The Duke in Denial (Scandal in Sussex) (23 page)

William thickened and expanded more.
Damn.
In a rapid movement, he placed his hat over his lap and swung his head to the window.

He cursed to himself. Hedges. Dark green ones that obscured any countryside. Even the sky was not visible. How could he feign interest in hedges?

Lord Reynolds’s laughter interrupted his thoughts.

Reynolds smiled at his wife. “I am afraid you will have to be less shocking. Most people would not consider references to thighs as being ladylike. You seem to have rendered both Captain Carlisle and His Grace quite speechless.”

His wife laughed. “I doubt that.”

At least William’s discomfort seemed visible only to Reynolds. He desperately hoped Reynolds had not witnessed everything. Thankfully, Dorothea’s eyes were focused on the window.

William’s mind shifted again to Sebastian. It was impossible for it not to. Sebastian himself seemed to keep moving on his seat, bounced by the rough Sussex road. Or perhaps it was because Dorothea, Lady Reynolds, and Lord Reynolds were all crammed together on a seat intended for two people and were not moving at all.

“Marcus had a barouche,” Lady Reynolds said. “It was all incredibly romantic. I could never permit Dorothea to ride next to Sebastian. Those sideways views . . .”

William could not help himself. He glanced at Sebastian out of the corner of his eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of his handsome face. Sebastian had also turned to him. They looked away quickly, and William’s heart hammered against his chest. Sebastian seemed intent on examining the curtains on his side of the carriage.

“Perhaps I might install new curtains,” Sebastian mused. “These appear worn.”

“And the color is horrendous,” Lady Reynolds said.

“Yes.” William leapt at the opportunity to retrieve his mind from Sebastian’s firm thighs and the delicious manner in which they curved on the seat. “I am quite fond of the color brown or even green.”

Lady Reynolds rolled her eyes. “Bottle green, no doubt. How masculine of you. You should see Sebastian’s bedroom. All bottle green. What do you think, Dorothea? Perhaps coquelicot or even puce.”

“I—I didn’t know that,” William stammered.

“Know what?” Lady Reynolds asked.

“That Sebastian’s room was bottle green. I mean . . .” William paused, conscious of a thick tension in the coach as everybody stared at him.

“Well, why would you know the color of his bedroom?” Lady Reynolds laughed. “No apology necessary, I’m sure.”

“That’s not why I said it,” William mumbled, tugging at his collar.

“He just likes the color,” Reynolds said. “Just like Sebastian.”

William could have sworn that Reynolds’s eyes glinted with more amusement than necessitated.

“Oh, that was Gregory’s choice,” Dorothea said. “That’s the one Sebastian sleeps in.”

William swung his head at her, wondering just how his younger sister knew the color of Lewis’s chamber.
Just how true were the rumors about Lewis and her?

“Sebastian and you don’t have a great affinity in tastes just because you like bottle green.”

“I imagine Sebastian likes bottle green too,” Lady Reynolds mused. “What do you think, Sebastian?”

“Me?” Sebastian’s voice trembled.

“Are you as partial to bottle green as William is?”

The air thickened in the coach again. William held his breath as he waited for Sebastian to answer.

“Well . . .” Sebastian turned to him for a moment. “In truth, I have always favored brown the most.”

William’s shoulders sank. Of course Sebastian would not want to claim a similar color choice as him.

“Smoky brown,” Sebastian said, his voice husky, as if awakening from a dream. “Smoky brown is the loveliest color there is.”

Lady Reynolds huffed. “I’m sure I don’t understand men. Smoky brown indeed. Is that even a color?”

The coach swerved again as it mounted a hill.

“We will start going down at any point now.” Lord Reynolds grinned.

“How do you know?” Lady Reynolds asked.

“I’m an expert,” Lord Reynolds said. “And I had the misfortune of talking to Sir Ambrose. His home pleases him remarkably well.”

“He does not give the impression of being the happy homemaker,” Dorothea said, continuing to stare out the window.

“Do these hedges border the baronet’s estate?” William asked, reminded of his journey to Lyngate and the highwaymen who had nearly held the stagecoach hostage. This would have been near where the crime happened.

“Oh, yes,” Reynolds said. “Sir Ambrose’s estate is very large. All of this belongs to him.”

“I see.” William mulled over the new information. Perhaps the highwaymen worked for Sir Ambrose. That might explain why they had only seemed to seek to scare the passengers. Perhaps the baronet did not want a train of soldiers near his property searching for crimes.

He resolved to search Sir Ambrose’s castle. Surely he could find a time to wander away from the other guests. He would not be the ideal guest, though it helped his host was a particularly unpleasant person. He did not know what Sir Ambrose schemed, but he found it altogether too coincidental that he had moved down from Lancashire to go to Sussex, just as Dorothea had.

The coach descended, pushing William and Sebastian forward. Their thighs touched again, and they hastily broke apart. William focused on the view, peeking through the dowager countess’s gold and pink curtains. Huge rosebushes and orchard trees sat outside. Everything was overgrown. Weeds poked out of the grass, marring the beauty.

“It seems we are not the only ones who have had trouble finding staff,” Sebastian said.

“I have the feeling Sir Ambrose likes it that way,” Dorothea murmured.

“I see the baronet has a history of not welcoming visitors,” Reynolds observed.

“Then we must be very honored to have been invited here,” Lady Reynolds said.

“Most certainly,” Sebastian said. “Captain Carlisle, Sir Ambrose is welcoming us in. Is that not kind of him? He will be able to share his impression of the area from an aristocratic viewpoint while Aunt Beatrice is in London.”

“Sir Ambrose is not one of a long line of aristocrats.” William was uncomfortable with the distinction between aristocrats and non-aristocrats.

“He was ennobled a few years ago,” Sebastian said. “He managed to make himself quite wealthy. And I have little to say against him. You remember I would not be a duke if circumstances had not led me to it.”

Sebastian stopped, viewing Dorothea in horror. She had been betrothed to the man who should have been the duke.

His sister lifted her chin and smiled. “No need to worry for my sake. You are quite correct. Both yours and Sir Ambrose’s positions have risen unexpectedly.”

“Apparently the castle is quite impressive,” Lord Reynolds said, changing the subject.

“Is it a real one?” Lady Reynolds asked.

“It is indeed.”

And then they saw it. The carriage rounded a bend, and the first glimpse of the castle appeared. He could not help but be impressed. Constructed of red brick, the castle contrasted with the blue sky and green grass.

“It looks like a fairy-tale castle.” Lady Reynolds craned her neck for a better view.

“Except Sir Ambrose is no Prince Charming,” William said.

“What do you have against the man?” Lady Reynolds asked.

William exchanged glances with Dorothea. He would refrain from revealing all of their history with the man, recounting all the times Sir Ambrose had made his sister uncomfortable with his leering looks and double-edged compliments.

The coach halted in front of the castle, opposite a large moat filled with swans, geese, and water lilies. The drawbridge was down. The doors, guarded by stone lions, towered over them, standing three times taller than William.

The castle itself had many towers, all with arrow slots. William shivered.

They stepped out of the carriage. William stared at the imposing building before him. He turned to take in the surrounding countryside, but no other house was visible, even though the castle’s view stretched for miles.

“I’ll go find the stables, Your Grace,” the driver said to Sebastian. Sebastian nodded, and the others watched the carriage disappear around the corner.

They were all alone except for a bird singing in the distance.

“Shall we?” Lady Reynolds, ever bold, sauntered across the wooden drawbridge.

The others followed her to the door. She knocked, and they all waited. They looked around, used to having a footman or butler open the door more expediently.

A few minutes later, a large, muscular man in a butler’s uniform peeked his head out, addressing Sebastian. “I presume you are the Duke of Lansdowne?”

“I am indeed,” Sebastian said.

William exhaled.
Did the man think it possible people might show up in evening clothes at the wrong castle?

“This way,” the man said, ushering them through the door. William rather thought the man would likely be more comfortable in the army than in dinner clothes and wondered at Sir Ambrose’s unconventional choice in butler. They strolled through a courtyard, the path lined with tall bushes.

“This way.” The butler ushered them up a sparsely decorated flight of wooden stairs.

Sir Ambrose and Hammerstead stood before them.

“Greetings.” Sir Ambrose bowed, the waist of his military uniform straining around his midsection. William wondered when he had last served, if at all. “Welcome to my lair!”

The others laughed awkwardly, gazing around the dark-paneled room. Medieval weapons hung on the walls, casting strangely shaped shadows. William shivered, exchanging a worried glance with Dorothea.

Chapter Seventeen

Sebastian spoke first. “I must thank you for inviting us.”

“You are quite welcome.” Sir Ambrose leaned toward him. “We neighbors need to stick together.”

Sebastian beamed.

Dread filled William. Sebastian was determined to build a strong acquaintanceship with his host. Perhaps this was only proper, but Sebastian’s apparent need to have Sir Ambrose’s input as a local aristocrat on how things were done was misguided. He grimaced, certain Sir Ambrose would be only too eager to offer bad advice, and that he lay behind all the fear surrounding thieves and ghosts. He only needed proof.

“You have a magnificent estate,” Sebastian said. “I must confess to being rather overwhelmed by the grandeur of this place. I did not expect the castle to be as old. It is most impressive.”

“Yes, it is rather. I leave the other gentry to their manor houses.”

If Sebastian noticed he had been slighted, he did not show it. “When was it built?”

“The fifteenth century.” Sir Ambrose’s chest stuck out like a peacock. The man practically strutted with pride.

William inclined his head, examining the Tudor ceiling. He shuddered at the exposed dark wooden beams. Compared to Somerset Hall, the place felt heavy and constricting.

He avoided Sir Ambrose’s abominable nephew who was casting worried glances at him. Lord and Lady Reynolds were quiet; he was not the only person whom Sir Ambrose exasperated.

“My dear Miss Carlisle,” Sir Ambrose said, turning to Dorothea. “Does not this castle seem fit for a queen?”

“Certainly, Sir Ambrose.” Dorothea paled.

“One who understands the value of a place like this,” their host continued, gazing at Dorothea. His eyes ran over her body, drinking her in. He licked his lips.

William’s chest tightened.

Lady Reynolds laughed nervously. “I’m sure many people would appreciate the value of this place. How nice that somebody thought it important to build a castle here.”

Sir Ambrose smiled. “I do appreciate living in such a place of defense. Sussex’s joys lie partly in its unsavory past.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. “How convenient for you. Tell me, Sir Ambrose, do you mean to return to London for the end of the season? There are still many eligible young ladies there.”

Sir Ambrose smiled. “Not this year. My attentions are directed elsewhere.”

“To running your estate?” Lord Reynolds asked.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You must need a large staff to run it.”

“I prefer to keep a smaller, loyal crew. Perhaps, were I to marry, I might be convinced to undertake its care differently.”

“But surely the previous owner must have had a large staff,” Sebastian said, drawing closer.

Sir Ambrose shrugged. “I did not keep them on.”

Sebastian’s eyes grew larger.

“You need not look so shocked. Many people are under the impression the French will attack at any moment. Why should I keep them here?”

“Do you not think the French will invade?” William asked, joining the conversation.

Sir Ambrose eyed him. “You also subscribe to that notion, do you not, my dear Captain Carlisle? All the effort you spend on your Martello tower in Lyngate?”

William flushed under the scrutiny.

“My brother is doing important work,” Dorothea said. Her fists were clenched at her sides.

Gratitude that his sister would defend him rushed through William. Perhaps she would learn to forgive him.

“Of course, we do know about Captain Carlisle’s desire to be heroic. Why, you forget my home used to border his, back in Lancashire. The days he spent leaping about the yard, playing a medieval knight.” Sir Ambrose laughed, turning to the others. “You should have seen him. He was always quite eager to help the grooms as well.”

Hammerstead’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward.

William clenched his jaw.

Dorothea narrowed her eyes as she regarded Sir Ambrose.

Before William could ponder his sister’s reaction, the muscular manservant reappeared, carrying a tray of drinks. The others expressed gratitude, the men sipping their glasses of brandy eagerly, happy to concentrate on the strong taste, while the women worked on their lemonades.

“I must apologize, Lady Reynolds,” Sir Ambrose said. “But I do not permit women to drink alcohol in my house. You must find me very old-fashioned.”

“Not at all,” Lady Reynolds said, her eyes widening. “Do people think I need to drink alcohol?”

“Hush,” her husband said.