Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

Her fond son said, “You’ve more strength than two prize bulls, Mother. You’re quite remarkable.”

  Angela rolled her eyes. “Lydia, do visit Lyon’s Gate tomorrow. You and I can oversee Cook making nutty buns. You said she still doesn’t do it right.”

  “They are barely edible,” Lady Lydia said.

  “We will keep Jason out of the kitchen so she won’t be distracted.”

  “One cannot expect everything,” Hallie said, “Her braised buttock of beef is outstanding, at least when Jason is at the dinner table. That makes me think you need to have Jason simply stand in the middle of the kitchen while she makes the nutty buns. They will be heavenly.”

  “Hmm,” Angela said. “Hallie has a point. The only problem is that she will probably swoon.”

  Jason choked on his champagne.

  “You’re right,” Hallie said. “You must simply tell her that the nutty buns are Master Jason’s most favorite treat. They will be ambrosia. I’m willing to lay a wager on it.”

  Lady Lydia said, “Your cook swoons? How very odd of her.”

  “Why the devil does the woman swoon?” Douglas asked.

  “It’s your dratted son, sir,” Hallie said.

  Corrie said, “How much would you like to wager, Hallie?”

  “Use your head, Corrie. Jason is the image of James.”

  “Oh. I’m a dolt. Forget the wager. We have a male cook and let me tell you, he’s never once swooned when he’s seen either me or Mama-in-law.”

  There was laughter then. “How very delightful to find all of you together,” Lord Grimsby said from beside Douglas’s elbow. “I have brought another loaf of olive bread so that I would be welcome to join you, and my dear Elgin as well.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “Delighted,” Douglas said, and watched servants tenderly ease two chairs to the table. He wondered as he watched them why a man couldn’t pull his own chair to the table. He knew well enough it was the way things were, but he didn’t like it very much. Never again, he decided, would he allow someone else to get him a damned chair.

  “My wife said it was the last loaf. She said to use it wisely.” Lord Grimsby bowed and presented the loaf to Douglas.

  Hallie wanted to spit. Lord Renfrew smiled down at her as he said, “Here, bring the chair closer,” and squeezed in next to hers, on the other side of Jason. Smart man, Douglas thought, knowing well the look on his son’s face—Jason would smile while he pounded the man into the ground. “Hand me the bread, Grim,” Douglas said to Lord Grimsby, who sat next to Alex—too close, Douglas was thinking. As Douglas reached for the loaf, he looked around the table hopefully. “I don’t suppose everyone is full?”

  Every relative held out his plate.

  Douglas asked a servant for a cutting knife. The next three minutes were spent with every eye focused on the width of each slice Douglas cut.

  When everyone, including Lord Renfrew, had a slice, Douglas said, “A lovely ball, Grim.”

  Lord Grimsby laughed, waved his half-eaten slice of olive bread at James and Jason. “My wife told me that every lady in the district would be smitten, and she is right. You invite these two, and every other man in the room feels like donkey dung.”

  “A father’s cross to bear,” Douglas said.

  “My father also had a cross to bear,” Lord Renfrew said in a very loud voice.

  Hallie arched an eyebrow. “I should think so.”

  “Yes, of course you are a fine-looking boy, Elgin,” Lord Grimsby said. “Now, Miss Carrick, it is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard all sorts of tales about your partnership with Jason.”

  “What sorts of tales?” Lady Lydia asked, her old eyes sharper than a vampire’s teeth.

  Lord Grimsby waved a negligent hand. “Oh, nothing really, just one story that struck Lady Grimsby very forcibly. She heard that a visiting servant who saw Miss Carrick kick over a bucket said there was a seam down the middle of her skirt and so she wasn’t really wearing a skirt. Never heard of such a thing myself. I told my wife the man must have been mistaken.”

  “It boggles the mind what a man will see when confronted with a lady kicking a bucket,” Jason said. “A seam? As in her skirts were divided into two parts, two different parts? I can’t imagine such a thing. Can you, Angela?”

  “No, my boy, never.”

  “Laughter,” Lord Renfrew said. “I heard too much laughter, not coming from the stables, but from inside the house.”

  Lady Lydia said, “Angela has told me all the laughter comes from Petrie—the butler, Lord Renfrew, not from anyone else. Hallie’s lady’s maid is always telling Petrie jokes.”

  As a distraction, Jason thought, it was well done.

  Corrie, her head cocked to one side, said, “Petrie laughing at something a woman says? That doesn’t sound like the Petrie I know. Petrie is a misogynist. Grandmama-in-law, why are you rolling your eyes at me? Why, Petrie even claimed I didn’t really save you, James, that as a female I am only capable of cowering behind a hay bale. He said it was you, James, who saved the day, that because of your extraordinary bravery, you disremembered what miraculous deeds you performed.”

  “None of this is to the point,” Lord Renfrew said. “Of course you did not execute any sort of rescue, my lady, such a thing would be in very bad taste. Now, this Petrie fellow, he did serve me tea, but his face was stove-black and he stole my hat and cane.”

  “No, that’s impossible,” Jason said. “Petrie told me himself that he disliked the new style in men’s hats, although the cane was all right, save for the ridiculous eagle’s head.”

  “My father selected that eagle’s head!”

  “Perhaps Petrie sold the hat and cane,” Alex said.

  “Hollis always said that Petrie had an excellent eye for goods, that were he a criminal, we would be in trouble.”

  Lord Renfrew threw his napkin on his plate. “You are all jesting. I do not like it. My lord, I wished to visit with Miss Carrick, but all these people are interfering.”

  Lord Grimsby leaned over to pat Lord Renfrew’s hand. “Simply smile and nod and you will get through it.”

  Lord Renfrew said, “I also saw my former head stable lad, Quincy. I can’t imagine how he came to be working for you. He was a shiftless fellow—”

  Hallie said, sarcasm dripping out with her words, “Perhaps one should pay one’s servants, Lord Renfrew. That is probably the best solution to any problem.”

  “How is Quincy with you?”

  “I informed Willicombe, the Sherbrooke butler in London, that we had need of an assistant head stable lad. Quincy was at our door within a day, grinning from ear to ear. He is quite good, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. The fellow was good, but he had no loyalty—”

  The earl said, “If a man doesn’t pay his dependents, he should be deported to France.”

  “Then she should be deported, not I,” said Lord Renfrew, nodding at Hallie. “It is her fault that poor Quincy wasn’t paid. His pay could have been her wedding present to me.”

  Hallie was ready to leap over the table and gullet Lord Renfrew with his own fork, when Douglas lightly laid his hand on her sleeve. “I think it’s time I told everyone about my grandsons. Their names are Douglas and Everett. You should see Jason waltz with them—”

  Lord Renfrew smiled. “Oh, I see. Well done, my lord. You are endeavoring to show Hallie the glories of having children in the house. Listen, Hallie. I would be a spectacular father. Only imagine this delightful domestic picture: a handful of children waltzing with their proud papa. Ah, yes, it warms my heart.”

  There was a cloud of appalled silence over the table until Lord Grimsby said, “Tell me, Douglas, how much longer do you think King William will last?”

  “It’s what follows William that gives me pause, Grim. Oh, who is this now at our table? Another friend of yours, Jason?”

  Jason looked up at the distinguished gentleman who bowed, snagged Hallie’s hand, and kissed her fingers. He grinned like a bandit and li
cked his lips. “Olive bread. It is quite good, isn’t it?”

  Hallie raised the fingers of her other hand to her mouth and licked them. “Yes, quite good.”

  “I am Grandison, you know.”

  James said, “Charles, what on earth are you doing here in the wilds of Sussex? Last I heard you were sailing off the coast of Portugal.”

  “No, not Portugal. Ah, James, what a picture you present. Why don’t you gain flesh? Perhaps lose your teeth, shed a bit of hair? And Jason? It has been far too long.”

  The twins rose, shook the gentleman’s hand.

  Charles Grandison looked closely at Jason. “You look content.”

  Jason laughed. “I will be content after Dodger leaves your tired old nag, Ganymede, snorting and sweating in the dirt.”

  “Stuff dreams are made of, my boy. Elgin tells me you and Miss Carrick own Lyon’s Gate. Together. I should like to hear how that came about.”

  “A simple enough tale, sir,” Hallie said. “Both of us wanted the same property.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened,” Lord Renfrew said. “Hallie should be married to me, all settled in a lovely house in London, planning our next soiree.”

  “That could be possible, I suppose, were you another man altogether,” Hallie said.

  Charles Grandison laughed. “Ah, that’s a grand wit you’ve got, Miss Carrick.” He turned to the earl of Northcliffe, bowed. “My lord, forgive my interruption. I am Charles Grandison. My father vastly admired you.”

  “I remember your father and his antics,” Douglas said. He didn’t add that he’d believed Conyon Grandison had been more incompetent than evil, which was the only reason he hadn’t been hung.

  Charles said, “Just so, sir. To my dying day I will rejoice that my father didn’t manage to shoot that bullet into Miles Sinifer’s head.” He turned, bowed to Alex. “I spent many hours convincing my sister she didn’t want to fling herself from her mare’s back on the off-chance that James here would catch her before she landed on a yew bush. She’s expecting her third child now. Screamers, the first two are.”

  He was too charming, Hallie thought, watching him joke with Angela and the countess. She sipped at Lady Grimsby’s champagne punch, potent enough to knock a girl on her bottom and not care. She watched Charles Grandison, Lord Carlisle, bend over Lady Lydia’s ancient veiny wrist and treat her to an intimate smile to make her remaining teeth tingle.

  “Who is Miles Sinifer?” Hallie asked.

  “Ah, a gentleman who tried to seduce my mother. My father picked up his gun and shot it from no more than three feet from Miles’s head. As I said, thank God he missed.”

  Where the devil had Charles been, James wondered, watching the man he and Jason had always admired make his way charmingly from lady to lady at their table. Until he got to Corrie. He stilled. James knew when a man was looking at a woman with lust in his eyes. James stiffened in his chair, but said pleasantly enough, “Keep away from her, Charles. I’m younger, stronger, and meaner than you. Unlike your father, I wouldn’t miss.”

  “This is your Viscountess, James? The innocent young girl who saved you from kidnappers and herself from Devlin Monroe?”

  “Oh goodness,” Corrie said. “I haven’t seen Devlin in far too long. He is well? He is married? Does he still avoid the sun?”

  Charles Grandison laughed and took Corrie’s chair when she slid over onto her husband’s lap to make room for him.

  “Devlin quite likes all those whispers about his being a vampire, all naturally behind polite hands. I believe you were the one who started it—”

  “Perhaps I was the first to say vampire out loud,” Corrie said, “but Devlin always admired his pallor. Now, you, sir, and my husband have known each other for a very long time, have you not?”

  “Since he tried to beat my gelding, Horatio, in an impromptu race. James was riding his pony, Jason cheering him on. They were five years old as I recall, and I was an ancient eleven or twelve.”

  “In that case, please call me Corrie. I miss Devlin and his pale face. He was quite amusing.” She sighed and James wanted to smack her. Instead, he eased beneath her gown and slid his hand up her leg.

  Always the charmer, Jason thought, content to sit back and watch Charles charm his family, but what was he doing here? He appeared to know Lord Renfrew, and surely that wasn’t in his favor. Charles had been racing mad as a boy, and now owned one of the largest racing stables in northern England. It was heard he would shut himself in his bedchamber for three days and nights if he lost a race, which wasn’t that often. No one tried to cheat Charles or poison his horses, or cripple his jockeys—the price Charles made the miscreant pay was too high. And that, Jason decided in that moment, was the reputation he was going to nurture as well. Maybe his would even be more fearful.

  Jason, Hallie, and Angela didn’t arrive home until nearly three o’clock in the morning. Both Martha and Petrie were in the drawing room, Petrie, head thrown back on the back of the sofa, snoring, Martha huddled in a chair, one stockinged toe sticking out from beneath her gown.

  When they walked into the drawing room, Martha jerked up and yelled, “Tell us everything!”

  Petrie’s nostrils pinched as he jerked awake, and he nearly stumbled off his feet he jumped up so quickly. He was quick to wave his nanny’s finger at her. “Martha, a lady’s maid doesn’t demand gossip from her mistress. You will lower your head and inquire if Miss Hallie wishes to have you remove her stockings.”

  Angela said, “Goodness, Petrie, isn’t that rather indelicate of you? Martha, after you have assisted Hallie, do come to my bedchamber. I appear to have more buttons than fingers to do the task.”

  “I will, Miss Angela.” Martha whirled around on Petrie, hands on hips, “As for you, Mr. Stump-Chops, don’t you tell me what to do with Miss Hallie’s stockings. It pains Master Jason to hear such private matters spoken of in his drawing room.”

  “Actually, I believe Jason is standing in my half of the drawing room,” Hallie said.

  “But—”

  Jason raised his hand. “Be quiet, Petrie, let it go. No, no more from either of you. No, Martha, heel.” Jason turned to Hallie and Angela. “You see? I put a stop to the hilarity just as you asked.”

  “Hilarity?” Petrie said. “Hilarity is not at all the thing in a gentleman’s household.”

  “All we need,” Angela said, “is Cook to complete the picture.”

  “But, Master Jason,” Petrie began, knowing he had an important point if only he could find the ears to hear it.

  “No, Petrie. We’ll tell both of you everything in the morning. Everyone to bed now. Petrie, you’re with me.”

  “Martha,” Hallie said, “I will tell you all about Mr. Charles Grandison, who will probably be visiting us in not more than seven hours from now.”

  “What a lovely name,” Martha said. “Is he a gentleman wot—what—looks like his name like Master Jason does?”

  “Indeed. Master Jason said Charles Grandison was ruthless when it came to all the scoundrels and the corruption in the racing world. So much money involved, you see.”

  “We are going to be more ruthless, more feared even than Charles Grandison,” Jason said. “We will make anyone who tries to hurt our horses or cheat or threaten us, pay so great a price they’ll never try it again.”

  “And our reputation will spread.” She rubbed her hands together. “My father taught me how to bring a man to the ground with very little effort.”

  “Very little effort? Do I wish to know what you’re talking about?”

  “Well, it involves my knee, Jason. My father said a man couldn’t bear that sort of pain, whatever that means.”

  Jason and Petrie looked appalled.

  Martha said, “Well, more power to a lady’s knee, I say. Now, Miss Hallie, it’s very late. Time for me to see to you and Miss Angela.”

  Jason said, “I, as well, learned a lot with the Wyndhams in Baltimore. Americans can stand more pain, and they don’t whi
ne as much, I found. Jessie asked me to exercise desperate measures on three occasions as I recall.”

  Hallie said, “What kind of desperate measures?”

  “A competitor bribed a stable lad to poison one of the Wyndham horses. I made him walk through downtown Baltimore—it wasn’t raining, as I recall—carrying the tub of the poisoned grain he would have fed Rialto. Every three steps he had to announce what he’d tried to do.”

  Hallie nodded in approval. “I heard from my father that you once sliced a jockey’s face with your whip when he was going to stick a knife in your horse’s neck.”

  “Nearly to the bone.”

  “My father also said you nabbed another jockey as he was coming out of Mrs. O’Toole’s tavern and beat the stuffing out of him for trying to shoot you off your horse in a race the week before.”

  Jason smiled at the memory, flexed his fingers without conscious thought. “I should have waited until he’d sobered up. It would have been more fun.”

  “Just so,” Hallie said. “No one will go against us more than once.”

  “Heavenly groats, Miss Hallie,” Martha was heard to whisper as she walked between her mistress and Miss Angela up the staircase, “this is so exciting. Do ye—you—think you’ll have to resort to some of these desperate measures Master Jason was talking about?”

  “It’s possible,” Hallie said, as serious as a nun wielding a three-pronged whip.

  “And yer—your—knee, Miss Hallie. I want to hear all about your knee.”

  “That thought would make the blood move swiftly through a man’s heart, wouldn’t it?” Angela said, as she lightly patted the very feminine white lace over her bosom.

  CHAPTER 27

  Charles Grandison said, “I want to buy Piccola. She’s magnificent. I’ll pay you very well for her, Jason.”

  “She’s not my mare to sell.”

  “Ah, so Miss Carrick is her owner. A lady enjoys having lovely things—”

  “I’ve noticed that gentlemen enjoy lovely things as well,” Hallie said, coming around the corner. She strode, Jason thought, like a boy with more arrogance than brains. What would Charles make of that? What would he say if he noticed her gown was really a pair of fat-legged trousers? Ah, and the shine on her boots.