Chapter Nine

Q uinton nodded to his butler standing in the doorway. "Everyone has been packing since we received your missive, your lordship."

"Excellent, Richards. Thank you, and before you ask, mission accomplished."

"Congratulations, my lord." A look of concern shadowed the servant's face as he met the earl's gaze. "Shall I send for your physician?"

"I have already seen him. Lieutenant Sampson has set my shoulder back in the socket, and as you can see, my arm has been immobilized." Quinton held up his bandaged hands and sighed. "I haven't been this battered since I returned from the war."

"As long as you have been seen to, my lord. Shall I have hot water brought up?"

Quinton thought about it and nearly refused the offer, as he had much to do, but relented. "Aye, thank you, Richards."

"And may just I say, your lordship, everyone is looking forward to meeting your new countess when you arrive in Sussex tomorrow."

He could not hold back his smile. "She is a breath of fresh air, Richards."

"I am happy for you, my lord. You have been too long alone."

"Hmmm…"

"Your lordship, I know that now may not be a good time to ask, but as I will be traveling first thing in the morning to ensure that the Folly will be ready for your arrival, there will not be another opportunity. It is important."

"Yes, what is it?" Quinton asked.

"Have you thought about filling the housekeeper's position? Your wife may wish to interview candidates once you have settled in Sussex."

"I hadn't thought about it, but I shall have plenty of time to discuss it tomorrow on the journey to Quinton's Folly. She will not be bringing her lady's maid with her. I would like her to meet Effie." He resolved to grieve for his brother and his family once he arrived. He cleared his throat and continued, "Having had the position previously, she would be an asset, and mayhap a comfort, to Kit. Let's see how the two of them get on. Then we can address the issue of filling the position of housekeeper."

"Very good, your lordship. Reeves wishes to speak to you—something about the rend in your favorite frockcoat being beyond repair."

Quinton shook his head. Knowing his valet, it would be, in Reeves's estimation, to wear when in polite company, or out and about where others could see him. The mended coat would be perfectly suitable for walking across the fields and along the wooded paths near his family's country estate. Maybe more so when he made the rounds of his tenant farmers.

"I shall speak with Reeves. I need to make certain he has the trunk ready for my books." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Mayhap I should take the household accounts with me to go over. I do not know how long we will remain in the country and am still trying to familiarize myself with them."

"I am at your disposal any time you wish to go over them. The accounts at the Folly are far more extensive," Richards reminded him, "given the number of buildings, stables, and tenant farms. You will have the help of your father's steward. You remember Mattson? He's been with the family for twenty-five years."

Quinton smiled at that. "Almost as long as you have been with us, if I remember correctly."

"Aye, you do, your lordship. I'd best see to it that the water for your bath is heated, and the footmen start loading the trunks in the carriages."

"Thank you, Richards."

Taking the stairs two at a time, Quinton followed the sound of mumbling and smiled. Reeves must still be overset about his frockcoat. "Reeves?"

The man in question stepped into the hallway from Quinton's dressing room, his arms filled with articles of clothing.

Quinton stared at him. "I cannot have acquired that extensive a wardrobe that you are still packing it."

"You had waistcoats and frockcoats delivered just last week that you have yet to wear, your lordship."

"I prefer wearing dark blue and black." His gaze rested on the clothing again. "Some of those waistcoats are positively garish. Why did I let Weston talk me into striped and patterned waistcoats?"

"I couldn't say without sounding facetious. Mayhap your countess will appreciate them."

Quinton frowned. As his wife, she would see him in a state of undress at some point. The notion plagued him and had him questioning his decision.

The longer he ruminated and dissected why the thought of Kit seeing his injury worried him, the deeper it burrowed into his brain. It had taken him years to become accustomed to it, and some mornings when he woke, he expected to see both legs. Imagining the expression on Kit's lovely face did not bear further thought.

"My lord?"

Quinton could no more guess Kit's reaction than he could have imagined she would find his wooden leg attractive. "My mind is elsewhere. Richards reminded me of the need for a housekeeper, for Kit's sake."

He still had difficulty believing the previous housekeeper had been rude to Reeves. Once he had discovered the woman's harsh words and condescending attitude toward his valet because of his difficulty hearing and his eye patch, Quinton was forced to make the swift decision to stem such talk. When forced to admit how she felt, he had given the housekeeper a choice: apologize to Reeves and accept him as a valued member of the staff, or leave. She left. He accepted her decision and, being fair-minded, had given her a recommendation for the years she served his brother and sister-in-law. The discussions that followed with the butler and the cook had been enlightening. Apparently no one else held the same stiff-necked opinions as the former housekeeper.

"A wise idea, especially having your wife's input in your decision. Now, about your collection of fashionable waistcoats… Mayhap your countess will be able to convince you to start wearing them."

Quinton shook his head. "I have no idea. Though I imagine she will find the dark green and cream striped waistcoat suitable for our morning rides exercising the horses in our stables." He knew so little about his bride-to-be, yet he sensed the connection between them went bone deep. Would she be as accepting of Reeves and his appearance as she had been of him, or would she quail in fear or disgust the first time she saw what was left of his leg attached to his prosthesis and his valet's eye patch and scars? "What in the bloody hell am I going to do if my bride decides she cannot handle half a man?"

Reeves stared at him until Quinton became uncomfortable.

"Well? Tell me what you're thinking. You always do."

"Firstly, you are not half a man—you are a naval hero who bravely led your men during the battle."

"Do not forget your heroic deeds that saved my life and others before you were injured, Reeves."

"You saved my life when you insisted I be moved to the empty bed next to you, thereby receiving equal treatment. When you were well enough to leave, you insisted I go with you. Taking me on as your valet gave me a purpose. I am indebted to you."

Quinton nodded. "Is it not interesting that our relationship, forged by blood and duty, has only strengthened over time, while my intended's vow to wait for my return was based solely on my appearance—not the man beneath the exterior."

"People fear what they do not understand."

"Aye, Reeves. I did not understand that her affection for me never went beyond the surface."

"If you had known, would you have cried off?"

His valet's question was one he had asked himself more than once over the years. "Nay. My word is my bond, though a bloody lot of good it did me when Melisande gave me her congé ."

Reeves's expression was telling. "You are a lucky man, sir, to have found someone who captured your heart. You have told Lady Catherine about your prosthesis, haven't you?"

"Aye. I even removed my boot to see her reaction."

He could not miss the surprised expression on his former midshipman's face. "And?"

Quinton still could not believe Kit's reaction. "She called it elegant ."

Reeves beamed. "I knew she'd be perfect!"

Quinton's gut twisted in knots. She was too good to be true. Something untoward was bound to happen. Mayhap before the vicar joined them as man and wife. Mayhap after…

"She might not be the entire problem."

"What could possibly be the rest of the problem?" his valet asked.

"Me."

Baron Hudson rose to his feet and wavered, due to the amount of brandy he had consumed. Still he managed to walk over to White's betting book without bumping into more than one elbow and table corner. He accepted the quill and wrote, E.S. will discover his countess-to-be, L.C., is not the innocent he believes her to be in seven months' time.

A deep voice from behind the baron declared, "You have committed a serious error, making an enemy of the earl."

Hudson had seen the viscount before, but could not remember his name. The man had inherited his title recently and therefore was not worthy of consideration. Hudson motioned for the servant to hand him another brandy. Downing half of it, he met the other man's intense gaze. "He was my enemy the moment he was declared my competition for her."

"You are a fool, Hudson. If I were the earl, I'd make you run the gauntlet."

The baron sneered, "One throws down the gauntlet; one doesn't run it."

"Life is different when one is on the sea, serving His Majesty… It is a punishment."

The intensity of the viscount's gaze unnerved him, but Hudson would not let that show. He had revenge to enact, and this was the first part. "I have never served His Majesty."

"Aye, that much is obvious from your character. You would never survive the punishment."

The baron was about to reply when the viscount turned his back and walked away.

As he stepped into the cool night air, Viscount Moreland nodded to one of the seamen who had served under him when he captained the HMS Britannia . When Moreland stepped into his carriage, Perkins entered from the opposite side.

"I need you to deliver an urgent message to Earl Stansbury, Perkins. Tell the earl his initials and Lady Catherine's were just added to White's betting book. Find Grant and have him deliver the same missive to Captain Coventry."

"Do you know who it was? Did you read the wager?" Perkins asked.

The viscount frowned. "Aye to both. Tell him after that scurvy dog Hudson penned their initials, he added that the earl will discover she is not as innocent he thinks her to be…in seven months' time."

The seaman's eyes narrowed at the slur to the earl's future wife. "Aye, captain, at once!"

The viscount knocked on the ceiling of his carriage. As it began to roll, Perkins opened the door and slipped out. Partway home, Moreland decided definitive action was called for. He instructed his coachman to take him to the earl's town house in Mayfair.

A short while later, the viscount stood in the entryway to Earl Stansbury's town house waiting to speak to the earl, when he heard the man bellow, "Tell whoever it is to go away! I have urgent business to attend to."

The viscount waited a beat, then roared, "Not as urgent as mine, Stansbury!"

Quinton rushed to the top of the stairs. "Moreland, what are you doing here? Has something else happened?"

The viscount nodded. "I have come to offer my services as your second, Stansbury…or do you prefer to be called Quinton?"

"I answer to both."

"Well, Stansbury, do you intend to call out the scurvy maggot?"

"Aye…that is the urgent business I am attending to." Quinton waited a beat and asked the viscount, "Are you certain you want to get involved in this blasted mess?"

"Have you forgotten who was waiting for you on the other side of the alley across from Lyon's Gate Manor?" Moreland asked. "I'm in this up to my eyeballs."

"Thank you, Moreland."

The viscount inclined his head. "By the by, Dr. McIntyre is getting up in years and prefers not to handle too many dawn appointments. I suggest using Lieutenant Sampson as your physician in this matter."

Quinton asked, "How many duels have either of them attended?"

"Even if I had the number, I would not be at liberty to say. Dueling is illegal, you know."

"And you are not bothered by that fact?" Quinton asked.

Moreland's laughter bounced off the walls as Quinton carefully descended the stairs to join him. "At sea, a captain's word is law. I had far too many years as captain in the Royal Navy to bow to a landlubber's laws. Although for the sake of my family, I do try."

"I have had more time to adjust to life on land, and I still believe the laws at sea should be employed on land."

"Aye, Stansbury. I heartily agree."

"Thank you for the offer, Moreland. I accept."

Quinton turned around and shouted, "Reeves! Fetch my black frockcoat!"

His valet appeared with the coat in hand, mumbling. Quinton only heard every other word, and realized his valet was still worried about him appearing in public in the blasted coat. "We have company, Reeves."

His valet noticed the viscount and nearly tripped down the staircase, recognizing him at once. "Captain Broadbank! Is there trouble?"

"Aye, Reeves. The lieutenant and I have a mission to accomplish. The first part is to pay a call on Hudson."

"And demand his apology and immediate retraction of the wager he placed in White's betting book," Quinton said, "or present himself on the field of honor at dawn!"

His valet met Moreland's gaze while helping Quinton don his coat. "You have offered to be his second, haven't you, captain? You'll need a physician in attendance. Shall I send word to Lieutenant Sampson?"

The viscount agreed, "Excellent foresight, Reeves. I have already suggested Sampson, as he is well acquainted with your employer's condition and the need for secrecy."

"If he asks for particulars, I shall advise him I am not at liberty to say," Reeves assured him. "Captain, every seaman who ever sailed under you, or served during your time at the helm of the Britannia , has the greatest respect for you. On behalf of the lieutenant, may I offer my thanks?"

"Accepted, thank you, Reeves." The viscount turned to Quinton. "Ready?"

"Aye," Quinton said. "Richards, have everyone continue packing. I shall return shortly."

The butler opened the front door. "Very good, your lordship, but what about tomorrow?"

Quinton grinned. "I shall return in plenty of time, or did you forget that I am to marry in the morning?"

Outside, the two men strode to Moreland's carriage. The viscount gave the address, closed the door, and settled back against the squabs. "Now then, Stansbury, do you plan to shoot the scurvy bottom-feeder between his eyes or in his black heart?"

The earl clenched his jaw before reminding the viscount, "My shooting arm is in a sling."

"Aaah. Will you wait until the weapons have been checked and you are standing on the field to forfeit?"

"I'll not give him the satisfaction of forfeiting. I plan to let the bloody bastard fire the first shot, then fire mine in the air."

"The conditions will be satisfied if you delope ," the viscount agreed. "I must advise caution. I have heard rumors that he is a fair shot."

"Let us hope the wind and morning mist will play in my favor."

"You've got steel in your spine, Quinton. I always knew it, and seeing you toss that grappling hook and climb to the second-floor railing reaffirmed it. I was never prouder when I saw you step over the railing, bend down, and take hold of the rope spanning the alleyway. I am at your disposal whenever, wherever you have need of me."

"As I am at yours. I will never be able to repay you for speaking on my behalf to Mrs. Dove-Lyon."

"My pleasure, and remember my brother added his stout recommendation to her as well."

"I will not forget. I owe you both."

The carriage slowed to a stop, and the viscount's footman opened the door. "Ready, Quinton?"

"Aye. Let's get this over with. There is quite a bit more packing than I imagined moving one's household from London to Sussex would entail."

"My man-of-affairs is currently looking into properties to purchase in the country for me. Mayhap I should consider Sussex."

They walked to the front door and knocked. Neither one was surprised they had to wait longer than was polite. The door swung open, and the servant's eyes widened.

Quinton remarked, "I believe the man is overwhelmed by your presence, Moreland."

The viscount shook his head. "Like as not, it is your sling, bruised face, and bandaged hands."

Quinton smiled. "True enough." He addressed the butler, "Tell the baron that Earl Stansbury and Viscount Moreland wish to speak to him at once."

The man opened the door and ushered them into the baron's home.

Unsurprisingly, they were kept waiting again. "Obviously the baron has no regard for hierarchy," Moreland said.

A few moments later, the baron finally appeared. As he walked toward them, the viscount remarked, "A baron is the bottom rung in the peerage and should show deference to our titles. Don't you think, Stansbury?"

Quinton didn't bother to respond—he had already locked gazes with the bastard that had dared to place the wager, slandering his wife-to-be and the earldom! "Name your second!"

The baron glanced at the earl for a moment before settling on the viscount. "I thought I recognized you at White's, Moreland, but as you had only just inherited your title—the same as Stansbury—you were not worth remembering." He locked gazes with Stansbury. "I take it Moreland is your second?"

"If we were on board the Britannia , I'd have you clapped in irons for your disrespectful tone!" Quinton spat.

"I always found military men to be nothing more than piss-poor second sons looking to glorify themselves."

Quinton surged forward, only to be stopped by Moreland's extended arm. "Ah yes, as we are the sons that have sweated and bled for king and country…and bottom-feeders like you. Chalk Farm at dawn. Be there."

"Don't you want to know who my second is?" Hudson called out to them as his butler opened the door.

"Shall I bring someone for you in the event you have no one willing to stand up for you?" Moreland asked.

"Bloody bastard!"

Quinton looked at Moreland and then Hudson. "I'm afraid I am not acquainted with anyone by that name," he said. "Be there, Hudson."

The baron rushed after them. As Moreland's footman was closing the door to his carriage, Hudson shouted, "I hope you have your will made out!"

Quinton turned to Moreland. "In case you were wondering, I sent word to my solicitor to amend my will as soon as I learned Lady Catherine's name."

"Confident she would accept, were you?" the viscount asked.

Quinton slowly smiled. "After defeating my rival for her hand, aye."

They were laughing as the coach drove back to the earl's town house.

"Do you plan to tell your wife about offering to be my second?"

Moreland sighed. "I cannot run the risk of history repeating itself, and that she would follow me. I shall have to post additional men to stand guard outside our bedchamber."

Quinton sensed the viscount was serious. "That sounds wise." A worry he had not thought of on the ride to the baron's home prompted him to say, "Given Hudson's belief that he should have been granted Lady Catherine's hand without finishing the challenge, do you think there is a chance—or some twisted reason—that he would send word of the duel to her?"

Moreland seemed to consider the question. "I had not thought of that particular possibility, though I did send word to Coventry asking for his aid in this. I am certain the captain will have thought of every possibility, given all that I have heard he has had to deal with when Earl Lippincott and Viscount Chattsworth's wives followed them to Chalk Farm."

"You are not joking?"

"Nay. Their wives are headstrong, compassionate, brave females…like my soon-to-be wife. Mayhap I shall ask him to have one of his men stand guard at the front door to my town house and another at the rear."

The team slowed, and the carriage rocked to a stop. Quinton alighted. "Thank you, Moreland. What time shall I pick you up?"

"I have already made the arrangements. I have a black coach—without a crest on it—that I use on special occasions."

"Ah, for those times you do not want anyone to recognize your conveyance," Quinton replied. "I had not thought to need such. I may have to consider it."

"Aye. Be ready an hour before dawn. It's best to arrive early and search the grounds to flush out anyone in the area armed with a rifle or pistol."

"I take it you have experienced that before."

Moreland clenched his jaw. "Aye. A tale for another time."

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," Moreland echoed.

Quinton was thoughtful as he entered his town house, grateful for the hustle and bustle that indicated his staff was still preparing for their journey tomorrow.

He planned to be the victor at dawn…even if he had to take a lead ball to prove his point.

Mayhap the baron's aim would be off. Lord willing, the blackguard would shoot him in the shoulder instead of his bloody costly prosthetic leg!