Turmoil in Noble Houses

Ramsay House, London

C atriona Hawkins, Duchess of Ramsay, was serving tea to her sister-in-law in the drawing room of Ramsay House. It was a very English ritual that didn't sit well with her Scottish soul—especially since she hated the taste of the wretched beverage—but Daisy insisted they indulge twice daily. It was pointless to argue with the only other occupant of the huge mansion. Stilted conversation with Lady Daisy Hawkins was better than none at all.

They were interrupted by Harrison. "The Dowager Duchess, Your Grace," the butler announced.

The arrival of an unexpected visitor caused Cat and Daisy to set aside the teacups and come to their feet. Cat was always glad to see her mother-in-law who'd made it her life's mission to help Cat adjust to a new life as a duchess and a mother. Cat knew Maureen would prefer to live in her native Scotland and thus appreciated her willingness to stay in London. Daisy held herself aloof whereas Lady Maureen was always warm and friendly. However, on this day, the dowager's frowning red face presaged bad tidings.

"I hurried over from the Dower House as soon as I heard the news," Cat's mother-in-law exclaimed, clutching a kerchief to her throat. "Napoleon has escaped from Elba and is marching on Paris."

Cat's first thought was for her darling Kenneth, far away in Vienna. What would happen with the Congress now? Her hands went instinctively to the place where her unborn bairn lay—a bairn whose existence the physician had only recently verified and a babe no one else yet knew about.

Lady Maureen's presence made Cat feel more at ease. "Napoleon's drive to escape is a desperate feeling with which I'm familiar," she confessed. "During the first months of my marriage to Kenneth, I often wanted to run back to Glengeárr and resume the simple life of a Highland lass."

"But your love for my son kept you in London."

"And yer support, my lady. Ye helped me cope with the judgmental London ton who thought Kenneth was out of his mind to wed a commoner from the back of beyond—a Scot to boot."

"I've insisted you call me Maureen, my dear. It is my pleasure to keep you company. Kenneth's duties as the duke often kept him out of the house for hours, and now…"

"I don't blame him for that," Cat replied. "After his return from war-torn Spain, he decided to be more proactive in the affairs of his tenants and his nation."

Daisy had kept silent but now she said, "The birth of your son deepened the bond between you."

Cat agreed, though it was surprising the self-absorbed Daisy had noticed. "Aye, but Kenneth was obliged to leave for Vienna not long after Freddie's arrival into the world."

Daisy suddenly seemed keen on contributing more to the conversation. "I suppose you miss Niven King too now that the Duke of Withenshawe has generously given him leave to move into the ducal townhouse closer to the London docks where he works."

Cat found it interesting Daisy would mention Niven, given their on-again-off-again romance. Was she asking for Cat or for herself? "Aye. I grew up wi' Kenneth's cousin. When he lived here, he was a friendly face in a foreign world." Lost in these lonely thoughts, Cat suddenly declared her most fervent wish, "Perhaps Kenneth will be allowed to come home now."

Rochevaux Abbey, Berkshire, England

When news of Napoleon's escape from Elba reached Withenshawe's ducal seat in Berkshire, it caused an uproar at the dinner table and threw the residents and servants of Rochevaux Abbey into turmoil.

Willow Halstead sat back and waited for the usual bluster from her three older brothers to subside.

"The blighter," Rowan exclaimed from his seat at the head of the table—a privilege that was his due when Papa was absent, which was most of the time. Startled when Rowan banged his fist on the table, James Footman missed the glass into which he was pouring sherry, resulting in a spreading red stain on the damask.

"Too right," Ash echoed.

"I agree," Hawthorne declared.

"Has the news been verified?" Willow asked, not surprised when her older brothers turned their narrowed eyes away from the stammering footman and on to her.

"I have it on the highest authority," Rowan retorted.

"The highest," Ash confirmed.

"Indeed," Hawthorne sneered.

Willow was aware the family's long-serving butler had whispered the news in his master's ear. Brier had likely heard it from John Coachman who'd no doubt been told it by the farrier in Billingbear when he took the carriage horses to be shoed in the village. This chain of gossip hardly constituted the highest authority, but she'd learned not to challenge her brothers. The trio was of the opinion women were frivolous nitwits who had to be protected from their own foolishness.

They claimed their late mother's insistence that all her children bear the names of trees was proof enough of the empty-headed notions that filled women's brains. Willow was eternally grateful she hadn't been named Hickory, although Hazel might have been more suitable given the color of her eyes.

"Wellington will lead us in the fight against Napoleon," Rowan informed them.

"We sent the Corsican packing before," Ash remarked.

"We'll do it again in short order," Hawthorne opined.

Willow couldn't resist. "So, how is it Napoleon has escaped if he was sent packing?"

Rowan's red face betrayed his ignorance on the matter. He threw his napkin to the table and rose. "Heads will roll, you can be sure."

Ash got to his feet. "Wellington will get to the bottom of it."

Hawthorne shoved back his chair. "I agree."

It was tempting to point out to the Three Trees that Wellington was in Vienna, as was their own father, and that Napoleon's escape likely meant war. Her brothers were rightly proud of their military service in the Peninsular War, but she dreaded sending them off to fight again. Much as she resented their strict supervision of every little thing she did, she'd be devastated if they were killed in battle.