The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy)

by Diana Douglas

  She heard a gasp from Mattie and then Rand’s voice. “Don’t fall asleep. I would hate for you to drown.” Her lids flew open. Her husband was grinning at her as he crossed the dressing room. He nodded at the maid. “Run along, Mattie. Lady Clarendon will ring when she needs you.”

  Wide-eyed she looked to Cecelia, who nodded her head. Then she dipped a quick curtsey and bolted from the room.

  “That girl of yours hasn’t grasped the notion that it’s perfectly acceptable for me to see you naked.”

  Cecelia eyed his dark blue coat, carefully tied cravat and fitted buckskins. His soft leather brown boots were trimmed with tassels. “Did you plan to join me? If so, you’re wearing far too many clothes.”

  He sat on the edge of the tub. “The idea is very tempting but I’m afraid there isn’t time. Whitley’s waiting for me downstairs. And don’t you dare splash me,” he warned.

  She grimaced. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  He chuckled. “Frightening as it is, I’m beginning to understand how your mind works.”

  She scooped up a handful of water and let it run through her fingers. “That puts me at a distinct disadvantage. How will I ever be able to get anything past you?”

  “That’s the idea. You won’t.”

  Scowling, she grumbled, “Spoilsport. How long will your meeting take?”

  “I don’t know. All day I imagine. I suppose it’s just as well that it rained. I would have had to cry off our ride, anyway. I’m afraid, I had forgotten he would be here.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You would have called our outing off? But you promised!”

  “I’m very clever, Cecelia. By the time I was through, you would have thought it your idea and insisted that we postpone our ride.” He grinned at her. “Don’t look so incensed. If the weather cooperates we’ll go riding tomorrow. Do you have anything planned for today?”

  She propped her feet up on the edge of the tub and wiggled her toes. “Other than soaking in my bath until I’m as wrinkled as a prune?”

  “Wrinkled as a prune doesn’t sound very attractive.”

  She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Then I suppose I’ll have to find something to do. Actually, I thought I would spend some time exploring with Rosie and David.”

  He made a face. “Sounds dangerous.”

  She grinned. “I’m the adventurous sort.”

  “I know.”

  She sat up fully exposing both breasts as she lifted her hair away from her neck. “Since you sent Mattie away you should wash my hair for me. It’s too long to do by myself.”

  He averted his eyes. “You’re a conniving little temptress. You know very well that if I start washing your hair I’ll be done for. In fact, I should leave before I forget all about Whitley.” He rose to his feet.

  “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “I wanted to apologize. She hesitated.”I was foolish last night. I shouldn’t have made so much of it. I don’t know why I did.”

  He shrugged. “Forget about it. You were overtired. We both were. I’ll send Mattie back in.” He bent down, kissed her lightly on the lips and made for the door.

  Rand’s initial meeting with Whitley had been at Bryony Hall. In-between seeing the house made ready for his bride, dealing with business matters and struggling to decipher the poorly kept accounts for the Clarendon estates kept by the previous steward he had managed to squeeze in an interview with Whitley. Whitley had come highly recommended. He was a small, wiry man whose weathered skin and callused palms bespoke a lifetime of hard work spent outdoors. His experience was impressive and after a lengthy interview Rand came to the conclusion that the recommendation was well justified. He had offered him an annual salary in excess of what most stewards would see, and Whitley had left for Devon the following morning. His first responsibility had been to evaluate the Devon and Cornwall properties and Rand was anxious to hear what he had to say. He greeted Whitley, who rose and tugged an obligatory forelock when he entered the office.

  Rand settled himself behind a large, heavy mahogany desk and said, “No reason to waste time dancing around the bad news. As near as I’ve been able to decipher, with the exception of the manor and surrounding parkland, the Clarendon estates in Devon are in sad shape. What can you tell me?”

  The steward ran his hand through his dark hair. He looked as if he had slept in his clothes. “Wish I could tell you different, milord, but you summed it up pretty well. You’ve four small farms still occupied but the rest have been abandoned. Can’t say the tenants who stayed were very happy to see me. Last steward wasn’t particularly well liked.” He chuckled. “One fella met me with a shot gun. Name’s Harold Trawley. It took some fast talking on my part to keep from having my head blown off. I told him you were a fair man and would set things right. That seemed to help, though I’m not sure he believed me. He claimed he’d been paying up until about a year ago. Wiped him out. Other tenants say ‘bout the same thing.”

  Rand frowned. “If I’m to believe the ledgers no one has paid as much as a farthing for the past three years. And before that the payments were spotty.”

  “I could be wrong, milord, but I believe the tenants. If they kept the rent I don’t know what they did with it. Merchants weren’t getting paid so they weren’t inclined to extend credit for seed and livestock. As a result, most of the fields went fallow. I saw kitchen gardens, a few chickens and a bit of livestock, but they’re likely to have a hard time feeding themselves much less take anything to market.”

  “I’ll take care of the merchants and see that credit is made available, first thing. What about the farms that were abandoned?”

  “They’re in a sorry state. Some of the buildings should be torn down. Most need major repairs.”

  The marquis nodded grimly.

  “Isn’t all bad, milord. This is good rich soil. Crops’ll grow. There’s no reason why the land won’t prosper. But you’ll need good equipment, good livestock and good people.”

  “When the weather clears a bit, I’ll make a call on the tenants.”

  “You might want to use some caution when you go. They don’t know you and the Marquis of Clarendon has black name at the moment. Don’t expect them to be too friendly. Not until they know they can trust you.”

  The marquis shrugged. “I’ll have to convince them.” He picked up a pencil and rapped it against the desk. “What’s next?”

  “That’s easy enough. Sheep. There’s plenty of land for grazing both here and Cornwall, but I’ve been able to round up less than two dozen sheep. The ninth Marquis of Clarendon sold off most of the livestock to pay his gambling debts. If he hadn’t been kicked in the head by an irate bull and died three weeks later he would have likely gambled away what funds remained.”

  “Thank God, for that,” Rand muttered with a look of disgust on his face. “Though it appears that those who followed didn’t do much better. At least the household funds were well managed. Winston and Mrs. Brice have done an exceptional job these past few years but without money coming in, it’s been difficult for them. We’ve got to get this estate producing and profitable. I’ll absorb the initial costs for what we need to start over.”

  The steward looked troubled. “It will take a great deal of money, milord.”

  “I have a great deal of money,” Rand said irritably. “Might as well put it where it can do some good.”

  Whitley cleared his throat. “Most of the tenants who left owe money to the Clarendon estates.”

  “I’ve no plans to track them down or send anyone to debtor’s prison,” Rand broke in shortly. “The circumstances are too muddled to make sense of. There may well be a few that deserve it, but I’ve more pressing concerns to deal with.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, milord, but there might be a bit of grumbling from the local gentry if you allow the tenants to get away without punishment.”

  Whitley had no notion that he had touched on a sore subject. Rand leaned forward in his chair prepared to ed
ucate him on his position. “I was a businessman long before I was a marquis and I know from experience that my relationship with the people who work for me is far more important than making a bunch of bloody aristocrats happy. It isn’t a popular theory, but it’s how I handle things. My concern is with Clarendon, not the God-damned gentry. If my peers think I’m setting a bad example my they’ll have to live with it. I do things as I see fit.”

  Whitley blinked. “Of course. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

  Rand reached for the bell pull and in less than a minute Winston had materialized. “We need coffee, a bottle of whiskey and cognac for now,” he instructed. “Serve luncheon in here at one. And please inform Lady Clarendon I’ll be occupied until dinnertime.”

  “Very good, my lord.” Winston bowed and left the room.

  Rand rummaged through the drawers until he found vellum and a knife to sharpen the quills in the inkstand. “Now.” He turned his attention back to Whitley. “Tell me everything you can about sheep.”

  Cecelia came to the conclusion that taking the children with her to explore the house had not been one of her wiser decisions. They shrieked and ran up and down the corridors, hid from one another beneath the Holland covers, touched everything in sight and nearly succeeded in breaking a lamp and two vases. Both were covered with dust from the attic by the time she handed her charges over to Ellie. Their lessons in manners, Cecelia concluded, could begin none too soon.

  “They’re in need of a good scrubbing, lunch and then a nap,” she told the nursemaid. “Have Mattie help you.”

  “I don’t want a nap,” Rosy protested . “I’m not sleepy.”

  “Me neither,” David said sullenly. “An’ I don’t want a bath.”

  Both continued to protest, but Ellie turned a deaf ear to their complaints as she scolded and bustled them up to the nursery.

  “Whew,” Cecelia muttered to herself when she took refuge in her sitting room. “That was exhausting.” She was about to ring for tea when a knock sounded at the door.

  “Yes?”

  The door swung open and Winston stepped inside with a somewhat apologetic look on his face as he said, “My lady, Miss Mae has asked if you would care to take tea with her and Mrs. Halston in her sitting room.”

  But Cecelia thought that tea with Miss Mae sounded vastly entertaining. “That would be lovely. Tell her I would be delighted.” She glanced at the mantle clock. “If you would have someone come ‘round in about fifteen minutes to escort me to her room. It will take a bit of time, before I know my way about.”

  The proper, expressionless mask he normally wore had returned. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  Miss Mae’s chambers were on the third floor of the east wing and though she might be an impoverished relation of a previous marquis, Cecelia was happy to see that she had not been neglected. The furnishings were of good quality. The room was well lit and airy. Several floral arrangements and various pieces of bric-a-brac were scattered about the room. Miss Mae was seated in a tapestry covered chair with a tangled batch of embroidery silks in her lap. She wore an old fashioned lavender gown with a high neck. The plainness of the gown only served to accentuate her pink crinkled cheeks and silvery white hair. A sturdy woman of middle years with dark hair pulled into a bun and partially covered with a lace cap sat across from her. She laid aside her embroidery and rose the moment she saw Cecelia. She curtsied and then exclaimed in an uneasy rush, “Lady Clarendon. Please sit down. I am Eva Halston, Miss Mae’s companion. It is so good of you to take the time to have tea with us. It should arrive any moment. I hope this isn’t an inconvenience for you, as I’m certain you’ve a great many other things to do.”

  Cecelia was a little surprised at the woman’s nervousness. “Oh, no. I’m delighted to join you,” she assured her. “I’ve spent the past few hours roaming the house with the children. It was great fun, but exhausting. Tea is just what I need.” She seated herself in an elegant rosewood chair and then turned to Miss Mae. “How are you this afternoon, Miss Mae?”

  “Well enough, I suppose. I am eighty-three, you know, and at eighty-three one is doing well to wake up in the morning.” The elderly woman sighed as she looked at the embroidery silks in her lap. “Oh, dear. I’ve tangled the silks into a dreadful mess. My hands simply don’t work right any longer. Or my eyes. Would you fetch my spectacles, Eva?” She sighed again with great emphasis. “I do hate being old.”

  “But Miss Mae, your spectacles give you terrible headaches,” Mrs. Halston reminded her. “The last time you tried to wear them you swore you would never put them on again.”

  “But that was some time ago. I should like to try them again. I believe they are in the top drawer of the table beside my bed. Or would it be my dresser? I can’t be certain. You will likely need to look for them. And I would like a freshly laundered handkerchief, too. Not one of those silly little scraps of lace, either. They’re of no use at all. But first would you ask Mrs. Brice to send some blackberry preserves with our tea? Do try to catch her before the tray is sent up.”

  Mrs. Halston opened her mouth to speak but Miss Mae added, “I’ll be perfectly fine, Eva. I promise I will behave while you’re gone.”

  The companion pursed her lips. It was obvious she was purposely being sent from the room. She rose and straightened her skirts. “Of course, Miss Mae. If you will excuse me, my lady.”

  “Oh dear, she seems out of sorts doesn’t she?” Miss Mae said after Mrs. Halston had left the room. “And I did think I was being tactful.” The devilish smile on her face told Cecelia that she hadn’t thought any such thing. “She can be terribly sensitive on occasion, but I needed to speak with you alone because Eva becomes very distressed when I mention the curse. Says it’s all nonsense, but if she truly thought it was nonsense why would she become so disconcerted over it?”

  Cecelia wasn’t certain she had heard correctly. “Curse?” she asked. “What curse?”

  Miss Mae folded her hand in her lap and smiled. “The curse of Clarendon, of course.”

  Cecelia sat forward in her seat. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes danced. “There’s a curse? How terribly exciting! Tell me about it.”

  “It began with the sixth Marquis of Clarendon. The old Abbey had fallen into ruins by then and he saw an opportunity to line his pockets by knocking down and selling off the stone. Such a dreadful, dreadful man.”

  “The marquis was a dreadful man?”

  “Oh yes, my dear. A curse isn’t any good if it isn’t the result of some evil doer. Otherwise what would the point be? He was both dreadful and foolish. He should have left well enough alone. He was also a skinflint who cared nothing for the safety of the men he hired. Once the demolition began there were a number of accidents at the Abbey. Workers were badly injured, several died. After a while, the men he hired simply refused to work. So he hired more workers, the accidents continued and more men died. But he was very determined and it wasn’t until he fell to his death from a stone staircase at the ruins that the project was halted. It was rumored that he was murdered as a means of stopping the destruction and I can’t say I would be surprised if that were the case. Since then all but one of the Marquis have met with an unfortunate death.”

  Remembering that the elderly woman believed Teddy was still the Marquis Cecelia asked, “All but one? Would that be Teddy?”

  “Heaven’s no.” She shook her head. “Teddy managed to get himself coshed on the head by a footpad in the stews of London. Happened years ago. Silly man! Chasing light skirts and gambling in the hells until dawn. He didn’t travel to London often, but when he did he kicked up his heels like a young pup and he was no young pup at the time. Lust and greed can cause the best of men to fall and Teddy was no exception. I warned him time and time again, but of course he wouldn’t listen. I’m afraid we were both terribly headstrong. We were cousins and there was talk of our marrying but neither he nor I would have it. On occasion, I’ve wondered if that were a mist
ake.” A look of sadness passed over her face.

  Then she smiled. “No point in dwelling on such matters. I was referring to the current marquis, your husband.”

  Miss Mae’s blue eyes held none of the vagueness of yesterday and as she had just acknowledged Rand as the present marquis, Cecelia couldn’t decide whether she was an excellent actress or if her mind simply wandered randomly through time before deciding on a place to land. She suspected the elderly woman was a consummate actress when it suited her purpose.

  “I did think you might want to caution him,” Miss Mae continued. “He appears a rather nice man. It would be lovely to have him about for a while.”

  It hadn’t even occurred to Cecelia that any curse could apply to Rand. With the unfortunate exception of his father, good luck and fortune seemed to follow him where ever he went. He was the least likely person she knew to fall victim to anything. Not that it even bore thinking about. She was too practical to be superstitious. Curses were little more than a mixture of coincidence and fantasy. It was all terribly amusing, but she couldn’t keep from asking, “You think he’s in danger?”

  “I don’t know.” Miss Mae shook her head slightly. “I only thought it best to warn you.”

  Cecelia very much wanted to continue the conversation but Mrs. Halston burst through the door at that precise moment. She was flushed and slightly out of breath and it was obvious that she had hurried back before Miss Mae could say too much. In contrast, a composed and dignified Winston followed close behind managing an elegant mahogany cart topped with a silver tray piled with sandwiches, tarts, a tiered basket of nuts and dried fruit and silver teapot and cups.