Charlotte Louise Dolan (23 page)

The house itself had not changed appreciably since that first day he saw it, which had been on just such a beautiful late-spring afternoon as this. Made of white Bath limestone, it had mellowed over the years to a warm honey color. Not the largest ducal mansion in England, to be sure, but definitely one of the most handsome, or so the family had always agreed.

The heart of the house was gone, however, with his aunt’s death the first year he was in the army, his uncle’s death two years ago, and now Algernon’s.

On the other hand, Algernon’s widow was somewhere in one of those rooms. It would be good, Darius suddenly realized, to have someone to talk to who had loved his cousin the way he had. Most of the men he knew were soldiers who had never met Algy, and he himself had met very few of Algy’s close friends.

Signaling his horse, he moved on toward the stables, deriving a deep sense of comfort from the knowledge he was on land that had belonged to his family for hundreds of years.

Unlike the house, the heart of the stables was still there—old Gorbion, who was probably not all that old. In his fifties, more than likely, and showing no signs of slowing down with age, he was still the center of this world of horses and grooms and stable lads. As good with people as he was with four-legged beasts, he had raised six sons of his own to responsible manhood, as well as innumerable other boys, including, if the truth were known, Darius himself.

Gorbion was barking out orders in his usual no-nonsense way, and it took a minute or two for the silence that fell over the others at the sight of the new arrival to penetrate his concentration. Turning around to see what everyone was staring at, he exhibited no surprise that the new Duke of Colthurst had come in by the back door, so to speak.

“Ah, so the soldier boy has come home from the wars without a scratch, has he?” he said with a broad grin on his face.

Darius dismounted and moved forward to clasp Gorbion’s outstretched hand with both of his. “Actually, there was a scratch or two, but nothing to signify.”

“And here it was your safety we was all worrying about, never thinking it would be the young master who would go first.” Gorbion turned back to the assembled group. “There’s no need to be gawking at his Grace, like as if he’s grown two heads since you last saw him. Jem, take care of his Grace’s horse, and the rest of you get about your business, before his Grace realizes what a bunch of slackers you are and fires the lot of you.”

“Slackers, Gorbion? In your stables?”

“Nay, they’re a good bunch of lads.” There was a note of pride in Gorbion’s voice as he watched the men and boys disperse, each one obviously knowing exactly what his duties were. “I was about to make evening rounds. Would you be wanting to come along, or are you pressed for time?”

He wasn’t in a hurry anymore. After days of traveling at what he knew Munke would term breakneck speed, Darius no longer felt driven and willingly followed Gorbion from stall to stall, renewing his acquaintance with the horses, only a few of which were new since his last visit.

Finally they came to the last box, where his cousin’s stallion resided in regal splendor. At the sound of voices, the huge black horse stuck its head over the door and whickered softly.

Darius reached up and patted the horse’s neck. “Ah, Bête Noire, do you miss him, too? Or do you only care about such things as fine gallops across the fields and oats waiting for you when you return?”

“We’ve tried to keep him exercised, but not many of the lads can handle him. Seems he makes up his mind early on who he’s going to allow on his back and nothing nobody does can change it.”

The horse nuzzled against Darius’s hand impatiently. “Sorry, old fellow, I can’t take you out for a gallop today. I really must get up to the house and pay my respects to the duchess.”

Beside him Gorbion cleared his throat. “Well, as to that, your Grace, she ain’t exactly going to get impatient at a little delay.”

“Not looking forward to handing over the keys to the house, is she?”

“As to that, I wouldn’t venture an opinion. All I meant was, she’s not at home at the moment. Gone to Bath with that cousin of hers. Shopping.”

Before Darius could reply to this astonishing news, a childish voice piped up from inside the stall. “She can call it shoppin’ if she wants, but I calls it meetin’ wi’ her lover.”

“Billy,” Gorbion roared, “get yourself out of there.”

A skinny little boy of about eleven or twelve scrambled up and over the door and deftly dodged the blow Gorbion aimed at his ear.

“Didn’t I warn you what I’d do if I caught you napping when you were supposed to be working?”

“I wasn’t nappin’, I was just having a little chat with Bête. He gets lonely.” His explanation was spoiled by the huge yawn that engulfed his face before he scampered off.

“I would not think Bête Noire’s box would be an ideal place to steal a few winks,” Darius commented blandly.

“Oh, Bête would never hurt him. Billy’s one of the chosen few, who can do anything he wants with that black beast.” Gorbion sneaked a sideways glance at the duke.

“And now, since there is no need for me to hurry up to the house,” Darius said in a soft, silky tone that had always made master sergeants quail in their boots, “perhaps we could step into your office and you may explain what the boy meant about the dowager duchess.”

Gorbion sighed. “Someday I’m going to have to teach that boy to handle his tongue as well as he handles the horses.”

“Would you like a little brandy, your Grace?” Gorbion dusted off a chair and offered it to Darius, who remained standing.

“I would like an explanation of what has been going on here. A complete explanation with nothing held back.”

“I can’t explain what I don’t rightly know to be a fact. There is talk, I will admit that. She rides out alone a lot—that is, she used to, up until a few weeks before the child was born. Billy says he followed her once and saw her meet a man. Could have been by chance, who’s to say? And she goes to Bath several times a week. Shopping, she calls it, and I must admit she comes back with the carriage piled high with packages. Now John Coachman ain’t what you’d call observant, but to be honest, the lads put him up to keeping track of who she talks to—”

“Spying?” Darius’s voice was harsh.

“Aye, that’s what I called it also, and I done my best to put a stop to it. But there’s no way to stop the gossip. Seems there is one man who contrives to bump into her every time she goes to town—big fellow, merchant, supposed to be rich as Croesus. Couldn’t say as to that, but he’s old enough to be her father. Don’t look on her like a daughter, though, I’ll be bound to say.”

“My God, but she wasted no time taking a lover.”

“Nay, I’d swear it hasn’t gone that far. It’s just a harmless flirtation. As pretty as she is, you can’t blame her for wanting a bit of attention and flattery—”

“Blame?” Darius gave a bitter laugh. “No, you can’t blame a woman for doing what comes natural to a woman, any more than you can blame a horse for acting like a horse. It’s in a woman’s nature to flirt.”

“Gammon. There never was two horses exactly alike, not even those matched blacks of yours, nor was there ever two women born alike. Granted some women ain’t got nothing much except their looks to recommend them, like those sisters of yours, but there’s no call to cast aspersions on all of them. Some women are as good as those two are worthless.”

“Name two.”

“My wife, for one,” Gorbion said, with a look in his eye that didn’t allow for any arguments. “And your wife, for another.”

“My wife?” Darius tried hard to conceal the rage that swelled immediately in his breast. “I was unaware that you are acquainted with my wife.”

“Went to London meself, took the message to Leverson and then dropped ‘round by where your wife’s staying. Told her flat out she was a duchess. Expected her to get in a tizzy. Have to admit, most women would have been in raptures if they weren’t swooning from delight.”

“And?”

“Caught me flat-footed, she did. First words out of her mouth had nothing to do with titles and good fortune. But, then, women do have a tendency to think along different paths than a man.” He paused and eyed Darius as if expecting some comment. When none was forthcoming, he continued. “First thing she wanted to know was how the babe was getting on.”

“The babe?”

“Exactly my response—hadn’t given the child a single thought after I heard it was a girl. Had to confess I had no idea how the babe was getting on. All I could do was promise to send her word, which we done—a note twice a week Miss Hepden’s been sending her, though I couldn’t say what she finds to write about. At that age the infantry are all pretty much the same, either sleeping or squalling to be fed.”

“My wife has a fondness for children,” Darius managed to say in a civil tone, not wishing to admit to Gorbion that he, also, had not given his cousin’s daughter a single thought since he had learned of her existence.

“Aye, that’s what the servants at her aunt’s house informed me. They are all right fond of her, too.”

Darius was not ready to hear any more about his wife and the assorted people she had managed to charm, so he deliberately changed the subject. “Have Bête Noire saddled and ready for me at six-thirty tomorrow morning, and tell Meechum to meet me at ten.”

“Beg pardon, your Grace, but Meechum is retired now. Young Finchley has been bailiff the better part of a year.”

“Young Joe?”

“Aye, although he’s not so young anymore. Old Joe’s pushing seventy, which would make young Joe nigh on forty.”

“Well, inform him I wish to ride out with him at ten and inspect the estates. I have no preference as to which horse I take then.”

* * * *

“It is good to be home, Kelso.”

“And it is good to have you back, your Grace.”

“I must confess, however, that it seems as if at any minute my uncle could walk through that door and demand to know what the deuce I am doing sitting at his desk. Nor would it seem at all unusual if my cousin came in to tell me the horses are saddled, so I had best get cracking, because he doesn’t like to keep his cattle standing.”

“They were good men.”

It had been easier in Spain, surrounded as he was by death, to accept that his cousin was gone, but here, in the house filled with such vivid memories ...

The sound of a carriage outside interrupted his reverie, and for a moment Darius thought it was his wife, before he realized it was much too soon for her to be arriving from London.

With reluctance he pushed himself up from his chair and started for the door. Kelso was there before him, but instead of opening it, the butler stood squarely in the way, blocking the exit.

“If you would like to make the acquaintance of the real dowager duchess, I suggest you do not immediately go into the hall.”

Darius stood there impassive for a moment, not at all sure he wanted to meet the real Amelia. Life would be so much pleasanter if he simply accepted as reality the carefully prepared illusions.

He would definitely be happier now if he had not discovered what his wife was really like. Somehow he did not feel that getting to know the real Amelia would increase his happiness, either.

Finally he nodded curtly, and Kelso stepped aside, opening the door only enough to enable Darius to have a good view of the entranceway.

Two women came in, followed by a groom carrying an armload of packages.

“Please, may I go to my room now? I have the headache.”

The woman speaking was of an indeterminate age, somewhere beyond forty, but closer than that Darius was unable to estimate. She was either a consummate actress, or she was really suffering and appeared, in fact, in imminent danger of collapsing.

“If you don’t stop whining, Cousin Edith, I shall turn you out, and then what will you do? Do you think anyone else will be willing to put up with your constant complaints and slothful ways?”

So this was his cousin’s widow. The lovely Amelia, the gentle, delicate Amelia, the acknowledged beauty Amelia, the grieving widow Amelia ....

“No, you may not retire to your room to pamper yourself. In fact, it is time you started earning your keep. I wish
you
to carry my purchases up to my room and see that they are unpacked properly. If you don’t care to do my bidding, I shall tell John Coachman to take you back to Bath and leave you on the streets. As old and as scrawny as you are, I am sure you can still find some man willing to pay a shilling to pry your legs apart, you stupid old slut.”

Amelia’s face was so contorted with rage, her features were barely recognizable, and the cruel words that continued to pour out of her perfect rosebud of a mouth were quite vulgar and not at all suitable for polite company.

Darius strongly suspected that no other gentleman had ever been privileged to see the real Amelia—certainly not Algernon—although there were undoubtedly few servants, if any, allowed to remain long in ignorance of her true nature.

Silently easing the door shut, he turned to Kelso. “What condition is the dower house in?” he asked in an undertone. “And is it occupied at present?”

“Not since your great-aunt, Lady Hortense, died. As to condition, I have taken the liberty of having it cleaned thoroughly and a few minor repairs seen to, so someone could move in immediately.”

“Or be moved in. I suggest you start at once, and assign enough servants to the project so that she is out from under my roof before dark.” There was no need to say more, since he knew from past years that Kelso was a model of efficiency and speed when necessary.

Darius stepped out of the way and Kelso opened the door. “If you will come this way, your Grace,” the butler said in a loud voice.

Having been given a few seconds’ warning, the dowager duchess was her usual coy self—nauseatingly sweet, in Darius’s opinion.

“Oh, Cousin Darius, I did not realize you had arrived at last. I am so sorry I was not here to welcome you to Colthurst Hall. If I had had any idea you would be here today, I would have postponed my trip to Bath. It was really unnecessary, but Cousin Edith was so looking forward to getting out of the house.”