Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

T he next morning, Lora came downstairs to break her fast, noting the late hour. Full sleep had never come, though she'd dozed at her desk while studying maps of the area. She replayed the altercation with the man on the road repeatedly in her head until she couldn't glean any more information, breaking down the encounter for clues where Clyde might take refuge.

Fingering her mourning ring, a lock of Nicholas's hair artfully braided and arranged within to form a heart, she fought back tears. No matter how close she came to exacting vengeance, nothing would bring her brother back.

How did one muster on when love seemed lost forever?

Entering the breakfast room, she was astonished to discover that Miss Parr and Miss Finch were already seated, despite having been given every impression that the two women did not want to be seen. They rose abruptly, as if caught doing something untoward.

"Miss Parr. Miss Finch." The two women exhibited social graces as curtsies were exchanged, making Lora believe they hailed from elevated Society. "What a surprise, and a pleasure to see you up and about this fine day. How are you faring? I admit that I did not expect to find you out and about so soon."

Miss Parr blushed and shot Ruth a glance. "Thank you for your concern, but there is no need to be alarmed."

"But surely, after what has happened, your health is an immediate concern. Has my father's surgeon examined you?"

"My lady—"

"Lady Lora, what Ruth means to say is that you are very kind," Miss Parr cut in. "And we take great joy in your hospitality. But that won't be possible. It would be unacceptable to distract the doctor from your father's care, let alone allow a strange man to evaluate my condition. You understand."

"I do not." Lora blinked. What reason could the woman have for being dead set against a doctor's care? "Dr. Wells is here daily, and Papa's needs are moderate. Allow him to examine you and ensure that, other than significant bruising, nothing has been overlooked. I insist." The silence that met her was palpable. Was Miss Parr concerned about being a burden and an inconvenience to their guests? "We are happy for you to remain at Winterbourne for as long as it takes to heal from your injuries. I assure you that you are welcome here."

"Thank you. We are in your debt, more than you know." Raising a cup of tea to her lips, Miss Parr peered out the double windows as if seeing something that wasn't there.

Lora nodded to a footman who poured her a cup of chocolate. "May I ask where were you headed before someone attacked your carriage, Miss Parr?"

"Mina." She lowered her teacup. "If we are to be friends, you must call me Mina."

Lora smiled, filled with an assurance that she was going to enjoy being around Mina immensely. "Mina. Then you must call me Lora. I shall hear of nothing less." Now to tackle the problem head on. Ruth looked extremely uncomfortable. Why? Was it because she sat at a nobleman's table and feared reproach? "While you are here, do not be troubled. I understand how hard it must be to rely on strangers."

Mina leaned across the table to clutch Lora's hand. "But we are not strangers, not anymore. What you have done—"

"And who do we have here?" Aunt Meg interrupted fortuitously upon entering the breakfast room at her normal time. A late riser, and her curiosity piqued, she did not mince words. "I do not recall meeting these two guests. Have they just arrived, Lora?"

"Late last night, in fact. Allow me to introduce Miss Wilhelmina Parr and Miss Ruth Finch. Difficulty on the road prevented them from arriving in time for the ball, Aunt."

"Oh, dear." Her aunt scrutinized the two women, and after a lengthy pause, said, "I hope you did not suffer the indignity of a loose wheel." Shuffling to a chair at the end of the table, her pristine skirts swishing about her, she waited for a footman to help her sit down. "Inoperative wheels take forever to rectify and often leave one standing in ankle-deep mud. Heavens! The very thought."

"No, Aunt." Lora smiled, hoping to ease Mina and Ruth's discomfort. She suspected distorting the truth agitated the two women. "It was not a loose wheel."

"Ah. Good news!" Meg nodded to the footman, who poured her a steaming cup of chocolate. "There is not much of that these days, except for the end of the war and Napoleon's well-deserved comeuppance. But with all of our countrymen returning and a lack of jobs waiting, things are . . . Well, nothing seems right." Her thoughts jumped to another topic. "Back to pleasantries. Where are you from?"

Here was a question even Lora wanted to know the answer to and waited expectantly to hear.

A forlorn smile flit across Mina's face. "Across the Thames."

"That is very vague." Meg set her teacup down. "That could be anywhere, East End, West End, Chelsea, Mayfair."

"Mina's wit is invigorating, is it not?" Lora laughed and nodded, encouraging Mina and Ruth to join her. "I always say that Chelsea continues to deprive us of each other's company. It's a pity that Mina's sister demands so much of her time. Oh, how I covet that precious bond." She glanced at her aunt, hating the lie but knowing the suggested attachment would win her aunt's sympathies. "I know you understand the extraordinary bond between sisters, Aunt."

Meg's eyes turned wistful. "How well, I do. A sister's love surpasses all." Gathering her emotions, she asked, "And you are unmarried, Miss Parr?"

"At the moment, yes."

Meg furrowed her brows. "What an odd answer."

But before her aunt could question Mina further, Lora's father ambled into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. He stopped almost as soon as he cleared the door and stared, dumbfounded, at the full table before him.

"Good morning, Papa." Lora left her seat to greet him and help him to his place at the head of the table.

"Forgive me," he said, taking in their new guests. "I thought most of our party had broken their fast and that the dining room would be empty."

"Nonsense," Meg said. "Join us at your leisure, my lord. It so happens we have the pleasure of entertaining new friends of Lora's acquaintance, Miss Parr and Miss Finch. Miss Parr. Miss Finch, the Marquess of Putney."

They exchanged courtesies.

Lora continued leading her father to the head of the table, where a footman eased him into his chair and retrieved his cane. All the while, she could not help but notice his attention kept straying to Mina. An involuntary reaction sent a swirling current of delight flowing through her. Why, if she wasn't mistaken, Papa could hardly take his eyes off Miss Wilhelmina Parr.

Could this be the miracle she'd been praying for?

Though Mina pretended not to notice, an instant spark ignited the room, producing cheerful smiles. Artless and serene eyes absorbed the moment, and Papa instantly regained his full, masculine laugh. The surprising interaction planted a seed in Lora's mind, furthering her hopes. Could Mina's arrival be the answer to their problems? She was young and unmarried, and Papa's spirits definitely benefited from her youthful presence.

Of course, it is too soon to contemplate marriage. None of them knew who Mina was or where she'd come from, or why she was traveling the road late at night without a proper chaperone. But, for the first time in a long time, hope blossomed in Lora's breast.

Until her cousin barged into the room, followed by the Duke of Beresford, and stopped cold. Several awkward moments later, Samuel placed his fowling piece against the wall. "Uncle, should you be up and about?"

Papa ignored Samuel's patronizing tone and instantly salvaged the mood as he rose. "Good day, Your Grace."

"Do not trouble yourself, Marquess," the duke quickly said, motioning for Lora's father to stay seated. "Not on my account. I am the one who is happy to finally obtain an audience with you."

The duke's calm consideration for his host was a stark contrast to Samuel's ill-bred haste. And to everyone's utter disbelief, Lora's cousin clomped to the sideboard in his gaiters, stuffed his plate, then plopped down in a chair next to her and began wolfing down his food.

She closed her eyes, praying for patience, before redirecting her attention to the duke, who still wore a double-breasted frock coat and carried his fowling piece. Mortified, she asked, "Did you enjoy your sport?"

"Yes, how was the hunt, Your Grace?" Papa's deepest regret was being unable to take part in the pastime. "I hope my gamekeeper brought out my prized pointers."

"They did a fine job of flushing out the grouse." He lifted his shotgun. "And I'm impressed with this piece. Is it from Davies Street?"

"I wouldn't go anywhere else," Papa said. "Manton is very reliable."

Lora's pulse suddenly leaped as he stroked the barrel. His powerful hands, masculine attire, and graceful movements were everything The Sporting Magazine suggested made for a superb hunter. "Astounding accuracy. I lost count at fifty."

Samuel stopped slurping his coffee to say, "Paget said I shot seventy-five."

"Join us, Your Grace." Lora pushed up her glasses and saddled her nose, conscious of keeping up appearances. "I am sure you must have worked up an appetite."

"Thank you." The look on the duke's face, however, implied that he would not accept. "I have something I need to attend to. There are matters I would like to discuss with you, Marquess, when you are available."

Papa quit the conversation he was having with Mina and gave the duke his full attention. "Of course. I shall be happy to meet you in my study in an hour's time, if that is acceptable."

"One hour then." Beresford nodded, then, turning to leave, stopped himself. "By the by, Hawkesbury told me that your brother has taken ill. I do hope that isn't the case. When last I saw him, he did not look well."

"Is that so, Samuel?" Papa asked.

"Yes." Samuel shrugged. "Come to think of it, Father hasn't been the same since I returned from the peninsula."

"Shouldn't you be with him?" Lora asked, shocked. "Have you informed Dr. Wells?"

Samuel dropped his spoon. "And miss all the fun? I have endured deprivation of every luxury for two years and barely survived Quatre Bras. My father has not. He can wait."

"Samuel!" Lora sputtered, bristling with indignation. "Do you think it was easy for your father, never knowing if you were dead or alive?"

He shrugged. Aunt Meg's nostrils flared, Mina paled, and Ruth stared at her lap. The duke cradled his fowling piece like he wanted to slam it over Samuel's head.

Papa released his pent-up breath. "Thank you for the information, Your Grace. I was unaware of my brother's condition. I will see that Dr. Wells pays him a visit posthaste."

How long had her uncle been sick? He'd been incredibly healthy all his life. With the safe arrival home of his son, what had changed?

That night, Lora sought escape from prying eyes at the whist tables. Spying two couples abandoning theirs, she commandeered an empty chair and picked up a stack of cards, pretending to be occupied.

While shuffling the deck and sorting her thoughts, Eliza joined her. "Lora, I have just heard the most shocking thing."

"What have you heard, Lady Eliza?" Before their conversation ever began, Samuel took a seat without asking permission. "I am always keen to hear the latest on dits . Broaden my horizons, won't you?"

Who invited him to play?

"May I join you?" The Duke of Beresford stood over them, dressed in a crisp tailored dark blue coat and matching breeches, and looking too handsome by half. "I see you have one spot left."

"You may, Your Grace," Lora said, trying to hide her frustration. Refusing the duke would only draw suspicion. Trapped between the two men in the world she desperately wanted to avoid, she prayed her mask did not slip. "Shall we?"

"Lady Eliza, it looks like you and I are in this together," Samuel said, reaching for the cards. "What say we make a wager against His Grace and Lora. Are you up for it?"

"Hold." Beresford warded off Samuel, the brush of his fingers sending a shiver through Lora's hand. "The lady can deal." The duke smiled, charm oozing out of every pore. "She has been shuffling the cards, if you require proof that the deck is ready."

How long had he been watching her? She wasn't sure how to process that information, whether to be frightened or relieved.

She passed the deck to Eliza, sitting to her right, and questioned the wisdom of being so close to the duke and under his intense scrutiny. Eliza cut the deck and handed it back.

Doling thirteen cards out to each player, Lora said, "Let's begin."

"What do you say to wagering a Crown per trick, and a guinea per Grand Slam?"

Beresford's eyes darkened dangerously. "This is not Brooke's, Lieutenant."

"And how I am glad of it," Eliza said, lightening the tone. "Else Lora and I would not be here."

"A half-penny per trick, then." Lora knew from paperwork in that cowardly solicitor's possession that Samuel could not afford to gamble. Far from it. For too long, Uncle Thomas had protected her cousin, paying off his creditors. And it was his lack of self-control that worried her most. How far was Samuel willing to go to inherit Winterbourne? And when he did, how long before he mortgaged it to the hilt? She dealt the last card to herself, turned it over, then placed it in the middle of the table. "Your trick."

"Spades," Samuel said, acknowledging the trump suit. He covered the ten with a King of Spades.

The duke played a two.

Eliza a six.

As Samuel gathered up his trick, the duke asked, "How is your father this evening?"

"Papa?" She lowered a five of hearts to the table. "He is well, thank you. I expect him to appear soon. In fact, against all odds, I do believe your presence has helped revive him. He's missed your father."

"As do I," he said.

Samuel laid down a Queen of Spades triumphantly.

Eliza gasped.

The duke peered at Lora over his hand, then dispatched an ace. "I suspect the credit for your father's improved health is not due to me, but to Miss Parr's presence."

"Miss Parr." Samuel flagged down a footman for a drink, and Eliza plonked a four on the table as Beresford gathered the trick he'd won. Drinking his champagne without apparently tasting it, her cousin asked, "Where the devil did Miss Parr come from?"

"It is all very mysterious," Eliza proposed.

Indeed. When Mina's arrival at Winterbourne had been explained without revealing too many details, Papa insisted on having the poor woman seen by Dr. Wells. Mina reluctantly agreed, and the good doctor was called back from Uncle Thomas's bedside to do a thorough examination. Thankfully, her injuries were limited to bruised ribs, and a sprained wrist—discomfort she had hidden from everyone, except her lady's maid. While Ruth refused to be explored, concealing the lump on her head with a cap. Dangerous considering that the devoted servant had lost consciousness on the London Road.

"Miss Parr has an indomitable spirit," Lora said, calling to mind the way she'd even pleaded for her attacker's life.

"I sense that as well." Eliza smiled broadly as she lowered a card. "And your father appears quite enamored with her."

"Nonsense," Samuel spat. "You exaggerate, surely."

"How so?" Lora asked, clenching her jaw. Papa's interest in Mina provided hope that he desired to live on. And, with it, came possibilities that another heir to the Marquess of Putney would be born. Though no one could ever take Nicholas's place, a newborn baby's cry filling these hallowed halls would replenish what Winterbourne had tragically lost. "You should know by now that my father is perfectly capable of making his own decisions."

"He is too old for her," Samuel snapped. "It's as simple as that."

"Says who?" Eliza asked. "From what I have observed, Miss Parr and the marquess are perfectly suited for one another."

"Don't be a fool." Samuel snatched another glass of champagne from a passing footman and downed the contents. "He's lame." His words were beginning to slur, making her wonder how much he had already imbibed. "Hardly able to pleasure a woman in—"

"Enough!" the duke said, drawing worried glances from the other whist tables as he bolted from his chair. "Are you aware that you have just insulted your host, and by proxy, his daughter?"

Lora rose, desperate to dispel the threat of violence hanging in the air. "Both of you are causing a scene."

"Careful, Your Grace," Samuel spat. "She bites."

Beresford cleared his throat. "Perhaps you should take your leave."

"Your Grace." A footman carrying a silver salver fortuitously saved the moment. "A missive has arrived for you."

The welcome distraction allowed everyone to take a much-needed breath. Curiously, she and Eliza and Samuel watched the duke break open the seal and read his letter.

After a few nerve-wracking seconds, he looked up.

"I hope you have received good news," she said, thankful for the interruption.

"Excellent news, in fact. The men I have assembled to locate my butler's killers are ready for action and are even now scouring the countryside for clues."

Lora's heart sank into her belly. If that was the case, the danger to her had increased tenfold.

"So, you have become Kingston's protector." Samuel smirked, daggers of disdain shooting from his eyes. "What, may I ask, has Lora done to earn your shield?"

She gasped. "Samuel!"

A muscle flicked angrily in the duke's jaw. "Apparently, you have been away from Kingston for far too long. Battlefield conduct is unacceptable in polite society. Take care, sir. You are not at war anymore."

"Am I not?" Samuel grabbed another glass of champagne, gulped it down, and slammed the stem on the table, surprisingly leaving it intact. "Another." He waved to onlookers, then said the most shocking thing. "I've seen things that would make your skin crawl." He chuckled at something he found amusing. "Though I owe my father a debt of gratitude for putting me in a position where I could visit the city frequently and receive an enthusiastic welcome. Town is quite diverting to a lonely officer."

"If you were with your regiment, how were you able to find time to visit Town?" Eliza innocently asked.

Samuel instantly paled. "Does a flower understand the sun, wind, and rain?"

"Apologize to Lady Lora and Lady Elizabeth for your boorish behavior," the duke demanded.

Lora knew what her cousin was capable of. He thrived on drama, always had. And she'd better put a stop to it before things got more out of hand than they already were. "Insults benefit no one. Perhaps a turn about the gardens and fresh air will clear your head, Samuel."

"You cannot expect me to go out there," he complained. "It. Isn't. Safe."

Her eyes locked with Beresford's. "What do you mean it isn't safe?" she asked, trying to calm him. "Did you not hear that the duke has employed men to patrol the area?"

"Have you not heard about the theft and murders taking place? It is dangerous out there, I tell you." He jerked his arm away from the duke, who'd come forward to escort him outdoors. Leaning toward her, he whispered in Lora's ear. "I will never forgive you for this."

"What have I done?" A nagging suspicion in the back of her mind refused to be stilled. Had he learned her secret? But that was impossible. Wasn't it? As she watched him stomp out of the parlor like a petulant child, she frowned nervously. What would Samuel do next? Something had triggered his alarm, whether it was the champagne, discussing the war, references to his father, the possibility of her father marrying again, or losing at cards. At the end of the day, her cousin did not like being inconvenienced. "Forgive him."

"I fail to understand your cousin's lack of decency, Lora. If you'll excuse me," Eliza said, drifting away from the table, leaving her alone with the duke.

"Are you well?" the duke asked before pressing on. "If I had known that conversing about his father would—"

"Think nothing of it. I am sure his father's poor health has been a strain. You and I can attest to that." But Samuel's discomfort had heightened at the mention of going outdoors. Which made little sense. Was something or someone out there the cause?