Lost In Love (Road To Forever Series #1)

by Louisa Cornell

  “Well?” Sir Delbert’s voice rivaled that of Marcus’s mother-in-law both in timbre and volume. Perhaps they were related. On second thought, Marcus sincerely hoped they were not. He did not relish sons, or God forbid, daughters who resembled pork roasts stuffed into paisley silk sausage casings.

  “Well, indeed, Sir Delbert.” Marcus leaned back and crossed his arms. “What is it exactly, that you expect me to do? Your man’s description of these thieves is vague at best. It could have been anyone. It is possible your son has simply gone to ground in some tavern or country inn. Have you sent inquiries to some of the other villages in the county? It is not as if someone could spirit three large dogs and your son’s body out of the county without being seen.”

  “Good Lord, man, have you not been listening?” How a man’s face could grow that red and not result in apoplexy was beyond his understanding. “I have told you they had a wagon of some sort. They loaded my dogs and probably my poor son’s remains up in a covered contraption like wool going to market. I am quite sure they could have driven it all the way to London with none the wiser as to what was inside it.”

  Marcus had never been one to sit and listen to idle talk for long. As far as he was concerned, Sir Delbert’s tirade amounted to little more than the complaints of a man who had made his bed and was not content to lie in it. He stood abruptly and paced slowly to the windows which overlooked a small man-made lake. It was time to end this interview and begin another, this one with a far more formidable opponent—his wife.

  “I have been listening, sir. Most diligently.” A lie, but not a malicious one. “So far, I have heard nothing to justify the questioning of those who have visited my home in the last fortnight, most of whom only journeyed here to witness my wedding of less than a week ago.” Marcus was quite sure his tone imparted his displeasure at the man’s petition presented at almost the moment he and Addy had returned from their honeymoon.

  “I have every justification, Your Grace. If my man said the thieves were gentry then they were. He is not a liar.”

  “Just a drunk.” The now furious magistrate leapt to his feet at Marcus’s reply.

  “Not so drunk he couldn’t tell members of the Quality when he saw them. They were all young and well-dressed. And then there was the crest on the wagon. Common thieves do not make off with their prize in an expensive trap like that with a crest on both sides big as day.”

  “Ah yes, the crest.” He moved back to the desk and rested his hip on it to give his bad leg some relief. “A blue and gold shield with a red griffon, I believe you said?”

  “Yes, and some sort of motto in Latin. Lux et veritas—luxury and wine, I believe it translates.” The man pronounced it so seriously, Marcus had not the heart to correct him. “That should be easy enough to identify, wouldn’t you say, Selridge?”

  “I don’t know, Finch.” He did not think he could make his voice more disdainful if he tried. “There are only about a hundred or so crests of similar design and motto in England. Would you want to drag your groom to every great house in the country to seek it out?”

  “Now, look here, Your Grace. It’s easy for you to dismiss this as just a couple of stolen dogs and a possibly wayward son. For me it is a matter of honor as well as property. Most of the younger guests at your wedding are friends of your wife. What say we bring your lovely duchess in here and ask her if she knows anything about this business?”

  It only took a moment. Marcus marveled at the mere slip of time it took for him to change from the civilized, educated duke—the cream of English nobility—into the primitive warrior who had stormed the castles of his king’s enemies to earn the lands and title of Selridge. He advanced to loom over the man before he was even aware of it.

  “Do you dare to suggest I allow you to question the Duchess of Selridge? Surely, I misheard you, Finch.” Slowly, his hands pulled themselves into tight fists.

  The squire’s face went from bright red to the sickliest white. His Adam’s apple bobbed three times before he could speak. “I mean nothing untoward, Your Grace. Nothing at all. I merely felt she might have a better acquaintance with the younger of your guests.”

  Marcus stepped closer. The corpulent squire was forced to resume his seat or risk a precipitous tumble over it. “Are you aware that you have just accused a peeress of the highest rank of numbering thieves and other miscreants in her acquaintance? A peeress who just happens to be my wife?” The word ‘wife’ was uttered with such force that the consequent air managed to blow Sir Delbert’s meager hair back.

  “Now s… s… see here, young man… I mean, Your Grace. You… you… Your father would never—”

  “My father would what, Finch? Are you saying my father would have allowed you to question his duchess?” Marcus was not sure he had ever seen anything that large shake so violently. It bothered him that the sight of it gave him a visceral sense of satisfaction. The thought of this harmless little man impugning Addy in any way turned him into a creature he thought never to see again. A man made alive by the defense of what he held most dear.

  “No, Your Grace,” the poor man replied. His voice was a constrained rasp. “Of course not. I do beg your pardon. Perhaps I had better go?”

  A thrush sang in a deep-throated warble outside the study window. A servant’s footsteps could be heard just down the hall. The tick of the long-case clock in the corner counted the passage of time. Gradually, his calm façade returned to him. Marcus stepped back to stand behind the desk. He did not, however, sit down. His legs seemed incapable of allowing it. He flexed his hands before he placed his palms flat on the cool walnut surface.

  “You are the magistrate in this county, Finch. Thievery is a serious crime. You have free rein to investigate this crime to the fullest. However.” He softened the knife-like edge of his voice. “However, I would take a great deal of care before I accused anyone of something like this or of having knowledge of it. Do I make myself clear?”

  Sir Delbert nodded vigorously before he found his voice. “Certainly, Your Grace. Of course. Shall I…” He paused and swallowed hard. “Shall I report my findings to you before I take action?”

  “Not at all, sir. I trust your judgment in this matter, now that we understand each other. I will have Fosters show you out. Good day, Finch.” He sat down and began to shuffle through the papers on his desk until he heard the door click shut. After a quick glance up, he fell back into the chair and roughly ran both hands through his hair.

  What had just happened? He had all but threatened a man, a man who came to him for help out of respect for his title and rank, with bodily harm for suggesting a simple interview. As he thought about it now, in the clarity that comes after anger, Finch’s request was not an unreasonable one.

  “She is driving me mad,” Marcus muttered. “I am too old and tired to be married to someone like Addy.” Of course, the question was moot, as he was married to her. More to the point he could no longer imagine his life without her in it. He’d be damned if he would even think of her being married to someone else. He gripped the edge of the desk at the thought.

  Unable to sit any longer and nearly mad from the length of time he had spent in this room, he stood and marched to the door. He was a calm and rational man until the women in his life became involved. This was all their faults, his mother for loosing Sir Delbert Finch on him and Addy for being Addy.

  He snatched the study door open with enough force to bang it into the wall and stalked down the stairs in search of the two women who had upset his precisely ordered life. He intended to have a long talk with both of them. If he didn’t strangle them first.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The sound of Fosters’ measured steps toward the foyer were enough to send Adelaide scurrying for cover. She had no desire to make another decision today about china or flowers or Holland covers or any of a hundred other little details deemed imperative by the household staff. However, the sound that accompanied the butler’s unhurried pace forced her to abandon h
er spot behind one of the main salon’s double doors in search of it’s source.

  It sounded as if Fosters was being chased by a shuffling, out of breath bull. Her curiosity was completely piqued. She could not begin to imagine what sort of creature would make such a commotion and not intimidate the man to put at least a bit of a lift in his steps. Then again, she doubted very much if Fosters’ would speed up if the devil himself were after him. It wasn’t until both the butler and his pursuer came into view she realized the devil was an appellation very close to the mark.

  “His Grace has not heard the last of this, my good man. A crime has been committed. He cannot dismiss it simply because his young wife runs with a reckless set.”

  A wave of righteous indignation washed over her. How dare this pompous old toad call her friends reckless. The very idea. She wanted to send him home with a flea in his ear, but for once her common sense prevailed. It was a rare occurrence, but it did happen. It was a very opportune moment for it to do so. This pompous old toad could very well send her and Dylan to prison, or worse, to the gallows. Even more terrible, he could end her marriage before it had even commenced. A week was not long enough to be married to Marcus. She doubted if a lifetime would be enough.

  “Perhaps you should tell His Grace just that, sir.” Fosters shoved Sir Delbert’s coat, hat, and gloves into the man’s soft round belly. Adelaide expected the words to hang in the air in icicles, so cold was the butler’s voice.

  “How dare you.” Sir Delbert replied. He jammed his hat on and struggled into his coat.

  “I would not, however, advise it,” Fosters continued. “As a matter of health, sir. His Grace dotes on his young wife.” His emphasis on the red-faced man’s words fairly shook with disdain. “As does the staff.”

  She would never have believed someone of Sir Delbert’s proportions could move so quickly. Fosters barely had time to open the door before the squire pushed past him without a backward glance. Just as swiftly the door was shut firmly behind him. Adelaide’s choked laughter revealed her presence. Fosters blinked for a moment, the only hint of his surprise. He bowed solemnly as she approached him.

  “I am very sorry you were witness to my improper behavior, Your Grace. If you—”

  Adelaide stopped him with a wave of her hand. She felt the prick of tears as she stood on her toes to kiss his wrinkled cheek. “You are a gem, Fosters. You were completely magnificent with that odious man.”

  The poor man blushed bright red even as his hand rose to touch the spot she had kissed. He cleared his throat and took a step back as he bowed again. “I am ever at Your Grace’s service.”

  “How very fortunate for me,” she replied. Her voice wavered between laughter and tears. Never again would she complain when this man or any other member of the staff came to her with questions. “I am in search of the dowager, Fosters. Is she still in the conservatory?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I believe Mrs. Church sent the tea tray in a moment ago.”

  “Wondeful. I believe I will join her. Thank you, Fosters.”

  The conservatory at Winfield Abbey was a wonder. It stretched down the entire west wing, an oasis of spring under a vaulted glass ceiling. If not for the plants one could stand in the main ground floor salon and see clearly for its entire length, onto the terrace and across the manicured gardens which stretched to the horizon. With good eyes and a slight squint, one could make out the outline of the small Grecian temple.

  Presently, however, the conservatory was populated by a veritable jungle of greenery and delicate blooms. This was one of Adelaide’s favorite rooms in the house. On a cloudless day, the view of the sky reminded her of the heavenly murals she had seen on the ceilings of the great houses she had visited. The air was thick with the sweet perfume of flowers and the earthy musk of soil and greenery. In addition to the heat provided by the passage of sunlight through the large glass panels, ducts attached to a number of fireplaces shared with the house kept the room cozy and warm.

  In fact, the coolest part of the conservatory was the tiled floor. Adelaide quickly glanced around as far as she could see from the doorway and slipped off her shoes to stroll through the indoor garden in search of the dowager duchess. She sighed in delight as her stocking-clad feet glided along the paths through the potted palms, banana trees and exotic flowers.

  A murmur of voices and the clink of a tea service led her in a winding route to the open area near a sparkling fountain where Emily reclined on a fainting couch, her legs covered with a large woolen shawl. She looked for all the world, like an empress holding court.

  “Adelaide, dear, how lovely,” she said. She waved her to a cushion strewn bench even as she studied the selection of chocolates on the dainty side table next to her. “You are just in time for tea. Meggie, would you be a dear and fetch another cup?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.” The maid offered each of the ladies a curtsy and turned to go back into the main house.

  “Emily, I need to speak with you about—”

  “Mother.” A loud bellow cut through the peaceful haven and drowned out what Adelaide intended to say. “Mother, I need to talk to you.”

  Marcus pushed a large banana leaf out of his face as he stepped into sight. His face was twisted into a determined scowl. In his hand were the kid leather slippers Adelaide had shed at the door.

  “You will have to wait your turn, Marcus,” his mother said sweetly. “Adelaide was here first. What is it you wanted to say, dear?”

  Adelaide opened her mouth to speak and then squawked with indignation as Marcus stalked to where she sat and bent over to grab her foot. His warm hand around her ankle sent little sparks of fire up her leg. That is, until he tilted it up and nearly upended her in order to shove one of the shoes he held onto her foot. He repeated the procedure with the other shoe and then dropped onto the bench beside her.

  “Marcus, really.” Whatever else his mother wanted to say was silenced by Meggie’s return with two more teacups. Emily looked pointedly at her daughter-in-law and rolled her eyes. Adelaide laughed softly and shook her head. The maid offered each of them a curtsy in turn and quit the conservatory with only one backward glance and what sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

  “Was it really necessary to manhandle me so, Your Grace?” Adelaide asked. With an unconscious air born of years of training, she poured and served her husband and then the dowager before she prepared her own cup of tea. “What on earth must poor Meggie think?”

  Marcus took a gulp of his tea and began to rummage through the plate of biscuits in search of one of his favorites. Adelaide reached around him and deftly fished out an almond biscuit, which she handed to him.

  “Poor Meggie probably thinks I am the stingiest duke in England because I seem incapable of buying my wife shoes that fit.” A slight movement by his mother drew his and Adelaide’s eyes to the end of the fainting couch. Two sets of silk-covered toes quickly tucked themselves under the soft fuzzy shawl across Emily’s legs. “Apparently, there is not a cobbler between here and London capable of fitting the Winfield women. And stop ‘Your Gracing’ me.”

  “Adelaide, dear,” Emily said. She obviously had no intention of permitting her son to carry this subject any further. “What was it you wanted to discuss with me?”

  “What? Oh. Yes.” She wondered how long she and Marcus would be married before she no longer marveled at the idea he was hers. The temptation to stare at him and smile at her good fortune was sure to abate soon. Perhaps in another few… years?

  “Adelaide?”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” Adelaide returned her teacup to the table. “I wanted to ask if you had any idea why every single member of the staff felt it necessary to consult with me this afternoon.”

  “Did they?” Emily peered over her teacup, her expression one of schooled innocence.

  “Yes. They did. At fifteen-minute intervals all afternoon. Almost as if they had been scheduled.”

  “Well, dear, you are the duchess now. Any decisions
about the household are yours to make.” She picked up a strawberry tart and took a bite out of it.

  “I think Addy’s objection is to the necessity of making all of the decisions in one day, Mother. Am I right, my dear?” He held his cup up in silent request and she lifted the teapot to refill it.

  “Exactly,” Adelaide agreed. “And don’t ‘my dear’ me, Marcus. You had no right to put my shoes on as if I were a disobedient child.”

  “Isn’t that what you are?” He grinned until she snatched the biscuit plate away from him and handed it to his mother. “See, now your nefarious plot has put my sweet wife out of humor.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Selridge.” Emily sniffed and deliberately placed the plate on a small table behind her. “I simply felt it was time Adelaide took up her duties.”

  “So, you scheduled an entire afternoon of minor household dilemmas to get her started. The day we return from our wedding trip. How thoughtful of you.”

  “I thought it was. I understand you handled everything beautifully, my dear. Fosters was quite impressed.”

  Adelaide might be young, but she was not stupid. She had just been manipulated, tested, and found acceptable by a master. Life with her brothers and sister had taught her well. When you have been routed, leave the field with dignity and good grace. Especially when you are completely outmatched and have no hope of getting even.

  “Thank you, Emily. I appreciate your confidence in me.” She truly did, even if she was certain her mother-in-law was the only person who had confidence in her.

  “And was my little tête-à-tête with Sir Delbert also a test, Mother?” Marcus asked. The stern image he attempted to convey with his severe expression and raised eyebrow was utterly lost on his mother. Adelaide glanced at Emily and smiled. Their thoughts were as one. It was difficult to take a man seriously when he had biscuit crumbs on his cravat and strawberry jam on his cheek.