Rules of Attraction (25 page)

Dougald pushed her down. "We'll worry about that later." She needed a dose of laudanum, and he exchanged a significant glance with Mrs. Trenchard.

Mrs. Trenchard nodded at him, then spoke to the uncertain maid, who ran to do her bidding.

"Now, my lord, if ye would just step out…"

"No." He planted himself on the far side of the bed.

"I'm staying."

"Nonsense," Hannah said. "You cannot stay."

He motioned to Mrs. Trenchard to proceed.

20

"C
onsidering what the results of her accident might've been, Miss Setterington is very lucky." Mrs. Trenchard hustled Dougald out of Hannah's bedchamber, leaving Hannah propped up on his pillows, sipping Mrs. Trenchard's special soothing tea while the maid watched over her. "As ye saw, she suffered scratches up her leg and slivers in her palms. She's going to hurt greatly from the sprained ankle and her torn fingernails, and she hit her chin so hard her head's going to ache something vile."

Mrs. Trenchard's labor in Hannah's bedchamber had convinced Dougald the housekeeper did indeed know how to care for the ill. He could trust her, and now he wondered what Charles had discovered in his hunt for the culprit. "Walk with me," he commanded, and strode down the corridor. "How long should she stay in bed?"

"Today at least, perhaps tomorrow. For several days she should stay seated as much as possible and keep her foot elevated."

"You will see that she does." Dougald glanced at Mrs. Trenchard as she hurried beside him. Certainly this woman had proved her worth today. "You have been here for many years."

"All my life."

He paused, picked up his forgotten shoes, and stared into her eyes. "You know Sir Onslow well." He saw the flash of wariness. Was that the reaction of a servant to interrogation, or did she know something?

"I've known him since he was a lad."

"Would you call him an admirable character?"

"He's a dear man."

Which told Dougald exactly nothing. He walked on.

She hurried after him. "Good to the servants, likes my menus, and with a comely smile."

"A flirt."

"There's no crime in that."

Except when he flirted with Hannah. "Not at all," he said. Mrs. Trenchard liked Seaton, that was clear, and perhaps that should weigh in the little pustule's favor. "I was asking only because he is my heir, and should something happen to me I wonder what kind of lord he would be."

"A good one," she said promptly.

She didn't deny that something might happen to Dougald. Was it a foregone conclusion that he would go the way of his predecessors? "But he loves London. I fear he would be an absent landlord."

"Aye, absent but not forgotten." She slowed. "He…"

"He what?"

She didn't answer, and he turned to see her holding her side. "What's wrong?"

She leaned against the wall, her face paper white. "Indigestion, my lord. Sometimes it feels as if the devil is clawing at my gut." Digging in her apron pocket, she produced a vial. Uncorking it, she swallowed the contents and stood with eyes closed until her color returned. She straightened, bobbed a curtsy, and said, "Beg pardon, my lord. It comes when I work too long."

"Then stop." Although he well knew the trouble he invited, he would not have the woman dropping from exhaustion.

Mrs. Trenchard sighed. "My lord, may I speak freely?"

Dougald looked down at his housekeeper. She was tall, big-boned, and capable, the kind of servant he appreciated. She kept out of his way, did her job, and never ventured an opinion. She was going to now, and he wondered which of the unusual events of recent days had driven her to this pass. "What is it?"

"I've not said a word about the changes here, although there's been complaints from the other servants, because ye're the master and ye should do as ye like."

"Exactly."

She flagged slightly. "But when people are in danger, I can't help but speak out. There are men around all the time, tearing things down and building them up, and not a shred of proper reverence for the past. Seems to me, even with Queen Victoria coming, it would be better to do less and ponder what must be done first."

"What do you mean?"

"For instance, the great hall. Just yesterday I caught one of the carpenters hanging by the beams while the others stood below with a ladder and mocked him."

Dougald had heard the shouting and come out to see what the commotion was about. He had considered the incident nothing more than a bit of horseplay to ease the tension of nonstop labor. But obviously Mrs. Trenchard took the matter more seriously. "I hope you took them to task," he said, without indicating his amusement. "I would hate to have one of the men fall and break his leg."

"More than that, my lord, he could have broken one of the carvings." Dolefully, she shook her head. "Done in the fourteenth century, most of them, some of the finest carvings in this district."

"I will speak to them myself."

"At least I take comfort those rough men are not tearing up the chapel, too."

Every morning after devotions, he had seen Mrs. Trenchard alone in the chapel, dusting and polishing the pews and the altar. Her religious sensibilities were obviously of the highest, and he assured her, "When the men start working in there, I will personally supervise their efforts."

She started in surprise. "But my lord, I thought ye weren't going to change the chapel."

"Change? No. The venerable atmosphere should be preserved. But clean and repair, certainly."

"Of course." Rocking back on her heels, she said, "So ye do intend to restore the chapel."

"Your piety does you credit." He awkwardly patted her arm. "I would not neglect what has long been the heart of the castle."

"How soon?"

He considered his schedule. "I don't have time before the Queen's visit to oversee the repairs, but I promise to do it as soon as possible. This is no hastily thought-out transformation. I have long known what I wished to do with Raeburn Castle. My focus was simply elsewhere." On capturing and subduing Hannah. "Now all must be done, and quickly. I assure you no other incidents with the workmen will dare occur again, nor accidents of the type that Miss Setterington suffered."

Mrs. Trenchard wrung her hands. "I don't want to see anyone hurt."

"No one will be hurt. Do not distress yourself further."

She hesitated, wanting to say more.

He lifted his eyebrows. He'd heard one opinion from her. One was more than enough.

She must have read it in his face, for she bobbed a curtsy. "I'll sit with Miss Setterington, then."

"Do that. If she needs anything, you are to give it to her. We want her well by the time Queen Victoria arrives, for it is in honor of their friendship that Her Majesty graces us with a visit."

"Yes." Mrs. Trenchard turned back toward Hannah's bedchamber. "You're right, as always, my lord."

Finding a seat, he pulled on his shoes and buttoned them. Not long ago Dougald would have believed Mrs. Trenchard. For more years than he could remember, he had thought himself always right. But Hannah and her confidence and her laughter and her— dare he say it?— her intelligence made him doubt himself. A dreadful thing for a man of his age and with his responsibilities to doubt himself in any way. He didn't like it. If not for Hannah he would not now be faltering. If not for Hannah, he would be happy.

But even he had to admit that was a lie. He hadn't been happy for more years than he could count. Since she had left him and people starting calling him a murderer. Although he couldn't remember being happy before, either. Determined, stubborn, cockily sure of himself, but not happy.

What did he want?

He knew the answer. He wanted Hannah to adore him with all her heart, just as she had done in the days before their wedding.

Nevertheless, nothing was going to take her from him before he had decided her fate. Yes, when he found the man responsible for her accident, he would punish him, and no one would dare fail again.

He proceeded down the stairs, through the great hall and the chapel to his office. Charles would have rounded up the carpenters responsible for the accident, and if he knew Charles, the men would be waiting in his office and quaking in their shoes.

But Charles was not in the anteroom, and the office was empty. Dougald frowned, then heard the approaching sound of men's voices.

"I'm tellin' ye, I don't want t' talk t' His Lordship. Frightens me into conniptions, he does."

Using his most soothing tone, Charles said, "
Oui
, I know, but he will wish to hear what you have to say."

"I don't want t' tell him."

"I promise he will not be angry at you, Fred."

"I seen him glare. That's enough t' kill a man— an' it's not like he hasn't done that, too."

For the first time in a great many years, rage roared through Dougald. He was, he discovered, tired of being unjustly accused of murder. Hannah's murder, the murder of the other lords of Raeburn… he had never killed anyone. Never laid hands on another soul in violence except during a fair fight. Yet he had taken the punishment, and damn it, he was tired of being ostracized.

The workman's voice turned to a whine. "Don't ye see, man? 'Twas probably His Lordship who done this."

Ostrasized, and by a man Dougald had rescued from the depths of poverty, brought to Raeburn Castle, and provided with honest work. He didn't expect gratitude, but a little loyalty wouldn't go amiss. Stepping to the door, he used a tone like a whiplash. "I probably did what?"

Charles and the head carpenter stood just inside the chapel, and Fred paled. "My lord." He pulled his cap off his head. "I didn't mean… Mr. Charles here thought ye'd not be in yet… that is…"

"Did what?" Dougald repeated.

Charles gave Fred a push. "Go! We can't talk about this here."

Dougald stepped away from the door to give Fred some room, but he didn't feel compassionate enough to walk behind his desk. Instead he paced back and forth across the study until Fred had stepped in and Charles had closed the door. Then Dougald rounded on Fred. "What is it you think I did?"

Fred stood twisting his cap, clearly incapable of speech.

"The carpenters have not been working on the landing, my lord," Charles informed Dougald.

Dougald's eyes narrowed. "They've been working on the stairs."

"Only the stairs. They had not yet done anything to the landing."

Dougald understood immediately, and his rage chilled. "Yet Hannah fell through the floor there." He paced away, then back. "Could it have been rotting boards?"

The carpenter worked up his nerve. "It could have been. But it wasn't."

"What was it?" Dougald asked in a soft, vehement voice.

"Someone sawed a couple of the boards here an' there. Weakened them. My lord, I swear t' ye—'tweren't like that last night. We were going t' start work on it this morning, an' me an' Rubin looked it over good before we left."

Someone had deliberately hurt Dougald's wife. Someone who knew she always went up to the aunts' workroom first thing in the morning.

But they didn't even know she
was
his wife. "Why the hell would someone do this?" Dougald demanded.

He didn't really expect an answer, but Charles opened the door and allowed Fred to escape, then closed it behind him. "My lord, you and
Madame
have been indiscreet in your… connubial visits."

Dougald swung on Charles. "How did you know that we—"

"I come to dress you. She is slipping out of your room. The next day I come again to dress you. You are slipping out of her room. I hide at the end of the corridor to discourage any servants from seeing, but… my lord, those are the secrets which cannot be kept. There is gossip. I have heard it. The servants speculate as to why you are less forbidding. They see the tension between you and
Madame
. The glances. Her blushes. They speculate correctly."

"Damn." Dougald didn't want to hear that he had been the reason for the threat to Hannah's life.

"Yes, my lord." Charles said soberly, "I don't believe anyone could imagine that
Madame
is your wife, but I think they might believe matrimony is in the offing. If, as you suggest, it was Sir Onslow who tried to kill you so he could inherit your title—"

"You said you didn't believe it was Seaton. The detectives have seen no sign that he is guilty."

"That means only that they have not yet caught him. Me, I didn't believe he had the wit or the malice." Charles's jowls seemed to sag ever longer. "But he does have the motive, and I have seen him, my lord. He skulks about the corridors. He hides things under his greatcoat. I even caught him exiting the east wing."

"Could you find where he had been?"

"Nothing had been disturbed in your bedchamber, and at the time I thought him harmless."

"I'm not convinced he isn't. He isn't even at Raeburn Castle most of the time. He's out frolicking while we work."

"An agent working for Sir Onslow, then. That would absolve Sir Onslow of guilt when murder is declared and charges are brought." Charles's jowls drooped almost to his collar. "There is another incident which I found curious but did not call to your attention."

Dougald turned on him. "Yes?"

"One day while
Madame
was waiting on you outside your office, she wandered into the chapel. When I came in, she was on the floor. She said she hit her head." Charles looked sheepish. "At first, I did not believe her."

"What do you mean, you didn't believe her?"

"There was nothing to hit her head on." Charles lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "And she's a
jeune fille. Jeune filles
are given to their little exaggerations, their little dramas."

With grinding exasperation, Dougald asked, "Charles, is there anything about women you like?"

"
Oui
, there is one thing I like very much. But they do not have to speak for that."

Perhaps, Dougald admitted to himself, Hannah had her reasons for detesting Charles. "But she
had
hit her head?"