Joan Wolf (27 page)

Jasper looked unconvinced.

Adam repeated firmly, “You cannot drive into Brighton tomorrow.”

I didn’t bother to waste my energy warning Stephen against something he was obviously bent on doing. I said instead, “Clarkson doesn’t want you to go with him to Vienna, does he?”

“No. He thinks I will be of more use to the cause here in England,” Stephen replied. “He says I’m too young to make any kind of meaningful impression on the delegates in Vienna.”

The note of bitterness in his voice was so achingly familiar.
Why do I have to be so young?
He had been saying that since he was ten years old.

“You’re not too young to make your mark in Parliament,” I said. “Look at Pitt. He was prime minister when he was only twenty-four.”

“Are you going to run for Parliament, Stephen?” Jasper asked curiously.

Stephen’s reply was brief. “Yes.”

Adam put his section of the paper next to Jasper’s plate. “I did not realize that Parliament was your ambition, my boy,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. “Pettigrew has held the seat for Weston these last fifteen years; but if you want it, then of course we shall have to find a seat for him somewhere else.”

“I don’t want the seat from Weston, Uncle Adam,” Stephen said. “You must know that I could never run as a Tory, and Weston has been solidly Tory for as long as I can remember.”

“Weston would vote for a Grandville no matter what party he belonged to,” Adam said matter-of-factly.

This was indisputably true.

Stephen said, “I am going to run for my uncle Francis’s seat in Kent. He, as you know, has always been staunchly Whig.”

“He has been
quietly
Whig,” Jasper said with amusement. “I have a feeling that his replacement will be rather more vocal.”

Stephen grinned.

My heart cramped with love.

Jasper said, “I’ll lay odds you already have your first speech written.”

“I have the topic,” Stephen returned serenely. He picked up his coffee cup, realized it was empty, and put it down again.

I picked up the silver pot that was on the table and poured him more coffee. Then I poured a second cup for myself.

“Is it a secret?” I inquired.

He shook his head. “Not at all. I would like to speak in favor of a slave registration bill.” He took a sip of his newly poured coffee.

I was puzzled. “What good would registering slaves accomplish?”

Stephen turned his head to look at me. “A census would enable us to measure the consequences of the abolition of the slave trade on the slave populations of the islands. Specifically, it would show us if planters were smuggling new slaves into the Caribbean in defiance of the law. Do you see, Annabelle? Slave registration will yield the data we need in order to win freedom for all black slaves in British possessions.”

Adam said calmly, “The planters will never accept a registration bill.”

The stubborn look we all knew settled across Stephen’s face. “Then they must be compelled to accept it,” he said.

Silence fell.

I stood up and gestured that the men should keep their seats.

“Where are you going?” Stephen asked me.

“To the nursery to see Giles.”

He nodded as if he approved.

I looked next at Jasper to give him a parting smile and was shocked by the bleak expression that looked back at me from his gray eyes. “Is anything wrong, Jasper?” I asked.

He blinked, and the look was gone. “Of course not,” he said. “I enjoyed our outing this morning very much, Annabelle. Thank you for inviting me.”

Stephen said, “Do you have some time you can give to me this morning, Uncle Adam? “

“Surely you don’t want to look at ledgers this morning, Stephen!” Adam replied. “Doesn’t your head hurt?”

“Not much,” Stephen replied.

“Well, I am sorry, my boy, but I promised Charlie Hutchinson that I would take a look at his roof this morning. He says it leaked badly in yesterday’s storm.”

Their voices faded as I went out into the passage and made my way toward the stairs.

* * * *

I was surprised to find that breakfast was still on the table in the nursery. I was even more surprised to find Jack there, cozily sharing the meal with Giles and Miss Stedham.

He pushed back his old wooden chair and stood up as I came in.

I stared at him and demanded ungraciously, “What are you doing here?”

He lifted his thick blond eyebrows. “I just looked in to see how Giles was doing after yesterday’s incident, and he invited me to join him and Miss Stedham for breakfast.”

I surveyed the table, taking in the standard nursery breakfast that had been served at Weston ever since I was a child; a big pot of hot chocolate and muffins with butter and jam. I thought of the feast that had been laid out in the dining room and regarded Jack incredulously.

“Are you actually drinking
chocolate?”

“It is very tasty,” he replied with a dangerously smooth smile.

Giles said, “Jack said he would take me and Genie to West Haven this afternoon, Mama. We are going to buy a kite at Fullham’s and fly it down at the cove!”

West Haven was the small port town on the Channel that lay on the other side of the Ridge directly to the south of Weston.

Miss Stedham said, “Of course, I was going to consult with you first, Lady Weston.”

I looked at my son’s governess. Her magnolia skin was flushed and her eyes were bright. My eyes moved on to Jack’s too handsome face and narrowed.

What’s your game, Jack? I thought.

He returned my look, his light blue eyes full of the malicious humor I so distrusted.

Giles said, “May I go, Mama?”

I said, my eyes still on Jack, “You may go to West Haven, but I would rather you kept away from the cove.”

Giles’s voice took on a distinct whine. “But I want to fly my kite!”

At my comment about the cove, all of the humor had disappeared from Jack’s eyes. He frowned, started to ask me a question, glanced at Giles, and changed his mind. He said instead, “You can fly your kite on the beach in West Haven, Giles. There is really no need for us to go to the cove.”

“I like the cove better than the beach in West Haven,” Giles said stubbornly.

Miss Stedham said in her calm, reasonable way, “Perhaps it would be better if we stayed at home.”

Giles squeaked in alarm as he saw his outing disappearing before his eyes. “No, Genie! Mama didn’t say we had to stay home. Did you, Mama?”

“I said you may go to West Haven, Giles. Not to the cove.”

“Jack just said we wouldn’t go to the cove. Didn’t you, Jack?”

“That is what I said,” Jack replied gravely.

“See, Genie.” Giles’s voice was urgent. “We will only go to West Haven.”

Miss Stedham said, “In that case, Giles, we will go.”

Across the table my eyes met the eyes of Giles’s governess, and the both of us repressed a smile.

* * * *

After I left the nursery I went back downstairs and asked Hodges to bring a pot of tea to my office. Then I settled down at my desk to spend the rest of the morning working on my housekeeping books.

It took only a few minutes to read through Cook’s suggested menus for the following week and to scrawl my approval. I made only one change, substituting a fish soup for mulligatawny, which I knew Stephen did not like.

Then I started on the accounts.

Adam was the one who paid the household bills, but I was the one who kept the records. It was a time-consuming business, but one I discharged faithfully every week. Accounts for everything pertaining to the immediate household passed over my desk: servants’ wages book; tax accounts; dairy accounts, etc. I kept monthly, quarterly, and yearly account books, which I divided into categories—foodstuffs, wages, apothecaries’ supplies, charitable donations, and so on.

I picked up my pen, picked up the first paid bill, and entered the amount.

Five minutes later I was staring blankly at the July bill for beeswax candles, with my thoughts on something entirely removed from the household accounts.

Jack was up to something. Of that I was certain. He was not showing all this flattering attention to Giles because he yearned for the company of my small son. I loved Giles dearly, but I recognized that the conversation of a five-year-old was likely to be of little interest to a sophisticated man like Jack.

Upon reflection, I was able to entertain several possible explanations for Jack’s sudden interest in Giles.

One explanation was that Adam was right: Jack was trying to fix his interest with me. He was certainly clever enough to realize that the one sure way to endear himself to me was by befriending Giles.

On the other hand, I really couldn’t imagine why Jack would confide in me that he needed to marry money, if the money he intended to marry belonged to me.

I leaned back in my chair, gazed at Stubbs’ elegant Thoroughbreds on the wall, and thought some more.

If pleasing me was not the object of Jack’s sudden interest in Giles, then what was?

The answer to that question flashed with sudden, blinding clarity into my mind. Jack’s real interest was Miss Stedham!

And, as Miss Stedham was even poorer than Jack himself, his intentions toward her could not be honorable.

I thought of the governess’s bright eyes and flushed cheeks when I had walked in on the breakfast scene in the nursery this morning.

Poor girl, I thought sympathetically. I certainly did not blame her for falling under Jack’s spell. He could be very charming when he wanted, and of course he had his full measure of the Grandville looks. And Miss Stedham’s life was so dreadfully limited.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. Just what I needed, I thought gloomily. Something else to worry about.

I forcibly returned my attention to the bills on my desk, picked up my pen, and entered into my housekeeping ledger the amount of money it had cost to keep the household in candles for the month of July.

Miss Stedham’s face had looked as bright as a candle this morning, I thought.

Once more I put down my pen, leaned back in my chair, and regarded my beloved Stubbs. I simply could not allow that poor girl to be seduced by Jack.

And how was I to prevent this disaster? I wondered. I couldn’t get Miss Stedham out of Jack’s way by dismissing her. She needed her position in order to eat.

What she
really
needed, I thought grimly, was a husband. Unfortunately, governesses had very few opportunities to meet eligible men. Miss Stedham had met Jack, of course, but Jack’s intentions were not likely to include marriage to a girl who was even poorer than he.

Jasper was an eligible man, I thought. And if he was really thinking of settling down in Northamptonshire, surely he would need to find a wife. Miss Stedham would be a perfect match for him, I thought with growing enthusiasm. She liked country life as much as he did.

The only drawback to this brilliant idea was that I had not detected the slightest interest in the lovely governess on Jasper’s part.

I glanced at the small gold clock that perched on the corner of my desk and realized with dismay that the morning was almost gone. Resolutely I returned my eyes to the next bill.

It was for sugar. I looked at the sum and thought that if all English households consumed as much sugar as mine, the Jamaican sugar plantations would be making millions.

I really must speak to Giles about the amount of sugar he heaps into his tea, I thought as I wrote down the sum and went on to the next bill.

Perhaps I can arrange to throw Jasper and Miss Stedham together occasionally.

The thought flashed into my mind as I was frowning at the amount of money it had cost to replace the morning room draperies.

I had a feeling that Uncle Adam would not be pleased to see his son marry a poor girl like Miss Stedham, but I didn’t agree. In my opinion, any man who won a girl as lovely and warmhearted as Giles’s governess should count himself lucky.

Before I could implement this plan, however, I would have to get rid of Jack. I tried very hard not to think that there might be other reasons that necessitated the quick removal of Jack from Weston.

Once more I put down my pen and stared at the horses on the wall. Surely I could not seriously think that Jack would ever mean harm to Stephen and Giles?

Chapter Nineteen

I took a much needed nap after luncheon, and when I awoke I decided to drive into Weston village to pick up a pair of leather gloves that I had seen in Mr. Wyatt’s shop the day before. The dogs jumped onto the front seat of the phaeton with me, delighted to be included in the outing.

I ran into Susan Fenton in Wyatt’s, and I left the dogs sleeping in the phaeton as we both repaired to Mrs. Compton’s tea shop for a cozy gossip.

She was shocked to hear that Stephen had been shot.

“Nobody poaches in them woods, my lady,” she said positively.

“Do you know, Susan,” I said casually, “I think we can dispense with the ‘my lady’ from now on.”

We looked at each other. We both knew that she had adopted the formal title only because Gerald did not like to hear his tenants calling his wife by her first name.

“All right,” she said with a faint smile. “Nobody poaches in them woods, Miss Annabelle.”

I smiled back before returning to the topic that was preying on my mind.” I have been wondering if there is still smuggling going on in the cove.” I added meaningfully, “Jem Washburn is back, you know.”

“Jem would
never
shoot Mr. Stephen,” Susan said instantly. I noticed that she did not object to my connecting Jem’s name with smuggling,

“I’m not saying that Jem was the one who shot Stephen,” I said. “It could have been someone else connected with a smuggling gang. Someone who was in the process of concealing a shipment in the woods and was afraid that Stephen would stumble upon his hiding place.”

Susan stirred her tea, a thoughtful line between her brows, “I don’t know..,.”

Another voice said, “Do you have everything you want, my lady?”

I looked up to see Mrs. Compton, the shop’s owner, regarding me with a pleased-as-punch look. She loved it when I came to tea and always made a point of placing me in the front window, directly in the view of everyone passing on the street.