Dauntless (The Shaws)

by Lynne Connolly

  He spoke lightly, but he did not miss the wide-eyed alarm that crossed his brother’s face. “Then you had better avoid her. Oliver, you do not need to rush this decision. Find a duchess you can enjoy, not one you merely tolerate.”

  Oliver sighed and leaned back, crossing a knee over the other. “You are probably right. I will not seek her out. Today has taught me that, at least.”

  Charles nodded. “Good.” His voice almost disappeared.

  Getting to his feet, Oliver picked up the hand bell by Charles’s side and shook it sharply.

  At once, his primary caregiver, Burnett, a burly man with a gentle disposition, entered, took one look at his master and nodded to Oliver. “Your grace, I will take care of him now.”

  “Of course.”

  Charles left to get into his cold bath and try to ease his bruised and aching body.

  He did not succeed very well.

  Chapter 4

  A few days later, Oliver arrived home after a morning ride. Finally, his bruises had subsided enough for him to enjoy the crisp air. To his disappointment he did not see Lady Drusilla. He’d written to her, and received a polite reply, so he knew she was recovering and staying at home for a few days. But he’d hinted he’d be in the Park today. A shame she hadn’t taken the bait. Perhaps she didn’t want to.

  She was probably right. That kiss, however brief, had shaken him far more than he liked. He’d come to town to find a sensible, amenable partner. One who would provide heirs for his nursery and share some of his duties, as well as help him with Charles and his moods. For that he did not need a woman of the imagination and family of Lady Drusilla Shaw. However much he might be attracted to her.

  She had probably made a similar decision. Bad luck, if one believed in it, seemed to trail after them. They’d appeared cordial enough, and nobody had seen the kiss he’d claimed. They had mended the incident at the ball.

  But the thought of someone else kissing her, claiming her, still ate at him. He liked her, damn it, and his body had responded to her in a shocking, not to say startling, way. He couldn’t allow any woman to have that kind of effect on him. He had to keep his head.

  Riding around to the mews at the back of the house, he dismounted and handed the reins to the groom. “The new horse is behaving well.” He’d purchased the sweet-tempered mare for his mother, who had asked him to look about him for a new mount. He’d send the gray into the country with his compliments.

  The overpowering smell of horse manure and hay reached his nostrils. He drew a deep breath. Learning to become an excellent whip and rider had taken many long hours. Understanding his horses, taking care of them, so the scent reminded him of his years spent with his grooms.

  Smiling, he strolled into the building. It stood in the mews behind the house, so he could walk through the gardens to go inside. His staff greeted him—the two other grooms he kept in town and the stableboy—all pausing to touch their foreheads before getting on with their work. As well as the carriage horses, he kept two mounts in town.

  Stepping inside Blaze’s stall, he slapped the chestnut’s rump. The horse snorted.

  “I’ll take you out tomorrow, boy,” Oliver told him and turned to inform the head groom. “I’ve been neglecting him lately. Can you have him ready early?” He would of course check the tack himself, even though he had complete confidence in Halford. The groom had been with him since a year after the carriage accident and Oliver would trust him with his life.

  Halford nodded. “I’ll make sure he’s ready for you, sir.” Snatching off his cap, he scratched the back of his neck.

  Oliver paid attention. The gesture meant Halford wanted to talk to him. “Was there something else?”

  “Yes, your grace.” Oh, dear. Halford only used Oliver’s full honorific when broaching an awkward subject. He straightened, meeting Oliver’s eyes. Even though the groom stood half a foot shorter than Oliver, nobody ignored him. He ruled Oliver’s stables with the control of an absolute monarch. Knowing a good man when he saw him, Oliver always listened to his concerns. “I took a look at the old curricle, sir.”

  “I told you to get rid of it. I never want to see the thing again.” He would attend the sale rooms tomorrow and purchase a new vehicle and team. He wouldn’t be driving the grays again.

  “And that has been done. I sent the chassis away, but I’ve kept the wheels. I thought one could come in useful and the other could go for firewood. The axle is fine, sir. But the wheel is not.”

  He would have sold the chassis. Oliver had given the whole thing to Halford as a perquisite. He didn’t want it near him again, so Halford’s news was not welcome.

  “Yes, you said that had given way.” What was the man getting at? Irritation scratched at his voice.

  “The thing is, sir, although the wheel’s in a bad shape, I think—” He moved closer and lowered his voice. “I think it might not have been entirely an accident.”

  Shock sharpened Oliver’s senses, sending him into full alert. “What do you mean, man? Explain.”

  “The wheel was deliberately weakened. The place where the loose spoke met the outer rim was shaved away. Very carefully, so most people wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “But you did.”

  “I did, sir.”

  Keeping an eye on his horse, Oliver leaned against the side of the stall, uncaring whether the rough slats caught the fine fabric of his coat. He believed his head groom. Halford had been alive nearly twice as long as he and had been working with horses for longer. What Halford didn’t know about horses wasn’t worth knowing, and he’d extended his expertise to vehicles too.

  “Who would do that?” He kept himself in control, but anger was simmering under the surface. Some men would take an ill mood out on their staff, but Oliver had never been one of those.

  “Not our people, sir, I’m sure. We don’t have London staff in the mews.” Some families employed servants when they came up to town, but because of their situation and his brother’s insistence on discretion, Oliver did not. He transported the people he needed from home when they paid their rare visits to the city.

  “Then who?”

  Halford shook his head regretfully. “I don’t rightly know, sir. We get deliveries, hay, feed, tack, leather soap, knives, you name it, and they don’t come from the same place. The house servants sometimes nip in here, too. I’ll look over the books. That’s for sure.” He heaved a sigh that came from the depths of his being. “The door’s open most of the day. To be honest, anybody could have slipped in here.”

  Oliver rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Whoever had done this had put Lady Drusilla in danger, and when he considered that his anger tripled. Forcing himself to think analytically was much harder than usual. Accustomed to controlling his moods, Oliver didn’t like the way his temper threatened to rip out of control. That did not happen. Did. Not. Happen.

  “Somebody came in here and weakened the wheel. They wanted to kill me.” His voice shook. “And anyone who might be with me.” The carelessness of the act appalled him as much as it angered him. Did they know he would be with Drusilla? He had made no secret of his intention, but who would have thought it worthwhile to use that?

  Halford shrugged, his taut body rippling with well-used muscle. His stature fooled many people, but Oliver had seen enough examples of his strength never to take the man for granted. Neither did any of his staff. “I don’t think so, sir. More people are injured from carriage accidents than are killed. They might have wanted to hurt you, but if they wanted to kill you there are better ways of doing it without raising the alarm.”

  That was true. Oliver nodded. Blaze shifted, drawing Oliver’s attention. He moved to pat the horse’s neck, taking comfort from the animal’s sleek solidity. “So probably a visitor, maybe a delivery man, or a paid agent. And somebody who wanted to hurt me. Deliver a warning?” He shook his head. “I’ve done nothin
g to deserve that. Not to my knowledge, at any rate.” A suspicion curled in his brain. Did someone want to hurt Lady Drusilla?

  He could not dismiss the possibility. The Shaws were a rackety lot, and they’d made enemies in their brilliant careers. That would widen the possibilities to an appalling degree.

  “Maybe somebody wanted to hurt her ladyship, sir,” the groom ventured.

  “If that were so, it would have to be after I’d declared my intention to take her driving.” The time scale worked in his favor. “Only the household knew that, until I took the vehicle and tooled it around to Grosvenor Square. And the groom never left the carriage alone.”

  “I made sure of that, sir. No, it was done here, or somewhere quiet, where they had the chance to get the job done.”

  If someone had tried to hurt her, they would find they had taken on the wrong person. Oliver wasn’t easily scared off. On the contrary, he took such acts as a personal challenge. He was going nowhere.

  The scent of the stables soothed him, and petting Blaze gave him something to do while he pondered the problem. He would cleave a bit closer to Lady Drusilla. He’d already asked her for permission to become better acquainted. That would turn into courting, while he watched and assessed. He would keep this to himself for the time being, but he’d certainly be more alert.

  “Do not change any of your routines,” he said. “But find an excuse to watch. I don’t want to alert whoever is doing this and drive them away.”

  “You think they might try again?”

  “I don’t know. Making me crash the curricle in the park might have been the extent of their plans.” It had, after all, brought society’s attention back to what had happened to Charles and Oliver all those years before. But why would someone want to do that? To discredit him? Perhaps so. He needed more information.

  He had a few business matters to attend to while he was in town, but none were out of the ordinary. A border dispute with a neighbor, the re-roofing of a minor house on the estate, a few other routine matters. There was, of course, the experimental sinking of a shaft at the corner of his land, where he strongly suspected a good seam of coal lay. That was his only new venture. But would anybody bother to come to London and attack him? That was stretching credibility too far for his liking.

  The crash could dent his reputation for dependability. The City relied on scandal and gossip.

  More likely, whoever did this wanted either him or Lady Drusilla to be hurt or distressed. And because he would not allow her to be hurt, that meant he would cleave closer to her.

  Wherever she planned to go next, he would be there.

  Why did that decision feel so good?

  Chapter 5

  Dru flicked open her fan and held it in front of her mouth. “If that soprano screams once more, I’ll scream right along with her.”

  Livia drew a sharp breath. To assuage some of the tedium of this event, Dru had been trying to make her sister laugh for the last half-hour. But that was the nearest she’d come to it. This music recital had to be the worst she’d ever attended. And that was saying something.

  With the season in full swing, Lady Comyn had declared her patronage of the new soprano from Italy. This evening was to launch of the latest sensation on society. She’d invited the great and the good to attend, and a hundred of society’s finest had accepted. They sat and watched this disaster.

  And it had started so well, with a few arias from a moderately good tenor currently appearing at Ranelagh Gardens and a bass baritone who amused them with folk songs. But the star, the soprano, had turned everything bad. They had to sit there for at least another hour before they could applaud politely and go home.

  Livia expelled the breath. The soprano chose that moment to screech a top note that put Dru’s teeth on edge.

  Livia dissolved into giggles.

  The people in the row before them growled. Some turned, fingers to lips. When Livia reddened, Dru took pity on her. She coughed, and then coughed again, pulling out her handkerchief. Taking the hint, Livia followed suit, continuing until the signs for hush turned to tuts. Their excuse manufactured, Livia and Dru worked their way past their parents to the end of the row and out of the room. Not a few longing glances followed them, but everybody present could hardly use the same excuse. However, a few coughs did chase them out.

  Hurrying upstairs, they found the room put aside for the ladies. The three maids waiting inside got to their feet hurriedly, dropping newspapers and assuming the calm expressions expected of every good maid. Dru waved them aside, while Livia shook with uncontrollable laughter.

  Her explosion came barely in time, and with the bewildered maids looking on, Livia alternately howled and cursed at her sister. “This is your fault!”

  Dru executed a perfect curtsy. “Mea culpa. I’ll take any punishment you care to inflict. It was worth it, every bit.” She was not immune to the effects the soprano had on her listeners. “I swear, the whole of the audience wanted to do that. What on earth got into Lady Comyn, to inflict that horror on us?”

  “She said the woman was the best voice in a generation. She has tin ears if you ask me.”

  Livia wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “I will never forgive you. Oh, wait. You saved me an hour of that dreadful woman. I will forgive you.” Lifting a hand, she summoned a maid. “Can you find us a glass of wine?”

  The servant left the room but came back almost immediately. She bobbed a curtsy and addressed Dru. “Your ladyship, there’s a gentleman outside asking after you.”

  “Really?” One of her cousins, no doubt. Two of her brothers were in town, but neither had accepted Lady Comyn’s gracious invitation. However, she’d spotted Ivan stoically suffering, and Max was sitting there with Sophia, his lovely wife. He’d exchanged a totally blank look with her, by which she’d inferred that he was bored rigid and would rather be anywhere else.

  “They used us as an excuse,” Dru said to her sister. Anything to get out of that torture chamber.

  She went outside the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

  Lord Trelawny bowed. “I was concerned for your welfare,” he murmured. “You seemed quite overset.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lord Trelawny was the most promising of the men who had prosaically applied to her father for permission to court her. Despite his age, Trelawny appeared a well-set-up man. His tall, ascetic figure and hook-like nose gave him a superior air. However, she knew he was considerate. She could not imagine such a man getting on the floor and romping with his small children, as her father used to. However, Lord Trelawny was in his late forties. He had many years of vitality left to him, and she was not straight out of the schoolroom. The more unkind in society had suggested he could look in the stables to find his perfect match.

  “I wanted to visit you, my lady, as your mother may have mentioned to you, but your unfortunate incident in the park overset my plans.”

  He talked to her with a pomposity she could not like. Perhaps, though, he didn’t know how to approach females. He’d been married for twenty years, and he must have considered himself settled. Nevertheless, she responded tartly. “I regret upsetting your plans, my lord.”

  He favored her with a kindly smile. “It was hardly your intention, Lady Drusilla. But I trust you will not go driving with the Duke of Mountsorrel again.”

  “Oh, I have complete confidence in his grace.”

  “You do?” Lord Trelawny managed the note of doubt without emphasizing it. He did not need to. The implication was enough to express his displeasure. “Did he not tip you out and nearly cause you serious injury less than a week ago? Is that not enough?”

  “Sir, he hardly tipped me out on purpose.”

  “I only tell you what many are saying behind your back. I do not wish to encourage gossip. I prefer to address the matter directly. My late wife always admired that in me. �
�Trelawny,’ she would say, ‘You are the most straightforward of men, and I thank you for it.’”

  He was wooing her by referring to his last wife? Dru flicked her fan open. “You must miss her terribly.”

  His lordship raised a sigh. “Some days, for sure. But we cannot forever dwell in the past. My poor children need a mother and I need a wife.”

  “I hate to interrupt your tête-a-tête,” came a familiar, deep voice from behind her. “I only meant to ensure you were well.”

  Dru spun around far too quickly, setting her panniers bouncing in a way her mother would not approve of. She took a sharp breath. “I didn’t see you inside,” she said to the Duke of Mountsorrel.

  He gave her a smile that completely melted her. All he had to do was stand there, and he had her in the palm of his hand. “I arrived late, so I sat at the back. I saw you and Lady Livia leave, so naturally I had to enquire after your health.” He arched a dark brow.

  “We’re perfectly well, thank you, sir. Did you happen to catch the latest sensation?”

  He winced. “Half a dozen notes only. They were all I needed. May I be of any assistance?”

  Lord Trelawny cleared his throat. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of the ladies.”

  “I have a particular interest in Lady Drusilla.”

  He did? Dru arched her brows.

  “So have I.” They squared off like a pair of bulldogs spoiling for a fight.

  “You are trawling the town for a bride, sir. Everybody knows that.” Mountsorrel growled, so low only Dru could have heard him. The sound was thrillingly intimate.

  “Is that not your purpose too, sir?” Trelawny replied. Pushing back the heavy skirts of his coat, he planted his hands on his hips. “Do you not wish for a bride?”

  Thrilled, Dru took a step back.

  Mountsorrel gave an easy grin that must have been calculated to annoy the staid Trelawny. “If I find one, I will not run away, but I don’t wish for a woman who does not want me in return. I am willing to wait. I would also prefer to approach her first, rather than her parents.” He cast an assessing glance at the baron. “Time is on my side.”