The Caversham Chronicles ~ the Beginning

Chapter One-2

A week before the start of the new term, Harry and several of his classmates had stopped en route to Cambridge to overnight at an inn where he’d stayed several times during his travels back and forth. The young men had eaten dinner at a tavern near the inn and upon leaving the tavern they’d simply vanished. The tavern owner thought perhaps they’d gone to jail because there seemed to be a scuffle outside his establishment, but there was no record of the local sheriff having gone to the tavern.

Amelia had heard of the press gangs and the ruthless way in which they rounded up men to work on naval vessels. But they usually stayed within a certain radius of a major port. Cambridge was nowhere near a port, though it was on a river. And with two wars and a shortage of men, she’d heard the gangs were growing desperate. With no clue as to their disappearance, it was as though all four of the boys disappeared with the morning fog. And while she wasn’t exactly certain they had been press-ganged, she rather hoped so. The army or navy was better than murder for their money or clothing. So far there was no proof that a homicide occurred, and knowing the gangs had been active led her to the conclusion they’d been forcibly taken to serve in the military.

She prayed daily for Harry and his friends’ safe return. If her brother was dead, then she truly had no one left in the world.

Amelia splashed cold water on her face and re-pinned the fallen locks of hair. Taking her shawl, she exited the room, looking for a back staircase and a way out of the house without using the main staircase and front door. She needed fresh air and an invigorating walk after almost two full days cooped up in a coach with her conniving aunt and the woman’s annoying fake-French maid.

Marcus Renfield Halden, II, eighth Duke of Caversham, wanted only respite from the crazed world outside this garden maze. A world in which a madman with a pistol could enter the main hall of the House of Commons and kill a good man.

As he sat on the carved stone bench, he wondered again if anything could have been done differently, some security measure set in place that would have spared the life of his political opponent and very good friend, Spencer Perceval. While they had been sometime rivals, Cav respected the man for his beliefs, most of which were not too far off the mark from his own. Many nights they’d debated issues they felt passionately over, with Perceval always the more eloquent of the two. Cav had something of a reputation among his peers as a man who got what he wanted, but Perce could talk the horns off the devil himself.

After seeing his friend interred at his final resting place, all he could do now was make certain the man’s wife and children wanted for nothing. And that is exactly what he and Merivale were going to do, though now that he knew of Lady Merivale’s plans, he should suggest to Merivale that they retire to Haldenwood for a few weeks, where it was quiet. Merivale’s wife, it seemed, had invited a small group of guests for an impromptu summer house party. Cav was in no mood to socialize just yet. If it didn’t appear the height of rudeness, he would have left immediately upon learning what Lady Merivale had planned.

Right at that moment, he hated being a gentleman. He wished he had the courage to leave this place because he knew Merivale’s wife planned this party the moment she learned he was coming out to Somerhill with her husband for a rest. Episodes like this were what made him wish he could retire from public life. If Perce’s death taught him anything, it was that you never knew when your own number was going to be called.

And there was the other matter he’d yet to deal with.

Clara. While he’d effectively dismissed her that night three weeks earlier, when he arrived at the home he rented for her, to find her in the arms of a young lover, he’d yet to make the break clean. Her betrayal had been a blow to his ego, and his manhood. Had he been his normal, intuitive self, he would have known something was amiss. As it was, he had no idea how long she’d been playing him for a fool. The only excuse he had was that he was still disturbed by his friend’s murder.

When he returned to town he’d have to get his secretary to settle Clara’s bills and release the house. He had no need for it any longer. If he took another mistress, which he would likely do one day, he’d get her a different house.

He watched a rabbit enter the path ahead of him, then suddenly recognize it was no longer alone. It wrinkled its nose as it stood on its hind legs, unmoving for a long moment while staring at him, then perceiving him no threat, it returned to nibbling at the manicured grass pathway. Cav didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the bench outside the pavilion in the center of the intricate maze, basking in the summer sun, but long after the rabbit had moved on to tastier greens, he heard the crunch of gravel beneath slippers. Singular, delicate and not heavy enough to be a man, it was a determined stride, with a definite staccato rhythm to the steps.

Then he heard someone—a lady—speak softly, as though to herself. “Why do these things happen to me, Lord? What have I done to deserve this?” As she drew closer to the center of the maze, Cav knew he’d be discovered, so he stood, ready to greet her as the lady rounded the corner.

She kept talking, still out of sight. Apparently she had much to say. “If anyone in polite society discovers what she’s done, I’ll never find respectable employment again.”

Not a lady, but a servant. A servant with the diction of a lady. Definitely an upper servant. And, he wasn’t sure if it was the summer night, or the fact that his c**k was reminding him it had been a while, but he found her voice sultry and almost… melodic. He could listen to her speak all night long.

“I should have taken that into consideration before accepting her offer—no matter that she’s the only relative I have now. And while that might be water under the bridge, the thing to do now is leave. Get as far away from her as fast as I possibly can because….” Finally she rounded the corner and came into the clearing and he got his first look at the voluptuous body that housed that sensual voice. She was in mourning garb but it far from detracted from her looks. Rather the opposite, she had remarkable green-gray eyes under arched brows the color of autumn leaves. Her light brown hair was coiled into a loose, heavy knot atop her head, and with the few wisps that had escaped, Cav knew it was curly as well. He had a fleeting image of waist length curls fanned across his pillows and he fought the stirring sensations in his breeches.

She was simply breathtaking. They stared at each other for what seemed minutes, though he was sure it was just a few seconds.

“Well, I hope you have a fast enough horse,” Cav said, keeping his voice droll and knowing as she entered the clearing. “Because I’ve discovered that trouble tends to nip at the heels of the most determined of us.” And how well he knew it.

She appeared surprised to have been caught talking to herself.

“Don’t worry.” He smiled in hopes of putting her at ease. “Your secret is safe with me.”

She still looked utterly shocked. Either she recognized him or was afraid she’d leaked state secrets.

“In truth, I don’t know who you were speaking of, just that you are planning to flee as soon as you have another arrangement.” He wondered who she mourned. A husband perhaps? It was very likely. She was beautiful enough, surely someone had captured her heart. And now? Now that he was gone, she was fortunate to have a relative take her in.

She was a woman full grown, with an ample bosom and softly rounded curves hiding beneath the empire waist of her mourning clothes. She appeared prim and her outfit dated. Certainly nothing his former mistress would have worn if she were to mourn anyone. But then, this lady was no man’s mistress. That much was obvious. She didn’t present or carry herself as a woman with a benefactor.

But she could be, given the right clothing and maid. Madame Celeste could fit her and she’d be just the ornament to replace Clara. With a lower lip that appeared just a little more plump than the upper, her heart-shaped face was fresh and rosy from her walk. This luscious creature, with the right attire and jewels, would be stunning. He could envision her in deep green silk, to bring out the green hues in her gray eyes and diamonds for the shards of ice in her stare.

Didn’t he just hear that she was wanting new employment? Much as he couldn’t abide infidelity in a mistress, Cav missed his weekly appointment with her, a more energetic lover he’d never met in his fifty-two years. But her eagerness to please him, he now knew, was to get him out of the house so she could play with her other lovers.

“Please, do not be afraid. I’m relatively decent at keeping secrets.” He hoped he sounded reassuring enough to entice her to stay.

She searched his expression for sincerity and apparently found him honest enough not to be afraid of him. Probably not wise on her part. If she only knew what he was thinking.

“I’m sure you are discreet,” she said, “up until the moment you let it slip, accidentally, of course. I would rather avoid the calamitous events that would then ensue. So, I believe I will keep my own counsel for now. Thank you.”

Her eyes held a depth of astuteness he’d not seen in a woman in a while. The curls that broke free from the knot atop her head blew in the light breeze and she wiped them off her face as she looked up at him.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever been introduced, Lady…?” Was she a lady? He needed to know now if his hopes were futile.

“Miss.” She glanced around the center of the maze. Was she looking for someone?

“Miss?”

She looked back at him and appeared to consider her words—whether to divulge her name, or no. Cav knew he was not wearing anything that would denote his position or title, though his clothes were quality, of course. He wondered if she would be more forthcoming with her identity if she knew who he was.

After several moments with no reply, he finally couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Fine. We shall be nameless. You will be Miss. I shall be Sir.” He motioned for her to sit on the bench. When she did, he leaned against the stair rail of the gazebo next to her. “Perhaps I can be of assistance, Miss. I gather you are seeking to leave the employ of your current mistress.”

Still she examined him. Apparently she found him honorable on some level, for she spoke at last. “You mistake me, Sir. She is not my mistress. She is my aunt. And I am her companion. Much as I might bemoan my situation, she is the only family I have left.”

Cav felt the prospect of a new mistress slipping from his grasp with each word from her lips. She was a lady, as shown by her speech. And he’d become so set on the idea of a mistress that the disappointment was difficult to hide. “You mentioned leaving her employ? Is she a cruel aunt?”

“Not particularly, no. Single-minded? Perhaps. Devious? Sometimes. Thoughtless and not particularly kind? Often.”

He watched as she took in the entirety of the small clearing, the octagonal Greek pavilion made of cut stone, the garden in full bloom on each side, and two wooden benches on opposite sides of the structure. Her attention turned back to him, and again he thought her eyes striking.