Chapter 22
Through the night, part of Meriel berated her weakness where Richard was concerned, while another part of her longed for his touch. The rest of the time, she was just confused.
She had breakfast with Stephen in the schoolroom as usual, and to her surprise, Mrs. Theobald herself came up to clear away the tray of dishes.
Meriel stared at her, wondering if Richard had found the time yet to tell the duke’s loyal servants that their master was dead.
Something of her worry must have shown in her eyes, because after Stephen ran off to play with his nurse, Mrs. Theobald sat down beside her.
Meriel sighed, giving the older woman an assessing look. “You don’t usually come to clean up the nursery, Mrs. Theobald.”
The housekeeper only shrugged.
Meriel touched the woman’s hand. “Please don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I’m helping Stephen.”
“It is far too kind of you not to care about your reputation for the boy’s sake.”
Meriel felt a twinge of guilt—and though she knew she had to keep Richard’s counsel about the duke’s death, she could not lie to the housekeeper about anything else. “Mrs. Theobald, although you will think less of me, I must tell you that I’m no longer playacting the part of the mistress.”
Mrs. Theobald nodded silently, and the condemnation that Meriel expected didn’t happen. She sighed as some of her tension seeped away.
Mrs. Theobald gave a small smile. “It is a relief to say such a thing?”
“To someone I trust, yes. And you know Richard, so perhaps you can understand why I…why I’m drawn to him.”
“He is a good man.”
“Yes, oh yes,” she whispered, then her excitement grew as her thoughts coalesced. “I’ve spent so much time berating myself for those feelings that have been growing within me, but maybe for once I should have been listening to my own intuition.”
“For once?” Mrs. Theobald echoed with obvious curiosity.
But Meriel didn’t want to talk about her past. “Did you know who he was from the beginning?”
“No, although I knew something was wrong.”
“And I did as well! Because I was so attracted to him, almost from the first. And I hadn’t felt that way when I interviewed with the real duke. I should have trusted myself then; instead I was appalled by my poor judgment. But don’t you see, I was right!”
Mrs. Theobald smiled indulgently, and Meriel blushed at how she must sound.
“He’s not the duke,” Meriel continued. “He’s not an arrogant man who seduces the women of his household on a routine basis. Richard is nothing like his brother, Mrs. Theobald.”
“You don’t need to convince me of that, my dear.”
“Of course, of course, but this is such a revelation to me. I was never attracted to the duke, but to Richard, not a nobleman, but a noble man who is trying to protect his nephew. Am I wrong to finally trust that my emotions can guide me down the right path?”
Mrs. Theobald rose to her feet and lifted the tray. “Miss Shelby, it sounds to me like you already know the answer to your own question. Why such a smart girl as yourself should ever doubt her own capabilities—well it makes no sense to me.”
Meriel knew she continued to grin foolishly long after the housekeeper had left the room.
~oOo~
As she did most every day, Meriel allowed Stephen to choose which lesson they’d have outside.
She enjoyed taking advantage of the rare string of beautiful weather, and she’d already had assurances from Richard that men were patrolling the grounds.
And besides, even she needed to be distracted from the thought that Stephen’s real father was probably dead.
She wasn’t sure that Richard should tell the boy, if they weren’t absolutely certain it was true.
Stephen chose his painting lesson, and together they carried out the watercolors and easel. They didn’t go far from the house; she felt safe enough, being so near all the grooms and gardeners who worked about them. Victoria and Albert lounged in the shade nearby and snuffled in their sleep.
She was just speaking with Stephen about the various colors of green in the trees he’d chosen to paint, when she saw the boy’s face light up at someone behind her.
Knowing who it had to be, she turned and watched Richard walk toward them. She felt uncomfortably warm and knew she was blushing; why was she so surprised by the same reaction she’d been having since the first moment they’d met?
Maybe because now she knew that he was just as drawn to her. She watched the way he looked at her, the way he tried to disguise his thoughts, but couldn’t quite.
She inspired that in him, and the feeling was…wonderful. She felt special, not like a man’s mistress, but something more, something she was afraid to hope for.
But how could she think about herself when there was a man out there who wanted to harm Richard?
Stephen rushed to Richard, who put a hand on his head fondly. The dogs joined the reunion with barking excitement. Only she saw the wince of sadness Richard didn’t try to hide from her as he looked down on his nephew.
“Father, we’re painting trees. Do you want to help?”
“That’s what I came out here for. I’m excellent at giving my opinion.”
“Not at painting?”
“Never had the talent, Stephen. You must get that from your mother.”
The little boy brightened, and Meriel realized it wasn’t often anyone brought up his mother. And at this age, he was beginning to realize that other children had one, but he didn’t.
Meriel gazed at Richard, probably showing all her silly feelings right there in her eyes.
She was hopeless at romance. She’d never imagined herself a part of one, and once thought she’d be satisfied marrying a man who was only a friend.
A friend! Preposterous thought, now that she understood how Richard could make her feel.
She busied herself laying out paints for Stephen and tried not to be aware that Richard was watching her from where he sat on a bench. For a half-hour, she instructed the boy, watching his watercolor take form.
“Father,” Stephen finally called, “pretend it’s hanging on a wall in the gallery. How does it look from back there?”
“Like perfect trees,” Richard said.
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Miss Shelby, go stand next to him. You’ll be honest, won’t you?”
Meriel bit her lip to cover a smile as she walked back to the bench.
“Stephen, you don’t trust me?” Richard said, pretending shock.
“Father, you love me too much to tell me the truth.”
Meriel’s throat felt tight, and she wanted to put her hand on Richard’s shoulder in sympathy. What a difficult situation.
Stephen pointed with his paintbrush to one of the green blobs on his canvas. “Miss Shelby, can you tell which tree this is? I want to get them right.”
Meriel deliberated on how to respond, and was granted a reprieve when Stephen accidentally dropped his brush. He bent down to retrieve it—and a gunshot rent the air. A bullet ripped through the canvas where Stephen had just been standing.
Meriel jumped, Richard came to his feet along with the dogs, and Stephen straightened in bewilderment.
“Father?”
Richard forced him to the ground, then grabbed Meriel by the arm, dragging her there, too. She collapsed on her stomach at Stephen’s side and put her arm over him. Richard was on the other side, but he had his head lifted, scanning the direction the shot came from.
“That couldn’t have been aimed at me,” he said in a low, furious voice.
Meriel understood: Stephen had become the target. Charles didn’t just want to control the dukedom; he wanted it for himself.
“Father, it wasn’t aimed at us,” Stephen said, trying to lift his head. Richard held him down as he squirmed. “There must have been hunters in the woods. They’ll come to apologize.”
Richard didn’t answer, but Meriel could read his eyes: where were the men he had patrolling in the woods?
There were shouts from the gardeners and grooms and stable boys, all who seemed to be running this way and that. Meriel could see that some of the men were entering the woods to search, others were heading up to the house, probably to spread a warning.
Richard rose to his knees, and she wanted to yank him down. Her heart pounded loudly all the way into her throat, choking her. But there was no other gunshot. All they could hear were the servants’ shouting.
Once on his feet, Richard looked down at them. “I’m going into the woods. Both of you stay on the ground, and don’t get up until you see me wave that all’s clear.”
“Father, the hunters—”
“Stephen, that wasn’t a hunter.”
She could see Richard regretting the harsh tone of his voice already. But it was far too dangerous for Stephen not to know some of the truth. Even though the boy hadn’t run off to hide recently, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t—unless he was warned.
Stephen stared up at his uncle, wide eyes uncertain. But he remained silent and allowed Meriel to hold him as Richard strode away. When the dogs tried to follow him, Richard ordered them to stay behind. They sat down next to Stephen and whined softly, as if they were missing all the fun.
“Father’s worried about us,” Stephen whispered.
“He’s the duke. It’s his job to worry about everyone here.”
How would Richard tell Stephen that he was the duke now?
Surely a half-hour had to have gone by before Richard emerged from the woods and gave them a brief wave.
The knot in her stomach lessened, but did not go away, not with the proof that the little boy in her arms, so young and innocent, was the target of a murderer.
Slowly she sat up, drawing Stephen with her, holding him tightly.
Nothing happened. She rose to her feet and kept him pressed to her skirts.
Some of his spirit returned. “Miss Shelby, let go!”
Richard heard Stephen’s protest, but he left Meriel to deal with the little boy. He turned to watch six of his guards emerge from the woods, some looking stonily at the ground, others looking worried or sheepish.