Chapter Five
HAVERFORD TURNED BACK TO the shelves, giving Elizabeth an opportunity to note the breadth of his shoulders. He truly was a splendid specimen, and he was listening.
“I am coming to enjoy your scolds, madam. They have about them the ring of common sense. I will consider your theory and perhaps have a word with Hugh.”
Consider and perhaps would do Mrs. St. David no good. “Do better than that. Move Hugh into his wife’s room because the chimney must be cleaned in his. Ask them to lead a team for the scavenger hunt. Invite them to visit when an entire house party isn’t underfoot.”
His Grace passed her a second book. “You are a font of ingenuity, or matchmaking, depending on one’s perspective. I hadn’t realized Lady Glenys was inflicting a scavenger hunt on us. You will insinuate yourself onto my team, Miss Windham.”
A third book joined the two in Elizabeth’s grasp. “You will not tell me what to do, Your Grace.”
His lips twitched. “Do forgive my imperiousness, Miss Windham. If you would condescend to join my team for the scavenger hunt, I would be eternally in your debt.”
Haverford’s word choice brought to mind all the expenses marching down the ledger page, entry after entry. He was a duke. He need not tarry with her in the library, much less choose books for her, much less compliment her scolds.
Or tolerate her imperiousness. Elizabeth might not owe him an outright apology for her meddling where Mrs. St. David was concerned, but she owed him an explanation.
“Griffith Jones had a wealthy sponsor,” Elizabeth said. “All his dreams, his great plans, would have had little impact, but for Madam Bevans. She financed his schools, took Jones in when he was an aged widower, continued his work after his death, and left a substantial grant in her will for the support of the circulating schools.”
His Grace braced a shoulder against the shelves and crossed his arms. He was a good-sized man, along the lines of Elizabeth’s male cousins. He wasn’t a great hulking brute; by her standards he was simply man-sized.
Perfectly man-sized.
“You are about to make a point,” he said. “I would like to hear it.”
“I have only modest settlements,” Elizabeth said. “But I am a Windham, and well connected. Between what funds I can command and what donations I could inspire, I can make a difference. Few women have that privilege. I cannot imagine the depth of Mrs. David’s frustration, to be invisible to the one person who ought always to see her.”
The duke regarded her, nothing casual or coy in his gaze. He not only listened, he saw.
“Lending libraries are worth supporting,” Elizabeth went on, lest she lose her nerve. “They bring the wider world, the most learned prose, the most exciting ages, within reach of any village curate, any milkmaid who’s been to the local dame school.” Any young woman facing yet another lonely London season. “I want to support lending libraries.”
“A worthy cause.”
Haverford turned, so he stood in profile to Elizabeth. Regret washed through her, for she liked looking at him, and hoped her maunderings hadn’t created awkwardness.
Though how could they not?
His Grace used the lip of the shelf to scratch his back, which was extraordinarily informal behavior. Elizabeth was about to reprove him for it, when she recalled the duke telling her that nobody scolded him.
Nobody scratched his back either.
“For gracious sake, let me.” Elizabeth set her books aside and pushed Haverford around to face away from her. She used her nails and gave him a solid scratching, for he wore a coat, waistcoat, and shirt.
He stood still for a moment, then braced himself against the shelves.
She finished with a pat to the middle of his back. “Better?” she asked, picking up the books.
“Has anybody told you that you have tendency to manage whoever and whatever is at hand?”
Elizabeth had not been merely told she had managing tendencies, she’d been admonished at length on the topic, and yet, the duke’s assessment was inaccurate.
“I did not manage Lord Allermain.” Elizabeth’s admission surprised even her. “I’m ruralizing in Wales because I attracted his less than respectful notice.”
Though of all people, Haverford would know how it felt to be pursued as a prize rather than as a person, and he’d respect a lady’s confidences.
The duke wandered away from the bookshelves. “I don’t care for him, but then, I’m considered pernickety in the company I keep. I assume he bungled badly.”
Elizabeth’s parents had implied that she was the bungler, frittering away season after season without choosing a husband, while every last ducal cousin pelted up the church aisle.
“Allermain put a soporific in my wine and nearly waltzed me into his waiting coach. My cousins intervened, and his lordship is now kicking his heels on the Continent. At my parents’ insistence, I am kicking my heels among the largest concentration of titled bachelors in the realm. I am also being somewhat…managing. I apologize for that.”
Elizabeth was also kicking her heels amid all these lovely books, which she would inspect when she’d finished burdening Haverford with her woes—assuming he didn’t have her escorted from the property first.
The duke stood before the open French doors. Having turned his back to Elizabeth once—at her insistence—he was apparently willing to do so again.
“Your cousins allowed this varlet to decamp for parts unknown?”
“They did. Scandal must never be linked to a woman’s name and so forth, but now my parents demand that I marry. Allermain sought to ally himself with a large, influential ducal family, and there I was, all unmarried and female, tempting him to rash measures.”
Haverford stalked toward her, his boots thumping so hard against the floor Elizabeth felt the impact where she stood.
“That is utter balderdash, madam. That is the rankest tripe, do you hear me? A gentleman owes his protection to all who are weaker than he—children, the elderly, the infirm, and women especially. No matter the advantages a woman’s family connections or fortune might offer, or the invitation in her smile, or the effects of drink—no matter anything—Allermain’s behavior was inexcusable.”
Haverford’s indignation washed across Elizabeth like a scouring wind, though rather than upsetting all in its path, this gale set a few things to rights.
“You are correct, of course.” And Papa was wrong. Haverford had no doubt about who had bungled, and who should have been held accountable.
“Now you turn up agreeable. I am not deceived, Miss Windham. When I commit the least transgression, you will correct me. But I am in your debt, and I came in here to find a book for you.”
“You’ve found three.” The titles of which Elizabeth hadn’t bothered to glance at.
“I meant a book to give you. You rendered assistance last night when it was much needed. A book struck me as a suitable token of my appreciation. You must choose one for yourself.”
He looked both determined and uncomfortable, as if giving away even one volume of his precious collection pitted generosity against the ire of the St. David ancestors who’d amassed this treasure. Elizabeth approved of both sentiments—the magnanimity of bestowing a book on her, and the reluctance to reduce his family’s library by even a single title.
The room was lined on three sides with shelves, and those shelves ringed a second story. His Grace had also mentioned a second library, and a document collection in the bowels of the castle.
“I’m to choose one book, from all of these?”
“Choose wisely and take your time. This room holds more than thirty thousand titles. The bawdy tales are up there,” he said, gesturing across the room. “That corner is all French and Italian. There are a few Bibles, the usual medical treatises. Take whichever one you please.” He fixed his gaze in the direction of the bawdy tales. “The last time Griffin wandered, I found him mere yards from a precipice.”
“That had to be upsetting.”
“I raised my voice to the boy for the first time in years. That upset him. Years ago, he fell into an abandoned mine shaft, and when we found him the next day, he was already suffering fevers and a badly sprained wrist. If I make haste, I’ll have time to discuss last night with the prodigal himself. I bid you good day, and again, you have my thanks. For everything. And Lord Allermain is ruined. Your cousins have likely already put matters in train, but I’ll add my discreet efforts, and you won’t see him in a proper ballroom again. That much remains within my power.”
He kissed Elizabeth’s cheek, a soft brush of cedary warmth, and then he strode off.
The room contained more literature than Elizabeth had ever beheld in a private home, and three weeks wouldn’t be enough for even a cursory perusal. As the duke’s steps faded down the corridor, Elizabeth couldn’t give a tinker’s curse for the books.
The Duke of Haverford had listened to her, taken the situation with Allermain in hand, thanked her for everything, and kissed her. What was everything, and when might she kiss him back?
* * *
“You’re disappointed in me.” Griffin skipped a rock across the river, flicking the stone so hard that it bounced six times before sinking.
“I am.” Julian was also worried as hell. Griffin had not come bounding from the cottage, spouting apologies and looking chagrinned.
“You didn’t send a card,” Griffin said, striding along the bank. “When a gentleman comes calling, he’s supposed to send a card. If you send your card, I can ask Biddy to make tea, but you didn’t send your card.”
“We’d look a bit silly taking our tea along the river here.”
“We could have a picnic. I wasn’t lost, Julian. Last night, I wasn’t lost at all.”
Julian wanted to change the subject, to ask the names of the plants growing on the path, to listen for the bird calls Griffin knew by heart. Papa had taught him those bird calls, and taught them to Julian too.
The lad remembered everything, except his older brother’s lectures.
“I don’t get lost,” Griffin said, rounding on Julian. “Never, never, never. I have never been lost. Why do you keep thinking I’m lost when I’m only having a ramble on our land? The sheep and horses and cows sleep outside all the time, and you never worry about them. Am I more stupid than a sheep?”
What the hell? “You’re far more intelligent than a sheep.”
“So why did you and Radnor and Abner and that lady come looking for me? I would have awoken when I was rested and come straight home like I always do.”
God save me. Griffin could fixate on details—Why did clouds have the shapes they did? Why did Monday follow Sunday every week? Why hadn’t Marged Pryce’s breasts been exactly the same shape?—and worry over them for days.
Griffin had apparently seen Elizabeth Windham on the path below the oak and would doubtless remark her presence at the worst possible time in the worst possible company.
“We came looking for you because we were worried about you.”
Griffin resumed walking. “Because you think I’m stupid. I am stupid, but I don’t get lost. If you let me go to London, I might get lost, because London is very, very, very far away. You never let me go to London.”
As a small boy, Griffin had had frequent tantrums. Then his disposition had calmed as his studies had progressed. Julian had breathed a sigh of relief, telling himself Griffin had acquired what maturity one of his nature could.
Marged Pryce’s meddling was an aberration, a rough patch Julian ought to have foreseen.
“I’ve explained this to you, Griffin. In London, nobody speaks Welsh. You could not order a pint at the tavern or ask directions.”
“You could do those things for me. You go to London all the time. Glenys goes to London. Abner went once, when he was a boy. I’m not a boy.”
Oh, yes, you are. “We are very far afield from the topic of your misadventure, Griffin. You owe me, Biddy, Radnor, and Abner an apology for making us worry.”
Griffin was on the path beside Julian one moment, and up in the branches of an oak the next. He’d grabbed onto the limb that hung over the path and swung upward in one lithe arc. For all his intellectual limitations, Griffin was strong, fit, and hale.
Seizures notwithstanding.
“What about the lady, Julian? Should I apologize to her?”
“I will not address myself to a tree.”
“I talk to the trees all the time. They don’t think I’m stupid.”
Nothing for it. Julian climbed into the tree, though with far less grace than Griffin had.
“You were thoughtless, Griffin, and that’s not like you. You’re usually kind, but to go off and leave us to wonder if you’d turned your ankle, taken a fall, or been bitten by an adder was inconsiderate.”
Mention of the snake dimmed the grin Julian’s clambering into the tree had inspired. “I don’t like serpents. I don’t understand how they move without legs. You said they are shy.”
“On summer evenings, they like to go out for rambles too, and right next to you would have been a nice, warm place to take a nap.”
Griffin looked entirely at home lounging on a branch, his back propped against the trunk. “Then I’ll climb the wishing oak, next time.”
“There won’t be a next time, Griffin. You must give me your word on that. No more rambling until all hours. You come home when it’s dark.”
“You don’t come home when it’s dark. You were out with that lady, looking for me, and it was well past sunset.”
Time to fire off the fraternal artillery. “I am disappointed in you.”
“You said that already. Radnor walked me home, when I never get lost.”
Julian watched the water babble by beneath the tree. This was a peaceful spot, probably one of dozens Griffin knew that Julian had walked by for years. Griffin’s mood was unrepentant, which was most unusual for him.
“Radnor is a good friend,” Julian said.
Griffin twisted off a leaf and cast it down to the river, to be immediately carried away. “Radnor said Charity is learning her letters.”
Damn Radnor, though he’d probably been making conversation as best one could with Griffin. “She thrives in his care.”
“Is she learning English letters?”
The question was oh so diffidently offered, but it explained everything about Griffin’s mood.
“Welsh and English use the same letters, Griffin, though each language puts them together to make different sounds.”
Griffin pushed his hair out of his eyes, perfectly capable of balancing on the branch without using his hands.
“So I already know all the English letters?”
That pleased him. “You do, while Charity is just beginning her study of them.”
Griffin skewered Julian with a direct look. “Will she be smart, Julian, or will she be like me?”
In Griffin’s gaze was as much pride, determination, and self-awareness as Julian had seen in the eyes of any duke. That gaze demanded honesty, when whatever answer Julian gave would likely hurt Griffin’s feelings.
“She appears to be quite bright. She’s learning her letters at the same age Glenys did.”
Griffin closed his eyes and hunched up his shoulders, his face transfigured by joy. “Glenys is wicked smart.”
“She seems to think so.”
“I want to visit Charity. I want her to show me her letters.”
A normal longing. Julian wished he could spend more time with the girl himself. “After the house party, I’ll take you to Radnor’s for a visit, but you must promise you’ll not wander about the hillside after dark again, Griffin.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Griffin said, swinging to the ground as nimbly as a monkey, “but there are forty-two coaches behind the carriage house. I counted them twice, and then I fell asleep. If each coach had two people inside, that would have been eighty-four people. Do you have eighty-four guests, Julian?”
Julian’s descent was more decorous, also somewhat reluctant. Long, long ago, he’d napped in the occasional tree.
“It feels like eighty-four hundred. I can’t keep their names straight, and they eat like a regiment of dragoons and drink like sailors on shore leave. Thank God, most of the people who came in those carriages are not guests, but maids, footmen, valets, and grooms.”
“All those people cost a lot of money to feed, don’t they?”
Why couldn’t Glenys grasp what Griffin saw easily? “A fortune. You’re not to worry over it.”
“I’ll have my Biddy send you some bread.”
Julian slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “That is very generous of you, but let’s not put Biddy to any extra trouble. She has her hands full looking after you and Abner.”
“Who was the lady, Julian? You held her hand.”
Oh, that lady. “I was being gentlemanly, ensuring she didn’t take a fall on an unfamiliar path.” And for once, I’d forgotten to worry that a woman would get ideas about becoming my duchess.
Holding hands with a pretty houseguest hadn’t been part of Julian’s plans, but it hadn’t upset his plans either. Not enough to trouble over.
He and Griffin ambled in the direction of Griffin’s cottage, when Julian would rather have walked another mile or two along the river. He hadn’t spent much time with his brother lately, which was an attempt to respect the independence of Griffin’s household.
And perhaps, just a little neglectful on Julian’s part.
“But what was the lady’s name, Julian?”
“Miss Windham. She’s a friend of Glenys’s.”
Griffin gave him a hard shove, which nearly sent him into the river. “You don’t hold hands with Glenys’s other friends. Does Miss Windham make your tallywags ache?” Griffin’s smile was sly, masculine, and naughty.
“You and your damned tallywags,” Julian countered, shoving back. “Gentlemen don’t ask such questions.”
“I’m your brother. My tallywags ache every time I see Nan Pritchard, down at the Boar and Barrel. She’s almost as pretty as Biddy.”
Marged Pryce had been pretty. Nan Pritchard could be trusted, however, and Biddy’s perceived beauty was likely a result of her abilities in the kitchen.
“You know what to do about aching tallywags, Griffin.” He’d figured out the joys of self-gratification by himself, St. David blood running true when it came to animal spirits. Learning to keep such behaviors and discussion of them private had taken the better part of several years.
“Does Miss Windham make your—”
Julian shoved him again. “Hush. Apologize to Biddy for worrying her last night, and to Radnor.”
“I could write a note to Radnor. I could write a note to Charity too.”
“You have a beautiful hand.” Griffin could copy anything, including Julian’s copperplate script. “I’m sure a note would suffice.”
“I’ll write Radnor a note. And Charity.”
That exercise would take the remainder of the day at least. Griffin was a perfectionist when it came to his penmanship.
“I’m off, then,” Julian said as they approached the cottage.
“Give Miss Windham my love.”
“I’ll do no such thing, you scamp.”
Griffin accompanied Julian to the barn to fetch his horse, just as a polite host would with a caller. Nothing would serve but Julian must also have his hand shaken, and then be given a stout hug and a kiss to the cheek before he was allowed to mount up on Rhodri.
“Visit again soon,” Griffin said. “If you send a card, I’ll have Biddy make tea and shortbread.”
“Next time, I’ll send a card,” Julian said, saluting with his riding crop. “Biddy’s shortbread is not to be missed.”
“And bring Miss Windham!” Griffin called as Julian sent Rhodri cantering down the drive.
Oh, right. Bring Miss Windham, and introduce her to the ducal heir, who would sharpen eight quills before he began to write a short note. Who would spout off about his aching tallywags before any company, and who spoke barely twelve words of English.
And yet, Julian wished he could introduce Elizabeth Windham to Griffin. She would be kind without being condescending. She’d brook no nonsense, and even in her rebukes, she’d charm and soothe.
And damned if the woman didn’t, indeed, make Julian’s tallywags ache.