Mary Blayney (46 page)

30

A
S SHE HURRIED HIM
down the hall, Olivia chattered on about the treasures in the Long Gallery.

“Why is it that you never walk if you can hop, skip or dance down a hall?”

“I have no idea, but I assure you that I do know how to behave properly.” She stopped and slowed to a very decorous walk. “It is only that we know each other”—Olivia stopped, faced him and rose on tiptoes to whisper—“so intimately”—she began to dance down the hall again—“that I feel I can be my most relaxed self when I am with you.”

God help him, he prayed, he could feel her breath on his ear and his whole body responded.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the giant double doors that were wide open but unattended.

“That is quite enough, my lady.” He pulled his hand from hers. “You are almost twenty-one, and I have told you before that no man likes a tease.”

“But I wasn’t. I was—” She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett. I
was
teasing you.”

With a small curtsy she drew dignity around her and smiled with such perfect condescension that it convinced Michael she had learned quite a bit in her one London Season.

The room ran the entire length of one side of the castle. The classic Elizabethan version of a way to take some exercise on a rainy day.

“This is my favorite painting in the entire house.”

It was rather poorly executed, not a great work of art by any means. “Because it looks exactly like you,” he guessed at the risk of insult.

“Precisely, Mr. Garrett.” She had her hands folded at her waist and sounded like a very pleased teacher. “My mother showed me this when I was twelve. That was when I asked her where they had found me.”

“Found you?” he asked, as she seemed to be waiting for the prompt.

“You see, I do not look like any other Pennistan. Yes, I have my mother’s hair and eyes but she is a Lynford. Mama was thin as a waif and only grew more stout after we all were born.”

She stepped closer to the picture, and if it were not for the old-fashioned dress and the obvious age of the woman in the portrait he would have thought it was Olivia.

“This is my great-great-great-great-aunt Lucretia. She was born a Pennistan more than a hundred years ago and Mama said that every few generations another version of her makes an appearance. It is the sole reason that this portrait is still here.”

“It must have been very reassuring.” He did not know what else to say. There were any number of families in England who had siblings that did not bear any resemblance to one another. As a matter of fact he thought that given the rampant infidelity in the ton it might make it the rule rather than the exception.

“Reassuring. Yes, that is a very good word, but I would actually say it was more consoling. Since I so wanted to be tall and blond like my brothers. Consoling.” She made the word a challenge he could not resist.

“Comforting.”

“Cheering.”

“Heartening.”

“Oh that is a very fine word, Mr. Garrett. All right, this portrait and my mother’s reassurance were heartening.” She reached up and touched the frame. “I swear to heaven I had worried since I was at least ten that my parents had found me in the garden and decided that they would keep me so they could have a daughter.”

She blew a kiss at Aunt Lucretia and escorted him the length of the hall, identifying the former dukes. There were two. Next she introduced him to their wives’ portraits.

“I know you must think Lynford is an unusual name. But you see it is a family tradition that the firstborn son takes his mother’s maiden name as his first name.”

“Thank you, my lady. I
had
wondered about that.” This was turning out to be a more informative session than most of the time he had spent with Lord David.

“Yes, and Rowena’s maiden name was Rexton, so that is their boy’s name.”

“What would happen if a future duke married someone from Germany or Russia?”

Olivia laughed. “You do not even have to go abroad to run into that problem. There are any number of English names that are unappealing. So far there has not been a problem. But someday.”

“If one of the dukes married a widow, that would present a problem.”

“Oh, stop being difficult. It is a tradition, hardly a commandment.”

“Yes, my lady.” Michael bowed to her and she laughed.

He loved that she so rarely held her annoyance and that he had never seen anger. Fear and panic masquerading as anger—but that had been completely understandable, given the circumstances.

They moved on and Olivia waved at several portraits of the Meryon earls who preceded the dukedom. “Does your family have any traditions?”

“Yes, the second son studies for the church.”

“Oh, really? Which son are you?”

“The second.”

“Oh dear.” She bit her lip. “That must have been awkward.”

“I see you can be a true diplomat when you wish to be, my lady.” He smiled to show her that the memory did not hurt, knowing full well that an expression could lie as truly as words. “When I refused the living I was offered it caused the emotional equivalent of a volcano erupting. The army commission was a way to rid the family of an embarrassment.”

“But were they not happy to see you come home from the war?”

“They thought I was dead and preferred it that way.” That was all he wanted to remember, much less say, about his family. “Who brought home all the sculpture?” He raised a hand to the parade of pieces in marble that lined the walls at this end of the gallery.

Olivia accepted the change of subject with a small sigh. “Papa brought most of this back from France. Here is Houdon’s bust of my father. Houdon is the most amazing talent. Even in marble he has captured the look in Papa’s eyes.”

It was impressive. Better, even, than the portrait nearby. No wonder the duke’s children found their father so hard to forget.

“I have heard so much about the second duke, I almost feel as though I’ve met him.”

“You remind me of him.” Olivia smiled and nodded.

Michael could not help but laugh. He should be flattered, but it would be quite a blow to his male pride if she thought of him as a father.

“Stop laughing. You are much too young and your hair is dark, but there is something about the way you command a room, the way people really listen to what you say.”

“You think so, Lady Olivia-the-generous? The night I came here to tell the duke you were safe, Hackett would not allow me inside.”

“That is precisely my point. Hackett realized, even on first glance, that you are a man to be reckoned with.”

He could not disabuse her of the thought and prayed to God that she would not mention it to either of her brothers, to anyone.

“The portrait of your mother is in the duke’s study, is it not?”

“Yes,” Olivia said, apparently pleased with his powers of observation. “You truly noticed it.”

Because it reminds me of you.
He bit back that ill-advised sentence. “I am being paid to notice things, my lady.”

“Now you sound like Lyn. There is no reason to try to squelch my good spirits. Unless you are afraid of them.”

“Absolutely terrified.” He said it with a perfectly straight face and her smile faded abruptly. He had no idea how any other woman would have taken God’s honest truth, but Olivia Pennistan stood rooted to the ground as she tried to
understand
what he meant. He could show her, was tempted to show her, with a kiss neither one of them would forget. He thanked all the powers of heaven, and hell, when Patsy interrupted them.

“I beg your pardon, my lady. Ruth is supposed to clean in here today. When will you be finished with Mr. Garrett?”

“Thank you, Patsy.” Olivia’s cheerful voice showed no annoyance. “We are done here.”

Good God, did Patsy know what she had implied? Michael stepped away from Lady Olivia and gave the maid a look that would have frozen a hot spring.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Patsy said awkwardly, as though not at all sure for what she was apologizing.

If the servants were beginning to make snide comments, it was definitely time to change his daily routine so that they were less in each other’s sight. Or he would be the one who ruined her reputation.

“I
SIMPLY DO NOT
understand him, Annie.” Olivia sat across the table from Annie Blackford and concentrated on untangling the skein of wool that one of the vicarage cats had used as a toy. It made her feel better to help Annie while she tried to sort out her sensibilities.

“First, Olivia, there is nothing simple about men.” Annie Blackford had her own tangle to unravel and was making much better progress than Olivia was.

Olivia dropped the wool on the table and shooed the cat away when he came towards it. Annie bent over it. “You actually made some progress with that.”

“Thank you. I am making no progress at all with Mr. Garrett.”

“Progress towards what?” Annie raised her eyes from her work for a moment, her head still bent.

“Knowing him better.” Was that not obvious?

“To what end, Lollie?” Annie looked back at the knots on the table and waited.

“Just to know him the way I know most of the staff.”

“Olivia.”

She recognized that tone of voice. Annie thought she was lying.

“All right, Annie, that’s not quite the truth, but he seems to want the same thing, and just as we are growing closer he backs away.”

“He strikes me as a man who is a gentleman at heart. Perhaps he is worried that you are still overset by your experience.”

“Do I seem overset?” All right, maybe she did still have nightmares and did not care to be out without someone with her, but with Mr. Garrett she was never afraid.

“No, you do not. But I imagine you are having nightmares, are you not?”

“He said that
I
terrify him.”

“He said that?” Annie looked up from her work.

“Yes.”

Annie put her tangle aside, either because it was now un-tangled, which it was, or because she wanted to give this issue her full attention.

“Olivia, what do you want from him? The truth.”

“You know, he is not beneath me in birth. His father is a bishop and his mother the daughter of a baron. If we had met in London during the Season he could have asked to be introduced and we could have danced together as easily as any member of the ton. It’s like he is punishing himself by taking a position so far below his birth.” She did not go on. She did not have to. The Season was all about courtship and marriage.

“He has to support himself somehow if he is estranged from his family.”

“I suppose.” Did Annie mean that if they were to marry, she would have to live in the gatehouse on his salary? That was absurd. He would move in with her.

“Olivia, do not tempt him. Your brother wants him at the castle for a reason. I know you are no longer in danger of being kidnapped but the duke must have other concerns.” Annie folded her hands and twisted them.

“Have you heard something?”

“The vicar tells me there is
some
real worry that we could face a revolution every bit as devastating as the one in France.” Annie spoke in a rush.

“I do not believe that. It could not happen here.”

“Yes, it could, my lady. You live in a very protected world and do not know how difficult it has been since the war ended. As a matter of fact, Mr. Garrett is proof that the world is changing. The son of a bishop and a baron’s daughter is working for his keep.” Annie reached across the table and took her hand. “Dearest, let Mr. Garrett do his work and do not disturb him. It is unbecoming for a woman to pursue a man.”

“Now you sound just like Tildy.” They were both sad for a moment at the mention of Annie’s mother, but Olivia refused to let her be forgotten. “Do you ever hear anything from her?”

“Not for two years now.” Annie shook her head as she spoke and Olivia squeezed the hand that was still holding hers, only she was the one giving comfort to Annie now.

“Do you think…” Olivia’s voice trailed off. She could not speak the words. It was hard enough to even think them.

“I do not know. Sometimes I think it would be a blessing for her misery to be over, and other times I want her here, brandy and all.”

Olivia nodded and did her best not to let the tears that filled her eyes fall. “I am so sorry to bring my stupid, girlish woes to you when you have so much more important things to worry about.”

“Nonsense, I am happy to advise you. Sometimes you even listen to what I say.” Annie raised her index finger in a gesture they both knew had been one of Tildy’s favorites. “Leave Mr. Garrett alone. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Olivia said, “but it is very difficult when he comes to the kitchen every morning. I am not a saint, you know.” Which left Annie laughing, which was exactly what Olivia had intended.

31

T
HE NEXT DAY,
putting action to thought, Michael stopped in the kitchen with the briefest of good mornings, sure that if he simply did not show up someone, someone named Olivia, would come looking for him.

With an intriguingly flavored rosemary and olive savory bun for sustenance he made his way around the castle, a route he knew as well now as the way from the harbor to his favorite tavern in Le Havre. Michael had not thought of Aux Trois Oiseaux in weeks. That must have some significance. He was not going to search it out but let the past stay where it belonged.

He had surveyed the walled windows of the old castle dozens of times on his nightly circuits of the grounds and never seen any sign that any of the panels had been moved. Nothing seemed any different from the way it had looked the first night he had espied the panels, but this morning he was going to see if the old castle could be entered from the outside.

Michael climbed onto the ledge of the most convenient opening, and his heart began to beat faster. On either side of the wood, holes were cut, in the right spot for a man’s hands. It could be each panel was like this. The holes could be easily explained, but their existence did not
feel
innocent. He’d learned to respect that sensation in his gut.

Michael bent down to look through one of the holes. It was an awkward effort and a fall would hurt. There was no light. He heard no movement on the other side. Straightening, he put his hands on either side of the covering, carefully setting it inside. He sat on the window ledge and surveyed the room as the morning light, weak though it was, outlined what the room held.

He could see that all was not as it should be. There were signs that someone had been here, though Michael was certain that there was no one else around now. The air around him was flat and empty. It had been for awhile. It was not as though he had frightened anyone away.

He hopped down from the ledge. It was not a large room. Stacks of baskets lined the walls. Lord David had told him that the old castle rooms were used mostly for storage, except for the chapel and the old royal room. This looked to be the space designated for basket storage. But that was not all it had been used for.

There was a straw mattress on the floor, two mugs, candle stubs and what he thought were the ashes of a small fire. No one was spending time here now. The door was locked from the outside, which would explain why the squatters had come through the old window opening.

He raised the panel and left it as secured as he had found it.

Lord David was with the duke. With a nod to the footman who gave him that information, Michael went into Lord David’s office to wait. The door was ajar, and Lord David’s heated voice reached him without the slightest effort at covert listening.

“You are not going to vote for it, are you, Your Grace?” Lord David was doing his best to control his temper, but Michael could hear the tension in his voice.

“I am going to follow Liverpool’s leadership in this. I will use my influence on issues of value.” It was obvious that the duke had made his decision. Debate was pointless.

“And half-pay for naval officers is not of value to you?”

“Of interest and of value, but it is not an issue on which I am going to take a stand that will alienate the very people whose support I may need later.” He was silent for a long moment. “Habeas corpus is far more important, David.”

“But that is about to be expanded and clarified, Lyn. Long overdue, you said.”

“Yes, but there are too many who recall the suspension of 1794 and will move to suspend habeas corpus again if they think that the situation calls for it. David, our brother Gabriel suffered under such a suspension. He was in that French prison for months with no idea of the charges, much less if they were justified.”

“The French have no habeas corpus.”

“It’s the principle that matters.”

“You think that there is real danger of insurrection?” Lord David sounded skeptical.

“I’m not sure. The air I breathe is too rarified for me to know what most people are thinking. That is one of the reasons I hired Garrett. He knows what to look for. He knows how to keep us safe and I want to be prepared.”

“And the other reason you hired him?”

The duke did not answer verbally, or did not speak loud enough for Michael to hear. He would have given a month’s pay to know what passed between them. David made a sound that might have been a laugh. “I tell you what Garrett should do. Bed her, wed her and let her stay in the kitchen.”

“I think I would reverse the first two, brother.”

“You might, Lyn, but few men have your self-control.”

Michael had heard quite enough. The two were gossiping like Mary and the scullery maid did when they thought no one else was about. And like them, the duke and his brother made up stories so that the world made sense. He had self-control, damn it. He had been proving it for weeks. He was halfway to furious when Lord David came into the office through the door from the duke’s study.

“Well, good morning. Been listening, have you?”

Michael was not going to answer, not if the man bent his finger back until it broke. “I’ve discovered something that I think you should see immediately, my lord. We will need to go to the room where the baskets are stored.”

“In the old castle?”

“Yes.”

Without demanding any more of an explanation Lord David led him through the halls and downstairs, into the inner courtyard of the new castle, a space alive with flowers despite this year without a spring. There were even flowering trees and an elegant French garden.

They crossed it and faced a grand entryway.

“The old castle drawbridge.”

Michael had to admire how it had been retained as an element of design and wondered if it could still open completely.

He followed Lord David through the small guard door to the left. The old inner ward was as stark as the new castle courtyard was lush. Its only decoration was a very professional boxing ring.

“I am guessing that is a recent addition.” He gestured to the ring.

“Yes, my idea. We have matches. Lyn and I, and a couple of the stable lads are good in the ring. One of the footmen worked for a professional and is their coach.”

Michael followed Lord David across the courtyard, up a circle of stone stairs and along a corridor with doors on one side and an opening onto the inner ward on the other.

The corridor ran around the castle in a circle, providing air and light when the doors to the rooms were open.

“I told you before that most of these rooms serve as our attic. The chapel is still ready for use and so is the royal bedroom, though no king would ever choose to stay in it.

“The rooms are all locked. I have yet to spend time here unless I need something. I think I must move it up on my list. But, as you can see, each one is labeled.”

Lord David found the room designated for basket storage with unerring accuracy. Inside it was just as Michael had left it. He walked over to the window, stepped up on the sill and reached for the handholds, pulling the panel in as he stepped down. A spill of weak sunlight showed the straw pallet, candle stubs and ashes in sharper detail. “My lord, someone has been coming in through this panel to meet here.”

“And you have no idea who that someone is.” Lord David stood with his hands on his hips looking at the opening.

“No, but whoever it is has not been here for a while.”

“How did you find this, Garrett?”

“When I made my first circuit of the grounds,” Michael gestured to the panel, “I saw that this opening could be reached from the outside. I finally made time to see if I was right.”

“Who is our traitor?” Lord David kicked at an old basket, which produced nothing but dust. He did not seem to expect an answer, but turned and left the room, apparently heading back to the courtyard. Michael followed him, giving an answer anyway.

“As we discussed before, you have to find out who are the most recent hires.”
But not as new as I am.
“Who has a grudge.”
Hackett or someone else in his family.
“Who needs money.”
Surely there were bets on the occasional boxing matches.
“Who is in love with Olivia.”
Besides me.

The two words exploded in his brain, made his heart jump, his stomach clench. It was not love, he insisted, even as Lord David told him to bring him the perpetrators and walked off.

Michael did not move, could not move. All his energy was focused on denial. He was not in love with her. In lust. Yes, lust he could accept.

It did not take more than one look at her to want all of that warm, lush body. One look into her eyes to want to see the world through them.

That was not love.

It was longing for a life that was as unfamiliar as it was unreachable.