Teddy presumed they were referring to Warner’s Dispensary.
“Would you prefer to continue working with the poor to living with us?”
“I love you with all my heart, Teddy, and I have come to love your family, too. And you can be assured, both of you,” she added, holding Jack’s gaze, “that when I make my decision, it will be the right one for everyone.” She smiled at Teddy. “But my future can wait until your future is well and truly secured by the wedding breakfast and ball. Of more immediate concern is putting matters to rights between you, Sir John, and His Lordship. And I believe I may be able to help. Though I will need you, Sir John, to take me to him.”
“I wish I could, but I cannot. The only persons who know his whereabouts are his major domo, his valet, and the lads.”
“Oh? He is not at the big house? I assumed he had an apartment…”
“He does. But he’s not there. And even if he were, no one gets past Gallet, Kyte, and the lads until Harry gives the word. And I do mean no one,” Jack apologized. “Not the Duke. Not his mother. And I never have in all the years I’ve known him. That lot are loyal to a fault and you can threaten all you want but they won’t budge. Reminds me of the devotion of his father’s servants. Given the choice, they’d rather crawl over hot coals then be disloyal to their master.”
“I should still like to test the assertion. Will you take me to Mr. Gallet?”
“I can, but I’m afraid it won’t do you any good. After one of his attacks it takes Harry a couple of days to come to his senses, and then we don’t see him until—”
“A couple of days?” Teddy was aghast. “He doesn’t—We don’t—have a couple of days! The wedding is the day after tomorrow.”
“Then we must see what we can do to ensure he makes the ceremony,” Lisa stated.
When both Teddy and Lisa stared at Jack expectantly, he threw up his hands and acquiesced. “Very well! I will take you to Gallet. But do not tell me you were not warned of the outcome.”
“Then you’d best prepare the hot coals,” Teddy said stridently. She had no idea what it was Lisa thought she could do, or why she would want to go near a man who had subjected her to verbal abuse, but uppermost in her mind was her wedding. And if Lisa could get Harry to the church on time, then she was prepared for her best friend to do whatever it took to get him there alongside Jack. “One way or the other, Gallet will tell Lisa Harry’s whereabouts, because I am getting married, with or without you, Sir John Cavendish!”
Jack didn’t like to point out to his beloved she could not marry without him being present. Instead he did as he was told, and an hour later he and Lisa were in the marble vestibule of Lord Henri-Antoine’s apartment in the north wing of the big house. Michel Gallet’s stony face when a footman showed them into the drawing room told him he may just have to send for a bucket of hot coals.
TWENTY-TWO
IT WAS THE first time Lisa had been inside the Duke of Roxton’s palace. So far all events had been held outside, or at Crecy Hall, and had matters not deteriorated at the cricket match, she would have had dinner in the state dining room. But her interest in the interior would have to wait. What she most wanted was to know Henri-Antoine’s whereabouts, though she had an idea where he might be, but only his major domo could confirm it. Jack took her through a labyrinth of spacious marble corridors, up a wide curved staircase, and along a gallery with a parquetry floor and too many paintings to count up upon its walls. Her overall impression from this glimpse inside the big house was one of unparalleled opulence. The Palladian exterior was jaw-dropping, the interior almost beyond belief.
Lord Henri-Antoine’s apartment was no different. And when a footman showed them into a drawing room furnished in crimson velvet and silk they were met by a man dressed in marked contrast to his surroundings, in a dark blue suit, and who, at Warner’s Dispensary, had tried to cajole Lisa out into the street and into Lord Henri-Antoine’s carriage. If he was surprised to see her, he did not show it. But she was surprised to see him and said in French before Jack had a chance to demand Harry’s whereabouts,
“You have a twin at Crecy Hall, do you not?”
“I do, mademoiselle. My brother Marc he is major domo to M’sieur le Duke et Mme la Duchesse d’Kinross.”
“And you hold a similar position with her son. That is convenient.”
“How so?”
“I wondered whose eyes Mme la Duchesse uses to keep an eye on her son, and now I know. It is through your eyes, yes?”
“I cannot confirm or deny what mademoiselle says. What I can tell you is that as His Lordship’s major domo, I work for him and no one else.”
“Look here, Gallet,” Jack stuck in, feeling he should contribute, “Miss Crisp needs a word with His Lordship. So if you’d be good enough to take her to him, we’ll get out of your hair.”
Michel Gallet bowed respectfully. “I regret to say, that is not possible, sir.”
“You regret nothing. You just won’t do it!”
“As you say, sir,” Michel Gallet replied, and stood his ground.
Lisa dug in a pocket and pulled out the map of the estate she had been given on the carriage ride between Alston and Treat. This she showed to the major domo, who looked at it in some puzzlement, a glance at Jack, who was doing likewise.
“If you will indulge me for a moment, M’sieur Gallet. I made a study of this map, so that if I went for a walk, I might be able to do so without having to resort to it, though I kept it in my pocket should I need to refer to it. And do you know what surprised me most?”
The major domo shook his head. “No, mademoiselle. I do not.”
“It was the number of follies and grottos within walking distance of the main house. Do you see how many there are? Perhaps there are more farther afield, but on this map alone there are eight. The one on Swan Island is not to be trespassed, but the others I presume are open to guests and visitors to the parkland alike?”
“I presume that to be the case, mademoiselle,” agreed Michel Gallet.
“I was intrigued enough to enquire of the Lady Mary’s brother, Mr. Fitzstuart, if he knew why there were so many, and he told me the ones within walking distance were all built by the fifth Duke. He remembered this particularly because he and his brother and sister spent their summers here, and these little outdoor buildings were constructed—”
“All great houses have follies and grottos. Some more than others,” the major domo interrupted flatly. “I assure you, they are nothing to be surprised about.”
“Aren’t they?” Jack stuck in, suddenly on the alert because for the first time since entering the drawing room Michel Gallet appeared uncomfortable. He looked to Lisa. “Please continue, Miss Crisp. I’d like to hear what Cousin Charles had to say, because I spent my teens here, roaming the place with His Lordship, and there isn’t a folly or grotto we haven’t explored.” He coughed into his fist. “Including Swan Island.”
“That was my second thought while studying this map—that you, as His Lordship’s best friend, would also know these follies and grottos well,” Lisa said. “Mr. Fitzstuart told me construction on these particular follies—the ones closest the house—all began when the fifth Duke’s second son was a small boy, and were all completed within a few years.”
“Your second thought? Pray what was your first?” asked Jack.
Lisa answered with her gaze on the major domo. “That M’sieur le Duc d’Roxton was a nobleman of vision and compassion, and a most loving father….”
“He was, Miss Crisp. And you got this from looking at a map?” Jack asked with surprise.
“I did. For only a loving father who was thinking of his son’s needs would have such little buildings placed within the landscape so that they were within easy reach. He had them situated so that his son could leave the safety of the house and explore farther afield knowing there was always somewhere for him to go where he could feel safe, and away from prying eyes. I do not doubt these places are interesting in themsel
ves and are visited by family, guests, and visitors to the grounds. They are somewhere to sit and reflect on the landscape, to take a breath away from the sun and the heat, the rain and the wind. But their primary function was always to provide a safe haven for the Duke’s second son. Is that not so, M’sieur Gallet?”
Jack stared at Lisa with something akin to stupefaction. “By Jove, Miss Crisp! You’ve opened my eyes. I never gave them much thought. They were just places Harry and I would explore. We even stayed overnight in a couple of them. Do I ever feel the ninny!”
Lisa smiled. “Oh, you need not feel the fool, Sir John. You said yourself, you have lived here most of your life, and thus you have never had to give any of this much thought. I, on the contrary, who have never been here, find everything fascinating, and it all requires a great deal of thought.” She held up the map. “And you don’t have one of these, do you?”
“I do not. Well?!” Jack said to the major domo. “How about it? Miss Crisp is right, isn’t she? So which one of these follies is your master holed up in?”
Lisa indicated the Italian folly marked on the map. “I would hazard a guess it is this one, Sir John. The temple of Vejovis. Mr. Fitzstuart tells me Vejovis is the Roman God of healing. And this is the closest folly to where the cricket match was played.” She glanced at the major domo, then back at the map. “And the cartographer was good enough to mark as being part of this temple, Neptune’s Grotto, which Mr. Fitzstuart tells me is a plunge pool.”
“It is,” Jack confirmed with a nod. “It’s fed by the lake. We never swam there. Harry hated the place because one of his early treatments was being dunked in the damn thing, as if being submerged in freezing water would cure him! He said he almost drowned. Frightful business.”
“Will you take me there?” Lisa asked.
“You think he’s there, even though I just said—”
“I do. Although he hated the plunge pool as a boy—and who can blame him—as an adult he would be aware that cold bathing is considered beneficial in the treatment of many ills.”
“Now that I come to think on it, he recently had a folly with plunge bath built in the gardens of his house in Bath. With a cascading waterfall and water pumped from the river. I thought it one of his extravagant affectations.”
“Like his walking stick with its diamond-encrusted top…? Unnecessary but adding to his consequence? But have you thought that perhaps the walking stick is just as necessary as the plunge pool?” She glanced at the major domo and saw that she had all his attention.
“His walking stick?” Jack frowned. “And how is that, Miss Crisp?”
“As well as an aid to keeping him upright should he suddenly be overcome by symptoms of his affliction, he uses it to signal without needing to say one word, to his minders—his lads as he calls them—and to you, M’sieur Gallet, should he need immediate assistance. Is that not so?”
“Egad! You do know him!” Jack announced with admiration. He addressed the major domo. “So, Gallet. If you don’t take Miss Crisp to His Lordship, I will.”
“I must point out that there is no guarantee His Lordship will see Miss Crisp. Or that the lads will admit her.”
“Let’s worry about that when we get there, shall we?”
Michel Gallet stood there as a statue, and Lisa held her breath hoping upon hope that her intuition had not failed her. But what she could not know was that the major domo was of the opinion that if there was one person whom his master would see, it was this girl standing before him. The first time he had visited Warner’s Dispensary with his master, he had wondered what maggot had got into His Lordship’s brain to want to visit such a health hell hole, and then there she was, sitting in her corner with her writing box, surrounded by the unwashed, ragged, and diseased poor, the sunshine in an otherwise bleak existence. And it wasn’t that she was arrestingly pretty, because she was, but he’d seen some rare beauties hanging off his master’s arm, here in England and on the Continent. It was that Miss Crisp’s beauty radiated from within, and that was the rarest form of beauty of all, as far as he was concerned. And so what seemed like minutes was only a matter of seconds before Lisa was able to breathe again when the major domo nodded his agreement.
“But I take only Miss Crisp, Sir John.”
Jack walked a few paces away from the major domo, signaling for Lisa to follow. And when she was standing before him, he said in a low voice, “If you go to the folly without my protection, and it is discovered that you went there alone, I cannot shield you from gossip—or from Harry. I say that with the deepest respect for you, and him.”
“I know you do. And I am deeply touched by your concern for my welfare, but you must know—you of all people, as Henri-Antoine’s best friend—you must know our feelings for each other.”
“I do now,” he said with a huff of laughter, color in his cheeks, gingerly touching the cut to his lip. “What I do not know is what the future holds for either of you. What I wish for may not be what eventuates, because Harry—”
“—is the Duke of Roxton’s brother, and the son of a duke.” Lisa smiled. “Do not concern yourself, Sir John. I may be young, and while I am not hard-hearted I am hard-headed. I know that to follow my heart, there will be consequences, and I accept that.”
“All the same, Teddy and I would never abandon you. Remember that.”
Lisa impulsively kissed his cheek. “Thank you. You are the kindest of men and I see why Teddy loves you. Now you must return to her, but please say nothing of this, yet. If I am to lose her good opinion, then let it be after you are married.”
“Very well,” Jack agreed, adding cryptically under his breath, “It’s not a cliff, but an Italian folly will do just as nicely.”
~ ~ ~
“I TOLD YOU. Tomorrow! Go away!”
It was the sudden brightness in an otherwise darkened room that had him awake. In his half awake, half asleep state he was vaguely aware of the comings and goings on the floor below, and it gave him an odd sense of comfort. The lads brought food and clean drinking water, firewood to stoke the furnace, cleaned the place up, and emptied what needed to be emptied. And when they weren’t moving about, Kyte came and went, taking away his clothing and replacing it with a clean set, which was just as well because he’d been left with only the shirt on his back. But as he was curled up in bed, he didn’t need anything else…
But for all the comings and goings below him, no one trespassed into this room he used as a bedchamber. The folly was a rotunda on two levels, and there were windows all the way around, with a set of double doors that led out onto a narrow balcony. There were views into the forest from some windows and others gave a view out across the manicured gardens. His big four-poster bed was positioned in the center under the domed roof. All the windows had the curtains drawn to darken the room, but someone had uncovered one window and also pulled up the sash to let in fresh air.
Unless there had been a death in the family. He could think of no other reason for his servants’ disobedience in bothering him. And it was this alarming thought that prompted him to roll onto his back. But he did not turn his head on the pillow to the undraped window, the light was too intense, but blinked up at the domed ceiling with its painting of a night sky full of twinkling stars. He lifted a hand mere inches off the coverlet, as signal the intruder had his permission to speak.
When the silence stretched, Henri-Antoine reluctantly squinted into the light, which made him wince, because of the bruising around his left eye. He was sure he must be running a fever. There in silhouette was a woman. He blinked. Surely he was hallucinating, but perhaps the apparition would at least be reasonable.
“The light hurts… Pull the curtain… Better. Now go.”
He dragged the bedsheet up over his head, turned his back, and closed his eyes.
Lisa came over to the bed.
“I will wait downstairs. But I am not going away.”
There was a flurry of activity under the bedsheet and then a hand was thrust
out.
“No! Don’t!”
“Don’t wait downstairs, or don’t go away?”
“Don’t—don’t go away…” The hand patted the coverlet. “Stay.”
She sat on the edge of the mattress and took hold of his hand. She was surprised at how cold he was to the touch. Then again, there was no fireplace, and with the sun shut out, there was nothing to warm the room. It was a gloriously sunny day outside, almost too hot, but this folly was back in amongst the shrubbery, on the edge of a coppice, and so received little direct sun.
She looked about for another coverlet, but could not see one by the bed. So she went to get up to search, but his fingers tightened about hers.
“Stay.”
“I intend to. But you’re cold and you need more covering. There might be something downstairs—”
“No,” came the muffled response. He slowly lowered the bed sheet to his chin and squinted across at her. “I don’t need… I just need… I just need—you, and to sleep.”
She pressed her lips together, overcome by his admission, and nodded, giving his hand a squeeze before letting it go. It disappeared under the sheet and he turned on his side and resettled. Without another thought, she got up onto the bed and lay down on top of the coverlet beside him. She shifted sideways until she was pressed up against his back, plumped the pillow and lay back down again. And with a hand to his shoulder, her face at his neck, and her body curled around his, which was wrapped head to toe in the bedsheet, she closed her eyes. She lay there for a long while, content and happy, before drifting off into a deep sleep.
When she woke it was several hours later. If he had moved at all, he had not disturbed her. As she had hardly slept the night before, she was not surprised she’d had no difficulty falling asleep beside him. He was still wrapped in the bedsheet, but it was no longer up around his head. He had an arm out, on top of the coverlet, and his shoulder length black hair fell across his pillow in messy disarray. She rose up on an elbow to take a peek to see if he was still sleeping and was surprised, not by the dark stubble to his chin and jaw line, but the bruising to his eye, and the cut to his lip, which was not as swollen as she expected.
Satyr’s Son: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Family Saga Book 5) Page 34