Checkmate, My Lord (4 page)

His rigid schedule left little time for being a child, and when he became the seventh Earl of Somerton at the age of twelve, his childhood disappeared. Not until years later had Sebastian understood his father’s obsessive need to ready him for the management of his inheritance. His father’s obsession was fed by his fear and the knowledge that he was dying and Sebastian would be left all alone. It was Sebastian’s first lesson in sacrifice. His father had forfeited a close relationship with his son for a greater good.

Movement to his right pulled him from his bittersweet contemplations. He transferred his attention to the widow and found her studying him. For the first time, he noticed the fatigue pulling at her pretty eyes and wondered what, besides Mr. Blake’s oils, might be plaguing her.

Ashcroft.
The muscles in his neck clenched tight. Of course, she would be worried about the circumstances surrounding her husband’s death. Sebastian regretted not being able to set her mind at ease—though learning the truth behind her husband’s brutal murder might have the opposite effect.

Ignoring her evident signs of strain, he focused on a matter he could control. “Better?”

She blinked two times in quick succession. “Pardon?”

“You are rubbing your temple,” he said. “Did Mr. Blake’s painting supplies leave you with a headache?”

“I’ve never understood how he stays cooped up in that room for hours.” She lowered her arm. “Every time I meet with him, my head begins to pound within minutes.”

“Shall I have Mrs. Fox bring you something for the pain?”

“Thank you, no. The fresh air will do.” A few seconds later, she asked, “You needed to speak with me, my lord?”

“Yes,” he said. “May I call on you Sunday, after services? I thought we could further discuss the letters Ashcroft sent. Given what I just witnessed inside, I fear tomorrow will prove too busy a day.”

Her mask slipped then, just the smallest bit. But he saw disappointment flash across her face as clearly as he could see the single freckle marking the right side of her slender neck.

Again, she leveled her dark gaze on him. Intent. Probing. And somehow, seductive as hell. “Have you nothing to share with me now, my lord?”

“I believe it might be best to discuss the matter once I’ve had an opportunity to wash the road off and rest for a few hours.” Talking to her now, with exhaustion beating against his mind, could open the door for mistakes, and that was something he must guard against when near this observant widow.

“Yes, of course,” she said, drawing her reticule close once more. “I will leave you to it.”

He stepped closer, resting his hand on the balustrade near her hip. Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled in an exploratory breath, searching for her scent and finding only a subtle essence that identified her as a female. Nothing artificial, no expensive perfumes or aromatic soaps. No, this was pure woman.

Sebastian’s chest expanded and he had to swallow hard before he could speak again. “I take it Mr. Blake’s antics are the reason Grayson urged me to return in his last update.”

She nodded. “He did not want to bother you, knowing you were needed in London. But, after Mr. Blake attended a local art exhibit last autumn, his disinterest in managing your estate affairs has magnified at an alarming rate.”

He waved his arm toward Bellamere’s vast gardens. “Everything here seems to be in order.”

She peered over the grounds below. “Yes, your steward likes his comforts.”

“And the tenants? How have they fared?” He suspected he knew the answer already, given the conversation he had overheard.

“They grow increasingly disgruntled, my lord.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’ve placed you in an untenable situation?”

“I don’t mind confronting Mr. Blake,” she said. “I actually look forward to our tête-à-têtes. My household all but runs itself these days, so addressing your tenants’ concerns has given me something else to focus my mind on.”

“How do I respond to such a statement?” he asked. “
You’re welcome
doesn’t seem quite right.”

“What I have done is of little concern,” she said. “Grayson, on the other hand, has to work with the man and try to keep the peace within the household.”

Sebastian had a deep affection for the old retainer and did not like hearing about the butler’s undue frustration. “I take it Mr. Blake not only absconded with my study but a suite of rooms as well.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s obvious the steward’s cottage would not be sufficient for his needs.” He released a sigh. “It appears I have much to rectify in my short visit.”

“A man in your position should be able to trust those in his employ to see to his interests.”

Her defense caught him off guard, and his grip tightened on the balustrade. “You are much too kind, I assure you, Mrs. Ashcroft. We both know I have a duty to the sound management of this estate, one of which is placing qualified individuals into positions of importance.” He paused a moment. “But I thank you for the encouragement, all the same. And I appreciate your intervention with Mr. Blake.”

“You’re welcome, my lord.”

She took a step back, and that’s when Sebastian realized the gap between their bodies was achingly small. He straightened.

“I’ve been keeping a list of items needing your steward’s attention.” She retrieved a folded piece of paper from the depths of her beaded reticule. “You might find this of use as you move forward.”

Taken aback, Sebastian peered at her offering with a mix of wariness and wonder.

“My lord?”

He reached for the list. “Thank you.”

He studied her neat writing and counted twenty-seven items. “You are quite organized, Mrs. Ashcroft. An admirable trait.” She had structured the information into a series of columns, noting the item in need of repair, the tenant’s name, when Mr. Blake was notified, dates she’d checked on the projects’ progress—

His gaze narrowed on the last column labeled
Date
Completed
. The column that held not a single date. “Mr. Blake has failed to address all of these repairs?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord.”

“Some of these date back to a year ago.”

She held his gaze, her silence ringing louder than a death knell. Then she said, “Thankfully the older repairs are more aesthetic in nature. As you can see, the bridge repair occupies the first slot. The farther you go down the list, the less priority the repairs hold.”

Frustration coiled inside his muscles. Damn his steward’s incompetence. The relaxation he’d experienced upon seeing his estate was nothing more than a vague memory. “I’m grateful for your attention to my tenants’ needs, Mrs. Ashcroft. Is there anything I might do for you in return?”

A look of bewilderment crossed her face. “N-no, sir. Attending to those items is more than enough.”

“You are rather easy to please, Mrs. Ashcroft.”

She chuckled low, but the sound held little humor. “On the contrary, my lord. I’m told I’m quite difficult to please.”

“Then it is their failure, not yours, madam.” Sebastian experienced an ungovernable need to ask for the name of anyone who had made such a callous statement, so he could drag him back here by the scruff of his miserable neck to apologize.

She sent him an appreciative smile before fixing her gaze on the horizon, toward her home. “I must be off. I promised my daughter a stroll to the lake before dinner.”

Mention of her daughter had the same effect as sleet rolling down his spine. Somehow he had to find a way to honor Ashcroft’s request of watching over his family without becoming personally involved. For their safety and his sanity.

“She fares well, too, I hope.”

“More than well, my lord.” The somber edges of her features transformed into glowing angles. “Sophie is a sweet-hearted girl, full of life, and rather horse-mad, I’m afraid. She turns seven next Saturday.”

“From the sound of it, your daughter is keeping you busy.”

“Indeed, she does. Her old nurse, too. The poor woman can do little more than watch her flit from one distraction to the next.”

“No matter how hard they might be, enjoy these years while you can. Children grow up all too soon.”

The widow studied him with a peculiar look that made heat gather around his neckcloth. He broke eye contact and took the opportunity to scan the gardens and treeline again. “I should not keep you any longer. May I escort you home?”

“Is anything amiss, sir?”

Sebastian jerked his attention back to his companion. Her gaze flicked up from his hands, where he toyed with his signet ring. “No, why?”

“You appear distracted.” She waved toward the area he had been searching. “Searching for something?”

Surprised by her perception and irritated by his lack of finesse, he emptied his expression of all emotion, stopped twirling his ring, and forced his voice into an equally bland tone. “I am merely enjoying the view, madam.”

“Ah, I see.”

But Sebastian could perceive that she had not been fooled. He cursed again. His transition from protective agent to bored aristocrat had been too abrupt, too jarring. This mess with Latymer and Reeves was affecting him more than he realized.

He settled what he hoped was a pleasant smile on his lips. “May I provide an escort, Mrs. Ashcroft?”

“No need, my lord.” She sent him a thin smile. “I have navigated the path connecting our two properties many times. If you have nothing more for me, I shall retrieve my horse and head back to Winter’s Hollow.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, bowing. “Thank you again for your assistance. I shall see you Sunday.”

She curtsied, and set off for the stables.

He tapped the folded list against the stone ledge while he followed the widow’s route through the garden until she disappeared behind the small maze of tall green hedges.

Despite his blunder with the surveillance, the sensual awareness that had been present during their meeting in London was all but nonexistent today. In fact, she seemed a wholly different woman. Her wardrobe, her hair, her openness—it was all… suppressed. So what had changed in the last four days?

He caught a small glimpse of her again when she turned toward the stables. One thing that had remained the same from their previous meeting was the layer of underlying loneliness he sensed in her. This she could not mask. At least not from him, a man who had lived in emotional isolation for years. Too many years for him to change now, but the widow made him yearn for something closer, something more meaningful.

His gaze roamed over the gardens, and paper crackled between his stiff fingers. Once again, his responsibilities had closed in on him. What he had viewed as a sanctuary a mere half hour ago now felt like another beautiful, unwanted burden.

Catherine did her best to retreat from Lord Somerton’s presence in a calm, there’s-nothing-wrong-with-me manner. But there was something wrong. Something very wrong. It was all she could do not to run, not to flee from the chaos crowding her mind and the unholy sensations invading her body.

How does one run from oneself? She closed her eyes and allowed her lungs to expand on a long breath. The exercise didn’t help. Nothing would at the moment. She was too far gone into self-recrimination. Squaring her shoulders, she refocused on the path.

The man she had spoken with today was vastly different from the one she had encountered in London. Today’s Lord Somerton was compelling. His anger over Mr. Blake’s inaction, his concern for his butler, and his appreciation of her efforts were the reactions of a man who cared. Not someone who could not be bothered with a grieving widow’s request.

His eyes—a piercing blue-gray flecked with an unholy silver—were perhaps what disturbed Catherine the most. The combination of striking colors bore right through to her soul, laying open all the raw pain she tried to hide from the world.

She felt wary around him. Exposed. Drawn to the strength chiseled into his lean features.

That strength had not faltered once. At least not until she’d defended his decision to leave Bellamere in the hands of his steward. A flash of surprise, maybe even gratitude, had lit those amazing eyes.

Catherine veered toward the stables. While making her way down a small hill, she allowed her thoughts to circle back to his stunned reaction. One would believe he was unaccustomed to such defense. Much like she was unprepared for his offer to return a favor. In her experience, few men offered such things without an ulterior motive. But, in his expression, she saw only sincerity and gratitude.

She shook her head, unwilling to contemplate the earl’s motivations any longer. She couldn’t allow herself to be swayed by a few kindnesses. For all she knew, he had staged everything for her benefit.

Why he would go to such lengths, she didn’t know. All she knew in that moment was she had given him an opportunity to tell her the truth about Jeffrey’s murder, and he’d chosen yet again to remain silent. Not one flicker of regret had crossed his handsome face.

She had been watching.

Closely.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ashcroft.”

Catherine halted mid-stride, startled by the groomsman’s greeting. “Hello, Jasper. Could I trouble you to bring out Gypsy?”

“Ain’t no trouble at all, ma’am.” He leaned the pitchfork against the side of Lord Somerton’s enormous barn before disappearing into its depths. Two minutes later, he led Gypsy to the mounting block and rubbed the mare’s nose until Catherine was settled onto the saddle.

Jasper handed the reins up to her. “Did you see his lordship, ma’am?”

She patted Gypsy’s neck. “Indeed I did, Jasper.”

“Do you think his lordship will see to things?”

Known for his gentle nature, the groomsman rarely spoke his mind. That he did so now confirmed the deplorable state of Mr. Blake’s management. “Yes,” she said. “I think Lord Somerton will see to many things.”

He nodded. “Some folks have it in their heads that his lordship agreed with Mr. Blake’s way of taking care of concerns.”

“But you know better. Isn’t that correct, Jasper?”

“Aye, ma’am.” He scratched the back of his head, making his hat go askew. “Though some folks wonder why it took his lordship so long to return.”

Damn
men
and
their
infernal
habit
of
being
absent
. “Lord Somerton is a busy man, with many responsibilities. If he had known what was happening here, I’m certain he would have returned posthaste. His lordship hires individuals, like yourself, to care for his properties, because he cannot be in more than one place. Unfortunately, not every member of his staff has the same love of their job as you do.”

The barrage of words had barely left her lips before Catherine cursed her wayward tongue. If she could have done so without an excessive amount of blood, she would have bit the troublesome appendage off.

What on earth was she doing defending the earl yet again? She did not even know if he deserved such support. For all she knew, the man was an excellent candidate for a cell in Newgate.

The groomsman smiled. “I knew it had to be something like that, ma’am. My uncle used to be his lordship’s head gardener. You’d never meet a more surlier, hard-to-please man than Uncle Henry, but he often spoke well of his lordship.” He tipped his hat in her direction. “Thank you for setting my mind at ease. I’ll let the others know.”

Catherine nearly groaned. The earl had better have been sincere in his outrage over Mr. Blake’s lack of attention. If he wasn’t, she’d have a lot of explaining to do. “Be sure to say hello to your wife.”

He released Gypsy and stepped back. “That I will, Mrs. Ashcroft.”

The ride back to Winter’s Hollow gave Catherine time to wrestle her tumultuous thoughts back into their proper place. She rather liked Mr. Cochran’s idea of keeping an eye on Lord Somerton, even though the process was clearly spying. But her mind seemed willing to overlook that fact for two simple reasons. One, if the earl was found innocent of treason, he—along with Cochran—might be able to solve the mystery of her husband’s death; and two, just being near Lord Somerton made her feel sensations she hadn’t felt in a long time. And God forgive her, she didn’t want to give that up yet.

To think Lord Somerton would be the one to awaken her body came as a surprise, considering his penchant for isolation and avoidance of finer feelings. But it had always been so with him. Even while Jeffrey was still alive, much to her shame. She had never acted on the deep yearnings of her body, nor had she given the earl reason to suspect she carried them.

They had felt wrong, all the same.

Her first opportunity to observe him would be in two days, when they discussed Jeffrey’s correspondence. A thrill of anticipation brightened her mood.

She reined in Gypsy outside her much smaller barn. Her toes had barely touched the ground before a small body plowed into her skirts and long, thin arms encircled her waist. “Mama, you’re home!”

Catherine laughed, as she always did when around her precocious daughter. She twisted around to smooth her hand over Sophie’s soft red-blond curls. “What’s all this? Surely I was not gone long enough to warrant such an enthusiastic welcome.”

Big, sorrowful blue eyes peered up at her. “You were gone foreeever. I thought that mean Mr. Blake gobbled you up.”

In her nine and twenty years, Catherine had few things she could boast about, her daughter being the one exception. Sophie amazed her each and every day with her infectious laugh, insatiable curiosity, and uncanny ability to recall the smallest of details.

She pried open her daughter’s clasped hands and found one held a wooden warrior brandishing a sword. From her earliest days, Sophie had been fascinated with anything that had to do with knights, castles, war, and horses. Catherine suspected part of her interest had to do with her desire to hold her father’s attention.

Every time Jeffrey had visited, he and Sophie would add a new figure, weapon, animal, or piece of furniture to her miniature castle. In recent years, it had been left to Catherine to continue their tradition of bringing Castle Dragonthorpe to life. She knew the experience was not the same for Sophie, but her sweet daughter had been careful not to show it.

“Don’t be silly, young lady,” Catherine said. “If anyone was going to do the gobbling, it was I.” She emphasized her pronouncement by tickling her daughter’s middle, underarms, and neck.

The girl’s laughter echoed through the stableyard. The joyous sound delighted Catherine’s aching heart.

“Stop, Mama! Stop.” Another wave of uncontrollable giggles followed.

A boy emerged from the barn, and Sophie’s laughter broke off, replaced by a sunbeam smile. “Teddy, we’re going to the lake. Want to come?”

He glanced at Catherine and then into the stables. “Can’t, Miss Sophie. I’ve chores to finish.”

Her daughter’s face fell. “Can’t they wait until later?”

“No, Miss Sophie,” he said. “I’m still trying to catch up from this morning. Mama wasn’t feeling well and—” He swallowed hard. “Maybe tomorrow.”

When her daughter started to protest, Catherine set a hand on the girl’s narrow shoulder. “Teddy, sounds like your mother could use a big bowl of Cook’s chicken soup. I’ll drop some off later this afternoon.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He shuffled his feet. “She’ll take to Cook’s soup much better than what Papa and I have been fixing.” His gaze shifted to Sophie, then back to Catherine. “Should I see to Gypsy now?”

Catherine nodded. “Thank you, Teddy.”

He tugged on the mare’s reins. “Come on, girl. I’ve a nice big carrot waiting for you.” Gypsy’s ears perked up, and she followed him inside with a bit more prance to her step.

Sophie sighed and leaned into Catherine’s hip. “He never wants to play with me.”

Catherine kissed the top of her daughter’s head and nudged her toward the house. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” she said in a beleaguered voice. “He’s working to help his family. But boys need to play, too.”

Smiling, Catherine said, “Yes, they do. Let me see if Carson can spare Teddy for a few hours tomorrow.”

Her daughter spun around, her hands clasped together in a prayer-like fashion. “Truly, Mama?”

Catherine tapped her daughter’s nose. “I’m making no promises. Carson has the final say.”

Sophie jumped. “Oh, thank you, thank you.”

Catherine laughed. She hoped her daughter would always be this easy to please. “You’re welcome. Now let’s collect our poles and see if we can catch some fish for dinner.”

Hand in hand, they set off. “Can I go with you to see Teddy’s mama? She’s always nice to me at church.”

“Of course, dear,” Catherine said. “But I want you to wait in the gig until I know what’s ailing Mrs. Taylor. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine, pumpkin. There’s no need to worry about me.”

Her daughter nodded, having no reason to doubt Catherine’s word. “Grandmama said I must ‘temper my enthusiasm’ on Saturday. Does that mean I can’t have fun on my birthday?”

Catherine knew her mother was being cautious about appearances. Society observed a strict set of customs when it came to mourning one’s father and grandfather. However, Catherine would be damned if she allowed Jeffrey’s absence—even in death—to cast a black cloud over another of her daughter’s birthdays.

“Normally, I would agree with your grandmother,” Catherine said. “But I have taken special care to invite only our closest friends and relatives.” She tweaked one of her daughter’s curls. “We can laugh until our bellies hurt.”

Sophie eyes twinkled. “And dance until our feet fall off.”

Catherine laughed. “And sing until the dogs howl.”

“And eat sweets until we cast up our accounts.”

“What are you two going on about?” a new voice demanded.

Swiping the tears from her cheeks, Catherine smiled at the newcomer. “Good afternoon, Mother.” The same height as her daughter, Evelyn Shaw commanded attention wherever she went. Her slender beauty, keen wit, and approachable nature made her a much sought after companion in any social gathering. However, few would recognize her mother in all her current disheveled and dirt-dusted glory.

Sophie bolted forward. “Grandmama, we’re going to have such a grand time on Saturday.”

The older woman transferred her basket of cut flowers to her opposite arm and hugged her granddaughter to her middle. “From the sound of it, the festivities have already begun.” She peered up at Catherine. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Catherine winked at her daughter. “What is a party without laughter?”

Giggling, Sophie asked, “Will you dance with us, Grandmama?”

“Certainly not.” Grandmama looked aghast. “I will be much too busy using my fan to beat back all the young men who will be vying for your attention.”

“Young men? I do not want to dance with
men
.”

“Then I’ll turn my fan onto the grubby boys who will no doubt be scampering about.”

Frowning, Sophie asked, “Who will be left to dance with me?”

“Don’t you have any female friends?”

Sophie chortled. “No, Grandmama. You can’t be serious.”

“Indeed, I am, young lady.”

“But I’ll be seven.”

“So you will.”

Sophie rounded on Catherine. “Mama, tell her I’m much too old to pair up with girls.”

Turning her hands up in a helpless gesture, Catherine said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I have yet to sway your grandmama to my side once she has her mind set.”

Sophie glanced at her grandmama and then back to Catherine. Her eyes narrowed, suspicion making her scowl. “Grandmama, is this another one of your
inducements
?”

Her grandmama sniffed. “You make the notion sound positively criminal.”

Shifting her weight to one foot, Sophie propped her little hands on her hips. “What must I do for you not to scare off my dance partners?”

“The rose bushes could use a bit of snipping.”

Sophie started to protest until she saw her grandmama’s eyebrow arch. “Perhaps, you would rather weed the herb garden?”

Her daughter’s curls jounced with a violent shake of her head. “No, ma’am. I love snipping off dead things.”

“It’s settled then.” Catherine placed her hands on Sophie’s shoulders and kissed the back of her head. “Run along and locate our fishing gear. I have something I need to discuss with your grandmama.”

With her shoulders bent forward and her head hanging low, Sophie trudged up the path as if she towed a great load.

“I shall see you at seven tomorrow morning, young lady.”

Sophie’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it again. Instead of protesting, she made for the garden gate and released her frustration with a solid stomp of her foot and a low growl from her throat.

As soon as she was out of hearing range, Evelyn Shaw chuckled. “Such a little spitfire. Not unlike you at that age.”