Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection

“Ship,” he corrected with a slight smile. “A frigate, to be exact. But not mine. I was merely traveling with the Fervant, as my duties have concluded. I was on my way home via the port of Hove, in fact, when we came upon...when we came upon the wreckage.”

She ignored his mention of her brother’s yacht. “Have you been away from your home and family for a long time, Captain?”

“My home, yes, my lady. Four years or a little more, when last I thought about it. As for my family, my three sisters are wed and gone. My parents are also gone—to their eternal rewards. Not to belabor the thing, but as I have spent a solitary bachelor existence at sea for so very long, I will be returning to a home as empty as this one must feel to you at the moment.”

“Then I wouldn’t be delaying you overmuch if I were to shamelessly beg you to remain here until I...until I can think what next to do. I should be doing something, shouldn’t I? Should I be asking you to take me to Shoreham-by-Sea?”

John shook his head. “There’s nothing for you to do there, no, my lady. The Fervant circled the area for hours, and only Mr. Hobart was located. He’d somehow been lucky enough to free the small boat the yacht had been dragging with it before it, too, was pulled beneath the surface.”

“How fortunate for Mr. Hobart. Will there be an inquiry, do you suppose?”

John didn’t have an answer to that question. “I suppose that will be up to the authorities in charge of such things. But Captain Clark has already written his recounting of what we found, what we did. I’m fairly certain the ruling will be death by accident, not misadventure.”

“Yes, I would agree with that. Not misadventure, but adventure. Is that what men call heading out to sea with a drunken captain, and with less knowledge of how to pilot a boat—ship—than a strutting barnyard rooster?” She entwined her fingers together as she looked at John in some surprise. “Why, yes, that’s it. That’s what I’m feeling. I wasn’t certain. But now I know. I’m angry, Captain Alastair. My brother and my nephews are dead, leaving me to do Lord only knows what, and I’m very, very angry with the three of them. Is that wickedly unnatural of me, Captain?”

John lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “I suppose that, in some ways, you could believe that they’ve behaved rather inconsiderately toward you. Dying, that is.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, and then John felt the corners of his mouth attempting to embarrass him with a smile.

But rather than be appalled by his inappropriate levity, Lady Emmaline’s brown eyes began to twinkle, and a smile played about her lips as well, before she stood, so that he, too, hastened to his feet.

“I need to have Grayson summon all the servants and inform them of the duke’s demise. Oh, dear. The duke’s demise. That sounds rather like a farce at Covent Garden, doesn’t it? Do you know something, Captain Alastair? I think I may be about to become slightly hysterical, after all.”

“I sincerely hope not,” John told her frankly. “I’ve no experience with hysterical women, and I was hoping to be of some use to you as long as it would appear I am to be your guest for the evening.” He was liking this woman more with each passing moment. Her courage, her strength—her honesty. And those lovely soft brown eyes...

“Very well, then, I won’t be hysterical. Not even slightly, I promise. But you’ll come with me, won’t you? You’ll speak to Grayson for me?”

“Would you rather I hunted him down and brought him in here?”

“I suppose. But you won’t have to look far, I’m sure. Just open the door. Oh, and be careful Mrs. Piggle doesn’t topple in on your feet.”

Lady Emmaline’s strange warning had John thinking that the woman still wasn’t very far from a complete breakdown, but when he opened the doors that led into the foyer, it was to see a rather red-cheeked, pudgy woman of an indeterminate age attempting to regain her feet just on the other side of the door.

“You could at least have offered your arm in helping me up, Mr. Grayson,” she complained to the butler, who was now eyeing John as if he was some bit of vermin he’d unintentionally let into the house.

“Let me assume that you’ve heard the news,” John said before turning to close the doors behind him, blocking Lady Emmaline’s view. She’d mentioned a farce, and he sought to spare her the one now taking place in this foyer.

“How can we know they’re dead? We’ve only your word for it. And who are you?” Grayson asked, accused, the moment those doors were shut.

John nearly told him, but then mentally bit his tongue. A duke of the realm and his two heirs didn’t all perish together without repercussions that would reverberate for weeks, if not months. There was enough turmoil at Ashurst Hall at the moment, without him making some grand announcement. Besides, Lady Emmaline might not be as ready to appeal to him for help if she knew who he really was. As things stood now, she could accept his assistance and retain the illusion that she was in charge. John believed she needed to feel in charge, competent.

“I am who I said I was when I arrived here, Grayson. Captain John Alastair, late of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. I’m also the man who would consider your words an insult to his honor if not for the grief that has just settled over this household.”

Grayson’s chin lowered slightly, the older man seeming to understand that he had spoken out of turn to a gentleman who didn’t take insolence lightly.

“I’ll have one of the grooms ride to the village to summon the vicar. Lady Emmaline will wish for spiritual guidance.”

“Hummph,” Mrs. Piggle snorted, and then quickly covered her mouth as she turned her less than laudatory reaction into a cough. “Suppose someone’ll want the chapel taken out of Holland covers. Ain’t been a Daughtry in there since the last duke was carried in feetfirst. I’ll set the maids to it first thing tomorrow.”

“We all worship the Almighty in our own ways, Mrs. Piggle.” Grayson quelled the woman’s insolence with a stare that would have made any sergeant major proud. “Lady E. attends services in the village, you understand. His Grace and his sons...preferred to worship our Lord in their own way.”

“You don’t need to explain. I will tell you that I’ll be staying here tonight at Lady Emmaline’s request,” John said, not wishing for any more confidences from the servants at the moment. “See to it that a chamber is made ready for me. My bags are still in the coach, I imagine. I’d like to bathe and change into a fresh uniform before the dinner bell is rung.”

“Oh, laws, Lady E.’s birthday! Mr. Grayson, we forgot. Lady E.’s birthday celebration. And Cook has prepared all of her favorites, and now we’re all at sixes and sevens, what with the duke and those horrid boys drowning and all. Ah, what a misery this day is. Poor little dab. What a misery...”

John cocked a look at the butler. “It’s Lady Emmaline’s birthday?”

“Just as Mrs. Piggle said, yes. She’s had more than her share of birthdays under this roof, that’s what His Grace would always say. He may have forgotten this one, I’m afraid.”

“They’d all still be alive if he’d remembered this one. Excepting he probably would have gone sailing at any rate.” Mrs. Piggle took a step away from the butler as Grayson frowned. “I’m only speaking the truth, you know. I can’t remember the last birthday any of them paid a bit of mind to. Poor little dab.”

John took a step toward the butler. He was beginning to feel rather proprietary toward Lady Emmaline Daughtry. “But we’re not going to forget it, Grayson, are we? Whatever has been planned shall go forward. So, what is planned?”

Mrs. Piggle answered. “Just her favorite meal, sir, and a simple confection she also favors. And all to be served in the main dining saloon, with the table shining with all the silver and candles and such. The staff is quite fond of Lady E.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Piggle. It all sounds lovely and thoughtful. I would ask that another place be laid, as I will be joining Lady Emmaline at table. There’s time enough for the vicar tomorrow, Grayson. For tonight, we will discuss the duke’s death only if her ladyship wishes it. Agreed?”

Grayson nodded. “Agreed, sir. And I will inform the staff. Her ladyship should not have to worry her head about a thing, not if we can be of assistance.” He frowned, hesitated and then added, “The new duke will be here soon enough, if he’s not dead, too.”

“And who might this new, perhaps deceased duke be, Grayson?” John asked, anxious to get back to Lady Emmaline, who probably shouldn’t be left alone with her grief for too long.

Grayson sighed. “The most unlikely person, that’s who. The late duke’s brother’s son. One Rafael Daughtry, and a captain serving under Wellington. I cannot imagine anyone less suited for the title.”

“And don’t be forgetting the mother,” Mrs. Piggle said, rolling her rather bulging eyes. “There’s one would make a stone statue blush, what with her outlandish ways. We’re to be taking orders from the likes of her?”

“Shush, Mrs. Piggle. That will be quite enough.” Grayson turned to John once more. “Forgive us, sir, the both of us. We’ve had quite the shock. We’ve known the late duke ever so long, and the boys since they were born. And then, of course, Lady Emmaline holds all our hearts. It’s...it’s a trying time. But we will overcome it, sir.”

“Then you’re all finished with being shocked now, aren’t you, and from this moment on you will all do whatever is in your power to assist Lady Emmaline during this trying time—without further comment. Am I correct? Very good.” What a poorly run household this was, John thought. He’d never met the Duke of Ashurst or his sons, but he felt fairly certain he had nothing to regret in not making their acquaintances.

At last, the butler seemed to pull himself together. “Yes, Captain. I’ll see to having your bags taken up to the west wing and a bath called for. I’ll have one of the footmen escort you directly. Dinner is at six.”

“Thank you, Grayson. But before you do that, please summon Lady Emmaline’s maid to her and explain that I will rejoin her in an hour.”

“Yes, of course. And again, Captain, our apologies. We will strive to draw ourselves together and carry on.” The butler put his hand to the small of the housekeeper’s broad back. “Come along, Mrs. Piggle. I know you can’t wait to be the one who tells everyone the terrible news.”

John looked at the closed doors to the main saloon, part of him wishing to rejoin his hostess, while another part of him longed to be out of his uniform and sunk in hot soapy water to his chin. Bathing aboard ship was always a spotty thing, and he was sorely in need of not only soap and water but clean linen and even a razor.

He should have stopped at an inn along the way from Shoreham-by-Sea and made himself more presentable, but he’d believed time was of the essence, that news of the duke’s demise—as Lady Emmaline had termed it—must be brought to his estate as quickly as possible.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to just step back inside the room for a moment, to assure himself that the woman was still as bravely stoic as she’d been since first hearing of her now vastly altered family situation.

Giving in to his curiosity, if that was the proper term for it, he opened the door only slightly and peered toward the couches set in the middle of the large room.

Lady Emmaline was no longer seated on one of the couches.

John stepped fully inside, casting his gaze around the room, only to discover that it was empty of all but its furnishings.

Where could she have gone? A quick glance toward the French doors told him that the rain was still coming down hard, so she wouldn’t have gone back outside into the gardens.