Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (22 page)

His angry words died as his eyes slipped to where George sat. The boy’s presence actually seemed to deflate his brother completely of anger, a fascinating process to watch. Yet Oliver knew better than to believe he would be spared completely and waited for the tirade to resume.

“Forgive me, I had no idea you had young George here with you,” Leopold said quickly. “I thought you to be alone.”

Oliver peered at the splintered wood of the doorframe. “Breaking down the door was a touch excessive. You could have resumed your sermon tomorrow over breakfast on the merits of delay and at least given me a respite to speak with George in peace.”

Leopold turned red and held up one hand. “Now, look here.”

Oliver stood. “It’s late. The boy is tired and should be returned to his room. We’ll speak again tomorrow. Go to bed, Leopold, and search for control of your temper.”

He gestured for George to come to him and then swiftly led the boy away. He placed his hand on George’s shoulder as they traveled the distance to his bedchamber. “Never mind about Leopold. He’ll calm himself soon enough.”

“They really don’t want you to leave, do they?”

Oliver smiled ruefully. “Not one bit, but it is my life and I’ll choose the direction it takes without their interference.”

“I wish…” George drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I wish I had a father to speak up for me.”

Sympathy filled him. At this age, a boy still needed reassurance on occasion.

George let himself into his bedchamber and beckoned Oliver to follow. When Oliver crossed the threshold, his eyes were immediately drawn to the connecting doorway. Through the gap, he could see Elizabeth moving about her chamber. She must be packing in readiness to leave. He tamped down the flame of desire that always ignited when she was near now and cleared his throat, drawing attention to his presence.

Her head snapped up and she faced him. Her eyes were red, her skin blotchy. She’d been crying again and this time he thought he might know why. With George nearby, he could do or say nothing to comfort her. He tipped his head toward her son and remained where he was.

Elizabeth hurried toward him and stopped short when she saw George. She seemed to stiffen and instead of rushing to George’s side as she always did, she hung back. Oliver swung his head to see George’s reaction to his mother’s arrival. The boy bit his lip and, after a moment, he rushed into his mother’s opening arms. Oliver’s heart swelled. Whatever disagreement existed between them was on the mend. At least he’d done one thing right today.

Elizabeth met his gaze over her son’s head, her eyes watery bright. Her lips moved to say thank you. That one small acknowledgement was everything he needed. He smiled broadly and departed, retracing his steps to his bedchamber. He checked the damage to the door as he passed. A carpenter would be needed for it to ever lock properly again. More unnecessary interruptions. He hadn’t really wanted his last days to be filled with the sound of hammering.

He moved from the door, only to be brought up short by Leopold pacing before the fire. They stared at each other across the space and Oliver tensed, waiting for the next volley of demands that he must refuse.

Chapter Twenty

Warmth from the sun streaming through Beth’s bedroom window warmed her back as she surveyed her possessions strewn over her bed. She frowned at their number. When had she acquired so many fine gowns? Of course, she knew the answer to that immediately. Her employer and the duchess had recently reviewed the contents of their wardrobes, most gowns seemingly never worn, and she’d been the happy recipient. But that generosity did give her problems now. She likely couldn’t take them all with her. She’d have to choose her favorites from among them and leave the rest behind, and that did not seem right.

She rubbed her brow and fought off the weariness that came from a night spent tossing and turning. Not the kind that came with a night spent in Oliver’s bed, but one where her mind refused to settle. She’d stayed away from Oliver in fear of Henry finding out about them. It pained her, but she had no choice. She had her memories to cling to now. They would have to be enough.

Thanks to Henry’s refusal to impart any essential information on their future living conditions, Beth had spent the night fretting over what to take. She fingered her herringbone-stitched spencer, wondering if it was too fine for her new circumstances. The pink silk gown with narrow, smocked panels down each side was a favorite she would leave as a gift for the new housekeeper to wear on special occasions.

Beth lifted another gown and held it before her. Plain and unadorned, a simple dark blue cotton with full-length sleeves was as serviceable as any gown she’d ever owned. Yet she would keep this one in particular because she’d been wearing it when Oliver had kissed her. A reminder of what could never be.

A timid knock sounded on the door and she bid her visitor enter.

“Are we disturbing you?” Mercy asked, leading her sister into the room.

Beth dipped a quick curtsy. “Of course not—is there anything I can help you with?”

Mercy’s gaze swung around the room, a small frown line forming between her brows but smoothed away when she’d finished her inspection. “Nothing for me, but I thought I might be of use to you.”

Beth threw a quick glance at Lady Venables but the countess gave nothing away. “Oh?”

“I have friends, ones I have not seen in many years, residing in America that I should like you to call upon if you encounter any problems in your new life.” She pulled a letter from her pocket and held it out. “Ducky is a dear friend, much involved in society in Boston. This letter of introduction will ensure you’re looked after and I’ve asked him to provide the means to send you home to us should you request it.”

Beth swallowed at the duchess’s unexpected generosity. At every turn the woman had proven herself a kind and thoughtful friend. She knew that Beth’s greatest fear was to be without means to protect herself and her son. In the New World, she wouldn’t know anyone but Henry and his as-yet-undisclosed acquaintances. What if they were separated from him?

She shivered as she took the note. “Thank you. I do not know what I’ve done to deserve your favor, but I treasure your gift most certainly.”

Mercy moved forward and embraced her. “I cannot bear the thought of you going away. You’ve come to mean so much to me, to all of us, that I hate to say goodbye.”

She squeezed Beth as if she would never let her go. Beth closed her eyes, moved to tears and unable to prevent them from spilling over. “I will miss you, too.”

“If you ever wish return home to England we’ll be waiting for you with open arms,” the duchess whispered close to her ear.

“Thank you, Mercy.” Beth blubbered, unable to remain formal in the face of such obvious affection. “I will.”

Mercy released her and caught her face between her hands. Tears slid down the duchess’s cheeks unattended. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With one last hug, Mercy hurried out the door, a sniff and a sob drifting to Beth’s ears just before the door closed.

Lady Venables shook her head. “You’ll have to forgive her tears. Mercy never likes to part from friends and in her condition she’s less likely to refrain from saying what’s on her mind.”

Beth frowned. “Her condition?”

A sly smile twisted the countess’s lips. “I believe she may be with child, though she’s not said a word. However, her emotions are running high right now because of you and Oliver leaving, so allowances for her theatrics must be made. For myself, I never noticed my emotions changing one way or another during my confinement.”

Beth thought back over her pregnancies, wondering if she could remember how it felt to have a life growing inside her. The memory was vague, but she thought she’d never been happier. “Now I feel worse for leaving at such a time, my lady.”

“Blythe,” Lady Venables corrected. “There is no point in adhering to the formalities now.”

More tears raced down Beth’s cheeks and she quickly dabbed them away.

“Mercy is more worried about your happiness, and I must say I agree with her,” Blythe said as she picked up a wrapped parcel and began to uncover it. “With some difficulty, I have pried information from Tobias about life both at sea and in America and he has some suggestions for you. The first, keep my sister’s letter on your person at all times, including any money you have. It is far too easy to become separated from your baggage and the docks are rife with pickpockets.”

Beth glanced at her gown. If her pockets were not safe from thieves, where else could she hide her few valuables?

Seeming to read Beth’s mind, Blythe picked up the muff and gloves and set them aside. “Not inside something so easily discarded or lost as these.” When Blythe picked up her warmest pelisse and studied the garment, Beth drew closer. “This could be the perfect hiding place. However, you would always need to wear it during your travels.”

Fear of pickpockets and thieves filled her mind. Beth agreed quickly. “I can do that.”

Blythe examined the stitching. “If we unstitch the hem here in the front, we’ll be able to make concealed pockets for some of your valuables. Also here at the sleeve cuff. Show me what you will take with you.”

Beth scrambled for her meager collection of coins and her wedding ring. She laid them out on the bed, set Mercy’s letter of introduction beside them, and stood back. There really was little value in her possessions. Most items she had were sentimental rather than financially valuable. The lack caused a blush to climb her cheeks.

Blythe removed a narrow length of blue silk from her pocket and unwound it slowly. When she was done, two thin ties could be seen and it issued an odd crinkling sound. “Another of Tobias’s suggestions. Wear this belt tied about your waist snugly, beneath your gown, and don’t let anyone know of it.”

She held out the strip and Beth took it, examining the belt’s construction. Two long ties, a thicker section in the middle, and long enough to tie about her waist and wear in reasonable comfort. She saw an opening and peered inside a cleverly designed pocket. The edges of paper notes could be seen. Her heart raced as she checked each pocket in turn. The whole belt was filled with more money than she had ever had in her life. She handed it back. “I gladly accept the belt, but nothing else.”

Blythe sighed and refused to take it. “My gift to you is the means of hearing you are well. Some of it is paper to write upon. Do you honestly believe Henry Turner will allow you to correspond with a duchess for whom he barely hides his contempt? I do not. Take the money so you may at least be able to write to us to say you are well and happy. The way George reads, you may need the remainder to feed his intellectual appetite.”

Beth could see the sense in her suggestion, but yet again, she was taking charity. It had never sat well with her. Would she ever have the means to repay them? If not for George, she would refuse outright. But she did have a son to consider and he counted on her to make his world right. She curled her fingers over the belt and held it tightly. “Thank you.”

Blythe quickly embraced her and then set her hands to her hips, glance sliding to the bed. “We’ve a lot to do today.”

Beth shook her head. “There’s no need. I’ll be fine on my own, thanks to your suggestion.”

“Nonsense. I’ll not listen to Mercy’s weeping for the entire day.” Blythe laughed. “Besides, I’d enjoy spending one more day with you. George is otherwise occupied, isn’t he?”

Beth nodded slowly. “He went for a walk with the Randall men and then he’ll probably return to the library.”

“Or stay in Oliver’s company,” Blythe replied with a direct look that unnerved Beth considerably. Did she know that Beth had spent several pleasant interludes in Oliver’s arms? She must not or she wouldn’t be so friendly.

Beth hated lying or withholding the truth from people she cared for. She fingered the belt and then set it aside. She should get started on altering her pelisse. She fetched her scissors and needle and thread and then laid the garment over the bed.

Blythe said not one more word more on the subject of Oliver Randall while they worked through the morning. Luncheon was sent up to an unused room nearby and they paused to eat and talk when Tobias joined them. His mood was somewhat bitter and eventually, Blythe left them in a huff over his surliness.

Tobias stared after Blythe’s departure with glum expression. “Now she’s angry with me.”

“Hardly,” Beth murmured. “She just cannot help you convince Oliver to stay and sees no point in a conversation that goes nowhere.”

Tobias leaned back in his chair, hands sliding over his skull in a way that showed his frustration. “He’s just so damn stubborn.”

“And are not all Randalls stubborn, determined to go their own way? If I remember correctly, you never backed down from a dare.”

“No one is daring Oliver to leave Romsey.”

Beth smiled. He made his own rules and to hell with anyone else. “Oliver is different. He’s always set his own challenges.”

Tobias snorted. “He should have married you. You understand him better than anyone.”

She choked on the tea she’d just sipped and had to cough in order to breathe normally again.

Tobias’s expression grew smug at her discomfort. “Well, it’s bloody obvious there’s been a change between you. I’ve never seen him smile so much. And he has never liked children, but your child is always in his company. What else could account for such behavior?”