Chapter Eight
Though he should have claimed his own bed, after suppering with Benjamin Thompson, Navan made his way to the watch house.
His plan was to call on Miss Moreau to deliver her a meal and then make his excuses.
Of late, he had been, for lack of another word, wooing the lady, and he would not have her expecting a proposal he would not be pronouncing to Miss Moreau or to another, any time soon.
Kepper was watching Amgen House, but not through the long glass. “Everything well?” Navan asked as he entered the room.
“Quiet, as usual,” Kepper said as he stood and stretched in anticipation of leaving.
“The lady appeared to practice with a sword earlier, but there has been no obvious movement anywhere in the house for more than an hour. The cook brought a basket around two, but she did not stay more than a quarter hour, at most. Assuredly, she did not prepare a meal while in the house. I went around to the mews and the bricked passageway to watch, but the cook nearly caught me in the area, for she came out so quickly.”
Navan did not admit he had been feeding Miss Moreau for more than a week. Instead, he said, “I hope it remains quiet. I require some sleep. I will watch for a bit or until the candle gutters out or the lady blows it out. Would not wish for a fire to happen,” he said with a smile.
“No, sir. No fires.” Kepper gathered his belongings. “I will see you in the morning. There are a few items still in the larder. I will bring new supplies when I come then.”
“I had a large supper with Thompson at the club,” he said as he loosened his cravat.
With that, Kepper disappeared, and Navan once again sat to the long glass.
Amgen House was dark except for the drying room, which he now knew, thanks to Miss Moreau, had been converted to a space for Honfleur’s ladies to practice their skills beyond prying eyes—with no mention of whether Honfleur used the room, though it did not appear so.
Seeing nothing unusual, he stood to stretch and walk back and forth in contemplation.
“What have I executed?” he asked himself aloud.
“Whatever game you are playing, Navan, you must quit it before the stakes become too deep.” He stared at the opposing end of the hall with a thoughtful frown.
“It is not as if…” An odd feeling passed over him, and he quickly returned to the room, where he sat heavily in the chair to take up the glass again.
His heart jumped as his vision cleared. Miss Moreau was fighting an unknown man.
Swords flashed in the candlelight and then disappeared.
“Oh, God!” he exclaimed and bolted towards the main exit of the house. At a run, he darted across the street to the back of Amgen House to burst through the kitchen, but no one was about. “Audrey!” he called and set off up the stairs at a run. “Audrey!”
“Here!” she responded, but there was no fear in her voice, and so he slowed his steps and recovered his composure.
Within a matter of seconds, he stood in the open doorway of the weapons room. His brother Alexander Dutton stood opposite Miss Moreau and a flare of jealousy hit Navan in a manner he had never considered possible. “You fair, girl?” he asked Audrey.
Instead of her response, Marksman demanded, “What in Hades are you doing here?”
“His lordship is bleeding, Beaufort,” Miss Moreau said in pleading tones.
“I will tend to him, Miss Audrey. Why do you not go below and draw some water? Find something we might use for bandages.” He glanced again at Alexander. “I imagine Lord Marksman has a thousand questions.”
“No fighting,” she warned by pointing her finger at the both of them as she left the room to do his bidding. The absolute trust the woman presented him was nearly as frightening as if he faced a firing squad.
By silent consent, they waited until her footfalls could no longer be heard. As expected, Marksman rushed him, catching Navan’s lapels. “If you have touched her, there is not enough land between you and me to keep me from killing you.”
Navan roughly worked Alexander’s hands free of his coat. “I have not touched her, not as you have insinuated.”
“Then why are you here?” Marksman hissed.
“I have been watching Miss Moreau since we began this business,” Navan admitted.
“A little too closely,” Marksman grumbled.
“Do you wish to know what happened or not?” Navan responded testily. He could understand Marksman’s confusion, but he had his own questions that required answers.
“Not,” Marksman retorted, but quickly changed his mind. “Finish your tale.”
“The day after Honfleur departed, the cook who should be preparing meals for Miss Moreau decided she was being paid to prepare meals, but she was not required to be here to execute her duties. She has been bringing Miss Moreau meals that are barely passable, at best, and the woman will know my displeasure when this business is complete.”
“You still have not spoken of how Miss Moreau became ‘Audrey’ to you,” Marksman insinuated.
Had he and his brother both developed tender feelings for the girl? The idea made Navan smile.
“Miss Moreau is quite handy with a sword, as you have discovered this very night, but she has no concept of starting a fire to heat her food. One night a week back, I was watching the house, and I noted black smoke pouring from a window in the back. I rushed over to save both Miss Moreau and Lord Amgen’s house. ”
“And she simply permitted your assistance?” Marksman grumbled.
“She recognized me,” Navan said as his own irritation rose. “I have called upon her cousin nearly daily. Miss Moreau and I have exchanged more than one ‘good day.’”
“Yet, you were to woo Lady Caroline,” Marksman objected.
“I have not wooed Miss Moreau,” Navan insisted. “I have brought her food. We have had several conversations. The woman is excessively frightened that Honfleur will not return for her.”
“Is everything well?” her voice called from somewhere below.
“We are simply putting things away,” Navan responded.
“Leave them!” she ordered. “It shall provide me with a task for tomorrow!”
By silent consent, he and Marksman placed a few of the items away and then made their way downstairs.
“Come sit, my lord, and permit me to tend to your cut. I have had…” she began and stopped. “I fear… Lord Beaufort, might you assist? I do not do well with… blood.”
“Do not worry, my dear. Marksman and I are accustomed to tending each other’s nicks and cuts,” Navan said, while being amazed at how she did not question anything he said.
Her complete trust in him was both an honor and as frightening as the concept of Hell itself.
“I explained how I came to call upon Miss Moreau,” he said to his brother, “but I am curious, Marksman, what brought you to this house this particular evening?”
“You promised to tell me why you came if I could…” she began.
“If you could outfence him?” Navan laughed freely. “Such is easy, my dear, for Marksman is well named. He is truly spectacular with a gun but is only passable with a blade.” Navan tied off the bandage about Marksman’s wrist.
“I should leave,” Marksman said as he rose.
“Please stay,” Miss Moreau pleaded. “I have enjoyed our talks previously, and Beaufort will not mind. Will you? Did you bring enough cakes for Lord Marksman, my lord?”
“Cakes?” Marksman began an accusation, but shrugged instead. “Swear on your parents’ graves, Beaufort, that you will repeat none of this to the others.”
“Assuredly,” Navan swore. Marksman was family after all.
Marksman appeared as if he were frightened by what he had come to do, and Navan knew sympathy.
At length, Marksman began. “Now that the moment has arrived, I find myself searching for the words to ease the impact my story will have on your person.” Navan looked to Miss Moreau, but she appeared as bewildered by Marksman’s intentions as was Navan.
“Very well. When I was a very young child, my father executed the unthinkable. He sold my mother to another man. In a public market.”
Miss Moreau frowned. “An earl would never sell his wife.” She looked to Navan. “Am I speaking the truth, sir?”
“You are, but Marksman’s father was not always an earl,” Navan explained.
He leaned across the table to Marksman. It was all so clear, and Navan had never seen it until this moment.
Their stories overlapped. “Are you confident regarding doing this, Marksman?” he asked, still coming to his own terms with the situation.
“I am,” Marksman said solemnly. “Duncan has declared it so.”
Navan reached a hand to Miss Moreau, which she appeared to accept with gladness.
With wonderment, he told her, “I should leave, my dear. What Marksman has to say is very important, and you should have time to understand. You know how to signal for me, if you wish for my return.” He squeezed Marksman’s shoulder in solidarity.
“I can warrant that Lord Marksman would protect every hair on your head.” He rose to execute his leave, but he paused to tell Marksman, “All your brothers will be quite envious, Alexander. Cherish this moment.”
Audrey was sorry to view Lord Beaufort’s exit. She felt more secure when he was about. “Should I continue?” Lord Marksman asked.
She nodded her agreement but was not confident her decision was the best option. Audrey again knew fright, not for her person, but the solemnity of Beaufort’s exit brought a tightening to her chest.
Lord Marksman cleared his throat. “What Beaufort shared regarding my father is true. If an English earl wishes a divorce, he could bring a very public case before Parliament or he could reside in Scotland for six months and ask for it there.