Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman (31 page)

Chapter 21

S
ir Stephen.”

Stephen glanced up to see Spencer standing there. The doors in this residence were so well oiled that he seldom heard them opening and closing. Spencer seemed to be able to glide around the manor without his feet ever touching the floor. His quietness was unnatural. “Spencer.”

“I hate to disturb you, sir—”

“Then don’t.” He was weary of seeing sheep in the fields. He wanted horses. Good, strong horses for the regiments. Talks were under way to end this damned slaughter going on in the East but there would always be wars, and soldiers needed dependable mounts. He and Ainsley had argued about it. “No need to change from what works,” Ainsley had said.

No need to have your brother sitting on his arse all day looking over ledgers.

Stephen wanted to map out a strategy that would show that his plan could work. He’d sold his commission. He had a good portion of the salary the army had paid him. It was a start, but he would still need to borrow some money in order to purchase his own land, his own place, his own horses. Make a go of it.

He remembered what the military had taught him until that afternoon he had tea with Claire. But what had he learned in battle? What had he learned during the campaign? If only he had that knowledge, then maybe he could be of some use, could remain a military man. But it was gone.

Horses, though, he’d always known horses. He could do something with those.

He glanced back up. Spencer was still there. “So although you hate to disturb me, you’re going to do it all the same. What the devil is it?”

“The silver, sir. Some of it has gone missing.”

“That’s a household matter. Discuss it with Lady Lyons.”

“I have, sir. She is of the opinion that information I have catalogued in ledgers is incorrect or that items have simply been misplaced.”

“If that is her opinion, then it must be so.” He returned to scrawling out his ideas. Horses, workers, trainers. With impatience, he looked at Spencer.

The man, slender as a reed, with a face dominated by a large, blade-like nose, was staring at a spot somewhere over Stephen’s head. His lips were pursed, his posture so stiff that he may as well be laid out in a coffin.

“Spit it out, Spencer.”

“With all due respect, Sir Stephen, I believe Lady Lyons is the culprit.”

Everything within Stephen stilled and a rash of fury shot through him. “You are accusing my wife of thievery?”

“I fear so, sir, yes.”

“She cannot steal what belongs to her.”

“With all due respect, sir, it belongs to the . . . duke.”

“Think very carefully before you speak. Why do you think it is her?”

“I can vouch for all the servants. Their loyalty. Their honesty. The newest member of the staff has still been here for three years. Nothing has gone missing until . . . very recently.”

Stephen leaned back, seething with anger that he wasn’t quite sure where to place. Through a hole in the wall perhaps. With his fist. Or perhaps against Spencer’s nose. “Perhaps the nurse, Jeanette, is the culprit.”

Spencer cleared his throat, blushed, studied the rug beneath his feet. Finally, he looked up and drew back his shoulders. “I know Miss Jeanette extremely well—
extremely well
if you catch my meaning—and I know it is not she.”

“And I know my wife extremely well, and it is not her. Even hint at so ludicrous a claim again and you’ll be sacked.”

“Yes, sir. Understood. What shall I do about the missing silver?”

“Find it. Replace it. I don’t care.”

“Very good, sir.”

He retreated on those damned silent, irritating feet. Stephen tossed his pen aside, pushed the papers beyond reach. It was not Mercy. He knew that, but his brother had entrusted all of his damned possessions to Stephen. Shoving his chair back, he stood and went in search of his wife. All of Ainsley’s ancestors glared down on him. Perhaps he should ask Westcliffe to loan him a portrait of their father. Something to make the residence a little more his. He supposed he could get one of his mother from Leo. The man had painted an ungodly number. Stephen was surprised how different each one looked, as though the artist saw a different facet to the duchess each time he painted her.

Taking the steps two at a time, Stephen went upstairs to the nursery. Mercy was sitting on the floor. Not the ideal place for a lady, but it seemed to suit the part of her that was a mother. She moved a wooden block beyond John’s reach. The boy crawled to it on his belly and just as he reached for it, she placed it a bit further beyond his grasp.

“Are you tormenting my son?” he asked.

Looking up, she smiled. “He’s learning to crawl. I’m simply encouraging him to try harder.”

The nurse was sitting in a chair busy with a bit of needlework. “Jeanette, perhaps you should go have a spot of tea.”

“Yes, sir.” She popped up and hastily rushed out.

Mercy studied him questioningly. “Is something amiss?”

Stephen sat on the floor, snatched up the block, and placed it within John’s reach. The boy closed his pudgy fingers around it, then rolled over, and began to gnaw on it.

“Is he hungry?”

“No, he just likes to chew on things,” she told him, but her voice was laced with wariness.

“Did you know that Jeanette and Spencer . . . ?” He rubbed behind his ear.

She studied him for a moment and then her eyes widened. “No. Is he courting her?”

“I don’t know how much courting is involved, but I suspect there’s a great deal of mischief.”

“Is that allowed between servants?”

“Probably not, but who are we to point fingers?”

Her cheeks flushed red. “Quite right.”

He took her hand, turned it over, and trailed his fingers over the rough spots that still remained, no doubt from all the scrubbing she’d done in the Crimea. “Spencer thought I should know that some silver is missing.”

She pursed her lips. “I told him not to bother you with it. I’ve never seen the pieces he is concerned about. They may have been gone forever. This house has so many useless items, it’s like a little shop of trinkets. So something went missing—”

“Something silver.”

“Do you think it important?”

“I think Ainsley will not be pleased to know things have gone missing.”

“What are we to do if they were gone before we even arrived?”

“Keep a closer watch on the servants, will you?”

“Yes, of course. Do you think everything in this house is catalogued?”

“Knowing Ainsley, probably. Although I’m sure there are a few things here and there that were overlooked. You are correct. There is an inordinate number of things to collect dust. He could probably let half his servants go if he’d get rid of some of this stuff.”

The block suddenly landed on his chin. “Oh, aren’t you a strong fellow! Wanting some attention, are you?”

He lifted him up, held him high, studying the features that he thought resembled him not at all. Although he did have his father’s smile. “I think his eyes are changing their shade.”

“No, I’m certain it’s just the way the light is coming in through the windows.”

“Perhaps. I’m thinking of getting him a horse.”

“Now?”

“Soon. A small one. A pony. When do you think he’ll be ready to ride?”

She laughed. He so enjoyed her laughter. “Not for a good long while yet.”

“What of his mother? Will she go for a ride with me?”

Her answer came with an impish smile and a promise for flirtation once they were away from the residence. It amazed him that as much as they were together, he still anticipated each moment of being alone with her.

I
t was two weeks later when Ainsley came to call. Stephen had never seen his brother look so somber.

“What’s troubling you? Is it Mother?” he asked as he got up from his desk and poured his brother a glass of whiskey.

“No.” He downed the drink. “Best pour yourself one. You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

And he knew, damn it. He knew. “Spencer notified you of the missing silver.”

“I am the one who pays for his services.”

“I’ll have him gone by morning.”

“I suggest you wait until I’ve had my say.”

T
he coach wheels whirred through the moonless night as Stephen and Ainsley traveled to London. Stephen had told Mercy that Ainsley had a problem with which he needed assistance. Her eyes held a combination of suspicion and curiosity. Without words he’d told her that all would be well.

He could only hope it would be so as the streetlamps of London came into view.

“Today it was two silver candlesticks, an urn, and an assortment of smaller items. From one of the seldom-used guestrooms. How your wife learned where to fence my property is beyond me.”

“What is beyond me is why you have me managing your estate when you don’t trust me with it. You have damned servants spying on us.”

“Spencer reported to Mercy that the silver went a-missing and she had no interest in pursuing the matter. He went to you, and you also failed to understand the implications. So, of course, he wrote me with his concerns.”

“And then you had my wife followed?”

“Be grateful that is all I did. I could have had her arrested.”

“For stealing candlesticks?”

“They have hung men for less.”

Stephen was seething. He should have simply confronted Mercy with his brother’s accusation at the residence. He was certain there was a logical explanation. If she needed more money, why did she not simply tell him? He would have arranged it. It might have galled to go to either of his brothers, but they were both wealthy men. They could have accommodated a request.

“After she gets her blunt,” Ainsley continued, “she meets Fancy in Cremorne Gardens and passes the money on to her.”

“I think you see trouble where there is none,” Stephen said, trying to keep his voice even, to give the appearance that he wasn’t bothered. But he was. It was shortly after he was knighted that Mercy had begun going into London every Tuesday to shop. Once he’d offered to join her, but she’d insisted that she needed a little time alone.

His first instinct had been that she was seeing a gentleman—but when would she have met him to arrange the assignation? Besides, it was a ludicrous thought. Mercy didn’t have a deceiving bone in her body.

“She and Fancy were together in the East—at Scutari,” Stephen continued. “Mercy sometimes has nightmares. I’m certain she is merely trying to talk it out. Perhaps they are commiserating together. There are a thousand explanations. We should have just asked her.”

“My man estimates that Mercy is selling enough silver and other items that she is able to give Fancy seventy pounds each week. That’s almost four thousand a year.”

“Maybe Fancy is in some sort of debt, and Mercy is assisting her.”

“With Dearbourne as her benefactor? The man is almost as wealthy as I am. He would grant her anything she damned well wanted to keep her satisfied and writhing in his bed.”

“I don’t like this skulking about behind Mercy’s back. I should have just asked her.” The words repeated a familiar refrain that he’d been singing ever since he reluctantly climbed into the coach with Ainsley.

They’d not drawn the curtains. Ainsley sat in the corner opposite him, a scepter in the darkness, staring out the window. The light from the streetlamps they passed darted in and out, briefly outlining the sharp planes of his brother’s face, the set of his strong jaw, his determination. While Ainsley had always acted older, he’d still held the physical appearance of youth. When had that wandered away?

He possessed a mysteriousness now, as though the shadows welcomed him as lord. It was an odd thought, a strange realization. Stephen thought he knew Ainsley well. He was beginning to suspect he didn’t know him at all.