Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

Oliver raised a brow. “Elizabeth may come and go as she chooses. It is Henry Turner who perplexes me. It is a long way to come simply collect his heir. I have prior experience of the man and he does nothing without the promise of potential gain.”

The duchess clenched her hands together. “Leopold has nothing against him personally, only also wonders why he came back.”

Oliver scowled. “Leopold trusts too easily.”

He placed a compass into the knapsack he would carry and dismissed the matter. Elizabeth would stay or go. He had no ability to influence her decisions. She would remain with George no matter where the boy went. But like it or not, before she departed England, she would have the facts of Henry Turner in her possession. Better to go into a new life prepared than blunder about with blinders on.

The duchess stood suddenly. “You know, this will be a lovely room. Big enough even for a small family to live comfortably in for many years.”

“My paternal grandmother lived here with a companion,” he murmured. The companion’s room had been cleaned, but the bedding had not been salvageable. He would keep the room empty and when he returned he’d make it his study. The room George had said he preferred, the one containing the model of the abbey, would be locked on his departure, nailed shut if he had to, and never opened again. No one must discover the other passageways.

When the duchess remained silent, Oliver looked up. Her eyes had narrowed. “I am sorry that you are going away from us so soon. I find I enjoy having Leopold’s family and acquaintances around me immensely. Tobias has brought much happiness to my life by his devotion to my sister. Eamon Murphy and Beth Turner are two people I trust. I would like one day for the young duke to get to know you, too. There is much you could teach him about his inheritance, I think. I wish you would reconsider and stay a bit longer.”

Oliver tossed a coin he held into an open trunk. “And how long shall I remain at Romsey Abbey, Your Grace, until you are satisfied?” he demanded angrily. “Another year? Five? A decade? Until the duke reaches his majority? How much more of life shall slip past me while I merely read about events in the world?”

A servant on the periphery of his vision gasped, quickly folded what she held, and decamped the room.

Her Grace swallowed but stood her ground. “Forgive me. I did not consider how my request might sound from your perspective. You are right to want more from your life.”

“I apologize for raising my voice, Your Grace.” Oliver scrubbed his hand through his hair. “You merely echo what my brothers have said since the day we were reunited. It is no one’s fault that they are content here

and I am not. But there is nothing to hold me to this place.”

He turned away and collected another bundle of books, debating whether they were necessary or superfluous to his needs. He’d already read them from cover to cover. Perhaps they were unneeded. He set them aside, considering whether they could be useful for George Turner’s study.

The duchess cleared her throat behind him. “Oliver, I know you have been some time away from society, but feel I should reacquaint you with the proprieties. Are you aware that you refer to Mrs. Turner by her given name? Always. I don’t believe you have ever addressed her correctly within my hearing.”

Oliver lowered the books to the desk, surprise and chagrin flooding him. He hadn’t realized, yet he simply couldn’t think of Elizabeth as William Turner’s wife. It seemed wrong somehow to say that name aloud. Oliver did not know quite how to respond, so he chose not to. He would make a greater effort the next time he had to address her. That decided, he continued assessing and discarding the things he’d gathered.

The duchess huffed. “It appears Mrs. Turner understands you far better than I, sir, but I am not so forgiving of your rudeness. You will turn around, sir, and finish this conversation.”

Oliver pivoted slowly, rather surprised that Her Grace was suddenly behaving as she should. He bowed to her. “I was not aware that you were Elizabeth’s confidant.”

“Beth says little yet reveals a great deal. There is something between you, I am sure of it. You two are very good at keeping secrets.”

The duchess saw more than she should, but he managed to shrug off the sensation that she might be correct. “On the contrary, Elizabeth is transparent in most things.”

The duchess’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Forgive me for being blunt, sir, but I don’t believe that for a minute. There might be one thing that could hold you to Romsey if you were brave enough to open your eyes and take the risk. You didn’t listen carefully enough to what I said before and I shall let you deduce what that might be on your own. Until the dinner hour, sir.”

Her Grace bustled out and the sounds of servants at work around him intruded on his mind. He shook himself. He had no ties to Romsey and Her Grace saying so did not make any connection real. It was just a kiss. A long overdue distraction. Once tasted, Elizabeth could return to the proper place in his memories. A path he had chosen not to take. He fingered the ribbon in his pocket.

Elizabeth would not have spoken of the kiss to the duchess. If she had, Oliver would have already have been pressured to make Elizabeth his wife, ending his plans to leave soon. He shuddered at that prospect. He could not live the rest of his life without seeing any of the world. He must strike out on his own and undertake the grand adventure of his life.

Yes, it was time to forget the past and focus on the future. He took the ribbon from his pocket and strolled into his new bedchamber, admiring the crisp new sheets on his bed as he passed. He opened the top drawer of the bureau, laid the ribbon in the empty space, and left it there. A reminder of the path he’d almost taken.

The tapping of boots alerted him to company. He strolled out to the sitting room and found his brother waiting.

“There you are.”

“Here I am,” Oliver replied, puzzled by his visit. “You’re back again?”

He shrugged. “Cannot get enough of your company.”

The patently ridiculous statement brought a smile to his lips. Even older, his brother had not changed. When Tobias’s gaze narrowed on a bottle of whiskey across the room, Oliver quickly poured him a drink.

As he passed it over, he noticed his brother’s complexion was pale and now he thought further on the matter, he had been pale at breakfast, too. “What’s the matter?”

A hard shudder flowed through his brother’s shoulders. “I can still hear them sometimes. The screams as they burned.”