“From what we know about Lord Averton, he was young and fit. Perhaps he had known the men would come for him. Or perhaps he had a pistol in the house.” He looked at Deborah pointedly. “Or a hunting rifle.”
Deborah nodded. “The farmer heard shots being fired. Perhaps the Baron was the one who pulled the trigger.” She breathed heavily, letting the pieces slide their way together. What did this mean for Edith if Lord Averton had killed the men who had stormed his house?
“You don’t think—?” She stopped abruptly, unable to voice the words.
Leonard pressed a gentle hand to her cheek and nodded, urging her to continue.
Deborah swallowed. “What if Edith witnessed Lord Averton kill these men?”
“Your father said Lord Averton was a terrible shot.”
“He could have been putting on an act.” Deborah’s voice beginning to rise. “What if Edith discovered the gentleman she loved was a murderer?” She heard her voice waver. Her sister had clearly been besotted with the Baron. Discovering his violent tendencies could easily have driven her to suicide.
Deborah stepped forward hastily and wrapped her arms around Leonard’s waist. She buried her head in his chest. She could feel the rapid drumming of his heart.
Is it anxiety that is causing such a thing, or the way we are intertwined?
She tightened her grip on his waist.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said after a moment, his voice low.
Deborah took a step back and looked up to meet his eyes. “What is it? Is everything all right?”
Leonard inhaled sharply. “I found my mother’s handkerchief. In Lord Averton’s manor.” His words dropped heavily into the silence.
Deborah frowned. “What?” With all that had transpired, she had completely forgotten she had witnessed Leonard take something from the Baron’s dressing table.
Deborah opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. “You think your mother knew the Baron? You think…” She faded out, unable to finish the sentence.
“I don’t know what to think,” he admitted. “And I don’t know what my mother did. When I asked her if she knew Lord Averton, she told me she had never heard his name before. And I was certain she was telling the truth. But then I showed her the handkerchief and…” He faded out. “It was hers, I have no doubt. The look in her eyes…” He sighed. “I don’t know what her handkerchief was doing on Lord Averton’s dressing table. I’m only certain that it’s no coincidence that it was at the Baron’s manor. My mother is involved in this somehow. I’m sure of it.”
Yes. I’m growing more and more sure of such a thing, too.
“I saw your mother in the village today,” Deborah admitted, lowering her eyes.
“You did?” His surprise made it evident that the Dowager Duchess had mentioned nothing of their meeting to her son.
“She told me she knew you had grown suspicious of her. And she asked that I do my best to convince you that your concerns were unfounded. Clearly, she was trying to lead us both astray.”
He nodded, not speaking at once. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “It does seem that way.”
“I’m sorry,” said Deborah, her voice little more than a whisper. “I know how dear your mother is to you. I know this must be difficult…”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. A cold wind whipped across the grounds, making the fallen leaves dance across the grass.
“We need to find Lord Averton,” Leonard said finally. “If your father saw him at Lord Westley’s hunt, perhaps we can ask him. He must have sent an invitation to the Baron. He must know how to find him. I’ve met Lord Westley several times. I’ll speak with him tomorrow.”
Deborah nodded.
Leonard pulled her into his arms and held his lips against her forehead. She felt herself soften immediately. Felt a tug of desire gather inside her.
Leonard took a step back, cupping her chin in his big hand. His eyes met hers. “From now on, we ought to speak of this to no one,” he said. “Whatever happened to your sister, it reaches much further than we could ever have guessed.” He kissed the edge of her lips. “We must only rely on each other.”
Chapter 29
The second letter arrived after breakfast a day later. Leonard had a frustrating four-and-twenty hours, having called on the Earl of Westley to ask after his hunt with Lord Averton, only to be told the gentleman was away on business.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Lord Westley’s butler had said. “I expect him back in a day or two.”
Leonard had nodded in frustration. A day or two felt like an eternity. He had gone back to the Tarsington manor to find the household strung with the tension that had sprung up after the accusations he had flung at the Dowager Duchess.
And now here was the butler, standing in the door of his study with a piece of paper in his hand. Leonard felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten. The slice of bread he’d forced down for breakfast sat uncomfortably in his stomach.
“Another letter?” he asked stiffly.
The butler nodded. “Looks like it, Your Grace.”
“Who delivered it?”
“No one I saw. It was slipped beneath the door like the last one.”
Leonard took the letter, dismissing the butler with a short nod of thanks. His heart pounding, he unfolded the page. This time, Leonard noted sickly, the letter was addressed directly to him.
Your Grace,
In case you saw fit to disregard my previous warning, I have taken it upon myself to issue a second caution. It is of utmost importance that you do not marry Miss Deborah Wilds.
Marrying into the family of the Viscount of Chilson will put you and your loved ones in danger.
Heed my warning, or you will come to regret it dearly.
You must never speak of this warning to Lord Chilson. He is a dangerous man who cannot be trusted.
Leonard stared at the letter for a long time, unsure what else to do. He felt frozen, numb.
It’s a sick joke. Just as my uncle suggested.
But he could not even begin to make himself believe it. He tossed the letter on his desk, beside the papers from the Baron’s study.
Lord Chilson, a dangerous gentleman? Surely whoever had sent this was mistaken. The Viscount could be stern, Leonard knew, but dangerous? The thought just didn’t sit right. Was whoever had sent this letter trying to erroneously lay blame at Lord Chilson’s feet?
I need to speak with Deborah at once. Perhaps she can help me make sense of this.
He pulled a piece of paper from his desk drawer and scrawled a quick message to her. He said nothing of the letters he had received. Told her only that it was imperative he speak with her.
He sent the letter off to the Chilson manor.
And he waited.
* * *
Afternoon came and there was no response from Deborah. There was nothing unusual about that, Leonard told himself. She was likely out of the house, visiting friends, perhaps. Or at the seamstress’s having another wedding gown fitting.
I can’t even begin to imagine how beautiful she will look. How will it feel to see her walking down the aisle toward me?
He found his heart racing at the thought.
By that evening, there had still been no word. Leonard tried not to worry. The Chilsons’ butler had forgotten to pass on the message, perhaps. Or perhaps she had responded and her reply had been lost on its way to him.
There had to be a rational explanation for her silence.
Leonard was sitting beside Florentina in the parlor, while his sister read from her favorite book. They had been reading to each other for many years, a tradition that had begun after the former Duke’s death, when Florentina had been just an infant. Leonard had done his best to fill the gap left by their father, and that included telling her a story before bed each night. When his sister had begun to talk, she had responded by telling him made-up stories of her own. Now that she knew her letters, she would read to him from her fav
orite books.
She huffed dramatically. “Leonard! You’re not even listening!”
Her outburst yanked him from his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Florentina. Read it again.”
His sister frowned, and for a moment, looked very much like their mother. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
Leonard forced a smile. “Nothing’s the matter.”
“Liar,” she said. She tossed the book on the side table and sat up on her knees. “Are you thinking about your wedding? I heard Miss Wilds’ gown is very beautiful. I’m sure she’s going to look just like a princess.”
Leonard managed a faint smile. “I’m sure she will, too.”
And off his mind drifted, seeking that rational explanation for Deborah’s lack of response. He was being foolish, he knew. Overthinking things. In the morning, he would simply call at the Chilson manor and discover her reasons for himself.
He kissed the top of Florentina’s head. “Read me the story.”
Chapter 30
Leonard was at the Chilson manor early the next morning. It was still several hours from noon and a thick mist lay thick across the land. The sun was a perfect circle behind the clouds.
He knocked loudly on the front door.
The butler answered quickly. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
Leonard nodded his greeting. “I wish to speak to Miss Wilds. It’s rather urgent.”
The butler lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Miss Wilds has gone to London for a time. She’s to call on her aunt.”
Leonard frowned. “London? She never mentioned anything about going to London when I saw her last.”
The butler scratched his chin. “I don’t know what to say, Your Grace. Perhaps it was a last-minute decision. All I know is she left yesterday afternoon.”
Frustration bubbled beneath his skin. If Deborah truly had gone to London, why had no one seen fit to tell him? They were to be married, after all. Surely he had a right to know the whereabouts of his wife-to-be.
“Lord Chilson,” he said. “Is he home? I wish to speak with him about this.”
“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. He had some urgent business to attend to up north. But I expect him home in a day or so.”
“And Miss Wilds? Do you have any idea when she might return?”
“I’m sorry, no. But I will be sure to let her know you called. And I’ll see she gets the message you had delivered yesterday evening.”
Leonard stood on the doorstep, hesitating. This didn’t feel right. After a moment, he nodded. “Very well,” he told the butler brusquely. “Please, the moment you see Miss Wilds, be sure to tell her I called.”
The butler nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. The very moment.”
* * *
Leonard found himself in the carriage, heading back toward Lord Westley’s manor on the edge of town. He had told Deborah of his previous visit to the Earl, and of Lord Westley’s plans to return to Bath within two days. Was there a chance she had gone to see the Earl on her own, in an attempt to locate Lord Averton?
It was possible, yes. Deborah was desperate to find the Baron. But it didn’t explain her silence. Or the butler’s story that she was visiting her aunt in London.
A sudden thought seized him.
What if she found Lord Averton?
If the Baron was truly alive, there was a good chance he had been the one to spill the blood that stained his manor. There was a good chance he was a violent and dangerous gentleman.
What if Deborah is in trouble?
Leonard leaped from the carriage before it had even stopped moving. He charged up to the front door of Lord Westley’s manor and knocked loudly.
“Your Grace,” said the butler, “I—”
“Lord Westley,” he interrupted. “Has he returned?”
The butler looked a little taken aback at his sharpness. “He has, Your Grace. Please come in.” He gestured to him to enter the parlor.
Leonard found himself pacing back and forth, his hands folded behind his back and his head down. Somewhere across the room, he could hear an enormous clock ticking away the seconds.
“Your Grace.” The Earl of Westley stepped into the room with a smile. “Wonderful to see you.” He smiled broadly and held out a hand.
Leonard accepted the Earl’s handshake. Lord Westley and the former Duke had been good friends. Leonard remembered the gentleman appearing at their manor on many occasions, a recurring feature of his father’s card games and suppers and hunts.
“I’m hoping you can help me,” said Leonard. “My betrothed, Miss Deborah Wilds. Has she called on you, by any chance?” The moment the words left his lips, he heard the absurdity of them. What kind of gentleman went to another to hunt down his betrothed?
But if the Earl was amused by Leonard’s question, he had the good grace not to show it. “I’ve not seen Miss Wilds,” he said evenly. “In any case, I only returned from Bristol yesterday evening.”
“I see.” Leonard was not sure if the revelation made him relieved or fearful. “She—we—are trying to find an acquaintance of yours,” he explained. “The Baron of Averton.”
Lord Westley frowned, his furry gray eyebrows meeting. “Who?”
“Charlie Ellis,” said Leonard. “The Baron of Averton.” He paused. “You don’t know the gentleman?”
The Earl shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“He didn’t come hunting with you last spring? Along with the Viscount of Chilson?”
The Earl’s frown deepened. “No. I’ve never met this Lord Averton. And I’ve certainly never been hunting with him.”
Leonard rubbed his chin, his thoughts racing. “I see. Lord Chilson must have been mistaken.” Perhaps the Viscount had simply gotten Lord Averton confused with Lord Arthurson or any of the other young noblemen in these parts who liked to brandish a hunting rifle.
He gave the Earl a nod of thanks. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Lord Westley smiled. “Not at all, Your Grace.” He gave him a crooked smile. “I do hope you find Miss Wilds.”
Chapter 31
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” said the Viscount, striding into the parlor and holding out a hand. “I’m sorry I missed you yesterday.”
Leonard accepted his handshake. He was extremely glad he had finally managed to catch hold of the Viscount. Perhaps he could shed some light on Deborah’s whereabouts, and if she truly was in London visiting her aunt, why she had chosen to do so without confiding in her husband-to-be.
So far, Leonard had done his best not to think of it, but he was no longer able to stop the thought entering his mind.
What if she has begun to doubt her feelings for me?
There had been no suggestion of such a thing in her behavior, of course. The last time he had seen Deborah, on her covert mission through his servants’ quarters, she had been loving and affectionate. He had felt a true connection—both emotional and physical. He had regretted meeting her in the shadow-filled garden. In the darkness he’d had to work even harder to stop himself from ravishing her.
But what if something had changed for her? What if this journey to London was an escape? A breath of air before she was forever tied to a gentleman she no longer cared for?
Leonard couldn’t bring himself to follow the thought.
The Viscount smiled, gesturing to the armchair. “Please sit. Perhaps a drink? Are you a brandy man?”
Leonard made to shake his head, then hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “A brandy. Thank you.” Perhaps with a little liquor flowing, the Viscount might speak more freely.
In the back of his mind sat the words of the second letter.
You must never speak of this warning to Lord Chilson. He is a dangerous man who cannot be trusted.
“I hear your daughter is in London?” Leonard said, as the Viscount’s footman handed him a glass.
Lord Chilson sat back in his armchair. He accepted his own glass of brandy and took a shallow sip. “She is, yes. Visiting my
sister in Mayfair.”
“Did you not think to tell me?” Leonard asked stiffly. “We are to be married, after all.”
“Of course,” the Viscount said hurriedly, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I hope you do not take any offense, Your Grace.” He gave Leonard a thin smile. “As you may have noticed, my daughter is suffering from a few pre-wedding nerves. I think the pressure of becoming a Duchess is becoming something of a weight upon her shoulders.”
Guilty Pleasures 0f A Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 19
