Page 4 of My Lord, My Rogue
Her father looked at her for clarification. “You are probably wondering where he heard that name,” she realized, laughing. “He visited the new foal with me last week. The stable hand said it reminded him of a horse he had named Riggs and asked if I minded if he used it temporarily—of course, you are here now to give it a proper name.”
“Bravo! It’s an old British name. A grand name,” clapped the earl—a sentiment echoed by everyone in the room. “I like it. However, the horse may need a different one,” he added, chuckling.
Oliver sat down next to the puppy and opened his arms. The little dog climbed up on his lap and curled up into a ball before closing his eyes.
“What a fine sight that is to behold,” added Aunt Violet, happily. “This is exactly what I needed to see after the trip I have just had. She raised her eyes in her sister’s direction. “Perhaps a family meeting might be in order, later.” Her quiet voice was firm while her face smiled fondly at the sight on the carpet in front of her.
Aunt Violet’s quiet exchange had seized everyone’s attention, except Oliver and Riggs—both of whom had leaned in on each other and fallen asleep.
“My dear, what can be of great urgency?” the Earl of Radcliff asked, lifting his grandson’s limp, sleeping form. “We will return in a few minutes to discuss it. Honora, would you mind if Riggs rests upstairs with Oliver?”
“Certainly not, Papa. If Oliver wakes and sees him missing, he will be quite upset.” Honora answered, leaning down to pick up the basket and blanket. She followed her father up the stairs with her mother behind her.
“Your mother and I have been working on training him. We use a bell on the door we want him to use. It has been quite helpful, and Riggs has become accustomed to it. I think it is in the basket's bottom. Perhaps we should hang in on the door to Oliver’s room and alert the upstairs maid to it,” her father continued.
“That’s fascinating,” Honora supplied. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Cook thought of the bells, suggesting that the puppy could just scratch the door and ring the bells when it wanted to go out.”
“I had never credited dogs with that level of intellect until now. We use a sleigh bell,” her mother added.
The three returned to the parlor where Aunt Violet waited. Honora explained to her aunt what she had just learned about the sleigh bells.
“Brilliant idea!” Aunt Violet exclaimed. “I wish we could attach one to Lady Beadberry!”
“What is she gossiping about now?”
“You,” her aunt replied. “She said that someone told her they had seen you. However, she refuses to say who told her that. Naturally, I became indignant. Yet, the lady insists she has a reliable source.”
“It will not matter once we have his guardianship in place. Daughter, I have already started paperwork to become Oliver’s guardian. We will say that you communicated with us a short time ago, making us the happiest of people to learn that you were alive. You faked your death . . . and you did nothing more than drop an article of clothing. That can all be justified,” her father explained.
“It is unfortunate about the Marquess’ death. However, that has nothing to do with your leaving. He was set upon by thieves,” her mother tittered. “My darling, I wish you had let us know about how he treated you . . .”
“And what would you have done?” Honora asked. “It was the only way, Mama. I am truly sorry for the pain I caused all of you.”
“Pish! You did what you had to do. You deserve happiness. Do not let this upset you. I just wanted you to know about it. Knowledge gives you the advantage.”
“You are right, of course, Aunt.” Honora said the words they wanted to hear; however, she felt anything but calm. She needed to breathe fresh air.
Chapter 2
That same day
London, England
Benjamin Crewe, the Marquess of Willington, rolled over in his bed and stared up at the ceiling of his room as he debated his plans for the holidays. His bedroom was toasty, which only added to a feeling of calm that he always felt when he was warm and relaxed. Stephens, his valet, had already been in the room. He noticed his clothing from last evening draped across a small wooden rack.
His mother had decided to spend Christmas with friends in Bath, to attend the Season there with friends and to take the waters. She had invited him to spend the holiday with her. If he stayed in London, it would be the only time he had missed a holiday with her, except for those during the years he was fighting Napoleon. The years he had been away, he had lamented not being home. The course of his thoughts helped him decide. He would follow his mother but would stay at Willow Manor, their country home. It was a few miles out of the city. The relaxation and distance from Bath society appealed to him.
Bath was not London, but it offered some entertainments. He had not been there in years. His mother asked little of him,except when he would marry, of course. He had no plans to enter into that contract soon. That would require giving up his work with the Crown and certain freedoms. Truthfully, spying held a certain excitement, and that he could do it for his country gave it even more appeal.
The door to his room opened and Stephens walked in carrying his boots and freshly pressed clothing. “You have a visitor who has asked to see you. His Grace, the Duke of Lancaster, arrived a few minutes ago. He is in the dining room, waiting to break his fast with you. He said it was important.”
He had planned to connect with his friend before leaving. Lancaster had given up traveling with the Crown since marriage, but he maintained a level of involvement in local cases. It could be important. He hoped it would not change his plans, having already sent word to his mother that he was coming. Benjamin had planned this trip in between assignments.
He caught Stephens’ movement toward the basin. “I woke early and shaved with the warm water and razor you left earlier.”
“My lord, you know I did not leave the razor for you…”
