Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (24 page)

George laughed along with him and resumed his exploration. Oliver followed behind, picking up things that caught his eye before he returned them to their former place. Tarnished silver, the flicker of a gem under layers of dust, and a hundred other odd trinkets littered long trestle tables strewn about the room. He peered at a foot-square box under one. The half-hidden carving seemed familiar, so he dragged it toward him and wiped the dust away.

A bunch of rosemary sprigs, tied with a white ribbon, appeared.

Oliver wrenched the lid open, ignoring the hinge’s shriek of protest. Inside lay a gentleman’s silver pocket watch, an opal ring, and a small jade brooch on a black velvet cushion. He picked the pieces up and laid them on the flat of his hand. Time had dulled their shine, but Oliver recognized them instantly. There was a portrait of his parents wearing all three hanging in his father’s study at Harrowdale, a room he’d made his own when he was young. These pieces had belonged to his parents once, but Rosemary had been given the brooch on her last birthday before they were separated. She’d
always
worn it with pride.

He covered his mouth. The obvious conclusion that Rosemary was dead choked him. She would never have willingly parted with her most treasured possession. If she were alive, she would still have it with her.

“Mr. Randall, are you all right?

Oliver looked up and blinked through his blurred vision.

George touched his shoulder. “Why are you crying, sir?”

“Am I?” He touched his face and wiped away the wetness coating his cheek. His fingers curled around the piece in his hand and the pin pricked him. He winced and opened his palm to show George what he’d found. “My father’s pocket watch. My mother’s ring.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “My sister’s brooch. They are indeed dead.”

George remained quiet as Oliver stood, grief and anger coursing through him. There was no one else. Rosemary was no more. All that remained was himself, Leopold, and Tobias. The urge to find his brothers and confess everything he’d withheld stirred. He’d not intended to tell them of this room’s location or how to access it, but if he showed them the brooch he might have no choice. He shoved the items into his pocket. “I need to think. Excuse me.”

He moved away to the far side of the chamber and picked up a perfectly polished crystal orb. He turned the globe over in his hand as he sifted through possibilities. Assumptions often led to incorrect conclusions. The presence of the brooch with his mother’s ring proved only that his sister had been with their parents on the day they died. It could have been left on a fallen shawl that was trapped in the carriage wreckage with them. Or in the flight to get help, Rose could have dropped it and one of the duke’s henchmen had found it and brought it back to the duke.

Oliver shook his head. Either way, his discovery today made no real difference. The presence of the jewelry only confirmed what they already knew. His parents were dead and Rosemary was far beyond their reach.

He removed the items from his pocket and held them tightly in his hand one last time. He wouldn’t risk upsetting his brothers any further. Not when he was to depart tomorrow. He retraced his steps to the box and placed the items inside, brushing his fingers over them once. As he shut the lid, he sent a prayer of contrition to his parents. He hadn’t grieved them enough. They had done as much for him as was within their means and his inquisitiveness had gotten them killed, and possibly Rosemary, too.

He vowed that from this moment on he would not embroil himself in other people’s secrets. He would mind his own damn business and get on with his life. To do otherwise would only cause problems. He crossed to where George stood, peering at a map set behind dirty glass. “Come along, lad. It’s getting late.”

“Yes, sir.” George hurried for the stairs, but stopped before he’d ascended. His expression when he turned was full of questions. “When will the young duke be old enough to learn about this place?”

Oliver extinguished the lanterns as he came, considering the future task with a sense of dread. It would be many years before he could be relieved of his burden. His future was still tied to this place by a tenuous thread. “When he reaches his majority will be soon enough.”

George frowned. “What happens if something were to befall you before he’s old enough to be told of this place? Will you leave a note behind?”

“Notes can be dangerous in the wrong hands.” He picked up the lantern they’d brought with them and studied George. Had he made a mistake in confiding in the boy? Had he shared the burden of this knowledge with someone too young to bear it? As he stared, his heart could not believe what his mind suggested. He did not want to tell anyone else. He leaned down to the boy’s level so they were eye to eye. “If anything were to happen to me, I suppose I’d have to rely on my young friend to pass the discovery along to the duke at the appropriate time.”

George smiled brightly. “I’d like that. But how will I know what befalls you, if anything? Will you write to me in America and tell me about your travels? I should like very much to hear of your discoveries.”

“I’d like that as well.” Pain returned to his chest as he smiled down at the boy who might have been his son had he chosen another path for his life. Now he understood. The pain was one of regret. “I’d like to hear how you and your mother settle into your new life.”

He set his hand to George’s shoulder, sorrow suddenly filling him. If he’d decided differently, would he be happy without the prospect of this adventure ahead? When once he’d been so certain of the answer being no, now he wasn’t so sure.

“Maybe Mama won’t cry when we’re in America,” George said as they trudged up the steep staircase.

Elizabeth would cry wherever she went. She did not forget the past and a part of him hoped she wouldn’t forget him easily when the lure of her new life trounced the sorrows of this one. “I’ll pray for that, my boy. With all my heart I wish her happy.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

BETH PLACED THE last altered garment in her trunk and closed it tight. There. Done. She was as ready as she would ever be to face this great new adventure in her life. She couldn’t have completed her preparations in time without Blythe’s help today and she wished there was something she could do to repay her kindness.

But even with that help, Beth still felt as ill prepared as a newborn babe. She’d barely scratched the surface of what she’d need to know to rebuild her life so far away from England and the district she’d never left before. She sank onto the edge of her bed, misery rising. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she wanted to go, she’d rather stay here with the new friends she’d made. Even working as a drudge in the bowels of this great house scrubbing pots would make her happier than she was now.

Not since Rosemary Randall had included her in her rambles had she ever felt she belonged or that her company was wanted so often. And it was not losing her heart all over again to Oliver Randall that made her want to remain, waiting for the day he eventually returned. The duchess and her sister were remarkably warm people. She truly cared for them and wanted to see their lives unfold. The prospect of new life that Blythe had hinted at had made her long for another child of her own.

Beth wiped tears from her eyes in frustration. Oliver would leave tomorrow, bound for adventure, new vistas, and possibly danger. She tamped down her anxiety for his future. Oliver had Eamon Murphy traveling with him and she couldn’t imagine a better companion to keep him out of trouble. But who would look out for her and George in this new world? She couldn’t help but be worried.

Henry had called again late in the afternoon, taken a look at her luggage and demanded she economize. Five lovely gowns were to be left behind so her baggage needs were less on the carriage. George was spared censure. He would take everything he owned. Henry had not requested he compromise one item, not even for a childhood toy he’d long outgrown. Henry’s indulgence for sentiment began and ended with his nephew.

Beth rubbed her temple, weary and afraid, so tired of being alone and making every decision herself. She was grateful she didn’t have to pretend an excitement that she just couldn’t feel. During dinner it had been difficult to maintain the farce that she was unaffected by Oliver’s leaving. She slowly worked the pins from her hair and teased the long strands straight. In two days she’d be trapped aboard a ship with little luxury or comforts beyond a bed, with strangers lurking everywhere. She might never be as alone as she was now. She might never feel free to be herself again.

She crept to the doorway connecting her room to her son’s and leaned against the doorframe. George had fallen fast asleep tonight the minute his head had touched the pillow. Whatever he’d done today must have been exhausting. But for a change, he had not boasted of where Oliver had taken him or the sights they had seen together. Today her son had kept their activities secret, even from her. For the first time, that didn’t make her unhappy. Oliver would never place him intentionally in danger. She’d seen enough of his behavior to note he wasn’t entirely absent-minded when her son was around.

She pulled the door closed, wondering what to do next. Should she go to Oliver Randall again one last time to say a private goodbye or should she end their affair now and spare herself a painful parting? Even the idea of standing on the front steps of Romsey Abbey and saying goodbye before everyone made her sad. She feared she would fall apart and weep openly at the thought that she’d never see him again.

Beth wiped at the moisture blurring her vision. She’d not go to him. She’d stay here and sleep alone in her own comfortable bed and cling to her memories.

She slipped her gown from her body and laid it across the chair, next she removed her corset and shift until she stood naked, the chill in the air making her nipples harden. She walked to the mirror and viewed her body. Still slender, breasts only slightly less firm than before her children had been born. A body that had discovered passion again in the last place she’d ever imagined.

Oliver had liked her body well enough. Perhaps in the New World she would fall in love and marry again. Her stomach dropped like a lead ball into a river. She turned away from the mirror, unable to accept she could love anyone else. Oliver might be annoying and rude occasionally, but she knew exactly what he would do and say most of the time. There were no surprises with Oliver Randall except for the passion they shared. What he wanted, he took, and gave in equal measure, but he was never cruel about it.

She slipped her nightgown over her head, and as she freed her hair the door to her bedchamber creaked. She turned as Oliver closed the door behind him. He was barefoot and half-dressed, his eyes dark and thoughtful.

He crept toward the adjoining bedchamber door, stared at her son a long moment, and then closed it and turned the key in the lock. When he drew close, he reached out to cup her cheek gently, the pads of his thumbs wiping gently across her cheeks.

She forced a smile to her lips, determined not to shatter before him now. “How long were you at the door?”

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You are beautiful with or without clothes. Are you all right? You seemed in a daze when I came in.”

Beth leaned into his touch. “I’m afraid and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Then stay at Romsey,” he suggested seriously. “Don’t give in to Turner’s demands. George would never willingly leave without you. He tells me he’d rather not go to America.”

Beth sighed. “That’s not strictly true. I’m afraid he’d much rather travel with you and see the sights you keep telling him about.”

Oliver drew her into his arms. He held her tightly and they stayed like that for a long time. “I’d gladly take him if you gave your permission, but there is no time to arrange it,” he whispered against her hair.

Beth closed her eyes. The prospect of losing George to Oliver was far less painful than losing him to her brother-in-law. But both were still out of the question. She wouldn’t lose her son so completely to either of them. She would not be cut off from his life, never knowing how he fared.

Oliver’s hand shifted over her back, soothing her with the warmth and gentleness she’d grown used to and needed now. His head dipped and he pressed a soft kiss to her brow, her cheek, and then bent to kiss her lips. His eyes met hers, darkness pulling her into his passion. She splayed her hands over his chest and then slid them upward until she could wrap them about his neck.

When he kissed her with greater passion, she clung. She’d been fooling herself to think she hadn’t needed this one last night in his arms. While there was time to love again she would. He lifted her suddenly and carried her to her bed. He set her down gently, snuffed the candle, and slid in beside her without a word.

They lay together, side by side, barely touching, until Beth couldn’t stand it. She thrust out her hand and found his laying close to hers on the mattress. Their fingers threaded together and his grip tightened. “I’ll only stay a little while,” he whispered. “I know I shouldn’t have come at all, but I had to see you again.”

Beth rose up on her elbow. “I’m glad you came.”

She touched his chest and discovered he was still as dressed as when he’d stepped through the door. She smiled at his behavior. It was kind of Oliver to have come with no expectations of further intimacies. But on their last night together, she wanted to touch every part of him and for him to do the same to her. To be as close as they could ever be to each other.