In particular, his old friend Jake, the under-gamekeeper’s son, who had started them off. He looked up from the ledgers. ‘Where did Jake’s family go?’
The man looked uncomfortable. ‘North. To look for work. The factories are always hiring.’
‘Jake was in line for the position of head groom.’ No one knew horses like Jake. Nausea pushed up into his throat. He should have known about this. Stopped it. ‘Do you have a forwarding address?’
‘No, Your Grace.’
‘And the Biggses?’
Bill Biggs had been at the bridge, cheering them on like a madman. His father had been a labourer on Falconwood lands, as had his father before him.
‘Her Grace decided to pull their cottage down. It was in sight of the folly. A bit of an eyesore, you understand.’
That was what had been missing from the view when he and Minette had walked around the lake. ‘Locate them.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. ‘How many more?’
‘The Clappers and the Webbs. They missed a payment on their leases because of a bad harvest.’
‘Try to find them also. Webb had a widowed sister.’
The steward shook his head. ‘She died two years ago.’
He cursed softly. ‘Not because of us?’
‘No.’ The man’s tone of voice dismissed any such notion, to Freddy’s relief. ‘A bad cold. Went to her lungs. Your mother did all that was proper. Fuel for her fire. The doctor.’
Thank God she’d had that much heart. Clearly, he could no longer leave the management of the estate to Mother. He hadn’t worried about it because the income was always as expected. But money wasn’t everything. A landowner looked after his people. And a man took care of his friends.
The butler rapped on the door and came in. ‘Her Grace sends her compliments. The ladies are taking tea in the green drawing room.’
The drawing room wasn’t the place to discuss these particular issues with his mother, so he would still his tongue for now and enjoy Minette’s company. He looked at his steward. ‘Let me know as soon as you have located any of our people.’ He gave the man a sharp stare. ‘Me, you understand. No one else.’
The steward touched his forelock. ‘It will be my pleasure.’
The sincerity in the man’s eyes was genuine. The steward was clearly glad Freddy was taking up his affairs in person. No doubt he thought he’d left it a bit late.
Damn him. He was right.
When he wandered into the green drawing room, one of the least friendly rooms in the house, he found the two ladies sitting in what he could only describe as a strained silence. If Mother would only unbend to Minette a little, make her feel welcome, he would be able to forgive her anything. The realisation came as a surprise he did not want to examine too closely.
‘How are the plans for the ball coming along?’ he asked, sitting beside Minette on the sofa opposite his mother, who was presiding over the most formal tea set they owned. Likely using it as a means of intimidation. Something she had off to a fine art.
‘I had a long discussion with Mr Jevens.’ Minette picked up a portfolio bound with a green ribbon and opened it. ‘I made some sketches of the ballroom and the terrace with some ideas for how we might utilise the flowers from the greenhouses.’
His mother looked down her nose. ‘As I said earlier, Miss Rideau, I will look at your proposals and discuss them with the staff when I have a moment.’
In other words, Minette’s ideas were not worth her time. Freddy looked through the drawings. The sketches of the rooms were excellent, giving the proportions and proper perspectives, but the ideas for the arrangement of the vegetation was extraordinary. ‘You have brought the outdoors inside.’ He looked closer. ‘These are orange trees.’
‘Jevens said that if he is careful he can have them all in full bloom. The room will be filled with their perfume. He believes the trellises will not be too difficult to construct with some help from some of the men from the estate, and they will be perfect for the roses.’
‘What of the flower beds?’ Mother said. ‘They will take years to recover if you strip them of blooms.’
‘Jevens assured me that would not be the case,’ Minette said. ‘Indeed, he was saying that so few of the roses have been picked these past many years that they will benefit from a little thinning.’
‘The Duke did not like flowers inside the house,’ Her Grace said. ‘He said they made him sneeze. I do not want my guests walking about sniffling. And this idea of yours of setting up the dancing on the terrace will not work. What if it rains?’
‘Then we will move the dancing indoors,’ Freddy said.
‘Why have it outdoors at all?’
‘It will be a full moon,’ Minette said. ‘It will be romantic. According to my sister, our mother often arranged al fresco parties.’
‘That is France,’ Mother said in a quelling tone. ‘This is England.’
He could see that Minette was frustrated by his mother’s intractability, but he was proud of the way she had made her case so reasonably. She would make a good Duchess.
And he was going to make sure she did not slip through his fingers, even if he did have to play dirty to do it. Last night he’d let his honour get in the way of accomplishing his goal. It would not happen again.
‘I think it is a fine idea,’ Freddy said.
Mother’s spine stiffened. ‘Well, if you do not mind your guests going home chilled to the bone and blaming us for their subsequent illness, I shall have nothing more to say on the matter.’
‘Good. Then the matter is settled.’
‘I would still appreciate your views on the detail,’ Minette said to Mother, attempting to act as peacemaker.
As if she had not heard, Mother poured the tea and handed each of them a cup. ‘I understand you spent the past hour or so with Carter, Frederick.’
That was one way to change the subject.
‘I did.’
‘You should have come to me if you have questions. Carter is all very well in his way, but he has not had the benefit of working under your father. He has no concept of our history. Of what is important.’
The man had been his choice after their old steward had begged to be permitted to retire. He forced himself to remain outwardly calm. ‘He understands modern farming methods.’
‘Modern.’ She tutted. ‘What was good enough for your father and for his father should be good enough for you.’
For the son who had stolen the true heir’s birthright. He could hear the meaning in the inflection in her voice. He quelled his anger. Swallowed the bitterness. ‘If the estate doesn’t change with the times, our fortunes will suffer.’
Her mouth tightened. Then she trilled a brittle laugh. ‘The man is impossible. He actually suggested ploughing up the five-acre meadow and planting some sort of disgusting vegetable. And then he wanted to buy some infernal machine to sow seeds.’
‘I know. I told him to do so.’
Her back stiffened. ‘You overruled my decision?’ She stirred her tea.
‘Because it was wrong.’
She fairly vibrated with indignation. ‘My decisions are those your father would have made.’ The tea in her cup became a veritable storm. ‘He must be turning in his grave. If your brother had lived, he would know the right way to go about things.’
Back to that. Of course. ‘I am sure he would.’
Minette took his mother’s cup and set it on the table. ‘Please, Your Grace. Do not upset yourself.’
‘I know what I am doing,’ Freddy said. ‘I have been reading up on modern methods.’
Mother gazed at him sorrowfully. ‘I might be less concerned had you applied yourself while your father was alive. Night after night he bemoaned your lack of application. Your disinterest. All you thought about was raking around Town. You were a constant source of disappointment.’
Minette gasped.
Freddy closed his eyes briefly.
The silent accusation in his father’s eyes and the bitter condemnation of his mother out of his father’s hearing, along with his own guilt, had driven him to the worst kind of excesses, until Gabe had come along and given him a purpose. And then his father had died and left him with the blasted dukedom.
‘It is all water under the bridge. You have been carping at me for years to take up my responsibilities, so here I am.’
Mother bristled. ‘You should have discussed these decisions with me before countermanding my instructions.’
His hand clenched on his saucer. A taut silence fell.
‘Mr Jevens thinks the weather will be fine for the ball,’ Minette said. ‘Something to do with his rheumatism.’
The look of appeal for support she sent Freddy made him take a deep breath. He had fallen into Mother’s trap of trading barbs. As usual she had goaded and goaded until he could stand it no longer.
‘If you ladies will excuse me, I am going to visit the home farm this afternoon.’ What he really needed to do was get away from his mother before he tossed her out on her ear.
Chapter Thirteen
‘I suppose it is time I went down,’ Minette said to Christine.
‘Yes, mademoiselle.’
The thought of another meal caught between Freddy and his mother made Minette shiver. The way his mother battered him with her disdain explained a great deal about the man. Particularly his chilly distance.
Clearly, his mother held him responsible for her elder son’s death. Shouldn’t she be happy that one of her sons had survived?
Poor Freddy. She had no trouble imagining his feelings, the guilt laid on him by his mother. Every time she thought about Moreau and the damage he could do to her family, she felt ill. It was why she had to make sure he was stopped.
Christine placed a sprig of silk flowers in her hair. ‘Tout finis.’
‘Thank you.’ She moved away from the mirror and picked up her shawl. Her gown was modest enough but somehow the chilly gaze of the Duchess always made her feel as if she was flaunting her wares.
When Christine opened the door, Minette was surprised to see a young footman loitering outside. He bowed. ‘His Grace’s compliments, Miss Rideau. Dinner will be served in the dining room in the ducal apartments this evening.’
She had never heard of the ducal apartments. There was something about the footman’s expression, the twinkle in his eye perhaps that seemed a little conspiratorial. As if he was privy to some interesting information. Or was it just the novelty of dining en famille? She couldn’t help but be glad if the Duchess had decided to be a little less formal. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the Duchess would give even more free rein to her sharp tongue. She winced.
‘If you would follow me, miss,’ he continued, ‘His Grace asked me to show you the way.’
He led her down the stairs and along a corridor on the ground floor past the library and along a passage that ran at a right angle. This was one of the wings of the house she hadn’t yet seen.
He opened a door and stood back to let her into a room that was very different from anything she had seen in the rest of the house. Not a dining room but a sort of parlour. A room with overstuffed chairs, dark-panelled walls and several rather battered tables. It looked comfortable. Welcoming. And very male.
Freddy strode towards her. ‘I hope you don’t mind. Mother decided not to join us this evening. She is taking dinner on a tray in her room. I thought we might allow ourselves to be a little more comfortable.’
‘Where is here?’
‘This is my suite of rooms. Where I entertain friends without disturbing Mother.’
‘When the footman mentioned the ducal suite I envisaged something different. I like it.’
‘May I offer you a glass of wine? Or sherry? Dinner will be in the room next door. Patterson will let us know when they are ready for us.’
‘Sherry, please.’
While he went to the sideboard against one wall, containing several decanters and glasses, she walked over to the window, which, as she approached, she realised was, in fact, a door out into a shrubbery with a path leading through it to the stables.
‘Have all the Dukes used these apartments?’
He came back with her glass. ‘No. These were the rooms assigned to me once I left the schoolroom.’
The heir at the time no doubt had something far grander in the main part of the house. ‘It all seems very comfortable.’ Unlike the rest of the house, which seemed cold and oppressive.
His shoulders eased and she realised he’d been expecting some sort of criticism with regard to his choice. ‘It is. I spend little time at Falconwood as a rule and these rooms suit me very well.’ He flashed a grin. ‘I like being able to come and go as I please.’
She sipped at her sherry. It was of the finest quality. ‘Something a young man might see as an advantage.’
A smile curved his lips and mischief flashed in his eyes. She had never seen him look quite so approachable. ‘Mmm...’
She laughed at the noncommittal sound.
‘Dinner is served, Your Grace,’ the footman said, entering through the internal door to the room next door.
Freddy held out his arm and led her into the small dining room, panelled to match the previous room with a dining table large enough to seat six comfortably but set for two, the places adjacent to each other and facing yet another French window overlooking the shrubbery. An array of dishes was set out on the table—a duck, asparagus, a meat pie of some sort and a fish in white sauce.
The butler pulled out a chair for her, while Freddy seated himself.
Patterson poured red wine into their glasses and stepped back. ‘Will there be anything else, Your Grace?’
An enquiring glance from Freddy had her shaking her head. ‘No, thank you,’ he said.
He gestured for the man to leave and they were alone. Surprising. Unusual.
Freddy must have seen something in her face because he smiled all too fleetingly. ‘I thought we would be better off serving ourselves, if you don’t mind. There are things we need to discuss that I would prefer to keep between us, and opportunities for private conversation are rare in this house.’
True enough. There seemed to be a footman in every room and at every corner. They were unobtrusive and no doubt carefully screened for discretion, but there were some things to which no one should be privy. Conversations and other things. She felt her face warm. Blushing. At the thought of his visit to her last evening. Had any of those footmen seen him enter her room in dishabille? Would they report him to his mother? The morals of the ton, or rather their lack of them, created little stir, as long as those involved were not innocent misses with impeccable virtue. As she’d discovered at first hand.
‘What is on your mind?’
‘Barker will be in situ at the farm tonight and will scour the neighbourhood for any sign of our quarry.’
The thought of Moreau stole her appetite. She watched without pleasure while he carved the duck and put portions of some of the other dishes on a plate and passed it across. ‘Is it your belief that it is Moreau’s intention to target someone at our ball?’
He stared at the slice of duck on his fork. ‘Our enquiries have not located him in the north, though we know he took a post chaise to York. After that, he disappeared. I honestly don’t see the connection but I believe we would be taking a risk not to assume he will arrive here in Kent during our celebration. If I am wrong and the garrison is his goal, then they have been warned.’
‘And if he does not show up at all?’
‘Then we will know we have been gulled by your Frenchman.’
Her stomach dipped and then she realised the Frenchman he referred to was not Moreau but Latour. ‘I hope he is wrong. The house is vulnerable to attack when we have no idea what he wants.’
‘Barker’s men will set up observation posts around the house and watch for anyone coming or going. My tiger will liaise between Barker and me two or three times a day.’
/> ‘It sounds as if you have done this before.’
He met her gaze. His face was serious. He was worried and trying to hide it. ‘More than once.’ He addressed himself to his dinner as if what they were discussing was the most commonplace thing, like the weather or a horse race.
She took a sip of her wine. The knowledge that Moreau might be trapped before she had a chance to speak to him was troubling. She needed to recover her property without anyone knowing. And she couldn’t do that unless they discovered where he was staying. It seemed Freddy and his men were focussing all their attention on catching him on the move.
Nom d’un nom, could nothing go smoothly?
* * *
His betrothed looked enchanting tonight. Her glossy brown hair, caught high on her head and falling in ringlets on one side, made his fingers itch to pull out the pins. The secrets in her eyes were a constant source of temptation to a mind as curious as his. While she did her best to hide her thoughts, it was clear to Freddy from the way she picked at the food on her plate that she was worried. The exact cause of her concern he had not as yet divined. And clearly she wasn’t going to tell him.
The imparting of confidences required a high level of trust, and he didn’t have hers. He hadn’t even been able to convince her to marry him to save her reputation. A pretend betrothal was as far as she would go. While he didn’t blame her for her lack of trust, since he didn’t trust himself all that much, he was not going to let her escape her vows.
He was a patient man. If being shut up indoors for weeks on end because of his foot had taught him one thing, it had taught him endless patience.
‘Is the duck not to your taste?’ he asked. ‘Shall I ask for something else to be sent?’
The Regency Season Page 15