Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection. Louise Allen
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good riddance.
He left feeling certain that whatever belongings of the duke and his sons had remained in their rooms at the tavern would soon be sold in order to line the servant’s pockets, but it wasn’t as if he could command the fellow to show him the way to Ashurst Hall. Instead, he’d commandeered the duke’s crested traveling coach and set out to be the Bearer of Sad News.
News Lady Emmaline Daughtry seemed to be taking exceedingly well. What sort of men were the late duke and his sons? The valet had cried...the sister had not?
John studied her as she spooned sugar into her tea and then added cream, her hands steady, her movements graceful. She was a mature woman, little of the girl about her. Her blond hair was styled very simply, swept up and back, away from her face, which showed her smooth chin line and remarkable cheekbones to his admiring eyes. Her brown eyes were rather long, their shape definitely bordering on the exotic, although she did not use them to their best advantage.
Not that he’d expected her to flirt with him. For the love of heaven, what was he thinking? This was probably what happened when a man hadn’t stepped foot onshore, let alone been in the company of a beautiful woman, in more than half a year.
“Lady Emmaline?”
“Yes, Captain?” Still slightly bent toward the tea tray, she looked up at him from beneath her curiously dark eyelashes. Now she was using her eyes as they were meant to be used. Except he doubted she realized that, even as he was certain she couldn’t know how his traitorous body had reacted to the look of vulnerability he saw in those soft brown depths.
“I apologize again for being the one to bring you such disturbing news, and feel I have intruded on your sorrow long enough. I took advantage of having your coachman drive me here in the duke’s coach, so I would be most appreciative of the loan of a horse so that I might be installed at an inn before nightfall. I’ll see that the horse is returned tomorrow.”
“You...you’re leaving?”
It seemed a strange question. But he couldn’t ignore the sudden apprehension in her voice. What was wrong with him? She’d told him she was alone here. Alone, and most probably completely at sea as to what she should next do.
As if to help decide the question of his departure, there was a loud boom of thunder just as the skies seemed to open in a downpour that would have had him soaked to the skin in moments were he to step outside.
Lady Emmaline turned to look out through the panes of the French doors, and then returned her gaze to him. “You were very kind to have come here today, Captain. Please, allow me to offer you the hospitality of Ashurst Hall for the night. Unless it is imperative that you return to your boat?”
“Ship,” he corrected with a slight smile. “A frigate, to be exact. But not mine. I was merely traveling with the Fervant, as my duties have concluded. I was on my way home via the port of Hove, in fact, when we came upon...when we came upon the wreckage.”
She ignored his mention of her brother’s yacht. “Have you been away from your home and family for a long time, Captain?”
“My home, yes, my lady. Four years or a little more, when last I thought about it. As for my family, my three sisters are wed and gone. My parents are also gone—to their eternal rewards. Not to belabor the thing, but as I have spent a solitary bachelor existence at sea for so very long, I will be returning to a home as empty as this one must feel to you at the moment.”
“Then I wouldn’t be delaying you overmuch if I were to shamelessly beg you to remain here until I...until I can think what next to do. I should be doing something, shouldn’t I? Should I be asking you to take me to Shoreham-by-Sea?”
John shook his head. “There’s nothing for you to do there, no, my lady. The Fervant circled the area for hours, and only Mr. Hobart was located. He’d somehow been lucky enough to free the small boat the yacht had been dragging with it before it, too, was pulled beneath the surface.”
“How fortunate for Mr. Hobart. Will there be an inquiry, do you suppose?”
John didn’t have an answer to that question. “I suppose that will be up to the authorities in charge of such things. But Captain Clark has already written his recounting of what we found, what we did. I’m fairly certain the ruling will be death by accident, not misadventure.”
“Yes, I would agree with that. Not misadventure, but adventure. Is that what men call heading out to sea with a drunken captain, and with less knowledge of how to pilot a boat—ship—than a strutting barnyard rooster?” She entwined her fingers together as she looked at John in some surprise. “Why, yes, that’s it. That’s what I’m feeling. I wasn’t certain. But now I know. I’m angry, Captain Alastair. My brother and my nephews are dead, leaving me to do Lord only knows what, and I’m very, very angry with the three of them. Is that wickedly unnatural of me, Captain?”
John lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “I suppose that, in some ways, you could believe that they’ve behaved rather inconsiderately toward you. Dying, that is.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and then John felt the corners of his mouth attempting to embarrass him with a smile.
But rather than be appalled by his inappropriate levity, Lady Emmaline’s brown eyes began to twinkle, and a smile played about her lips as well, before she stood, so that he, too, hastened to his feet.
“I need to have Grayson summon all the servants and inform them of the duke’s demise. Oh, dear. The duke’s demise. That sounds rather like a farce at Covent Garden, doesn’t it? Do you know something, Captain Alastair? I think I may be about to become slightly hysterical, after all.”
“I sincerely hope not,” John told her frankly. “I’ve no experience with hysterical women, and I was hoping to be of some use to you as long as it would appear I am to be your guest for the evening.” He was liking this woman more with each passing moment. Her courage, her strength—her honesty. And those lovely soft brown eyes...
“Very well, then, I won’t be hysterical. Not even slightly, I promise. But you’ll come with me, won’t you? You’ll speak to Grayson for me?”
“Would you rather I hunted him down and brought him in here?”
“I suppose. But you won’t have to look far, I’m sure. Just open the door. Oh, and be careful Mrs. Piggle doesn’t topple in on your feet.”
Lady Emmaline’s strange warning had John thinking that the woman still wasn’t very far from a complete breakdown, but when he opened the doors that led into the foyer, it was to see a rather red-cheeked, pudgy woman of an indeterminate age attempting to regain her feet just on the other side of the door.
“You could at least have offered your arm in helping me up, Mr. Grayson,” she complained to the butler, who was now eyeing John as if he was some bit of vermin he’d unintentionally let into the house.
“Let me assume that you’ve heard the news,” John said before turning to close the doors behind him, blocking Lady Emmaline’s view. She’d mentioned a farce, and he sought to spare her the one now taking place in this foyer.
“How can we know they’re dead? We’ve only your word for it. And who are you?” Grayson asked, accused, the moment those doors were shut.
John nearly told him, but then mentally bit his tongue. A duke of the realm and his two heirs didn’t all perish together without repercussions that would reverberate for weeks, if not months. There was enough turmoil at Ashurst Hall at the moment, without him making some grand announcement. Besides, Lady Emmaline might not be as ready to appeal to him for help if she knew who he really was. As things stood now, she could accept his assistance and retain the illusion that she was in charge. John believed she needed to feel in charge, competent.
“I am who I said I was when I arrived here, Grayson. Captain John Alastair, late of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. I’m also the man who would consider your words an insult to his honor if not for the grief that has just settled over this household.”