Seducing Mr. Heywood (16 page)

Sophia was instructing Joan in laying out the boys’ wardrobe for their visit. As she ticked off the necessary garments, she noted that her abigail was subdued, unlike her usual vivacious self. Sophia frowned. “What is the matter, Joan?”

Joan blinked. “Naught, my lady,” she replied quickly.

Sophia sat down on her bed, her blue eyes fixed on her longtime servant’s flustered face. “Nonsense! I have known you for many years. What is troubling you?”

“My lady, I do not want to burden you with the staff’s problems and concerns.”

Sophia sighed. It was much easier when she had not concerned herself with her servants, when she had not bothered to know them as people. Sophia had been shamed by the boys’ admonitions to use her retainers’ correct names and resolved to mend her ways.

During her childhood in Kent, she had known all the
house servants by name; they were her friends. But time and circumstance had changed her for the worse. Her father, who had been absent from home during the greater part of her formative years, considered servants less than human. Unknowingly, she had become like him. John and William had opened her eyes, but now she found herself perhaps too involved with her servants and their lives. The footman Fred’s bruise the other day had concerned her, though she’d said nothing. And today she was concerned for Joan. Something was amiss.

“You are burdening me with your downcast looks, Joan. Come, let me hear what is concerning you, girl.”

Joan blushed. “It is Sarah, my lady—”

Sophia nodded. Sarah, a pretty little brown-haired girl with large blue eyes, was one of the housemaids. Joan had mentioned once that Fred was sweet on her.

“Mr. Bromley had to fetch the surgeon, Mr. Alcott—”

Sophia rose, clearly upset. She took Joan by the shoulders. “What happened?”

“She said she fell, my lady, that she fell and broke her wrist. The doctor set it, and gave her laudanum for the pain.”

Terrible thoughts began to form in Sophia’s brain. “And—”

Joan’s eyes filled with tears. “She did not fall, my lady! She was thrown to the floor by…Oh, my lady, I don’t want to say—”

“How did Fred come by his bruise, Joan? The truth, now!” Sophia shook the girl’s shoulders.

Joan wiped her eyes. “He put himself between Sarah and…Oh, my lady!”

Sophia’s voice was firm. “Joan!”

“Your father, my lady, the earl, he—”

Sophia’s face fell.
The bloody bastard!
She remembered all the pretty young maidservants in Kent who had left under cover of night. She had stopped learning the names of her servants because of the rapid turnover. After her mother’s death, they had come and gone so quickly. Then Miss Bane, too, had disappeared.…Sophia winced at the memory.

“Thank you, Joan. That will be all. Leave me now, please.”

“My lady, I did not mean to upset you—”

Sophia patted her shoulder. “No, Joan, I am grateful for your candor. I am sure none of the other servants would have spoken. They would keep their own counsel, as servants are wont to do. Thank you for telling me.”

Sophia turned and went to the window. She looked out onto the rolling lawns and hugged herself tight. The nightmare was beginning again; her father was abusing her servants. She would not allow it! She had been powerless once, but no longer. She needed to speak with Charles, but he had left. Brent…She would speak with Brent. Something had to be done about her father.

She began to calm down. The boys would depart on the morrow. She would deal with it then, with the boys gone. She did not want them to be present when she confronted the earl. He had to go, and she would make it clear that this time, it was forever. Brent would back her up. They had become friends, surprisingly so, after clearing the air between them. They would never be lovers. And Charles…Thank God for Charles! He was her rock, her strength, always there for her. What would she do without him?

Sophia recalled her breakdown in his arms. She had wept all over his chest, drenching him. She could not remember when she had last cried. No, that was not true; she did recall the last occasion when she’d permitted herself the luxury of weeping.

It was when her mama had died. Lady Miranda Eliot had been young and beautiful. Sophia remembered the laughing dark-haired woman who’d played with her, sang lullabies and songs to her, brushed and plaited her long blond hair, held tea parties and picnics with Sophia and her dolls in the long summer afternoons. Lady Eliot had fallen into the artificial lake behind the manor house, the servants said, lost her footing on the slippery shore at night and drowned.

Oddly, she had been alone, so there’d been no one to save her or to call for help. Odder still, no one had
missed her until the next morning. Her funeral was a sad, hurried affair. Miss Bane had taken charge of Sophia, held and comforted her as she’d cried out her heart. The Earl of Dunhaven had been conspicuous by his absence. He had left at dawn, before his wife’s body was found, before she was missed and the search was begun. He’d been hell-bent for London and its pleasures.

With much fussing and kissing from their mother, John and William and their baggage were on their way to the Mainwarings’. John Coachman was accompanied by footmen Fred and Horatio, one sitting beside him on the box, the other on horseback, riding alongside. Sophia had found a brace of pistols among the baron’s personal effects, had them cleaned and readied for use, and had given one to each footman.

Sophia waved as they departed, hiding her sniffles in a lace-trimmed handkerchief. Her heart thudded in her breast. She turned to Lord Brent, who’d seen the boys off with her.

“I’m worried, my lord,” she whispered. “I fear my father may be up to some mischief. He has been too quiet of late, keeping his vile remarks and humors to himself. It is not like him at all. I know the signs too well.” She wrung the damp handkerchief in her hands nervously.

Brent nodded, but reassured her. “You have taken adequate precautions, my lady. Your father could not be so stupid as to attempt mischief with the protection afforded
by two armed footmen. Never fear.” He patted her arm.

“Fred told me that my father went out the evening he pleaded illness, when we were at the Ramsbothams’ for dinner—”

Brent’s brow furrowed. “I was not aware of that. Did Fred have any idea where the earl went?”

“No, he did not know where my father had gone.” Sophia continued to worry the fragile piece of cloth in her hands. “I have now given instruction to the staff to keep an eye on the earl, and to follow him if he leaves Rowley Hall on horseback.”

Brent pursed his lips. “Do you want me to question him, my lady?”

She shook her head. “No, I do not want him to know we are suspicious of him.”

The nobleman laughed. “I’ve not yet made it clear that I am not interested in his plots, my lady.” He stroked his chin. “But I believe he would be foolish to apprise me of any plans to injure your sons. Your father is far more clever than that.”

“We shall keep our eyes on him, you can be assured, my lord. My servants are not fond of him. They shall report his movements to me.” Sophia tucked the wrinkled wisp of cloth into her sleeve, taking Lord Brent’s arm as they went into the manor house.

The Earl of Dunhaven chortled in glee from behind the draperies in the library. He was in a good position to watch the boys’ departure from home, and to note that his protégé and his daughter had formed the seeing-off committee. From all appearances, they were getting on well. As soon as the lads were done away with, Sophia would turn to Brent for support. Marriage bells would follow after an appropriate period of mourning.

The earl had conducted the rest of his business with the highwaymen last night under cover of darkness when the household was asleep. He’d passed on the details of the boys’ departure and the route the Rowley carriage would
be taking to Cumbria. Parts of that road were desolate, ideal for an armed ambush. Soon, soon, he would have good news from that disreputable pair of ruffians.

He felt like dancing a jig.

A parishioner had made him late after Matins, but Charles caught up to the Rowley’s crested carriage a few hundred yards from the Hall. Breathless, he wished the boys a good journey and gave them letters to take to his family. Among them was a letter to the Mainwarings, explaining that the boys were under his tutelage but had worked so hard this summer that they were entitled to freedom from Greek, Latin, mathematics, geography, and all else that smacked of school, while on the visit.

Charles hoped the boys would take advantage of the area where he had grown up, that they would sail the lakes, fish the streams, hike the trails, and otherwise enjoy themselves as he had. The Mainwarings, he knew, would see to it, but the lads had asked him to put all this in writing. They cheered as he explained the contents of his missive and sent them on their way to the easternmost reaches of England’s north.

“And you will go to the fair and tell us all about it, will you not, Mr. Heywood?” William queried.

“Never fear, my lad, your mother and I will make note of it in our journals and describe all to you in detail.” He laughed.

John elbowed his younger brother. “Looby! As if Mr. Heywood and Mama do not have better things to do than laugh at a Punch and Judy show, or gape at a bearded lady!”

William elbowed his brother in return. “He said they would go!”

“Boys!”
Charles chastised the duo. “Do you think your mother sent you off in this coach to maul each other all the way to Cumbria?”

John and William looked at each other, shamefaced. “No, sir,” they chorused in unison.

“Well, then, see that you both behave,” Charles warned them, smiling.

“Please don’t tell Mama that John elbowed me, sir,” William begged.

“We shall endeavor to behave as gentlemen do, sir,” John assured the vicar, his tone assuming a baronial inflection. “Do tell her she has naught to fear.”

As Charles rode away, he heard what sounded like
“Looby!”
but continued to ride on, chuckling to himself. Despite Sophia’s efforts to train them, her boys were high-spirited, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“My lady, the doctor is here,” Bromley announced shortly after the carriage disappeared from sight.

Sophia’s thoughts immediately turned to her sons. “Has there been an accident? Has the carriage overturned?”

“No, my lady!” Bromley was alarmed at the thought. “No, nothing to do with the young masters.”

“Has my…Is it one of the servants?” Was her father again assaulting her staff?

Lewis Alcott walked into the drawing room. “I am sorry, my lady, it’s urgent that I see you. It’s about your servants—”

“Has my father—” she began.

The doctor looked puzzled. “Your father? No, I have come to ask if you could spare some of your staff. There is an outbreak of putrid sore throat and I require assistance with my patients. If you could spare one or two—”

Putrid sore throat! It was highly contagious, Sophia knew, and she was immediately glad her boys had left the vicinity, but others were suffering. “What would you like me to do, Mr. Alcott? I am at your disposal, sir.”

“My lady, you need not be involved personally. If Lizzie or any of the footmen or stable lads could be spared, that would be a great help. I am going to the Ramsbothams next, to see if they have staff to lend me.”

“Sir, Lord Brent and I are able-bodied, as well. We will gather what we need and accompany you.” Sophia rose in a trice, determined to be of use.

Lewis blinked. The sun streaming through the windows glinting off his round spectacles. “Well, my lady, if you insist.…”

Sophia nodded. “I do, sir.”

“Well, then, if you would go to the Browns’ farm with Lizzie, that would be of immediate help. They are all ill with fever and their cows need milking for a start.”

The Browns? John and William had told her stories about a small child named Chloe Brown, a sweet charmer who had captivated both of them in one meeting. “Not little Chloe?” Sophia asked.

Lewis nodded. “Her parents are recovering but still need rest. The child, though…Well, it does not look good. She hovers between this life and the next. This dread sickness attacks the very young and the very old and many succumb.”

“I am on my way, sir.” John and William would not forgive her if she stood by and allowed this child to…Well, she must hope for the best. She and her mother had seen to sick servants and tenant farmers, and what she did not remember, Lizzie would. The girl’s mother was the local midwife and herbalist. They should make an effective pair.

“Bromley”—she turned to the butler, who had been privy to her conversation with the doctor—“do get Lizzie for me, please, and as many of the male staff as we can spare. There is an emergency, and Rowley Hall must do all it can to assist.” She strode briskly from the drawing room. They heard her call to her abigail for a change of dress.

Lewis and Bromley looked at each other, and the doctor spoke first. “Is this the same lady who arrived too late for her husband’s funeral, Bromley, and incurred the wrath of the entire countryside? Is this the same London lady whose notorious reputation preceded her…or a changeling who has been put into her place?”

Bromley’s lips thinned. “Lady Rowley is a fine mistress, sir, and we are lucky indeed that she lives at Rowley Hall. I will hear nothing ill of her.” He glared at the surgeon, spun on his heel and walked away, leaving Lewis wide-eyed in disbelief.