In the end her heartfelt desire to be at Greystead came sooner than expected. Only two days after her visit to Lady Chalford she received a note from Lord Carlton, informing her that he would be prepared to travel to Devonshire by the end of the week.
Not surprisingly the abrupt notice had sent her aunt into a bout of flurried activity as she had set about closing the town house, finishing her last-minute shopping and making a thorough round of calls to preen over her extraordinary success in launching her niece into Society.
Roma found herself included in the general chaos. With a sense of haste, she rushed to complete packing and writing messages to Devonshire to prepare for their arrival. She had little time to brood on Lord Carlton or his sudden absence over the next few days.
Still, she couldn’t deny that on occasion she found herself wondering where her supposed fiancé might be and why he hadn’t bothered to call on her. And her surprise only deepened when they prepared to leave London and Lord Carlton revealed that he intended to ride the superior black stallion he had arrived on rather than share the well-sprung carriage he had so thoughtfully produced for their comfort.
Not that she wanted to be enclosed with him for one tedious hour after another, she swiftly reassured herself. But after spending the past few days lecturing herself on the necessity of maintaining a cool composure, she found it decidedly annoying to have her efforts wasted.
With her nose put out of joint by what she blamed on the long journey and Clara’s inane chatter, Roma determinedly refused her aunt’s offer of tea when they arrived at Rosehill. Instead she waited only long enough for the weary horses to be changed, and with an indifferent promise to return for dinner, she headed for Greystead Manor.
Now she heaved a deep breath as they swept up a treelined drive to the modestly appointed house. As always she felt a tingle of pride at seeing the weathered gray stones, the fluted columns and recently paned windows. Although it was not a lavish establishment, there was a solid beauty in the main hall and the sweeping wings surrounded by the pristine parkland.
Impatiently waiting for the groom to pull open the door, Roma clambered out of the carriage and rushed into the front hall. Almost at once a short, decidedly rotund woman moved forward to sweep her into welcoming arms.
“Miss Roma!” the housekeeper exclaimed, nearly smothering the slender woman by her display of affection. Then, slowly pulling back, she subjected Roma to a detailed survey. “Look at you, so thin and pale. I warned you that London was no place for a decent young lady.”
Roma felt a surge of warmth at looking upon the familiar round face with its twinkling brown eyes and rosy cheeks framed by a severe widow’s cap. Mrs. Stone had been a fixture at Greystead for as long as Roma could remember. A kind and loving presence for a motherless child in desperate need of such tender attention.
“Indeed you were correct, Mrs. Stone,” she readily agreed. “It is delightful to be home.”
“What you need is fresh country air and plenty of Mrs. Emerson’s plain cooking.”
Roma smiled in a weary fashion. “At the moment a cup of tea would be most welcome.”
“Certainly. I had a tray prepared the moment Peter rode over to say you had arrived at Rosehill.”
“Bless you, Mrs. Stone.”
Placing herself in the housekeeper’s capable care, Roma found herself being steered into a tidy library with a massive window looking over the garden and walls lined with books. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked scones mixed pleasantly with the scent of leather-bound tomes, reminding Roma of lazy afternoons spent in the company of her father.
“Here we are. You sit down, and I will pour a cup of tea just as you like it.”
Placing Roma on a worn couch, Mrs. Stone moved to fuss over the heavily laden tray. In the blink of an eye, she returned with a steaming cup of tea and a platter filled with tempting delicacies.
“Thank you.” Roma took a sip of the reviving tea, then heaved a deep sigh of pleasure. “Heavenly.”
With the familiarity of a longtime servant, the housekeeper settled her considerable bulk on a Queen Ann chair.
“You look exhausted,” she accused with a lowering of her brows. “I suppose you have been gadding about to all hours of the day and night?”
Roma couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. “There was some gadding about, I must confess.”
The older woman gave a loud snort of displeasure. “Lady Welford should know better.”
Roma softly laughed. The housekeeper had always cherished a violent dislike for London and those who abandoned the country in favor of the more sophisticated town.
“Aunt Clara meant well, and I was the one to suggest that I indulge in a London Season.” Her momentary amusement abruptly faded. “Now I wish that I had remained at Greystead.” She paused, knowing it was ridiculous to ask but unable to prevent the words from spilling past her lips. “Has there been any word from William?”
Kindly refraining from pointing out that Roma had left strict instructions she was to be notified the very moment there was any news concerning her brother, Mrs. Stone gave a regretful shake of her head
“No.”
“I had hoped …” Her voice trailed away.
The housekeeper gave a sympathetic cluck of her tongue. “Have no fear, Miss Roma. I am certain that Mr. Allendyle will soon be home and right as rain.”
With an effort she suppressed the cloud of concern that was her constant companion.
“Of course he will.” Roma determinedly reached for a sumptuous piece of sponge cake. It had been hours since her last meal. “Tell me what has occurred since I left.”
Easily diverted, Mrs. Stone settled her bulk more comfortably and prepared to vent her justifiable disappointment in the upstairs maid.
“I suppose you know that Maggie left to marry that half-wit farmer?”
Roma hid a sudden smile. Mrs. Stone’s opinion of husbands was even lower than her view of London. Whether her bitterness stemmed from her own brief marriage, or the long years she had remained a widow, no one dared to inquire. But she had always been a staunch supporter of Roma’s determination to remain a spinster.
She attempted to soften the woman’s staunch dislike. “I believe Anthony is a very respectable young man.”
“Foreign blood and not a brass farthing to his name,” Mrs. Stone stated, in condemning tones; then she gave a wounded sniff. “Still, I did my best to warn the chit. Now she must make the best of her lot.”
Roma had little doubt the vivacious maid was vastly more pleased with her lot as the wife of a respectable farmer than she had been as a simple servant, but she kept such thoughts to herself.
“Did you manage to replace her?”
“Yes, I’ve taken on her younger sister, Liza. A silly girl, but I’ll soon have her properly trained.”
“I am confident you will, Mrs. Stone,” Roma readily agreed. The portly woman could rival Colonel Allendyle when it came to training her small army of staff. “What of my bailiff?”
The housekeeper grimaced with instant annoyance. “That man … a born tyrant if I ever seen one. Poor Billy has been in tears every day since you left.”
Roma heaved a sigh at the thought of the young stable boy suffering beneath the bullying hands of Fred Barker. As soon as William returned she intended to see the spiteful man thrown off the estate. Until then she would have to keep him far too occupied to bully anyone.
“Never fear, Mrs. Stone,” she consoled. “I will see Mr. Barker this afternoon. If anyone is to end the day in tears, I assure you it will not be Billy.”
The housekeeper beamed with smug satisfaction. “I knew you would make it right. It is good to have you home, Miss Roma.”
“It is good to be home,” Roma retorted, although she couldn’t deny the dawning realization that she was not as comforted by the familiar surroundings as she had hoped.
And it was all due to that vexing Lord Carlton, she told herself as she set aside the unfinished cake. How could she possibly relax while knowing he might suddenly appear at any moment? Or even worse, realizing that the entire neighborhood would soon be bustling with the rumor she was unofficially betrothed?
As if sensing her hidden unease, Mrs. Stone regarded her with a suspicious frown.
“Is something amiss?”
Roma absently folded the fine linen napkin as she considered the least shocking means of revealing the presence of Lord Carlton at her aunt’s home.
“I suppose I should tell you before it has spread all over the neighborhood that Lord Carlton will be staying with Aunt Clara for the next few days.”
“Lord Carlton?”
“Yes, he … he is an acquaintance from London. He is here to help in my search for William.”
The housekeeper was clearly perplexed. “Oh.”
“I only mention him because it became evident while I was in London that I must return to Devonshire without creating undue interest.” She made a vague gesture with her slender hand, prolonging the inevitable. “Lord Carlton suggested that he pretend to be my suitor desiring an interview with William.”
A profound silence descended as Mrs. Stone gazed at her in startled disbelief. “This Lord Carlton wishes to marry you?”
“No, of course not.” Roma hastened to deny it. Why did everyone persist in leaping to such absurd conclusions? “He only proposed so that Aunt Clara would return home.”
“So … he doesn’t wish to marry you?”
Roma heaved a rueful sigh. “I know it is all very complicated, but all you need remember is that Aunt Clara and the neighbors believe Lord Carlton is waiting for William to return from his visit north so that he can ask to marry me. In truth he will be seeking information concerning my brother’s disappearance.”
“Are you certain you know what you are about, Miss Roma?” the older woman demanded with an expression revealing a growing concern that her mistress was becoming a bit noddy.
“Quite certain,” Roma blandly lied.
“And this Lord Carlton is a man of honor?”
“Without a doubt.”
Mrs. Stone continued to bristle with disapproval. “I can not think what your dear mother would have to say. Pretending to be engaged, indeed. It’s disgraceful.”
“For now my only concern is for my brother. I will do whatever necessary to discover the truth.” With an effort, Roma softened her sharp tone. “Besides, it is only a temporary deception, I assure you.”
Only partially mollified, Mrs. Stone gave her a speaking glare. “I can not say that I approve, but you have always done precisely as you chose. Stubborn just like your father.”
“That particular flaw in my character seems to be pointed out quite frequently of late,” Roma retorted.
Seemingly resigned to the younger woman’s unyielding nature, the housekeeper heaved herself to her feet.
“Will you be dining in this evening?”
“No, Aunt Clara has requested that I join them for dinner.” Roma’s expression was decidedly unenthusiastic. “Indeed, I shall be dining there indefinitely.”
“Then I shall send word to their cook that you are to be fed a nicely roasted joint and plenty of potatoes to fatten you up,” Mrs. Stone announced in decisive tones. “None of those shabby French dishes.”
“I am confident Mrs. Davies will provide an ample meal.”
The large woman gave a derisive sniff “And I know Lettie Davies well enough to realize that she will be more concerned with impressing a London gentleman with her fancy sauces and pastries than setting a decent table. Now, I have rattled on long enough. You should rest.”
Roma could think of nothing she longed for more than a hot bath and a few hours of lying upon her bed. But thrusting aside the tempting notion, she determinedly rose to her feet.
“All in good time. First I would like Mr. Barker to attend me here.”
“Should I have one of the gardeners step in as well?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Maybe not, but I will have John in the hallway just the same.” The housekeeper named one of the under gardeners who was a burly young man with an abundance of muscles.
Roma shook her head in resignation. She wasn’t the only stubborn person in this household.
“As you wish, Mrs. Stone.”
Obviously pleased with Roma’s swift capitulation, the housekeeper waved a plump had at the neglected tray.
“Now be a good girl and finish your tea. I will send John to fetch Mr. Barker.”
Having the last word as always, Mrs. Stone turned and disappeared through the double doors. Once she was alone, Roma absently wandered across the room, her hands stroking the satinwood furniture until she reached the prized library table her father had acquired from Sheraton. Being back in this room reminded her forcibly of just how much she missed the Colonel’s steadfast presence and ready sense of humor.
He would know what to do to help William, she thought with a pang of regret. And even if he didn’t he never would have made such a bumble bath of the search as she had.
Certainly he would never have found himself pretending to be engaged to an overbearing gentleman with little regard for propriety.
A tiny smile abruptly softened her anxious expression. Perhaps he would not have found himself engaged to Lord Carlton, she acknowledged, but she was uncannily certain that the two gentlemen would have gotten along most famously. Unlike most men, Lord Carlton would not have been intimidated by the Colonel’s gruff manner and habit of barking out orders, while her father would have respected the nobleman’s shrewd intelligence.
Her hand drifted from the desk as she straightened her shoulders. The Colonel was not here, and it was up to her to somehow solve the seemingly endless list of troubles.
Beginning with her ill-mannered bailiff who clearly forgotten her stern warnings. A mistake he would not soon make again.
Across the wide meadow, Lord Carlton sat astride his stallion regarding the well-tended farms and livestock with a judicial gaze.
“Prime bit of lad you have, Welford,” he congratulated with sincere appreciation.
Well aware that Carlton’s vast estates must cast his own in the shade, Claude was nonetheless grateful for the compliment. He was feeling decidedly overwhelmed at the task of entertaining such a grand guest and feared the aristocrat might find the simple surroundings beneath his contempt.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Please … can we dispense with such formality?” Giles pleaded. “I far prefer Giles.”
A pleased flush touched the younger man’s cheeks at the honor. “Very well … Giles.”
“Good.” Turning in his saddle, Lord Carlton pointed his riding crop at the distant house. “Is that Greystead?”
“Yes. Not as ancient or as large as Rosehill, but a fine house,” Claude answered.
“Yes, indeed.”
Claude gave a sideways glace at his companion, who was peering at the house with inordinate interest. “It is entailed to William,” he added unnecessarily.
“So I assumed. Although Roma did mention she had inherited a legacy in her own right.”
“A modest legacy, I fear,” Claude corrected.
Giles swallowed a smile, wondering if Welford feared he considered Roma an heiress. After all, it was not unusual for a gentleman, even in his comfortable position, to seek a wealthy wife. Absurd of course. There wasn’t enough money in all of England to have induced him to marry the exasperating Roma Allendyle. Only love could have accomplished that amazing feat.
“Too large for my peace of mind,” he answered with blunt honestly.
Claude blinked in surprise. “What’s that?”
“She has become far too fond of her independence.” Giles unconsciously frowned. “She seems to have no interest in sharing her life with anyone.”
The hint of wariness disappeared from Claude’s youthful features, to be replaced with a sly smile.
“True enough. Although I suspect if the right gentleman were to come along he could convince her to change her mind.”
Giles was well aware he was being discreetly led into a declaration. He smiled with wry amusement.
“Perhaps.”
“Of course, my cousin is not the most biddable of creatures,” Claude was forced to acknowledge.
“She is trying beyond all measure.”
“It would take a gentleman of considerable patience.”
“It would take a gentleman who has lost all sense.” Giles snorted; then, with a rueful shrug, he turned to meet Welford’s narrowed gaze. “Fortunately I have never been overly blessed with good sense. Now, I believe you were going to show me the path to the cove?”
Claude paused, as if wanting to pursue the subject further, but with a shrug, he gestured toward the narrow lane.
“This way. But take care. The path becomes very steep just over the ridge.”
Giles gave a decisive nod, vaguely recalling the dangerous road from his previous visit to Devonshire, and with a gesture of his slender hand, he indicated that Claude should lead the way.
In silence they traveled along the dirt road, winding through the rolling fields and thicket of trees that lined the ridge. Giles felt an odd prickling as they carefully made their way down the cliff to the crescent-shaped beach below. He recalled all too vividly the stormy night and terrifying sounds of gunshots.
With a shake of his head, Giles swung himself out of the saddle and loped the reins around a protruding rock. He had enough to occupy his thoughts without the distractions of that terrifying evening. Paying little heed to the sand marring the gloss of his boots, he made his way to where Claude had bent to inspect the ground.
“It looks as if someone has been here,“ Claude pointed at the unmistakable prints sunk in the soft sand.
Giles glanced about the remote beach. “Strange.”
“Perhaps a local farmer in search of a hidden love nest?” the younger man suggested without much conviction.
“I doubt many maidens would be willing to traverse such a dangerous path, even for the sake of love.” Giles nodded his head toward the steep path. Then, as he turned back to more closely inspect the footprints, a glitter of gold captured his attention. Reaching out, he plucked the object from the sand. “What is this?”
“A pocket watch.” Claude leaned forward, his breath suddenly catching in a loud gasp. “This belongs to William. He was here.”
Giles’s heart leaped at the exclamation, but he swiftly tempered his excitement. What was needed now was calm reason, not foolish emotion.
“We must not jump to conclusions. We have no means to determine on how many occasions William came to this cove. He might have dropped this watch months ago.”
Claude gave a violent shake of his head. “No. I recall William pulling it out to check the time on the day he disappeared. I remember it distinctly. He had stopped by to view my new mare.”
“Did he appear concerned?”
“More … distracted,” Claude explained, his brow furrowed as he attempted to recall the events of the day. “I assumed he was thinking of the unnaturally dry weather. He took his duties as a landowner quite seriously.”
“And he did not mention any appointments?”
Claude struggled to remember a name or place that William might have brought up, only to sigh in a regretful manner.
“Nothing. He glanced over to the horse; then, pulling out his watch, he muttered something about attending to unfinished business.”
Giles settled back on his heels as he contemplated the watch he held in his slender fingers.
“He must have been meeting someone. But who?”
With a sudden movement, Claude rose to his feet. “I will search the rest of the beach.”
Giles also rose to make a thorough tour of the cove, kicking aside rocks and pieces of driftwood in an effort to discover further clues. After a futile circle from one end of the beach to the other, he called a halt.
“I fear that we have accomplished all we can here today.”
Claude came to a reluctant halt, his expression troubled. “What of the watch? Shall we return it to Roma?”
Giles gave a swift shake of his head. Although the watch confirmed that William had been to the beach on the day of his disappearance, it did not prove where he was now or indeed if he were alive or dead.
“Not at the moment. Roma might very well view the finding of the watch in so remote a location as an ill omen. I have no wish to increase her anxiety. For now, I think we should keep this between the two of us.”
Claude regarded the older man in a distinctly skeptical manner. “She will not thank you for attempting to protect her.”
“You are no doubt correct,” Giles agreed with a grimace, all too familiar with his beloved’s fiery temper. “Unfortunately I find it difficult to alter the habits of a lifetime.”
A swirling gust of wind sent the sand sweeping through the damp air. Overhead a lone bird cried a shrill protest at their presence.
“Gad the wind is chill.” Claude abruptly shivered. “Let us seek the warmth of Rosehill.”
“Excellent notion.”
Together, they collected their mounts and retraced the treacherous path up the cliff and over the ridge. Once away from the cove, Giles breathed a sigh of relief. There was something rather ominous about the deserted beach. As if unseen eyes were watching his every movement. Perhaps an absurd notion, but one he could not shake.
Lost in his troubled thoughts, Giles barely noted his surroundings until a familiar clump of trees suddenly captured his attention. Bringing his horse to a halt, he regarded the copse with an unconscious smile. Ahead of him, Claude slowly pulled his own horse to a stop and turned to frown at him in puzzlement.
“Is something the matter?”
“I was just noting that building over there.” Giles pointed at the barn barely visible in the distance.
“It is nothing but an abandoned barn,” Claude retorted.
Giles’s smile widened, a tingle warming his blood as he recalled the slender young woman who lay upon the straw. It was an experience he would dearly love to repeat in the near future.
“Much more than that, I think,” he murmured in soft tones.
“Would you like to ride over and see it?”
“Not today.” Giles urged his horse forward. His quick mind was already making plans on how to coax his reluctant fiancée to the secluded barn. “At the moment I far prefer the thought of a toasty fire and something from your cellar to ease the chill from my bones.”
Claude smiled in instant agreement. “As easily said as done.”