Mary Blayney (40 page)

21

T
HAT DEBATE WAS ECLIPSED
by the immediate need for self-preservation when he saw the duke’s brother leaning against the stable wall, smoking, as he passed time with the head groom.

When Lord David saw Michael he pinched out the glowing end of his smoke. “The duke wants to see you.” He tucked what was left into his pocket.

“Well, I do not want to see him.”

The groom turned a gasp into a cough and Michael smiled at him.

“But, my lord,” Michael continued, “to show the great egalitarian goodwill I learned in the army and in France, I will come with you now so that I can be on my way tomorrow.”

With no more than a nod, Lord David set out for the castle. They walked in silence, which Michael tolerated for as long as he could. “You did not wonder where I was?”

“You were either dead or asleep somewhere. Or perhaps something in between.” Lord David turned up his collar against the growing chill. “I would have searched if you had not shown up by morning.”

Michael liked him. In spite of his distinctly unfriendly manner, he was as straightforward as only a taciturn man could be. Lord David was not about to waste words on lies. Not when each syllable he spoke was so carefully weighed.

“I’ll tell you what I found if the duke is not interested.”

Lord David nodded and let the conversation die.

Oh for God’s sake, Michael thought, surely the man had not used up his quota of words for the day. “Was Lady Olivia amenable to coming home?”

“Yes.” He hesitated and added, “Mrs. Blackford was not. She wanted her to stay for the night.”

“That must have been interesting.”

“The vicar is still head of the house. He insisted that they do as the duke wanted.”

“No one with any sense says no to the duke.” Michael stopped and, perforce, so did Lord David.

“More often than you can imagine.”

“Because he thinks he is always right and has no use for counsel.”

“No, the opposite.” Lord David resumed walking and considered his answer as though he had to build it carefully and test it for stability. “Too many people are distracted by his rank, and make choices based on a coat of arms and not what is the right course of action.”

Michael felt the pinch of that pointed comment. It was aimed right at him.

Lord David stopped just out of hearing distance of the porter who was waiting by the door. “I was away in the Americas for almost ten years. I have been back for two. I see things differently now. You must as well.”

“Yes. I do. I have seen the best and worst of leaders. The truth is not always apparent, but quickly learned in the first battle.”

“You will see soon enough.” He started walking again, ignoring the fact that Michael was not following him.

God save him, he hated cryptic comments like that. Another distaste Michael could thank the war for. He kicked at a clump of grass and caught up with Lord David, giving up on the effort to draw any more information from him.

They swept by the porter who bowed them in. Or at least bowed Lord David into the castle. Michael ignored him even though he could feel a malevolent stare that made his back itch.

The study door was ajar, the footmen away from their posts.

“Where are they?” Michael asked with a wave to the doorway.

“Scouring the place for you,” Lord David answered. “The porter told us that you did not leave, at least not by the front door.”

Michael’s smile was his only reply. Let the porter earn his pay. Michael went into the room and was surprised that Lord David did not follow him. The story was hardly over.

He could see Lady Olivia sitting in the duke’s chair, behind his desk, looking very much the proper young lady even if her dress was somewhat dated, missing the abundant rufles and detail that were popular in London and Paris.

The simpler style suited her; the high fichu hid her bruises and the pink helped to add color to her cheeks. A band of pink braid inset with flowers ran around the neckline and then down the middle of the dress, which drew the eye from her magnificent bosom. In his case it was only a momentary distraction. But he could see that someone, if not the lady herself, had given significant thought to her dress.

Lady Olivia was talking with some animation. The duke half sat on the desk, listening.

“Why? I promised one Season. It’s not as though marriage—” she saw Michael and cut herself off. “Good evening, Mr. Garrett. I am so glad that you came back. I have not had a chance for a proper good-bye.”

God only knew what she would consider a “proper good-bye.”

“Lyn, my throat hurts from talking so much. Could I please have some brandy?”

“No, you may not.” The duke appeared shocked at the request. “Brandy, Olivia? You are not to drink brandy. What in the world are you thinking to ask for it?”

“Yes, well, Mr. Garrett gave me some with water in it and it is very soothing to my throat.”

“That may be, but you may not have any more.” His impatience was replaced by something that sounded more like worry. “What if I have some of your tea brought to you?”

Olivia jumped up from the chair, and made for the door. “Better yet, what if I go to the kitchen and make it myself?”

The duke moved to stop her. Michael forestalled her exit by closing the door before she reached it.

“You are not to wander around this place, sister, especially not tonight. It is too drafty.”

“Oh nonsense, Lynford.” She reached for the door handle but stopped, raising her hands to her throat. “Do you think my abductors are still about? Will they come again?”

The fear in her words made Michael want to take her in his arms. He took two steps toward her before he realized how ill-advised that was. He bowed to her instead, took her hand and held it with both of his. “My lady, those cowards are nowhere near. Do you hear the wind? It is not like the gale but it will make for a miserable night for anyone out of doors. Let us hope they’re still searching in the Peak while you are safe with your family.”

She nodded slowly at first, then more firmly as if considering his words and agreeing with them. He smiled at her. Her eyes answered and they both remembered the last time they had been this close.

22

G
ARRETT,”
the duke interrupted, “ask the footman to bring some of Lady Olivia’s sore throat tea.”

“Honey and lavender tisane.” Olivia pulled her hand from Michael’s as she corrected the duke, with a superior tone only a man’s valet was allowed to use.

“Honey and lavender tisane,” repeated her brother, for all appearances as tame as the kitchen cat.

“I’ll tell the footman.” Olivia had the door open before she finished speaking.

Michael turned to the duke to see how he would react to this casual usurpation of his order. The duke took his seat, pulled a pair of candles closer and began to read a newspaper. He looked up before he could have read more than a sentence. “Sit down, Major. She will be awhile.”

Michael usurped some power of his own and stayed near the door. The footmen were back in place, the same ones who had accosted when he had arrived earlier. They appeared not to recognize him at all.

“Oh it is you, Rawley,” Lady Olivia said with real pleasure. “Good evening, and how are you? I am so sorry to have missed your wife’s churching. How is the babe?”

“The boy and the missus are doing well. And you, my lady? Are you feeling better?”

“Well, yes, but my throat still hurts quite dreadfully. Could you ask my maid to bring me some of my special tea to ease throat discomfort, the honey and lavender tisane?”

“Happily, my lady.”

He moved off briskly and Michael thought it a timely exchange. But Lady Olivia was not through.

“Good evening to you, too, Lester. Do tell me which was your favorite of the buns I made last week? I have been wondering the whole time I was at the vicarage.”

“The cinnamon, my lady,” the other footman answered promptly.

“Truly?” she said with disappointment. The footman nodded.

“You insist we be honest.”

“All right. I thought that the berry and orange buns would equal them in taste.”

“My lady, there is nothing that can equal your cinnamon buns.”

“Nevertheless I will keep trying.”

She spoke as though it was a challenge she would spend her life to achieve.

“We are all willing to sample, if it will please you,” the footman said and actually laughed.

“I am thinking that next I will try some with corn and cheese. Not sweet at all.”

Lester looked doubtful.

“Trust me, with butter they will be the savory equivalent of cinnamon buns.”

“I am a willing tester, my lady, if you think you will be well enough to spend so much time in the kitchen.”

“It is just what I need. You see, if you use the cheese that the dairymaid—”

“Olivia.” The duke’s one word was more than a hint that he had waited long enough.

“I will tell you tomorrow when you come for breakfast. If you will excuse me, Lester?”

“Of course, my lady.” The footman spoke hastily and stood as straight as a soldier, resuming his place by the door.

Olivia came back into the room. Lester closed the door behind. “You see, Lyn, I have this idea that savory buns could be as wonderful as sweet.”

“I, too, am a willing tester, and I, too, preferred the cinnamon.” The duke stood up and refolded the paper carefully. “You see, sir,” the duke said to Michael, “this place does have some egalitarian aspects. We are all testers for the finest baker in Derbyshire.”

Olivia smiled, lowered her head and wrinkled her nose, a sign Michael already recognized as pleasure and embarrassment. It added to the sweetness he found so endearing. He was not the only one who did. Apparently Lady Olivia Pennistan had managed to charm them all. With cinnamon buns, no less.

O
LIVIA WISHED SHE
could handle praise with more grace. How many times had her governess told her to “smile, curtsy and say, ‘Thank you.’” Instead, embarrassed by the praise, she would blush and hide her face so no one would see how pleased she was. She felt all of twelve when she did that. Maybe Lyn was right. There were times when she did not act her age.

“Olivia, listen to me. Stop thinking about the kitchen.”

Lyn’s voice was tinged with impatience and she gave him her full attention.

“It is time for you to go to your room. I want to speak with Major Garrett. In private.”

“Major? It is Major Garrett? You are in the army.” Olivia clapped her hands. She loved it when she was right. “I knew it! Tell me, how were the cooks able to serve hot meals when you were constantly on the march?”

“They didn’t.”

“I am so sorry. It must have been awful. But it’s true, how could they have a fire when you were on the move? Unless they went ahead and set up their fires where you planned to end the day.”

“Sometimes they would do that, but too often we did not—”

Lyn cleared his throat.

With a smile the major stopped mid-sentence and bowed to her. “Good night, my lady.”

“Olivia, go to your room.”

“Lyn, I wish you would not order me about as if I were a child. I am an adult. I will be of age in less than six months.”

“If that is true will you please be a sensible adult and go to bed?”

“I would think tonight is one night when I could be excused from sensible behavior.” She looked at Major Garrett hoping for support. His sympathy showed but he said nothing. “What about my tea?”

“The maid will find you if you go to your room. Take no detours, Olivia. Not one.”

“Please, Lyn. I do not want be left by myself yet.” Her heart hitched as she realized who she had forgotten. How could she? “Where is Big Sam?”

The major took a step closer, as though he wanted the answer, too.

“David has gone to find him.”

“Is he still out there? Oh poor Sam. He must have been so upset. He will come back all wet and cold and act as though it is what he deserves for not being with me. I should have gone with David.” Olivia reached out for the door handle.

“No, Olivia. You cannot join the search. I will not hesitate to order the major to restrain you if you are so foolish.”

“I am not an idiot, Your Grace.” She could be as chilling as he could. “Big Sam is very dear to me, but I was only going to ask Lester to be sure to let me know when he is back.”

“They have been so ordered.”

She held her tongue so he would know how annoyed she was. It was an effort.

“If you must stay, Lollie, go sit by the fire.”

“All right.” She tried to be as gracious as the queen, but it was compromised by a yawn that escaped without warning. Olivia dragged her cloak with her to her favorite spot near the fireplace. How many times had she sat here while Lyn worked, those long cold evenings after her governess left? Poor Tildy.

She made a little nest for herself in the great wing-backed chair closest to the warmth. “Thank you, Lyn. I will feel much safer here.”

When her brother did not answer she pulled her cloak around her like a blanket. There was no point trying to hear what they were talking about. The room was too big and they would whisper.

With one last glance at Major Garrett, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her favorite bedtime ritual. The one she fantasized about when the candle was spent but she was not ready for sleep.

She would plan the perfect dinner for him. Not every dish, just the ones that would be set closest to him. Ones that would suit him the best.

With the murmur of their voices for comfort, she considered the options. She did not know that much about him. He had apples, cheese, bread and watered brandy with him. So nothing elaborate. He had lived on army food forever.

Fresh Derwent trout to start. She would cook it, whole, in onion sauce. She would serve her new four-mushroom soup and lamb cutlets with rosemary. For something with color she would serve asparagus in pastry pockets.

The end was easy: the finest strawberries and cream. She would whip the cream herself. Or perhaps the berries would be better dipped in champagne, with a sweet cake for substance.

She yawned and wondered what a strawberry kiss would taste like.

“Olivia, before you doze off I have one more question for you.” The duke walked the length of the room as he spoke. Michael stayed where he was, but he could see that she did not open her eyes. Her “What is it, Lyn?” was filled with sleep.

“Tell me what you think of Major Garrett.”

That was not a question Michael wanted her to answer when she was half asleep. God help him, if that wasn’t a deliberate ploy on the duke’s part to catch her when her answer would be unguarded. Under other circumstances he might be interested in the answer. Given the intensity of their brief history.

“He is a good man.” She spoke through a yawn, said it again and went on. “He is not perfect. He is too stubborn and wants his own way. I cannot see him taking orders from anyone.” She opened her eyes and turned her head.

She was awake and, God help him, she was going to tell the truth. “He held me naked and even kissed me, but he never treated me as anything but a lady.”

With those bombs bursting in the air, Olivia leaned back, closed her eyes and fell asleep. Michael had never seen anyone go to sleep so easily after condemning another to a slow, painful death. He would wake her up with his shouts if what she said led to further bruising.

He, too, walked the length of the room, to stand beside the duke and see if she was really asleep. Her head dropped, her body relaxed, her breathing grew deeper.

Forget about her. Forget. Forget.
He chanted the phrase a dozen times even though it was an impossible command as long as she was within sight.

“She has done that since childhood.” The duke’s voice startled him. “Fallen asleep in the space between two words.”

“I envy that.” Michael smiled at her sweet, delicate face.

“You will never know it, Major. It is a gift only for the pure of heart.”

The duke turned away from his sister and waited for Michael to fall in beside him.

“Do tell me about the kiss.”

It was not a command. It was more a question from curiosity, the tone a judge would use when he already knew the answer and had decided on the punishment. The duke stepped back behind his desk and Michael was grateful to see that the pistol was no longer on his desktop.

“You want to know about the kiss.” He so wanted to ask the duke why he felt the need to live vicariously but restrained the impulse. “No, Your Grace, I will not tell you about it. Not one single detail.” Michael glanced back at Olivia’s innocent face. He had nothing,
nothing
to be ashamed of. A few errant thoughts but he had not acted on a one of them. “That kiss concerns only the two of us. I will swear on my honor that I did nothing to abuse her innocent heart.”

The duke did not question what honor he had, did not curse him as a libertine, did not insist on more of an answer. He looked troubled.

“Her heart
was
innocent. I don’t know now. There are some things all of us would prefer not to share.”

Michael understood that. The duke was not about to divulge his secrets, anymore than he was. He waited to be dismissed. What else was there left to talk about?

“Come over here.” The duke led him to a large table, surrounded by chairs, the surface covered with maps. Meryon sat down with his back to the room and gestured to a chair across from him.

This
was a command and not an invitation. Michael wanted to ignore it. He had not done well with commands in the army, and had been naïve enough to think that those days were over with the sale of his commission. Amazing there was any naïveté left in his heart.

The duke waited, still seated but not at all relaxed.

“I want to find these men, Major Garrett.” He spoke to the empty chair across the table, then stood and faced him. It was not much of a concession but it was a start.

“Olivia said that you saved her life. That makes two members of my family you have rescued from death. Saving Pennistans is something you seem to have a talent for.”

“It was no more than one sentence, one lie. That is all I did for Gabriel. Hardly a rescue.”

“But it saved him. If you had identified him or Lynette they would not be alive now.”