Chapter Seventeen

C herish stood at the edge of the stable, watching from a safe distance as Reggie and Durham rode off. She was standing by the fence near the spot where Lady Albin had tried to run her down, and still felt uncomfortable being so close to all these horses. Fiona’s other guests were now gathering to fetch their mounts for their morning ride. They rode massive, snorting beasts, and she was trying hard not to tremble.

But standing out here with Gawain was more important than her stupid fear.

Her cheeks were on fire and would not stop burning because Gawain had made an embarrassingly ardent show of kissing her earlier. Several of Fiona’s guests made bawdy quips, which she endured with good nature.

After all, he had a rakish reputation to uphold. But Cherish understood Gawain’s true purpose in putting on this show. If he decided to ride off for London tomorrow—because it was not in his nature to sit back while others took on Northam and his lackeys—others might view it as a husband abandoning his wife immediately after their wedding. This would have spawned the vilest gossip, and he meant to stamp out those nasty fires of innuendo before they ever blazed.

She remained standing by the fence, as far out of the way of pounding hooves as possible while the other riders rode past her. Margaret, who was proving to be a good friend, came up to her and took her hand. “Archery targets are being set up on the lawn, Cherish. Do you want to shoot a few? We can pretend those targets are Lady Albin’s rump.”

Cherish laughed. “Margaret! That sounds perfect, but Gawain and I need to ride over to Northam Hall.” She quickly related what her uncle and his wife had done to the manor house, as reported by her butler.

“Oh, what a wretched pair they are. I’m so sorry. How do you feel? Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I will be now that they are gone. But there is work to do in assessing the extent of the damage and deciding what needs to be done. Next, Gawain and I will go to Brighton to check on the land records and see what shows up in the deed registry. I think it might show that Northam Hall is mine, or else why would those two have run off so fast?”

Margaret nodded. “Or destroyed any of the house if they were the rightful owners.”

“Ready, love?” Gawain asked, returning to her side now that he had procured Fiona’s rig so they might ride straight to Northam Hall.

Margaret giggled and ran off.

Gawain shook his head and sighed. “Are you the only woman in Creation who does not titter inanely and coo like a peahen?”

“Well, you did have me cooing quite a bit last night and again this morning,” Cherish reminded him.

He grinned wickedly. “Yes, I did.”

They gave their apologies to Fiona for missing the midday picnic she had planned for her guests, and then drove off in the borrowed rig. Cherish did not think it would take her long to assess the damage her oafish relatives had caused, since she had already seen much of their dereliction transpire over these past months.

But to her dismay, what she encountered was beyond comprehension. Potter had not exaggerated the wreckage done overnight by Northam and his wife to her childhood home. “They will pay for this,” Gawain said with a growl, and Cherish knew he did not merely mean monetary reimbursement.

He wanted revenge.

Cherish was in a daze as she walked from room to room and took in the slashed furniture, smashed vases, and curtains that had been pulled down.

Potter was quite glum as he escorted them from room to room. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I blame myself for not being more vigilant.”

“No,” Cherish said with a shake of her head. “How could anyone have foreseen such madness?”

“We stopped them after one of the footmen heard vases smashing and went to inspect the noise. Only then did we realize what they were doing, but it was too late to prevent all this damage. They are a vile pair, and they’ve stolen the family silver, too. I hope they choke on their silver spoons.”

“We shall redecorate,” Cherish said with determination. “Do we not need to get their stench out of this house?” She tried to make a jest of it, for Gawain was obviously fuming and mad enough to ride off to London this very day.

She did not want him going without her, and she was not ready to leave yet. She still had to assess the damage to the Northam farms and set about making repairs. In truth, she did not think those had been touched last night, because it would have required the evil pair to ride an hour in the dark just to reach the closest farm. The true damage to the farms had occurred over the months of their neglect. For her own pride, Cherish wanted to secure the income flow they had provided as recently as last year, when she had been in charge and the new earl had not gotten his hands on them.

Gawain did not care about her inheritance, and had never made her feel lesser for coming to him with nothing. But it irked her, especially now that she knew her father had not forgotten her.

“I doubt they set foot on any of the farms last night,” Potter remarked. “There wasn’t time. Thank goodness for small favors.”

They took inventory of the rest of the house, Cherish’s dismay increasing as not a single room had been left untouched. “Potter, have the staff continue to clean up this mess as best as they can. I doubt anything can be salvaged. Perhaps the torn canvas on the portraits of my parents can be repaired. I suppose this was done to purposely hurt me. They will have to be sent to a London art specialist for this task. Fortunately, they did not bother to slash any of the other paintings. I wonder why those were spared?”

“It could be that they were caught in the act before they had gotten around to destroying them,” Gawain said, taking hold of her hand and giving it a light squeeze. “They’ll feel ten times the hurt once I am through with them.”

“Horrible people,” Potter muttered. “Vile and vindictive.”

Cherish tried to look on the brighter side. “We shall turn this place into something spectacular. Lovelier than ever before.” She turned to Gawain. “The farms are very good income producers. I might need to borrow some funds from you at first. Merely an advance. But—”

“Cherish, everything I have is at your disposal,” he said, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence. “Whatever you need, you shall have. It will be yours to do with as you wish. No loan. No advance. All of it freely given, along with my heart.”

Potter smiled with such pride at Gawain’s words. But the man had always been more of a protective grandfather than a butler to her, especially these past months since the death of her father and the arrival of her toad relatives.

As for Gawain, he was once more leaving no uncertainty as to the reason for their marriage. Honestly, was he going to shout his love from the rooftops next?

Cherish smiled up at him. Truly, she loved this man.

“You must stop gushing over me or everyone will believe you have turned soft as pudding,” she teased once Potter had left them to attend to the task of supervising the staff.

“No, love. Soft is not the way I would describe myself whenever I am around you.” He cast her a smoldering look that left no doubt about his meaning.

They climbed back in the rig and moved on for a quick inspection of two of the Northam farms. By this time, it was well into the afternoon and Cherish had developed a pounding headache. Although the farms had not been damaged last night, they had been neglected over the months and required some work to be put back in shape.

“Let’s call it a day, love,” Gawain said, once again helping her into the rig and noticing that she was rubbing her temples to ease the pounding in her head.

“I’m all right. Truly. We ought to make a stop in Brighton before returning to Fiona’s home. It won’t take us long to review the land registry records. If my head is still sore, there’s a reliable apothecary near the registry office. I visited him regularly when my parents were in failing health. He’ll give me something for this headache.”

“As you wish,” Gawain said, not entirely pleased by her decision. “But we can put off Brighton until tomorrow.”

“No, I’d rather keep going.”

He sighed. “Or I can drop you off at Fiona’s and then ride to Brighton on my own.”

She cast him a stubborn look.

He chuckled and kissed her. “Fine, Brighton it is.”

Cherish insisted they stop first at the registry office, where they received their first good news of the day: it turned out that Northam Hall and its farms had quietly been deeded to her by her father several years ago. “He must have done this shortly after my mother died. Why did he not tell me? All of this misery could have been avoided.”

“He must have wanted it to be a surprise for you, and never considered that his trusted solicitor would collude with his own brother to hide this asset from you. I would not be surprised if they were in the midst of forging a conveyance from you to your uncle and were just waiting for a suitable moment to have it recorded.”

She pursed her lips as she contemplated the possibility. “Why do you think they waited?”

“Your father might have used a local solicitor instead of turning to his London man. They might not have realized your father had already transferred it to you. Or they knew and were just waiting for the right moment to record a forged deed. They had to be worried that news of this transfer would reach your ears. Perhaps the solicitor balked at actually forging a conveyance deed. Who knows? I’m just glad it is legally yours.”

They drew the rig up next in front of the local apothecary, a place Cherish knew quite well from her time spent tending her parents during their illnesses. “I won’t be a moment,” she said, hopping down to run into the shop.

The proprietor, Mr. Drake, was a kindly older gentleman who greeted her warmly. “What brings you here today, Lady Cherish?”

“A terrible headache, Mr. Drake. Would you have something that might ease it?”

“Never you worry. I have a shop full of remedies. May I be so bold as to ask…are the rumors true?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Which rumors?”

He raked a hand through his thinning hair. “Well, I’ve heard several that seem quite unbelievable. The first is that Lord Northam and his wife have absconded.”

She smiled. “Yes, they’ve run off to the north. I do not expect we shall ever see them in Brighton again.”

He cast her a hopeful look. “And they’ve left you all on your own?”

Cherish laughed. “Yes, thank goodness.”

“Indeed,” he said with obvious relief. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but good riddance to them.”

“I heartily agree,” she said with an emphatic nod.

He removed a glass jar filled with a white powder from one of the shelves and set it on the counter. “I’ve also heard… But it seems so unlikely… And yet I see the Duke of Bromleigh seated in the conveyance just outside my window. Have you… Are you…”

“Married to the Duke of Bromleigh?” She cast him a beaming smile. “Married to him and desperately in love with him. Yes, I am now the Duchess of Bromleigh. It is a love match, Mr. Drake. Isn’t it wonderful?”

His broad smile matched hers. “I always knew you were someone special and deserving of the very best, Lady Cherish. Well, you are now a duchess, and I must address you as Your Grace. You shall become a legend in these parts, for you’ve caught yourself a Silver Duke.”

She laughed again.

“Let me prepare this for you. I’ll be right back,” he said, skittering behind a curtain into his workroom.

Cherish had been standing beside the counter for perhaps a minute when a maidservant rushed in. The woman had a grim look on her face and was quite rude in ignoring Cherish when she politely moved aside and smiled in greeting. She received a dour huff in response.

“Where is that useless fellow?” the woman muttered when the apothecary did not immediately step out of his workroom. She rudely peered behind the counter and huffed again when she saw no package waiting for her on the counter.

Mr. Drake probably had it safely stowed in a drawer or on a shelf in his back room. He wasn’t about to leave his medicinals out in the open for anyone to grab.

“Mr. Drake!” the maidservant shouted, frowning at him when he emerged from the back of his shop. “You assured me that the potion would be ready. My mistress needs it now.”

The man obviously did not like her tone and was going to make her wait, but Cherish urged him to attend to the unpleasant woman first. “You are too kind,” Mr. Drake grumbled, setting aside Cherish’s powder in order to be rid of this rude patron.

The woman grabbed her package and walked out without so much as a nod of gratitude.

“An ugly business,” the apothecary muttered.

Cherish had seen the markings in Mr. Drake’s book and knew the woman had picked up an oleander potion. But Cherish made no comment, for it was none of her business. She should not have been looking over the dear man’s shoulder.

There was a common use for such potions. She had read extensively about medicinals while taking care of her parents and come upon a particularly helpful book on the healing and poisonous properties of plants. Oleander was commonly used by women who were with child and no longer wanted that child.

It saddened her, but who was she to judge?

She had married a duke and her situation was secure. But what of that dour maid’s mistress? Perhaps the lady in question was not married and would be thrown into the street if her family ever found out.

She took her own package, thanked Mr. Drake as she left his shop, and then climbed into the waiting rig.

Gawain was frowning. “What was Lady Albin’s maidservant doing in the shop? Did Lady Albin send her in there to insult you?”

Cherish’s heart lurched. That unpleasant woman was Lady Albin’s maid?

“Not at all. In truth, I doubt she knew who I was.” But this meant the oleander potion was for Gawain’s former love. She gasped, for suddenly it all made sense. She now understood the reason Lady Albin had turned up at Fiona’s party, and why she had been relentless in her pursuit of Gawain. The brazen woman had even stolen into his bed in an attempt to seduce him.

Gawain was studying her expression intently. “Cherish, what is going on? What are you not telling me?”

A failed attempt to seduce him.

The child was not Gawain’s, of course. He had been so righteously indignant in finding her in his bedchamber that he had moved in with Reggie. But this explained why Lady Albin was so determined to get into his bed and have intimate relations with him.

He was to be her dupe.

This was her scheme to force his hand and have him marry her. All it took was one night of lovemaking, and then she would come to him a few months later, claim the child was his, and force him to marry her. Being honorable, Gawain would have agreed.

What Lady Albin had not counted on was his never touching her. Or his getting married.

Dear heaven . What horrible people. What a horrible day.

“Gawain, I will tell you once we have left Brighton.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Why wait, Cherish?”

“Because you are going to fly into a rage when I explain what I think happened. Oh, not in a rage at me…but…” She sighed. “Let’s just get back to Shoreham Manor.”