Selections made and arms stacked with new entertainments, they retreated to Edwin’s playroom.
“Auntie Bly, Aunty Bly,” Edwin called as he ran across the room, all arms and wildly swinging legs. “Did you not go home today?”
Blythe dropped her books and scooped Edwin up into her arms. “There you are my little duke. How could I leave you for long?”
Edwin kissed her cheek noisily and then wriggled to get down. “Come see what I did. Wilcox said I was very clever and even helped me knock down the tower we built. He’s genius.”
Mercy rolled her eyes at her son’s language as he dragged Blythe away to the far side of the chamber to admire the messy corner of toys. He was growing up so fast that she could almost see him grow out of his clothes.
Blythe set her hands on her hips, foot tapping. “That is a mess. Clean it up, Your Grace.”
Edwin’s eyes widened but then he stomped his foot. “No. I’m still playing.”
“Now, Your Grace. You cannot expect others to clean up everything after you.” Blythe gestured to the toy strewn floor. “You can play without making a mess. Be good for your mother.”
Edwin peered at Mercy from around his aunt. “I am being good, mama.”
Mercy grinned. “I can see that. But you will tidy them up later, won’t you, and not rely on Wilcox to do it? The butler has other work than cleaning up after one messy boy.”
Wilcox was indispensable. But Edwin was coming to rely on him too much. Her son shuffled uncomfortably. “Do I have to?”
Mercy nodded. “Later.”
Edwin reluctantly nodded and then dropped to the floor to return to his play.
Blythe crossed the chamber, picked up her books, and chose one. “You spoil him.”
Mercy settled on the chaise and lifted her feet to the cushions so she could stretch out comfortably. “He is my child to spoil. I will be the one to decide what needs to be done, and when, Blythe. Which book are you going to read?”
“I picked up Fabulous Histories by Miss Sarah Trimmer. I want to see if it will be suitable for Edwin’s studies,” Blythe murmured. “I think he needs educating rather than spoiling and allowing him to make a mess from such a young age is setting us all up for trouble. One day you will see that I am correct.”
One day, with luck, Blythe would have her own family to fuss over again. That day could not come soon enough for Mercy.
Chapter Three
Leopold did his best to settle his nerves as he set off for the abbey alone. This time he would not be denied the information he sought. This time he would argue until he received exactly what he had come here for. He followed the road until he reached the entrance to Romsey, pausing as a grand carriage rattled through the vast gates. The occupants scowled at him, but Leopold was used to the ill mannered guests of the Duke of Romsey and put them from his mind easily.
As he resumed his ride, a hundred memories assailed him. He held his mount to a walk as he rode along the tree-lined drive. So many memories. Good, bad, and wavering in-between. The stream where he’d fished as a boy with his brothers, defying the old duke’s wishes, was choked with reeds. He gritted his teeth. Of all the old duke’s many edicts, presenting a formidable image to society at large was high on his list of expectations. Did the duchess have no sense of duty?
He broke from the trees and pulled up sharply. Before him, the abbey rose like a sinister beast, glowing golden now in full sunlight with the imitation of purity. Leopold knew better. The home of the Dukes of Romsey was nothing short of evil.
At least the forecourt was presentable to travelers. He rode up to the building and swung down from the saddle. His mount, no doubt frustrated by the less than energetic ride, pawed at the gravel drive until Leopold laid his gloved hand over his nose. “Steady. We’ll be free and run against the wind as soon as we’re done here.”
When no groom arrived to take his horse, Leopold dropped the reins, stalked up the short flight of steps to pound upon the wide doors, and then returned to his horse to wait. The doors creaked open and he turned only his head to pin the butler with a stare designed to show his displeasure.
The old man blinked. “Master Leopold?”
“Wilcox.”
Leopold continued to stroke his horse until the startled butler summoned grooms. Their mode of dress, when they finally arrived, fell so far below the expected standard of formality that he scowled at them.
Although he could rebuke them aloud, he saved his breath. His silence would have a greater effect than voicing his displeasure. That was the only useful trait he had adopted from the Duke of Romsey. Word of his presence would spread like fire on dry parchment until every servant knew that a Randall had returned. One who, while known for his even temper, would expect the same standards as the past Dukes of Romsey themselves.
As they led his horse away, Leopold turned to Wilcox. At least here was a man who held to familiar standards. And although the loss of Wilcox’s hairpiece was a departure from previous tradition, Leopold couldn’t be sorry for it. As boys, he and his brother, Oliver, had debated whether Wilcox had hair beneath his powdered wig. It was good to see Oliver’s obsessive calculations about hair loss in grown men had been proved wrong in this instance. Wilcox still had a good head of iron grey hair on display. Oliver had calculated that Wilcox had been bald.
“Sir, it is good to see you return.” Wilcox ushered him inside with a wide grin. “Welcome home. Welcome home. No doubt you wish to pay your respects to the young duke and his mother.”
Leopold glanced around the entrance hall, pleased that the space remained how he remembered. In the long years of his exile, this was the one part of the abbey featuring the last good memories he retained. It was the last place he’d seen his family all together before the old duke had separated them.