Heiress in Love (12 page)

Without a word, Constantine swung on his heel and headed into the bowels of the house. Bloody know-it-all Westruthers! Obviously, they were wise to the ways of this household as Constantine was not.

If he married the Ice Maiden, he’d never be rid of the rest of her devilish family. They’d be crawling all over his house at will.

Constantine jogged down the narrow, winding staircase that led to the kitchens and catapulted back to his childhood.

Ah, this kitchen, with its chessboard floor and its big wooden table and the cooling bench by the window, where he’d swiped hot buns and ginger biscuits as a lad. The scent of baked bread and herbs and beeswax. And the warm, floury hugs of Marthe.

Would she still be here? His spirits rose at the thought, light and warm as one of Marthe’s loaves.

Not a soul in the kitchen. Constantine heard the clink of cutlery on china and the murmur of voices from the servants’ hall down the corridor. He’d intended to raid the larder, but that could wait. He had to see if Marthe was here.

When he appeared at the doorway of the dining hall, the chatter and movement ceased like a snapped thread. The servants rose as one, with scraping chairs and a clatter of forks that had paused, suspended in the air between plate and mouth, when he walked in.

He looked around. There were one or two familiar faces he couldn’t quite place. But at the foot of the table, one face stood out like a beacon, round, rosy-cheeked, and wreathed in a smile.

He grinned. “Hallo, Marthe.”

“Master Con!” His name, like a joyful prayer, galvanized him. He strode forward and plucked the middle-aged woman off her feet, swung her around.

For which he received a soft cuff over the ear. “
Tiens, milor’!
What’ll you be at now, to come down here where you’re not wanted?”

“Marthe, it does my heart good to see you.” He glanced at the sideboard, which groaned with proper breakfast fare. He grinned. “It goes even better with my stomach. Mind if I help myself?”

Without waiting for an answer, he snatched up a plate and loaded it with large helpings of everything. Licking his thumb clean of bacon grease, he glanced around, to realize that his staff still stood to attention.

“Oh, do sit down.” He hefted his plate. “I’ll, um, take this to the kitchen.”

Marthe seemed to regain her wits. “Get on with your breakfast, all of you. I’ll see to his lordship.”

She bustled out after him, alternately apologizing for the lack of decent victuals above stairs and chastising him for failing to visit her sooner.

“Ah, but
la pauvre petite
!” she continued. “The mistress, she has not two taste buds to rub together, that one.” With a dramatic sigh, the cook turned down her wide mobile mouth and shook her head. “It is a travesty, but what can I do? I must follow orders and serve up this bland English mess.” She threw up her hands. “Pudding! It is enough to make one weep.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here.” Constantine’s own taste buds exploded with pleasure as he savored a mouthful of fried mushrooms in a creamy sauce laced with herbs and brandy.

A Gallic shrug. “I am tied here by more than loyalty.”

He winked. “Fell in love with the butler, did you? The old devil! Didn’t know Feather had it in him.”

Marthe drew herself up. “That cadaver! Is it likely that I would love such a one?”

“Who, then?”

A twinkle replaced the indignation. She fluttered an airy hand. “It matters not who.”

Grinning, he recalled his own youthful
tendre
for a pretty little parlor maid. “Is Violet still here? Now she was a saucy piece.”

“Ah, but she had ambition, that one,” said Marthe. She shrugged. “Some visiting milady took a liking to her and lured her away to become her personal maid.”

Constantine swallowed. “Good for Violet.” He looked around the kitchen. “I’m amazed the fine milady didn’t lure you as well.”

Marthe shrugged. “Many have tried, but me, I am paid very well and I have been content. But
eh voilà
! Now that
you
are here, I can create!”

He grinned. “Excellent. Marthe, you shall create to your heart’s content.” He waved his fork in a shooing motion. “But I am keeping you from your meal. Go, I insist!”

“Yes, milord.” With a chuckle, Marthe bobbed a curtsy and left.

Constantine devoted himself again to his plate, but the clatter of footsteps down the stairs disturbed his enjoyment. He looked up to see a dark-haired boy erupt into the kitchen, then stop short.

One glance told Constantine this was no kitchen boy. The cut of his nankeen jacket and the quality of its brass buttons proclaimed his status as a member of the family.

The boy seemed to collect himself. He made a quick, jerky bow and panted, “Lord Roxdale, sir.”

Constantine smiled. “And you must be Luke.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rising, Constantine moved around the table and held out his hand to his ward.

Luke tilted his head a little, as if confounded by his guardian’s offer to shake hands. Then he stretched out his own and gripped Constantine’s with a slightly aggressive force.

Ah.
So Lady Roxdale wasn’t the only one who objected to his presence at Lazenby.

Lightly, Constantine said, “If you’ve come down here in search of a decent breakfast, let me recommend the bacon. It’s excellent.”

A furtive glance to the servants’ hall betrayed the boy. His eyes grew round when his gaze alighted on Constantine’s heaped plate.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” said Constantine.

Luke swallowed and sent another glance toward the kitchens. “It’s just that I don’t like to hurt Aunt Jane’s feelings.”

“I quite understand. But this sort of grub is more what a man needs for sustenance than that, er …
lighter
fare upstairs,” said Constantine. “Load your plate and bring it back here, will you? You and I ought to become better acquainted.”

The boy’s highly expressive face reflected the war of conscience and desire that went on in his mind. Desire finally won, and he scampered off to collect his own meal.

Upon his return, he sat on a chair a little removed from Constantine’s. Luke kept his eyes on his plate, shoveling Marthe’s flavorsome food in his mouth, presumably so he didn’t have to talk to his companion.

Undeterred, Constantine kept up an easy stream of reminiscences about his time at Lazenby. “When we were boys, Frederick and I would come down here and visit Marthe. We’d pack our saddlebags full of treats from the kitchen and ride all around the estate. We were knights, slaying dragons and rescuing fair maidens.” He grinned. “I liked the rescuing part.”

There was a touch of envy in Luke’s gaze. “Aunt Jane says I’m too young to ride my pony without a groom along. She rides with me sometimes, but…” He shrugged a shoulder.

Constantine frowned. “How old are you again?”

“Six and three quarters,” said Luke, his voice tinged with indignation.

“Hmm.” At that age, Constantine and Frederick had been up to all sorts of mischief, enjoying the freedom of boyhood to the full. He didn’t blame Luke for the despondent tone to his voice. Taking along a groom was not conducive to high adventure.

Clearly, Cousin Jane restricted the boy to an unreasonable degree. Not out of malice. No, she wasn’t a cruel woman, anyone could see that. Perhaps merely overprotective. Either way, it wasn’t good for the boy to be coddled.

Constantine framed his response carefully. “You are fortunate that Lady Roxdale takes such a keen interest in your safety. However, there are some things ladies do not understand. I’ll speak with her and see if we can come to a better arrangement.”

Luke’s face lit with hope. Almost immediately, though, his expression faltered. His eyes dimmed and lowered; his mouth turned down at the corners.

“Not that it’ll do any good,” he muttered. “You are sending us away.”

Constantine reached out and tilted up Luke’s chin so that he had to look him in the eye. “I am
not
sending you away. And that, my dear Luke, is a promise.”

*   *   *

“You wished to see me, Your Grace?” Jane entered the drawing room at the appointed hour, braced for the coming discussion. She was armed to the teeth with arguments for her cause, regardless of her prospective groom’s reluctance to tie the knot.

The duke must have surmised by now that she’d been avoiding him. Last night, she’d pleaded fatigue. This morning, she’d refused his invitation to go riding even though she longed for a good gallop and fresh country air. But she couldn’t delay this interview any longer. The duke was leaving for Town shortly.

Montford looked up from a letter he’d been reading. “Yes, my dear. Shall we sit down?”

Jane glanced at the letter. For a missive to find the duke here, it must be important. “Not bad news, I hope?”

The duke raised his brows. Jane braced herself for a set-down in return for her curiosity.

But the duke merely folded the letter and slid it into his coat pocket. “Not at all. Some urgent business I must attend to. I regret I’m obliged to curtail my visit and leave immediately for London.”

“So Rosamund told me. How tiresome. I’d thought you’d all stay the week, at least.”

“Yes, I’d thought so, too.” He paused. “You, however, would do well to remain here while the solicitors sort out the estate. Keep an eye on things.”

“Yes,” she agreed, a little surprised that Montford would not cavil at her remaining under the same roof as someone of Constantine Black’s reputation. “I’m persuaded my departure at such a moment would create more confusion than there is already.”

Jane sat on the sofa and the duke followed suit, choosing a spindle-legged chair. He looked elegant and at ease and Jane wished she’d learned the trick of concealing her own feelings so well. Ah, but perhaps it was not a trick. Perhaps what they said of him was true: the Duke of Montford had no feelings at all.

“Tell me, Your Grace, is the situation really as dire as Beckenham thinks?”

The duke sighed. “Constantine Black has been left with Lazenby Hall and its contents, and all of the surrounding land. The rest—investments, stocks, bonds, and so on—are held in trust for you.”

“But I don’t want it,” Jane said.

“Nevertheless.”

She licked her lips. “Is there no way I can give it all back?” In exchange for Luke, of course.

“That would be complicated. The trustees would be in breach of their duty to allow it.” Montford spread his hands in an unaccustomed gesture of helplessness. “It is a great shame that Frederick sought to break up the inheritance in this manner, but there’s not a great deal we can do about it now. Put it in the hands of lawyers and it could drag on into the next century. You know what they’re like.”

The duke steepled his fingertips together and pressed them to his lips. “You’re an intelligent woman, Lady Roxdale. You must have realized by now that there is but one way to piece this jigsaw back together, and that’s for you to marry the new baron.”

She bowed her head. “Your Grace—”

The duke held up a hand. “I don’t advise it, however. Were he a man of a different stamp…” He pressed his lips together, marking his disapproval. “But Constantine Black would make any lady miserable. His reputation is shocking. He is barely received in society.”

Jane blinked. Had she heard correctly? Had the duke actually advised her to seek personal happiness above familial duty? But how inconvenient that his change of heart should occur now, when she would gladly make that sacrifice to keep Luke.

“What on earth did the wretch do?” She tried to make the inquiry sound offhand. “I seem to remember talk of some scandal, but Frederick would never speak of it.”

“He seduced a young lady and abandoned her,” said the duke, not mincing his words. “He’d earned the reputation of a hellion well before that, but that particular episode put him beyond the pale. The family tried to hush it up, of course, but these things will out.”

A heavy sensation in her stomach felt like disappointment. She blinked in surprise. She’d known Constantine Black for a scoundrel, hadn’t she? Why should she be disappointed?

“What happened to the young lady?” she asked.

The duke shrugged. “Oh, they married her off to some other fellow. A barrister, I think. Hardly comparable to what she might have become had Black done the decent thing by her.”

Had Black done the decent thing, that unknown lady would supplant Jane as mistress at Lazenby Hall now … Oh,
oh.
What a horrible, selfish creature she was. That poor young lady, obliged to marry a barrister! There, that was the proper sentiment.

So much for Cecily’s brilliant plan. Even if Jane succeeded in seducing Constantine Black, history showed he could not be shamed to the altar. Besides, she’d despise herself if she played such a low trick.

She could well understand the temptation Constantine Black must have presented to an unseasoned girl. She herself felt the immense power of his charm, and she was neither a silly young lady, nor did she have any romantic illusions about bed sport.