Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (11 page)

Footsteps approached and he stood expectantly. Elizabeth came to a stop just outside the doorway. She’d changed from her drab housekeeper’s gown and looked so lovely that he took a pace toward her before he considered her likely reaction. She scowled and then held out her hands to George. The boy hurried to her side and she hugged him tightly. “Your uncle is here and wants to see you.”

“Is he rich?”

Elizabeth smoothed her son’s hair and the gesture reminded Oliver of her hands threading through his own locks while they kissed. He’d liked the sensation very much. He moved to the doorway to hear her answer.

“He says he is.”

The touch of doubt in her voice propelled him out the door and into the hall.

Elizabeth glanced at him. “Excuse us.”

She caught George’s hand and towed him toward the main staircase. Just before they reached the top of the stairs the boy dug his heels in and faced Oliver again. “Are you not coming to meet my uncle?”

Oliver considered and, seeing the expectation in the boy’s eyes, he closed the door to his new chamber and moved to join them. “It’s been many years, but I would be happy to.”

Beth appeared dubious of his company, but she was silent as they descended. She allowed him to open the door for them and he followed. The next instant, George stepped back onto his right foot. He winced and caught the boy by the shoulder. “Steady there,” he warned.

“My word, he’s grown,” a deep voice rasped. “I hardly recognize him.”

Oliver faced the sound and determined Henry Turner’s pockmarked face as the cause of his bruised toes. He forgave the boy immediately, squeezed his shoulder, and then stepped around him to thrust out his hand in greeting to the newcomer. “Turner.”

Henry Turner squinted at him and then began to chuckle. “Good Lord, Oliver Randall, as I live and breathe. Now, I would never have recognized you if we were not standing here inside Romsey Abbey itself. By the devil, you look positively decrepit.”

In Oliver’s opinion, Henry Turner lacked the intelligence to imagine very much of anything. He studied him as he would an unstable element. The meaty paw pumping his hand lacked any kindness, the eyes darting about the room only to return to stare at George set his teeth on edge. Oliver increased his grip, only satisfied when the man’s smile disappeared. “Some things change and some do not,” he murmured as he studied Turner. He let the man’s hand go and returned to his position behind George.

Beth nudged her son forward. “Are you not going to greet your uncle?”

“Of course. Sorry, sir. How do you do?”

When George stuck out his hand as Oliver had, Turner looked at it and then pulled the boy into a rough embrace. Elizabeth’s breath hitched and Oliver could see the boy struggling to get away from the man holding him. After a moment, George was released and Turner made a show of wiping at his eyes. “My own flesh and blood. I never thought it would take so long to see you again. You were just a wee babe when I left. I suspect you don’t remember me.”

Beth slid her hands over George’s shoulders and pulled him closer to her. The boy appeared to prefer it. “His father spoke of you often and George asked after you just the other day.”

Henry Turner beamed and there was suddenly no trace of tears in his eyes. Intrigued, Oliver moved away to stand at the sidelines to better view proceedings. His brother’s face was set in grim lines as he conversed with Turner. In the past, Leopold and Turner had been close acquaintances, but Oliver had a feeling that something bothered his brother about this visit.

Turner spoke of a grand house and the even grander society he moved in. Henry Turner professed himself a pillar of the community and that made Oliver doubt his stories. People did not change, no matter how fine the suit they wore. Turner had been a bully as a boy and he doubted he was any different now. His face and rough, scarred hands gave away his lifestyle.

When Turner took his leave with a promise to return tomorrow, Oliver followed him to the door, ensuring he heard every single word he spoke. George trailed after, his face eager for stories of how wonderful his uncle’s life was, and Turner was happy to embellish quite liberally.

When Henry Turner’s horse disappeared from view, George tugged his sleeve. “May I return upstairs again?”

Oliver took a moment to consider where the boy should be. If he knew anything about Elizabeth and her moods, she was upset again. If George was here she might not speak her mind. Perhaps the boy did not need to be present. “Off you go.”

George sprinted up the main staircase as if the devil chased him.

“He looks to you for advice,” Eamon murmured at his side.

Oliver shrugged. “Take the afternoon off, Eamon. I’m sure you deserve a pint or two at the tavern.”

His friend hesitated. “Won’t I be needed here?”

“No, Eamon,” Oliver said as he cast one final glance outside before the door closed. “Your gift for ferreting out the heart of important gossip will serve us better. Find out everything you can about Turner and particularly his business interests in America.”

“Do you believe he’s lying?”

Oliver shook his head as Elizabeth was led to a chair and comforted by Blythe and the duchess. His disquiet grew. “I cannot determine that until I have more than just his word. I need facts and you’re the man to furnish them.”

Chapter Ten

BETH STARED INTO the flames as panic clawed her throat. She’d done her best to hide her emotions while her brother-in-law had been present, but she had no desire to comply with his wishes and travel to America. How could she take her son away from everything he’d known?

A soft, comforting arm curled around her shoulders and drew her back to the chairs. She was pushed into a well-padded seat, fussed over, and then a teacup appeared before her. The tea was black, the way she liked it. “Drink this. I’m sure you’ll feel better soon,” the duchess murmured.

She lifted her arm to take it and when she did, the cup rattled on the saucer. The duchess swiftly took it back and drew her into her arms. “Shh, my dear. We’ll muddle through this.”

Her embrace was firm and comforting and for a moment Beth needed that. “I do not see how. He threatened to take George whether I like it or not. I did not imagine that, did I?”

She dropped her face to her hands to hide her distress, but Lady Venables settled on her other side and rubbed her back. “I’m sure it will not come to that,” the lady murmured soothingly.

“It may,” Oliver interjected abruptly.

Beth jumped. She thought he’d returned to his studies, but she could see his boots at the edge of her vision. She wished he would go away. He was not one to hold back an opinion to spare her feelings. When she lifted her head to look at him, he’d taken a chair opposite. His expression was full of speculation, but he kept any further thoughts to himself.

She sat up straight again, determined not to appear weak and emotional. “Thank you for your assistance in this, Your Grace, but I should return below.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ve too much on your mind now to bother with your duties. Why don’t you spend what is left of the day with George? I’m sure he’d enjoy that very much.”

“I’d much rather be gainfully employed, given the circumstances. I don’t want to leave you in the lurch with the wedding so close at hand. I’d like to do what I can before I leave.”

“Leave?” several voices said at once, Oliver’s the loudest.

Beth nodded but wondered why he cared enough to comment. It wasn’t as if he would be here to miss her or George. It wasn’t as if he missed anyone. She wiped away the tears pooling in her eyes. “I’ll not let Henry take George away without a fight, and if he will not relent then I will accompany my son. I haven’t any choice.”

Oliver stood abruptly. He took a pace away and then turned back. “Excuse me.” His footsteps were loud and hurried as he departed.

“Now he remembers his manners. Usually he just leaves the room without a word,” the duchess grumbled under her breath. “The wedding preparations can be managed by others. In light of your decision, I’m afraid I must insist that you give up the position now. I was never easy about you taking on so much.”

Beth gulped and clenched her hands together to still the tremble. If she did not have the position at Romsey then she did not have a reason to remain and couldn’t claim to even have a roof over their heads. She’d have no choice but to comply with Henry’s demands and leave England. “As you wish. I’ll leave immediately.”

The duchess patted her hand. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m not letting you or George out of our sight for another moment.”

She stared at the duchess, puzzled by her remark. “What? Why?”

She squeezed Beth’s hand again. “Did you really believe I would give in to such a bully? I consider you a friend and you have far better bargaining power as a guest in my home than as a mere servant in my employ. You were far too good for that position anyway. Desperation is my only excuse for allowing it.”

Beth held her hands to her face. “Are you still not in such dire straits, Your Grace?”

“My name is Mercy and I will not answer to anything else from you from this moment forward.”

Beth swallowed the lump in her throat and tears sprang to her eyes at the kindness she was being offered. It might not be for long, but she would take any help she could get in this matter and later revert to formality. The duchess nudged her. “Go and see George. Spend the day with him and do not think about your brother-in-law again. Despicable suggestion. I’m certain there is a way around the problem and we will find it together.”

“Thank you,” Beth said and then remembered, “Mercy.”

The duchess released her with a delighted smile and Beth tottered from the room on unsteady feet. The move to Romsey and giving up her independence had been a painful choice. Leaving her home, a failure in her mind. Although life had not always been easy she had never considered striking out to find a better situation. That she could one day be on first-name terms with the Duchess of Romsey had never occurred to her.

At the first landing on the staircase, she passed Oliver. She did not meet his gaze and he offered no greeting. But he fell in step beside her as she continued upstairs. When she turned in the direction of her bedchamber, where she hoped to find George, he called her back. “George is this way.”

Startled by the softness of his voice, she blinked and then turned around. He gestured toward the deserted east wing.

Beth hurried forward, eager to know why George was in this part of the abbey again. To her knowledge it was deserted, with only dust and possibly mice as occupants. The door at the end of the hall was ajar and she hurried to it, conscious of the man following close on her heels.

She stepped through and blinked in the bright light. When she looked around, the space took her breath away.

“My thoughts exactly,” Oliver murmured as he moved farther into the chamber and left her standing alone.

At some time in the past, the whole end of this wing had clearly been a beautiful apartment but the state of it was terrible disrepair. What a waste. It would have looked so much prettier years ago. Any guest coming for the duchess’s wedding would be happy to stay here once it was made livable.

Oliver stopped at a distant doorway, spoke a few mumbled words, and then the next moment George’s head popped out of that same door. “Can’t I stay?”

Beth rubbed her arms. George did not know his uncle wanted to take him away to America yet and his question caused gooseflesh to rise on her arms. She had a little time to work out how to break the news. “For a little while. But only if you are not disturbing Mr. Randall.”

George squinted up at Oliver and, after a small smile had flittered over the man’s usually impassive face, he grinned and disappeared again.

“The boy does no harm,” Oliver assured her.

Rather than meet his eyes, Beth moved to a window and tried to slow her chaotic thoughts. Outside, the season was turning toward winter with a slow and steady march. This was the time of year she loved, curled up beneath a warm blanket with the cold as her excuse to be idle.

Oliver moved about restlessly behind her and left her with little peace. He embraced the idea of experiencing new places—she’d heard nothing but his grand plans to travel since his return. Yet the idea filled her with unease. She knew nothing of America, in truth very little beyond the district. Her brother-in-law was a virtual stranger to her as well, which did not help allay her fears.

What could she do to prevent Henry from taking George away? She had limited knowledge of the law, but Leopold had more extensive experience and he appeared worried and also not as friendly toward Henry Turner as he’d once been. She’d have to appeal to Leopold for help, although the idea did not sit well with her. Leopold had done too much already. More than she deserved.

Morose thoughts would not help her out of this situation. Work had always been a good distraction, but she’d none to do now that the duchess had dismissed her. In the end, Beth faced Oliver to see what on earth he was doing. He’d stripped himself of his coat and was striding about in his fine fitted waistcoat and breeches, gathering small objects from around the room and placing them together on one round table. Next, he forced a sash window open, letting a cold breeze flood the room. One by one, he threw dusty puddles of faded drapes through the gap and then several cushions with their stuffing falling out followed. “What are you doing?”