Engaging the Enemy Page 3

  “I picked up Fabulous Histories by Miss Sarah Trimmer. I want to see if it will be suitable for Edwin’s studies,” Blythe murmured. “I think he needs educating rather than spoiling and allowing him to make a mess from such a young age is setting us all up for trouble. One day you will see that I am correct.”

  One day, with luck, Blythe would have her own family to fuss over again. That day could not come soon enough for Mercy.

  Chapter Three

  Leopold did his best to settle his nerves as he set off for the abbey alone. This time he would not be denied the information he sought. This time he would argue until he received exactly what he had come here for. He followed the road until he reached the entrance to Romsey, pausing as a grand carriage rattled through the vast gates. The occupants scowled at him, but Leopold was used to the ill mannered guests of the Duke of Romsey and put them from his mind easily.

  As he resumed his ride, a hundred memories assailed him. He held his mount to a walk as he rode along the tree-lined drive. So many memories. Good, bad, and wavering in-between. The stream where he’d fished as a boy with his brothers, defying the old duke’s wishes, was choked with reeds. He gritted his teeth. Of all the old duke’s many edicts, presenting a formidable image to society at large was high on his list of expectations. Did the duchess have no sense of duty?

  He broke from the trees and pulled up sharply. Before him, the abbey rose like a sinister beast, glowing golden now in full sunlight with the imitation of purity. Leopold knew better. The home of the Dukes of Romsey was nothing short of evil.

  At least the forecourt was presentable to travelers. He rode up to the building and swung down from the saddle. His mount, no doubt frustrated by the less than energetic ride, pawed at the gravel drive until Leopold laid his gloved hand over his nose. “Steady. We’ll be free and run against the wind as soon as we’re done here.”

  When no groom arrived to take his horse, Leopold dropped the reins, stalked up the short flight of steps to pound upon the wide doors, and then returned to his horse to wait. The doors creaked open and he turned only his head to pin the butler with a stare designed to show his displeasure.

  The old man blinked. “Master Leopold?”

  “Wilcox.”

  Leopold continued to stroke his horse until the startled butler summoned grooms. Their mode of dress, when they finally arrived, fell so far below the expected standard of formality that he scowled at them.

  Although he could rebuke them aloud, he saved his breath. His silence would have a greater effect than voicing his displeasure. That was the only useful trait he had adopted from the Duke of Romsey. Word of his presence would spread like fire on dry parchment until every servant knew that a Randall had returned. One who, while known for his even temper, would expect the same standards as the past Dukes of Romsey themselves.

  As they led his horse away, Leopold turned to Wilcox. At least here was a man who held to familiar standards. And although the loss of Wilcox’s hairpiece was a departure from previous tradition, Leopold couldn’t be sorry for it. As boys, he and his brother, Oliver, had debated whether Wilcox had hair beneath his powdered wig. It was good to see Oliver’s obsessive calculations about hair loss in grown men had been proved wrong in this instance. Wilcox still had a good head of iron grey hair on display. Oliver had calculated that Wilcox had been bald.

  “Sir, it is good to see you return.” Wilcox ushered him inside with a wide grin. “Welcome home. Welcome home. No doubt you wish to pay your respects to the young duke and his mother.”

  Leopold glanced around the entrance hall, pleased that the space remained how he remembered. In the long years of his exile, this was the one part of the abbey featuring the last good memories he retained. It was the last place he’d seen his family all together before the old duke had separated them.

  “If I could request an audience with Her Grace I would be most obliged.”

  The butler took his hat, gloves, and greatcoat before leading him into the blue drawing room. “I will inform Her Grace that you have returned.”

  “Thank you, Wilcox.”

  The butler pulled the doors closed; leaving Leopold alone with the grandeur that was the Romsey’s formal drawing room. Leopold hated the chamber. Last time he’d stood here in near darkness he’d made a bargain with the devil himself. A bargain that, despite the sweetness of the moment, had sickened him for the deception he’d become a party to.

  He glanced up at the walls and let his gaze rest on the old Duke of Romsey. The portrait of his father’s cousin held pride of place above the grand hearth, smiling with deceptive smugness. How often had he seen that self-same smile aimed at him?

  More times than he cared to remember.

  At the far end of the room hung another portrait, a new addition to the chamber since his last visit. His second cousin, the late Edwin Randall, sat in regal splendor, the very image of health and vigor. A pity reality hadn’t matched the portrait. Edwin, the fifth Duke of Romsey, had not enjoyed a long tenure as duke or the best of health. In fact, given the precarious strength of his heart, it surprised him that he’d lasted until his heir arrived. But, since he’d not produced another son before his early death, that meant Leopold was next in line for the title.

  The thought didn’t please him. He wanted none of the pomp and certainly none of the intrigue that went hand in hand with the title. He had wealth enough to last a lifetime and wanted nothing from this place but answers.

  He shifted his gaze to the woman holding an expressionless newborn child across her knees. The current duchess appeared a formidable woman. Dark haired, and grave in features. He hoped the child, named Edwin after his father, received a glimmer of parental affection from her. Or perhaps, as often was the case with the Duchess’ of Romsey, she left the care of her child in the hands of capable servants.

  Poor child.

  Edwin Randall, the sixth Duke of Romsey, had Leopold’s pity.

  He’d never be as free to laugh as Leopold and his brothers and sister had been. Perhaps that was the benefit of not being the heir. Leopold’s childhood had been a happy one. Loud and rough, rather than refined and sequestered in this place. But Leopold was incredibly curious about young Edwin’s health. Did he have a weak heart like his father, too?

  Rapid footsteps sounded in the hall and he turned toward the door. After a moment or two of hushed consultation outside a woman swept in—flanked by two footmen and a darkly dressed attendant.

  The Duchess of Romsey shocked Leopold to his core. Where he had expected haughty civility, he sensed uncertainty. Where he expected grave regard, he sensed youth and unease. This was the Duchess of Romsey?

  He risked a quick glance at the portrait. The artist had only captured the tiniest portion of the real woman and Leopold hastily produced a courtly bow to cover his surprise.

  When he took a step forward, her two footmen moved to stand between him and the duchess. The action told him all he needed to know. The old duke had poisoned her mind toward him and his family. Getting what he wanted from her might take some time. “Your Grace, forgive me for not calling on you sooner. My affairs have kept me abroad much longer than I anticipated. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your husband and his father. It is a great loss to the family to lose both of them in so short a time.”

  Actually, Leopold didn’t believe their deaths a tragedy for the family. His cousin Edwin may have been as much a pawn as Leopold had been in the old duke’s intrigues, but there had been no love between them. There was nothing about the fifth Duke of Romsey to miss. But to this day he did not know if his cousin had a hand in the fate of his family. The loss of the old duke pained Leopold only because he was the one behind it all. He needed answers as much as he needed to breathe.

  “Thank you,” Her Grace murmured softly. “I had not expected visitors at Romsey today. Your arrival is a surprise and has caught us unprepared. I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”

  Blunt. Leopold preferred
plain speaking to honey coated pleasantries. Perhaps he and the duchess could deal well with each other. “It was hardly any time to wait at all. My return is a temporary diversion on a much longer journey. I’ll not be a burden on the estate if that is what you fear.” He glanced at both footmen to show he recognized the attempt at protection. He hoped the duchess could see it was unnecessary. He wanted nothing from her but information.

  The duchess frowned and, after a moment of hesitation, signaled her footmen to step aside. Her attendant, a dour woman of indeterminate age, moved to flank her as she swept forward in a rustle of burgundy silk to sit on a wide chair. “Please, do be seated.”

  The duchess’ soft melodious voice was another shock to his senses. She was certainly not the woman he had expected to meet. Her voice brought to mind sweaty midnight pleasures. Panting, grasping ecstasy. Leopold brutally pushed those thoughts from his head as he sank into an opposite chair.

  A commotion occurred at the door and he turned, noticing the appearance of tea. Such considerations were rare in his presence, but very much appreciated. If the duchess relaxed enough, she might be more amenable to his request. The duchess’ companion poured the tea without uttering a word and he took his cup, taking a sip while he considered how best to deal with her.

  The duchess set her teacup upon the saucer with exquisite care and looked at him expectantly. “You mentioned you’d been abroad, Mr. Randall. Might we know how you occupied your time while away from Romsey?”

  Leopold glanced at her hands. Despite her calm words, her tense fingers hinted she wasn’t altogether certain he was not about to mount an immediate attack on her person. Blast the Dukes of Romsey to hell and back. “I’ve just returned from India. I earn my way as a silk merchant.”

  Her Grace’s pretty green eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes, since I left England ten years ago.”

  Perhaps unconsciously, the duchess’ palm slid over the silk of her gown. A silk that he’d purchased and sent directly here, if memory served. Only the best for Romsey. The old duke had demanded it as part of their bargain and had kept a strict accounting of their transactions.

  Noticing the direction of his gaze, her hands stilled. “You?”

  Leopold nodded, but he was uncertain what to make of her interest. By rights she should disdain a member of the family who sullied his hands in trade. But he’d had little choice in the matter. He’d had to survive. He’d had to agree to the old duke’s bargain to ensure his siblings had a similar chance for a good life.

  “Thank you.” The duchess glanced up at the woman beside her. “May I present Lady Venables, my younger sister?”

  Leopold shifted his gaze to the other woman, doing his best to hide his surprise. The younger sister’s appearance hinted at a far greater age. As he considered her, he realized the darker tone of her gown and the sober expression might reflect a state of mourning. “Lady Venables, a pleasure.”

  She inclined her head, but kept her lips pressed together, her expression wary. The mousy haired, reed-thin woman dressed in priggish navy muslin seemed wound as tightly as a bow string.

  Leopold took another sip of his tea and let some of his tension fall away. Clearly all was not as expected at Romsey, but he should not anticipate the worst from these women. They undoubtedly had their own problems to deal with it seemed. Lady Venables might be less than friendly, but he had wrongly anticipated the duchess’ contempt. So far all he sensed was curiosity from her.

  “Wilcox mentioned that it has been many years since you’ve been at Romsey. I must confess I cannot recall my husband ever mentioning you. Are you greatly estranged from the ducal line?”

  “His Grace and I were second cousins.”

  The duchess gasped. “Second cousins? But why would he never mention you? You must have been his heir? My son’s heir now.”

  Leopold was very good at reading the lies people tried to hide. Her wide-eyed innocent questioning caused a flutter in his chest. She wasn’t lying in any way. She honestly hadn’t known of his existence before today. No wonder she had been wary of him. The thought settled in his stomach like a rock. If she had not known of him then it stood to reason that she may not even know the whereabouts of his family.

  Although his heart pounded, Leopold shrugged as if his potential elevation in rank meant nothing. And it didn’t make the slightest difference to his plans. He had never wanted to be Romsey. “My father fell out with the old duke, his cousin, some years back. Family affairs have been tense ever since.”

  The duchess glanced up at her sister. A silent communication seemed to pass between them, and then Lady Venable gave a tiny shake of her head. Her Grace bit her lip then set her teacup away from her. “Well then, that is all in the past. We are glad you have returned to Romsey. Wilcox, have a room prepared for our cousin.”

  Stunned by the unexpected gesture, Leopold set his cup aside and held up his hand. “Your Grace is far too kind. I have already secured lodgings in the village for the extent of my stay. I would never impose upon your hospitality.”

  Her mouth fell open, but she quickly recovered. “Well then.”

  Silence thickened. He couldn’t ask his questions now. Clearly, she knew nothing of his family, or she was more of an accomplished liar than he’d first thought. He needed time to think, to regroup and determine a new strategy of how to broach the subject. He couldn’t scare her off with his knowledge of the old duke’s treachery. Instead, Leopold offered a half smile. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Your Grace, but I should not monopolize your time. Perhaps I might call upon you another day?”

  The duchess inclined her head, but her expression betrayed her confusion at his rather abrupt leave-taking. “That would be acceptable. Perhaps you would join us for luncheon tomorrow. No doubt you would like to meet the duke.”

  Leopold’s heart thumped painfully, but he managed to nod, climb to his feet, and leave her presence. As he crossed the entrance hall to collect his hat, he briefly regretted his decision not to press for information today. He didn’t want to remain in the district longer than he had to where loneliness for his family would only build in strength. He would avoid the usual haunts he and his brothers frequented and keep the memories of old close to his chest for another night.

  But tomorrow he would come to dine and meet the infant duke. Tomorrow he would meet his last known living relation.

  Chapter Four

  Despite the shocking impropriety, Mercy’s joyous shriek echoed around the drawing room, bouncing off the formal portraits of the Dukes of Romsey quite nicely. Satisfied beyond measure, Mercy settled back into her chair and turned her head. “See, I told you we would be perfectly safe.”

  Blythe sat where Leopold Randall had been moments before, but her expression hinted there would be a lecture coming. “You must keep up your guard at all times. He is an ambitious man by all accounts.”

  Mercy threw her hands up to stop her words. “Oh, posh. Mr. Randall wouldn’t hurt anyone. He seems much too nice for all the evil you’ve just told me.”

  Blythe scowled. “I merely repeat what I overheard your husband mentioning to mine years ago when he asked about the lack of family in the Romsey line. If you had been at his side as you should then you would heed the warnings. You must be on your guard from now on.”

  Mercy chose to ignore the fact that Blythe had known about Leopold Randall’s existence before today and not told her about him. However, she honed in on the comment that she’d been a poor wife to her husband to have ever left his side. Blythe had doted on her husband. Yet Mercy had not had that kind of marriage. They had sometimes gone a whole week without speaking more than a few words together. It had stung, at first, but Edwin had made it clear that he preferred his privacy to her company.

  She raised her hand toward Blythe to end her prattle. “Edwin had his physician on hand to care for him. Everything that could be done, was done. Should I have left my son in the care of servants during that terrible time of illne
ss? I could not have borne it.”

  Blythe’s face grew taut with strain. “The nurse I recommended would have spared you the necessity so you could be at your husband’s side during his last days. You knew he had never fully recovered after the fever that took my Raphael and Adam.” Blythe’s voice cracked at the mention of her son’s name. Little Adam’s death was still a sharp loss for her sister.

  Mercy pressed her lips together. They’d been down this road before, arguing over every small detail of wifely responsibility, and Mercy’s failure. She was so sick of feeling her younger sister’s censure. Blythe had had a marriage to make a woman envious. Mercy had not. But because of Blythe’s grief, she often held back from saying exactly what she thought of her sister’s advice on the subject of husbands. It took two willing people to make a marriage perfect. Mercy had been willing, Edwin had not.

  She ran her hand over the silk of her gown, thinking of Leopold Randall’s visit. “He is handsome, don’t you think?”

  Blythe fussed with the folds of her gown, heightening her appearance of prim respectability. “I hardly think a duchess should notice those things about men.”

  Oh, Mercy noticed. Yet she’d never met a man to put such thoughts into her head so quickly. Mr. Randall’s sun-kissed complexion, his obvious good health and virility, appealed. “Duchess I may be, but I think Mr. Randall is quite attractive. Do you think he spent many years in India?”

  Blythe shuddered. “By his own words, he suggested as much. But I am not interested in speculating about such heathen places. We have more important things to discuss.”

  Mercy couldn’t imagine what they might be. The life of a duchess was just plain dull, especially now that Blythe had lost her sense of fun. She had once been Mercy’s best friend, a trusted companion she could tell her deepest, most scandalous secrets to. But that was before Mercy had married, and learned there were some matters she couldn’t discuss with anyone. Since becoming a widow, Blythe’s manner had grown so stiff with propriety that Mercy feared she never could confide in her again.