Chapter 14

“Drake was pushed?” Sebastian stood with the billiard cue suspended over the table. “And I thought it was going to be a boring house party.”

Philip and the three Libertine Scholars in residence—Sebastian, Grayson, and, as of that morning, Maitland—had retired to the billiards room for some privacy under the guise of a billiards game.

Maitland frowned. “Don’t be so casual, Sebastian. It is serious. No wonder you wanted to talk to us, Philip. But why? It appears that no one gains from the boy’s death except his mother. It does not make sense.”

“I agree,” Philip said. “Therefore, I wonder if Drake was a mistake and someone else is the real target. I think we need to keep an eye on everyone.”

“That’s a tall order,” Grayson murmured. “We should alert Lord Kirkwood. He might have a better idea about which of his guests could be the target.”

Philip shook his head and lined the white ball up behind the red. “Rose made me promise not to tell him. According to her, he already smothers the lad. If he hears Drake was pushed, Rose is afraid he will exercise his right as guardian and she won’t be allowed to take Drake home.”

The white ball hit the red with a decisive crack and sent the red racing toward the corner pocket.

“Nice shot,” Sebastian said as it disappeared into the pocket. “Then I suggest we ask our wives to assist us. They are the most discreet interrogators I know.”

Everyone laughed—somewhat ruefully— at Sebastian’s tongue-in-cheek suggestion. But Philip was open to all the help he could get. “Good idea.” He handed his cue to Grayson. “We four keep our eyes and ears open and set the ladies to do the same. We only have five days.”

Rose should have rested before dinner but she wanted to be certain Drake was safe and recovering from his fear after his accident. So she spent the afternoon with Henry and Drake, reading and watching the boys play before the fire in the library and talking with the wives of the other Libertine Scholars.

She was relieved to see that Drake seemed to all but forget his fall as the day went on. Perhaps Philip was right and she was worrying over nothing. It was probably a case of mistaken identity. More likely it was one member of Kirkwood’s staff playing a silly prank on another, and it had gone wrong. Who else but one of Kirkwood’s household would go to the attic?

All the same, for her peace of mind, Wilson, Philip’s valet, had agreed to sleep in the nursery with the boys each night. That had eased her fears slightly. Now she just had the meeting with Philip to worry about. And Portia.

Portia had been acting very oddly, watching her with a secret smile on her face. It occurred to Rose that her friend might have guessed her secret, but she hoped not. While she loved Portia like a sister, she did not want interference from anyone to ruin her moment with Philip.

How would she broach the subject tonight? She knew she’d stumble to get the words out no matter how simple the truth was—Philip, you are about to be a father.

“Lost in thought, Rose?” Beatrice’s gentle question pulled her back to the present. “Don’t worry. We will get to the bottom of this distressing business.”

She smiled, willing herself to appear at ease. “Yes, of course.”

“Are you heading back to Cornwall after this?” Marisa asked. “Or will you go up to London?”

She didn’t know how to answer that question. It would, of course, depend on Philip’s reaction and the plans they made for the future. Obtaining a special license would be easier in London.

“I think I’ll take Drake on to London. I know it’s a little early, but the trip back to Cornwall is so long. The Season starts late January and I promised I’d help Lady Helen.”

The reference to Marisa’s younger sister and her coming out veered the conversation away from more dangerous topics. Soon the women were excitedly chatting about the coming Season, Helen’s part in it, and Marisa’s plans and excitement.

Rose, loving the chance to be involved, promised to help by introducing Helen to her dressmaker. She had not experienced a Season of her own. Her father had married her to Roxborough on the day she turned eighteen. Helen was so lucky to have a brother who would let her choose her own husband.

Eventually, Wilson came in to collect the boys, and Beatrice rose. “This is delightful and we’ll continue it later. But Helen’s gowns are for the future. Our need is more urgent. We’d best ready ourselves for dinner, ladies.”

Chattering like a flock of birds, the ladies went upstairs together.

When Rose entered her bedchamber she saw that Elaine had arranged her gown for the evening on the bed. But Elaine herself was nowhere to be seen.

As she neared the bed, excitement, not nausea, fluttered in her stomach. On the pillow lay a white rose, and under it, a note. Philip always left a white rose with his notes.

Smiling, she crossed the room, picked up the rose, and lifted it to her nose. It had a wonderful scent. He must have picked it in the orangery because roses did not bud in mid-winter. A good sign. One that showed he was looking forward to their meeting later that night.

Still smiling, she picked up the folded but unsealed note.

Her silly, love-struck grin faded as she read.

If you want your young duke to live

The name of your babe’s father you will not give

Lord Cumberland you cannot tell

Or you’ll hear the death toll of the bell

A cold sweat popped upon her skin and she sank to her knees, the note trembling in her hand. Drake had been the intended target.

She leaned forward, resting her head on the edge of the bed as panic built inside her until she could barely breathe.

Had Elaine betrayed her and spoken out of turn? No. Elaine had been with her since Rose had turned fourteen. She loved Drake and had appeared genuinely concerned at his fall. Rose could not believe Elaine would be party to anything that threatened either of them.

What was she to do? She needed help, but who could help her? Who could she trust? Whoever was behind this horror was watching her closely. How else would they know of her condition? She daren’t tell Philip now, not until—until when? Until the baby was born? How could she possibly hide that she was with child for six months? Then how could she explain a baby to Drake, to society, oh, God, to Lord Kirkwood?

Her immediate reaction was to pack up and leave the party. But where would they go?

In that moment she understood just how alone she really was. There was no one to help her. To confide in. To care—

That had been her choice. When her husband had died, she had brazenly declared that she did not need another husband, but as her relationship with Philip developed, she realized that declaration had been a way to protect her life. She could not bear to be married off to another man who did not care for her or love her. If she was ever to marry, she knew it would have to be for love, and the only man her heart cried out for was Philip.

One of the only men who never asked for her hand in marriage.

On a sob she crushed the note in her fist and beat the bed, trying to think what to do.

“Your bath is ready, Your—” Elaine broke off and then ran to her side. “Oh, my lady, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Rose fought for control. “It’s nothing. But I want Drake to sleep with me, in my bed tonight. Will you fetch him for me, please, and stay with him until I retire after dinner? Wilson can watch Henry. I’ll feel better if I watch my son myself.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Elaine spoke soothingly, obviously realizing how upset she was. “Shall I fetch Lord Cumberland?”

“No!” She forced herself to be calm. To think. “No. I want to be alone.” She got to her feet, keeping the note crushed in her fist. “But while you’re watching Drake this evening I’d like you to pack for us. Do it secretly, Elaine. And only what is necessary to enable us to reach London. Tell no one, do you understand?”

She had no idea what she would tell Kirkwood. If she told him anything. “We’ll leave before the rest of the household is up and can send for everything else once we are safely in London.” She did not want to be on the road at nightfall.

“We are leaving?” Elaine sounded blank. “But I thought—oh, my lady, is His Grace in danger?”

She couldn’t answer the question. “I would simply feel safer in my own house.” It was true.

“Shouldn’t you wait to see what Lord Cumberland—” Elaine stopped, apparently recognizing Rose’s unyielding look. “Yes, Your Grace, I shall pack lightly enough that our leaving can be discreet.” She turned to go, but then turned back, her face a mask of anger. “I never believed Lord Cumberland would be so dishonorable. He’s not worthy of you, my lady. Not worthy at all.” And with that she stalked from the room.

Oh, God. Rose wanted to weep. Elaine thought she’d told Philip of her condition and he’d rebuked her. And she was supposed to meet Philip tonight to tell him of her condition. Impossible now.

The note was still crushed in her fist. She opened her fingers and stared again at the words. She’d moved to the fire and was about to throw it in the flames, damning it to hell, when something stopped her. Lord Markham might be able to help her. He, or one of the others, might recognize the writing—or find someone who did. She flattened the paper out, refolded it, and stuffed it in her reticule.

All she could think to do now was to put distance between herself and whoever wrote the note. If someone followed her to London, he or she was the likely culprit. Then she could safely tell Philip and the other Libertine Scholars. They had experience at this sort of thing. But she could not risk telling them here. Not with an unknown enemy watching and listening.

Nor would she continue to risk Drake’s life with staff she did not trust and in a house that harbored an enemy. Once she was safe in her own home she would call Lord Markham. The earl was the biggest sheep farmer in Dorset and the most profitable. He was not present here, but it was well known that he helped her with advice on estate business. No one would wonder that he and his wife should attend her. There was no connection there to this house party.

And Philip.

Her dream of a happy life with Philip was not ruined, she reminded herself. It was merely on hold. Drake’s safety had to come first. But she couldn’t face Philip, not tonight. She would send Elaine to the orangery with a message that she had a headache. Tonight she would sleep with her son safely by her side, and before dawn they would slip quietly away.

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. There was now very little time to bathe and dress before dinner.

She bathed and dressed in a whirling daze that sent her head spinning.

It was still spinning when she sat down to dinner. Thank God she’d been seated next to Philip. He would not expect her to make polite conversation after her fright that afternoon. She could sit quietly, watch the other guests, and try to ascertain who would do this to her and why.

Her gaze fell on Viscount Tremain. Conrad had not taken her refusal to marry him well but he was here courting Lucy Hemllison as Rose had suggested. Mr. Hemllison was fawning all over Viscount Tremain, happy with the match, so she doubted Conrad had the motive or stomach to torment her.

She moved her attention down the table, analyzing each guest, until her gaze fell on Lady Philomena.

Now, there was someone with a possible motive to keep Rose and Philip apart. The delusional woman thought Rose was the one stopping Philip from falling at her feet, when it was actually Philip who could not stand the woman. Lady Philomena might have been a poisonous bitch on occasion, but did she have the brains to instigate a plan this devious? Rose doubted it.

Lady Philomena had not looked at Philip at all. In fact, the only person she laughed with, talked with, and showered attention on was Lord Kirkwood—a widower, an elderly widower. So Lady Philomena was setting her sights on an older man who would leave her with position, title, and money? Clever woman. And to Rose’s surprise, it seemed Lord Kirkwood was enjoying the attention. She saw his hand slide over Lady Philomena’s and give it a gentle squeeze.

Well, if it made Lord Kirkwood happy, where was the harm? He had lost his wife many years ago, his only son was grown and led his own life, and she knew how lonely life could be. Lady Philomena was not a bad person, merely desperate, and as poor as a church mouse. Lady Philomena could not do better than Lord Kirkwood. It was frustrating, but Rose had to admit Lady Philomena did not seem to have a motive, either.

As for the others at the table, she did not know any of them well enough to guess their motives. And there would have to be a very strong motive to do something as evil as the attempted murder of a child.

Philip sat beside Rose at dinner, but for all the attention she gave him he might as well have been a statue. Yes, they were no longer lovers, but he’d hoped they would always be good friends. Tonight, however, he felt as though a stone wall had risen between them, and he’d begun to dread the prospect of their meeting in the orangery later that night.

Could it be that she had already accepted—or wanted to accept—a proposal from someone else? They had been apart over two months now. Something was worrying her. She’d worried her bottom lip almost raw, and she’d hardly smiled or conversed with him—or anyone—all night.

She had, however, not taken her eyes off Tremain all night. Surely she bloody would not! No. She was not setting her cap at Tremain. She couldn’t be that desperate. But the jealousy eating his insides had turned his dinner to ashes in his mouth.

Philip had spent the afternoon discreetly making inquiries of the staff.

When he asked if anyone had been sent to clean in the attic, everyone had said no. But there was one young maid whose cheeks had flushed crimson and who could not meet his eyes. He was certain she was lying, but nothing he said or did made her change her story.

When he told the others about her, Sebastian suggested she might be in league with one of the guests, so they set up a schedule to keep an eye on her. As she was unlikely to use the main stairs they decided to watch the back stairs leading to the servants’ bedchambers. Philip took that duty for himself. He would get very little sleep, but better that than to have Rose frightened or Drake hurt. He’d come to care very much for the boy.

Tremain might have fooled others into thinking he was serious about the Hemllison heiress, but a spendthrift and gambler would hate to be tied to a father-in-law’s purse strings. The viscount would prefer Rose as a wife. Her jointure was already large. If Drake were to die, she would be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Yes, instinct screamed that Tremain was behind Drake’s danger. What he could not yet fathom was why Kirkwood had invited the man. That invitation, to Philip, made Kirkwood a suspect, too.

He wanted answers, and he’d find them and make Rose safe before he left to return to his life of service to the Cumberland title and estates.

When the women rose to leave the men to their port, Philip decided it was time to push Tremain to reveal his true intent. When Mr. Hemllison moved to sit with Kirkwood and Sebastian, he stood and walked down the other end of the long table and took the seat next to Tremain.

“I must say I’m surprised to see you on the guest list, Tremain.”

A smile that could only be described as triumphant spread across Tremain’s lips. “I could say the same. I thought Kirkwood would have called you out for walking away from Her Grace.” His smile faded. “Unless, of course, he invited you to browbeat you into a proposal. It’s not a secret he wants to curb Her Grace’s wanton ways.”

Philip’s fist itched. “Be careful, Tremain. Her Grace’s ways are none of your concern.”

At the reminder of his failure, Tremain’s eyes lit with anger. “Nor yours.” He nodded toward where Mr. Hemllison sat. “I have my eye on a better catch. What’s your excuse for being here?”

He had asked himself that when he first set foot in the house, but Tremain had no right to question his motives. “I’m not sure you’ll like any arrangement with Hemllison. I’ve heard that, upon his daughter’s marriage, he’ll only pay a quarterly allowance to her husband. It seems Mr. Hemllison believes he can get his daughter her title while keeping his future son-in-law on a very tight leash.”

Tremain’s tight jaw twitched and his bored veneer slipped. “You sit there, all high and mighty, looking down on me. You, too, were in dun territory once. But you were clever enough to talk your elder brother into going to war. And you came home alone. How very convenient!”

Red rage filled Philip’s vision and he was out of his chair before Tremain had finished. His first punch took Tremain in the mouth, splitting his knuckles and singing up his arm. His next would have taken the bastard to the floor—had he not been grabbed from behind and held.

“Stop it, you fool,” Maitland snapped in his ear.

Philip tried to shake him off, blind with guilt and sorrow. And then Kirkwood was there, too, anger scoring white lines around his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “And I use the word loosely. You will contain yourselves.”

Philip didn’t want to contain himself. He wanted to challenge Tremain to a duel for his words. But he couldn’t. Not without revealing his shame to the world.

“Lord Tremain,” Kirkwood said. “Go and see to your hurts.”

Philip only had a moment to take satisfaction in Tremain’s split lip before Kirkwood swung his way. “As for you, Cumberland”—the man’s anger blazed like wildfire—“apologize this instant.”

Philip looked around, but Tremain had already left the room with Sebastian close behind.

“To me,” Kirkwood said. “I will not have ill-bred brawling in my home. Apologize immediately, or leave.”

Philip shook off Maitland’s restraining hand. “I apologize unreservedly for my offense, Lord Kirkwood,” he said stiffly.

His lordship nodded. “My study. Ten sharp. We need to talk.” He did not wait for Philip to agree but raised his voice. “Gentlemen. I believe it’s time to join the ladies.” The glare he sent Philip’s way as he ushered everyone out was as sharp as a dagger.

Maitland waited until he and Philip were alone in the room before he spoke. “That was unwise. Tremain wanted a reaction and he got it. What came over you?”

Philip could not meet his eye. Nor could he tell Maitland the truth. So he lied. “He mentioned Rose.”

Sebastian strode back into the room. “I say, what have I missed?”

“Cumberland took a swing at Tremain,” Maitland said. “Lord Kirkwood is not amused.”

Sebastian laughed. “I wish I had seen that.” His countenance grew serious. “Guess who our little maid rushed to help?”

“Tremain.” Philip’s hands curled into fists. “I knew it.”

Maitland sank onto one of the dining chairs. “He has to be behind Drake’s fall. But to what end?”

Philip could tell him now. “Because if Drake dies before he produces an heir, everything—the entire Roxborough estate—goes to Rose. That was her father’s condition before he agreed to the marriage. So if Rose inherits everything, what are the odds that any husband will take control of the assets?”

The men glanced around at each other, worry creasing their faces.

“How many people know of this?” Maitland said.

Philip wished he knew. “I don’t think anyone knows—except Kirkwood, of course. As Drake’s guardian he must know. I only learned of it today from Rose herself.”

“Could Tremain?” Grayson asked.

Philip shrugged. “I have no idea. But if he does, I would not put anything past him. Drake needs to be watched.” The clock on the mantel chimed ten as he spoke. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have somewhere I must be. Shall we pick up the conversation in the morning?”

Excitement, fear, sorrow and—as usual—guilt were Philip’s companions on his journey to the orangery. He made another vow. Drake would not end up in the cold ground, dead before his time, like Robert. Philip could not marry Rose but he would protect both her and her son.

The fragrance in the orangery was intense enough to make it impossible for him to distinguish her floral perfume from the flowers around him.

He made his way through the plants until he heard rustling up ahead. But when he rounded a palm he found not Rose but her maid instead.

His gut churned and he raced forward. “Is Her Grace all right? The boy?”

“Perfectly, my lord.” The woman looked like she would have preferred to spit and hiss like an angry cat rather than conduct a calm conversation. “She bids me to say she has a headache and will not be able to keep her appointment with you. She is also worried about His Grace. He will sleep in her room tonight.”

“I see.” But he didn’t. The maid seemed upset with him, which was hardly surprising. She’d been with Rose for many years and would know it was Philip who had walked away.

Apparently, those few words were all Rose had sent him because the woman turned to go.

Philip stopped her. “One moment. I have news about His Grace’s accident.” But with the child sleeping in her room he could hardly visit her tonight. “Please tell Her Grace I wish to see her tomorrow.”

The maid stopped. Now she turned back, and her face was coldly furious. “See her? Why don’t you just write another note? To treat her that way—I had thought better of you. Her Grace deserves better than you.”

On those cryptic words she continued on her way.

Note? “What note?” he called, but she did not stop.

If he hadn’t already caused such a scandal tonight by planting Tremain a facer he’d have gone straight up to Rose’s room. Drake would also be there. Damn it all. He would have to wait until morning.

The maid might never forgive him for ending his affair with her mistress, but he hoped one day Rose would understand and do so. It would be unlikely. Only one responsible for another’s death could understand his vow. How could anyone else?

What others thought did not matter. It was his vow and his alone. He would know. Robert would know. God would know.

He hoped it would be enough. When he saw Robert once more he hoped he would have atoned for his selfish acts. He hoped Robert would be proud of him.