Household Read Free Page B

morrow.”
    “Really, so soon!” Lady Dysart exclaimed, distress written on her face.
    “I must go.” Richard felt it incumbent upon him to add, “There are matters concerning the estate that need my immediate attention.”
    “Have you no man of business?” Sir Gerald asked. Richard, regarding him, found fury in his stare. “I am thinking of changing solicitors,” he replied.
    “And how long do you intend to remain in London?” Christina spoke a trifle breathlessly. She was smiling now, her eyes masked by her lengthy and artfully-darkened lashes. “I hope it will not be a lengthy visit, now that we have you home at last.” She attempted but did not quite achieve a coquettish smile.
    Pity warred with ire at the deception Christina was willing to practice upon him for her effort to legitimize his brother’s bastard. “I do not know,” he said. “I’d think I would be there upwards of six months to a year.”
    “Six months to a year!” Sir Gerald roared. “Now what in hell would ye be doing in London for so great a time?”
    “My dear...” his wife protested.
    “Mama...” Christina suddenly moaned, her hands pressing down against her wide skirts.
    “My love.” Lady Dysart was at her side, her eyes wide with concern. “What is it?”
    “I... I told you... it was better, I mean... I... ohhh...” Christina groaned loudly. “The physician,” she gasped. “The physician... you’ll need to f-fetch him... I was... not wrong. The pains—”
    “Oh, gracious, sit down, love. Something she ate,” Lady Dysart moaned in Richard’s direction.
    “My horse is just outside,” Richard said. “He’s a swift goer. I’ll ride for the physician.”
    “No, please.” Lady Dysart flung out a protesting hand. “Gerald?”
    “Oh, let him go,” commanded the baronet, an eye on his gouty leg. “Do you imagine the young scapegrace hasn’t cottoned to the situation ere now? He’s another like his thrice-damned brother, may he be burning in hell!”
    “That I’m not,” Richard countered as he turned toward the hall. “And I_promise you, that whether he’s my nephew or she’s my niece, the babe’ll be provided for.”
    “A pox on ye,” Sir Gerald yelled. “D’you think I’d not maintain my daughter’s bastard? I curse ye and the lot of ye.”
    “Curses,” Richard said, moving swiftly into the hall. “Curses, as I told my mother earlier this evening, are extremely medieval. This is 1758, my dear Sir Gerald!” Since he did not have a handy suit of armor to fell, Sir Gerald had evidently concentrated on the nearest china ornament. Richard heard the crash but could not tell what it might have been, because by the time it landed he was just closing the door behind him.
    ❖
    Having seen the physician ride off on his mission of mercy, Richard was put in mind of the other or, rather, the most recent brat his brother had sired. He rode at once in the direction of Oldfield’s Keep, intending to do as he had promised himself he would and demand the release of old Hodges.
    The Keep had once been a castle, but time and the warlike natures of several generations of Oldfields had damaged it to the point that Squire Oldfield had built a new manor house. The round stone Keep, all that was left of the original building, had been let out as a prison. It was a damp, unhealthy bastion with several floors, all occupied by malefactors of various stamp. Some were political prisoners, some were poachers, some vagrants and some, like old Hodges, were there because they had taken what was euphemistically termed the “law” into their own hands, righting wrongs no one else was willing to face.
    Richard was positive that even his prudish mother believed Emmy Hodges had suffered but little at the hands and the other less visible extremity of Fulke. She would maintain that Mr. Hodges had acted with an overweening pride. That the Emmys of this world were put there to serve the young master was a fact with which no one of