The Rogue's Return (30 page)

“Oh, that's pretty. Thank you!”

She would have turned to him but he held her shoulder with one hand and took something out of his breeches pocket. She could see by the smile in his eyes in the mirror that it would be another gift.

He put his hands around her and pinned a brooch at the neckline of her dark blue gown—a colorful spray of flowers made of semiprecious stones.

She touched it, smiling. “It's lovely. Thank you.”

He leaned to kiss her hair. “I have your flaming handkerchief tucked in a pocket, and the fob on my watch chain.”

He let her turn, and she rose to kiss him. “Thank you,” she said again.

He took her right hand and slid on a cameo ring. “Just
simple things, love, but enough, perhaps, until I can do better.”

“Simon, they're all lovely, but you don't have to.”

“Yes, I do. For my pleasure.”

She sighed. “I said the wrong thing again, didn't I?”

“Jancy, there is no wrong thing. But try not to deprive me of the pleasure of giving you things. I don't want anyone to doubt that I hold you in the highest possible esteem.”

She bit her lips against tears. “Simon, I'm not worthy of that.”

“Are you calling me an idiot?” he teased.

“No, but . . .”

“Or disputing the fact that a husband is always right?”

“Well . . .”

They both laughed.

“Impudent wench. Come along. Breakfast is waiting and a carriage is ordered.”

A
fter breakfast Simon escorted Jancy out to the waiting carriage, feeling as if the sun shone especially for them. He'd finally arrived at the heart of the puzzle boxes and found a mystery, but also a profound treasure. His beloved wife was stronger and braver than he'd already imagined, and he'd already thought her strong and brave.

At the moment, he realized, she was nervous.

“A post chaise,” she said, as one might say, “A winged dragon.”

“Of course.” He guided her into the light vehicle, bemused that it could be a shock to her but reminded that she wasn't used to his world. It would be his delight to lay all its pleasures and comforts at her feet.

As she settled into the seat, she said, “This can't carry our possessions. Where are they?”

He sat beside her and gave the postilions the order to be off. “Most are on their way to Brideswell by wagon. If we need anything en route, we can buy it.”

“You, sir, are too careless with money.”

But he could tell she was protesting to cover nervousness, and when the chaise picked up speed, she clutched his arm. He certainly had no objection to putting his arm around her. “I promise, you're completely safe.”

“But we're going so fast!”

“Think of it as like rapids on a river.”

“But that
is
dangerous.”

He chuckled. “In the most enjoyable way. Come on, Jancy, enjoy the adventure, for this and riding are my preferred ways of traveling.”

“Are we safe in other ways?” she asked, looking to one side and the other, where Treadwell and Oglethorpe rode escort. Simon had his papers in the carriage at his feet.

“Of course. Simple precautions. If there was a villain on board the
Eweretta,
he is far away by now. Unless you're willing to suspect Reverend Shore, and even he is back at the Antelope, recovering from the journey.”

She smiled at him, her eyes brightening. “I think I could grow to like this sort of travel. Would I be able to learn to drive some sort of vehicle?”

“Why not? And ride, too. I'll teach you.”

“For now, teach me more about Lord Darius and his family. Thought of a duke's estate terrifies me.”

She worried about these things too much, but he told her about Dare and his family and what to expect at Long Chart. She was shocked all over again at the first change, where their four horses were changed for new ones, ridden by new postilions.

“So soon!” she exclaimed.

His mood grew more grim, however, when he saw evidence of the poor harvest.

“Few haystacks, and they are small,” he said, half to himself.

“And more vagrants,” she added, as they passed a weary-looking family dragging possessions in a cart. Simon would have given them money, but the fast carriage had already left them far behind.

“Work to be done,” he said. “And in more basic ways than reforming laws.”

“Laws are important, as with the Corn Laws. And surely this is mostly to do with the weather. The harvest will be better next year.”

He turned to look at her. “But the deeper cause is the end of the war and shifts in trade and industry. Even from chatter in Poole it's clear misery is stirring unrest, but riots won't help. Men have been hanged or transported for violence. It's not the answer, but with wages being lowered and the price of bread doubling . . .” He pulled a face. “I'm sorry. Don't let me bore you.”

“Simon!” Lord, but he loved her frowns. “Such things couldn't possibly bore me. I'm looking forward to being the helpmeet of a newborn Hereward, fighting against the invasion of injustice. I don't understand many of the things you talk about, but I am much more familiar than you are with the lives of ordinary people. People for whom twenty pounds is the difference between decency and disaster. Who work all hours and make do and mend because they have no choice. Those who suffer from unjust laws . . .”

She broke off as if she, too, was worried she was ranting on.

He raised her hand and kissed it. “We are a perfect team, aren't we? Isaiah knew what he was doing when he forced our wedding.”

They spent the next hours in plans, talking of where he would stand for Parliament and where they would live. He suggested that they treat Brideswell as their country home but in fairness added, “You should wait until you've been there before deciding. I call it a hive for a reason. It's always full of people, family, servants and guests, who all think they're entitled to meddle. We could have a place of our own, but not too far away, I hope.”

She smiled at him. “Don't try to hide that you love it there. No idea of living there all the time?”

He laughed acceptance of her observation but shook his head. “If I'm going into politics, I'll give it most of my time. I'd like a seat fairly close to Brideswell so that we can spend time there or nearby, but our principal home will be in London unless you dislike that.”

“I'm a town girl, don't forget.”

“London isn't like Carlisle. It's big, crowded, noisy, and dirty. I'm not fond of the place myself.”

She squeezed his hand. “We'll find the right home.”

They continued to make plans, weaving a golden future and Simon thought their path smooth until they arrived at Long Chart. He hardly noticed turning between the stone pillars carved with heraldic devices to go up the long, treelined drive, but Jancy stopped speaking to stare.

“Lovely, isn't it?”

“I've never seen anything like it in my life.”

She didn't sound entirely thrilled.

He tried to look with her eyes and saw parkland more perfect than God had ever intended and the great house sprawled over a gentle rise like a vast crown of golden stone.

“That's one house?” she asked. “It's bigger than York!”

Before he could think what to say, she turned a pale face to him. “I don't belong here. I'm sorry, but I can't. I won't know what to do!”

“Of course you belong here—as my wife.”

“But I won't know what to do,” she repeated. “Tell me.”

“Simply be yourself.”

“This
is
myself!”

Her snappish tone irritated. “Treat the duchess as you did Mrs. Gore. Treat Dare as you did Hal. And follow the old adage—when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Jancy, most people would be overwhelmed by Long Chart. If you get lost, ask the way. If you want anything, ask a servant to provide it, just as you did to Sal and Izzy.”

They were nearing the house, and he wanted her to snap out of this before she threw a scene in front of the waiting footmen.

“Those aren't Izzy and Sal,” she muttered, staring at them.

“But they are employed to help you. When you worked in the shop, did you mind assisting a customer?”

“No.”

“This is no different.”

She glared at him. “It
feels
different. Oh, I wish I was in a finer dress!”

Suddenly he did understand. “I'm sorry, love. It won't matter—these people are friends—but I should have thought of that.”

The chaise stopped beneath the porte cochere.

“See,” he added, “there's the duchess waiting to greet us, and she's not dressed much finer than you are.”

Jancy snorted at that, but she appeared to be pulling herself together. What he'd said was true. The Duchess of Yeovil wore a plain brown dress and a simple shawl. Her brown hair was piled under a cap no more elaborate than the one Jancy wore under her bonnet. And beside her stood Dare, shockingly thinner and paler, even sallow, but alive and smiling.

As soon as they climbed down, the duchess beamed at Jancy. “My dear, how lovely to meet you. Though I warn you, Amy St. Bride is going to be frantic to have missed her oldest son's wedding. Simon, what a rascal you are to have stayed away so long.” She turned back to Jancy. “I'm sure the wretch hasn't paid any heed to your comfort—”

“Oh, no, your grace. I mean, yes, your grace.”

Devil take it,
Simon thought. She was going to be bobbing like a kitchen maid in a moment. Why hadn't he anticipated this?

Sarah Yeovil linked arms with Jancy and swept her toward the door. “Come along out of the cold. You will want to refresh yourself, and Simon and Dare have years to catch up on.”

Jancy glanced back, firing a silent plea for help. Simon
ignored it. There was nothing useful he could do and he trusted the duchess to smooth the way.

And Dare was here.

Simon gripped the thin hand of his dearest friend. Then he pulled Dare into his arms. Almost immediately, he let Dare go. “Sorry. I'm just so damned glad to see you.”

“Teach you to stay away so long,” Dare said, but smiling. “Shall we pursue before Mama terrifies your bride to death?”

“She's one of the kindest women in the world.”

“Yes, isn't she. And I caused her so much grief.” Before Simon could think how to respond, Dare said, “Does that satchel contain some secret treasure or can you surrender it to one of the footmen?”

Simon felt foolish to be clutching his papers, but it would be even more foolish to lose them now through carelessness. “I need to keep it with me.”

Dare's brows rose. “A mystery?”

“Not exactly, but something of an adventure.”

“Ah. The Rogue returns. And here we were, thinking we might have some quiet time. You heard that Luce had a son?”

“Hal told me.”

“And Francis. A daughter—Emma. Both Lee's wife and Con's are in that interesting condition, and with the plethora of weddings I fear that next year England will suffer a plague of roguelettes.”

It was just the sort of thing the old Dare might have said, but given a harsh edge. It was also as if the flow of words was being used as defense. Simon couldn't believe that he was unwelcome, but it almost felt that way.

They were walking down a corridor familiar to Simon from his youth. He even remembered the smell. Did all houses have their own smell, perhaps simply a matter of the choice of polish? Youthful memories made the changes in Dare even more marked.

It had been four years since they'd last met, so Simon
supposed he was changed, too. Dare was worn thin by wounds and opium, however, not time. That wasn't the whole of it, either. He looked years older than he should, but he
felt
older, too. Had that bright spirit been crushed forever?

Simon took the bull by the horns. “How are you?”

“Much improved. If you're shocked by me now, only imagine the reaction of my rescuers.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Please. I'm the one who should be sorry.” After a moment, Dare added, “I sometimes don't know quite how to behave with people anymore.”

“Dare, you don't have to ‘behave' with me.”

“But sometimes I can't help it. Do please put up with me, Simon. I'm working my way from the drug, you see. I'm told stopping it abruptly can be deadly and it would certainly be unpleasant. Having been without it now and then, I know that. But this is a great deal more drawn out.” After a moment he added, “I don't like what it does to me, but I don't like to be without it.”

Simon tried a joke. “I've known women like that.”

And Dare laughed, showing a flicker of his old self. “I'm very glad you're home, Simon.”

Simon smiled. “So am I.”

 

Jancy went with the duchess along what seemed like miles of paneled corridors and through grand chambers where paintings hung on the walls and even the ceilings were works of art. All the way, she tried to do her part in a stream of light conversation, but by the time they climbed an immense staircase, she was feeling desperate. Though there was nothing inquisitorial about the Duchess of Yeovil, Jancy felt squeezed for facts.

She'd admitted to being from Carlisle and that her father had been a schoolmaster there. This didn't seem to shock. She told the duchess about going to Canada when her mother died and meeting Simon there because he lived in the same house. She'd managed to avoid
details about the wedding because she wasn't sure what Simon wanted her to say about that.

“How excellent that you met,” the duchess said. “Simon has always been a wild flame, so I'm sure a tame domestic bloom would not have suited. Here we are.”

Jancy was ushered into a room that took her breath away.

Walls painted with flowers and birds. A flowery carpet on the floor that felt silky beneath her scruffy shoes. Damask hangings in pale blue. Delicate furniture touched with gilding and upholstered in flowered silk.

A maidservant awaited, smiling, curtsying—and dressed far better than Jancy was, even in a striped dress, pinafore, and mobcap. Jancy realized she had her hands clasped nervously and made them relax.