The knight snorted. “No doubt that’s the bondsman’s story after he carelessly touched it off himself. A good ruse, I would say.”
“That can hardly be the way of it,” Nathanial interceded, “since the doors were bolted from without.”
“Perhaps the slave has made some enemies,” Gaylord shrugged. “But that is of no importance to me. I only asked for a steed, not a full accounting of everyone’s misfortune.”
“One will be fetched,” George announced brusquely.
It was to the relief of all that Sir Billingsham did manage to mount a horse and, his loosely jointed frame bouncing in the saddle, galloped off from view. Family and guests congregated in the drawing room, for it was decided the day would be spent much in relaxing. George’s vision was somewhat impaired with the broken eyeglasses, and Orlan’s crippled state did not lend to a great deal of mobility. He was carefully ensconced in a massive chair, his heavily wrapped foot propped on a footstool. A determination had been made that no bones were broken, but the foot was badly bruised and swollen to a point of discomfort.
It was a short time later that the sound of a carriage coming up the lane drew the attention of all. Gabrielle went to the window, brushing aside the silken panel to look out. Past her shoulder, Shanna caught a glimpse of a young woman with a baby clutched in her arms descending the steps of a landau with the aid of her driver. Dropping the drapery, Gabrielle whirled to face her mother, eyes wide.
“ ‘Tis Garland! Didn’t you tell her to stay away?”
Amelia gasped and dropped her needlework. She came to her feet but appeared undecided as to which way to move. “Oh dear! Garland!” she fretted. “Good heavens!” She turned in supplication to her husband. “George?”
Ruark, as well, seemed suddenly disturbed. Shaking his head as if pained, he moved away from Shanna’s side and went to lean against the mantel, folding his arms across his chest and frowning with what was apparently genuine disgust. Quite bemused by his actions, Shanna turned to stare at him wonderingly.
Garland’s entry was like a whirlwind coming in the door, a fresh, airy breeze sweeping through the house. She did not pause as she came into the drawing room, but went straight to her mother to place the child in her arms. Glancing away from Ruark, Shanna saw only Garland’s slim, velvet-clad back and a wide-brimmed hat that completely hid her face. Without a glance toward anyone else, the new arrival went boldly across the room to Ruark. He smiled tolerantly as she stood on tiptoes to place a kiss on his mouth.
“Welcome home, Ruark,” she said in a voice soft and warm.
Garland turned, sweeping off her hat and came directly to Shanna, who could only stare agog at the raven hair, golden eyes, and the dazzling smile and looks. There was no doubt in Shanna’s mind that here was Ruark’s sister. But then, Garland was Gabrielle’s sister—and Nathanial’s—and Jeremiah’s! Brothers and sisters all and to—Ruark Deverell Beauchamp!
“And of course you would be Shanna,” Garland beamed. “Nathanial did not do you justice with his words.”
“Oh!” The gasp escaped Shanna as she roused from shock. Her eyes flew to Ruark, who could only smile lamely as he shrugged. “You!” No other word would come, and Shanna stared at the girl again. “You’re—oh!”
Her face flaming with her own foolishness, Shanna whirled and fled from the room, up the stairs, and into the bedchamber that she had been using. Locking the door behind her, she faced a surprised Hergus who had been tidying the room. It was as if Shanna saw her surroundings for the first time and the realization came—this was Ruark’s room. It was his desk, his book of Greek, his bed, his armoire. Oh, how he had tricked her!
Orlan Trahern’s voice rang loud in the suddenly subdued drawing room. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”
A chuckle escaped Pitney as Ruark stepped before Trahern and with a click of his heels, gave a slight bow.
“Ruark Beauchamp at your service, sir.”
“Ruark Beauchamp!” Orlan bellowed.
His bondsman did not wait to explain, but hastened after Shanna. Trahern rose and started to follow but was painfully reminded of his injured foot. He snatched the staff and hop-skipped to the bottom of the stairs and roared upward:
“How in the hell can she be a widow if you’re Ruark Beauchamp?”
Ruark replied over his shoulder. “She never was a widow. I cheated.”
“Damnation. Are you married or not?”
“Married.” Ruark was halfway up the stairs.
Orlan bellowed louder. “Are you sure?”