Lady Dearing's Masquerade (27 page)

“Oh, very well, damn you! It is Dearing—the present Lord Dearing, her nephew.”

Jeremy stared down at the miserable creature. It should have been so obvious: members of the same dandy set, both with expensive habits . . .

“How much did Dearing pay you to cause trouble for his aunt?” He gave the fop a shake.

“F-f-five thousand pounds.”

Fury surged through him. Dearing would pay for this, and for anything else he’d done to Livvy.

But now it was time to make an end of Sir Digby.

“Very well, I am finished now, except for one thing.”

He tore the diamond pin from the sorry creature’s cravat.

“Thank you for your donation to the Foundling Hospital,” he said aloud, grinning.

“Damn you, Fairhill! I should have known it was—” He gagged as Jeremy began to haul him toward the door of the bedchamber.

“Don’t worry, I won’t soil my hands on you much longer,” Jeremy said soothingly. “You will soon have other things to worry about. Come meet some friends of mine.”

He dragged Sir Digby into the bedchamber. There Bromhurst and Cranshaw stepped forward to meet them, menacing expressions on both their faces.

And Sir Digby Pettleworth’s fate was sealed.

* * *

Holding Ben’s hand on one side and Mary’s on the other, Livvy walked toward the gate of the churchyard. Jane followed behind with Robbie and Philippa, all of them picking their way  carefully down the gravel path, trying to avoid puddles left by the previous night’s heavy rains.

They’d spent more than their usual time chatting with the kindly vicar and his wife. Livvy wanted to delay long enough to make sure Adolphus and Sophronia were gone. Just yesterday, they’d renewed their attempts to convince her to leave the country, complaining about suffering new and stinging comments about their inability to control her actions. She wanted to hear no more of it.

But there they were, still talking to other churchgoers just past the gate. For a moment Adolphus’s gaze met Livvy’s. Then he turned away again. She slowed, then decided to brazen it out and walk past them and their older son, who had drummed his heels against his seat for at least half the service.

But when they reached the narrow gate little Walter was there. He blocked their path, legs planted apart, arms raised, and a challenging look in his eyes.

Livvy sighed. She rather wished she had the raising of the poor boy; Adolphus and Sophronia were doing their best to spoil him.

“Please let us pass, Walter,” she said pleasantly, fixing the lad’s gaze with her own.

“Why should I?” Walter sneered. “Why should I step aside for a bunch of bastards? B-b-b-bastards!”

Mary cringed; Ben gripped Livvy’s hand tightly, no doubt burning with his inability to make a satisfactory retort.

“It’s all right, dears.” She looked back at Walter. “You should step aside, because it is the courteous thing to do.”

He stood his ground. “Mama says you’re a Jeze—a Jeze—a Jezebel!”

The insult came as no surprise to Livvy. It would have been laughable were it not so sad. She noticed that Adolphus and Sophronia—along with half the parishioners of Cherrydean—were looking their way, but with no apparent intent to restrain their son.

“I see I shall have to move you myself.” She released the children’s hands and stepped forward, hoping Walter would back down.

“I think not!” He dug a toe into the mud and gravel and kicked up, spraying her with rocks and gravel.

She stared down at splotches on her skirt, startled, then appalled. Ben rushed past her. Before she could stop him, he’d knocked Walter down.

“Mama! Papa! He hit me!” Walter bawled, sitting on his backside in the mud as Ben stood over him, fists clenched.

“Come back here, Ben,” Livvy ordered sharply and pulled Ben away from the other boy.

Adolphus came running to the gate. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Are you hurt, my boy?”

“That bastard nearly killed me, Papa,” the boy whined, allowing his father to help him up from the dirt.

With relief, Livvy saw that apart from mud coating his backside, the boy was unharmed. Glancing up, she saw the onlookers hastily covering their mouths to hide shocked amusement at the sight.

“Oh my darling, what did they do to you?” Sophronia exclaimed, running up to join them. “Are you hurt very badly?”

“He is not hurt at all, Sophronia,” Livvy said.

Adolphus straightened up; his eyes blazed with righteous indignation. He reddened as someone in the crowd muffled a giggle. After a brief, haughty look at the villagers, he turned back to Livvy.

“You will all answer for this,” he said in a weighty tone.

“Nonsense!” she replied. “Walter kicked the gravel up at us, and Ben retaliated. I suggest we all go home and punish them in our own ways.”

“It must have been an accident,” Adolphus retorted. “Walter would never do something so ungentlemanly.”

Livvy raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed, these—these
children
of yours go beyond all tolerance,” said Sophronia.

“Adolphus, you must deal with this properly since
she
will not.”

“Indeed, I will, my love. You will be hearing from me, Aunt,” he said in ominous accents.

“You are ridiculous. What are you going to do, call me out? Or Ben?” She shrugged. “Do as you must. We are going home. Children, come along please.”

She reached for the children’s hands again, and held them in a comforting grip as they passed the Dearings. Though she could not see what Adolphus and Sophronia could make of such a paltry brouhaha, she did not like the expressions on their faces.

They looked oddly triumphant, as if they had been waiting for just such an incident.

During the carriage ride home, Livvy did her best to balance between admonishing Ben for his lapse of control and reassuring all the children that nothing awful would come of the incident.

On their return to Rosemead, however, she sent a groom with an urgent note to the Debenhams. Perhaps she was being overanxious, but she did not want to be unprepared should Adolphus try to do more than fling angry words. Much as she disliked asking for help, she was no fool. Julian, being not only a man but a viscount and the wealthiest landowner in the district, not only could but would use his influence to help if her nephew tried to stir up trouble.

After she’d dashed off the note, she rejoined the children in the schoolroom. Seeing Ben still looking shaken, she sent him into the gardens. Even if he did a bit of work there, she decided it would be better for his soul than to adhere too strictly to the restriction against Sunday labor.

She had just retired to the drawing room, hoping for a quiet moment to recover her spirits, when Thurlow announced Adolphus, followed just minutes later by Mr. Selford, the magistrate.

Livvy’s stomach clenched as she saw the almost maniacal light in Adolphus’s eyes, but she greeted the two men politely. Once they’d sat down, Adolphus launched into a highly slanted version of the incident, denouncing Ben’s character and insisting the magistrate take him into custody. With a measure of relief, she saw that Mr. Selford, a sensible man, was looking a bit impatient with the matter, though clearly unwilling to offend someone of her nephew’s position.

Finally Adolphus paused to draw breath, and she jumped into the breach. “Mr. Selford, you must excuse Lord Dearing,” she said, smiling. “His affection for his son has clearly led him to exaggerate what was a minor fracas between boys. No harm was done, and Walter did behave in a rather provoking manner. My nephew neglected to mention that his son kicked mud onto my dress. Not that this excuses Ben’s behavior—as I have already told him! But I think it would be a grave mistake to refine too much on the matter.”

Mr. Selford cleared his throat and looked at Adolphus. “My lord, I must say that there is little I can do in such a case. The lad is too young to be charged, and the offense was not severe. It is not as if it were a case of murder! Since no harm was done . . .”

“No harm? Why, my poor son is prostrate now, with his Mama in constant attendance!” Adolphus protested, but his voice wavered.

“Poor boy,” Livvy interjected quickly. “I am sorry his nerves were so easily overset. But dear nephew, you must realize that pressing the matter further will only make a laughingstock of you and young Walter. Everyone will think him a namby-pamby, milquetoast creature.”

Adolphus reddened as her words sank in. She knew it was a sore point with him, that he had always been painfully embarrassed by Walter’s low opinion of his athleticism.

But she also guessed that Sophronia was behind this, and that she would make Adolphus’s existence a living hell if he failed.

“You can do
nothing
?” he asked desperately, turning back to Mr. Selford.

“I could speak to the lad,” Mr. Selford offered.

“You say you will merely
speak
to him?” Adolphus sputtered. “The boy is a menace, a firebrand. He has no place in a respectable parish such as ours!”

Livvy’s curled her hands until the nails dug into her palms, but she maintained a serene countenance. “Mr. Selford, you are well aware that in all the time he has been here, Ben has never harmed anyone. Nevertheless I think it an excellent idea for you to speak to him, and impress upon him the importance of self-control.”

She rose and walked out of the room at a decorous pace. After directing Thurlow to send for Ben, she returned to the library to find Adolphus still holding forth on all the horrible consequences that would ensue if Ben were permitted to continue to live in the parish.

As she entered, both men stood up.

“Adolphus, you are really making a great to-do about nothing,” she said calmly, taking her seat again. “I advise you to go home and have some chamomile tea. It is amazingly soothing to the nerves.”

As he sat back down, he looked from her to the long-suffering magistrate and back again. Then his small eyes lit up. “If the boy cannot be charged, then a complaint must be lodged with the Governors of the Foundling Hospital!” he announced.

Livvy’s nails dug into her palms again. To destroy her credibility with the Foundling Hospital was a clever ploy. But after all she had given up, Lord Bromhurst owed her his support.

Again, she controlled her countenance. “Lord Bromhurst will uphold me. He is not the sort of man to refine too much on such a paltry incident.”

Adolphus stared into her face for a moment, scowling. His eyelid began to twitch again as she returned his gaze steadily.

“Furthermore, if there are any complaints from local landowners,” she said, looking toward the magistrate, “I believe Lord Debenham will help you reassure them.”

Mr. Selford’s brow cleared, but Adolphus’s face contorted. His entire body radiated fury at having been thwarted once more.

A cough sounded from the doorway. “My lady,” said Thurlow. “Charles looked all over the garden but he was unable to find Ben.”

She stared at him for a moment, new worries tightening her chest, then turned back to the others. “I told Ben to go into the garden and think over what he had done. I suspect he has gone further, into the woods. It may be some time before he can be found. Mr. Selford, may I offer you some refreshment while you wait? Of course, if you have more pressing business, I should not like to keep you.”

“Well, yes, I do have some other matters I need to attend to,” said the magistrate, his brow clearing. “I can very well speak to Ben tomorrow.”

He rose, but Adolphus remained seated, his expression suddenly intent.

“Do you wish us to search for the lad?” Thurlow inquired.

Livvy shook her head, trying to look nonchalant. “No, there is no need. If he does not come back within another hour, I shall look for him myself. I know the children’s favorite hiding places.”

Mr. Selford bowed and took his leave then. Adolphus followed, stony-faced.

Livvy allowed Thurlow to see them out, sinking back into her chair. She ought to feel relieved, and yet she did not. Was she just weary of having yet another battle to fight? For clearly this was another attempt to wrest the children from her. Even Adolphus knew they were the core of her world; without them, she might as well do as he wished and live in Greece.

She rose from her chair, weariness giving way to the anxiety at the thought of Ben. The garden walls did not obstruct a view of the drive; perhaps Ben had seen Adolphus and the magistrate arrive. Well, perhaps he was just hiding in one of his usual places.

She headed toward the French doors, intending to search for Ben, when indecision caught her. She recalled the odd, desperate gleam in Adolphus’s eyes as he left, and the conviction grew on her that he had not given up the fight.

Perhaps he was going ahead with his resolve to cause trouble for her with the General Committee at the Foundling Hospital. She still thought Lord Bromhurst would stand her friend, but she had better warn him. Adolphus might even now be preparing to go to London, or to send a messenger to the Foundling Hospital with his complaint.

Again, she hesitated on the threshold, torn between the desire to comfort Ben and the need to send a message to Lord Bromhurst. Hastily, she sat down at her desk and penned the note. It took a mere ten minutes, and another ten to arrange for it to be dispatched to London, but once she’d done so, she hurried out toward the gardens.

Her first thought had been that Ben had gone to the hermit’s cave again, but perhaps Charles had missed his hiding place. She hurried through the gardens, checking under arches, in odd corners, until she reached the orchard. When she entered the toolhouse, she breathed a sigh of relief. Ben was sitting, head on his knees, in a far corner, almost completely hidden behind a wheelbarrow.

She walked up to him softly, almost wondering if he was asleep. But once she had reached him, he raised his head, revealing a dirty, tear-streaked face. Conscious of a boy’s pride, she decided not to comment on it but instead got down to sit on the floor beside him.

“You chose a rather uncomfortable spot for thinking,” she said with a slight smile. “But quiet.”

“I s-s-saw Lord D-d- . . . Dearing, and—and . . .”