Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (26 page)

"I decided the most sensible thing to do was to go and see the Temple for myself, and if possible assess my uncle and his family. Years of warnings had left a residue, however, and I went incognito.

"As it worked out, I saw only the housekeeper who showed me around, and a couple of young children whom I assumed to be two of my cousins. They looked perfectly normal children but for being rather subdued. I would have thought that echoing, pillared hall ideal for running games, but they tiptoed through it like a pair of nervous mice in a cathedral."

"They'd doubtless been told to behave when guests were around."

"I suppose so," said Leander with a frown, "but the thing that struck me about the Temple was its silence. It was like a museum, or a cathedral even—an unused one—though the housekeeper assured me the family was in residence. It felt like this house, but here we have a place that stood empty for years...."

"So you didn't like it."

"To be honest," said Leander, "I don't know. It's undoubtedly very beautiful."

He rose and took a portfolio out of a rack, to open it on a table. "Come and look at these. I commissioned them after my visit. It is a truly awe-inspiring place."

Judith looked at the watercolors, so much larger and clearer than the small print Beth had shown her. They were of a fairy palace on a promontory, with only a causeway allowing access to an arched gateway. That gateway cut through a wall into a garden courtyard. The walls encircled that courtyard like a modern castle, with a substantial house at one end decorated with fairy-tale turrets.

It was difficult to pinpoint what made Temple Knollis so striking, but even in the pictures she could feel it. It was, she thought, a matter of perfect proportions.

Leander spoke softly. "These pictures can't capture the stone. It's a pinkish granite, and it changes with every shift of light. The river there is generally smooth and reflects the house like a mirror. The courtyard garden is full of aromatic plants alive with butterflies. It's a beautiful part of the country anyway. The air is soft and sweet, and always seems to be full of birdsong. The pastures are lush, the hedgerows have grown high and deep over centuries. It is the very picture of England."

"So why aren't you living there?" Judith asked.

He made a business of putting away the pictures. "It was tempting at first, but I decided to think about it. My father's warnings had taken root and I felt I should resist such a powerful siren call. Also, there was the problem of Uncle Charles."

He slid the portfolio into the stand. "When I arrived in England, I contacted my uncle by letter and received a reply. It was disconcertingly reminiscent of my grandfather's letters—begging me to go down there, threatening dire consequences if I didn't, though these seemed to more along the lines of the house crumbling like the walls of Jericho. Now I had seen the place, I had to wonder if he
might
be willing to kill for it. I'd learned in war to be cautious. It would have been absurdly easy to stage an accident, and who would question it?"

She shivered at the thought. "So, what did you do?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. I was thrown off balance by it all and there seemed no hurry. I had come home to settle, but I was new to England, and new to my responsibilities as earl. I set myself to learning about my properties, and that was quite a task. I visited them all—Cumberland, Sussex, and Rutland. I started learning about estate management. What a quagmire that turned out to be.

"All the money of the earldom still passes through the Temple, you see, and my grandfather and Uncle Charles had developed a very strange form of accounting. The Knollis man-of-business here in London seemed to have no trouble with it, but I couldn't make head nor tail of it, and couldn't be sure I could trust him either. He could well be in league with Uncle Charles. I seriously thought of going down to the Temple to demand a clear accounting, but then I received a letter from my uncle showing he was aware of my interest in the business of the estate, and asking me to do just that."

He laughed, self-consciously. "I must confess that I began to wonder if it wasn't a Machiavellian plot to get me down there by one means or another. So instead, I hired a new man here to straighten it out and explain it to me in particular why there wasn't as much money as there should be."

Judith put on an expression of mock alarm. "Are you trying to tell me you're under the hatches, sir?"

He grinned. "Don't worry. That's not likely, but even I could tell there were shortages, as my father had claimed. The Earldom of Charrington is very wealthy, but my income is merely handsome. As long as I was with the army it was more than enough for my needs. When I came to London, however, it was obvious that the income wasn't as much as it should be...."

"So you, too, think your Uncle Charles is stealing from you," Judith said.

He grimaced at such bluntness. "I don't like to think that of my family, but it looks more and more likely."

Judith heard in his tone how much family meant to him. He had perhaps hoped to become close to his uncle and cousins, and was hurt by their actions. Perhaps his generosity toward her family hadn't been a buying of favors, but a desire to become part. And she had objected...

"Does your uncle have an income?" she asked.

"Yes. He's always received a generous income as steward, plus the fact that he's lived free at the Temple. But on my grandfather's death, he received an unentailed estate called Coverley. Its income is over five thousand a year. I'd have thought it adequate. There were inheritances for his children, too."

Figures like that were enough to make Judith dizzy. What was the income of the earldom of Charrington if it could dispose of such an estate without concern? "What do you intend to do now?"

He picked up a book, then put it down. "I don't know. I haven't proof of illegality and I'm not sure I could prosecute my family."

Judith faced him. "And what part does our marriage play in all this?"

He met her eyes but ruefully. "All ways, and no ways. You see, one of the things I noticed at Temple Knollis was that the land there is neglected. Weeds grow in the fields, drainage is poor, cottages ramshackle. I intend to correct that, but I don't know much about such things. I needed someone to help me who belonged to the land."

"A good steward would be more use than I."

He sought refuge in the fire again. "I didn't want an employee," he said softly. She could hear the struggle in his voice. "I was tired of being alone, Judith."

She took his hand, too moved to speak. His fingers tightened on hers. Then he looked up, smiling derisively. "Don't melt for me yet. I had other reasons to marry. Since they appeared to be untrustworthy, I wanted my family gone. But I couldn't quite see myself descending on the Temple, whip in hand, like Christ. I thought it would be cleverly subtle to acquire a wife, and ask them to leave. I also thought that the sooner I married and set up a nursery, the less likely it was that they would inherit. When I met you, I realized a wife and family would be even better."

"Why?" asked Judith, still holding his lax hand.

He gave a Gallic shrug. "I'll confess it all. I thought that any marriage, even a recent one, would give them pause if they did have evil plans. You could already be with child."

Her look must have remarked on that. His hand turned to hold hers. He smiled lazily and raised her hand to his lips. "We really will have to work on it."

Judith was in no mood for dalliance. "Good heavens, Leander. If they're of a mind for one murder, why would they balk at two?"

His lips stilled and all humor left his face. "Believe me, Judith, I never considered that. I suppose two deaths would be bound to raise questions, but still... I never intended to put you in any danger, I swear. Anyway," he said with a reassuring smile, "I'm convinced that part of it is nonsense. I've not seen any evidence of anyone wishing me harm since the last French bullet flew, and killing someone is not a tricky business if one is set on it."

"I hope you're right," Judith said. "There's the children, too...."

"There's certainly no cause to touch a hair of their heads." He took both her hands firmly. "Don't look so anxious. I never meant to frighten you. You see why I was reluctant to tell you all this? When I put it into words, it sounds a farrago of nonsense. When, as I expect, we hear that there's no sickness at the Temple, we'll post down there and sort it out once and for all, even if it means I have to snarl, and scowl, and be thoroughly undiplomatic."

They heard children's voices asking for their mama.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll take care of you, and them." He dropped a kiss on her lips as the children burst in.

"Mama..."

"No." Leander's voice was quiet but firm. "You will both go out to the hall, count to thirty, then knock. You will enter when you are given permission."

Both children's faces fell. Bastian scowled angrily, and Rosie looked close to tears. They went, however, and closed the door.

"Leander..." said Judith hesitantly.

He was formidable. "We are married. We can't have them feeling free to burst in on us whenever they please, unless you wish them to see more than children should."

She colored. "They would hardly burst into our bedrooms."

"I think they are probably accustomed to making free with yours." A flash of wicked humor lit his eyes. "And what makes you think I intend to reserve our intimate moments for a bed?"

Before Judith could respond to that there was a soft knock on the door.

"Enter," said Leander.

The children crept in. Rosie was subdued. Bastian was angry. Judith wanted to hug them both, but knew that wouldn't be wise.

"Well?" said Leander with a smoothly diplomatic smile. "How do you like your new home—or one of them?"

Rosie looked silently down at her slippers.

Bastian said, "It's ugly." It was a sweeping condemnation of more than the house.

Leander flashed Judith a cry for help but she shrugged slightly. He'd caused this, and would have to handle it. Had he expected it all to be easy?

Leander sat down. "Bastian and Rosie, come here, please."

They dragged themselves over as if they had chains on their ankles.

"Bastian, Rosie, I know you feel hurt that I had to reprimand you, but you must realize we are all making changes. You have had your mother to yourself since your father died, but now I want to share her with you. I want to kiss her sometimes as married people do, and we would be happier to be alone at those times. That is why you must not burst into rooms without knocking. You must also remember that your mother and I may have adult guests, and not want to be disturbed."

Bastian looked up, still scowling. "I liked it better at the cottage. I wish we'd stayed there."

Leander carried on gamely. "Then we'll have to work at making things better for you here. What do you lack?"

It was clear the children couldn't actually think of anything. Rosie looked up shyly. "I don't mind it here, Papa Leander."

"Bastian?" Leander prompted.

The boy was clearly reluctant to let go of his grievance. "I don't think it's
fair,
"he said.

"What?"

"You said I couldn't ride until we got to Temple Knollis, but we won't be there for months!"

"Ah," said Leander, relaxing. "In fact, I am determined to be there for Christmas, but you have a point. Bastian, whenever you have a legitimate grievance, you must feel free to discuss it frankly, rather than sulking. What do you think would be fair?"

Bastian looked at Leander directly for the first time, surprised by the question. His sullenness fell away to reveal hope. "How long would it have taken for us to reach Temple Knollis, Papa?"

"Four days, perhaps."

Bastian counted in his head. "This is the fourth day!"

"Then if your mother agrees, we could consider resuming your riding tomorrow."

Two pairs of young eyes swung to Judith. "That appears fair to me," she said soberly.

The children whooped.

"Now," Leander said. "What do you really think of this house? Your mother and I are perfectly agreed that it is ugly and old fashioned, so you need not hold back your feelings."

"I like the banister," said Rosie with a giggle.

"There's a super rocking horse," said Bastian.

Leander grinned. "I remember. It has scarlet reins and stirrups."

"Not anymore. There aren't any."

"Mama," said Rosie, clearly recalling the reason they had sought her out in the first place. "Bastian wouldn't let me ride after I fell off!"

"Well, I'd get blamed if you hurt yourself, gaby!"

Judith rushed to stop them with a hug. "Hush, hush. If we can find some reins and stirrups you won't fall off, Rosie. And Bastian, if we find a companion for both of you, you won't feel so weighed down by responsibilities."

"You'll be with us," he said, scowling again.

Judith glanced at Leander but decided it was her turn to handle trouble. "As Lord Charrington says, darlings, things will be a little different now. There'll still be lots of times for us to spend together, and of course now you have Papa Leander to take care of you, too. But I have many new responsibilities. I wondered if Betty or George would suit you for a while. To look after you, and show you around."