Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  Diana sank onto the sofa of the parlor gratefully while the inn servants carried up their trunks. Even the children drooped as they found a place to perch, but to Diana’s amazement, Throckmorton looked as chipper as ever. A short while later, Vincent appeared, reporting the carriage to be properly housed.

  He took off his greatcoat and she realized that he and Throckmorton wore almost-identical conservative dark coats. They could exchange roles in a moment. She could only wonder at Vincent’s planning. Such devious cleverness again gave her pause.

  He might have planned anything.

  They ate dinner informally, dismissing the waiters as soon as they brought the food. Diana welcomed the relief from dissembling. Constant pretense wore on the nerves. How did Vincent stand it? He must have had a great deal of practice in his service to the Crown.

  After they had eaten, Throckmorton asked leave to stretch his legs out of doors and have a look around. Vincent took up watch in the parlor, but Diana still had no leisure to ponder the change in their relationship. She had to get the children ready for bed.

  The usual tussle with Bytham ensued when she attempted to wash his face. Tired and cranky, he jerked away from her and made a dash for Vincent. Diana followed him to the bedchamber door and stood with hands on hips while he climbed into Vincent’s lap.

  Vincent looked at first one and then the other, eyebrows raised. “Is there a difficulty?”

  “He doesn’t want me to wash him. Come, Bytham. Mama is tired and losing patience.”

  Bytham grasped Vincent’s neckcloth, stuck out his chin and announced, “Don’t want to go to bed.”

  “Here, now.” Vincent stood and delivered the miscreant back to his mother. “Let us have none of this, young man.” Bytham held on to the cravat and hid his face against Vincent’s shoulder.

  “Mama-aa!” A weary wail sounded from Selena.

  Diana threw up her hands. “I’m coming, Selena. Bytham…”

  “You tend to Selena.” Vincent followed her into the bedchamber. “I’ll deal with young Mr. Corby.” He set the boy firmly on the bed and reached for the washcloth.

  “Thank you.” Diana could not help but chuckle. “You are becoming quite the père du famille.”

  “And nursemaid.” He grinned at her, then scowled at her wriggling son. “No, Bytham, you will sit still. Stop that at once, or it will be the worse for you.”

  At this change of tone from his favorite, Bytham gave up resistance and began to cry. Vincent got the child’s nightshirt over his head and picked him up, patting his back soothingly. “Now, now. You’ll be better for a good sleep.” He turned to Diana. “They will sleep in the truckle bed?”

  “Yes, I shall take the bed.” Diana tied the ribbons of Selena’s nightie and gave her a hug. “Into bed with you, miss.”

  Selena crawled obligingly onto the low bed and Vincent put her brother—sniffling, but drowsy—in beside her. Diana tucked them in and blew out all but one of the candles. She stepped to the doorway, only to find it already occupied by Vincent. He stood staring at her intently, his expression unreadable.

  Flustered, Diana stopped. “Thank you for your help. I’m sure this is far more than you bargained for.”

  “True enough. I never realized how much attention children require. But in many ways, I find it very pleasant. I never expected—” He broke off and moved aside enough for her to slide past him, never taking his gaze from her face. Before she was clear of the door, he halted her with a hand on her elbow. “Diana, we must speak about last night. I—I realize that your…actions were the result of a moment’s impulse. However much I would like for us to continue as lovers, I will abide by your decision. If you prefer not to…”

  Diana studied his coat buttons and tried to gather her thoughts. “I—I don’t know. As you said, it was the effect of the moment. We… There is so much…”

  “I know.” He brushed the hair back from her face and Diana’s breath caught in her throat. “There is too much doubt between us.”

  Too much doubt between us. Somehow Diana had not realized that he had questions about her. But of course, he should. She had not been open with him. In fact, Vincent had possibly been more honest than she had been. She had not exactly lied. She did not know who had reason to take the children. Even Deimos did not have that—but she had not told Vincent about him and his threats. But what would he do if he knew? He was an agent of the government, after all. And what if he knew she had taken gifts of money from another man?

  The warmth of his body seeped through her clothes where the two of them stood crowded in the doorway. His breath brushed her cheek. She lifted her gaze and found him staring at her mouth. He leaned forward and very gently pressed a kiss on it.

  “Let me know your wishes.” He stepped into the parlor and she followed. “But I do prefer that Throckmorton sleep in the room with the children. You may have the other bedchamber and I shall use the sofa in here where I can watch both rooms. Unless…” He smiled wryly. “But be that as it may, I cannot become lost in passion tonight. I must remain alert.”

  Diana nodded.

  She knew, of course, what she wanted.

  But she did not know what she would do.

  Three days later, as they drew near to Inglewood, Vincent still had no answer from her. Which was, in itself, an answer of sorts. Very well. He would respect the lady’s preference. He could not blame her. Even had he been a paragon of virtue, he was not free to claim her.

  But his association with her and Selena and Bytham had whetted an appetite he had not known he’d had. He had never before envisioned himself taking a wife, setting up his nursery. He didn’t expect to live long enough. But now he had come to value those dirty little hands crushing his cravat. Had found himself listening enchanted to Selena’s innocent prattle. Who would protect them if he did not survive?

  Who would care for them if he did survive?

  He did not want to give them up.

  Now, however, he must concentrate on getting into Inglewood without being detected. Almost certainly the estate was being watched for their arrival. He could not risk being overtaken in the open. But most likely the search was concentrated on the main approaches. Accordingly he set the coach, not on the road to the Inglewood gates, but down a lane leading to one of the outlying tenant farms.

  As they pulled into the dusty farmyard, several children and a number of dogs came tumbling out of the whitewashed cottage to meet them. A moment later a sturdily built man in a farmer’s smock appeared in the byre door, eyeing them suspiciously. Vincent climbed down from the box and tossed his powdered wig aside.

  “Me lord!” The farmer came hurrying toward them. “I didn’t know you right off.” He halted when Throckmorton opened the carriage door and got out, looking at the big man warily.

  “Claugh, this is Throckmorton.” Vincent nodded at the boxer, who stepped forward and extended a hand that Claugh cautiously clasped. “He is new to my employ.”

  By this time Bytham and Selena had put their heads out of the carriage door. Bytham started to jump down, but quickly retreated as a large dog bounded up to the carriage.

  “Bowser! Here.” Claugh’s dog responded immediately to his master’s voice and Bytham peered out again. A towheaded boy in ragged britches, perhaps a year older, had come up to the coach and stood staring at him. When Diana leaned forward to look out the door, he, too, bolted for the safety of his father’s shadow.

  “Do you have room for the carriage in your byre for a short while?”

  The farmer gave Vincent a puzzled look. “Well, aye, me lord. I reckon we could manage… Might be a bit of a squeeze.”

  “Would you be willing to do me a favor, as well?”

  Claugh nodded immediately. “Ye know I would, sir, after what ye done for Rolf here. We wouldn’t still have him else—”

  “Nonsense.” Vincent cut him off firmly. “But I’m happy to see that he is hale again.” He tousled the boy’s hair. “But here is what I need…”<
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  An hour later a farm wagon pulled out of Claugh’s yard, the sturdy farmer himself driving the oxen. In the back Diana, Vincent and Throckmorton lay on the floor amongst baskets of apples from Claugh’s cellar. A large ham rested immediately in front of Diana’s face and her toes were crumpled by the presence of a wheel of cheese. The straw under her tickled her nose and scratched the back of her neck. Bowser, tongue lolling, guarded the tailgate.

  Bytham and Selena thought it a wonderful lark. They had exchanged clothes with Rolf and one of Claugh’s young daughters, and were sitting on the bench with the farmer. Selena’s pale hair was hidden under a bonnet and Bytham’s sunnier curls restrained by a straw hat. Diana had protested against having the children so exposed, but had allowed herself to be persuaded, comforted by the pistols held by both Vincent and Throckmorton—and her own small weapon clutched in her hand. The children would be much happier on the seat than if forced to lie in the cart.

  The wagon creaked and groaned its way over rutted roads, across pastures and through newly tilled fields, arriving at last at a gate behind the Inglewood stables. Thence they made their way through the stable yard and up to the kitchen door, where they were greeted by a greatly astonished kitchen staff and a pair of footmen.

  “La, m’lord!” A stout, gray-haired woman in a spotless apron came bustling out as Vincent rose from the wagon and brushed away a large collection of straw. “What will you do next?”

  Vincent grinned. “One never knows, does one, Mrs. Buckden?”

  “No, nor never did.” She shook her head resignedly. “But, my goodness! Who is this?” Her smile slowly faded as Diana emerged from amongst the apples, her pistol discreetly tucked into a pocket. The woman cast Vincent a suspicious glance.

  “Lady Diana—” Vincent helped Diana to her feet “—may I present my housekeeper, Mrs. Buckden. Lady Diana will be our guest for a while. And these are her children, Miss Selena and Master Bytham Corby.” Selena ducked her head, but smiled shyly while Bytham scrambled over the seat to shelter behind Vincent in the wagon. Diana did her best to look gracious. Just how did one accomplish that when arriving with the ham in a farm cart?

  “How do ye do?” Mrs. Buckden’s greeting sounded just a bit chilly. Diana nodded, her heart sinking at the thought of what surely must be running through the woman’s mind. Vincent smuggling her into his home…

  Vincent’s voice hardened. “I’m sure, Mrs. Buckden, that you will be eager to extend aid to one in need of it.”

  “Ah, of course, m’lord.” Curiosity began to replace disapproval on the housekeeper’s face. “My lady, if you would, uh, step this way.” She looked doubtfully at Diana standing in the bed of the wagon.

  “We need to inform the staff that caution is necessary.” Vincent vaulted over the side and lifted Diana down, his strong hands warm against her waist. “Where is Rugerton?”

  “Here I am, my lord.” A tall, thin gentleman whose hair surrounded his shiny pate in a faded gray halo hastened out into the yard. “What are you doing back here at the kitchen? At least you brought extra provisions.” He squinted into the cart. “Why didn’t you let us know of your arrival?”

  “Didn’t know of it myself. Lady Diana, this is Rugerton, my steward.”

  Diana extended her hand. “How do you do, Mr. Rugerton?”

  Vincent turned back to set Selena and Bytham on the ground. “Rugerton, would you be so good as to compensate Claugh for his produce? I will explain the situation to you shortly. Mrs. Buckden, where is Nurse Marshaw?”

  “Upstairs, I think, my lord, and I’m sure she will want to attend to the children.” The housekeeper chuckled. “She is forever complaining that you have given her none to fuss over.”

  Vincent grinned. “A just complaint, no doubt. If you would fetch her… Throckmorton will assist her in keeping the children safe.”

  “Oh, dear.” Dismay settled on Mrs. Buckden’s good-natured face as the boxer climbed down from the wagon. “Are they…? I mean, is there…?”

  “There has been a threat to their welfare, yes.”

  “Oh, my! The poor dears. You just come right this way, my lady, and we will get you all settled in. You won’t mind coming through the kitchen?” Mrs. Buckden gestured and Diana started past her, only to be stopped by Vincent’s voice, low and intense.

  “Lady Diana, welcome to my home.”

  Chapter Ten

  A certain amount of confusion ensued before arrangements satisfactory to Vincent were made for his new guests’ accommodations. Nurse Marshaw was a tall, angular woman with iron-gray hair ruthlessly restrained under a starched white cap who had cared for the young Vincent herself. She insisted that the children be housed in the nursery. Mrs. Buckden insisted that Diana should occupy the best guest room, and Durbin, the butler, assumed that Throckmorton would sleep with the other footmen.

  None of which suited Vincent. He could not allow his charges to be so scattered over the rambling old mansion, nor to be so far from his own protective presence. By the exercise of much diplomacy, he finally managed to have all of them housed in rooms in the same corridor as his own, without creating—he hoped—undue suspicion. He could, of course, have simply ordered it so, but Vincent had spent the last four years rebuilding relations with his staff. He did not wish to forfeit the respect he had earned one decision, one apology, at a time.

  Vincent now awaited Diana’s appearance at dinner. He would, at last, have the pleasure of seeing her at his own table. He rose as she glided into the family dining room wearing silver-gray satin, her hair dressed high on her head. The graceful chignon spilled shining curls to caress her neck. Vincent had all he could do to keep his fingers and lips from joining them. He settled for kissing her hand—holding it a bit longer than propriety decreed—and helped her into her chair. At least he could touch her soft skin, let his gaze rest on the mouthwatering curve of her breasts.

  At least he had her safe in his home.

  He studied her coiffure as he took his own place. “You are very lovely this evening. I’ve never seen you with your hair that way.”

  “No, I cannot arrange it in this style without assistance.” She spread the napkin in her lap. “Mrs. Buckden sent a maid to help me dress—a girl named Emma. She is quite good with hair.”

  “Ah, yes. She is Claugh’s oldest daughter, I believe. Will you have wine?” He inclined his head at the elderly butler who held the bottle poised near her glass.

  “Thank you, yes.” Diana nodded, and Durbin poured. She took a sip. “Mmm, delicious. Speaking of Claugh, I heard him say that they would not have Rolf had it not been for you.”

  Vincent leaned back so that Durbin might pour for him. “An exaggeration.”

  “Huh.” Durbin set down the wine bottle and began carving the ham that sat on the sideboard. “It’s no more than God’s truth, my lord, and well you know it.” He turned to Diana, bushy white eyebrows bristling. “The boy would have died sure as check if his lordship had not brought him here and had Dr. Dalton himself in to look after him.” He set a plate of ham and stewed apples before each of them. “One moment, my lady. I’ll fetch the bread rolls.”

  “Your servants seem very devoted to you.” Diana sampled the apples.

  Vincent grimaced. “They have known me all my life. It is amazing what folk are willing to forgive in those they knew as children.”

  “Surely you could not have been so bad.”

  “Perhaps not.” He thought for a moment. “At least not as a young child—not as long as I was under Nurse’s domination—albeit rather spoilt. For a few years after my father died, however, I was quite odious. I’m surprised any of the family servants stayed with me. Part of my anger was attributable to grief, I suppose, and the rest to the knowledge that most of those I called friend were, in fact, using me.”

  “Then why did you remain friends with them?”

  Vincent pondered that question. Why had he tolerated those hangers-on? In his heart, he knew, of course. He decided on honest
y, unpleasant as it was. “Abusing them gave me a certain sense of power, I think, and gave them an acceptable reason to dislike me—as I thought everyone must. I feared no one else would befriend me…that there was no one I could trust.”

  “You trusted Wyn.” A puzzled expression creased her face.

  “Yes?”

  “I wonder why. No one else saw him as trustworthy.”

  The truth of the comment startled Vincent into silence. Why had he chosen to place his very infrequent trust in a man on whom no one could depend? Just because Wyn never asked for money? That now seemed a very unconvincing reason. He had, by some obscure process, put himself in a position to prove his belief that no one could be trusted, not even his best friend. He must think about that. But Diana still awaited his answer.

  “I’m not sure, myself,” he said at last. “Perhaps my trust was misplaced. That is a very unsettling thought.”

  “Yes, I know. I made the same mistake with respect to Wyn.” Sadness crept into her eyes. “But we have to trust someone. We cannot go through life completely alone.”

  Vincent frowned. “That is true. Even in my…work, I am forced to trust certain individuals, like it or not. My life depends on my judgment—and my caution. As yours does now.” He looked at her intently. “But I am reasonably confident of the loyalty of the staff who now remain at Inglewood—that you are safe here.”

  “You have made amends for the past.” It was not a question.

  “I certainly have tried.” Vincent sat back, staring into the middle distance. “I believe for those at Inglewood, it was a matter of attending to the needs and prosperity of the estate. This is their home, after all. And of course, apologizing to many of them. And—” He broke the sentence off, his smile crooked.