Thirteen
Lavender
Terrified by the shot, Lavender reacted without thinking.
She urged both the frightened boys to the floor, behind a chair, then guarded the manor heirs with her body, because that was all she had.
She might be brave, but she was ignorant of any weapon beyond her scissors.
She only knew she wouldn’t let anything happen to these boys.
Oddly, instead of rushing to stop assailants, Lord Fortescue scowled and repeated her silly hanging gesture, his tongue lolling. “We have woke big brother and he hates being ignored.”
Lavender stared in shock. The earl had shot a pistol inside the house for no reason? Terrifying children and poor Clare with her infant?
“That is beyond rude!” Outraged, forgetting any fear of nobility or pistols, she marched toward the door. “And I shall tell him so.”
She left Arnaud’s gaudily decorated chamber to stand in the doorway of the one next door. Sure enough, the surly earl was laying a smoking pistol on his bedside table. Men who behaved like children deserved no respect. Hands on hips, she glared. “That was completely uncalled for, my lord.”
“I thought we were being invaded by lunatics,” he countered, unrepentant.
“Lunatics, is it?” She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him.
The boys, having daringly crept up in her shadow, giggled and practiced their own ugly leers. She edged over to let them be seen.
The patient stared as if they’d lost their wits.
Fort caught the boys by their collars to tug them back, but observing his brother’s confusion, even he couldn’t resist pulling his own darkly elastic features into a scowling mask. Lavender grinned in delight. He was good at this.
Compelled by curiosity, Thea squeezed next to Lavender, chortled, and wrinkled her delicate features into a semblance of Lady Lavinia’s disapproving frown. Lavender exploded into laughter. As the baroness’s granddaughter, she’d been recipient of that frown too often.
Even Arnaud leaned over Thea’s shoulder and replaced his aloof aristocratic mien to cross his eyes and stick out his tongue. The earl’s stunned countenance sent everyone into more gales of laughter.
Lavender had no notion if this was good or bad, but after all the tension, laughing felt good.
“Demented, the lot of you,” Weston muttered. “Maybe this place is haunted and you’re all possessed.”
“Well, it is almost All Hallow’s Eve.” Fort touched the small of Lavender’s back to shift her so he could take the brunt of his brother’s anger.
They were becoming too familiar. Just that touch created a shiver of excitement Lavender didn’t wish to examine. The funny, lovely tutor of a moment ago now wore the stern demeanor of an arrogant aristocrat.
“Firing pistols for attention does not work here.” Fort confiscated the small pocket weapon, handing it to Arnaud. “We have no servants to summon, and you most likely woke the infant upstairs.”
“Clare! I better tell her all is well.” Thea ushered the giggling boys back to their schoolroom, then rushed down the hall.
The earl did not appear properly chastened. “I tell you that you’re in danger of losing the manor and your reaction is to make childish faces?”
“Far better than shooting pistols in frustration, old man,” Fort retorted.
Lavender admired his daring at standing up to the older, distinguished gentleman.
Of course, the earl was injured and couldn’t physically strike back.
But in her experience, powerful men like the earl retaliated.
She was amazed that she’d become so caught up in the silliness that she’d even dared speak to him.
But really, now that she thought of it, what could Weston do if she spoke up? He might hurt his brother in some unforeseen manner, but the earl had no power over her. She owned part of a valuable estate!
“We are laughing in the face of danger,” she daringly declared. “Bad men have no sense of humor—you may have noticed.” She smiled sweetly instead of pointing out Weston’s ill humor.
He glared at her as if he had only just noticed her existence as anything beyond a piece of furniture. She felt a surge of triumph that a man of authority now had to accept that pretty baubles spoke.
“By Jove, I believe you are correct, Miss Lavender,” Fort said in admiration. “Do you think we might ask our resident clown troupe to entertain the inn to see if any of the guests are as evil as Monty?”
“You want clowns to entertain whom?” The patient had apparently lost track of the plot.
“The visitors who may have murdered a poor servant,” Lavender said blithely, now that no one objected to her speaking. Being seen and not heard had long ago grown tiresome. “I intend to work at the inn and spy.”
She thought the earl might expire on the spot. Arnaud didn’t look any happier, but really, it was her shop. They couldn’t stop her.
Only then did she realize that with Thea gone, she was surrounded by men, with nary a chaperone in sight. Grandmother Lavinia would call her all the awful names she’d once called Lavender’s mother.
“The acting troupe is an inspired idea, Miss Lavender,” Fort crowed, jolting her from fear. “They are all very protective of you after that last dreadful incident. Mrs. Ferguson can ask them when she goes home this evening.”
Perhaps being with trustworthy men was not so bad without a chaperone? It wasn’t as if she had any brothers to protect her reputation, but Lavender felt certain she could count on Lord Fortescue and Arnaud. It was rather interesting to finally have family.
The argument with the earl had turned the tide in her favor. They were no longer disagreeing about her aid.
“Acting troupe,” Weston muttered in dismay. “I need my strength. Where is that steak?”
“No cows in Gravesyde,” Fort said cheerfully.
“But we are keeping your broth hot. The kitchen sent special for marrow bones. You have no notion of how difficult they are to obtain when sheep and chickens and a few pigs are all we have. The manor does not have sufficient people to bother ordering a side of beef.” Her Gran worked in the kitchen.
Lavender knew these things. She lifted her hem, intending to fetch the tureen.
Arnaud’s bulk blocked the door. He offered a fleeting smile while pocketing the earl’s pistol. “I will fetch a ball and powder, your lordship. Maybe next time, you will find a better target than the ceiling.” He stomped away.
“Wait,” the earl cried before she could leave too. “Miss. . . Lavender? Who are the men at the inn you are. . . spying. . . on? Do you know their names?”
“That is what we wish to determine. Rafe says they signed in as Humphries and guests.” She wasn’t a complete bird-wit. She listened. Only when a topic affected her directly did she participate.
Destroying her hard-won home and family very much affected her.
Fort explained before his brother could object. “Our innkeeper thinks that might be illegal, but we have no one to enforce the law.”
Weston frowned but Lord Fortescue took Lavender’s elbow and led her out before the earl could start shouting again.
The tutor rumpled his wavy hair even more and furrowed his brow in thought as he led her back to Arnaud’s chamber. Lavender wasn’t entirely certain that she appreciated him having to give her rational decision so much consideration.
Arnaud was testing the sight line of the pistol when they entered. She waited to see what the men concluded, although she still meant to spy.
“Lavender is correct that she will blend in better than either you, Arnaud, or Thea.” Fort frowned in thought.
“I don’t believe I am well known. I might claim to be helping Henri in the men’s clothing shop.
I don’t know whose approval I’ll need, but I might also open the tavern after the shop closes. We must try all angles.”
Lavender lit up. “If you open the tavern, I can be your server. Patience used to sing in the tavern to earn money for the church. I can’t sing, but I can deliver drinks.
” She said that with satisfaction. Her mother and grandmother had served the baron’s family for years. This, she could do blindfolded.
The resulting roar of objections might have woken the patient again, if he slept. Lavender didn’t care.
She wasn’t sitting here knitting while a lying, scheming scoundrel arranged to steal her home and her future.