Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1)

by Becca St. John

She should have seen before now how worn and weary these past days had made him.

  He needed sleep, rest. She’d been selfish.

  “Go then.”

  He scowled.

  He ran his hand down his face and stood, pausing just inside the door. “Good night, my love.”

  “Good night,” she whispered.

  He did need his rest. He’d been carrying too many worries on those shoulders of his. She had rested all evening and most of the night, except for the time she’d gone out to Baver. She wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer.

  Baver.

  Ned, the old stable man, had promised to stay the night with him. She would go and help. She got out of bed, slowly, so many aches and pains, and prepared to go to the stables. With so many out, looking for Roger, he wouldn’t be anywhere near at hand. She’d be safe.

  ***

  Half a dozen missives were sent back and forth before she was finally set free. Hilda didn’t like walking through the woods at night, but she had to get home. There was a cow to milk and chickens to coop, if the fox hadn’t already gotten to them.

  And her boy. Her wee boy needed to be cared for. It had been a rough day for him. Worse than he even knew. There would be tantrums. She wouldn’t blame him.

  She waddled along the path, made anxious by how long it was taking her to get to her cottage. Frustrated by the dark. She knew the path, but not every hole and root.

  Something rustled in the bushes to her right.

  “Who’s there?” she cried out. Feral pigs could be mean.

  No one responded. She hurried along faster. Whatever it was, it kept pace. Not a pig, for she heard his breath. It had to be a man.

  She stopped. “Roger? Is that you, my boy?” He loved to tease her. “I’ve news.” She turned in a circle, searching through the darkness for something, anything. “They called me up to the big house, to tend to the new duchess.”

  Roger stepped out of the brush.

  “Ah.” She smiled and brushed at the debris that clung to his shirt. “I knew it would be you.”

  He pushed her hands aside. “The new duchess?”

  “Well, yes.” She started walking again, but he grabbed her arm to stop her. She looked up, and tsked. “She lives, my boy.”

  “Lives?”

  Hilda smiled, nodded. “I wouldn’t steal your fun, but she can’t talk. I forbade her to do so for a week and gave her enough laudanum so she’ll sleep for a day, maybe more.” At least, that had been her intention. The girl had not been able to swallow much of it. But surely she would sleep through the night.

  He grabbed her arms. “You didn’t kill her?”

  “Did you want me to?” He usually didn’t want her to finish off his games.

  He shook his head, offered her that lovely smile of his. Such a handsome boy. Her boy. She may not have borne him, but she’d raised him.

  “No, you did right.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll go get her.”

  ***

  She looked over her shoulder, as if he would harm her.

  He’d thought about it, but he always thought about killing. Fantasized it. But he wouldn’t kill her. Not tonight, anyway.

  Maybe, one day, when she was too old. When living was a burden to her. He’d do it fast, when she wasn’t expecting it. A quick, sharp snap. He’d heard you could do that, from an old man from the orient.

  Not tonight, though, His father wouldn’t like that.

  ***

  “Summerton!” Lady Eleanor rushed into the family dining room. “There are carriages coming down the drive. Sir Michael’s returning.”

  The duke stood. “He would have barely reached Manchester, if that.”

  Hitches hurried out of the room, to prepare for new arrivals.

  “Did you say two carriages? Sir Michael only took one carriage.”

  “I know,” his aunt agreed, “but it’s him, I am certain of it. Perhaps your messenger caught up with him.”

  “All the more reason for him to continue.” Summerton headed for the entrance hall.

  “Has Caroline been down yet?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “I thought to let her rest.”

  “Send her coffee. She will want to know what is happening.”

  “I already have—” he smiled, taking his aunt’s arm, walking with her to greet their visitors, “—and I believe you will be wishing us happy, very soon.”

  Eleanor nodded and gave him a sideways look. “I rather thought you two were getting to that point.” She patted his arm. “Congratulations.”

  “Not so quick. She’s contrary enough to back off rather than agree to a fait accompli.”

  “Don’t let that happen. She will make you a smashing duchess.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, “I rather think so.”

  A footman opened the double doors of the outer balcony. Before they crossed the threshold and headed out onto the front steps, a maid ran down the stairs calling, “Your grace, your grace.”

  “Mind yourself!” Hitches warned the girl.

  “But it’s her grace, sir. She isn’t there. Her abigail’s been looking all over for her and the room’s torn apart, like a demon thrashed it.”

  “Caroline?” Summerton asked.

  “Nowhere to be found, your grace.” The maid curtseyed.

  Lady Eleanor was halfway up the stairs before he caught up with her. “We’d had an argument.”

  “You are not to blame for this.”

  He was. “She wanted me to stay with her. I should have.” He remembered the balustrade hanging, drunkenly, broken in her fight to be free the day before. She’d not have the strength for another battle.

  “Don’t,” Eleanor commanded. “Don’t even think it. Go down and tell Sir Michael what’s been happening,”

  “I want to find her,” Summerton demanded.

  “The maid said she’s not there.”

  He called down to where Hitches and the maid were now in deep discussion. “Did they look up in the nursery?”

  “Yes sir, they checked all of your chambers and above stairs. No sign of her,” Hitches told him, and went out to greet the arrivals.

  “The dog.” Summerton shook his head. “She could be with him.”

  “God hope!” Eleanor exclaimed. “Go get Sir Michael and check the stables. She could be there.”

  By the time he was out the front door, Sir Michael was already descending from his carriage. Rather than help him, Hitches was at the lead of the team, speaking with a stable boy who held the horses.

  “Your grace,” Hitches said.

  Summerton slowed.

  “Her grace is with Lord Baver.”

  He stopped completely, and laughed. The little minx—she was safe, she was there. He changed course, changed mood, took the last stair and turned to Sir Michael.

  “Where’s Bevieann?” Summerton asked. The reporter had left with him. He’d helped her into the vehicle himself.

  “She wanted to keep going. I gave her funds to catch the next mail coach.”

  “And why are you here? Perfect timing, but I hadn’t expected it. You couldn’t have known the developments here,” Summerton asked.

  Sir Michael tipped his head toward the large traveling coach pulling up behind his.

  “Caroline’s uncle, in a right state. He’s heard about what’s been going on down here. Thought I had better get back here to keep an eye on him.”

  “Ah,” Summerton murmured. “He’ll find Caroline in the stables. Most likely not dressed for greeting others, but her dog was injured in the night.”

  “Drool?”

  He nodded. “And Caroline was attacked,” He slapped Michael on the back. “She will be fine. I’ll fill you in later.”

  “Howlett won’t like this,” Sir Michael said, as they watched the man descend from his coach. “He’ll smile like a market barker while he’s ripping you apart.”

  Summerton didn’t doubt it. Robert Howlett had always struck him as the sort who played one
hand, while overseeing an entirely different agenda. At least they now knew he’d had no part in their trials these past few days. He’d been too far away to orchestrate matters. Besides, what could have motivated him? He’d gotten his share of the dowry, and there was still the business. Sir Michael had no need of Caroline’s portion.

  “I’ve had my fill of him.” Sir Michael turned away. “I’ll walk to the stables. Shake out the kinks.”

  The duke stopped him. “What is he doing here?”

  “He’s been hearing rumors, that’s all he’s said. Hearing rumors.”

  As he left, Summerton turned to see just what Sir Michael meant. Although not obese, Howlett was muscular, making him large in both girth and height. The sort who would have made a fine boxer, if his brother hadn’t secured him a fortune.

  Unfortunately, a fortune did not translate into a sense of fashion. Today he wore a color combination often seen on the streets of London, but not with such jarring hues. His yellow vest and matching trousers glowed brighter than the sun. The hue of the man’s jacket was blue enough to dazzle a peacock. Unlike his own starched white cravat, Howlett’s looked to be steeped in fresh blood. The whole reminded him of a tropical bird he’d once seen in a friend’s aviary.

  “Ho, there, young man,” Robert Howlett bellowed. “Where’s that niece of mine?” He winked, patted the duke’s back with enough force that Summerton grabbed the wagon wheel to keep from flying forward.

  “I believe she is in the stables,” he explained, hoping he was right.

  “Ah, with her flea-bitten pests.”

  “Her dog, the hound, was injured.”

  “Injured? Heard worse than that was happening here,” the man said with a smile.

  “Yes, a trying time.” He signaled to Hitches. “Mr. Howlett will need a room.” To Robert, he said, “Breakfast is still out in the dining room. Get yourself something to eat, freshen up. Caroline and I will meet you in the study.”

  “You said she was in the stables.” Howlett placed an unwelcome arm around Summerton’s shoulder. “Why do we not go find her there? Eh?”

  One did not touch a duke.

  Summerton looked over at the man. Howlett removed his arm. Cleared his throat. Brushed his hands and started a string of complaints from carriage to stable. The journey had been rough, country inns with fleas, greasy, gristly food, bad wine. What he’d had to do to be there because the duke couldn’t take care of his little girl properly.

  All managed with a light jovial tone.

  The stables consisted of four blocks of stalls. Sir Michael stood at one, its top door open. The two men joined him.

  Caroline lay curled up on a heap of straw, bruised and mussed, Baver nestled beside her. Old Ned sat on a bale of hay, pipe in hand. Gnarly and ancient and sent out to pasture, so to speak, Summerton had him pulled back into service last night. Ned didn’t care much for people, but he had a canny way with animals.

  “Gawd, he’s an insult to nature.” Ned pointed his pipe at Robert Howlett. “Could stop hens from laying, he could.”

  Robert Howlett took no notice, his eyes on his niece. “What have you done to her?” He scrabbled with the lower door, trying to get it open. “By God, she’s been murdered!” Robert Howlett cried. “This is exactly what I feared! What have I done, having her marry you? You’ve had her murdered!”

  “Keep your chin shut,” Old Ned snarled. “She’s only sleeping.”

  Caroline shifted, rolling away from the sound, covering her head with her arms. Summerton smiled. That was his girl. Whatever happened in her room, she was safe and sound and with her animals.

  A fox paced nervously in a cage on the floor, growing increasingly skittish in the presence of so many visitors.

  Robert Howlett shoved Summerton, who’d leaned over the stable door to open it. He held up a hand, just to warn the man, but he backed up, as if Summerton had punched him, shouting, “Caroline! Caroline! Wake yourself!”

  The man was a nuisance. Summerton unhitched the door, stepped inside and closed it, daring Howlett to counter that. He didn’t want him disturbing Caroline with his clawing presence.

  Her groan pulled him around as she curled into a tighter ball.

  “Leave her be,” Summerton told her uncle. “She deserves her rest,” Though he’d rather she did it above stairs.

  Or possibly not. What had happened there?

  Robert continued to shout. “Come on, girl! Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

  “I said to hold your tongue,” the duke ordered, considering the very real temptation of having the man taken away by force.

  Caroline blinked, clearing sleep away. They all watched, waited. She blinked again and opened her eyes, looking over at where he stood, in the corner of the stall.

  Howlett and Sir Michael gasped, the magistrate turning away from the sight. Howlett leaned in closer, appalled. Summerton had forgotten how shocking her eyes were. It hurt to look at them.

  Sir Michael shot Summerton a hard look. “What’s been going on here?” he demanded.

  Caroline rose, pushing her hair from her face and straw from her hair, ignoring the other men. Or perhaps she hadn’t noticed them. He didn’t care. He just liked the way she looked at him.

  “Ah, the intrepid duke!” She shielded her eyes from the sun, not that there was much of it in the shadows of the stall.

  Ned looked to the cage. “Best get this fellow out of here, he’ll ’ave a heart attack, what with all the attention.”

  Caroline leaned toward the cage. “No, no, no, you don’t want to do that,” she slurred.

  “Caroline?” Summerton knelt beside her, peering into those hellishly red eyes.

  “Good mornin’…” She burped, held a hand to her mouth, eyes wide, and giggled.

  Giggled?

  “Ned?” Summerton eyed the older man.

  “She was summat in pain, your grace. So I gave her a wee dram.”

  “And another, I think.” Caroline giggled again. “And another and…” She fell backward laughing.

  “You’re alive,” her uncle said, with far less enthusiasm than he’d used to proclaim her death. “And drunk, at nine o’clock in the morning!”

  “Uncle Robert?” Caroline asked. “Why are you here?” She swished her hand in the air. “Deed is done, money in the bank, and all that.” She tried to stand, wobbled, and then toppled. “Oh my.”

  Summerton wrapped an arm around her shoulders, earning him a dreamy-eyed stare. If getting foxed made her look at him like that, he might just take to plying her with liquor.

  “I like it when you hold me.”

  Summerton ignored the embarrassed shuffle of feet behind him.

  “Right, oh.” Sir Michael turned on the old groom. “Not well done, Ned.”

  “No, sir, but she seemed a might upset, worried after the dog and all. Been here since the early hours, your grace,” he explained. “Since well before daylight. Thought ’twould help her sleep.”

  So she’d been here since he left her.

  “Come on, you.” She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder when he lifted her into his arms,

  “You left me,” she pouted.

  “I’d best not do that again.”

  “No,” she said with a sigh, nestling in only to lift her head again, swiftly, hitting Summerton’s chin, both chiming “Ow!”

  “Sorry,” she offered, rubbing the hurt spot, “I just thought of …”

  “What,” he asked.

  “Liz, where’s Liz?” She looked around the stableyard, as though the newspaper artist should be there.

  “Left, to find Bevieann, though she was torn about it. No doubt Bevieann will berate her for missing a good story but the poor girl took one look at you and thought better of staying. Aunt let her take your carriage.”

  Caroline sighed, her head back down on his shoulder. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

  “Glad?” Her uncle blustered, pushing forward. “Look at you! You’re bruised, your throat
. What has he done to you?”

  “Tried to kill me,” Caroline said, over Summerton’s shoulder as he carried her from the stables. “Roger.”

  “Roger? Roger who?” Robert’s face went red. “Summerton was supposed to protect you.”

  Caroline squirmed, but the duke held her firm. “Protect me, Uncle? How’d you know?” She looked at Summerton. “Did you know you were supposed to protect me? Before…before, Alice?” No, he hadn’t. It would have been a damn site better if he had. “Did you know?” Her fuddled brain was starting to work. He needed to get her indoors. “Was that part of the settlement?”

  Her uncle marched alongside of them, through the courtyard. “No, he did not know.”

  Caroline pushed free, bracing herself with the duke. “What was he to protect me from?”

  “I don’t know!” Robert bellowed. “I haven’t been able to find the source, but everything pointed to you. Something, someone meant to do you harm.” He rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you.” He looked away, reining in emotions, but they held sway. Summerton almost felt sorry for the man.

  “He was supposed to take you away, far away, where no one could touch you.” He cupped her face in his large, square hands. “I chose him for that, I couldn’t let…”

  “You chose him?” Caroline stepped away from Summerton, wobbled, but refused his help.

  “Only the best for my niece.” Howlett puffed. Summerton wanted to squash him, one hard jab at the face, but Caroline was watching him. “Offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse!”

  He knew exactly what she was thinking. She couldn’t know how the world had changed, his world had changed. He hadn’t noticed her, how could he? She hid behind palms at balls. She wouldn’t have been seated anywhere near him at dinner. His world was designed to protect him from commoners.

  Only she wasn’t ill-bred. She’d been born with power and intelligence. He should have noticed. Wanted to tell her he had, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to her.

  “You never even considered me, did you? My uncle came to you with an offer.”

  A lifetime ago, yes, Robert Howlett had approached him, and a deal was struck. None of that relevant any longer.