“He does not deserve your forgiveness, but I understand. Your daughter will never learn the truth from me.”
“Your tea, Your Grace.”
“Perfect timing, Mary. Please join us. I would like you to get to know my friend Rosy.”
Mary’s eyes widened like saucers as she set the tray on the table. “You are very kind, Your Grace, but I couldn’t. Wouldn’t be proper and the like.”
“Mary, I grow weary of what is proper and what is not. In the spring, I intend to host a literary salon, a bluestocking gathering of likeminded intellectuals. You, and Rosy, are more well-read than most of theton. My profound wish is that you should join us not only for tea today but when I host the Bluestocking Salon. Now, Mary, what gossip tidbits can you share with us today?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Robert rode his horse beside Jeremy, with a close eye on the carriages as they wound their way along the road to London. The carriage Miss Mercer rode in was positioned in the middle of the caravan and was easily the most ornate, with its gold brass trim, and a team of four white horses. To his surprise, Elizabeth had wanted Miss Mercer to join her in her carriage. Elizabeth had assured him their conversation would revolve around the latest fashions and gossip. Robert hadn’t believed a word.
He had hired outriders for protection and ordered them stationed at the head of the caravan, at intervals on either side, and behind the last carriage. Still, he did not like that his plan to capture Devonshire would begin with abandoning the caravan for a slightly different route.
If all went as proposed, however, he and Jeremy—if his best friend was willing—would leave the carriages with no one the wiser. He wanted Jeremy by his side, but he just had to find the right moment to break it to him that a member of thetonwas a traitor.
There were many pitfalls and dangers along the way. Highwaymen were a constant worry, common thieves, anxious for an easy score. A show of force would deter the majority, but there were always the desperate and reckless sort to contend with.
Then there was always the unforeseen—weather during this time of year, one or more of the horses going lame, or a carriage breaking down for any number of reasons, from a broken axle to a…
Jeremy spurred his horse alongside Robert’s. “You carry more weight on your shoulders than normal, my friend. Why the worried expression? No one will attack. You hired enough outriders to assure the protection of a small village.” He hesitated. “I know that expression. What are you planning?”
Robert chuckled. “You know me too well. What know you of Devonshire?”
“He is a man who gambles and doesn’t pay his debts. More than that, you caught him in the arms of your brother’s betrothed.”
“There is more. Elizabeth believes he orchestrated the deaths of my brother and father,” Robert said in an even tone. “Devonshire tried to murder me as well, but I am not as easy to kill.”
Jeremy whistled low, and his horse twitched his ears. He soothed the animal with a stroke on his neck. “He means to wipe out the heirs and become the ninth Duke of Conclarton. Whatever your plan, know that I am with you.”
“We leave the caravan at the next fork in the road, where there is less chance we will be seen leaving. We will double back to the village. Before we left the castle, I informed Winfield to alert a commander I can trust to gather his men at the Stuffed Pig Tavern. The local military often goes there, so it will not look suspicious. We head in the direction the Conclarton Caravan has taken and make it look as though we are riding away from the village, then double back. If all goes well, Devonshire and his co-conspirators will be in prison by nightfall.”
“You mentioned that you learned this from Elizabeth. Can I assume, then, that her involvement with Devonshire was a ruse?”
“As is our engagement,” Robert said. “When the time is right, Lady Montgomery has expressed her wish to end the engagement. Until then, our situation remains as it is currently.” Robert watched as the caravan disappeared around the fork in the road. “Let us make haste. We need to reach the village before nightfall.”
****
Robert and Jeremy rode in silence, each locked in their own thoughts, and reached the outskirts of the village ahead of schedule. The weather had held, but the frost in the air and the dark clouds that blanketed the late afternoon sky foretold a coming storm.
Ducking under a low hanging branch, Robert’s own thoughts were troubled as the village came into view. He had related to Jeremy the information regarding his elder brother’s spy work uncovering Devonshire’s true nature. Even after Robert had had time to absorb what he had learned about Donald, he had difficulty reconciling the brother he thought he knew with the one who had existed.
Thetonreferred to his elder brother, Donald Oswyn, as either the Marquess of Richmond, or Lord Richmond, and he was recognized as his father’s heir to the title Duke of Conclarton. Donald was impeccable in his dress and manners, attended the occasional fete, and never drank, gambled to excess, or appeared interested in politics. He blended into society, neither talking too much or talking too little, and as a result he would appear to Devonshire as a man of little consequence and therefore not a threat.
Robert gripped the reins of his horse tighter, sad in the realization that perhaps becoming invisible had been his brother’s goal all along. Robert was sad because he realized that he had been too self-absorbed to take the time to get to know his brother as an adult. But neither had his brother trusted him enough to take him into his confidence.
How had he been so blind? The missed opportunities to become better acquainted with his brother consumed him with guilt. He wanted to believe he would have taken time to spend with his brother when he returned from the war. The truth was that he wasn’t certain he would have, and the realization cut deeper than any wound.
Jaw clenched, Robert dismounted a short distance from the Stuffed Pig Tavern and secured his horse as Jeremy followed his lead. Boisterous laughter and a bawdy song about a dark-eyed woman with large bosoms drifted on the rum-soaked air from the tavern. Positioned in the shadows were men Robert recognized as belonging to his old regiment, with a few newcomers his commander had said were Americans who had arrived to help negotiate the peace treaty between the United States and England.
The men had shed their uniforms and wore working men’s clothes—homespun breeches, cotton shirts, and faded short coats. Their disguise helped them blend in, much in the same way as Donald had when he perfected the persona of a rich man’s son concerned only with how he dressed and the places he attended.
Patting his animal’s neck to bring him back to the present, Robert turned toward Jeremy. “I have orders to wait until the commander gives the signal that Devonshire is in the tavern. We don’t want to cause a ruckus if the traitor isn’t even there.” He paused. “You can change your mind. We don’t know how many men are with Devonshire, and he won’t go down without a fight.”
Jeremy nodded slowly, glancing in the direction of the tavern. “I have been thinking about your brother, and there is something that bothers me. When we were younger, he was the one who led us into dark caves or was the first to dive off the cliffs beneath your castle, into the water.”
“Or the first to reach the top of a tree or win a horserace,” Robert said, wondering where the conversation was headed.
