GypsyDukeEpub (2 page)

His nurse rose at the sight of them then bowed. "Your Grace…milord."

The duchess rushed to the side of the bed and glanced down at her husband. "Has he been asleep long?"

"He seemed unsettled after his brother left and asked for a draught of laudanum. He is resting comfortably now."

John joined his mother beside the bed. "We will have to wait until the morrow, Mother."

He watched tears fill her eyes as she drew the coverlet closer to the duke's shoulders. Her hand clinched, and John pulled at her arm.

"Yes, I am coming. Go take a hot bath, John. I am aware of your foray in the rain," she said with a pointed look at his mud-stained boots. "Is Kitty well?"

"Yes, she sends her good wishes and prayers for you, Mother."

"We need her prayers. She is a good girl." She stared across the room a moment. "Now, go and attend your needs. I cannot have you sick as well."

He bent to kiss her cheek. "All will be well."

"Yes."

John reached his room without encountering his uncle or any of the servants. He tugged at the bellpull and collapsed in a chair, rubbing his eyes.

His uncle was far more odious than either of his parents had articulated. Why did the man appear to dislike him so? He couldn't believe his father would consider allowing such a personage to stay.

The door opened, and Grayson stepped inside. "M'lord, are you ready for your bath water?"

"Yes, Grayson."

The door opened and shut again, but he had only moments to wait before the valet returned and knelt on the floor to remove John's boots then take his jacket and waistcoat. These he brushed before hanging. He stared at John's Hessians with an air of disdain. "Tsk tsk. You've been
wearing these boots riding again, milord."

John looked up at him, distracted. Not that he owed the man an excuse, but Grayson had cared for him since he was a boy, had held John's slender shoulders in comfort after his father's abuses, and had even taken many of John's punishments.

"What? Oh, yes. Sorry. I was in a hurry to get back for the meeting with my uncle and forgot to change before I met Lady Katherine."

Grayson polished the boots, passing the small brush back and forth almost faster then John could see. "Now there's a strange lord. He's a bit high in the instep, but did you take a gander at the gentleman's attire? If he's got a valet, he's a very slipshod fellow."

Before John could reply, the hot water arrived, and Grayson busied himself with setting up John's bath. He arranged the screen, set out a drying cloth, and left the sponge and soap in arm's reach. "'Tis ready, mi'lord."

A half hour later, John glanced at his tall four-poster, so weary he resented the three small steps he had to mount to reach the bed. He stepped into the bed, thankful that Grayson had already pulled the heavy counterpane back and fluffed the pillows.

When he heard a great crash from the corridor, he jumped up and rushed out the door, heart racing. At the bottom of the staircase, his uncle lay sprawled with several servants attempting to lift him.

Grayson glanced up the stairs at John, shook his head in disgust then put an arm around Bartholomew's neck and half-pulled the swaying man up the steps. They had to pause several times when Bartholomew's unsteadiness almost pulled Grayson over the rails.

As they passed John's door, the smell of rancid, liquored breath nearly overwhelmed him. He took a quick look at his uncle. It was a wonder the man survived such a fall without a mark on him.

John shut his door and retreated again to his bed. How he wished this day had never come.

The next morning, John barely noticed when the maid scraped ashes from the fireplace to start a fresh blaze. He ignored the sound, knowing there was some reason he didn't wish to wake. He bundled further under the reassuring weight of the counterpane, but awareness refused to remain at bay.

He sat up and grimaced at the memory of his uncle spread-eagled at the foot of the stairs. How could such a man be related to him? To his father?

The door opened, and Grayson wandered through with a breakfast tray. John eyed the covered dish. He hadn't called for breakfast.

"I'm sorry, your lordship. Your mother requests your presence in your father's sickroom."

"Is something wrong?"

"Nay, sir. His Grace has sent for his solicitor. I believe the duchess…"

John rose from the bed with alacrity, getting one foot caught in the counterpane and nearly tripping. "I understand. Remove the tray. I will dress now." He paused. "My uncle?"

"Foxed, sir. Out like a dead man, he is."

John slipped into his father's bedchamber. The heavily curtained room sweltered with the heat of a fire, and the smell of sickness permeated the air. His usually vivacious father looked wan and shrunken in the huge four-poster.

Richard Seymour, Duke of Somerset, would never again raise the rod to John, but John felt no comfort in that. He had no wish for his father's death, rather that his father might show that he cared for him or that he was at all proud of him.

His mother's soft, plaintive voice struck him with concern. "Richard, I do realize you are not feeling well, but I wish you would listen to my reservations. From the impression I received of your brother…he hasn't changed at all."

His father took a labored breath then tried to speak. "Teresa, that is quite…"

John stepped forward and bowed. Even ill, the duke did not like to be crossed and would think of some just punishment for his mother if John didn't divert his attention. "Mother...Father, how are you this morning?"

His mother reached for his hand. "Oh, John. Father is much the same, but…"

His father raised himself then suffered a fit of coughing. He held up his hand as if to command John to stay. When he gained control of his breathing, he patted the side of his bed. "Seymour, I've sent for Mr. Shaw."

"Your solicitor? Might I inquire why?"

"Your father has decided that although we have managed the estates for the past six months quite admirably, we will be unable to do so if something were to happen to him."

John started at his mother's boldness and glanced at his father.

The duke shook his head, frowning. "I wouldn't say admirably. And you have profited from my advice. While I am yet here, no one is bold enough to attempt fleecing you, but if anything happened to me…" He took a ragged breath. "I feel that having my brother here would prevent an unscrupulous trickster from moving in on you."

"And who gave you the idea that we would be so put upon?"

John's father pursed his lips and gestured for a glass of water. "I admit that I had not considered this prior to my brother's visit…" He took a drink from the glass John handed him then let it rest against the bed. "But I feel his concern has merit. What say you, Seymour?"

"If I am to be perfectly frank, I must say I am thankful our acquaintance with Uncle Bartholomew has been curtailed. He became so disguised last night that he fell down the stairs and had to be carried to his bed." His voice lowered as he thought of his uncle's untoward comments about Kitty. "And he was…vile…in his concern for Kitty."

The duke shot a swift glance at his wife, and John watched the water in the glass slosh dangerously close to the rim. "Lady Katherine was present at your introduction?"

The duchess shook her head, but John didn't allow her to comment.

"No, Father, she wasn't here, but Uncle made some very…suggestive remarks concerning her person."

"Bartholomew is my brother. Although I do not approve of the life he has chosen, he has never done anything that would negatively affect the family concerns. Besides, I see no reason for Kitty to be in his presence without the protection of her parents. She is not likely to call without them." He let out a harsh breath. "My mind is settled. Bartholomew will remain, if for nothing else, he is window dressing. There is a man in the house. My family will not be at risk."

John opened his mouth to interrupt, but the duke held up his hand, shoving the glass of water at his wife. "Nothing else will change. You will still learn to manage the estates with the help of our steward, and when you turn twenty-one and reach your majority…you may ask your uncle to leave. After all, you will marry then."

He could see his mother's distress. The glass trembled at her side, and her mouth looked pinched, but she had never argued with his father. She rose, and John stood with her. "Your father is tired, John. You may see him later."

The duke did appear to have little strength left. A white line encircled his lips, and his breathing sounded ragged, but his lips jerked in the semblance of a smile. "Yes, later."

John bowed to his parents and turned for the door. He had to leave. He needed compassion. He needed Kitty, child that she was. She always lifted his spirits.

He strode to his room and rang for Grayson. While he waited, he changed into his riding clothes. He wanted no delays.

His valet entered the room and frowned. "Your lordship, what are you doing? I would have done that, sir."

John was well aware that Grayson felt it was his right to see to John's attire, but sometimes he felt it ridiculous for a grown man to wait for someone else to dress him. "Just help me with my riding boots,
or I shall be forced to go out in my Hessians after you have brought them to such a shine."

"Heaven forbid, sir. Will you be taking a bit of breakfast before you go out? Cook was overly put out that your tray came back untouched."

"I feel if I put one morsel of food in my mouth, I will cast up my accounts and make a fool of myself."

"I'll just have Cook make up a little something for your ride."

"Do not bother. I haven't the time to wait. Lady Katherine will be expecting me. I shall take tea when I return."

John spurred his horse until he neared the Belfont border. There was no sense in attracting the curiosity of the earl's tenants. He slowed his pace and managed to smooth the lines on his face before he reached the meeting place.

Kitty was indeed waiting for him. With a gay wave, she pushed away from the tree where she leaned.

John felt a tight clutch in his midriff. She was still such a pretty, untouched girl. If something ugly happened to her…

"Good morning, Lady Katherine. And how are we today? That is a bonnie riding habit you are wearing."

She preened under his admiration, turning first one way, then another in a pastel blue habit. "Do you like it? Mama said it brought out the blue of my eyes."

He liked that she was too innocent for sly flirting and still spoke her mind in earnest. He put a finger to his chin to consider. "Let me see. Are your eyes blue?"

She frowned at him.

"Why, so they are," he said. "I hadn't noticed."

"I don't believe you. For you have told me many a time they are the color of a summer sky."

"Right now, it would be more like a thundering sky." When she raised her brow once again in annoyance, he relented. "I was only teasing, little one."

They moved their horses out from under the trees and cantered to the meadow. John noted the groom trailing along behind. He was relieved to see she'd kept her promise.

When he'd reached his sixteenth year, the earl had decided that Kitty's outings with John must be accompanied. A groom was his concession to the proprieties. Under the earl's stern eye, John promised never to attempt to lose the chaperone.

Kitty had been harder to convince. She still thought it a great lark
to go tearing across the countryside, her groom a distant memory. But John prevailed. No groom, no morning rides.

He took a sideways glance at Kitty. Someday, she would be a beautiful woman. He had to protect her. He smiled, unsure how to begin the conversation, but she provided the prime opportunity.

"Well…did your uncle visit? What do you think of him?"

He attempted to hide his face from her, glancing at the tall holly hedge on his left. She always perceived too much in his moods. "He arrived, yes. He is nothing like my father in appearance nor in appetite, I'm afraid."

"He overindulges?"

"In everything. But Father is pleased to see him. It probably would not be a good idea for you to come 'round for awhile. At least...not without your mother."

"Oh?"

"I believe we are soon to experience…changes."

Kitty brought her mount to a standstill, and her eyes filled with tears. "Your father?"

"Father has asked for his solicitor to attend him. He thinks the end is near."

"I am so sorry. My prayers for you will increase."

"Thank you, Kitty." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief then dabbed at her face.

"It is selfish of me to expect you to come out every morning and attend me. I will ride alone with my groom."

"No, Kitty, do not say so." John frowned down at her, stuffing the damp bit of linen back in his pocket. Was there some underlying reason for her words? "You are a bright spot in my day. Besides, it clears my head to ride each morning. And if I were to go alone, I fear my thoughts would not be the best. You encourage me."