Amos sent her a look of icy disdain. ‘I beg your pardon?’
His expression clearly gave her pause and she rapidly backtracked. ‘Oh, I can see that the children are very fond of the young woman, but she is not English, and my grandchildren must be raised as English ladies and an English gentleman.’
Amos almost laughed, despite his growing annoyance and impatience at Mrs Brooke’s clumsy attempts to interfere with his domestic affairs. ‘I will not discuss my arrangements for my children’s care with you, madam. And as for your trying to tempt them up to London without even discussing the matter with me first,’ he shook his head. ‘I cannot decide what it is that you hope to gain from this little charade of affection, or perhaps I can, but either way you are wasting your time. What I said to you before I married Crista, and which I have had occasion to repeat several times since then, still holds true. You have had everything from me that you will ever get.’
‘Lord Amos!’ Her bluster was almost convincing. ‘What a thing to suggest. Is it so unnatural for a grandmother to want to get to know her grandchildren better? For their aunt to want to enjoy their company? You are not the only one who is broken-hearted by Crista’s death. I am her mother.’
Amos’s chest swelled with the effort it took him to control his temper. ‘It is unfortunate that you seldom remembered the fact when she was alive. However, what’s done is done. The children will remain here under my control,’ he said in a tone of finality. ‘They come down for an hour in the afternoons, all of them, and you are welcome to see them then. Tomorrow you will be gone.’ He turned towards the door. ‘And now, if you will excuse me. I am sure you can amuse yourselves for the rest of the morning.’
As Amos turned back in the open doorway, he had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs Brooke’s mouth hanging open.
Chapter Eight
Leona woke late, disturbed from a deep sleep by the sound of Ethel pulling back the curtains. She opened her eyes and was almost blinded by the shimmering white outside the window; a wonderland of virgin snow. She sat up and watched as Ethel riddled the fire and then banked it up.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, stifling a yawn as she stretched her arms above her head.
‘After ten. You said not to let you sleep too late.’
‘So I did.’ Leona yawned for a second time and turned her attention again to the view. A branch laden with snow tapped against the window as it swayed in the wind, gently dislodging its frosty cargo. It was still snowing lightly, but the heavy clouds had lifted. ‘The storm has blown itself out.’
‘Aye, and almost every able-bodied man in the duke’s employ has been sent outside to clear the access road to the estate.’ Ethel chuckled. ‘If I didn’t know better, I might be persuaded to think that they’re anxious to get rid of someone.’
‘Very likely. You will have heard that Lord Amos’s mother-in-law arrived unexpectedly and caused quite a stir. Lord Amos looked furious when he was told. I gather there is little love lost between them.’
‘You’re right about that. It’s the talk of the servants’ hall. Seems Mrs Brooke did not treat her daughter well, and Lord Amos has never forgiven her for it. She’s desperate to regain his good opinion and seems willing to use the weather conditions—or anything else for that matter—to bring about a reconciliation. No one below stairs has a good word to say for her. Seems Lord Amos’s marriage was a love match and everyone feels great sympathy for him.’
‘I don’t suppose she could have predicted the storm—Mrs Brooke that is—or arranged for her carriage to break down in this vicinity,’ Leona said, attempting to be fair.
With the fire blazing again, Ethel straightened from her task and shook her head. ‘Ha! You don’t give her enough credit for being…well, manipulative is the word I’ve heard used to describe her several times. I told you that bad weather was in the offing, but it didn’t stop you from setting out from London, did it? Everyone but you knew there was a storm on the way, so it’s safe to assume that Mrs Brooke did too. In all fairness, you had good reason to get out from under Mrs Yaris’s feet, I suppose.’
‘No question about that,’ Leona replied, shuddering.
‘It’s as well that you did or I’d have lost my temper and told her precisely what I thought of her. Anyway, no one below stairs believes that Mrs Brooke’s arrival is a coincidence. What are the chances of her breaking down in this precise location?’
Leona conceded the point with a tilt of her head and a reluctant nod.
‘Anyway, they have all had a good laugh in the servants’ hall at the thought of her completing her journey in the back of a farm cart, or whatever it was. Some form of transport beneath her dignity anyway, which shows how desperate she must be.’
‘I dare say Lord Amos will put her firmly back in her place and send her on her way as soon as he can. But enough of her. How did you get along with Mr Conway’s man? Learn anything interesting?’ Leona blinked and then threw back her head and laughed when Ethel quickly averted her face. ‘Why Ethel, I do believe you’re blushing.’
‘Nonsense! I’m all hot and bothered from standing over the fire. I haven’t blushed in years, and I don’t aim to start now.’
‘Ah, I see. Mr Conroy’s man is neither handsome nor gifted with Irish charm, I take it?’
Ethel sniffed. ‘Can’t say as I’ve noticed.’
‘Of course you haven’t.’ Leona grinned at her maid. ‘Well, if you find him that disagreeable, you might as well forget all about befriending him, and have my permission to ignore him instead. I don’t suppose there’s much he’d be willing to reveal to you, anyway.’ Leona tried valiantly not to laugh at the disappointment in Ethel’s expression. ‘Well, not about his master’s business, especially if he’s out to defraud me. For all their affability, I suspect both master and servant understand the value of discretion.’
‘Someone has to look out for you, lamb, and I don’t trust anyone else to do it right.’ Ethel perched on the edge of Leona’s bed. ‘Mr Tyler is full of himself, it’s true, but there’s no harm in him, and I’m thinking there’s nothing untoward about his master either. It’s Yaris who’s trying to dupe you. I’ve always said that and I haven’t changed my opinion. As for his mother, she’s even worse.’ Ethel grimaced. ‘She’s the driving force. Yaris doesn’t have the backbone to think up such a wicked deception for himself. You’d be better advised to recruit Mr Conroy’s assistance rather than suspect him of being anything other than the affable gentleman he is. Both of your livelihoods are under threat from Yaris, so it makes sense to join forces with him. His old ma won’t have anticipated the two of you meeting, and I’d like to be a fly on the wall when she learns that you have.’
Leona bit her lip, valiantly attempting to contain her amusement. Ethel had enjoyed the odd dalliance over the years but Leona had never seen her half so smitten before. She was robust enough in her defence of Leona’s rights, but there could be no doubt that she enjoyed the prospect of a dalliance with Mr Conroy’s man.
‘I am close to reaching the same conclusion,’ she admitted. ‘Mr Conroy is charming and attentive and he enjoys teasing, but he’s also very worried about the obstruction to his right of way. I don’t think that concern was feigned. Why would it be? I’d also bet half my inheritance—what’s left of it—that he did not come here in the expectation of seeing me. How could he have? We didn’t know that we would be invited to stay at the Park ourselves.’
‘We did come to Winchester hoping to see your friend, the duchess.’
‘True, but we made sure no one knew where we were going. We especially didn’t want Yaris to know.’ Leona shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t have put it past him to take advantage of the weather conditions himself and arrange a little accident for us along the way if he’d had prior warning of our destination.’
‘Even so, our coachman knew, and one or two others whom it couldn’t be kept from. I’m not saying they ain’t loyal, but sometimes things are said without thinking. Not that I think
Mr Conroy guilty of being anything other than far too full of himself. Bear in mind too that you put your foot down with Yaris before we left, making it sound as if you knew what had happened to your husband’s will and intended to do something about it. That’s probably why that rogue followed us with the intention of intimidating you. He kept referring to his master, and we both know there’s only one man who wishes you harm.’
‘Well anyway, enough speculation. Bring me up some breakfast, if you will, Ethel, then I shall get up and go outside to explore.’
‘Are you mad?’
Leona laughed. ‘Very likely, but a little cold never hurt anyone. I need some space to think and some fresh air in my lungs.’
‘And you will likely catch your death, thereby doing Yaris’s work for him,’ Ethel predicted gloomily as she took herself off, shaking her head over Leona’s peculiar habits.
Half an hour later Leona stood beneath an archway leading from the terrace to the snow-covered grounds. She had the hood of her blue cloak pulled up and breathed in air so crisp and cold that it burned her lungs. She could see that the main track leading to the gatehouse had already been cleared and some of the walkways around the house were now receiving similar treatment. She heard male voices coming from behind a pair of handsome French doors. The duke’s library, presumably. She wondered if Mr Conroy was in there with him, and then berated herself for thinking about him at all.
She didn’t want to be seen and have him think that she was waiting for him to emerge, but if anyone walked up to those doors and peered out, she would be in their direct line of sight. With that embarrassing thought in mind, she glanced down at her stout boots and stepped onto the path. The frozen gravel crackled as it absorbed her weight, and she heard a steady dripping sound as the snow-laden branches gradually thawed.
Careful to maintain her footing, she was still almost bowled from her feet when two whirlwinds came loping up to her; the duke’s dogs, wagging their tails with youthful enthusiasm as they sank belly-deep into the snow.
‘Good heavens,’ she said, as they jumped up at her. ‘What are you two doing out here alone? Well, I suppose the duke has better things to do than to…’
‘Morning. Setting off without me?’
Leona shook her head and turned to smile at Mr Conroy, who raised his hat to her. ‘I was not aware that we had a fixed engagement,’ she said.
‘No one else is keen to exercise these two, but these conditions are mild for an Irishman like me. I’m used to unpredictable weather, so I volunteered my services.’
‘How selfless of you.’ She smiled as he made a snowball and hurled it for the dogs to chase. They seemed confused by their inability to retrieve the ball they assumed Mr Conroy had thrown for them and scraped at the snow, looking at one another quizzically.
‘They’re part collies,’ Mr Conroy explained. ‘Well, probably. And collies are something I know a lot about. I have two of my own at home and they’re hardy enough not to mind about the conditions.’ He chuckled. ‘Just as well, given the nature of Irish weather.’
‘You will have to find something more substantial to throw for them than a snowball. You’re confusing the poor chaps.’
Mr Conroy flashed that wicked smile of his, whistled to the dogs, produced a ball from his pocket and hurled it along the freshly-cleared path. Able to move with more freedom they hurtled after it, sending up a flurry of snow in their wake.
‘Energy to spare,’ Leona said, watching them as they slid about at breakneck speed.
‘You have a dog yourself? I can see that you are fond of them.’
She shook her head. ‘No. George didn’t like them, but I suppose I’m free to please myself now.’ They walked slowly in the dogs’ wake. Mr Conroy took her elbow when she slipped once and continued to keep a firm hold of it even after she had thanked him and regained her footing. ‘I shall very likely get one—assuming I still have somewhere to live.’
‘I have been discussing matters with the duke and his brothers this morning. Max Sheridan is willing to help you, if you will allow it.’
‘Most certainly.’ She blinked at Mr Conroy from beneath the protection of her hood. ‘But I don’t see what he can achieve when my husband’s solicitors have failed.’
‘Perhaps your husband’s solicitors have been encouraged to drag their feet.’ She turned sharply to look directly at him and almost lost her footing again. He tightened his hold on her arm. ‘Careful. Look, there’s a shelter.’ He gestured towards a structure that presumably afforded shade in the summer and a pretty view over the gardens at any time of the year. ‘Let’s sit, if you are not too cold.’
Leona was if anything too hot, affected in a disconcerting manner by Mr Conroy’s close proximity and closer attentions. She liked to be in control, but had the good sense to know that she was hopelessly out of her depth in the company of this engaging Irishman. Besides, winter sunshine had won its battle with the clouds, its rays reflecting off the frozen snow like multi-faceted diamonds. The dogs had grown tired of fighting over the ball. They picked up a scent of some sort in a nearby thicket and took themselves off to investigate.
‘By all means.’
The wooden bench beneath the shelter had been protected from the worst of the blizzard and was only slightly damp. Leona barely noticed the inconvenience and was not deterred by it. Mr Conroy sat beside her, closer than was perhaps seemly but practical when it came to keeping warm.
‘You seem to be implying that George’s solicitors have somehow been persuaded to support Yaris’s cause by pretending to have lost my husband’s will.’ She stared at the view without really seeing it, perplexed by a suggestion that had not previously occurred to her. ‘That would be a bold and dangerous step to take. Mr Fordham represented my husband’s father’s interests and enjoys a good reputation as a man of conscience and dependability. He is quite elderly now. Close to retiring, one assumes, and I cannot imagine him doing anything dishonourable. He was as distressed as I was when George’s will couldn’t be found. Don’t forget that he assured me one had been made. If he had deliberately destroyed it, he could simply have told me that it didn’t exist. I would have been none the wiser.’
‘He wasn’t to know if your husband had told you he’d actually put his affairs in order and made you his sole beneficiary. Indeed, the duke seems to think that anyone undertaking diplomatic status on behalf of the government was obliged to settle his affairs before doing so. Your Mr Fordham likely knew that and didn’t want to arouse your suspicions by denying any knowledge of the will.’
Leona shook her head. ‘It’s one explanation, but it doesn’t sit comfortably with me. Besides, if he’s in Yaris’s pay, he could have told me that my husband left everything to his nearest male relative.’
‘But again, your husband might have left a copy of his will in your possession. Or a letter detailing his intentions.’
‘Yes, I suppose so, but I still don’t believe it of Mr Fordham.’
‘Because you don’t have a deceitful bone in your body. But consider this, perhaps Fordham has some sort of secret vice—’
‘Don’t he ridiculous.’ She threw back her head and laughed. ‘He is an older gentleman and the epitome of respectability.’
‘Ah, you can mock, my lady, but how well do we really know anyone? You walk into Fordham’s office expecting to see an aging and highly reputable solicitor who only has your best interests at heart, so that is what you see.’ A wicked smile lit up Mr Conroy’s green eyes and accentuated his rugged good looks. ‘Perhaps he is a secret gambler, or drinks himself insensible every night, or visits the fleshpots of Covent Garden…’
‘Stop it!’ Leona waved a hand, laughing until tears ran down her cheeks. ‘If you had met Mr Fordham you would never have come up with such ludicrous suggestions. He is simply not capable of any such vices.’
‘Ah, my sweet.’ Mr Conroy shook his head. ‘No wonder Yaris decided to try and dupe you. You are far too trusting, and you accept what you
see at face value.’
Leona felt a little offended by his summation. ‘You think me such a poor judge of character?’ she asked in an arch tone, looking away from him.
‘There, now I have offended you, which was not my intention. I was merely trying to make you understand that there is more to most people’s characters than they allow the world to see.’ He paused. ‘Yaris himself is a solicitor. Perhaps he knows of some legal affair that shows Fordham in a poor light. If Fordham guards his reputation as zealously as you insist, that would make him more amenable to blackmail.’
‘I remain to be convinced about that. As to people only showing the world certain aspects of their characters, that is certainly true in your case, and I have your measure,’ she replied, recovering from her temporary annoyance and matching his light-hearted tone.
‘Have you indeed?’ He flashed a roguish smile. ‘Then have at me, Lady Marlowe.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘What is it that you think I am trying to hide from the world? But before you answer, bear in mind that I am the exception that proves the rule. What you see is who I am. I either like a person or I do not, and there is nothing devious about me.’
‘How disappointing. But no person is quite that one-dimensional.’ She turned to face him and took a moment to choose her words with care, summoning up an impish smile as she made him wait for her verdict. ‘You are Irish and everyone knows that Irishmen are the most hospitable, open and big-hearted race on the planet, so you feel obliged to perpetrate that myth. Your character is indeed engaging, but if one watches you when you don’t realise you are being observed, one is left with the impression of a deep thinker, a clever man who does not always welcome the company of others because he cannot abide stupidity and prefers his own fireside and his books.’ She placed a hand to her mouth and pretended to be astounded. ‘An Irishman who prefers his own company and that of his dogs to his fellow man. Only imagine.’
On the Duke's Authority (Ducal Encounters series 4 Book 3) Page 11