The Clarendon Rose (27 page)

But still, the fact that he seemed determined to shut her out like this did hurt a little.
 
She had hoped the closeness they developed over the last few days of working together counted for more than that.

They went for a brisk ride through the parklands surrounding the manor.
 

They also visited the oak, where Clarendon stood in silence, frowning at the small mound of earth near the edge of its shade, where tiny blades of grass had begun to sprout.
 
Tina wandered away, he noticed, and was glad for the few moments alone with his father’s memory.
 
Glancing at the tree, he smiled to imagine the ghost of his boyhood self, pulling himself up the branches.
 
His father laughed from the ground below as he hoisted an even younger Edmund onto one of the lower limbs.

“I’ll visit again soon, Father,” he murmured, then rejoined Tina, where she waited with the horses.
 
They returned for high tea, then decided to retire early—to Tina’s apartments this time.
 

From there, the days fell into a routine: they rode and toured the estates in the mornings—often making an occasional stop in order to test some particularly inviting-looking patch of ground in various groves along their way.
 
Then, they would settle in the study, where they attended to the administration of the holdings.
 
They kept country hours, eating and retiring early.
 

The quiet routine had a lulling effect, such that Clarendon sometimes found himself forgetting about Pepridge and the threat he posed.
 
He actually had to remind himself that the issue remained unresolved—that Sebastian’s investigations continued—before he would feel the burn of anger at his enemy for placing him in such a powerless position.

But at other times, Clarendon found his mind turning to older, deeper wounds.

Perhaps I’m finally beginning to heal,
he reflected several mornings later, during one of his solitary visits to his father’s grave.
 
Not long ago, he would have found it difficult to accept that he could experience such pleasure in simplicity.
 
But somehow, returning to the manor—and now, being with Tina—had helped him to start believing again.
 
Maybe there could be more to his life than merely trying to make amends and live out his days with some form of honor he could believe in.
 
And who knew, but he might even be able to forgive himself his past failures.
 
Perhaps he had finally reached the point where he could accept that he might be deserving of some happiness of his own.

Now if only we could run that bastard Pepridge to the ground.
 

He frowned, not liking the thought of ending the idyll of the last few days.
 
But, a note from Lord Sebastian had arrived that morning, announcing that he had gone to London to follow up on some leads gleaned from his visit with Miss Smye.
 
Bastian had also suggested it might be best to go into the details of his discoveries in person, rather than trusting the information to the post.
 

Between that and a recent request for a meeting from the man of business Clarendon had engaged to deal with his overseas investments, the duke knew he’d have to head into London.
 
He just hated the thought of leaving Tina and the peace he had somehow managed to find here at the manor.
 

Still, the meeting with Sebastian could not be put off.
 
Whatever little knowledge he could assemble would be essential against whatever plan Pepridge had concocted.
 
Thoughts of his adversary’s next move had him writhing with impotent anger.
 
He had never been a man to take a threat lying down, and it infuriated him that Pepridge remained elusive.
 
He burned to confront the man and have done.
 
Instead, he was forced to wait upon Pepridge’s whim.
 

But, not wanting to alert Tina and cause her worry, he did his best to remain discreet in his attempts to unravel Pepridge’s motives, all the while taking some consolation in the fact that his enemy’s scheme had not included any of the previous victims’ families.
 
If worst came to worst, at least Tina, Edmund and his mother would remain safe.

He walked around the base of the oak, glancing up at its magnificent branches.
 
The vast tree stood on its own, a small distance from one of the more extensive woods on the manor’s grounds.
 
As he passed the side of the tree nearest to the forest, a flash of color out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
 
He drew closer to find a number of red, orange, yellow and pink rose petals scattered along a small path leading into the forest.
 
The petal-strewn trail curved, quickly obscured from view by the undergrowth.

He nodded, feeling a surge of excitement.
 

So the next move has been made.
 
Interesting.
 

He followed the petals along twists and curves, all the while wondering where Pepridge was leading him.
 

As he walked, he felt the throb of rage starting to rise.
 
Truth be told, he hardly cared where Pepridge led him, so long as he found his nemesis at the end of the path.
 
His impatience with other man’s machinations had marred the tranquility of the last several days.
 
For that alone, Clarendon longed to slam his fist into his adversary’s face.

Clarendon soon had an inkling of where the petals led—and sure enough, after a final curve, the bright sprinkling of color continued to a small clearing and disappeared into the darkened doorway of an old gamekeeper’s hut.
 
The building had been abandoned for as long as Clarendon could remember.
 
As children, he and Edmund had used it to play “storm the fortress” and “pirates”.

So this was where Pepridge had chosen to have his reckoning.
 
Clarendon smiled.
 

If Fortune looks kindly upon me, the cursed man himself is in there, waiting.
 
He wanted to stride right in and attack.

But, his years in the army hadn’t been a complete waste.
 
And so, instead of rushing headlong in, he paused at the edge of the clearing, examining the setting with keen eyes.
 

Why would a man of Pepridge’s alleged brilliance choose a murky, derelict building for his confrontation?
 
What possible strategic advantage could be gleaned from luring his enemy into a dim, closed space like that?
 
Did he have some thugs posted at the door, ready to attack before Clarendon’s eyes adjusted to the darkness?
 
Had they possibly been keeping watch on the path all this time, waiting for Clarendon to come along?

Yet, the windows, which Clarendon remembered from his childhood as gaping holes, had been completely boarded up.
 
Nor was it a half-hearted job with old, warped planks and large gaps between them.
 
The boards that had been used were new and closely spaced.
 
Clarendon could see no sign of any gaps wide enough to use as a spy hole.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at the open door once again.
 
Yes, he did remember a door from his childhood, but when he thought back to the many times he had slammed it closed against his brother—or battered against it from the outside, he understood what had been changed.
 
It used to swing inwards when he was a boy.
 
Now, it opened outwards.
 

He approached cautiously and pushed it partly closed, examining the back before nodding to himself.
 
The door could now be locked from the outside.
 
His head pounded with the anger of rushing blood.
 

That was when he caught a subtle whiff of something.
 
It took him a moment to identify it, because it was the last thing he would have expected out here.
 
Lamp oil.

The realization caused the rage to bubble over.

He spun around and examined the thicket of trees and bushes opposite the hut.
 
“Pepridge!” he roared, searching furiously for any hint of movement.
 
A rustle of something to his left.
 
He started towards it, trying to distinguish a human form amid the foliage.

A twig cracked to his right.
 
“Damn you, Pepridge, you bloody coward!” he shouted as he moved towards the other sound.
 
Pepridge had the stealth of an expert in the art of espionage.
 
The rustle had almost certainly been a diversion—a branch or a pebble thrown into the bush.
 
And of course, the small creatures of the forest also made noise with their scuttling and foraging through the undergrowth.

Still, he watched, straining his eyes for some sign of his adversary.
 
Nothing.
 
If he went to the manor for reinforcements, Pepridge would be long gone by the time they returned to flush him out.

The impotence of his anger suddenly solidified into a hard, icy fury.
 
The blackguard had planned to lock Clarendon into the old hut and set the place on fire.
 
No direct confrontation at all—only a cursed trap, which Clarendon, in his eagerness to get at Pepridge, had almost triggered.
 
If nothing else, I will get you, Pepridge.
 
You’ll be made to pay for this infernal game.
 
That I promise you.

“You damned bastard!
 
I’ll be waiting for you!” he muttered, his mouth a bitter line.
 
His only answer was the rustle and shift of the forest around him.
 
With a final glance at the impenetrable wall of trees and bushes, he strode from the clearing.

Fitzwilliam shook his head as he watched Clarendon disappear amongst the trees.
 
“My my.
 
Smarter than you look aren’t you?
 
Pity.”

He sighed.
 
I’ll have to work something else out, I suppose.
 
Perhaps this is the time to raise the stakes.
 
And who better to do that with than Clarendon?
 
Produce evidence at my trial of that messy little incident with the boy, will he?
 
And to add insult to it all, he used his demmed
rank
to put the final nail in my coffin.
   

Fitzwilliam slipped out of his hiding place, moving through the thick undergrowth with the silent skill of a wild animal.
 

Yes, definitely time to change my approach.
 
The man deserves to suffer a little.
 
Fitzwilliam generally disliked bringing family into these sorts of schemes—he found such approaches crude and inelegant.
 

But perhaps that is wherein lies the challenge.
 
He brightened at the thought.
 
No doubt, someone of his intellect would manage to conceive of something appropriately clever for the occasion.

Tina glanced up from the papers she had been perusing as the door to the study opened and her husband entered.
 
After their morning rides, Clarendon often liked to stop by the old oak and spend a few solitary moments in the company of his own thoughts and memories.

Her smile froze as she saw his face.
 
“A good walk?”

He gave her a cool tilt of his lips, and Tina felt her heart sink at the distance in his expression.
 

“As good as could be expected.
 
I should probably mention that I had the men set fire to that abandoned gamekeeper’s hut in the south forest.
 
It was derelict and looked none too safe, so I thought we’d best be rid of it.
 
They’re supervising the blaze right now to ensure it doesn’t get out of control.”

“All right.
 
If you really think that’s necessary…”

“I’d hardly have done it if I didn’t, now would I?” he snapped.

Tina blinked.

He pursed his lips and sighed.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
I didn’t mean to bite your head off.”
 
He flashed her a quick smile.
 
“I’m just in a bit of a mood today.
 
And I should also mention that I have to go into London on some business that really can’t wait any longer.”

Tina swallowed.
 
“I see.”
 
Had he already begun to lose interest?
 
Was the prospect of dealing with her response to his change of sentiment what had put him in this distant, irritable mood?
 

Even now, he was watching her with an air of barely suppressed impatience.
 
She summoned a smile.
 
“Fair enough.
 
Perhaps when you get back, we can discuss how we want to allocate funds for the various projects we discussed.”
 
She made a show of flipping through the papers in front of her.
 
“I’ve sketched out estimates of our monetary holdings, but had thought it might be worthwhile to send a request to London for an accurate, updated listing of our balances.”

She glanced at him.
 
“If you’re going to the city, perhaps you could find time to make the request in person?”

He nodded.
 
“Fine.
 
I don’t anticipate being gone much more than two days or so.”