by Stella Riley
They shuffled some more and nodded.
‘Do I make myself clear?’ he repeated, in a tone Tom had never heard before.
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’
‘Yes, m’lord.’
‘Good. Now get out of my sight.’ And when they fled, he tossed the stone away, saying, ‘Come on, Tom. Let’s go. And you’d better bring bloody Figgy.’
It was a while before either of them spoke but eventually Tom said, ‘Would you have thrown that stone?’
‘No. But it didn’t hurt them to wonder.’ Julian glanced at him. ‘I hope I’ve frightened them sufficiently. But if I haven’t … if anything of the sort happens again, you will tell me.’
‘You frightened ’em all right,’ agreed Tom, his voice oddly thick.
‘You will tell me, Tom. I mean it. I can’t protect you properly if I don’t know what’s going on. And being your guardian is about more than putting a roof over your head. So if anyone bullies you … if anyone so much as looks sideways at you … you will tell me.’
With a small choking sound, Tom swung away hauling Figgy with him and sat on the stone wall, dragging his sleeve across his eyes. Julian shoved his hands in his pockets, wondering what he’d said to provoke this reaction but knowing better than to remark upon it. After a moment, he strolled over to sit beside the boy and simply waited.
‘Sorry,’ said Tom, at length. And then, ‘Guardian? Is – is that what you are?’
‘In an unofficial sort of way … if that’s all right with you?’
‘Yes. I reckon so.’
‘Good.’ He sought for a way to lighten the moment and eventually said, ‘Did you know that when Miss Lizzie first came she thought I was your real father.’
Tom’s jaw dropped. ‘She never!’
‘She did. It gave her a very odd idea of me.’ And when the boy looked at him, ‘I’m twenty-eight, Tom – and you are twelve. Work it out.’
‘Oh. Right.’ A grin dawned and then evaporated. ‘What did she say when you told her who Rob and Ellie and me really are?’
‘She was relieved. Better that, she said, than working for the kind of loose-screw who went about siring children at the age of sixteen,’ said Julian, amusement warming his voice. ‘And for God’s sake, don’t tell her I told you. I’m fairly sure I shouldn’t have done.’
Tom sat a little straighter. ‘Miss Lizzie’s all right, isn’t she?’
‘Very much all right – which is fortunate since, like a lot of other things, we appear to be stuck with her.’ He felt the boy shift enquiringly. ‘Well, I’m stuck with Chalfont and you’re stuck with me … and we’re both stuck with bloody Figgy.’
He was finally rewarded with a chuckle. ‘That’s the second time you’ve called him that.’
‘I know. Consider it a special occasion. And don’t quote me. Miss Lizzie won’t like that either.’ Julian paused again and then said, ‘Shall we walk on?’
‘Yes.’ Tom stood up. ‘Let’s go home.’
* * *
As promised, Arabella – enthusiastically assisted by Rob and Ellie – had organised a picnic on the hayfield that might once have been a lawn. Leaving the children to their own devices, she poured Julian a cup of tea and said, ‘Gingerbread?’
‘No thank you. I prefer to keep all my teeth.’
She grinned and sat down at his side on the blanket.
‘What happened today?’ And when he didn’t immediately answer, ‘Tom has a cut cheek, a bruise forming on his jaw and I’ve never heard him laugh before. What happened?’
Julian shrugged. ‘A small incident in the village. And we … talked.’
‘Ah. I see. Male solidarity?’
‘Something like that.’ He glanced at her. ‘What would you know about it?’
‘I have brothers.’ She trapped his gaze. ‘Tell me.’
‘I made it clear that this is his home and answered his questions as honestly as I could.’
‘And the cut cheek?’
‘A skirmish with some village bullies. He surprised me there. He wouldn’t give Figgy to them. And he defended me when they called me a m--’ Julian checked his unruly tongue just in time. If she didn’t know what a molly was, he preferred not to be asked to explain it. ‘They called me something rude and said I play music like a girl.’
Arabella’s mouth quivered. ‘And what did Tom say to that?’
‘He could see me behind them so he asked whether they’d say it to my face.’
‘And did they?’
His eyes rested on her with mild impatience. ‘What do you think?’
‘They didn’t. So well done – and well done to Tom, too. I’m proud of you both.’ She scrambled to her feet as if embarrassed and called to the children. ‘Who’s for a game?’
‘Me,’ said Rob and Ellie instantly. ‘And Figgy,’ Ellie added.
Tom groaned but volunteered to fetch the ball and the hoop.
Julian remained cross-legged on the grass, looking suspicious. ‘What game?’
‘Nothing very complicated. Just a lot of running about, trying to get the ball and score points by throwing it through the hoop Tom’s hanging in that tree.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll watch.’
She laughed down at him and stretched out her hand. ‘Coward.’
As it always did, her laughter coiled through his chest and lingered there. He took her hand and let her pull him to his feet, saying, ‘I’ll make an idiot of myself.’
‘You will?’ grinned Arabella. ‘Try doing it in petticoats!’
The game began sedately enough but swiftly descended into a chaotic scramble with a great deal of shoving, yelling and barking. When Rob and Ellie complained that it wasn’t fair Sir Julian being taller than the rest of them, he held the ball out of their reach and volunteered to quit the field.
‘Don’t you dare!’ said Arabella breathlessly. ‘I’m winning.’
He raised one brow and tossed the ball through the hoop. ‘You were.’
Tom swooped on the ball and successfully winnowed a path between his siblings only to be brought down by Figgy. Ellie cheered; Rob dived for the ball at the same moment as Arabella; and the resulting collision sent her slamming into Julian’s chest.
His arms went round her automatically and for perhaps three seconds, they remained perfectly still, startled green eyes locked with grey ones in which laughter was fading into confused awareness. Equally muddled, Julian slowly – and very reluctantly - released her and stepped back with a brief, muffled apology.
‘It is I who should apologise,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I trod on your foot.’
‘Did you? I didn’t notice.’
Oblivious to undercurrents, Ellie tugged Arabella’s hand.
‘Aren’t you playing, Miss Lizzie?’
‘What? Oh. Yes.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Yes. Of course I am. Now … who’s winning?’
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At breakfast on the morning following his arrival in London, Lord Sherbourne’s letters included a polite note from the Duke of Rockliffe, bidding him to call in St James Square at eleven o’clock that morning. It could not, Ralph noticed, be described as an invitation … a fact which told him that the interview would be no less unpleasant than he had anticipated. A trip to Dorset, he reflected grimly, as he pushed his plate aside in favour of more coffee, was likely to have proved preferable.
Rockliffe received him in the library and offered him a seat.
The earl said, ‘Thank you – but I will stand. This need not take long.’
‘I beg to differ,’ returned Rockliffe. ‘And since there are numerous other matters on which we may disagree, I see no need to add to them unnecessarily. Please sit down.’
Reluctant and already feeling at a disadvantage, Ralph did so.
‘I assume Mistress Brandon has given you the salient facts about her journey?’
‘She has. She has also assured both the duchess and me that your condu
ct towards her was above reproach.’
‘If that is a question, I am not sure what answer you require,’ snapped Ralph coldly. ‘You have Mistress Brandon’s word. That should be enough. If it is not, I fail to see how mine will satisfy you.’
‘I would like to hear it, nonetheless.’
‘You think I ruin innocents? Acquit me. I have never done so.’ He drew a breath and tried to leash his temper. ‘You need not have ordered me here this morning. I had every intention of calling upon you at the first opportunity. But for Mistress Brandon’s obstinacy yesterday, I would have left my card with a message telling you so. As it is, ask your questions and let us have this over with.’
‘As you wish. How badly damaged was the carriage?’
‘The front near-side wheel was crushed and the coachman suspected a broken axle. From what I saw, the boulder the carriage had crashed into was the only thing stopping it from sliding down into the river.’
Rockliffe was frowning slightly. ‘A lucky escape, then.’
‘Yes. When I arrived, Mistress Brandon and her maid had been sitting in the rain for nearly an hour. I presume you would not have wished me to leave them there?’
‘You presume correctly. Had help been sent for?’
‘Yes. One of the outriders had --’
‘Outriders?’
‘She didn’t mention those? There were two of them. They accompanied us throughout and I paid them off yesterday.’ Ralph held the duke’s gaze with an implacable one of his own. ‘In the unlikely event that Mistress Brandon has been less than clear, allow me to reiterate. At both our enforced two-night stay in Offord Cluny and again at Stevenage, she and her maid shared a bedchamber. On all three evenings, there being no other choice, we dined together in a public room. Had it been possible to hire a carriage for her at St Neots, she would have completed her journey as she had begun it. Since it was not – and leaving her stranded without transport was out of the question – I had no choice but to take her with me. But from the time I first met her to the moment I set her down at your door, she was in no sense compromised.’
‘Until Stevenage,’ observed Rockliffe mildly.
‘Indeed. I did not know of the presence of Lady Sutherland and her cousin – nor they of mine. By the time I arrived on the scene, the damage had largely been done. They knew who Mistress Brandon was and where she was going. My appearance was all it took for them to leap to the wrong conclusions.’ Ralph paused and then said tersely, ‘You know, of course, who Philippa Sutherland is – or was – in relation to myself?’
‘Yes. Rumour has it that Philippa Wilkes, as she was then, might have married you had you not shot and killed her brother. Is it true?’
‘Yes.’
‘Making it the crux of the matter regarding her attitude towards you.’
‘It would seem so.’
‘In which case we can rely on Lady Sutherland shouting what she knows … or rather what she thinks she knows … to the world.’
‘I am as aware of that as you could possibly wish.’ Ralph knew what had to be said next and had come prepared to say it. ‘If Mistress Brandon’s reputation is damaged through Philippa’s rantings … be assured that I am willing to give her my name.’
The silence that followed this was profound. Finally, Rockliffe said, ‘My congratulations, Sherbourne. You have surprised me.’
‘Yes. I thought I would.’ The words contained a hint of bitterness. ‘You believe I have no honour worth mentioning, do you not?’
‘I thought,’ corrected his Grace gently, ‘that you would baulk at repairing a situation which, in essence, was not of your making. However, let us hope that such a sacrifice will not become necessary. I believe I still wield some influence.’
‘Undoubtedly. You intend to brazen it out?’
‘In part. I also intend to lie.’ A faint smile dawned. ‘Lady Sutherland was mistaken in thinking my young cousin unchaperoned but for her maid. An elderly aunt also made the journey with her but, on that particular evening, was overcome with a megrim.’ Rockliffe paused, shrugging slightly. ‘It is unlikely that anyone will question my word. And it is a lie which, if asked, you will corroborate.’
‘I see,’ remarked Ralph sardonically, ‘that you have it all worked out.’
‘I hope so.’
‘How fortunate.’ He rose, conscious of an odd tight feeling in his chest. ‘Otherwise you might have been forced to acquire me as a relative.’
The duke also stood. ‘I am rarely forced to do anything. But you are right in thinking that I do not consider you a suitable husband for Arabella … though perhaps less so than if you had not offered. However, I would prefer that she finds a gentleman who wants rather than is merely willing to marry her. Doubtless you see the distinction. I will also admit that, in certain respects, your own reputation would be a matter of concern.’
‘Of course. We are once more back to the matter of the duel, are we not? God forbid that you should have a murderer in the family.’
‘One would certainly rather not,’ agreed Rockliffe urbanely. And then, ‘At the time, I recall your second … Mr Lazenby, was it? … telling a different and somewhat peculiar story.’
‘So peculiar, in fact, that no one believed it.’
‘Should they have done?’
‘What do you expect me to say?’ demanded Ralph aridly. ‘That Richard was lying? And what is the point in my saying anything? Edgar Wilkes will still be dead. So I thank you for asking – but I believe I will decline.’
* * *
At Phanie’s exclusive establishment, the Duchess of Rockliffe said, ‘The cornflower embroidered taffeta and the rose-sprigged cream silk, Arabella – and please do not argue. I promised your mother that you would have gowns in the latest mode … and one cannot do better than Phanie.’
Feeling awkward and embarrassed, Elizabeth managed a smile but said, ‘It is very generous of you, Cousin Adeline. But if – if there is to be any talk --’
‘There will not be any talk because Tracy will not permit it,’ said Adeline, calmly. ‘Now … I think we might pay a call on Lady Amberley. You will meet her again on Friday, of course, but Rosalind has a way of silencing gossip and there is no harm in sewing a few seeds in advance. Ah – I ought to warn you that she is blind. It isn’t at all obvious. But I recall wishing someone had told me rather than assuming I knew.’
When they arrived in Hanover Square, the butler informed them that the marchioness was taking tea with Lady Cavendish.
‘Excellent,’ murmured Adeline. ‘Dolly will be helpful, too.’
Unsure what this might mean, Elizabeth followed the duchess and found herself facing two ladies; the older, extremely modish and the younger an exquisite brunette.
‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ said the dark-haired lady when Barrow had announced her unexpected guests. And with a tiny laugh, ‘Actually, Dolly and I were just talking about you.’
Elizabeth’s heart lurched. Surely Lady Sutherland could not have set tongues wagging already? But Adeline merely smiled and said, ‘Well, if you were wondering whether Arabella had arrived at last – here she is. Lady Amberley and Lady Cavendish, my dear. Two very good friends of mine.’
Elizabeth curtsied and then, rather shyly, took the marchioness’s outstretched hands.
‘Welcome,’ said Rosalind, drawing the girl down to sit beside her. ‘Did you have the most horrendous journey?’
‘It wasn’t without adventure,’ agreed Elizabeth dryly.
‘I’m not sure whether it was an adventure or a misadventure,’ remarked Adeline. ‘But, in a nutshell, after Arabella’s carriage came to grief, she and her maid were rescued from the roadside by none other than Ralph Sherbourne.’
‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Dolly Cavendish. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t simply drive on by.’
‘He was quite kind,’ offered Elizabeth. ‘Although it was clear he didn’t welcome our company. But the roads were dreadful and my coach was badly damaged so … ’
<
br /> Seeing Elizabeth hesitate, Adeline said briskly, ‘So Sherbourne brought her to London himself. They were together for four days. However, since Arabella’s maid was with her the entire time and his lordship behaved like a gentleman, it wouldn’t have mattered had they not been seen in each other’s company.’
‘By whom?’ asked Rosalind.
‘Philippa Sutherland.’
There was a tiny incredulous silence. Then Rosalind said uncertainly, ‘Wasn’t her brother the man Sherbourne killed in a duel some years ago?’
‘Edgar Wilkes. Yes.’
Elizabeth’s breath leaked away. She thought weakly, Oh. That explains a lot.
‘There was more between Kilburn – as Sherbourne was then – and Philippa Wilkes than the duel,’ said Dolly. ‘Oh, that’s all anyone remembers now. But before it – until it – the whole of society was enjoying watching Kilburn walking around heart-on-his-sleeve, stars-in-his-eyes besotted.’ She shrugged. ‘It isn’t hard to understand that Philippa couldn’t or wouldn’t marry her brother’s killer. Kilburn, of course, went to lick his wounds in France … and came back the discreet rake he is now. It makes one wonder whether Philippa cut deeper than one would have imagined possible. Certainly Sherbourne shows no sign of risking his heart again, despite every pretty young widow in London competing for his reputedly talented attentions.’
‘Dolly,’ said Adeline aridly, ‘will you please stop shocking Arabella.’
‘I’m not shocked,’ lied Elizabeth weakly. ‘But I’d like to ask something, if I may?’
‘As long as it isn’t about what her ladyship thinks Sherbourne’s talents are.’
‘It isn’t. I wondered why you all seem to dislike him.’
‘Not me,’ declared Rosalind immediately. ‘I’ve never met the man.’
‘No more have I,’ admitted Adeline reluctantly. ‘I’ve merely seen him from time to time – though not often, since few hostesses invite him.’