loving someone is far more important.”
“Perhaps to you.” He sipped his drink. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t recognize the emotion, though I can tell you’re happy with Jonathan. It shows in your face.”
“I’m very happy, Cord. Except for missing Ethan.”
It was the reason for Sarah’s visit. She had come to discover news of her brother, which they had briefly discussed over breakfast earlier that morning. Cord set his brandy glass down on a piecrust table.
“I wish I had more to report. At least we know that the Sea Witch didn’t go down in a storm. According to Edward Legg, Ethan was alive when he was taken off the ship.”
“Yes, and I suppose in a way that is very good news. My brother is a strong man and we both know how determined he can be. We must believe he is still alive. Which means, all we have to do is discover where he might have been taken.”
Cord only wished it were that easy. He took a courage-building breath, preparing to explain the difficulties they would be facing in their renewed effort to locate her brother, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
“That will be Pendleton,” Cord said, grateful for the interruption. “I received a message from him this morning. Perhaps he has received more information.”
Cord opened the door, allowing the silver-haired colonel to enter. Pendleton made a polite bow to Sarah, his glance taking in her upswept golden blond hair, fine features and the feminine fit of her pale green silk gown.
He spoke for a moment to Cord, then addressed himself to Sarah. “I presume, Lady Aimes, that Lord Brant has informed you of the latest word on Captain Sharpe.”
“Yes, he has. We were both in hopes you might be bringing news of his whereabouts.”
“Unfortunately, not quite yet. We have, however, as of this morning, been able to place an informant on the shores of France with the specific duty of locating the prison where Captain Sharpe may have been taken.”
Sarah’s features seemed to draw in. “Prison. I suppose I have denied the thought far too long. I cannot bear to think of my brother suffering in such a place.”
“Dear lady, you mustn’t despair. Once we are certain of the captain’s whereabouts, we shall find a way to rescue him.”
Sarah nodded, managed a wobbly smile. “Yes, I’m certain you will.”
Cord spoke up just then. “In the meantime, Colonel Pendleton has promised to keep us informed of whatever news he receives and I shall do the same.”
The meeting lasted a few minutes more, then Pendleton left the study. Needing to check on Teddy, Sarah followed him out, leaving Cord alone.
The news of Ethan again had been good. For the first time in nearly a year, he felt they were finally making progress.
As he thought of Ethan, his gaze strayed toward the chessboard. Something looked different. He found himself walking in that direction, stopping next to the board. Then he saw that a piece had been moved yet again and a fresh shot of anger poured through him.
He’d been certain the Temple girl would relay his middle-of-the-night demands to the servants. Just to be sure, he had baited a trap for the culprit, daring him to disobey his rules again. The ivory knight remained as it was, but in response to his countermove, the ivory queen had been advanced three spaces.
Cord found himself studying the board. It was an intriguing move. His bishop remained in danger, and if he weren’t careful, his castle just might fall. He told himself to move the pieces back to their original position. Ethan was the man he should be playing. But he couldn’t quite convince himself. Perhaps with this latest news of his cousin, it was a good sign the game had begun again.
He wondered if Timmons had taken it upon himself to challenge him in an effort to renew his spirits where Ethan was concerned, or if, as he had believed that night, one of the new footmen simply could not resist.
A niggling thought surfaced. Claire Temple wouldn’t have the slightest notion how to play a sophisticated game like chess, but her sister…Surely, Victoria Temple wasn’t masterminding the game.
Few women played, even fewer did so with any amount of skill, yet the latest moves said this player knew what he—or she—was about. That his opponent might be Victoria Temple was, though somewhat farfetched, decidedly intriguing.
Cord sat down in one of the ornate chairs and began to assess the board. The clock ticked and time slipped past. Lifting his black knight, Cord countered his opponent’s latest move.
Tory stretched and arched her back, trying to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulders. Today had been even more difficult than the day before, the atmosphere below stairs openly hostile, Mrs. Rathbone’s silent anger grating on everyone’s nerves.
As housekeeper, Tory could fire the serving woman and hire a replacement, but somehow that didn’t seem fair. What she needed to do was win the woman’s loyalty—but she had no idea how to go about it.
Badly in need of fresh air, she walked over to the French doors leading into the garden, then found herself shoving them open and walking out beneath the warm summer sun. White clouds floated by overhead, one shaped like a dragon, the other a damsel in distress. Not liking the image, she wandered through the garden, which was lush and green with colorful crocuses blooming along the gravel paths and bright purple pansies yawning at her feet.
She shouldn’t be out there. She was a servant, not a guest. Still, it had been so long since she had enjoyed the splash of water in a fountain, smelled the scent of lavender in the air. Pausing next to the round, tiered fountain, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of air.
“Are you Mrs. Temple?”
Tory’s eyes shot open. She looked down to see a small, dark-haired boy standing beside her. “Why, yes, I am.” She smiled. “And you must be Master Teddy Randall.”
He grinned and she saw that two of his front teeth were missing. He was perhaps five or six, with great blue eyes and a smile that lit up his face.
“How did you know my name?” he asked.
“I overheard your mother and Lord Brant talking about you at breakfast,” she said.
“I heard people talking about you, too.” He looked up into her face. “Why doesn’t anyone like you?”
Tory’s smile slid away. “The earl was talking about me?”
He shook his head. “A lady named Mrs. Rathbone and the cook. They said you were Lord Brant’s doxy. That’s why he hired you. What’s a doxy? I thought it was some kind of dog.”
Her face must have been seven shades of scarlet. How dare they say such a thing! Thoughts of firing the woman resurfaced, but Tory tamped them down.
“Well…a doxy is…is someone who does things she shouldn’t. But that is not at all the truth. And it is the very reason you must never listen to gossip.” She reached down and took hold of his hand. “You mentioned dogs,” she said, desperate for a change of subject. “Do you like puppies?”
He vigorously nodded.
