Page 9 of Roseanna (The Shackleford Legacies #3)

Nine

‘Do you have any new servants?’ Prudence asked.

Nicholas instinctively looked towards his wife. ‘Several,’ Grace supplied. ‘Though most of them will be here only for the duration of the garden party.’

‘Do we risk questioning them?’ Jamie quizzed. ‘If any are connected to d’Ansouis, there’s a strong possibility he might guess we’re on to him.’

Nicholas shook his head wearily. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine what the rogues were looking for. In truth, I’m not sure there’s anything in my study that might be of particular value to a would-be traitor. But while we don’t want to alert the Comte, we’ll have to keep a sharp eye on all the staff who’ve been at Blackmore for less than six months.’

‘I think a year,’ Jamie ground out. ‘These bastards play a long game.’

Nicholas nodded, then swore softly. ‘I really didn’t want this to become a damn circus,’ he grimaced, ‘but we don’t have eyes in the back of our heads, and after what Rosie has just told us, it’s clear we have much more to worry about than trying to slip one of our own into an underground radical group.

‘If these two thieves are in the pay of the Comte, he could well be considering something untoward. And though we haven’t yet voiced it, we cannot discount the possibility that it is not my person he wishes to harm, but someone else attending the house party.’ He grimaced and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. ‘And now, with the unexpected attendance of two politicians on opposite sides of the reform bill…’ He paused and closed his eyes briefly. ‘We cannot assume that the Comte - or anyone else, for that matter, is unaware that Wellington and Grey will be here. Both the blockheads’ decision to attend might have been at the eleventh hour, but if the conspirators have eyes and ears in their respective households…’ He trailed off and shrugged.

‘The Revisionists might consider it too good an opportunity to miss,’ Jamie finished.

Nicholas nodded into the subsequent silence, before adding, ‘I think we have no alternative but to seek the aid of those we know we can trust.’

‘Ye’ll involve the whole family, laddie?’ Malcolm’s voice was incredulous.

‘Just my brothers-in-law, the Duke clarified.

Grace, Prudence, and Roseanna made identical sounds of protest, only to subside when Nicholas uttered the word, ‘Patience.’ And he wasn’t talking about the emotion.

He turned his attention to the Reverend. ‘Augustus, I will leave Galbraith in your hands. I know that you feel in need of some assistance, and I’m certain we can avail upon various members of the family to help you ensure he stays out of mischief – specifically out of Wellington and Grey’s path…’

‘That’s all very well, if you’re simply asking me to keep him well away from the deuced politicians, but if you’re looking to keep him away from the party and everyone attending it, including would-be assassins…’ He trailed off before giving a small cough and looking sideways towards his granddaughter. ‘The thing is,’ he added. ‘I can’t be running around trying to find people to give me a hand when they have a spare few minutes. What I need is a person or persons specifically chosen to help me keep an eye on Dougal while the old addlepate’s under your roof. Someone who doesn’t have much of an interest in fripperies. It’s no good assigning me someone too ripe and ready.’

The Duke raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t already enlisted Percy’s aid,’ he commented drily. ‘He’s been by your side throughout all your other high jinks.’

Augustus Shackleford bristled and drew himself up. ‘My so-called high jinks , your grace, have, I believe, put a rub in the way of more than one blackguard’s plans. And since it appears that we may have several such characters here in Blackmore, you might find yourself glad of my assistance.’

In truth, Nicholas couldn’t argue with the Reverend’s words – however unconventional the clergyman’s methods might have been over the years. ‘You’re right, of course, Augustus,’ he conceded, bending his head. ‘Please accept my apologies. I meant no offence. However, I cannot imagine Percy refusing to assist you on this occasion.’

Reverend Shackleford hmphed and gave a small cough. ‘The fact of the matter is,’ he began uncomfortably, on this particular occasion, ‘I would prefer to enlist the aid of someone other than my curate.’

‘Have you had a falling out, Father?’ Grace interrupted, her voice radiating concern.

‘Not at all,’ the Reverend retorted hastily. He paused and fidgeted with his cassock. ‘It’s just that…’ Oh, devil take it – how was he to explain without casting aspersions on the old Scot’s moral character?

Fortunately, Malcolm, being the only other person in the room who’d witnessed Dougal Galbraith in action, came to the rescue. ‘I’m assuming ye wish to minimise any bad influence on young Finn,’ the valet stated bluntly.

The Reverend nodded in relief. ‘Exactly,’ he declared. ‘I think the less time those two get to spend together, the better things will be for both the lad and Percy. And if we do indeed have a conspiracy taking place under our very noses, I think the lad will be best kept well away.’

‘Goodness, Papa, is your conscience finally coming to the fore now you’re getting closer to meeting your maker?’ Prudence gave a mischievous wink, ignoring her father’s scowl as she tried to lighten the sombre mood. ‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about,’ she continued. ‘I doubt the Almighty’s even remotely ready for you yet.’

‘So, what do you suggest, Augustus?’ Jamie asked before his wife dug herself into an even deeper hole. Not that Prudence had ever had a problem with putting her foot in it. She was only slightly better than her sister Patience in that regard.

Augustus Shackleford glared at his daughter, who grinned unrepentantly, before giving an indignant sniff and deliberately addressing his next words to the Duke. ‘Might I suggest, your grace, that since Roseanna and I are both now unfortunately involved in this deuced business, she is the perfect candidate to act as my second-in-command in the ongoing battle to keep Dougal Galbraith firmly on the path of righteousness – at least while he’s here in Blackmore.’

Roseanna stared at her grandfather in horrified silence. While she had no problem with eschewing fripperies, as the Reverend had called the proposed routs and games, this was not the alternative she had in mind. It would involve spending almost the entire time with her grandparent. Up to now, the number of hours she’d spent alone in his company since the day she was born amounted to less than a handful. Indeed, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d held a conversation – if ever.

For some reason, her eyes flew to Tristan Bernart. The footman had been conspicuously silent since her arrival, and his expression was now carefully impassive. She felt a sudden flare of irritation at his unreadable countenance before remembering that he could not possibly have an opinion on her relationship with her grandfather, since he didn’t know anything about her at all. How strange it was that she felt as though she’d known him forever. Perhaps it was the altercations that had characterised their two meetings – not unlike the bickering she was accustomed to with members of her family.

She became aware that her Aunt Grace was speaking. Flushing, Roseanna hurriedly abandoned her musing and looked over at her aunt.

‘Perhaps you can tell us your thoughts on your grandfather’s proposal.’ The Duchess’s words were concerned, and Roseanna realised that her feelings must have been obvious from her expression.

The young woman looked around the study, noting varying degrees of sympathy. Clearly, everyone in the room, with the exception of Tristan, had had a lot more dealings with the Reverend than she had. Her eyes finally settled on her grandfather, who was nodding at her enthusiastically.

It was true, she’d had very little to do with the Reverend throughout her childhood, but she’d grown up with the tales of his escapades. This was an opportunity for her to finally get to know the man behind the myth, and mayhap, while she was about it, she’d be able to assist in their other, much bigger problem since there was every possibility that she might have occasion to hear and recognise the voices of the two men in the Duke’s study.

Much better than playing croquet and talking to strangers.

Roseanna did not talk much during luncheon, but since that was the usual state of affairs, nobody remarked on it. Afterwards, she turned down a game of croquet with her cousins on the pretext of taking Trixie for a walk. She told herself that her excuse wasn’t really a complete plumper since she and her grandfather had agreed to meet up in Blackmore’s orchard and Rosie intended to take the little dog with her. Once there, they would endeavour to plan their strategy.

As she made her way through the kitchen garden, Roseanna felt a little sick. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Indeed, she was only now realising just how sheltered her life had been. While her grandfather’s reputation was almost legendary, his exploits had always simply been stories she’d listened to, wide eyed.

That said, she had been on the periphery of some excitement not two months earlier when a dreadful man from the Americas had tried to kidnap her step cousin, Mercedes. Her grandfather had been in the thick of that havey cavey business as well. Truly, she was beginning to think the Reverend attracted trouble like bees to nectar. She determinedly swallowed her apprehension. At least the next few days were unlikely to be dull.

The weather was hotter than the day before, and Roseanna was glad to finally reach the welcoming coolness of the orchard. She was a little early and after finding herself a shady place to sit; she decided to take a chance and let Trixie off her lead. At first, she watched apprehensively as the little dog dashed from tree to tree. If the little madam decided to take off, there would be no way to catch her. However, Rosie soon realised there was no need to worry. Clearly, Trixie knew exactly which side of her bread was buttered and, after a mad few minutes, flopped happily down next to her new mistress.

‘Be she yer dog, missus?’ The disembodied voice startled her. Jumping to her feet, she looked around wildly.

‘What be her name?’ This time she realised the voice was coming from directly above her. Looking up, she spied a pair of feet dangling from a branch. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Rosie gasped. ‘Whoever you are, you must come down at once before you break your neck.’

‘Ah dinnae think so, milady,’ the voice scoffed. ‘Ah’ve climbed tae the very top wi nae problem.’ A face appeared through the leaves, clearly belonging to a young boy. He leaned forward, one hand holding nonchalantly onto the gnarled limb above him. Roseanna gasped as his whole body almost slid off the branch he was sitting on. Next to her, Trixie danced about in excitement.

Recognising that the boy had obviously done this many times before, Rosie swallowed her fear as a sudden thought occurred to her. ‘Are you Finn?’ she asked.

He stared down at her for a second before answering. ‘Aye. Who be ye, missus?’

‘I’m Rosie,’ she answered promptly. ‘I’m staying at Blackmore for the weekend.’

‘Be ye the Duke’s guest? Be ye gaun tae the party?’

Roseanna nodded, her heart jumping back into her throat as the branch swayed alarmingly above her. ‘Why don’t you come down?’ she suggested. ‘It’s very difficult to speak with you with my neck craned up so.’ The boy thought for a second, then his head disappeared, followed by the hanging feet. The entire tree shivered, and moments later, a boy of about eight stepped out from behind the tree. His pockets were bulging with early apples, giving a clear indication of what he’d been up to. He immediately got down onto his knees to fuss over Trixie, who promptly rolled onto her back. ‘What be her name?’ he asked again.

‘I call her Trixie,’ Roseanna answered, smiling as she watched him gently stroke the dog’s exposed belly. Clearly, he was familiar with dogs. ‘Are you supposed to be here?’ she went on when he finally looked up.

‘Ah be a guid friend tae ‘is grace,’ the boy boasted importantly. ‘Ah keep ma eyes on things, roond aboot lest he be robbed.’

‘I can imagine there are many who would steal the Duke’s apples,’ Rosie replied, her voice carefully neutral, though she was trying hard not to laugh.

‘Aye.’ He nodded seriously, completely ignoring his bulging pockets. ‘Ah be gaun tae the party,’ he told her. ‘Wi’ ma Mam an’ Da.’ His face darkened before he added, ‘Mam sez ah’ve tae hae a bath first.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. Clearly, this was dire news.

‘Tare an’ hounds, Finn Noon. How many times have I told you not to help yourself to the Duke’s apples?’ The booming voice of the Reverend took them both by surprise. Seconds later, a ball of fur came charging across the clearing to throw herself into the boy’s arms.

‘Flossy!’ Finn cried in delight, allowing himself to fall backwards as the little dog danced on his front. The two wrestled for a few seconds as Trixie watched in bemusement.

‘Remove those apples from your pockets immediately, young man, or I’ll be telling his grace and he’ll put you in his dungeons with nothing but bread and water until you’re too old to climb a deuced tree.’

Finn sat up and grinned unrepentantly. ‘Guid day Revren,’ he chirped. ‘This is Rosie. She be gaun tae ‘is grace’s party an aw.’ Climbing to his feet, he tipped the apples out of his pocket and onto the ground – all but one, which he bit into with relish. Then, with a brief bow, he took to his heels.

Roseanna glanced sideways at her grandfather to see his reaction. To her surprise, he was looking after the boy with exasperated affection. ‘So, that was Finn,’ she commented. ‘I can understand why you might not wish to expose him to any undesirable influences.’ Her voice was dry, and the Reverend regarded her thoughtfully.

‘So, you’ve a sense of humour, girl,’ he observed. ‘That’s all to the good. Believe me, you’ll need it after spending four days with old Dougal Galbraith.’

Tristan sat with the canteen of silver cutlery in front of him. He’d been at it for over an hour, but so far, all he’d managed to clean was half a dozen fish knives. At this rate, he’d still be sitting here in the early hours. As he polished, he allowed his mind to go back over the meeting in the Duke’s study. Lady Roseanna’s unladylike eavesdropping had certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons. The entire business had been tricky enough without adding a conspiracy within a conspiracy to the mix. In truth, it sounded like some kind of Canterbury tale, but given that his own past read like some kind of gothic periodical, Tristan knew that fact could occasionally be stranger than fiction.

He knew that the last few members of the family were due to arrive later on that day. The Duke had expressed the hope that they would all arrive before dinner so that he could get his brothers-in-law alone without their wives. Clearly, his intention was to both enlighten them and request their help over the port. Tristan chuckled to himself as he thought back to Nicholas Sinclair’s strict words to the Duchess that under no circumstances was she to share the whole smoky business with her sisters. Obviously, one of them was already involved, and Tristan had caught the look the two ladies exchanged before they left the room.

What he knew of the Duke of Blackmore’s extended family had mainly come from gossip, especially less than complimentary descriptions of the Sisters’ rebelliousness - not to mention their father who was the least reverend-like Reverend he’d ever met.

And it looked as though the next generation were also possessed of the same wilful traits. He thought back to the determined face of the Duchess’s niece. Roseanna was a pretty name - though the Duke had called her Rosie. No doubt it was a family nickname. Somehow, the less formal version suited her.

As he plied his rag, Tristan tasted the sound of her name on his tongue, then abruptly brought himself up short. There would never be a time when he would get to call her that to her face. He might not be a butler in truth, but he was a bastard, and that was the only title he was ever likely to hold, no matter how far he’d come in the world.