He smiled. “Yes, he did well tonight.”
“But what I can’t understand is why Piers chose me. I mean, I can understand why he chose your mistresses, but why me?”
“He must know that I’ve spent a night or two here, and he’s drawn his own conclusions.”
She let out a huff of breath. “Every man and his dog knows you spent two nights here. There are no secrets in the country. They know about Lord Reeve and Emily too. The vicar came to call the day after you left. They think I’m a fallen woman.”
He suppressed a smile. “What did you tell the vicar?”
She made a face. “I told him the truth, but I don’t think he believed me.”
“Leave it to me. I’ll make him believe you.”
She sucked in a breath. “Anything you could do would only make matters worse.” She stared directly into his eyes. “And your coming here tonight hasn’t helped. Heaven only knows what my neighbors will make of that.”
His shrug was barely perceptible. “Don’t lecture me about gossip. I’ve lived with it all my life.” Now it was he who stared directly into her eyes. “Don’t be too quick to believe all you hear.”
There was a challenge in his eyes, but she was too worn out to respond to it. “Gossip is the least of my worries right now,” she said.
“What will you do?”
She looked around the kitchen—at Ben’s sleeping form, at Lance, who was now snoring softly, and finally at her blistered hands. “We’ll manage. We always do.”
The words were hollow. She didn’t see how they could manage with only Mrs. Trent to do all the work, and that was out of the question. Her housekeeper was old and frail. She did too much as it was. They couldn’t stay here under these conditions.
Whatever happened, she wasn’t going to abandon her housekeeper or Ben. She owed Mrs. Trent too much. When her mother lay dying, slowly wasting away from some disease no doctor had ever diagnosed, it was Mrs. Trent who was there to help her, changing bed linens, washing down her mother’s frail body, taking turns in the sickroom, giving a young adolescent girl, as she was then, the courage to face the inevitable. Her poor father was no help. He couldn’t look at her mother’s wasted frame without breaking down in tears.
It had been a dark day when she’d had to let Mrs. Trent go, and a dark day for Mrs. Trent as well. She couldn’t find work, so she’d gone to live with a married daughter. It hadn’t worked out. Their roles were reversed, and Mrs. Trent hadn’t taken kindly to being treated as a child. When she’d turned up on Jane’s doorstep with her grandson in tow, Jane had welcomed her with open arms.
But it was a precarious existence. They’d had some setbacks, but nothing like this. Her trouble was that she constantly overestimated her capacity to handle things or change things or make a difference. She’d let Emily down. It was the same with the library. So much energy expended with nothing to show for it! The laws of England would never be changed in a woman’s favor.
And now this. Another wreck to add to her list of wrecks.
She looked at the blisters on her hands. They were beginning to sting like the devil. What would she do now? She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to crawl into a nice, clean bed and sleep for a hundred years.
Mrs. Trent’s voice roused her from her apathy. “I found these upstairs in your dresser.” She crossed to Jane in slow, plodding steps and held out a pair of white cotton gloves that were only marginally cleaner than the ones on the table. “There isn’t a room in the house that’s been spared. Everything smells of smoke or is covered in ash. The good doctor says we canna stay here.” Her voice cracked, but she went on staunchly, “But dinna fash yourself, lass. Our neighbors will take us in.”
“Oh, Trentie!” was all Jane could say.
When Mrs. Trent was deeply troubled, she invariably lapsed into a broad Scottish dialect. Jane stirred herself, wracking her brains for a different solution. She didn’t want to go to her neighbors because she didn’t know them that well—her own fault, of course—and she didn’t want to be beholden to any of them, or to be looked at askance because they suspected she was Lord Castleton’s mistress. Besides, they would have to split up. No one would take in three people, two of them invalids, not to mention a dog that needed constant care.
She and Mrs. Trent could put up at the Ladies’ Library, she supposed, but Ben certainly couldn’t. And how would she manage to take care of Lance?
It was only for a week or two. Then what? Her thoughts ran on.
It was at this point that Case voiced the thought that had been turning in his mind, ever since he’d walked into the kitchen and grasped the situation. In fact, he’d been wondering how he could broach the subject without getting his nose snapped off. But the droop of Jane’s shoulders and the worry in Mrs. Trent’s eyes convinced him that now was the time to speak.
He got up. “It’s because of me you’re in this fix, so I’m the one who should make restitution. You’re coming with me, all of you, tonight, just as soon as I make the arrangements, and I won’t take no for an answer. In a week or two, when you’re on the mend, and I think it’s safe to return, then well see.”
Jane said, “You think Piers may come back here?”
“No, I don’t. He’s made his point. But I’ve been wrong before now, and I want you all to be safe. Mrs. Trent, do you think you can pack a box—with essentials only, mind—for Miss Mayberry, yourself, and the boy?”
Mrs. Trent was staring at him as though he had spoken to her in a foreign language. “Mrs. Trent?” he prompted.
“Aye,” she said, blinking rapidly, then, as his words sank in, “Yes, your lordship. At once.”
“Good.”
When he made to follow the housekeeper out, Jane called after him, “But where are you taking us? Surely not to the Albany?”
“The Albany?” He kept on walking because he didn’t want to give her the chance to argue with him. “Oh, no. The Albany is for bachelors only. I’m taking you to my sister’s house. Woodlands. I may have mentioned that she’s in Scotland right now?” And to quash any protest, he added, “Lance will love it.”
Jane endured the next few hours in a blurred haze—another interview with the constable, Mrs. Trent washing the grime from her face and dressing her because she couldn’t do for herself, selecting a change of clothes, then wandering like a wraith from room to room, and gingerly plucking things from shelves and dressers she couldn’t bear to leave in case thieves broke in in her absence—her mother’s pearls, the Egyptian cameo her parents had given her for her fifteenth birthday, her father’s walking stick with its distinctive silver stag’s-head handle, her pistol, and other odds and ends. Finally, she scooped up her notes for various projects she was working on and hoped to sell to augment her dwindling savings.
The constable returned to lock up the house and chided her gently for her habit of leaving all the bedroom windows open at night. If she’d kept them closed, he said, most of the ash would have been kept out of the house. Then it was time to leave, and true to his word—not that she’d ever doubted him—Lord Castleton had arranged everything.
They left in two coaches—she’d no idea where he’d found them—Mrs. Trent and Ben in one, and herself and Lance in another. Lord Castleton and two of his friends—she couldn’t remember their names— were on horseback, escorting them like a guard of honor. Lance was awake now, but not making a sound. When she put her face close to his, he licked her cheek.
“You’re going to be fine, boy,” she crooned. “We’re all going to be fine,” and she tried to believe it.
Maybe, if she hadn’t been so tired, she would have thought of all the good reasons she shouldn’t be accepting the earl’s charity or taking up residence in his sister’s house, especially when she wasn’t there to object. But the swaying of the carriage had a calming effect. She moved closer to Lance. He put his head on her lap. They both slept.
She awakened momentarily to find herself in a strange bed. A female voice made soothing, clucking sounds and pulled lavender scented sheets up to her chin. She knew that scent.
“Mama?” she murmured, and slipped into a deep, untroubled sleep.
Chapter 11
Twenty-four hours went by before Gideon Piers discovered where Jane Mayberry was hiding. On the second day, he went to Woodlands in person to make sure that it was she, and not some decoy set out to entrap him.
He and Merrick were in the woods bordering the pasture and had a good view of the front of Woodlands and its stables. Joseph was at the top of the rise, out of sight, looking after the horses. In the last hour, they’d seen two coaches pull up and disgorge a dozen or so footmen or groundsmen before taking off again. Now, the Duke of Romsey’s carriage had arrived.
Gideon collapsed his telescope and got to his feet. “The duke, himself,” he said. “Now why am I not surprised?”
“Who is the lady with him?” asked Merrick.
“The venerable Lady Sophy.” Piers gave a low, rich laugh. “I presume she’ll be the girl’s chaperon.”
“We’d better get out of here,” said Merrick. He pointed to liveried servants who had left the house and were beginning to fan over the property. He was annoyed but managed to keep his irritation from showing. When he accepted a job, he liked to be in charge. He liked to know what he was doing. He didn’t know what in Hades he was doing here, spying on Jane Mayberry. A week ago, she wasn’t that important. Suddenly, Piers was interested in her every movement. Something must have happened when Piers went out to Highgate to burn her barn, but whatever it was, Piers wasn’t saying.
Piers was in no hurry to leave. “No sign yet of Castleton.”
“You think he’ll come?”
“Oh, yes, he’ll come, if not today, tomorrow.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
Piers turned a piercing gaze upon Merrick. “You’re not the only one working for me, John.” He gave a ghost of a smile. “I have spies everywhere. Castleton will come.”
A movement caught his eye, and he adjusted his telescope to focus on the stable. “Ah, there goes Harper with her dog. She almost died saving that dog.”
He couldn’t help admiring her. She’d almost bested him. He’d been too complacent, too sure of himself. When they’d cornered her outside the barn, he hadn’t expected her, a mere woman, to fight back. He’d expected her to be more like his sister, Letty. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Merrick was stamping his feet on the hard-packed earth, trying to keep warm. “So what do you want me to do now?”
Piers either ignored the question or did not hear it. “Is the dog a problem?”
“No. He is only allowed out to relieve himself.”
“I think she loves animals more than she loves people.”
Merrick was silent, hoping Piers would say more, give him a clue as to what had happened at Highgate. When his companion did not satisfy his curiosity, however, Merrick said, “You won’t get to the dog. Harper never lets it out of his sight.”
Piers adjusted his telescope and put it in his pocket. “What did you do with Mrs. Standhurst’s dog?”
“What?”
“Mrs. Standhurst’s lapdog. What did you do with it?”
The question threw Merrick onto the defensive. “I gave it to my mother. She always wanted a dog. She lives in Wimbledon, so it’s unlikely that anyone will connect the dog to Mrs. Standhurst.”
“I want it back. Go to Wimbledon, right now, and bring it here. I’ll wait for you at the Barracks across the river. And tell Joseph I’ll be along in a minute.”
Merrick could hardly suppress a shudder. He wasn’t thinking of the dog, but of his mother when he told her she was going to lose her new pet.
When Merrick left, Piers leaned against a tree, and gazed at the scene below him, taking everything in. Woodlands did not impress him one whit. Lady Rosamund was a duke’s daughter, and
this
was the best she could do? His own property in Bristol was far superior to this. And no one gave him anything, no wealthy relatives in the wings to set him up and ease his way in the world. Everything he had achieved had come to him through his own daring and genius.
He could hardly contain his contempt.
Groundsmen were beginning to patrol the perimeter of the property. It was time to go, but he would be back. Castleton thought he was so clever, making out that his aunt and the Mayberry woman were friends and that was why he’d brought her here. They were treating the girl like royalty. Castleton must be besotted.
His lordship, he thought scornfully, was in for a surprise. He would send him a message that he couldn’t mistake. There was no escaping retribution.
And he’d teach Jane Mayberry a lesson into the bargain, a foretaste of what was to come.
With a low laugh, he turned and went after Merrick.
The dining room was snug and cozy; the dinner, however, was an ordeal that Jane could hardly wait to end. There were only four of them, Lady Sophy, Jane, the duke, and Castleton, but the Deveres possessed
presence,
and Jane felt as though she’d shrunk.
Part of the problem was that the Deveres were all so tall—tall, graceful, and handsome, even Lady Sophy, in spite of her advanced years. Like the duke, she possessed a thick head of hair, but while the duke’s hair showed very little silver, Lady Sophy’s mane was snowy white, and was shown off dramatically by her black taffeta gown. Jane could imagine them as a troupe of actors—The Dashing Deveres.
There was something else that made her feel awkward. She didn’t know why the duke and Lady Sophy were here. She knew what she’d been told. His aunt, the earl said, insisted that Jane could not stay at Woodlands unchaperoned, and her ladyship would be more than happy to take on that role.
Servants, it seemed, even her own, dear Mrs. Trent, did not count as chaperones. Such were the ways of the rich.
The duke had not bothered to explain his presence, and his son and heir, who had arrived late, contributed almost nothing to the conversation except the occasional inanity. Would this interminable dinner never end?
Case was highly conscious, if Jane was not, of the veiled glances of his aunt and father, glances that were acutely aware of every nuance and change in his expression, and Jane’s. No fool Lady Sophy or His Grace! He was annoyed that his father had insisted on coming along. His feeble excuse—that he wanted to visit his old friend Harper—fooled nobody. For Jane’s sake, Case was saying nothing to arouse their suspicions, but he was listening intently, and if either of them dared make Jane feel uncomfortable, he was ready to act.
Lady Sophy had been telling His Grace how she and Jane had met. “So you see,” she concluded, “Jane is one of the leading lights at the Ladies’ Library, and is an inspiration to us all.”
The duke seemed unimpressed by this tribute and ruthlessly diverted the conversation to what most interested him. “I once knew a family called Mayberry,” he said. “The Devonshire Mayberrys. Military people. Are you any relation to them?”
Case threw his sire a withering look, but before he could intervene, Jane spoke. “No, Your Grace. Not to my knowledge. My family came from Derbyshire. My father was the only son.”
His Grace opened his mouth to pursue the subject, but Jane cut him off. “Devere. That’s an uncommon name. Are you related to the Deveres of Oxford, by any chance?”
“The Deveres of Oxford?” echoed the duke.
“The
earls
of Oxford,” Jane elaborated. “Though I believe they spell their name a different way. Capital
D
. Capital
V
. A scholarly family. My father taught one of the sons.”
“They’re a cadet branch of the family,” said the duke. “We don’t have much truck with them because we fought on different sides . . .” He stopped. “Well, that’s old history.”
“I think it’s sad,” said Jane, “when old quarrels keep families apart, don’t you?” She speared a Brussels sprout and popped it into her mouth.
Caspar bit down on a smile, Lady Sophy pressed her lips together, and the duke made a harrumphing sound.
After an interval of silence, Lady Sophy said, looking at Jane, “You’ve been through a dreadful ordeal, my dear, but it’s over and you’re not to worry about a thing. You’re under our protection now and shall make Woodlands your home until this ruffian is caught and dealt with.”
Jane smiled warmly. “Thank you. I appreciate your concern, but I must return to my own home soon. There’s so much to do, so much to think about. Then there are my friends at the library. You must see that I can’t stay here for long.” She looked at Case. “And I understood the danger was over.”
“That’s my considered opinion,” he said, “but it’s only an opinion.”
“Well, well,” said Lady Sophy, “it will be some time before your house is ready for occupation, so we don’t have to decide things right now. In the meantime, we’ll make a little holiday of your stay. You can join all the little outings and soirées I’ve planned for your protégée, Miss Drake. I’m really looking forward to it.”
Jane had already thanked her ladyship profusely for her promise to introduce Emily to society, but she’d never had any intention of being part of it. Dismayed, she looked at Case. “What’s this about my house?”
Her ladyship smiled benignly. “Don’t give it another thought. Caspar is taking care of everything. Tell her Caspar.”
Case said, “I’m taking care of everything.” He raised a hand to call over a footman. “This mutton is delicious. Would anyone like more?”
A half hour later, dinner was thankfully over, and when Case asked Jane to take him to see Lance, she agreed with alacrity. There were things she wished to say to him, questions she wanted answered.
His Grace and Lady Sophy made no move to leave the table. The covers were removed and the decanters were brought out, brandy for the duke, sherry for her ladyship.
When the duke had dismissed the servants, he said, “I think you must be wrong, Sophy. I could see no sign of partiality on Caspar’s part or on Miss Mayberry’s either.”
“Well, what did you expect,” demanded her ladyship, “with your eagle eye trained on them as though they were plump pigeons? You promised me you’d be on your best behavior.”
“I behaved with the utmost discretion.”
“Do you call it discreet to start probing into the girl’s bloodlines when you’ve only just met her?”
The duke made a scoffing sound. “I don’t know why you want to protect your little fledgling. Miss Mayberry gives as good as she gets.”
Her ladyship smiled. “It served you right. It’s not often I see you get a set-down.”
“At any rate,” said the duke, “I’m entitled to probe if she’s going to marry my son.”
“That is by no means certain. It’s obvious that Caspar is taken with the girl, but—”
“He hardly looked at her! And if he’s so taken with her, why haven’t I met her before?”
“Because he doesn’t want to rush his fences.”
“Rush his fences?” The duke was dumbfounded. “What are you talking about, Sophy? Caspar is the most eligible bachelor in England. I’ve yet to meet the woman he couldn’t have if he wanted her.”
Lady Sophy shook her head. “If I’m not mistaken, you have met her now. I don’t think Jane has the least notion of marrying anyone. I think Caspar knows this, and hopes to change her mind.”
After a long, reflective silence, Lady Sophy took up the conversation again. “What do you make of this La Roca business?”
The duke shrugged. “Only what Caspar tells me, that these attacks are meant to make him give up the investigation into the Hyde Park murder. He won’t, of course.”
“I didn’t suppose he would. But isn’t it strange that he knows this brigand from Spain?”
“Not at all. That’s why Richard turned the case over to him.”
“And he never mentioned this La Roca to you before last night?”
“No. Never. Then Caspar rarely speaks about the war.”
He took a sip of brandy, then a long swallow as he lapsed into his own thoughts. Something had happened to Caspar during the war, something that he could not share with his own father. War was like that. One could not dwell on its horrors or one would go mad. Still, he missed the closeness he’d once had with his elder son, before he’d gone off to war. It was more than closeness. There was an affection there that he’d seen very little of since his son came home.
If only Elizabeth were here to advise him. He’d been a widower for over twenty years, but not a day went by when he did not think of his wife.
He looked at his aunt. “You never married, Sophy.”
His words startled her. After a moment, she smiled, “No. My father, your grandfather, wouldn’t allow me to marry the man I loved. He wasn’t good enough for a duke’s daughter, you see. But my heart was taken, and no one else would do for me. You know, Romsey, you’re not a bad old codger. I was proud of you, very proud, when you allowed Rosamund to marry her soldier.”
Faint, faint color tinted the duke’s cheeks. He said gruffly, “You know, Sophy, you’re not a bad old girl yourself. You’ll have another sherry?”
“Only if you’ll have another brandy.”
The duke reached for the decanters.
“Will you wait up?” A stiff breeze fought with the folds of his coat as Case tried to do up the buttons. Jane was striding ahead of him on the path to the stable. “Jane, what’s got into you?”
She did an about-face and took the few steps back to him. “Our understanding was,” she said, “our understanding was that I’d stay here for a few days, a week at the most, until my hands had healed, then I’d return to my own home. Your aunt seems to think I’ll be here for a month, if not longer.”
Since she hadn’t bothered to button her cloak, he took the liberty of doing it for her. “A month? No, not that long.” In contrast to her heated tone, his was calm and pleasant. “You don’t realize how much damage the fire has done to your house.” He pulled up the hood of her cloak to protect her from the wind. “Don’t you like it here?”
“Of course I like it. The house is a gem. But that’s not the point.”
“What about Lance? Isn’t Harper doing a good job?”
“You know very well that he is.”
“And I know Mrs. Trent and Ben are happy because I spoke to them before dinner. In fact, I’d say they’re in their element. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I feel as though I’m taking advantage of you.”
His hands were still on the edges of her hood. It took very little pressure to bring her face close to his. Grinning, he said, “Take advantage of me, Jane. I won’t object.”