Not Quite a Baroness: A Sweet Victorian Gothic Historical Romance (The Boston Heiresses Book 2)

by Ava Rose

  She lowered her eyes to her hands on her lap as she spoke. “I was staying with my friend Anna at Wrexford House. We were hosting a soirée and I had a dress mishap and went upstairs to my room to change. There was a strange light flashing outside my window in the garden and I went to check it out.”

  “You are very brave to go outside alone to check a mysterious light at night.”

  “It was not brave,” she said quietly. “It was stupid.” He could hear the self-reproach in her tone.

  “What happened then?”

  “I went out via the entrance near the servants’ quarters, to avoid the guests. Someone grabbed me on my way out before I could reach the garden.”

  “I see.” He narrowed his eyes, trying to ascertain her veracity.

  “You’re not going to take notes?” There was sarcasm in her tone.

  He smiled blandly. “I am not one of those police officers who have been pestering you.”

  “Clearly.”

  “How much time did you spend conscious?”

  One of her delicately winged brows rose and she gave him an ‘are you seriously asking me that’ look. “I did not have a watch, my Lord.”

  Henry swallowed back a smile. He had expected her to say that she did not know; instead, she had a witty rejoinder. “I prefer Detective rather than my Lord, if you please.”

  “Are you not a Viscount?” Her brows descended.

  “I am, but I prefer not to use the title.”

  “Very well.”

  “Were you physically harmed while you were with your captors?”

  The amber flecks in her eyes sparked with what he could only assume to be contained rage, and her entire body stiffened. He had been asking the right questions to gauge her emotions and this question hit right where he wanted it.

  “Look at my face, Detective,” was all she said.

  He frowned. “Which one of them hit you?”

  “Mr. Hart, and the chapel minister.”

  “And now a delicate question.” He hesitated, then asked what had to be asked. “Your marriage. Has anything occurred to solidify it?”

  “Definitely not. My brother has filed for an annulment.”

  Great move on her brother’s part, but then again, he did not expect anything less. The man was dead now, however, and that could seriously delay the processing of an annulment.

  He turned to Sir Penforth. “Are you aware that the annulment process will likely be placed on a temporary hold until the murder is solved?”

  “Yes, and that is why you are here.”

  Henry nodded slowly, and returned his attention to the baroness. “How do you feel about your husband’s death?”

  “He is not my husband,” she said slowly and tensely.

  “Pardon my address.”

  “I am not grieving, if that is what you are asking,” she continued coolly. “And if you are expecting me to say that I am happy the man who has put me through so much misery is dead, then I am sorry to disappoint you on that front, also.”

  Henry looked at her for a long moment. He could not begin to fathom her distress and sympathy for her plight grew. But she clearly carried enough anger to push her to commit murder.

  “You have a sister yet to be presented to society. How do you think this will affect her?”

  “I believe you already know the answer to that question, Detective, and I do not see its relevance to this case.”

  “It is indeed more relevant than you may think. You will do anything for your sister, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted slowly as her eyes narrowed. She was obviously a very clever woman. “But I would not commit murder so she can be introduced to society.”

  “I see.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Do you think Mr. Hart’s fate is deserved?”

  “Have you not asked me this before?” She was calm. Too calm.

  “Yes, but not directly.”

  “Perhaps I think he should have remained alive to be properly punished for his crimes. And perhaps the manner in which he died is enough punishment.” The princess’s eyes were cold and hard as she spoke.

  Henry was unsure what to believe. She could easily have hired someone to kill the scoundrel who’d taken her. She held enough pain to justify her actions, and her last statement about the manner in which he died could be telling of her capability for murder. That statement was certainly incriminating.

  “Have you finished the interrogation?” she asked when he straightened in his chair.

  “Yes. I believe you said you have a question for me, too?”

  “Not anymore.” She jutted her chin forward.

  “May I ask why?”

  “You do not believe I am innocent. My questions are irrelevant. You will be of no use to me.”

  Add incredible perception to her list of surprising traits. She was right. He did not think she was innocent. However, he also did not believe she was entirely guilty. He had reached the point where he had to make a decision. Should he take the case and see it to completion?

  Instinct guided him and he rose to his feet and addressed Sir Penforth. “Forgive me, but I must decline this case…again.”

  Sir Penforth shook his head. “I thought you had powerful instincts. I thought it was why you excelled in your work. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

  He did have powerful instincts. He was hardly ever wrong about people and he had an uncanny ability to read them. But not when it came to Her Royal Highness, Princess Elizabeth Armstrong-Leeds, Baroness Esk. She confused him. He did not know what to make of the woman.

  “I wish you the best of luck, Sir.” To the princess, he bowed and said, “I am sorry, Ma’am.”

  She stiffened at the formal address reserved for a princess and turned her head away, refusing to look at him further, and he left the Armstrong-Leeds residence feeling unaccountably muddled.

  ***

  Libby fumed. He didn’t believe she had not killed her kidnapper. He was supposed to be shrewd on the investigation front. When he did not believe one to be innocent, he declined in order not to be put in a position that might compromise his integrity. That small aspect of his character was rather admirable. The rest, not so much; he was an arrogant Viscount who had abandoned his family to follow a dream. Ridiculous man.

  “I am sorry, Libby. I thought he could help.”

  “I know, Pen. You have done your best.” She got to her feet, now more determined than ever to find a way herself to extract her family from this dreadful mess. Pen had done his best and it was time for her to take control of the situation. She was not a murderer and she was going to prove her innocence.

  Penforth took her hands in his. “We will get the truth out there, I promise you.”

  She responded with a small nod and an even smaller smile. When she returned to the drawing room, her mother, sister, and Anna began asking questions as soon as she entered. Libby was almost overwhelmed by them.

  “Pen asked Detective DeHavillend to help us with this case, but the detective did not believe I am innocent and has chosen not to take the case.”

  Her mother slumped back in her chair. “What do we do?”

  Anna went to Christiana to try to calm her nerves, while Mary jumped up and came to Libby for a hug.

  “You are worried about me,” Mary said in a low voice. “Don’t be.”

  Libby’s eyes stung and her throat constricted. “How can I not, Mary?”

  She held her sister for a long moment before pulling away. “We can always move to England or Europe. Boston is not all there is.”

  Mary had greatly matured in the past weeks. And she was right; this was not all there was, and they could always move. But that would be a last resort. Libby had to at least try to mend their reputation. Although a fresh start was tempting, Boston would still have a tainted image of them and she would never be completely at ease unless the truth were to be revealed.

  “We will be just fine,” Mary said.

  Libby s
miled down at her, feeling encouraged. “Yes, we will be.”

  She released Mary and went to her mother. “Mama,” she said, taking her hand in hers, “it is going to be all right. The police will find the truth.”

  “What if someone is trying to set you up?” Christiana cried.

  Libby had not thought of that possibility. Could that be the case? It gave her an idea of where to start.

  “If someone is indeed trying to set me up, I will find them.” She stared at Anna and mouthed, “Upstairs,” before bringing her attention back to her mother. “Why don’t we take you upstairs so you can get some rest.”

  Christiana nodded. She was a frail woman, not because she had any ailment. She simply did not have as strong a constitution as her son and daughters. Libby was fortunate and thankful she was not like her mother in that regard. She would have crumbled from such a boring existence.

  Anna and Libby accompanied Christiana upstairs and gave her some chamomile tea to help her relax before heading to Libby’s room where they could talk in private.

  “I have an idea,” Libby said, propping her foot on a stool to undo the buttons of her boots.

  Anna sat on the rose-colored velvet settee at the foot of the bed. “What do we do?”

  Libby smiled inwardly at her use of ‘we’. She knew Anna would always be there for her. The woman had led her rescue, for heaven’s sake.

  “Not we, just me.”

  Anna frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I need to find some information and I must go alone.” She removed her boots and put them aside, then began undoing the buttons at the neck of her dress.

  “I can’t let you leave this house alone, Libby,” Anna argued, coming up to help her with the buttons she couldn’t reach herself. “Not after what you’ve been through.”

  Libby turned to face her friend. “Anna, I have never seen Pen this happy in all my life. You mean the world to him and he would kill me if any harm came to you.” Anna opened her mouth to speak and Libby quickly held up a silencing finger. “This is something I must do alone. I need you to stay here and take care of Mama and Mary.”

  Anna frowned. “Only if you tell me where you’re going.”

  Libby turned back so that Anna could continue on the fastenings. “I thought perhaps Sarah might know something. You know what she’s like—an ear to the ground all the time. I am going to her premises.”

  Lady Sarah Smith-Jones was Libby’s friend and her favorite clothing designer. She was everyone’s favorite designer and moved in both aristocratic, upper and middle-class circles. She also was familiar with a number of people in Boston’s underground where illicit business took place. This latter knowledge, however, belonged only to those closest to her, including Libby and Anna. She certainly was not involved in anything untoward herself; she merely had odd connections.

  Anna sighed with some relief. “Sarah’s shop is in a safe neighborhood. That gives me some comfort.”

  “I will be fine, Anna. I am much more on my guard now than I was before. Don’t worry. Besides, I’m going to wear a disguise.”

  “Oh?”

  Now that her dress was unfastened, she shimmied it off, and moved into her dressing room to retrieve a black satin dress from the back of her closet. It was several years out of fashion, having last been worn to mourn her father. She had forgotten all about it until now.

  Holding it against her body, she asked, “What do you think?”

  “It’s a black dress. Are you disguising yourself as a widow?”

  “Precisely! And I am a widow now so I suppose this is most fitting,” she jested.

  “That is not funny, Libby.” Anna frowned.

  “But it is true.”

  Anna sighed while Libby retrieved a black lace veil and a black velvet toque. Anna helped her dress and because it had been years since she’d last worn the dress, they had to cinch the corset especially tight. Oh, her aching ribs.

  When they were finished, she studied herself in the standing mirror in her dressing room. She doubted anyone who saw her on the streets would recognize her, especially with her face completely concealed by the veil.

  “Does it work?” she asked Anna.

  “Yes, it does.” She smiled. “Very clever.”

  “I will return before dinner time. If anyone asks, I am tired and asleep in my room.”

  “Fine. Be careful.” Anna hugged her.

  Libby did not leave the house through the front door. Instead, she used the servants’ entrance on the side of the house. The staff were all busy and she managed to slip out easily. She knew her disguise was working when people on the street carried on with their business without so much as sparing her a glance. Those who did, clearly thought she was a widow.

  Libby walked down from her house for about three blocks before hailing a carriage and giving the driver Sarah’s shop address. Just as she climbed up into the carriage, she had the strange sensation of being watched. She surreptitiously turned her head but didn’t see anyone or anything suspicious. Perhaps everything she had been through had made her paranoid. She shook her head, and settled in her seat.

  Comparing the sad state in which she had found herself yesterday evening, and even this morning, she could comfortably conclude that she was no longer near tears. Instead it felt as if there was a fire starting inside her that was growing by the minute, a fire that would only be quenched once she proved her innocence. Libby loved this feeling. She stoked it. Crying and wallowing in misery made her feel pathetic and angry with herself, but this…this assured her she was still in control and that her life was hers to do with as she saw fit.

  It didn’t take long to reach her destination. The carriage stopped right in front of Sarah’s premises: La Robe Dorée. Libby liked the name; it was French for The Golden Dress. She paid the driver and even tipped him, then walked up the short staircase to the door.

  As her hand touched the door handle, that feeling of being watched crept back. The hairs on the back of her neck rose up.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Henry left the Armstrong-Leeds house, he headed straight to the Boston Police Department, telling himself he was only going to obtain the bare modicum of information and not become involved. The police station as always was bustling with activity when he arrived.

  “Anderson,” he greeted the officer at the front desk. He was a genial fellow who lacked the austerity that most police officers had. Henry quite liked him.

  “Detective DeHavillend, how is it going?” Anderson asked.

  “Good. Is Montgomery in?”

  The officer nodded and waved him through. As Henry turned to find Montgomery, Anderson held him back. “Have you heard?” he whispered.

  “Heard what?”

  “The kidnapped baroness is now a murder suspect. I heard Chief saying it is so sensitive a case they may have to call you in.” He paused with a questioning look in his eyes. “Or have they already called you?”

  “Yes, I have heard. No, it is not why I am here. And no, they did not call me.”

  “Are you going to take the case?”

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t take cases like that.”

  Anderson scoffed. “You’ve taken on worse murder cases.”

  “Not involving a baroness,” he countered before leaving Anderson to search out the District Commander.

  Montgomery’s office was at the end of a wide hall on the west side of the station and officers who passed Henry paused for perfunctory greetings before moving on. He had the Department’s respect, which was unusual for a private detective.

  “Ah, just the man I was about to send for,” Montgomery said from behind his desk.

  “So I’ve been told,” Henry drawled.

  Montgomery shook his graying head. “I will need to have a word with Anderson.”

  “Why are you looking for me?”

  “The Armstrong-Leeds case. As if you didn’t already know.”

  Henry held up a hand and shook his head
. “I am not getting involved in that. Sir Penforth asked me last night to take the case.”

  “Did you agree?”

  “No.”

  “Well, we are going to need your help with it. You are the most competent detection expert in this town, outside my department, that is.” Montgomery shook his head slowly. “This is a very sensitive case and we must be careful. We are dealing with a baroness here, and a royal too.”

  “Afraid you will be asked to cover it up?”

  Montgomery did not respond and Henry understood. It was one of the reasons he did not generally like working with the police. Many a time, when some shiny Boston Brahmin committed a crime, money changed hands and the crime miraculously disappeared. This annoyed Henry no end.

  “If you were afraid of this, then why did you declare her a suspect?”

  “There is no one else.”

  “Not even the deceased’s associates?”

  “We’ve caught everyone involved.”

  “Past victims, perhaps?” Henry suggested.

  Montgomery shook his head again. “That is why we need your help.”

  “Like I said. I am not getting involved.”

  “Very well,” the commander said wearily. “What are you doing here?”

  “I want some information about the case.”

  The commander’s eyebrows shot up. “You just said—”

  “I know what I said.” Henry spoke with some temper. He was unsure why he’d felt the need to come here at all, let alone ask questions about the case. His own actions confused him, and it put him in an ill mood.

  The commander’s eyes suddenly narrowed with suspicion. “Are you trying to solve this case solo, so you can take all the glory?”

  This darkened Henry’s mood even further. “Is there anything wrong with that? After all, you do it all the time. I solve your cases and you take the credit. I don’t even get paid.”

  “You will get paid if you work with us…officially.”

  “Good luck with your case, Montgomery,” he said curtly before turning on his heels and stomping out of the office and building.

  The reasonable part of him—the bit that was not confused by the baroness—was quite correct. He should steer clear of this case. Yet the circumstances of it continued to nag at him. Why? Was it the case he was unable to stay away from? Or was it her?