Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

Oliver led his brother to a chair and eased him into it. He waited while he consumed the liquid and then took the empty glass from him. “There were many times when I thought death would be better for those sharing my incarceration. I saw the worst and best of humanity while confined and I can understand your fears. Skepington housed murderers, thieves, people so deranged that they were a danger even to themselves. The wardens were either cruel or tenderhearted. It just depended on the day.”

“Were there any there as sane as you?”

Oliver saw fear in his brother’s eyes and pulled him close as he would have done when his brother was smaller and injured. At his age, he’d have thought such measures unnecessary but his brother was greatly troubled by the past and couldn’t let it go. Yet he had to. “No. I believed myself the lone voice of reason in that house of the damned.”

He released Tobias quickly, ignoring him as he wiped at his eyes.

“How did you survive it?” he whispered. “How did you not go mad?”

Oliver reached for his pocket and discovered too late that he’d put aside his talisman. His hope. He squared his shoulders, determined to ignore the impulse to hurry for the other room and retrieve it. He could be at peace without a single scrap of ribbon. “The name I was forced to use by the duke, Seventeen, stirred much interest from visitors to Skepington. I always seemed to have company of some sort who wanted to study me and I, in turn, studied them.”

His brother looked at him curiously. “It never bothered you that they thought you mad?”

“No.” He sat back in his chair. “I knew the truth and trusted that those who knew me, should we meet again, would dismiss the claim as fiction. From time to time, I would playact that I was insane just to see what new reaction I’d get from a returning visitor. The difference was quite astonishing really.”

“I thought you touched in the head when we met. You spoke so strangely to me and I couldn’t understand why you didn’t flee since you had the key to your room.”

“Your lives were at stake.” His fingers fell to his pocket again and the emptiness troubled him. “Or so I was led to believe at the time.”

“The duke and his lies.”

Oliver stood and poured a drink for himself and refilled Tobias’s glass as well. When he passed it over, he raised his in a toast. “May he rot forevermore in his own juices.”

Tobias drank with him. “I feel making toasts of that nature will never get old.”

Oliver smiled at the quick change in his brother’s demeanor. Tobias was the most emotional of his siblings, but his hatred of the duke surpassed anything he’d ever witnessed. Pleased that he’d turned his mind from regret and doubt, he sat down to sip his drink.

“How are you getting on at Harrowdale?”

“Making good progress on the house and grounds. Without Blythe there I can trim the ivy myself and not have her faint as I scale the walls. She doesn’t like me to climb anymore.”

A laugh built in Oliver’s chest at the memory of Blythe’s concern as she’d hovered over Tobias after the fire. “That would be because you almost burned off your eyebrows the last time. I clearly remember you saying you valued your looks and didn’t want to spoil them for a lady you hoped to impress.”

Tobias’s smile hinted that the memories of the fire were banished by the thoughts of his future wife. They sat in companionable silence for a time, listening to the flames crackle. When Oliver finished his glass he stood and excused himself for a moment. He slipped into his new bedchamber, slid the drawer open and removed the length of ribbon. As he returned it to his pocket he realized two things. One was that bad memories are more easily banished by good, and Elizabeth was one memory from his past that he’d chosen to cling to. And second, it was good to know his family was safe and well. When Oliver left on his journey he would always know his brothers would be here at Romsey, waiting for his eventual return. There was only Rosemary to worry about now.

Chapter Twelve

THE TROUBLE WITH eleven-year-old boys was that they possessed far too much curiosity and an inability to not demand it be satisfied immediately. Beth sent the ball spinning toward the ninepins, narrowly missing her target.

“Why are you so sad today, Mama?”

“It’s nothing serious.” She forced a smile to her face, willing herself to believe that this unexpected adventure would be good for them. “But come over here and sit with me. I want to talk to you about something important.”

George placed the ball at his feet and hurried across to sit at her side. “What is it?”

“How would you like to undertake a long journey?”

It took two seconds for his face to change from concern to utter joy. He jumped to his feet quickly. “Oh, that would be smashing. I was so hoping we could go with him. Thank you, Mama.” He threw his arms about her neck and squeezed so tightly she feared he would choke her. “Mr. Randall will show us the most fascinating places.”

Beth winced and set her son apart. “We are not to travel with Mr. Randall. Your uncle has invited us to live with him in America, George. That will be even better.”

George’s face fell. “But what about Mr. Randall? We could go with him instead.”

Beth smiled sadly. “Even if he invited you, I could not travel alone with him without causing a scandal. People would talk and a lady’s reputation is very important.”

A puzzled frown crossed his face. “If you married him there’d be nothing to say. Papa always said you made a good wife.”

Beth’s stomach dropped away and she quickly looked around to make sure they were still alone. When she was sure they were, she shook her son’s arm. “Never say that out loud again, do you hear me?”