Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)
“I’m not sure.” She picked up her son’s hand and squeezed. “I had the opportunity to speak to the duchess about the position of housekeeper tonight.”
George came up on his knees, his face keen with anticipation. “What did she say?”
“She said she’d think about it.”
George nodded slowly. “She will choose you. I’m sure of it.”
“Thank you, George. Let’s hope you’re right.”
George fell back against the mattress. “She has to choose you. I never want to leave Romsey.”
Beth laughed. “You only say that because you are young and easily impressed. When you’re older, you’ll want to have an adventure or two to brag about.”
A frown clouded his features. “Do you think my Uncle Henry is happy on his adventure in America?”
“Goodness, why ever would you think of him now?” Beth placed the repaired shirt into a drawer and picked up George’s soiled garments, which he’d tossed carelessly aside. “He’s been gone such a long time now that I wonder if he’ll ever return.”
“Papa said Uncle Henry went to America to make his fortune. I hope we hear from him soon.”
Her brother-in-law had traveled to the Americas quite a number of years ago, but she’d not heard from him since. She forced a hopeful smile to her face. “I do, too. Sadly we will never know unless he writes to tell us where he is.”
“Will he be able to find us here by letter?”
Beth nodded. “Everyone in the village knows where we are. Someone will pass any news along.”
“Good.” He pulled the covers over his head and burrowed under their comforting weight. At least here they were at no risk of being cold. The countess had given them every comfort they could ever need. Beth pulled the covers back and straightened the bedding around him. It was so good to have enough blankets to wrap around her child on chilly nights.
George smiled up at her with drowsy, contented eyes. “Goodnight, Mama. Sleep well.”
“I will. Sweet dreams, Georgie.”
George made a face at the nickname and then closed his eyes. Beth extinguished the lamp and returned to her own chamber. Once there, she sat at the writing desk and withdrew a half-written piece of paper to make notes of chores she’d discovered needed attention soon. When she was housekeeper, her gift to the newlyweds for their kindness would be to see that every part of Romsey was made presentable for the wedding.
Chapter Three
“THERE SURELY CAN be no finer view in all of England.”
Oliver ignored his brother’s ardent remark on the landscape as he trudged to the hilltop and surveyed the browning fields of the Romsey estate. A winter chill was nipping at his lungs as he caught his breath, making them burn with the effect of the climb. “It is the same view we had as boys, Leopold.”
The first falls of snow were due any day. Time was running out to make his trip across the channel pleasant. He ran over the things he had to do before he could leave England behind. The most pressing was still regaining his health and the walk, culminating in a climb up the hill today, proved he still had a goodly way to go.
His brother grinned, wagging his finger to and fro. “Yes, but the difference is now we may walk anywhere we like without a word said against us. No more sneaking around to avoid detection.”
Oliver brushed away the film of sweat from his upper lip and leaned against the support of a crumbling dry-stone wall. The exertion of the climb had left him quite breathless. “You are far too easy to please. Would that these were the hills above Napoli and I could be content to admire them forever.”
“You’ll get there soon enough,” Leopold murmured. “Patience.”
“I’ve been patient enough.” Oliver looked out over the fields, reluctantly admiring the precision of the ducal estate. The procession of field, gate, and plotted tree reminded him of his brief venture into the study of garden landscapes during his youth. As much as he didn’t find the day-to-day affairs of the estate interesting, there was a certain beauty in its artificial design. Even the workers, black dots from his vantage point, moved in a soothing rhythm. A pair of shepherds and a hound herded sheep, two figures of disproportionate size traveled along the abbey drive, making slow progress as the smaller one darted from the path constantly. Another group clustered around a fallen dry-stone wall like the one he leaned against, correcting the imperfection. Everyone and everything within his view had a place in the grand design.
Leopold joined him against the wall and folded his arms across his wide chest. “About you leaving: I dislike the idea of you traveling so far on your own.”
Oliver returned his gaze to the slow-moving pair, hope making his heart beat faster. “Have you changed your mind about accompanying me?”
“No. However, I would feel better if you had someone I knew and trusted at your side. You’ve not spent enough time in the world to predict the dangers that you may face. A companion, someone with a similar taste for adventure and more worldly than yourself, would also give you someone to share the experiences with.”
Oliver bristled at the suggestion he couldn’t defend himself. He might be weak still, but at Skepington he had accurately assessed danger through an opponent’s posture and expression and, when attack was unavoidable, had met each challenge efficiently. He did not need a nursemaid following him about.
The smaller figure darted toward a pond and poked at the water with a stick while the taller, a woman in long skirts he now decided, remained upon the road, hands perched on hips. “There is no one. Do not fret, Leopold. I have always been alone.”