A Duke in the Night(30)
Which firmed his resolve to seek out the officer in charge at his earliest opportunity.
In the meantime, August went looking for Harland Hayward, hoping to have a conversation with the baron before this evening. But Strathmore remained stubbornly elusive, and after a few hours, August gave up and set out in the direction of the calving sheds. He still wasn’t entirely sure if Miss Hayward had believed him when he’d trotted out his reason for remaining at Avondale, but he’d been telling the truth.
When August had visited the elderly Rivers, he’d told the earl that he would be in the Dover area evaluating a prospective property, and had offered to look in on Avondale. He’d experienced a brief, Machiavellian satisfaction when Rivers had agreed and then insisted that he simply stay at the estate, giving him a watertight excuse should any of the Haywards actually wish to verify his story.
From what August had seen thus far, the estate was a model of good stewardship and management, but he had no intention of reneging on an agreement, no matter how contrived. He would hold up his end and report back to Rivers as promised. And in the continued absence of one Harland Hayward, August had no good excuse not to get to it.
He was in the calving sheds when he saw Anne and the rest of the students following Miss Hayward out across the windswept fields and toward the sea like the pied piper and his collection of children. They did not have any books; they had no papers or easels; they had nothing to suggest that they were doing anything scholastic. Instead they looked as if they were heading out for a picnic. Less any baskets, food, or blankets.
Without considering what he was doing, he followed at a judicious distance, skirting the edge of the long stone fence that ran parallel to the ridge and the edge of the cliff far ahead. He saw Miss Hayward glance back surreptitiously, which only piqued his curiosity and suspicion further. What was she up to? Where were they going? And what could they possibly be doing?
August hunkered lower behind the ancient wall, the moss soft against his fingertips where it grew on the stone. He felt as if he were ten years old again, spying on one of his father’s card games at the public house that had been just down the road from the tumbledown building he’d grown up in.
What the hell kind of ladies’ finishing school had its pupils sprawled out in the middle of a field on what was supposed to be the first day of classes? August shuffled forward a little farther on his knees, tying to get a better view.
“Have you lost something, dearie?”
August nearly knocked a loose stone off the top of the fence with his elbow, so fast did he shoot to his feet, biting back a muffled curse as a bolt of pain shot through his arm. He wrenched himself around and was presented with a tall, angular woman flanked by a shorter, rounder version of herself. Both had silver hair pulled back neatly from their lined faces, and both had the same pale-gray eyes set above a healthy flush in their cheeks. The taller of the two was wrapped in a faded rose-colored shawl, while the shorter wore a similar garment in a deep green.
“No.” August’s heart slowed as he straightened his shoulders, and he leaned back against the stone fence. Bloody hell, he hadn’t even heard them, so wrapped up had he been in the scene out on the field. “I haven’t lost anything.” Except, perhaps, his dignity.
“Have you taken ill?” It was the taller who asked, shifting the basket she held over her arm. “Should we fetch someone for you? Perhaps we should alert Miss Hayward—”
“No.” It came out a little louder than he would have liked. “There is no need to fetch anyone. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Are you sure? You were crouched on your hands and knees for some time.” It was said kindly enough, but the shorter woman’s sharp eyes were dancing with poorly concealed humor that let August know she knew exactly what he had been doing.
“I am quite sure. Thank you for your concern,” he replied curtly. Not that he needed to explain his actions to anyone. Especially these two. He subtly examined the two women further. Their clothes were plain but of fine quality. Sturdy, somewhat battered leather shoes peeked out from just beneath their hems, but there was nothing battered or plain about the emerald brooch pinned at the shoulder of the deep green shawl or the large sapphire on the finger of the taller woman where it rested on the top of a walking stick. “Lady Tabitha and Lady Theodosia, I presume?” The Earl of Rivers’s sisters. The ones who lived out here in Dover.
“A pleasure, Your Grace,” the taller replied. “But most just call me Tabby. And you can call her Theo.” She gestured at her sister.
August started at the address. “You know who I am.” He didn’t know if he should be relieved or mortified.
“Of course, Your Grace. Your clothes are far too fine for you to be a tinker,” Lady Tabitha quipped, doing an admirable job of suppressing her amusement. Her sister wasn’t as successful. “Simple deduction, really.”
“Well, it might not have been so simple. He might have been an apothecary,” Lady Theo suggested to her sister. “Collecting plants and herbs and whatnot.”
“True. Or a biologist,” Tabby mused. “Looking for crickets.”
“Or fossils.”
“Or perhaps examining animal leavings.”
Animal leavings? August closed his eyes briefly, wondering if they had forgotten he was still standing there. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Lady Tabitha, Lady Theodosia,” he replied deliberately. No matter the saucy cheek of these two old ducks, he would not be reduced to calling a woman old enough to be his grandmother Tabby. Or Theo. Not even in a middle of a field at the very edge of England.