by Regina Scott
He was still steaming when he returned downstairs a short while later, having changed out of his dirty trousers and boots. He’d thought about going to his daughters, apologizing in person, but he’d wondered whether that might only make matters worse. He’d followed Evangeline’s advice, left the girls to the care of others, mostly women. The one man in the mix had failed them, and he couldn’t convince himself it was entirely Simmons’ fault.
Until Simmons broke into the library.
He still wore the livery of the House of Wey, but his olive coat was askew, and his shirt was untucked. Parsons and another footman puffed in his wake.
“I won’t let you do this,” Simmons shouted at Alaric, face florid. “I won’t be forced off the island again.”
Alaric rose slowly, met the fellow’s outraged glare.
“I never understood why my father evicted yours,” he said. “But if his lack of judgement was half as grave as yours, then I stand by his decision. And my own.”
Parsons took hold of one arm, the footman the other. Simmons shook them off.
“It’s that governess. She’s lying. Can’t you see she’s wrapped you around her finger?”
Alaric stiffened, but Parsons succeeded in grabbing Simmons’ arm again.
“So sorry, Your Grace,” the butler gritted out, tugging the former footman away from the desk. “Come along, Simmons. Don’t make matters worse for yourself.”
Once more Simmons broke free, rushing toward the desk. Alaric met him, blocking his way forward, hand braced on his shoulder. “My decision has nothing to do with Mrs. Kimball. I will not have my daughters mistreated. You had a duty to them, and you failed. You can walk out of this house of your own volition, or I will throw you out. Choose wisely.”
Simmons eyed him, the muscles in his face working. He raised his head. “I’ll go, but you haven’t seen the last of me.”
“Yes, Mr. Simmons,” Alaric said, “I have. Because my next act as magistrate for this district will be to have you clapped in irons to be tried at the next assize.”
Simmons turned and strode from the library.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Parsons said, face glistening with sweat. “I’ll just make sure he leaves.” He and the other footman hurried in pursuit.
Alaric drew in a breath. He’d rarely had to discharge staff or agents. The people he’d had chosen or inherited from this father were largely reliable, even-tempered. One or two had needed encouragement to do their tasks efficiently, but never had he encountered such belligerence. The fellow would bear watching.
Because Alaric refused to be derelict in his own duty again.
Chapter Fourteen
The next few days were surprisingly peaceful in the schoolroom. The girls went about their routine and practiced hard for the recital on Friday. Jane never saw Simmons again, but Callie reported that Betsy said he had been let go. Apparently, he’d made quite a scene, vowing revenge on her, Mr. Parsons, and Alaric. She couldn’t regret that she’d refused his service. Percy, the new nursery footman, a gangly lad with brown hair and freckles, seemed utterly awed to be serving the girls. She had to be careful they didn’t take advantage of their privilege, for he was wont to do their least bidding with puppy-like adoration.
Mr. Parsons was nearly as helpful. He stopped by the schoolroom several times a day to enquire if there was anything she needed. If even a chair was out of place, he’d glare at Percy, who would rush to make it right. Cook sent up healthful meals, the duchess was pleasant over tea, and Alaric had been everything kind and supportive.
He always looked up eagerly when she came to make her nightly reports. Sometimes they played chess. He had beat her at least twice, but he never pressed his advantage, as if he was loath to let the game end. Another time, he had books waiting on the polished desk, historical and scientific tomes he thought might be of interest to the girls.
“And one I’m sure Mr. Parsons and my mother would approve of—The History of the House of Wey.” He’d leaned closer, smile playing about his lips. “My grandfather wrote it. I suggest it for nights when you’re having trouble falling asleep.”
She’d found it far more interesting than that. It seemed the original tower had been built to protect this section of the river from invaders centuries ago, and the Dryden family had been doing its duty ever since. The previous duke had gone to some pains to trace his proud lineage, and she wasn’t entirely surprised to see a princess or two among the duchesses. The former Duke of Wey had also delineated crop yields, the number of lambs and foals, and the loyal retainers and tenants of the castle. She saw several familiar names, Quayle and Simmons among them. And she could not help noticing the many years when it was recorded, “Small yields this year. Lost three fields and four lives to the floods.”
“It seems you have cause for concern,” she told him the next evening. “Can nothing be done?”
“Our best hope is the lock,” he said. But he rose to go to one of the larger bookcases, returning with an old map, which he spread on the desk.
“Look here,” he said, and Jane came around to stand beside him. “This shows our reach of the Thames fifty years ago. Do you see the island?”
Jane frowned, bending closer to the brittle parchment. The river was braided and curving here, with any number of pieces of land isolated along its shore. “Is that it?”
“No.” He bent closer as well, shoulder brushing hers. “Here’s our island.”
“Truly? It looks so small.”
“That’s because it has grown in the last half century. By my estimate, deposits from the river have added two feet to the western edge, enough to be noticed. My neighbors, however, have not fared so well.”
Jane cocked her head. “Neighbors? Those islands on the map to the west of you—I didn’t see them when we rode out that way.”
“That’s because they no longer exist,” he said, sadness lacing his words. “They were swept away by the river. I’m determined that our lands will not suffer the same fate.”
She turned to look at him to voice her approval, and the words fell away. He was so close, she could see the fine lines around his eyes, the hint of blue in the jade. Another few inches, and their lips might meet.
As if he knew it as well, he straightened. “So, now you see why the lock is so important to me.”
Yes, she did. And she was had a feeling she also knew why he was becoming so important to her.
She put the matter from her mind as best she could, but it quickly became apparent her charges had another matter to concern them.
Friday morning, Larissa refused to come out of her room until she’d tried on every gown in her wardrobe, twice. Callie paced the schoolroom mumbling and wringing her hands. Belle curled up in Jane’s chair and hid her face in her arm.
“If you’re that concerned about singing,” Jane finally told them, “I’ll just cancel the recital.”
“Nooo!” Larissa went down on her knees, wrinkling the blue silk gown she’d finally consented to wear. “Oh, please, Mrs. Kimball, we may never convince Father again.”
Jane helped her to her feet. “He’s not an ogre, you know. He won’t eat you.”
“Grandmother might,” Callie said with a shudder that set her yellow skirts to swinging.
Belle burst into tears. “I don’t want Grandmother to eat me!”
“No one is eating anyone,” Jane said sternly. “You are merely to sing for your family, providing them a moment of joy away from the toil of their lives.”
Larissa sniffed. “Grandmother doesn’t toil.”
“Father does,” Callie said. “I saw him.”
“Go to your rooms and practice your pieces,” Jane said, feeling a headache coming on.
By a quarter to two, she was just as jittery as the girls. Teach them to sing, he’d said, as if it were that easy. What songs did she know besides the hymns her father had taught her and the bawdy ballads belted out around a campfire by cavalrymen afraid they’d meet their Maker in the
morning? Her father had never encouraged her to sing; Jimmy had just hugged her tight when she’d tried to join in. Alaric and his mother would listen to the girls and know her for a fraud.
A piano wouldn’t fit up the narrow stairs, so they had no accompaniment. She’d had Percy set up two armchairs from the girls’ rooms near the worktable, with ample view of the room. As the time approached, she adjusted the collar on Larissa’s gown, tucked a hair behind Callie’s ear, and wiped jam off Belle’s cheek with the sleeve of her own gown. Three pairs of eyes in white faces gazed back at her. Jane gave them her best smile.
“You will be marvelous, and even if for some reason you aren’t, I am still very proud of you.”
Their smiles were as weak as their confidence.
Precisely at two, Alaric entered the schoolroom, the duchess on his arm. Percy hurried to escort them to their seats. Alaric sent his daughters a smile as he sat. The duchess inclined her head.
“You may begin,” she said. “Larissa first, I think, then Calantha and Abelona.”
Apparently, the duchess had decided not to accept the change in names. But it was her decree more than anything, Jane thought, that made her granddaughters exchange panicked glances.
“Actually, Your Grace,” Jane said, “we have a program all laid out. Lady Belle will start.” She nodded to Belle, who stepped forward and cupped her hands, one atop the other.
“Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and flee in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts, fading away!
Thou wouldst still be ador’d as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will;
And, around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still!”
How the little girl had struggled over the big words, hanging on Jane’s arm as Jane explained the meaning. Now Jane nodded encouragement as Belle went into the second verse, then glanced at Alaric and the duchess. His smile remained on his face, but it was once more that polite look she was coming to dislike. His mother was turning whiter with each note.
What had she done wrong this time?
–
Jane Kimball had no ear for music. It could be the only explanation for the tuneless cacophony coming from his youngest daughter’s mouth. He’d heard Belle sing from time to time, the little ditties of childhood, so he knew she had some facility. She was clearly singing what she’d been taught.
She finished, and he applauded, earning him a grateful smile from Jane and a grin from Belle. His mother regarded him as if he’d gone mad, but she shifted on the chair and prepared to give her attention to Callie.
His middle daughter fared no better. He knew the song, an old country ballad that bore no resemblance to the tune Callie attempted. Once again, he applauded, and this time his mother managed a nod that might be taken as praise.
At last Larissa stepped forward, and he steeled himself for another few moments of torture.
She glanced at Jane. “I’d like to sing something other than what we practiced, Mrs. Kimball.”
“Go right ahead, Lady Larissa,” Jane said. “I trust you to choose something appropriate.”
Larissa nodded and faced front again. And when she began to sing, he was certain a trained orchestra accompanied her.
“O my love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June.
O my love is like the melody
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.”
And it was in tune. In tune and in time and sung with a sweetness that made him catch his breath. Larissa could have no understanding of such a love, that mountains and seas could not move. He’d never felt such a love himself, yet he found his gaze drawn to Jane. Her lower lip was trembling. As Larissa finished the ballad, Jane wiped at her eyes, and he had to fight the desire to hold her close, to comfort her.
Beside him, the duchess clapped her gloves together with enthusiasm, and he bestirred himself. There was clearly only one way forward now.
He rose. “Mrs. Kimball, my dears, well done. I’ve never heard such music.”
“That’s certainly the truth,” his mother muttered.
“I’m so impressed with what you’ve done,” he continued, “and I can see that each of you has a gift. It would be a shame not to pursue it further. I will enquire about hiring a voice instructor.”
Larissa beamed, and Callie and Belle jumped up and down, even though he was fairly sure they had no idea what he meant. Jane signaled to Percy, who brought in a cart with tea and cakes.
“That bad, were they?” she murmured as they stayed out of earshot of Callie.
“That good,” he assured her. “However, I realized I put an undue burden on you when I suggested that you teach singing as well.”
“Hm,” she said, as if she saw right through him, but she went to stop Belle from helping herself to another slice of cake.
~~~
That evening, still well pleased with himself, Alaric looked up from reviewing the book of accounts his steward had provided to find his butler paused in the doorway. “Parsons, if you have come to complain about Mrs. Kimball, I will sack you.”
His butler’s face crumbled, but he recovered quickly. “I merely wished to inform Your Grace that Mr. Mayes has arrived from London. He is seeing to his horse but asked to speak with you as soon as possible. He specified that you be alone. Shall I tell Mrs. Kimball to delay her report?”
Disappointment shot through him, but he nodded. “Send Mr. Mayes to me as soon as he’s ready.”
Julian strode in a short while later. His normally dapper bottle green jacket showed signs of his travel, the wrinkles pronounced in the lamplight.
“What’s happened?” Alaric demanded, rising.
Julian threw himself into the chair opposite the desk. “Nothing good. I came as soon as I had proof.”
His stomach tightened. “Proof? Proof of what?”
Julian met his gaze, his own hard and implacable. Here was the solicitor who won difficult cases for his clients. “Proof that your Mrs. Kimball is not what she seems.”
He made himself remain still. “Indeed? I find that hard to believe. Is she not the daughter of a deceased vicar from Berkshire?”
“That much is true,” Julian acknowledged, though Alaric thought reluctantly. “I’m trying to confirm her past employment with Colonel Travers. He and his wife are on the Continent, and the staff they left behind are disinclined to talk.”
Unlike his staff, if Callie’s reports were any indication.
“Then I fail to see the problem,” Alaric said aloud.
“The problem,” Julian said, eyes narrowing, “is that she has deceived you. She came highly recommended from this Fortune Employment Agency, but her past is considerably murkier. I sent a man to her hometown. No less than Mr. Kimball’s mother reports that she was a troubled child, always getting into mischief. My man brought back tales of theft, destruction of property, disrespecting her betters, and seduction.”
Cold slithered through him. He’d been wrong about Simmons, and look at the hurt his daughters had endured. Could he have been so very wrong about Jane?
“You’re certain we’re talking about the same woman?” Alaric pressed. “Jane Kimball, cavalry officer’s widow.”
“It’s the same woman, all right, only she’s no widow.”
He started. “Her husband is alive?”
“Kimball’s dead,” Julian assured him. “He fell on the Peninsula along with many of his regiment. But here’s the thing. The lady ran off with him when she was only sixteen, and I can’t find any record of a marriage. Moreover, the staff at the Clarendon Square house she claimed belongs to this Miss Thorn refused to acknowledge the lady or the employment agency, and the neighbors on either side assure me the house belonged to Lady Winhaven before her death six months ago. Let me tell you, that was a nasty business.”
The cold had crept into his heart. “What do you mean?”
“A colleague prosecuted the case. Lady Winhaven had a sizeable income from her mother. Her nephew was fully expecting to inherit. She died under questionable circumstances, leaving everything to her companion instead. The names were hushed up to prevent further damage to the lady’s reputation, but I can’t help wondering whether your Mrs. Kimball might not be involved.”
Alaric shook his head. “Not Jane, I tell you, but there’s clearly something wrong here.”
Julian slapped his hands down on the arms of the chair. “My sentiments exactly.”
Alaric rose. “Have Parsons see to a room for you. I’ll speak to Mrs. Kimball immediately.”
And assure himself every bad word Julian had spoken about her was untrue. Anything less was unthinkable.
Chapter Fifteen
Jane’s head was high as she descended the stairs that evening to make her report to Alaric. She had wondered about the delay, but Callie reported that Percy had mentioned Mr. Mayes was visiting again. She could only hope she’d have a moment alone with Alaric before the two men started a new chess game.
She had every reason to be pleased. She could only call the recital a triumph, and the girls felt the same way. Even the duchess had been complimentary. And as for Alaric, the kind way he’d listened, his praise to his girls, his teases to her, could only warm her heart. Surely things would improve from here.
Her first hint that something wasn’t as right as she’d hoped was Parson’s face. He was smiling as she approached the library, and it wasn’t a particularly welcoming sight. “His Grace is expecting you,” he said as he opened the door for her.
Well, of course he was. She’d been making these reports for nearly a fortnight now. Yet the way Parsons said it, brows lifted and eyes alight, suggested that she ought to be expecting her doom. She moved into the library, keeping her steps steady for all she wanted to rush forward and demand an explanation.