Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

Blythe’s companion was a face from his past and an uncomfortable presence within the abbey. Miss Elizabeth Jennings, or rather Mrs. Turner now, had been his sister’s interruptive, giggling conspirator once. Now a widow, she did not giggle as much but she was just as lovely to behold. She dipped a graceful curtsy that allowed Oliver a tantalizing glimpse of the top of her breasts before she rose again. “Mr. Randall.”

As her greeting encouraged no further words on his part, Oliver stepped back. He never knew what to say to the widow, not even when she’d been young and paying social calls on his mother. The complexities of inane conversation still escaped him, but he was well aware that he always did or said something wrong. To avoid misunderstandings, he preferred to remain silent around women but that did not stop him wishing that those breasts could be explored and examined. From a distance he judged them a perfect fit for his hand.

“Dinner is served, Your Grace,” Eamon Murphy intoned importantly from the doorway.

“Very good.” The duchess hooked her arm through his and steered Oliver toward the dining room. “No chance of escape,” she murmured for his ears alone.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Grace.” He paused at the doorway, noting that the table had shrunk considerably in size from yesterday. At least they wouldn’t have to shout for this meal. “May I compliment you on the rearrangement of the room?”

“Yes, it is very snug and much more comfortable.” She beamed. “But you must compliment Mrs. Turner. Such a treasure. She thought the family would be more content with a smaller setting and made sure to organize everything.”

He nodded and considered what response to make. Elizabeth was likely at the end of the procession into dinner and wouldn’t hear his response. He glanced over his shoulder as he held out a chair for the duchess and saw Elizabeth on Tobias’s arm, laughing at something he said. When she noticed his interest, her eyes fell and her smile slipped from her face. It wasn’t the first time his scrutiny had produced a similar effect and yet he was disappointed. Had his incarceration changed him so much that he couldn’t be looked upon with ease?

The duchess laughed. “Oh, do stop looking so grim. It is just a conversation.”

Self-conscious, Oliver smoothed his graying hair and strove to put it from his mind. He couldn’t help that he looked a great deal older than his eight and twenty years. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was unaware I was making any particular face. I’ll stop immediately.”

Gooseflesh swept his skin but he strove to ignore the uncomfortable sensation as he took his place, a seat beside Elizabeth. Talk resumed among the couples, leaving only Elizabeth and himself silent. After a moment, she leaned slightly in his direction. “I can see you would rather be elsewhere.”

“I cannot deny it. They say the hot-springs baths of Bagno Vignoni can cure a man of anything.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you unwell, sir? You’ve only to say so and return to rest.”

“I am fine,” he assured her, rather pleased by her concern. “I suppose it is impossible to regain my looks.”

“Your looks are not in doubt.” Her breath caught and when he met her gaze a blush was climbing her cheeks. She glanced down at her hands that were twisting in her lap. “Where is Bagno Vinoni?”

“Italy.”

“Ah.” Silence fell between them again and she did not ask another question about his travels. Everyone at Romsey was the same; no one cared where he might go, only expressing the hope that he would not. Couldn’t they see the possibilities for adventure? There was so much more to the world than Romsey Abbey.

As he glanced around the table, the duchess caught his eye. “The fourth duchess of Romsey thought very highly of you, Oliver. Did you know that?”

Oliver blinked. “I wasn’t aware that I had inspired such an opinion in Her Grace.”

“I have her journal. You’re mentioned several times. My husband never spoke of her, but I find her journal observations fascinating. What was she like?”

“Terrifying,” Tobias chimed in.

“Stern,” Leopold added. “I cannot remember if I ever saw her smile.”

Oliver considered. “Her Grace was a formidable woman. After all, she was a distant cousin to the king and was, in my opinion, quite intelligent. It was she who encouraged the construction of the stables and other improvements to such a grand style.”

“I thought the old duke did that,” Leopold said, eyebrows rising.

“No, that was not the case.” Oliver shook his head. “She was great friends with many of the notable architects of the time and consulted with them extensively prior to construction. In fact, the most remarkable features of Romsey Abbey were br

ought about in no small part by the influence of the past duchess.”

Her Grace set her elbow to the table, chin resting in her palm in a manner that no prior duchess of Romsey would have dreamed to do and sighed heavily. “It seems I am quite a failure as a duchess. There are no stone edifices erected simply because I decreed it be so.”

She laughed suddenly, merry, for no reason Oliver could detect. It was this very changeability that flummoxed him. If she would just remain the remote Duchess of Romsey as she was supposed to be then he would have a chance to understand her better. Yet she surprised him at every turn. It was a wonder that his stern elder brother remained under her spell.

Across the table, Leopold grinned. “There is still time for you to leave your mark, my love.”

The pair continued to gaze at each other until Elizabeth cleared her throat. “The event may not be cast in stone, Your Grace, but from what I understand reuniting the Randalls under this roof is no small achievement.”

“Well said, Beth.” Tobias laughed. “Who’d imagine the disavowed sitting down to dine here together?”