Mary Blayney (42 page)

“Cook burned dinner,” Sam said with more disappointment than amusement. “She was that upset.”

Michael closed the door slowly, recognizing envy as it evaporated. He wished he were the one holding her hand. It would never happen. Lady Olivia Pennistan was not,
could
not, be his. She was as sweet as a new kitten and he was anything but innocent. One kiss had proved that. To take more than that one kiss would undo any of the good he had done since he found her in the woods.

24

T
HE DUKE NODDED
as the door closed on Big Sam’s story and began his own. “Samuelson has been her bodyguard since she was five. No one else could keep up with her. Even at five Olivia was given to impulse.”

“Where did you ever find him? He is a giant, especially beside her.”

“I am sure that is one of the reasons my father hired him. If you find Big Sam, you know where Olivia is.” The duke walked to the fire and stared at it. “Big Sam was an attraction at a May Day fair. My father stopped his keeper from beating the man. He was being treated like an animal.” The duke’s expression belied the easiness in his voice. “Samuelson is not a man of learning, he cannot read or write, but he is still a human being and has the most basic right to respect.”

It sounded as though the duke was quoting his father.

“Big Sam’s loyalty is unquestionable. He would tear a man limb from limb if he thought Olivia was threatened. That is both good and bad. His idea of what threatens Olivia is very broad in definition.”

“A long speech, Your Grace, and it applies to me in what way?”

“Stop trying to irritate me,” the duke said with more humor than irritation. “Come sit down, Major Garrett, and I will explain what I have in mind.”

The duke went to the two chairs by the fire.

Michael followed, realizing that one handshake and an apology had committed him as surely as his concern for Olivia’s safety.

He moved Olivia’s cloak and folded it over the arm of the chair. Cinnamon and spices tickled his nose, reminding him that her lips might have something to do with his decision to listen. He’d best not let that be known.

“David has insisted for weeks that the porter is a poser and incompetent.” The duke settled comfortably into the chair. “Hackett’s family has been with us for a century, serving in that capacity and also at the gatehouse, always reliable. This generation has other ideas.”

He stopped speaking for a moment and stared into the fire. Some internal debate was distracting him. Michael waited.

“My father believed that change was inevitable and I’m afraid that he is right.”

Michael had been sitting on the edge of his chair but as the duke showed an inclination to philosophy, Michael sat back.

“Yes, Major Garrett, make yourself comfortable.” The duke’s small smile appeared again. “My father saw what happens to the wealthy and those who support them. He was in France for the worst of the Terror.”

He glanced at the portrait over the mantel. A woman, a beautiful woman with eyes the color of Olivia’s and hair the same lustrous brown. No doubt it was her mother.

“I thought that when we escaped our own revolution we had escaped the worst. But I think I may have been wrong. Change is coming. The Hacketts are a good example. The night porter is the last of the family to want the position and I think he did it only because his father insisted. One of his brothers took up the Luddite cause and is lost to the family. Another is a miner in the Dark Peak. The gates have not been closed or the gatehouse occupied since the Luddites were last a problem.”

Michael guessed that was more than five years ago, when he was far from home. “When I stopped in Birmingham, on my way here, I saw more looking for work than I expected. I know from the army that idle hours go a long way to destroying morale.”

“The war is over, so there are more men for fewer positions. I imagine you saw that, too.”

“What I saw were too many who had given up country life for the city, with no improvement in their lives.” He leaned forward as he spoke and was surprised when the duke nodded.

“That may be so, but the growth of factories and machines is inevitable, as is the need for coal to fuel them. The Luddites may not be a threat but there are other groups that favor the idea that there are options for protest beyond civil discussion.”

Michael waited for the duke to tell him what he had heard in London or in Parliament. He didn’t.

“I am not going to start closing the gates.” The duke rubbed his eyes again. “At least not yet. Coming so soon after Olivia’s disappearance it would only fuel the gossip. What I want to do is offer you a place to live, the gatehouse. Further, I will make it clear to the night porter that you are in charge of protection of the castle, day and night.”

“You want to hire me?” It was only one of a hundred questions Michael had. It should be the easiest to answer.

“Yes, Major, I am offering you a position. I should think it is one well suited to your experience. You insist that work is what you came here for. Am I wrong?”

“No, Your Grace, you are right.” Michael was surprised and decided not to hide it. “You want to hire me to make sure that the castle is as secure as possible.”

“Yes. I do not feel for my own safety, but I want to guarantee Olivia’s well-being. The staff will be more comfortable if they know that steps are being taken that they will benefit from as well. I think the staff will welcome you, except for a few like Hackett who do not tolerate newcomers.”

“Hackett does not worry me, Your Grace. He is a bully and easy enough to handle. I am more concerned about your estate manager. His support is essential, and he does not appear to be part of this hiring process.”

“Lord David is the estate manager these days. The two of you can resolve any differences in the boxing ring he has built in the old castle. I’ll take a ringside seat.”

With a wry smile, the duke stood up and waited for Michael to do the same. The interview was over.

“You need not make a decision this moment, Major. I will tell Hackett that you will be camping tonight in the gatehouse. You can tell me tomorrow if you wish to stay on. For Olivia’s sake I hope your answer is yes.”

“Your Grace, I do have some questions.”

“Save them for the morning. David can answer them.” The duke headed toward his desk. “And if you decide that the gates should be closed, make it clear that it is your decision.” He gave a curt nod which Michael knew was meant as dismissal.

“I do not use my rank anymore.” It was a small thing, but Michael felt the need to assert himself.

“You have certainly earned the right to the rank.” The duke stopped and turned back to face him.

“I am not trained for employment in any area where my rank would be an advantage.” It was more than that. More, even, than a way to have a word. The army was his past.

“Yes, I suppose studying for the church and military rank are hardly compatible.”

Michael was surprised. He did not show it. That skill he’d mastered before even the army. To be surprised once was part of the game, but more than that was perilously close to a failing on his part.

“Did Gabriel tell you I was to take orders?” He didn’t think anyone knew.

“No, I have resources of my own.”

For a minute Michael thought that was all the duke would admit. He was tempted to shake it out of him, but restrained himself. If Big Sam was Lady Olivia’s bodyguard, he did not want to find out who protected the duke.

“Trust is an interesting concept, Mr. Garrett. In itself it is not even as sturdy as a sheet of parchment. Each piece of shared information fortifies the wall of trust. But it must be fortified from both sides or it will break under the pressure from one.”

“Those who led the fight against Napoleon learned that.” Michael nodded. He did not ask how one established trust in the first place. Something like it had grown between them in an hour or less, grounded in the determination to keep Olivia safe.

“The Marquis Straemore and I were at school together,” the duke explained. “When I saw where you were from, I wrote to him. He told me that you completed the studies for orders, but went into the army instead.” The duke lowered his head and looked him straight in the eye. “No one abandons the church that close to ordination. I suppose that should have been my first clue that you are not bound by what others do.”

“Straemore’s father was a tyrant.” There were pitfalls everywhere. If Straemore was the duke’s friend, employment here might not last long.
Honest. Be honest.
“I had some distinct, admittedly liberal, ideas on how to run my church. The marquis had me meet with him at Braemoor before ordination to discuss his expectations. He disapproved of my approach and I refused the living. My parents bought me a commission to be sure I was out of his sight.” There it was, honest and concise.

“The new marquis is of quite a different stamp. It might be that you could have the Straemore living on your terms now.”

“Do you not have enough lives to manage here, Your Grace?”

“But you are here now, Major. You are one of us.” The duke raised his eyebrows as though he was making a joke and inviting Michael to laugh. “I will honor your request to forgo your rank, Mr. Garrett, and since I hope you will stay I will not pursue your call to orders any further.”

That should have pleased him, but the duke’s sudden affability made Michael wonder if he had read Machiavelli.

Once the majordomo was informed that “Mr. Garrett will be staying the night at the gatehouse,” it took less than twenty minutes to settle him there.

The place might not have been in use but it had been kept ready for whoever might have need of it next. Michael had not expected a bed and waved away the butler’s apologies that the bed was not made.

“There are sheets in lavender in this chest. I can call a maid to make it up.”

Michael thanked him and said no again, explaining that in the army he had made do with much less. Tomorrow would be soon enough for the maid to set the bed to rights.

He spread his blanket under and over himself and was almost asleep when he stumbled across a thought that challenged the soft foundation of trust. It woke him up as effectively as a bucket of cold water.

Even though Michael had been entrusted with Olivia’s life, the duke still had not told him who was behind her kidnapping. As he watched from the window he had left uncovered, the moon moved slowly across the sky. The rain-making clouds raced away to the west, leaving a few more layers that let through the light of only the boldest stars. Michael counted each one and labeled it with an unanswered question.

The answers to only a few of them mattered, and all of those centered around the woman he had found wandering in the woods. He wanted to know who had taken Olivia and why. If she was still in danger.

He tossed the blanket off and decided he was not being paid to sleep. Nor was he willing to trust Olivia’s safety to someone as lackadaisical as Hackett. Not while there was so much uncertainty around her abduction.

Pulling on his boots and pushing back his hair was as much attention as he paid to his appearance. He all but stumbled down the stairs and at first welcomed the cold wind that brought him wide awake.

It wasn’t long before he was cursing it. Only an idiot would be out on a night like this. An idiot—or someone with a mission that made weather an inconvenience.

25

T
HANK YOU,
Kendall, this is the most wonderful feeling in the world.” Olivia wiggled her way under the covers.

“Do you want another warming pan, my lady?” Her maid smoothed the rumpled sheets at the foot of the bed, stretching out every little wrinkle. “You should not risk a chill.”

“No, this is perfect.” Olivia drummed her feet up and down to loosen the tight wrap of sheets. Surrounded by the familiar scent of freshly ironed linen, the feel of the down pillow, the pleasure of warmed sheets, bed was her haven tonight. She could see the shadow of Big Sam’s feet outside her door. Just for tonight she needed to have him on guard. Home had always been comfortable. Now it made her feel safe.

She adjusted the pillow so she could sit up. Before Kendall could ask “What are your plans for tomorrow, my lady?” Olivia told her.

“First thing in the morning I am going to write a letter to Jess.” She had the wording almost perfect. She would not tell him exactly what had happened. There was always the chance the letter would find its way into the wrong hands. “After that, I will go to the kitchen.”

“I am delighted that you are writing to your brother, and when you are in the kitchen again everything will be normal, like nothing happened.”

Olivia could not see her maid’s face clearly; the candle was flickering its last, and Kendall was watching the guttering flame as she spoke.

“What do you think happened, Kendall? I was sick from eating something bad. I ruined my clothes.”

“If that is what you wish us to believe, Lady Olivia, I had best cut your hair into something other than that ragged mop. What was the vicar’s sister thinking to do that? She should know that cutting hair to prevent a fever is foolishness.”

Kendall smiled at Olivia’s surprise.

“If you wear one of your gowns with a fichu, no one will see the bruises on your throat. It is fortunate that you are always cold. No one who knows you will think it odd for you to dress that way in the kitchen in April.”

“All right. Yes, that would work. You are a genius, Kendall.”

“Nonsense. There is a way to explain everything, my dear. I learned at the feet of a master. Your mother was brilliant at it.”

“Everyone says I look like Mama with my hair this way.”

“Everyone needs spectacles.” Kendall took Olivia’s chin between her fingers and looked her in the eye. “You are so much more charming than your dear mother ever was. How do you think you were able to convince your father and your brothers that practically living in the kitchen is an acceptable activity? That smile of yours. That’s how.”

Kendall let go of her chin and stood up, with a hand to support what she called “her aging back.”

“You would have to look like a suffering martyr and have the patience of a saint if you wanted to be your mama’s twin. Not you. You always look as though each moment is a gift and you cannot wait to see what it will bring. It is so unrefined.”

Olivia smiled; she couldn’t help it. Kendall could make smiling sound as unsophisticated as salting your food before tasting it. And Kendall was wrong. It was not her smile that won people over. It was her cooking.

“The short hair is very becoming on you, Lady Olivia. You know I have wanted to cut your hair for years.”

“You are very patient with me. Why do you stay here at Pennford when you know I could care less about what dress I wear or if I have the newest bonnet? You could dress the finest ladies in the land. Your talent is wasted here.”

“Now that sounds exactly like your mother’s false humility, may the Lord rest her soul.” Kendall began to tuck in the sheets that Olivia had just loosened. “There are few ducal families who are as considerate of their staff as your family. Your father observed more than how the guillotine worked while he was in France.”

“I know that lesson by heart, Kendall.” Olivia erased her smile and did a creditable imitation of her father’s quiet voice. “If we do not want a revolution in England we must treat our servants as more than slaves to our whims.”

“Do not make fun of your father.”

“Yes, ma’am. But I was not. It is how I hear it, as though he is still reminding me.”

“Go to sleep, my lady.” Kendall tightened the last sheet. “Count your blessings as I will count mine.” Kendall took a moment more to replace the spent candle with a new one, but left it unlit. “Good night, Lady Olivia.”

“Good night, Kendall,” Olivia replied dutifully. She slid under the covers and as soon as Kendall was out of sight she drummed her feet to loosen the sheets again, turned on her side and tucked her arm under her pillow.

Now she had a story every bit as exciting as Mama’s. Olivia Pennistan had been rescued from death in the forest by a handsome man on horseback. Did that not have as much drama as living in France during the revolution?

Everyone knew that story. How unfortunate no one would ever know hers. If they did it would mean ruin. If they knew she had been stripped of most of her clothes and tied to a bed they would never believe that she had not been raped. The grip of panic that came with the memory made her short of breath.

It was hideous to be without power, to be at the mercy of people she did not know, could not even see. Her heart began to race and each time she closed her eyes she was afraid that when she opened them she would be back on that bed.

Turning onto her back, Olivia stared at the gatherings of the canopy above her. No matter how hard she tried she could not rid herself of the feeling that she needed to escape, the driving need to run, to hide before they woke up and came after her.

Tears dripped from her eyes and down the side of her face. She would have died if Major Garrett had not found her. As nice as it would be to see Mama and Papa again, she still had too much to do to leave this earth yet, and people who needed her as much as she needed them.

Olivia turned her face into the pillow and prayed that the stupid Galatian peach thieves would die a horrible death. That they would be stripped and tied and left to starve.

If only she had not left the vicar’s before Big Sam was ready. But how did they know that he was not with her? How long had they been waiting for a chance? How could they have been in Pennsford and not been recognized for strangers? Annie had recognized Major Garrett as a newcomer. Could it be that her kidnappers were not strangers at all? They could still be watching, waiting for another chance. She glanced at the door again and was reassured by the shadow of Big Sam’s feet.

Olivia was half tempted to hold Jess responsible. If it were not for his foolish gambling excesses, this never would have happened. She would write the letter as soon as she was awake and the courier could take it when he left after breakfast. Olivia thought over the wording of her letter one more time. A letter is like a recipe, she decided. Words were the ingredients and how you put them together was the measure.

Dear Jess, You must come home immediately. There is an emergency that only you can deal with. Do not delay. Leave for Pennford at once. I need you desperately.

She liked it, urgent and personal. She hoped it would work. She hoped Jess was staying at the house on Meryon Place. She hoped the courier was not waylaid.

Guilt pulled at her for not being honest with Lyn. He had been so happy to see her, laughing when she told him that she missed him even more than she missed the kitchen.

He laughed so rarely that she was sure she had made the right decision to keep her suspicions to herself. If she had told Lyn about the threat to Jess’s land, he would have gone all cold and solemn. Everyone would have to tiptoe out of his way until David insisted they have a round of boxing. Someone’s lip would end up bloodied or worse. She would much rather work on her new corn and cheese roll recipe than on a poultice for a black eye.

Of course the same might happen if Jess came home. The difference was that Jess would deserve it.

Stop thinking about it,
she commanded herself. Otherwise she would be awake forever. She sighed, reveling in the fact that she was at home, she was safe here, and fell asleep on the thought that she would see Mr. Garrett tomorrow.