His Lordship’s Folly (His Lordship’s Mysteries #5)

Chapter 1

F ife, Scotland

August 1819

“What did I say about putting your boots on my side of the carriage?”

Fixing his gaze on the Scottish countryside beyond the carriage window, Dominick gave Alfie’s question no more attention than the man himself deserved.

Then he felt Alfie’s boot tap against his own. A hard tap. Coming from anyone other than an earl, it might have even been called a kick. Clearly, Alfie was exactly the sort of nobleman who believed rules only applied to others but not himself. And that included rules about where people’s feet belonged and how much of a carriage counted as “his half”.

A shared childhood of squabbling and roughhousing had Dominick kicking back instinctively. Alfie clutched his leg and let out a pained hiss.

“Stop it,” Dominick said to the man he loved more than his own life, but could happily throttle. “That’s not your bad leg and you know it. And keep your boots to yourself. I am on my side.”

Between Alfie’s need to keep his wounded leg stretched out and Dominick’s large frame, any carriage ride of more than a few minutes was bound to grow uncomfortable, but poor weather, a washed-out bridge, a broken axle, and not one but three thrown horseshoes had turned the journey from Bath to Balcarres House into an unending nightmare. They’d at first thought a more meandering journey to see some of the sights along the way would add some charm to the trip. But the added weeks in a hot, stuffy carriage had worn on them both. That they were usually forced to stay in crowded inns with thin walls meant they hadn’t even had a chance to work out their daily frustrations by their usual methods.

Dominick wasn’t ashamed to admit that under the strain, they’d regressed.

“Oh? Certain of that, are you?” Alfie sneered. “Just like you were certain you didn’t take my last slice of roast at the inn and I must have forgotten I ate it?”

When Alfie kicked him again, Dominick barely had time to throw out a few choice words about where he could stick his damned boots before Alfie was hurling himself across the carriage. Years of training at how to be refined, gentlemanly, and, most importantly, noble were shed as easily as his fine silk coat and he was the workhouse scrapper once more.

Alfie didn’t let the tight confines of the carriage slow him, coming at Dominick hard, aiming for a kidney, a stomach, anything soft and easily damaged. However, he was forgetting that Dominick had years of experience facing far more terrifying opponents in the ring than the one person he knew would never truly hurt him. If Alfie wanted to pretend the cramped space was the reason his blows barely landed, he could, but Dominick had been the one to teach him to fight and he’d done a far better job than this.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly annoying.

He shoved Alfie back into his seat. His love had grown up being knocked down into Spitalfields mud, so the padded seat of his personal carriage was nothing. Alfie sprang back as quickly as he could given the lack of space and his injured leg— not the one Dominick had kicked. However, this time Dominick was ready for him.

In fairness, even if Alfie was a damned backbiting liar, Dominick might be able to admit he’d assumed Alfie had finished his meal and possibly helped himself to a slice of roast without asking. Then perhaps he’d lied when confronted. And there was a chance he had been encroaching on Alfie’s side of the carriage, just a little. He liked being near Alfie, even when they were both irritating and irritated by each other.

As Alfie lunged, so did Dominick, meeting him halfway. While they were of a similar height, Dominick had the advantage in weight, easily knocking Alfie back into his seat, being sure to still mind his bloody leg. Alfie might only choose to remember he’d been shot when it suited him, but Dominick never forgot.

“Nick, you great brute, get off me!” Alfie railed, his voice muffled by Dominick’s shoulder. He threw a flurry of quick punches, but Dominick could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

The way they were entwined now with his arms wrapped around Alfie’s head and shoulders, there was hardly room enough between them for Alfie to move his arms at all, never mind put enough force behind a blow to do any damage. And the way their legs were slotted together, if Alfie really wanted to hurt him, he’d have kneed him in the bollocks already. Instead, Alfie’s thigh sliding between his own was a much more welcome sensation.

Perhaps they’d gone about this journey entirely the wrong way. The carriage was theirs alone after all, and while there were certain positions Dominick wouldn’t want to be caught in when a wheel hit a rut, in the cities at least, the noise of the road could cover a multitude of sins.

Too late now. Graham had met them in Edinburgh with Alfie’s personal carriage to replace the one they’d hired in Bath so long ago, and the road since leaving the city had been nearly as quiet as their driver. Still, with any luck they’d be back to Balcarres House by nightfall and could make up for lost time in a proper bed. After a bath though, with as much hot water as Janie and Jarrett could carry.

The thought was enough to make him smile, even as Alfie punched him again in the ribs.

“I taught you better than that,” Dominick said, squeezing Alfie's head tighter. “Don’t strike at the rib bones, cut up under them.”

Alfie chose that moment to remember their childhood squabblings, twisting his face into Dominick’s elbow, which gave him just enough space to pull his head free from Dominick’s grip. The simultaneous shoulder to the gut was unexpected, knocking Dominick back just long enough for Alfie to get the upper hand.

The air was knocked from him a second time at the look on Alfie’s face, a scowl that was desperately trying not to be a grin. His cheeks were flushed and the fading twilight lit his auburn curls, still not quite regrown to their former glory, but thoroughly mussed from the scuffle.

He was just about the most glorious thing Dominick had ever seen. Then Alfie raised his fists in a mock pugilist's stance and the last of the daylight glinted off the ring on his left ring finger. Dominick’s ring.

“I say, sir,” Alfie said in his most lordly voice. “My honour in the matter of the boots has not thoroughly been satisfied. Shall we settle this like gentlemen? Broughton Rules?”

Dominick snorted. From the gleam in Alfie’s eye, it seemed Dominick wasn’t the only one looking forward to post-bath activities. Still, he’d been driving Dominick mad all day and kicked him twice . That couldn’t be allowed to stand.

He batted Alfie’s hands out of the way, tapping him lightly on the side of the head before Alfie could block, and then they were tussling like puppies, fighting because they could, not because either of their lives depended on it. It was a welcome change.

But just because it was all in play didn’t mean Dominick’s head didn’t get knocked against the seat back more than once. When his head struck the door, however, it was hard enough to make the carriage sway around him. It stopped after a moment, so he grabbed a fistful of Alfie’s coat, ready to return the attack. But Alfie had frozen, the heel of his palm pushing against Dominick’s chin. It took a moment to realise what was wrong.

The carriage had stopped swaying. The carriage had stopped swaying.

Oh Christ. They’d arrived.

Alfie was the first to come to his senses, sliding out of Dominick’s grip and smoothing down his coat. His hair was a lost cause, but hopefully that could be put down to the long journey rather than the Earl of Crawford and his male companion wrestling more intimately than was proper—or likely, legal.

There was a quick knock on the carriage door and Dominick threw himself onto the opposite bench just as it was flung open.

“Good evening, Your Lordship and um, Mr. Trent, sir,” said Graham’s son, Davey. The stable lad gave them a gap-toothed grin and held up a lantern. “I was told to keep watch for you and bring a lantern if it got too dark. Been out here for hours, even though I told them Pa weren’t going to be back before night. I think it was to keep me out of the house. I’m not supposed to know what’s going on. But I do! I’m not a child!”

Davey proved this by wiping his nose with the sleeve of the arm holding the door open. Dominick caught the door before it could fall back and hurt him.

“Thank you, Davey,” Alfie replied. “It was most kind of you to wait for us. I think we can find our own way in if you want to help your father with the horses.”

Davey beamed, barely remembering to drop two quick bows before darting off, clambering onto the driver’s box to pepper his father with questions about the horses and the journey and the city and the horses’ journey to the city without leaving time for Graham to answer.

“He could have at least left the lantern,” grumbled Dominick. Still, the cover of darkness let him offer his hand to help Alfie down, something Alfie’s pride would never allow otherwise, preferring for his leg to give out from under him than be seen needing help. As if sprawling flat out on the pavers would somehow make him look less weak.

Ridiculous man.

Alfie took advantage of the darkness too, linking his arm with Dominick’s as they climbed the stone steps to Balcarres House.

By day, it was an imposing building, the grey stone of the turrets stretching up to the sky, only to be dragged back down by the darker grey of the slate roof which cut at strange angles. The walls of the house twisted at even stranger angles, a hodgepodge of additions built over the centuries to create a maze of winding corridors that he never seemed to be able to follow.

By night, however, little could be seen of the manor other than the glow of light peeking out from between the front doors, promising a warm fire and an even warmer welcome.

“Do you think Mrs. Finley will have ordered supper prepared for us tonight?” asked Alfie. “I could do with a hot meal, but I’m not sure I’m ready to face Janie’s cooking again.”

Dominick’s stomach turned at the thought. “Perhaps a soup? How hard is it to ruin soup?”

He didn’t need to be able to see Alfie to know the look he was giving him. If anyone could manage it, it was Janie.

“Now that I think of it, I’m not that hungry.”

Alfie bumped his shoulder against Dominick’s. “Of course you’re not. You stole the last slice of roast. But I’m willing to forgive you in exchange for the first turn in the bath. And you come to my room tonight, rather than me make the journey to yours. Agreed?”

A journey of a whole eight feet through the secret passage between their rooms, but Alfie had the slightly larger bed so Dominick was willing to be generous.

“Agreed.”

Christ, he was glad to be home, where he could be with Alfie anytime they wanted without having to worry about suspicious innkeepers peeping through keyholes or listening with a glass pressed to the wall.

As they reached the front door, Alfie sighed. “I hope they don’t make too much of a to-do about our return. After that whole rotten trip I’m just glad to be somewhere with a bit of peace and quiet. God, I’ve missed the quiet. I don’t think I can face any fawning right now and I certainly can’t face whatever ways Jarrett is going to offer to ‘soothe you after the long trip’ or ‘remind you of the rewards of returning to Scotland’ or however he’s going to phrase it.

Dominick grinned. Jarrett was as brazen a trollop as he was a terrible valet, but it would be good to see him again. All of the servants, in fact.

“Don’t worry about Jarrett. I can handle him.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what he wants.”

Dominick snorted and pushed open the door. The first time they’d arrived at Balcarres House, all the servants had lined up for inspection. Hopefully, the sound of the carriage coming up the drive hadn’t given them time to mobilise, but it was going to be nice to hand off his coat to Mr. Howe in exchange for a glass of local spirits before putting his feet up by his own—or Alfie’s—fire.

The door creaked open, revealing an empty hall.

“Well,” said Alfie after a long moment. “That teaches me to be careful what I wish for. I didn’t want a parade, but some welcome would’ve been nice.”

They stepped into the hall. A fire burned low in the grate, still giving off light, but clearly not having been tended in some time. The rooms on either side were dark and cold.

Dominick’s skin prickled at the eerie silence. Perhaps Janie’s fear of Balcarres being haunted wasn’t so unreasonable.

Suddenly, a pale figure appeared from nowhere, its ghastly pallor too white to be anything living. It floated several feet off the floor, wavering from side to side. Dominick couldn't hold back a gasp as it rushed towards them out of the darkness. As he raised his fists, he heard the click of Alfie unlatching the clasp on his sword cane, both of them ready to fend off the attacker, be it man or ghost.

The apparition never slowed, but as it stepped over the carpet, it seemed to stumble, some of its white body falling off the top and fluttering to the floor.

“Bollocks,” said the ghost.

Dominick tried to slow the beating of his heart. “Jarrett?”

The ghost jumped, causing several more of its top layers to fall to the floor. Over the remainder, Dominick could just make out the narrow nose and high cheekbones of their valet.

“Oh, good, you’re back,” Jarrett said. Ignoring Alfie completely, he strode determinedly towards Dominick.

Even he can’t be that brazen, was all Dominick had time to think before a load of towels was dropped into his arms.

“Take those up for me. I’ll fetch more.” Jarrett turned away, then said to himself in a nasal, high-pitched voice like a witch in a puppet show, “Must be clean. Must be clean.”

With a sigh, Jarrett gathered up the towels that had fallen to the floor. “Oh, welcome back to you as well, Your Lordship.” He cut as passable a bow as was possible over a load of laundry, then disappeared back into the darkness.

After a moment of shocked silence, Alfie said, “It seems we have taken them somewhat unawares. Perhaps they haven’t finished preparing our bedchambers yet?”

“Perhaps,” said Dominick slowly. “And Jarrett’s being…”

“Efficient? I did tell Davey we could find our own way. I suppose that means to our chambers and not just the front door. Lead on.”

As they climbed the many stairs, something occurred to Dominick. “How could we have caught them unawares? Davey said he’d been sent out to watch for us hours ago.”

Before Alfie could answer, another figure emerged from the gloom. It was just as well Dominick’s arms were otherwise engaged or he might have given their butler a strong right hook to the temple on instinct alone.

“Your Lordship, Mr. Trent,” Mr. Howe said, his thin build looking especially skeletal in the darkness, “my sincerest apologies for not greeting you at the door. As you can see, we were all caught by surprise. I’m off to fetch more hot water now.”

“That’s quite all right,” Alfie said, but it was in the same tone he’d used when the older boys had gotten some special treat at the workhouse but not the younger ones like himself. If Dominick could see him better, he’d bet Alfie was even making the same petulant face too. “Our baths can wait, but why—”

His question was cut off by a woman’s scream.

At the sound, Mr. Howe took off, not in the direction of the scream but away from it, dashing down the stairs as quickly as his long legs could carry him, an empty water bucket thumping against his bony knees.

The scream came again, a wail of utter agony from somewhere in the darkness ahead of them. Ahead and upwards.

Cursing the butler for a coward, Dominick dashed forward into the dark, hearing the slightly uneven tattoo of Alfie’s steps following closely behind him.

He stumbled at the top of the landing, casting about in the darkness until he saw a glow at the far end of the hall. With nothing else to guide him, he ran towards it and up the bare wooden staircase there. It wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, charging into the dark towards unknown danger, but it wasn’t the stupidest either.

Heartbeat thudding in his ears, he could barely hear Alfie shouting at him to slow down. A lamp was lit at the top of the stairs, and he stopped there, raising his fists only to find he was still holding the damned laundry. A door closed further down the corridor and he whirled around, finding himself face-to-face with the intimidating figure of Mrs. Hirkins, her hands on her hips.

“Don’t you dare drop those towels or I’ll drop you right down those stairs and kick you all the way to the laundry to get fresh. See if I don’t.”

He opened and closed his mouth several times. Whatever demon he’d been prepared to fight, he clearly wasn’t needed. She was more than a match for it.

“Mrs. Hirkins?” Alfie panted as he climbed the last few steps. Dominick could tell the moment they laid eyes on each other because the retired housekeeper softened. Just a bit. After all, iron was softer than steel.

“We weren’t sure you’d made it here,” Alfie said, taking Mrs. Hirkins’ hands in his own. “Not that you would’ve known how to reach us. Things went terribly awry in Bath and then this awful journey. Are you well?”

“Well as can be expected, Master Alfie, given the circumstances. And far better than you, by the looks of things. You’ve not been taking as much care with yourself as you should.”

She let out a harrumph in Dominick’s direction as if Dominick didn’t tell the pigheaded man the same thing every day.

Seeing the two of them together made the knot of fear in his throat loosen. Not that either of them could admit it, but Mrs. Hirkins was the closest thing to a mother Alfie had, and Alfie her favourite son. It was clear in the way she spoke to him, never “Your Lordship” or even “The Right Honourable Alfred Pennington the Earl of Crawford” as he fully deserved, but always “Master Alfie”, as if he was still the same small boy who’d walked into her life the day he’d first walked out of Dominick’s.

A door just beyond Mrs. Hirkins flew open, emitting a small, hunched, elderly woman Dominick didn’t recognise.

“Give me those, if you’re just going to stand about tratling,” she said, snatching the towels from Dominick’s arms. “Are they clean? They must be clean, you know. Must be clean.”

Whoever she was, she was clearly the inspiration for Jarrett’s impression. The voice was uncannily similar.

Before Dominick could respond, another scream came from the room behind her, even more heartrending than the last.

Dominick stepped forward, catching a glimpse inside the room. In the centre, a young woman lay on a bed, her brow sweating and hands clenched in the sheets. Her knees were drawn up under the sheets but that wasn’t enough to hide her damningly large belly.

“Agnes’ baby has come sooner than we’d expected,” said Mrs. Hirkins, both worry and pride clear in her voice.

“Oh? Oh!” Alfie said, turning his back so quickly he nearly fell off the landing in his rush to avert his eyes. “In that case, we must send for the doctor at once. Graham likely hasn’t had time to unhitch the horses, he can—”

“Doctors! Bah!” the hunched woman said, looking as if she was about to spit on the floor and only grudgingly decided against it. “What do men doctors know of birth?”

“I must insist,” Alfie said, sounding less like the lord he was and more like a man who would pay any sum to be elsewhere at that moment. “At my expense, course.”

“Oh, I’ll already be paying Mrs. Randall here out of your pockets,” Mrs. Hirkins interrupted. “Fetch me and my poor granddaughter all the way up to bloody Scotland, us worrying the whole way how things would be when we get here, only to find a right proper cunning woman one town over. You should have said!”

That wasn’t quite how Dominick remembered the Hirkins’ departure from London, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

She then gave Alfie a gentle smile. “Still, it’s good you’re here.”

With that, she went into the room with Agnes, taking the towels with her. The closing door behind her didn’t quite muffle her soothing words to her granddaughter.

The three of them, lord, fighter, and cunning woman, were left standing awkwardly in the hall.

“ Is there anything I can do?” Alfie asked.

“No, my lord,” the cunning woman, Mrs. Randall, replied. Surprisingly, her tone was more respectful than anyone else’s had been tonight. “But you could find out when we’ll be getting that hot water. It’s not long now.”

“Ask and ye shall receive,” a cheery voice called up the stairs, before the beaming grin and golden spectacles of Gil Charleton came into view.

He carried with him a covered bucket from which rose tendrils of steam. He set it on the landing beside Mrs. Randall, who watched him through narrowed eyes. “I thought I’d give Ol’ Howe’s knees a rest. He’s down in the kitchen with Janie. I think this has all been rather much for him. Hello to you both.”

Dominick shook Gil’s offered hand. He’d once been suspicious of Gil’s easy charm, but the property overseer had been there when Dominick needed him before and he was thankful to see him again now.

Mrs. Randall didn’t seem quite as thankful. “Kitchen’s the place for you then, or anywhere not hereabouts. Not a time nor place for menfolk.”

Gil nodded, giving the old woman the most charming of grins at his clear dismissal, which only caused her to narrow her eyes further.

“Gentlemen, I say we take the dear woman’s advice and remove ourselves from where we do not belong. Perhaps a room with a suitable collection of spirits? I’m sure you’re tired from your travels and I think we could all use a drink.”

Gil stopped with one foot on the stair. “I nearly forgot. Janie burned herself pouring the water. Mrs. Finley says it’s nothing you need to trouble yourself with, Mrs. Randall. Certainly not now of all times, but she needs to see to the poor lass.”

At this, Mrs. Randall spit on the floor and let out a string of curses, some of which even Dominick had never heard before and certainly not in that order. She then grabbed Gil’s hands before he could protest, squinting at his palms in the lamp light before tossing them aside. At her look, Alfie offered his for inspection. She turned them over, tracing one of the lines on his palm.

“Is that so?” She chuckled, then tossed his hands aside as well. “Fair for fortune but far too fine.”

She took Dominick’s hands then, inspecting them and gripping his wrists before giving a decisive nod. “You’ll do. Grab the bucket and go on in.”

“What!”

“Go on. You’ve strong hands and a touch of luck. Not as good as a woman, but we may need your strength by the end. Night bairns rarely come easy.”

Dominick looked to Alfie for help, but there was none to be had.

As Agnes let out another scream, he lifted the bucket. He’d faced Bill “The Bodysnatcher” Nunn in the ring and lived to tell the tale. He could handle this.

Several horrifying, bloody, educational hours later, Dominick stumbled into the library to find a fire blazing and Gil in his chair.

“Well?” asked Alfie. Gil rose so Dominick could collapse down and poured him a glass of what looked like whisky.

Dominick tossed the drink back in one. Without waiting to be asked, Gil poured him another.

“Boy,” said Dominick, only downing half of it this time. He didn’t want to drink himself into oblivion, but Christ . “Healthy too, both mother and child. She’s named him James.”

Alfie’s smile was soft.

“Well done,” he whispered, and the warmth in his voice made Dominick feel like he’d done something grand and not just followed the older women’s orders, terrified all the while.

“I think that deserves a toast,” said Gil. He raised his glass in the direction of the servants’ quarters upstairs. “A cup of kindness then, to new acquaintances and to those returning.”

Alfie touched his glass to Dominick’s. “Welcome home.”