The Notorious Widow

by Allison Lane

  He stopped at the corner of the house, covering her hand with his own. It slid past her glove before he could stop himself. “Then it would be better if you and Harry joined me there. And perhaps you can come up with an innocuous reason why he would seek me out – for the benefit of your staff,” he added.

  “Right.” But anger glowed in her eyes.

  “Catherine, I know any deception must grate, considering Jasper’s rumors, but the longer I can hide my interest in his affairs, the easier it will be to learn the facts I need to defeat him.”

  “I know.” She managed a tremulous smile. “We will meet you in the folly.” Relinquishing his arm, she headed for the kitchen.

  * * * *

  Catherine’s hand tingled. But at least he had mistaken her fury at her unwarranted reaction for distress over the situation. She had no right to find him attractive. Quivering in delight every time they touched would bring nothing but trouble. From now on, she must remain as far from him as possible and hide any hint of silliness.

  Harry was sitting at the table, devouring a plate of lemon biscuits. Foam clung to his upper lip from a cup of new milk, but he scrambled to his feet when she appeared. “Mrs. Parrish. Is he here?”

  Conscious of Cook’s sharp ears and two hovering maids, she ignored the question. “Come with me, Harry.”

  He complied, then frowned when she led him outside. “I have to see Lord Rockhurst,” he insisted.

  “And so you shall. But he prefers to meet in private, particularly if you wish to discuss his secrets.”

  He nodded but did not relax until he spotted Rockhurst in the folly. Then he sprinted up the steps.

  “I understand you wish to see me,” said Rockhurst when Harry skidded to a stop in front of him.

  Harry glanced her way, frowning.

  “She knows everything,” Rockhurst assured the boy. “Rankin is telling lies about her, just like he did about Jemmy. But I need information if I am to prove it and prevent him from doing so again.”

  Harry cocked his head at her, sending the strangest sensation through her chest. Never had she encountered anyone who was so obviously judging her. Her face heated.

  “I ’spect you’re right,” said Harry at last. “Georgie over at t’ smithy claims she’s a great gun, and even Pa was glad for t’ help she give him last winter when Ma was so sick.”

  “How is Jemmy?” asked Rockhurst, recalling him to the subject.

  “Snappish. He don’t mind his usual chores or even being punished for something he done, but this is different.”

  “No one enjoys paying for someone’s lies,” he agreed. “Now what did you wish to tell me?”

  Catherine took a seat out of Harry’s sight so she would be less distracting. She didn’t expect Rockhurst to succeed, but she had to admit that enlisting a child to search for evidence was an interesting approach. Children went everywhere and were often overlooked by adults. Few people expected them to understand what they heard or saw. Of course, a child’s word would not outweigh Jasper’s denials. Nor would it prevent him from retaliating once Rockhurst was gone.

  “I don’t know if this means anything,” Harry began diffidently. “My brother Bob had to fetch some nails from t’ smithy yesterday and took me with him.” He grinned. “Bob flirts with t’ smith’s girl, but he don’t want Pa to know. He blames me for not being at hand when he’s ready to leave to explain why t’ errands take so long. In return, he does some of my chores so’s I can check on Jemmy.”

  “I presume he encourages you to run off for a good long time,” said Rockhurst.

  “Right. Anyway, Georgie and me went downstream, looking for mushrooms. When we got to that copse just past t’ village, we heard Master Jasper shouting on t’ other side of a hedge.”

  “Who was he with?” asked Rockhurst.

  “Farmer Lansbury.”

  “He owns a farm near Exeter,” Catherine clarified when Rockhurst glanced her way.

  “I take it Jasper was unhappy?” Rockhurst said.

  Harry nodded. “We didn’t dare creep close enough to see. If he’da heard us, we’d be doing double chores for a month or more. But I think Lansbury’s cart was blocking t’ road. Or maybe he was moving slower’n Master Jasper wanted to drive. The road pinches there, with high hedges both sides so’s two wagons can’t pass. Master Jasper went on and on about inconveniencing one’s betters. Then he swore Lansbury would be sorry.”

  “But he made no specific threat?”

  “No. But he’ll do something. He said it t’ same way he told Jemmy he’d be sorry he poked his head in that carriage.”

  “Thank you.” Rockhurst laid a companionable hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I can’t promise to protect Lansbury, because I don’t know what Jasper has in mind. But I will do what I can to keep him from harm. Have you heard whether Lord Rankin is back yet?”

  “Last night. Happy as a lark for now. It’ll be a week afore he gets that—” He glanced over his shoulder and snapped his mouth shut.

  Catherine felt her face heat.

  “Just so.” Laughter bubbled under Rockhurst’s voice. “You’d best be heading home before your father sees you’re gone. Let me know if you hear anything else, but don’t ask questions. And stay away from Jasper.”

  “Yes, sir.” Harry skipped happily away.

  “You know there is no way to protect Lansbury,” she said softly.

  “Who is he?”

  She shrugged. “A yeoman farmer, who works his land, pays his taxes, and leaves others alone. He and Edna have no children, but he brought in a nephew to help with the farm. Everyone assumes Brad will inherit. And soon. Lansbury’s health is not good.”

  “Harvest is complete, so he won’t suffer like Jones. Does he raise animals?”

  “A few, but only for his own use.”

  “Can his wife be seduced?”

  “Never!” Picturing Edna making eyes at another was ludicrous. “She dotes on him, dividing her time between running the house and helping with parish work. Harold found her invaluable, as have I.”

  “And Brad? How old is he?”

  “Eighteen.”

  He grimaced. “An age ripe for trouble – or an explanation for trouble once it finds him. My groom will keep an eye on him to keep Rankin from tempting him into deep gaming or some other excess.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Look at the geese,” exclaimed Sarah, bouncing with excitement as she pointed out the carriage window. “I thought they were all gone.” Her face suddenly twisted into a frown. “I hope they don’t freeze. Mary says they have to leave in the winter because it is too cold here.”

  Blake turned until he could see where she was pointing. She was right. A dozen geese flew in a ragged V headed south. “It is rather late,” he agreed. “But the weather has been quite mild, so they are fine. Animals sense how severe a season will be.”

  “Maybe they are snow geese,” she suggested. “Mary says that snow geese can live in very cold places.”

  “I don’t know about that, for I’ve never seen a snow goose, but I suspect that these are common gray geese.”

  “We had gray geese by the lake last month. Uncle William was pleased.”

  Because they made such good eating. But he said nothing lest he dampen Sarah’s spirits.

  Inviting her to Exeter had been a good idea. She had a unique way of looking at the world that made the journey seem shorter. When they’d passed a farm, she had not mentioned the men repairing a fence or the maid beating a carpet or even the toddler rolling on the grass with two puppies. “Look at the haystack,” she’d said, giggling. “It looks just like Grandmother Ernestine’s hair!” Which was true, he reflected, recalling his visit to the gallery. One of the ladies had sported the towering hairstyle popular during the previous century.

  He’d also discovered that she knew more about birds than about the estate animals.

  “Mary tells me about them,” she had explained. “She loves birds. Laura teases her and s
ays we must find a man who looks like a bird if we ever expect her to wed.”

  “There are a few who come to mind,” he’d answered without thought, making her laugh. Then he’d had to describe the tulips who strutted about London. Lord Wigby’s spindly legs and long nose demanded comparison to a stork, though his gaudy waistcoats would have been frowned upon by that black-and-white bird. Jeremy Grant’s elaborate plumage rivaled descriptions of the fabled bird of paradise. And Lord Edward’s excessive padding and towering cravats threw his chest out like a pouter pigeon’s. But none were suitable mates for an intelligent lady, particularly an educated one. Grant restricted his thoughts to clothes, hoping to replace Brummell as an arbiter of fashion; Wigby cared only for horses; and Lord Edward considered that dedicated rake Devereaux his mentor.

  “Did you remember the bread?” Sarah asked when a tree blocked her view of the geese. “We always feed the cathedral squirrels when we visit Exeter.”

  “Right there.” He pointed to the bundle on the opposite seat. Catherine had explained the ritual when he requested permission for Sarah to accompany him. Though feeding the squirrels was not among his usual pastimes, he had agreed. He suspected she’d been trying to discourage this jaunt – which showed how much she feared Jasper.

  With justification, he admitted, while a portion of his mind responded to Sarah’s chatter. He risked raising questions by appearing in public with a child, even a precocious charmer. It was not the action of a man seeking political support. Nor did it fit a gentleman’s visit to an old friend. He would have to make a show of seeking Sarah’s help to buy a gift for one of his cousins – Camilla’s youngest was almost tolerable – and hope the explanation would quiet people’s tongues.

  In truth, he had invited Sarah to deflect another of Laura’s plots. This time, she had announced that she and her maid would also be in town today, and wouldn’t it be fun to meet for tea at the Golden Stag before returning to Seabrook. The idea of sharing a private parlor with Laura and a maid who could become blind and deaf – assuming she remained in the room at all – curdled his blood, but Laura had dropped the idea when he mentioned Sarah.

  Be careful about using an innocent, warned his conscience, raising a twinge of guilt.

  He stifled it. Yes, he was using her, but he really did enjoy her company, and she would come to no harm. He would protect her from Jasper and give her a pleasant outing. Soliciting her advice would explain her presence and preserve the story he’d told Mrs. Telcor. And no one would realize that his primary motive was escaping a determined flirt.

  Avoiding Laura grew harder every day, for she was even more forward than he’d feared. She had abandoned her routine, turning up wherever he went – except the nursery, which had become his refuge. The servants must be helping her, for she managed to follow him everywhere.

  Like yesterday. He had walked to the village to gather additional information about Jasper. To avoid Laura, he’d told no one of his intentions – which made the trip pointless, he admitted now. Since Catherine had not arranged interviews, the people had seemed sullen and uncooperative. Blake had no way of knowing whether their wariness reflected fear of Jasper, distrust of strangers, or awe of his rank. Not that it mattered. The effect was the same.

  As he’d returned to Seabrook, he’d heard a branch snap up ahead. Instinct drove him behind a tree. Thus he’d been hidden when Laura hurried past, sans maid, headed for the village. Cursing her persistence, he’d waited until she was out of sight before fleeing. At least he’d been in the woods, wearing a greatcoat that faded into the shadows.

  But something had to be done. Unfortunately, proper manners forbade complaints to William, nor could he confront her directly. Just as Jasper excused blatant attacks as youthful high spirits, Laura could claim that she was merely being a good hostess to her brother’s guest. And he still had no idea whether Catherine and William were actively helping her. Even fate was conspiring against him. Like last night.

  When he and William reached the drawing room after dinner, Catherine had just left to settle a dispute in the kitchen. Almost immediately, William was summoned to the stable, where one of the horses had kicked a lad in the head. Thus Blake had been left alone with Laura and Mary. He had pulled Mary from her book, demanding that she join the conversation. And he had escaped to his room the moment he could do so without insult, but it had been another unpleasant evening. Laura had again twisted his departure into concern for her reputation. Her willingness to overlook his patent disinterest bothered him more each day.

  His investigation was taking longer than he’d expected, for he kept running into walls. The village had not been his only failure. Ted had learned nothing. The other grooms refused to discuss Jasper, making signs against evil whenever his name was mentioned. It was beginning to look like Jasper was worse than even Catherine knew.

  The carriage clattered onto Exeter’s cobbled streets. His original pretext for bringing Sarah was a geography lesson. They would visit the stationer to study the latest map of the world – Mary used rough sketches to illustrate the various countries. And it would allow him to decide whether Cavendish was deliberately defrauding his customers or was unwittingly selling another man’s fakes.

  “What is Vicar Sanders doing here?” Sarah’s surprise pulled him away from his thoughts.

  “He seems to be arguing over a horse. Who is the man with him?”

  “Squire Pott.” The two men were gesticulating wildly as they examined a mare. “Papa would be angry to find him here. He said a vicar’s first duty is to his parishioners, so he helped people every day.”

  “Your mother does the same.” He distracted her as the vicar landed a blow to the squire’s belly, making the horse’s ears prick to attention. “And I’ve heard that you assist her. Your father would be proud.”

  “I wish I could do more,” she said with a sigh that belied her tender years. “She won’t let me distribute remedies to the sick, but I got to talk to Mr. Matthews. He came back from the army with only one leg. We found him a position as a clerk.”

  “Very good, Sarah. Injured soldiers deserve our help.” His upraised hand stopped another protest that she wanted to do more. “Your first duty is to learn the lessons Mary and your mother assign.”

  “I suppose, but it’s more fun to help others.” The carriage turned into High Street, drawing her eyes back to the window. “Look! There is Mrs. Telcor.” She pointed toward the gossip.

  “Manners prohibit pointing,” he reminded her.

  Mrs. Telcor frowned when she caught sight of Sarah, probably expecting Catherine to be with them.

  “Mama says it’s bad manners to say nasty things about people, too, but Mrs. Telcor does it all the time,” Sarah confided.

  “Not everyone follows the rules. And most rules have exceptions. Sometimes people need to know bad things.” Like warning young men about suspected cheats and warning young ladies about predators like Dornbras.

  “Then why does no one talk about the bad things Mr. Rankin does?” This time her sigh expressed a seven-year-old’s perplexity.

  “If no one talks, how do you know he does anything bad?”

  “Papa called him a bad man. Besides, I saw him. He cut the harness on Mr. Howard’s carriage, then claimed Billy Wyath did it. Billy tried to protest, but Mr. Rankin pinched him to make him be quiet. When I told Mama, she just said to stay away from Mr. Rankin and never talk about him.”

  “Did you see what Billy did to annoy Rankin?”

  She shook her head. “But it must have been bad. They sent him away to school the next day.”

  “Not as a punishment,” he said firmly. “Most boys go away to school. It would have been arranged long before.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t believe him.

  “Trust me, Sarah. I started school at age eight, as did most of my friends.” He squeezed her hand as the carriage drew to a halt. “I will take care of Mr. Rankin, but your mother is right. He is powerful and can hurt your whole family,
so stay away from him.”

  He mulled her words while they examined the map Cavendish spread on a table for them. He was amazed at how many people knew Rankin for the tyrant he was. Children, tenants, tradesmen. Yet all were so far beneath Rankin’s consequence, they could never fight back. How many others hugged the pain to themselves, unaware that they were not alone?

  * * * *

  Catherine had fretted all day about letting Rockhurst take Sarah to Exeter. It wasn’t a matter of trust – she knew so proper a man would do nothing to harm Sarah – but appearing together would link him to her. What would Jasper do?

  The most innocuous response would claim that Rockhurst was her latest lover. Jasper might already have done so, for he must know Rockhurst was staying at the manor. Or Jasper might know about Rockhurst’s investigation and try to discredit him. She didn’t want William’s plan to hurt the earl. But her greatest fear was that Jasper would take advantage of Sarah’s public appearance to injure her.

  By sunset, she was frantic. When Rockhurst’s carriage headed straight for the stable instead of dropping its passengers at the door, fear sent her flying after it. She needed every bit of control she could muster to greet them normally when they emerged unscathed.

  “Mama!” shouted Sarah. “Mr. Cavendish has a huge map that shows every place in the world, and Rockhurst taught me how to read it. Then we fed the squirrels, and had cake and chocolate, and Miss Ander’s dog escaped and rolled in the mud, and—”

  “Slow down, sweetheart.” She glanced apologetically at Rockhurst. “I hope she was not too demanding.” She should have sent Annie with them. Few gentlemen cared to have sole charge of children.

  “She is a delight. And the dog made quite an impression, sharing its mud coat with a dozen observers, including Mrs. Telcor.”

  “Heavens. We will be hearing about this for months.”

  “Years.” He chuckled. “She was wearing a new ermine-trimmed cloak, which is now plastered with mud. It will never be the same.”

  It was a delicious image, for the woman was her most scathing detractor.