‘Do not bother. My father’s will provided for the dower house at Balderston. Never again will she set foot on Sackfield soil, so please don’t invite her here.’
‘Her Grace is not partial to Yorkshire,’ Miss Digby said, looking at Alistair, but Julia was not sure if it was censure or support she offered. ‘Too many sheep.’
‘Too far from London, more like,’ Alistair said. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t ask you to return the Dunstan rubies. She acted as if they were her personal property. They belong to the Duchy, to be worn by the sitting Duchess.’
Her face burned red as she recalled exactly what they had done when he had draped those rubies all over her naked skin that first night. Her inner muscles clenched at the memory.
A glance at Alistair told her he remembered, too. Heat blazed in his eyes. For once, he did not look anywhere near indifferent.
She folded her hands in her lap, clenching them together until it hurt, trying to get those visions out of her mind.
Should she tell him about the laudanum? But with the awful possibility that he was responsible for doctoring her tea. If so, it would be foolish to let him know she had found him out.
Julia felt ill. First laudanum in her tea, then a dresser who might be working for his stepmother. Had she, by marrying Alistair, jumped from the frying pan into the fire?
Alistair must have sensed her disquiet for he reached over and gave her hand a brief squeeze. ‘Don’t worry about Robins, I will write to Lewis and find out just who she is.’
She only wished she trusted him enough to believe he wasn’t trying to mislead her.
* * *
Dinner had been strangely quiet, Alistair as seemingly preoccupied as she was herself. Miss Digby had talked about what a lovely little boy he had been. Happy. Sweet. Intelligent. Only the last of those epithets seemed applicable now, yet he had occasionally been sweet to her. More than sweet, kind. And generous. Was she wrong to suspect him?
‘Tea is served, Your Grace,’ Grindle announced, having been informed earlier that they would both remove to the drawing room after dinner.
Alistair held her chair while she rose and escorted her to the drawing room. He lifted the lid of the teapot and inhaled. ‘No Oolong. I had a word with them in the kitchen and asked them not to send it up any more. I told them it didn’t agree with you and to only use it when they serve it to me in my office.
Julia leaned close to him and breathed in the fragrant steam. ‘It smells lovely.’ Not a whiff of poppy.
Alistair grunted.
‘I agree. It is perfectly horrid when one has to do without something one likes for the sake of another.’
He gave her a sharp look, but a small smile pulled the corners of his mouth upward. ‘It always amazes me how much information you glean from little more than a sound.’
Seeing that smile gave her courage. ‘I have brothers who rarely did more than grunt or order one about.’ It was one of the reasons she had been so willing to accept her first husband’s marriage proposal. She had thought nothing could be worse than a house full of brothers. She’d been so utterly wrong.
Alistair winced.
Of course, he had a brother, too, from whom he was estranged.
She set about pouring them both a cup of tea.
‘You are ready for our visit to Beauworth tomorrow?’
‘I am looking forward to it. Do you plan to see your brother while you are there?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Quite the opposite.’
His dark tone did not encourage her to ask for elaboration.
He finished his tea and placed the cup and saucer on the tray. ‘I have some correspondence to finish. I will escort you upstairs.’
In other words he was tired of her company.
She finished her tea and he helped her to rise.
Always so gentlemanly, so observant of the rules of polite society, but there was no warmth in it. In him.
Most of the time. Yet on occasion he’d let her glimpse the seductive man she’d been attracted to that first night. And then there was the man he’d been with Miss Digby. Boyishly enchanting. But which was the real Alistair? The man was as elusive as a drop of quicksilver.
Was he someone who could put laudanum in an unwanted wife’s tea? The only thing stopping her from fleeing was the recollection of him being ready to pour himself a cup of the tea that afternoon. If he had been responsible, surely he would not have done so.
Unless he was really, really clever.
They walked up the stairs, she with her hand on his arm, he with his gaze set firmly ahead. He stopped when he reached her chamber door and gazed into her face with a questioning look.
Air that a moment before had been cool crackled with tension. The line of his lips softened to sensual as he gazed at her mouth.
Her heart picked up speed and her breath shortened as if there was not enough air left to breath. His eyes widened a fraction. Awareness sparked between them. Despite all of her doubts, she found him wildly attractive.
‘Would you care to come in?’ She sounded breathless. Hopeful. Pathetic.
And to her great chagrin, fearful.
He opened the door to the bedroom, gazed down at her for a moment and then straightened his shoulders as if coming to a decision. ‘It has been a long day and it will be a longer one tomorrow. I would not have you overtax your strength. I will see you in the morning for breakfast.’
He ushered her in and walked away.
* * *
The smile on Alistair’s face when he greeted her at the breakfast table gave Julia a warm feeling in the region of her heart. The expression on his face was sweet and even a little bashful. He actually seemed pleased to see her.
‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked as she took her plate to the table and he seated her. So gentlemanly.
‘I feel quite myself again, thank you. Is our visit to Beauworth to continue as planned?’
He cast her a brief searching look as if assuring himself she had spoken the truth about her state of health. As if he didn’t trust her to know. Or didn’t trust her to tell him the truth. The hard line of his mouth softened. ‘The weather looks to be holding fair. Do you still prefer to ride?’
‘I do.’ Knowing now what it was that was making her ill, she really did have a choice. The carriage would not upset her, but riding was a pleasure and a privilege she had been denied for years. Fortunately the rain of the day before had swept away as quickly as it arrived.
‘Then I will see you at two. I have quite a bit of paperwork to get through before we go.’ He got up and left, taking his newspaper with him.
She frowned at his half-full plate. Was it her putting him off his food? Did he perhaps suspect her of colluding with his stepmother because she had failed to tell him about the visit?
She lifted the lid of his teapot and inhaled. Oolong. She lifted the lid of her teapot. Laudanum. Her blood ran cold. A very real urge to run left her feeling breathless and her heart pounding.
A footman stepped forward. ‘Shall I pour for you, Your Grace?’
‘Thank you, no.’ What on earth was she to do? Trust Alistair and tell him, or keep her own counsel until she uncovered the culprit? The latter was the wisest course, even though her heart told her he ought to know—if she believed he was innocent. Somehow the day no longer looked quite so bright.
* * *
To keep her mind busy with something other than fretting, she spent the morning inspecting the linens with the housekeeper. At the midday meal, Alistair did not join her and she drank only water.
At two, they met at the stables, he coming from the steward’s office where according to Grindle he had been sequestered all morning and she from the house. He gave her one of his searching looks before they mounted up. ‘Everything all r
ight?’
‘Of course,’ she said, hoping her smile did not look as false as it felt.
They rode at a swift trot that was not conducive to chatter, but at the fork in the lane that led to the orchard, she could not resist a glance at Alistair, wondering if he, too, was recalling the intimacy of their time in the apple tree.
He lifted a brow and there was that little quirk to his lips again. He was remembering all right. Heat rushed to her face as she smiled back.
She decided. She was going to tell him about the laudanum the moment they returned home. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying something about it right then. She had no wish to be in the middle of such a discussion when they arrived at Beauworth.
The road to Beauworth required them to once more pass through the hamlet of Boxted.
Alistair straightened in the saddle and turned to look back as they passed by the village green.
She followed the direction of his gaze. ‘Someone you know?’
He frowned. ‘I’m not sure. A woman. She had her back to me, but there was something familiar about her and the fellow she was with.’ He grimaced. ‘Never mind. It is not important.’
‘How much further is it?’
‘A few minutes. Boxted is on the edge of the Beauworth estate.’ He glanced at her. ‘Are you tiring?’
Quite the contrary, having made her decision she felt a great deal lighter, freer, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Not in the least, but it is kind of you to ask.’
He nodded his acceptance of her compliment. ‘You will like Beauworth House and the grounds are extraordinary. There have been Le Cleres in this part of Hampshire for centuries. Their ancestors go back further than mine. Vikings or some such.’
‘He does not appear very Viking-like. I thought they were all blond giants, though he is large enough to be sure.’
‘Takes after his mother, I gather. She was French.’
‘Did you know each other as boys?’
‘Not really. I was away at school. He remained here with his tutors. He and Luke are closer in age.’
His face had hardened at the mention of his brother.
Another person in his family with whom he was at odds.
‘Have you met the Marchioness?’
‘I have met her, although she rarely comes up to town. You will like her, I think. Beauworth was at our wedding ball only because he had Parliamentary business requiring his attention.’
‘He is a devoted husband, then.’
‘Apparently so. He spent years fighting the French.’ He hesitated. ‘There were rumours that he was a traitor at one time, but now the war is over it seems it has all been forgotten in the interests of peace.’
A gatehouse appeared beside a gap in the hedge and a sweep of drive up to a lovely Palladian house of golden weathered sandstone. When they arrived at the columned portico over the front door, grooms came at the run to take their horses.
By the time they had dismounted, Beauworth and his lady were walking down the steps to greet them. Clearly a duke and duchess merited a proper formal welcome, but their smiles were warm. Lady Beauworth’s gold hair glinted guinea bright in the sunshine. Though small of stature, her presence was commanding and her dove-grey eyes gleamed when they rested on her large handsome husband.
‘Welcome to Beauworth,’ the Marquess said, escorting Julia indoors and leaving Alistair to accompany the Marchioness. He did have a tinge of French in his accent. It was very slight and perhaps only noticeable if you were looking for it.
The drawing room was beautifully appointed, painted in a pretty blue with white moulding and cornices. The tea tray arrived in short order. It wasn’t long before Julia felt an immediate liking for the vivacious Lady Beauworth.
‘Call me Ellie, please,’ she said, ‘for I am hoping we will be good friends since we live so close.’
‘I am Julia and would like that very much.’ It would be wonderful to have a friend. Though there was much in her past she could never discuss with a lady as fine as the Marchioness of Beauworth, they must surely have some things in common. ‘Your house is lovely.’
‘Hah. You would not say so had you seen it when we were first married. Garrick’s uncle had turned the place into a haven for bachelors.’ She shuddered. ‘Fortunately, my husband was only too glad to give me a free hand in making it livable.’ She poured tea for them all and the two men wandered off with the cups to look out of the window while they chatted in low voices.
Julia could not quite imagine Alistair giving her a free hand in anything. ‘Did you hire an architect?’
‘We did for the larger projects, but you know simply adding a few flowers and changing the curtains and furniture made a huge difference.’
‘Perhaps more flowers are what Sackfield needs.’ It needed something to turn into a home instead of a mausoleum.
‘The gardens there are lovely, so I am told.’
‘They are.’ As was the apple orchard. And the bedchambers. She quelled the memory, but something must have shown in her face because Ellie gave a delighted little chuckle.
‘Oh, you newlyweds. I suppose you will soon be thinking about setting up your nursery.’
A weight descended on her chest. The weight of her failure as a wife. More hot blushes scalded her cheeks.
Ellie chuckled wickedly, completely misinterpreting her embarrassment.
Beauworth glanced over at his wife with a fond smile, his expression changing in an instant from stern to loving. Alistair’s expression, on the other hand, remained coolly aloof.
‘Why not take Her Grace up to the nursery when you have finished your tea?’ the Marquess said. ‘I am sure she would like to meet our chicks.’
Ellie looked at her doubtfully. ‘Would you indeed? I am a terribly proud mama. Utterly boring on the subject, if you must know. We have two little lords and one very demanding young lady in our nest.’
Julia couldn’t remember the last time she’d been among any little ones. ‘I would love to meet them.’
‘You are not saying that to be polite, I hope,’ Ellie said, frowning.
‘No. I mean it, quite sincerely. Since we are to be friends, I promise you, I will never lie or pretend.’
‘Nor will I,’ Ellie said, nodding firmly. ‘How splendid.’ She glanced over at her husband. ‘Can you manage without us?’
The Marquess bowed, but there was a twinkle in his dark eyes. ‘With difficulty, my love. I gather the Duke and I have a matter to discuss.’
Chapter Eleven
What had once been a bachelor domain positively reeked of feminine influence. Fresh-cut flowers cluttered a table. The scent of beeswax and lemon permeated the air. Embroidered cushions overflowed the sofa beside the hearth. Clearly the Marquess of Beauworth was firmly beneath the cat’s paw.
As Alistair was fast becoming. There had been a bouquet in the middle of his breakfast table, he now recalled.
Beauworth’s piercing gaze levelled on his face. ‘Now the ladies are otherwise occupied, have a seat and tell me your concerns about my employment of your half-brother.’
Thank the deities for a man who got straight to the point. Alistair took the armchair. Beauworth, shoving a couple of floral cushions out of the way, sprawled on the sofa.
‘I don’t trust him,’ Alistair said. ‘To have him within a hundred miles of me or mine is a hundred miles too close.’
The Marquess frowned. ‘You have evidence that he means you ill?’
Ah, hell, what did one say? Old wounds knotted his gut. He had no proof that his brother had tried to kill him. Or that he was in any way involved with his mother’s schemes. ‘He’s my heir.’ It was as far as he would go, but too many things had happened in the past to make him comfortable with members of his family living cl
ose by. Or visiting.
Beauworth leaned back and rested one long arm along the back of the sofa with a grimace. ‘You think he wants the title.’
‘If I die first it is his.’ Whatever happened, the title would ultimately go to Alistair’s supposed nephew. In the meantime, he was keeping the estate safe from his stepmother’s tendency to pillage. Something Luke would never manage. The woman was his mother, after all.
Beauworth scowled. ‘You would do well to follow my maxim. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. In the meantime get yourself a son and solve the issue.’
Simple for Beauworth to say. That would never happen. Not that he was going to air his family’s dirty laundry to his neighbour. ‘Running into him is awkward in the extreme given our past disagreements.’ As was meeting his nephew, who looked nothing like his legal father. The last thing he wanted was for Julia to put two and two together. And seeing the boy himself was always a wrench. A reminder of what he could never have. ‘I can only presume he feels the same way.’
It was not stated as a question, but Beauworth got the point and shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. I did ask him why you did not make use of his talent. He intimated that you did not work well together.’ The Marquess shot him another of those piercing glances. ‘And thus your loss is my gain.’
‘You will keep him on, then? Over my reservations?’
‘Why would I not? I haven’t come close to finding anyone with his expertise. The man is an excellent steward. And also a friend.’
Alistair bit back the temptation to demand. He was Duke after all. But Beauworth would not take kindly to orders. Nor did he wish to arouse the Marquess’s curiosity any more than he had. ‘Very well. We shall not speak of it again, but I do not want to find him wandering on Dunstan property at any time, day or night. I assume you will make these wishes known.’
Beauworth’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you could give me one good reason—’
Alistair raised a hand. ‘My brother is not worth us falling out.’ He had few enough friends as it was. He would simply keep Julia and Luke apart. He put down his cup and saucer on the tray and rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps we should go and find my Duchess. I praised your gardens to the skies and she was looking forward to seeking your advice on some horticultural matters.’
Secrets of the Marriage Bed Page 15