Chapter 23 #2
When the dukes returned from Huxley Manor, the three ladies had taken the children in Lady Esher’s coach, to collect Fanny and Ezra’s new clothes from the dressmaker and call on friends for luncheon.
“Did they take a footman, Harper?” Benedict asked the butler, on being informed of the ladies’ departure. “Lady Esher and I agreed that would be a sensible precaution while we get to the bottom of… the intruder in the orchard.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Both the coachman and footman who accompanied the ladies are strong young men. The party would be well defended against…any ruffian who might think to accost them.”
“Very good,” answered Benedict, as satisfied as he could be.
Did Harper and the other servants know that the culprit was Lord Ashbourne, he wondered?
No maid or footman had been in the room when he and Louisa returned to the house yesterday.
Still, snatches of their accounts, or later conversations with Lady Esher might have been overheard through doors, and gossip travelled fast through a household, as Benedict knew well.
It would serve Ashbourne right if his reputation in Cumbria were torn to shreds…
Benedict saw no reason why one man should be known as a rake only for enjoying female company, when another might viciously attack men and women alike in London, and then come into the countryside in sheep’s clothing and be thought a harmless visitor.
The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, Benedict spotting the Esher coach trundling back towards Rosemere while he was taking a ride around the estate.
He had been pleased to note that the gamekeepers were busy and making their rounds more than usual, at Lady Esher’s request after yesterday’s intruder.
By the time the Duke of Northwick had bathed, dressed and descended for dinner, the morning’s confrontation with Lord Ashbourne seemed distant in time, and the initial impact of colorful accounts of the man’s violent and irrational propensities had begun to fade a little.
In an ideal world, Lord Ashbourne would admit defeat, pack his bags and leave Cumbria tonight.
There would be no more poisonous letters, obsessive stalking or deranged claims to Louisa’s hand.
If he genuinely cared for Lady Huxley, as much as she appeared to care for her cousin, Lord Ashbourne would not wish to burden her with any rumor or local ill-will that could attach itself to him.
This was not an ideal world, however. Nor did a man like Lord Ashbourne care genuinely for anyone but himself…
“A letter for you, Your Grace. I would not disturb you at dinner except that it is marked for your urgent attention,” said Harper, entering the dining room with a single letter on a silver tray, just after the watercress soup had been served.
Benedict had been quietly feasting his eyes on Lady Louisa Ascot in a blue silk evening gown, her neck hung with a topaz pendant whose fiery colors matched her hazel eyes, and nestled rather bewitchingly in the valley between her two perfectly shaped breasts.
“Thank you, Harper,” he replied pleasantly, taking the letter from the tray with as little fuss as he could when everyone else around the table was watching so intently.
“Damn Ashbourne’s eyes!” muttered Damien, who had seen and recognized the handwriting on the envelope from the others Benedict had received and shown to him.
Benedict opened the message and read, without making any comment on Damien’s remark. If the servants had not known that Lord Ashbourne was up to no good before, they did now.
Do not imagine that our encounter this morning changes anything, Northwick. Lady Louisa Ascot is mine. She has always been mine. I will not be denied and you defy me at your peril…
“Well, what does he say?” demanded Damien, his voice more than a little agitated. “I take it that it isn’t an apology and notice that he is quitting the neighborhood forthwith.”
“No,” Benedict confirmed, folding the letter up calmly and putting it into his pocket.
“It is only more of the same as all the others. Nothing new. Even as letters from madmen go, it is poorly written, overblown and distinctly unedifying. Now, I suggest we do not add to our charges against Lord Ashbourne by allowing him to ruin this excellent soup.”
As he picked up his spoon and took a mouthful, everyone else at the table continued to watch him.
“You shouldn’t joke,” Damien told Benedict soberly. “You know very well that Lord Ashbourne is a very dangerous man. There is only a short step from delivering crazed messages in writing to delivering them in person.”
“Have you ever seen a knife-wielding maniac beaten to within an inch of his life and then thrown in a fountain?” responded Benedict. “If Ashbourne crosses the threshold of Rosemere, you may well do so…”
He knew he had spoken too rashly for this company when he heard a small gasp of alarm and the clang of a spoon put down suddenly on a plate.
Damn, I did not want to frighten Louisa…
“That’s precisely the sort of answer I should have known to expect from you, isn’t it, Northwick?” said Damien, shaking his head.
Benedict did not answer this, however. His eyes were on Louisa’s and the expression he read on her face was once of deep, thoughtful concern rather than fear.
My God, is she really worried for me?!