Verity Marriott, another member of our extended family.’

  Ah. The girl who hoped to marry Nicholas, thought Lydia, murmuring the usual response whilst absorbing dark curls and big, brown eyes. Pretty, too. How strange that Aubrey has never mentioned her in his letters.

  Verity sat down and said politely, ‘Have there been no more attempts to arrest Sir Aubrey?’

  ‘No, thank goodness – and I’m hoping that the danger is now behind us.’

  ‘So he’ll be able to return home?’

  ‘He probably could,’ agreed Lydia. And exchanging amused glances with Annis, ‘Whether or not he will is another matter. I suppose it all depends on how long Mr Morrell is prepared to put up with him.’

  It was a further ten minutes before Aubrey arrived to sweep his sister into a hard hug, saying, ‘Lyd – at last! I could hardly believe it when Nick said you were here. You look wonderful – though I’d have thought you’d have put off your blacks by now.’

  ‘I’ll do it soon,’ she said, returning his embrace. ‘But happy as I am to see you, I could positively murder you for getting yourself into this position.’

  Aubrey released her and grinned.

  ‘Oh well … it’s an ill wind, as they say.’

  Annis rose, beckoning Verity to follow her.

  ‘Let’s leave Mistress Neville and Aubrey to themselves for a little while.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Verity. And, to Aubrey, ‘Is Nick here now?’

  Her tone was eager and it caused Aubrey’s expression to tighten fractionally.

  ‘He’s in the yard with Jack. I’m sure you can catch him if you try.’

  Verity coloured a little and followed Annis out of the room.

  Drawing certain conclusions, Lydia decided to test the water.

  ‘Oh dear. If Mistress Marriott is still living in hope, it’s high time Nicholas did some plain speaking.’

  Aubrey spun round, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that Nicholas isn’t interested in her in the way he suspects that she would like.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘Yes.’ She lifted one enquiring brow. ‘Obviously that information is of some interest to you.’

  ‘It might be.’

  She sat down again and eyed him thoughtfully.

  ‘Do you want to come home?’

  He grimaced and leaned one elbow against the mantelpiece.

  ‘Not especially. But that’s got nothing to do with Verity.’ He paused and smiled wryly. ‘Well a bit, perhaps – but it’s more to do with working alongside Jack and the other fellows. I enjoy it.’

  ‘So I’ve gathered.’

  ‘I hated working at Neville’s. I tried because I owed it to Stephen but I always loathed it. This is different. And although I’ve already learned a lot, it’s only a fraction of what Jack can teach me if I stay.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘I know I ought not to leave you on your own with bloody Margaret and the rest of them but --’

  ‘But you want to.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will staying keep you out of further trouble of the kind that landed you here in the first place?’

  ‘God, yes.’

  ‘Then stay.’

  Aubrey stared at her. ‘Do you … that is, are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lydia smoothed her black bombazine skirts and said, ‘I promised to continue living in Stephen’s house for my year of full mourning. That’s over now and I’ve already begun looking at alternatives. There’s a house near St Botolph’s in Bishopsgate that might suit. It’s a pleasant property and not too far from here, which means you could live with me but still continue your work with Mr Morrell. What do you think?’

  ‘That, after my reckless stupidity, it’s a damned sight more than I deserve,’ came the candid reply. ‘You’re a good sister, Lyd.’

  ‘I know. There is just one condition, however …’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘Will you please for the love of God stop calling me Lyd?’

  * * *

  Within days of her visit to Shoreditch Lydia had agreed terms and signed a lease on the house in Bishopsgate. Then she employed a small army of relatives from both her work-forces to clean it from top to bottom and deal with any necessary minor repairs. She decided there was no need to mention any of this to the Nevilles until she was ready to move.

  She also decided that there was no further excuse to cling to her widow’s weeds. Stephen had been gone for over a year now and, aside from the fact that it would bring Cousin Geoffrey to the point, Lydia realised that she actually wanted to wear colours again. Black didn’t suit her and never had; news from the north said the Scottish rising was at an end which meant that Colonel Maxwell might presently re-appear in London; and then there was Gilbert Wakefield.

  Mr Wakefield called every third or fourth day, as did Sir Ellis Brandon. Inevitably, the Reverend Neville came even more often. Sometimes these visits collided and those occasions were usually entertaining – not just to Lydia herself but also, judging from the gleam in his eyes, to
Gilbert Wakefield. Geoffrey bristled like a cat in the face of his rivals and resorted to being more than usually pompous; Ellis lounged in his seat and maintained his usual air of world-weary cynicism; and Gilbert simply sat back to enjoy the show. Lydia admired his tactics – if tactics they were. Although he took obvious pleasure in her company, he gave no sign of wanting to court her. He did, however, take an enormous interest in Stephen’s private correspondence, some of which Lydia allowed him to read after he showed her a handful of letters Mr Neville had written to Gilbert’s mother nearly thirty years since.

  These were quite brief and were apparently replies to letters Lady Northcote had written to Stephen. The only thing that struck Lydia as odd was that there wasn’t even one note from her ladyship amongst the plethora of correspondence Stephen had left. Since meeting Gilbert and in the hope of finding the connection he sought, Lydia had gone through all of Stephen’s papers again and come up empty-handed save for two scrawled notes from the late Viscount relating to some unspecified business matter. For the rest, Stephen’s replies to the Viscountess suggested that her letters to him had been no more than rambling descriptions of life within her family which focussed mostly on the doings of her children.

  ‘It’s peculiar, isn’t it?’ mused Gilbert. ‘Why would Mr Neville dispose of Mother’s letters when he seems to have kept everything else? Then again, perhaps he didn’t get rid of them … just kept them somewhere else.’

  ‘There’s nowhere else he could have kept them. He never left private papers in his office at the pewter workshop. It was all in his desk here in the house.’

  ‘Are you sure? Maybe he had other premises --’

  ‘That I didn’t know about?’ asked Lydia sharply. ‘Hardly.’

  ‘No? No, of course not.’ He gave her a ruefully charming smile. ‘I’m sorry. That was stupid of me and now I’ve offended you.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Yes, I have. I let my hopes get the better of me and started clutching at straws. I’m an idiot. Forgive me?’

  Lydia thawed a little, though her answering smile remained cool.

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. May I offer you a glass of wine?’

  * * *