Masquerading with the Duke: Ducal Encounters Series 4 Book 2 Page 2

  His mother’s birthday was fast approaching, and it had become an established custom to throw the grounds of Winchester Park open to the residents of both Shawford and Compton villages for the day. A grand feast and organised amusements abounded, culminating in a fiercely-contested cricket match between Zach’s team and the villagers. His mother was now dead but there wasn’t the slightest possibility of Zach stopping the tradition without offending the locals. This year there would also be a masquerade for the gentry the following evening, with proceeds going to the orphanage in Winchester that Frankie—and more especially Sara, his cousin Max’s wife—were actively involved in supporting. It was at the orphanage that Crista had been shot, which made the occasion especially poignant. Zach had been worried that Amos would find the idea of celebrating distasteful, but he’d surprised Zach by supporting Frankie’s proposal wholeheartedly.

  And so, in less than two weeks, his house would be full to bursting point. All of his five siblings and their spouses would be in attendance, as would his five cousins. The nursery would be overflowing with the next generation of Sheridans and Zach looked forward to them all being together again. Whether he wanted the occasion marred by the presence of a possible double-agent was something he was less sure about. But Amos didn’t seem to have any doubts about helping Clarence prove Braden’s guilt or otherwise. Besides, Clarence would wear him down eventually. He always did. He might as well capitulate now and save himself the ear-bashing.

  ‘You will be here yourself in less than a fortnight. Why can’t you confront Braden when you get here?’ he asked. ‘You don’t need to involve us.’

  Clarence sent Zach a look that implied the question had been ridiculous. ‘Confront him about what? If he’s been leaking secrets, he’s hardly likely to admit it to me just because we meet in a social setting and I ask him politely.’

  ‘True, I suppose,’ Zach conceded. ‘But then he’s hardly likely to tell us either.’

  ‘I’ve heard it said that he’s in the market for a decent horse and that he’s followed in his father’s footsteps and collects rare pieces of jewellery.’

  ‘Where the devil do you hear these things?’ Zach asked, watching Amos carefully for signs of unease, glad when the mention of jewellery didn’t produce any.

  ‘And of course you just happen to know that I still have a number of the pieces that Crista made,’ Amos remarked, ‘which I haven’t decided whether or not to sell. To say nothing of my running Zach’s stud and having a dozen decent horses for sale at any one time.’

  ‘Well, it does seem like a coincidence, doesn’t it,’ Clarence said mildly, causing Amos to snort with laughter. Zach was glad of his reaction. Clarence’s ulterior motives would have produced anger and resentment a few short months ago.

  ‘I still don’t understand what you expect us to do,’ Zach said.

  ‘If Braden isn’t disloyal to the crown, something makes me think that he knows who is.’

  Ah, Zach thought, finally we have reached the crux of the matter.

  ‘Why doesn’t he tell you whom he suspects?’ Amos asked.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Clarence admitted, permitting a rare flash of frustration to show in his expression. ‘He just came back from Paris, said he’d had enough and was resigning. Nothing I said or did would persuade him to elucidate. But I got the impression that something had happened to force his hand.’

  ‘As a matter of interest, what terrible secrets of state have been leaked to the French?’ Amos asked.

  Clarence fell into momentary contemplation and at first Zach thought he wouldn’t answer the question. He seldom volunteered sensitive information, but if he didn’t do so on this occasion then he could forget all about receiving cooperation from Zach and Amos. Or could he? If Braden was to be their neighbour, Zach would be uncomfortable if he didn’t have absolute faith in the man’s loyalty to the crown. Once again, Crista’s fate loomed large in the forefront of his mind. There were always people who resented Zach, bore grudges for the most obscure reasons, or simply wanted to do away with him to make a point. He couldn’t afford to relax his guard. Perhaps that was why Clarence had told him about Braden in such a roundabout fashion, aware that before their discussion was over Zach would have become as determined as Clarence to verify the man’s loyalties.

  ‘Canning is gradually becoming less cooperative with the European powers,’ Clarence eventually said, referring to the foreign secretary. ‘He prefers to throw England’s support behind the United States, unofficially and secretly, of course. His aim is to preserve the newly independent Latin American states and prevent French influence there, giving British merchants the edge with access to the emerging markets and lucrative trading deals. Non-intervention, every nation for itself and God for us all is what he bangs on about in private.’ Clarence threw back his head and sighed. ‘He’s been known to shout about England not Europe when in his cups. It becomes tedious.’

  ‘And details of these underhand tactics have reached French ears,’ Zach said thoughtfully, realising now just how potentially serious the situation actually was. Both countries were recovering from the social and economic ravages of war, feelings were still running high and a diplomatic spat was the last thing that either side wanted. ‘I can see that they might be a tad miffed about it.’

  Clarence chortled. ‘Ever so slightly.’

  ‘Braden knew about Canning’s plan?’ Amos asked.

  ‘He didn’t know the particulars, but he had a broad idea.’

  Zach sighed. ‘If Braden leaves his card, I will receive him and judge him for myself, Clarence,’ he said. ‘That’s the best I can offer for now.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Clarence nodded to both men. ‘You especially, Amos. I know this cannot be easy for you, having the past dragged up and put to use in such a fashion. You have every right to be less than gracious.’

  Amos shrugged. ‘Life goes on, I’m told,’ he said, a faraway look in his eye.

  ‘Will you stay the night, Clarence?’ Zach asked.

  ‘Thank you, but no. I detoured here on the way to Romsey. We have a social engagement this evening that’s very important to Anna. She will no doubt emasculate me if I don’t keep my promise and attend it with her.’

  Amos shuddered. ‘Then don’t let us keep you. We can’t risk you receiving the sharp side of our sister’s tongue, to say nothing of losing your manhood.’

  ‘Heaven forbid,’ Zach said, levering himself to his feet and shaking Clarence’s hand. ‘We’ll be in touch if we have any news for you.’

  ‘I’ll take my leave of Frankie and be on my way,’ Clarence said, raising a hand in farewell.

  ‘What did you make of that?’ Zach asked as they watched the door close behind their brother-in-law.

  ‘Hard so say,’ Amos replied. ‘It’s difficult for me to be objective, given the problems that Braden senior caused for Crista’s father.’

  ‘But he never crossed Crista’s path?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Braden must have selected this district for a reason. I wonder what it can possibly be, given that he had the entire country to choose from and has no connections that we are aware of in Winchester.’

  Amos shrugged. ‘Might be worth having Adler ask a few questions.’

  ‘I shall.’ Zach rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Damned heat. When will this weather break? Anyway, I have a feeling that befriending Braden will fall more naturally to your lot than to mine, given that his interests lie in horses and jewels. Are you comfortable with that?’

  ‘I have already agreed to help him,’ Amos replied, an edge to his voice. ‘Despite the fact that we give Clarence a hard time, I admire his dedication to the country’s interests and will help him if I can. It can’t be easy for him always having to be suspicious of everyone he meets, looking for hidden meanings and what have you.’

  ‘I tend to agree.’ Zach stood and slapped Amos’s shoulder. ‘Come along then, little brother, the children will be down any time now.’ A loud squeal accompanied by a stampede of what sounded like dozens of small pairs of feet on the stairs confirmed Zach’s assertion. ‘We’d best go and keep order.’ He raised his eyes to heaven. ‘God knows how. Even the heat doesn’t seem to slow the little perishers down.’

  Chapter Two

  Jared Braden’s post boys slowed his team of four to a walk as his conveyance passed through the village of Shawford. Several locals stopped to stare at the grand travelling chaise with its hood down, and at Jared occupying the single forward-facing seat. He inclined his head towards those who raised hands, clearly curious about his identity, but ordered the boys to keep moving on this final leg of his journey from London. The four matching greys between the shafts were his own, and had been sent down ahead to the final posting inn. His man Ramsay sat on the bench over the rear wheel, still as a statue but armed and alert, always ready for the inevitable trouble engendered by envy, hunger or greed.

  ‘Stay vigilant,’ Jared said over his shoulder, scanning the passing locals, looking for anyone who seemed out of place.

  Jared had recently been attacked on a London street, and although he had fought his attacker off, he knew it hadn’t been a random assault. Someone wanted to silence him. Permanently. And he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the danger would pass now that he’d left both the capital and his career in the diplomatic service behind him. He had stumbled across evidence that pointed to a mole in the pay of the French. Jared had a fair idea who that mole was, but couldn’t actually prove it. He was tired of suspicion continually falling upon him because of his family’s questionable past, so he intended to draw his enemy out, here in the country and on his terms. He had yet to decide precisely how he would go about it, but unfettered by the rules of the se
rvice and no longer obliged to dance to the foreign secretary’s tune, he was free to behave as he saw fit.

  The dog sitting beside Jared suddenly gave a loud bark. Jared smiled as he tugged at Thor’s ears, convinced that the mutt understood and agreed with every thought that passed through Jared’s head. Saving an animal’s life earned a man that sort of devotion. The French scent-hound had been abandoned and was starved to the point of death when Jared had come across him one night in the backstreets of Paris, slinking along on his belly, filthy, an exhausted bag of skin and bone. Jared held out a hand and the dog had licked it with pathetic gratitude. Jared couldn’t leave him to die, not when he looked so pitiful. Besides, he couldn’t abide cruelty in any form. Thor was an expensive pedigree who had probably been abandoned when his owners crept out of Paris in the dead of night to avoid their creditors.

  Jared had taken him home and nursed him back to health. With his shiny white coat and disproportionately long brown ears, the dog was unrecognisable from the scrawny, flea-ridden skeleton he’d been just a few months previously. He had also proven himself to be a ferocious guard, a faithful friend and excellent company.

  With the postilions steering the carriage from their seats on the backs of the horses, there was little for Jared to do, other than to brood, wondering for the thousandth time if he had done the right thing in leaving Paris. He tugged absently at Thor’s ears once again as they flapped in the welcome breeze created by the motion of the carriage.

  It was too late for regrets, he reminded himself, and anyway he was better off well away from the minefield of the diplomatic service—especially if he was intent upon remaining alive. This area was to be his home now, his nearest neighbour the highly influential Duke of Winchester, a relation by marriage to the Earl of Romsey, his former government master. Musgrove Manor was arguably the estate with the most potential of all those that had been offered up for his inspection, so he didn’t permit the possibility of encountering Romsey socially to deter him from purchasing it. Besides, he had another more compelling reason for settling in the area.

  He pretended not to care that he had spent his entire adult life attempting to show to an uncaring society that unlike his father he was loyal to the core. He thought he had proven himself many times over by taking up the offer to serve his country when he had been approached shortly after leaving university. But now there was a mole in the foreign service and yet again suspicion had fallen upon Jared, just as it always did whenever there was a leak.

  Enough was enough. Jared had returned to London and resigned without giving any reason for his decision and without capitulating to the pressure brought upon him by Romsey to reconsider. He had grown weary of being a scapegoat, or being told half-truths and sometimes outright lies by his paymasters, then expected to sooth troubled waters without being in possession of all the facts. It had often felt as if he was considered expendable.

  Now he simply felt persecuted.

  Thor rested his head against Jared’s leg and let out a soft little grunt.

  One fact that was not in dispute was the machinations of the traitor determined to damage British interests. Jared fully intended to discover who he was and expose him, thus vindicating himself—preferably without getting himself killed, since he was pretty sure that the traitor and the man who had attempted to do away with him in London were one and the same. He had a very good idea of the man’s identity, but he was clever and elusive, as well as being trusted absolutely by the foreign office, so proving that he was in the pay of the French would be a challenge.

  Living on the man’s doorstep, acting as his conscience when they were unable to avoid one another, was the only way that Jared had been able to think of to panic him into an error of judgement. He had to live somewhere, and Musgrove Manor so closely matching his requirements and being available exactly when he had need of it had persuaded him to go ahead with his nebulous plan. Something would point him in the right direction once he was settled; Jared had to believe it. When he had exposed the villain and saved his own reputation, then he would turn his attention to growing turnips and becoming a recluse, with just Thor’s undemanding company to keep him sane.

  The boys turned the carriage onto an area of common land. Jared craned his neck and saw a portered lodge which he knew from his previous brief visit to inspect his new home was the back entrance to Winchester Park, the home of the man whom he hoped would help him get to the truth. If his suspicions were right then the traitor lived locally, was highly respected and mixed freely in society whilst profiting from the rewards that came his way courtesy of his grateful French connections. He doubted whether the duke would take kindly to having frequently entertained such a man in his opulent mansion. Jared wasn’t personally acquainted with Winchester, but everyone he spoke to assured him that the duke was a man of honour and integrity.

  ‘This is it,’ he said over his shoulder to Ramsay as the conveyance turned between crumbling gate posts and the outline of a large manor house emerged through the heat haze. The house itself was not in a bad state of repair, but the estate had gone to seed. Jared would have to do basic renovations to the farm cottages to make them habitable before he could acquire tenants to occupy them and cultivate his land, but that could wait. He had other priorities.

  The carriage came to a halt at the front steps. Several servants spilled from the house and formed up in a neat line as Jared alighted, Thor at his heels with his nose pressed to the ground, sniffing out his new domain. He had asked the local agent who had shown him the property to employ as many servants as was necessary to run the house and prepare it for his arrival. It seemed Braithwaite had not let him down.

  ‘Welcome, sir.’ A stately man stepped forward and bowed. ‘I am Gregson and have been engaged to serve as your butler. I trust you will find everything in readiness and to your satisfaction.’

  ‘I am sure I shall, Gregson.’

  He nodded to the maids, cook and two footmen, who dipped curtsies and inclined heads, and strode up the steps. Gregson followed him and took Jared’s outdoor garments as he shrugged out of them.

  ‘The weather is so warm, sir, that we did not think there was any need for fires. But all the rooms have been thoroughly aired and the chimneys have been swept.’

  Jared nodded as he walked into the drawing room, deferring judgement until he had seen for himself. He was immediately reassured and said as much. The room had been transformed since his last visit, when the furniture had been shrouded in dust sheets, the windows grimy, the air stale, the fireplace the domain of a colony of spiders. He had visualised how the large space might look when restored to its former glory, with the handsome carved fireplace at one end, the long windows sparkling clean and the ornate chandeliers devoid of the dirt that had accumulated over several years.

  He was not disappointed. The dust sheets had gone and the good quality furniture now sported a high shine, the smell of beeswax polish lingering in much fresher air. Several vases of flowers added a refreshing scent. The clean windows had been thrown open to attract what little breeze there was and the room now felt welcoming—and above all, cool after the heat of the day.

  ‘Excellent,’ Jared said nodding.

  ‘We were not instructed to employ gardeners, sir,’ Gregson said, following the direction of Jared’s gaze as it dwelt upon the overgrown and neglected formal grounds beyond the open French doors. The terrace’s paving was almost completely concealed by weeds and appeared to be crumbling in places.

  ‘I shall appoint a steward soon, but I would like the gardens to be restored to order as soon as possible. See to it, please,’ Jared said to Ramsay.

  ‘I’ll put the word out in the village,’ Ramsay replied. ‘I hear there are plenty of men seeking gainful employment.’

  Jared took another look around the room and nodded his satisfaction. ‘I shall look at the library,’ he told Gregson, ‘then change and dine in an hour.’

  ‘Everything will be in readiness, sir,’ Gregson assured him. ‘Welcome home.’

  ‘Thank you, Gregson. The staff have done an excellent job.’

  Home. Was it home? Did it feel like it? Jared pondered the question as he assessed the library, its shelves full of the books that he had purchased along with the rest of the contents of the manor, not a speck of dust in sight. The smell left behind by vigorous polishing lingered in this room too. The servants appeared to be efficient and keen to please; an encouraging start. Jared couldn’t abide disorder and was pleased to discover that his newly-employed retainers shared that view.