Authors: Miranda Davis
She stumbled up the stairs to her bedchamber. She should’ve known better than to seek consolation from the earl. Hadn’t she learned that lesson often enough growing up? He preferred to fix a problem rather than listen sympathetically. This was especially true when, to his mind, she was the problem. Whenever she came to him with a grievance, he invariably pointed out the ways in which her behavior was wanting. Worse, whenever her behavior disappointed him, he invoked her dead mother, and mourned her absence, till he became morose and impatient. With eyes heavenward, he would mutter ‘How am I to take her in hand, Bess?’
Well, at least he hadn’t begged for ghostly guidance in this instance. She’d have burst into tears if he had.
If only her mother’s death hadn’t devastated her father, perhaps he could’ve looked past her resemblance to his wife and perceived the daughter in need of a parent’s unconditional love. He never could. Her mother still claimed her father’s whole heart from the grave.
With that, the puzzling pieces of her life fell into order. Finally, Elizabeth understood that she had been orphaned not once but twice when her mother passed away. She lost her father as surely as her mother on the day of her birth. All those years, she idealized the earl’s devotion to her mother’s memory, and she ignored the price she herself paid. She grew up a lonely child, envying a beloved spectral being and wishing someday for an undying, perfect love of her own in compensation.
Her next thought stunned her: she would never wish that childhood on any child of hers.
For the first time, she judged the love she’d always idealized from this new perspective, as a woman contemplating marriage and a family of her own. Perhaps, she allowed, it was better if Clun did not love her with such single-minded devotion. Then, if she were to die, he could lay her to rest and carry on without her. Their children would never compete with a ghost for his affection, because he would love them, even if he never allowed himself to love the woman who bore them.
Then, Elizabeth’s natural optimism reasserted itself. Who’s to say she’d be first to stick her spoon in the wall? Perhaps, he’d shuffle off this mortal coil and leave her widowed with children to raise. The possibility of his death dropped her stomach to her knees.
But hold there, she chided herself. She must not make her father’s mistake either. Best she develop a cooler, more rational regard for her impossible Shropshire lord.
For the sake of their future children, she would try to be more levelheaded and less in love.
She considered him objectively. Lord Clun was hardly an ideal husband, what with his stubborn, unreasoning nature, his inappropriate sense of humor, his pessimistic propensities, his disdain for romantic attachment and his confidence that he knew best, first and always — even when he was wrong. He was often wrong and never willing to admit it. In truth, if he weren’t so terribly appealing in other ways, he’d just be terrible.
With that, her mind calmed. Her thoughts cleared. This changed everything.
She could in good conscience accept his terms and marry him. Once wed, he would appreciate her mature, moderate affection and perhaps reciprocate it. Perhaps, affection might one day lead to warmer feelings, one could never tell. But, she reminded herself sternly, it mustn’t get out of hand. Nor should she ever
expect
any reciprocity, because that might lead to disappointment.
The solution to their impasse was at hand. Elizabeth had to see Clun immediately.
Bearing in mind the fuss Lady Caroline Lamb caused visiting Lord Byron at his lodgings in disguise, Elizabeth decided Clun must meet her as if by chance in an unexceptional, semi-public location. Happily, she knew just the place.
* * *
At a crowded card party, Clun felt a shiver run down his spine for no reason. He hadn’t recognized anyone on his way into the saloon where tables were already occupied by players. He stood by a foursome playing whist when he sensed her standing behind him. He turned his head slowly, adjusted his stance to address Elizabeth properly and bowed over her hand.
She wore pale ivory silk. And pearls. Everything about her reminded him of fresh, rich cream skimmed from milk.
“Good evening, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Lord Clun, may I have a word?” Her tone was crisp.
His body reacted as if to danger with a quickening of his pulse. “Of course.”
She was about to jilt him at a card party of all places. He stalked after her to a quiet corner of the room.
“You surprise me, Elizabeth, I’d have thought you’d prefer a more private spot for this.” He bent his head near so she might say her piece without avid ears overhearing it.
She hissed at him, “You surprise me as well, sir, to accept whatever happens so passively. I thought you a man of spirit.”
“Constraints of Polite Society keep me from display. Well?”
“Will you meet me tomorrow at Mr. Soane’s house?”
“John Soane, the architect?”
“Yes, I’ll go there on an errand for my father and it will be private enough to discuss important matters with you.”
He relaxed. “When?”
She suggested a time in the afternoon to which he agreed.
Lady Elizabeth Damogan would be his betrothed one more day. He was happy even though she looked as if it’d be one day too many.
Chapter 29
In which our hero and heroine meet as if by chance.
A
ll morning, Clun ignored his rancid stomach and sweating palms. However, he couldn’t forget that his betrothal to Elizabeth was scheduled to end that afternoon. With each passing hour, he reminded himself grimly, one less hour remained of their connection. And after those cruel hours crept by, he counted the minutes.
He was about to leave to meet her, when a mud-spattered Tyler Rodwell strode in the front door.
“What brings you here in such a state?” Clun asked. He dropped his hat and gloves back on the table, glad for a temporary stay of execution. His half-brother half-dragged him down the hall. “Roddy, you should know the baroness is here.” Roddy stopped dead in his tracks. “Though not home at the moment.”
“Thank the Lord for small mercies,” he said and resumed his march. “I’ve disturbing news so I rode hell-for-leather to pass it on.” They went into the baron’s study and Roddy shut the door behind them.
“What’s happened?”
Roddy paced back and forth. “You recall how odd it was the baroness knew your doings soon as you’d done them.”
Clun leaned against his heavy desk. “Only too well.”
“Yet she didn’t know what you were up to at The Graces when Lady Elizabeth was there. Tried to ferret news from me, but I put her off the scent.”
“And she went rampaging off.” Clun chuckled until he remembered she’d rampaged her way to his London townhouse and roosted there ever since.
“As you suspected, she has a spy in your household.”
“I see,” Clun said, his expression flinty. “Who?”
“Ted overheard a conversation after you left with your lady. Her man ap Rhys snuck himself over to meet with someone staying behind.”
“Several stayed back,” Clun said, his jaw working. “Who is it?”
“Before I tell you, I’ll have your word as a gentleman you won’t kill him without hearing him out first.”
Clun stood tall and snarled at his half-brother, “Tell me.”
“Your word, my lord,” Roddy crossed his brawny arms and the two eyed each other, as matched as bookends. “Will.”
“You have my word. Now, tell me.”
“Your valet.”
“
Fewings
? Timid-as-a-dormouse Fewings? He’s afraid of my mother. And terrified of me.”
“Still, he keeps the baroness informed.”
“So that’s how she knew of my trip to Bath,” Clun started to piece the evidence together as he paced in the library, “I took Fewings with me. From Bath, I sent him back to London and went on to The Graces alone.”
Roddy nodded and said, “And she grew desperate enough to quiz me during his absence.”
“He joined me when I extended my stay.” Clun’s grim visage grew darker. He clawed through his short hair.
“But she’d rushed to Town before he arrived, so she didn’t know of Lady Elizabeth,” Roddy added.
“She doesn’t much like Elizabeth, as I predicted.”
“Ap Rhys told Fewings you’re to marry a Miss Mangold. That so?”
“Ha!” Clun barked a mirthless laugh. “No, she’s not for me.”
“But ideal for the baroness to keep doing as she pleases,” Roddy pointed out.
“Apparently.” Clun rubbed his cheek, feeling the closeness of Fewing’s afternoon shave. “I’ve let her have her way at the castle too long.”
“I take full responsibility for the situation.”
“No, Roddy, don’t bother. This is my fault, but I hope you’ll help me remedy the situation.”
“With pleasure. Where’d you like to begin?”
“First, let’s have a word with Fewings, shall we?”
“Will,” Roddy reminded.
Clun cut him off. “I gave my word, Roddy. I’ll hear him out first.”
The two hulking men entered Clun’s bedroom to find Fewings in the dressing room up to his elbow in one of the baron’s large boots applying his formula for bootblack.
Upon seeing them, Fewings started. “Your lordship, I thought you’d gone out.”
“My brother is here all the way from The Graces with unpleasant news,” Clun said, careful to keep his tone neutral. This was no mean feat, given how he longed to break his man’s man into two half-men.
“N-n-news?” Fewings quivered. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked warily from one scowling de Sayre to the other. He let the boot fall. “I see.”
“Perhaps you do, perhaps not,” Roddy said in a menacing tone.
“I’ve wondered for some time how my mother could be so well-informed about me. It occurred to me that she might have someone on my staff keeping her apprised of my private concerns. How could that be? I’m lord of the manor. What fool would be disloyal to me?” Clun asked quietly.
“F-f-fool, yes, my lord,” Fewings replied with a hard swallow.
“It was a mystery for lo these many months until my nephew overheard a conversation in the stable between this spy and ap Rhys.
Fewings blinked without comprehension.
“Lady Clun calls him Price,” Roddy explained.
Clun’s valet closed his eyes. What little color was in his face drained down his neck. He placed the blacking compound back in its wood box, folded the chamois, put it inside and closed the lid. He stood before them, a slim man struggling not to collapse before a firing squad.
“It was wrong of me,” he said in a strangled voice. “I’ll leave immediately, my lord. I am sorry for betraying your trust.”
“Not so hasty, Fewings,” Clun said and grabbed his valet’s arm. Fewings looked down his thin arm to the baron’s big fist then up his much thicker arm. Clun continued, “I would like to understand the situation.”
The valet glanced up to meet his master’s hard black eyes, “I dare not speak out of turn.”
“Odd time to develop scruples, wouldn’t you say?” Roddy scoffed.
“By rights, I should turn you off without a character for revealing details of my life to
any
one. Even the baroness.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then why do it?”
Fewings looked at his feet.
“How much does Lady Clun pay you?”
His head shot up. “Nothing, my lord. I-I had no choice.”
“No choice?” Roddy cried, incredulous.
“My family, your tenants west of the castle, she threatened to turn them off if I didn’t do as she wanted.”
“She has no right to turn anyone off his farm, Fewings,” Clun growled.
“But she’s got her ways, my lord, so I didn’t doubt for moment she’d see it done.”
“Ah,” Clun said and released Fewings’ arm.
“Though it’s too late for regret, I’m ashamed of myself. I have been all the while, your lordship. You’ve been a good master and fair. You deserved better than I did you. If you’ll let me, I’ll go now,” Fewings finished quietly.
Clun let his slump-shouldered valet start gathering up his things from the baron’s dressing room.
“Well, Fewings, if you insist on leaving my service, I’ll have to let you.” He paused dramatically. “But for what it’s worth, I’d rather you stay.”
The stunned look on Fewings’ face was one for the ages. Clun struggled to keep from laughing and wished Bess had been there to see it, too.
“Fewings, it ends now. All of it. My mother will not treat the castle as her fiefdom or play petty tyrant to have her way again. Her reign is over.” Clun slapped the poor man on the back and sent him lurching forward and his things tumbling to the floor.
His lordship turned to his half-brother, “Roddy, while she’s in London, organize your men at The Graces to take back the castle. How long will you need to replace her minions with men and women who’ll answer to me?”
Roddy was thoughtful. “Being the the time of year it is, we’d need almost everyone at the castle. That’d leave The Graces under-staffed till February at least.”
“Do what you must.”
“Mr. Rodwell, sir?” Fewings spoke up timidly, “My family’s not the only one under her thumb. You’ll find quite a few’ll be happy as grigs in a grotto to turn a deaf ear to her orders from now on. They’re not loyal to her so much as careful of their livelihoods.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Roddy replied with a grin. “In that case, we can have much of it sorted by the end of January, that is if I start back at first light.”
“Fewings, you have a critical role to play in this,” Clun said.
“I’ll redeem myself, Lord Clun,” Fewings replied. “I promise you.” His valet threw back his narrow shoulders, blinking away the moisture in his eyes.