Carola Dunn (26 page)

“Not exactly. I hope not.” Ashe passed him a glass. “What sort of man is he?”

“Competent and conscientious, I believe, my lord. The firm is well thought of, and the practice is an extremely busy one. Almost as busy as my own.”

“Busy enough not to enquire into the welfare of a partner’s wards?”

“Welfare, my lord?” Plumditch countered warily. “I own I should be extremely surprised to hear that Oldham had neglected any financial affairs entrusted to him.”

With an impatient gesture, Ashe brushed this aside. He was glad Lissa’s and probably Peter’s estates had been well cared for, within the limits of a solicitor’s knowledge of such matters, but that was not his present interest. “I’m talking of their health and happiness.”

The caterpillars crawled upwards. “Happiness, I regret to say, is not within a lawyer’s purview. Moreover, a busy man may be trustee of a large number of estates in the legal possession of minors. He cannot possibly enquire into the personal circumstances of all his wards. Unless unacceptable conditions are brought to his attention--”

“Yes, yes, I daresay.” Ashe refilled his glass and tossed back the wine. Time to get down to particulars. “I wish to bring ‘unacceptable conditions’ to Oldham’s notice, but my name is not to appear in the affair, at least for the present.”

As he explained, with no names and a minimum of detail, Plumditch’s eyebrows moved ever higher, in horror.

“My lord,” he gasped, “harbouring fugitives--”

“They are children, not criminals! What I need to know is whether, if I tell you who they are, you would feel obliged, legally or morally, to reveal their whereabouts--that is, my name--to Oldham.”

“Certainly not, my lord,” Plumditch said stiffly. “You are my client. Anything you tell me in confidence I reveal to nobody.”

“Splendid. Then here’s what I want you to do.”

* * * *

Three days passed without Plumditch appearing to report his findings to Ashe.

Daphne arrived. Though at once absorbed into the entertainments of the Little Season, she set about ordering a new wardrobe for Lissa.

Voss presented a number of candidates for the post of tutor to Lord Orton, already screened as to their liking for small boys as well as their educational accomplishments. Ashe interviewed them. Several were in orders, and he made a point of examining their beliefs about hellfire, much to their bemusement. Choosing the one who seemed best able to allay Peter’s fears, he packed him off to Ashmead.

A letter from Lady Ashe brought comfortable tidings of Colin’s recuperation. Lady Felicia was delighted with his progress, but very much on edge over her own and her brothers’ plight. Had Robert no news for the poor girl?

Ashe sent a footman running with an impatient message to Plumditch.

The lawyer responded that he had succeeded that very afternoon in approaching Oldham. He would do himself the honour of calling on his lordship next morning, if convenient.

Jack was dispatched again with a demand--softened on second thoughts to an urgent request--that Plumditch present himself immediately. As an additional sop to the solicitor’s dignity, Ashe added an invitation to dine in Dover Street. Changing early, he went down to pace the library.

Plumditch was ushered in at last. Ashe strode to greet him.

“What luck? What have you discovered? Sit down, man, take a glass and tell me. Did Oldham cooperate?”

“He did, my lord, upon presentation of the written instructions of his ward. His elder ward, I should say, since he is also Sir Peter’s co-guardian.” The furry caterpillars lowered in a frown. “It is distinctly odd. Mr. Oldham assured me he was quite unaware of Lady Felicia’s having removed herself and Sir Peter from the care of Mr. Ernest Exton. No hue and cry was raised.”

“Not even over young Michael’s disappearance? Odd indeed! I should say, rather, extraordinary.”

“Mr. Oldham knows nothing of Michael, who is none of his concern, but I believe he would not take it amiss were I to confide that he is in agreement with your lordship: extraordinary! He was much distressed by Lady Felicia’s flight, and much relieved that she had fallen into what I assured him were good hands.”

“I should hope so! What of her future?”

“As you supposed, my lord, her ladyship was well provided for in the late Lord Woodborough’s will. In fact, with the exception of various comparatively small sums to servants, his late lordship bequeathed all unentailed property to his daughter, to the tune of some four thousand pounds per annum. Furthermore, the only male heir being deceased--somewhere in the Colonies, I understand--with none but female issue, Lady Felicia is by default the present owner of the entire estate. She is, my lord, an extremely wealthy young lady.”

Chapter 21

Rain lashed the carriage windows as Ashe set out once more for Ashmead. The news he bore was good, from Lissa’s point of view. If he was blue-devilled, it was solely on his own account.

He had been right to assume she had no further need of him. She was so wealthy, his own not inconsiderable fortune paled before hers. Oldham had agreed to let her set up her own establishment, with a suitable chaperon, until the leases on Woodborough and her town house expired and she could remove to her own property. He was even willing to entrust Peter to her care. If Exton, as co-guardian, objected, the lawyer was ready to go to court to allege negligence since he had not been informed of the boy’s leaving home.

Oldham had no say over Michael’s future, and therefore no interest in it. Plumditch advised Ashe to send the child home.

Ashe refrained from telling him that course was unthinkable. He saw no reason why Lissa should give Michael up, when Exton had made no apparent effort to retrieve him. Time enough to worry if the fellow started making enquiries.

The more he considered it, the more Ashe thought the lack of a hue and cry was not merely extraordinary but incredible.

Exton had washed his hands of Lissa. He might delay reporting her departure so as to continue to receive the generous allowance for her keep. Conceivably he was glad to relinquish the responsibility for Peter, his stepson, for whom he also received an allowance.

But surely, however lacking in affection, a man did not simply ignore his small son’s disappearance? It was unnatural, devilish queer--in fact, downright smoky!

* * * *

Rain lashed the windows of Colin’s chamber, but in the grate a cheerful fire held the gloomy afternoon at bay. Seated on the hearthrug, Lissa played lotto with the boys.

The new tutor had brought the game, which used Greek letters instead of the usual numbers. In just two days, Michael was well on his way to learning the alphabet, painlessly; Colin had refamiliarized himself with it; and Peter was challenged by having to think of a word beginning with the called letter before he was allowed to cover it on his board.

Lissa approved of the new tutor.

“Lotto!” cried Michael. “Look, I finished this row. It’s my turn to call the letters.”

“You don’t know them well enough,” Colin objected.

“Nearly. I know the sounds. I just can’t always remember what they’re called. When I grow up, I’m going to be a man who makes up new games for children.”

Peter suddenly jumped up, overturning his board. “Here’s Lord Ashe,” he cried, bowing towards the door. “Hello, sir!”

“Good afternoon, Lady Felicia, gentlemen.”

Flustered at being found sitting on the floor, Lissa put a hand on Colin’s shoulder as he started to rise. “Your uncle will forgive your not standing,” she said, a tremor in her voice. Conflicting emotions paralysed her, embarrassment at her undignified position, hope and dread of the news he brought, sheer joy at his return. He must not see the joy lest he guess how much she loved him. She kept her face averted as she struggled to master her expression.

Michael had no such qualms. Beaming, he scrambled to his feet, performed a perfunctory bow, and ran to take Lord Ashe’s hand. “I’m glad you’ve come back. Do you want to play Greek lotto with us?”

“Not just now, Michael. I’m still in all my travel dirt. I beg your pardon, Lady Felicia, I should have changed.” He sounded puzzled, as if he was not quite sure why he had rushed to the nurseries without cleaning up first.

Or perhaps he was taken aback because Lissa had not greeted him, she thought, abashed. Turning her head to smile at him, she said, “No matter, sir. You were eager to see Colin, I am sure,” and she endeavoured to rise gracefully.

Swift strides brought him to her side in time to help her up. Once she was on her feet, he kept her hands in his for a moment, steadying her. She blushed as he grinned down at her.

Colin rescued her. “I’m much better, Uncle Robert. I walked here from my bed without any help.”

“Good for you.”

“But you have been up long enough,” Lissa said firmly. “Peter will support you back to bed.”

“I can walk on my own. Just help me stand up, Peter. My legs are a bit wobbly still. Now watch me, Uncle Robert.”

With Peter hovering at his side, matching him step for step, Colin crossed the few feet to his bed. Lissa kept her eyes on him, sighing with relief as he flopped down to sit on the edge.

“Miracle-worker,” Lord Ashe breathed in her ear, sending a quiver down her spine. “I thought he would be confined to his bed for weeks yet.”

“So did the doctor, but he would only get weaker and weaker without exercise. I am very careful not to let him overexert himself,” she said defensively.

“I don’t doubt it. I recollect what your prescription of exercise did for the boy even in London.”

“He still needs me,” Lissa insisted. “I cannot desert him. What...what happened in London?”

“We cannot talk of that here. I shall go and change, and make my bow to Mama. Will you meet me in the library in an hour?”

The hour seemed endless. Lissa went down a few minutes early. Candles had already been lit, a branch on the massive oaken writing-table and sconces above the mantelpiece. Warming her hands at the blazing fire, Lissa contemplated the painting above, a double portrait of the late baron with the dowager on his arm.

One day the present Lord Ashe’s portrait might hang there, his wife at his side. Wistfully Lissa wondered whether she had been an utter peagoose to refuse his proposal. He had offered his hand on the spur of the moment, as a matter of chivalry, the easiest solution to her problems. Yet they were friends, and his kisses argued a physical attraction to her. Had she accepted, might he not have come to love her?

Or would he have come to bitterly regret those careless words? No gentleman could truly wish to be tied to so deceitful a female, so wanting in conduct, so lacking in propriety, as to have run away and trodden the boards, however good her motive.

Lissa sighed deeply. She had been right not to take advantage of Lord Ashe’s momentary lapse from common sense.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned. How handsome he was, his dark hair glossy in the candlelight, brown eyes reflecting the flames, resolute chin, sensuous mouth which had touched hers with fire. She must not think of that now. She must concentrate on what he had learned from the lawyer.

“What did he say? What did Mr. Oldham say?”

“That you inherited your father’s entire estate,” he said soberly. “The cousin in America died without sons.”

“Oh, I do not care for that!” Agitated, she clasped her hands and sank into a chair. “I mean, I am sorry he died, but though I am glad Woodborough belongs to me, what I really want to know is about Peter and Michael. Can Mr. Oldham stop Mr. Exton taking them away from me?”

Lord Ashe sat down across the hearth from her, forehead creased in a frown of perplexity. “According to Oldham, Exton has apparently made no effort whatsoever to find the boys. I find that understandable, if deplorable, in Peter’s case, since he is not a blood relative.”

Hope blossomed in Lissa’s heart. “Peter has a title, too, and I told you he abhors titles.”

“True. But to give up his own son without making the least attempt to retrieve him strikes me as unnatural to the point of madness.”

“Perhaps he is mad,” Lissa cried. “What does it matter as long as both the boys can stay with me? I must go and tell them.” She jumped up.

He caught her wrist. “Wait, Lissa...Lady Felicia. Sit down and listen, if you please. I have been thinking hard about this, and the only explanation I can conceive is that Michael is not in fact Exton’s son.”

Bewildered, Lissa returned to her chair. Noting the high colour staining Lord Ashe’s cheekbones, she said hesitantly, “Surely you cannot mean to suggest my stepmama...played him false? She would not do such a shocking thing!”

“Good gad no! That is the last thing I should suppose. I...er...Do you...hm...Are you aware that...er....”

“What is it? I am sure you need not scruple to speak plainly, if you recollect the circumstances of our first meeting!”

A crimson tide flooded his cheeks. “I wish you would forget that,” he said crossly. “However...When is Michael’s birthday?”

“February,” Lissa said, puzzled.

“He was seven last birthday? Your father died in 1810, do you know in what month?”

“Yes, September. The eleventh. Why?”

“September?” Lord Ashe counted on his fingers. “October, November, December, January, February--five months.”

“Yes, but what...Oh!” She flushed in her turn, feeling childishly ignorant. “The girls at the theatre talked about nine months and...and babies. I never perfectly understood. But do you mean...?”

“It seems to me more than probable that Michael is your father’s son!”

Lissa stared at him. “My brother? My real brother?” she said incredulously.

“Half-brother. He does, after all, have your colouring, an additional bit of evidence. You realize that would make him the present Earl of Woodborough?”

“Michael Lord Woodborough? Good heavens!” Lissa could not help laughing.

“You had no notion? Why should Exton have kept it secret? And how, for pity’s sake?”

“We just called him Michael,” Lissa pointed out, “and the servants called him Master Michael. He is only a little boy. There was never any need to use a surname, and despising the nobility as he did, Mr. Exton deliberately suppressed the use of my title and Peter’s. Concealing Michael’s altogether is but one step further.”