by Sarita Leone
“Lord Stuart Bailey, the Duke of Chichester. He is, I shall tell you right off, one of London’s most eligible bachelors. A great catch and an expert with the horses. The ladies, too, I hear.”
“You flatter me, Lady Blakely.” The duke’s voice was velvety smooth, with a teasing tone that made their hostess titter. When he turned his attention on Vivian she saw more than a casual interest in his eyes. His gaze rested on her face for a long moment before he bowed low, giving a grand sweep of his leg that sent her heart pounding madly in her chest. No man had made such a gesture to her before and it inspired emotions she had not thought she owned.
This is what it must feel like to be the Queen.
“I am delighted, Miss…” The duke rose and looked askance to Lady Blakely.
“Miss Vivian Fox, of Stropshire. She is staying with Lord and Lady Gregory for the Season,” Lady Blakely said, her introductory hand finally before Vivian.
“It is an absolute pleasure, Miss Fox.”
The duke’s attention tied her tongue in knots, so she just nodded and dropped into a general curtsey. She hoped it covered all elements of propriety.
With a satisfied nod, their hostess walked away. The crowd opened, then closed, around her and before a moment passed she was out of sight.
Evidently they had walked in on a hearty discussion, because as soon as she departed the exchange resumed. No inquiries were made of her and since participation in the conversation did not seem necessary—or desired—Vivian kept her own council. She was, however, all ears.
Miss Hastings glowered more fiercely without Lady Blakely’s presence. She was in sharp contrast to Miss Smythe’s smiling countenance when she hissed, “Stupid!”
Vivian’s eyes opened wide. Even in baser circles, one rarely maligned another without harsh provocation.
Paris played no part in Miss Smythe’s reaction. It was pure Londoner when she snorted her derision. “Pish posh! You cannot know what you are talking about. You have never been anywhere and have not done anything extraordinary—that is, unless you count curling your hair and combing your eyebrows astonishing endeavors.”
She would have laughed aloud had she not feared it would hasten the discussion’s end. Apparently Miss Smythe was more than a Paris powder puff!
“Ladies, is this really necessary? What will Miss Fox think of us, sniping at each other this way?” Miss Spencer smoothed a shaky hand down the front of her dress. Her voice trembled when she added, “Besides, you both know I hate arguments. You know how they unsettle me. Please, let us stop this foolishness. It does not matter who bakes the fluffiest biscuits. French or English bakers, what does it matter? It is not as if any of us are going to test them, anyhow. We all know how bad biscuits are for our waistlines.”
Vivian did not point out that she had eaten two light-as-air biscuits just a short time ago. Had she not been so full she might have polished off another.
“Hmmph!” It was a deadly sound, a gooseflesh-producing growl. It was the only reply Miss Hastings offered.
“So true.” Miss Smythe smiled sweetly. “Miranda does have a point. We should drop the topic at once. We must have more stimulating things to speak of…Your Grace, weren’t you about to tell us about that sporty new conveyance parked over there? I could have sworn I saw you drive up in it.”
Vivian noticed Miss Smythe step closer to the duke. When he turned to look at the carriage, the woman by his side did not attempt to hide her interest in him. Staring openly at his profile, she threaded her fingers together before her waist.
The duke turned his attention back to the ladies. He pushed his fingers through his sandy-colored hair. Despite his touch, the waves did not become mussed and Vivian wondered if he and Miss Hastings used the same hair fixative.
She could not stop the grin from forming on her face. The duke caught sight of it and, like a small boy seeking his nanny’s approval, asked, “Do you like my curricle, Miss Fox?”
What could she say?
“It is, ah, very pretty.”
He threw his head back and laughed. Heat rose on her cheeks, and she realized her mistake almost as soon as it was out.
“Pretty? Miss Fox, I have never heard anyone call such a sporty little rig pretty before. You are a true Original. Pretty, indeed. Well, I do thank you for the compliment. I can tell now that you do not have an interest in carriages.”
“That is not so.” Vivian spoke without considering her words before they left her mouth. “I am very much interested in your…”
“Curricle.”
“Yes, your curricle. In fact, I am so excited to see your sweet little carriage that I cannot help but think it must be like flying to ride in it.” She sighed, her gaze lingering on the vehicle’s black leather seats. They looked soft.
“Really?” Surprise tinged the duke’s voice.
“Oh, yes. I would love to take a ride in your, ah, curricle.”
Grabbing her by the hand and pulling her after him, the duke said, “If it is a ride you want, Miss Fox, it is a ride you shall get!”
The ride home in Lord and Lady Gregory’s carriage was much more sedate than the jaunt around Waltham Hall’s grounds with Lord Stuart Bailey.
He had insisted she call him Stuart, and had been as bold as to kiss her cheek when he returned her to the party. Vivian hoped no one had seen the gesture. It was not something she intended to let happen again. The duke was kind enough, and he had a mad sense of humor, which kept her laughing the whole time they rode the grounds. But he was not the kind of man she could take seriously. His genial outlook was admirable but there was a sense about him that indicated he did not have a single responsible bone in his body. The fact that the curricle was new, a replacement for last year’s model, and that the older one had been smashed against a tree during one wild midnight ride did not impress her. The waste and disregard for property annoyed her, and although she kept a bland expression on her face she had no desire to go riding with the duke in the future.
“Did you enjoy yourself, Vivian?” Lady Gregory had her head on her husband’s shoulder, and he had one arm wrapped around her. Their comfort in each other’s company was an inspiration. It was what she wanted for herself, a man with whom she could feel absolutely at ease.
“Very much, thank you.”
“Oh, you are welcome, my dear. I am glad you found the affair amusing. I admit, last night when I realized we have not gone on a proper shopping trip yet I was afraid you would not agree to go today. Your adaptability under duress is an admirable trait, and I appreciate your forgiving my oversight. I am glad you found something suitable among Lucie’s things. To tell the truth, that dress looks much nicer on you than it would have ever looked on Lucie. Don’t you agree, darling?”
The duke had been snoring quietly but when his wife asked the question he opened one eye, looked to Vivian’s side of the carriage, and then closed the eye. “Much nicer. More the figure for it, really. Lucie can be a bit…”
His wife shushed him. “He is right, you know. Our Lucie has quite the hourglass figure. She is not nearly as slender as you. She is not chubby, mind you; she is just not willowy and slim. That neckline would have been unfortunate on her. No, it is much better on you, my dear. Much.”
“I cannot thank you for your generosity. I have never worn anything this lovely.”
“You need not thank me. It is a delight having you with us. I feel more at home now that I am not the only woman in residence. I do so miss our Lucie…it is kind of you to take up where she has left off. And I know you will love her when you finally meet her, She and Nick should be arriving home tonight from Ireland. He loves to travel, as does our daughter.”
“Hmmph!” The duke’s moustache quivered in the exhalation accompanying the sound.
Lady Gregory patted his arm affectionately. “There, there, darling. Do not upset yourself. Remember your heart, now.” She rubbed her fingers over his knuckles. Their gloves lay on the seat beside them so the action brought a whisp
er of skin on skin to the space. “My husband does not think women need to travel. He believes traveling the world is the domain of men, and that we females should stay put and keep the home fires burning. What do you think of that?”
The duke opened one eye again. He caught her gaze, and Vivian learned how it felt to be a jackrabbit caught in the hunter’s crosshairs. She swallowed hard, searching for a reply that would not offend either Gregory.
The truth. It was the only way to go in this—or any—matter.
“I do not know what I think, honestly. I have never had the opportunity to travel, or even dream of doing so. This trip to London is the furthest I have been from home. It is exciting, and I love the chance to meet new people and see intriguing things—as well as wear pretty dresses and go to parties. I just cannot say definitely, however, that I am either for or against women traveling. That, I believe, is a judgment best left to those with more experience.”
“Well done, Vivian.” The duke smiled, closing his eyes again. “You should be in Parliament, my dear.”
“In any event,” Lady Gregory continued, “Lucie and Nick are looking forward to meeting you. I know they want to welcome you personally, and Lucie hopes to spend time taking you to the shops and museums.”
“I look forward to it.”
The rest of the ride passed in silence. Now and then a snore punctuated the journey but for the most part Vivian was left to sort through her own thoughts.
Oliver was waiting for them. Pacing the front hallway, his hair standing on end and agitation spilling from every pore, he looked ready to scream. His parents hurried to him, flanking him and worriedly peppering him with questions.
“Oliver, are you unwell?” His father asked.
“Did something happen?” Lady Gregory pressed a hand to his forehead. He leaned back, away from her touch. “Did you—you know?”
“Son, are you—”
He disengaged himself and took a step back, plowing his fingers through his already mussed locks. The image of a porcupine came to Vivian’s mind but it fled as quickly as it had come. Oliver looked ready to burst, and for a second she feared for her Mother and Liam. Had something awful happened?
“It is not what any of you are thinking,” Oliver said with a sigh. “It is bad, but not catastrophic. I am sure you wondered why I did not make it to Waltham Hall this afternoon. I had planned on going to the party after I did the weekly ride about the property. I usually check the cottages and Folly, just to be sure all is well. I know the groundskeepers look after things but it is good, as well, for the owner to keep a hand in.”
“Quite so, son.” Lord Gregory jerked a nod as he reached into his jacket pocket for his pipe tobacco. The pipe was already between his teeth, and he seemed in need of a calming diversion.
“Anyhow, all looked fine until I got to the cottage nearest the estate’s boundary. The one by the road out of town. Anyhow, when I arrived and checked the lock I knew we had a problem.”
In a swirl of fragrant smoke, the duke asked, “A problem? What sort of problem, Oliver?”
“We have been robbed.”
Chapter 5
“You are going to hurt yourself—or worse, hurt me—if you do not watch what you are doing.” Will sidestepped the foil thrust at him. “Be careful, won’t you? That thing is sharp and even if you do not value your vitals, I do mine. I would certainly not like to see my entrails become fertilizer for the grass.”
Oliver grinned, and then thrust a second time. This time the sharp instrument sent a vibration through his hand and up into his arm when he connected with his opponent’s shoulder.
Had his aim been slightly to the left and his intention been to kill rather than let off steam, Will’s blood would likely have splattered the ground at their feet.
“Lucky for you, old man, that I don’t mean to skewer you.”
Glowering his annoyance when the sharp instrument glanced off him, Will took three rapid steps forward. Oliver saw him coming, and recognized the move as one of the other man’s best, but he did not react quickly enough to avoid being struck. When the tip of Will’s fencing foil dug into the heavy fabric covering his torso, he knew he must concede. Without the protective vests they both wore, Will would have been victorious. Even now he could, with one bold thrust, send his weapon slicing into Oliver’s gut.
Swallowing a passing jolt of alarm, he lowered his foil and nodded his concession.
Instantly Will pulled his weapon back and pointed the tip toward the ground. He did not look pleased by his win.
“It was either kill or be killed,” Will growled. Wiping at a rivulet of sweat with the back of one hand, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Was it your intention to exercise or murder? Clearly we had two separate understandings of the morning’s activity.”
They walked to the low stone wall that bordered the space where they practiced fencing maneuvers. An elm tree shaded one end. Removing their vests and laying them beside their foils before they sat beside their equipment, they caught their respective breaths in silence.
Finally, Oliver exhaled. It should have brought relief to his racing pulse but it did not. No amount of slow, deep breathing or strenuous exercise could wipe away the unease that occupied the biggest part of his mind.
No one had ever dared to steal—not even an apple from their orchard—from them before now. It was despicable, yes. Worse, it was a betrayal of trust that eroded the very fabric of their existence. The estate was home to all manner of servants, many with families in residence on or near the property. To think that one of them had stolen from his family was almost too much to bear.
“I am sorry.” He rubbed a hand along his stubbled cheek. The rasping sound was oddly soothing. “I meant to work off some of this excess energy, not commit murder. I assure you, if I wished your spoon stuck in the wall I would have taken you down a long time ago. No, my friend, perish the thought of your dying. I count on you too much to lose you.”
Will shook his head. “That is something, I suppose. I will say that I do not recall you playing so hard in a long, long time. It was as if…”
The past was never far removed, was it? Oliver’s debacle was always within memory’s grasp and somehow fit snugly into nearly any conversation. His shame over his wrongdoing was also always lying upon his shoulders, heart and conscience.
“I know. I acted as erratically as I did last year, when I nearly lost my mind and you almost paid for my bad behavior with your very life.”
“It was the demons.” Will’s favorite expression for that time. They shared a wry smile, both aware that even the foulest demons could not be held completely responsible for what had transpired.
“Hmm, the demons. That is as good an excuse as any, old man. Still, I am sorry to have fenced like a man possessed. I did not mean to conjure demons, but to escape from them.”
“Your father still refuses to contact the constable?”
“He will not hear of it. He will not allow us to send word to his solicitor, either, although I am in agreement with him on that one. It is Mother who wants Mr. Pimm involved. I suppose she just wants someone to take the burden from us but really, what can a solicitor do? Until the thief is caught there is no one to hold accountable. If Father will not listen to reason and alert the authorities, it falls to me to find the culprit.”
There was no other way that he could fathom to solve the dilemma. Someone had to come to justice, and if that meant he had to track the responsible person down, then that was what he was going to do.
A suspect had already come to mind. He hated to think it could be possible but it was logical.
“You know I will help in any way I can.” Will looked up at the clear blue sky. The sun was nearly at its apex, and the day much warmer now than when they first grabbed their fencing equipment. He turned his attention on Oliver, and with a serious tone said, “We have been through so much already. I do not imagine hunting down one brazen thief can be anything to worry over. By now you have most
likely got someone in mind, if I know you. Tell me, what are your thoughts on this messy bit of business?”
It seemed sacrilege to say it but there was no holding back with Will. They had few, if any, secrets from one another.
Searching for a way to be tactful without diminishing his supposition, he said, “I have given this a great deal of thought. In fact, I hardly slept last night, I was so caught up in thinking about the situation. As far as I can tell, the cottage was fine last Thursday. I checked it then and did not see anything amiss. Certainly the door lock was secure and there were no broken windows in the place. Talbot rode past on Sunday, with his wife. They went picnicking after church services. He swears he did not notice anything out of the ordinary, and I believe him.”
Rennie Talbot had been in his father’s employ as a groundskeeper for over a decade. He and his wife lived in one of the estate apartments set aside for servant usage. The apartments were situated in a north wing of the manor, useful for keeping staff close at hand yet on their own as well. It did not seem possible that Talbot would not tell the truth. He had no reason to lie.
“I do, too. Rennie and Leila are good people. Their Sunday picnics are a habit with them, and I know they ordinarily go to a spot near the cottage. Closer to the little brook that is out that way, I think, is where they actually spread their blanket. I have heard Leila say that the brook is music enough to make Rennie fall asleep, and that she is used to his napping while she reads a book. Sounds pretty comfortable to me. Don’t you think?”
It did not typically fall to the lord of the manor to find a point in his servants’ lives to envy, but Oliver did feel a twinge in this case. The familiarity between the Talbots, as well as the handful of other married couples living on the estate, was enviable.
Someday I will lie on a blanket and doze while my wife reads, Oliver thought with a wistful pang.
He straightened his spine. Sitting on a stone wall was great for a temporary rest but taxed the back if done for any length of time. He jumped to the ground, stretched and nodded his agreement.