Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4)

by Cheryl Holt

  Rowena glared at Ruth, her temper flaring. She had no power in the convent and no genuine friends. The other nuns viewed her as a flighty nuisance. No one would aid her or rally to her cause. No one would dare to assist or stand up to Ruth so Rowena had to act on her own—and act quickly.

  She’d been languishing, expecting Ralston to arrive to rescue her, but it was too late for wishing, too late for miracles.

  “I’ll have them ready,” Rowena lied.

  “Ten o’clock. Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t.”

  Rowena marched out and dashed to the nursery where the girls were playing by themselves. With the convent not sheltering children, they were the only ones present. The nuns weren’t allowed to waste time watching them, but the nursery was next to the kitchen, which was the reason Rowena had sought employment there. She could easily slip away to check on them.

  “Sister Rowena!” they merrily called except for Millicent. She still wasn’t talking, but she smiled.

  Rowena knelt down and advised them, “I need you to help me with an important task.”

  “What is it?” Mary asked.

  “We’re leaving the convent.”

  “To go where?”

  “To live with Mr. Robertson.”

  They grinned from ear to ear and Martha inquired, “Will Sister Faith be there? Will Mr. Hubbard?”

  “I don’t know about Faith, but yes, Mr. Hubbard will definitely be there.”

  Martha clapped her hands. “I’m so glad. When are we going?”

  “Right now.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  Rowena walked to a cupboard in the corner. It was packed with things that errant mothers had left over the years, clothes and scarves and gloves and other items. She found a large bag and stuffed it full. She rummaged in the pile and filled a second bag.

  Then she peeked into the hall, but it was deserted. Unless a person was working at a specific job, she had to be in chapel praying.

  Rowena hurried out, the girls tagging after her like ducks in a row. They’d always obeyed Rowena so they didn’t argue or pester her with questions. They proceeded through the kitchen with Rowena brazenly pilfering a loaf of bread and wheel of cheese. Her theft garnered only a tired glance—but no comment—from an elderly nun who was stirring a pot of soup.

  They snuck to the rear gate and vanished into the woods. She rushed away, not chatting, not explaining. In a thick copse, she stopped and tugged off her habit. She tossed it into the weeds, then put on a blue dress instead.

  “Where are we headed?” Mary asked.

  “To town.”

  “What will we do when we arrive? Will we hire a coach to London to see Mr. Robertson?”

  “I don’t have any money so I doubt we’ll use a coach. But…I’ll think of something.”

  She hastened on, not eager for them to observe her expression. They were very intelligent—Mary in particular since she’d just turned eight—and she’d guess that Rowena had no plan.

  She hoped she hadn’t committed a kidnapping, but she didn’t feel she had. The girls’ guardian had been Mother Superior, but she was dead, so they had no official guardian. Rowena assumed she had the authority to make decisions on their behalf, and she’d kill anyone who tried to take them back to Ruth.

  Very soon they reached the edge of town. A coaching inn was the first establishment they encountered, which she deemed a good omen. Maybe she’d get lucky and a traveler would offer a poor widow—for that’s who she would claim to be—and her three pretty daughters a seat in his carriage.

  If not, she’d wave down a farmer and plead for a ride in his wagon. Surely someone would help them. She was too incensed to suppose no one would.

  She spun to the girls and whispered, “We have to play a game.” They nodded, and she continued. “We’ll pretend I’m your mother. That’s who you should say I am, and you’re to call me Mama. Can you remember that?”

  They scowled but nodded again.

  “Are we in trouble?” Mary asked.

  “No. Now let’s go inside.”

  They went up the steps and into the foyer. Rowena surveyed her surroundings, seeing a parlor off to the right. Several people were dining at various tables, but before she could move toward them, one of the girls excitedly said, “Hello there! Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere!”

  Rowena turned, stunned to discover that Millie had spoken aloud! She’d greeted a passerby! She took off at a run, and Rowena grabbed for her but couldn’t latch on. She was slippery as an eel. A man swooped her up in his arms and hugged her as tightly as he could.

  “You little rascal!” Chase Hubbard said. “I didn’t expect to stumble on you in this dreary place.”

  “We’re coming to London to live with you,” Millie told him.

  “Well, that’s a grand idea,” Mr. Hubbard replied, “because all of a sudden, I happen to have a great big house where you can stay.”

  “Mr…Hubbard?” Rowena stammered. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same, Miss Bond.”

  “But…but…”

  She couldn’t force out another word. She collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor in a befuddled heap.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Chase reined in and stared up at the gates of Radcliffe Castle. He was still in Scotland, headed south to England to find Faith and demand she marry him. It had only been a bit out of his way to stop at Radcliffe. He couldn’t ride by without trying to see his old friend, Bryce Blair.

  He’d sent Rowena and the girls on a fast coach to England, and they’d stay at his apartment in London until he could join them. In the meantime, he had business with Bryce, but he was nervous about visiting, nervous as to what his reception would be. It was entirely likely that he would be denied entrance.

  Bryce had been his best chum since they were seven and Chase had staggered into boarding school, a lost and bewildered orphan. To his great disgust, he’d never been an asset to Bryce, had never been worth knowing or lived up to Bryce’s high expectations. Bryce was wonderful and loyal, possessed of every trait that was good in the world, while Chase had always been awful.

  They’d journeyed to Egypt to adventure down the Nile, and even there Chase had been horrid. He’d betrayed Bryce, had harmed his beloved Katarina and her siblings, and generally disgraced himself. Bryce had finally had enough of Chase’s antics, had cut all ties, and Chase had definitely deserved Bryce’s censure.

  Yet when Chase had been loafing at the villa in Africa, he’d received that one letter from his sister. She’d claimed to have bumped into Bryce, that he’d passed on a short, concise message: All was forgiven and forgotten.

  Chase had been riveted by that simple communication, and he hoped Bryce had meant what he said, that Chase had been forgiven. If not, Chase was about to bluster in and embarrass himself as he never had previously.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered, and he urged his horse forward.

  The castle was Bryce’s now, the title to the Radcliffe earldom vested in him too so he was Lord Radcliffe. Chase grinned. From the moment he’d learned Bryce was the true heir to Radcliffe, Chase had urged him to seize what was his, but Bryce hadn’t known how to retrieve his father’s legacy.

  But it had all ended in the perfect spot with Bryce wed to Katarina and strutting about as a peer of the realm.

  As Chase entered the courtyard, two men approached to bar his way. They were burly, thuggish fellows who seemed to be guards.

  “State your business,” one of them curtly snapped.

  “I’ve traveled from London to speak with Lord Radcliffe.”

  “Your name?”

  “Chase Hubbard. I’ve been acquainted with him for decades. We were in Africa together.”

  The men began to quietly confer, but before they announced their decision as to whether he’d be allowed to remain, Katarina’s little brother, Nicholas Morovsky, walked o
ut of the main hall and bounded down the steps.

  “Mr. Hubbard!” Thankfully he was smiling. “Yours is a face I never thought I’d see again.”

  “Hello, Your Grace.”

  Nicholas was a prince from the small European country of Parthenia. He was thirteen or fourteen. His voice was deeper, and he had to have grown a foot.

  He waved to the men blocking Chase. “It’s all right. Mr. Hubbard is a friend.”

  They moved away, and Chase dismounted and handed his reins to a stable boy.

  “I’m glad you’re willing to call me friend,” Chase said to Nicholas.

  “I was angry with you for a bit, but with how everything worked out, it was impossible to stay angry.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it.”

  Chase had betrayed Nicholas and his sister, Isabelle, worst of all. He’d let himself be convinced—by a very pretty harlot—to deliver them to their wicked relatives for a purse of gold coins.

  Well, the gold coins were in a pirate’s pocket, so he’d never had the chance to enjoy the fruits of his perfidy. With his losing the money and being tossed overboard to die, he’d been served his just desserts for being such a greedy, stupid idiot.

  “Is Bryce here?” Chase asked.

  “Yes. He’s in the tilting yard. He and I practice fencing and fighting every day. He’s preparing me so I can wage my own battles—and win them.”

  “What battles do you have?”

  “When I’m older, I intend to return to Parthenia and take back my country. I want my father’s throne. My cousins don’t get to keep it.”

  They started off, with Chase agog at the buildings, the bustle of people, the animals, and general commotion. The place was a hive of prosperous activity, and he couldn’t help but be thrilled. If anyone had earned a dose of good fortune, it was Bryce.

  “Who were those men watching the gate?” he asked.

  “Guards.”

  “Who are they guarding? Not Bryce. He can’t be in danger.”

  “No, they’re protecting me and my sister, Isabelle. We’re always worried that my despicable kin might try to kidnap us again. Bryce doesn’t like strangers getting too close until we’re sure who they are.”

  “Very wise.”

  As Chase recollected how violently Nicholas and Isabelle had been snatched off the street in Cairo, he tamped down a shudder. He’d been party to that repugnant episode, and it was an incident over which he was greatly ashamed. Perhaps his conscience was alive and well after all.

  Finally they rounded a corner, and…there was Bryce. He was as magnificent as ever: tall, blond, broad in the shoulder, slim at the waist. He’d been swinging his sword already so his tanned skin was dusty and sweaty from his exertions. Chase smiled, reminded of the months of lessons they’d had with Monsieur Valois in Cairo. That had been the best of times.

  “Bryce,” Nicholas called. “Look who’s here! You won’t believe it.”

  Bryce whirled toward them, and for a moment he gaped at Chase as if he might be hallucinating.

  “Chase…?”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  There was an awkward pause where Chase couldn’t predict if he’d be hugged or punched. Then Bryce threw his sword on the ground and hurried over.

  “I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

  “Hello, my old friend.”

  Chase was so overcome that he nearly burst into tears. When Bryce grabbed him—it was the hug, not the punch—he was positive he’d weep. But he managed to hold it together and not make a complete fool of himself.

  “Why are you in Scotland?” Bryce asked. “Why are you at Radcliffe? Nicholas is correct. I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I’m getting married,” Chase blurted out. “At least I think I am.”

  “Who is the lucky girl? Anyone I know?”

  “No. She’s…ah…a nun.”

  “A nun!”

  “Or was a nun. She’s not anymore. I stopped at her convent, but she’d left. I assume she’s at her father’s house in Sussex so I’m on my way there, but I couldn’t trot by without seeing you.”

  “You’re marrying,” Bryce repeated. “You’re marrying a…nun!” He shook his head and laughed.

  “It’s shocking. I admit it. Guess what else?”

  “What?”

  “I inherited an estate from my father. I just found out.”

  “An estate!”

  “It’s named Oakhurst. My French relatives hid it from me after I was orphaned.”

  Nicholas chimed in. “Relatives can be the very devil, can’t they?”

  “They certainly can,” Chase agreed.

  Bryce said, “Your sister told me that you were attacked by pirates on the north coast of Africa.”

  “The bastards tossed me overboard, and I floated on a log for ages until I made it to shore.”

  Bryce laughed again. “Only you, Chase Hubbard, could survive such a thing.”

  “I’m still amazed that I did.”

  “And now you’re marrying. A nun—of all people!”

  “Yes, if she’ll have me. I’ll have to work very hard to convince her.”

  “Does she know much about you? Does she know what she’ll be getting herself into as your bride?”

  “She knows,” Chase cockily retorted, “but she likes me anyway.”

  “I have a huge surprise too,” Bryce said.

  “Is it better than mine?”

  “Yes. My mother is here.”

  Chase sucked in an astonished breath. “Your mother?”

  She’d been transported to Australia as a felon when Bryce was a boy. They’d never been able to discover what happened to her, if she was alive or dead. She was home?

  “She’s a bit bruised and battered from her misadventure,” Bryce said, “but mostly she’s hale and fine.”

  “But…but…when? How?” Chase stammered. “I’m so flabbergasted I can’t decide what questions to ask.”

  “Let’s go inside. I feel a long and interesting story coming on—for both of us—and we should probably be sitting down and drinking whiskey when we hear it.”

  Bryce flung an arm across Chase’s shoulder and as they walked off together, it seemed as if they’d never quarreled, as if they’d never been separated a single day.

  * * * *

  Faith and Lambert strolled in the woods behind Heron Hall. It was late summer so the trees were still green, but leaves were starting to change. High up in the branches, she could see splotches of red and gold. Soon autumn would arrive, then winter. What would occur then? What did she want? What did she yearn for?

  Anymore she wasn’t really sure.

  For a few wild weeks in Africa, she’d thought she wanted passion and romance. She’d viewed herself as reckless and independent, the type of woman who dared to seize what she craved, but she’d never been that irresponsible, careless person.

  She was who she was: Harold Newton’s boring, ordinary daughter. She’d been raised by servants in a quiet, solitary world. She was courteous and polite, loyal and kind. She’d spent years at the convent helping others and performing good deeds.

  Her one negligent act had been her love affair with Mr. Hubbard, but it was so out of character for her to have participated, and she couldn’t figure out why she had.

  Luckily no babe had been created so that calamity was averted. While she knew it was for the best, a tiny part of her mourned the loss, which left her wondering if she wasn’t insane.

  “It’s a beautiful afternoon,” Lambert said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I was just thinking how easily you’ve returned to us. It feels as if you were never gone.”

  “I was thinking the same. I was away for eight years, but it doesn’t seem as if I was.”

  “Everything stays the same at Heron Hall.”

  “Yet everything is different too. Alice is worried.”

  “About what?”

  “About you and who you might marry.” Faith frowned. �
��You wouldn’t kick her out, would you?”

  “No, but you have to admit it would be difficult for my bride to have Alice here.”

  “She and her girls could move to the Dower House.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “It would be incredibly awkward.”

  “Promise me you won’t wed anyone who’d be horrid to her.”

  “I’ll try to promise.”

  She peeked up at him, and he was smiling.

  “You’re funning me,” she scolded.

  “Perhaps a tad.”

  Since she’d staggered in his door and begged shelter, he’d been extremely pleasant. His ego and vanity had been tucked away. Now that he was master of Heron Hall, he didn’t need to bluster and preen. He was secure in his ownership, established in his position.

  “I have an idea,” he told her, “but let me fully explain it before you declare it to be ridiculous.”

  “All right. I swear I won’t call it absurd until I hear what it is.”

  “What if I married you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I always wanted to and with your suddenly coming back, it’s as if Fate is determined we be together. If your parents are up in Heaven and looking down on us, I’m certain it would make them very happy.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “You’re fretting about Alice and my bride getting along, but if you were my bride, there’d be no cause for concern.”

  “That’s true. Alice is flighty, but there’s no harm in her. I like her well enough.”

  “I’ve seen you with her girls. Alice isn’t much of a mother so you’d be a good influence on them.”

  “I like to think so.”

  “I’m going to wed very soon, Faith.”

  “Are you? You’re positive?”

  “Yes. I’m already thirty and with the estate settled, it’s silly to delay.”

  “I understand.”

  “And I view you as being in the same predicament as Alice.”

  “In what way?”

  “My wife wouldn’t care to have Harold’s daughter haunting the halls and telling her not to rearrange the furniture.”

  She chuckled. “I wouldn’t interfere.”

  “You claim that now, but we have to recognize how exasperating it would be for you to have a stranger in charge.”