by Karen Abbott
Lady Templeton’s fears proved correct. Before the next day was over, gossip about the incident was already spreading. The true details were coloured with other insidious rumours, namely, that worse than was being admitted had befallen the unfortunate Miss Templeton. Others heard that it was an assignation gone wrong, that an elopement had been planned. Society delighted in the rumours. It was the scandal of the Season!
Lord Templeton tried to trace the originator of the rumours, but no one seemed to know for sure. ‘People had heard …’ ‘Someone had said …’ The source could only be guessed at – supported by the disappearance of Signor Vitali from the London scene – and no parent was willing to add their own suspicions of that particular young man!
Nothing of which made Lucy’s disgrace any less severe. Her mama’s dire prediction had been correct. The eager young bucks faded away and invitations were no longer received and, as the Season drew towards its close without Lucy being even remotely likely to become betrothed in the near future, Lady Templeton withdrew her daughter from the glare of Society and the ignominy that surrounded her.
‘Much of it is your own fault, Lucy!’ she reminded her harshly. ‘You had your chances and wilfully refused them all. Well, since you are determined to remain a maiden aunt, you had better learn what its consequences are likely to be. You will return to your sister at Glenbury Lodge until Society has found something else to gossip about. Then, and only then, might your papa see fit to recall you to Town! I am sure Marissa will find plenty for you to do, since their nurse has her hands full now that little Georgie has arrived. You shall take Bertie and Arabella off her hands and, since you need to learn the realities of life, you will go without your maid. That might teach you to appreciate what a privileged life you lead and your obligations to me and your papa!’
‘Mama is very cross with you!’ Marissa scolded her younger sister soon after receiving her into her drawing room. ‘The wasted expense of it all. And think of those poor girls who had no offers made to them; they would give their eye-teeth to have been in your place.’
‘Then they are likely to be glad to have the chance to set their cap at my rejected suitors themselves, now that I am removed from Town,’ Lucy retorted. ‘And they are welcome to them! Not a single one tugged at my heart-strings! I tell you, I have lost nothing by refusing them.’
‘Nothing except the chance to be respectably married instead of becoming the talk of the Town! How could you, Lucy? Well, don’t imagine your life will be a bed of roses here. Mama is determined that you will mend your ways and, hopefully, by next Season, Society will have forgotten your disgrace and you will be prepared to reconsider your actions – if any man is now rash enough to deem you a suitable wife.’
‘That I shall never be!’ Lucy declared with passion.
One of Lucy’s first enquiries later that evening was about the health and well-being of Lady Montcliffe. ‘For I would like to visit her when her period of mourning for the dowager is over,’ she told her sister. ‘She was very kind to me when I stayed with her last autumn.’
Marissa was startled. ‘Oh! Did you not hear when you were in London? Both her sons were badly injured in the battle of Cuidad Rodrigo in January. As soon as Lady Montcliffe heard the dreadful news, she transferred herself and her household to Portsmouth to be near the military hospital where they were both fighting for their lives. For some reason, it was kept out of the newspapers, though I am not sure why. Someone must have pulled a few strings.’
‘Both her sons?’ Lucy echoed, remembering her brief encounter with the elder. She had suspected many times that it was the memory of the effects of his kiss that had made her so dissatisfied with the formal, clumsy lovemaking of the young bucks in London.
‘Yes. Lord Rockhaven had rejoined his battalion just before Christmas and the two brothers fought alongside each other throughout the next few weeks. Lord Rockhaven was shot in the back whilst leaving the field of battle.’ Marissa added with tight lips, ‘Ugly rumours of cowardice and desertion bounced back and forth, though there has been no official confirmation of that.’
‘Oh, surely not!’
Lucy’s face paled. Whereas she hadn’t been impressed by Lord Rockhaven’s drunken behaviour, his embrace and kiss had made an indelible effect upon her. Her exciting time in London had dimmed the intensity of it, but she had no wish to hear such dire and shameful news. It contradicted all that she had previously heard about him. His grandmother would have been desolate had she lived to hear of it. And Lady Montcliffe – what must she be feeling?
‘And they are both recovering?’ she enquired, hopefully.
Marissa shook her head. ‘Sadly, Conrad died in April. We have had no further news of the earl, but Montcliffe Hall remains shut up and there is no present expectation of it being reopened.’
‘And it was Theo who was expected to die or be killed,’ Lucy mused sadly, inadvertently using his given name, since that was how the dowager always referred to him. ‘The Rockhaven curse has changed its course.’
‘So it seems,’ Marissa agreed sharply, ‘but I don’t want to hear any such nonsense talked about within the hearing of the children, or I shall regret agreeing to having you here again.’
Acting upon her mama’s instructions, Marissa gave five-year-old Arabella into Lucy’s sole charge, with seven-year-old Bertie being added in the afternoons after his return from the local rector’s morning tuition.
Lucy’s mornings were spent in the nursery schoolroom, teaching Arabella her numbers and letters, with very little interference from Nurse Harvey, who was more than happy to relinquish her care of the active girl into Miss Templeton’s care and concentrate her lavish attention upon the new baby, whose demands were more basic and who thrived in the strict regime imposed upon him.
‘I like having my lessons with you, Aunt Lucy,’ Arabella confided after a few days in Lucy’s care. ‘You make everything so much fun.’
‘And so it should be,’ Lucy responded, giving her niece a hug. ‘And, when Bertie is with us this afternoon, we are going out into the meadow to see how many different wild flowers we can find.’
‘Can we take a picnic with us?’
‘Of course! No outing can be considered worthy of its name if it doesn’t include a picnic.’
Bertie wasn’t impressed with the notion of collecting wild flowers, but was happier to hear that they would paddle in the stream afterwards and that he could take his favourite stable dog with them, called Wellington after the famous duke.
‘I know where a big fat toad lives,’ he generously shared with Lucy. ‘Would you like to see it?’
‘Certainly,’ Lucy replied calmly, knowing he would rather she had screamed or fainted at the mere thought. ‘I know where a few fat toads live near my home, as well.’
‘Do you?’ he admired, wide-eyed. ‘I bet they’re not as fat as my toad.’
‘Probably not,’ Lucy conceded kindly. ‘Why don’t you dig up a few fat worms to feed him with?’
‘Shall I?’ His face brightened. ‘Right, I’ll do that!’
And so, in mid-afternoon, the trio, dressed in their oldest clothes, set off through the kitchen garden and orchard into the meadow that lay beyond, accompanied by the excited young dog. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of the mid-summer flowers that released their scent as they were brushed against. There were buttercups, daisies, cornflowers and clovers, and many more all growing amidst knee-high grasses that waved in the light breeze. A small woodland bordered the meadow and Lucy hung the picnic basket from a low branch of a tree out of Wellington’s reach.
‘It will be safe there,’ she informed her charges. ‘Now, you know that you are not to go beyond the fence that borders your papa’s land. Lord Rockhaven’s gamekeeper won’t want you running about on Montcliffe land frightening his pheasants.’
‘I wouldn’t frighten them,’ Bertie informed her. ‘I like birds. And, anyway, Lord Rockhaven’s gamekeeper isn’t there. Another man lives there n
ow. I think he’s a pirate. He sits in a chair on wheels and another man pushes him about sometimes, so he must be very old.’
Lucy raised an eyebrow at this impressive tale. ‘What makes you think he’s a pirate?’
‘’Cos he wears an eye-patch just like in my book!’ Bertie said scathingly. ‘And I bet he has a wooden leg too – only I’ve never seen it.’
‘How do you know all this?’ Lucy queried. ‘Your mama hasn’t said anything to me about it.’
Bertie shrugged. ‘Nurse Harvey has been so busy with Georgie, she often lets us go out to play by ourselves, so I decided to do some exploring. I didn’t take Bella, though. She’d be frightened of him.’ He contorted his face as he added with relish, ‘He looks very fierce and probably has a big cutlass to cut little girls into bits and pieces!’
Arabella stared at him wide-eyed. ‘Don’t tell such lies!’ she shouted, adding with bravado, ‘But I’m not scared, so there!’
‘Yes, you are, ’cos all girls are scared, aren’t they, Aunt Lucy?’
‘Not always,’ Lucy countered. ‘And I am not so sure you should be trespassing on Lord Rockhaven’s land, especially if he has rented out his gamekeeper’s cottage to someone else. But stop this squabbling, or else there’ll be no paddling in the stream. Come on, let’s see who can find the most flowers.’
With the incentive of competition, the two children were happily occupied for some time, plucking specimens from the ground and clutching them in their hot hands. When their interest waned, Lucy allowed them to splash in the nearby stream. They took off their shoes and stockings and scrambled down the sloping bank into the cool water and screamed with delight when Wellington joined them, barking and leaping and soaking the skirt of Lucy’s frock as she sat on the bank with her bare feet dipped into the cool water.
‘Take that dog somewhere else!’ she commanded Bertie, jumping to her feet and shaking out her skirt. ‘Let him chase rabbits or something, though I doubt he will catch any with his daft antics and all that noise. They’ll be safe in their burrows before he even has scent of them.’
Bertie was happy to oblige, leaving Lucy and Arabella to enjoy the stream in a more sedate manner. It was only when Lucy became aware of the distant sound of dogs barking that she realized that Bertie had been absent for quite some time and deduced, quite accurately, that the cacophony of sounds was linked to her nephew and his dog.
‘What is he up to, now?’ she exclaimed. ‘Come on, Arabella. We had better find him. Give me your stockings and just slip your feet into your shoes.’
Following the sound of the dogs, they hurried through the wood until they reached the fence that bordered their land. There was no sign of Wellington, but the frenzied barking continued ahead. With an exasperated sigh, Lucy lifted up her skirt and climbed the fence, giving a hand to Arabella. They hurried on. Lucy knew where they were going. She had played truant in these grounds herself when she had visited her sister in her younger days and had been bold enough to spy upon the gamekeeper at his work and peep through the windows of his small abode when he was busy elsewhere.
They came to a rough track that soon opened into a clearing. Here was the Montcliffe Hall gamekeeper’s stone cottage. It had an air of neglect but was obviously being occupied as wisps of smoke were coming out of the chimney and drifting away amongst the trees. The dogs were barking around the back where, if Lucy remembered correctly, the previous gamekeeper had his kennels and a variety of outbuildings.
She hurried round the side of the dwelling to see Bertie trying to pull Wellington away from a large dish of some kind of meat which had been placed just within the open rear doorway of the cottage. Two other dogs were straining at their chains, howling their indignation at the evident theft that was taking place before them.
‘Leave it, Wellington!’ Bertie was shouting, pulling at hiscollar.
‘Hey! What’s going on?’ a male voice shouted harshly.
From round the corner of one of the outbuildings came a man seated in a chair on wheels, just as Bertie had earlier mentioned. The man was propelling himself awkwardly along by the use of a pitchfork, its wooden handle pointing downwards. He was dressed in clothes similar to those of a gamekeeper, which might have supported his guise if Lucy hadn’t known otherwise.
In spite of his disfigured face and the leather patch he wore over his left eye, Lucy knew that the ‘old’ man of Bertie’s tale was none other than Theodore Lord Rockhaven, the Earl of Montcliffe!
Six
EVEN AS SHE recognized him, the man began to propel himself closer to the wide-eyed group but, to Lucy’s dismay, the wheels of his roughly adapted chair hit the uneven edge of one of the cobblestones that formed the yard and the chair keeled over, tipping its occupant unceremoniously on to the hard ground.
‘Oh, no!’ Lucy gasped, picking up the hem of her skirt and running forward. The fallen man let out a thunderous oath and Arabella began to cry. Lucy turned back and drew the child close to her for an instant. ‘Now, stop crying, Arabella. You are in no danger. He isn’t angry at you. Bertie, attend to your sister and then get Wellington away from that bowl before he wolfs the lot!’
Letting go of Arabella, she ran to where Lord Rockhaven lay in an undignified sprawl and dropped down to crouch beside him. A spasm of pain crossed his face as he tried to raise himself up on his elbows.
‘You are hurt, m’lord,’ Lucy said needlessly. ‘Can I help you to get up? Let me right your chair.’ She rose to her feet and took hold of one of the handles of the fallen chair. ‘Bertie, come and hold it steady whilst I help L—’
‘Do … not … even … touch … me, woman!’ Lord Rockhaven snarled, each word enunciated separately, his lips drawn back in pain.
Lucy stepped back a pace, startled by his tone.
‘But I must help you! I feel we were somewhat responsible for your fall.’
‘Only somewhat? I would have said totally!’ he snapped. ‘And, yes, I am angry at you. You are trespassing, and allowing that mongrel to steal my dogs’ food! Kindly take control of your charges and return to wherever it is you have come from.’
‘Our offence was unintentional, so there is no need to be quite so churlish!’ Lucy couldn’t help snapping in return. ‘Maybe if I can make you more comfortable, your temper will improve.’
‘There is nothing wrong with my temper that your withdrawal will not put right. So, do as I say and be gone! And take this mongrel with you,’ he said, pushing Wellington away from his attempts to lick his face.
Arabella burst into a fresh flow of tears and Lucy hovered uncertainly. In all honesty, she wished she could just leave him. It was what he deserved, the ungrateful man. But, how could she? He might be in a foul temper, but she supposed that was only to be expected, under the circumstances. Men didn’t, as a rule, like to be seen to be at a disadvantage, did they? And this man was a mere shadow of his former self. ‘I was only going to—’
‘Damn you, woman! Do you not understand plain English? I do not wish for your help. Get those screaming children and your mangy dog off my property and leave me to get myself upright again.’
Unaccustomed to such harsh words, Lucy felt her cheeks flushing, but her sense of compassion would not allow her to leave an injured man unattended in such circumstances, even if his current behaviour merited no kindness.
She gripped her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I cannot do that,’ she said firmly but quietly, ‘but I know I cannot lift you either. Where is your…?’ She hesitated to say ‘servant’ in case that was not the case. ‘Is there not someone else living here with you? Another man? Where is he? He would be able to help to lift you.’
‘You seem to know a lot about my living arrangements,’ Lord Rockhaven snapped. His one visible eye narrowed with suspicion. ‘Have you been spying on us? I sensed there was someone.’
‘That … that was me, sir,’ said Bertie, a little fearfully, hauling at the rope he had refastened to his dog’s collar. ‘And it wasn’t me who was screaming.
That was my sister. She can’t help it, she’s a girl.’
For a fleeting second, a glint of humour shone in Lord Rockhaven’s eye but just as swiftly it was gone.
‘You’re trespassing,’ he accused. ‘Trespassers can be imprisoned … or even hanged!’ He gritted his teeth against the pain in his hip. ‘In the army, you’d be shot.’
Bertie looked crestfallen. ‘Oh! I didn’t know that. Wellington and I were playing at being scouts for the army and I saw you arrive in your cart. I’m trying to train Wellington to be a tracker dog. He seems to have a good nose for scenting things.’
‘Huh! A good nose for food, no doubt,’ Lord Rockhaven countered, wincing as another tremor of pain ran through him.
Bertie was oblivious to the sarcasm in Lord Rockhaven’s voice. He glanced back at the bowl of meat. ‘Is it rabbit stew? It’s Wellington’s favourite, you know.’ He looked intently at the man on the ground. ‘Are you a pirate, sir? I think you must be, for you look fierce enough. What’s the matter with your legs? Is one a wooden peg-leg?’
Lucy had listened in amazement to this exchange. It seemed Lord Rockhaven might have a spark of humanity in him after all, but the last personal question might well be a question too far! ‘Quiet, Bertie! I don’t think … oh, dear!’
Lord Rockhaven had sunk back on to the yard and his eye closed. She feared he had fainted. She dropped to his side again and laid her hand upon his forehead. Instantly, her wrist was grasped by his hand, causing her to jump. Startled, she looked down at him. It was disconcerting to look into his one eye but she tried to appear unconcerned. An unbidden memory of the touch of his lips upon hers swept across her mind and she felt her mouth go dry. Unconsciously, she parted her lips and ran the moist tip of her tongue over them. His face was too close for comfort and she tried to draw back, but his grip upon her wrist didn’t allow her. Her cheeks flushed.