Chapter Nine
Alexander ran his fingers through his hair and frowned at the column of figures. There was something amiss here; the amount of money leaving this account was astronomical. His estate manager was either corrupt or run mad. The man had had no authorization to draw such sums of money from the bank. He pushed the papers to one side with a sigh. He must return to Newcomb and see for himself what was going on. This was a damn nuisance as the season was about to begin in earnest and he was determined to complete the process of re-establishing himself in the eyes of the ton.
He had easily resisted the voluptuous temptations of his erstwhile mistress and doused his physical needs by vigorous exercise. Much to the astonishment of his staff he’d taken to running round the park at dawn, also hurtling up and down the staircase at regular intervals during the day. He’d also resumed his sparring at Jackson’s and during the last bout he’d only been floored once.
Being fit and clearheaded for the first time in many years had sharpened his intellect—unfortunately it had also made him more aware of the sins of the flesh. One thing was very certain. However much he might lust after a woman he would never be unfaithful to Isobel. She was constantly in his thoughts. He sent up a fervent prayer every day asking the Almighty to give him a second chance.
A sharp tap on the door reminded him he was expecting a visit. Gathering up the loose sheets he stuffed them into the drawer of the desk and locked it. For some reason he didn’t quite trust Richard Bentley, the young man his lawyers had tracked down as being next in line. Bentley was altogether too unctuous and already showing an inclination towards fast play and fast women.
“Come in, if you must.”
The door swung open and Bentley stepped in, Alexander struggled to remain expressionless. The man was a popinjay and followed the most extreme of fashions. Good God! The idiot could scarcely turn his head because his shirt points were so high.
“My lord, I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but I’ve a matter of the utmost urgency to bring to your attention.”
Even his voice irritated—this was slightly high pitched, and he ended sentences as if asking a question. “As you see, Bentley, I’m busy. Can it not wait until I’ve done.”
The young man smiled and nodded as if in understanding but looked as if he intended to stay all morning.
“Well, get on with it. What is it you wish to discuss with me?”
Undeterred by the brusque response Bentley leaned forward placing his hands on the desktop. “I beg your pardon but I’ve heard the most disturbing rumour, your grace. It is being said in more than one drawing-room that the Duchess of Rochester is missing.”
Alexander’s fingers gripped the edge of the table. Have dare this jackanapes ask him such a question? Bentley had only been in residence three weeks and was already behaving as if he were a member the family. “My wife is at Newcomb, she does not come to town. In fact, I am going down to visit her today.”
He was dammed if he was going to sit here and be interrogated by someone who was only a relative in the most tenuous of fashions. According to his lawyers Bentley was his heir, a clear line of descent from an ancient uncle, but he was a cousin so many times removed Alexander felt him not to be kin at all.
The wretched man sprung to his feet all eagerness and conciliation. “How delightful! Then if you’ll permit me I shall accompany you the country. I believe it will be in order for me to meet your wife. I can’t tell you how much I am anticipating the pleasure.”
This was too much. With one swift stride Alexander was beside him. He was a head taller and twice his weight. Bentley took a step backward and, tripping over his feet, landed heavily on his backside. Alexander could not stop his bark of laughter at the man’s expense.
“Get up, man. And get rid of those high-heeled boots, you’ll break your neck falling off them one of these days.” He offered his hand and pulled him to his feet.
“Thank you, my lord. I do beg your pardon for being so clumsy. I take it you have no wish for me to accompany you this morning. I quite understand, perhaps I may join you in the country next week?”
The young man was a buffoon. Bentley had been brought up in very different circumstances but maybe in time he would improve. “Very well, if I don’t return to town before then you’re welcome to follow me to Newcomb, if that’s what you wish to do.”
Bentley bowed and retreated leaving Alexander to consider his options. He would not disturb his staff; they could remain in situ as his visit would be brief. He would deal with Reynolds and then depart immediately. Newcomb would be cold and unwelcoming with only a handful of staff in residence to receive him.
He frowned and rubbed his chin. The Season was about to start—why did Bentley have this sudden urge to visit Newcomb? That he wanted to meet Isobel was fustian. Surely he was not already running from his debts? He shrugged and dismissed this unpleasant notion. It could be dealt with on his return.
Today was clear and crisp; the storms and poor weather of the previous months gone. March weather was notoriously fickle, but spring appeared to have arrived early this year. He decided to ride. The distance was no more than twenty miles and his restlessness demanded the extra exercise.
There had been no word on Isobel’s whereabouts but he was determined to find her eventually. When he did she would see at once he was a different man, not the one who had mistreated her last year. Somehow he would persuade her to return and then would spend the rest of his life demonstrating how much he loved her, and how their lack of children made no difference to him.
He was resigned to passing on his title and estate to a virtual stranger. He shuddered at the thought of what damage Bentley could do when he became the Duke of Rochester. God willing, that would not be for another thirty years. Hopefully the man would have grown out of this sartorial extravagance and tendency to be profligate and have learnt what it meant to be in a position of power. He scowled. Small wonder Bentley was going astray— the young man would know all about his mentor’s profligacy and thought he was expected to sew his wild oats. This was something else he must rectify on his return.
His valet was following behind in a closed carriage with the luggage. Alexander did not require much for an overnight stay and there was still a closet with garments in at Newcomb.
Foster had been horrified to think of his master returning to an empty house with only a handful of staff to serve him. Nowadays the staff were more impressed by his importance then he was. He’d assured his butler he was making a fleeting visit and would come to no harm during a single night without a flock of flunkies at his beck and call.
He was well aware the majority of his older staff treated young Bentley with barely concealed contempt. They were not quite disrespectful, that would have been easier to deal with, but they had closed ranks at his appearance. Were they refusing to accept the inevitable— that he would never produce a son of his own,
The ride from London to Hertfordshire was invigorating. He had purchased a magnificent chestnut stallion with a fiery temper to match his own. The horses in his stable were more than adequate but he’d been taken by this beast the moment he’d seen him.
He had two grooms in attendance mounted on equally impressive horses but even so they were hard pressed to keep up. Rufus could gallop across country all day, taking huge hedges and ditches in his stride. He halted at midday to rest him and take refreshments. He had made good time and would be at his destination long before dark.