Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (2 page)

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Grace.” He paused at the doorway, noting that the table had shrunk considerably in size from yesterday. At least they wouldn’t have to shout for this meal. “May I compliment you on the rearrangement of the room?”

“Yes, it is very snug and much more comfortable.” She beamed. “But you must compliment Mrs. Turner. Such a treasure. She thought the family would be more content with a smaller setting and made sure to organize everything.”

He nodded and considered what response to make. Elizabeth was likely at the end of the procession into dinner and wouldn’t hear his response. He glanced over his shoulder as he held out a chair for the duchess and saw Elizabeth on Tobias’s arm, laughing at something he said. When she noticed his interest, her eyes fell and her smile slipped from her face. It wasn’t the first time his scrutiny had produced a similar effect and yet he was disappointed. Had his incarceration changed him so much that he couldn’t be looked upon with ease?

The duchess laughed. “Oh, do stop looking so grim. It is just a conversation.”

Self-conscious, Oliver smoothed his graying hair and strove to put it from his mind. He couldn’t help that he looked a great deal older than his eight and twenty years. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was unaware I was making any particular face. I’ll stop immediately.”

Gooseflesh swept his skin but he strove to ignore the uncomfortable sensation as he took his place, a seat beside Elizabeth. Talk resumed among the couples, leaving only Elizabeth and himself silent. After a moment, she leaned slightly in his direction. “I can see you would rather be elsewhere.”

“I cannot deny it. They say the hot-springs baths of Bagno Vignoni can cure a man of anything.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you unwell, sir? You’ve only to say so and return to rest.”

“I am fine,” he assured her, rather pleased by her concern. “I suppose it is impossible to regain my looks.”

“Your looks are not in doubt.” Her breath caught and when he met her gaze a blush was climbing her cheeks. She glanced down at her hands that were twisting in her lap. “Where is Bagno Vinoni?”

“Italy.”

“Ah.” Silence fell between them again and she did not ask another question about his travels. Everyone at Romsey was the same; no one cared where he might go, only expressing the hope that he would not. Couldn’t they see the possibilities for adventure? There was so much more to the world than Romsey Abbey.

As he glanced around the table, the duchess caught his eye. “The fourth duchess of Romsey thought very highly of you, Oliver. Did you know that?”

Oliver blinked. “I wasn’t aware that I had inspired such an opinion in Her Grace.”

“I have her journal. You’re mentioned several times. My husband never spoke of her, but I find her journal observations fascinating. What was she like?”

“Terrifying,” Tobias chimed in.

“Stern,” Leopold added. “I cannot remember if I ever saw her smile.”

Oliver considered. “Her Grace was a formidable woman. After all, she was a distant cousin to the king and was, in my opinion, quite intelligent. It was she who encouraged the construction of the stables and other improvements to such a grand style.”

“I thought the old duke did that,” Leopold said, eyebrows rising.

“No, that was not the case.” Oliver shook his head. “She was great friends with many of the notable architects of the time and consulted with them extensively prior to construction. In fact, the most remarkable features of Romsey Abbey were brought about in no small part by the influence of the past duchess.”

Her Grace set her elbow to the table, chin resting in her palm in a manner that no prior duchess of Romsey would have dreamed to do and sighed heavily. “It seems I am quite a failure as a duchess. There are no stone edifices erected simply because I decreed it be so.”

She laughed suddenly, merry, for no reason Oliver could detect. It was this very changeability that flummoxed him. If she would just remain the remote Duchess of Romsey as she was supposed to be then he would have a chance to understand her better. Yet she surprised him at every turn. It was a wonder that his stern elder brother remained under her spell.

Across the table, Leopold grinned. “There is still time for you to leave your mark, my love.”

The pair continued to gaze at each other until Elizabeth cleared her throat. “The event may not be cast in stone, Your Grace, but from what I understand reuniting the Randalls under this roof is no small achievement.”

“Well said, Beth.” Tobias laughed. “Who’d imagine the disavowed sitting down to dine here together?”

“I only did what was right,” Her Grace argued.

“And that is something the other duchess’s could not accomplish,” Oliver added. “There has been discord within the Randalls for centuries.” He knew the family history quite well, thanks to his ability to remember everything he was told or saw with his own eyes.

“Well, that is certainly behind us now,” the duchess insisted, laying her hand upon Leopold’s. “We shall all be very happy together for many years to come, I’m sure.”

A ripple of unease flooded Oliver. He wished she would not profess to know the future as it related to him. He would be gone soon. He could never be happy here. As he opened his mouth to say so, Elizabeth’s hand slid sideways and pressed against his thigh, efficiently silencing his protest.

“How goes the improvements, Mr. Randall?” She asked her question firmly without sparing him a single glance. “Is everything working out with the new farmhands as you hoped?”

Oliver’s leg remembered her touch far longer than was good for him. As the discussion progressed, he studied his dinner companion, impressed by her skill at steering conversation away from an emotional subject. Her pale blue eyes were fixed on Leopold, silently encouraging him to speak of estate matters, and did not veer once in his direction no matter how long he observed her.

While his brother spoke so expansively of crops and likely yields, Oliver resumed his meal in silence, listening with half an ear, discontent with the small, never-ending concerns that filled his brother’s days yet aware of the woman at his left. She puzzled him immensely. If he didn’t know better, he’d believe that she’d used her allure to tie his tongue on purpose.

“What do you think, Oliver?”

He raised his head and met Blythe’s gaze. “Forgive me. I wasn’t paying attention just then,” he admitted honestly.

Her brows rose. “As I thought. You and I, sir, need to have a little chat very soon.”

Tobias laughed. “Now you’ve done it, Ollie.”

Oliver had respected Blythe’s opinion from the moment they met, but he was in no way intimidated by her. “I cannot imagine what you hope to gain by such a candid discussion but if you feel compelled to lecture me, then by all means, you may do your worst at your earliest convenience.”

“Oliver,” Elizabeth hissed.

He slid his glance sideways, face warming at her rare use of his given name. He wanted to hear it again. “I beg your pardon.”

A frown line formed on Elizabeth’s brow. “Nothing.”

When Oliver glanced back across the table, Blythe’s lips had pressed together in a tight line. Blythe might not like it, but he wouldn’t be taken to task over the dinner table. She said nothing, so Oliver returned his attention to the meal and stayed silent until the end.

Elizabeth stood as the other women rose; her hand brushed his coat sleeve lightly. “You hurt Lady Venables’s feelings,” she said softly, blue eyes flickering to his face, disappointment clear in her gaze. “Apologize to her.”

He remained on his feet until the ladies had swept out in a rustle of silk and animated chatter and then sank into his chair again. Yet he couldn’t work out what he should apologize for.
They
had disturbed him. He would have happily remained apart in the library but he’d been given no choice. And now he had to remain here for at least another half hour, drinking and discussing the estate yet again.

Leopold handed around glasses of port. “I am always amazed that someone with your intelligence, Oliver, could irritate almost every person they meet.”

Tobias grinned. “Imagine the damage he will do on the continent.”

“Please, I’m trying not to picture that.” Leopold sat forward. “Are you sure you must go? We’ve only just got you back.”

A brief rush of heat swept his skin again. Devil take it! Perhaps he was not yet fully recovered from his ordeal. A light sweat broke out over his skin, and he pushed the port away untouched. He could not risk missing his ship because he had sickened. “Are you sure you shouldn’t just come with me,” he countered as he steadied himself against the table.

“I need to stay with Edwin,” Leopold said immediately. “I would never be easy to leave him behind.”

Oliver frowned. Leopold’s strong feelings for the child baffled him. He’d only known the duke for a short time. What difference might another year or two make?

Tobias lifted his feet and set his heels to the edge of the table. “Blythe would never forgive me if I left her behind and I have no intention of exposing her to the dangers beyond England’s borders. Honestly, I’m not keen on facing them again myself. Life is much better here than away.”

When Leopold nodded his agreement, Oliver stood and stared around him, irritated beyond belief. They would never yield and he should stop expecting them to fall in with his plans. “Then I go alone and from now on you pair can keep your opinions to yourself.”

Tobias, ever the peacemaker, leapt to his feet and laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Do not be cross with us.”

Oliver shrugged off the weight of Tobias’s grasp and faced them. “I am not cross. Only disappointed. You are each determined to remain leashed to the estate and the past. I will not.”

Tobias’s smile dimmed. “Can you not wait for news of Rosemary? The advertisements have been published in the
Times
and she will want to see you.”

Oliver shook his head, ignoring the hurt forming in his younger brother’s eyes. “Rosemary will understand my restlessness and I am sure you can write to me of her triumphant return when I’m settled in Rome.”

Rome, with her classical ruins and spluttering volcano, was his ultimate destination. The thought of seeing both had kept him alive. They didn’t understand. Without those marvels to explore before him, he had no reason to exist.

Chapter Two

“I SWEAR THAT man is impossible!”

Beth Turner didn’t have to raise her head from her embroidery to understand exactly which gentleman Lady Venables referred to. In her experience, Oliver Randall had a profoundly unsettling effect on everyone he met and he’d been in fine form during dinner. Perhaps it was how his deep brown eyes stared through a person or how he paused so long before making any response. Beth had become accustomed to the way Oliver judiciously weighed his answers before speaking long ago. He never said what was on his mind without due consideration and inner debate. But neither the duchess nor the countess had grown used to his ways yet.

“Do not distress yourself, my lady,” Beth soothed. “At least Oliver is well enough to come down now.”

The countess continued to pace, moving behind Beth’s chair and occasionally tapping the carved wood. “Well, it is very annoying. Attending dinner and being agreeable enough to converse is hardly considered a chore in civilized circles. How does he imagine he’ll get on? Does he plan to speak to no one, or just carelessly offend them all?”

Beth pressed her lips together to cover an unwise response. What went on within the Randall family was none of her concern. She shouldn’t interfere even if she had an idea of how to head off future discord. But it would be best if they reconciled to the fact that Oliver Randall was incapable of doing exactly as he pleased and damn the consequences.

The duchess caught her sister’s hand, forcing her to cease her pacing. “Blythe, dear, do stop fretting about him.”

The calmly spoken words gave Beth hope that they would move on to another topic quickly. One more suited to her immediate needs.

The countess dropped into a chair and picked up a fan, idly waving it before her face. “Yes, well, I suppose you are correct. I shouldn’t vex myself.”

The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “What was Oliver’s disposition like before, Mrs. Turner? Did you know him well? Is he much changed by his time in Skepington?”

Pain caught Beth unaware. When she was young and unmarried, she’d thought she had known his character best of all the gentlemen she’d met. But she’d fooled herself quite thoroughly. She pulled her stitch tight before answering and smoothed out the shirt she was mending for her son. “Not well, but he is little changed from what I remember.”

Lady Venables’s fan snapped shut. “And Mrs. Randall put up with his rudeness without a word of protest?”

A smile pulled at Beth’s lips at the memory of the late Mrs. Jane Randall, furious over a birthday dinner ruined because of Oliver’s tardiness. Mrs. Randall had possessed quite the temper when pressed beyond endurance. “I don’t think that statement is entirely accurate. They did each inherit more than a passing amount of her character.”

The duchess sighed. “I do wish I could have met her. From all I hear she was an outstanding woman.”