Chapter Two

‘I'm to accompany Peter to our estates in Scotland.'

Both Mercedes and Victoria stared at Jennifer wordlessly for a second. ‘And Aunt Grace has agreed?' Mercy whispered at length.

Jennifer nodded. ‘If I'm being entirely honest, I have no objections. This season has so far been unbearably tedious with not one gentleman even worth dropping one's kerchief for. And I know you both agree.'

‘Don't you wish to be wed?' Victoria questioned.

Jennifer gave an inelegant snort. ‘Who would have me? Especially as I'm now so out of favour.'

‘You're still the Duke of Blackmore's daughter,' Mercy argued.

‘But I don't wish to be married simply because of whose offspring I am.'

‘Well, I'm entirely certain that by next season they will have forgotten about your faux pas entirely,' Victoria added, leaning forward to give her friend a warm hug.

‘If they haven't, perhaps it will separate the wheat from the chaff.'

‘No, it will simply mean that those who court you despite your ruinous reputation will be either purse-pinched or ambitious.' In contrast to Victoria's kind-hearted approach, Mercy's was matter of fact and unembroidered.'

‘Mercy!' Victoria protested, ‘I don't believe that's the case at all.'

‘I hope you're right,' Mercy responded, ‘but I do not believe sugarcoating the situation will help Jenny at all in the long run.'

‘Oh for goodness' sake, I only disagreed with my father,' Jennifer declared. ‘I do that all the time.'

‘But not in front of…' Mercy paused, counting in her head, ‘Three Earls, two Marquesses and a Viscount.'

Jennifer scoffed. ‘Nearly all of them are actually my uncles by marriage, and by default are entirely accustomed to outspoken females.'

‘But unfortunately the one you were indirectly insulting is not.' Mercy gave an unrepentant grin. ‘I wish I'd been there to see it.'

Jennifer sighed. ‘You are a destroyer of hope, Mercedes Stanhope. I have no idea why I call you a friend.'

‘I think you deserve better than the current crop of peacocks strutting around London's drawing rooms,' Mercy retorted. ‘And so do your mother and father, else they wouldn't be sending you away.'

‘And you might meet a wonderful man who falls head over heels in love with you knowing nothing of your father's title,' Victoria added.

Jennifer shook her head and chuckled. ‘Truly, I don't know what I'd do without you both.'

They were interrupted by a knock on the bedchamber door. Seconds later, Victoria's twin sister, Georgiana stuck her head round the door. Jennifer beckoned her to come in. ‘You've heard then?'

George nodded, seating herself on the other side of the bed. ‘Anthony said you could come and stay with us, but your father wasn't havin' none of it.' She gave a sudden grin. ‘I told Tony I reckoned you'd rather be adventurin' in Scotland than stuck in the middle of nowhere with me in the family way.'

‘With child, George,' Jennifer corrected her with a chuckle. Having been dragged up in the slums of Exeter, Georgiana Shackleford was finally learning to speak in the manner befitting her station, but she still had a long way to go.

‘That's what I said,' George answered, waving her hand in a whatever gesture.

‘How are you feeling sweet?' Victoria asked, taking her twin sister's hand.

‘Fit as a butcher's dog,' George answered with a wink. ‘So, I don't need a nursemaid.'

‘I don't object to indulging you,' Victoria protested.

‘You're not coming to Bovey just to run around after the likes of me,' George retorted.

‘London is going to be intolerably dull without all of you in it,' Mercy sighed. ‘I shall be glad to be spending the summer in Cottesmore Hall.'

‘How are Aunt Chastity and the twins?'

‘Oh, Olivia and Catherine are growing like weeds. They're nearly ten now and poor Kit has no respite from them at all. The last time I saw her, Stepmama was looking particularly fatigued.'

‘Poor Chastity, the twins are a bit of a handful,' Victoria commiserated.

Mercy laughed. ‘Rather pity my poor father. I don't think he knows what's hit him.'

‘Cottesmore's not that far from Bovey. Why don't you all come and visit. Anthony would love it.'

Mercy gave a chuckle. ‘Oh, I'm certain he'd be over the moon,' she commented drily.

‘We can spend the time in the garden,' George declared, excitedly. ‘Now it's been cleared, there's a delightful … err, thingumajig … that's perfect for reading.'

‘Arbour,' supplied Victoria. ‘How is your reading coming along?'

‘I finished Frankenstein last week,' Georgiana confessed. ‘I know it's considered unsuitable for ladies, but Prudence lent it to me.'

‘Frankenstein – isn't that about some kind of hideous monster?' Jennifer raised her eyebrows. ‘It does sound typical of Aunt Prudence.'

‘Scared me half to death,' George admitted cheerfully. ‘I'm sure Pru will allow me to lend it to you.' She threw Jennifer a mischievous look before adding, ‘Scotland's a long way to travel without something to take your mind off your arse…'

∞∞∞

‘The thing is Percy lad, I'm not as young as I used to be. Getting up the steps to the pulpit is beginning to take me longer than actually reading the deuced sermon.'

Percy made the appropriate sympathetic noises. In truth, Reverend Shackleford hadn't actually read a sermon since accidentally stepping on his eyeglasses the Christmas before.

The two men were seated in the Reverend's study enjoying a memorial glass of brandy. The Reverend had declared it only right and proper since they'd just conducted old Willie's funeral. Unfortunately nobody could remember Willie's last name or how old he was – that knowledge had long been lost to the annals of time. Much like the date of his last wash. On the plus side it had been decided to conduct the service with a closed casket…

But as the Reverend declared solemnly, old Willy had been living in Blackmore since before Nelson cut his first tooth, and the least they could do was drink him on his way upstairs. At least Reverend Shackleford hoped that was the direction the old tatterdemalion was headed.

‘I think I could do with a change of scenery, Percy,' Augustus Shackleford was musing. ‘What do you think Agnes would say to a spot of missionary work in West Africa?'

Percy, who'd been taking a sip of his brandy at the time, promptly spat it out over Flossy's head. The little dog had been snoozing on the curate's knee but as a bead of brandy dripped onto her nose, she enthusiastically licked it off and wagged her tail.

‘Oh you can't take Agnes away from civilisation, Sir. She wouldn't last three months. You know how she is. She'd likely kill someone with one of her potions and end up being the main course in the funeral banquet.'

The Reverend hmphed, still obviously deep in thought.

‘And who would look after Flossy?' Percy added desperately. While he and Agnes hadn't always seen eye to eye, he didn't relish the thought of her ending up in somebody's pot.

‘You're right, Percy lad,' the Reverend sighed at length. ‘My self-sacrificing nature gets the better of me sometimes.' Much to Flossy's chagrin, the curate was no longer holding his brandy glass above the little dog's head, so she contented herself by licking the drops off his waistcoat instead.

‘I understand Miss Jennifer is returning to Blackmore ahead of the season's end,' Percy commented thinking it best to change the subject.

The Reverend tutted. ‘Made a bit of a cake of herself by all accounts.' He shook his head. ‘Taking after her mother and aunts I'm afraid. Chit's a Shackleford in all but deuced name.'

‘Oh I don't think she's quite as bad as all that,' Percy chuckled. ‘Do you know what the Duke and Duchess intend to do about her misconduct?'

‘Sending her up to Scotland with Peter according to the note I received from Grace.'

‘Well, there you are, Sir,' the curate exclaimed slapping the arm of his chair. ‘Why don't you accompany her north? She is your granddaughter after all and I've no doubt she would benefit from your … err … wisdom.'

The Reverend frowned and took a sip of his brandy. ‘It's a deuced long way,' he declared pensively at length.

Not as far as West Africa,was on the tip of Percy's tongue, but concerned his superior would think him flippant, he said instead, ‘Just think, you'll have her undivided attention for the whole journey. What an opportunity that would be to gently direct her feet back onto the path of righteousness.'

The Reverend grunted. ‘I never managed to do it with the rest of ‘em. And anyway, how the deuce would you manage without me?'

Percy was entirely sure he would manage perfectly well with his wife Lizzy's assistance. However, he really didn't want to hurt the Reverend's feelings, and knowing the clergyman wasn't quite ready to hang up his cassock for good, Percy was more than happy to spend the summer looking after parish affairs without Augustus Shackleford's oft ill-timed interference.

‘I will do my best, of course, Sir,' he answered with an exaggerated sigh, ‘though I cannot help but think this is an opportunity that may never present itself again. Miss Jennifer is at a very impressionable age…' he paused and gave a small self-conscious cough, stifling the sentiment that Jennifer Sinclair's pliable years had been and gone, if they'd ever existed at all… ‘and I feel certain she would benefit from your guidance.' In truth, he'd never been less certain of anything in his life. He couldn't name one of the Reverend's offspring who'd actually reaped any benefit at all from their father's guidance. Guilt swamped him.

Unaware of his curate's internal spiritual battle, Augustus Shackleford nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘I can't argue with you there, Percy,' he murmured. ‘But I doubt Agnes would agree to travel all the way to Scotland.'

Percy was entirely certain that Agnes would chain herself to her chaise longue before climbing into a carriage heading in the direction of the heathens on the other side of the border, but naturally he didn't vocalise such an opinion. ‘Mayhap she would be perfectly content to remain in Blackmore with myself and Lizzy here to offer succour,' he suggested carefully.

The Reverend narrowed his eyes and steepled his fingers, making a show of considering Percy's words. As a man of the cloth, Augustus Shackleford would never deliberately eschew the Almighty's work, however onerous it might be.

That being said, if he could do it with his wife at the other end of the country…

∞∞∞

‘Absolutely not, I forbid it!' Grace immediately bristled at Nicholas's highhanded words. Unfortunately, he hadn't yet finished. ‘How you can possibly think foisting your father onto Malcolm and Felicity while they are five hundred miles away andsafeguarding our children is even a remotely good idea is beyond me.'

In actual fact, Grace herself was of entirely the same opinion. However, her husband's imperiousness brought out the worst in her, and she heard herself retorting in a tone just as highhanded, ‘Well then, if you think it such a bad idea your grace, perhaps I should accompany them myself.'

Nicholas took a deep breath and counted to ten. ‘It's not that I think Augustus is not to be trusted,' he began carefully.

‘Do you not?' Truly, it had been a long time since Nicholas had seen his wife so up in the boughs, and he knew he'd handled things badly. Unfortunately, her words had caught him completely unawares. He was not to know that his wife's anger was in the main because she completely agreed with his assessment of the situation.

They'd been in Blackmore a mere two days when her father paid her a visit. That should have been warning enough, but unfortunately she'd been so taken aback at his request to accompany Jennifer and Peter to Scotland that she'd found herself entirely bereft of tried and tested excuses. In truth, most of her anger was directed at herself.

‘Why does he want to go?' Nicholas's question abruptly averted their burgeoning quarrel.

Grace sighed and sat down on the drawing room window seat. ‘Truthfully, I think he's bored,' she answered with a grimace. ‘Percy does most of the day to day running of the parish, and I think my father feels at rather a loose end. He mentioned he hadn't had occasion to spend much time with his grandchildren as they were growing up.'

‘Thank God!' Nicholas's comment was heartfelt, earning him another glare.

‘I think perhaps we should discuss his request with Malcolm and Felicity,' she answered, making an effort to swallow her ire.

Nicholas nodded. ‘Peter too will need to have a say. If we are to trust him to make decisions concerning Caerlaverock, then we cannot burden him with the Reverend if he is unwilling.'

‘I'm certain he will be delighted to spend time with his grandfather,' Grace retorted indignantly. Then she looked at her husband's incredulous expression and burst out laughing.