by Jane Ashford
“You rarely ask me to put my oar in,” the older man agreed.
“And I would be the one who does,” answered Randolph, humiliated. “The one who takes things too hard, who has to be coddled, who can’t succeed on his own.”
The duke sat up straighter. “My dear boy.” He put down his glass and leaned forward to place a light hand on Randolph’s knee. “Don’t be daft.”
“You always told us to take responsibility for our actions,” Randolph pointed out.
His father sat back. “I did. When you were children, forming your characters. And look how well you’ve all done. But that never meant you had to stand alone. What more could I ask than to help my sons?”
Randolph’s throat tightened. He swallowed to clear it.
“And I’ve aided your brothers on a number of occasions.”
“Really? Which? How?”
The duke smiled appreciatively. “My lips are sealed in that regard. As they will be about your affairs.”
“Of course.” Still, Randolph’s mind bubbled with surmise. Who had it been? James, before he sailed off across the world? Alan had had some dealings with the Prince Regent last year and might well have needed Papa’s counsel. Surely not Robert. Or Nathaniel; the heir to the duke was a paragon.
“Shall we take stock?” said his father. His amused look suggested that he knew exactly what Randolph was thinking. “How shall we show Miss Sinclair’s father that he’s wrong?”
Randolph came back down to Earth with a metaphorical bump. “That’s the trouble. He isn’t.”
“I might argue, but never mind. If you were…reconciled with the archbishop, Mr. Sinclair could have no further objections.” The duke’s expression grew haughty on the final word, as if he still couldn’t quite believe any man would object to a son of his. “What have you done so far, on that front?”
Trying not to feel discouraged, Randolph said, “I apologized, of course. At the time and in a letter afterward.”
“This had no effect?”
“I received a chilly response, from the archbishop’s secretary.”
“A snub then.”
Randolph nodded. “I worked very hard to do a good job in my parish.”
“And did so, I have no doubt.”
“The congregation seemed pleased. My bishop sent a commendatory letter about our support for the poor.”
“Did you send a copy to Canterbury?”
“I asked the bishop’s offices to do so. I thought it would have a greater effect coming from there.”
“And did it?”
“None at all,” said Randolph.
“One wouldn’t expect our chief prelate to be vindictive,” his father mused.
“I don’t think that’s it. More like…whenever I come to his attention, his mind shies away and moves to something else.”
“I see. Did you make progress reports? Listing all your successes?”
“No.” He’d given up at some point, Randolph realized. He’d liked his parish duties, and he didn’t really enjoy remembering the ram either.
“Or enlist friends in the church to sing your praises?”
“No.” He should have thought of that. Who could he have asked?
“You’re not really a politician, are you?” the duke asked with an understanding smile.
Humiliation hovered over Randolph again, suggesting his brothers would have done better in his situation. Well, no, Sebastian and Robert would have fallen down laughing at the ram. They wouldn’t have been able to stop themselves. James, too, probably. Alan would have been more interested in scientific observation of the phenomenon than in placating the archbishop. Randolph perked up. Nathaniel would have done better. He couldn’t deny that. But to come second to Nathaniel—not bad. “I did get a new appointment in Derbyshire. I’ve been wanting to move south, and I thought that was a sign of, er, redemption.”
“Perhaps it was. Does Miss Sinclair know about your new parish?”
Randolph nodded.
“I’m sure she’ll inform her father then. She looked like a young lady with arguments ready when they left.”
That was a cheering thought.
“Shall I make some inquiries about the archbishop?” asked his father.
“What sort of inquiries?”
“Discreet ones.”
“I haven’t quite gotten over the belief that you can fix anything,” Randolph observed.
“Untrue, I fear.”
Still, Randolph felt vastly better. Experience said that Papa could do a great deal. There was no more astute ally.
“Together, we can do much though.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
The duke stood. He rested a hand on Randolph’s shoulder. “You should get some sleep.”
“So should you.”
“We can all rest now.” And with that he went to say good night to his providentially well wife.
“What’s going on?” she asked when he entered her bedchamber.
“I’m not sure what you—”
“I know there’s something,” she interrupted. She made an uncharacteristically languid gesture. “I can feel it in the air.”
“You need to rest.”
“Tell me, and I will.”
Giving in, the duke recounted Mr. Sinclair’s visit.
“Not approve of Randolph?” she said when he was done. “The cheek!”
Outrage had brought some color back into her face, at least.
“I wonder if he’s told Verity about the ram?” she added.
“He said he hadn’t had time. He would have been wise to tell her.”
“Wise,” the duchess repeated thoughtfully. “Has he been wise? I’m not sure what to think about this match.”
“You had doubts about Nathaniel’s at first,” the duke pointed out.
“True. And then Violet…bloomed.”
“Like her namesake in the spring,” the duke replied with a smile. “You fretted over Robert, too.”
“He and Flora spent so much time sniping at each other.”
“As they still do. Though I wouldn’t call it sniping, precisely. Jousting, perhaps.”
“Why do they enjoy it so, I wonder?”
“There’s no accounting for tastes. You also questioned Alan’s choice, as I recall.”
“The very first of our sons to marry.” The duchess smiled. “How I could have thought Ariel an adventuress.”
“Or James’s Kawena a—”
“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” she said. “I worried about all of them. Needlessly, as it turned out.”
“I would never say that. But it seems we can trust our sons to find their way to happiness.”
“None of the others suffered a disappointment like Randolph’s. Has he told her about that, I wonder?”
“It seems to me that they’ve done very little talking.” They exchanged a warmly amused glance before the duke added. “So he and Miss Sinclair have a good deal to discuss.”
“Oh lud, what a conversation. I wonder how it will go.”
“I think a…challenging conversation will be quite good for Randolph.” The duke saw that he’d surprised his wife, which was curiously satisfying. It seemed he did indeed know a few things about their sons that she didn’t.
The duchess sank back on her pillows with a sigh.
“This has tired you out.”
“I’m so weary of being tired,” she responded fretfully. “How am I to watch over my family when I can’t get out of bed? If I were to call on the Sinclairs…”
“Leave it to me,” he said.
“You’re going to call?”
“Not that. But something.”
“What will you do?”
“That remains to be seen.”
H
er worries masterfully assuaged, the duchess relaxed into a doze.
* * *
Randolph waited for Verity in the park outside Gunter’s, under a blustery and threatening sky. He’d slept much better after his talk with his father, and he was ready for action. He was also more than ready to see his betrothed. In a strange way, it seemed an age since they’d met. The days of his mother’s illness had run together in an unreal blur, life in abeyance. Now they could move ahead.
She was late. He refused to worry. Her father might try to prevent her from seeing him, but she wasn’t eighteen. And he wasn’t a boy who would stand for that sort of interference this time. Still, it was a great relief when he saw her approaching. He felt a smile spread over his face as he walked toward her. He took her hand and kissed it.
She smiled back at him, but looked preoccupied. “We have some problems,” she said.
“I intend to call and talk to your father. I’m sure I can convince—”
“There’s Papa,” Verity agreed. She made a checkmark in the air with one of her gloved fingers. “Then there’s a duel we must prevent,” she added, miming another. “And there’s Rosalie.”
Randolph gaped. “What duel?”
“Let’s walk. We can go over to Hyde Park.”
Randolph would rather have sat down. “The weather’s not right,” he said. “It’s going to rain.”
“I need to move,” Verity replied in a tone that was almost militant. She grasped his arm and pulled him along at a rapid pace. The wind whipped her skirts around their knees and tried to snatch their hats.
Randolph chose the most sheltered streets, and once at the park, he headed for a path bounded by hedges. The place was nearly empty. Only a few riders braved the gusts. The treetops twisted and swayed.
The wind was a little less on the path. Their headgear seemed safe for the moment, though puffs still made Verity’s cloak billow. “What duel?” he repeated then.
Verity nodded. “We should take matters one by one. It’s probably good to get the duel out of the way.”
“It usually is,” replied Randolph dryly. “What are you talking about, Verity?”
“It’s Olivia’s fault. She’s…obsessed with tormenting Mr. Wrentham. And Miss Reynolds.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s because it’s completely nonsensical. Which doesn’t mean it isn’t serious.”
The wind swooped down and caught Randolph’s hat brim. He only just saved it from flying away. “Let’s go back to Gunter’s,” he said. They could find shelter there without the complications of family. Surely there would be a nook where they could talk privately. “I’ll buy you another strawberry ice.”
Verity stopped short and looked at him. “You remember the flavor I had?”
“Of course.”
She gazed up at him, her blue-green eyes limpid with emotion. There was no one about. Randolph bent and kissed her.
It was a tender kiss, full of promise. That promise moved toward fulfillment. Randolph revised his plan. They couldn’t do this at Gunter’s.
Verity drew back a little. Her breath came out on a sigh. “Why must everything be so complicated?”
“Is it really?” No one could stop them from marrying, Randolph thought. Family support was preferable, of course. But surely Verity’s father would come ’round eventually.
“Olivia has somehow…connived to make Mr. Wrentham believe that Miss Reynolds visited Mr. Rochford’s house. Alone, in the evening.”
Randolph took a moment to untangle the names. “Ah.”
“Olivia had her invitation from Rochford, you see, which put the idea in her head. I have no idea how she managed the rest.”
“I do see.” He saw that they didn’t want people thinking about young ladies visiting Rochford. Perhaps investigating. “Wrentham issued a challenge?” Randolph shook his head. “Sort of thing he would do, the clunch. Just draws more attention to the matter.”
Verity nodded. They’d reached the end of the sheltered path, and the wind tugged at her bonnet. Randolph turned them around to walk between the hedges again. He didn’t like the state of the sky.
“You’ll have to stop them,” said Verity. She’d regretfully decided that this part must be up to Randolph. No gentleman would talk to her about a duel, stupidly. And she didn’t want to press Olivia for details. Her friend was too clever; she’d be suspicious. “As I understand these matters, you can speak to Mr. Wrentham’s second. His name is Lord Carrick.”
“Oh lud, not Carrick,” said Randolph.
“You know him?” This ought to be good, but it seemed it wasn’t.
“I met him at Salbridge in the autumn. He’ll make a whole Cheltenham tragedy of the meeting. He’s probably hired an orchestra.”
Verity frowned. Had she heard him correctly? And was that a distant rumble of thunder? “Orchestra?”
“He likes staging dramas. He was behind a play they put on at the house party. Quite a memorable performance, as it turned out.” His smile faded. “I’ll never dissuade Carrick from participating in such a scene.”
“A duel, with real swords, is not a play.”
“I’m well aware.”
Their eyes met in a shared memory of the bout at Rochford’s. “Well, at least you know him.”
“And Wrentham, and Rochford. Have no fear, I’ll find a way. There’ll be no tattling about late-night visits.”
“Good. Now, as for Papa.” That was thunder, Verity concluded. But it sounded far away. “He told me about the archbishop’s ram.”
Randolph’s resolute expression became startled, then amused. “Don’t let him hear you put it that way.”
“I only wish he could. I’m all out of patience with the man.”
“You don’t think I was careless?”
“It was a silly accident! Years ago, according to Papa.”
“Three years.”
“Then it is past time for the archbishop to forget about it.”
“You are a gem among women,” said Randolph.
Verity felt a tremor of pride. “I thought of asking my mother to intercede with the Duke of Rutland. She and the archbishop are both related to him.”
“You think he’d help?”
“I’m not well acquainted with him myself, but what harm could it do to ask?”
“A good deal, possibly.” Randolph grimaced. “If the duke hasn’t heard the story, then approaching him would simply spread it farther.”
“Ah. And make the archbishop angrier,” Verity said. “I see.”
“My father is looking into the matter. I expect he’ll come up with something. He always does.”
Verity could easily believe this. It was a great relief. “So that leaves only Rosalie,” she said in the teeth of a rush of damp wind.
Randolph looked down at her profile. Her tone had changed. “I mentioned Rosalie after that dream, didn’t I? I wasn’t sure, afterward, precisely what I’d said.”
“You did.”
“Are you angry?” She sounded terse.
“I’m curious why you hadn’t told me you were engaged before.”
Still, her tone suggested something sharper. “I would have.”
“And yet you didn’t.”
“I’ve scarcely thought about Rosalie for years.” Which was mostly true, Randolph thought. Recent events had brought his former love back into his consciousness. “And there’s scarcely been time. I don’t know a great deal about your life.”
“We have plenty of time now,” she said crisply.
A gust of wind buffeted them. Randolph grabbed his hat again. They didn’t actually have much time. Rain was undoubtedly imminent. But he could see she didn’t want to hear about that. Best to speak quickly and get her home before it started. “Just after I was ordained, I came down to London
for a visit,” he began. “I met Rosalie Delacourt at a concert.”
“Did you sing with her?” Verity interrupted.
“No.” Randolph searched his memory for music they’d shared, and found none. Their time had been so brief. “We were…drawn to each other at once. We became engaged.”
“You offered for her, you mean.”
“That is the customary procedure.” He wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t tell her how very pretty Rosalie had been, how elfin and delicate. He didn’t say he’d thought himself head over heels in love. “And then she fell ill. A virulent fever. And in a matter of weeks, she died.” He still felt sadness. That was natural. But it didn’t rip at him as it had then.
“Her family wouldn’t let you see her,” Verity commented.
“I wasn’t allowed in her room,” he agreed with an inner prick of resentment.
“That must have been terrible.”
He gave a curt nod. “It was also six years ago,” he finished. “All over long ago. Truly, Verity.”
“It didn’t sound over when you spoke of her that night.”
“Nonsense. Of course it is.”
“You seemed anguished,” Verity said.
“I was half out of my mind with fear for Mama.”
“And Rosalie.”
“The dream muddled them up. They do that, you know. Think of the odd dreams you’ve had. A nightmare is irrational.”
“Yes.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Tell me more about Rosalie.”
“There’s little else to tell.” This seemed a chancy line of conversation.
“What was it like the first moment you met?”
The memory unfolded in Randolph’s mind, and he was briefly caught up by it. “We talked and talked and found we agreed on every important point.”
“Every single one? How extraordinary. Are you positive? Or did you talk and she listen?”
She sounded rather tart. Her blue-green eyes bored into Randolph. “What?”
“And did she actually agree? Or did she nod and smile and praise you whenever you made a statement?”
Randolph was taken aback. “You didn’t know her.”
“I didn’t,” Verity said. “So very likely I’m being unfair. Tell me one of her opinions with which you agreed.”