“It must have been very difficult for you.”
“It was lonely, isolating,” the major admitted. “Not many families in the village encouraged an acquaintance with Emily Roddington’s baseborn son.”
Dorothea tried to imagine him as a young boy, enduring the taunts and isolation. “I am sorry.”
“There’s no need.” His eyes burned into her and she felt the intensity of his emotions. “It’s who I am, it’s what made me strong. Strong enough to survive the army. And Napoleon’s soldiers.”
Dorothea leaned harder against the tree trunk, ignoring the rough bark digging into her back. “I’m very glad that you survived. All of it.”
He tilted his head and she could see the muscle in his cheek working as he struggled to contain himself. An unexpected pressure on the side of her fingers caused her to look down. The major’s ungloved hand was resting close to hers on the picnic blanket.
A swirl of compassion invaded her heart. Carefully, casually, Dorothea inched her fingers closer. One more slow, deliberate move and they would be touching. She pushed her hand over the smooth surface of the blanket and then suddenly—
“I hope you have some saved food for us, Roddy,” a deep baritone voice implored. “I’m starved.”
“Atwood! Benton! What are you doing here?” The major snatched his hand away, leapt to his feet, and walked toward the approaching men.
Startled, Dorothea swung her head around and caught sight of two elegantly garbed gentlemen on horseback. Good heavens, she had heard correctly. It was the marquess. Fighting the edgy quiver of nerves the sight of Lord Atwood produced in her chest, Dorothea concentrated her attention on the other gentleman. The one who had spoken.
She recognized him from last night’s ball, though she could not recall his name.
“Ah, Miss Ellingham, I presume?” The stranger dismounted, then bowed. “I am Viscount Benton. I must say, it is a pure delight to at last meet the woman who has so thoroughly captured my friend’s attention.”
Dorothea’s head turned sharply toward Lord Atwood, fearing what he might have been saying about her. Yet Lord Atwood’s expression remained open, innocent. Lud, what a ninny she was being! The viscount had meant Major Roddington, not the marquess.
Rattled, Dorothea struggled to regain her composure. She lifted her head and stared in frustration at Lord Atwood and the viscount, wishing they would get back on their horses and ride on. She felt awkward and unsettled. The major, however, appeared to be pleased at their unexpected arrival.
Dorothea blew out a sigh and told herself all would be well the moment the two uninvited guests departed.
She forced herself to smile at the viscount. He was a handsome devil, with dark, daring looks. He returned her smile with a devastating one of his own. Oh, dear. The very last thing she needed in her life was another handsome rogue flirting with her.
She very deliberately lowered her chin and turned her head away. Benton did not appear to be a fool. He would easily understand her message.
Dorothea’s gaze was now fixed in the distance, centered upon Lady Meredith and the girls. She watched with curiosity as Lady Meredith settled the three girls in a rowboat that was nestled on the shore. With the help of the girl’s governess, Lady Meredith pushed the small boat off the bank, then hopped inside. Taking up the oars, she began to row in an uneven line toward the other side of the lake.
Dorothea could see the girls smiling and giggling at their mother’s antics. She smiled, too. It looked like they were having a grand time.
“I see that Lady Meredith has taken the girls for a boat ride. Perhaps we can go next, Major Roddington?” Dorothea asked, deciding that if the viscount and marquess wouldn’t leave, then she must find a way to escape. There would only be room in the boat for her and the major.
“What?” The major jerked his head toward the small lake, his eyes widened.
“I heard Dardington’s wife was a plucky kind of woman,” Lord Atwood said with admiration. “I’m sure she knows what she is doing.”
The words had no sooner left the marquess’s mouth when a sharp, splintering sound echoed up from the lake, followed immediately by a chorus of female screams and loud splashes.
“Oh, my goodness, they’ve all fallen into the lake!” Dorothea shouted.
All three men turned, then started sprinting down the hill, pulling off their coats as they ran. Hastily, Dorothea grabbed the reins of Lord Atwood’s and Viscount Benton’s horses before the animals could bolt. Tugging on the reins, she too ran down the hill, the horses obediently following.
Lord Atwood hit the water first, with the major a few seconds behind. There was so much splashing in the middle of the lake, Dorothea could barely distinguish Lady Meredith’s adult form. She appeared to be holding at least one, perhaps two of her daughters as she struggled to stay afloat. There was no sign of the boat. It must have sunk to the bottom after taking on too much water.
“Hurry, hurry,” Dorothea whispered frantically.
It was quickly apparent that Lord Atwood was by far the strongest swimmer. He reached the center of the lake well ahead of the viscount and the major. It was then Dorothea saw two female heads bobbing distinctly above the surface—Lady Meredith and Stephanie, her oldest daughter. The two younger ones were missing.
Without hesitation, Lord Atwood dove under the water. He quickly resurfaced, a child in his arms. He passed the little girl to Viscount Benton, then dove under again. This time he resurfaced alone.
Dorothea tensed, fear pressing heavily on her chest. Her lips began moving in silent prayer. Oh, please, dear God, let the child be found. The marquess dove under a third time. Everyone seemed to be holding their collective breath as they waited for him to emerge, and then finally he broke through the water.
There was a sputtering sound and then a lusty cry as the child he held began to shriek. Dorothea, along with the servants and bystanders who had gathered on the shore, let out a loud cheer. Slowly, they all began to swim toward shore, the men assisting the children and Lady Meredith.
It was a tearful, relieved reunion as Dorothea and the servants gathered around the drenched group. Dorothea snatched a picnic blanket from the ground and wrapped it around Lady Meredith’s shoulders, giving her a fierce hug. She then hugged each of the girls, who were also wrapped in blankets, huddled close to their mother.
“Gracious, we shall have quite a tale to tell Papa, won’t we, girls?” Lady Meredith smiled shakily down at her daughters, who regarded her with wide, solemn eyes.
“I think he shall be very angry with us,” Stephanie replied as her teeth began to chatter.
“Perhaps.” Lady Meredith vigorously rubbed her daughter’s arm. “That’s why we must smile and laugh when we tell him of our adventure, to let him know that we were not afraid. All right, girls?”
Three soggy heads nodded in unison. Dorothea lifted her gaze from Lady Meredith and the children and turned to regard the three men who had risked their lives to save the females.
They were equally wet, though seemingly unconcerned as murky water steadily dripped from their hair and clothing. Caught in the jubilation of the moment, they were joking and laughing with each other, a trait Dorothea had observed was common among men after victoriously escaping peril.
“Christ, Roddy, it seems as if danger likes to follow you around,” Viscount Benton declared.
“Truly,” Lord Atwood agreed. “’Tis hard to believe you survived the war.”
Major Roddington grinned sheepishly, then pushed a lock of wet hair off his forehead. “It must be this English soil. I too am starting to feel as though it is safer for me to be battling the French.”
After taking Miss Ellingham home, a still damp Major Roddington entered his bachelor apartment. His servant, Parker, emerged from the small sitting room, took one look at his master, and smiled.
“By the looks of you, it seems that things went as planned,” Parker said, his grin widening.
“Hardly.” The
major gritted his teeth in frustration. He shrugged out of his damp coat and flung it on the floor, then nearly groaned when he caught a glimpse of his best boots. They were stiff and waterlogged, ruined, most likely beyond salvation, and he certainly did not have the necessary funds to replace them. “What the hell did you do to that damn boat, Parker?”
The servant’s face turned ashen at the major’s rare show of temper. “Exactly what you asked, sir.”
“I think not,” Roddy snapped. “The boat was supposed to spring a sizable leak almost immediately when it was put in the water, so it would not be taken too far from shore. Instead, it was rowed to nearly the center of the lake before it splintered into dozens of pieces.”
Parker’s brow knit together with worry. “Was Miss Ellingham injured?”
Roddy slapped his hand down on the table. Hard. “No, you bloody idiot, she wasn’t injured. She wasn’t even in the damn boat.”
“What happened?”
“Lady Meredith and her daughters took the boat out on the lake. I was too far away to even notice. It broke apart when they were far from shore.” Roddy raked his fingers through his hair. “Christ Almighty, they could have easily drowned. The girls are so young, I swear the oldest can’t be more than nine or ten.”
Parker’s face lost any remaining bits of color. “Were they badly hurt?” he asked.
Roddy let out a ragged breath. “Not really. More frightened, I think. The two younger ones were wailing something awful when they were pulled from the water, but their mother managed to calm them down.”
“You were able to save them.” Parker’s tense face collapsed with relief. “Then you’re still a hero.”
“Atwood saved them,” he replied with great resentment, antagonism flowing through his veins. Truly, could it have been any worse? All this careful planning and in the end it was Atwood who garnered all the glory. Fate really was a harsh, unkind master.
I will make my own fate, Roddy vowed to himself. I will not allow myself to be pushed away from everything that should be mine by rights. Especially by Atwood, of all people.
“The marquess pulled all four females from the water?” Parker asked.
The edge of admiration in Parker’s voice made Roddy want to scream in frustration. “No. He rescued the two youngest girls, the ones who actually needed the most help. The older daughter managed to keep her head above the water and while frightened, was not in any real danger. Benton assisted her.”
“And the marchioness?”
Roddy grunted. “She swims like a fish. I made a grand show of lending her assistance, but clearly it was unnecessary.”
Roddy pulled out a chair from his small dining table and sat as a sudden exhaustion overtook his agitation. In his mind he could hear the frightened cries of those innocent young girls, could see the panic and terror on their mother’s face. Maybe he should just give up and walk away. Before some other innocent bystanders were truly injured.
But how could he? This was the closest he had ever come to his prey. If he did not strike now, the opportunity would be lost, possibly forever. ’Twould be foolish indeed to back off when victory was within his grasp.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Parker said contritely. “I did my best. I bored holes in several places on the bottom and sides of the rowboat, just as you told me. I assumed the vessel would start taking on water immediately. I never expected the wood to be so weak that it would splinter.”
Roddy drew in a steadying breath. There was no cause to blame Parker. “Serves us right for trying to stage a rescue on the water. We are cavalry men, Parker, not sailors.”
“Yes, sir.”
Roddy sighed. It was not Parker’s fault that things had gone awry. He, and he alone, must bear the burden of this afternoon’s near disaster. Once again, he thought of abandoning his mission. He was young, capable, and now, thanks to his war record, a man with a few influential friends.
Opportunities for financial gain abounded in India. Even in the American colonies. Perhaps it was time for him to make a move, to go somewhere far away, where he could have a fresh start, a new beginning. Yet as tempting as it seemed, Roddy knew himself too well. He was not ready. There was more to be done, more to accomplish. He could not look toward his future until he settled his past. Here, in England.
“From now on we must be especially diligent and careful,” Roddy told his servant. “We cannot afford any more mistakes. The stakes are simply too high, Parker. Too damn high.”
Chapter Seven
The dinner invitation from the Marquess and Marchioness of Dardington arrived later that evening, a few moments before Carter was set to leave for the Lancasters’ musical soiree. Written in Lady Dardington’s own hand, it was graciously and informally worded. Carter thought it totally unnecessary, but he understood the Dardingtons’ desire to tangibly express their gratitude for his assistance at the lake this afternoon. His only hope was that it would be, as the invitation promised, a small, family affair.
“The footman is waiting for an answer, my lord,” his valet, Dunsford, said.
“Tell him to inform Lady Dardington that I shall be delighted to attend,” Carter instructed.
The valet bowed and exited, but returned a few minutes later.
“Is there a problem, Dunsford?” he asked as the servant held out Carter’s evening jacket. “Does the footman require a written reply instead of a verbal one?”
“No, my lord. Lord Dardington’s servant has gone.” The valet adjusted the collar on the jacket, then stepped away, lifted his chin, and thrust his shoulders back. “His Grace, the Duke of Hansborough, has arrived. He wishes to speak with you.”
“My father is here?” Carter’s amusement at his valet’s stiff formality disappeared. His father never came to his bachelor apartments. Something must be wrong. “Does he appear upset?”
The valet shook his head. “His Grace maintained a proper, even temperament upon arrival and while being shown to the sitting room. He expressed no urgency in seeing you, but did however insist upon it.”
Of course. His father rarely displayed any sort of emotions in public, saving his anger and displeasure for those private moments between himself and his son.
“Very good, Dunsford. Please inform the duke that I shall be with him shortly.”
Carter picked up a brush and slowly applied it to his already groomed hair. He waited until he was sure his valet had enough time to deliver the message before striding across his bedchamber, through his dressing room, and into the spacious sitting area of his home.
His foot had barely stepped onto the Aubusson rug when a figure moved forward from the corner of the room. “Good evening, Carter.”
“Hello, sir.” Carter struggled to hide his surprise. The duke never came toward anyone. Much like a king with his subjects, the duke always waited for people to approach him. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“Can’t a man stop in and say hello to his son?” the duke asked gruffly. “Does there have to be a reason?”
“When the two individuals in question are you and I, sir, there almost always is a specific reason.”
The duke cleared his throat and took another step closer. For an instant, Carter had the strangest sensation that the duke meant to embrace him, something he seldom did when Carter was a boy and never once after he had reached his tenth birthday.
Seeking to defuse the odd tension swirling about the room, Carter headed for the crystal decanters of spirits on the credenza. He poured them both a glass of whiskey, then slowly crossed back to his father, taking note of the older man’s appearance.
The duke was dressed formally for an evening out, confirming that nothing initially seemed amiss. Yet as Carter looked closer, something did seem different about his father. His hair appeared to have several additional gray streaks, his broad shoulders were slightly stooped. It must be a trick of the light, Carter decided. The duke was never anything but invincible.
The duke accepted the glass, the
n pulled himself up to his usual rigid stance. “A salute to your good health. May you never take it for granted.”
“To your good health, sir,” Carter replied automatically, and then he stopped short, his whiskey glass not yet at his lips.
Was his father ill? Was this the real reason for this unexpected visit? Carter’s stomach turned to lead. He took but a small sip of his whiskey.
“I can see that you are dressed to go out for the evening, so I shall be direct,” the duke began as he sat down. “I heard there was a bit of a commotion at Banberry Park today. Something about you taking a dunk in the lake?”
Carter waved his hand dismissively. “It was nothing.”
“There was also talk of an incident in front of the Bull and Finch tavern last week where some thug pulled a knife on you and nearly succeeding in burying it in your chest.” The duke took another swallow of his drink. “In light of this troubling information, I feel compelled to ask, is this merely a string of bad luck or are you deliberately courting danger?”
“To spite you?” Carter laughed at the ridiculous question, feeling almost giddy with relief. His father’s health was not in jeopardy. This time when he tipped the glass to his lips, he was able to take a long, enjoyable swallow.
“I asked you a question,” the duke said, his voice sharp.
Carter’s smile faded. The duke was serious. “It was too outrageous for a response,” he countered. “If I wanted to injure myself, there are far easier and less painful methods than drowning or getting knifed.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Carter downed his whiskey in two swallows. “These were two unrelated, random events in which I was an unwitting participant. Nothing more.”
The duke sat up, adjusting his lean frame in the elegant chair. “I am relieved to hear this is not a deliberate pattern of behavior. Yet these harrowing experiences serve to further illustrate my position. Time is of the essence. If anything fatal had occurred, you would have left this world without an heir.”
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