“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.
Then he noticed another door in the far right-hand corner of the room, and he approached it quietly, to see that it was slightly ajar.
“Lady Emmaline?”
“Yes. One moment.”
He stepped back from the doorway and she joined him in a few moments, as promised, a new look of determination on her beautiful face.
“How do I best get a message to Paris?” she asked him without preamble. “Or at least to France. I think Rafe’s in France.”
“Rafe. Your nephew?”
Lady Emmaline nodded. “Yes, my nephew. He has to come home, doesn’t he? Ashurst Hall cannot be without its master.”
“You should not be alone here, no. I would suggest a personal courier, ma’am. Perhaps a former soldier? A Bow Street Runner? It’s an orderly turmoil now that Bonaparte has retreated to Paris, but it is still turmoil, and will be until the man officially abdicates.”
She looked up at him, her eyes fearful. “Is Rafe in any danger?”
“Hopefully not. But as I said, Bonaparte is still in Paris, and one can never consider the man as being entirely toothless.”
“Oh, dear,” she said as she turned and stepped back into the room she’d just left. She crossed to a small table, the top of which was more than completely covered by what looked to be an open Bible. “I want Rafe to be safe. There’s no question of that. But there is more than just Rafe’s safety that is at stake now.”
John walked over to the table and looked down at the writing on the inside of the back cover of the Bible. “The