Chapter 6 #2
Radley raised an eyebrow. The library shelves at Chilcombe House were jammed with books.
Archie had not been the sort to stock the shelves with new publications, and neither the maintenance disbursements while the will was pending, nor her personal savings, allowed for the extravagance of purchasing novels.
“I’ve yet to find a copy of Mary Shelley’s latest story,” she said.
Radley’s eyes lit. “You must loan it to me after you’ve finished, my lady.”
A jiggling of the door latch brought a maid with a tray.
“Tea and some lemon cakes, my lady.” The maid settled the tray on the small table between the chairs, while Radley clipped a thread and set aside her work.
“How thoughtful, Sarah,” Blythe said. “I’m parched. I wonder… would you knock on my brother’s door and ask if him if he’d like to join me?”
“Captain Lynford is in the study with his lordship,” the maid said.
A niggle of apprehension went through her. “Oh?” What was Will up to?
Blythe hurried into a new gown and made her way to the study. Graeme was there alone, standing near the window and frowning into a snifter of brandy.
He looked up and the frown on his face softened almost imperceptibly.
Framed in the light, his hair flashed hints of gold. She could see traces of the boy he’d once been, a handsome boy, yet he’d grown into an even more attractive man, gentlemanly and more capable of charm than she’d initially thought.
They’d had that first skirmish over her desire to move to Mivart’s, but since then he’d been nothing but kind to her.
Kind without raising the suspicion he wanted more.
“Your brother has been in to give me a tongue-lashing. I have no intentions of casting you out, if you’re wondering.”
She let out a breath. “I’d hoped to catch him before he troubled you with… with my business.”
“It seems your business is my business, Blythe.”
Blythe. There it was—the use of her Christian name. She’d best leave her guard up.
“No.” She shook her head. “I hope all went well with your morning meeting.”
“The superior I was reporting to had a visitor. Lord Diddenton.”
Diddenton. A slow burn started in the pit of her stomach.
As a new bride, she had met the marquess years ago at one or two society events. Since her return to town, she’d not been included in the social events attended by the lofty members of his circle.
What had Diddenton said? What accusations had he made?
What did he know that Blythe didn’t know?
She felt certain that Diddenton hadn’t found the other signed copy of the will, else he’d have proceeded swiftly to evict all the residents of Bluebelle Lodge.
Could she trust Graeme enough to give her a true answer about what had transpired? Or ought she to shrug off the matter until the court ruled on the will? Or perhaps, push Graeme to convince the court there was no new will?
No… not yet. She didn’t know Graeme well enough yet to make that last argument.
“I fear I must visit Risley Manor sooner than expected,” he said. “I’m leaving early tomorrow. You need not come with me.”
Heart pounding, she turned away and asked “Why?”
“Why am I going, or why do you not need to come along?”
Groping her way around a chair and seating herself, it was a moment before she looked up at him and saw the eagerness in his eyes. Her heart stuttered.
“Both, I suppose.”
It seemed a matter of self-defense for her to go along and see what he would find. He’d been with Diddenton. Perhaps they’d arranged for Graeme to “discover” the missing will.
“I visited the solicitor, Fleming after the meeting with Diddenton and viewed the pertinent documents regarding the will and the property matter. I’d like to speak with the Risley Manor steward and visit Bluebelle Lodge.”
That was a gauntlet thrown down. She needed to be there when he went to Bluebelle Lodge.
He stepped closer, took the chair near hers, and leaned in.
“If you did wish to accompany me, you may stay at Bluebelle Lodge. That way, Lady Gravelstone need not come along. Though I shall not cast her out either. Nor your brother. I’ll wager Lynford would like some free time in town to sow some wild oats. ”
She nodded, hiding her relief. Will could seek out Archie’s old nurse. Lady Hermione could entertain some of her friends here and be pampered by the Chilcombe servants.
It would be good to check on the safety of everyone at Bluebelle Lodge. Would Graeme be shocked by the presence of the children? A problem to be dealt with later. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll have my maid begin packing.”
At the door she turned back to him. They’d planned to attend another society event that night, a ball in St. James Square. “Shall I send our regrets for tonight?”
“I think we ought to go. I’m curious as to who will attend. Let Will and Lady Gravelston know about our journey tomorrow—but not a word to anyone else.”
She suppressed a shudder and nodded. With his spies lurking around Bluebelle Lodge, Diddenton would know soon enough.
Graeme gripped his glass watching her as she left, all the old desires flaming back to life.
Captain Lynford had barged through the door, defending his sister, ready to fight.
They’d been out looking at lodgings, and she’d explained why to her brother.
Perhaps she’d told Lynford more than Graeme had been able to glean from Fleming’s partner.
Fleming was still out of town, but at least he had been able to see the marriage contract, the purported new will submitted by Diddenton, and the original will—which surely was the valid will.
He hadn’t promised she’d have a home just to mollify her brother. Nor because it was the right thing to do, the honorable thing. Whatever she’d done, or, more likely, whatever had been done to her…
He wanted her near him. He wanted to get past this formality, the prickliness, the walls she’d put up. He wanted to know her.
And then what, Graeme?
He’d learned to shake off impossible feelings years ago, and he did so again now. Whatever happened, he’d see her settled in some property or other.
Whether it would be Bluebelle Lodge was uncertain. He remembered the place; remembered calling there with a friend for a lark.
No—not a lark. He’d wanted to see her. Even then…
There’d been other visits after that. Calf love had struck him with full force.
That was all it had been, he a lad just starting to grow whiskers, she a young woman ready to make her come out.
Though, as he recalled, her guardian hadn’t had money to provide her with a season in London.
She was destined to make her curtsy among country society, and he’d dreamed that she’d still be unmarried by the time he was grown.
Around that time, Archie reached his majority, and the maternal grandfather who’d kept a tight leash on him died.
He’d been an absent earl since his childhood, but once his grandfather died, he’d hied himself off to Risley Manor, the ancestral home of the Lords Chilcombe, where he’d hosted a grand ball.
And there Archie had met Blythe and seduced her.
Graeme shut his eyes and remembered. She’d been lovely then, but this older, wiser Blythe was lovelier still.
“And a good thing it is that we heeded your command, my lord, and stopped for the night,” Hermione said cheerfully. “I wonder if the road won’t wash out with this rain.”
Outside, the storm had grown into a gale. Blythe lifted a spoonful of the inn’s excellent trifle, while Graeme looked up from his dish. “I do not command ladies,” he said. “I merely offer strong suggestions that take into account your welfare and that of the servants and horses.”
“And your own,” Blythe said. “We did have room for you in the chaise where you would have been dry.”
“If not warm,” Hermione said. “Oh, I’m not complaining. I am glad to make this journey with both of you. You ought to have joined us inside, my lord. Radley’s stories were quite riveting.”
While Blythe had quietly endured the rattling journey, Hermione and Radley chatted nonstop.
Hermione shared stories of her happy marriage, and Radley told tales of her time following the drum.
Graeme had ridden along outside, one manly buckskin clad leg distracting her far too often.
When the rain began pelting him in earnest, he’d decreed they must stop at this out of the way inn.
At least the innkeeper’s wife ran a good kitchen.
“We might have asked you about your travels as well, my lord,” Hermione added.
Especially this bit of traveling. She had walked away from yesterday’s discussion with him and realized later he’d never answered her question: why was he really going?
Her intuition—or perhaps after years of living with Archie, her well-honed protective instincts—told her she ought not trust him. It was to his benefit to resolve the matter of Archie’s will and do it quickly so he could get on with his career.
The worry rose again—he might arrange to find the will.
On hearing the news of their travel, both Will and Hermione had apparently made the same leap of intuition and insisted that Blythe must stay at Risley Manor and not Bluebelle Lodge. How else was she to learn what was going on?
She was almost certain Mr. Stockwell would tell her; at least she hoped he would.
It was a risk though. Stockwell might see that Graeme Blatchfield was a completely different and more reliable article than the late earl.
He might decide he didn’t need to trouble the late earl’s widow with the running of Risley Manor; that in truth, it would be an entirely improper course of action now.
And if another search was conducted… She’d checked every nook and cranny of Archie’s suite, of the whole north wing, and even gone through the muniment room. She was almost certain the second copy of the will was not there.
What if it were, though? Or… the nagging worry that ate at her: what if Graeme, in collusion with Diddenton, found a forged copy?
Hermione had insisted she come along as a chaperone. Will wanted to come as her male protector. She’d eventually persuaded him that he’d help her best by seeking out Lunetta. With Hermione as chaperone, she’d be safe at Risley Manor.
“We might as well rest for the night,” Graeme said. “That way I can deliver you to Bluebelle Lodge while there is still light for the coachman to make his way to Risley Manor.”
Perhaps this was the time to bring up her change in plans.
“Since Lady Hermione has been gracious enough to accompany me, I have decided to forgo those plans and stay at Risley. I’ll take the rooms I was using in the south wing, and you may stay in the earl’s chamber in the north wing.”
“I was given to understand that the north wing is in disrepair. Crumbling is the word that was used.”
Alarm made her shoulders tense. Graeme had been gathering gossip. He would only know about the condition of Archie’s rooms at Risley if he’d been speaking with her late husband’s old cronies.
“Lord Vernon speaks,” she said and then bit her lip.
Men gossiped, of course they did. They also made things up to show their prowess, things that might ruin a defenseless woman’s reputation.
Archie had shredded her reputation long ago, long before she’d left him, but she had a defender now in Will. Though the last thing she wanted him to do was challenge one of Archie’s wicked friends.
She swallowed a sigh. Graeme would believe what Archie’s friends said, or he wouldn’t, and it shouldn’t matter to her what he thought of her as long as he acted properly.
She must keep telling herself that.
An inn servant came and cleared the table, and she pushed back her chair, preparing to stand. Graeme reached for her hand.
“Stay for a bit, please. Lady Gravelston, might I have a few moments to speak with Blythe alone? I’ll have the waiter escort you upstairs.”
Hermione’s eyes twinkled. “I can safely climb the stairs on my own, my lord. I bid you both a goodnight.”
Graeme walked Hermione to the door, saw her into the servant’s care, and returned bearing a bottle of port and two glasses.