Page 29 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

“What can I say? He was a powerful man, with many enemies to his name. It was one of them who targeted your mother. I dealt with it, of course, but the memory is an unpleasant one. I’d not have you mention it in her hearing.”

“I won’t,” Charles assured him. “But this man who sent the letter—”

“Long in his grave,” Arthur said. “He’s no threat to her anymore.”

“Then…mother has no enemies remaining?”

Arthur seemed to consider. “I suppose we both do,” he said. “Our marriage affected a great many people. Not only Moreland, but those who had arranged the match between him and your mother. Her guardian, Edgar Townsend, chief among them. When your mother and I eloped, Moreland was humiliated. He took out his ire on Townsend, effectively ruining him. Townsend and his daughters lost almost everything.”

Charles frowned. The names were all familiar to him, but the details were entirely new. “I’d no idea.”

“It isn’t something we enjoy reminiscing about. There’s little point. Townsend and Moreland are dead. The past is behind us. So long as your mother and I keep out of London, she won’t be hurt by any of the old gossip that might still linger about.”

“I can’t believe anyone would still be talking about it. Not with Moreland, Townsend, and this letter-writer all in their graves.”

“Gossip lives forever,” Arthur said. “It’s why, all things considered, your mother and I would prefer your sister make her debut in Bath. If you can exert any influence in that sphere—”

“I will,” Charles said. “I’ll even accompany her if she wishes. It will save you and mother the trouble of escorting her everywhere.”

“A splendid notion.” Arthur’s mouth lifted in a faint, weary smile. “Tell me, what’s this sudden fascination with the past?”

Charles could have told his father about the letter then. Confided in him and sought his counsel just as he’d intended to do.

But no.

He wasn’t a lad any longer. He was a man grown. A former lieutenant of Her Majesty’s Navy, for God’s sake.

“Just something I heard from one of the servants,” he answered instead. “I’m sorry if my curiosity has raked up bad memories.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” his father said. “Though, for your mother’s sake, I’d rather we didn’t dwell on all that unhappiness.”

“Indeed,” Charles replied. “I won’t mention it to her.”

There was no need to involve his parents. No need to give his family a moment’s pain.

On Monday morning, Charles would make the journey to Tiverton to meet this Arbogast person in Gold Street. And if it turned out there was something sinister going on…

Charles would deal with it himself.

Chapter Nine

Kate’s brother had predicted there would be hell to pay when the two of them returned to Beasley. He wasn’t wrong. The moment Kate stepped into the hall, she was met by her mother.

Margaret Beresford, Countess of Allendale, was a vibrant lady whose strength of will was rivaled only by her great beauty. Now two and fifty, she was no less striking than she’d been when she’d sat for the gilt-framed oil portrait that hung over the drawing room fireplace—a magnificent depiction of a stunning, sapphire-eyed hellion in her prime.

Kate had always been a little in awe of her mother. Perhaps it was because they were so much alike. Not only in looks, but in temperament. Indeed, Margaret had stamped her glossy mink hair, vivid blue eyes, and stubbornly set cleft chin on her only daughter as surely as she’d stamped her willful personality.

She stood in the entry hall, barring the way to the stairs. She was clothed in a smartly cut black riding habit, her dark hair caught up in a woven net. A riding crop was tucked under her arm.

Jack faltered on the threshold, looking for the barest instant as though he would lose his nerve. He recovered himself quickly. “Are you going riding, Mother?” he asked with an overbright smile. “A capital idea. The weather is—”

Margaret silenced her youngest son with a point of her riding crop. “Not a word.” She glared at Kate. “Go straight up and change into your habit. You and I are going to have a talk.”

“Mama,” Kate protested. “If you’ll—”

“At once,” her mother interrupted in a tone of iron. “Or you’ll have both your father and me to deal with.”

Jack gave Kate a grimacing look of sympathy. He was all too familiar with parental lectures and knew that the ones delivered by both of their parents were always the worst of the lot.