Page 18 of Gone With the Rogue
“Eubury-Broadwell Gaming House.”
Julia suddenly felt lightheaded.
“Why don’t you tell me why this information is so important to you?”
Should she confide in him? Could she trust him to keep her secret? If she did, was there anything he could do? She couldn’t ask him to help her search the house for the documents and see to it that the duke took responsibility for the tragedy and helped the victims. Yet, because of a twist of fate, she felt an uncommon bond with the adventurer, but she didn’t know if it was wise to act on that. She wanted to accept she could trust him. Suddenly the doorknocker sounded, making her jump. No, it was best she keep this information about the duke and his hidden companies to herself for now.
“Thank you, Mr. Stockton. You’ve been very helpful.” She looked down and saw that her hands had made tight fists on the brim of his hat. “Here you go,” she said, giving it to him as Mrs. Desford came down the corridor toward them.
Julia and Mr. Stockton moved to the side of the vestibule for the housekeeper.
“If you should need me, Lady Kitson, I’m staying at the Holcott-Fortney Inn. Send me a note.”
She nodded once as Mrs. Desford opened the door. “I hope that won’t be necessary.”
He smiled at her. “I hope it will.”
A man of average height, dressed in black except for his shirt and neckcloth, stepped into the vestibule and removed his hat. He had a round, full face with large green eyes that seemed to pierce Julia. He carried awell-worn brown leather satchel. He bowed to Julia and dipped his head toward Mr. Stockton. She didn’t know why but she took an instant dislike to the man.
Mrs. Desford continued to hold the door open, no doubt expecting that Mr. Stockton was going to exit through it, but he remained by Julia’s side. He must have perceived that just the appearance of the stranger unsettled her.
“I’m Mr. Oren Pratt, here at the request of the Duke of Sprogsfield, my lady. I’m to tutor Master Chatwyn.”
“Tutor?” Julia asked anxiously as a feeling of foreboding curled inside her. “I don’t understand. For what?”
“I am to take over instructing the duke’s grandson in his lessons during the day.”
Julia stared at the man, astounded. “What do you mean? He’s just turned four. He’s too young to have such strict structure in his life, and if the duke doesn’t know that, you should.”
With an air of superiority, the man lifted his chin. “One is never too young to begin learning. The sooner he starts, the more advanced he will be. I’m to start his formal training.”
“Formal? That will begin when he goes to Eton.” She glanced at Mr. Stockton. He was intently listening to every word that was said.
Mr. Pratt reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a letter, and handed it to Julia. “This is from the duke. I assume it will explain everything to your satisfaction.”
A dizzying swell of anger replaced astonishment as she took the letter and squeezed it in her hand. Julia felt as rigid as the tutor looked. “No, Mr. Pratt. I can assure you it won’t.”
He merely smiled condescendingly and said, “I havemy instructions from the duke, my lady. If you’ll introduce me to the child, I’ll begin.”
Instructions indeed! Despite the warm day, she shivered. A deep, suffocating weariness stole over her. Even in sickness the duke intended to maintain control over her and Chatwyn. This was madness. Her little boy was too active to be made to sit in a chair for hours a day. He still needed the relaxed instructions Miss Periwinkle gave him. It was unfair that the duke allowed her no say in Chatwyn’s life.
Sick or not, she should have known the duke had something up his sleeve when he agreed that she could come to London without him. This was just the duke’s way of making it clear to her she would never be free of him, never be allowed to live her own life as she chose. Who was she to think she could take on the duke and win?
Not knowing exactly what she was going to do, Julia turned stiffly toward Mrs. Desford. “Would you please show Mr. Pratt into the drawing room and have him wait for me there?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Mr. Pratt stared at Julia. For a moment, she thought he was going to take her to task or refuse to leave. But then, after a parting glance at Mr. Stockton, he turned and followed the housekeeper.
Julia tried to hide her seething anger when she gave her attention to Mr. Stockton once more. The way he studied her face intently, she knew he wanted to make sense of what was going on. She knew he wanted to help her. But what could he do about the tutor or the duke? What could he do about any of her troubles other than make them worse? If that were even possible.
“That man seems determined to do the job the duke sent him to do.”
“Yes,” she answered tightly. “For now, anyway.”
“Would you like for me to have a word with the man?”
“No, no, of course not. I will post a letter to the duke immediately and hopefully be able to clear this up quickly.”
