Chapter Six #2
This pair had evidently risked trespassing as a means of getting what they wanted.
William stared off in the distance as he counted down from five and exhaled, pausing to regain his composure.
Millie was safe and inside now, but his pulse still raged, hammering loudly, reverberating through his body.
He hadn’t felt such a rush of emotion since he’d learned of the details surrounding Cecily’s death.
He shook off the memories and approached the two men held by the footmen and nearby groundskeepers.
When he spied the black notepad and pencil on the ground, he frowned.
Despite not knowing them by name, he knew exactly who they were now from the list of possibilities: gossip hounds.
‘Explain yourselves,’ he commanded, his voice harsh and biting.
A brief silence followed until Reggie, a man who had worked the grounds since William was a teen, twisted the arm of one of the men tighter behind his back. ‘His Grace asked you a question,’ he growled.
‘I…’ he began and then groaned as Reggie tugged his arm again. ‘We…’ he added, ‘are from The Times, Your Grace.’
‘For?’ William asked impatiently, his temper rising now that it was confirmed they were reporters. ‘What has you willing to terrify my daughter and her governess after all we have been through?’
They paused. Reggie looked as if he might turn his arm again and the older reporter spluttered out a quick answer.
‘We were informed of the arrival of a woman. That your private carriage had been sent out to Stow and returned a few days ago. We wanted to be the first to report on your new bride…and to see how she feels about settling into the shoes of your late wife and her many proclivities.’
The younger reporter shot a glance at the other and chimed in with his own accusation. ‘Word has it your daughter may not even be yours. Care to comment, Your Grace?’
That same rage from a minute ago that made him want to roar churned in his gut.
He clenched his fists by his sides and reminded himself that his whole household was watching, even his daughter.
The ton was thorough and constant in their desire for gossip.
Now they were inventing brides and casting doubt on his daughter’s lineage.
‘Care to provide us details?’ the younger of the two reporters asked again.
William cursed under his breath. Then he walked slowly over to the young man, who smirked at him. William stopped in front of him, the man’s game finally becoming clearer. He wanted William to punch him. Needed him to. All to sell more papers.
Well, he wouldn’t be helping them. Not today.
‘I will not dignify your question with an answer,’ he replied, his voice dark, heavy, and menacing, ‘but I will grant you the ability to leave alive…this time. Next time you may not be so lucky.’ The man’s smirk fell.
‘Deposit them far from the property. Very far,’ William ordered. ‘Do not come back again,’ he warned the reporters. ‘Otherwise I will set the dogs on you and I will not be responsible for what happens after that.’
The trespassers were dragged away to a wagon by the groundskeepers where they were unceremoniously tossed on the back and secured by the footmen. His other driver, Fitzroy, had emerged from the stables by then and jumped up to drive them off the property.
Mr Simmons approached William’s side and they watched the wagon rumble down the long drive.
While William knew such gossip hounds were relentless and without scruples, the doggedness of this duo concerned him.
No one had dared encroach on the Manor before in such a fashion.
He worried more might be coming, especially if such lies and gossip were floating on the wagging tongues of the ton.
His belief that the fascination for him and his family had subsided briefly before the ball to celebrate his succession had been faulty.
It seemed they were even more determined to write stories about him, even if they were nonsense.
So much so that they risked trespassing to gain enough to weave together a fabricated tale.
He sighed. The payout from the papers must be sizable for them to take such risks.
This time the cost had been his daughter’s well-being as well as that of Miss Potts.
He cursed under his breath.
‘When will they leave us be?’ William asked aloud, unable to keep the weariness from his voice. No doubt these men were most likely the first to arrive for such a story, not the last.
‘I do not know,’ Simmons replied. ‘And we do not have dogs, Your Grace,’ he added. ‘Shall I get some?’
William turned and caught the small smirk on the old man’s face. He couldn’t help but grin back. He appreciated Simmons’s attempt to turn his mood and for his practical and calm nature.
‘Perhaps it is not the worst idea,’ he replied with a bit of a chuckle.
‘Send out an enquiry to the farmers nearby. Perhaps they will have a litter coming soon that we could pull two pups from. And none of those fussy dogs, Simmons. I want a hound or a hunter. Dogs large enough to alert loudly and give chase to the next set of reporters that wander on our property.’ He crossed his arms against his chest. ‘Then I can enjoy watching them run.’ He flashed a full smile to Simmons, who gave a smirk as well.
‘I look forward to seeing such a display, Your Grace.’
‘As do I. Please also send for the doctor to come check on Millie and Miss Potts. Although I think they will be fine after they settle from the scare, I would feel better to know for certain they were unharmed.’
‘Of course, Your Grace. I will see to it now.’
‘Thank you, Simmons. This Manor wouldn’t work without you.’
‘Well, I hope to never be without it,’ he replied, his voice softening in a rare display of affection, before he turned to leave.
William stood in silence as the wagon disappeared around the last bend to the main road.
He settled himself with one more deep breath before he went inside.
He had to be calm, not enraged, despite how he felt.
His daughter would not benefit from him being out of sorts.
He climbed the steps, made the walk to the kitchen and found her with Mrs Updike, rather than in the parlour, sitting in a small chair pulled in from the other room.
Millie stared out the window at the lake, one of her favourite places in the world. Her legs swung in the air as she nibbled on a biscuit, her upper lip showing evidence of the milk she’d consumed already. Cook stood behind, watching her as she sipped from a cup of tea.
‘Everyone settled?’ he asked.
Millie paused and turned to him. She smiled, which set his heart at ease.
‘Yes, Your Grace. Nothing a biscuit and warm milk cannot cure,’ Mrs Updike replied.
While he was pleased to see that was the case now, what of next time?
Would she be hurt? Should he take a bride to show he’d moved on from the scandals of Cecily to stop this pestering and invasion of their privacy?
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but for Millie…
he would do anything. He sat next to her and Mrs Updike brought him his own plate of biscuits and some strong tea and set it before him without even asking.
‘Thank you,’ he replied, moved by the woman’s ability to know exactly what he needed, too. He took a sip, letting the warm tang settle through him. His pulse was nearing normal despite his racing thoughts. ‘Miss Potts?’ he asked.
‘Went to change and clean up, Your Grace. Quite a spill she took. Never seen anything like it,’ Mrs Updike replied with pride. ‘Quite a brave lass.’
‘She is,’ he agreed. He popped an entire biscuit in his mouth and savoured the soft, delicate way it dissolved on his tongue as he chewed.
He needed to speak with his new governess and to thank her.
The woman had risked her own well-being and safety to protect his daughter.
What more could one ask of a governess? He chewed slowly on another biscuit.
Or of a wife, for that matter? He set the biscuit down as an idea bloomed.
He had after all given up on the idea of marrying for love after Cecily. But what if he married for Millie instead? Married a woman who was unexpected and unjaded by Society. A woman Millie knew and adored already.
He frowned. What a ridiculous idea. For starters, it was too great a risk.
He hardly knew the woman and rash decisions never worked out well for him if Cecily was any indication.
He was being irrational and nonsensical…
emotional. He was still startled by what happened to Millie.
He batted the idea away and pulled his daughter to his side, kissing the top of her head.
When she looked meaningfully at the remaining biscuit on his plate, he nodded. ‘It’s yours,’ he murmured.
She took it from his plate and ate it, and they sat in silence, looking upon the glorious sun streaming down around the lake.
He would worry about all that much later.
First, he needed the doctor to check both Millie and Miss Potts to make sure they were well.
Once that had been accomplished, he would be able to think far more clearly.