The Knot of a Knight, page 17
“The pay must be shite,” Alistair remarked.
Randolph furrowed a brow. “Playing billiards? Hardly.”
“Working for the Foreign Office,” Alistair said. “Chamberlain never did have much of a budget.”
“And how would you know?”
Alistair gave him a quelling glance. “It’s no secret. During the wars with Napoleon, we relied on the intelligence of reporters who worked for The Times. They had the blunt to send investigators to the Continent. We didn’t.”
Randolph’s frown deepened. “How long did you work for Chamberlain?”
“I wasn’t aware we could stop,” Alistair replied with an arched brow. He gave a long sigh. “That’s not true. He hasn’t employed me for...” He paused mid-sentence, although he continued to brush the horse.
“Since you married.”
Alistair gave a start. “True. I suppose I am of no use if he cannot in good conscience send me across the Channel.”
“I was sent to Calais. Once,” Randolph remarked. “Had to follow a shipment of wool that was used to pay for illegal liquor. Worst time ever on a ship.” He feigned sea sickness by rubbing his mid-section.
“Wool?” Alistair repeated. This time he did stop brushing the horse, and the resulting complaint was long and loud. “Were you on the Molly?” Outfitted to look like a pirate ship, the Molly had been a vessel in service of the British navy. Now a ship of the Foreign Office, it was dispatched to intercept ships carrying smuggled goods and illegal liquor.
Randolph laughed as he pulled a carrot from his great coat pocket and offered it to the annoyed horse. “The one and only. Damn thing is still seaworthy, if you can believe it, and a more motley crew you’ll never find.”
“Good men, though,” Alistair said. “So... this ride with Lady X—”
“Lady X?”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Her name is Xenobia. She’s actually one of Julia’s cousins. She and their friends always called her Lady X, partly because of her given name and partly because she was such a skinflint.”
“A skinflint?” Randolph repeated. The thought of how much the woman must have spent at hot houses for all the roses she’d had on display in her house didn’t exactly illicit thoughts of thriftiness.
“She was always crossing out items on her shopping lists, claiming she didn’t really need them,” Alistair explained. “That was before she married Dunsworth, of course.”
“Who was her father?” Randolph asked, deciding anything he could learn about the young matron before he took her for a ride would help with conversation. They wouldn’t have the benefit of brandy to help loosen their tongues.
“Oh, you would have to ask that,” Alistair complained as he moved to the other side of the horse. “Do you know how many Harrington daughters there were?”
“Five, if you’re referring to the sisters of the current Earl of Mayfield.”
Alistair blinked. “Oh. Well. She’s the daughter of Edith, the Dowager Duchess of Pendleton.”
Randolph took a moment to sort the relationship. “The Duchess of Pendleton? Xenobia is a duke’s daughter?” he asked in disbelief.
“No,” Alistair quickly replied. “Pendleton died more than a year before Xenobia was born. At least Edith had already given him his heir.”
Wincing, Randolph knew the Dowager Duchess of Pendleton hadn’t remarried, instead enjoying the very public life of a Merry Widow. With her red hair and bright green eyes, she was said to bewitch gentlemen into her bed. Given her beauty, Randolph sorted casting spells wasn’t required.
The timing of Xenobia’s birth meant she was illegitimate.
“So... Dunsworth did her a favor?” Randolph murmured, referring to his marriage to Xenobia.
Alistair seemed to think on the comment for a time before he said, “I suppose. I believe her father was a captain of some sort. Alton Bradley. Not sure if he was in the army or a ship’s captain. Anyway, the townhouse she lives in was once his, so that meant Dunsworth didn’t have to put out any blunt for a house in town.”
“Hmm,” Randolph murmured as he considered the possible topics for conversation during their ride. She already knew he was illegitimate, although it did help that his father had publicly acknowledged him as his son. He had done so with all of his bastards—or at least the three boys who had his name. “It could be worse, I suppose,” he said suddenly.
Alistair’s head popped up from the other side of the horse. “What do you mean?”
“She could be my sister.”
His eyes darting sideways, Alistair finally allowed a guffaw. “I don’t think Reading is capable of fathering a girl,” he replied.
Considering he now had five brothers, Randolph would have agreed—if his father hadn’t just told him the night before that he had a daughter. Randolph cleared his throat. Loudly.
Alistair raised his head from the chore he had taken on as a sort of penance for his wife’s machinations and stared at Randolph. “You have a sister?”
“Rachel Roderick. She was a twin. Apparently she was in finishing school with Lady Dunsworth on the Continent. They may have been friends before that.”
“How old?” Alistair asked, his eyes wide.
Randolph allowed a shrug as he did the calculation in his head. “Twenty?”
Alistair blew out the breath he’d been holding. “That’s a relief,” he murmured. “No, I don’t know her.”
Randolph gave him a quelling glance. “Does the name Violet Higgins ring a bell?”
“Only if you’re referring to The Queen of Hearts,” Alistair replied. “I lost more than my fair share of blunt under her former roof before she opened The Queen of Hearts. When I was younger, of course. Why do you ask?” He paused his brush strokes. “Is she under investigation by the Foreign Office?”
“No. She’s Rachel’s mother. Had a boy at the same time, too.”
Alistair blinked. “I cannot... I cannot even imagine her—”
“Nor can I,” Roderick said, cutting off his friend’s comment. “According to my father, she was a brunette and quite a beauty at one time.”
“But surely she didn’t raise the babes.”
“Not the boy,” Roderick agreed. “On the one hand, I want to meet her, but on the other...” He allowed the sentence to trail off as he gave his head a shake. “Turns out, I actually saw Rachel at The Queen yesterday. She’d just returned to London.”
“Is someone providing protection for her?”
Randolph nodded. “Since Father’s arranged for her dowry, I rather imagine someone is.”
“You needn’t feel guilty for not wanting to make her acquaintance,” Alistair reasoned.
“I’ve met all my brothers but one. Not nearly as awkward as I was expecting those introductions to be,” he countered.
“Do you think she’ll live in London?”
Randolph shrugged. “I suppose. I’m sure my father knows.”
“And your stepmother?”
Straightening, Randolph considered the query a moment. “I don’t know. Father was very keen to let her know about all of us before he asked for her hand in marriage. Perhaps he told her about Rachel then.”
“If he knew about her.”
“Oh, he knew about the twins,” Randolph argued, remembering he couldn’t say anything about the boy’s fate.
“Then why not tell you before last night?”
Randolph gave his head a shake. “Why not, indeed?” he countered. “Now, if you’re finished, I’d like to get this beast hitched up.”
“Yes, sir,” Alistair replied as he handed over the brush. “I would wish you luck, but something tells me you’re going to do this the hard way.”
“Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” Without another word, Alistair made his way back to his phaeton and in a moment was gone from the premises.
Randolph turned to the Cleveland Bay and found his eyelids mostly closed. “Oh, no you don’t. If I can’t sleep, then neither can you,” he scolded.
Chapter 26
Cousins Contemplate
Meanwhile, at Bradley House
“You don’t hate me?”
Xenobia gave her cousin a quelling glance. “Of course not,” she replied as her lady’s maid pinned up her honey blonde hair into a style suitable for her carriage gown’s matching hat. She had already clipped off its longer peacock feather, sure she would impale poor Sir Randolph should she turn her head too far to the side whilst they rode on his phaeton.
“Alistair scolded me. It was awful.”
Staring at Julia’s reflection in her dressing table’s mirror, Xenobia’s eyes widened. “He didn’t...?”
“No,” Julia replied. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, but I was so vexed, I... I told him to leave my bedchamber.”
Xenobia blinked. Given the stories Julia had put voice to over the years she had been married to Alistair, Xenobia wondered if this might have been their first tiff. “Did he?”
Julia sighed. “Yes. I had to go to his bedchamber when mine grew too cold. I blame this all on the baby, of course.”
“Julia!”
“I’m normally not like this,” Julia insisted. “But it matters not, since you’ve received an invitation to ride out of it.”
Xenobia allowed a grin as she watched her lady’s maid finish styling her hair. “That will be all, Sullivan,” she murmured.
The lady’s maid dipped a curtsy and hurried from the bedchamber. Xenobia was sure she would spread the news to the other servants that her mistress was going for a ride in the park. At no point had she said with whom, nor did she intend for them to know.
There would be gossip, though, but for once, she didn’t care. She’d had quite enough of caring what others thought of her.
“You might have mentioned he is Rachel’s brother,” Xenobia whispered when she turned to regard her cousin.
Julia gave a start. “I... I didn’t think of it. I know you mentioned you had received a letter from her, but I haven’t seen her in years.”
“That’s because she hasn’t been in London since... I think it’s been eight years now,” Xenobia countered.
“Where has she been all this time?”
Xenobia leaned closer to Julia and said, “As you know, she stayed at finishing school in Zurich a few years after I left and has been traveling for the past year or so. I can hardly wait to see her.” She didn’t add that she thought the reason Rachel had been kept away from London was because Rachel’s mother had become too well-known as a madame. Rachel’s latest letter had mentioned her mother’s ownership of The Queen of Hearts, an apparently popular gaming establishment, which didn’t help the situation.
The Marquess of Reading had probably been the one to arrange Rachel’s move to the Continent in the first place.
Frowning, Julia considered the timing. “A bit old for a come-out, is she not?”
“Twenty?” Xenobia offered. “I suppose, but that’s not what has me bothered.” At Julia’s questioning glance, she added, “Last night, when we spoke of his family, never once did Sir Randolph mention her, or ask about our friendship.”
Julia allowed a shrug. “Perhaps he doesn’t know you were friends.”
“He mentioned his brothers, which has me wondering, does he even know he has a sister?”
Arching a brow, Julia regarded Xenobia for a moment, her mouth rounding into an ‘o’ as she considered the possibility. “Different mothers. Different classes. Sir Randolph’s mother is a member of the ton while Rachel’s mother is not,” she reasoned. “Perhaps he doesn’t know.”
“Do I mention her whilst on this ride? Should I ask about her?” Rachel queried, a pained expression crossing her face.
“Do,” Julia replied. “Then you’ll know if he knows about her.”
Xenobia gave her cousin a quelling glance. “You’re incorrigible. I’d rather not be the one to inform him he has a sister.” She might have chided Julia a moment longer but she had other concerns. Given what had happened the night before—just before Randolph Roderick had departed the parlor for the second time—Xenobia had spent the day in a constant state of anxiousness. She looked forward to the ride, of course, but facing Sir Randolph after his scorching kiss would have her cheeks flaming red.
In an effort to blame the coloring on her clothes, she had elected to wear a red carriage gown coupled with a darker red redingote for their ride.
“You look as if you’re ready for Christmas,” Julia remarked as she fingered the Merino wool of Xenobia’s gown.
“As long as I don’t look like a gift-wrapped present,” Xenobia replied.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sighing, Xenobia turned from her dressing table and said, “I’m not sure about Sir Randolph’s intentions. I cannot help but think he’s only doing this because he feels sorry for me—”
“He’s not doing this to score an invitation to your bed, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Julia insisted. “Although the thought of a man unwrapping you like a present paints a rather delightful—”
“Julia!”
Her cousin giggled but quickly sobered. “Alistair says he’s too honorable for that. Says he’s not one to follow in his father’s footsteps when it comes to dalliances.”
“You mean Sir Randolph is not a rake?” The query came out more like a statement.
“Exactly! Which is good, but only to a point,” Julia replied, still beaming in delight.
Xenobia had already surmised that Randolph wasn’t angling for a tumble. Why, if he’d wanted one the night before, she probably would have been the one to lead them to her bedchamber. Let him have his way with her. If for no other reason than she was curious.
Too curious.
What would lovemaking be like with someone who wasn’t her best friend?
But she hadn’t yet determined his motive for the invitation to ride in the park with him. Given the weather—it was cold, but it wasn’t snowing—surely they would have to be bundled up in quilts or a blanket on the bench of the phaeton.
“Do you know what he’ll be driving?” Julia asked. “A barouche, perhaps?”
“A phaeton. He said he needs to exercise the horse that will be pulling it.”
Julia’s face lit up in delight. “When was the last time you rode on a phaeton?”
Xenobia blinked. “The only time was when you took me to New Bond Street last year.” She recalled the harrowing drive with fright. “You nearly dumped me at the corner of Oxford and New Bond,” she accused.
“We did take that corner a bit fast, didn’t we?” Julia replied in delight.
“We?” Xenobia chided.
“You’ll have to hang onto Sir Randolph’s arm. Thread your arm through his elbow,” Julia explained, a huge grin on her face. “And be sure to sit close. You’ll have to, as there’s very little room on a phaeton bench.”
Xenobia’s eyes darted sideways. “Surely I can hang onto the edge of the bench.”
“Not if your hands are in a muff,” Julia countered.
Inhaling deeply in an effort to calm her nerves, Xenobia was about to claim she wasn’t going to take a muff when Chesterfield appeared at the door and cleared his throat.
“Yes?”
“There’s a Miss Rachel Roderick to see you, my lady,” Chesterfield said. “She did not provide a calling card.”
Julia and Xenobia exchanged quick glances, both grinning.
“Bring her to the parlor,” Xenobia ordered. “And have another tea tray brought up.”
“Yes, my lady.” The butler hurried off as Xenobia nearly squealed in delight.
“Now we can learn what she knows,” Xenobia whispered.
Sighing loudly, Julia shook her head. “You can. I cannot stay,” she said sadly. “But I must admit I am tempted to return later this afternoon. About half-past-three o’clock,” she teased.
“Don’t you dare,” Xenobia replied with a look of horror.
“Oh, I won’t,” Julia said with a shake of her head. She didn’t add that she wished she could watch from a vantage overlooking the hall, though. “Good luck,” she added.
Before Xenobia could respond or even offer to join her on the descent down the stairs, Julia was out of the bedchamber and bounding down the stairs in a most unladylike manner.
Chapter 27
Friends Reunite
A moment later
Xenobia stepped out of her bedchamber and was about to close the door when what sounded like squealing came from down below. She giggled, realizing Julia and Rachel had crossed paths, probably outside the parlor.
The cries of delight reminded her of the times they had spent together as young girls. The time she had spent with Rachel in finishing school.
If only Julia had been able to join them in Zurich instead of remaining in London.
If only I had been able to remain in Zurich another year or two. But when she was seventeen, her mother had insisted it was time Xenobia return to London and prepare for a presentation to the court. Prepare for a come-out. Prepare for a Season of entertainments.
Prepare to find a husband.
Her court gown had been exquisite. Her mother had worn it for her own presentation, but a modiste had expertly refitted it for Xenobia and embellished the sleeves and bottom ruffle with embroidered leaves and flowers.
A maid had seen to fashioning her long hair into an elegant chignon with a jeweled comb. Her gloves had been a perfect match for the gown. Her mother’s heeled velvet shoes had actually been comfortable.
Despite what she wore, despite her perfect appearance, despite her expertly performed curtsy—the day had been the worst in her entire life. Even now, her cheeks flamed when she recalled how the king pretended to ignore her. She wished his wife had been there, for she was sure Charlotte would have afforded her a glance.
A duchess’ daughter given the cut direct in front of so many other young women also making their come-outs that Season.
