The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

“What is its importance? Why is the priest blessing the people?”

“I don’t know. I am certain that this sketch is of Saint Swale’s Abbey, no doubt about that. And Mr. Burgess—our interesting relative—also thinks so. I believe I’ll explore the ruins tomorrow. I haven’t been near them in years. Like you and the Twins, Charlie, Mark, and I would sport in those small monks’ cells, contriving all sorts of vile tortures.”

“I believe Trevor plans to visit them tomorrow, when it stops raining. Both he and James.”

“Damned bounder. He knew, damn him, he knew that I wanted you right at that moment, and if it hadn’t been raining buckets, he would have gone about his treasure hunting without me.”

“He knows that if there is a treasure, it will belong to you, Marcus.”

“He is, I am forced to admit, a gentleman, mayhap even honorable, in the way of the stiff-necked Colonists. But his name still irritates.”

Marcus laid down the sketches, turned, and took her in his arms. He leaned down and kissed her, his fingers tightening on her chin to hold her still. She didn’t move, not because she was silent and serene and calm, but because she wanted to see what he would do. He misunderstood her, not a surprise for he was a man and used to seeing her only one way for a good ten years. He raised his head and laughed. “All calm again, silent as that candle, though you’re showing no flame and I did just kiss you. Tell me, Duchess, was your virago’s temper an act? I’m tempted to insult you into another rage just to see what you will do. Right now you play the frigid virgin, or is it the disdainful queen? But if I had but a few more minutes with you—” He sighed and stepped back. “There’s no time for me to do a proper job with you now. Ah, there’s that smile of yours, that damnable mocking smile. But know it, Duchess, if I had the time and if, naturally, I was in the proper mood, I would have you yelling and bucking within minutes. However, it’s time to face our Colonial relatives again. You said that Badger was preparing mutton?”

“Yes, with apricots. And you hold a quite high opinion of your seductive skills, Marcus. Don’t forget—” She actually laughed, a low very seductive laugh. “I am my mother’s daughter. You’re

just one man, perhaps not all that skilled with women, I am too inexperienced to judge properly. It’s true that my body seems to respond perhaps too much to you, but there it is. There’s a world full of men, charming men, handsome men, skilled men, who just might find me utterly delightful. Perhaps one of them will give me a child. Who knows? Oh, yes, Badger didn’t have time to hash the mutton. No, he didn’t.”

He laughed, dismissing all her fine talk—the bloody fool—took her hand, and laid it in the crook of his arm. He patted her hand. Let him think she would fold, like a sheet in the hands of the upstairs maid.

She knew she’d hurt him, at least a bit. Wasn’t he planning retaliation? Surely he wouldn’t ignore what she’d done. He’d try something, indeed a man like Marcus wouldn’t allow another person, particularly a feeble woman, a token wife who’d saved his damned hide and had thus, obviously earned his contempt and his indifference, to get away with what she’d done to him. She’d struck him repeatedly with the riding crop then hit the side of his head with a bridle. What was wrong with him? Ah, she knew Marcus better than he knew her, at least as of today, she knew him better. She was ready, just let him try his worst.

“I think Mr. Badger is wonderful.”

“He’s a servant, Ursula. Pray mind your tongue and remember who you are.”

“I’m an American, Mama.”

“You are the granddaughter of an earl. Mind your tongue.”

Trevor said easily, “I would say that Ursula has got it right, Mother. All of us are Americans. I fought the British, despite my antecedents. Besides, that isn’t the point here. Badger is a man with more talents than most I’ve ever known.”

Marcus said to Ursula, “What do you think of Spears?”

“Mr. Spears is ever so kind and patient. He has a beautiful singing voice. Today I heard him singing a song about Lord Castlereagh and the upcoming Congress in Vienna. It was very funny even though I didn’t understand all of it.”

“I believe I heard the Duchess humming it as well,” Trevor said. “Do you remember the words, Duchess?”

She gently lay her teacup back on the exquisite Meissen saucer and recited:

“Vienna’s the place to make your mark.

Bring enough groats so they’ll roll over and bark.

Tallyrand will cede France for a bagatelle;

Castlereagh has most of Portugal to sell.

Don’t forget to lie through your teeth.

Dance on your tongue, not on your feet.

It’s time to steal; it’s time to play;

By all that’s holy, it’s the diplomat’s day.”

“How the devil do you know that ditty?”

She slowly turned her head toward her husband. “Why shouldn’t I know it, Marcus? I am a sentient human being, truly, despite what you or others may think. Don’t you think it clever? I myself believe the writer of these ditties to be beyond clever. There’s real talent in them.”