Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (42 page)

This was the grandfather Elizabeth remembered; the
intimidating, autocratic earl.

“Giles will help you upstairs, Lord Greystowe. We’ll have to
postpone any talk of legal arrangements.” Donovan informed him in an equally
commanding tone. “I have urgent business on my estate.” Her husband gestured to
the butler to assist her grandfather and made his exit.

“I’ll be right up to check on you.” Elizabeth told her
grandfather as Giles took the old man’s arm and gestured smartly to the footmen
standing near the front door to step quick and take the other arm. Elizabeth
slipped into the parlor with Michael in tow. “What’s going on?”

“All I know is that Grandfather and Donovan are both my
legal guardians, Liz. Grandfather is the primary, but Donovan’s to step in and
take over in the event Grandfather dies before I reach my majority.” He gazed
about the room with a sour face. “He was mad as a hornet with Donovan for
taking you away without allowing him a reunion. We spent two weeks in London
trying to find a ship that would book us passage during hurricane season, he
was that determined speak to Donovan. I think he means to leave me off here
with you.”

“No.” Elizabeth soothed, rubbing his arm with affection.

“I’m a disappointment to him. He’s always snapping at me.
Claims he’s seen stable boys with better manners. I’m not cut out to be a lord.
I’m going to be an artist. Grandfather says it’s beneath the family dignity to
be painting whores all day and mingling with the wrong sort.”

“Well, Michael, Grandfather does have a point. As his heir,
you have obligations to fulfill. But, things may take an unexpected turn.” She
didn’t wish to point out that their dour grandparent might be dead within a
year, and with Kieran alive, Michael’s expectations may have changed
considerably. That was a conversation for another time.

So much for bliss, Elizabeth thought, having cherished what
might be termed a rather late honeymoon over the past week. She hoped there was
no fight in the offing between her grandfather and her husband. Donovan would
emerge the victor in any battle of wills, but she didn’t wish for the men to be
at sixes and nines and spoil the holidays.

She turned to her brother, unable to keep herself from
giving him yet another hug. “I’ve missed you. Is it really so bad living with
Grandfather?”

Michael shrugged, and glanced about the room. “He’s
tolerable. Stiff in his starches, but we always knew that. He’s not too bad of
a fellow, once you get used to his brusque manner. Donovan’s been good to you?
He seems a different bloke than the one we met in England.”

“He’s tolerable.” Elizabeth mimicked his speech. “Once you
get used to his solemn, grave demeanor.” Michael looked stricken. Elizabeth
laughed. “Oh, he’s not Mr. O’Rourke, Michael, if that’s what you are
expecting.” She grinned at her brother. “He’s American. Quite the opposite of
Grandfather, completely unconventional but he’s absolutely wonderful.”

“He hardly said hello to me.” Michael complained.

“He has urgent business to attend to. There may have been a
murder on the island. He was just going to drop me home and gather some men to
investigate when we were told you arrived.” She stifled a yawn. “I really am
all in. Will you forgive me if I follow grandfather’s example and take a nap
before dinner?”

Michael nodded. “Perhaps I’ll take a walk out to the
stables.”

“If you need anything ask Giles for it, he’s our butler.
He’ll make sure you are comfortable. Oh, Michael. I’ve missed you so much, and
I have the most wonderful news to share with both you and grandfather.”

*******

Dinner that evening was a somber affair. Elizabeth looked
about the dining room, pleased to see the table nearly full with the addition
of Michael, the earl, and Michael’s tutor, Mr. Marceau. Chloe and Uncle Gareth
took their usual places at the table, completing the family circle. Donovan had
not returned from his excursion into the jungle.

Grandfather kept looking at Uncle Gareth with disdain.
Elizabeth endeavored to ignore his ill manners, and strove to make everyone
comfortable. “So, Master Michael, do you approve of our stables?” She asked,
teasing her brother a bit with her formal address.

“Oh, yes.” He said between chews. “A fine stock. Johnny
really seems to know his horseflesh. I talked with him for quite a while out
there. We’re to go riding tomorrow.”

“Riding, with the groom?” Grandfather interjected,
incredulous at the idea of his heir rubbing elbows with a servant. He made a
face, and grunted his displeasure.

Elizabeth was pleased that Michael was making friends here
already, and Johnny O’Reilly was a very nice young man. “Well, I’m certain you
two will have much to talk about, as you were a stable boy, too, until a few
months ago.” She commented, smiling at her brother.

 “Donovan’s stallion is magnificent, an Arabian!” Michael
enthused. “I’d give my eye teeth to have such a fine horse. It’s a lord’s
mount, that one.”

“Zeus. Yes. He’s very spirited.” Gareth put in. “Donovan has
set him to stud with several mares. There will be five foals born in the
spring. You might ask him if you could have one.”

Lord Greystowe cleared his throat. “Such language, and with
a lady present.” He glowered imperviously at Gareth. “Breeding horses is not a
proper subject for the dinner table.”

“Yes, sir.” Michael was quick to respond.

Gareth shrugged off the old man’s rebuke with a smile and a
toss of his serpent’s mane as was his way. Elizabeth was fuming. Gareth was
just being kind to her brother. The old man didn’t need to make it sound as if
his speech was a moral affront. Donovan talked about breeding all the time, at
the dinner table and anywhere else he pleased. She hoped Donovan would not be
the recipient of such open disdain.

“The gardener is supposed to arrive tomorrow.” Chloe chimed
in, changing the subject. “I have that list of herbs you wanted me to make of
plants to cultivate for our recipes, my lady.”

 Elizabeth smiled at her companion. While confined to bed,
she and Chloe made a list of herbs they needed based on their grandmother’s
potions. “I do hope he can rescue what remains of the gardens from the jungle.”

“Who is this young woman?” Grandfather fixed his
condescending gaze upon Chloe.

“Miss Ramirez is my companion. Chloe, I present my
grandfather, James Wentworth, the ninth Earl of Greystowe.” Elizabeth responded
in what she hoped was a patient voice.

“Indeed.” The earl huffed, dabbing his lips with his napkin.
“Rather odd when a married lady needs a companion?” His icy gaze moved
dismissively from Chloe to rest upon Elizabeth, expecting an explanation.

“It is isolated here,” Gareth informed the man. “The count
is often busy with estate affairs, so it is a very agreeable arrangement, my
lord.”

“Mr. Marceau,” Elizabeth smiled down the table at their
quiet guest, remembering that he had yet to join the conversation. “Is your
room to your satisfaction?”

“Oui, my lady.” The man appeared relieved that she had
deigned to notice him.

“How was your journey here?” She persisted, trying to bring
Michael’s tutor out. If he spent six weeks confined in close quarters on ship
with her irritable grandfather, she pitied him.

Mr. Marceau swallowed his mouthful of herbed pork and then
regaled them with the horrors of the storm that had swept them nearly a hundred
miles off course; the tail end of a hurricane. So their six week passage had
turned out to be closer to eight.

Grandfather behaved himself for the rest of the meal,
remaining silent and morose.

With Elizabeth’s encouragement, the others talked and began
to relax. Just as they were about to retreat to the salon, Donovan arrived. He
was still wearing the clothes from his excursion, Elizabeth noted, casting a
quick look in her grandfather’s direction. This wasn’t London. They did not
stand on ceremony here. She waited for some rebuff to slip from the earl’s
lips, but only his eyes marked his host’s rumpled attire as Donovan stood
before them.

Donovan took his place at the head of the table next to
Elizabeth, having insisted from the first she be seated to his right instead of
at the opposite end of the table so that they could converse easily. Elizabeth
found his relaxed manners adorable. He took her hand, lifted it his lips,
kissed it, and then boldly held it captive on the table for all to see.

“My apologies for being late.” Donovan told their guests. “I
see you’ve finished dessert. Miss Ramirez, would you stand in as hostess for a
short time? I’m sure you and my uncle can manage to entertain our guests in the
salon. I’d like to have a private word with Elizabeth.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Chloe rose, as did the men, except
Grandfather. He appeared outraged by the idea he should follow a paid servant
into the drawing room.

“I’ll be along shortly.” Donovan said to the old man, noting
his reluctance. “When I’m finished, you and I can retreat for that private chat
you mentioned earlier, sir.”

The old man stood up, doddering just a bit so that Michael
was forced to support him at the elbow as he followed the others out of the
room. With a nod from Elizabeth, the footman was quick to serve the master.
Donovan inhaled several gulps of meat and potatoes as if he were starving, drank
his wine in one tug, and then gave her a somber look.

“Was I correct? Or have I made a fool of you, my lord?”

He nodded, wiped his mouth with the napkin and set it aside.
“We found their remains, with leg shackles still on them. I hung Winslow tonight.”
He paused, and she sensed the regret in him as he grasped the stem of his
refilled goblet in his fist. She held her breath, hoping it did not break in
his hand. He lifted it to his lips, took another generous sip, and continued.

“I hired that ape last year when my overseer dropped dead of
a heart attack in the middle of the cane pressing. I was desperate. I knew
Winslow had a cruel streak, but I had no choice, I needed him back then. Alas,
I’m in need of a new overseer, with the cane harvest less than a fortnight
away. Come here.” Donovan tugged at her hand until she had to stand beside him.
He pulled her onto his lap. “How are you getting on with your grandfather?”

“He’s rude to Gareth, Chloe, Mr. Marceau, and anyone who
isn’t a titled lord or married to one. It’s—oh--you’ve no idea how much I
despise that kind of condescension and cruelty. People should not be treated
badly for the mere circumstances of their birth. It’s hardly something one can
control.”

Donovan was amused. “You have the beginnings of an
enlightened mind, my dear.”

*******

Donovan sipped his brandy and listened to the old man natter
on about inconsequential things for an eternity. The Earl was not being direct,
Donovan thought with annoyance, noting the movement of the clock. He should be
upstairs by now, making love to his wife.

When he ignored the earl’s comments about this strange new
practice of allowing the help to dine with their betters, Donovan assumed he
meant Chloe and Michael’s tutor, the old man changed direction. He brought up
his concerns for Michael’s future. Fletcher had been observed following the boy
on several occasions in London. He feared the man was scheming to extract money
from the lad, and decreed Michael must not go out alone. He must always be
accompanied by a footman and Mr. Marceau. As a result, the boy voiced a deep
resentment of his strictures and did his best to elude his escorts.

Wentworth then complained of Michael being a handful, and an
embarrassment socially due to his lack of refinement and his father’s
influence.

Donovan reminded him that his grandchildren had been given
an uncommon freedom in their adolescent years in exile, so it was natural for
Michael to resent the implementation of rules when up until this time there had
been few due to Fletcher’s neglect. He experienced similar difficulties with
Elizabeth, but he did not share them with the earl.

“My valet has reported, via servant’s gossip, that Elizabeth
was ill recently. Is this true?”

“It is. I must insist that you and Michael are not too
demanding during your stay.”

“Is she breeding already?”

“No.” Donovan shifted his chair, debating the wisdom of
telling the man what had happened to Elizabeth. Confiding in the earl might be
best. It would save Elizabeth the humiliation of explaining if she had a
confused episode or a seizure while the earl was here. If the old man knew of
her frailty, he’d not be asking her impertinent questions and he’d be mindful
not to weary her. Donovan poured them another drink and gave the man a brief,
sanitized account of Elizabeth’s abduction by Fletcher’s cronies, and her
resulting head injury.

The earl did not speak. His face had become grey as his hand
pressed over his chest.

“Are you well, sir?” Donovan asked, setting down his glass
and rising to go to the man.

“I believe so.” The earl said, holding up a hand to dissuade
him. “Why didn’t you bring her to my home to recover instead of making the
treacherous journey across the sea?”

“She was a month in bed. She slept almost continuously the
first two weeks. It hardly mattered where the bed was, sir.” Donovan countered
easily. “As a physician I must point out that a long coach ride to your estate,
a full day’s journey in the best of conditions, with her injuries, would not
have been wise. My vessel was already equipped for luxury accommodations for
our voyage. It was no hardship for her, I assure you.”

“Fletcher has had his eyes on my fortune from the first.”
The earl confided. “I’m convinced it is the reason behind my elder grandson’s
disappearance, but nothing could ever be proved.”

Donovan pinched his brow. He’d forgotten about O’Flaherty.
Judging by the earl’s grey cast, it would have to wait until the old man was
rested from the long voyage he’d endured under less than sterling conditions.