Chance the Winds of Fortune (5 page)

“If I were you, Robin, I'd be worrying more about what Father will be saying to
you
,” Rhea Claire warned him, thinking of the cold displeasure that could settle on the duke's occasionally austere face. “He will be most displeased.”

Robin shrugged his narrow shoulders, remaining unconcerned. “No, he won't. He doesn't even like the earl. Heard him telling Mother the other day that the man was better suited to be the Earl of Duncedom than Rendale. Said he was a-a,” Robin said, pausing and frowning as he tried to remember the exact words, “pompous dunderhead!”

“Robin!” Rhea Claire said indignantly. “How dare you repeat such a thing,” she warned him, but they both knew it was a weak reprimand when a chuckle escaped from her tightly compressed lips. “You brat,” she said fondly, and rumpled his curls. “I don't know why I put up with you. You are always in trouble of some kind, and those ears of yours, Master Jackanapes, will get you in over your head one of these fine days.”

“You're not really going to marry the earl, are you, Rhea?” Robin asked. “I don't think anyone really likes him. And I know that Father doesn't at all.”

“Now that is enough, Robin,” Rhea told him seriously. “I have not decided yet. Besides, just because others do not care for him, why should that matter to me? I make my own decisions, and I happen to think that the earl needs a few friends. I suspect he is quite lonely.” Now Rhea Claire was defending him against her own thoughts of late about accepting the proposal she knew would be forthcoming from him. “I really don't
dislike
Wesley. He's quite a gentleman, and far more likable than all of those aging roués I met in London. I could certainly do far worse.”

“Or far better, I suspect. But you don't say love, and isn't that what should be important, Rhea?” asked Francis Dominick, eldest son and heir of the Duke of Camareigh, as he stepped through the gaping hedge. “Lord, what a mess! Saunders is still muttering about all of this, not to mention old Mason, who's in high dudgeon up at the house. What a ruckus. I don't think Lord Rendale will ever be the same, although it probably did him a wonder of good to get knocked down a notch or two. Far too serious a fellow, your earl, Rhea,” Francis said, succinctly summing up his sister's suitor.

“He is not
my
earl,” Rhea retorted, stung. She was a year older than her brother Francis, who, at sixteen, stood a good foot taller than she did.

“Well, he would certainly like to be,” Francis said, glancing around at the once peaceful garden.

“What happened up at the house, Francis?” Robin asked, unable to curb his curiosity any longer.

Francis turned a knowing blue-gray eye on his young brother. “I s'pose Father is out cutting a switch for your breeches, seeing how the earl let slip how he came to fall into the lily pond.”

“He told Father!” Robin squealed. “But he promised he would not tell, the tattler. I knew I was right in never having cared for the cut of his coat,” he added audaciously, stamping his foot in indignation.

Francis grinned. “Well, what did you expect him to say when he met our father in the hall? The earl looked as guilty as a common thief as he tried to sneak up the stairs. But Mason caught him, probably tipped off by one of the footmen. Father and I had been in the library, and were entering the hall when we stopped in amazement at the sight that greeted us on the Grand Staircase,” Francis told them with a laugh. “The earl was trying to escape a very solicitous Mason, who happened to have a tight hold on the earl's arm and wasn't about to let go. The earl was shooshing him quiet, while trying to shake him loose. The look on Lord Rendale's face was unbelievable. I think he'd rather have come face-to-face with the devil himself than see Father standing there watching him.”

“Poor Wesley,” Rhea said, feeling sorry for the bewildered earl.

“I wonder if this means the picnic will be canceled,” Robin said glumly, thinking of the tables that would have been spread across the lawn, groaning under the weight of his favorite dishes, not to mention desserts. And what of the games he would miss playing with his cousins? It was just too horrible to think about.

Francis watched in amusement while Robin tried to straighten his shirt and breeches in an attempt to bring some semblance of order to his disheveled appearance. Feeling sorry for the little fellow, he finally decided to set his mind at rest—at least about the picnic.

“I shouldn't worry about them canceling it. If Aunt Mary arrives tomorrow as planned, then they will certainly have it. You know how she and Mother like picnics,” he said. “But right now, Father wants to see you in his study, Robin,” he added, putting his arm across his brother's shoulders. He'd noticed them slump slightly at his mention of the upcoming interview with the duke. “It'll be all right. Father really doesn't care much for the earl, you know. But he will not stand for discourtesy of any kind in his home, especially toward a guest under his roof. So you'd better have a good explanation on your tongue,” he advised.

Rhea Claire glanced between her two brothers, each so different, and not just in one being so fair, while the other was dark. Robin was a little devil, and Rhea Claire had heard her father say often that he was her mother all over again. Francis, on the other hand, was quieter, more deliberate in his actions; he was definitely the duke's son, or so her mother often swore with a shake of her curly black hair.

“Well, all I've got to say on the matter,” Rhea declared, taking each of her brothers' arms as they walked beside her through the gardens, “is that I hope I do not have to serve as your witness, Robin, for I'd have to swear that I saw you glance back and laugh when poor Rendale fell into the lily pond.”

“I wasn't laughing near as hard as you were, Rhea,” Robin reminded her, glancing up to catch her grin before they all started to laugh.

* * *

From the Private Drawing Room in the south wing, Sabrina, Duchess of Camareigh, watched her three eldest children approach and wondered what it was they found so amusing. She could see Robin's dark head bobbing up and down as he hurried alongside his fair-haired brother and sister. Robin would always seem her baby, even though she had given birth to the twins almost two years ago. Finding herself enceinte after eight barren years had come as a complete surprise, but not as great as the actual birth when she had brought two lives into the world, instead of the one she had been expecting. It had been a difficult time for her, and she knew that there would be no more children, but she accepted it, and indeed was rather relieved about it. Far too many women died in childbirth, and she intended to fully enjoy watching her children mature into adulthood, and to share with them the pains and joys of living.

The duchess stared down at her eldest child, Rhea Claire, and found it hard to believe that her daughter was seventeen. What a beautiful girl she had grown into, the duchess thought, filled with pride for her firstborn. At times she could be a stubborn and willful young beauty, but that arrogant streak was tempered by an incredible gentleness and compassion that had at times worried her, for Rhea Claire was inclined to let her heart, when it was troubled and touched, rule her head. How many times, the duchess wondered with a sigh, had Rhea Claire brought a wounded bird or stray cat into the house to be protected. And how different were her feelings now, pondered the duchess, thinking of the Earl of Rendale, whom she suspected had aroused nothing more than pity in her daughter's tender heart.

The duchess smiled wryly, amazed at her thoughts, for it seemed only yesterday that she herself had come to Camareigh as a young bride. She hadn't been much older than Rhea Claire when she had first seen Camareigh. She could still feel her own awed panic when she'd caught sight of the magnificent house. The coach which had carried her away from her own home and familiar surroundings seemed to be approaching the grand house far too quickly, and the house had seemed to her, at that time, not to be very welcoming. But whether she resented it or not, she had become its mistress and duchess, and soon would give it its long-awaited heir.

Had she realized, in that moment of uncertainty and trepidation, just what exactly
was
behind those honey-colored walls, she might well have leaped from the carriage and taken to her heels, for nothing in her previous life had quite prepared her for the responsibilities of being the Duchess of Camareigh. Nor had she been prepared for the army of servants who had greeted her—rather suspiciously, she remembered—upon her arrival. Of course, she had not known them then, nor they her, and she could well understand their dubious opinion about this new mistress, who looked as if she should still be playing with dolls.

She had held her breath as she'd stared down the long line of unfriendly faces, their expressions striking terror into her already quivering heart. She could remember meeting the austere butler, Mason, his stern countenance seeming gentle compared with the tight-lipped and obviously resentful housekeeper, who she later discovered recognized no mistress other than the dowager duchess. Well, the
ex
-housekeeper had certainly misjudged this duchess, Sabrina remembered with a chuckle, for she had sent the old harridan packing with a flea in her ear and a note to the dowager duchess that the woman's services would no longer be needed by
this
duchess. It had also served warning to any other malcontents to beware, for this was no mealymouthed and cowed mistress they were dealing with. And from that day forward the new duchess had a loyal staff eager to serve her, for no one had much minded that she'd fired the housekeeper. In fact, the housekeeper had been heartily disliked by everyone, because every misdemeanor or infraction of household rules, no matter how slight, even an incautiously spoken word, had been parroted back to the dowager duchess by her overwrought and insanely loyal lackey. Now that the old battle-ax had left, they could get back to doing the work they'd been hired to do, which had been woefully neglected during the reign of the previous housekeeper.

And indeed, the duchess remembered, there had been a lot of work to do before the great house once again assumed its proud mantle of excellence. From the tireless Mason, who oversaw every polished silver spoon and dusted off every bottle of wine, to the new housekeeper, who personally saw that every bed had been aired and made up with freshly scented sheets, to the cook, who saw that her kitchen was scrubbed down to the bare wood and her scullery maids worked almost to the bone, to the steward, under-butler, assistant housekeeper, footmen, maids, ostlers, master of music, secretary, chaplain, stable boys, grooms, porters, coachmen, dairy maids, and the head gardener and his staff—all worked together to build the harmonious atmosphere that now existed at Camareigh. They made it the great house that it was, and a
great
house it was indeed.

There were two wings consisting of the ducal apartments, family apartments, and State apartments, all of which were comprised of various drawing rooms, dining rooms, salons, bedchambers and dressing rooms, antechambers and studies, the ever-expanding Library and Grand Ballroom, the music room and Long Gallery, kitchens and servants' hall, and other rooms and backstairs' cubbyholes too numerous to even know about. Outside, there were the stables, greenhouses, and orangery to be looked after, as well as the topiary gardens, rose gardens, kitchen gardens, and natural gardens, and the extensive grounds of the estate itself.

Close to twenty years now, the duchess thought with a reminiscent smile, she had been mistress of Camareigh; she'd borne her children under its bountiful roof, and seen many a summer turn to autumn as she'd basked in the glow of its honey-colored walls. This was her home now, a home she'd come to love as much as her husband Lucien did, and he'd been born and raised at Camareigh, and had had pride for this great house drummed into him all of his life.

While he was still in the nursery, his indefatigable and imperiously proud grandmother, the dowager duchess, had instilled in him all of her own dreams and hopes for Camareigh, and she had not allowed death to take her until she'd been assured of Camareigh's survival through succession. The duchess knew that the dowager duchess had been disappointed to find her first great-grandchild was a girl, but she had taken to Rhea Claire, and when Francis had come along a year later, she had been exultant and had presented her granddaughter-in-law with her most prized possession—a ruby and pearl pendant, suspended from a pearl necklace, which had been a wedding gift from Queen Elizabeth I to a Dominick bride. Lucien had gained his grandmother's undying devotion, and he had the satisfaction of knowing, when she died a few years later, that she'd been a very happy and smug old woman who had lived life to the fullest, and seen all of her dreams come true for the house she loved above all else. The dowager duchess may have been a tyrant, the present duchess thought, but despite all of the old woman's scheming, she had liked her, for the old woman hadn't really been mean or horrible, just stubborn and determined to have her own way. Much like her grandson. The duchess smiled, thinking how Lucien would have hated that comparison, for he'd been at odds with his grandmother for most of his life and had only got back in her good graces by siring a son and heir, so…

“And what are you daydreaming about, my love?” the duke inquired softly, startling the duchess, for he'd come up behind her without her having heard him. He pressed a light kiss on her nape, his warm breath tickling the sensitive spot beneath her uplifted curls. “Odd, is it not, that I should have never tired of your fragrance?” he questioned, breathing deeply of her lightly scented skin.

“Lucien,” Sabrina whispered, never failing to find his touch exciting. “Odd, is it not, that I should never have tired of your touch?” she responded in the familiar banter they used with one another.