Chapter 10

Supper was a quiet affair. I was tired, Arthur was preoccupied, and Lady Ophelia declined to entertain us with her usual font of small talk.

“Julian, you have yet to give me the news from Town,” she said when Arthur had excused himself.

“I was barely in Town. I dropped Hyperia at her brother’s doorstep, chatted up Ardath Deloitte and Lina Hanscomb, popped by Hatchards, and came home.” As a younger man, I would have packed a lot more activity and a lot less sleep into a one-day excursion in London. “Leander troubles me.”

“He’s a Caldicott male. They have a natural inclination to be troublesome.”

Something was bothering my dear godmother. “The world does not know he’s a Caldicott male, and what is the point of raising him here at the Hall if not to favor him with the family connection?”

Her ladyship rose before I could hold her chair. “This discussion begs for a glass of Arthur’s calvados. I favor it in autumn.”

I offered her my arm when we reached the corridor. “I’m not imagining that Leander is…” Testing the limits of his freedom in the nursery, certainly. “Unsettled?”

“The poor child is coming undone. You had sisters to keep you in line. Older brothers, dedicated retainers. He hasn’t even a regular playmate. Beekins does what she can, and Millicent has been trying to be both regularly present in the nursery and regularly absent. She’s spending every spare moment in the sewing room.”

I took that as progress, though toward what goal? “What does Millicent say about her son’s lack of respect for Beekins?”

“I haven’t asked her.”

“Ah.” Another job for the soon-to-be-acting duke. “She continues to absent herself from even family meals, Godmama.”

We reached the library, which was not quite cozy, despite roaring fires in both hearths. The night had turned blustery, the wind moaning down the flues and subtly stirring the curtains.

“I love autumn,” Lady Ophelia said. “All two weeks of it. How did you leave matters with Hyperia?”

I poured us both drinks, rearranged some fire screens, and offered Godmama a seat in a reading chair. I took its twin, a perch upon which I’d read many a verse of Milton and Shakespeare and even a few of Mrs. Radcliffe’s tales.

“Healy West has taken me into dislike,” I said. “Hyperia reports that her brother is acting oddly, and I haven’t time at the moment to investigate his grievance. I realize I am the subject of gossip, but I’ve been back in England for a year, I keep as much to myself as I can, and West understands that I meant his sister no insult by leaving her free to pursue other attachments.”

“Except she’s not free, is she?” Her ladyship sipped her drink, and by firelight, the youthful beauty she’d had in abundance was more in evidence. Lady Ophelia could be a flirt, a gossip, a curmudgeon, or a doting godmother, but seeing her in repose reminded me that she was also a widow—twice over—and a woman who’d buried two children.

“How do you bear it, my lady?” The question was out, all unpremeditated and awkward.

“Bear what? My life is generally an unbroken procession of delights, save for when you or one of your ilk vex me.”

“I’ve lost one brother before his time. You’ve lost much more, and yet, you claim to be happy. If Arthur should come to any harm… I don’t want to be the rubbishing duke. Not when the role has been filled so recently by men so much more able than I.”

She was quiet for a moment while the fire crackled and wind soughed. “When Harry sang you the same lament—that he didn’t want to be the duke—how did you console him?”

Insightful question, because Harry had sung the same lament, in every imaginable major and minor key. “I told him he wasn’t the duke yet, and he might never be the duke, but if the title befell him, he would execute his duties in his own style. That being the duke allowed him that much freedom.”

“And you were right—he was whining for nothing, as it turned out. Banter will guard Arthur’s safety vigilantly, Jules, and you need not worry about Hyperia. She won’t marry some vapid viscount to pay her brother’s gambling debts.”

That her ladyship should so easily divine my fears was unnerving, also comforting. “Healy has gambling debts?”

“Most young men about Town do.”

“He’s not entertaining, and he is out at all hours, then meeting at length with his solicitors.”

“Perhaps Healy is preparing to go courting.”

I tasted my drink, which I, too, associated with autumn—apples, pears, warm spices, and a pleasant heat. “I want to go to bed and sleep until noon, and I want to charge right back to London and get to the bottom of Healy’s odd behavior.”

“You miss your dear Perry.”

“Dreadfully. Tait has asked me to keep the less savory aspects of his situation from her notice, and she feels the distance keenly.” As do I.

Her ladyship’s gaze went to a portrait of the late duke over the mantel. The shifting shadows from the fire gave His Grace a spectral air, though he was a jovial ghost, as ghosts went.

“When my first husband died, I realized that much of our conversation had been argument. We indulged in reasoned debate, bickering, philosophical disputes, spats, squabbles, and everything in between. After he was gone, I saw what a great honor he’d done me, engaging me like that, as an equal and a partner in conflict. I have never found his like in that regard, and I miss him still.”

“You’re saying a little absence might be salubrious? I spent years on the Peninsula missing her, my lady.”

“But did she spend years missing you?”

“I haven’t asked her.” Had she sought comfort in John Tait’s arms? None of my bloody business. “I wish I’d never agreed to look into Tait’s problem. Everything I’ve discovered thus far says he brought the difficulty on himself. He was a fine husband for the first six months following the nuptials, but by the end of the first year, his stock was plummeting in his wife’s eyes.”

“Reality intrudes, alas. What will you do about Leander?”

“Have you invited the Ingersoll child to visit the nursery?”

“I did, and Mrs. Ingersoll politely declined.” Her ladyship fished in a skirt pocket and produced a single page twice folded.

I scanned the words, written in a hand worthy of a Swiss finishing school. No girlish flourishes, no blots or dashes. Invitation much appreciated, et cetera, but household matters at a fever pitch as is always the case this time of year, and perhaps later…

“Are household matters at a fever pitch?” I asked, tucking the epistle into my breast pocket.

Lady Ophelia finished her drink and returned her glass to the sideboard. “Julian, she’s a village widow, barely gentry, and new to the area. Summoning her daughter to play with the Caldicott by-blow is hardly flattering to anybody.”

I was abruptly more than simply tired. I was weary to my soul and lonely to my bones. “He’s just a boy trying to cope with a world in tumult, for pity’s sake, and the Caldicotts claim a dukedom, last time I checked. What sort of mother denies a lonely child the comfort of even a single afternoon with a playmate?”

“A sensible mother if the playmate isn’t the right sort. You’d best resign yourself to dealing with Leander’s irregular antecedents for the duration of his earthly sojourn, my lord. He’s neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring, and he hasn’t a father on hand to smooth his way.”

I rose out of manners and from the sure conviction that I was at risk for spending the night dozing in the chair like the snoring dodderers gracing every club in St. James’s.

“Leander has me.” And I was determined to be enough.

“He has us, you hopeless man. He has us.” She took my drink from my hand, finished my calvados, and put the glass beside her own. “What will you do about Tait’s situation?”

Oh, him again. “Who set her cap for him besides Evelyn, Godmama? To whom did he send poetry besides her?”

“Now that is interesting. According to my recollections, amply aided by my journals, he provoked speculation regarding his intentions toward the Frampton girl—the oldest girl, not the one who’s out now—and he made sheep’s eyes at Miss Juniper Holland.”

The name was vaguely familiar. “She married some German prince?”

“Indeed, and she’s swanning about Hanover, claiming cousinship with all manner of royalty, but then, the German states are awash in princes and princesses. Miss Frampton married a wealthy Scot and hasn’t been seen in London since her nuptials.”

Two dead ends to go with a veritable collection of same. “What of the fellows who paid attention to Evelyn Hasborough? Surely she had a gallant or two?”

“She raced Jasper Thick in the park and won, and they were notably chummy after that. Thick was bosom bows with Henry Wendover, and I recall seeing the trio at Gunter’s. Both Wendover and Thick escorted her to services a time or two, but neither fellow had much of a fortune.”

I no longer carried a copy of DeBrett’s in my head, but I did recall a few pertinent details. “Thick’s brother is an earl.”

“With five healthy sons.”

Still, to marry into any titled family would have been a coup for the likes of Evelyn Hasborough. “What of the other fellow… Wendover? Bought his colors, didn’t he?”

“Decorated, mentioned in the dispatches, and brought home a Spanish bride. He’s an MP for some obscure hamlet, thanks to his uncle, the viscount.”

Wendover would also have been a desirable connection for Evelyn, but she’d settled instead for John Tait, perhaps of necessity.

“Might Evelyn and John have anticipated the vows?”

“What has that to do with anything, Julian? Young people are supposed to try each other’s paces. If it doesn’t go well, they can tell everybody the settlements proved unworkable, and no scandal attaches. I vow the French still hold a portion of your intellect captive.”

My intellect, my health, my dreams. “I’ve not moved in Society for years, Godmama. Allowances must be made.”

“Not by me, you lout. Off to bed with you, and stop fretting. Things tend to look better in the morning.”

No, they didn’t, but that I had somebody to offer me platitudes was reassuring. “I will miss you when you decamp for Paris, madam.”

“Then come with me.”

Had she jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow, I could not have been more unprepared for the blow. “I loathe the thought of setting foot in France. Going to Belgium for the Hundred Days, hearing French spoken on every hand… I can’t go back, my lady. That much freedom is yet mine to claim.”

She took up the candle snuffer and made the rounds of the sconces, though the job belonged to the footmen.

“Give it time, Julian. You’ve come a long way, and I have faith that you, too, might someday consider your life a procession of unbroken delights.”

I might, ages and ages hence, but today was not that day. “Shall I light you up?”

“I am not yet ready to surrender to the arms of Morpheus, but you look thoroughly knackered. Off to bed with you.”

I trudged up the steps to my apartment, which was blessedly cozy and quiet. I drifted off to sleep, though my dreams were plagued by visions of Healy West refusing me admittance to his house and Leander pitching his toy soldiers out the nursery window—foot, horse, and cannon, one by one into the abyss.

* * *

Things did not look better in the morning, but they looked manageable. My plan was straightforward: I’d shake the truth of Evelyn’s location out of Margery Semple, confer with Evelyn herself, and leave that lady’s husband to deal with any particulars.

Once I’d resolved the Tait situation, I’d sort out Healy West, Millicent Dujardin, and my darling nephew. Somewhere in the middle of all those undertakings, I’d bid Arthur farewell for who knew how long.

“Julian!” The duke himself hailed me from the stable yard. He swung off his steed—exercising Beowulf was another duty I’d take on soon—and handed the reins to a groom. “Beautiful morning for a hack.”

His Grace was in suspiciously good spirits, suggesting that he’d encountered Osgood Banter in the course of his outing.

How lovely for them. “Your Grace.” I bowed. “Nice weather indeed.”

“Rain by nightfall, no doubt. How goes the battle?”

Arthur had an ability to appear caught up in his myriad duties—harvest was well under way, travel preparations were ongoing, solicitors were a weekly fact of his existence—while he yet remained apprised of details that should have been beneath his notice. He was much like Wellington, who’d been prodigiously dignified even on the day of battle, but who’d yet had a sense for how the common soldier was faring. Wellington had kept his infamous army in rum and rations, harrying Parliament for supplies almost as diligently as he’d harried the French across Spain.

“If by battle you refer to my efforts to locate Evelyn Tait, I’m making progress.”

“Lady Ophelia tells me Healy West has been less than gracious toward you.”

The groom who’d taken charge of Beowulf was spending biblical ages loosening the girth, running up the stirrups, and picking out the horse’s feet.

“Let’s walk, shall we?” I gestured to a path leading in the direction of the stream that ran before the Hall and wandered from thence to the home farm and the home wood.

“You are not to dash my spirits, Julian,” Arthur said, striding along beside me. “I forbid it.”

“I’ll dash you in the creek if you think to give me orders, Your Grace.”

“That’s better. You should inquire of Banter regarding West’s situation. They were friendly, once upon a time.”

The ground became boggy indeed. “Friendly?”

“Not like that. Get your mind out of the bedroom. Friendly friendly. Osgood Banter is well-liked, gets along with everybody, the darling of the hostesses, and so forth. He has charm.”

Charm was apparently cause for puzzlement. “They were friendly, but they aren’t now?”

“They are polite now, in the manner of men who are avoiding each other, as if a debt has been forgiven or a drunken confidence ignored. Banter won’t say much about it, which inclines me to believe West has somehow made a fool of himself.”

“I’m off to call on Margery Semple now, and then I should make a report to John Tait. If Banter will be in residence tomorrow, I’ll call on him then.” Assuming I wasn’t haring back to London in search of Evelyn Tait.

“I don’t care for Mr. Semple,” Arthur said, picking up a flat rock and skipping it across the stream. “He’s on the board of aldermen, on the vestry committee, has an eye on the commission of the peace. His fingers reach into many a pie, but he doesn’t seem to be able to make his business prosper.”

“Such are the times. What is his business?”

“Dry goods, though he owns a farm that he lets out.”

Dry goodscovered anything other than hardware and fresh produce. “One doesn’t let out prime acres.”

“Ask Tait about that, if it’s relevant. I’ll invite Banter for dinner tonight. Spare you the distance.”

I actually liked the hours I spent on horseback, provided the weather was halfway obliging. Still, I’d be in the saddle a fair amount even without a jaunt over to Bloomfield.

“If Banter is free, that would suit.”

Arthur skipped another rock. “He’s getting free, thanks to you. If Osgood hasn’t expressed his gratitude, then I’m expressing mine.”

His Grace referred to a little situation involving a misplaced hound, a hopeless bully, and an ambitious spot of rural blackmail that I’d recently been able to foil.

“I did what was asked of me,” I said. “Luck was on my side.” Eventually, I’d had some luck, thank providence.

“When I’m traveling…” Arthur picked up three stones and began to juggle them. “Will you still poke your nose into puzzles and mysteries?”

“If asked to do so, yes.”

“You will be asked. You’re getting a reputation for untangling sticky situations discreetly. Vicar mentioned as much, and if he’s hearing about it, then talk of your investigations has spread to many interesting corners.”

“I am not daunted by a bit of talk.” I was no longer as daunted by talk, rather.

“Good.” His Grace neatly caught all three rocks. “These inquiries have a cheering effect on your demeanor. Lady Ophelia agrees with me.”

I did not agree with him. “Arthur, will you do me a favor?”

He was at once on his dignity. “You don’t have to ask, Julian. Name the deed and consider it done.”

I watched sunlight play on the stream where I’d waded and frolicked as a boy. “Teach Leander how to skip stones. Show him that you can juggle. Do it before you take ship.”

Arthur tossed the rocks one by one into the water. “Leander’s a bit young for skipping stones and juggling. He might grow frustrated.”

“Show him, all the same, that His Grace of Waltham can and does skip and juggle rocks.”

“Why?”

“It’s important.” I punched Arthur on the arm and departed, my throat unaccountably tight. Papa had taught me to skip rocks, too, or taught Harry while I’d watched, but the juggling… That had apparently been a gift reserved for Arthur, and it was a gift I wanted to see passed on to my—our—nephew.

“Good hunting!” Arthur called after me.

I waved without turning back. My oldest brother’s life at long last was becoming an unbroken procession of delights, and I was delighted for him. Absolutely delighted.

* * *

“My lord, what a surprise.” Margery Semple curtseyed politely and welcomed me into the same parlor where we’d had tea on my previous visit. “A pleasant surprise. I wasn’t aware you’d come back from London already.”

Why should she be concerned with my comings and goings? “My business in Town was concluded, though I must say not very satisfactorily. Shall we be seated?”

The pug was nowhere in evidence, though the same pressed flowers and embroidered samplers graced the walls. He that hath knowledge spareth his words: and a man of understanding is of an excellent spirit. Proverbs, though I knew not which chapter or verse, and more than a little annoying, in my present unexcellent and baffled spirits.

Mrs. Semple gestured me to a wing chair and ensconced herself in a corner of the sofa. She hadn’t rung for tea, though when last I’d called, I’d been invited to return at my whim and pleasure. Clearly, Ardath and Margery were in the habit of exchanging express dispatches.

“I called upon Mrs. Deloitte,” I said, taking my seat, “but she professed to have had no warning from you regarding the purpose of my inquiry or my need to consult her.”

Mrs. Semple brushed her fingers over the fringe of a pink pillow. “I certainly did write to her, my lord. We are all most concerned for Evelyn. Have been for years. I hazard that Ardath was behind on her correspondence, and another letter from me was hardly cause for her to catch up. Either that, or my letter went astray. The king’s mail is reliable, but not perfect.”

Plausible excuses, of course, except that Sussex mail was routinely delivered to London within twenty-four hours, and no snowstorms, deluges, civil disturbances, or acts of God had troubled the stage routes in recent days.

“Not only was Mrs. Deloitte unforthcoming,” I said, “but when I asked her what other London gentlemen had caught Evelyn’s eye before Tait proposed, she expressly commended me to consult with you. You, on the other hand, expressly commended me to consult with Mrs. Deloitte, claiming she knew Evelyn far better than you did, particularly during the relevant period. What am I to make of this confusion, Mrs. Semple? Must I continue flying back and forth between you two sisters to confirm your mutual ignorance? Did either of you know Evelyn at all?”

Mrs. Semple set the pillow aside. “My lord, you must understand that during her London Season, Evelyn was bearing up as best she could. Tall women are at a disadvantage socially, and Evelyn was the tallest of us all. She was no sylph either and preferred an active life. She was not the sort of young lady who attracted gallants and followers. She preferred books to fashion, biscuits to bons mots. Her settlements were generous by the standards of the shire, but not by Mayfair standards.”

A lovely little sermon that dodged my question. “So you were well aware of how she was going on in London?”

Mrs. Semple rose, though I’d been present all of five minutes. “I have three sisters, a dozen nieces and nephews, six children of my own, and a husband who expects an orderly, peaceful household. Yes, I knew of Evelyn’s situation, but no, I did not dwell in her pocket. If my lord will excuse me, today is market day, and Mr. Semple is bringing company home for supper. To see you is a pleasure, but perhaps you’ll send a note beforehand if you intend to call again?”

I remained in the chair for a moment, exercising the petty power of a man even a woman of her formidable dimensions could not haul bodily from the house. When I rose, I remained by my seat rather than oblige my hostess by scurrying off like a chastised dog.

“Then you maintain that Evelyn had eyes only for John Tait?”

“If she had other suitors, Ardath would know. I can send that query to her in a letter, or I’m sure on a second visit—provided you give her some warning and call at the usual hour—she’d be happy to entertain you.”

Evelyn had been on let’s-go-for-an-ice terms with an earl’s brother and viscount’s favorite nephew. She’d made a spectacle of herself racing in Hyde Park in their company. Margery Semple would have been well aware of such connections, and yet, she was lying to me.

“Where is your sister, Mrs. Semple?” I put the question gently, because I had no intention of galloping back to London just to see Mrs. Deloitte once again fleeing through the figurative postern gate, as Mrs. Semple was now intent on fleeing should I attempt to call again.

“My lord, I do not know where Evelyn is. I honestly, absolutely do not know, and neither does Ardath. We have racked our brains and cudgeled our memories and even considered consulting that odious man Evelyn married, but I have told you all I know, and now I must ask you to leave.”

Why? Why receive me graciously, send me chasing wild geese through Mayfair, and now refuse me a cup of tea?

“Are you afraid for her?”

Mrs. Semple drew in a sharp breath and marched for the door. “Of course I am afraid for her. She is my sister, and I wouldn’t put the dirtiest deed past that husband of hers. I very much fear he’s wasting your time, my lord, or worse, using your good offices to obscure a heinous crime indeed.”

I accompanied Mrs. Semple to the front door, donned my hat and spectacles, and cast about for a way to leave on a less acrimonious note.

“Evelyn has some money left,” I said. “The last of the pearls—the choker—was sold only a few weeks ago. She shouldn’t be out of funds quite yet, but she will be soon.”

“Perhaps, if what you say is true, Evelyn has bought passage to a new life in a new land.”

“After five years of biding in Merry Olde, close to family and familiar haunts? I can’t see that making sense.”

Mrs. Semple opened the door. “None of this makes sense, my lord. John Tait sounding the alarm after all these years, you poking your titled beak into matters that do not concern you. I vow Evelyn is causing nearly as much upheaval in absentia as she caused when present and accounted for.”

Resentment colored that observation, resentment and bewilderment.

I bowed and took my leave, mentally drafting the report I’d make to Tait. My interview with Mrs. Semple confirmed that Evelyn’s sisters were colluding to make my job harder, with each sister insisting I waste my time discussing some particular with the other sibling who professed bottomless ignorance.

As I climbed into the saddle and turned Atlas in the direction we’d come, a silver lining presented itself—Evelyn had chosen Tait. If she’d wanted to exploit her appeal to men from titled families, she could have.

She hadn’t bothered, which suggested that at one time, Evelyn had truly been in love with John Tait. I found that conclusion somewhat cheering, though I could not say why.