Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

Beth scrambled to gather her scattered wits. She quickly bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, I’ll be there momentarily,” she agreed self-consciously. Her lips still tingled with the remnants of that kiss. Her body pulsed in places it should not. She pressed her hand to her stomach as panic overwhelmed her. The disapproving look in the countess’s eye hinted she knew exactly what had been going on behind the closed door. Beth didn’t dare glance over her shoulder at Oliver. She wasn’t sure whether she could be trusted not to hit him for destroying her peace and reputation or throw herself at him to ensure her downfall was complete. She had worked so hard to earn a place here and Oliver had ruined everything. “Excuse me.”

Lady Venables eyed her gown, glanced behind to where Oliver stood quietly, and looked back. “Her Grace suggested that you may wish to wear something a little finer for this meeting and I do believe I agree with her. You have a visitor and must look your best.”

Beth frowned. “Who would come to call on me here?”

A look of distaste crossed the countess’s face. “A Mr. Henry Turner presented himself to Her Grace a short time ago, demanding to see his family.”

“Henry is back?” Beth swayed, overcome with hope. “That’s my husband’s elder brother. I’ll change and come down as quickly as I can. Good grief, so he is alive? George will be so pleased to hear it.”

“He is alive, indeed.” Lady Venables caught her arm and hurried her down the hall. “The duchess requested Annie attend you. She should be waiting there now.”

“Thank you.” Beth impulsively squeezed her hand and then fled down the hallway, up the stairs, and along to her bedchamber.

Annie was waiting beside the fire. “The duchess asked me to come.”

“Thank you, Annie. I’m sure I shall need it.”

She threw open her wardrobe doors and considered her options.

Annie stepped up to her side. “Her Grace was very clear that you were to wear the pink muslin and cream shawl.”

“Is that so?”

Annie nodded and placed the gown on the bed. “She also asked me to restyle your hair. I see it was a timely suggestion. Whatever happened to you?”

Beth turned to the mirror and then closed her eyes. Oliver had quite deftly destroyed her efforts to appear serious and neat. Her hair was in danger of complete collapse. “Your help would be very much appreciated, Annie.”

With Annie’s cheerful assistance, her gown was changed and her hair restyled into elegance rather than practicality.

While the maid fussed, Beth twisted her fingers together in her lap and tried to still her racing heart. Being kissed by Oliver was unexpected, but that feat paled in comparison to the return of her husband’s brother. A thousand questions f

looded her mind. Had Henry made his fortune in America and returned now to set up his own household? She hoped so. Was he married? When he learned of their situation here would they be welcomed guests or invited to live there with them forever? Would George have the cousins he’d always longed for?

“There you are. Pretty as a picture.” Annie added one last pin to her hair and stood back so Beth could see her handiwork. She looked nothing like a housekeeper and that bothered her. She appeared to be a lady of leisure again. Beth fiddled with the borrowed bracelet Annie had pressed her to wear and then removed it.

She peered at her hair and was impressed by what she saw. “Thank you, Annie. You’ve done a splendid job.”

She took a deep breath, then gathered up her shawl, wrapped it around her shoulders, and hurried downstairs.

Eamon Murphy was waiting for her at the base of the stairs and his appreciative smile hinted she looked very fine. “Mr. Randall has joined Her Grace for the meeting.”

“Oliver?”

Murphy’s lips twitched and a wry smile slowly spread. “No. Oliver and the Turners never got along. Leopold is inside. Tobias is elsewhere today.”

At the drawing room doorway she took a deep breath and nodded to Murphy before he announced her. “You wished to see me, Your Grace.”

The duchess’s smile was sincere but her eyes showed no joy. “You have a visitor my dear. I’m sure you remember Mr. Henry Turner.”

When the duchess gestured toward the window, she spied Leopold Randall in conversation with another man. She took a few paces in that direction, puzzled for a moment by the rotund fellow. It took her a long moment to recognize her brother-in-law’s face amid the wreckage confronting her. Henry was so changed from the man she knew that she was almost afraid. His skin was pitted by pockmarks, his cheeks full to bursting, though his clothing was quite fine. He had a pale scar that ran from cheekbone to jaw and stretched unnervingly as his smile grew.

She dipped a curtsy to hide her shock. “Henry.”

“Beth, my dear.” He rushed forward and caught her hands. “It’s been too long.”

The hands holding hers were rough, hard, and covered with small nicks and scars. She jerked her gaze upward to his eyes. “It has indeed. It’s been many years since we’ve had a letter. We were beginning to fear the worst for you.”

“I’m not much for writing.” He laughed suddenly and released her. “And the worst could never stop me. Where is the boy? Fetch him to me.”