“Someone needs to worry about it.” Lord Amos’s jaw flexed and hardened. “You may not be so fortunate next time.”
“It will not happen again, on that score you may rest assured. Please, Lord Amos, don’t make trouble for me. Instead, do me the kindness of keeping what happened to yourself.”
He was quiet for too long for Crista’s comfort but eventually gave her a curt nod. “Very well, if that is what you want.”
“It is.”
“Then I shall keep your secret, but do not expect me to allow Reece to escape punishment. That would be asking too much.”
“No!” She cried out louder than she had intended. “No,” she repeated more softly, placing a hand anxiously on his arm. “Please, don’t interfere. You have no idea what harm it would do.”
“Shawford and Compton might set themselves against one another, but there is no serious crime in the district, and women are free to move about without fear of attack. If that situation has changed, then the duke will not stand for it and will take immediate action.” He fixed her with a firm look. “As will I.”
“But you don’t understand. The situation with Reece is personal, a misunderstanding, nothing more. No other females are in danger from him.”
“You ask me to keep your confidence but do not trust me with the truth.” He glanced at her grazed forehead, expelled a deep breath, and reached out to gently touch the curve of her face. “You are an enigma, Cristobel Brooke, but you are right about one thing. It is not my place to interfere if you do not require my help. Provided you can assure me Reece will not harm others, then I shall let it be.” He paused, before adding softly, “For now.”
“I can give you that assurance.” She offered him a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Lord Amos. I shall not forget your kindness.”
“Here,” he said as she turned to go through the gate at the back of the shop.
“What is it?”
“I believe this is yours.” He removed her ribbon from his pocket. “I picked it up from where you fell to the ground.”
“Oh.”
She took the ribbon from him, lifted a hand in farewell, and let herself in. She sensed him standing there beside his horse, watching her until she disappeared from view. She did not trust herself to look back, even when she discovered she still had Lord Amos’s fine lawn handkerchief clutched in her hand.
Chapter Seven
Reece stumbled through the trees, blinded by anger and fear. Of all the damnable luck. So few people frequented the common, especially at that time of day. Why had Sheridan come along at that precise moment? More to the point, had he recognised Reece? Curses upon the whole Sheridan clan! Reece didn’t seem able to turn around without stumbling over one or another of the blighters.
He stopped his headlong flight away from Amos Sheridan, pausing to straighten his clothing and regain his breath and composure. If he had been recognised, if the girl talked, then all hell would break loose. Sheridan would not let matters rest there, and Reece would have risked their entire operation. Yea gods, he would not be allowed to get away with that and knew what the punishment for disloyalty would be. He had been given permission to chastise Cristobel Brooke, as she deserved, but had also been warned forcibly to be discreet. Being caught in the act by one of the Sheridans hardly met that criteria, and there was no telling how his masters would react if they heard of the incident.
Reece leaned against a tree and allowed common sense to gradually overcome his fulminating anger and anxiety. She would not mention the incident to her uncle, he decided when his mind cleared and he could think rationally again. In spite of the spirited defiance that so attracted him to her, deep down she was afraid of him. With her own eyes, she had seen the fate that had befallen her father. She also knew he could destroy her precious sister and her uncle, her entire family, if she continued with her rebellious ways.
Feeling reassured, he crouched down and peered through the trees, wondering where she was. He didn’t think he had hurt her, but he hadn’t heard Sheridan ride off or seen any sign of Crista making her way back to the village.
“Perdition!”
Reece thumped his clenched fist against his thigh, scarcely able to believe his eyes. Amos Sheridan, the Duke of Winchester’s named heir, was sitting on a fallen tree trunk fussing over a mere shop girl, holding his handkerchief to a graze on her forehead. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what he expected from her in return. Reece ground his jaw, infuriated by the unfairness of life. He had tried to be kind to Crista, to win her friendship and trust by explaining why it was vital for her to take her father’s place and provide the service for her masters that had previously fallen to his lot. He told her he held her in the highest regard and hoped they could be friends, but he had received nothing but her haughty disdain in return.
When his efforts to befriend her fell on deaf ears, he salved his wounded pride by reminding himself she was a well brought up young lady, innocent and respectable, confused by the changes that had taken place in her life. Now he knew differently. An aristocrat had shown her kindness, and she was all but lifting her skirts for him in broad daylight.
It was insupportable!
Reece stood up so abruptly he disturbed a bird nesting in the tree above his head. It flew off with a loud squawk, startling Sheridan’s stallion. The horse tried to rear up, attracting the attention of its master and Crista, both of whom got up to calm the beast. Reece couldn’t risk remaining where he was in case Sheridan investigated the cause of the disturbance. He slunk off into the trees, tearing his best coat as he forced his way through them, and stumbled onto the track that led back to the village.
He pushed his way into the taproom at the Crown and Anchor and ordered a much-needed tankard of ale from Martha. The sight of the buxom beauty partially quelled his anger, and he sent her a flirtatious smile. She served him and turned to her next customer without appearing to notice. It was strange, but all his efforts to impress the girl had fallen flat. Reece might not be rich or titled, but he was blessed with reasonably good looks and cut a fine figure, though he did say so himself. His attempts to attract members of the opposite sex did not usually end in failure, but first Miss Brooke and now a barmaid found him easy to resist.
Heaven forbid he had lost his appeal.
Reece supped his ale, brooding upon the events of the day. It had all started to go wrong when Chesney blithely offered to make jewellery for the duchess and then intimated Reece was his assistant. Up until then, he had been able to stay at the Crown and move about without attracting particular interest. He had put it about he was employed by a merchant looking for new markets for his produce. That was not uncommon and had satisfied the curiosity of those who troubled to ask. He had originally been sent here to force Miss Brooke to return to London. But when her uncle threatened to close his long-standing business, which she would not allow, and go with her, she had flatly refused to do so. Reece’s masters were so pleased with Miss Brooke’s work, they decided to continue running their operation from this most unlikely little village. Reece was obliged to stay in order to keep control of her.
Now the Sheridans knew he was supposed to be Chesney’s assistant. If they also discovered he was lodged at the inn, they would wonder why and how he could afford it. He would have to take a great deal more care about his movements now and perhaps make a few enquiries about marketing his imaginary merchandise. One or another of the Sheridans always seemed to be in the Crown, mixing with the locals as though they actually had something in common with them. Damn it, Reece liked the inn and was very comfortable there. Now he would have to find somewhere else to stay.
Or perhaps not. Reece managed a brief smile as an idea occurred to him. If Sheridan put about the story of Reece being Chesney’s assistant, Reece could claim Chesney was embarrassed about needing his help. He worried what mischief the residents of Compton would make if they knew about his frailty, and made Reece promise not to admit his true purpose for being in the district, thus acco
unting for his being accommodated at the inn.
Another thought occurred to him as he drained his tankard and banged it on the bar, impatient for a refill. Chesney was not quite the doddering old fool Reece had supposed. He had deliberately agreed to make the duchess’s jewellery to discompose Reece in some way. Reece was quite sure of that now, and the man had succeeded better than he could know since Reece no longer felt in control of the situation in Chesney’s shop. He had not told his master as much, in fear of being dismissed. Or worse. But the fact of the matter was, Chesney and his luscious little niece were getting ideas above their station. Rebellious ideas. Could that be why Crista was being so charming to Lord Amos, hoping to enlist his support? Reece’s blood ran cold at the thought. He had already decided she would not tell her uncle about the incident on the common. Telling Lord Amos would create a damned sight more trouble.
Reece downed his second tankard of ale quickly and stomped up the stairs to his chamber. He needed solitude in which to think matters through, decide how to keep the old man and the girl quiet, and failing that, how best to cover his own back.
***
Stopping to aid Miss Brooke had made Amos late for dinner. He cantered back to the estate and changed quickly into evening clothes.
“Maynard,” he said to his valet. “I have a job for you?”
“I already have a job,” Maynard, not one to stand on ceremony, replied indolently.
“This one will take you to the Crown and Anchor.”
“Oh well, that’s different.” He brushed the shoulders of the coat he had just helped Amos into. “You should have said.”
“I believe I just did.”
“What do you need me to do then?”
Amos spent the next five minutes explaining. Maynard smirked when Amos ran out of words.
“Pretty is she, this Miss Brooke?”
“Don’t be impertinent.”
Amos words wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to his valet’s attitude, and he was grateful for it. All of the Sheridan males selected their valets precisely because they didn’t tend towards the obsequious. They were fiercely protective of their masters, Amos had reason to know, especially in the servants’ hall if someone should speak out of turn. They were also loyal to a fault, and in private they tended not only to speak their minds, but also to give sound advice.
“Right ho, you’ll do,” Maynard said, opening the door for Amos. “If you don’t need me any more tonight, I’ll cut along to the Crown and see what I can find out for you.”
“Good man.”
It was just the family at dinner, for which Amos was grateful. His mother and sisters were in high spirits, discussing the various shopping expeditions they had undertaken during the past few days.
“Nate was a far more willing escort than any of the rest of you have ever been,” Annalise said cheerfully. “He was quite obliging, in fact, and didn’t mind how long we kept him waiting as we dithered over our purchases.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Zach replied, sending Nate an ironic glance.
“Glad to be of service,” Nate said, looking smugly pleased with himself.
“I dare say Martha used the exact same words,” Vince said in an aside to Amos that made him choke on his wine.
“The rivalry between the villages is getting worse by the day,” Portia remarked. “Miss Higgins in the haberdashers in Compton told us, in the strictest confidence of course, that on no account should we purchase Flemish lace from Mrs. Woodley in Shawford.”
“Did she give a reason?” Vince asked.
“Oh yes.” Portia’s round face was invaded by a huge smile. “She pretended to be shocked, and professed to hate being the purveyor of gossip, but she had it on the best authority that the lace in question had been smuggled into the country without the duty being paid.”
“How shocking,” Zach said, looking as amused as Amos felt by the endless bickering between the two communities.
“Shame on you, Zach,” Portia said, herself now pretending outrage. “You are the duke. It is your duty to…well, to make sure duty is paid on commodities in the shops hereabouts.”
“Good heavens.” Zach elevated both brows. “How the devil am I supposed to do that?”
“We received similar warnings about Miss Higgins when purchasing shawls from Mrs. Woodley,” their mother said, amusement lighting her eyes. “Not about lace, but some other trifling matter.”
“Buttons,” Annalise supplied. “There is some question, apparently, regarding the quality of Miss Higgins’ stock. It was so amusing, I could hardly keep my countenance.”
“We must never lose sight of the fact that the blame for the feud lies with this family,” the duchess said. “Both villages seek to enhance their standing by exclusive association with us. Your father maintained it was our duty to bestow our custom equally between them, which the girls and I continue to do.”
“Your sons are also slaves to duty,” Nate assured her. “We regularly visit the Crown, and the Ploughman in Compton, of course.”
The duchess fixed her youngest son with a suspicious glance. “Hmm,” she said.
Zach flashed a wry smile. “Your dedication to duty is an example to us all, little brother.”
“I do my humble best.”
“Are all the arrangements in place for the garden party, Mama?” Portia asked. “Do you need my help with anything?”
“No, thank you, my dear. In fact, I hardly need to do anything myself. The servants have everything under control. It is simply a case of ensuring all our neighbours of consequence are invited.”
“Heaven forbid that we should forget anyone,” Zach said, rolling his eyes.
“Precisely,” their mother replied. “I have no desire to cause offence.”
“Whose turn is it to supply the ale?” Nate asked.
“The Crown’s,” Zach told him.
“Oh good!”
Nate’s three brothers were obliged to smother knowing smiles. Nate and Martha let loose on the estate during the riotous annual garden party could only end one way. They ought to know since it had ended similarly for the three of them.
“Lady St. John today accepted.”
Their mother looked directly at Zach as she spoke. Her eldest son merely lifted his shoulders which, Amos knew, was all the reaction he would allow himself. The lady in question was new to the district, her past even more clouded in mystery than Miss Brooke’s. She and Zach enjoyed lively exchanges whenever they met, exciting their mother’s ambitions to see Zach married. The fact that Lady St. John was a widow did not seem to deter the duchess, perhaps because she was the first lady Zach had shown even the remotest abiding interest in, much as he tried to deny it.
“Well,” the duchess said, putting aside her napkin and standing. “I have things to do, and I am sure you girls have as well. Let us leave your brothers to their port.”
The gentlemen stood, but the port was circulating before Faraday closed the door behind the females.
“Come on then, Amos,” Zach said. “Out with it. You’ve barely said two words all the evening. What’s wrong?”
Amos told them what he had seen on the common, and about Miss Brooke’s unwillingness to tell him the truth.
“I wish I had been here to meet your Miss Brooke,” Nate complained.
“I dare say you were usefully employed elsewhere,” Vince replied.
“Yes well, there were other compensations.” Nate grinned good-naturedly. “Did you know what Martha can do with her−”
“We know,” his brothers assured him in unison.
“Are you convinced it was Reece who attacked her?” Zach asked, pushing his chair away from the table and resting one foot on his opposite thigh as he savoured his port. “I know you don’t like the man, and antipathy might be clouding your judgement.”
“I am absolutely sure. I followed him there myself. If it wasn’t him, he would have been close by when she was attacked and would have gone to her aid.”
“Hmm, I see your point.” Zach fell into momentary contemplation. “I told you not to interfere in her affairs, but this puts a different light on matters. If she’s so scared of the rogue she can’t bring herself to tell you why, then there must be something odd going on. I don’t like to think of her being coerced into a situation against her will.”
“Does she really make the jewellery instead of Chesney?” Vince asked.
“Oh yes, I saw her with my own eyes.”
“If that got out, then there really would be all out war between the two villages. Just see how much fuss they make over a little contraband lace and questionable buttons,” Nate said.
“What do you plan to do about the situation?” Zach asked.
“I’ve sent Maynard down to the Crown to ask about Reece. I need to know how long he’s been here, what reason he has given for his presence, and what he does with himself all day. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t make jewellery.”
“No, he makes eyes at Martha,” Nate said, scowling. “I think I’ve seen him in the taproom, the impudent upstart.”
“Well, you’ve practically been living in the place yourself this past week,” Vince replied. “So you should know.”
“I have lost time to make up for,” Nate said, aggrieved. “I have needs that must be met.”
All his brothers laughed.
“Martha will wear you out if you aren’t careful,” Amos said, topping up his glass and passing the decanter to Nate.
Nate grinned. “I live in hope.”
“If you need to have Reece followed, let me know,” Zach said. “I can spare some men to put on it.”
“Thank you. I think it might well come to that.”
“Did you learn anything more about the mysterious Miss Brooke while rescuing her from attack?” Vince asked.
“Frustratingly little. She is the mistress of prevarication. I did discover her father recently died, and she has a sister living in London who is about to be married.”
Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion Page 8