Chapter Twenty-Eight
PRITCHARD EMPLOYED SEVERAL methods to communicate I told you so . This one, his favourite, centred on tilting his head forward and waggling his expressive eyebrows, rendering words superfluous.
“Yes, all right,” Lando said irritably. “No need to be quite so smug. I should have checked he wasn’t too put out by the fake arrest before I kidnapped him.”
Arriving at Rossingley ready to rush into his youthful lover’s embrace, only to discover the man had insisted on being dropped off at the village inn and was not, in fact, freshly bathed and naked in Lando’s bed awaiting a thorough ravaging, was a tad aggravating, to say the least.
“According to Jasper, Mr Angel appeared more vexed by the kidnapping part than the fake arrest,” Pritchard informed him. “Which can only lead me to deduce that he found being handcuffed perfectly acceptable. Although those cuffs must have chafed, assuming they were the solid iron kind.”
“Quite.” Lando eyed his valet with interest, having not ever considered the existence of any other type of handcuff material. Pritchard’s cheeks were unaccountably flushed.
“For a quiet country soul, you seem awfully knowledgeable about handcuff materials.”
“Not at all, my lord,” answered Pritchard hastily. “Pure speculation. I am simply reporting Jasper’s impression of the whole affair, and he made no mention that chafing handcuffs were vexatious.”
As Lando filed away that nugget of information for a rainy day, an extraordinary image popped into his head and refused to budge, of his beloved pearls wrapped around a familiar pair of strong wrists.
“Jasper believes Mr Angel is mostly unhappy about returning to Rossingley to be cast in the role of your doxy. He’s had enough of play-acting for the time being. Can’t imagine why, poor fellow.”
“He’s neither to be my doxy, concubine, or courtesan! Why on earth does he think that?”
“Perhaps because you haven’t furnished him with your alternative plan, my lord? That tiddly, piddling little plan, the one where he becomes lord of his own estate? All I know is that Jasper says Mr Angel leaped out of the carriage in a blue sulk and stomped off to the inn.”
Lando let out a long, needy sigh. “Gadzooks, he’s rather lovely when he’s sulking. Sulking and stomping combined sound truly marvellous. Did Jasper seem unduly worried?”
“No. He’s of the opinion the man is all talk and no trousers. He believes Mr Angel will come out when he’s hungry for a fu…for food, my lord.”
Lando sighed again. Success was so nearly in his grasp he could stretch out a finger and tickle the edges of it. “I grant you, Pritchard, Jasper is a first-rate bodyguard and soldier. Sadly, however, he possesses the emotional wherewithal of a coal scuttle. God knows Mr Angel is a very capable sulker, but who’s to say he isn’t, as we speak, marching towards Allenmouth never to be seen again?”
“Because I’ve ordered that great gobbet of a coal scuttle to watch the inn,” retorted Pritchard. “And apprehend him—again—should he attempt to scarper. So my advice to you, my lord, is to have a decent night sleep, pretty yourself up, and allow our hot-headed young friend to stew on his lumpy mattress for a day or two.”
*
THE CRAMPED ROOM at the inn served as a constant reminder of the prison cell he’d narrowly escaped. Thanks to the man with whom he was mighty cross. How could one person be so perfectly wonderful yet so damned exasperating?
After an uncomfortable night tossing that conundrum around, Kit embraced the fresh early morning chill and set off for a walk, despite knowing the path he trod and the air he breathed belonged to the man at the root of his poor humour. He needed answers, and his solitary confinement hadn’t brought any. Perhaps tramping up a great hill might.
He hated himself for being such an ungrateful bugger, but now he had his freedom, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He didn’t need worry about seeing Clark again. Jasper hadn’t furnished him with all the details, but a deal had been struck between Robert and the runner; he knew that much. And apparently, Gartside had slunk off into the beyond with his tail betwixt his legs too. So as far as Kit saw things, he had two options—swallow his pride and stay here at Rossingley with his lover and accept that his lover and his employer were one and the same. But if that scenario griped now, who knew how badly it would chime a few months down the line?
Or Kit could fend for himself back in Kent, alone, miserable, and heartsick.
Two hours later, he concluded that tromping up and down hills, searching for answers, was a fruitless, overrated activity. At the top of the next one, he’d rest awhile, appreciate the view, catch his breath, and then…
Effortlessly poised and completely alone, the eleventh earl was at the highest point already, perched atop Twilight and taking stock of the swathe of ragged fields to his west. Against the skyline, Lando’s slender elegance, all sharp lines and crisp angles, had an exacting harshness. He could be an exacting man, and judging by the solemn expression on his haughty face, he didn’t care for what he saw.
That was freedom, thought Kit, as he approached. To sit astride a stallion with the wind blowing through one’s hair and master of all one surveyed, in every which direction. He wondered how many of Lando’s ancestors before him had ridden to this very spot to absorb the ebb and flow of the seasons, of the land, of the birds. Of Rossingley life. The scene held a timeless beauty. In one hundred, maybe two hundred years hence, another Earl of Rossingley, perhaps equally as graceful and aggravating, would undoubtedly be in his place.
The earl didn’t turn, though he knew Kit was there. He remained erect and proud and effortlessly in control of the beast pawing the ground underneath him.
“Jasper said you like to come up here.”
“My household knows my habits well. After a sojourn in London, I always ride out this way.”
“Checking none of your grass has been disturbed in your absence?”
“Something like that.”
Panting slightly from his exertion, Kit followed the direction of the earl’s gaze. His eyes landed on a ruined cottage, half of its wooden roof beams and part of a clay outer wall in an untidy heap next to it, as though carelessly trampled by a giant’s boot.
“Gartside’s property?” Kit hazarded. Though unmarked by stones or wooden stumps, the boundary separating the Gartside estate and Rossingley was as clearly drawn as if ribbons festooned the trees. One side thrived, verdant and neat; its forlorn neighbour withered. But it didn’t need to. Land was land, and with a firm, knowledgeable hand, there was no reason both sides couldn’t match.
“No. Mine now.” With an odd expression, Lando’s eyes flicked to Kit’s. “I bought it from him before leaving London. For a sum less than half of what it’s worth.”
“A steal,” Kit commented, recalling Lando’s drunken promise all those weeks ago. “Though I am at a loss to see how you managed it. I left the party a little prematurely, if you recall, with the belief that Clark was rather ruining things. But it was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?”
Lando inclined his head. “Yes, Clark quite played into my hands.”
Kit felt a flash of irritation. “Feel free to share. Gloat, too, if you like.”
“That is not my style.” He paused before continuing. “Robert, my brother, discovered a secret your runner would prefer his employers never uncovered. For a modest tenant farmer, he has rather a talent for unearthing such things. But Clark is not a man lacking in pride, and you sorely tested it, as well as his patience. Thus—” Lando gave Kit a hint of a teasing smile. “—Robert permitted him to arrest you in public. To humiliate you. Thereby saving his own face and having the brief satisfaction of putting you in irons.”
“And throwing me down a flight of steps.” This tale was all well and good, but Kit still failed to see how Gartside was involved.
“My apologies, Kit. He deviated from the script.”
“There was a script?” Kit’s puzzlement grew even more.
“Yes, can you not recall his words? Robert will be so disappointed. We spent a long while perfecting them.”
Wrinkling his brow, Kit replayed his arrest and Clark’s accusations in his mind. It had all been a bit of a blur, but one curious part of it he remembered well: For gross larceny amounting to more than one shilling against Sir Ambrose Gartside, amongst others .
Two hundred pounds amounted to more than one shilling. But so did a silver snuff box. And a silk pocket square. Along with a hundred other bits and bobs pilfered from well-heeled ladies and gentlemen of the ton. Sir Ambrose Gartside amongst others. Why him? Why that particular gentleman?
With a rush of clarity, Clark’s words made perfect sense.
“He has no knowledge of the bribe!” Kit crowed. “He arrested me for petty pilfering, didn’t he? For pinching snuffboxes and handkerchiefs and thruppenny bits!”
Lando almost beamed. “He knew you as a pocket thief and a card sharp, nothing more.”
I’m arresting you for heinous wrongdoings against multiple honest gentlemen of the town. For false representation of yourself. Ye gods, Lando was a genius!
“But he arrested me in such a manner that Gartside and Cobham and Sir Richard were led to believe it was for masquerading as a government officer!”
“Yes.” With a modest little toss of his hair, Lando sat even straighter in the saddle, trying not to look smug. “As I said, Clark had a script. He had no idea about the rest of it. It is a pity you missed the moment Gartside confessed to giving you money. The words fairly tumbled from him. Despair leaked from his every pore. And I discovered, as Gartside’s jaw can attest, that my shy and retiring cousin is quite the pugilist. You should be proud. Your sister has been well and truly avenged.”
Still, Kit was uncertain. “But Clark gave you an arrest warrant. I saw it. You read aloud from it.”
“What you saw was an invitation to the esteemed Lady Butterworth’s ball. I read out, from memory, the lines my brother Robert and I crafted. After you were carted away, and Clark out of earshot, I read out the supposed remainder of it. That an arrest warrant has been issued for a Mr Christopher Angel of Sindell Street, London, for gross larceny and for masquerading as a senior member of His Majesty’s Customs . Thus prompting a petrified Gartside to confess.” The corners of Lando’s lips gently curved upwards. “The invitation has since been added to my ‘burn until there is nothing left but a heap of ash’ pile.”
Kit’s mind raced forward. “So, realising his honour was destroyed, Gartside desperately needed to unload the estate, to pay of his debtors, and you gave him a helping hand.”
“Quite.” Lando agreed, inclining his head again. “That is the shorter version of events, certainly. Though I shan’t own it for long. I intend to give it away.”
“Give it away?” Kit scoffed. “To whom?”
“To someone who will care for it, restore it, and become an excellent and close neighbour.” Lando allowed himself a small smile. “If my intended owner accepts my gift.”
Kit barked a laugh. “Are people queuing up to reject gifts as fine as this one?”
“I hope not.” Lando tipped his head to properly look down at Kit for the first time, the hazy sunlight catching the whiteness of his hair and making it shine. “But people are notoriously strange, don’t you find?” He looked across to the imaginary line separating his well-tended land from his new acquisition. “You think you know somebody, and yet, they manage to astonish you.”
“You’d know all about that,” Kit answered. “I have no clue as to what you’re conjuring up in that pretty head of yours from one day to the next.”
Acknowledging him with a nod, Lando carried on. “One day, I hope I will not be able to discern where my borders begin and this estate’s end. The boundary will be in name only. The new owner and I shall be able to wander freely across it whenever we choose.”
“Your brother?” Kit guessed. Of course, it must be, and the Rossingley empire would grow even stronger, by-blow or not. Perhaps, Kit thought, with a glimmer of hope, he could find employ with Robert. That would solve some of his problems. “From what you have told me of his talents, he would be an excellent choice.”
“No,” said Lando, surprising him. “My brother has no desire to become landed gentry. He is perfectly at ease as he is, though I am confident he would relish the opportunity to advise a new owner. His knowledge of barley is unsurpassed, as the new owner will discover at the cost of many a tedious afternoon. No, not Robert. I was…I was actually thinking more along the lines of…”
Lando hesitated, giving Kit that look again, the one which made his belly flip because it was usually followed by a startling announcement. And on this occasion, Lando did not disappoint. “I was actually thinking of you.”
For a second, Kit wondered who ‘you’ was. Rich people had all sorts of silly names for their chums. Sir Brandon had a pal he fondly called Bunny because his surname was Babbit. Gartside had ridiculous chums named Beefy and Poodle, probably both dukes. Perhaps ‘you’ was another. But the odd look in Lando’s glittery eyes gave him pause, a mix of curiosity and…apprehension?
“I think the Angel estate has a rather nice ring to it, don’t you agree?”
“The… what ? Me ? You’re thinking of gifting it to me? I don’t know anything about farming! Or cottages or tenants or…or land!”
Lando’s gaze returned to the unkempt fields beyond. “Seemingly, nor did Gartside. It appears not to be an impediment to land ownership.”
“And look what a sow’s ear he made of it.”
“Leading me to conclude that anyone else will be a vast improvement,” responded Lando drily.
“Well…” Kit stuttered. “Yes. Anyone but me, obviously. I’m no gentleman.”
“You’re the finest gentleman I know.”
“Then you are the most damned deluded.”
A second too late, it occurred to Kit that not only was he shouting, but he was also being dreadfully rude to someone he loved who was being dreadfully kind. And who was now dreadfully hurt. Too late, Lando’s expression had taken on that glacial look, and he twisted away from Kit.
“Your gratitude is a credit to you, sir,” he managed. Then, with barely a click of his tongue, he turned Twilight around, further hiding his face. “Whatever your thoughts on the matter, the land is yours to do with what you will, Kit. The deeds are already being drawn up.”
As erect as the Tower of London and just as imposing, he began to trot away. Kit jogged after him.
“Hey, Lando. Wait! I can’t simply stroll into an estate and start claiming to be the rightful owner! Gartside might have lost it, but it belongs with a family such as his—nobility, gentry—not to a nobody like me.”
The horse continued its sedate trot, its rider staring straight ahead. Ridiculously, Kit found himself trotting, too, to remain alongside. “Say something, Lando. We…we…you and I, we are better than this.”
Lando’s lips pursed in a thin line. “Gartside’s grandfather won that estate at the tip of a sword. From a foolish French duke in a drunken duel, following an even more drunken game of basset. You and I have won it with cunning from a scapegrace unworthy of the grass growing under your feet. It is as rightfully yours as it was his.”
“Please stop, Lando. At least dismount before I tumble headfirst into a ditch. I am not your equal with you so high up there and me so lowly.”
With a sharp tug on the reins, Lando brought Twilight to a halt. “You have always been and will always be my equal, Kit. Whether I am on horseback or at the top of a mountain and you lying in a valley below. And if you believe my words, then you will discard your pride and accept my offer.”
He slipped from the saddle as easily as if stepping down from a low stool, then tossed the reins across a branch of an oak. Folding his arms, he leaned against the broad trunk.
“Please.” Kit faced him, this man he loved like no other and yet, now their adventure had come to an end, one he seemed destined to disappoint. “You and I have much to say to each other. But my head is a whirl. I can barely credit that I’m even here—why I’m not being dragged in front of a magistrate. You have won me my freedom and now offer me a fortune beyond anything I could ever dream.”
“And yet?”
“And yet, instead of showing gratitude, I find myself cross with you when I should be cross with myself. But can you not see how unequal we are?”
“No,” snapped Lando tersely. “All I see is foolish pride and the man I love being an ass.”
“Bravo. Like a true earl, you have spoken your mind.”
Shaking his head unhappily, Lando’s gaze drifted beyond Kit, to the fields stretching into the distance. “You talk of freedom, Kit. A man in my fortunate position can use it wisely and give it others. I offer you the estate not only for selfish reasons, so I may have you by my side, but for good ones too. Where Ambrose Gartside ruled this land and its people with contempt, you could do it with kindness. You know what hardship feels like. You could restore the farmlands back to health. Pay your workers sufficient to afford the doctor. Repair their cottages—stuff them with more thatch than the workers have roofs. Until we find you a trustworthy man of business, Robert and my own man, Will Blandford, will assist.” His silvery eyes latched onto Kit’s, pleading and full of pain. “And my own knowledge is not too shabby.”
Kit groaned. How wonderful the picture he painted. How easy he made it sound. “But Lando. It’s too much, even for you. I’m sorry.”
Lando inhaled deeply, adjusting his riding gloves. “Then I have no more to say on the matter. I came up here to give Twilight a long canter. Not to beg for your company, your acceptance of my gift, or your love. You will come to me with open arms or not at all. All I ask is that you do not make your decisions in haste. This is not an offer I will make twice.”
*
“YOU’RE A BIGGER bleeding idiot than I thought,” commented Jasper.
Kit had believed himself alone at the inadequate bar; he was the inn’s only guest, after all. But like a guilty conscience he couldn’t shift, his footman-soldier-valet-saviour was propped on a stool at the other end, supping on a tankard of ale with an unpleasant smirk on his face.
“Possibly,” he conceded.
“His lordship’s got a face like thunder. Matching yours, only more handsome-like. Lover’s tiff?”
Blushing, Kit took a long pull on his ale. “Something like that.”
Jasper shrugged. “My man and me have them all the time. They’re good for you. Clears the air.”
“Your…you… what ?” Good lord, was everyone around here a deviant? Seeing his astonishment, Jasper chuckled.
“Been with him nine years. Miserable bugger—he’s the second groom. Face like a slapped kipper, worse even than mine, but he gives a man a good t—”
“Does he really? Excellent.” Kit buried his face in his tankard.
“It’s not too late to say sorry, lad. His lordship’s a forgiving sort.”
“Me say sorry? I’m the one who was arrested and thrown down the stairs,” Kit pointed out. “And kidnapped.”
“And you also escaped the stews, the gallows, and are being landed with a huge blooming estate. Not to mention a regular invitation to have your fill of what’s hiding under the earl’s nightgown. If you know what’s good for you, lad, you’ll take your stupid pride and shove it up your backside. Pardon my French.”
When put like that, the facts were hard to dispute.
“He’s too good for me.”
“He is that. But without you, he is hardly alive.”
Lando’s tight, pale face as he stood under the tree, arms folded so Kit wouldn’t see his hands shaking flashed through his head. Kit wasn’t the only one with a surfeit of pride. But once more, Lando had exposed his soul, and Kit had…trampled over it. All I see is foolish pride and the man I love .
“Bloody hell, Jasper, I’m a fool.”
Disconcertingly, Jasper rolled his one eye. “Yes, but you’re the earl’s fool,” he corrected. “And if you get yourself up to the big house and do a bit of grovelling, my lad, it’s not too late to be his prince.”