by Kruger, Mary
“Don’t you talk to me about a woman’s frailties, Giles Templeton! As I recall I used to beat you in races, even if I was younger.”
“Maybe I let you win.”
“Ooh!” Anne jumped up and strode across to the window, her arms crossed on her chest. “No. I promised myself I would not get angry about this. I said I would deal with it sensibly, no matter how odiously high-handed you behaved, summoning me back to England as if I’m some chattel.”
“Good. If you’re not angry perhaps we can discuss this rationally.”
Anne gazed at him for a moment and then sat down again, her spine very straight. “Very well. If you wish to be rational. Obadiah!” she called, and Obadiah came in, carrying several large, leather-bound books. “These are the ledgers from Hampshire Hall. Note the top one carefully, Your Grace.” She smiled. “Thank you, Obadiah.”
Obadiah flicked a glance from her to Giles, and then bowed. “Lady.”
“As I thought,” Giles murmured, turning over the pages. “I’m sorry, Anne, but this tells its own tale. Entries missing, columns totaled wrong—I know you’re intelligent for a female, but this bears out what I was saying. Managing a plantation is too much for a woman.”
Anne’s smile was just a little malicious. “Pray note the date of the ledger, Your Grace.”
Giles looked down and drew in his breath. “This can’t be.”
“Oh, but it can. Freddie was still alive and in charge.”
Giles stared at her a moment, and then abruptly pushed the ledger away. The one below told the same story, of missed payments, crop failure, poor investments. The next one, though, kept in a different hand, showed some changes. Servants’ wages had risen, but so, apparently, had productivity. The tobacco and sugar crops showed a sharp rise in yield, and in export. Every column totaled correctly, and if the estate still showed a loss, it was smaller than it had been. The next ledger, the final one, for the year just past, showed nearly every aspect of the plantation running at a profit.
Giles closed the book, his brow wrinkled in a frown. Good God. Anne had shown herself more astute at management than ever Freddie had. “I agree about freeing the slaves,” he said abruptly. “It costs the plantation more money, but—”
“But,” she agreed. “Freddie and I both hated it. So did they. What it costs for wages and housing is more than made up by the extra work the servants put in, now that they have their freedom. Oh, I’ll admit we lost some, but the rest seem happy. And Obadiah is an excellent overseer.”
“A former slave, Anne.”
“What has that to say to anything?”
“It’s all very well when he deals with local people, but when he has to deal with merchants and ship’s captains—”
“I’ve taken care of that part.”
Giles closed his eyes. “Dear God.”
“And done well, too. You see, like you they think I’m helpless and innocent.”
“I assume they’ve learned,” he said, grimly.
“Oh, yes, and quite fast, too.” She smiled at him. “So you see, Giles, it really would be foolish for you to replace me.”
He shook his head. “No. You’ve done a decent job for a woman, Anne, but my decision stands. Mr. Tyler will remain as manager of Hampshire Hall.”
“‘For a woman,’” she mimicked. “‘For a female!’ Were you always this patronizing? Or is it just since you’ve become duke that you’ve got like your father?”
“My father has nothing to do with this.”
“No, I suppose not.” The look she gave him was infinitely sad, and beyond his comprehension. “Tremont, we were doing very well in Jamaica. I don’t see why I can’t return.”
“You’ll be needed here, Anne.”
“Here? Why?”
“Because Jamie needs to be educated.”
Anne went very still. Here it was, the main battle of the war between them. “I plan to hire a tutor for him, one who would like to live in Jamaica.”
Giles shook his head. “I was thinking about Eton.”
“He’s too young!”
“In another few years he won’t be.”
Anne gripped the arms of her chair. “No. No. Freddie told me about Eton, about the beatings he received and the cruelty of the older boys. I will not expose my son to that.”
“You may not have a choice,” he said, quietly. “I am his guardian, Anne.”
“And I am his mother. And don’t tell me you received a good education at Eton, or that Freddie did, either! I’ll wager I learned more from my governess. No.” She rose and stalked to the door. “This discussion is ended, Your Grace. While I have any say in the matter, my son will not attend Eton.”
“You have no say in the matter.”
“He’s my son. Not yours.”
“As James’s trustee, I could cut you off without a penny, you know—”
“Go ahead.”
“—and I could have James raised here. Without you.”
Chapter Four
Anne stopped at the study door. “You wouldn’t,” she said, turning.
He wouldn’t, of course. “If I have to, Anne—”
“No! He’s all I have. Oh, Giles, must you use him to get your revenge on me?”
“On you?” he said, surprised.
“Jamie is innocent. Don’t make him suffer for the past.”
“Make him suffer—Anne, I’m trying to do what’s best for him. He needs an education. He needs the proper training to take his place in life.”
“I realize that! Why do you think I’ve done what I have? For myself? Jamie knows the plantation as well as I do, and he knows the people. He’s been over every inch of it, he has friends there—don’t you see, he could never get that at Eton. Giles.” She stepped away from the door, her face holding an unaccustomed expression of pleading. “Please. I’m only trying to do the best for him, too. As your mother did for you.”
“I realize that, Anne. I don’t mean to make this difficult for you, but I have my duty.”
“Your duty. Oh, yes, I’ve heard about that.” Her eyes narrowed. “You never married.”
He looked at her in surprise. “What has that to say to anything?”
“I used to wonder why. Now I know. What woman would want to live with you, you pigheaded, arrogant—man!”
“Anne!” he exclaimed, and crossed the room as she whirled out the door. “Anne, for God’s sake—”
In the hall, Anne was already pounding up the stairs. Giles looked after her and then and closed the door softly, returning to his desk. What had happened to his peaceful, ordered life?
Running his hand through his hair, Giles sat back. Life had suddenly become devilishly complicated. Being the head of the family, managing his estates and sitting in the House of Lords, all involved a great deal of work, but it was manageable. This new obligation was different. Anne wasn’t like his tenants or his family. Anne had a mind of her own, and no qualms about using it. When had that happened? The girl he had once known had been bright, amusing, willful, but never so stubborn or independent. No matter what he decided, she would fight him. He wasn’t used to having his authority questioned, nor the peace of his house disrupted by the antics of an undisciplined child. What disturbed him most, though, was the little flip his heart gave whenever Anne walked into a room.
His eyes fell on the letter. Another obligation, but one that seemed less onerous than it had. If nothing else, it would mean his leaving Tremont Castle for a time, and that suddenly was something greatly to be desired. His head came up in the posture he unconsciously assumed whenever he had made a difficult decision. He would answer this obligation, and the rest of his duties be hanged.
A high piping sound reached Giles’s ears as he stepped from his study into the hall, and for a moment, he paused. A child’s voice, singing. “Tom, Tom, the piper’s son, stole a pig and away he run.” Briefly, very briefly, he smiled. James, of course. Who else? The boy was as undisciplined as his mother. That was something
else that would have to change.
Jamie was holding onto the wrought-iron railing of the staircase and swinging back and forth, each time coming perilously close to the suit of armor. At the sight of Giles, his eyes widened and he broke off swinging. “Uncle Giles!” Heedless of the slippery marble floor, he dashed across the hall and threw his arms around Giles’s legs. “Mama says you have some toy soldiers for me,” he said, looking at Giles with eyes that were so much like his mother’s that Giles was stunned into silence. Never had he been greeted like this. It was strange. It was also rather nice.
“James, I am certain your mother also told you how to greet me,” he said, sounding repressive even to his own ears. Jamie stared at him blankly, and then stepped back, making a perfunctory bow that reminded Giles of Anne’s mocking curtsies. In spite of himself, he smiled, though by the time Jamie looked at him again his face was stern. “What are you doing here alone?”
“Nurse’s asleep. Uncle Giles?”
“James, I am not your uncle.”
“Mama said I could call you that.”
“I am the duke, James. You must address me as ‘Your Grace.’”
Jamie giggled. “That’s silly. Grace is a girl’s name.”
Again Giles’s lips twitched in a smile. “That has nothing to say to it, James. Now go along to the nursery before I tell your mother you’re here.”
“All right.” To Giles’s surprise, Jamie slipped his hand trustingly into his and let himself be led to the stairs, swinging their linked hands from side to side. “Uncle Your Grace?”
Giles couldn’t help it; he let out a laugh. “Yes?”
“What happened when you put on the armor?”
“My father punished me, James, as I deserved. The armor is very old and very valuable.”
Jamie’s eyes were unblinking. “My father used to punish me, too.”
“Did he?”
“Mm-hm. Until Mama made him stop. I didn’t like it,” he added confidingly.
“Discipline is a part of life, James.” No wonder the boy ran wild. He would definitely have to do something about this. “Run along to your nurse now, lad,” he said.
“Yes, Uncle Your Grace.” Again Jamie bowed, and Giles couldn’t resist. For a moment he laid his hand on the boy’s head. When had he last touched a child? Jamie was trusting, vulnerable, innocent. Perhaps Anne was right. Perhaps Eton wasn’t the place for him. Lord knew Giles himself had been unhappy there, until he had toughened up. Jamie was a Templeton, though, and if there were one thing that Giles had known since childhood, it was that Templetons followed tradition. Not yet, though. Giles’s fingers lightly feathered through Jamie’s hair. Not yet.
Jamie shook away Giles’s hand in a gesture that was definitely masculine. “‘Bye,” he said, and dashed for the stairs, stopping for a moment to bow to the armor. Then, giving Giles a look that held more deviltry than innocence, he ran up the stairs, the sound of his feet echoing in the hall.
Undisciplined and wild, Giles thought, but there was a smile on his face as he turned away and headed toward the breakfast room. Jamie would be all right, with the proper guidance. At bottom, there was good stuff in him. Something else for Giles to see to before he left.
The gong summoning the family to luncheon had just rung, and Giles entered the breakfast room to find the ladies of his family assembled there before him. Unerringly his eyes went straight to Anne, who answered his look with one of her own. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention James to her, but he refrained. What had happened in the hall was between him and the boy.
“I have news,” he said, after they were seated and the meal was served. “I had a letter this morning from Brighton.”
“Ah,” Julia said, sounding satisfied. “I wondered if you were going to tell us about that.”
Giles cast her a look, momentarily annoyed, though he wasn’t certain why. Of course his mother would know what was going on in her house, even if it were Giles’s business. “Yes, well, it is, as you probably guessed, from the Prince of Wales. Or, rather, Colonel McMahon, writing on his behalf.”
Anne, seated to his right, choked on her soup. “Prinny? You are funning us, aren’t you?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh, don’t poker up so! You must admit, there’s no one more unlike you than Prinny—”
“Giles did him a great service in the spring,” Beth said softly.
Anne stared at him. “Really? What?”
“Nothing of consequence.” Giles spoke crisply, annoyed again. “The Templetons have always done their duty to the Crown.”
“Of course.”
“Is he going to recognize what you did?” Julia asked, sipping at her water glass. “It’s high time.”
“Apparently.” He paused, suddenly less certain of his decision than he had been a few moments ago. “He’s invited me to stay with him in Brighton.”
Julia nodded approvingly. “It is no less than you deserve. It is no laughing matter, Anne.”
“I’m—sorry, ma’am.” Anne wiped futilely at her eyes. Giles’s pronouncement had sent her into gales of laughter. “But even in Jamaica we’ve heard of Prinny’s Marine Pavilion, and the thought of Giles staying there—”
“I will be staying at the Old Ship,” Giles said, considerably annoyed by her laughter.
“When will we be leaving?” Beth said, softly, and silence descended on the room.
Giles could feel Anne looking at him, though he didn’t know why. “I shall be leaving within a sennight. I’m sorry, Beth. The invitation was for me, only.”
“Oh.”
“To the Pavilion, you mean,” Anne said. “There’s no reason you couldn’t bring your family to Brighton.”
“‘Tis prodigious expensive,” Julia said.
“That is not to the point,” Giles said. “I do not plan to be there long. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound it,” Anne muttered, earning a glare from Julia. “My parents are to be at Brighton this summer.”
“Are they? I shall be certain to give them your regards.”
“Do that. In the meantime, would you excuse me? I find I have no appetite.” With that she rose, curtsied briefly, and went out, leaving silence behind her.
“Well!” Julia touched at her lips with her napkin. “She is as spoiled and willful as ever. It was a lucky day for you, Giles, when she married Freddie.”
“That’s past.” Giles’s voice was curt. His mother was right. Anne was willful, and so was her son. Or so he had thought, before Jamie had slipped his small hand into his. So he would have thought, had he not seen an emotion in Anne’s eyes that troubled him. Disapproval. Now what had he done to earn that?
In the rose garden, Anne sank down upon a stone bench, reaching out to pluck a rose, a deep peach in hue. The rain had finally ceased, and Tremont Castle looked as it had in her childhood, not a fairy tale castle, but a place of history and romance. The sun somehow found a golden glow deep within the stone walls, and the moat, though now little more than a ditch, shone with the reflections of the irises and day lilies that lined its banks. It was beautiful. A beautiful prison. At that moment, Anne wanted nothing so much as to go home.
“Anne?” a soft voice said, and she looked up. “Are you well?”
“Beth. Of course I am.” She smiled. “Come sit next to me. I am sorry I behaved so. I fear I sometimes let my temper get the better of me.” Would she never learn? Now she not only had to mend fences with Giles, but she was hungry. She strongly regretted the stuffed hen she had left on her plate. But Beth wanted to go to Brighton. Anne had seen it in her eyes, and Giles’s refusal was what had triggered her temper.
“I know. ‘Twas a disappointment, but then, Giles knows best.”
“Don’t you ever get angry with him?”
“Oh, no. I know he’s doing what’s best for everyone.”
“Really. I find it very high-handed of him.”
“Oh, but you don’t know him as I do. He has such respons
ibilities. He told us just now he doesn’t want to leave the farming at this time of year, but he feels he has no choice.”
“He must have an estate agent.”
“Oh, of course, but he takes his duties very seriously, you know. And I must admit, you are right. Giles seems an unlikely person to be a favorite of the Prince. But how lucky he is.” Her voice took on a wistful note. “Imagine the people he’ll meet, and the entertainments he’ll be invited to.”
“Beth, did you ever have a season?”
“No.”
“Good heavens, how awful! No wonder you want to go to Brighton.”
“Oh, it’s no one’s fault,” Beth said, quickly. “Papa died just before I was to go to London, and so that was that. Since then, Mama’s needed me.”
“I see.” Selfish old woman. She herself would never be such a possessive mother. “Don’t you wish to be married?”
“Oh, no, not anymore. I used to have such foolish, romantic dreams, but that was a long time ago. I’m quite on the shelf now.”
“Lady Elizabeth Templeton, sister of the Duke of Tremont? There must be plenty of young men who would want you.”
“Yes, but not for myself. I’m not like you, Anne. I’m quite plain.”
Anne pulled back and studied her. “If you would dress in brighter colors and leave off wearing caps—”
“I would still be plain.” Beth gave her a shy smile. “It’s all right, Anne. I’ve quite come to terms with it.”
“Mm.” Anne looked down at the rose in her hands without seeing it; its petals, scattered across her skirt, were in delicate contrast to the blue muslin. “Well. I must go in. I’ve some apologies to make.”
“Anne.” Beth placed her hand on Anne’s as they rose. “You won’t make Giles angry again, will you? Please?”
Anne hesitated. “Very well,” she said, finally, and was glad that Beth could not see her fingers, firmly crossed behind her back. This matter was not settled. It was high time someone argued with the duke.
Anne met Giles in the hall as she came back into the house. He paused, his hand on his study door. “Are you over your temper?” he asked.