The Rogue's Return (35 page)

“I'll be expected to make it my principal home.”

Given his love for his home, she was surprised to hear resignation rather than pleasure.

“You wouldn't like that?” she asked, feeling her way.

“Agriculture bores me. It must be Black Ademar's hair. And anyway, it wouldn't be the same place.”

A death, as she'd thought. “The children and old people could stay. . . .” But it wasn't a solution. She became aware of something strained in the silence. “Simon, what is it?”

Dacre?
Hasketts?

He gently rubbed his knuckles down her cheek. “Nothing terrible, love. Depending on how you look at it, I suppose. Do you hate this place?”

“Hate? No. Why should I?”

“Do you like it, then?”

She couldn't see where he was going. “It's beautiful. But cold.”

“Yes.”

“Simon? Just tell me what's bothering you. Please.”

He sighed and looked into her eyes. “I don't want to impose something on you. But . . . I want to take this burden from my father before it breaks his heart.”

“The earldom? You can do that?”

“No. But I can offer to live here. To make this my principal residence and take over the management of it. As earl, he'd visit, of course, but he and the rest of the family can carry on as usual at Brideswell.”

Live
here
?

“But you love Brideswell,” she protested.

“Yes, but as a place to visit. I never expected to make it my home until Father died, and as I said, the business of Brideswell—tending the land and tenants—isn't the life I'd choose. I want Parliament, a small house in town, and Brideswell for country visits.”

“But if you take over Marlowe . . .”

But he understood the implications. She wanted to protest against such a sacrifice, but it was in Simon's nature and part of why she loved him so much.

“It won't be the same here,” he said. “My father and my father's father, and probably all their fathers, have actually run the Brideswell estates and been closely involved with everything in our part of Lincolnshire. St. Bride tendrils run through every field and into every home, though in a benign way. Marlowe is more . . . distant.”

“More like a machine?” she suggested.

“Yes. After all, in his young years Marlowe hardly lived a rural existence. He inhabited London and court and even Paris before the revolution.”

“So you'll still be able to stand for the House of Commons? Until you become Lord Austrey, at least.”

“Even then. Austrey's a courtesy title. I won't get a seat in the House of Lords until I'm Marlowe. It won't be so bad, Jancy. We can still have the house in town. In fact the earldom owns one.”

Doubtless not the small, cozy house they'd talked about, but she didn't say that. He sounded as if he was persuading her, but she knew he was trying to persuade himself.

She had to make sure he was thinking clearly. “You'll have to spend quite a bit of time here. We will, I mean.”

“It seems a small price to pay for Brideswell.”

“What do you mean?”

“If we do this, Brideswell will still exist. It will be there, ready to embrace us and our children whenever we care to go.”

“I see,” she said, and indeed she did. “Then we'll do it.”

He rested his head against hers. “You don't mind?”

She hugged him close. “I value Brideswell, too. And I was worrying about the children in this chilly space.”

And I'll find a way for this not to freeze your heart and quench your spirit.

“We will have children of our own, I hope,” he said.

“Then we'll find a way for them to be comfortable here. We could always give the marble hall a coat of pink paint.”

“Sacrilege,” he said, laughing into her neck. “But you know, the walls there are only painted to look like marble. So why not? Not pink, perhaps, but color of some sort.” His lips found hers. “Thank God for you, Jancy.”

She kissed him back, rolling him so she could drive away his worries for a little while.

Jancy woke the next morning and had to sort out her mind to discover where she was. When she remembered, she realized that she'd been confused by the modest size of the bedroom and even, perhaps, by the sense of being in a small building. As she'd thought, these villas were like small houses.

When Simon woke, he smiled at her, but she saw the hint of burden in them.

“I've been thinking,” she said.

“Oh, woe is me.” But his eyes smiled.

“Simon, why can't we think of the family wing as our home? I believe we could even make an outside entrance. Then we can look after this place without having to live in it most of the time.”

He rolled onto his front, head pillowed on his arms, smiling brilliantly at her. “We could, couldn't we? Add in the occasional grand house party to keep the place alive, and duty is served.”

“Perhaps a party for all the Rogues.”

“Now there's a thought. My angel bride.”

“You'd have thought of it. I just have less to worry about right now.”

“All's right with the world when my Jancy is in it.” He rolled out of bed. “I feel poetry coming on. All's right with the world when my Jancy is in it. She has lovely hair but then she will up pin it. . . .”

She pulled a laughing face at him.

“She conquers all problems . . . and sings like a linnet.”

“Idiot!”

“I love her, adore her, and there's the full truth in it.” He blew her a kiss and went into the small dressing room next door.

Jancy sat there, hugging her knees, grinning like the idiot she'd called him.

She did as she ought and rang for a maid to assist her. She had no choice if she wanted to wear Lady Thea's dark dress. She supposed more mourning clothes were an urgent necessity but had no idea how to go about that right now.

They crossed the house to the family dining room, where Simon's father was already at the table. Once they were served, Simon dismissed the footman and made his suggestion.

His father stared. “What? No, no, Simon, I won't place such a burden on you. You want Parliament, and I'm sure you'll serve the nation well.”

“I hope so,” Simon said with skillful carelessness. “But a country house is no bad thing for a politician, Father. And I'm hoping for free use of the town house.”

“But you can have that without taking on this place. Don't try to tell me that estate management is suddenly to your taste, because I know it's not.”

He cut his beef as if that was the end of the matter.

“Of course it isn't,” Simon said, “but this place almost runs itself. Admit it, Father, apart from all the other problems, you'd be bored here. It's a perfect jewel. There's no building to be done. The park defies the notion of more improvement. And as the tenants and local businesses are used to a cool and distant hand, you'd probably drive them to rebellion by trying to improve their lot.”

Mr. St. Bride glared at him, but his mouth worked and Jancy thought a tear might be forming.

“What's more,” Simon said, “Jancy points out that we can live in this wing very cozily while having a grand house for entertaining. Truly, Father, there's nothing we want more.”

Though Simon's words were true in context, Jancy didn't think his father was fooled. But that tear escaped, to be dabbed with a handkerchief. “Thank you, thank you, my dearest son. Would have broken your mother's heart to leave Brideswell, you know.”

“I know,” Simon said, smiling. “And we couldn't have that.”

J
ancy left Simon with his father, happy overall with the way things were turning out. She'd never have chosen to live in a place like this, but she could and would make a home here.

She visited Cousin Dorothy and found her still worn down and grieving, but she appeared to want to take up management of the house. Occupation would doubtless be good for her, so Jancy expressed gratitude but was left at a loose end.

She wandered the house again, enjoying it as a guest. It truly was beautiful in its proportions, and the bas-relief classical figures, lovely plasterwork, and works of art were a wonder to her. She simply couldn't understand why anyone would create a house for show, however, especially when they then mostly lived in an annex. Marlowe wasn't even particularly accessible to people who might want to come and admire.

She wondered if it would be scandalous to have true public days when everyone, even the Hasketts of the world, could come and gawk at it.

The family portraits interested her, but if any of this branch of the St. Brides had been inflicted with Black Ademar's hair, it hadn't been recorded. Of course, for the past century or more, men had often worn wigs.

Restless, she put on a cloak and went for a walk to assess the place from the outside. She left by the terrace
at the back, which led down to formal gardens clearly as meticulously cared for as the house. No moss grew on paths, and there was scarcely even a fallen leaf on the ground.

She encountered a few gardeners but suspected there must be many more, carefully keeping out of her way. She'd rather be aware of them. The sense of being alone in a vast empty countryside was unsettling. They could certainly open the garden to visitors. The gardens, like the house, had been created for show.

But she wanted an ordinary garden, like the ones in Carlisle and York—for fruits, vegetables, and perfumed flowers. She pulled a face at the shock she'd cause by planting her own beans.

She sat on the rim of a still fountain where big stone fish would spout water in summer, considering where such a little garden could be made. Horrendous, she supposed, to put it right by their villa home. She swiveled to take in the view away from the house, which included miniature temples and even some broken pillars suggesting that a Roman house had once stood there. It almost certainly hadn't.

In the distance a large stone house reminded her that she and Simon would have wealthy neighbors. Worries crept back like damp. Living here would mean becoming part of an elite county society. She'd have to host dinners and balls, perhaps for people like Mrs. Ransome-Brown.

Hasketts were good mimics, she reminded herself. Look how she'd put on the Grand Panjandrum for the maid at Long Chart. But thought of Dacre and the picture fretted her. If Hal had failed to deal with the man, what would he want?

Money? In this world that might not be a problem, though she'd hate to give him a penny.

Influence? Again, she'd not wish to favor anyone on those terms, but he seemed intelligent and hardworking, so perhaps it wouldn't be too corrupt.

But she and Simon would live under an ax of exposure, subject to infinite demands. That would be intolerable, and now, with Simon taking charge of Marlowe and soon to become Lord Austrey, her origins would be a horrible scandal. She'd probably be banned from good society, which would be unbearable for him. . . .

She couldn't imagine how she'd let him soothe her. They'd not dealt with the fact that her switched identity threatened the validity of her marriage. She remembered hearing about a case of an heir denied his father's title and estates because the courts decided his father hadn't been properly married to his mother at the time of his birth. A man could will his property where he wished, but a title had to go to his oldest legitimate son.

What if Dacre was clever enough to bide his time until after she and Simon had a son? Then he'd have a horrible hold over them. Now was not the time to make Simon face these things, but she would have to.

And behind it all, Hasketts lurked. What if Dacre went checking on her parentage? Had Martha told her secrets to anyone other than Isaiah?

She saw a movement to the side and turned, expecting another gardener. Then she rose to her feet. “Captain Norton! What are you doing here?” Feeling ungracious, she smiled. “You find an unhappy house, but welcome. The
Eweretta
made smooth passage to London?”

“Very smooth. We disembarked days ago. I've been traveling.”

She couldn't imagine why he was here.

“And heard Simon was here? Please, come up to the house.”

He strolled beside her. “A very fine property. And all to be Simon's one day, I gather, on top of Brideswell. Some people are blessedly born, aren't they?”

She could have told him what they thought of this blessing, but there was no point. “Do you have family in this area?” she asked, wondering where to put him if he wanted to stay.

“No, I came to see you—Nan St. Bride.”

She stopped and turned slowly to face him. “But you were Simon's second!”

He shrugged, at ease and slightly amused, like a cat with a trapped mouse.

“I didn't realize quickly enough what was afoot. You're looking very fine, Nan. Quite the grand lady now. But I think, if you came face to face with your old neighbor Mrs. Entwistle, she would know the truth.”

Jancy fought to hide a pounding heart and dry mouth. “What do you want?”

He smiled. “So quick. I always did admire your wits. Why did you do it? To get your cousin's inheritance, I suppose, so don't look down your nose at me. Then you worked your wiles on Trewitt to get his money, and now this on top. I do so admire success.”

Fury threatened to overwhelm her, but she clung to calm. “What do you want?” she repeated.

“Straight to business, but then, you're used to the shop, aren't you? The future Countess of Marlowe, working in a shop. What will the world say?”

She simply met his eyes, refusing to be baited.

“Very well, it's nothing too difficult. Some of Simon's papers could blight my prospects. Bring them to me and no one will learn of your deception, not even St. Bride. From me, at least.”

She fought to hide her surprise and rapid thought.

He didn't know Simon knew the truth.

He didn't know the papers were elsewhere.

“If I give you the papers, you'll never tell anyone?” she asked, trying to appear anxious to appease him.

“Why would I? It would not benefit me.”

But you'll be back for more, you cur.

“What papers are they? How will I know? You can't be named or Simon would have realized.”

“Bring them all to me”—he glanced around—“by the fountain. I'll find the crucial ones, and that will be that.”

His calm certainty that she would do as he demanded
made her want to kill him. Hoping he took her tension for fear, she said, “Very well,” and turned to hurry back to the house.

Fury burned fiercest, but beneath ran choking terror. Short of killing him, how could he be stopped? Simon. She needed Simon. She ran up the wide steps but made herself slow before entering the house and hurrying toward the estate offices.

Only servants were there, and they didn't know where Simon was. She ran back into the main house. Her head was buzzing so she could hardly think, but she made for the guest wing—and almost collided with Simon.

He caught her hands. “I was looking for you. Marlowe's gone.”

The shock of that made her sway.

He caught her and carried her to a marble bench. “I shouldn't have broken the news like that.”

“It's not that. Or partly that.” This place almost echoed, and heaven knew who could hear them. She grabbed his hand and towed him out through the front doors—at the opposite side of the house to where Norton waited.

“Jancy, what's the matter?”

As soon as they were down the steps, she breathlessly explained. “Norton's here. He took the drawing. Took it to Carlisle. He
knows,
Simon, and he wants your papers for his silence! What do we do?”

“Where is he?”

“Near a fountain with big fish.”

He strode in that direction. She ran after. “What are we going to
do
?”

“I'm going to murder him.” He began to run. She pursued, but it was hopeless. She couldn't keep up.

From a distance she saw Simon grab Norton by the lapels and knock him down, falling on him, pounding. By the time she reached them, Norton was begging for mercy.

Jancy flung herself at Simon and grabbed his arm. “Stop! Stop!”

She could feel the rock hard tension throughout his body, but then he surged to his feet. “Get up,” he snapped.

Captain Norton was half sobbing, a hand to his probably broken nose, but he struggled up. “All I wanted was some papers!”

“You frightened my wife. You
threatened
my wife. What did you do with the drawing you stole?”

Jancy swallowed. If Simon had asked anything of her in that tone, she'd have confessed in an instant.

Norton babbled, “Took it to Carlisle. To her neighbors.”

“To
Lady Austrey
's neighbors,” Simon corrected.

Norton's eyes showed white. “I didn't tell them anything! Pretended it was a bequest. Said it was Martha Otterburn and her daughter. They said no, it was the niece, but thank you very much. Nice to be remembered. That's all. I swear it!”

“Which you will completely forget.” The words were like chips of ice.

Norton looked as if he'd protest, but then he mumbled, “Yes, of course.”

“My lord.”

“My lord!”

Simon eyed him, rubbing his knuckles. “I presume you are the ‘coin' noted by McArthur as being very useful to him. Clever to use your rank as an initial and add a letter. Captain Oliver Norton. That'll probably help us identify ‘land,' as well. Yes, I can see that once someone worked out who ‘coin' was, it would blight your prospects.”

“I never meant to do any harm! Just wanted to get ahead. Everyone was doing it. . . .”

“Pay attention,” Simon said flatly. “I will extract the revealing papers and keep them safe. As long as you
hold your tongue, you may carry on your miserable way—but if you're wise, your way will never intersect with mine. If you make any trouble ever, I will crush you. Now leave.”

Jancy thought that Norton would flare up at the cold, dismissive tone, but perhaps he realized that in a way, he had what he'd come for. He turned and stumbled away.

Belatedly Jancy looked around, worried about servants. This was an open spot and deserted, so perhaps no one had overheard what was said.

But someone might have seen.

They'd have seen only a fight.

All the same, she felt as if Pandora's box had opened. The truth was out, and despite Simon's threat, it could never be locked up again.

Simon turned to her. “He won't talk.”

“But it feels as if the ground has dropped from beneath my feet. Simon, who will it be next, and what will
they
want?”

“No one. If someone denounces you as Nan, not Jane, we tell them to go to hell.”

“But I probably broke the law!”

“I doubt it, but if so, I know excellent lawyers.”

A residue of fury and violence hung around him, making her quake. She couldn't persist, not now at least, when he was dealing with the earl's death, plunged into a new, unwanted position. She took his bruised hands. “I'm so sorry, love. About the earl.”

He shrugged. “It was expected.”

“I'm truly Lady Austrey now?”

“I exaggerated for effect. The law requires that we wait to be absolutely certain that Dorothy doesn't produce a son. Even though she's certain it's impossible, we'll have to wait a little while.”

“So what happens in the meantime?”

“The estate is administered by trustees, but in practice, we'll have the handling of it. In due course, Father will become Earl of Marlowe and I will become Austrey.
Our oldest son, if we have one, will be Lord Bruxlow, poor mite.” He took her shoulders, tension gone. “Are you all right? I'm sorry he frightened you.”

“Yes.”

She couldn't tell him he had frightened her more. He'd frightened her with his violence, but also because he truly seemed ready to face the next accuser with the truth. She couldn't imagine all the repercussions of that, but one stood shockingly in her mind.

She licked her lips. “Simon, we can't admit that I'm Nan, not Jane.”

“Why not? It's not ideal, I grant, but you made a mistake in a time of stress. It's certainly better than letting worms like Norton blackmail us.”

“I lied to people over and over about it.”