Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (27 page)

Mercy and Blythe quickly crossed the room to her side and together they ushered the children toward the dining room. On their last night here, George was to eat with the adults. And since George was here, so too was young Edwin.

When Beth attempted to sit at Henry’s right, he insisted George take her place. She moved to accommodate his wishes without a fuss and tried to slow her frightened heart.

Throughout the meal, she couldn’t miss the way he kept his conversation fixed on George, occasionally casting scowls on those around him as they talked of local matters. His glass was refilled more often than anyone else’s. His manners at the table slipped.

Not even the young duke was overlooked for Henry’s amusement. When Edwin accidentally knocked his mother’s glass over, spilling her wine on the fine white tablecloth, Henry laughed uproariously and slapped his knee. “Says a lot for the future of the estate, doesn’t it? Can’t hold his liquor.”

He raised his glass to the sobbing child and drank deeply until it was empty. “Fill it again,” he demanded of the footman standing in attendance behind him.

Leopold stood and waved the footman back. “I think you’ve had just about enough for one evening.”

Henry leered at Mercy. “I think you should shut up. Are you sure she’s a duchess? She’s practically dancing in your lap.”

Beth couldn’t move. She sat in shocked horror as Leopold reached across the table, grabbed Henry by his cravat and hauled him toward the doorway. “How dare you?”

“Leopold, no,” Mercy cried out.

“It’s either him or me,” Tobias promised, joining with his brother as they forced Henry from the room.

The sneer that crossed Henry’s face made Beth shudder and she hurried to her son’s side and asked him to leave with the servant escorting the young duke out of the room. He’d seen and heard far too much already. Heaven knew what Henry had whispered into George’s ear during the meal.

Thankfully, her son was eager to comply with her wishes. When he was gone, she faced her brother-in-law. Had this ugly mood been simmering from the moment of his arrival?

While there was little difference on the surface, it was hard to ignore the curled fist at his side. Beth bravely stepped forward. “Come now, Henry. There’s no need to argue like this.”

He moved closer and the fumes of excessive drinking rolled over her. She gagged at the strong scent. Was Henry too drunk to be reasoned with? Tobias grabbed her arm suddenly and hauled her behind him.

“So that’s the way it is, eh?” Henry nodded. “One or all, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. You’re all the same.”

He pivoted and strode for the door, threw it wide, and stormed from the house. Beth stared after him in shocked silence. After a moment, embarrassment filled her. “I’m so very sorry about that. He was very drunk, I fear.”

Tobias set his arm gently about her. “He was more than drunk, but you are blameless for any of that. You’ve not one thing to be sorry for, believe me.”

Panic welled in her. “He’s family.”

Family that she’d have to live with. Her future did not look at all bright or lovely if she had to contend with a temper like that. Her husband had been far kinder than his sibling. She wondered how she had never known that before. Beth wrapped her arms about herself and trembled. She’d given her word to go to America, but she could not allow that man one more moment near her son. But how could she stay? What Henry wanted, he took. He’d been very clear about that. He’d cause more trouble for the Randalls than she ever wanted them to suffer.

“Good riddance to him,” Mercy huffed as she and Blythe surrounded her. “You’re not leaving with that man. I absolutely will not allow you to go.”

“I agree,” Leopold said firmly as he joined them. “William would turn in his grave if he could see how his brother just spoke to you. I could never be easy if you went with him. You and George will stay with us, for the rest of your life if you wish it. We’ll convince him to return to America alone even if I have to pay the blackmail he hinted at three times over.”

Beth shook as a sob lodged in her throat. She blubbered out her thanks as she wept into her hands. The Randalls were such good and generous people to excuse her for bringing Henry into their midst. She didn’t deserve their loyalty or support but she would take it for the sake of her son.

They led her back to the drawing room chairs, and after a time Henry was forgotten and talk turned to lighter matters and the wedding guests expected to come. After careful consideration, Mercy had whittled down her larger guest list to include only the very closest of friends. “I just cannot face a room of one hundred people asking the same question, ‘where are the brother and sister now?’”

A sudden yearning filled Beth’s heart. She wished Oliver were with them. He would know whether Henry would go away or not. She might not have always liked his bluntly worded truths, but she’d come to depend on them.

When the time came to say goodnight, Beth wearily trudged to her bedchamber.

George was awake and waiting for her. “Has he gone?” he asked immediately.

Beth nodded. “Yes, he took himself away an hour ago.”

“Thank goodness,” George muttered as he burrowed into her bed the way he had as a young boy. If he did that he was surely upset.

Beth sat next to him and caught up his hand. “We’re not going. I’ll tell your uncle tomorrow that you may choose to join him when you are older and of age.”

“I won’t go,” George insisted, his hands slipping from hers. “Why does he say such horrible things about you?”

Beth’s hands grew clammy and she rubbed them together anxiously. She drew a deep breath. “I think Uncle Henry hasn’t had a very happy life. We’ve always had each other and he resents how close we are. You’re his heir and he feels you should obey him without question.”

George scowled. “Didn’t like what he said about the duke. He’s still a baby and shouldn’t be laughed at like that.”

Beth’s heart overflowed with love for her son. “Yes, he is. But luckily he is too young to remember what has been said of him.”

George met her gaze. “Will we leave Romsey now that you’ve not got a position? I remember you wanted one.”

Beth shook her head. “The duchess insists we stay.”

George launched up from the bed, wrapped his arms about her neck, and hugged her tightly. “Then I will see my friend again.”

Beth loosened his grip so she could breathe. “Which friend would that be?”

“Oliver Randall,” he said, smiling from ear to ear.

A lump formed in her throat. “Dearest, he may not return for a very long time. He has lots of plans for his journey. I don’t know when we will see him again.”

George threw himself out of her bed. “But he will come back. There’s something he has to do when the duke comes of age.”

“Oh, George, that’s a tremendously long time away.”

“Doesn’t matter, he promised to write to us. He wants to know that you are happy. I’ll tell him everything in my letters. He’ll be happy that we remained here.”

When George bounced out of her room and his room grew dark, Beth followed to the door and peered into the shadows. If only she had George’s faith in Oliver’s return she could convince herself that one day she would be happy. She tucked him into bed, kissed his brow, and returned to her own room.

But sleep wouldn’t come. She lay awake for hours, staring up at the canopy, willing herself not to cry. Frustrated, she flung off the bedclothes. She crept to her son’s room to check he was deeply asleep and then padded down the hall to Oliver’s bedchamber. She let herself in and shivered. Gone a day and the room was already so empty and cold, as if he’d been a figment of her imagination.

She entered his bedchamber and lay down on his pillows, drawing a deep breath of his lingering scent, her heart breaking with the loss all over again. At least here, she could cry all night without disturbing her son’s rest. She’d get her tears from her system and face tomorrow’s ugly confrontation with Henry with a calmer soul.

Chapter Twenty-Five

SEAGULS SQUAWKED HIGH overhead on ship mastheads, flightless because there was not enough wind even for them to soar away from England. “Sorry, sirs, but the wind and tide are against us this morning.”

“Damnation.” Oliver cursed as he stared out at the still waters of Portsmouth Harbor and beyond where nothing moved—no ship with a sail, at least. “How long?”

“There’s no telling about the wind. P’raps it’s better to wait a few hours.” The captain scowled at the calm waters in disgust, lifted his eyes to an unmoving flag at the top of the
Jezebel’s
mast, and muttered, “It’s the devil’s luck today. I can send word to your inn should you rather come aboard later.”

Eamon nodded enthusiastically. “Will two in the afternoon be a fair time to return?”

The captain beamed. “That’ll be grand, sirs. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a man to see about filling an empty corner of my hold. May as well take on what I can for the crossing.”

He touched his cap and turned back the way he came.

Eamon started chuckling. “I don’t think he’s disappointed at all about the delay. The cargo hold was only half full I heard a seaman say.”

Oliver ground his teeth at the weather’s contrariness. All he wanted was to be onboard and headed for clear open water, but if there was no wind to move the ship along, that wish wouldn’t be granted any time soon. He may as well stay on dry land until the weather changed.

He glanced at Eamon and noticed the direction of his gaze. “I suppose you want to visit the tavern while we wait.”

Eamon grinned. “See, ten years kept apart and you can still read my mind.”

Oliver looked about him. The docks were rather rough, even at this hour, and more than one fellow had sized them up as they’d stood near the duke’s fine carriage. “Not here. We’ll return to the inn and you can imbibe there until time to board.”

“And the luggage?”

Oliver glanced up at the sailors idly leaning against the railings above. He didn’t trust them not to sail away with their possessions stowed in the hold. “Our luggage will go back to the inn with us.”

Eamon quickly gestured for the Romsey grooms to reload their belongings for the return trip to the inn. With one last look at the
Jezebel
, Oliver climbed into the carriage, disappointed by the unexpected delay to what should have been a fine morning. The carriage lurched forward and he kept his face to the window, soaking up the strangeness of the port town and the new faces he saw. He’d come to Portsmouth once before as a boy. The place had changed and grown considerably from what he remembered of it then.

“Perhaps it’s a sign,” Oliver muttered.

Eamon slued around to stare at him. “What was that?”

Oliver shrugged. “I considered sending you back to Romsey when we reached the inn last night but hesitated. However, given the lengths required to haul you from your bed and the wind being against us, I believe it right that we should part ways.”

Eamon gaped. “Now see here a moment. If anyone was supposed to be a bad omen, it’s certainly not me.” He folded his arms over his chest. “The nerve of trying to be rid of me. You’d be bored without my scintillating company.”

Oliver laughed suddenly, amused by Eamon’s protests. “You spent the whole of yesterday’s journey fast asleep.”

Eamon shrugged. “Can I help it that I’ve seen that stretch of road a fair few times already? It’s not new to me. I’m still going with you.”

The carriage slowed and then shuddered to a stop. Above them, the Romsey coachman began swearing expansively at whatever it was that blocked their way. Oliver ignored the noise, staring out the window and down a narrow alley, reconsidering what it would take to convince Eamon to see sense. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it took a moment to register what his eyes were seeing. Henry Turner stood on the cobblestones of Portsmouth beside a grim dark inn, arguing with the proprietor.

That was impossible.

They shook hands and Turner reached into the carriage and dragged a small figure against his side. George. The boy struggled and although he watched intently, he did not see Elizabeth step from the carriage before it rolled away. Oliver’s attempts at marshaling his patience ended.

He slammed his fist into the roof to signal he was getting out and threw the door open. “Excuse me,” he said to Eamon.

He jumped from the carriage quickly, keeping his eye on the building George had been dragged into. Still no sign of Elizabeth and he couldn’t believe she would willingly leave her son in Henry Turner’s company, today of all days. How the devil had they got here so fast anyway? Surely they hadn’t traveled at night?

“What the devil, Ollie? I thought we were going to be tucked up at the inn for the morning.”

He glanced up at the coachman. “Wait for me here. I just saw George Turner go into that inn down there with his uncle and that associate of his.”

The coachman nodded and ordered the grooms down to tend the horses.

Eamon peered down the laneway, but of course had missed seeing the boy. “That’s impossible. They’re not due to sail for two days.”

“Impossible or not, I’m certain it’s the boy. I must investigate.”