by Tuft, Karen
Kit must get word to Anthony about this at once. Marwood had been badly injured during their duel; surely it wasn’t—
“I can tell by your face what you’re thinking,” Aylesham said, tapping his quizzing glass with his finger. “And the answer is no, it wasn’t due to certain, uh, afflictions, shall we say, that the duke acquired before departing London.” He gave Kit a long, knowing look. It shouldn’t surprise Kit that the Duke of Aylesham had knowledge of the duel and Marwood’s resulting injury, despite all efforts to keep the matter private.
“Never liked Marwood myself,” one of the gentlemen, Viscount Whitley, said. “Not the most amiable of men, if you’ll excuse my saying so of one so recently deceased, may his soul rest in peace.”
“Amen to both sentiments,” Iverson said. “But it is truly unfortunate for the duchess. And didn’t they have children, or am I remembering incorrectly?”
“A daughter,” Aylesham said.
“Lady Elizabeth,” Kit added.
“That’s right, Lady Elizabeth Spaulding—lovely young woman, if rather pale and lifeless. Rather like a statue,” Lord Whitley said.
Kit had a flash of memory at Whitley’s comment: a three-legged race last summer in which Kit had partnered with the lady in question. He’d not found her to be statue-like at all. He remembered blonde hair coming loose from its pins, pink cheeks, and radiant blue eyes, his arm around a slender waist, ankles bound together as they’d stumbled along . . .
Aylesham raised an eyebrow at him and lifted his quizzing glass halfway to his eye. “A statue, indeed,” he murmured. “Although I think not all might agree.”
“It is difficult to lose a parent, regardless of who they are or how they led their life,” Kit said, addressing them all, shifting on his feet. The duke’s study of him was making him uncomfortable. “I offer my heartfelt condolences to Lady Elizabeth—and the dowager duchess too, of course.”
“Of course,” Aylesham said, his quizzing glass now hovering near his eye. It was remarkable what the duke could say but leave unsaid by the small manipulation of an accessory. “And it is generous of you to say so, since Marwood and the Ashworths, who are your close family friends, if I’m remembering correctly, were not on the best of terms when he left the country so suddenly.”
“A death is always unfortunate,” Kit said.
“As you say.” The duke let the quizzing glass drop from his fingers. “Enough of such bleak news, however. I’m off to White’s, if any of you gentlemen wish to join me.”
As the duke and his entourage strolled down the corridor, Iverson took Kit’s arm and stopped him. “Let’s leave those fellows to their own company. I have a pub in mind I’d rather visit. What do you say?”
“I say thank you. A good ale sounds just the thing.”
The pub in question, The Brick and Knee, was located on a small side street between Westminster and Covent Garden. Kit found it to be clean, the woodwork polished, and doing a modest business for midafternoon. Iverson spotted an empty table near the window, and as they sat, a comely serving girl approached, tossing her dish towel over her shoulder saucily as she did.
“You again, eh?” she said to Iverson.
He grinned. “I can’t seem to stay away. There’s something so . . . utterly delicious about this place.”
“That would be the mutton stew.”
Iverson laughed. “Indeed. You know the direction of my heart. That and an ale, my dear.”
“I’ll have the same,” Kit added.
“Right you are, gents.” The serving girl turned with a swish of her skirts and left.
“You’ve been here a lot,” Kit said.
“Friend of the family,” Iverson said.
“Right.”
Iverson raised both hands in innocence. “Truly. The pub owner’s brother is my stablemaster. John and Tom Turner, more regular names you’ve never heard. That wench you saw is his daughter. I may flirt a bit, but that is most definitely all I do. My wife would have my head otherwise, and I’m rather attached to it. And to my wife.” He grinned and then gestured with his head to where a great bear of a man was filling pints with ale. “That is the man in question. I value my life too much to do anything more than let the girl know she’s a lovely miss—and she gives back as good as she gets.”
“That man is her father?” Kit was incredulous. The pub owner looked like he could lift a horse with one hand, while the girl, who was now on approach with their pints, was a beauty of average height and size—Kit could see nothing of the father in her at all.
Iverson caught his look. “I cannot understand it myself, but ’tis true: our fine Ellen here is the daughter of the owner.”
“And don’t you ever forget it,” Ellen said as she set the pints down and wiped up a splash of ale. “I’ll be back with the stew.”
Iverson sipped at his drink. “Aylesham certainly had you in his sights this afternoon. Apparently, he is privy to information I am not; although, based on what he said and certain rumors that circulated the past year, I have my suspicions about why the Duke of Marwood left the country so quickly.”
“Your suspicions are undoubtedly correct.” Kit took a swig of his ale and then another. It was cool on the throat, and he was parched.
“A duel, then,” Iverson said in a low voice.
Kit did not acknowledge his statement as truth, but neither did he deny it.
“I see. Ah, Ellen, and here you are with the stew. Excellent.”
“And here’s hot bread just come from the oven too, guv,” she said.
The aroma from the stew made Kit’s mouth water as the steam rose and warmed his face. He tore off a piece of bread from the hot loaf and dipped it in the stew.
Ah, heaven.
Ellen left to serve other customers, and Iverson dug into his own bowl of stew as well. “Now you see why I’m a frequenter here,” he said between bites.
“Assuredly,” Kit said. “I believe I shall become one too.” But as soon as he spoke the words, he realized he’d been spending a lot of time in pubs as of late. Not a good sign; not really a good use of his time either, regardless of how good the stew was.
But, blast it all, he’d been out of sorts for so long . . .
“Were you there?” Iverson asked.
They were back to that line of conversation again, were they? “I served as Halford’s second.”
“Ah.” Iverson took another bite of stew. “Regrettable business, duels.”
Kit decided it was best to simply lay down the simple facts. “Sometimes it cannot be helped. Halford took exception to the physical brutality his betrothed received at the hands of Marwood.”
“Physical brutality? That’s outrageous,” Iverson said in a hushed whisper.
“But,” Kit added, “I expect his fleeing the country had more to do with his creditors than his belief that what he did to Amelia was wrong.”
“’Scuse me, but is one of ye coves in ’ere the Earl of Cantwell?” a high-pitched voice hollered from the door of the pub.
Kit and Iverson turned as one to see who was asking. A scruffy boy stood inside the pub, the door opened just enough to let him in—and to provide escape, if necessary, Kit thought, for the great bear of a pub owner, Tom or John, whichever one he was, was heading toward the boy with a scowl on his face.
“Out wi’ ye,” the bear growled. “I won’t ’ave the likes of ye disturbing me guests, ye ’ear!”
The boy cowered a bit but didn’t move. “I been sent wi’ a note fer Lord Cantwell an’ a cove told me ’e spied ’im in ’ere.” He held up the note as proof of his claim.
This was unexpected. Kit raised his hand. “I’m Cantwell,” he said.
Both the boy and the bear turned to see who spoke. “My friend Lord Iverson will vouch for me,” Kit added.
“He is as he claims,” Iverson sai
d.
The boy, looking greatly relieved, scuttled away from the bear and handed Kit the note. Kit fished in the pocket of his waistcoat for a coin and pressed it into his hand. “Good lad,” he said.
The bear growled and returned to his post behind the bar as the boy scurried out the door and vanished.
“Someone must want to speak with you rather urgently,” Iverson said.
“Indeed,” Kit said. He opened the letter and scanned the words. “I’m afraid I must be on my way.”
“Not bad news, I hope,” Iverson said.
“I cannot say for sure, but I fear there may be some cause for concern.” He left payment for his barely touched meal on the table and rose to leave, a pit of worry forming in his stomach. “Thank you for your company, Iverson.”
“We’ll do it again sometime soon,” Iverson said.
Kit quickly hailed a hackney and headed straight for Lady Walmsley’s house.
***
The hackney could not make its way fast enough through London’s busy streets to suit Kit. Images of Lady Walmsley injured in some way or seriously ill tormented his mind and wove themselves with memories of his parents. You must come quickly; there is no time to lose.
The note Kit had received had been hastily written, the scrawled signature barely legible as Lady Walmsley’s. With his parents, what had originally been brushed off as simple illness had swiftly turned deadly. Kit and Phillip had arrived home too late. He could not travel fast enough in light of this current note.
By the time the hackney pulled up in front of Lady Walmsley’s townhouse, Kit could barely contain his anxiety. What if he was too late again? How could he ever face Anthony and Amelia and tell them he’d let them down? He threw the hackney door open before the horses had even come to a complete halt and leaped down to the pavement, taking the stairs that led to Lady Walmsley’s front door two at a time, stopping only long enough to pound the door with the knocker a few times before opening it himself and bursting inside, nearly mowing down poor Foster. “Lady Walmsley?” he called. “Lady Walmsley?”
The little lady herself toddled out of one of the front parlors, dressed to the nines in a lavender day dress, just as Foster closed the front door behind Kit. “Oh good, you’re here. What took you so long?” she said.
Kit’s heart was beating so fast he thought it might break his ribs. “What took me so long?” he repeated, sounding like a fool. He shook his head to clear it. Lady Walmsley was as hale and hearty as ever. “But the note—?”
She ignored him, merely motioning for him to follow her back into the parlor. “Foster,” she called over her shoulder. “I believe my visitor needs sustenance. Perhaps something more than tea?”
“Very good, your ladyship,” Foster replied from the hallway before also closing the parlor door after Kit and Lady Walmsley had entered.
Kit took a few calming breaths and ran a hand through his hair. Lady Walmsley was fine, although Kit rather wished he could throttle her right now for causing him so much distress. “Why the urgency of the note, Lady Walmsley?” he asked. “Why not a word of explanation with it?”
“I didn’t bother to write a lengthy explanation when I knew I’d be seeing you in short order.” She pointed at a chair and took a seat in the one next to it.
Kit, feeling daft, obediently sat. “But you see, your ladyship, I was worried for your well-being; your message sounded rather dire.” Even as he said the words, he knew that because of all the people he’d lost in the past years, perhaps he’d overreacted.
“Well, it isn’t precisely dire, but we have no time to lose if we are to make it to Surrey before nightfall. I intend to leave within the hour, and you must accompany me. Ah, Foster, you’re back. Please pour a bracing drink for Lord Cantwell. And then see to some food—we should both eat before we leave. Inform Cook to have a quick luncheon prepared. Simple is best, considering the time constraints.”
Foster, who had entered the parlor bearing a silver tray holding a decanter and glasses, poured and handed a small glass of brandy to Kit and then left.
“Am I really going to need brandy to deal with what you’re about to tell me?” Kit asked, opting to set the glass aside.
“One can’t be too sure about such things; it always worked on my dear Walmsley. But never mind.” She leaned forward in her chair so they were eye-to-eye. “I took your advice, young man. You said I would benefit from having a lady companion in residence, so I am doing precisely that. I am so glad you had such insight into what I should do.” She turned her face away from Kit and coughed delicately before continuing. “We must fetch the lady in question, you and I, as soon as possible—sooner even than that, if I could have my way, now that I’ve made up my mind; certainly within the hour. I’m not getting any younger, you know. My maid is packing my trunk for an overnight stay, and you must send word to have your valet do the same. For I cannot travel there alone, and I cannot send you by yourself to bring the lady in question here—I will not have her reputation tarnished further while she is my guest.”
Her reputation tarnished further? “And who is this young lady you and I are to fetch ‘sooner than possible’?” he asked with a touch of irony. Although, after the news he’d heard today, he had a sneaking suspicion—
“Why, Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, of course,” Lady Walmsley said.
Of course.
Kit picked up the glass and swallowed its contents in one gulp.
“I simply cannot abide the idea of that poor young woman languishing away in the country any longer,” she continued. “Such a sweet girl; I enjoyed her company very much last summer. It would be a good arrangement for us both. I have belatedly realized that I should have extended the invitation months ago. No, I have made up my mind to take on a companion, and I wish to proceed with haste.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but—how on earth did you learn that Marwood had died? I have only just heard—”
Lady Walmsley gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Marwood is dead? I had no idea. Well, that’s certainly a turn of events. And it means our journey is definitely urgent now. Where is that luncheon?” She rose and crossed the room to tug on the bell pull. “There is paper and ink over there, Cantwell,” she said, pointing repeatedly at an escritoire that stood against the far wall. “Write instructions for your valet; I shall have a footman take it to him while we dine so that we can leave immediately thereafter.”
“I don’t understand your sense of immediacy with all of this,” Kit said, although he did rise from his seat and go to the escritoire. He’d spent enough time with Lady Walmsley over the last year to immediately do as she bid. “With the unfortunate passing of the Duke of Marwood, the dowager duchess and Lady Elizabeth will need a time of mourning. It seems rather unseemly on our part to show up unannounced so soon after they themselves will have only learned of his death.” Nonetheless, he sat at the escritoire and removed a sheet of paper from the drawer.
“Now that I’ve made up my mind, I want it done—and who knows what plans will be made for that poor girl when the new Duke of Marwood arrives to establish his presence. The last duke was bad enough—who’s to say the new one is any better? No, we must strike while the iron is hot.”
It was obvious to Kit that Lady Walmsley wasn’t to be deterred from her plans, and he couldn’t allow her to travel unaccompanied—although she’d undoubtedly traveled alone on many occasions during the years of her widowhood before discovering her family connection to Amelia.
And on reflection, it would provide an opportunity for Kit to get some fresh country air into his lungs and avoid the tedium of sitting and debating policy for a day.
There was nothing for it; he would be accompanying Lady Walmsley to Surrey and Marwood Manor, the ancestral seat of the Dukes of Marwood, of all places. He shrugged to himself, accepting the inevitable, and dashed off the note and sealed it. Just as he compl
eted his task, Foster returned to announce that the luncheon was awaiting them in the dining room. “Thank you, Foster,” Lady Walmsley said. “Also, Lord Cantwell has just written a note for his valet. Please have a footman deliver it immediately.”
“Very good, milady,” Foster said with a bow, and then he crossed the room to retrieve the letter from Kit before excusing himself.
“Now we must take nourishment for the journey ahead,” Lady Walmsley said emphatically, her eyes bright. “Oh, I do love an outing, especially one that portends to hold such excitement for the future!”
Kit winged an elbow for Lady Walmsley to take. “Your enthusiasm is infectious, Lady Walmsley. I daresay you may be right—and I, for one, am always up for an outing, especially when in the company of such a charming lady as yourself.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” she declared, arching an eyebrow imperiously. “But I intend to take advantage of your chivalry nonetheless.”
Kit grinned. The next few days were going to be entertaining, at the very least.
***
Time had seemed to stand still after the letter informing Mama of Papa’s death had arrived nearly twenty-four hours ago. To add insult to injury, the weather had turned gray and rainy, so Elizabeth had turned to needlework to give herself something to do and was currently embroidering a rosebud on the corner of a handkerchief.
Mama had gone nearly apoplectic yesterday when Elizabeth had told her of Lady Walmsley’s offer. “What exactly do you mean by ‘stay with Lady Walmsley’?” she’d asked in a low tone that had immediately set Elizabeth on edge.
Elizabeth had taken the necessary steps to try to mollify Mama. “I’m sure you won’t mind, Mama, since it will give you time to get settled with Uncle John and Aunt Lottie—”
“Her name is Charlotte.”
“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth had said. “Aunt Charlotte. And you will be able to enjoy your time with them without the constant reminder of—”
“Lady Walmsley invited you to ‘stay’?” Mama had said again, rephrasing it slightly.
“Yes. We became acquainted with her last summer, as you’ll recall—”