The Handbook to Handling His Lordship (13 page)

So much for pleasantries. Nate had become accustomed to that greeting, however; in order to indulge his hobby he’d allowed himself to be hired. As far as Ebberling was concerned, they were
not
equals. That would suit, for now. He remained by the window where he’d placed himself. “Not as yet. I wanted a ch—”

“Not yet? I was told you were the man for this task. What am I paying you for, if—”

“You allowed the trail to go three years cold. It will take longer than a fortnight for me to track your lost item,” Nathaniel broke in, wondering for a moment why he continued to keep his suspicions about Emily Portsman to himself. It would save him a tongue-lashing from a marquis, certainly. Aside from that, it would be simple enough to learn the truth about her once and for all. He could haul Ebberling into the Tantalus, point at Portsman, and ask if the marquis recognized her.

If he was wrong, though, the true Miss Newbury would know that the hunt for her was on, and she would flee. If he was wrong and Ebberling was hungrier for someone to hang than for the truth, he would be doing Emily a great injustice. And just to himself, at the very back edge of his thoughts, he could admit that he wasn’t terribly anxious for this hunt to be over. That he liked having an excuse to make amends with Portsman.

“Yes, my lost item,” Ebberling rumbled, seeming to notice Laurie for the first time. “And who are you?”

“His brother,” Laurence commented, pointing a finger in Nathaniel’s direction.

“Why is your brother here, then? I asked for your assistance. Not for that of your entire bloodline. And I also asked for your discretion.”

That he had. They always did. “I wanted to have a chat with your son, if I might,” Nate stated, pushing up his spectacles and attempting to look his most harmless. “Young George might have some insights I could use.”

“No.”

This investigation was becoming more interesting by the moment. “It won’t be an interrogation. My brother brought his new mount, and I thought George might enjoy a short ride about the stable yard. Laurence is quite amiable, as is Dandelion.”

Ebberling looked from one to the other of them. “George likes horses. Very well. But I expect a full report on whatever information you gain from him.”

It might have been that the father didn’t want to subject the lad to further trauma, but Ebberling certainly hadn’t mentioned anything of the kind. Or it might have been as simple as the marquis not wishing to discuss the marchioness’s death. Or it might not. “Of course,” he said aloud. “We’ll be in the stable yard.”

With a curt nod the marquis left the room and called for a Mrs. Peabody—presumably the boy’s new governess. Laurence took Nate’s shoulder as they left the front entry for the yard. “‘Dandelion’?” he repeated.

Nate shrugged. “It sounds harmless. I’m not going to say we wish to set his son and heir on Widowmaker while we interrogate him.”

“I’m not calling him the Widowmaker. That was only something I was contemplating. I decided on Dragon.”

“Ah. Much more acceptable. Today he’s Dandelion.” Stifling a grin, Nathaniel walked up to the pretty bay gelding and patted him on the withers.

“If a name meant anything, we’d be putting young George up on Blue,” Laurie muttered.

“And then we both could join the elusive Miss Newbury in running from a murder,” Nathaniel returned in the same tone, putting a smile on his face as young George bounded around the corner, an elderly stick of a woman on his heels. “You must be George,” he said in his friendliest voice. “Your father tells me you’re an admirer of horseflesh.”

“Oh, yes!” the boy shouted, grinning widely.

George Velton couldn’t be more than eight or nine, which would have made him five or six at the time of his mother’s death and Rachel Newbury’s departure. Five-year-olds did not make the most reliable of witnesses. What they were exceptional at, however, was reading a man or a woman’s character. And that was what he wanted to know.

Two of Ebberling’s grooms were also present, evidently to make certain that the lad didn’t break his neck. Considering the care with which he and Laurie had selected the bay, and the reputation of Sullivan Waring’s stables for producing reliable mounts, they had nothing to worry about.

What he found more curious was that Ebberling remained indoors. In his experience, fathers, sons, and horses were a nearly inseparable trio in aristocratic circles. But he hadn’t been hired to determine his employer’s character. Bending, he took George around the waist and lifted him into the saddle. A groomsman and Laurie shortened the stirrups while Nate held the reins and the boy bounced excitedly, all skinny arms and legs and ears. Evidently the boy took after his late mother in looks, because other than the dark hair, he didn’t resemble the marquis a whit.

“What’s his name?” he asked, patting the gelding’s neck. “He’s sterling.”

“Dandelion,” Laurie supplied, even managing to avoid grimacing as he said the name. “From Waring’s stables.”

“Oh, that’s diamond. Waring has the best stables in England! I’ve been wanting one of his, but Father says I’m not old enough.”

“Perhaps this will convince him,” Nathaniel put in. “Did your father tell you who we are?”

“He said you were Lord Westfall,” the boy returned, then looked at Laurie. “And you were Westfall’s brother.”

Laurie offered his hand. “Laurence Stokes. You may call me Laurie, if you like.”

They shook hands. “I’m Viscount Ryling, but you may call me George.”

“George it is, then.” Laurie patted the boy’s thigh. “Ready to give Dandelion a go?”

“I certainly am,” the young viscount replied. “I’m a very good rider.”

Nathaniel handed over the reins and shifted his grip to the bridle. Clucking his tongue, he led the gelding into a walk around the perimeter of the yard while his younger brother kept pace beside George, chatting with his usual easy amiability.

As they walked, Nate watched his brother. Seeing him beside an eight-year-old made one thing clear—Laurence wasn’t a child any longer. And he had a refreshing way of being himself that made his older brother mildly jealous. As did the fact that most people genuinely liked Laurence Stokes.

“That skinny woman,” Laurence said in a confidential tone. “Is she your governess?”

George scowled. “She is. She’s very slow, though. I can’t run anywhere. I can’t even walk quickly without her yelling at me. It’s quite disappointing. I’m accustomed to being more active.”

“When I was your age, I had a governess named Mrs. Reed. She knew all the words to ‘Drunken Sailor.’”

“Mrs. Peabody would have an apoplexy if I sang that song.” George giggled. “I think you should teach me.”

“No one’s taught you any sea chanteys? This is a travesty,” Laurence commented with a grin. “Did you have a governess before Mrs. Peabody?”

“Yes.” George’s face fell. “But I’m not supposed to talk about her.”

“Why not?”

“She killed my mother. Father says so. I don’t think she would do that, though, because Miss Newbury and my mother were good friends. They shared books and everything.”

“Did you like Miss Newbury, then?”

“Oh, very much. She helped me learn about insects and plants, because when I was little I wanted to be a botanist. Now I’m going to ride a horse in the Derby.”

“Did Miss Newbury know any sea chanteys?”

“Probably, but she would never teach me any. Father says I’m always to be a gentleman.” He bounced in the saddle. “Did you see Sullivan Waring when you purchased Dandelion?”

Laurence shook his head. “Lord Bram Johns was at Tattersall’s with Waring’s horses.”

“Oh, they’re partners. They were in the war together.”

Nathaniel stifled another grin. Laurence was finally getting a taste of what it was like to have a conversation with himself. Perhaps his brother would pay more heed to staying on the subject during their own discussions, from now on. “What was your favorite thing to do with Miss Newbury?” he asked, taking pity on his sibling.

“Well, we went for a walk almost every day, and she helped me catch frogs. That was quite fun.”

Frog catching didn’t quite fit with his vision of a nose-in-the-air governess, but that was why he was there—to gain some insight into her character that the butler and the marquis and the housekeeper had lacked. “What did you do on rainy days?” he pursued, walking backward to keep both eyes on the lad.

He smiled. “Oh, we read. Miss Newbury and I would act all the parts in the stories. My favorite was the one with the hedgehog and the badger.” Abruptly his expression collapsed into a frown. “But Father says only silly people read silly stories that can’t possibly be true. They’re for babies, and I’m almost nine.”

Laurie sent a glance over Nathaniel’s shoulder. “You’re out of time,” he murmured.

“Go chat with Ebberling, will you?” Nate whispered back at him. “I need two minutes.”

“If I get my head bitten off I’m blaming you.” Laurence patted young George on the knee and strode back to the edge of the yard. There he began chatting about … something. Whatever it was, Ebberling didn’t seem terribly interested. However charming Laurie could be, two minutes might be a bit much to ask.

Nate returned his attention to the young boy sitting on the overlarge saddle. “Was Miss Newbury happy at Ebberling?” he asked quietly. “Did you ever see her cry?”

“I saw her cry two times,” the lad returned, ducking his head closer to reply in the conspiratorial tone that Nate had used. “One time Mama was sick, and Miss Newbury took me down to dinner, when usually she ate in her own bedchamber.”

“Did she cry before or after dinner?”

“After dinner, when she came back upstairs to tuck me into bed and read to me. I even asked her what was wrong, and she said … let me think. She said something about how her own mama had been sickly, too, and she used to bring her flowers to cheer her up. And we picked flowers from the garden in the morning, and Mama liked them very much. Her favorite was the yellow daisies, but Miss Newbury liked white roses.”

For a moment Nate ran that convoluted bit of conversation through his mind. Knowing Rachel Newbury liked roses was well and good, but something about the rest of the conversation felt off. “Did she stay downstairs with your father for very long after dinner that night?” he finally asked.

“Not for very long,” the boy answered. “I only had time to put on my nightshirt and feed flies to my frogs and review my butterfly collection.”

Then she had been alone with the marquis, and for long enough to engage in more than discourse. Had she been his mistress? Had the marchioness died because of some governess’s jealousy? Had the tears been because Ebberling had ended the affair? Too many damned questions, and not enough answers. “What was the other time she cried?” he pushed, noting that the marquis’s face was growing red. Evidently even Laurie’s charms had their limits.

“I remember that very well. It was right when she left. I was playing with my frogs, because I was training them to hop across the keys of the pianoforte, and she ran by the music room and I saw her crying. I went to ask what was amiss, but I couldn’t find her, and then Father came into the house and he was very angry and said everyone was to look for Miss Newbury because something terrible had happened and it was her fault.”

“He didn’t tell you what the terrible thing was?”

“Everyone was shouting it at once. I cried, too, but I was little, then. Only five years old. I’m much older now.”

“I can see that.” The marquis was approaching now, and Nate stepped up to lift the boy off the horse’s back. “Was it a nice day? The day Miss Newbury left?”

“Yes. We would have gone for a walk, but I hadn’t finished my sums.” He frowned. “I finished them after, but it was too late.”

“That’s enough questions, Westfall,” Ebberling announced, nudging his son in the shoulder to send the boy off toward Mrs. Peabody. “Now do what I’m paying you for, or I’ll find someone else.”

Laurie opened his mouth, likely to say something about how Nate was an earl and they didn’t appreciate being ordered about like servants. But then Laurie likely didn’t realize how much more servants heard simply because their masters discounted them. Nathaniel put a hand on his brother’s arm. “I
am
doing what you hired me for,” he returned mildly, making a show of leaning on his cane. “In fact, I now believe Miss Newbury may well be here in London.”

The marquis’s eyes narrowed. “What? You’ve found her?”

Very likely,
Nate thought to himself. “The more I know about her, the more I’m able to narrow down my search. At the moment I believe her to be in London. I’ll know more as I continue.”

“Then you haven’t actually found anything.”

It amazed him on occasion, the disdain most self-styled men of action had for those who preferred to use their minds. And yet, Ebberling had come to
him
for aid—not the other way around. “I have found several nothings,” he said aloud. “Every one of them tells me where not to search.”

“That sounds like ballocks to me. My marriage is a month away. I want her found, Westfall.”

With a nod, Nate returned Dandelion’s reins to his brother and collected his own Blue from a waiting groom. “I shall do so. Ebberling. Lord Ryling.”

The boy waved at the two of them as they trotted down the carriage path for the street, but the marquis only turned his back and stalked toward the house. The moment they turned the corner heading for Teryl House, Laurence grabbed his elbow.

“Why in God’s name did you let him speak to you like that? You’re as much a lord as he is.”

“Not according to him. In his eyes I’m an upjumped nobody whose cousin had the misfortune not to have any more appropriate heirs. And at the moment I find that useful, so leave it be.”

“‘Useful,’” Laurence repeated, making the word sound venomous. “Sometimes it’s not about your bloody spying games. Sometimes it’s about being who you are, and being respected for it. You’re an earl, Nate. Nothing’s going to change that.”

He was quite aware of that, and he’d been discovering that nothing was as uncomfortable as a costume that couldn’t be removed. “Don’t trouble yourself, Laurie. He wasn’t insulting you.”