Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (6 page)

She dipped a quick curtsy. “Good afternoon, Mr. Randall. Can I be of assistance?”

He stood and moved toward her, keeping his steps light so as not to disturb the sleeping boy. Elizabeth backed from the room quickly and when he passed her, she pulled the door to the sitting room until it was almost completely closed.

Unless they were at dinner, they had rarely been in close proximity and never alone like this. For a moment he was tongue-tied, so he focused on her appearance. Today Elizabeth was dressed in a somber style. Plain gown, hair confined tightly at the back of her head. She appeared almost as prim as Lady Venables, except in a gown of far lower quality. He frowned at it, wondering why she had retained such an inferior gown when he’d seen her wear far better.

She folded her arms over her chest, drawing his attention to the possibilities of the body beneath the gown. Elizabeth was still as slim as he remembered from a decade before. However, her breasts were fuller and pressed against the constricting fabric enticingly. He took a pace forward and her dark brows drew together over pale blue eyes framed by thick lashes. When she took her lip between her teeth, he broke out in a sweat. He took stock of his health, half afraid he was relapsing into illness again, and then dismissed his concerns. “I did not know you had a child.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, her eyes grew unfocussed as if in thought. “George turned eleven last spring.”

“The date.”

Her gaze sharpened at his demand and her head tipped to the side as she told him the particulars.

Oliver stored the detail away for later consideration. “Do you have other children here?”

Elizabeth’s mouth firmed. When she didn’t answer, Oliver concluded he’d blundered into a delicate area. If they had died or been sent away to live with distant Turner relations he wasn’t aware of, she might be upset over the loss. By her pained expression, there must have been more than just George at one time.

He glanced toward the door where the boy slept. “In appearance, he is more like you than
him
. That must please you. If I recall correctly,
he
had possessed a pair of unevenly matched ears. At least the boy will be saved from being teased about them.”

Elizabeth sank into the chair behind the desk, eyes downcast as if she agreed with him but wouldn’t speak of it.

Oliver continued his assessment. “The boy’s face and build most resemble yours. He has none of the rude bulk of
him
either. To make an informed evaluation of his temperament would require him to be awake; however, he does appear in good health.”

Beth sat forward, clasping her hands before her on the desk. Her knuckles turned white. “How long were you watching my son?”

Oliver lowered himself to the edge of a chair. It creaked slightly and he determined it should be replaced. “The proper study of a subject can take a moment or a lifetime.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “For all your brilliance you still cannot answer a direct question simply. I ask again, what brings you to here?”

He met her gaze, still struggling to see her as the mother of Turner’s child. “The boy escaped my notice.”

She licked her bottom lip and then splayed her bare fingers over the desk surface. Oliver noticed the absence of a wedding band on her left hand and wondered when and why she had stopped wearing it when she had proudly displayed one on her delicate fingers a dozen years before.

Her fingers tapped. “And how exactly did he come to your notice?”

He would not admit how. To do so would confirm that he was, at times, unobservant. “Where did you walk to today?”

Her brows rose. “Were you watching us?”

Oliver nodded. “The existence of the boy surprised me. I dislike surprises.”

Elizabeth’s thick eyelashes fluttered as if she’d considered rolling her eyes and at the last minute thought better of it. Puzzled by her behavior, he settled into the creaking chair, resting one elbow on the chair arm as he studied her. Since many people had commented that they disliked his scrutiny, he accepted his behavior might make her uncomfortable. However, it wasn’t in his nature to rest until a puzzle was solved. His curiosity about the boy would only grow if he did not satisfy it now.

Eventually, she drew in a breath, a jerky inhale, and shrugged. “I went to see Mrs. Clayton. She’s become a friend.”

Oliver sorted through his memory, brought Mrs. Clayton’s image to the forefront, and then dismissed her. “She has a daughter.”

Elizabeth looked up. “Mary Clayton married and moved away. Mrs. Clayton rarely sees her nowadays. I think she’s rather lonely and likes to be visited.”

Oliver nodded slowly. “That is the way of things. People’s own concerns must take precedence over past emotional ties.”

A muscle in Elizabeth’s jaw clenched as she pressed her lips together. She shook her head. “Not for everyone, sir. Now, if there is nothing else, I have much work to do.”

Oliver sat up. “I’ve angered you. How?”

This time, Elizabeth did roll her eyes. “Whatever could you say to upset a woman?” She stood, rounded the desk, and yanked the door open to the hall. The next moment, she yelped. “How long have you been standing there?”

Curious, Oliver turned his head slightly and spied Miles Colby, his brother’s valet, standing at the door with his arms full of a tea tray. Oliver turned away, forcing his shoulders to relax. His discussion with Elizabeth was not going as well as he’d hoped. There should be a handbook written on how to deal with feminine creatures of her confusing nature.

“I was just about to knock and ask the new housekeeper if I can be of any assistance on her first official day,” Colby said. “But I fear I may not be the first to come courting your good opinion.”

Elizabeth’s soft chuckle filled the room and Oliver’s cheeks heated again. Perhaps he should retire before he sickened. He pressed his fingers to his wrist and counted the pulses until he was certain no significant change had overcome him.

“They have all been most kind,” Elizabeth murmured to Colby. “This would be my second tea tray this afternoon.”

China rattled. “Well, perhaps I can help you in other ways.”

Hearing Colby’s response, silky smooth with tones of imminent seduction, caused the hair at the back of his neck to rise. Colby was a single man and Elizabeth a widow. If she planned to take on the duties of Romsey’s housekeeper, an idea he deemed foolish, she must ignore flirtations from the male members of staff. An alliance of a romantic nature between a valet and housekeeper was out of the question. The other servants would not appreciate any appearance of favoritism.

Oliver stood and faced Colby. “You may set the tea tray down and return to your usual duties.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks had pinked slightly. Was she flattered by Colby’s rather obvious attempts to ingratiate himself into her company?

Colby smiled smoothly, and stepped into the room. “Excuse me, sir. I did not see you sitting there.” He slid the tray onto the table, a sly smile twisting his lips. He wiped it away as he faced Elizabeth. “Will there be anything else, Mrs. Turner?”

“Not for now, Mr. Colby.” She smiled, eyelashes fluttering a little. “Thank you for delivering the tea tray.”

“My pleasure.”

When Colby had gone, her smile dropped away. “I see you’re still as rude as ever.”

Oliver shrugged. “People do not change.”

She sighed. “Yes, I’ve heard you claim that before and in your case, I am sure you are correct. Did you apologize to Lady Venables for being so short with her at dinner last night?”

“No.”

Her lips pursed as she poured a cup of tea, added milk, and handed it to him. “Can I offer you a biscuit, sir?”

Oliver declined and tipped his head toward the partially closed door. “The boy might like one, however.”

Her head whipped around to the slowly opening door. “George?”

The boy timidly stepped up to the table, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Elizabeth fussed over him, straightening his hair and coat. “Don’t worry about it now. Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

The boy kept sneaking peeks at him from behind his over-long hair while he ate and answered Elizabeth’s quiet questions. The more Oliver observed, the more certain he became that her child had untapped potential. There was a watchful intelligence gleaming from those pale blue eyes as he gobbled his biscuit, something that had been completely lacking in the boy’s father at that age.

Intrigued by the surety he was being studied in return, Oliver shifted his attention to Elizabeth. “Will you introduce us?”

Her lips pursed but in the end she complied.

George appeared unmoved by his presence. “How do you do, sir?”

Oliver nodded. “Very well.”

The boy lapsed into silence, but his scrutiny did not cease. His gaze raked him from head to toe. George had little of his father in him by way of appearance. Oliver had no sense the boy would erupt into energetic ramblings at any second. In fact, he appeared of a serious nature. Quite a rarity in Turner offspring.

Oliver was rather puzzled by the child. “How are you enjoying Romsey?”

“Very well, sir. There’s always something to see and do here.” His reply, voiced clearly and calmly, added to Oliver’s opinion that George Turner possessed a balanced temperament.

Oliver took a sip from his cup of tea, noted it was made with the perfect ratio of milk, and then nodded. “The abbey is steeped in history and intriguing artifacts.”

The boy bit his lip. He glanced at his mother swiftly and then back to Oliver. “Do you know if there is a book written about the abbey’s history? I should like to read it if one exists.”

Another biscuit disappeared from the plate as Oliver weighed the value of his answer with the boy’s likely disappointment. However, disappointing the boy couldn’t be helped. “There isn’t one, to my knowledge. If there was, it is likely the former dukes destroyed it. They were intensely interested in preserving their privacy. Many things have been forgotten or hidden away.”

George’s face fell and Oliver was pleased to see he did not pout. He did lean against his mother’s side and took comfort from her embrace. “Guess I’ll never know who’s in the painting or where it was painted now,” he said to his mother.

Oliver frowned. “Is there one in particular that interests you?”

“The one in the other room.”

Oliver stood and returned to the other chamber, George scrambling to follow. When he’d been here before, his attention had been focused on the sleeping boy rather than the contents. There was only one painting, hanging opposite the mantel, so he didn’t have to ask for clarification. It was painted in the fashion of years gone by, a stable, lone horse, and a comely maid hugging a pail to her chest. Some might call it merely pretty. However, thanks to his unending memory, he knew the scene depicted a piece of Romsey history. “The stables of Romsey, as they were before the fourth duchess’s expansion changed them.”

George came to his side, staring up at the painting. “How can you tell?”

“There is a similar painting in the east wing. The rooms once belonged to my grandmother. Clearly she preferred the stables as they once were, too.” He leaned closer to the boy. “Given the maid’s appearance, I believe that could in fact be Her Grace dressed in disguise for the effect.”

“Gawd, you’ve a good eye for detail.”

Oliver smiled tightly. “I remember everything.”

His gaze moved to Elizabeth where she stood at the doorway, hands clenched at her waist as if she were uneasy. Her hands stretched toward her son. “George, that’s enough now. Don’t pester Mr. Randall with your chatter.”

George tugged on his sleeve and Oliver glanced down again. “Will you tell me more about the abbey another day? It must be exciting to know everything.”

Oliver considered the request. He did know quite a bit more about the abbey than most and he was happy to share his knowledge of some of the abbey’s history. However, he should tell a member of the Randall family first rather than an unrelated boy. Yet curiosity burned in the boy’s pale eyes and Oliver sympathized with George’s thirst for knowledge. Without sufficient encouragement, he could soon lose all interest and become disillusioned with study. The idea of a fine mind going to waste disagreed with him.

“Perhaps I misspoke. I don’t know everything,” he corrected. “I simply remember well what I’ve seen with my own eyes and I shall be happy to answer your questions where I can. Shall we meet tomorrow at ten?”

George almost danced on the spot. “Yes, sir.”

Elizabeth’s brows rose, highlighting that his agreement had surprised her. “Thank Mr. Randall, George, and then would you mind fetching my shawl from my bedchamber? I am feeling a little chilled this afternoon.”

“Yes, Mama.” George nodded to Oliver. “Thank you, sir. Excuse me.”

He skipped out, leaving them alone again.

Elizabeth closed the door, hands resting on the wood as if it held her up. “What game are you playing?”

He frowned. “I play no game.”

Her hands curled into fists as she faced him. “I will speak plainly since I know you incapable of understanding subtlety. George is easily impressed and a man of your substantial intelligence, willing to converse with him about inconsequential matters, will go straight to his head. I will not have his affections toyed with by you, of all men. You don’t even like people, so why pretend otherwise with my son.”