Chance the Winds of Fortune (14 page)

Francis gave a shrill whistle and El Cid came trotting across. He vaulted quickly onto the chestnut's back and sent him, hooves pounding, down the road after the carriage. The rain was falling in earnest now, blowing against them in cold, wet sheets as they raced up the road toward Stone House-on-the-Hill.

“What's troubling you, Francis?” Ewan asked as he rode beside his cousin, sensing something was amiss.

Francis laughed shortly. Even though he felt a trifle embarrassed, he answered honestly, “I really don't know, Ewan. It is just a feeling I have, nothing substantial about it at all. But there
is
something strange about that woman.”

“Hey, if anyone should be having feelings,” Ewan complained good-naturedly, “then it should be me. After all, 'tis
my
mother with the gift of second sight, not yours.”

“'Tisn't that kind of feeling I have, Ewan. 'Tis silly, I suppose, but I feel uneasy, and I don't know why I should. Although it does seem rather strange that she should know as much as she does about my family. She knew my title, and I never even mentioned it.”

Ewan seemed unimpressed. “The Dominick family is quite well known around these parts. And maybe she has a daughter she's heading in your direction,” Ewan added with a grin. “Titles can make for strange bedfellows.”

“Thank you for warning me, as if I weren't already treading very carefully. Those matchmaking mamas are already onto my scent, and I'm hardly out of swaddling,” Francis joked.

“Well, I'm more fortunate than you in that respect,” Ewan commented, thinking about his own situation in life, “for I've no titles, nor great estates to inherit someday. So when I choose a wife she'll be choosing me, not my fortune.”

“Thanks a lot for your faith in my charm and good looks,” Francis retorted, slightly miffed that his cousin thought his inheritance was all he had to offer a woman.

“You know I didn't mean it that way, Francis,” Ewan protested, then adroitly changed the subject. “Did I hear that woman say that she was an old friend of your family?”

“So she said,” Francis told him, still feeling uneasy about the whole incident. “I wonder how she knew about Stone House-on-the-Hill. Not many people would know it was not far from here.”

Ewan remained silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, it isn't exactly a common name for a farm. She may well have heard the tale about the two brothers who fought over their land, one building a stone house on the hill, the other building a stone house in the dale. It makes for interesting gossip that they didn't speak for the rest of their lives, nor their children for generations afterwards. The Tabers of today are the first to speak to one another, aren't they?”

“Yes, that's true, I suppose,” Francis agreed, not sounding totally convinced.

“Maybe she's having one of those secret assignations,” George contributed, riding up beside them and overhearing their conversation.

“Could be,” Ewan agreed. “We've got the setting, that's for sure: a mysterious veiled woman, a hulking foreign footman, and a damsel in distress. It all adds up to certain death on a lonely country lane,” he said, holding his hand dramatically to his chest as if he'd just been wounded in a duel. “This could turn out to be quite exciting.”

“As long as it isn't my demise we're talking about,” Francis said with a wry grin. Then, giving El Cid a gentle nudge, he sent the big chestnut ahead of his cousin's mount. “Let's hope Rhea can find some clues to our mystery lady. Race you to the bend!” he called out challengingly as he lengthened the distance between them.

* * *

“Lady Rhea Claire Dominick,” Kate was saying softly, savoring the girl's name while she stared at Lucien's daughter sitting not more than an arm's length from her. “'Tis an uncommon name,” she commented.

“Yes, I suppose so, although I was named Claire after my great-grandmother. She was French,” Rhea explained, her hand comforting the puppies in her lap.

“Oh, I see. It is a very lovely name,” Kate complimented her, dabbing a rose-scented handkerchief delicately against her nose.

Rhea bit her lip in growing embarrassment. “I'm afraid I must apologize for the odor.”

“No, 'tisn't that. I just happen to like the scent of roses. It somehow comforts me, especially when I'm in strange surroundings. Roses have always brought me fond memories of my home.” Kate spoke dreamily, a sad note in her voice.

“You are English, madam?” Rhea asked, curious about the woman who seemed to fit into two worlds, for although she spoke English without an accent, her clothes and mannerisms bespoke another country.

Kate nodded. “Yes, I am English, but I can see you are puzzled. I have not lived in England for many years. In fact, this is my first visit home in over fifteen years. I have been away for a long time, too long, I fear. But now I have returned, and I shall set things right. We should have come back a long time ago, Percy and I, but we were frightened of him, and of his power. But no longer are we afraid,” Kate whispered, her words barely audible beneath her heavy veiling.

Rhea stared through the gloom of the carriage at this strange woman and felt a sudden pity for her. She seemed so utterly alone and bereft not only of friends but of hope as well. Rhea could sense the great loss in her. And the woman's grief seemed to go beyond the grave and the loved one buried there—as if she were long accustomed to wearing the black of mourning. Rhea's eyes narrowed as she sought to see beneath the veiling, but the fine gauze was so thick that she could see only an indistinct shape. Her heart gave a sudden jerk as her eyes met those of the woman, the pale blue gaze shining strangely bright behind the black shading of the veil.

For an instant Kate's teeth showed white as she smiled. She knew the girl was trying to see her face, and she knew she had fooled her. In Venice she would not have attracted notice by wearing her mask, but here in the English countryside it would have caused a sensation. And for once in her life, Kate wanted to move about in complete anonymity, which was why she had devised a new disguise. She had wrapped a pale piece of fine gauze over her face; the eyes, nose, and mouth were cunningly cut to appear almost without seam, and through the opaqueness of her veil, her face looked petal smooth and gloriously unmarred. Even she—in an instant of lost time while she'd stared into her looking glass—had been fooled into forgetting that…

“Madam?” Rhea asked softly, noticing with concern Kate's tightly clenched hands. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I am just fine, now,” Kate said thickly, her eyes wandering with glazed intensity to the countryside rolling past the coach windows. “We should be there any minute now,” she commented vaguely. “I remember how long it used to seem to climb to the top of this hill. Yet now, why, we're here in no time,” she exclaimed as the old stone house came into view.

Rocco had jumped down from the box and was opening the coach door before they had even come to a complete standstill. His eyes searched out Rhea and her foundling pups, and she handed the bundle to him. She didn't seem the least worried that he might drop them as he cradled them against his heart with one large, encompassing arm, while he helped her climb down with his other arm.

Stone House-on-the-Hill had always stood on top of the hill, or so it seemed to each generation of villagers. It had dug its roots in deep, long before the first golden stone of Camareigh had been carved. And the Tabers of Stone House-on-the-Hill had farmed the land around Camareigh for a hundred years before the first Dominick had sailed across the Channel from Normandy. Through the centuries the allegiances of people had shifted, crowned heads had come and gone as thrones were won and lost, and the blood of countless Englishmen had been shed on the field of battle. But two things always remained the same—the Tabers farmed the lands of Stone House-on-the-Hill and remained loyal to the Dukes of Camareigh.

The elder Mr. Taber, a wizened old gentleman with a shock of white hair, was standing in the shelter of the wide stone archway, his shriveled body hunched against the winds that were beginning to howl around the corner of the house. Even though his tired eyes were failing, he had seen the carriage climbing up the hill and had come out to greet his unexpected guests. His once spry gait had slowed considerably, but his family and the villagers claimed he was nearing ninety, and he was fortunate to be alive at all. No one had ever heard the old man complain about the aches and pains which must constantly plague him, and now, as he shuffled with painful slowness across the seemingly endless stretch of land between house and barn, he looked every year of his ninety and some years. He seemed as fragile as fine bone china, but his son and daughter-in-law, grandchildren, and great-children could attest to just the opposite: the old man still rambled around the farmlands and Stone House-on-the-Hill, rapping authoritatively with his knobby cane when he saw something he disapproved of and, more often than not, the family paid attention to him, for his mind was just as sharp, and his advice just as sensible as it always had been. With the great distinction of having outlived almost everyone in the village, including three of his own sons and grandsons, the elder Mr. Taber was much sought after for his near-century-old store of tales and gossip. Seldom did he forget a face or name and, with his colorful reminiscences of times past, he could conjure up the dead and their deeds, or misdeeds, as the case might be. Always, there was a chair held vacant for him before the hearth in the local tavern and a glass of ale kept brimming at his elbow, courtesy of his avid listeners.

Francis and his cousins had arrived at the old stone farmhouse hardly a horse's breath before the carriage pulled into the yard. The elder Mr. Taber knew good horseflesh when he saw it, and he'd reckoned these were no common travelers. However, upon recognizing the spirited chestnut of Lord Chardinall and the white-stockinged mare of his sister, Lady Rhea Claire, his weathered face split wide with a welcoming smile, for he'd always had a soft spot in his heart for the present duke's children, especially young Lord Robin.

“And a good noontime t'ye, Lord Chardinall,” he greeted the young lord as Francis jumped down from his mount's back and hurried over to pay his respects to the old man.

“Mr. Taber, sir, 'tis a pleasure to see you up and around again,” Francis replied, for the old man had been laid up for a fortnight with an attack of rheumatism and looked none too well today. “How are you faring?”

“Can't complain, Lord Chardinall, my lord,” Mr. Taber responded in a quavering voice, his toothless grin widening. “Now where is that young Lord Robin? Don't see him there with t'others,” he said, his faded eyes searching the Fletcher brothers for a curly, black head.

“He's at Camareigh, and probably up to no good,” Francis said matter-of-factly, well used to his young brother's penchant for mischief. “And when he finds out what we've brought to you, without his assistance, he'll be so put out that I'll have to watch my step around him for at least a month.”

Old Mr. Taber chuckled in appreciation, then glanced around expectantly. “Since I'm seein' Lady Rhea Claire's mare, and ye've brought me a surprise,” he reasoned aloud, “I'm wonderin' what 'tis yer sister's found that's in need of mendin' and fixin' up good and proper.”

Francis grinned and pointed toward the coach from which Rhea was being helped by a solicitous Rocco. The Fletcher brothers were grouped around her, but they were giving the large footman plenty of room as he continued to stand like a grotesque shadow at her shoulder.

“Lady Rhea Claire!” Mr. Taber called out, hobbling over to the coach, his blinking eyes not missing anything as they settled on the bundle she was holding protectively in her arms. As the old man neared her, Rocco moved forward almost menacingly, his dark eyes shifting between the old man, the puppies, and the fair-haired girl.

The elder Mr. Taber halted abruptly as he instinctively felt the mistrust and confusion in the enormous footman who was standing guard over Lady Rhea and the puppies. His rheumy eyes met Rocco's eyes and, with the same gift he had for gentling wild beasts and quieting those which were abandoned, the old man slowly reached out a gnarled hand and patted the big footman's tensed arm. His touch had an extraordinary effect on Rocco, who seemed to shrink inside himself as he felt his own hostilities fade.

“Oh, these are wee ones to be on their own, Lady Rhea,” Mr. Taber said, making clucking noises with his tongue as he handled the squirming pups. “And where did ye find them?”

“Someone had put them in this bag, then dumped them in a ditch along the High Road,” Rhea told him, relinquishing her hold on them and giving them over to his loving care.

“A little bit of warm milk will do wonders, so don't ye be worrying that pretty little head of yours, Lady Rhea Claire, for old man Taber won't be letting ye down,” he reassured her. Then, glancing up, he became aware of the carriage and its occupant. “Oh, good gracious me,” he groaned as he shuffled closer and peered up at the indistinct figure watching from the opened door. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he said in a deeply mortified tone of voice. “I don't know where my manners have run off to.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Taber,” Rhea broke in quickly, “but this isn't the duchess. This woman very kindly gave me a ride to Stone House-on-the-Hill.”

“Oh, well, I thought I hadn't recognized Her Grace's carriage,” he said, not in the least embarrassed by his mistake; in fact, had it indeed been Her Grace he would have been far more embarrassed. “But am I knowing ye, then? 'Tis a kindness ye did in giving the young lady a ride to Stone House-on-the-Hill. I hope 'twasn't out of your way.”

“No,” Kate replied shortly. “'Twasn't out of my way, and I do not believe we have ever met. I am merely passing through the valley and chanced upon these riders in the lane. As you can see, the young lady suffered a fall, injuring herself slightly, and so I did the only proper thing and offered her a ride in my carriage.”