A Suspicious Affair (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I’ve decided to keep Nolly at Kimbrough Hall,” the earl declared one afternoon a few days later.

“You what?” Marisol fairly shrieked.

Carlinn studied his fingernails. “My right as guardian, don’t you know. I think it will be better for the boy. He needs a man’s influence.”

The duchess was livid. “He’s barely six months old. What are you going to do, take him to a cock fight?”

“And this place,” the earl continued, waving one hand around, “is totally unsuitable for a young boy. Dangerous with all those turrets and towers and arrow niches, to say nothing of the broadswords, maces, and battle-axes all over the place. He’s sure to get nightmares,” he lied through his teeth, thinking the Castle every boy’s fantasy playhouse come true. Why, that central bannister was enough to tempt him, even at his age and dignity. He went on: “And then there are all the artifacts that could be damaged.”

“Everything dangerous or fragile has already been put in storage or above the reach of a small child,” she said through gritted teeth, wishing she had one of those battle-axes to hand right then.

“No, the little duke is better off with me, at the Hall.”

“Better? Why you—you self-righteous toad! You can’t even play with Nolly without making him cast up his accounts! And you think you know what is better for my son? You despicable cad, you monster! And you even gave your word not to interfere with his upbringing! I’ll fight you in the courts, you bounder! I’ll never give him up!”

“I know.”

Marisol replaced the china shepherdess she’d been clutching, preparatory to letting it fly. “You know? You did this just to upset me?”

“And you do rise to the bait so charmingly, my pet. I particularly liked that ‘self-righteous toad.’ But I was not just trying to set the sparks flying. I do know that you’d never part with Nolly, and I would never ask you to.”

“What are you saying, Carlinn?”

“What I am saying, no, asking, in my usual bumbling way, is if you would make me the happiest of men, and Nolly’s father.”

“You are asking me to marry you, just to get Nolly?”

“Now, that is a particularly goosish thing to say, Duchess. Granted the lad is the most adorable, perfect creature ever placed on earth, but even I draw the limits somewhere.”

“But—but why, then?” she stuttered, completely baffled.

“Because I think I have loved you forever, and don’t want to be apart from you for another day. Because I think of you all the time and wish to spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy.”

“But you thought I was shallow and scandalous, a bad influence on your sister. You even thought I was a suspect in Arvid’s murder.”

“So I was a fool. That cannot come as a surprise; lud knows you’ve told me often enough. And Tyson forgave Purvis for far greater sins,” he added hopefully, staring at her lowered head.

“And far be it from me to be less gracious than my maid?”

“Exactly. Besides, I did buy you this in London, even before we had Purvis’s confession.” He held out a small box and opened the lid to reveal a gold ring set with small diamonds around a sapphire. “There’s the official Kimbrough heirloom engagement ring, but I wanted you to have something all your own. This one matches your eyes.” He knelt on the carpet before her so he could see her face. “Blast it, I hate when you cry!” He jumped up and tossed her his handkerchief.

“I know,” she blubbered into the square of fabric. “I’m sorry.”

“Deuce take it, I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He was pacing in his agitation. “I dared to hope…that is, I regret if my—my importunities have caused you discomfort. Forget I ever said anything.”

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all. It’s just that you’ve made me the happiest of women.”

“I have? You are? Then I can take it that it’s a yes to my question?”

“Oh, yes. I have loved you for ever so long, but never thought—”

Whatever the duchess thought was lost in his embrace. There was no thinking, only feeling, the warmth and magic of his touch, the promised passion, the tender affection and gentle strength and the faintest scent of lemon. If Marisol had to describe heaven, this was it.

“Lud, I’ve been wanting to do this for ages,” he admitted when they paused to catch their breaths. Somehow Marisol was sitting on his lap, on the sofa, their arms entangled. She tucked her head under his chin and gave a sigh of contentment.

“Dash it,” he complained, stroking her back, “I’ll never understand how you can go from screeching wildcat to purring kitten in the blink of an eye. Do you suppose I might figure it out if I have the next forty or fifty years?”

“You can try, my lord.”

“Don’t you think you can call me Carlinn, Duchess? But you won’t be a duchess much longer, will you? Shall you mind being called Countess instead, my love?”

“‘My love’ sounds best of all!” Which required another long interval of less verbal communication.

“What would you have done if I’d said no?” Marisol asked later.

“Oh, I’d camp on your doorstep, frighten away all your other suitors, teach Nolly to say Papa Carl.”

She laughed, then turned serious. “And you truly don’t care about all the gossip?”

“The gossips can say whatever they want, as long as you say you love me.”

“I’ll say it over and over, from every rooftop, every day, even if you get more odiously swell-headed.”

“And I swear to try not to be too proud that the most wonderful woman in England returns my affection. I’ll do anything for you, my love.”

“Even move to London?”

Marisol almost found herself dumped on the floor, Carlinn sat up so suddenly. “Good grief, Marisol, you can’t want that, do you?”

“Of course not, I just wanted to see you fly into a pelter, my love.”

“Touché. But there is Tina’s presentation to be considered. We’ll have to attend to that.”

“Perhaps Nolly and I can stay in the country?”

“What, and make me face the dragons on my own? Not on your life, my girl. Besides, I have no intention of leaving you alone for more than an hour or two, here and there. Anyway, I doubt we’ll have much trouble, not with my sister’s prattling on about Foster this and Foster that.”

“Shall you mind? He hasn’t much to offer but his title and his character and what I can provide. Once the war is over, he’ll be just another bankrupt aristocrat.”

“But Tina comes into a handsome property from our mother when she marries. Foster will have plenty to do handling that. It will give me more time to see to ours.”

“Now, that has a nice right to it. Ours,” she repeated dreamily, her head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of her very disordered curls. “My dear, shall you mind that I’m just a country gentleman, without all those fancy manners? One who looks after his lands instead of his wardrobe? Shall you mind that I didn’t woo you with flowers and candy and poems?”

Marisol pretended to think. He didn’t give her much time to come to a conclusion. “Too bad. I’ll bring you puppies and kittens and new strains of oat and all my love instead.”

“Now that you mention it, I do believe that Sal is the only gift you’ve bestowed on me before today. But what woman could ask for more than what you’ve offered now? Your name, your ring, your love. I suppose I shall just have to be content, my foolish darling.”

After another interval, during which Marisol’s hair became thoroughly disheveled, and Carlinn’s too, she said wonderingly, “I thought you wanted a proper lady like Edelia Sherville.”

“No, I thought I should have a cold, decorous wife like Edelia Sherville. There is a big difference between what I wanted and what I was prepared to accept. I always wanted a lively, loving lady. With a big chest.”

Marisol was surprised she could still blush, with said chest being half exposed. I’m not proper like Edelia. I’ll never make you a perfect wife, you know.”

“You’re not perfect? Ssh, don’t tell anyone. I’ve been calling it from the church steeple that you are. Except for your nose, of course.”

“My nose? What’s wrong with my nose?”

“Nothing, my love. It’s perfect for kissing.” So he did, then asked, “Are you sure you’ll be able to put up with me? I know I can be high-handed and dictatorial.”

“I’ll try my lord,” she answered between kisses of reassurance. “And if not, well, I’ll shoot you, of course.”

*

“Sometimes facts is like a boulder,” Jeremiah Dimm commented to himself. “They sits right out there, obvious like, and wait for you to stub your toe on ’em.”

The Bow Street Runner was in his soft chair, feet up, pipe going, a mug of ale by his side. The little house in Kensington was as quiet and snug as a bear’s winter cave. Life was good.

His nibs was happy, for once. He liked the way the Denning murder was tied up so neatly without ruffling any feathers among the peacocks of Mayfair. He was so happy, in fact, that Dimm was promoted to Senior Inspector, and given a healthy bonus. That bonus money was enough to get that last youngster, that cousin’s boy, off to school. An architect, he said he wanted to be. Dimm puffed on his pipe and nodded. The boy’d be plying his trade just about the time Lord Kimbrough’d be needing an extension at that manor house of his, what with the way the earl and Her Grace were carrying on.

Now there was a tricky piece of work, Dimm reflected. Arresting Jack Windham, solving the Denning murder—those were child’s play compared to getting those two prickly swells together. They were made for ech other, any fool could have seen that. But getting them to see eye-to-eye, now that took a real detective. Be damned if that wasn’t the high-water mark of his career.

And now his first grandson was the son of a duke, by George. A’course, that was only for private knowing. It was enough that the rest of the world knew little Leonard was having a duchess for a godmother. Countess weren’t half bad neither. And the rest of Dimm’s brood was fixed for life better than he ever hoped. All those nieces and nephews, sons and daughters, getting established in Berkshire. Even Gabriel was staying on at Lord Kimbrough’s invite, as assistant constable with his own little apartment above the one-cell gaolhouse.

That left only Dimm’s sister Cora here in Kensington, and Jeremiah had it in mind that Mr. Stenross was a lonely widower. Dimm took another puff on his pipe and raised his mug to his own beloved Cherry, God keep her soul.

He went back to considering the new Lady Kimbrough’s offer of the position of caretaker for Denning Castle. He’d have his own cottage by the gatehouse, and a whole staff to look after. And, the countess had added by way of incentive, Mr. Dimm would be right there in Berkshire amid all his sons and daughters, nieces, nephews, and Hambley in-laws.

Dimm blew a smoke ring up to the ceiling and smiled, there in the peace and contentment of his empty house. He’d think some more about her ladyship’s offer. Next week.