Margaret Moore (15 page)

“Forgive me,” he murmured with an apologetic smile as they began their slow progress down the hill. “I should have realized that I could not imbibe as much as an experienced cup man like Richard Blythe.”

He nodded at Richard and Will. “Do you think that wise?”

“Will has been climbing trees since he could walk,” she replied, slowing her pace to make it easier for Mr. Sedgemore to keep up.

Its wheels shrieking from the brake, the coach slowly drew near behind them. Ahead, Richard easily boosted Will onto a bottom branch as thick as Richard’s muscular thigh.

“No, I mean letting your son be so friendly with him.”

As the coach passed them, Elissa paused and looked at Mr. Sedgemore, unhappily reminded
of her own dread in that regard. “Why?”

His eyes full of condescending pity, Mr. Sedgemore spoke in a confidential whisper. “Because of the man’s reputation. Who knows what he might teach your son?”

“I shall take care that he not corrupt my son.”

“And what of you?”

She gave Mr. Sedgemore a sharp glance, wondering at his odd tone and if he had peeked into the storeroom of the inn last night, a thought which was more disgusting than any she had ever had regarding Richard. “Do you think I can be corrupted?”

He looked truly shocked. “No! Never! I meant, I hope he does not make you unhappy. Everyone knows the kind of man he is, and then there is the unsavory history of the whole family.”

“I know that his uncle sold his estate without his permission,” Elissa replied.

Sedgemore put his hand on her arm, and she halted. His brown eyes gazed into hers.

“Then there is much more you don’t know about the Blythes,” he said with quiet intensity. “More that everyone around Owston knows. The stories have died down somewhat, of course, since his uncle left, yet surely they will be remembered when
he
comes back.”

“What sort of stories?” she asked warily, trying to listen to Sedgemore and keep her eye
on Will as he disappeared up into the chestnut tree.

“I should not wish to taint your lovely ears…”

She lost sight of her son in the denser foliage of the higher branches.

“Will, come down,” Elissa commanded. She hurried toward the tree, Sedgemore momentarily forgotten. “Richard, tell him to come down.”

“He is quite all right,” Richard replied, his head tilted back to look up into the tree.

“Mama! Look at me! Look at me!” Will shouted. “I think I can see our house!”

“Will, you’ve gone quite high enough! Come down immediately!”

“He is like a seaman in the crow’s nest spotting landfall, is he not?” Richard observed evenly.

“He is not a seaman. He is a little boy who has gone much too high,” Elissa declared.

“He will come down in a moment, after the thrill has worn off a little.”

“A London playwright who has no children of his own can hardly be an expert on what is safe for small boys,” Elissa snapped.

“I’faith, I know that full well, madam,” Richard replied with a slight bow, “which makes the anticipation of having children of my own all the more delightful.”

Elissa flushed hotly, swallowed hard and turned her attention back to Will. “William
James Longbourne, come down
at once!”

The boy wisely started to obey.

“Would you have me cut a switch?” Sedgemore offered helpfully.

Elissa hadn’t realized he had come so close. “There is no need for that.”

“It would likely ensure a speedier obedience the next time he ignores you,” Sedgemore said. “Little boys should not be allowed to run so wild.”

“Was that the method of correction applied to you?” Richard inquired gravely.

“At least
some
of us were given proper discipline by our parents, so that we could grow up to be decent members of society,” Sedgemore huffed.

“What are you implying?”

Sedgemore blinked and blushed. “I suppose you were given such discipline as your father was capable of,” he muttered.

Richard took a step closer.

“What exactly do you wish to say, sir?” he demanded in a low voice that Elissa could scarcely hear—yet she heard the menace clear enough.

“I need help!” Will suddenly called out. He stood upon a thick branch about five feet from the ground. “Or should I jump from here?”

“No, no, don’t jump!” she cried, reaching up to try to take hold of his ankles. “I shall help you.”

“Here, allow me,” Richard said. “Jump, Will, and I shall catch you.”

“No! It’s too far—” Elissa protested.

“Mama, let go of my ankles!”

“The boy will break his head,” Sedgemore warned.

“I can do it! I’m not afraid!”

“I assure you, my sweet, I shall not let him be hurt.”

“Mama, let go! I want Richard to catch me!”

“Mistress Longbourne—Lady Dovercourt! Are you going to let your son speak to you in such a manner?”

“If you do not back up, sir, I shall not be responsible if I knock you over,” Richard growled.

Suddenly Will jumped. Elissa sighed with relief as Richard deftly caught him and spun him around. Sedgemore quickly moved out of the way, his expression one of disbelief and disgust, while Will laughed giddily.

Richard set Will down and watched as the dizzy lad wobbled.

“Zounds, Mr. Sedgemore,” he noted dispassionately, “my fine, adventurous stepson looks exactly as you did when you got out of my coach at the top of the hill, except that you did something other than laugh.”

“The coach is waiting,” Elissa said, her relief making her speak a little sharply as she took her son by the hand and led him back to their vehicle.

“A whipping would do him good,” Sedgemore muttered.

Richard ran a slightly scornful gaze over the man, then smiled. “That is precisely what I was thinking. Now, then, Mr. Sedgemore, where may we deposit you? I trust it is not far.”

After they left Mr. Sedgemore at the livery stable in Owston, a small village of stone and half-timbered buildings with thatched roofs, Elissa would have been hard-pressed to say who was more excited to be nearing Blythe Hall: herself, her son, or Richard.

After all that had happened in the recent days, she wanted to be back in a familiar place, among familiar people. Will, who had as much difficulty remaining seated now as he had on the boat on the Thames, was obviously anxious to tell anyone who would listen of his great adventures, and to announce the arrival of a stepfather who was a duelist, as well as a great friend to the king, no doubt in that particular order. He would probably leave out Richard’s literary efforts, as they did not conform to Will’s notion of the heroic ideal.

As for what Richard himself was expecting, she almost dreaded to know. She thought of warning him of her late husband’s renovations, yet she couldn’t bear the thought of dampening the boyish impatience he was displaying, despite his attempts to hide it.

To be sure, if there was ever a competition for hiding excited anticipation, Richard would surely win. Only his tapping foot and surreptitious glances out the coach window betrayed him. Nevertheless, they were enough to tell her he was not nearly so blasé as he was trying to appear.

She let herself imagine him as a boy, which wasn’t that difficult to do at this particular moment. He was probably a mischievous scamp, climbing trees, enjoying imaginary battles, giving his mother no end of scares. Maybe being away from London and the influence of the king’s decadent court would lead to a pleasant alteration in Richard’s worldly and world-weary manner.

“Just past these trees now,” Will said, “and we can see the drive!”

“Some of the wood has been cut down, then,” Richard observed calmly, although she noted he inched forward slightly on the seat.

“A few trees, to make a better view, my late husband thought,” Elissa said.

Richard suddenly moved back from the window. “It’s still there,” he murmured.

Elissa looked out again and discerned the corner of the Banqueting House peeking through the trees. It was a small stone building about twenty by thirty feet in size, built early in that century, overlooking the little river that ran near the main house. Many country estates had such buildings, none on the scale
of the Banqueting House of Whitehall Palace, of course. They were intended to be a place to enjoy wine and fruit after the main meal on a warm summer evening.

The Banqueting House of the Blythe estate had not been used for years, however, and its ornately carved parapets and narrow circular towers were falling into disrepair.

Elissa supposed its state explained the despair that had crept into his voice.

“There’s our house,” Will announced, causing Richard to sit forward again.

He stared with unmitigated shock.

“What the devil has happened?” he cried angrily. “Was there a fire?”

Will stared at him with dismay and Elissa put her arm around him.

“He remembers Blythe Hall as it used to be, dear,” she said comfortingly, “before your father rebuilt it. He is surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised? I am horrified. Disgusted,” Richard declared. “I never thought that I would return to find the stately house built during the reign of Henry the Eighth destroyed and replaced by some kind of modern monstrosity that looks like a pagan temple devoted to the god of poor taste.”

“I shall explain the changes when we are preparing for supper, Richard,” Elissa offered, glancing at her son and then giving Richard a censorious look.

She was right. Despite his extreme anger
and dismay, there was no reason to upset Will.

Yet what reason could there possibly be to tear down a house made of fine red bricks, with pretty oriel windows and strong oak floors, beams, and timbers, and replace it with this stone edifice? Two terrible projections stuck out from the colonnaded front of the new manor house, and a large portico totally dwarfed the formerly majestic entrance. A cupola like some sort of large bird cage sat in the center of the slate roof. The only thing Richard could find in the new house’s favor was that there were more windows, and that there had been some sort of attempt to achieve a harmonious balance.

If something had to be razed, why not the cursed Banqueting House?

Maybe it was a good thing the house was gone, with all its memories—but he should have been the one to decide its fate, not some stranger whose only right to it had come from the size of his purse.

They passed through the gates and went up the drive, which passed the house and went around to the yard in the back, where the stables, gatehouse, and back entrance were. As the coach rolled to a stop outside the house, several servants came to stand in a welcoming line, which indicated a certain level of income. Either William Longbourne had been a very rich man, or Elissa was a good steward—for a woman.

“I had no idea the estate was so prosperous that you could afford so many servants,” he noted, trying his best to sound calm.

“Let me get out first and introduce you,” she said.

After Elissa and Will got out of the coach, she faced the servants, cleared her throat, and smiled. “I am so glad to be home and pleased to see that you are all well.”

Their eyes suddenly widened in surprise and she heard a collective sharp intake of breath. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the reason, for Richard disembarked from the coach like a conqueror making a triumphal appearance before the vanquished.

She thought he had looked regal the first time she had seen him. At present it was as if he had twice that arrogant attitude, and whatever emotions he had felt upon beholding the new house were either overcome, or very well hidden indeed.

She opened her mouth to make the introduction, yet before she could, Will cried, “That’s my new papa! The king picked him himself, and he fights duels!”

The servants’ eyes widened even more.

“I thank you, Will, for the finest introduction I have ever had,” Richard declared evenly. Then he bowed slightly to the servants, who stared at him as if he were King Charles stopping by for a short visit. “I am the Earl of Dovercourt, formerly Sir Richard
Blythe of Blythe Hall, and your mistress’s new husband.”

That elicited another murmur of surprise as the servants glanced at each other.

“It is quite true,” Elissa said, unsure whether she was pleased or annoyed that Richard had taken it upon himself to clarify the situation, such as he had. “Lord Dover-court and I were married in London. I know you will make him welcome.”

Richard stepped forward expectantly and Elissa took his cue. She began to introduce him to the servants.

Will didn’t wait for this ceremony. He hurried inside, calling out that he wanted to make sure his room was as he had left it.

“He doesn’t like the maids to touch anything, even though I have explained time and again that they must if they are to clean properly,” Elissa explained in an aside to Richard.

Her husband simply nodded and they continued down the line, beginning with Davies, the butler, then the housekeeper, the two footmen, three maids, the groom, the cook, and ending with the scullery maid and stable boy.

As the servants returned to their duties, Richard suddenly turned to Elissa and swept her up into his arms.

“What… what are you doing?” she asked, her mind swiftly returning to the last time he had picked her up.

“In the ancient Roman tradition, I am carrying
my bride over the threshold,” he replied as he carried her up the steps toward the open door.

“We are not in Rome!”

“Nor are you a Sabine, and I do not intend to rape you,” he answered softly. “But I have had many shocks today. The least you can do is indulge the whimsy inspired by my classical education.”

“I didn’t know you had a classical education.”

“I did. Sadly, Latin was a bit of a stumbling block. I was much better at Greek. I quite enjoyed Ovid, even though I suspect my tutor censored all the best parts.”

At last they were inside, and when he set her down in the entrance hall, she felt strangely disappointed.

“I did not recognize any of the servants, and they didn’t seem to recognize me,” he noted as he surveyed the interior.

Elissa adjusted her slightly disheveled clothing. “My husband dismissed all the servants who were here before he bought the estate. He paid them well, and with the proviso that they leave the county.”