The Duke's Reform (21 page)

     
'Isobel, I thought you would prefer to be away from where your
abigail
died today. Every time you ascend the stairs you'll
be thinking of her. If you prefer to stay, then that's entirely your
prerogative.'

      Her
eyes filled, she could not keep pace with his new persona. 'I beg your pardon
…'
She
half smiled. 'I must try not to use that
phrase, it reminds me of Bentley. You're quite right, that thought has kept me in
here all day. But, Alexander, I still don't understand why George should need
to accompany Sam.'

      His
cheeks flushed a little. 'George will know exactly which members of staff to
bring
back,
he won't select any one likely to make you
feel uncomfortable.' He leant forward, his expression earnest. 'I should have
been aware how unpleasant things were for you. In future only people with
your
best interests at heart will work here.'

      She
was nonplussed by his consideration. 'I don't know what to say, Newcomb is your
home, my wishes should come second.'

His grin made him look almost
boyish. 'I intend to remain here, in the east wing, I shall oversee the
repairs. I've no wish to cause you any further distress. I can assure you
Newcomb will no longer be an unfriendly place.'

      'I
shall still be obliged to eat cold food,' she said laughing, 'and if my cook is
to remain with you, then
you
shall have the best of the arrangement.'
There was something about his suggestion that did not sit well. What was it
that bothered her? Her good
humour
vanished as she
realised
she'd been bamboozled into accepting the fact he
did not intend to return to Grosvenor Square.

      'Why
are you not going back to Town?'

      His
expression was wary as he answered her. 'You're not looking after yourself,
you're too thin. This tragedy has made me decide my place is here, taking care
of you and my unborn child.'

     
Jumping from the chair she glared at him. 'I am quite capable of taking care of
myself, Alexander. It's very strange that now I am carrying a possible
successor to your title you're all attention. Where were you a year ago when I
was miserable and lonely and you were gallivanting all over London with your
unpleasant acquaintances and
chere
amie
?'

      He
loomed over her, his bonhomie replaced by a fearsome scowl. 'Madam, you're
treading on thin ice with these impertinent comments.' He stared down his
aristocratic nose and her bravado
shrivelled
. 'I've
never been unfaithful, I've my faults, but I don't intend to follow … ' Biting
back whatever he'd been intending to say, he nodded coldly and strode from the
room.

      This
did not bode well if they were to spend the next few months under the same
roof. No—this did he not just tell her he was intending to live apart from her?
She wished her intemperate words unspoken. He was sacrificing his comfort in
order to remain close by and she had rejected his kindness by accusing him of
infidelity. She would
apologise
next time they were
together. If Bentley had not drawn her attention to the existence of a mistress
she would not have considered this a possibility.

Miserably she returned to her bed
chamber. The sound of someone moving in the dressing room startled her. Her
eyes filled; it could not be Sally, she was dead. She sank back onto her bed in
despair— everything was in disarray. The thought of having Alexander watching
her every move was not a happy one.

      ‘My
lady,
Mrs
Watkins said as I was to come up and see if
I could do anything. I’ve been sorting out the mending.’

     
‘Ellie, I’m pleased to see you, I believe you can look after me quite
adequately if
Mrs
Watkins shows you what’s required
of a lady’s maid.’

      The
girl curtsied and managed a wobbly smile; her eyes were red and puffy, no doubt
very like her own.

 ‘I’ll be ever so grateful for
the opportunity, my lady.’ She hurried across the room. ‘Shall I help you
disrobe, my lady?’

Isobel had been going to lie down as
she was but Ellie was quite correct, she would ruin her morning gown if she did
so. ‘Thank you, I shan’t be going downstairs today. I shall require my supper
to be brought to me.’

*

She found it difficult to descend
the staircase the following morning but, unless she intended to remain trapped in
her apartment, she had to face her fears. The funeral was to take place in an
hour or so. The house was
quiet,
all the staff had
been given leave to attend. This was unusual as females rarely attended such an
occasion. In the absence of any close family, Mary and Sam had decided Sally
would like everyone to be there. No one even knew her real name or how old she
was - she had just been Sally to them.

     
Isobel drifted around the place unable to settle and eventually decided to take
the dogs down to the ornamental lake. This was a considerable distance but the
weather was fair and she needed time to clear her head. There was still the
matter of the apology she owed to Alexander. With luck his anger would have
been forgotten by the time she met up with him.

      Ebony
stayed at her side checking every few moments her beloved mistress was still
there, however, Othello saw something in the wood and raced away ignoring all
calls to return. This was unlike him. He was usually an obedient animal, he
must have unearthed something particularly interesting to remain in the trees
barking and growling the way he was.

     
Fortunately it was nearer to Home Wood then to the lake so taking a detour in
that direction would not add to her perambulations. She was decidedly
breathless by the time she arrived at the edge of the trees and leant for a
moment against a nearby trunk to regain her breath.

     
Unexpectedly Ebony's hackles rose and a deep rumbling growl echoed through the
naked branches. The interior was too gloomy to see what had upset both dogs. A
shiver flickered down her spine. It could be a poacher. Although they were not
normally violent, being caught red-handed might promote some unpleasant
retaliation.

      She
must collect her dogs and return to the house. The gamekeeper could go and
investigate when he returned from church. She shouted for Othello but he
continued to bark and snarl as if he had someone, or something, cornered.
Should she leave him, rely on his instincts to find his own way home?

      Then
the matter was decided for her. Ebony dashed from her side barking ferociously.
A gun shot ripped past her. Forgetting she was almost six months pregnant
Isobel rushed into the trees intent on coming between her dogs and whoever had
fired the gun. A shadowy shape was sitting halfway up an oak tree whilst both
dogs leapt and growled below him. If she could attract the poacher's attention,
tell him he could leave freely,
then
all might yet be
well.

****

Alexander returned from the funeral
eager to make his peace with Isobel. The dogs were nowhere to be seen; she must
have taken them for a walk. He would find them. Far better to smooth things
over away from the disapproving stares of her retainers.

He stared across the rolling green
and saw a movement on the edge of the trees. Why the hell would she want to go
in there in her condition? As he walked briskly towards the place she'd
disappeared he heard both dogs barking and growling. Something was not
right,
he broke into a run, cursing his damaged thigh which
still impeded his movement.

      He
was a hundred yards away when a shot was fired. He covered the remaining
distance flat out and burst into the wood to see her scrambling through the
undergrowth in the direction of the tree in which he could clearly see a man
with a rifle.

      God's
teeth! This was no poacher— this was far more sinister. She paused and called
out to the figure.

     
'Please don't shoot my dogs, let me collect them and you shall go free.'

      She
didn't
realise
what she was dealing with— how much
danger she was in. Should he call out and warn her, or approach stealthily and
try and apprehend whoever was skulking above them? Then his heart all but
stopped. The rifle was being raised. It was pointing directly at Isobel. He was
too far away to dislodge the gunman. How could he save his beloved?

Chapter Sixteen

Desperate to reach her dogs before
the poacher lost patience and shot one of them, Isobel forgot to gather up her
skirts and her boot snagged in the hem causing her to stumble to her knees. As
she fell a second gunshot exploded and a missile thudded into the trunk of the
tree above her.

     
'Isobel, for God's sake stay down, someone's trying to kill you.'

      Alexander
was shouting a warning. Instinctively she curled into a ball on the dirt and
covered her head with her hands. Crashing feet, shouts and curses were added to
the noise her dogs were making. She cowered on the ground too terrified to get
up in case she was struck by a third bullet.

      Then
she was snatched into his arms. 'My darling, he could have murdered you. What
were you thinking of coming in here on your own?'

      She clung
to him, needing his warmth, his strength, to stop her teeth chattering. Her
pets were pressing against her legs and gave her the courage to look round. She
expected to see bloody carnage. 'Where is the man who shot in my direction?'

     
'Whoever it was abandoned his rifle and took off through the trees. I'll
organise
a search after I've taken you home. Can you walk,
my dear?'

     
Experimentally she straightened. Her legs were no longer trembling, she would
manage well enough. 'I am perfectly well, Alexander. However, I fear my lovely
new promenade gown has not been so fortunate.'

     
Chuckling at her attempt to break the tension he kneed the dogs aside and
brushed off the worst of the leaf mould from her skirts. 'That will have to do.
We must get back, the sooner I get after the bastard the better.'

With his support she began the long
trek to the house. They had not been travelling far when she
realised
he was carrying the rifle in his free hand. 'Why
did you bring that?'

'I didn't wish to leave it behind in
case it was used again. Being able to handle such a weapon isn't common—whoever
was in that tree was likely to have been an ex-serviceman. There's a remote
possibility this rifle might lead us to whoever was behind the attack.'

      She
was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with his long strides; she
must ask him to slow down. Before she could do so he tossed the gun aside and
swept her up and continued to walk as fast as he had done before. With a sigh
of resignation she relaxed and let him do what he did best— take command.

****

His arrival was greeted with cries of distress
and much muttering from the footmen.

'Put me down, Alexander, I'm quite
capable of walking now I'm not obliged to keep up with you.'

Reluctantly he placed his precious
bundle on the parquet floor. 'I do beg your pardon
— '

'Oh, please don't —I would much
prefer you to say you're sorry.' Her eyes were alight with laughter and his
heart skipped a beat. This was how it should be; sharing intimate moments and
not constantly at odds with each other.

'I
was
intending to ask your
forgiveness for dragging you along, but now I shall refrain. You're a baggage,
madam, and show me no respect at all.'

The housekeeper bustled up, her
homely face anxious. 'My lady, are you unwell?'

'No, Mary, but there's a poacher in
the wood and he shot at my dogs.'

Her announcement caused further
consternation. 'Isobel, wait for me in your sitting room, I shall return as
soon as I can.'

He watched her walk away, her back
straight, her wonderful russet curls tumbling onto her neck. He felt himself
harden and quickly pulled his coat tails across his embarrassment. No other
woman had ever affected him in this way. He would desire her however advanced
her pregnancy or her years. However, this was not the time to be thinking of
carnal
pleasures,
he had a would-be murderer to
apprehend.

      With four stout
men each carrying a cudgel, he returned to the wood. His pistols were primed
and ready in his pocket, but he doubted he would find anyone to shoot. Their
quarry would be long gone, but they might discover evidence of his passage and
be able to follow the trail.

      He picked up the
rifle he'd cast aside earlier and examined it as he jogged. The gun was in poor
condition and in need of a good clean. 'That oak tree is the one where the
poacher sat. One of you climb up and tell me what you can see when you're
sitting on the large branch.'

      The youngest and
most agile of the group shinned up the trunk like a squirrel to sit astride it.
'I can see clear to the lake, your grace, the break in the trees is right
opposite. You'd not know anyone could get a clear view from so deep in the
wood.'

      It was as
Alexander feared; this was no random event. Whoever had been in that tree had
been waiting for the opportunity to shoot Isobel. All the staff
were
aware she walked her dogs in this part of the park
every day. All he had to do was remain hidden; the range of the rifle meant he
could have killed her from where he sat.

      His eyes misted
with rage
.
T
here could be only one perpetrator
behind this attack, only one man who would gain from Isobel's death. Bentley —
he was the one who stood to gain from her demise. But it didn't make sense.
Only an expert shot could have hoped to hit his target from that distance and
Bentley was no rifleman. God's teeth! His wits were wandering. Bentley was in
London which made it even more unlikely he was involved.

      This needed
further thought. He would not draw a hasty conclusion as there might be a perfectly
rational explanation for this atrocity. He needed to be certain before he
confronted his erstwhile heir. If his conjectures were correct the man would
not survive the meeting.

****

'Alexander, I can't believe Bentley is behind
these attacks. Remember, you plucked him from his miserable existence and gave
him an allowance, a fine wardrobe and a home. He might be irritating—but I'm
sure he's not a villain.'

'Perhaps you're right, sweetheart.'
He rubbed his eyes. 'But Bentley is the only one who stands to gain from your…
who stands to gain.' He straightened and his eyes blazed. 'I have it! Of
course—it has to be something to do with those ruffians who accosted Bentley
here the other day. If I find their master—I'll find the perpetrator.'

'If that's true, then poor
Mr
Bentley must be in the thrall of this monster. You must
go to London and discover the truth. I fear that young man might be in as much
danger as I am.'

'I shall, my love, as soon as I'm
certain Newcomb is safe.'

She smiled. 'Will you stay in Town
for long?'

'No longer than I
have to.
If you
recall, I decided my place is here, taking care of you.'

She waved away his arm as she pushed
herself upright. She was satisfied with his answer. 'Then I shall delay you no
longer. Take care, and please come to say goodbye before you leave for Town.'

Isobel suffered Mary and Ellie's
fussing in silence, and was relieved when they left her to read in front of the
fire with a tray of freshly baked cakes and a large pot of coffee. The fright
she had experienced from the unpleasant incident had faded and she reviewed the
event more objectively.

      She
prayed Alexander was wrong and no one was trying to kill her. The very idea was
like something out of that silly novel, The Mysteries of
Udolfo
.
Admittedly the man had aimed the gun in her direction, but her dogs were
running towards her, so he might well have been hoping to hit one of them.

      A
poacher with a rifle must be unusual. They were more likely to creep about with
snares and cudgels than with such sophisticated weaponry. What possible reason
could there be for a man with a valuable gun to be in Home Wood, apart from the
sinister explanation that someone was trying to kill
her?      Concentrating was difficult whilst the
infant inside her was apparently dancing a jig. Smiling she placed her hands
across her belly and could just feel the movement through her garments. Mary
had told her she was likely to become twice the size she was at the moment—
that beggared belief. Already she had lost sight of her toes and bending down
to retrieve a dropped object was no longer an easy task.

      Bill
appeared at the open door. 'Could you spare me a moment, my lady, there's
something I need to tell you. I thought you'd like to hear immediately.'

     
'Please come in—I've been puzzling over this morning events and come to no
satisfactory conclusion. Have you got an answer for me?'

      The
young man grinned. 'I reckon I might have. It's like this, your grace. Jed went
down to the village early this morning on an errand for
Mrs
Watkins. It seems they were all talking about a group of renegades who've been
stealing and demanding money with menaces in
neighbouring
villages.'

     
'Thank God! That explains it; no doubt the villain intended to burgle the house
but my dogs chased him up a tree. The militia must be sent for. His grace will
know how to go about that. Do you know how many people have suffered at their
hands?'

     
'A fair few, my lady.
There's
been
a couple of coaches held up and several farms attacked, but none of them on
this estate so far. I reckon your dogs disturbed them and they took to their
heels, apart from the one who ended up the tree.'

     
'Well, I can't think why something has not already been done about it. I wonder
why we did not hear of this before today.'

      Bill
bowed. 'Shall I tell this to his grace when he returns?'

      'Yes,
no doubt the duke will wish to send word to the appropriate authorities. I
intend to forget it ever happened.'

      This
was not an easy task. The men involved must be desperate to attack villages.
Maybe if the government had been more generous with the soldiers dismissed from
the army after Waterloo, had provided them with a decent pension or found them
employment, then these unfortunate men would not now be
terrorising
the countryside.

      This
did not excuse them, but it did explain their motivation. Had she not been
driven to violence herself when confronted by Sir John
Farnham's
licentious
behaviour
? She shuddered as she
remembered. Desperation and anger made people behave badly; whoever these
footpads were they would be hanged when they were apprehended.

      She
blinked back tears. She was a veritable watering pot nowadays and the slightest
thing seemed to set her off. When Alexander returned she would make her peace
with him. Her unexpected brush with mortality had given her the push she
needed. She doubted she would ever forget what he'd done to her, but maybe now
was the time to forgive and give him a chance to demonstrate that his
metamorphosis was genuine and permanent.

What a strange day it had been.
First there had been Sally's funeral service, and then an encounter with an armed
man. She prayed life would be less eventful in the ensuing months, for her
constitution was no longer as robust as it had once been. She feared many more
shocks of this sort might bring on a miscarriage. The conception of this child
was now unimportant; she loved and wanted the baby and wished the infant to be
born at full term and not prematurely.

      Good
grief! Alexander was not the only one who had changed. She wasn’t going to
abandon her baby to go and live on an unknown estate in Essex. Her life was
here at Newcomb bringing up this child.

      Dusk
had fallen when Alexander eventually joined her. He looked less grim than he
had when he'd set out. She greeted him with a smile. 'You have spoken to Bill?
It's a great shame Jed didn't return before you all left for the funeral and I
took my walk.'

     
'Indeed it is, sweetheart.' Wearily he dropped into the armchair opposite the
day bed she was

relaxing
on. 'He was quite correct. We found
evidence of others having been in the wood. The trail led to the back lane but
there we lost it. I've spent the remainder of the day riding around the farms
warning my tenants to be vigilant, to ensure they have bolted the doors before
they retire.'

      'Will
the militia be here tomorrow to search for them?'

      ‘I’ve
written a letter to Squire Rollins telling him what happened today, I can do no
more. I must insist you take no more solitary walks until these men have been
apprehended.'

      She
bristled. 'You insist?' His shout of laughter sent her tea cup flying and it
smashed in the hearth. 'Now look what you made me do.'

'Don't ruffle your pretty feathers,
my love; I'm certain one broken cup won't be noticed. I shall rephrase my
sentence.' His wicked smile played havoc with her equilibrium. 'My dear, might
I request you reconsider your daily promenades? I should be most distressed if
you were shot by an itinerant veteran.'