Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

W hen Patience entered the barn, her sisters were already gone, but one of the stable hands was there and gladly took the puppy to bathe. She returned to the house, much in need of a bath herself.

After wishing for adventure, she feared she'd had more than she bargained for. Not only had she discovered intruders on Westwood's land, but Stuart had arrived.

He who thought her no more than an annoying little sister had been present for her humiliation. She knew her infatuation with him was nothing but that, but for him to be the one to find her scared and covered in mud was the worst sort of indignity.

Once she had bathed and dressed, she went downstairs to see if any tea or refreshments were being served. Normally, Patience would indulge every afternoon with her sisters, but with guests here she was not certain.

If she were being completely honest with herself, she was anxious to see Major Stuart again to see if he had discovered anything at the campsite.

Likely, it was nothing more than someone living off the land, much like the gypsies did in the late summer, but since this was not a hop farm, it seemed an unlikely choice. The camp was not large enough for a band of gypsies. Besides, Westwood would have known and warned them to avoid that area.

Deliberately, she took the alternate pathway down the servants' stairs from her chambers to the drawing room so she would pass by Westwood's study. Her efforts were rewarded when she overheard the brothers' voices. She perched near the door, praying no servants caught her snooping.

"Back so soon? Was nothing there?" Westwood asked.

"The camp had been quickly abandoned. They did not have time to do more than take their things, I would think. There were smudged footprints and evidence of a fire."

"Could you tell if it was more than one person?"

"Unfortunately, no. They had been in the spot where we built our old treehouse."

"Between the old chestnuts by the bridge?" Westwood asked.

"The very spot," Stuart responded with fondness in his voice.

"Why there, I wonder? It's not near the pier."

"No, but it's well-protected. Even Miss Whitford mentioned she would not have seen the camp had they continued on the path over the bridge. I'd like to investigate further, but the stream to the pier is too dangerous."

"I wonder where they could have got to. If the stream is so high, it is unlikely they left that way," Westwood pondered.

"That would mean they could still be on the estate."

"I have already alerted the gatekeepers to keep an eye out, but they can hardly patrol the entire border."

"Nevertheless, I think we need to alert everyone in the house. I would not wish for any of our guests or staff to come upon them unbeknownst. They could be dangerous."

"Do you think this is related to the other matter?"

Patience frowned. What other matter?

"It is difficult to tell without any other link. I doubt the water will recede enough by tomorrow to take a boat to the pier, but perhaps we could go further on a mount. I'd also like to question the staff as we let them know about our uninvited guest."

"Do you think that will cause undo alarm?" Westwood asked.

"Possibly, but if it is related to our other matter, those sorts could well become violent to protect their interests."

"I have half a mind to remove Faith and the girls from here until we know it is safe, but she will not wish to go to London so close to her confinement."

Nooo! Patience wanted to scream.

"I do not think we are there just yet, but it might come to that."

"Shall we join the others for tea?"

Patience jumped. It would not do to be found blatantly eavesdropping. Major Stuart already found her meddlesome. She had wanted a chance to prove herself, yet she'd gone running. How was she to have known? It would have been stupid to stay there without reconnoitering and she had hardly been inconspicuous. No, she had done the right thing. But now she had more to prove.

She turned and hurried towards the drawing room, and was just sitting down when the gentlemen entered.

Much to her surprise, Major Stuart seemed to seek her out and come immediately to her side. She was sitting on a settee by herself, and he walked up next to her. "May I join you?" He indicated the seat next to her.

"Of course."

He seemed to take up the entirety of the small sofa. His leg brushed against hers, and suddenly she felt claustrophobic. She scooted closer to the arm on her side, but it was not enough.

"Tea?" she asked because she had to do something.

"Yes, please."

She knew without asking how he took it. She had been with him a great deal last Season during Faith's ordeal with Sir Julian. They had been quite close at one time, but now she felt self-conscious around him. She hated the vulnerability.

After handing him his cup, she cleared her throat. "Were you able to find the camp?"

"I found the spot where you indicated it had been."

"You do not believe me?" she asked, the indignity erasing any self-consciousness.

"I did not say that. The camp had been abandoned."

She breathed a sigh of relief. There was nothing worse than having one's word doubted. "So they must have seen me when I discovered it."

"I think that is very likely."

"I could feel that someone was there." She shivered in remembrance.

He must have noticed, for he put a comforting hand on her arm, which sent a rush of heat through her that she could feel in her cheeks. Dash it, she needed to be brave, not be a simpering miss!

"If there is any threat, we will discover it," he reassured her.

She wanted to be the one to discover and conquer any threat, but she refrained from saying so. That would serve no good purpose to her cause.

However, she had to acknowledge her real fear earlier, but that had been because she'd been caught unawares. It would not happen again.

"Do you think there is still danger?" she asked, knowing the real answer. Would he give it to her?

"One can never be too careful, but it is very likely only a vagrant looking for a safe place to shelter. Westwood has alerted the gatekeepers, and will put extra men about the grounds until we are certain the intruder is gone."

"Did you say intruder?" Faith asked.

Patience noted the murderous glare the viscount sent his brother.

"Patience found what appeared to be a squatter camp when she was out walking earlier. Ashley went to investigate, but it was gone. We are searching the estate as we speak to make certain he is gone, but until then, I want no one to go anywhere alone. Servants included."

Faith gasped. "You do not think this is the person responsible for the local problems, do you?"

"What local problems?" Joy asked.

Now Westwood shot Faith a glare.

"There has been some vandalism and theft in the village."

"And the thief has been hiding out on our estate?" Faith asked.

"We do not know that for certain. Pray they have left the estate and the area after being discovered."

But Patience couldn't shake the feeling that if it were tied to something bigger, then she was in danger.

Armstrong opened the door, redirecting Patience's terrifying thoughts. "I beg your pardon, my lord. Peter has returned with the puppy."

Joy sprang up from her seat and ran to the door to take the dog. Freddy Tiger began to growl and hiss.

"That is an ungentlemanly behaviour," Mr. Cunningham scolded.

The dog whimpered and began to pull towards Patience.

Joy laughed. "I think he prefers you, Sister."

"I think I am the lesser of two evils," Patience muttered. "Come here, little fellow." She held out her hands, and the blessedly clean, dry, fluffy animal ran straight to her and gave her a lick. "He really needs a name," she observed.

"Then you had best name him," Joy said.

"But he is yours."

"For now, Little Freddy appears to disagree."

"He will become accustomed to the pup. It just takes time," Mr. Cunningham protested.

"I am not certain. He is quite spoiled and protective of Joy," Westwood argued.

"He cannot go without a name until the cat decides that he likes him," Patience said.

"Poor little one." Major Stuart soothed the puppy and stroked his ears. "He was trying to protect you earlier. Perhaps Alexander would suit. It means protector."

"I like it, though he is not so fierce." She cast a sceptical glance at the puppy, who was rolled over on his back for belly rubs.

"Give him time. He will be a force when he grows into his paws."

She looked down at the paw he had taken into his hand, and it was quite large for the dog's body.

"Alexander seems rather formal."

"They called him Xander or Alex."

"Xander. That is unusual. It suits. Does that meet with your approval, Joy?"

"Oh, yes. I like it very well."

"Then Alexander the Great it is," Mr. Cunningham said to chuckles around the room as the dog settled in between Patience and Major Stuart for a nap.

Ashley had discovered little in speaking to the staff the rest of the evening. The groundskeepers had not noticed anything, but to be fair, their efforts had been to shore up other areas around the estate from flooding, and they had not been worried about the stone bridge since it affected little else when the water overflowed there.

The next morning, he was anxious to go out and do more investigating. He needed to send a report to Renforth, but he wanted to have more to tell him first.

Westwood was waiting for him when he came downstairs. No one else appeared to be awake yet.

"I doubt the waters will have receded enough, but we can certainly go see."

The grooms had both Caesar and Maximus saddled and ready for them. They mounted and set off at a slow trot, the path still muddied from the heavy rains.

"At least it has not rained again since yesterday," Westwood remarked.

A few days' reprieve would certainly help the investigation. "Have there been any further reports since you wrote to me in London?"

"Nothing," his brother answered. As they neared the bridge, Westwood pulled to the left. "I want to look at the campsite."

They dismounted and allowed the horses to graze while they surveyed the abandoned area. Perhaps a fresh set of eyes would catch some things Ashley had missed.

He took the wider path while his brother went back over the remnants of the clearing and fire. There was possibly a slight trail off to the side of the camp where some of the underbrush had been disturbed, but nothing that appeared to lead anywhere. Besides, the intruder would not have returned, knowing he had been spotted.

"I do not see anything other than what you pointed out," Westwood observed. They were not far from the bridge and walked their horses over. The water was still running high, but the diversion was down to a small stream, no more than knee-deep.

"I think we can manage it," he said.

"I agree." They remounted and crossed the bridge with ease. The horses did not even shy at the water.

The other side of the bridge was untamed as Ashley like to think of it. The only structure being the pier.

They rode along the path which was still muddy. "I think any footprints or wheel ruts were washed away by the rain. If there were any," Westwood remarked.

"I see nothing, but let us proceed."

They reached the river, which was high, moving faster than Ashley had ever seen it.

The estate's pier, which normally extended over a portion of marsh, was covered by running water. Normally used to transport horses across from Lord Carew's large ship, it was a wide, robust structure with a small shelter attached, where someone could wait for the ship to arrive.

They both dismounted and looked around, but Ashley did not expect to find anything.

"Is there anywhere a shipment of arms could be stored here?" he asked aloud, though he was asking himself as much as Westwood.

"There are no structures on the side of the bridge, as you well know. If a shipment was delivered and unloaded here, the evidence is already washed away."

"But if they stockpiled it nearby, where would it be?" Ashley turned in a circle and only saw trees and vegetation.

"You think they must be here and the campsite housed the guard?" Westwood asked.

"I think it's a possibility we must consider."

"If that is the case, then they will not leave them here unguarded." He was already walking back to his gelding. "They will want to move the arms as soon as it is safe."

"I agree. I think I need to send for the others to help us search."

"But where?" Westwood paused.

"If I were responsible for precious cargo, I would stay within sight."

"Then that would mean back over the bridge, much too close to the house for my comfort." His brother voiced what he was thinking. "Did Renforth say how much we are looking for?"

"No. But several crates, I imagine."

"Could they have dug graves for them?"

"I cannot think that would go unnoticed, but anything is possible." They both remounted and followed the path back over the bridge, now looking from a different perspective.

"I think it might be worth organizing a search from the bridge forwards. The rain will have made any freshly dug earth less obvious, but we must look. We can discount the stables and barn as they are never unoccupied."

"What of the dovecote, the chapel, the gamekeeper's hut, one of the follies…" Ashley began naming the estate's buildings that would be unused part of the day.

"We will leave no stone unturned," Westwood agreed with a heavy sigh.

"I will send for the others post haste. With luck they can be here this afternoon."

"I will meet with my steward and begin organizing a methodical search."

When they returned to the house, Armstrong informed them that the sisters and guests were breakfasting.

"Please tell them that I will join them shortly. I will have a letter for one of the footmen to ride to London as quickly as possible," Ashley said.

"Very good, sir."

"And please send for the steward. I will need his attention as well after breakfast," Westwood added.

Ashley did not mince words in his missive. He would fill them in later. He simply requested as many hands as possible to assist, because someone had been found camping on the grounds. They were going to begin searching as soon as possible to see if the arms were hidden on the estate.

Whether or not Renforth would deem that necessary to send anyone, Ashley could not say. He folded the letter and gave the direction to Armstrong, then joined the others for breakfast.

It was rather a more domestic scene than he was used to for breaking his fast. The beauty of all the sisters next to each other never failed to surprise him. He bowed and greeted them, along with Lord Montford and Mr. and Miss Cunningham.

He piled his plate high with kippers, bacon, eggs, and beans. He'd already worked up quite an appetite from the ride this morning. A footman placed a cup of black coffee before him. Just the way he liked it.

"Did you find anything on your ride this morning?" Miss Whitford leaned over and asked quietly, her breath on his ear almost making him jump. He cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee before answering.

"Unfortunately, nothing. We are going to conduct a thorough search of the grounds."

Why was he telling her this? She was much too nosy for her own good. He did not need her meddling. She had been much the same when they were trying to catch Sir Julian. It had taken all of his wits to divert her from interfering.

"I am glad to hear it. I have already felt like a prisoner within the house from the rain. If I thought I could not wander about freely, I might soon have attics to let."

He refrained from comment and attacked his kippers with devoted intent. He would be much more comfortable if she would move back. Her citrusy scent overwhelmed him. She was still much too close for his own sanity.

"I am glad to hear the water had receded enough for you to cross the bridge."

"On horseback," he corrected, knowing very little deterred her. "I am still not certain it would be wise to do so on foot."

She waved her fork as though she need not be told.

He cursed in his mind. Not only would he have to keep a lookout for the arms smuggler, now he was going to have to watch out for her! Neither Westwood nor Faith seem to understand what trouble she was capable of getting into.

Westwood whispered to his wife, then stood. "Gentlemen, when you have finished, would you mind joining me in my study? There is something we could use your assistance with today."

Ashley could feel Miss Whitford's senses set to attention as she stilled with curiosity. Why could Westwood not have waited until the sisters had left? Now there would be no way to deter her. He waited for her to speak up, then almost groaned when she met his expectations.

"Are you searching for the intruder?" she asked.

"Yes," his brother answered. "We do not expect to find anyone, but it will give me peace of mind."

"May we help? We will go with a group, of course, so as not to be alone, but that's three more pairs of eyes helping. And we are quite familiar with the estate."

Ashley tensed, wanting to object. But he had no good reason that would not make him sound like a pompous arse. She was right, devil take her, and they were all excellent riders. Westwood looked at him in question, and he inclined his head. It was certain to be a decision he would regret.

"Very well. Meet us down here in riding gear in one hour. That will give us time to sort through our plan."

He could feel Miss Whitford's excitement beside him. God help them all. Next, he felt her hand on his arm, and she gave it a small squeeze, which felt like a hot poker branding him.

"Thank you," she said, still much too close to him. She was muddling his good sense.

"For what?" he asked, staring at her hand on his arm. Normally, he detested people touching him, but he was unsure of what to make of it.

"For not dismissing our help. I promise you will not regret it."

"That is an impossible promise to make. "

His eyes flitted from her hand, still on his arm, to her eyes. Another mistake. Those azure blue eyes were bewitching. Mesmerizing.

Her gaze narrowed." I do not know why you insist on finding me meddlesome," she said tartly, thankfully breaking the spell.

"If the shoe fits, as they say," he said, pushing back from his chair and tossing his napkin on the table. "Miss Whitford," he said, with a bow that he feared was a bit too mocking. But he had to get away from there before he said what he really thought, or she put some sort of hex on him.