“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Please take him to the library. I will be there in a moment.”
Terence nodded, “Very good, Your Grace.”
Robert looked at Tom. “What do you suppose it’s about?”
“I can’t say Robert. Best to go in and read the letter, I suppose. I will be taking a turn in the rose garden.” Tom bowed and made his way towards the back of the house.
Robert strode to the library. “I’ll have Terence summon you when it’s time for us to leave,” he said over his shoulder to his friend’s back, then opened the library door and entered.
The man inside stood, bowed awkwardly, and handed the letter to Robert. “Your Grace. Edward Grant at your service.”
“Uh, thank you, Mr Grant. Will you have some refreshment?”
“Oh no, Your Grace, that wouldn’t be seemly. I was instructed to deliver this letter directly to your hand, and if it please Your Grace, I’ll be on my way back to Pinebrook Manor.”
“As you wish, but allow my cook to supply you with food for the journey.”
“I thank you, Your Grace.” The man bowed again.
“I do not wish to hold you up, Mr Grant. You may leave. Thank you for your trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Your Grace. I’m honoured. Good night.” The man bowed again, and to Robert’s silent amusement, backed out of the room as if he were leaving the presence of the King.
Robert tore the letter open and read the contents with a clenched jaw. Carlisle was planning to take Phoebe up to Edinburgh with him. He’d forbidden her to leave the Manor. She was not even allowed to write letters.
Carlisle had left some of his own servants at Pinebrook, and Mary’s words told Robert that the women feared the Scottish servants were to spy on Phoebe. The Duke had said that Lady Phoebe would have a new staff after she was his wife and ensconced in Duncan Castle.
“This is entirely inappropriate,” Robert said to himself. He grabbed two sheets of paper and scribbled two notes, not bothering to seal them. He hurried from the library and went to find Tom in the garden, calling to him as he went.
“What is it, Robert?”
“A situation that requires some quick consideration. Come, we’ll leave now. We’ll go through the kitchen. I must speak to Lady Phoebe’s groom, Edward Grant.”
Tom followed, not offering a word or asking questions.
Robert caught up with Grant in the mews. He was just mounting his Buttercup. “We leave for Pinebrook Manor also, Mr Grant. Please take this note to Miss Mary and deliver this other to Duke Carlisle.”
“The Duke has left for Edinburgh, Your Grace.” Grant placed the papers in his waistcoat.
“All the better. Act as if he hasn’t.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” He was off in a flash, his horse’s hooves sounding along the side of the house to the street beyond.
“Dan ... come, we need the carriage. We’re off to the country. I realize it’s a hasty decision, but we must go now.”
“Yes, Your Grace. The carriage will be ready in fifteen minutes,” Dan replied.
Terence came back to the mews.
“Ah, Terence. Good. We’re going to Pinebrook Manor. I have need of you. As does Lord Thomas. Will you come?”
“Of course, Your Grace.
Robert took his watch from the fob pocket of his waistcoat and marked the time. “Nine o’clock, then. Very good. We’ll make good time. It should take us about five hours,” Robert informed Tom, and the two ascended to the carriage with Terence up on the bench next to Dan.
On the way, Robert and Tom both dozed on and off, causing them a fair amount of surprise when they arrived at two thirty in the morning. They started up the long driveway to Pinebrook Manor.
Mr Harris came out to the head of the drive with Mrs Crabtree to greet the men. “Mary alerted us to your coming, Your Grace. Good evening, Lord Thomas.”
“Thank you,” the two men said in unison.
“Your bedchambers are ready. Lady Phoebe will receive you at breakfast. She doesn’t know you are here, Your Grace. It was Miss Mary who arranged it.” The housekeeper held the candelabra high. “Let us go inside.”
“That will be fine. Thank you, Mrs Crabtree. Mr Harris, my man Terence is with me.”
“Very good, Your Grace. I will show him to a room for his use,” Harris said.
“And now Your Grace, and Lord Thomas, this way.” Mrs Crabtree led the men into the mansion.
Soon, they were ensconced in their chambers. Tom had told Robert that he was going straight to bed. Robert poked his head out of his door and looked both ways up and down the hall.
He had no idea where Lady Phoebe’s room was, but Tom, who’d spent much time at Pinebrook Manor in the past, had told him she slept on the second floor in her mother’s former chambers. Since he was in the late Duke’s chamber, Lady Phoebe must be just on the other end of the gallery.
He quietly stepped into the gallery and padded towards the other end. He stopped at each door to his right. The first chamber he looked in was open. It was a bedroom. The second room was locked, and he knew that was where Lord Thomas had been put.
Even though he held one tiny candle that did little to illuminate anything more than the narrow tread of his feet on the soft carpet, he continued walking along the gallery. He came to a door at the far end, on the other side of the staircase.
He tried the door. It was locked. This must be what he was looking for. He knocked and waited a moment. He knocked again, a little louder this time. A few seconds later, there was a click, and the door opened a crack.
Mary’s soft eyes gazed up at him and she gasped. “Your Grace. You’re here,” she whispered.
“Yes, Mary. I want you to pack a reticule for yourself and one for Lady Phoebe. Hide them; we may need to leave in a hurry.”
“Will we leave tonight, Your Grace?”
“No, but when we go, it will be with a minute’s notice. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will let My Lady know as well.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I knew you would help us.” She smiled at him and curtsied as best she could in the opening of the doorway.
“Back to sleep with you. Lord Thomas and I will see you at breakfast.”
“Lord Thomas is here, Your Grace?”
“Yes. He’s accompanied me.” Atwater thought he saw a play of a smile around Mary’s lips.
“Good night, Your Grace.” Mary closed the door quickly.
Atwater stood in the gallery looking at the door. Behind it, Lady Phoebe breathed in soft slumber. Nothing more than a door separated them. He turned and made his way back down the gallery to his designated chamber.
*******
Three days later, over breakfast, Atwater outlined his plan to Lord Thomas and Lady Phoebe. Mary, having attended Phoebe earlier was nowhere to be seen, although Phoebe had invited her to dine with them.
Phoebe felt shy around Atwater. He was entirely too handsome. She could see why Lady Judith had fallen for him. But, she reminded herself, he had done something so dreadful, he wasn’t received.
But then, Mary and Thomas both believed that Atwater hadn’t done what Judith had accused him of doing. Reneging on a promise. Going against Judith by backing out of a marriage agreement. It was the lowest gesture Phoebe had ever heard of. She was disappointed beyond measure, as she still felt so drawn to Atwater. Was it actually possible that Judith had lied?
Phoebe was called back to the talk at hand by Atwater’s voice addressing her.
“The fact that Portree, uh, Carlisle is in Edinburgh gives us more time. London is safe from typhus now. Lord Thomas and I will escort you and Mary back to Wimpole Street.”
It took Phoebe a moment to formulate her response. “I don’t want to appear ungrateful, Your Grace, but what good will it do to take me away from here? My cousin threatens to sell the townhouse, and this one, out from under me. Whether I marry him or not.�
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“We won’t let him force you into a marriage you don’t want.” Tom stopped speaking.
There was the sound of a carriage outside, or a coach. It sounded heavy and big, and there were hounds running alongside of it, bellowing.
“What is that infernal racket,” Lord Thomas ventured.
Mrs Crabtree rushed into the sitting room. “My Lady, it’s the Earl; I mean the Duke. He’s back.”
Phoebe’s eyes opened wide in alarm. “He’s back? Already? Your Grace, what do we do now?”
“Tom and I get out of your private sitting room straightaway ... first things first.”
Lord Thomas stood and exited the room with his beer and breakfast plate and hurried to his chamber. He heard the Duke coming in the front door calling for the butler.
“Harris. Get down here man. I need your assistance. Where is that confounded …”
“Your Grace.” Mr Harris stood in front of his new master with a face of stone.
“Let’s get something straight, Harris, shall we?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“You look as if you hope to be released from service here. You’d like nothing better than a fine letter of reference from me and the opportunity to find another place. Am I right, Harris? Well, let me inform you of something, my man. The fact that you appeared so quickly and so quietly when I called for you has pleased me. Greatly. I intend to make you my valet, Mr Harris. Mind you keep up the good work. I don’t reference anyone who attempts to poison my mind to their presence here. You will never find another position if I should decide to let you go. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Harris bowed.
Carlisle smirked. “Good. Now. Where is Lady Phoebe?”
“She’s asleep, Your Grace.”
“Asleep? I won’t hear of it.” Carlisle bounded up the stairs and turned left down the gallery towards Phoebe’s chamber. He grabbed the handle and turned it only to find the door locked. “Phoebe! Open this door at once.”
Inside, Mary had come back and was frantically clearing away extra cutlery and plates. She shoved everything into a low cupboard and closed its door. Phoebe went to the bedchamber door and spoke through it.
“Y-your Grace. You are back early.”
“I am, and I expected to be greeted by my wife to be at the door.”
“My Lord, I have not given you my answer yet.”
“You’re a fool if you think you can survive without me, My Lady.” Carlisle turned on his heel and headed for the stairs. “I will see you in the dining room for dinner. Do not be late,” he called over his shoulder.
Phoebe turned around to face the room and leaned back against the door. “Oh Mary, he intends to keep me a prisoner no matter where I am.”
“Not to worry, My Lady. Duke Atwater has a plan.”
“I hope it’s a good plan. Carlisle might throw Atwater and Lord Thomas to the dogs.”
“No, His Grace Lord Robert is going to discuss business with the Duke.”
“We’ll see, Mary. Now, I must freshen up. I’ll have cold luncheon in my sitting room and then nap. After, I’ll need your assistance dressing for dinner. Please tell His Grace and Lord Thomas to join Duke Carlisle and myself in the drawing room at half past four to enjoy some aperitif. Then come back to assist me with my dress, please.” Phoebe sighed. “Dinner promises to be interesting, if nothing else.”
Chapter 5
Dinner had come to a close. Lady Phoebe had retired to her chamber. Duke Carlisle, Atwater, and Lord Thomas were in the library enjoying some fine Spanish brandy.
“... and if you are in the market to sell, I’d be interested. I spent a great deal of time at the Wimpole Street townhouse, Your Grace. I would be quite interested in acquiring it.” Lord Thomas swirled the rich, translucent brandy in his goblet.
“You don’t know what relief that brings to me, Lord Thomas. Now, if I can find a buyer for this estate, I’ll never have need of leaving my dear Scotland again.” Carlisle grinned showing a row of brownish teeth.
“I might be able to bring you the relief you’re craving, Your Grace.” Atwater leaned forward to better illustrate his point. “I’ve had my eye on Pinebrook Manor. In fact, I had been conversing with the late Duke about the matter.”
“I daresay this is the happiest bit of news I’ve been privy to in quite some time.” Carlisle, once again, bestowed his hideous smile on the men. “Call Harris, will you? I’d like more brandy. We’ve finished this bottle gentlemen. I told the butler to decant four bottles. You never know when there’s a celebration to be had. Harris!” He yelled the last, forgetting in his near inebriated state that his only effort was to ring the bell.
“Mr Harris left the brandy here, Carlisle. Allow me will you?” Atwater secured Carlisle’s glass and stepped to the side table. His eyes met Tom’s. He nodded slightly, and Tom immediately took up Carlisle’s attention with more talk of the Wimpole Street townhouse.
Atwater turned his back and retrieved a small vial from his waistcoat. It contained belladonna, an herb that rendered the one who ingested it unconscious. He emptied half the vial into the glass and sloshed the brandy over it.
“Here we are.” Atwater handed the glass to the unsuspecting Carlisle and placed the decanter on the table next to the chair he was in.
“It is fine, though, isn’t it gentlemen?” Carlisle drained the glass and poured another.
Again, Thomas’ and Atwater’s eyes met. It was only a matter of time.
Robert checked his watch. Eight o’clock. He hoped the women were ready.
Twenty minutes later, Carlisle sat, slumped in the chair, snoring loudly. Atwater stood and made his quiet way up to Lady Phoebe’s chamber. He hugged the wall and stayed out of sight of the two guards Carlisle had set at the front door. Thomas snuck down to the servants’ hall and out into the yard to find Dan.
Atwater tapped on the door to Phoebe’s chamber, and it opened to a dark room. “How many guards has he put about?” Atwater asked Mary urgently.
“You mean the spies? I’m not sure, but I think nine and his valet and driver. The men at the door are always two. He’s put three women in the kitchens. There are two footmen; they are the very tall gentlemen you’ll see in the stables. Much taller than the manor’s two footmen.”
“Dan is readying the coach. I’ll tell Carlisle’s footmen, if they’re awake, that I have urgent business in London. I’ll say that I’d forgotten about it, and it’s imperative that I be there in the morning. We will go out through the servants’ entrance in order not to be detected, but we need a story just in case. Come. Let us go.”
They went towards the servants’ stairs. Mary and Phoebe pulled their cloaks tight and lifted the hoods over their respective brown curls and flaxen waves.
“You must stay out of sight. If I have to distract the footmen, Thomas will get you into the coach. Hopefully, we won’t have to speak to them.”
The three tiptoed down the steps and through the servants’ hall. Atwater opened the back door and peeked out into the yard. All seemed quiet. A bird called from across the yard, and Atwater knew it was Tom signalling that all was clear. They hurried across to the stables, once more staying to the edges of the yard, pressed against the cold stone of the walls.
Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 63