Satyr’s Son: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Family Saga Book 5)

by Brant, Lucinda

  Those guests hoping to visit the Temple of Vejovis rotunda, to see the view from the first floor, or to watch for themselves how the furnace heated the water of the pool to bathing temperature, were adamant they had permission from the Duke himself to go wherever they pleased. And what pleased them was to see the inside of this particular folly, and to be permitted to visit Neptune’s Grotto. One couple even pleaded it was a medical necessity that they take a dip in the pool’s warmed waters. The lake water was too cold, despite it being a hot summer’s day and the fact every man and his dog were taking a dip down by the boathouse. The couple would not take no for an answer. It was suggested most politely that they retire to the big house and find a bath for the purpose. They departed most reluctantly and with the threat that words would be said to His Grace.

  And what about an urgent need to use the necessary house? There was a privy just beyond the folly, between it and the pool, secluded in the shrubbery. It was one of many little wooden necessary rooms placed throughout the estate for the convenience of guests and family alike. Again, the lads could not be persuaded, even going so far as to suggest any one of the thousands of trees on the estate as an excellent substitute for the privy, where the gentleman could find instant relief. But not here, not these trees, and not this privy.

  The lads refused to be moved by any and all pleas, threats of prosecution, and even one threat of violence. Which was ludicrous, given their height and width, and the size of the muscles in their forearms and calves. All four looked to have the strength to lift a sedan chair with occupant, on their own, and without any effort whatsoever.

  And then along came a party of young gentlemen and ladies on horseback who could not be persuaded to take their leave. They tethered their mounts, adamant they would see the folly, and they would take a look at Neptune’s Grotto, even if only to dip a finger in its warm waters. And when they were politely but firmly warned off, they protested by strutting about in front of the lads evoking ancient ancestors, their lineage, and connections to every powerfully political personage in the kingdom. The lads said not a word, and remained unmoved.

  And while the lads were being taunted, and thus distracted by this noble group, three of their number ducked around to the other side of the folly, through the shrubbery behind the privy. And by keeping low and moving by stealth, they progressed through the coppice, traversed a slope that took them below the level of the folly, to emerge unscathed and upright on a path that led straight to the entrance of the furnace, which was directly under the pool.

  Here the three congratulated each other on their success at getting past Henri-Antoine’s monoliths, and finding themselves exactly where they hoped to be.

  “Hear that?!” Bully Knatchbull hissed. “I knew it! Someone is splashing about in that pool!”

  There was indeed the sounds of water being splashed, and laughter, followed by female squeals, more laughter and more splashing.

  “Not someone, Bully. Harry. It’s Harry with someone,” Seb Westby replied with a smug sneer. “Can’t be anyone else. He doesn’t go anywhere without those bears up behind him.”

  “Was the same when we were abroad,” Bully confirmed. “But over there he said they were for our protection, from foreign types and the like. And come to think on it, they did have their uses. There were one or two times when they picked him up and carried him off home. Jack said Harry was drunk. That happened again in Rome… Not good with his liquor, is he—Harry, that is, not Jack. But here…Why does Harry need those bears at Treat? Not as if an Englishman is likely to attack him, is it?” He gave a snort. “Oh, except Jack! Hahaha—”

  “Forget about his bloody bears, and concentrate on the matter in hand, Bully!”

  “I don’t see why he wouldn’t want his Batoni Brotherhood to share in the fun of a splash in that pool. Seems only fair on a hot day.”

  “We told you why, Randal,” his sister Violet answered, just as exasperated as Westby, and a roll of her eyes in his direction. “He’s with a female. And after what we witnessed at the cricket match, we all know her name—”

  “—and yours! He called you a bitch, Vi,” Westby drawled with a raise of his eyebrows. “That’s worse than had he called you a whore… He either detests you more than I thought, or his feelings for the pauper are stronger than I first supposed—”

  “What you think ain’t relevant, Seb! Harry can’t go around calling m’sister that and get away with it. And neither can you—

  “I didn’t. He did.”

  “Which is why we’re here, Randal,” Violet explained. She pouted and batted doleful eyes at her brother, that had Westby rolling his at her performance, and said, “You want him to apologise for what he said to me, don’t you? He should pay, shouldn’t he? You can’t let him get away with calling me such a horrid name.”

  “Of course he can’t, Vi. But—Hang it! I don’t like spying on a fellow when he’s busy with a female. Poor form. I’d rather march straight up to him and strike him with my glove and demand satisfaction—”

  “This is the 80s, Bully. Not the bloody 40s!” Westby argued. “Harry may look effete with his flowery clothes and his diamond-headed sticks and his bloody bears, but he’d kill you in a duel. Look at what he did to Jack’s face with his fists! Now unless you want to put up your fists—”

  “And ruin this fine nose?” Bully said with a snort. “Not on my life!” When his sister gasped at his cowardice he added darkly. “Still. He’s got to pay for what he said.”

  “So we’ll do this my way,” Westby ordered. “We get eye-to-eye proof that the female he’s with is the poor orphan, and then you leave the rest to me.” He looked at Violet. “I promise you that by the end of the ball, you’ll have your revenge, on him, and her, and so will I.”

  “You mean you’ll have him apologize to Vi for what he said, don’t you, Seb?” Bully asked, made nervous by the word revenge, which he did not like at all. “And I don’t want any harm to come to that girl. She looks a nice sort, even if you say she-she is a-a whore.”

  “She is a whore, Randal.”

  “But you haven’t proof, Vi,” Bully argued.

  “Your sister was at school with the orphan. The girl is poorer than dirt. If she had any brains, which we’re told she does, then why wouldn’t she make the most of this visit. It’s her one and only chance to bag herself a fat-pursed lover.”

  “And they don’t come much fatter than Harry’s—”

  “Eh? How do you know that, Vi?” Bully demanded, flushing. “Seb and I might know that because, well, we were on the Grand Tour with him, and fellows have to share all manner of lodgings and the like—”

  “It was a figure of speech, you ninny!” Seb hissed. “And if we take a look—”

  “Ah! Yes,” Bully muttered, abashed.

  “—over that wall,” Seb continued, “I’ll wager the pauper is discovering for herself the size of Harry’s fortune.”

  “I want your word no harm will come to her,” Bully demanded. “I won’t go along with any of this, or look over that wall, if you intend to cause her a mischief—”

  “She won’t come to any more harm than she’s already in. My word on it,” assured Westby. “But Harry will get what’s coming to him.”

  “Good. That’s fair.”

  “Then it’s settled. Can we get on with it before we’re found out, or they’re gone from here?” When Bully nodded, Seb turned to Violet. “You wanted to lead the way, so lead the way—”

  “You’re not looking over that wall!” Bully warned his sister.

  “You are such a wet goose, Randal Knatchbull,” Violet complained, and poked her tongue out at him. And with a hand to her straw hat, she ducked and went through the shrubbery, to climb the slope on the other side of the pool.

  They emerged from the foliage directly behind a low privacy wall that screened bathers from the path used by servants bringing firewood to stoke the furnace. But as they were standing right up against the wall, it was an easy thing to
peer over it and into the pool. All three looked at one another, listened for any sounds coming from the other side of the wall, agreed in low whispered conversation that they thought it odd that it had suddenly gone quiet and wondered if they should wait a bit longer until the bathers were otherwise occupied. To which Westby theorized with a lewd smirk that quite possibly they were.

  That settled the matter. He and Bully immediately popped their heads up over the wall, and as they did not immediately pop them down again, Violet seized the opportunity to also take a peek. Her quick intake of breath, which sounded as if she were choking, went unheard and thus unheeded.

  “My God—it’s Pompeii all over again,” Bully muttered under his breath.

  “Lost your way?” drawled a voice at their backs.

  Startled, all three spun about and found themselves being scrutinized by none other than their host, His Grace the most Noble Duke of Roxton.

  ~ ~ ~

  THE DUKE WATCHED the three trespassers go on up the path towards the folly, under escort of one of his brother’s minders, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  While all three had attempted to offer him muddled explanations for their trespass, there was nothing they could say in defence of their prurient curiosity in taking a peek over the wall into Neptune’s Grotto, and they made no attempt to do so. And as the Duke did not mention it, it was as if it had never happened. He hoped his displeasure, and the fact Seb Westby’s father had just arrived at the estate, would be enough to keep their mouths shut. The Duke of Oborne held the purse strings to his son’s living and thus had great sway over him. One word from Roxton in Oborne’s ear, and the threat of Seb Westby’s debts not being paid might be enough to keep the young man’s mouth shut.

  But there was already too much wild speculation and innuendo being exchanged behind fluttering fans and over communal snuffboxes about what was behind the two incidents at the cricket match involving his brother. If any of it escaped the confines of the estate and found its way into the London scandal sheets, it would cause the sort of disgrace he abhorred. He’d spent the past sixteen years keeping his family’s noble name above common gossip and out of the newssheets, and he wasn’t about to let it be dragged down into the morass by a girl whose family was one generation removed from servitude.

  Henri-Antoine fronting up to the chapel to stand beside Jack for the ceremony would do much to douse the flames that there was any discord between the two best friends. That they had come to blows could be dismissed as a piece of tomfoolery between two young men who had momentarily lost their heads and used their fists to settle an argument. At least no one knew for certain what had started the fight. But that incident did not greatly concern the Duke, because he knew Harry and Jack’s friendship would endure beyond a few bruises.

  But the other incident, the one involving the girl… The one where she and his brother had quarreled in full view of the world, and thus given every indication there was something between them, something unwelcome and unsavory—that incident greatly concerned him. What was he to do about it? What was he to do about her? And most importantly, what was he to do about his brother?

  He knew Henri-Antoine to be no saint. There were plenty of women of easy virtue who had come and gone in his life. He was known to frequent high class brothels, had indulged in all manner of vice while abroad, and was a member of Burke’s, which appalled him. It was their father’s murky past come back to haunt him as far as he was concerned. The fifth Duke’s history had been so sordid it had stuck to him his entire life, no matter he was a devoted husband and father for his final thirty years. It was not the sort of reputation he wanted forever attached to his brother, nor associated with his family’s name. He blamed himself for giving Henri-Antoine greater latitude to indulge himself, in every possible way, and all because of his illness. Had he been in full health, he would never have hesitated in demanding he curb his proclivities. But, in his brother’s defence, he had kept his carnal habits buried so deep no one of his acquaintance, and most particularly not the newssheets, had ever had cause to call him to account for sullying his good name.

  And now this! He would never have predicted his brother would lose his head over this girl, this Lisa Crisp of no family, no wealth, and no connections. He’d discovered that her wastrel father had drunk himself to death, that she had spent time in a poorhouse, and those relatives who owned to a connection were all in trade. If all this wasn’t enough to cement her lowly background, of which there was little to be proud, there was the far more degrading connection—and the one that concerned him the most—that her aunt had been his mother’s personal maid.

  How could his brother have stooped to setting his carnal sights on a girl connected by blood to a personal maid employed by his own family? Henri-Antoine had crossed an unacceptable line, a line that was never to be crossed between master and servant. And from what he’d been told, his brother and this girl had gone far beyond mere flirtation. They were now shut away in his folly, showing a total disregard for him and his family, and their guests. And in so doing they were thumbing their nose at him—a preeminent peer of the realm, and head of the family—and his authority—here, where his word was law.

  Something had to be done, and it had to be done at once

  Precisely what he intended to do, he was not exactly certain. Buy her off and send her packing abroad came to mind, but that could wait until after the ball. Paramount was getting Jack and Teddy married with the least fuss, and no scandal. So the first order of business was having the girl returned to the Gatehouse Lodge this afternoon and under the pretext she had spent the past day and night at Treat. Already he had seeded the rumour she had taken ill and been isolated within the house for fear of spreading contagion, should it prove a fever. His physician and a servant were in on the ploy.

  Once the girl was back at the lodge, his brother could do his duty by Jack as his best man. From what he’d been told by his brother’s major domo, Henri-Antoine had made an excellent recovery from his seizure, and with only minor bruising and a cut to his lip from the fight, there was no excuse why he should not spend the evening with the younger gentlemen in preparation for the wedding tomorrow.

  So with all this in mind, he turned to Michel Gallet, who had accompanied him to this secluded spot for the express purpose of keeping him informed of latest developments within the folly, and handed him a folded sheet of paper affixed with his ducal seal.

  “Give this to him at once. And I don’t care if you have to interrupt them. This must be done today. Best if she’s removed under cover of darkness.”

  “If Your Grace insists.”

  “You foresee a problem? If so, I can send men to assist you.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. But…”

  The Duke put up his brows and waited.

  Michel Gallet met the Duke’s unusual green eyes.

  “She—Miss Crisp—she is not like all the others.”

  “She is not. The others knew their place. She does not because she has no place, and she certainly has no place being here. If there is nothing further—”

  “There is, Your Grace.” When the Duke said nothing but continued to stare at him, the major domo swallowed before speaking. “I have been in the employ of His Lordship for five years and thus I feel I have a measure of the man—”

  “Gallet, Lord Henri-Antoine has been my brother for twenty-five years, not five. Whatever you feel you need to share with me, believe me, it is not needed or wanted. I appreciate your loyalty to him but—”

  “Forgive the interruption, Your Grace, but my loyalty has and always has been to the family, your family, and thus to you both. And I would be doing you a disservice, as much as His Lordship, if I did not advise that to forcibly separate Miss Crisp from His Lordship will, in all probability, lead to an irreparable estrangement between you and His Lordship.”

  “Don’t be absurd! Brothers don’t fall out over a sly wench from the gutter!”

 
; Marc Gallet straightened. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I would advise you not to believe the common gossip being spread about Miss Crisp from malicious sources.”

  The Duke took a step toward the major domo, gloved hand clenched about his riding crop, and glowered down at him. “You—you dare to advise—me about-about this girl?”

  “I do, Your Grace. Miss Crisp is poor, that is not in dispute. But she is, in my opinion, an estimable young woman—”

  “Estimable? Estimable? Are you drunk or mad, Gallet? How can you defend her after what’s—” The Duke thrust his crop in the direction of Neptune’s Grotto. “—after what’s been going on over there? Estimable young females do not behave the way she’s behaving! Good God! Her behavior is-is—deplorable. The worst type of whore knows her place better than that trollop!”

  “So it must seem to anyone who does not know Miss Crisp.”

  The Duke let his hand holding the crop fall back to his side. “And you know her, do you?”

  “Better than those who seek to discredit her character—”

  “Ye Gods! And you are of the opinion she has a character worth discrediting?” The Duke huffed his skepticism. His cheeks had gained color, finding this topic embarrassing in the extreme. “She should have thought about her character before she embarked on this quest to entrap my brother—”

  “She did nothing of the sort!” Michel Gallet retorted, and immediately felt his face grow hot at his social lapse. “Pardon, Your Grace. But that is far from the case.”

  “Are you certain you haven’t fallen victim to a beautiful face?”

  “No, Your Grace,” the major domo replied. “Miss Crisp is a beauty but she is also a beautiful person.”

  The Duke’s reaction was to laugh but as the major domo appeared serious he resisted the urge. “Her actions would suggest otherwise.”

  “Her actions are those of a young woman in love. As such the consequences are irrelevant.”