The Charmer (9 page)

chapter
10

T
he sun peeked over the park's horizon at Marleigh. It illuminated a confusion of activity in front of the house.

Obscured by the deep shadows in the woods that flanked the drive, a man watched the preparations for the duchess's journey. Servants ran out of the house with baggage that others stacked into a large wagon and tied to the huge coach that displayed Everdon's crest. A tall, somewhat foreign-looking gentleman lounged serenely against an open carriage as the chaos rained down around him.

The watcher narrowed his eyes on the waiting gentleman and a vicious annoyance spiked through his mind. He had not expected the duchess to arrange that kind of special protection. His own plans would have to change now.

He calmed himself by considering how this might be a blessing in disguise. Someone charged with protecting the duchess would recognize danger in ways the duchess might not herself, and help her to see her vulnerability. She was not strong, and would be more pliable if she was afraid. The sooner she felt helpless, the better. That had been the whole point of announcing with those broadsides that Captain Brutus was back, after all.

A groom exited the house with three large dogs on leads, accompanied by stable boys bearing cages. The servants who had just tied down everything in the wagon took one look at the new arrivals, made pantomimes of exasperation, and began untying the whole lot again.

A small figure dressed in black strode out of the house, waving her hand, calling for attention. A few feminine orders drifted on the breeze to the woods. A footman tried to speak to the duchess, but she marched to her coach.

From his dark spot in the trees, he watched the imperious display. It was not the first time he had seen little Sophia play the duchess since her return. He had witnessed it, from his hidden shadows, at the dock in Portsmouth and on the road as she traveled to Marleigh and even the day all those lords had descended. Yes, Sophia could appear quite formidable if she tried.

It would not matter. He knew her very well, in ways no one else did. He would have his way with her. She would do what he wanted.

He had known she would come back once her father died. Come back to him, to aid his quest. How convenient that her brother was gone too. Now she would help him achieve what was necessary, whether she wanted to or not. He would have justice and an accounting, and she would pay the old debt she owed.

The coach rolled. The open carriage, now filled with servants, followed. The wagon took up the rear. With an entourage like that, the duchess would make slow progress and be easy to find.

He walked through the woods to where he had left his horse. It was time for Sophia to learn exactly what coming home really meant.

“I need to tell them where I stand. I'll like as get lynched if I don't.” Frustration tinged James Hawkins' emphatic statement.

He echoed the concerns of the three other Cornwall M.P.'s whom Sophia had nominated this day.

The duchess gave Hawkins a sympathetic smile. Adrian noted that it had been one of the few to crack her face all day. She had been in a prickly mood ever since leaving Marleigh.

The departure itself had been a confused affair. Adrian knew that she did not travel light, but the parade of grand coach, servants' carriage, and wagons loaded with animal cages and portmanteaus proved she had little experience with logistics. By the time she had finally emerged from the house and abruptly ordered them all off, he was very sure she had lost track of what and whom had been packed. Since she had insisted that he not interfere, he had not felt obliged to mention several glaring omissions.

It had been afternoon before it all rolled into Lyburgh. Determined to hold to her schedule, the duchess had left the servants and wagons in the town and continued immediately on to the nearby boroughs.

Now, instead of retiring to rest for tomorrow's journey, she had invited Hawkins to join her for an evening supper at the inn in Lyburgh, where her entourage had been left earlier. She had not even visited her chamber first, so she did not know about the surprise that awaited her there.

The youthful, blond, handsome M.P. had been awed and delighted that his patroness had honored him. He now picked at his lamb and bubbled with earnestness. For twenty minutes he had been regaling the duchess with breathless stories regarding the tense mood of the population.

She sat across the table from Hawkins in the private room where they all ate, giving the callow young man her attention.

All of it.

Adrian bristled. Her attitude toward him had been cool and distant all day. Their hours in the coach had been very silent. They might have never taken that ride and built that bridge.

Hawkins himself further pricked Adrian's annoyance. The young man was about the same age as Ensemble members present and past. At best, a year or two out of university, he was the son of a local gentry family and no doubt expected to be Prime Minister one day.

“You will have to explain that you are assessing the various positions on reform and will exercise judgment in due time,” Sophia said with a sweet smile.

“Not sure that will work, Your Grace.”

“It will have to. It is the truth, isn't it?”

Hawkins looked confused by the question, as well he might. His own judgment had nothing to do with it.

“What
is
your view on all of this so far, Mister Hawkins?” she asked. “I value it, since you have been in the thick of things while I have been abroad. No, do not look to Mister Burchard for permission to speak your mind. I am sincerely interested in what you have to say, and it will not be held against you.”

Hawkins flushed and debated his answer.

Adrian waited for him to choose the wrong one, which of course he did.

“Well, Your Grace, I'm not sure it can be avoided. Reapportionment, that is. I've actually got an opponent in the election. He has come out solidly for reform and he may win.”

“Nonsense,” Adrian interrupted. “There are only thirty voters in your borough, and twenty of those men farm lands on lease from Everdon. Your seat is secure.”

“That is how it is supposed to work, but there's been lots of talk here in town, and broadsides flying.” Hawkins fished in his pocket and withdrew a stack of folded papers. “They have a way of inflaming people.”

Sophia unfolded the three pages and perused them with a puckered brow. She halted over the second one. Adrian noticed its signatory name. Captain Brutus.

He plucked it up along with the others, from under her suddenly frozen expression. “More nonsense,” he said, stuffing them in his coat. “Your borough will vote you in. Unless you plan to exercise unseemly independence once seated, your position will remain secure. As to any consideration which you may have given to such a move, I remind you that during the last Parliament your seat was one of those slated for abolishment.”

The young M.P. actually had the brass to work up some indignation. “To be sure, Burchard. Still, a man has a brain and a soul, no matter what his debts. There are times when the greater good—”

“Let others with more experience judge the greater good.”

“Enough, gentlemen,” Sophia said. “Straddle the fence for now, Mister Hawkins. I must still educate myself on this issue and have not yet decided how my M.P.'s should vote.”

She turned a melting smile on Hawkins. “Let us be done with politics. Tell me about yourself. Have you any special interests besides government?” She reached over and patted his arm.

Hawkins' gaze slid to the informal gesture. Suddenly he looked very much a man and not at all a lad. Possibilities instantly loomed behind his clear blue eyes.

“I have a great passion for the literary arts, Your Grace.”

“A scholarly interest?”

“I confess that I dabble myself. Poetry.”

Sophia's face lit with admiration. Hawkins drank it in. Adrian could practically hear the young man calculating that the duchess was an attractive, worldly woman with whom an affair would be appealing and advantageous.

“You must let me read some of your poetry. When we go up to London for the sessions, I expect you to visit and bring them,” she said. “What form do you prefer? Sonnets? Epics?”

They embarked on a spirited dialogue of poets and poetry, of rhymes and meter. Adrian drank his wine, watching like an intruding chaperon. Sophia forgot Adrian existed, but Hawkins did not. He glanced over on occasion.
Time to remove yourself, old man,
those darting looks said.
You know how it goes.

Yes, he did. He read Hawkins like an open book, and could see Sophia's familiarity turning vague speculation into bold decision. The belief that he might become the lover of the Duchess of Everdon before morning glimmered in the sparkling looks Hawkins gave her.

The hell you will, boy.

The three mastiffs dozed by the hearth. Adrian dropped his arm and quietly snapped his fingers. Suddenly awake, they rose in formation. They began circling the table, eyeing its scraps.

The canine entourage interrupted a lengthy discussion about Coleridge. Sophia scolded the dogs to no avail.

“It appears they want to go out,” Adrian said. At the last word they pranced over to her with excitement. “They have been away from you all day and are acting jealous. I would take them, but I don't think it will pacify them.”

Her frown broke as her demanding children drooled delight at her attention. With a mother's sigh she rose. “Mister Burchard is right, you must excuse me, Mister Hawkins. I always give them a brief walk in the evening. There is still a bit of light, so I had best do it now.” She fetched their leads from a bench near the hearth. “Only down the street and back, Yuri. Feel free to smoke, gentlemen.”

With hounds straining for freedom, she tripped out of the chamber.

He knew which chamber was hers. While her entourage had unpacked and settled into the inn, he had joined them, one more anonymous body moving about in the confusion, with hat pulled low and boots scuffed with dirt. The inn servants had assumed he was with the duchess, and the duchess's servants thought him with the inn, and no one had given him more than a passing glance.

He stood beneath the side eaves of the stable, waiting in the gathering dusk. Through a lower window he could see her face at the table, and the profiles of two men.

She should retire soon.

His boot tapped the sack on the ground. Time for Sophia to learn that the man with first claims on her heart and soul was very close by.

A movement caught his eye. Sophia had risen and left the table. He waited for her companions to do the same.

The inn's door opened, and Sophia stepped out into the twilight. She was not alone. Three huge dogs lunged ahead, straining on their leads, pulling her into the lane.

The temptation to follow entered his head. She would be alone and vulnerable.

His better sense rejected the idea. So did the presence of those dogs. No, he would wait, and take this in the small steps he had planned. The unseen watcher was more unnerving than the assailant. Fear would give him more power than any attack ever could, and his ultimate goal was not really about her at all. He had to remember to keep those things separate.

He settled against the stable wall to wait, but the impulse to follow did not die. He pictured her tripping down the silent lanes, and saw himself following and dragging her into an alley and releasing all the fury against her that had built in him over the long years.

The possibilities titillated him, tempting him to give in to the cold anger in his blood. Bitterness beckoned him to forget the bigger game in favor of some personal satisfaction.

Hawkins lit a cigar and assumed the demeanor of a contented man biding his time.

“I expect the duchess will be gone longer than she thinks. The dogs will expect a good walk,” Adrian advised.

“There is a moon if I need to ride back after dark falls.”

Adrian poured them both some port. “I admire your self-confidence. At your age I would have been less at ease with the notion.”

Hawkins drew on his cigar in a cocky manner. “Well, I have had a lot of experience.”

“I envy your precocity. I was a few years older than you before I even had my first affair with a Frenchwoman, let alone sufficient experience that would let me face the next few hours with the
savoir faire
that you are showing.”

“Frenchwoman? The duchess is not French.”

“Officially not, but she has lived in Paris for eight years.”

The smallest frown marred Hawkins' perfect brow.

Adrian stretched out his legs and gestured with his cigar through their cloud of smoke. “The first time was a shock for me. Claudette, her name was. An angel in the drawing room. Who would have thought she could be such a taskmaster in bed? But then, you know all about that, eh? I say that their French lovers have spoiled them, don't you agree?”