Lord Sheraton had made a great show of kissing her hand and then murmuring in a voice that was every bit as sensual as his wife’s, “You are indeed enchanting, my lady, as well as beautiful. Your husband is a fortunate man.” He then added to Rand, “You’ve always had the devil’s own luck. It seems some things will never change.”
As the evening progressed, she discovered her fears were largely unfounded. She was well versed in the art of conversation and had no trouble with wit or maintaining the dialogue with her dinner partners. Lord Holloway sat to one side and Sir Hammond on the other and they spent most of their time vying for her attention. Though the dark haired Sir Hammond was a trifle short, and the blond Lord Holloway a trifle plump, both men were well dressed and attractive enough to gain notice of the female members of the party.
“My evening has improved immensely, since you arrived.” Sir Hammond lowered his voice and leaned toward her ear. “What was certain to be a dull dinner party has become utterly delightful.”
She shook her head in mock reproach. “You exaggerate, Sir Hammond. Lord and Lady Sheraton have invited a number of witty and entertaining guests.”
“But none as beautiful or witty as you,” Holloway said.
Hammond scowled at him. “Leave the lady to me, Holloway. Don’t you have a fiancé waiting for you somewhere in the wilds of Scotland? I’ve heard the northern lasses have a horrendously jealous nature.”
“Northumberland,” Holloway corrected morosely. “And there was no need to remind me of it. I’m well aware the parson’s trap awaits me.”
Cecelia couldn’t tell if his sullen reaction was genuine or only a part of their game of banter. “I’m sure she’s perfectly lovely,” she said encouragingly. “She must have a number of good qualities.”
With a heavy sigh Holloway said, “I fear I’m doomed, my lady. Her dowry is the only bright star in a rather bleak landscape.”
Hammond broke into laughter. “Well said. It captures the situation beautifully.”
Cecelia spread a bit of whipped butter on a slice of wafer thin caraway seed bread. “I think you’re both behaving abominably. Surely she has some good qualities.” She took a small bite. It was delicious and she had to remind herself not to eat too much of it as there were doubtless quite a few more courses to come.
Holloway sighed again. “Truth be told, I can’t think of one. Nature blessed her with neither her face nor form.”
Cecelia was determined to find a positive quality to the lady. “But there’s more to a lady than just her appearance. Is she clever?”
Holloway shook his head.
“Dumb as a post,” Hammond drawled.
She scowled at him then turned back to Holloway. “Does she have a good sense of humor?”
Holloway continued to shake his head. “No.”
Cecelia decided to take one last try. “Does she have a good heart?”
“I fear not.”
“She’s a black-hearted shrew,” Hammond said. “A wealthy, black-hearted shrew but a shrew nonetheless.”
Cecelia was torn between feeling sorry for the man and chiding them both for their
unabridged candor.
Holloway took a healthy sip of wine then placed his napkin against mouth. Cecelia noticed that he seemed to be holding the napkin against his lips for an unusually long time. His shoulders were shaking. He was attempting to cover his laughter.
“You’re both horrible to tell me such lies.”
“They aren’t lies,” Hammond said. “Merely conjecture on our part.”
“I’ve yet to meet her,” Holloway explained. “
She pursed her lips in exaggerated disapproval. “I find you both ill mannered and I believe I won’t speak to either one of you if you persist in maligning the lady.”
Hammond put his hand over his heart. “Such harsh words. I’m crushed.” He then glanced down the table to see if Rand had noticed their antics. “Should I fear for my life, Lady Clarendon? You husband seems displeased.”
Cecelia looked over at her husband. He nodded briefly and turned half an ear back to Lady Billings who was chattering away completely oblivious to the fact that no one was paying the slightest attention to her conversation.
She found a bit of jealousy on Rand’s part immensely satisfying and she grinned as she said, “I don’t believe so. You’ve given him no reason and I trust you implicitly.”
Hammond pulled a long face. “But I was hoping to persuade you to run away with me.”
She pretended to think about it then shook her head. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“That’s twice you’ve cut me to the quick, dear lady. The wounds are harsh. I’m not certain how much more I can take.”
“Better to be flayed by Lady Clarendon than challenged by the marquis,” Holloway observed. “From what I understand, he’s a wicked shot. In fact, he’s good at most everything he does. Is there anything he doesn’t do well?”
“Fish,” she said laughingly. “He’s an appalling fisherman. I’m much better at it than he is.”
Hammond looked at her with surprise. “You enjoy fishing?”
“I realize it isn’t really considered a lady’s sport, but I love fishing.”
Hammond beamed. “Oh, I say, that’s excellent. Excellent. I do, too. Shall the two of us meet at Hayden’s Pond?”
“No.”
“That’s a royal fib, old man,” Holloway snorted. “You can’t abide fishing.”
Cecelia paid their banter little heed. Her attention was taken by the presentation of a large ham carried out on an ornate footed silver tray by two footmen. The meat was studded with cherries, pineapple slices and cloves. The spicy aroma made Cecelia’s mouth water. “Look at that lovely ham,” she said dreamily. “And it smells as lovely as it looks.”
Hammond groaned. “We’ve been upstaged by a pig.”
The next hour was spent in conversation and sampling the various courses presented to the guests. Everything was delicious but she ate small portions as dictated a highborn woman of quality, and when the last course of fruit and sherbet was served she took three small bites and then regretfully rested her spoon lightly on the desert plate. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself and it wasn’t until they left the men to enjoy their cigars and port that she began to feel uncomfortable again.
Lady Sheraton indicated that she sit next to her while she poured their tea in the drawing room. “You must tell us how you managed it, my dear.”
Cecelia felt a slight tightening in her stomach. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your marriage. Of course, with his recent title, Clarendon needed to marry. As your families have known one another for quite some time, I suppose it was a logical decision. A logical marriage is much more stable than a passionate one. Did your brother arrange the match? If so, he must be congratulated on his decision.” She set down the silver tea pot. “Cream and sugar, dear?”
Cecelia stared wordlessly. She was temporarily stunned by the obvious implication of the comment. Did everyone believe it was a marriage of convenience? It was likely. Then she realized that Lady Sheraton was waiting for her to answer.
“Yes, both please.” She was sorely tempted to tell them exactly how the marriage came about. Logic be damned, there was no lack of passion in their relationship. She accepted the cup Lady Sheraton handed her, took a sip of tea and then allowed a slow smile to spread across her face. She leaned forward slightly. Her lips were slightly parted and there was a gleam in her eyes.
“Oh, I assure you, it’s probably the most illogical thing either one of us has ever done. It was a whirl wind courtship and Eugene was as stunned by the turn of events as we were. Clarendon dropped by on his way to Bryony Hall and...” She stopped abruptly.
“Yes?” Lady Billings prodded.
Cecelia blushed. “Clarendon and I agreed to keep the details secret. One should be entitled to a certain amount of privacy, don’t you think? Particularly when one is newly married. I can tell you that w
e’re wonderfully happy, though.”
“Secrets are so romantic,” Lady Billings sighed dreamily. “And he’s so very handsome.”
A buzz went around the room and Cecelia wondered what nonsense would hit the drawing rooms by tomorrow. Gossip didn’t travel near as quickly in the country as in town, but it did travel.
Lady Sheraton wore a tight smile. “Of course, Clarendon will want to set up his nursery as soon as possible,” she commented.
Cecelia smiled. “He’s quite determined. He does have a great deal of energy.”
Another buzz went round the drawing room. Lady Sheraton’s smile grew even tighter.
“How nice for you,” Lady Mansfield murmured. “How very, very nice.”
Rand took the offered goblet of port from the blue livered footman. As always, the atmosphere of the room changed once the ladies left to take their tea. He’d never been a great fan of the custom as he hated to ruin a pleasant dinner with the foolish blustering and posturing of his peers that usually followed. He hoped tonight would be different. It wasn’t.
Lord Foxworth, a tall, big bellied gentleman with a florid face and white mane of hair, was the oldest of the small gathering and, therefore, the most experienced at pomposity. He took a sip of his port, loudly cleared his throat, looked directly at Rand and remarked, “Well, Clarendon, it seems your life’s taken a few drastic changes of late. When I left London, you were unencumbered, without a care in the world and enjoying life’s pleasures as a bachelor. Now you’ve a title, a wife and you’ve left London to become the gentleman farmer.”
This oversimplification irked the marquis. He was no stranger to the pleasures London had to offer, but since he had taken over Danfield Enterprises his had not been a life of unencumbered leisure. And as fortunate as he might be, he had certainly had his share of worries and problems to contend with.
“Life can be strange,” he said casually. He took a cheroot from the polished ivory and onyx humidor that was being passed around the table, then glanced up at his host. “Egyptian?”
Sheraton nodded. “Came in last month. I was lucky to get them.”
Rand picked up a candle from the table. He held the flame to the tip of his cheroot and then puffed it to life. “Excellent. I’ve always been partial to Egyptian.” The red embers flared as he inhaled.
Undaunted by the change of subject, Foxworth continued, “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I learned you’d married Stratton’s youngest sister. A striking lass. Very engaging. Caught her young, too. My motto’s always been, Marry them young. Train them young.” He chuckled. “Makes the lasses easier to manage.”
Rand fought the laughter than welled up in his chest. It was clear Foxworth had no notion of his bride’s nature. “I’ve no complaints,” he managed to get out with a straight face.
Foxworth set his elbows on the table and tapped his fingertips together. “Good. Good,” he said amiably as he nodded his head. “Pleased to hear it.”
As the earl was the only one talking, Rand was beginning to wonder what his game was. It wasn’t long before he found out.
“Heard you’ve had a few problems on your estates,” Foxworth remarked casually.
“I prefer to think of them as challenges,” Rand responded. “Land’s been neglected. I’ll need to bring it up to snuff.”
The earl pursed his lips. “Heard it was a little more serious than that. Delinquencies, non-payments, theft and vandalism.” His displeasure came through. “Can’t let these people get away with that kind of thing. They need to understand who their betters are.” He rested his hands against the edge of the table and leaned forward. “There should be repercussions for this type of behavior. Can’t let a tenant use your land without payment and then pull up and leave. It’s out and out theft. They’d be swinging from the gallows, if this was London.”
A quick glance around the table told Rand that most of the guests were in agreement with this statement. And they expected some kind of response from him. He decided not to give them one. He leaned back in his chair, blew a few smoke rings and waited.
After an uncomfortable silence, Sheraton spoke. “It just isn’t done,” he pointed out. “If you let them get away with it, our tenants will come to expect the same leniency.
Several others nodded.
“I believe the rest of us feel the same way,” Lord Withers said. “Sets a bad example.”
Rand knocked a bit of ash onto his plate. “What exactly have you heard?” he asked mildly.
“We’ve heard that you’re letting them off scot-free without so much as a rap on the wrist!” Foxworth’s florid complexion had grown more so.
Rand put a thoughtful look on his face. “So you’re suggesting that I hunt them down and send them to debtor’s prison? All of them?”
“Might not be able to find all of them,” Foxworth admitted grudgingly. “But if you do nothing at all, it sends the wrong message.” He paused a moment and then added in a somewhat more conciliatory tone, “Trust me in this, Clarendon. There’s really no choice. I know it isn’t pleasant, but it’s a responsibility we have to live with.”
“I say, Foxworth,” Hammond broke in cheerfully. “I heard the overseer collected the rents and vanished. Not sure it’s quite fair to hold the tenants responsible for that.”
“Then let them provide their receipts,” Withers said. “I’d wager you wouldn’t find a single one. Without receipts they can’t prove a thing. Who’s to know whether or not they really paid up?”
Rand felt all eyes on him as he lounged and smoked his cheroot. He waited until Foxworth’s mouth opened to continue their discussion before he said calmly, “First, I’d have to find them. It wouldn’t be a profitable use of my men or my time and, as you know, I’m quite fond of making a profit. And then there would be the weeping women and children to deal with as the bailiffs hauled their men off to the sponging houses or Fleet’s Prison. God knows I hate dealing with tears.”
“You wouldn’t have to deal with them.” Foxworth stopped abruptly as he realized he was being made sport of. “Dash it all, Clarendon,” he sputtered. “We know what we’re talking about. This is a new endeavor for you. Take a little advice. You can’t begin by appearing soft. They won’t respect you.”
Anger was beginning to get the better of the marquis. That he outranked the men who were taking him to task didn’t even occur to him, but when Foxworth indicated he wasn’t knowledgeable enough to take care of own his business he was tempted to ask him to step outside. He forced himself to take in a long slow breath. “It’s good of you to be so concerned about the condition of my estates. I’m quite aware that there are a number of problems to be dealt with. Major problems.”
He continued on, the pitch of his voice didn’t change; his words were slow and deliberate. “The Clarendon Estates are in chaos primarily because the previous marquis were damned idiots. Thank God, the land was entailed or there would be nothing left. Years back, most of the livestock was sold to pay gambling debts. Without sheep there was no wool for the textile mill so the mill was shut down. That resulted in an immense loss of income. To make up for it the tenants were charged rents far in excess of what they could pay. Some made partial payments, but as near as I can tell the money was pocketed by the last overseer who, as you so astutely brought up, has inconveniently disappeared. And by the way, if I do find the bastard I will beat him bloody, but my chances of finding him are very slim and I’m not about to waste my time looking. The account books are in such a jumbled mess I can’t even guess at what else has transpired. It’s likely I will never know and I won’t prosecute without firm facts.”
He paused as if daring anyone to challenge him then continued, “Why the pottery mill was shut down, I don’t know, but I’m fairly certain more stupidity was involved.” He leaned forward in his chair. “This is my plan, gentlemen. I have wiped the slate clean. What happened six months ago, one year ago, or five years ago is of no consequence to me. I deal in the present.
I am starting over and it’s a challenge I’m looking forward to. In the meantime, I have a fine house to live in, fertile farm land, rich grass lands; two mills that need to be reopened and my pockets are deep enough to pay for whatever needs to be done. There will be difficult and frustrating days ahead but I am equal to the task. Now that we have ironed out this little wrinkle, could we go on to other topics?” He jabbed his cheroot back in his mouth and glared.
For a moment there was silence. It was broken by Hammond whom Rand suspected was not nearly as deep in his cups as he appeared to be. “Gentlemen. Please join me in a toast,” he said with a lopsided grin as he raised his glass. “Here’s to starting over.”
All but Foxworth and Sheraton raised their glasses. The issue was temporarily put to rest but Rand knew it was far from over.
Cloaked in a quiet darkness, André was the sole passenger in the hired coach. He had closed the curtains and left the lantern unlit. He preferred traveling at night when it was cooler and the dampness kept the road dust at a minimum. And he liked the darkness. He always had. Traveling the roads in the dark of night carried additional risks and the coachman hadn’t been happy about it, but André had offered enough money to make the risk worthwhile. He had also paid extra to travel alone. This trip was costing a fortune, but it was his last chance for comfort. Soon enough, he would be living with the stable hands or if he couldn’t find employment, camping in the woods. The prospect of posing as a laborer brought him no joy, but it seemed the best way to learn the habits of the Clarendon household.
However, if another way presented itself he would take advantage. And after it was over? It was likely he would be dead. A sense of peace enveloped him as he thought of falling forever into a black velvet void, but first, he had one last thing to accomplish. Revenge for Marguerite. He stretched out his arms, wincing as scarred tissue around his wound pulled. He’d slept poorly of late and exhaustion had set in. The rhythm of the coach wheels rolling over the dirt road was soothing. He settled against the squabs, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep...
The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) Page 21