“I count on you to make sure the threat is heard. Someone went too far, Strickland. A duke’s home, no less. The lowest baron will feel the insult worse than Aylesbury. Tell them to call Crippin and his sort off, or the House of Lords will demand that heads roll.”
CHAPTER 11
Padua faced the morning in a muted mood. There were those who claimed sleeping on a problem brought clarity, and her view of the last evening’s events loomed awkwardly lucid in the light of day.
Besides concluding that years of abstinence had made her a sitting duck, she drew no conclusions and placed no blame. She did, however, admit that she had to leave Langley House.
At least she had some money now. She had promised not to use the money found in her father’s apartment yet, but spending her own savings would be easier now that the other money resided in her valise. She enjoyed one more elegant breakfast, nostalgic already for the luxury. For a brief while she had felt important and notable. Just walking through these spaces made one stand tall and proud.
She asked to eat in the dining room. She took her time, then went to her chamber and called for her servant. At her instruction, the girl began folding up the few garments.
They were almost finished when the door opened. Ives walked in. Padua wished her heart did not jump at the sight of him, but it did.
No wonder she had been so reckless yesterday. He exuded a masculine power that demanded compliance with whatever he wanted. She had always been at a disadvantage, and fighting a rear-guard action against the effects his presence had on her. It would only be worse now.
He saw the valise, and the stack of clothing beside it, on the bench near the window. “You are almost packed, I see. Good. I came up to tell you to do so at once.”
She asked the girl to leave, then began stuffing her garments into the valise herself. “How gracious of you. I suspected your glib words about taking all the blame were just polite cant, but I did not think you would throw me out like so much bad baggage.”
A touch on her shoulder drew her attention. She conquered her humiliation before looking at him.
“I am not throwing you out, but you cannot stay here. I have no guarantee that you will not be followed, or interfered with, as was tried yesterday.”
“I trust you warned them off?”
“I did. Both the man who lay in wait and his masters.”
“Then I am sure no one will interfere with me.” She returned to her packing.
She wished he would go. Vivid images from yesterday evening invaded her mind while he stood there. Knowing that he harbored more erotic pictures made it worse. How did people have conversations after indulging in such intimacy? It was all she could do not to choke on her own breaths.
“I disagree,” he said. “It would be best if you left London so the trail goes cold.”
“If necessary, I can go to Birmingham.” At least she knew that city. She would not be lost in it.
“That will not do. I need to keep an eye on you. I am taking you to Merrywood Manor, Aylesbury’s country home. We will leave at once.”
She stopped packing. She stood frozen with comb and brush in hand. He had issued a decree, not a request.
“I will be in the way there.”
“You will not be.”
“Is it unoccupied, like this house?”
“My brother is there. I must be too. Our other brother will be returning from a tour of the Continent, and I should welcome him and his wife back.”
She tucked the comb and brush into her valise. “I will definitely be underfoot, then.”
“A person could live her life in that house and never see another soul, Padua. Isolating yourself will prove very dull, but you can do so if you want.”
She peered into her valise, at the old garments she knew too well. “I will have to. I have nothing suitable to wear at a duke’s table.”
“No one will care about that.”
Oh, yes, they will. Even he had noticed how poorly she appeared when she first called on him, although he would never admit it. She noticed him taking in every sad inch of her dress and pelisse and bonnet. I will care too. She did not want to suffer the pity of this other brother’s wife. It was one thing to be a woman of modest circumstances, and another to be the intruding, dowdy guest.
She would indeed isolate herself, and not obligate this family to pretend they entertained her sort all the time.
“I will wait below for you.” He turned to go.
“Where did they travel? The brother and his wife?”
He shrugged. “Rome, Florence, Venice, and thereabouts. The Alps, I expect. France. They have returned sooner than planned. They chose to shorten the journey.”
Venice? Florence? Padua reconsidered her resolve to be invisible. She supposed she could suffer a little pity if she learned about the sites and environs of those cities. Her mother used to reminisce about her visits to Venice, and it would be good to learn how things had changed.
She closed her valise after Ives left. Before she went down, she jotted quick letters to Jennie and Mr. Notley, to let them know she was leaving town but that mail sent to her at Langley House would find her.
* * *
Ives spent the better part of the journey to Merrywood up beside the coachman. The alternative, to sit inside with Padua, promised to cause him nothing but discomfort. Far better to face the autumn wind than her palpable fear.
The expression on her face when she left Langley House had not been companionable. At the inns she retired to her chamber and took her meals there. Only a fool would not recognize the signs of a woman keeping her distance.
She thought he would seduce her if he had her alone again. Finish what he had started. Pass the long miles dallying the best way one could find. He had sworn to himself he would not do that, but he guessed the odds were at best even that he could resist the temptation if he met it.
Therefore he kept his distance, too, up on the board. He took the reins at times, so his mind would not dwell too much on the woman out of sight a few feet away.
The reception at Merrywood involved only servants. Ives watched Padua escorted away by the housekeeper while he went in search of Lance.
He found his brother in the library, wearing riding clothes that displayed a good deal of autumn mud. Lance’s acknowledgment was a gesture toward the brandy and a raise of his own glass.
“Have Gareth and Eva arrived yet?” he asked Lance.
“Tomorrow. He wrote with their plans two days ago. They made a stop at Langdon’s End first, then at Birmingham.”
“I trust that means Eva is in good health.”
“He did not say she wasn’t.”
Ives threw himself into a chair. “Did you just get back from riding?”
Lance shook his head. “I returned at least an hour ago. It was a most peculiar ride.”
“How so?”
“I came upon Radley riding too. He joined me. I spent the next two hours in his company.”
Sir Horace Radley was a magistrate. He had occupied himself for half a year now trying to prove Lance had murdered their eldest brother, Percy.
“Did he question you yet again? I will lodge the strongest objection. Enough is enough.”
“I said it was peculiar, not typical. He might have been my best friend, he proved so jovial. His only comment about my unfortunate dark cloud was to say, and I am quoting him now, I’ve cause to think an error has been made, and I shall address that soon.”
“Odd.”
“Isn’t it. I have spent the last hour contemplating how odd. He did not say, for example, I have concluded you are innocent and much maligned, did he? It was more ambiguous than that.”
“Yet his friendliness would imply—”
“Nothing at all, perhaps.”
Ives wished a more optimistic reason were at work. He hoped this peculiar conversation heralded the end of the matter.
“I should probably tell you that I did not come alone. I brought a guest,”
he said.
“So the footman whispered when he hurried in here to inform me of your arrival. A woman, he said. A Miss Padua Belvoir.”
“I am sure you will like her.”
“Do you? Like her, that is? You must, if you brought her here. You have never done that with your actresses and opera singers before. Nor do your mistresses usually call themselves Miss anything.”
“It is not like that. It is not what you think.”
Lance stood and ambled over to the brandy. “What do I think?”
“She is not my mistress, or an opera singer, or an actress.”
Lance took that in with a vague smile. He returned to his chair, stretched out his legs, and gave Ives the kind of focused attention that he rarely showed these days. “Then what is she instead? If I am to be her host, I should probably know.”
“She is—was—a schoolteacher. She got sacked, and needs a bit of help until she decides her future course of action.”
“Is this the same woman who was my guest at Langley House the last few days? The butler does write to me when interesting things happen. Perhaps you did not know that.”
So much for simple explanations. Ives cleared his throat. “I came to know her because of a case I am involved in. Upon learning of her dire straits, I could not just leave her destitute and homeless.”
“Of course not. That would not be chivalrous. However, you could have left her in London, at Langley House, rather than journey several days in her company, and bring her here. You could have found her other lodging, at an inn for example.”
He cursed Lance under his breath. He had grown accustomed to his brother lacking interest in anything, and had counted on that. Instead, for some reason, Lance kept digging. The hole was getting very large.
“I did not think it wise to leave her in London.”
Lance just looked at him.
“Here is the thing. I have some reason to think she is in danger of abduction by agents of the Home Office. It was best to get her out of town.”
“So this woman had drawn the attention of the Home Office, and you concluded she should leave London. You then decided to bring this troublesome baggage with you to this house, so the Home Office could wonder even more what our involvement with her might be. Do I have that at least half-right?”
“At least half.”
“Did it not occur to you that there are already too many clouds gathering here?” Lance speared him with a very direct glare. “You surprise me. You are supposed to be the sensible brother. The lawyer, by God. And you take up with a schoolteacher who is under suspicion by the Home Office, and decide to hide your paramour here.”
Was Lance scolding him? That took some gall. “I have not taken up with her.”
“Haven’t you now? That is good news, I suppose. You are supposed to be sensible in that regard too. Not for you the bored wives, as with Gareth. Not for you the whoever catches one’s eye, as with me. I trust you ensured that she brought a woman with her, if it is not like that.”
Ives sipped some brandy.
Lance threw up his hands. “Not like that, hell. Well, I forbid it. While this schoolteacher is in this house you are not to seduce her. I won’t have it.”
Ives laughed. “Are you the vicar now?”
“Someone has to serve as this poor schoolteacher’s chaperone, since you brought her here all alone. The poor woman is probably terrified, having guessed your bad intentions.”
“As you presume to know them, you mean?”
Lance stood and set down his glass. “I know you. That is all I need to know, because your intentions are in your eyes when you speak of her. Normally it is some actress who inspires those fires. I will meet her at dinner, and give her what reassurance I can with my ducal presence.”
Ives laughed hard this time. “You have never reassured women that their virtue was safe, Lance. Duke or not, your presence does not inspire that confidence in them.”
“Then I will be explicit, that as an innocent she is under my protection in my house.” He walked to the door. “Now, since we have a guest, I should dress.”
Ives threw back the rest of his brandy. What an inconvenient time for his undisciplined brother to decide to become a stickler on society’s rules.
* * *
Padua had intended to take her dinner in her chamber. Her very luxurious chamber. It made the one in London pale in comparison. This was more an apartment than a chamber, since it had its own big dressing room. In particular she loved the tall windows that looked out on the rolling estate of Merrywood Manor. Pale green and rose colored the drapery.
The note from Ives, brought by a footman, dashed her plans. The Duke of Aylesbury expected her attendance at dinner, so he could welcome her.
Aided by a servant, she dressed as best she could, which was not well at all. Even in her best dress, a simple affair made of yellow muslin, and the blue wool wrap she inherited from her mother, she cut a poor figure. Hopefully the duke would conclude she added little to his table and not demand her presence again.
Ives arrived at her door while she tried to settle her nerves. “I thought you might like an escort.”
“Thank you. That would help.”
He tucked her hand around his arm and guided her to the stairs. “He is only mildly eccentric. Should he start waxing eloquent, let him talk his fill. Do not worry that you are expected to contribute, or even agree.”
“I do not know why he insisted I join him.”
“He is curious. He is your host.”
She rather wished he were an absent host, as he had been in London.
What a rude thought.
As soon as she entered the dining room, she decided perhaps this would not be too much an ordeal. The duke had already arrived, it being an informal night. He subtly examined her during their greeting.
She examined him in turn. Although handsome like his brother, the duke’s deep brown eyes and black hair increased the darkness of his appearance. A scar marred his cheek, forming a fine, pale, irregular line that lent harsh drama to his person. The intensity she at times saw in Ives seemed a permanent state for the duke. She had no trouble picturing him at dawn, stripped to his shirtsleeves, facing another man to duel with sword or pistol.
The places had been set for intimate conversation, with Ives and her facing each other and the duke at the table’s head.
“Ives said you are a schoolteacher,” the duke prompted.
She treated him to a full accounting of her work in Birmingham and London. He at least pretended to be interested, although she noticed him send Ives a glance or two. She talked too long, but she feared the void when she stopped.
“I must apologize,” she said upon concluding. “It is such a treat for me to converse with adults that I sometimes speak too much.”
“I like knowing all about the people who take residence at Merrywood.”
“I will not be here long. I am not really taking residence.”
“You are welcome to stay as long as you desire. I insist you remain while Eva is here. She is my other brother’s wife. She will be glad to have another woman about, so she does not have to suffer our company alone.”
The duke turned his attention to Ives and asked after matters in London. The two brothers conversed in the casual, unguarded way of relatives. She ceased to be the center of attention. That suited her. She focused on the delicious meal, even better than the one she enjoyed at Langley House.
“Do you ride?”
The question intruded on her admiration for a cake festooned with Chantilly. She wanted to jump into the cream and eat her way out.
The duke had her in his sights again.
“I have never had the opportunity.”
“Then you must while you are here. It is the only way to properly see the estate. The chestnut mare should suit her, don’t you think, Ives?”
“Very well, I would say. I will take you riding tomorrow.”
This was exactly what she expected to
happen if she spent any time with this family. Her circumstances normally did not embarrass her, but over and over she would find herself begging off their generosity.
“That is kind of you. However, I do not own suitable garments for riding. I will appear comical enough on a horse without adding to the ridiculous image with my attempts to maintain some modesty while attired in a day dress.”
Both gentlemen appeared at a loss for words.
“Of course if you have never gone riding you would not have riding garments,” Ives finally said. “You should have thought of that, Lance.”
Now they were all embarrassed. Deciding to put them out of their misery, Padua stood. “I hope you will not mind if I retire and leave you to your port and conversation.”
They both rose to their feet and bid her good night.
* * *
“She is very . . . tall.” Lance offered his first words on Miss Belvoir while he and Ives strolled through the garden.
“Distinctively so,” Ives agreed.
“Distinctive is not the word I would guess she has heard most of her life regarding her unusual stature.”
Had she heard unkind words instead? What idiots people were. What blind fools. “I think it is a very accurate word.”
His brother glanced at him through the dark. “It will make things difficult. Finding her riding garments, for example. I doubt she can wear Eva’s, or whatever is left here from our mother’s days.”
“I will take her on a tour of the estate in a carriage instead. She does not have to ride.”
“You alone with Miss Belvoir for hours in a carriage . . . How thoughtful of you to take care of our guest. I trust you won’t find it too dull.”
“If I do, she will never know. I try to be polite that way.”
“Do not try to kiss her until you are on the way back. That way, when she rejects your advance, there will not be too much time left before you can both escape.”
Ives resisted pointing out that Miss Belvoir had already not rejected him. Far from it. He also avoided the invitation to protest the assumption he would try to kiss her again. He had not decided about that. Not entirely, at least.
Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy) Page 12