Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (35 page)

Monday
, he thought as he swung his legs over the bed’s edge.
Monday, the day Lucinda Warren was to travel north with her uncle
. Monday, the day that would end any hope to which Carter still clung. For six and fifty hours, his emotions had warred over the correct thing to do regarding the lady, and with each argument, he had come to the same conclusion: He should stay away from Mrs. Warren. The lady required time to settle to her new life–a life,
which held no place for him. Yet, as often as Carter heard the words bouncing about in his head, just as often he recognized his heart would cease to beat if that scenario occurred.

A sharp rap announced John Swenton’s arrival. The baron had been following Jamot’s trail while Carter had been with Mrs. Warren. Pulling on his breeches, Carter made his way to the door. “It is about time,” Swenton grumbled as he pushed past Carter.

“Good morning to you, Swenton.” Carter resentfully closed the door behind his friend. He understood how much the baron wished to be at home on his Yorkshire estate. They were the last of their unit, the last to know the satisfaction of claiming family. Unlike Carter, Swenton had no siblings, and his parents had long since disappeared from the baron’s life. In Pennington’s eyes, Swenton had the least to risk, making the baron a valuable asset. What the Realm leader had overlooked was how Swenton’s “aloneness” placed the barony in danger of slipping through John’s hands.

If something happened to Carter, the Lowery name would survive. He was the spare. And if Arabella delivered forth a son, Carter was third in line. The Lowerys would continue on without him, but Swenton’s estate would fall into the hands of a distant cousin, one who John Swenton loathed. Yet, Carter, too, had had enough of cheap inns, dirty clothes, and intrigue, and his sympathy had been worn thin.

“I require a meal and a bath and a real bed,” Swenton grumbled. “After that, perhaps my good humor will return. You do realize it rained all night, do you not? I sat in a muddy puddle of rainwater and waited for that crazy Baloch to show, which he did not, by the way.”

Carter shrugged away his friend’s bad mood. “I will summon the innkeeper. Would you prefer to eat here or below stairs?”

“I have already given the man orders, and I refuse to climb those steps again,” Swenton declared. “We will break our fast here. I also mean to claim your bed for a few hours. The inn keep swears he has no rooms available.” Swenton scrubbed away his exhaustion with his dry hands.

“Then I suppose I should dress. Who is keeping watch? Monroe?”

Swenton scowled. “Yes, the all-too-willing-to-please Dylan Monroe has taken over for me. You know, Lowery, there is something odd about that man. Have you ever noticed how he seems to be wherever Jamot is sighted? Is it
possible the Baloch has found an informant? Whenever a man is too anxious for a confrontation, my hackles take on an edge.”

Carter’s frown lines met. He said stiffly, “I had not thought of the possibility. Monroe came aboard after Pennington reconnected with Godown’s aunt. He was recommended by Lord Sidmouth.”

The baron’s countenance held the expression of defeat. “Could Sidmouth have his spies in the other departments of the Home Office? Rumors say His Lordship employs provocateurs to search out sedition among the English citizenry.”

“But why spy on British spies?” Carter argued, but he could easily imagine Sidmouth doing so.

Swenton rotated his shoulders to drive away exhaustion. “Who is to say? With Pennington’s eventual withdrawal, perhaps Sidmouth has another candidate for the position. Mayhap Monroe is to identify your weaknesses. Or there is the possibility His Lordship means to combine the departments over which he has control. Disbanding the Realm could save a sizeable expense.”

Carter held his breath. His jaw tightened. Had Swenton stumbled upon an idea Carter had long suppressed? What was the Realm’s future? Could he continue its greatness? Would it crumble under his watch? “After you have bathed, we will discuss this further.” Carter slid his arms into his shirt and let it drop over his head and shoulders. “Thank you, Swenton,” he said thoughtfully. “Your keen sense of rightness has opened my eyes to a likelihood I have relentlessly denied.”

While his friend slept, Carter reorganized his men in the area, having them concentrate their investigations on Jamot’s associates rather than on the Baloch himself. He purposely did not speak to Monroe for he wished to observe his aide more closely. He drafted a letter to Pennington in which he used a secret code, of which only five men were aware. In it, he fabricated details of Jamot’s sightings, as well as Carter’s suspicions, regarding an unnamed aristocrat involved in the smuggling ring. He would ask Monroe personally to deliver the message to Pennington. Adding the innocuous words of “wherewithal” and “extraordinary” in relation to Dylan Monroe, without raising notice was
a much harder task than Carter had anticipated. However, he supposed it was why Pennington had chosen the words, used within a certain order, to inform the reader something was amiss with the messenger.

In late afternoon, Carter looked up to see Swenton enter the private room. “You appear more congenial,” he said blandly.

The baron slid into the opposing seat. “Appearances hold deception,” he grumbled. He reached for the knife and hard cheese to cut away the crust. “What is my assignment this evening?”

“I expect you to find your own bed and know additional rest.” Carter did not look up from his papers, but he heard Swenton’s quick intake of air, indicating the baron’s surprise. “Your eyes speak of distress, John. Is everything aright with your estate?”

The baron did not respond immediately. “Marwood Manor is prospering. Thankfully, I made shipping investments, which proved profitable and held us together during the last two harvests.”

“Then what troubles you, Swenton?” Carter met his friend’s gaze. “As always I am your servant and your confidant.”

The baron shifted as if uncomfortable. “Someone for whom I care dearly has taken ill,” he confessed.

“The lady in Vienna?” Carter asked cautiously.

Swenton shook his head in the negative. “No, not the one I visit regularly.” Carter again wondered if the mysterious woman with the Austrian connection was the baron’s mother. None within their unit knew the truth of Swenton’s childhood. Rumors surrounded the former baroness’s speedy exit from her marriage, but John Swenton had never spoken more than a few dozen words regarding the scandalous affair. “It is someone who does not welcome my protection.”

Carter could sympathize with his friend’s sentiments. “All we can do under such circumstances is to recruit another to act in our stead.”
As you did with the Earl of Charleton
, he chastised. “Have you considered a family member who could lend the necessary assistance? Or a companion, as Berwick has done with his brother Trevor? The earl has promised Jeremy Ingram a settlement and a future position for Mr. Ingram’s service to Trevor Wellston.”

His friend stood to use the scene outside the window as a distraction. The clock accented the passing seconds. Finally, Swenton said softly, “It is a lady,
who brings worry to my door, but Berwick’s principle could prove useful. I could hire a genteel lady to serve my friend and later present the woman with a suitable dowry or a settlement after a few years’ service. I will take the idea under consideration.” The baron returned to the table. “Thank you, Lowery. At least, I have the beginnings of a plan.” He poured a glass of wine. “And how goes your latest adventure with the lovely Mrs. Warren?”

It was Carter’s turn to squirm. “I have taken my own advice: I have placed Mrs. Warren and Simon in the capable hands of her uncle, the Earl of Charleton.”

“Amazing,” Swenton said in awe. “I half expected you to make your addresses to the woman.”

Carter schooled his expression. He spoke slowly, every word controlled. “The lady and I often disagreed. We would never suit,” he announced hurriedly and returned to his papers. Carter had wrestled with his indecision for days, and although he was proud of his restraint in the situation, he could not say the words pleased him. Instead of being the shrew he had portrayed her to be, Lucinda Warren was everything he wanted in his life. The realization tightened his throat.

He glanced up to see Swenton grinning at him appreciatively. “Welcome to the world of lost causes,” his friend said wryly. “However, if your stars change, do not hesitate to call upon me. I quite enjoyed playing cupid on Viscount Lexford’s behalf.”

Lucinda had packed her meager belongings before making an appearance in the morning room. Although her uncle had said they would depart early this morning, the earl’s valet had indicated his master had taken to his bed earlier than anticipated the previous evening with a severe headache. “Lord Charleton has suffered from headaches his entire life.” Mr. Priest whispered when she had answered the man’s light knock upon her chamber door.

“I understand,” she said sympathetically. “My father, the colonel, suffered likewise. Is there anything I might do to ease Uncle Gerhard’s discomfort?”

“No, Ma’am. I am accustomed to seeing to His Lordship’s needs.”

Lucinda touched the man’s hand in admiration. “The earl is fortunate to have such a man in his service. My father’s batman was exceptional in resolving the colonel’s suffering; however, my mother and I were quite adept at tending him. If it would not offend you, perhaps some day we could compare our knowledge of such remedies. I would enjoy hearing you speak of what brings Uncle Gerhard comfort. I know so little of the earl’s life.” She knew better than to tell Mr. Priest she likely held knowledge of medicine beyond the valet’s experience.

“If the earl would not object, I would be pleased to speak on my service. For now, Ma’am, His Lordship wished for you to be aware of the possibility of a later start tomorrow or even a delay.”

Not finding her uncle at the table, Lucinda had greeted Lord and Lady Hellsman before filling a plate. “His Lordship has not come down?” she asked.

“I have not seen the earl,” Hellsman mumbled as he scanned his newspaper.

Lucinda sat where the footman indicated. “My uncle was ill last evening. We may be forced to beg for your extended hospitality.” She prayed it would not come to that point, but Lucinda thought it only fair to warn the Lowerys of the prospect. “I apologize if our presence at Blake’s Run has delayed your retreat to the dowager house.” She shot a quick glance at Arabella Lowery.

Lord Hellsman took a long admiring look at his wife. “I assure you, Mrs. Warren, Lady Hellsman has organized our new home. Only a few personal items require transplanting. Whether we move into the manor later today or later this week will make little difference. If the earl requires another day or two to recover, we will be pleased for your company. My wife was despondent at having to lose her new friend so quickly,” he said teasingly.

Yet, Lucinda was certain the couple had second thoughts when a familiar coach pulled into the circle before the manor house in late afternoon. “Father’s coach,” Lord Hellsman announced as he caught his wife’s hand so they could greet his parents as a couple. Lucinda heard Arabella groan of displeasure, but Hellsman ignored his wife’s qualms. “Come along,” he said with encouragement. “We must portray a united front.” A short, harsh laugh followed. “You, too, Mrs. Warren. You must assist Arabella in distracting the baroness, while I deal with the baron.”

She frowned in confusion. “Me?”

“Of course, you,” he stated as he tugged his wife toward the main entrance. Lucinda followed reluctantly. “I hold no doubt the baron called at McLauren’s estate before proceeding on to Blake’s Run. My mother will have heard of Carter’s involvement in your life, and I would have the baroness’s interest quickly appeased.”

Lucinda’s confusion turned to shock. Hellsman spoke of an apparent connection between her and the baronet. She glanced at her worn day dress, and her groan of discontentment joined Lady Hellsman’s earlier one. The baroness would find her an unimpressive specimen of femininity.

The door swung wide, and the Blake’s Run staff spilled out upon the main steps to greet their master and mistress. A footman scrambled to set down the steps, and an elderly man, whose looks spoke of a combination of Lord Hellsman and Sir Carter, stepped wearily from the coach. He was not as tall as either man, but he possessed the same full head of hair. Lord Hellsman’s touch of gray at his temples would likely turn to the silver strands his father sported.