Courting Intrigue: A Sweet, Regency Romance (The Bequest Series Book 2) Page 11

  Speaking of the groom, he was waiting for her anxiously as she strode from the inn. He looked relieved as she waved the folded paper. Lillian could imagine the thought of trying to force her to accompany him had made him quite uncomfortable. Part of her felt bad for the man, but she couldn’t allow that to dissuade her from her objective. At least, by writing the letter, she would hopefully keep the young man from getting into trouble.

  Once she finally convinced the groom to leave her behind, Lillian set off for her old home. Not that she was going to disturb the new residents, but she was hoping her previous neighbour would be able to host her while she got herself situated. She didn’t relish the thought of taking to the woods as her home, but since the weather was cooperating, she would do that if necessary. Whatever the case, she needed to find somewhere soon. Her sleepless night was starting to catch up to her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brock’s conscience was biting at his stomach, but he ignored it as he took his leave of Ashburn Place.

  “It was a pleasure, Shepley, even if the hunting wasn’t all you had claimed it would be.”

  “I swear, it is usually much better. I think that foolish niece of my stepmother must have scared away the game because she thinks hunting for sport is cruel.”

  Brock laughed. He would believe the lovely young woman might have tried, but he expected she had her hands full with helping her aunt run the household. It was more likely the dissolute viscount had overhunted and not bothered to restock. And since the research he had been able to conduct had revealed that the steward of the large house was more crooked than a sword left out in the rain, he could be sure the man hadn’t bothered to restock his master’s fields.

  It had taken every ounce of self control he possessed to remain silent as he stood behind the long curtains the night before, holding his breath so as to not be caught, and so he could hear what was said. The gentleman in him had nearly howled at the cowardly act of standing by while the young woman was mistreated, but the spy in him had forced himself to silence. It is for the greater good, had repeated itself in his head like a chant, which was the only thing that prevented him from stepping out and planting his fist into Lester’s face. Now, standing in front of the dolt, it still took his full attention to maintain control of his temper.

  “The chit doesn’t know what sport is,” was all the earl could say as his guilt reared up and cramped his stomach. He was the worst sort of cur for saying anything about the girl when he had done nothing to defend her while she was getting banished for helping him.

  And she had helped him far more than she could possibly know. After Lester had packed her off and left with the steward, Brock had been able to take all the time he needed to search the steward’s office. He wished he could tell the girl she had been right. Lester was a victim of the conspiracy. An unwitting accomplice. His only crime was being too stupid or lazy to oversee his steward. And too stupid to allow his stepmother’s niece to oversee the steward either because Brock was certain Lillian would never have missed the obvious signs. But Shepley, no doubt goaded by his steward, wouldn’t allow the young woman to be involved.

  Nevertheless, Brock now had the evidence he needed and was anxious to be on his way to London to deliver his report to his overseer at the Home Office. From there he would go straight to his estate and never leave, if it could be helped. At least not until he had it well in hand. He realized as an earl he would need to provide the estate with an heir, but surely he could put that off a while longer.

  The viscount was gazing at him expectantly, so Brock brought his attention back to the matter at hand. Trying not to allow his disgust of the other man to show at the last minute, Brock continued taking his leave.

  “You must allow me to return the favour some time.”

  “Name the date, and I’ll be there,” Lester agreed promptly. Brock had to fight to prevent his eyes from rolling. It would be a cold day in Hades before he’d invite the lollard to his home.

  “I’m sure we will be seeing each other about Town,” was his answer.

  “Will you be taking your seat in the fall?” the younger man asked eagerly. Brock would have thought the viscount’s zeal for their friendship endearing, if not for his disgust with the other man’s laziness and uselessness.

  “I haven’t decided about this year. There is still so much to see to on my estate, since I am so recently inherited.”

  “I know how that is,” the viscount agreed. “We never got around to sharing stratagems for coping. Are you sure you can’t stay a few more days?”

  “Quite sure,” Brock answered firmly but then tried to soften the blow of his words. “We’ll commiserate over a fine bottle at White’s when next we meet in Town.”

  “Very well.” The viscount finally accepted his departure. “Safe travels. You never know who you might encounter on these wretched roads.”

  Brock merely nodded before making good his escape. He wished he could make straight for his horse, but he knew etiquette dictated he needed to take leave of the viscountess as well.

  “You put on a beautiful party, my lady.” Brock bowed over the older woman’s hand gallantly, ignoring her girlish giggle.

  “I didn’t do all that much, but it was a pleasure to meet you, my lord. I must thank you for distracting my niece.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Brock was certain he must have misheard the woman.

  “My niece. I’m certain you met her. Lillian Shaw. She is far too serious most of the time. It was good for her to be distracted by you.”

  “I didn’t realize I had been a diversion.”

  Lady Violet dimpled at him. “Don’t take offense, young man. You weren’t meant to be, it was merely a happy happenstance.”

  Brock had to laugh over her words. “I still didn’t realize I had been a diversion. Your niece doesn’t strike me as the distractible sort.”

  A strange expression crossed the viscountess’ face, but all she said was, “No, she doesn’t, does she?”

  “Is she around? I would like to take my leave of her before I go.”

  Another strange expression flitted across the woman’s face before she smoothed it out into the perfect social smile. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but she isn’t available at the moment. I’ll be happy to pass along your best wishes.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” was all he could say. There was no acceptable way for him to admit to the woman that he had been hiding behind the drapery as her niece was banished from the property. “My estate doesn’t lie too far distant, but I ought to be going if I intend to arrive home before the sun sets.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, my lord. No doubt we will cross paths again before too very long.”

  “Do you intend to go up for the Season, my lady? I didn’t think you had done so in the past.”

  “My late husband wasn’t a big fan of the social scene, so we didn’t spend very much of our time there. Then, too, I have been in mourning off and on, most notably for my viscount. But I do think a change of scenery would do me and my niece good.”

  “Oh, is she to accompany you?” Brock was surprised. He didn’t think that would quite fit with the girl’s bakery plans, but what did he know about the workings of the female mind?

  “It will be highly diverting,” was the lady’s uninformative response, leaving Brock no further ahead.

  “I will wish you adieu, then, my lady.”

  “Take care, my lord,” the viscountess murmured as she dipped into a curtsy.

  Brock felt the older woman’s gaze on his back as he left the room, but he didn’t bother to turn back around. He wasn’t sure what would be revealed on his face, so it was best to just get on with his responsibilities. He regretted the collateral damage to the young woman, but the nation was at risk; there was nothing much he could do about her.

  He made quick work of saddling up his horse and getting away. Relieved that London was about the same distance away as his own estate, it wouldn’t tax him exc
essively to head in the “wrong” direction. He would far rather be heading home, but he was anxious to see this assignment to a close so he could get on with his life.

  There was a degree of frustration as his supervisor was not available when he arrived at the Office. As a result, Brock had to make himself comfortable in his London townhouse for the night. His few staff members twittered about in distress over his unexpected arrival. It took a degree of effort to settle their ruffled feathers and assure them that he expected little from them as he had arrived unannounced. Thankfully, he kept a supply of appropriate clothing on hand and was able to kit himself out for an evening.

  Despite most of Society having retired to their estates, there was always something going on in the Capital, and the earl was not disappointed. He finally found his quarry at the theatre.

  “Sir, if I might have a moment of your time?”

  “Sedgwick! What a pleasant surprise.” The lack of sincerity was evident in his tone, but Brock managed to ignore it. “If you’ll excuse us a brief moment? My friend is new to Society.” The man excused to his friends as he gestured for Brock to precede him.

  “I am sorry to interrupt your evening, sir, but I have information I thought you would need at the earliest moment.”

  “Surely it could have waited until morning, could it not?”

  Brock shrugged. “Surely the nation’s security shouldn’t be left until morning, sir.”

  He stifled his amusement at the other man’s ire. Brock outranked the man socially now that he had inherited, a fact that did not sit well with his social climbing supervisor. Brock wondered why it wasn’t someone of higher status leading this investigation, but he well knew that aristocratic blood did not guarantee loyalty or intelligence. He didn’t much care about status, but he knew the other man surely did. He wouldn’t miss this scene one little bit. Thoughts of fields full of sheep and a dog at his heel kept him patiently awaiting the other man’s return to his normal calm.

  “Well, out with it man. You interrupted my intermission for a reason. What was so very urgent?”

  “I found the evidence you were looking for. But it’s not the viscount who is guilty. Well, his guilt lies in being a lazy oaf and not knowing what is going on under his very nose, but not treason. It is his steward who is making use of his position.”

  “That’s nearly as bad. Being an accessory, even if you don’t realize it, carries guilt.”

  “Perhaps, but it is going to be far less tricky to arrest a steward than a viscount, wouldn’t you say, sir?”

  “True, true, I can’t argue with that,” the man agreed grudgingly. “Do you have the evidence with you?”

  “No, sir, I didn’t think you would want to be responsible for it at the theatre. I could drop it off to your office first thing in the morning as I leave Town.”

  His overseer at the Home Office was a proud man who couldn’t stand the fact that he had to, at times, rely on members of the haute ton for his intelligence work. He wanted to lord it over his underlings and hated to acknowledge Brock’s position in Society. It had gotten worse ever since he had become the Earl of Sedgwick. While Brock had enjoyed his years of service, he would most certainly not miss this man.

  “You could have done just that, then,” the other man grumbled. “You needn’t have interrupted my evening.”

  “My apologies, sir, I thought you would want to know at the earliest opportunity.” Brock couldn’t prevent the slight sneer in his voice. He had so little respect left for the man in front of him.

  “Of course, of course. I suppose you’ve done just as you ought. Bring all that you have to the office at first light. There is another matter I would have you look into.”

  “No.” Brock nearly ground his teeth as he restrained his tone but uttered the forceful word. “I was promised an honourable discharge once this last matter was concluded.”

  “Well it’s not concluded yet, is it?”

  “My part in it is. I’ve done as you asked for years. Now, I’m finished.”

  “Play time is over then, is it, my lord? You can’t be bothered with helping your sovereign now that you have lands of your own to tend?”

  Brock held himself still, containing his rage. “I’ve served you and the king faithfully and will continue to serve my sovereign’s interests, just in a different capacity. But have you forgotten that you gave me your assurance in writing?”

  The older man blinked at him; obviously he had forgotten. “Must’ve been in my cups when I did such a daft thing. Very well, Sedgwick,” he admitted grudgingly. “You have done your duty well, as you said, for many years. You will be missed. I trust we can call on you if we ever are in dire need.”

  Brock bowed, not promising anything but also not ready to cut all possible ties.

  The next morning, as soon as the sun was peeking over the rooftops, Brock presented himself in the small, nondescript building where he always received his assignments. Despite his eagerness to enjoy the quiet life of a country gentleman, he knew there would be times he would miss this work. A small part of him was grateful that his overseer wasn’t cutting all ties with him. Perhaps he would regret that later, or there was a slim chance he would wish to return at some point. As the man growled out for him to enter his office, Brock acknowledged with a wry twist of his lips that the chance was very slim indeed.

  After he handed over the few pieces of evidence he had and rehashed the matter thoroughly, Brock was finally excused. It felt to him as though he had been in the cramped offices for half the day, but he could tell by the light that it had probably been little more than an hour. He would easily make it to Sedgwick and his new life of freedom.

  As he left the soot of London behind, his mind was torn between anticipation of all his plans for his estate and concern over Lillian. He was nearly certain that Shepley would have relented come morning. But he didn’t really have any reason to be so confident. The viscount was a lout, after all. No gentleman would turn out a gently bred young woman into the streets like that for real, though, would they? Surely he had been bluffing. Brock shoved the disquieting thoughts to the back of his mind as he contemplated how to best increase the crop yields for the next planting season.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Violet was standing at the window rather absently staring out but not really seeing anything. She didn’t imagine she would actually be able to see her niece coming back, but it made her feel as though she were doing something while she waited for the grooms and footmen to return. Surely one of them had found the girl by now.

  She had finally spoken with her stepson, though it had been an uncomfortable interview. The young nobleman had already been in his cups. Or still was, Violet hadn’t been completely clear on that. It would seem he was disappointed his friends were leaving him. He clearly wasn't in the proper frame of mind for the conversation she wished to have with him. Foolishly, she had pressed on anyway.

  “I think it is time for me to leave off my mourning, Lester, and go up to Town.”

  “Really? It has barely been over a year.”

  “Would you say you are still in mourning, my lord? You barely put on an armband, and you certainly haven’t left off your debauchery.”

  “Everyone grieves in a different way,” he said, now sounding both churlish and defensive.

  Realizing she needed to placate him rather than antagonize, Violet tried to alter her tone. “Of course, of course. And I will be grieving the loss of your dear father for the rest of my life. But staying here with you at Ashburn Place is too lonely for me. Especially since you have made it clear that Lillian is no longer welcome.”

  “The girl was searching through my things,” he protested. “A man cannot be expected to put up with that.”

  “What things was she searching through, my lord? I find it hard to believe she would do something so ill bred.”

  “I found her in the steward’s office, going through his papers.”

  “Really? I’m surprised you were t
here at night,” Violet mused before continuing. “Did she tell you why she was there or what she was looking for?”

  “It didn’t matter why. It wasn’t her place to be meddling with anything. I sent her packing. She isn’t to set foot on my property again.”

  Violet wanted to yell at the ungrateful man but made an effort to calm her tone. “I can understand your irritation, my lord, but the girl has been of remarkable help to me these past fourteen months. Since your father’s death, I haven’t been able to manage the household, and she took over everything for me. I think it is probably my fault if the girl overstepped. She has gotten into the habit of thinking it is her job to look after Ashburn Place, and I’m sure that’s why she was in the steward’s office.”

  Violet wasn’t actually certain of that. She was fairly sure the girl had never stepped foot in there before, as the steward had made it quite clear he was not going to give up any of his responsibilities into her hands, unlike the viscountess and the housekeeper. But it seemed likely, knowing how managing her niece was. She was no doubt trying to be helpful. It seemed to be the girl’s aim in life – to be useful. And she had been. Violet would like nothing better than to ensure that she continued to be. She just needed to get her back.

  “What do you want, Violet? I’m starting to get a headache.”

  She actually almost smiled at his petulant tone but managed to restrain it. Violet had never been able to forge a relationship with her stepson. She had hoped that, in time, it would have happened. But the death of his father had put an end to any attempts at civility.

  “Since you obviously don’t want me here, even though your father’s Will arranged for it, I think it time that I remarry.”