The Gallant Guardian (18 page)

Charlotte smiled gratefully at the grizzled coachman for the sympathy and understanding she saw in the bright blue eyes. “Thank you, Speen. All the same, I wish I would hear from Lord Lydon. I wrote him some time ago advising him of my concerns.” She paused to watch horse and rider disappear into the woods. “Undoubtedly he will put me down as a hysterical female, but…”

“The marquess is a man who is awake on all suits and he knows you are not one to fly into the boughs over nothing.”

Indeed, the coachman was entirely correct in this. Lord Lydon took the letter with all the seriousness that it was written. He did not dismiss his ward’s fears as the products of an overactive imagination; however, he had far less respect for the strength of Cecil’s character than Charlotte did. In Maximilian’s experience, men like Sir Cecil Wadleigh might wish harm to come to others, but they were far too timid to do anything about it, even men with wives as resolute as Almeria.

Though the marquess had no doubt that Cecil considered William unfit to be Earl of Harcourt and looked upon himself as the true heir to the earldom, he did not believe the man capable of plotting anything more serious than creating a situation—a situation that would make it clear to William’s sister that her brother needed the supervision that Cecil had recommended all along, and that would make her listen to Cecil’s plan for finding a suitably quiet and safe place for William far away from Harcourt. At the very least she might become anxious enough to look to her cousin for guidance and support. Cecil was a grasping, slippery sort of fellow, but he was not, in Max’s opinion, an out-and-out villain.

The reply that Charlotte eventually received, while it acknowledged her misgivings, advanced the same opinion as Speen’s. Lord Lydon agreed with the coachman that William, while not possessing the intelligence of an adult in most things, was as competent as any adult—more so—in managing even the most difficult of horses. Therefore, Charlotte should feel no more alarm over the gift of Caesar than she would if the horse had been presented to a perfectly normal fifteen-year-old lad. And while Charlotte was gratified by the marquess’s confidence in her brother’s abilities, she was not particularly reassured by the letter. It was not, and never had been, William’s abilities that had troubled her so much as it had been Cecil’s motives for sending the horse.

Charlotte agreed with her guardian that Cecil was a spineless toady of a man, but she did not agree that he posed no threat to her brother. Cecil might have no backbone, but his wife did, and the acquisitive instinct was strong enough in both of them to bear them up when resolution failed. Harcourt was too rich a prize for them to give up, and both of them had made it abundantly clear that they considered Charlotte far too strong-minded. They knew that she would never accept their sending William away with a keeper. They had already tried that line of reasoning first, but it had failed lamentably, and the appearance of Caesar and the groom confirmed her fear that they had not given up. A gift as expensive as a high-blooded thoroughbred horse from the tight-fisted Cecil was proof that the man was desperate, and desperate men were known to adopt desperate measures. No, Charlotte did not agree with the marquess at all that Cecil lacked enough pluck to pose any real danger to her brother.

Lord Lydon knew Charlotte better than to risk her indignation by dismissing her fears entirely, and though he sought to minimize them, he urged her to write him again should anything develop further to cause her concern. He did instruct her to direct any correspondence to his estate in Kent, where he was going to inspect improvements made to the stables and check out the progress of the foal recently dropped by his prize mare.

Though her guardian’s letter did not accord with the depth of suspicions that Charlotte harbored against Cecil, at least it did not mock them. Kent was not a great deal further away than London, and the marquess had assured her of his immediate presence should she need him. She was forced to be content with that and the fact that she and Speen were on the alert.

Charlotte’s misgivings were justified not two days after she had received the marquess’s reply when William came in looking as though he had been engaged in a battle with a gorse bush and emerged the loser. His blond hair was tousled and sported a twig here and there while his face had more than a few scratches, but his eyes were alight with excitement and the grin spreading across his face could only be described as exultant.

“Gracious, William, you look as though you have been wrestling with the shrubbery.” Charlotte struggled to keep the rising note of alarm from her voice, for he really did look a sight.

“I have, but I didn’t fall. Caesar almost bolted, but I stopped him and he minded me!”

“Oh,” his sister responded doubtfully. Certainly his appearance belied this interpretation of events. “What happened?”

“We were right by the hanger wood, just trotting along, when there was a big bang and then a whiz and some branches snapped off over our heads. Caesar reared up, but I hung on and then he tried to bolt. He did run a little, but I kept his head up and I talked to him and he got better. He is very strong, but I was able to hold him, Charlie. You should have seen me. Jem thinks it was poachers.”

Charlotte was silent for a moment, lost in thought as she tried to
recall whether there had ever been poachers at Harcourt. The Winterbournes had always been generous to their tenants and had always taken such responsibility for the welfare of the village that no one had ever needed to poach. At any rate, there had never been anything worth hunting at Harcourt and those who wished permission had only had to ask. The Earls of Harcourt, traditionally more interested in agriculture or politics than in blood sports, had never stocked game of any sort. The most that was to be found was the occasional rabbit, which did not interest anyone.

William, full of praise for Caesar’s speed and the smoothness of his gait, was oblivious to his sister’s preoccupation and babbled happily on about his horse’s strength, agility, and general superiority.

“So you must come riding with me, Charlie, and see how well Caesar does. He is ever so much better. Charlie, Charlie, are you listening to me?”

“Hush, William. I must think.” Charlotte’s brother subsiding into hurt silence, looked at her curiously. It was unlike his sister to be so short with him. Ordinarily she was always interested in anything he had to say and delighted in his every accomplishment, but now she sat staring into space, her dark brows drawn together in a worried frown.

At last she rose, summoned a half-hearted smile, and patted her brother absently on the arm. “I am proud of you, dear. Now you had better change out of those clothes and get ready for your lessons. I need to speak to Speen.”

William sighed. “Do I
have
to? Aren’t I old enough to stop lessons? Tim doesn’t…”

“But
you
need to do lessons. How else will you learn to do all that has to be done to look after Harcourt? That is your job you know.”

“Couldn’t you just look after Harcourt?”

“But you are the earl now. Remember I told you that now Papa is dead you are the earl?”

“Could you not be earl and let me work with Jem and Tim? I would like that much better.”

Charlotte smiled. “I know you would, dear, but you were born to take care of Harcourt. I will help you, though. We shall do it together. Now run along.”

Somewhat reassured by his sister’s pledge of assistance, William hurried off, leaving her to her own disturbing reflections.

She stood for some minutes, twisting and untwisting one dark curl around her finger. Then with a stifled exclamation of annoyance at her own inactivity, she shook herself and hurried off to the stables in search of Speen.

Chapter Twenty

The coachman was in the stalls checking on the quality of Tim’s cleaning. For Charlotte, just the sight of Speen’s rugged face breaking into a welcoming smile and the scent of warm air filled with the tangy, reassuring smells of horses and oats was comforting and went a long way toward thawing the cold lump of fear that had weighed on her heart since she had heard her brother’s harrowing tale. Briefly she recounted William’s story to Speen. “But are there poachers around Harcourt, Speen? Have there ever been?”

“Not so’s I’d recall, my lady. There is nothing worth hunting here and everyone knows that they only have to ask to get permission.” The coachman’s bushy eyebrows drew together in a worried frown.

“I do not like it, Speen.”

“No more do I, my lady. It’s too smoky by half. Perhaps I should make sure that one of the lads always accompanies Master William when he goes out riding?”

Charlotte sighed. “But what about Tom Piggott? If one of the lads always rides with William, then it shows that you mistrust Piggott.”

“Which I do. That man is no more a groom than Mrs. Hodges is.”

“I know. It is most upsetting. However, I am glad you agree with me that something is amiss and it is not all my imagination. Someone does not want William to be the Earl of Harcourt, and I have my suspicions as to who that someone is.”

“Aye, there you have it.” With a dark look the coachman nodded his head in agreement.

“I think that perhaps the best thing is to leave Harcourt for a while. Lord Lydon has gone to his estate in Kent. Surely William would be safe there and his lordship could advise us. I have his direction from his last letter. Aylesford is not so distant that it would be any difficulty for us to journey there in day.” Charlotte paused for a moment, thinking of all the preparations that would need to be made. “I shall write a letter to Lord Lydon advising him of our visit, of course, but I think it is best that we make as much haste as possible and keep our destination to ourselves; we shall just have to arrive unannounced though…” Her voice trailed off as she considered possible complications, but only for a moment. “Yes.” She nodded her head decisively. “That is what we must do. Will you see to it that the carriage is ready tomorrow? We should leave directly after breakfast. I shall make sure that William and I are ready and I shall spread the tale that we are going to London on business to do with Papa’s things. We start off in that direction anyway, so no one will be the wiser as to our true destination. I dare say that whoever it was that pretended to be a poacher would not have the temerity to follow—at least I hope not. Can Jem and Tim be trusted to keep an eye out for anyone who is acting suspiciously?”

“Of course, my lady. The lads are sometimes given to laziness, but both of them are as loyal as you could hope to find, and powerful fond of Master William. You can rely on them completely, but that there Tom Piggott is another matter altogether.”

“Yes, well he is one person I want ‘specially for Jem and Tim to observe. Undoubtedly he will think that he should be included in this excursion, but you can think of some reason to keep him here, can you not, Speen?”

“My telling him so should be all the reason he needs,” the coachman growled, “not that he won’t take exception to it. He is a man as holds a very high opinion of himself.” One glance at his mistress was all Speen needed to read a confirmation of all his own suspicions in her clear-eyed gaze.

He should have known she would share his views on the new groom. Lady Charlotte Winterbourne was as kind and sympathetic a mistress as one could wish—going out of her way to take care of those who served her—but she was no namby-pamby miss. Her gentleness was tempered with a sharp, observant mind. In spite of having spent all her life in the limited confines of Harcourt, she had been forced by her father’s neglect and her brother’s weak-mindedness to deal with the world by herself at a very tender age and though Speen, Mr. Tidworth, and Mrs. Hodges had done their best to help and protect her, she harbored few illusions about life
or about people, poor thing. She had never had anyone to turn to, what with her father ignoring her completely and that scoundrelly Sir Cecil and his nosy wife working to install themselves at Harcourt.

Speen had high hopes for this marquess fellow, a sharp-eyed gentleman if he’d ever seen one. It had seemed for a while as though he had taken a liking to the mistress and even to the young master, but then one of his lordships’ fancy ladybirds from London had appeared on the scene and he had abandoned the Winterbournes too. The coachman winked reassuringly at Charlotte. “Don’t you worry, my lady, I shall see to it that Mr. Tom Piggott is looked after. We’ll get to the bottom of it all, never fear.”

“Thank you, Speen. Now I’d best go supervise the packing.” Charlotte smiled gratefully and turned toward the kitchens, her mind full of instructions for filling a hamper for their journey. She did not like the idea of descending on her guardian without so much as a by-your-leave, but if Speen, who had seen both her and her brother through all the disasters of childhood without so much as a blink as he patched up cuts, bruises, and cracked heads, did not scoff at her worries for William, then there was a very real danger facing him. A quiver of panic rose up within her, but she fought to control it by concentrating on all that needed to be done for their departure. Giving way to worry over William was not going to do her or her brother any good.

Speen went back to work in a thoughtful mood. He was in complete agreement with Charlotte’s suspicions that her brother’s life was in danger and that Tom Piggott, acting as an agent for Sir Cecil Wadleigh, was behind it all. What he was not so sure of was what would happen next or if the trip to Kent would protect William and expose the plots. But at least they would be enlisting the aid of the marquess.

The only one completely unfazed by recent developments was William himself, who recounted his near brush with disaster to anyone and everyone who would listen. By noon, all of Harcourt was aware that the young master, by an act of superb horsemanship, had saved himself from a nasty situation. William’s euphoria over his own skill in this dangerous situation was only heightened by the prospect of a trip to visit his guardian.