Free The Loves of Leopold Singer by L. K. Rigel Page B

riding about in a curate cart. That ‘doctor’ should account for something is what I say.” In all, he was an intelligent, practical man. Not a fool. Not cruel. One could hardly believe he and the bride were brother and sister. “Here is Sir Carey,” she said. “I see he’s got Mrs. Carleson with him.”
    “That’s an interesting fashion,” Devilliers said. “Her hair.”
    “Yes, she’s an oddity. A bit serious for one so young, but I suppose she has her reasons for that as much as any woman.”
    Philomela thought Mrs. Carleson was handsome mostly because she was in such robust health, quite recovered from the cholera. She kept her hair cut to the nape of her neck. Shocking, but the baroness liked her for it. She would speak to Mrs. Carleson later and try to figure her out a little better. Carey seemed to find her worth the trouble.
    -oOo-
     
    “The duke’s family name is Millam.” Sir Carey took Carleson’s wife in to table. The lady had been at the Peak nearly four years, but he’d only spoken to her once while out riding. She never left Laurelwood, and he never went there. Once Carleson had his son, there was no point. He had seen her walking sometimes when he went riding, and he wondered what she was like as he wondered what any woman was like. “He was born the Marquess of Millam, so his friends always called him Millie.” He told her how the duke’s father had been killed.
    “People should not fear the progress of things.”
    “I agree, Mrs. Carleson.” She was a strange woman. Her eyes barely widened at the mention of murder. She seemed more interested in the canal-works. “But fear it they do. On that day carefree Millie became Gohrum, and along with the name the weight of the land settled upon him. He took on the project like a spiritual undertaking. Miraculously—no, I cannot say that. Due to his good governance, no other man was killed or injured, not seriously.”
    “You make me admire him.”
    “And he deserves admiration, madam.” Now those might be the deepest blue eyes Sir Carey had ever seen. “At Laurelwood, Carleson has enjoyed the cheap transport for his wool and corn. The baron then living had already adapted Wedgwood’s methods to the Asher pottery works. Shipping by canal, breakage decreased and profits soared. The county economy has been well-served by the duke’s canal.”
    She seemed interested, but said nothing. There was a hardness to her he’d like to crack.
    “Now I’ll tell you a bit of family gossip: The old baron was a fool who would have ruined his good luck soon into the success of it. So everyone agreed it was fortunate when, one night on a drunken ride home, he fell from his horse and broke his neck.”
    Mrs. Carleson smiled slightly, and a faraway look came over her jewel-like eyes. Why do you smile like that, Mrs. Carleson, a little sad, and a little wicked too? And why so taciturn?
    “The management of the property fell to his middle daughter Philomela, the lady you see there. She was so competent and good, she kept all the men working. The duke prevailed upon the Crown to make her baroness in her own right.”
    “No inheriting sons, then.”
    Her observations were certainly to the point. “Thank you, Norwood.” He handed his man his cloak and the walking stick topped by a silver dragon’s head with garnets for the eyes. The ash it was made from had come from the woods beside Laurelwood Chapel, a grove long known to be haunted by fairies and worse. He had been about to tell that story, but now he was put off. “No inheriting sons. Madam.” He took leave of the odd Mrs. Carleson.
    He was dressed as usual without flaw and at first glance seemed slight, even effeminate. As he walked, all trace of the feminine vanished. His vitality radiated as if he were a blessed thing descended from some charmed dynasty of ancient legend. In motion, he reeked of male power; many pairs of female eyes marked his path. He attracted silly girls as naturally as he