Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

“Don’t talk back to your betters,” Henry growled out, hand rising a horrifying fraction.

Afraid her son would provoke him, Beth drew George against her and kept her gaze fixed on her brother-in-law. When she took in Henry’s reddening face, she became all too aware of Oliver’s warning. Henry had a temper and George’s harmless request had triggered it far too easily.

She caught her son’s gaze. “I think perhaps you should return to our rooms instead of the library. We can go out for some exercise shortly. I should like to speak with your uncle alone.”

George appeared unhappy about it, but he nodded. “Yes, Mama.”

He rushed off, leaving Beth to face Henry. She wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her skirts, troubled by Henry’s aggression and what it might signify. “I would appreciate it if you would not chastise my son again. You are not his father to mete out a punishment. That is for me to decide.”

“If you’d raised him right I wouldn’t have to intercede. Children should do as they’re told the first time and not complain about it.”

“You’ve experience with children?” When Henry muttered “some,” she continued. “George has always had an inquisitive mind, but we could never afford enough books to satisfy him. Being here has filled that lack. He was likely wishing to return to the library to continue his research on America, since we are to live there soon.”

Henry pointed a finger at Beth. “Don’t you speak ill of my brother. Do not dishonor your husband in such a fashion again.”

Beth frowned. “I wasn’t. William often lamented that he couldn’t do more for George and his siblings. Each loss was painful to us both.”

“They said you had another son.”

“A daughter, too. They died suddenly of a fever that wouldn’t abate.” She stepped back from her brother-in-law. “Who spoke of my children? Who told you we were living here?”

“I’ve got ears.” Henry looked around them, his eyes narrowing to slits. “But my sources also hinted you were doing more than that.”

She understood his implied meaning immediately and did her best not to react. She had often feared Leopold’s concern and charity would be misunderstood by others. The gossip about her moving to the abbey must be very thick if Henry had come here fully informed with groundless suspicions exactly one month since she’d improved her living conditions. “The things people gossip about,” she said offhand, hoping to break the tension between them. “Not a grain of truth in any of it.”

“They say Leopold Randall charged in to save the day. Quite the romantic story if one believes it.”

The idea that Leopold Randall could have had romantic intentions toward her, or any woman after meeting the duchess, was ludicrous. She struggled not to laugh aloud because she suspected Henry wouldn’t appreciate any levity. “My husband once said that Leopold would feed a starving field mouse if he could. He hadn’t learned until his return that William had passed. When he saw how bad it was for us after William’s death, he wanted to honor that friendship by supporting us.”

Henry’s expression grew scornful. “He brought more than just food. They say he brought you here to warm his bed.”

“That’s a lie.” Beth’s head snapped up, heat flooding her face at his vulgar suggestion. That he’d voice a suspicion aloud so determinedly proved he was not the kind man she remembered or thought she’d known. She struggled not to clench her fists. “I came to be employed as Lady Venables’s companion. There is no impropriety in that.”

He stepped closer, eyes hard as flint. “You’ve got a guilty look about you.”

Beth lifted her chin. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Henry’s face grew skeptical. “Not yet, but women are all the same. Don’t think I won’t be watching you. You’ll not be bringing disgrace on the Turner name if you know what’s good for you and your son.”

With that he took his leave, but Beth was shaken to her core. She leaned against the wall as she strove to slow the fast beating of her heart. It was clear Henry believed the rumors that she had earned her way into the abbey on her back. She covered her face as the memory of Oliver’s hands and lips upon her body taunted her. If Henry learned the truth about Oliver then he might have cause for his anger.

But it had only been one kiss and not repeated. She would make sure it was not and that she was never alone with Oliver any more than she absolutely had to be.

She pushed off the wall and made her way upstairs to her bedchamber, expecting to find George there waiting. The peace inside the chamber gave her pause and she looked about. Instead of George, she found a note on her pillow. She rushed to pick it up. Notes were never good news. Out walking in the east garden with Mr. Randall.

Beth snatched up her warmest pelisse, hat, and gloves and quickly left the abbey. She trudged through the long grass and less populated area of the estate but saw no sign of her son. She kept walking until she reached a stream and the charming footbridge that crossed it. Downstream a little way, George stood knee-deep in water, a fishing pole poised in one hand. Beside him, Oliver Randall fished too.

So much for avoiding Oliver Randall.

Chapter Fifteen

THE COLD OF the slow-moving stream caressing Oliver’s bare ankles as he secured the fishing line to the pole reminded him of happier times spent not far from here before his captivity. Then he’d been struggling to master angling with his brothers farther downstream. Trying and failing most often to catch even one trout to lie beside his brother’s impressive efforts. Fishing was not a skill he excelled at, but when he’d seen the insect activity in the air outside the abbey’s lower windows, he’d rushed outside, dragging Elizabeth’s son with him for the adventure of the unseasonably warm autumn day.

The boy’s brow was furrowed in concentration, as it had been from the moment the stream had come into view. He cast his line close to a fallen log some distance away. Even now, an hour after landing his first catch, he didn’t appear bored by the activity. The boy’s skill and persistence impressed him. He had more patience for the activity than Oliver had ever had.

A steady noise, audible over the slow rush of water, interrupted his musings—twigs snapping under the pressure of soft footfalls. He glanced over his shoulder at the closest bank, mildly annoyed by the interruption. His eyes widened and his pulse danced in excitement when his gaze locked on Elizabeth striding toward them. He held his finger to his lips. “Quiet, he has a knack for this.”

As the boy’s mother drew closer, he discovered his error in thinking her an eager participant in the fishing adventure. Elizabeth’s face twisted furiously. She waded out into the shallow water at the edge of the stream, wetting her footwear and skirts in the process, to grab her son by the arm. “I said to wait in your bedchamber. How dare you disobey me?”