Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

The boy yelped and dropped the rod, guilt writ large on his face. “But Mr. Randall said we had to go now as the mayflies were out. I thought you would still be with Uncle Henr

y. He said you had things to discuss in private and I had to make myself scarce.”

Oliver quickly retrieved the rod before it floated downstream, turning over the boy’s words in his mind. At no time had the boy hinted he couldn’t come when Oliver had invited him. He hadn’t known about Elizabeth’s instructions. He’d not meant to undermine her wishes. He cursed under his breath as her gaze turned on him, blue eyes hardening to ice chips.

“It’s my fault,” he said quickly, taking full responsibility for getting swept up in his own concerns with no thought to what she might have expected. It wasn’t in his nature to think of others first, but when it came to the boy he had to remember to do that.

“Of course it is.” Her grip on the boy eased and eventually she released him. “You listen to me and no other.”

“Yes, ma’am.” George retrieved his pole from Oliver and stood tall. “May I continue fishing or do I have to go back with you now? We haven’t caught enough for Cook yet.”

Elizabeth glanced at the bank where George’s efforts, three sizeable trout, lay waiting to be delivered to the kitchens. “I suppose you may as well, but do not disobey me again,” she said eventually.

George crowed with happiness and quickly cast his lure into the slow eddy he had been methodically working.

When Elizabeth struggled with her heavy wet dress to regain the bank, Oliver tossed his rod ahead of him before scooping her up in his arms. He carried her to shore, water streaming from her skirts, and deposited her gently on her feet on the grassy slope.

He knelt and caught the bottom edge of her gown and squeezed as much water from the material as he could. Her footwear was likely ruined, however.

He stood to tell her so and her expression caught him off guard. To his eye, her agitation was too great for George merely slipping from the house without her permission or the inconvenience of a wet dress. Had something occurred with Turner when the boy had left her side?

Determined to find out, he called to George. “Keep at them, lad. I’m sure you’ll catch another soon.”

George waved and then happily resumed his preoccupation with the water and the lurking fish.

Oliver pointed to a spot downstream. “There’s a charming spot further along where you might sit in comfort to remove your footwear. Can I assist you there?”

Elizabeth stared at him as if he’d grown two heads, but eventually she made her way to a rough bench set beside a large stone, big enough for two to sit in comfort. Her skirts slapped wetly against her legs with each struggling step. As she sat, her breath huffed in a telling confirmation that had nothing to do with being damp.

He knelt and set her foot in his lap to remove her footwear. “What happened with Turner?”

“Nothing.”

She tried to remove her foot from his grip but he curled his fingers around her delicate ankle and held on. The soft kid boot was soaked completely, the strings tightly drawn and difficult to unlace. “Elizabeth.” Her name came out as a soft growl, full of exasperation that had only a little to do with the difficultly of unlacing the boot. He might not completely understand her emotions, but he was certain they were heightened for another reason.

The first boot came free with a wet squelch and he upended it, watching the water trickle out onto the ground. Elizabeth drew her foot back and discreetly slipped her stocking from her own leg, leaving her bare, reddened toes to dangle beneath her above the ground.

Oliver reached for the next boot and it came free more easily. Before she could stop him, he ran his hands up her calf and slipped her stocking from her leg himself. When he handed the soggy length of fabric to her, she snatched it back, her face reddening to an interesting shade.

Oliver took a place beside her on the bench, rather stirred by undressing Elizabeth. He’d quite like to continue in a more private venue and without her son standing a short distance away.

She turned away as she squeezed the water from her stockings and laid them beside her to dry in the weak sunlight where he couldn’t see them. He smiled with understanding at what her timidity revealed. His actions had affected her composure. She wasn’t quite as disinterested as he had first supposed.

She licked her lips before she spoke. “There are rumors circulating about my purpose in being at Romsey.”

“There is nothing unusual in that. Servants spread gossip about their employers every day. Even Skepington’s reputation was largely made up. For instance, they had not mounted heads on the staircase walls.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “But I digress. Do go on,” he urged.

“Heads?” She pressed her fingers to her brow. “Before I came to Romsey, Leopold had done much to help us. He saved us, I am certain of that, but it wasn’t hard to miss the speculation in my neighbors’ eyes. When I became Lady Venables’s companion, I thought having a position would prove them untrue. I was in an honest position and paid a wage. George and I needed the security of a roof over our heads.”

“I am glad you were looked after so well,” he said, because he thought he must say something to keep her talking to him. Eventually, she’d come to the heart of the problem.

“Because of Leopold’s extravagant generosity in coming so quickly after his return and my move into the abbey as a paid companion, it seems my brother-in-law is all too willing to believe the worst of the gossip and has expressed doubts about my character.”

“There is nothing to doubt in your character,” he replied immediately. “The fault lies with Turner. He wouldn’t lift a finger to help anyone when I knew him before and I doubt he’s changed.”

Elizabeth faced him and her expression hardened. “There are whispers that Leopold’s generosity came with a scandalous price that I gladly paid. My character has been tarnished by false accusation I cannot refute to the teller because it’s just gossip.”

“He thinks you my brother’s lover?” Oliver couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “Turner is a fool. My brother would never do something so dishonest with a friend’s wife. He’s far too virtuous for any villainy concerning you.”