Enough excitement for one day, William and Barbara were both tired, and she was exhausted. More from emotion than too much activity, for the day had passed with little physical exertion. She feared she would not sleep well. The duke remained uppermost in her thoughts. It was as if he wished to search her very soul. She had frustrated him. Well, so be it. She would not tell him the truth if he locked her in the dungeon. No one must ever know for that could harm too many she loved. Tomorrow, during her time off, she would search for that book in the library, hopefully while the duke was out riding.
*
Andrew entered hisapartments to change his clothes before joining his guests in the salon. As his valet fussed around him, he raised his eyebrows at himself in the mirror. Why did he wish to embroil himself in Miss Harrismith’s affairs? Questioning her in that way had been totally inappropriate. His intention had been to warn her against the two gentleman who’d decided for some reason or other to visit his schoolroom, but it had somehow become more of an interrogation. It was just that it didn’t sit well with him, he reasoned, to see her, a lord’s daughter, in such a position. Little more than a servant, she must yearn for the life she was born to live. While he liked and admired her, there was little he could do to help her, unless she was honest with him. But she had refused point-blank to enlighten him. Even though it had obviously distressed her to oppose him. His questions got him nowhere, and he remained as much in the dark as ever. But something had happened to drive her from her home, and damn if he didn’t want to know what that was, but if he wasn’t careful, his children would lose someone they’d come to love, and there’d been no one else who’d meant that much to them since their mother died. Even Nanny Evans hadn’t been so loved. Until Andrew married, and that might be some years away, they needed Miss Harrismith.
Was it the attractive Miss Harrismith who had drawn the two men to the schoolroom? Ivo might have been there to flirt, damn the man, but Raymond? He was smitten with Greta. No, Raymond had come for the soul purpose of visiting the children, something he’d never bothered to do before. Ordinarily, he’d treated Andrew’s children with good-humored tolerance, but also a casual disinterest. And Andrew found himself wondering why that had changed.
He had gone to the library to find the book he’d promised William, but his search was abandoned when the butler brought a message from London.
He cursed under his breath, fearing the worst. And as he read it his fears were realized. Another murder, this time Lord Stonebrook, shot at his country estate in Hertfordshire, found dead with a lily on his breast. A search party had only discovered his body this morning. His lordship had been missing for some days. Andrew’s presence was urgently required at Whitehall.
His first concern was leaving William. But Irvine coped well, and Andrew could rely on Miss Harrismith to be cautious. He would be back at Castlebridge by morning, as he intended to ride through the night. He sent word to the stables to saddle Cicero, then made his way to the salon.
Greta rose at his entrance. “I hoped to have a word with you, Harrow, before the others arrive.”
“Greta. I’m called to Whitehall. I must leave immediately.”
She frowned. “Won’t you take me with you?”
“Not this time. I am sorry. These are matters over which I have no control. I’m riding Cicero. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“What is the urgency?”
“A matter of national importance.”
Dismay darkened her eyes. “I shall await your return. Don’t let me keep you. We shall talk tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow.” A talk they must have. He bowed and left the room.
Miss Harrismith was bathing Barbara when the footman admitted him to the nursery. William lay on his bed reading a book.
“Father!” Barbara squealed. “The soap makes pretty bubbles.”
“So it does, sweetheart. A word, Miss Harrismith.” He drew the governess away out of earshot.
“I have been called to London. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
She nodded gravely while keeping an eye on his daughter splashing about in the hip bath. “Very well, Your Grace.”
“William may ride with Irvine as usual.” Although there was a cautionary tone to his voice, she showed no sign of alarm at him leaving her alone in sole charge of the children.
“George will accompany us to the stables,” she said. “After his lordship’s ride we’ll spend the day in the schoolroom.”
Within an hour he was riding along the toll road toward London.
Whitehall was a miserable affair. Another member of their close group gone, and still no one arrested.
While Castlereagh’s spies had unsuccessfully searched London for the culprit, Lord Stonebrook had been shot on his estate. It had rained since, and no usable evidence was found. Both men were brutally murdered with no discernable motive, apart from the prince’s warning about the dissatisfaction building in Germany. Had a group come to London to inflict revenge on the delegates? Castlereagh was convinced of it.
The danger was no longer confined to London. And as most men had retired to their estates for the hunting season, they would all have to be doubly careful. Andrew wanted to get home, he wouldn’t be happy until he was there again, despite most believing the attacks on William were unrelated.
Andrew left as soon as he could, riding out under the moon, a loaded pistol tucked in his greatcoat pocket. Clouds sailed across the moon and for a few minutes darkness descended. Andrew fought to quench his impatience as he rode Cicero down Headington Hill. Castlereagh had been right, if anyone wanted to pick him off now would be the time, while nothing stirred, and barely a light flickered in the town up ahead.
