“Mrs. Kelly, you’re in shock from all the soldiers in the house. This uproar is caused by you, Repington. Apologize, Duke. She’s obviously frightened by one of your gun-wielding men.”
Gantry shook his head and walked back to the line of servants he was dismissing, continuing to hand each a guinea as they left. “These are delaying antics, Your Grace.”
Light hair tumbling from a hastily done chignon, she turned to Busick. “No. It was the ghost. Tell him, Markham, about the ghost. About the things missing. The noises.”
The man looked as if he’d sobered up. He shrugged. “Mrs. Kelly is the child’s nanny, Duke. You’re terminating everyone else, but she should stay. She can care for the child.”
With the alleged caregiver babbling about ghosts, Busick shook his head. Young women were trouble. Young, confused women more so. Nothing but old matronly women would be employed, that’s what Hamlin needed. “Your position is terminated. I need no one spewing nonsense near my ward. Guards. My friend Lady Shrewsbury has rented a house about two miles away. Take Mrs. Kelly there. Tell her the Duke of Repington sent you. She’ll take you in and make sure you are cared for.”
The woman went with his soldiers and pulled away from Markham when he tried to claim her arm.
When the doors had shut behind them, Busick pivoted and watched his men opening and closing doors of the bedrooms on the second floor.
“Repington, you should let me at least stay until morning.”
“No. Be gone. Guards.”
Another of his men advanced upon Markham. The soldier’s flintlock was pointed at the fool’s head.
“This isn’t over.” Markham pointed his bony finger in the air. “If you get too ill or tire of baby duty, send for me.”
“See him to the edge of the property. Don’t come back until he’s out of firing range.”
The door didn’t slam fast enough behind the fiend, but Busick knew this wasn’t the last of him. The man was bad at many things, except revenge.
A strong baby’s cry filled the hall.
“Your baby, Your Grace,” Gantry said.
They both moved toward the stairs, but it seemed a hundred treads lay between them and the nursery on the third floor. The urge to recall Mrs. Kelly pressed, but the viscount had started up the steps.
“I’ll take care of this, this time.”
Feeling a smidgeon useless, Busick watched his friend go forward. “Tomorrow, we’ll get new hires, Gantry, you’ll see. This is best for the safety of the child.”
“If you say so.” Head shaking, the viscount reached the third floor and disappeared down the hall.
When Busick turned to his soldiers, one saluted. Another looked tired. They hadn’t done intensive duties in months.
“Take turns keeping watch, men. I promise we’ll have Hamlin normal and running well by week’s end. And we will return to military precision as well.”
That wasn’t a command but a promise. One to his men and to himself. After a fast salute to his major, Busick made his way back into the drawing room. He scanned the area, looking to see if Markham had smuggled out a Hamlin treasure.
Everything was in place, even the crystal decanter of brandy.
Moving slow, he walked farther inside and tweaked the mirror, which had become crooked.
Odd. Did Markham try to take this huge silver frame with him?
With a shake of his head, Busick pushed his friend’s coat and sank onto the sofa cushions, elevating his good leg over the edge. Deeply sighing, he relaxed and let the strain of the chase fall away.
When he opened his eyes again, Gantry stood near, dangling a baby. “Your Lionel, Duke.”
Busick sat up and took the boy in his arms. He was small with a big head and a toothless smile. A panic went through him feeling the boy’s little heartbeat against his waistcoat. “What am I to do? I mean thank you, Gantry.”
His friend smirked. “I’m sure there is some wisdom on your list from your lady friends on how to soothe a wide-awake child.”
“Yes, of course. Hello, Lionel. I’m . . . Repington?”
