Kit examined the cool, ironic face. "Lucien said once that he comes from a long line of pragmatists."
"It's why the Fairchilds have survived so many of the vicissitudes of British history." Michael indicated another portrait, this of a dandyish gentleman in the elaborate garments of a hundred years earlier. Beside him stood an elegant lady in flowing green silk. "That's the fifth earl, Charles, and his wife, Maria. He was quite dissolute and a heedless gamester. His son inherited at the age of six when Charles died under suspicious circumstances."
She glanced askance. "Is that true, or did you make it up?"
He chuckled. "That's the story Lucien told me. He claims that there was speculation that Maria had decided to preserve her son's patrimony at the price of her husband's life. Perhaps the story is true, or perhaps it is only Lucien's antic sense of humor. He doesn't take his elevated ancestors very seriously."
"That's better than taking them too seriously."
His levity vanished. "A failing of the Kenyons, I fear."
Kenyon… Kit should have recognized the name sooner. "Your father is the Duke of Ashburton?"
"Yes," he said in a voice that made further questions impossible. He nodded to the portrait at the end of the wall. "Have you ever seen this painting? It's of Lucien and his family when he was nine or ten."
To look at the picture was to know that this had been a real family, not a mere dynastic union. The evidence was in the intimate way the countess's hand curved over her husband's arm; the fondness in the earl's eyes as he regarded his wife and children; the shared laughter of Lucien and the elfin girl with silvery blond hair flowing over her slender shoulders. Kit felt an ache in her throat at the sight. Lucien had lost so much, so young. Yet what could have destroyed him had made him strong. Softly she asked, "Did you know his family well?"
"Quite." He gazed at the canvas, his expression distant. "I didn't like spending holidays with my own family, so my friends usually took me home like a stray pup. Ashdown was my favorite place to visit because Lucien's parents were so happy together. That's not a common state among the nobility."
Kit's gaze went to the small blond girl whose radiant smile transcended the years. "And Lady Elinor?"
"She was enchanting," he said simply. "Bright and sweet and quick. She and Lucien had the most remarkable relationship. In my experience not all brother and sister twins are so close, but I think her delicate health drew them together. He was very protective of her. Her death devastated him."
There was a note in his voice that made her look quickly into his face. "And you as well?"
After a long silence he replied, "I missed them all, but especially Elinor. Though she looked like a spun-sugar angel, she was a very definite young lady. On my first visit to Ashdown, she decided that we would suit and informed me that we would marry when we were of age. I accepted her proposal quite willingly." After another long silence he said, "If she had lived…" He turned abruptly away from the portrait. "It was only childish fancy, of course. It meant nothing."
Obviously it had meant a great deal, even after so many years. The story brought Lady Elinor alive for Kit.
She must have been as clever as her brother, for even as a small child she had been able to identify a boy who would grow into an admirable man. "Thank you for telling me so much, Michael. I want to learn as much about Lucien's past as I can."
He gave her a piercing glance. "It's information that comes at a price. Try not to hurt him, Kit. Luce deserves better."
She caught her breath at the unexpectedness of his remark. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is hurt Lucien."
Whatever he saw in her face must have satisfied him. Casual again, he said, "Down here is a portrait of the seventh earl. In the eyes of society he disgraced himself by dabbling in trade, but was redeemed by making pots of money in the process."
Eccentric relations were so much more comfortable than vanished happiness.
That night, her escort increased to three, Kit went to Blackwell Abbey, Mace's estate. It had been left until last because she had been there before and found no traces of Kira, but the estate was so large that there were areas that she could not have sensed from the house.
As with the other estates, Lucien had obtained a detailed map, this one drawn by a local man who had once worked there. It showed every cottage, every field, every footpath, as well as the stone wall that enclosed the entire property.
Before setting out, each of them had studied the map so that they could find their way unseen in the dark. Even so, the survey would have been impossible without Michael. Not only did he have the night vision of a cat, but he seemed to carry the map in his head. Like an army scout in hostile terrain, he led them on a weaving course carefully calculated to take Kit within a few hundred yards of every section of the estate.
Lucien traveled by her side, making sure she would not stumble because her attention was turned inward rather than on the rough ground. Behind them, moving with the soft-footed grace of a forest hunter, came Jason Travers. In their dark clothing, all of them were shadows in a moonless night.
Blackwell Abbey disturbed her in ways she could not define. As they made a wide circle around the manor house, she stopped and stared at its dark, ominous silhouette. The men halted. "Do you sense something?" Lucien asked in a voice that would not have been audible ten feet away.
She was acutely aware that within those brick walls she and Lucien had become lovers, and she had the uneasy certainty that he was thinking the same thing. Yet that was not what had stopped her. "There is something about this place. Kira isn't there now. I don't think she ever was. Yet I feel that there is… is some connection with her."
"Perhaps someone at Blackwell Abbey has been with her?"
"Perhaps." She bit her lip, wanting to shriek with frustration. "This is like being blindfolded and dropped into a crowd, then having to identify someone by scent."
Lucien's fingers touched her elbow. "Don't worry, Kit, you can do it. We need only get close enough to Kira."
He was mind-reading again. She released her breath, then reached out again, seeking the ineffable essence of her sister. They resumed their slow trek across the estate.
They had had no problems on the earlier searches, but this time their luck ran out. As they passed behind a row of tenant cottages, several dogs started barking furiously. Instead of assuming that a deer or rabbit had sparked the canine attention, men came out of several of the cottages, pulling on coats against the winter damp. A hoarse voice grumbled, "Probably nothin'."
"That's not for us to judge," a second one said sternly. "Could be poachers. Turn the dogs loose."
Kit's heart jumped in panic. Michael hissed, "There's a stream ahead. You three wade along it, and I'll draw them off."
Lucien grabbed her arm and guided her swiftly down a scrubby hill to the stream. Behind them the barking of the dogs increased as they were released from their chains.
On the bank of the stream she stumbled on a shifting rock, but Lucien kept her from falling. Together they waded into the water, Jason on her other side.
Trying to move soundlessly through the rushing current, they went up the stream and around a sharp bend. There they found a pool roofed with bare, arching branches. Lucien led them into the most heavily shadowed section and stopped. The icy water came to mid-thigh on Kit.
A hundred yards away at the place where they had entered the stream, the barking rose to hysterical excitement. "This way!" one of the pursuers shouted.
The frenzied baying of the dogs began to diminish. A little sick, Kit realized that Michael was leading them in the opposite direction by laying a trail downstream along the bank. She began shaking so hard that her teeth chattered.