Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
WILLIAM
Over the course of the evening and the next morning, William thought up and discarded a number of ideas regarding how to communicate with Clara about Silas.
At one point, he considered simply sending notes directly to Silas and having Silas respond with his own.
But even that would require Clara to deliver them, and if truth be told, he trusted Clara to tell him the truth of things more than Silas.
After all, Silas had led Anthony to believe all was well in France, which was clearly not the case.
Clara was a more reliable source of accurate information and observation.
William and Edmund were discussing plans for the ball in the library the next morning when he caught sight of Clara pushing the cart away from Rushlake on the path to the lodge.
“Well,” William said, “that is a good start, don’t you think?”
“It is,” Edmund replied. “But we still need to make a decision about the music.”
“Can it wait? My head is spinning with all this talk of chalked floors, vases, flower varieties and colors, and the like.”
Edmund smiled. “A wife could manage such things wonderfully, Your Grace.”
“Undoubtedly. But for now, I will settle for a ride.”
“A ride?” Edmund asked, brows raised.
“I have been neglecting my new horse.”
“The green one?” There was a note of disapproval in his voice.
“If she is to become anything but green, she needs me to work with her.”
“That is why you employ a large staff in the stables, Your Grace.”
“I wish to work with her myself.”
He had bought Comet on a whim a week before leaving London in an attempt—perhaps a silly one—to prove to himself that he did not need servants and advisors and stable hands to do everything for him.
That he was still capable. “I think the fresh air will help me clear my head enough that I shall be ready to discuss cellos and violins and whatever you wish when I return.”
Edmund regarded him for a moment, then nodded. “Take care, then. We will leave the music for later, but the longer we delay, the more likely we will have to settle for whatever nearby villagers can pluck a few strings.”
“You could manage in a pinch, I don’t doubt,” William joked as he walked to the door.
He changed into his riding boots while a message was sent to the stables to have his newest mare prepared. She was ready and waiting for him when he strode into the stable yard, her gray coat gleaming in the late morning sun.
She was beautiful but, as Edmund had said, quite green. She was both saucy and wary—a difficult mixture to manage, but William had always prided himself on his handling abilities.
He guided her down the main drive, but when he had reached the end of it and was obscured by the large stone walls, he turned her into the trees.
The land between the main road and the lodge was covered with them.
It was not a route William had taken before, but he felt confident enough in the general direction that he was certain he would come upon the dirt road and be able to find his way from there.
Sure enough, after a quarter of an hour, the trees thinned slightly, then parted like the Red Sea for the small road. The lodge loomed ahead just minutes later, and William looked around to ensure no one was nearby before guiding his horse toward it.
He swung down from the saddle as muted laughter reached his ears. It was a woman’s laughter—Clara’s, he assumed.
He guided the mare toward the sounds, which had come from behind the lodge.
When the view opened up, he caught sight of her, seated in the long grass some half-dozen feet from Silas, whose back was to William. She was smiling as he tossed bits of bread into the grass. A sparrow hopped around, gladly taking each crumb he offered.
Silas’s profile became visible, showing a face free of the beard that had covered it upon his arrival at Rushlake. His face was thinner than it had been before France, but otherwise, he looked like the brother William had always known—the one who was flirting with Clara.
The mare dropped her head to tug on a tuft of grass, and William pulled up on the reins. She nickered, and Silas’s and Clara’s heads came around, wide-eyed fear in her eyes and surprise in his.
Clara hurried to her feet, then brushed off her apron, while Silas smiled and casually pushed himself to a stand.
Silas came over. “I was hoping we might see you soon.”
The word we annoyed William, but he ignored it and put out his hands. “Behold me. I thought I had better ensure you have not been terrorizing Clara.”
“Clara? No. The sparrows, yes. There are only so many ways to pass the time, you know.”
“I should return to my duties,” Clara said.
Part of William wished for precisely that—less time for Silas to charm his way into her heart—but the other part was disappointed by her reaction to his arrival.
It was more like a child caught doing something naughty than it was the response of a woman happy to see him.
But that was how it had always been: Silas the charming one, William the exacting one.
“I persuaded her to take a respite,” Silas said. “She would work herself to the bone otherwise.”
“I do not doubt it,” William replied.
“It was kind of you, sir,” Clara said to Silas, “but I am well-rested now and have a few things left to finish before returning to the house.” Her gaze swept to William, who offered her a smile.
It seemed to relax her a bit. “Shall I tie up your horse, Your Grace?”
He hesitated, only to remember how Clara had been the one to manage the ostler’s duties the night he and Edmund had arrived at The Coach and Lantern. She was so capable, while every day, William felt himself become less so. “She is very green and quick to scare…”
“I will take care,” she promised.
“Thank you.”
Clara smiled, took the reins from William, and walked Comet back toward the lodge.
William’s gaze followed her for a moment, then returned to Silas, who was watching him.
“She deserved the recess, William.”
“I have no doubt of that. Dealing with you every day is enough to send her to Bedlam.”
Silas chuckled, and they walked toward the stream. “Perhaps it is. I myself feel nearer that end each day.”
William glanced at him as they slowly strode through the grass. “Restless?”
“Like a caged tiger.”
William sighed, and they stopped at the edge of the stream, which babbled musically at their feet. “Unfortunately, you will have to learn to cope for the time being. It is too dangerous for you to venture beyond the lodge.”
“I know,” Silas said. “But you cannot fault me for fantasizing about stealing that horse and taking a gallop across a meadow.”
“You might well meet a different and more permanent end than Bedlam if you did that. She spooks at the merest thing.” He glanced at Silas again, noting his thin face. “Is the food sufficient?”
Silas chuckled, then stooped to pick up a few small stones, which he tossed lazily into the stream. “Bath buns and mushroom tarts? Of course it is. In comparison with the slop I was consuming in France, it is heaven. I wouldn’t say no to more of that venison either.”
“You won’t have the chance. Cook is preparing something different each day. That is the point of it—for me to approve her ideas for the coming guests. Speaking of which…I intend to use the lodge for our own family’s accommodations.”
Silas’s head whipped around. “They are coming?”
William nodded. “Including Aunt Eugenia.”
Silas’s excitement wavered. He had been Aunt Eugenia’s favorite—until everything had happened with Lord Drayton.
She had taken the allegations against him as a personal offense and had refused to so much as hear his name.
It was not until Anthony and his wife Charlotte had garnered the evidence to convince them Silas was, in fact, innocent that she had realized her error—much like William.
Unfortunately, Drayton had destroyed the evidence.
“She believes you now, Silas. We all do. And Aunt Eugenia is a woman you want on your side.”
Silas smiled slightly. “I know. It will be good to see the lot of them. Do they know I am here?”
“No. I felt it safer to wait to communicate that. There is no knowing who might read my correspondence.”
Silas shot him a funning look. “Ah. Now that you are a duke, you believe your letters a subject of fascination to all.”
“They have always been thrilling,” William teased. “To be quite frank, though, I am nervous to tell even the family.”
Silas frowned. “You think them untrustworthy?”
“No. Though I think Frederick can be careless at times.”
“Frederick,” Silas mused. “Has he made headway? Will I soon have a brother in both the Lords and the Commons?”
“Unlikely. His headway has been minimal. So minimal that any attempt to raise favor regarding your case would shoot his future there in the foot.”
Silas sighed, then reached into the spring and ran his wet hands through his hair. “Who else will be at Rushlake?”
“A number of peers, a handful of wealthy landowners, and”—William picked up his own fistful of rocks—“the woman Edmund wishes me to marry.”
Silas raised his brows significantly. “The plot thickens. And what lady has he chosen?”
William tossed the largest rock into the stream. “Lady Cassandra Montrose.”
Silas’s brows pulled together. “Montrose. I do not think I know the name.”
“I have never met her, but she is the Earl of Hawkesbury’s daughter.”
Silas turned toward him and grasped his shoulders. “But that’s famous! Hawkesbury’s influence is significant! Having his support could make the difference between clearing my name and staying cooped up in this lodge for eternity.”
William took him by the wrists and gently pulled his hands down. “He is also friends with Drayton, Silas.”
Silas’s excitement flagged, then revived like a phoenix from the ashes. “But surely a connection forged with a duke through the sacred bonds of marriage would trump whatever connection they have.”