Lord Exmouth's Intentions

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Robina buried her face in her hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. ‘I give up!’

‘Yes, you may have a point there, dear,’ her ladyship agreed, sublimely ignoring the muttered interruption. ‘Sapphires certainly emphasise blue eyes and a fair complexion, but don’t discount the rubies, my son. With that beautiful dark hair, she could carry that particular stone very well, too.’

Wickedly enjoying himself at his darling guest’s expense, his lordship finished off the last mouthful on his plate before reaching for the journal conveniently placed nearby. ‘By the by, Mama. Darling Robina, here, feels that we are spoiling her, and being far, far too kind. So I have decided to remedy this misconduct on our part by taking her out in the curricle this morning.’

A brief glance in Robina’s direction was sufficient to inform the Dowager that the girl was as much puzzled by this pronouncement as she was herself. ‘I’m evidently being foolishly obtuse, but I do not immediately perceive how jaunting about the town in an open carriage is likely to remedy the situation, my son.’

‘Because yesterday, when Robin and I were strolling about the town, our attention was momentarily captured by the sight of that outrageous Lady Claudia Melrose making an exhibition of herself again by tooling a high-perched phaeton down the middle of the street. And young madam here, far from scandalised by such behaviour, was not slow to express her admiration of the dashing lady’s skill, nor her wish that she too could tool a racing vehicle with such flair. So, after due consideration, I’ve decided to offer the benefit of my no little experience and instruct her.’

Robina, swiftly forgetting her grievances, gave vent to a tiny squeal of delight. ‘Truly, sir…? You’ll teach me?’

‘Yes, child, but only because it will offer me the golden opportunity of scolding you unmercifully, you understand? And woe betide you if you dare to damage my greys’ delicate—’

He broke off, staring fixedly for a few moments at the article in the newspaper which had unexpectedly captured his attention, before handing the journal over to Robina, indicating the section he wished her to read by prodding the precise spot in the column with one well-manicured finger. ‘Am I right in thinking that the Marquis of Sywell heralded from your neck of the woods, child?’

Her expression changing to one of incredulity, Robina swiftly apprised herself of the item of news, and then automatically turned to Daniel for corroboration. ‘Heavens above! Do you suppose it can possibly be true?’

‘I am on occasions very sceptical about what I read in the newspapers, most especially about what appears in the gossip columns. But I doubt very much that such a detailed account as that one would have appeared in print if it were not true.’

‘What on earth has happened?’ the Dowager enquired, gaining her son’s attention.

‘The Marquis of Sywell is dead. He was discovered by his manservant lying flat on his back on the bedchamber floor, with a razor—er—stuck in his chest. It may have been an accident of course. Sywell was, after all, a notorious drunkard who could well have tripped and fallen on the implement. The authorities, however, cannot rule out foul play.’

‘No, indeed,’ Robina agreed, focusing her attention on an imaginary spot on the wall opposite, wondering why she felt not the smallest degree of remorse.

Undeniably, the Marquis had been a cruel, thoroughly selfish man who had gone through life taking what he wanted, when he wanted, with no consideration whatsoever for the feelings of others. The name Sywell had become a byword for debauchery among the inhabitants of the four Abbey villages. He had been despised by many; liked by none. He had not, however, inflicted any harm on her personally, nor on any member of her immediate family, as far as she was aware. So surely she ought to feel at least a twinge of remorse, if not for his death, then at least for the manner of his passing? The truth of the matter was, though, she felt absolutely nothing at all, and was not quite comfortable with herself for this sad absence of feeling. Had her weeks in London so changed her that she now cared not a whit whether or not a fellow human being had met his end in so violent a manner?

Daniel, watching her closely, was not slow to note the slightly perturbed expression. ‘Were you well acquainted with him, child?’

‘No, not at all.’ She shook her head in wonder. ‘It is a shameful thing to admit to,’ she announced, not thinking twice about sharing her thoughts with him, ‘but I think the world will be a better place without the Marquis. If my sympathies rest with anyone, then it is with the possible perpetrator of the deed. What he must have suffered at Sywell’s hands to induce him to seek revenge and commit such an act one can only wonder at.’

‘Very true,’ the Dowager agreed, much struck by this. ‘And if he was indeed murdered, I doubt there will be any lack of suspects.’

‘I didn’t realise you were so well acquainted with him, Mama?’

‘We were slightly acquainted, Daniel,’ she corrected him. ‘We met on one or two occasions many years ago. Your maternal grandfather was not in favour of a closer association. Even in those days Sywell had a somewhat unsavoury reputation. He was undeniably a most disagreeable man, who went through life making enemies—far more, I dare say, than there will be mourners at his funeral to lament his passing.’

‘You may possibly be right,’ Daniel agreed, rising to his feet. ‘But I for one have no intention of fruitlessly trying to speculate on which of his numerous enemies might have been the perpetrator of the crime—if indeed a crime was committed, for that in itself has yet to be proved. I have a far more important matter taxing my poor brain at this present moment in time—namely, how to pacify Kendall for the ordeal ahead of him.

‘You may or may not be aware of it, ma’am,’ he continued, in response to the faintly bewildered glance his mother cast up at him as he passed her chair, ‘but my most loyal retainer, being a confirmed bachelor, retains one or two preconceived notions where the fair sex is concerned. He is not a total misogynist, for he has on the odd occasion been overheard to utter mild praise when observing some female equestrian displaying a modicum of skill. He is, however, old-fashioned enough to deplore the present vogue for ladies tooling their own carriages.’

‘Why not simply leave him here when you take Robina out?’ her ladyship enquired, at a loss to understand why her son was making such an issue of an easily resolved problem.

His expression was faintly mocking. ‘Because unlike you, Mama, who have proved to be possibly the most negligent chaperon on the face of the planet since we took up residence here in Brighton, I’m endeavouring to ensure that Robina’s hitherto spotless reputation does not become slightly tarnished in the eyes of this censorious world of ours by being observed leaving the town’s limits solely in my company.’

Although the explanation appeared to satisfy the Dowager, Robina was not quite so certain that she fully understood the reason behind his lordship’s resolve to observe the proprieties wherever possible. Whose reputation was he striving to protect—hers or his own? she couldn’t help asking herself. Was he doing everything within his power to ensure that she was not forced into a union with him? Or was he determined that he would not be obliged to offer her the protection of his name because of any gossip which might arise from their being observed together? And why was it, she wondered, had the latter possibility brought a return of that very uncomfortable hollow feeling deep inside?

By the time she had taken her place beside his lordship in the curricle later that morning, Robina had come very close to convincing herself that Daniel’s determination to have a third person present as much as possible whenever in her company was prompted by entirely unselfish motives. Yes, she had almost convinced herself, but not quite. She refused, however, to permit the remaining lingering little doubt to mar the pleasurable excitement she was experiencing at the prospect of being taught to handle such a fine pair of horses.

Having been expected to perform many tasks over the years under her mother’s watchful eye had certainly stood her in good stead for just such an occasion as this, Robina reflected, happily taking charge of the equipage as they reached the outskirts of the town and the open countryside lay before them beckoning invitingly. At some point in her young life she had acquired a dogged determination not to allow fear of failure or an expert’s critical opinion to prevent her from attempting something new. Consequently, she was able to concentrate fully on the task in hand, even though she had been forewarned that the small, stocky individual perched on the seat behind her was undoubtedly watching her every move, just waiting for the opportunity to give his opinion of ‘uppity’ females who thought themselves capable of handling the ribbons by giving vent to a loud snort at any foolish mistake she might make.

Thankfully no such derisive sound reached her ears. More satisfying still was the fact that only once, before she was requested to draw to a halt at a convenient spot in the lane where there was room enough for two carriages to pass quite comfortably, did her tutor feel the need to correct a slight error by placing his hand over hers, though why the fleeting and unexpected contact should have resulted in her heart momentarily beating a little faster she was at a complete loss to understand.

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