Chapter Twelve
“His lordship isbleeding, Beaufort,” she said with more calm than Alexander thought possible, especially after their fight.
“I will tend to him, Miss Audrey. Why do you not go below and draw some water? Also, find something we might use for bandages.” Beaufort glanced at Alexander. “I imagine Lord Marksman has a thousand questions.”
“No fighting,” she warned.
Alexander waited until they could no longer hear her footsteps on the stairs, before he exploded. He rushed his brother and caught him by the lapels of his jacket. “If you have touched her, there is not enough land between you and me to keep me from killing you.”
Beaufort worked Alexander’s hands free of his coat. “I have not touched her, not as you have insinuated.”
“Then why are you here?” Alexander hissed.
“I have been watching Miss Moreau since we began this madness,” Beaufort admitted.
“A little too closely,” Alexander grumbled.
“Do you wish to know what happened or not?” Beaufort asked testily.
“Not,” Alexander retorted, but quickly changed his mind. “Finish your tale.”
“The day after Honfleur departed, the cook, who should be preparing meals for Miss Moreau, decided she was being paid to cook the meals, but she was not required to be in this house to execute her duties. She has been bringing Miss Moreau meals that are barely passable, at best, and the woman will know my displeasure when this business is complete.”
“You still have not spoken to how Miss Moreau became ‘Audrey’ to you,” Alexander hissed.
Beaufort had the gall to smile. “Miss Moreau is quite handy with a sword as you have discovered this very night, but she has no concept of starting a fire to heat her food. One night more than a week back, I was watching the house, and I noticed black smoke pouring from a window in the back. I rushed over to save both Miss Moreau and Lord Amgen’s house. Miss Moreau had a beat-up broom trying to pound out the fire, but the broom straw was also on fire, and she was failing hopelessly.”
“And she simply permitted your assistance?” Alexander grumbled, while being grateful for Beaufort’s interference.
“She recognized me,” Beaufort claimed. “I have, with this assignment, previously called upon her cousin, nearly daily. Miss Moreau and I have exchanged more than one ‘good day’ and a few other short conversations.”
“Yet, you were to woo Lady Caroline,” Alexander objected.
“I have not ‘wooed’ Miss Moreau,” Beaufort said with a challenging lift of his brows. “I have brought her food. We have had several conversations. The woman is excessively frightened that Honfleur will not return for her, and she is lonely in this house without even a maid with whom to converse. Personally, I think this whole premise is a means for Honfleur to punish her for not retrieving the note from Margaret Childers.”
“Is everything well?” her voice called from somewhere below.
“We are simply putting things away,” Beaufort responded.
“Leave them!” she returned. “It will give me a task for tomorrow.”
They put away several of the items and then walked downstairs together. Alexander was not confident how he was to proceed with his plan to confess his shared parentage with Miss Moreau with an audience.
“Come sit, my lord, and permit me to tend your cut. I have had…” she began and stopped. “I fear… Lord Beaufort, might you assist? I do not do well with… blood.”
“Do not fret, my dear. Marksman and I are accustomed to tending each other’s nicks and cuts,” Beaufort declared as he sat across from Alexander and began to examine the injury to Alexander’s wrist.
Meanwhile, Alexander wondered why she did not ask the reason he and Beaufort would spend time tending to each other’s wounds. His brother asked, “I explained how I came to call upon Miss Moreau, but I am curious, Marksman, what brought you to this house at this time of night?”
“You promised to tell me why you came if I could…” she began.
“If you could out fence him?” Beaufort asked with a small laugh. “Such is easy, my dear, for Marksman is well named. He is truly spectacular with a gun, but only passable with a blade.” Beaufort tied off the bandage around Alexander’s wrist.
“I should leave,” Alexander said as he rose to his feet, despondent that his plan would have no place tonight, and he might never have another chance.
“Please stay,” Miss Moreau pleaded. “I have previously enjoyed our talks, and Beaufort will not mind, will you? Did you bring enough cakes for Lord Marksman to share with us, my lord?”
“Cakes, my lord?” Alexander asked, but he did not wait for a response. He realized he was being foolish, for if he could not trust Beaufort, who could he trust? He shrugged his agreement, but he said, “Swear on your parents’ graves, Beaufort, that you will repeat none of what I have to say to the others.”
