The Lady By His Side(38)

Once they were out of sight of the stable, trotting briskly across the fields and angling toward the coast north of the estate, recalling her earlier worry, she called to him, “Don’t you think us being allowed to ride out is going to mark you as working for the authorities?”

He met her eyes. After a moment, he looked forward. “I’m my father’s son. You’re your father’s daughter. We outrank all the others here by a country mile. No one’s going to wonder over a police inspector allowing us to wander as we please—they’ll just see it as proof that rank still wields power.”

“Ah.” She hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but now he mentioned it…

“Come on.” He urged the gray into an easy gallop. “We need to find out if he’s there.”

He, who? And there, where? But there was no point trying to converse at this speed. She thumped her heel against the chestnut’s side and pushed the horse faster.

Presumably, she would have her answers soon enough.

The first answer—where they were going—came sooner than she’d expected. They’d veered to the coast and followed the bridle path along the top of the cliffs, but had gone only a few miles when she saw the uniquely curved walls of Walmer Castle ahead. Shaped like a four-leaved clover, the official residence of the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports was impossible to mistake.

And that, of course, answered the question of whom they were hoping to speak with.

As Sebastian led the way up the graveled drive, she shook her head. “Wellington?”

Sebastian glanced back at her. “He comes down here every autumn. He may be nearly eighty years old, but he’s still sharp as a tack, and he’s still Commander-in-Chief of the army and keeps his ear close to every political ground there is. If anyone can give us a rapid but accurate assessment of the potential of a gunpowder threat, it’s him.”

They left their horses at the stable. The stable lad confirmed that the Lord Warden was, indeed, in residence. Side by side, Sebastian and Antonia strode along a hedge-lined walk to the drawbridge leading over the dry moat to an iron-studded double door made of ancient timbers inches thick.

Sebastian tugged the bell chain. A minute later, one door was hauled open by a neat individual, who left them standing in the panelled entrance hall while he took Sebastian’s card to his master.

Wellington’s secretary soon appeared with the news that His Grace would be delighted to grant them an audience.

Antonia hid a grin and followed the secretary, a dapper little man, along a corridor and up a curving stair to a large room in one of the towers. She’d met the Iron Duke several times, although not recently, but his acerbic wit and sharp tongue were legendary, and she remembered them very well.

The long room into which they were shown was instantly identifiable as Wellington’s own. A narrow camp bed rested against the wall farther down the room, and various mementos of his numerous victories were mounted on the walls or lay scattered here and there on side tables and chests. The great man himself was seated in a Bath chair, a shawl draped over his knees. He still sat rigidly upright, and there was nothing whatever impaired about the mind behind his large, slightly protuberant eyes. As they entered, he set aside the clutch of papers he’d been perusing and, with a smile, waved them to the chaise at his left.

With an answering smile, Antonia curtsied, then rose and went forward.

“My dear Antonia.” Wellington held out his hand, fingers waving for her to give him her hand. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” Taking her fingers, he gallantly raised them to his lips, then gently squeezed them and released her. “I hope you will forgive an old man for not rising—the manners are willing, but the flesh, I fear, has grown frail.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I’m delighted you were able to receive us.” She glanced at Sebastian. “I had no idea we would be calling on you, or I would have brought a gift.”

“Huh.” Wellington’s still-incisive gaze shifted to Sebastian. “Playing his cards close to his chest, is he? I wonder why?” Wellington’s lips quirked as he held out a hand to Sebastian. “Well, young pup? What can I do for you in your father’s name?”

Sebastian smiled and shook the duke’s hand. “Not in my father’s name this time. As it happens, he doesn’t yet know about this. I’m here—staying at Pressingstoke Hall—at Winchelsea’s behest.”

“Aha! Another of our more promising youngsters.” Folding his hands in his lap, Wellington waited until Sebastian settled on the chaise beside Antonia, then commanded, “Start at the beginning, go through to the end, and don’t leave anything out.”