The Hunt Club Chronicles Bundle (2 page)

With a final scowl, James turned away, leaving Nathan to approach his other son.

He caught up a chair and placed it directly before the boy, then leaned forward and placed his finger on the top of his page.

Pierce blinked, gaze rising to Nathan’s finger and then to his face. “Oh, Father, I never heard you come in. Do you know that the Blue Spotted Wren is only found in
Dorset
? Quite remarkable.”

Nathan suppressed a smile. “Really. How fascinating.”

Like the obedient child he was, Pierce carefully marked his place in the book and set it aside. He glanced around Nathan’s shoulder. “Did Mr. Stackpool not come with you today? I had some questions for him.”

Nathan ruffled Pierce’s hair. “As I told your sister when I first came in, Stackpool has other business.”

The boy nodded. “It can wait until tomorrow morning.”

“What happens tomorrow morning?”

His son’s face flushed with color and Pierce hastily glanced at his siblings. He pressed his lips together and didn’t speak.

James moved nearer Cecily and set his hands over her shoulders.

Nathan scowled. “Children, answer me. You know I don’t like secrets. What happens tomorrow morning?”

James pushed his sister behind him as Pierce scampered to hide too.

“Mr. Stackpool visits us each morning,” James declared, appearing ready to argue over the matter.

Nathan took in the boy’s posturing and smiled. “And why would you think I’d dislike the notion? Mr. Stackpool is a sensible conversationalist.”

James licked his lips. “Well, we figured that if we had to keep it a secret from mama then we shouldn’t tell you.”

“Oh.” Nathan did his best to keep his voice neutral. What the devil had Stackpool been doing with his children? Nathan was aware that Stackpool had been pressed to read to them each night. But to visit them in the morning too?

“It’s just that . . . if we tell, you’ll make us stand up and do it. It would be beyond mortifying to do it in front of mama’s friends.”

Nathan sank into a chair. “What is Mr. Stackpool teaching you?”

James blushed and looked away, then mumbled “To dance.”

For a moment, Nathan thought he’d misheard. There was no need to keep dancing a secret. Their mother loved to dance and constantly berated Nathan for not securing a dance instructor so she might show her children off to her friends.

Nathan frowned as he took in his children’s distraught faces.

By the way they fidgeted, he guessed they didn’t care for the notion of dancing for their mother like trained monkeys. And Nathan couldn’t blame them.

He held out his hand to Cecily and she came forward to perch on his knee. “I have no objections to the lessons, or keeping them secret.”

James’ stiff posture softened. “Well, we know we must learn to dance, and Cecily enjoys dancing with Stackpool, but . . . I shouldn’t care to let anyone see us dance together.”

Nathan nodded solemnly, fighting to contain his relief that their big secret proved inconsequential. “I can see where that might become uncomfortable. But I must say you’ve all done a marvelous job of hiding your activities.”

James let out a breath. “Well, our lessons are held early while mama still sleeps.”

Nathan clapped his hand against his son’s shoulder, the gesture again reminding him of the awkward moments of affection his father had bestowed. If only James could unbend a little like his brother Pierce. “I had no idea Mr. Stackpool excelled at the art. Well, you must tell me how early you attend to your lessons so I may see your progress.”

“We meet at six.”

Nathan winced. “In the morning?”

All the children nodded quickly.

“For goodness sake, couldn’t you let the man sleep until a decent hour? With you three demanding his time at all hours it surprises me that he hasn’t fallen asleep at his desk.”

Poor bloody Stackpool. The man was a saint. Given Nathan’s habit of keeping him busy until the wee hours of the morning, he’d not shown an ounce of fatigue to hint that he was being cruelly taken advantage of. Nathan would have to curtail these impromptu lessons or lower his own demands for Stackpool’s time. Or Stackpool would leave Nathan for better conditions and a better night’s sleep.

Chapter Two

Henry Stackpool listened for noise in the hall again, and then lifted the Duke of Byworth’s desk blotter.

Beneath lay the paper his master had taken from him before he’d had a chance to read the missive properly. All he knew was that the Duke of Lewes had written, but precious little beyond. However, the note had unsettled Byworth. Henry could never remember him being so tense.

With a last glance at the closed door, Henry picked it up and flipped it open.

I have your wife’s diary. Come Friday to discuss terms. You know where. Lewes.

Relief coursed through Henry, then concern. Although the matter didn’t affect him directly, he did fear for His Grace. Lewes, a man he knew better than he wished, could be ruthless. He would make Byworth pay high for the return of his own property.

Henry slipped the note back in place, and then laid his completed correspondence on the blotter to await the duke’s pleasure. He blew out the duke’s candles and closed the door to the study before extinguishing his own lights and pondered the diary’s potential contents.

Given the dukes distraction since receiving that note, Henry feared the diary contained damaging gossip about his generous employer. A man who, despite the inconsistencies in Henry’s application, had offered Henry the position of steward and turned his life around.

Henry glanced around his office with pride. There were days when he couldn’t believe his good fortune in securing this position and he did everything in his power to do his job well, even if it meant losing some of his free time to the duke’s children. At least they appreciated his attention.

Henry closed and locked his office then hurried for the servant’s stairs. A blast of heat swept his face as he reached the lower landing and he looked up as he entered the kitchen.

“Ah, there ya are, Mr. Stackpool. I’d feared you’d fallen asleep over your work.”

He smiled at the cook. “No chance of that, Mrs. Mayberry. The duke is hardly a hard taskmaster, but there is much to be done.”

The older lady snorted. “If you ask me the duke is as soft as butter on the inside.”

Henry thought that might be true. He’d never met a man before who commanded with merely a glance, and a softly worded request. Henry’s concerns over the duke’s letter surfaced as he sank to the hard wood bench. Whatever happened, Lewe’s would exploit the contents of the diary for his own gain. Byworth simply had to get the duchess’ property back before any damage could be done.

A plate landed before Henry and the cook sat with a groan. “It shouldn’t be too bad.” As Henry took his first mouthful, Mrs. Mayberry leaned forward. “Her Grace is in a right snit this evening. Be mindful not to cross her path tonight.”

Henry chewed quickly, striving to keep his disgust for his employer’s wife buried deep. “Any idea what set her off this time?”

The duchess was the type of female who used the power of her title to get her way. She had, by Henry’s count, dismissed six maids for supposedly slovenly habits, two grooms for attempting to impose on her person, and three tutors for rank stupidity. And she’d had her eye on Henry too—and he knew why she disliked him. He wouldn’t fall prey to her lascivious smiles. He wouldn’t visit her bed.

“Well, the duke—he went to see her tonight. She’s been ever so grouchy since then.”

Conversations between the duke and duchess always seemed fraught with danger for the servants. The last time they conversed, one of the maids earned a slap from the duchess for nothing at all.

“Thank you for the warning.”

Henry shoveled another spoonful of stew into his mouth, wondering how long the biggest thorn in his side could be avoided. The duchess made no bones about her displeasure that the duke kept him on despite her groundless accusations of impertinence. If not for the duke, and the pleasure of working for him, Henry would seek other employment and bide his time until he could be his own master.

Yet the desire for freedom made him shift restlessly in his seat.

Cook, misinterpreting his mood, laughed. “Be off with you, lad. You’ve left your ladybird waiting long enough tonight.”

He had no ladybird waiting in the village, but he let everyone think so, even if he kept closed-mouth about her identity. Henry pasted a smile on his face as he pushed his plate away. “That I have. Goodnight, Mayberry.”

She winked. “Goodnight, sir. Be sure to be back early enough in the morning so no one notices.”

Although he chuckled as he stepped out into the night air readily enough, his smile fell at the thought of the long, cold night ahead. But he had to keep up the pretense of an ordinary man—one with ordinary desires that no one thought twice about him satisfying once a week.

Yet Henry hadn’t been satisfied in a long time. That he’d once been a whore to powerful men in
London
’s Hunt Club was a secret he’d take to the grave. He still craved fleeting affection and the pleasure of touching another man who held similar desires. Sometimes, if the man had been pleasant to look upon, he could even pretend the pleasure could last beyond the moment. But he was always conscious that he couldn’t trust anyone for long. Not if he wanted to continue living, at any rate.

Henry hurried down
Grantley
Park
’s long driveway, noting the moon peeking low on the horizon as the sun set on another exhausting day. He walked quickly on the grass to muffle his steps as he headed toward the village. But halfway down the drive he turned and glanced about. When he saw no one following from the Park, he took a step into the protection of the woods, angling toward a distant ruin.

A giggle to his right stilled him. Then another had him backing away.

Of all the rotten luck. Someone had secured a bower beneath the trees and appropriated the space for a seduction.

Reconciled to another costly night in the village, he continued on toward town, assured of falling asleep over a tankard at The Angel instead of his hard stone ledge. Weariness tugged at his limbs as the tavern lights came into view. These long days spent in the duke’s employ were more demanding than his busiest Hunt Club day.

As he stepped across the tavern threshold a raucous laugh drew his attention. He stared into the Duke of Lewes’ laughing eyes and his heart leapt from his chest. For a moment Henry considered escape. Then he forced his steps toward a far table, keeping his chin tucked low.

When the innkeeper deposited a tankard before him, he looked up with surprise. Lewes stood over his table.

“You seem familiar.”

Henry stood quickly and touched his forelock. “Can I help you, my lord?”

“Your Grace,” Lewes corrected.

“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” Henry stammered. “I didn’t recognize you.”

Lewes pursed his lips as he considered Henry. While the duke looked his fill, Henry tried not to fidget. He hoped the duke had forgotten him enough not to make the connection to his time at the Hunt Club.