Chapter Thirty-Three
“Bloody hell, sir!” John cried as Olivia disappeared around the side of the house. “I told you not to come to conclusions about Lady Devereaux.”
Charles raised his hands to admonish his valet, then lowered them again. John was, after all, in the right. But the sight of Olivia, with Carlton’s hands all over her, was enough to boil his blood, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from smashing his fist into his steward’s nose.
He approached Carlton, but Mrs. Brougham stepped in front of the steward, her eyes glittering with anger.
“Haven’t you done enough harm for one day, Lord Devereaux?”
I ought to have you dismissed for insubordination.
She glared at his hand gestures. “Dismiss me and be damned,” she said. “Do you honestly think Mr. Carlton has been behaving inappropriately toward your wife?”
“Mrs. Brougham,” Carlton began, I hardly think—”
“And you can be quiet, Gerald.”
Gerald?
Carlton flinched and nodded in acquiescence.
John let out a chuckle.
I fail to see what’s so bloody amusing.
“Then you’re doubly blind, sir,” the valet said. “I think we may be assured that Mr. Carlton has no designs on your wife. For one thing, he values his position as your steward too highly, and for another, he values his balls.”
Does he think I’ll cut them off?
“Whatever punishment you dole out will be nothing compared to Mrs. Brougham’s.”
Charles frowned and turned his attention to the housekeeper, who was giving Carlton a look of frustration combined with not a little affection.
You mean my housekeeper and steward are…?
Charles made a random gesture, unwilling to articulate his suspicion.
“Isn’t it obvious?” John said. “Even the biggest simpleton would have noticed the way he gazes at her like a lovesick puppy. But an even bigger simpleton would harbor suspicions about your wife.”
In truth, I had no suspicions about her.
“Then why display such anger? Couldn’t you see how eager she was to greet you?”
Charles had to admit that his wife’s expression had carried a sheen of joy. But surely that couldn’t have been due to his returning?
I’m not angry at her. He let out a sigh before continuing. I’m angry because she continues to speak of her birth as if she believes it makes her worthless.
He turned to Carlton.
I’m angry because she felt she had to deceive me with your assistance.
The steward shook his head. “I don’t understand…”
“But I do,” Mrs. Brougham said. “Perhaps, your lordship, you should ask your wife what she’s been occupying herself with during your absence before you cast judgment.”
Charles glanced in the direction Olivia had fled. He took a step forward, and the housekeeper caught his sleeve.
“No, sir. Let me. I’ll not have her any more upset.” She gestured to the coachman. “Well? Don’t just sit there! Bring in his lordship’s trunks.”
Mumbling assent, the coachman climbed down and unloaded the trunks.
“Perhaps you’d like to take your luncheon,” Mrs. Brougham said. “It should be all ready in the dining room. I’ll see if Lady Devereaux wishes to join you. Mr. Richards, would you be so kind as to accompany Lord Devereaux while I see to her ladyship?”
“Of course.” John caught Charles’s wrist. “There’s no good in your going after her, sir. Leave it to Mrs. Brougham. In any case, when you wish to earn the trust of a nervous filly, you don’t rush out into the field and tether her right away. You wait for her to come to you.”
Charles followed his valet inside, pausing to glance at the foot of the stairs, then he entered the dining room, where two footmen milled about, placing dishes of food on the table.
In the center of the table was an enormous pie, the pastry golden brown and glistening in the sunlight.
The top was decorated with motifs that had been fashioned into the shapes of vines and roses, curling around the body of the pie.
The detail was exquisite, right down to the markings on the leaves and the thorns adorning the rose stems.
It was a thing of such beauty that he didn’t know whether to cut a slice and eat it, or have it placed in a display cabinet.
“Have we a new cook, Colin?” John said, settling into his seat.
The younger of the two footmen glanced up, blushing as he caught Charles’s eye, and shook his head.
“You may speak,” John said, grinning. “The benefit of Lord Devereaux not speaking is that he won’t shout at you. Has Lady Devereaux hired a new cook in his lordship’s absence?”
The boy stepped back, his color deepening.
Not even the finest cook in the world would cost one thousand pounds.
“Now, now, sir, it’s not the time to be churlish,” John said. “Colin, who baked this pie? Lord Devereaux won’t bite you, I promise. Only the pie.”
“I-it was Lady Devereaux.”
Charles rose, and the boy stepped back, fear glistening in his eyes.
“Sh-she was up late into the night making it, your lordship. All week she’s been showing Mrs. Groves how to get the pastry just right so it’s not hard on the teeth. I-it’s pork and apple, sir. Pork from Mr. Faulkes’s farm. Proper tasty.”
How the devil would he know?
Ignoring Charles, John nodded to the boy. “Have you tried some?”
“Oh yes! When Lady Devereaux first made one, she shared it among all of us. She wanted to try it out to get it just right for when his lordship returned home.”
“Thank you, Colin,” John said. “You may leave us now.”
The young footman exited the dining room, and Charles approached the door.
“Colin’s done nothing wrong, sir. There’s no need to go after him.”
I know that, Charles signed. I’m the one in the wrong.
“Where are you going, then?”
To apologize to my wife. I’ve no right to eat a pie she made for me while she’s unhappy elsewhere, especially when I’m the cause of her unhappiness.
He waited for a caustic response from his valet, but none came.
As he emerged from the dining room, a housemaid scuttled past, increasing the pace as she caught sight of him.
He climbed the stairs and made his way to his wife’s bedchamber.
His heart sank as he heard sobbing from within, and he paused, his hand on the doorknob, swallowing his shame at eavesdropping on his wife’s misery. Then he heard a voice.
“Don’t be such a fool, Susie. You know as well as I that it’s the only thing to be done.”
“No! I cannot be party to this!”
“The bitch and her pup cannot be allowed to live. If you say anything, I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done.”
“B-but you made me do it even though I didn’t want to!”
“Ungrateful brat, after everything I’ve done for you! I—Shh!”
The voice broke off, then footsteps approached, and the door opened to reveal a young woman. Behind her, standing at the fireplace, was his wife’s maid. But there was no sign of Olivia.
“Oh!” The woman dipped into a curtsey. “Begging your pardon, Lord Deveraux. Are you looking for her ladyship?”
She was the one who’d been fawning over Jacob. Pretty enough, but behind the smile, a look of greed shone in her eyes.
What are you doing in my wife’s chamber?
The woman glanced at his hands and shook her head. “I-I don’t…”
“Nicola is my sister, your lordship,” the maid said. “Sh-she’s a friend of Lady Devereaux’s and has visited several times.” She wiped her eyes and sniffed.
Why are you distressed? What were you speaking of?
“Forgive me, your lordship, I don’t understand.”
He pointed to his right eye then ran his fingertip down his cheek. Then he gestured to both women.
“I-I’m merely upset b-because—”
“Because one of our pa’s collies needs to be put down,” Nicola interrupted. “She’s broken a leg and can no longer run. Isn’t that right, Susie?”
She glared at the maid, whose lip wobbled. Then she pulled her into an embrace. But Susie’s distress only seemed to increase.
“My poor sister’s a little weak-minded, your lordship. She becomes attached to anything and everything, and was quite taken with the dog. But you’ll recover, won’t you, Susie?”
The maid nodded, though her eyes were still clouded with distress—and something akin to fear.
“Were you looking for Olivia?”
Charles frowned. Who was this woman, to refer to his wife with such familiarity? Clearly he’d been away too long, and Mrs. Brougham had been overly lax, if strangers treated his wife’s chamber as if it were their own.
“Nicola, I think you ought to leave,” Susie said. “Th-thank you for comin’ to see me, but perhaps you should return downstairs. Or you could seek out Jacob, as it’s him you came to see.”
“He’s nowhere to be found. I think he’s avoiding me. I saw him looking at Mrs. Temple’s youngest—Lily, or whatever the little slut’s name is.”
How dare they gossip before him like milkmaids! Charles clapped his hands and they stopped. Two pairs of eyes regarded him—one set filled with fear and misery, the other thoughtful and calculating.
Susie nudged her sister, who dipped into a curtsey. “Forgive me, Lord Devereaux, I ought to go and find Jacob. He’ll be wondering where I am.”
Charles frowned at her, and she curtseyed again then slipped out of the chamber.
“I-I think Lady Devereaux may still be outside, your lordship, if you’re lookin’ for her,” the maid said. “Mr. Reynolds said I was to wait for her here, sayin’ she might be in need of me. She was unwell this morning, you see, and I was concerned that…”
She paused as he raised his hand. Then he exited the chamber.
After he closed the door, the sobbing resumed.
He leaned against the wall, waiting for it to subside, but it only increased.
Surely the girl, no matter how sensitive her nerves might be, wouldn’t be in such a state of hysterics over a sheepdog?
But women were an enigma—it was the only adage his father uttered that he agreed with.