The Present (3 page)

As it happened, the trip to Havers Town turned out to  be utterly unsatisfactory. John Markus was indeed still living at the advanced age of ninety-six. He was bed ridden, yet his mind was quite lively for his age, and he did indeed recall the grave.

"I tended that grave for nigh on sixty-eight years," John proudly told the group gathered about his bed.

"Goodness!" Reggie exclaimed. "That's long before even you were born, Uncle Jason."

"Aye." John nodded. "Since I was a lad of thirteen myself. Turned the task over to my nephew when I retired fifteen years ago. Wouldn't trust anyone else to do it proper. He ain't been slacking, has he?"

"No, John, of course not," Jason assured him, though he hadn't a clue, since he hadn't been out to see that grave in over thirty years himself. But he didn't want the old man worrying about it, so he added, "He's been doing an excellent job, indeed he has."

"We're delighted to have found someone who knows about that grave, Mr. Markus," Reggie told him, getting to the matter that had brought them there in mass. "It's been a point of curiosity for all of us, to know who is buried there."

The old man frowned. "Who is? Well now, I don't rightly know that."

The surprised silence that followed that answer was full of disappointment. It was Derek who finally asked, "Then why did you keep care of it all those years?"

"Because she asked me to."

"She?" Jason inquired.

"Why, your grandma, Lord Jason. Wasn't anything I wouldn't have done for that kind lady. Everyone at Haverston felt that way. She was well loved, your grandma was—not like your grandpa. Or at least not as he was regarded when he was young."

Up went a half dozen brows, but it was Jason who said indignantly, "I beg your pardon?"

The old man chuckled, too old to be intimidated by Jason Malory's ire. "No disrespect intended, m'lord, but the first marquis, he was a stiff one, though no different from other aristocrats of his day. He was given Haverston by the crown, but he had little care for it or its people. He preferred London, and came only once a year for an accounting by his estate agent, who was an arrogant coxcomb that   ruled   Haverston   like   a  tyrant  when  the   marquis isn't there."

"A rather harsh testament against a man who can't defend himself," Jason said stiffly.

John shrugged thin shoulders before saying, "Merely the truth as I saw it, but that was before the marquis met and married Lady Anna. She changed him, she did, taught him to appreciate the little things in life, softened his edges. Haverston went from being a dismal, bleak place to work, to being a place her people took pride in calling home. A real shame about the rumors, though ..."

"Rumors?" Reggie frowned. "Oh, you mean about her being a Gypsy?"

"Aye, that one. Just because she looked and sounded foreign, and there happened to have been Gypsies in the area just before her appearance, some folks got that silly notion. But the marquis, he put a stop to that rumor when he married her. After all, a lord like him would never marry so far beneath him, now would he?"

Jason intercepted his son's grin just before Derek remarked, "Depends on the lord."

Jason gave him a quelling look. The rest of the family didn't need to know—yet—that he, too, hoped to put his heart first.

John shook his head. "Back then it just wasn't done, Lord Derek. Today, maybe, but eighty-some years ago, a scandal like that would ruin a man."

"Well, rumor was all it ever was," Jason pointed out, "since it's never been proven, one way or the other. The rumor wasn't completely put to rest, though, or it wouldn't still be known. But as you say, it hardly matters in this day and age, whether Anna Malory was Gypsy or of Spanish descent, as most assumed. Only she could answer that, but my grandparents died before I was born. I'm sorry I never knew them."

"I've always wished to know the truth about her myself," Amy said. "I can remember being fascinated by the possibility when I was a child, and before you ask why again, recall that I take after her, or so I've been told. I wanted to think she really was a Gypsy—I still wish it was so. That would at least explain where I got such unusually perceptive instincts from, that are never wrong. And it must have been true love."

"Hell, if it's true love, I'm glad our ancestor realized it," Derek put in. "For some men, it takes years . . . and years . . . and—"

Jason didn't miss the subtle prodding directed his way, but before anyone else noticed, he said pointedly, "Didn't you say you had a bit of shopping to do while we were in town, Derek?" To which his son just grinned again, unrepentantly.

Jason sighed inwardly. He knew Derek was just teasing him. Actually, Derek was the only one in the family who ever dared tease him. And no one else, being aware of who Molly really was, would guess that he was teasing his father. But then Derek knew that Jason had been after Molly for a long time now to say yes to marrying him.

"Hmmm, wonder why I never thought to do that with  Anna Malory," Amy remarked to herself, drawing everyone's attention again.

"Do what?" more than one Malory asked in unison.

"Make a bet that we'd learn the truth about her. Anyone care to take up the wager?"

But Jason interrupted with, "I'd prefer this speculation ended here."

Amy frowned. "You really don't want to know the truth, Uncle Jason?"

"I didn't say that, m'dear. I just don't want to see you break your perfect win record on something that can't possibly come to light. You would be devastated if that happened, now wouldn't you?"

Her sigh answered him, but didn't quite reassure him. After all, he was well aware that horrible odds had never stopped her from following her instincts in the past.

The family was spread out in the large country mansion that evening after dinner. Molly had carefully unpacked most of the Christmas paraphernalia from the attic earlier in the week, and it was Molly, just reaching the bottom of the stairs, who heard the horse come to a galloping halt out front and went to see who was visiting this late in the evening. Just as she reached to open the door, it was opened from without and Jason's brother James nearly knocked her over as he stomped in out of the cold.

Nonetheless, she was delighted to see he had arrived at last, even at that late hour, and offered a cheery, "Merry Christmas, Ja—"

To which he immediately cut her off with a very testy,  "Bloody hell it is." Though he did halt his progress to offer her a brief smile, adding, "Good to see you, Molly," then in the same breath, "Where's that worthless brother of mine?"

She was surprised enough to ask, "Ah, which brother would that be?" when she knew very well he would never refer to Edward or Jason, whom the two younger brothers termed the elders, in that way. But then, Jason shared everything with her about his family, so she knew them as well as he did.

So his derogatory answer didn't really add to her surprise. "The infant."

She winced at his tone, though, as well as his expression, which had reverted to deadly menace at mention of the "infant." Big, blond, and handsome, James Malory was, just like his elder brothers, and rarely did anyone actually see him looking angry. When James was annoyed with someone, he usually very calmly ripped the person to shreds with his devilish wit, and by his inscrutable expression, the victim had absolutely no warning such pointed barbs would be headed his or her way.

The infant, or rather, Anthony, had heard James's voice and, unfortunately, stuck his head around the parlor door to determine James's mood, which wasn't hard to misinterpret with the baleful glare that came his way. Which was probably why the parlor door immediately slammed shut.

"Oh, dear," Molly said as James stormed oil. Through the years she'd become accustomed to the Malorys' behavior, but at times it still alarmed her.

What ensued was a tug of war in the reverse, so to speak, with James shoving his considerable weight against the parlor door, and Anthony on the other side doing his best to keep it from opening. Anthony managed for a bit. He wasn't as hefty as his brother, but he was taller and well muscled. But he must have known he couldn't hold out indefinitely, especially when James started to slam his shoulder against the door, which got it nearly half open before Anthony could manage to slam it shut again.

But what Anthony did to solve his dilemma produced Molly's second "Oh, dear."

When James threw his weight against the door for the third time, it opened ahead of him and he unfortunately couldn't halt his progress into the room. A rather loud crash followed. A few moments later James was up again dusting pine needles off his shoulders.

Reggie and Molly, alarmed by the noise, soon followed the men into the room.

Anthony had picked up his daughter Jaime who had been looking at the tree with her nursemaid and was now holding her like a shield in front of him while the tree lay ingloriously on its side. Anthony knew his brother wouldn't risk harming one of the children for any reason, and the ploy worked.

"Infants hiding behind infants, how apropos," James sneered.

"Is, ain't it?" Anthony grinned and kissed the top of his daughter's head. "Least it works."

James was not amused, and ordered, barked, actually, "Put my niece down."

"Wouldn't think of it, old man—least not until I find out why you want to murder me."

Anthony's wife, Roslynn, bent over one of the twins, didn't turn about to say, "Excuse me? There will be no murdering in front of the children."

The smirk that elicited from Anthony had James raising a golden brow at him. That, of course, gave Anthony ample warning that he wouldn't like what was coming, knowing his brother as he did.

And James didn't keep him in suspense, saying, "Ask yourself what would happen when Jack, out of the blue, mutters, 'bloody everlasting hell,' within her mother's hearing. Then ask yourself what would happen when George asks her daughter where she heard such a phrase. Then imagine what would happen when Jack, unaware that she had just shocked her mother, pipes up that Uncle Tony took Judy and her to Knighton's Hall, finally, imagine George hunting me down to demand why I let you take our daughters to that strictly male establishment when blood flies freely in the ring, where gamblers swear most foully when they lose their wagers on the contenders who get too bloody, where every kind of topic unsuitable for six-year-olds gets discussed freely. And then picture George not believing me when I tell her that I didn't know you could be that bloody irresponsible. She blamed me for letting you take them there. And since I didn't even know you were taking them there, guess who I'm bloody well blaming?"

Even Reggie took a deep breath after that long diatribe. Anthony had looked rather shocked at first, but now he looked quite uncomfortable, especially when his wife turned to narrow her gold-flecked hazel eyes on him, her Scots temper obviously about to erupt.

"Och, mon, I canna believe what I just heard. You did that? You actually took Judy and Jack to Knighton's, of all places? You didna ken how damaging that could be to such impressionable young girls?"

Anthony winced and tried quickly to explain. "It wasn't like that, Ros, really it wasn't. I was taking the girls to the park. I stopped by Knighton's just to run in quickly to have a word with Amherst. You had asked me to invite him and Frances to dinner, and I knew he'd be at Knighton's Hall at that time of day. How was I to guess the girls would sneak out of the carriage and follow me in?"

''When those two darlings are known to be getting into things and places they shouldna?" she retorted stiffly, then turned to Reggie. "Fetch the other two bairns," she said as she scooped up the twins. "We're leaving James to get on with his murdering."

Reggie tried to hide her grin as she plucked Jaime from Anthony and grabbed the other toddler's hand, then followed Roslynn out of the room. It was accomplished within moments, as efficient as the women were with children.

James leaned back against the door after it closed, crossed his arms over his exceedingly wide chest, and said to his bemused brother, "How's it feel, old chap? Least she was still talking to you before she flounced out of here, whereas George ain't talked to me in a week."