Page 3 of Roseanna (The Shackleford Legacies #3)

Three

Who the hell was she?

Tristan was well aware he’d acted like a complete scab. Diplomacy had never been one of his strong points. Had he stayed at sea, he suspected he would never have been more than a common seaman. Roan had despaired of him on more than one occasion.

Following in the same direction as the mystery woman, Tris wondered again at her identity. Clearly, she was a member of the family. Then he winced and sighed. Plainly, he hadn’t endeared himself to her by his boorish behaviour. At this rate, he’d be out on his ear before the day was out. He thought about her blinding smile. It had taken him completely by surprise. That she was pretty was evident from the start, but there was nothing to elevate her above the usual vapid females he’d grown accustomed to.

Until she smiled. It had hit right in his breeches. How bloody ridiculous was that? His social etiquette might have been a lost cause, but not so his skills in the bedroom – or so he’d been frequently told – and the coin he’d received in thanks spoke the loudest. But for the first time in his life, he fleetingly wondered what it would be like to actually have a proper relationship with a woman beyond the bedchamber…

‘Well, she looks healthy enough, my lady. No fleas that I can see. She should be smelling a lot sweeter now too. Do you have a collar and lead for her?’

The groom handed over the wet, shivering pup and Rosie quickly wrapped her in an old horse blanket. ‘I don’t have anything at all,’ she confessed.

The elderly groom climbed to his feet and went into the tack room. A few minutes later, he came out with a matching collar and lead. Clearly its previous wearer had been of the lap variety if the large pink bow attached to the collar was anything to go by. ‘I reckon one of their graces’ guests left it - some years ago, now. I didn’t have the heart to throw it away, it being so pretty and all.’

Rosie took it gratefully and, after drying Trixie’s coat as best she could, secured the collar around the pup’s neck. The little dog immediately began gnawing at the bow under her chin. ‘I don’t reckon that’ll last long,’ the groom chuckled.

‘Probably not,’ Roseanna sighed. Clipping the lead onto the collar, she swivelled the bow around to the back of the dog’s neck and got to her feet, giving the lead an experimental tug. Trixie stood her ground, giving her new mistress such a baleful look, Rosie’s sigh turned into a rueful laugh. ‘I don’t think she’s got any intention of being a lapdog.’

‘Aye. She’ll be leading you a merry dance, that one,’ the groom agreed, shaking his head. ‘Right, I’ll be getting on. Let me know if I can be of any more assistance, my lady.’

Rosie gave him a grateful smile and dragged the little dog back out into the sunshine. Truly, Trixie was not impressed with the collar and lead. In the end, Roseanna picked the stubborn madam up and carried her along the path that skirted the kitchen garden towards the sound of voices.

Looking up at the blue sky, Roseanna hoped the weather would hold until the following weekend. She certainly didn’t relish being cooped up inside with a bunch of conceited nobs. Then she grinned to herself. She wouldn’t dare use that word to anyone other than her twin, though she knew well that both her parents were of the same opinion about England’s aristocracy. Indeed, the whole of her family – on the female side at least – were frequently scathing about the ton . Mostly because they’d never belonged to the so-called Elite, even though at least half of them had actually married into it. Indeed, she’d first heard the word nob from her Aunt Patience, who’d somehow managed to ensnare a marquess - though the how and why of it remained a mystery to the younger members of the family. Rosie only knew it had something to do with the old Queen Charlotte and a diamond.

Not yet quite ready to join her sister and cousins, Rosie, stepped through an archway into the sheltered herb garden. Putting Trixie back down on the ground, she let the little dog sniff around the herb beds, all the while keeping an eye out for Mrs Higgins. Though the cook was well past retirement age, she preferred to spend her twilight years sitting by the fire in Blackmore’s kitchen, which she still ruled with a rod of iron. It was the same with Mrs Tenner, the elderly housekeeper. Rosie suspected that both women didn’t actually have anywhere else to go. Indeed, most of the Duke and Duchess’s retainers had been with the family forever, and any replacements tended to come from the same stock. Boscastle was still called the new butler – even though the old one had been gone for nearly eight years.

Thinking about retainers inevitably directed her thoughts to the uncouth footman she’d bumped into earlier. He was certainly lacking in footman-like tendencies, but there was no denying he was handsome. She wondered if he’d been at Blackmore long. She didn’t imagine so. The kind of belligerent attitude he showed towards her would not be tolerated by either the Duke or Duchess. While neither was the least bit condescending, common courtesy was insisted upon at all times – whether above or below stairs.

Fully aware that her idle daydreaming was simply a ploy to avoid joining the noisy gathering she could hear, Rosie wandered through the herb garden for another ten minutes before realising that if she dallied any longer, Francesca would be coming to find her. And her twin would doubtless ring a fine peal over her head.

With a sigh, she picked Trixie back up, and turned towards the distant voices. Before she had the chance to step back through the archway, however, she caught sight of Malcolm Mackenzie hovering next to the tall raspberry canes not ten feet away. She hadn’t seen the Duke’s valet, or his wife Felicity in an age, and despite her customary reticence, she’d always found the couple excellent company indeed. Smiling, she lifted her arm, just about to reveal her presence, when the object of her earlier musings suddenly appeared around the corner. To her surprise, he walked straight towards the Scot.

Frowning, Rosie dropped her arm. The footman’s arrival had dissuaded her from making her presence known, but instead of retreating, she stood still and watched. Feeling Trixie begin to grumble in her arms, she stroked the dog’s head gently to quieten her, suddenly convinced that neither man would be happy to know she was observing their meeting.

‘Nicholas received word this morning that he’s arriving early.’ Malcom’s voice was low and clipped.

‘ Shit .’ Roseanna blinked at the footman’s expletive. Malcolm might be a servant in the Sinclair household, but everyone knew the Scot was his grace’s friend and confidant. The buffle-head might as well have sworn at the Duke himself.

To her surprise, however, Malcolm just nodded his head in agreement, adding, ‘My thoughts exactly.’

‘When?’

‘The letter states the day after tomorrow. Roan’s already here and Nick’s hoping Jamie’ll arrive late this evening, so at least we’ll have a day tae prepare.’

The strange footman ran his hand through his black curls ‘It won’t be enough. So much is riding on this.’

‘Ye dinnae have tae tell me, lad, but a day is all we have. It’ll have tae be enough. His grace’ll call you to his study first thing in the morning. Ye need tae do something in the meantime that makes it look as though you’re in the suds.’

The younger man gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘I think I already have. I ran into one of the guests and accidentally knocked her to the ground.’ With a thrill, Roseanna realised he was talking about her.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. ‘Who was she, do ye ken?’

The footman shrugged. ‘She wasn’t long out of the schoolroom. Mousy hair. Fairly ordinary looking until she smiled.’ Rosie drew in a sharp, indignant breath.

‘Aye, well, she’s undoubtedly a member of the family, so I’d keep yer opinions about her looks to yerself laddy. Especially whatever it was ye said tae make the lass smile. If ye see her again, give me a nod. It mebbe we can use it as an excuse tae pull ye in tae the study.’

The footman nodded. ‘I’d better get back.’

Malcolm gave a brief answering nod before gripping the footman’s shoulder and adding, ‘Tristan, remember, we dinna want any bloody heroics when the bastard gets here. Ye need tae do just enough to convince him tae recruit ye. That’s all .’ The intensity of the Scot’s last words sent a shiver up Roseanna’s spine. The younger man gave a fleeting grin and turned on his heel. Seconds later he was gone.

Malcolm remained where he was for a few moments longer, then with a long sigh, and a muttered, ‘I’m tae bloody old fer this,’ he picked a raspberry, popped it into his mouth and strode towards the house.

Tristan . That was his name. Rosie frowned and stepped out through the archway. Her earlier indignation at his less than flattering comments about her had been short-lived. In truth, she was well aware she was no diamond. Thoughtfully, she continued along the path. But, while she might never be all the crack, neither was she entirely bird-witted. Whoever or whatever this Tristan was, he was certainly no deuced footman.

Nicholas’s incredulous stare lasted for so long that Grace briefly feared he’d had some kind of apoplexy. But his eventual, growled expletive reassured her that it had only been anger, rendering him momentarily speechless.

Hurriedly, she went to pour him a brandy. ‘I know I should have told you before about Dougal,’ she apologised, ‘but to be honest, it slipped my mind with everything else going on. And when Jenny told me he was coming in her last letter, I simply thought, what’s one more . And I doubt the Frenchman will be planning any mischief whilst he’s under your roof.’

Nicholas took the brandy and sank down into a chair, muttering, ‘Let’s hope not.’ Then he grimaced. ‘It’s not your fault, my love. I’ve been so wrapped up in this whole bloody business, I’ve just left you to get on with all the arrangements. Even if I’d known, there was nothing I could have done. I’m just glad the conversation with your father prompted you to mention it before Galbraith arrived.’ He shook his head and took a sip of his brandy.

‘How the hell did we get to this, a secret Jacobite loving Scot in the same bloody house as a French rabble-rouser? We’ll have to keep them apart, but God knows how the hell we’re going to do it.’

‘Father said he’d keep an eye on Dougal,’ Grace responded, sitting down opposite him.

The Duke sighed, then gave a grim chuckle. ‘I never thought the time would come when I’d be grateful for your father’s intervention. Do you have any idea when Jenny and Brendon will be arriving?’

‘Tomorrow, I think,’ Grace answered. ‘They sent a rider yesterday to say they’d arrived at Bovey Manor and would be staying for two nights with Anthony and George. I think they’re intending to complete the journey together.’

‘We can always hope Tony kills him before they get here,’ Nicholas sighed.

Grace gave a low chuckle of her own. ‘I think any murdering is more likely to be committed by his wife.’

They sat in silence for a few moments. ‘It will be hard keeping the secret from the rest of the family,’ Grace muttered at length.

Nicholas grimaced. ‘Especially Adam. He already suspects something. He knows me too well.’

‘Perhaps Jamie will give you leave to share your plans,’ Grace speculated.

The Duke shook his head. ‘I doubt it. With Roan, that makes four of us involved, excluding you, love. Any more and we risk it getting to the wrong ears. Not that I believe for one moment that any of my brothers-in-law are gossipmongers, but the fewer people who know about the whole havey cavey business, the better.’ He climbed to his feet and went to pour himself another brandy. ‘It’s enough that I’m having to bring this bastard into my home, without risking my family as well.’

‘What is Tristan Bernart like? Will he do what’s necessary do you think?’

‘He’s certainly got the incentive, but at the end of the day, he’s a pig in a poke.’ Nicholas shrugged. ‘I do know one thing. He’s unlikely to fool anyone for long. He’s the least footman-like footman I’ve ever deuced well come across.’