Chapter Seven #2
Hargate. He recognized it at once, although it had been many long years since his first visit.
Grayson stood still, letting his thoughts return to a time when he was just a boy.
His parents had still been alive, and summers had been filled with travels from one country house to the next, parties, and laughter.
They had come to Hargate to celebrate the birth of the Earl of Chister’s first child, and Grayson had been infernally bored for much of the stay, due to the lack of companions his own age.
With the jaundiced eye of maturity, he recalled his insistence on an adulthood that would be thrust upon him all too quickly.
Searching his memory, Grayson tried to picture the earl and saw an older, white-haired man.
There had been whispers that he had married beneath him, but Grayson had liked the countess, with her bright eyes and dark curls.
Once, he had come upon her rocking the baby, and she had let him hold the infant.
Smiling to himself, he recalled the warm and milky smell and the awe he had felt at such a tiny being. The little one had looked like her mama, with a thatch of soft, deep brown hair…
Kate. Grayson drew in a breath as he realized that he had held the poppet in his arms before. The discovery startled him, though it should not have.
Having grown up among the titled and privileged, he had played with far more important personages. Yet the knowledge that he had greeted her so soon after her arrival into the world and put her to his heart, seemed prophetic somehow.
Grayson’s mouth twisted at such strange musings, and he shook off the odd mood, concentrating instead on Kate’s history.
The earl and his wife had seemed much like his own parents, wealthy and comfortable and happy together.
Obviously, there had been another child, the disagreeable Lucy, but then what had happened?
Ton gossip had held little interest for a youth, and his own life had taken such a turn that he was too occupied to wonder about one of so many acquaintances. Grayson knew only that the earl had died several years ago, leaving the title in abeyance. What of the man’s wife and daughters?
Kate had mentioned a guardian, but where was he? Whoever it was ought to be horsewhipped for burying two lovely young girls in the country without a chaperone or servants, to fend for themselves like peasants.
It was unconscionable. When he wrote his valet, he would send a note round to his secretary with instructions to do some discreet investigating into the matter.
Grayson’s jaw tightened at the thought of meeting whoever was responsible for Kate’s veritable servitude.
Meanwhile, he found himself anxious to hear her version of events, if only she could be induced to trust him.
But with the discovery of their bloodlines came the knowledge that neither Kate nor Lucy could play consort to any man. One simply did not make an earl’s daughter a mistress.
Grayson not only needed to find the man who had ruined Lucy, but arrange her marriage. And, as for her sister… Grayson smiled slowly. He already had plans for Kate.
Heading back toward the house, Grayson sought the study, where he helped himself to paper, pen, and ink. His directions to his secretary were clear and concise. He had no idea whether his absence had caused concern or not, but he did not want the country up in arms over his whereabouts.
Grayson paused at the thought that no one would miss him. But beyond his servants and a few close friends, who would care? His loss would be felt throughout the political arena, but personally? His lips curled contemptuously at such maudlin musings.
Resting his palm against the foolscap. Grayson contemplated the sum of his achievements. He took his responsibilities seriously and executed his duties well. He always had. He had held the title and all he had inherited and had profited from his own investments.
Perhaps he enjoyed less leisure time than his peers, but he did not want for good food, good wine, good company, or the pleasure of women. What more could a man ask of life?
Nothing, he told himself firmly, and yet, he had the distinct feeling that he had missed something, some elemental mystery that idiots like Wycliffe had discovered. He frowned at such an absurd claim, gathered his wits about him, and began writing in his distinctive, elegant hand.
A separate note to his valet followed, with explicit instructions. Grayson wanted to send for his entire staff, but without more details on the situation at Hargate, he thought it best to wait. In the meantime, perhaps he could at least bring on a cook, to spare himself any more kitchen duties.
Once finished, Grayson folded one paper inside the other and sealed it, pressing his heavy signet ring into a dab of wax to ensure delivery.
He had found the stub of wax in the desk drawer after some effort, for the girls appeared to do little in the way of corresponding with the outside world.
It angered him, the way they were cut off from everyone, like social pariahs, prey to smooth-talking seducers.
Although Grayson could not picture serious Kate succumbing to honeyed words, there were many unscrupulous men who would not wait for agreement from a woman alone, especially one clad in breeches.
The danger she was in—had been in for who knew how long—made his temper flare, and he looked down to find his hand balled into a fist
For a moment, Grayson stared at it, as if the white knuckles belonged to someone else. His acquaintances would be surprised to find him so stirred, for he preferred to keep a level head.
But when he considered what might have happened to Kate… The fist banged down upon the desk, rattling both the ink jar and his composure.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Grayson deliberately flexed his fingers. Shuddering at his lapse, he blamed his wound and the illness that had followed. Telling himself that he had not yet fully recovered, he ignored the mocking inner voice that wondered if he ever would.
When sufficiently composed once more, Grayson went to find Kate. He did not have to go far, for the aroma of baking bread led him to the kitchen, where she was busy making breakfast.
The sight of her there, working over the hot hearth in worn trousers, produced a violent response in the depths of his being, and so he spoke more sharply than he intended.
“I want you to hire some help from the nearest village. Chisterton, is it not?”
Tom made a choking sound over his food, while Kate turned to gape at him.
“You know,” she said dully. Her face was flushed, but whether it was from the fire, surprise, or the memory of their meeting the night before, Grayson could not tell.
“Know what? That this is Hargate, and that you, the daughter of the Earl of Chister, are reduced to little more than a scullery maid? Yes, I know, and I should like to discover who is responsible.”
Tom and Kate both stared at him, silently, with stubborn, angry eyes, and Grayson cursed himself, the master of political finesse, for blundering so badly. But he could not help it. The thought of Kate’s gentle hands hard at work made him lose all sense of perspective.
“We get along,” Kate said, turning away from him, her back stiff and straight.
She had pride, and Grayson had pricked it.
He wanted to apologize. He wanted to kiss her and make it better.
But most of all he wanted to shake the truth from her, so that he could avenge himself upon her alleged guardian.
This excess of emotion was positively alarming, and Grayson let out a low breath before seating himself at the table. Perhaps it would be best to concentrate on the most pressing problem first.
“Yes, you do very well,” he admitted smoothly as Kate placed before him a plate piled high with eggs, fat sausages, and slices of toast.
“Hmm. Wonderfully well,” he said, the delightful aroma making him realize just how hungry he had grown. “However, a little help does not seem amiss. I will take care of the expense.”
Before Kate could protest, he turned to Tom, who was gaping at him, his food unattended. “I have some messages for you to deliver to my town house today.”
The old man shut his mouth and gave Grayson an assessing look. “And just how do I know you aren’t going to call in the authorities because of the little nick Katie gave you?”
Grayson lifted his brows as he picked up his fork. “That little nick is more like a good-size hole in my shoulder, but Kate and I both know it was an accident. And unless you plan on murdering me outright, you had better let me contact my staff,” he said.
“Although I’ve been known to disappear into the hells on a gambling bent, sooner or later someone’s going to wonder where I am. The longer you delay, the more hue and cry there will be, and I am sure you do not want to draw unnecessary attention to the earl’s daughters.”
The implicit threat stilled any further protest from Tom, and Grayson turned to Kate as she seated herself at the worn table.
“How did you know?” she asked quietly. She neither burst into tears nor flew into a temper, and Grayson realized just how much he admired her poise. Despite her size, she was strong. And sensible. And beautiful.
“As I told you, I have been here before,” he said. “When I went out this morning, I recognized the north face at once.”
Tom’s snort of disbelief made him shoot a swift warning glance at the older man. The fellow must have forgotten the understanding they had reached the night before. “Did you say something?” Grayson asked coolly.
With a glum scowl, the old man shook his head, and Grayson looked back to Kate, waiting until she lifted her incredible eyes to his before speaking.
“We were here to celebrate your birth,” he said softly. He wanted to say more, to describe the baby she had been, to reveal the history that lay between them, but Tom was watching.
For her part, Kate appeared neither surprised nor pleased by the information. She simply nodded as if the news were just another burden to add to those already weighing down her delicate shoulders.
Her lack of faith disappointed him, and Grayson found himself annoyed by her closed expression. Did she think so little of him? There was a fine line between keeping her dignity and shutting him out, and though aware of it, Grayson nonetheless chafed at that boundary.
His jaw tightened, and he might have spoken injudiciously again, if Lucy had not chosen that moment to wander into the room. Obviously, she had just risen and had not lifted a finger to prepare the breakfast she served herself.
One look at her told Grayson that despite whatever misfortunes had befallen the Courtlands, Lucy still managed to play the part of an earl’s daughter. The fact that she had turned her sister into a drudge to do it put a damper on Grayson’s appetite.
Absurdly irritated by her languid pose, he felt like lurching across the table to throttle the stupid chit.
Instead, he clutched his fork and tried to come to terms with this unusual temperament.
He had argued for hours with lackwits in the government and never lost his head. What the devil was the matter with him?
“So you will be leaving now.”
Kate’s low comment pricked Grayson further. Was she that eager to be rid of him? The females of the ton long ago had learned not to throw themselves at his feet, for such behavior only earned his contempt.
He preferred to be the aggressor, or at least to be on the receiving end of a more subtle approach to his bed. Never, however, had his attentions been rebuffed, even in his youth. He was not accustomed to being denied, and he did not like it.
“I am not leaving until I find out who has been using my name,” Grayson said, with surprising vehemence.
In actuality, he did not have to see to the business personally.
He could have a Bow Street runner investigate or put his resources to work at finding the culprit, but he had already rejected those options.
Even the most highly paid and discreet searcher might let something slip, and Grayson did not want news of this imposter to get out. He had a position to uphold, and he had no intention of letting some country lout make a laughingstock of him.
Still, he did not have to stay at Hargate when he had a hunting box nearby. As Grayson recalled, it was small, but well-appointed, and he could have a staff at the ready in a few days. The idea was appealing, but he rejected it, for he did not want to alert his prey.
Better to remain hidden here at Hargate. His decision, he told himself, was purely logical, and had nothing to do with his reluctance to leave the poppet alone with none but a surly old retainer and a spoiled shrew.
Lost in his musings, Grayson suddenly realized that Lucy was sniffing delicately over her breakfast plate.
“What the devil is the matter with you?” he snapped.
Unaccustomed to weepy females gracing his table, nevertheless he might have spoken more gently if the woman in question had been anyone other than this vain creature.
She glared at him with eyes that were darker and harder than her sister’s. “You cannot stay! I will not allow it!”
“I would think you would like to discover the identity of your child’s father,” he said.
Lucy gasped and stood, a picture of feminine distress. “And then what?” she cried. “What happens when you find him? You’ll clap him in irons. You’ll hang my beloved!” Then she burst into tears and rushed to the door, leaving it standing open as she raced into the garden.
The silence that followed her departure was almost palpable as Tom and Kate turned toward him. Tom’s expression was blackly accusing, while Kate’s held a mixture of exasperation and censure that made his jaw tighten. Biting back an oath, he realized that he had no choice.
With one last look at his mostly untouched meal, Grayson got to his feet and went after the brat.