Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty

The silence went on for an uncomfortable moment with Gareham's pose still respectful while Jason thought of what to do. First, he needed to be sure his assumption was right, "And your presence in the Duke's home?"

Now it looked like the aura of despair around Jason had transferred to the dark haired butler. Gareham drew back the tiny smile he had managed to plaster and took a very new disturbing vibe. His previously cheerful nature was suddenly coated with a grim while he creased his brows, "We have just lost another Viscount My Lord…"

Ahhh! He knew he was right as always.

Gareham went on, "And we happen to know the assassin is an acquaintance of the young Duke."

The Earl of Vetcom stalked closer to the man, cracking his knuckles in the most threatening of manners. He pulled a similar grim, faking the concern he was sure he did not have, "Oh I am very sorry." Next, a frown rested on his brows, one of curiosity as he rasped his words with an unmistakable English accent, "And who is this acquaintance we speak of?"

By now, he had placed a hand on the butler's shoulder, giving him a glare that dared him to speak.

But Gareham did not understand the sarcasm. He just shrugged and went on, "We believe she is called…" he hesitated and pulled a thinking frown, "Monica Maitland."

Jason made a parabola with his lips and nodded in understanding, "I see…"

Glancing at the door one more time to confirm their privacy, he raised his elbow and knocked the older man so he fell unconscious.

Gently, he caught him in a hard grip and pulled him to a seat before the desk, carefully placing him in it.

With that done, he began stalking round the office, pretending to admire the paintings on the wall of last Archdukes and duchesses.

That happened for a  while before Philip Forland marched into the chamber quickly, throwing words around, "Where is my visitor Tiffany?"

Jason turned around and faced the door, watching the Duke of Anfield and his butler stalk in. Ahhh, now that was the Tiffany he knew.

The Duke's own butler was a strict blonde, approaching his early forties. He was an almost fat man with a solemn character, quiet to a fault.

With a small frown, Tiffany looked round the office and found Gareham seemingly sleeping in one of the visitor seats. Slowly and a little bit fearfully, he approached the man and looked back at Philip with a confused frown, "He is…right here Your Grace."

Philip's rage was painted on his face while he watched the man sleep in his office. He was about to say something obviously offensive when Jason held out his hand and stated, "Oh you see I was just having a pleasant chat with him when he fell asleep. I'm sure I'm not that boring. I suppose he's a bit…under the weather."

That did not calm the Duke in any way. Shutting his eyes, he snarled angrily, "I rushed luncheon to see this scum." He did not seem to have time to think that the Jason he knew would never have a pleasant chat with just any simpleton he just met.

With a smile, the Earl shook his head and studied Philip. Before he began consoling him, he watched two footmen step in and walk to Gareham. They hung his arms over their shoulders and gently pulled him out.

He left the paintings he had been admiring and leaned upon the massive desk. Just before both men went through the door, he shouted to them, "I daresay you keep him in his phaeton where it is safe so his Coachman can ride him home immediately. He looks like he really needs treatment."

The men agreed silently and left the office, just before Tiffany bowed and did the same, leaving the two Monarchs alone.

"Poor thing," Jason said with a shake of his head. When he looked at Philip who still seemed pissed, he pulled a smile and declared, "If you really wanted to talk to someone that bad, why not talk to me," he gestured with both arms spread," besides I also have something to say."

Philip glowered at his friend for a while. His words came out as a disgusting mutter, "You also have something to say? Do tell. Even with you, I have no time to waste."

Despite Philip's warning, Jason hesitated and faked going into a whorl of thoughts. Finally, he looked up at the Duke again and crossed both arms over his chest, "Well it's no other person than your cousin. She seems to be giving me more trouble than she looks."

That immediately cleared the mood on Philip's face to something lighter. With a knowing smile, he asked, "You two just got married. What has she done now?"

The Earl faked being offended and almost squeaked his reply, "What has she done?" When he realized how loud he was, he whispered the words that Philip almost had trouble hearing him, "Oh she just chose to get herself pregnant at a time like this."

The Duke widened his eyes in amusement, watching Jason who seemed to obviously be disgusted. A grin plastered on his lips, "Mildred? Gotten herself pregnant? How fascinating! If you couldn't keep your cock in your breeches, why does it seem to be much of a problem? My friend is going to be a father!"

Jason glared at him. Obviously that was a tease rather than a genuine display of happiness. Still, he snarled, "First of all, she did not give me a proper chance to prepare for fatherhood. I'm still much of a lad if you ask me. Secondly…" he hesitated knowingly to study his friend. When Philip showed an urge to get irritated, Jason sighed and finished, "We'll be on our way to London not long from now. But I can't be away from my wife for that long at a time like this. This visit needs to be quick…and soon."

Philip retained his smile while he  strode to a visitor seat and slumped into it, just before the Earl, "It's difficult to see you go sentimental. So I'd consider. I have no problem with the time of the triple. But do well to be specific. How soon are we speaking of?"

The Earl of Vetcom, striking and proud, raised a brow and stated in utmost finality, "By God. It has to be tonight Your Grace."

"To…night," Philip repeated with a worried tone. But soon after, he sounded more angry than worried, "When will she put to bed? Tomorrow?!"

Jason reached out and placed a hand upon his shoulder, "Ahhhhh my dear friend, I will tell you, right after you give your permission for this."

Philip sent a hard glare right into the Earl's eyes, tilted his head and muttered, "You…are an inconvenience." He shrugged Jason's hand off his shoulder and pushed himself from the seat, walking away to the door without a single word.

Just before he went through the doorway, he turned to him once more and declared, "No! Mildred is!"

Jason smiled at his behavior, considering it as a Yes from the Duke. Shouting out to him, The Earl gave a teasing remark, "Oh! I have a lot of parking to do."

Philip ignored outrightly.

***

"Do you hate me that much my dear," Miriam sobbed, watching her eldest daughter with wide eyes.

Monica ignored her, still busying herself with arming her dressing to the teeth. She pulled three pistols and placed them in her small bag, just while she fixed daggers everywhere beneath her clothing.

Miriam hardened her voice and demanded, "I am talking to you!"

Monica turned with frustration in her eyes. Tilting her head, she glared at her mother, "You are pure nuisance." She looked away as though avoiding the eye contact. After a while she turned back to her, "And as for your question, Yes I do hate you that much. I do not know why Elizabeth failed to kill you when she had her chance. Anything else?"

Miriam's look turned blank while her lips shivered in pure shock. She didn't reply for a while even with Monica's teasing smirk on her. Then she sniffed sadly and sobbed, "Just look at you. You have changed…into someone far from the daughter I knew."

"Maybe because I am not," the lass replied before she pushed her mother aside and walked past.

However, as she annoyingly expected, her mother followed, "And give me the reasons for this hatred exactly."

Monica seemed to be stuffing more and more weapons into her small bag, not turning around even as she replied with a smile, "If I start now, I may not finish in two days. But if you so insist…"

Miriam cut her words shut, blinking her tears back and swallowing the pain building in her throat. With one sigh, she rasped to Monica, "I know it's all about your father."

There was silence after that question as the Scottish damsel reflected on it. It was one long story, but the question had come with a new wave of emotion in her.

Her father… one person she would ever admire. A smile creeped up her face when she remembered him again. But then, she replied to her mother, "I have a trip mother. Let me be."

Miriam's next words gave Monica the urge to kill something, "Do not give Kilmarnock back to Scotland Monica!"

Slowly, the younger lady turned around finally to face the older one. And with just the both of them at home, there was a slight chance she might do something irreversible to her, "I thought you had a limit to your backstab. This is our home we speak of."

Miriam sighed and stepped a little bit backwards to avoid the lady who had been stalking closer to her. With summoned up courage, she managed to say, "Your father is not the type of angel you take him to be. And I feel the last Duke of Anfield had every reason to take his duchy away. I know what I'm saying Monica, he was my husband."

Silently, the Scottish slipped a small knife from her waist belt and held it up to her mother. She almost put the weapon through her body. But while she watched the woman shiver with disguised boldness, she remembered what her father would have done at a point like this. It took all the control in the world to lower her hand.

Monica released a small shriek and flung the knife to the wooden wall behind her mother, anger blinding her features. The weapon fixed itself into the wood with a stern sound. With that warning done, she pulled the door open, stepped out and shut it tight.

Abruptly,she began stacking her horse, pretending nothing had happened. But when she lost all strength, she put her face on it and  cried. She even couldn't believe she was doing that. To her, any word against her father was a word against her. Although, she didn't expect to be this sentimental, she was.

Meanwhile, back behind the door, Miriam still shivered in plain fright… and a bit of worry.

She was sure Monica was going to regret the purpose of this trip in the end. But as much as she tried to warn her, the lass was adamant, to a fault.

To most people, including the Scottish, Forland had betrayed Maitland. It was only a handful who knew it was the other way round.