“I find your dishabille charming, madam.” He smiled and bowed again. “And who is the child?”
“Mine,” Phoebe said, moving swiftly to take up her son. “Earl Grafton… Bisset, ask Sadie to come and take him to the nursery.”
“Yes, my lady.” Bisset set the tray with wine decanter and glass on the table and left with stately tread.
There was a moment’s silence, then Olivia forced herself to speak. “Wine… you would like a glass of wine, sir.”
“Yes, I thank you.”
Olivia poured the wine, aware as she did so that he was looking at her bare feet. She felt as vulnerable as if she were naked. Her hand shook slightly as she gave him the glass; his fingers brushed hers and she was suddenly cold.
“My thanks, Lady Olivia.” He smiled as he took a sip of wine.
The arrival of the nursemaid and the handing over of the boy gave Godfrey the opportunity to examine his quarry more carefully. Untidy, yes, but there was something undeniably sensual about her. The thick dark hair, the large black eyes, the warm red mouth. A man would certainly not need to keep his eyes shut when he possessed Olivia Granville. He felt a pleasurable warmth in his loins.
“Do you find life at Carisbrooke interesting, Lord Channing?” Phoebe asked, desperately searching for a topic of conversation.
“I am equerry to the governor, madam. It is an interesting and rewarding position.”
“I imagine you spend much time with the king,” Phoebe said.
“Indeed I am much in His Majesty’s company,” he responded complacently. “But when I can, I enjoy solitude with my books.”
“Oh, do you have an extensive library, sir?” Phoebe shot Olivia a slightly indignant look, wondering why she was leaving the entire conversational burden to her.
“I have some interest in the philosophers, madam.”
“Greek or Roman?” Olivia inquired, correctly interpreting Phoebe’s look. She had retreated to the window seat once again and was sternly telling herself not to be stupidly fanciful. What possible menace could there be in Godfrey Channing?
“I find the works of Plato most enlightening,” Godfrey responded solemnly, hoping she wouldn’t launch into an exhaustive conversation on the subject. He had done a little reading but not enough to satisfy a true scholar. But he doubted that a woman, whatever Brian might say, could achieve true scholarship. Olivia probably merely dabbled and considered herself very learned.
“Which works in particular?” Olivia asked. “The
Much to Godfrey’s relief, the question remained unspoken as the door burst open to admit a veritable whirlwind. There were children and dogs and a thin young woman with startling red hair and a mass of freckles, clad astoundingly in britches and doublet. There were cries of delight, much hugging and kissing, and one of the dogs, a large mustard-colored mongrel bitch, pranced and barked and greeted all in sight, including Lord Channing.
He kicked at the dog as she sniffed eagerly at his ankles, and she retreated with raised hackles.
“Juno, what is it?” The red-haired woman bent instantly to the bitch, smoothing her neck. The woman raised slanted green eyes to Godfrey and gave him a look of such derision he wanted to strangle her.
“Juno won’t hurt you. Unless, of course, you’re inclined to hurt
“Portia, allow me to introduce Lord Channing.” Phoebe stepped forward out of the turmoil of children. “Lord Channing, Lady Decatur, Countess of Rothbury.”
Portia gave him a cold nod, her hand still on the dog’s head.
Godfrey’s bow was sketchy. He’d never seen a woman like this one. He knew, of course, of Rufus Decatur, Earl of Rothbury. A man with a checkered past. But he was still an aristocrat. What was he doing with such a travesty of a wife?
He turned to Phoebe. “I should make my farewells, Lady Granville, and leave you to your guests.”
“Oh, do you have to go so soon?” Phoebe murmured politely even as she gave him her hand.
“I have overstayed my welcome,” he responded, kissing her hand before bowing to Olivia. “Lady Olivia, I trust I may call upon you again?”
Olivia curtsied but made no reply. She could think of nothing to say that would prevent his return. Unless or until he made her a formal offer, she had no choice but to receive him.
Godfrey waited for her to answer him, and he waited in vain. He realized he was looking foolish, standing with his hand on the doorknob, and with a short nod he left the parlor.
“What an unpleasant man,” Portia observed.
“Yes, isn’t he?” Olivia agreed readily. “He gives me the shivers.”
“He seems harmless enough,” Phoebe said, adding, “for a popinjay.”
“My father thinks he wants to pay court to me,” Olivia told Portia.
Portia went into a peal of laughter. “Then I can only commend his enterprise. He doesn’t know, of course, that you’re sworn to celibacy.”
Portia caught the glance and her eyes narrowed. “I detect secrets.”
“Olivia has been adventuring,” Phoebe said in an undertone, mindful of the children.
“Oh, sounds interesting.” Portia examined Lady Granville’s rounded, serious countenance with a quizzically raised eyebrow. “You look as if you don’t approve, duckie.”
She cast an eye over at Olivia and saw her confusion and distress. “I think I’ve arrived just in time,” she observed, and turned to the children. “Luke, Toby, take Alex and Eve into the garden and give Juno a run.”
The two elder boys obliged cheerfully, and the three women were left in relative peace.
“Now…” Portia sat on the arm of a chair. “Let’s hear it.”
Rufus Decatur and Cato were walking the length of the terrace, deep in conversation. The children, Juno, and the two Granville hounds exploded through the glass doors from the parlor. Rufus paused to watch with a paternal eye as they chased across the terrace and into the trees.
“Luke… Toby… don’t leave the garden,” he called after them. “And don’t let Eve get into any trouble.” He got a wave in response and laughed slightly. “She’s a real tearaway, that one. Always hip deep in trouble. It seems to seek her out.”
“Takes after her mother,” Cato observed.
“You may have a point.”
The two men glanced through the open door into the parlor. The three women were sitting in a circle, heads together, so intent on their conversation they were oblivious of their audience.
“I wonder what they’re talking about,” Rufus murmured.
“Oh, domestic matters probably… teething babies, difficulties with servants, complicated embroidery stitches,” said Cato with a chuckle.
Rufus laughed at this absurdity. “The soldier, the poet, and the scholar. What a trio.”
“An inseparable trio,” Cato commented before resuming their earlier discussion. “So, there’s talk off the island as well as on it about a renewed attempt to get the king away.”
“Aye, the army’s full of rumor, but this one seems to have some teeth.”
“But no one has a name for whoever’s behind it.”
Rufus shook his head. “I hear only that he’s well respected, well connected, and something of a brigand. He’s talked about with the kind of awe people reserve for folk heroes. William Tell or Robin Hood.” He shrugged. There had been a time when he too had had such a reputation.
“But he’s on the island?”
“Some say yes, some say no. He’s a mystery.”
Cato nodded. “A mystery who can defeat even Giles Crampton’s network of informants. Well, we’ll just have to watch and wait. And keep the king under even closer observation. I’ve set a spy in place, Hammond’s equerry… Godfrey Channing. Have you met him?”
Rufus shook his head. “I know the name.”
“He seems to have a knack for keeping his eyes and ears open. And he’s good at interpreting the king’s moods. You know how His Majesty’s moods reflect what’s going on. When he’s cheerful and optimistic it tends to mean he’s got some plan a-brewing.”
“Aye,” Rufus agreed. “It’s not that he’s stupid, just that he considers it beneath his dignity to pretend. Is he still negotiating with the Scots, d’you think?”
“I’m certain of it. And Channing said that the king knew when the Scots crossed the Border, so information’s getting to him somehow. And there’s money coming from somewhere too. These damned pockets of rebellion across the country are being funded from somewhere… soldiers are being paid.”
“Paid soldiers fight with a damn sight more enthusiasm, and they don’t much care who the paymaster is or even what they’re fighting for,” Rufus observed. “While Parliament’s armies go unpaid and mutinous, the king’s supporters are fighting with full bellies and heavy pockets.”
Cato nodded. “Every time I think the end is in sight, it drifts away again.”
“We’ve a long way to go yet,” Rufus said wearily. “You’d think seven years of bloodshed would be enough, wouldn’t you?”
It was a rhetorical question.
Anthony surveyed the booty from the cave, piled high in
“Lace.”
“If I give her lace, she’ll only use it to make me more nightshirts.”
“They ‘ave their uses. The lass looked right pretty in ’em,” Adam commented slyly.
“That’s as may be,” Anthony responded. “But to return to Ellen…”
“The silk’s too rich fer ‘er tastes. She’d like a nice bolt of kersey or some such. She’s not one for folderols… O’ course, she’s not agin‘ a drop o’ cognac or a nice flagon o‘ that there madeira.”
“Well, that’s easily supplied. And a couple of bottles of burgundy too. Maybe she’d like one of the cashmere shawls. Keep the drafts out in winter.”
“Aye, mebbe so. You goin‘ to visit now?”
“You’re coming too, I’m assuming.”
Adam looked pleased. “Wasn’t sure I was asked.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, man! When would I visit Ellen without you?”
