Chapter 10 #2
“Oh, I do apologise.” Miss Onslow also looked embarrassed. “It is simply that my brother is missing in action, and I fear for his life. I’m afraid my eagerness to hear any news of him led me to jump to a hasty conclusion.”
Robert looked at the ground, red still staining his cheeks. “Unfortunately, I cannot tell you anything about the front.”
Judith intervened hastily. “The truth is that Robert leapt in front of a bullet for me: that is how he was injured. I am extremely grateful for his bravery.” At Miss Onslow’s look of astonishment, Judith continued.
“Perhaps we can tell you about it, if you join us in the Blue Drawing Room for refreshments. I suspect that Robert will not manage the climb all the way to the Tea Tower.”
Miss Onslow admitted to being most intrigued, and she led them to the Blue Drawing Room, while Trebellow was sent to fetch cream tea. Soon they were all settled in the elegant chaises, and Judith was entertaining Miss Onslow with their tale of how a master Illusor had confronted them at gunpoint.
“Goodness,” said Miss Onslow, smothering cream over another chudleigh, with an admiring glance at Robert. “You are both so courageous. I cannot imagine facing such peril.”
Robert took refuge in a sip of tea and said nothing. Perhaps he did not want to mention that both Judith and Dacian had been closer to the danger in question, and that he had been concerned with conjuring a yew hedge at the time.
Miss Onslow continued. “And you say that, despite all this, his grace is now incarcerated at Fort Pendennis?”
“Yes,” said Judith firmly, ignoring Captain Drumpellier’s warning not to mention the presence of the Musor Custos. “Awaiting trial.” Seeing Robert’s anxious look, she added, “He is safe enough for now, and I intend to visit him again soon.”
At this moment, Trebellow, who had been standing back (as unobtrusively as a man of his size could manage) spoke up. “Do you mean his grace, the Duke of Sargen?” He had missed the first part of the story, in his quest for refreshments.
“Indeed.”
Trebellow’s eyes lit up with interest, but he did not say anything more, recalling his place and pressing his lips together. Judith eyed him, for there was an air of repressed excitement about him now, rather like a mountain showing faint signs of being a volcano.
“What is it, Trebellow? Do you know the Duke of Sargen?”
His eyes gleamed. “Aye, if he’s the one who’s been abroad for nigh on ten years?” At Judith’s nod, he continued. “He’s a verra good wrassler, that man.”
Judith stared. “Cornish wrassler?”
“Aye, he used to come up to Cornwall for a match when he were younger.”
Somehow, Judith wasn’t surprised. Dacian tended towards recklessness and stupid masculine displays of virility.
“Perhaps he’d like to see the next tournament,” continued Trebellow, his enthusiasm causing him to forget the reticence proper to a butler. “We’d be honoured to have him, ma’am, and even more so if he would fight.”
“Well, that is impossible at the moment,” said Judith tartly, “for he is imprisoned.”
Trebellow pursed his lips in disgust, obviously feeling that anyone who favoured Cornish wrassling should immediately be granted a general pardon.
Miss Onslow, chudleigh at the ready, cocked her head.
“Do you mean under Captain Drumpellier’s command?
I know the captain quite well. He visits Castle Lanyon often, so perhaps I can add my entreaties on behalf of his grace.
” She cast her eyes down demurely and took a delicate nibble and licked the cream off her lips. Robert watched, mesmerised.
Judith was distracted by another matter: Captain Drumpellier often visited Castle Lanyon, did he? “Does the captain have much business to attend to here?”
“He has to check on the platoon stationed in Marazion,” Miss Onslow offered, somewhat evasively.
That, however, did not quite explain why he visited the isle.
Yet if he was courting Miss Onslow, all the better, for she could add her voice to Dacian’s defence.
Judith recalled Drumpellier’s look of wry amusement when he had mentioned Miss Onslow, and hoped it was one of fondness.
All this talk of Dacian was also making Judith rather tense with worry.
While they chatted over cream tea, he was trapped in that dank dungeon with only half his wits.
She worried her blue silk between her fingers, wishing she could transport him into the Tea Tower, sit him before the fire, and brush the hair from his eyes.
Then maybe she would sit on his lap and kiss him soundly, even if he couldn’t remember her just yet.
Judith rather suspected that he would welcome her overtures enthusiastically, even if she remained a stranger to him.
You could take a man’s memory and leave his lust intact—especially if it were Dacian’s lust.
Judith sighed. There was no point daydreaming. She put down her tea. “Robert, I insist that you rest now. You are looking rather peaked. And I must inspect the cellars! I have a ghost to oust.”