Deborah Simmons - Glory And The Rake

Glory did not answer, but found her own lamp in one of the rear rooms, so that she could return the lantern, along with a coin, to the boy waiting patiently at the exit. Once he had hurried away, Glory closed the door and turned her attention back to the marks.

Although they could have been made by one of the painters who had left the building before she had returned, Glory felt certain that was not the case. And she took a good look through the entire place, Thad at her heels. With her brother beside her and even the far corners and heavy curtains illuminated by her lamp, the Pump Room no longer seemed threatening. Nor did she find anything amiss.

‘Lud, Glory, what’s this about?’ Thad asked when they stood back in the main room.

Glory drew a deep breath. ‘Why do you think I pointed a pistol at Westfield?’

‘I don’t know,’ Thad said. ‘You’ve gone barmy over Queen’s Well? And what were you doing with a gun anyway?’

‘Don’t say anything to Aunt Phillida,’ Glory warned.

Thad snorted. ‘I’m hardly likely to tell tales, especially since I don’t care to lug her lifeless form about should she hear that you were threatening a duke,’ he said, with a frown. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘When I came back to fetch my reticule, there was someone in here, hiding in the shadows.’ The tone of her voice made Thad look over his shoulder in alarm.

‘What?’

‘It’s not the first time I’ve felt like someone was watching me,’ Glory said, explaining the odd sensations she had experienced since they had arrived in Philtwell. ‘And that’s not all. The men who were hired to tear down the remains of the burned buildings aren’t doing the work. It’s as though someone is hindering our efforts to re-open the spa.’

Having finally given voice to her suspicions, Glory felt a sense of relief, but Thad appeared both uneasy and sceptical. Finally, he shook his head. ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it past some of the locals to turn a blind eye to work, especially considering the attitudes we’ve seen from them.’ He paused, and Glory waited for him to try to talk her out of her plans. Again.

However, when he spoke, it was not about ‘Glory’s Folly’, as he had dubbed her efforts to revive the family heritage. ‘The villagers might be up to mischief, but Westfield? I can’t see him sneaking about here in the dark, intent upon attacking you.’

Although Thad’s dismissive tone made her suspicions seem ridiculous, Glory was fairly certain someone had been inside the building with her, someone who hadn’t made his presence known. And it chilled her.

Perhaps Westfield was not the thug she had originally thought him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t involved. Glory shivered at the memory of being held tightly against him, disarmed and helpless. And if she was suddenly flushed with heat, as well, it had nothing to do with solid feel of his muscular form or the scent of him, so very close …

Drawing in a deep breath, Glory pushed such thoughts aside. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But I’d like to take a look at his boot.’

The Dowager Duchess of Westfield paused before the bedroom door and knocked gently. Although she thought she heard movement, there was no answer. In other circumstances, she might have left quietly, in order not to disturb the occupant, should he be sleeping. But Letitia only knocked louder.

‘Come in.’ Randolph’s voice was frail and breathless when he finally answered, and Letitia slipped inside, closing the door behind her. The curtains were drawn, and she peered into the dimness of the room, finally spying the man lying prone among the covers of the elaborately carved four-poster.

As she approached, he turned his head slightly and groaned, as if in pain. Then he opened his eyes and focused upon her.

‘Oh, it’s only you,’ he said before abruptly sitting up. ‘I hope you’ve brought me something to eat. The broth they’re giving me isn’t enough to keep a sparrow alive.’

‘I’ll tell the cook we need to build up your strength,’ Letitia said.

Randolph sighed. ‘Well, please do. And I am ready to be rid of this room, as well.’

‘Not yet,’ Letitia warned. ‘Oberon is not slow-witted. He’s already giving me the eye. If he finds you’ve recovered, he might leave, which would bring us to nothing.’

Randolph protested, ‘I would think my health would be worth something.’

‘Of course it is, but the only reason I brought Oberon is because of the girl, and I won’t have him slip away without throwing them together.’

While Letitia was pleased to see Randolph’s illness had passed quickly, she was not about to relinquish this opportunity. When he’d written to her that the waters of Queen’s Well might be available once more and that the new owners included an interesting young woman, she had seized upon the prospect like a drowning man, investing all of her hopes and dreams in someone she had yet to meet.

‘I’m sorry I ever wrote to you about her,’ Randolph said, reaching under his pillow for a deck of cards.

‘No, you aren’t,’ Letitia said, pulling over a small table, which he used to deal out hands. ‘Because you know as well as I do that it’s high time Oberon settled down.’

Randolph nodded. ‘I agree, but I would have preferred simply to throw a lavish entertainment and invite both your son and the promising prospect.’

Letitia shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t have come. I could barely get him here by claiming you were at death’s door. You don’t know how stubborn he is. He’s just like his father.’

When Randolph lifted both brows in a sceptical glance, Letitia sighed. ‘All right, he might have inherited a bit of obstinacy from me,’ she admitted. ‘But if he thinks anyone’s trying to put forth an eligible female, he turns his back upon her. Literally.’

‘Well, did he run into her last evening?’ Randolph asked, taking up his cards.

Letitia frowned, as she took her cards. ‘I don’t think so. He didn’t say, but then he’s not the most forthcoming even at the best of times.’

‘Cool. Quiet. Strong,’ Randolph said. ‘Far too handsome, and with a bit of stand-offishness that is like catnip to the females. I would think he’d have no trouble finding a duchess.’

Letitia made a sound of derision. ‘Oh, he’s had mistresses. Don’t think I’m not aware of them! But he won’t have anything to do with marriage-minded misses or their mamas. Too arrogant, by half, I’m sure.’

‘Just like his father,’ they both said at once, and Letitia smiled fondly.

‘That’s why I wrote to you and asked you to keep an eye out for someone here, where I met my husband,’ she said, though at the time she’d had little hope that Queen’s Well would ever resume operation.

‘I cannot assure you that they will get on,’ Randolph warned.

But Letitia refused to be discouraged. ‘Well, I can assure you that a typical débutante would be no match for him. Why, he’d chew them up and spit them out before they knew what he was about. He needs someone attractive enough to hold his attention, but strong enough to stand up to him, an independent young lady with a mind of her own.’

‘Like the one his father married,’ Randolph said.

Letitia smiled. ‘Perhaps,’ she acknowledged before growing sombre. She hated to interfere, for she was not a meddling mother, but she had given her eldest son plenty of time, and he was no closer to marriage now than when first weaned. She shook her head. ‘The Makepeaces are not easy matches …’

She had not even finished before Randolph nodded and spoke what was on her mind. ‘Which is why we need the waters.’