Intrigued by Bertrice Small Page B

was weeping against her brother’s black velvet doublet. “I l-liked it better in the old days, when we were all together and no one was fighting or afraid,” she sobbed.
    Henry Lindley, Marquis of Westleigh, sighed softly and stroked his sister’s mahogany-colored hair. “So did I, Autumn,” he said sadly, “so did I.”

Chapter 3
    S ir Simon Bates rode alone as his horse traveled up the gravel driveway that lead to Cadby. Several days after the unfortunate incident that had resulted in the death of the Duchess of Lundy, he had returned to Queen’s Malvern to see if Autumn was all right. The beautiful young woman had touched him, and he was still amazed that she had had the courage to shoot the trooper who had killed Lady Stuart. Queen’s Malvern, however, was bereft of its family. Only the servants remained, and the duke’s beautiful horses, grazing in their pastures.
    “Lady Autumn has gone to join her mother, the Duchess of Glenkirk,” Becket informed Sir Simon in his plummiest tones. He moved to close the house’s door.
    Sir Simon Bates jammed his booted foot into the opening and said, “And just where is that?”
    “I am not certain, sir,” Becket replied.
    “Surely you know. You must know! And where is your master, and his children?” Simon Bates could feel his anger rising at being bested by this servant. He was the government’s representative.
    “The Duchess of Glenkirk may be with her oldest son, the Marquis of Westleigh, or with her oldest daughter, the Countess of Oxton. All the household was informed was that young Lady Autumn would be joining her mother. As for my master and his children, I have no idea where they have gone. The duke wished it that way, as he felt your attack on his home last week, and the murder of her grace, was because of his connection with the king and his family. Now, sir, if you will remove your boot from the door . . .” Becket finished, looking directly into Sir Simon’s fathomless dark eyes.
    “Which is closer?” Sir Simon persisted, “Cadby or Oxton?”
    “They are equidistant from Queen’s Malvern, sir,” Becket said.
    Sir Simon Bates removed his foot from the door and found it immediately slammed shut in his face. The insult passed unnoticed, for his mind was considering where he might find Autumn Leslie. He cared nothing for where the duke and his offspring had fled. That was the business of the government, and as far as he knew Charles Frederick Stuart was not wanted for any crime against the state. His wife’s murder had been an unfortunate accident. Mounting his horse, he considered, and decided that the girl would have gone to her brother for protection, and not her brother-in-law. He turned his horse toward Warwickshire.
    Now he could see, as he arrived several days later, that Cadby was every bit as impressive as Queen’s Malvern. It was madness that had brought him here. He had no right to be chasing after this girl, he knew. He was hardly the social equal of Autumn Leslie, but one look and he had been bewitched by her. He had to know she was well, and could one day be happy again.
    Again he was greeted by a protective servant. And then it was Henry Lindley who came from somewhere in the house and cautiously asked him his business here.
    “I am Sir Simon Bates,” he began, only to be abruptly cut off.
    “I know who you are, sir,” Henry answered him. “What do you want of us?”
    “Your sister—she is well?” He knew he sounded like a perfect fool, but he was suddenly witless and tongue-tied.
    “I have three sisters, Sir Simon, but I am assuming you refer to my youngest sister, Lady Autumn. She is with our mother, mourning the loss of her father and our dearest sister-in-law.”
    “I wonder,” Sir Simon ventured boldly, “if I might see her to convey to her my apologies once again.”
    Henry’s first instinct was to have Sir Simon Bates ejected from his house immediately, but he thought better of it. There was no need offending