A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (128 page)

Mr. Cuddlesworth had been doing rather
more poorly than before they’d left London—he had hardly eaten
anything for three days, and he never left his basket anymore. Yet
if Jane moved out of his sight for too long, he cried out to her in
loud bellows. Because of that, she simply carried his basket around
with her from room to room, making certain he could always lift up
his head and find her whenever he awoke.

She placed his basket on the grand
table in the center of the keep and covered him with a warm, woolen
blanket. Without a fire blazing in the hearth, every room in the
castle had a tendency to be a bit cold and draughty, even in the
summer. Mr. Cuddlesworth purred and shoved his head up into her
hand, so she gave his ears a good scratch before beginning her
work.

The amount of dust that gathered in
this castle never ceased to astound her. Only a week ago, she’d
gone through this entire room, but already a thin coating of grime
covered nearly everything in sight.

Digging through another basket she’d
brought with her, Jane pulled out several rags. She dipped them
into her bucket of water. Then she set to work. Because of the size
of the room, it would likely take her an hour to finish her
task.

Halfway through, at a point when Jane
was perched atop one of the high-backed chairs in order to reach
beat against the tapestries decorating the hall, the children came
screeching in and interrupted her work, with Mrs. Pratt following
close behind.

“
Lady Sarah,” the nursemaid
called out, “Mr. Cuddlesworth is taking his nap. As well you ought
to be, I might add.”

“
But I only want to see
him, just for a moment,” Sarah said.

Jane smiled down at the children from
her vantage point. “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Pratt. He loves them
dearly. He won’t mind a bit of company while I finish my work in
here.”

“
Very well, Your Grace. But
mind you, children, we’ll go up for a nap before long.”

They let out delighted squeals,
scurried over to climb upon the table, and started to pet
him.

“
Ma’am, are you sure you
ought to be doing all of this labor? His Grace will be most
displeased if he learns of all that you’ve been doing.”

Before she could answer the older
woman, Jane was distracted by the children.

“
Wake up, Mr.
Cuddlesworth,” Joshua said. He reached into the basket and stroked
the cat. “You can’t be
that
sleepy.”

Sarah took matters into her own
hands—literally. She picked the cat up and held him like a sleeping
baby in her arms. “Come on, now. Purr for me, silly kitty.” She
scratched behind his ears and beneath his chin with no
response.

Jane nearly fell from the chair she
stood upon. Mr. Cuddlesworth hadn’t moved, not to open his eyes,
not to shove his head eagerly into the little hands that were ready
and willing to scratch him. Not at all.

“
Help me down, Mrs. Pratt,”
she said, trying her best to keep her voice calm.
“Immediately.”

The sense of urgency in her voice
propelled the children’s nurse into action. She rushed over and
assisted Jane to the floor, and then they both hurried to the
children at the table.

“
Sarah, I need to see Mr.
Cuddlesworth, sweetheart.” Tears stung at Jane’s eyes, but now was
not the time to cry. She needed to be strong for the
children.

When the little girl passed the cat
into her arms, she knew.

Mr. Cuddlesworth had passed on. His
body hung limp, lifeless in her arms—no breath, no purring. He was
simply gone.

Mrs. Pratt looked on, with tears
staining her gray dress.

The children were staring up at Jane.
She had to do something. She had to tell them. But how?

“
Miss Jane?” asked the
little girl quietly. She still hadn’t adjusted to calling her by
any other name. “Is Mr. Cuddlesworth all right?” Sarah’s chin
quivered as she looked back and forth between her step-mother and
her nurse.

Jane tried to answer, but nothing came
out of her mouth.

“
He isn’t sleeping, is he?”
Joshua asked.

Jane took a breath to calm herself.
She had to be strong. She was the adult. “No, Joshua. He’s not
asleep.” Taking the boy by the hand, she led him to a seat in front
of the hearth. Mrs. Pratt did the same with Sarah.

She sat with one child on either side
of her and Mr. Cuddlesworth on her lap. “Do you remember how I told
you that he was just like a little old man?” The children nodded
their heads. “Well, he got to be too old and couldn’t stay with us
any longer.”

“
Is he dead?” asked Joshua
on a whimper.

Lying would serve no purpose. They
deserved to know the truth. “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

Sarah fell to her knees and laid her
head across Mr. Cuddlesworth’s limp body, her tears wetting his
fur. Josh wrapped his arms tight around Jane’s neck, sobbing
loudly.

She held them both, doing her best to
console them, all the while wishing she could follow their example
and bawl openly. But now was not the time.

“
I’ll fetch His Grace,
ma’am,” said Mrs. Pratt with a sniffle, then she pivoted on her
heels and fled the room.

The force of the children’s grief
slowly began to subside. Thunderous sobs had faded to sniffles by
the time Peter arrived, the heels of his Hessian boots echoing in
the cavernous hall.

“
Jane,” he said softly,
“are you all right?” He moved in and sat beside her, where Sarah
had been, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her
near.

“
Yes, of course. But the
children...” She needed to know the children were well looked
after. “They mustn’t be alone right now.”

“
The children will be fine.
They’ve loved Mr. Cuddlesworth for these last months. But you loved
him for his entire life.” His hand slid up and down her back,
caressing and coaxing her to respond.

But Jane couldn’t. She couldn’t let
herself cry right now. If she did, she would fall apart and might
never be able to put herself together again. All she could manage
was a nod.

“
May I take him from you?”
Peter asked. “We should bury him.” Ever so gently, he pried first
Joshua’s fingers free from Mr. Cuddlesworth’s fur, then lifted
Sarah from her position at Jane’s lap, and finally slipped the cat
out of Jane’s grasp.

“
Yes,” Jane finally said.
“Yes, we should do that.”

Her sweet Mr. Cuddlesworth was gone.
Jane let Peter lead her from the keep out into the rain in the
courtyard, then beside the stables. She stood with Joshua and Sarah
and watched him fashion a tiny coffin and dig a small grave,
holding on to the children when they cried and wiping the tears
from their eyes.

Sniffles sounded all around her, from
Mrs. Pratt, Meg, Mrs. Dunstan, Mrs. Prichard, and so many of the
other servants of Carreg Mawr as they came out in the rain to
support her.

Then Peter carefully laid Mr.
Cuddlesworth’s body in his coffin and placed it in the earth. When
the wet dirt was tossed in atop the wooden box, Jane felt the first
tear fall.

She feared they might never
stop.

Until a gunshot sounded behind
her.

~ * ~

Peter cursed beneath his breath as he
bodily flattened Jane and his children to the ground. “Get down!
Everyone, get down.”

A chorus of screams echoed all around
him. Why on earth had such a crowd of his servants amassed over the
death of his wife’s cat? Clearly, Jane had made quite an impression
upon them all. Damnation. There were too many people out in the
open—too many people in danger of being shot, when an obvious
madman like Utley had a rifle in his hands.

How had he gotten into the castle
without someone seeing him?

He lifted his head and tried to see
through the pelting rain. Utley had shot at him from somewhere in
the upper turrets, but thankfully, the distance had been too great
for an accurate shot. Wherever he’d gone, the bastard would have to
reload.

Peter pushed himself up from the
ground and took off toward the castle. “Stay down, all of
you.”

Jane struggled to her feet behind him.
“What…? What’s going on?”

Blast, he didn’t have time for this.
“Stay down, Jane! I need you to stay with the children.” Without
waiting for her to respond, he raced through the courtyard and into
the castle. If fortune was on his side, Utley was not so far gone
that he’d intentionally injure someone else—it was Peter the
bastard wanted.

He tore through the inner bailey and
up the stairs to the closest turret, cursing the noise made by his
Hessians all the way. Rushing up the circular stairs, his heart
felt ready to burst from his chest from the exertion. He checked
every nook and cranny as he went. There was no sign of Utley
anywhere.

A flash of movement brushed before him
just as he stepped out onto the parapet to move to the north
turret. Peter flung himself back against the wall and tried to slow
his breathing. With a slow stretch, he moved his head around the
stone corner.

His brother, Neil, stood across the
way, holding a finger to his lips. What in God’s name was his
brother doing in Wales? Neil shook his head ever so slightly, just
enough that Peter could make the movement out, then gestured to the
left with his head.

Peter craned his head to see further
along the crenellated parapet. Utley stood there, frantically
trying to load another ball down the barrel of his rifle. It looked
like grime might be blocking the ball’s path, and try as he might,
Utley was making no progress.

Neil caught Peter’s eye, gestured some
more with his hands, and pulled a pistol from the inside of his
coat. Good Lord. This couldn’t be happening. Neil stealthily
climbed over the parapet and moved soundlessly down the wall,
facing Utley’s back.

When he finally reached his new
position and climbed back over the stone, Peter sucked in a breath.
He pressed his eyes closed for a moment, then took a step toward
the bastard. It was time to end this, once and for all.

Utley still hadn’t noticed either
Peter or Neil…but he was making progress on his reload.

More footsteps pounded up the stairs
where Peter had just come from.

Utley’s head snapped up with a
maniacal look of glee. “Finally come to pay the piper then, have
you Somerton? Come to atone for your sins?”

“
What sins, Utley?” Peter
needed to keep him talking. “What have I done that you seem so
intent on seeking retribution for?”

Jane skidded to a stop just behind the
wall, just out of Utley’s sight. Peter’s heart thudded to a
complete stop. What in bloody hell was she doing up there? He’d
asked her to stay with the children. To stay where she would be
safe. His gaze locked onto hers. She was terrified, yet once again
she was rushed in to face her fears even when she
oughtn’t.

He implored her with his eyes to
remain silent. She gave him a tiny nod, and pressed her back
against the wall.

“
Like you don’t know.
You’ve gone around most of your life, pretending you’re this
perfect gentleman, the ideal of honor and duty and valor.” Utley’s
upper lip lifted in a sneer. “Where was your honor when you dared
my brother to his death? Where was your sense of duty to him when
you knew the challenge he was up against, and didn’t stop
him?”

There it was again—those same
questions Peter had asked himself over and over again since that
blasted day almost twenty years ago. “I did dare Rawden to jump the
hedge that day. There’s no denying it, not that I’ve ever tried,
Utley. But you and I both know I’d never been on that property
before. None of us knew about the cliffs.”

“
Lies. As usual. What else
should I expect? You’ve been lying your entire life.”

Neil took two slow, deliberate steps
closer, and Peter’s breath caught in his throat.

“
It isn’t a lie. I’d been
to Rotheby’s principal seat countless times, but never to any of
his other estates before. It was my first time in Dover.” And his
last.

Utley let out a nervous laugh, one
that sounded like an attempt at a cackle but which came across more
as a bleat. “That old goat told you and your brothers everything
about everything. Whether you’d been there before or not, you
knew.” He made another push to load the barrel, and then grinned as
he raised it and pointed.

A second shot rang out in the
stillness.

“
No!” Jane screamed and
dashed around the corner. Peter put his arms out and caught her,
stopping her progress.

Utley fell forward as a trail of
bright red blood poured from a wound in his shoulder. The rifle in
his hands clattered to the ground. Neil rushed out, took the rifle,
and placed his pistol back in his waistband. When Utley sputtered
and started to stand, one of Neil’s boots stopped him and pressed
him back down.

Where on earth had Neil learned to do
anything remotely like that? But he seemed to have it well in hand.
That meant Peter could return his attention to his wife.