by Regan Walker
“I would go if he would swear to Ormond to act the gentleman.”
“It appears he has done so.”
* * *
Christopher was waiting, brandy in hand, when Ormond returned.
“It seems Lady Leisterfield will allow you to accompany her since you promise to act the gentleman. You have said you’ll set aside the wager for this time. I have your word on it?”
“You have it, I swear,” Christopher said seriously.
“It might be best if you leave separately…” said his friend, rubbing his fingers over his chin. “That way the lady appears to travel alone.”
Christopher perked up. “This is most hospitable of you, old thing. The lady is, of course, innocent of the man’s blood, as am I, but they may find that missing letter and I would not see her dragged into an investigation. Nor would I wish her to bear the suspense alone.”
“I suppose it’s the best course,” said the marquess. “I’ll have my coachman see her to the hunting lodge. And you can join her, traveling separately. I will send word when I have any news.”
“That will allow me time to stop at my town house for clothes and to let my servants know I’ll be away so they do not become alarmed at my absence. I understand Lady Leisterfield took care of her own servants when we stopped for her to gather a few things.”
Christopher tossed back his brandy, the burn down his throat calming his nerves. The plans made, he was at peace. He would stay with Lady Leisterfield at Ormond’s hunting lodge at least till they knew if the letter was found.
He hoped he could keep his word to be honorable. He hoped he could keep his hands off the lady.
Chapter 7
Grace had told Hawkins that she’d be away in the country for a few days and would not have need of her. “Take a week to see your sister. You have earned a holiday.”
Hawkins was thankful, and Grace hoped her maid would not be there to be questioned by the authorities should they come calling. She was certain Hawkins knew something was up but was too discreet to ask. Grace’s mind spun with questions. Had anyone found the body? Was the final letter somewhere in the St. James house, or was it in Lord Pickard’s London town house perhaps? Eustace had suggested Pickard kept his blackmail dealings separate from his life as a peer, but she knew such things were rarely so neatly done.
After having stayed the night in the Ormonds’ town house, Grace left the next morning after breakfast, bound for Ormond’s family estate near Ruislip. Eustace had told her he would be there upon her arrival. At the hunting lodge they would be safe from prying eyes until the investigation of Pickard’s murder had run its course and hopefully the guilty party was found. She was grateful and filled with both fear and anticipation. Allowing Eustace to sweep her away from London and the murder was a relief, but the prospect of being in a lodge alone with him for perhaps several days was daunting. She had wanted to live, to leave behind her customary role as passive observer, but was she ready for Eustace’s charm in its most potent form when there was no one else around? Would he act the gentleman, as Mary and Ormond assured her, or might he use this opportunity for his own goals? The possibility was worrisome, particularly as she was not immune to his masculine virility or his charm. Yet she had told Mary she was willing for him to accompany her. She was not certain why she had done so, but in some part of her mind, and perhaps her heart, she did trust him.
As Ormond helped Grace into his carriage, Mary again assured her all would be well.
Grace arrived midday just as the mist was lifting and the sun peered out from the clouds overhead.
From the narrow road that circled the outskirts of the vast estate, Grace observed the hunting lodge in the distance. It was a two-story structure of stone and wood, and obviously very old as it had a dark thatch roof that blended well into the thick stands of surrounding oak trees. The windows were paned leaded glass that spoke of times long ago. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the two chimneys. To one side of the lodge there was a wooden bridge that crossed over a stream running next to the stone house. It reminded Grace of a woodcutter’s cottage as she’d imagined from the fairy tales her father told her as a child.
The coachman helped her down from the carriage, depositing her valise next to her in front of the hunting lodge. “Would you like me to see you inside, my lady?”
“No, thank you. That will be all.” She could hear birds chirping in the trees and water flowing in the stream. It was all quite peaceful, so different from London and there was no large manor house in sight.
As the carriage departed, she turned toward the front of the lodge to see Eustace standing there, attired as a country gentleman and wearing a smile on his handsome face. The thought they were now alone caused her to feel both trepidation and excitement.
“My lady, how delightful to see you.” He took her hand and led her to the wooden front door. “Ormond’s messenger must have arrived yesterday, as I see we have food.” He gestured to a large, full wicker basket on the stone stoop. “I told Ormond we needed no servants to scatter tales of the couple staying in the lodge, but he assured me he would see us well fed. I suspect his groundsman’s good work is the reason for the smoke coming from the chimneys, too. We can likely anticipate more of these baskets. Ormond also said if you would like a maid, he would send one from the main estate.”
Grace had not brought Hawkins, though she knew the woman to be most loyal. Now, for some reason, though she had never been alone in a house with any man, not even Charles, she did not welcome the offer of another maid. “No, I will be fine without one. But I wonder what he told the servants about us.”
Eustace opened the door and they walked inside. “I imagine, to ensure our privacy, he told them we are recently wed.”
Grace felt her cheeks warm at his words but did not reply. It seemed the most logical explanation for a couple to hide away without servants.
Eustace opened the door, allowing her to enter first. She looked around the room that was very cozy with wood paneled walls and a stone fireplace. Set into the mantelpiece was a coat of arms, which she assumed was that of the Duke of Albany; she knew the marquess was his father’s heir, making this the Albany hunting lodge.
Facing the fireplace was a sofa, and off to the side were two tall chairs with a small round table between them that held a decanter of what appeared to be brandy. Above the fireplace hung a set of antlers; a trophy from a past hunt, she assumed. Some distance behind the sofa stood a sideboard, above that a painting of a brown and white hound attacking a stag. It was beautiful and terrible, and she drew closer, unable to stop looking.
Eustace came up beside her and set the basket on the sideboard. “The hunt can be violent, my lady, but such is the sport. It’s a fine work of art that conveys the agony.”
It seemed to Grace that this man enjoyed the challenge and chase more than the result when it was over. She wondered if his pursuit of so many women wasn’t a similar kind of competition, though there was no question he took delight in and excelled at the latter sport. “Yes, I quite like the painting, but I’m not sure I would have the stomach for the hunt.”
Eustace patted her shoulder and said he would see to the horses.
He returned a short while later with their small amount of luggage and set her valise at the foot of the stairs.
“Thank you for being so kind as to carry in my valise.”
“Your humble servant, my lady,” he said with a mock bow. He gazed at the top of the stairs, then back to her.
Does he feel as awkward as I do?
The possibility that she might not be alone in her concerns somehow made everything all right. Grace relaxed and, peering into the basket, asked with a lighter heart, “Are you hungry?”
* * *
Christopher was hungry. For her. On the long ride through the countryside to the Albany estate and its lodge he had repeated his commitment to act the gentleman. But breathing in her scent while standing next to her as she gazed at the painting reminded
him how much he wanted this woman, regardless of the wager. He had promised Ormond he would not take advantage of the unusual circumstances that led to the lady being alone with him, but after all, he was only a man and she was beautiful and winsome and…
God, he needed a drink.
He poured himself a glass of brandy and took a large swallow. “What has the duke’s cook left us?” he asked as he joined Lady Leisterfield once again at the sideboard. “Lady Ormond told me the duke and duchess employ a French pastry cook as good as the one at her home, Campbell Manor. We might find some worthy fare in here and a very special dessert.” He removed the covering cloth.
Lady Leisterfield took off her bonnet and set it aside, nervously smoothing wisps of golden hair into place. “I suppose we can see the other rooms after a bit of food.”
“My thought exactly,” Christopher said. Any diversion to avoid the bedchambers upstairs for the moment, or he would soon have this beauty on her back. “Look at all they have left us. Cold roast beef, roast fowl, two meat pies, some lettuce with cucumbers and dressing, and icing-sugar drops scented with”—he picked up the plate to smell the treats—“ violet, peppermint and…chocolate!”
“Oh, and there are turnovers, too!”
He lifted one of the flaky creations and inhaled deeply. “Ah, apple.”
“We shall certainly not go hungry,” Lady Leisterfield said. “And from the smile on your face, Eustace, I judge you have a sweet tooth.”
“Most assuredly I do. Alvanley is not the only one who likes apricot tarts, my lady.” The picture came to him of eating sweet apricots from her lovely body in bed, and he shook his head to clear the image. “Ormond said there was a small kitchen here in the lodge. Likely it holds plates and forks as well as tea and coffee.”
They found the kitchen at the rear of the house. It was small but functional, with a window that looked out on the rear garden. Lady Leisterfield put on water for tea. Considering she had servants for that, he was amazed at how quickly she adapted to having none. Gathering what they needed, they returned to the main room with their plates, which were soon piled high with food, and sat on the sofa and began to eat.
“An indoor picnic spares us the ants,” Christopher offered cheerfully.
Lady Leisterfield laughed, and her blue eyes filled with mirth. “And the sofa is more comfortable than a cloth over bare ground.”
Christopher was enchanted.
* * *
Grace found herself liking Eustace more than she’d believed possible. He was clever and interesting. They found much in common in their thinking as they sat on the sofa eating and sharing observations about those in the ton they both knew.
“I have long thought your friend Lady Claremont to be a wise woman.”
“She wears well,” said Grace. “A sharp wit and a keen observer, I never tire of being with her.”
“Did she know your late husband?”
“Yes, but not well, I think. Charles was a man who spent much time with his plants, while the countess is a woman who fully embraces life and is surrounded by people.”
“She has a tolerance for us bucks,” he admitted, chuckling.
“Not just a tolerance, my lord, but a special interest.” She would not tell him that Lady Claremont considered them the truest challenge for a matchmaker.
They talked on for some time, longer than she expected. After they cleaned up from their meal, they went to the stables. Eustace told her that when he stabled his bays, he’d found a gelding and a mare in two of the stalls.
“Ormond said we’d have horses to ride,” he added.
“Why, they’re magnificent,” Grace remarked as she ran her palm down the neck of the mare.
“Ormond raises thoroughbreds to race and has had some success with colts from his stallion.”
“Yes,” Grace said. “I recall Lady Ormond saying something about one of his colts. Azor, I think it was. He won the Epsom Derby last year.”
“Ormond bragged about that for months. But then he had reason to. My own chestnut is out of Ormond’s stallion.”
It was clear Eustace was quite proud of his horses, and Grace liked that about him. Her father had been such a man.
“We can ride later if you want to change into your riding habit,” he suggested. “I assume you brought it?”
“Yes, I did.” Without servants, she realized Eustace would have to saddle the horses. “Will you mind acting the groom, seeing as there is none?”
“Me? No, not at all. It’s rather nice having you all to myself, and I often tend my own horses.”
It was too much like keeping house together, this island of calm in the swirling sea of disturbing events that surrounded them. And yet Grace loved their time together without the formality dictated by their positions in the ton, without having to be mindful of what servants might overhear. It was more intimacy than she had ever shared with Charles.
As they strolled back to the lodge, she asked, “What do you think is happening in London now? I mean, with Pickard’s murder.”
“Well, there will be a coroner’s inquest, of course. Unless they have a suspect, the coroner will decide it’s death by misadventure caused by person or persons unknown. An investigation might lead to evidence presented to a magistrate. But in Pickard’s case, there are the letters of his victims. I imagine those whose names are on the letters will be questioned. Each has a motive to see the man dead.”
She paled. “Like me.”
“We can hope the other letter will not be found.” Grace could tell by his face he was not confident of this. “Perhaps the investigation will lead the authorities to the one who killed the viscount. In any event, it is too early to expect much. Ormond has assured me he will send word as soon as there is news.”
Upon returning from the stables, they decided to take a tour of the rest of the lodge; it was inevitable they would have to deal with sleeping arrangements. Abovestairs were two bedchambers: one large with a sitting room; the other, though smaller, quite comfortable. Each held a large, four-poster. Grace tried to avoid looking at the bed when she entered the larger bedchamber.
“’Tis a lovely room,” she stated.
“You take this chamber, my lady. There is a bathing area with a screen.”
She argued with him, but in the end he had his way and she accepted the gift of additional space and hung her things in the armoire.
After she changed, they returned to the stable. Eustace quickly saddled the two horses left for them and soon they were riding over the grounds of the estate, keeping to the forested and more remote areas to avoid servants and family at the main dwelling. Grace was reminded of their shared love for a good run. Eustace told her again that he admired her seat, and she freely admitted she admired his way with horses.
As their ride ended, they walked the horses back to the lodge. Twilight descended, and Grace searched her mind for a topic they could discuss. “Have you, since Wimpole, been working on the issues you discussed with Lord Hardwicke?” She was genuinely curious to know.
“We’ve exchanged messages, yes, and I’m partnering with Devonshire and some of the other Whigs to see the Irish question dealt with fairly. It may be years before we gain full emancipation for them, but we’re committed to that end.”
“I do hope you succeed. It’s a worthy effort.”
“Do you think so?” His mouth twitched up on one side. “My father disdained my love of politics—and truth be told, most else I did. He wanted to confine me to our northern estates but I found the rural life somewhat dull. It was one reason I launched out early on my own. Since I’ve come into the title, I continue to do as I please. In all things.”
Grace knew well what that encompassed. Among other things, he spoke of wine, women and wagers. “Still showing your father you can?”
“Very insightful, my lady. Perhaps that is so. Were he alive, I daresay he would approve of little I’ve done.”
“I think your involvement in politics is laudable, a
nd yet I cannot help but wonder if you undertake some things just to spite your father.”
He glanced at her. “Now that you make me consider the possibility, I confess it may be true. With him gone, that seems a bit ridiculous—though at the time, as a young man, I chafed under his rigid control.”
Back at the lodge, Grace went to her bedchamber intending to change from her riding habit. Before she’d removed her jacket, however, Eustace appeared at the door carrying two buckets of steaming water.
“My lady, for your bath.”
“Eustace, I could have helped!”
“No, they are too heavy, and I don’t mind. Boxing at Jackson’s has made lifting easy. I tell you I’m finding myself quite content to be your maid. You can trust me with your buttons as well.”
He said the last with a slow smile, and Grace felt her cheeks heat. “I think I can manage.”
The sun set early in November, so it was full dark by the time she finished bathing, and she joined Eustace in the main room of the lodge where Eustace was rekindling the fire. Grace set out candles she’d found in a cupboard, bringing a soft glow to the room. Eustace poured them wine, and they sat on the sofa sipping the red liquor, content with the silence.
She was easy in his presence until the wine and the heat from the fire suddenly focused the fact they were alone. As they sat looking into the hearth, every now and then Eustace glanced at her with what she took to be admiration, but on second thought might be desire. This certainly posed an opportunity for him to move beyond friendship to seduction. He was too handsome and too close. They needed a diversion from each other.
“Would you like me to read to you?” She had noticed a few shelves of books on one side of the room earlier in the day and thought to entertain him with a novel.
A broad smile spread across his face. “I have not been read to since I was a boy, when my mother was alive. I would, indeed, enjoy that. What shall you read?”
She went to the shelves of books and read off some titles. He came up behind her, reading others over her shoulder. She felt his breath on the back of her neck and her heart sped.