Weddings and Scandals: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  Francis was stunned. He had never once considered Miss James in that light and even though he had been glad of her assistance and her company of late, he had never even thought of her in such a way as that. She had simply been his acquaintance, his friend. Nothing more.

  Struggling to find an answer, Francis looked helplessly at his friend, only to see a glint of good humor in his eye. A breath of relief tore from his lungs and he shook a finger in Lord Wickton’s direction.

  “You are quite the rogue,” he declared, as Lord Wickton laughed aloud. “You know very well that I have begun to care for Henrietta, do you not?”

  Lord Wickton chuckled, his grin spreading wide. “I have noticed your attentions towards her of late, yes,” he admitted with a shrug. “I am only teasing you, Newton. Of course, I well understand that you and Charlotte would not be a good match. She is much too stubborn for you, I think. Lady Chaucer, on the other hand…” He let his words trail off, still laughing softly.

  “I think I wish to marry her.”

  The words came from Francis’ mouth and seemed to hang in the air between himself and Lord Wickton. Francis had begun to think of such a thing over the last few days and now that he said it aloud, realized that this was truly what he wished.

  “My, my,” Lord Wickton breathed, the large grin now disappearing from his face. “You are quite besotted with her!” He shook his head, a kind look in his eyes. “Do not mistake me, I think she is more than wonderful and that you would be the kindest of husbands, but you forget that we still do not know the whereabouts of her husband… his body, I mean.” Lord Wickton winced, wandering over to the study desk and peering down at the papers that were spread across it. “That is the most important consideration, is it not? You cannot marry her unless she is pronounced a widow.”

  Francis sighed and ran one hand through his hair. “Precisely,” he replied heavily. “Which is why I simply must find something to aid her in this. I want to give her that freedom that she has so often sought after, and then offer her my hand at the same time. I would never be cruel to her in the way her father and Lord Chaucer have been. I wish to give her the life she has dreamt about, Wickton. It is fast becoming my dearest wish.”

  Lord Wickton nodded, now looking a good deal more serious. “Then we must discover the truth,” he said simply. “I shall look through his desk, shall I? And there is a stack of correspondence here, with a few unopened letters on his desk.”

  Francis grimaced. “I do not think a dead man will much care if I open his letters, do you?”

  “No, I think not,” Lord Wickton replied firmly. “I know this seems a little wrong and inconsiderate, but it must be done.”

  Nodding, and reminding himself that this had been his idea in the first place, Francis moved towards the desk and picked up the stack of letters and the already opened correspondence. Lord Wickton was correct to state that it did feel wrong to open another man’s correspondence, even though he knew that particular fellow was already gone from this world, but he had to do such a thing if he wanted to help Henrietta.

  Settling down in an armchair, Francis began to go through the first few letters, finding them mostly to be felicitations and congratulations over Lord Chaucer’s wedding. There were a few reminders of debts that were yet to be paid, but nothing at all severe enough for a man to come searching after Lord Chaucer so that he might be forced to pay the ultimate price for what he owed. Picking up one of the remaining opened letters and knowing that he still had to read the sealed notes, Francis bit back a sigh, quite certain that this would yet again be a letter with very little within it.

  His eyes read the first few lines and stopped short. Pushing himself up a little more with some of the letters falling from his lap to the floor, Francis beckoned Lord Wickton over quickly.

  “Look here, old boy,” he said hastily, holding up the letter. “Read this. It may be something.”

  Lord Wickton frowned as he read the letter, his blue eyes flickering across the page as he did so.

  “This is correspondence between Baron Reapson and Lord Chaucer,” he said slowly, as Francis nodded. “For the most part, it seems to simply be an agreement about the wedding and the like.”

  “Except the end,” Francis said, instructing his friend to read the final paragraph aloud. “What does that mean specifically?”

  Lord Wickton cleared his throat and read aloud. “‘Plans have been made for the evening’s events and you can be sure that I shall not fail you in this. My daughter’s future shall be as we have agreed and the delights that follow shall be for both our good. Neither of us will need to ever think of her again.’”

  Frowning harder, Lord Wickton was silent for a few minutes, reading the letter over again. Then, scratching his head, he looked directly at Francis.

  “I cannot understand it,” he said with a shake of his head. “What does the baron mean when he talks about her future being as they have agreed? Surely Lady Chaucer would simply remain wed to Lord Chaucer?”

  “Lord Chaucer has no consideration for his wife, just as Lady Chaucer’s father cared nothing for her.,” Francis said slowly, recalling what Henrietta had told him. “The Baron feared that his daughters might evidence the same willfulness of spirit as their late grandmother and so did all he could to ensure that they could not behave in such a fashion. Out of both daughters, Henrietta was the most obedient, from what I understand. But the baron and Lord Chaucer do not care a fig for the lady. They must be using her in some way.”

  “In what way?” Lord Wickton asked, but Francis let out a long breath and shook his head in frustration. Disgust at the thought of both the baron and Lord Chaucer had his lip curling, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took the letter from Lord Wickton’s fingers. “I do not know what this means but I know that Lord Reapson would never attempt to kill Lord Chaucer. What reason would there be for it?”

  “And how would it, in any way, punish Lady Chaucer?” Lord Wickton questioned, his eyes filled with the thoughts that were going on in his mind. “I cannot understand this.”

  Silence reigned for a few moments, but Francis could not come up with any particular idea that would lead them in the right direction. Sighing heavily, he shook his head, folded up the letter, and placed it in his pocket.

  “I will take this to peruse again later,” he said, seeing Lord Wickton’s confused look. “I may have to speak to Henrietta about it, of course, although I am less than inclined to do so given just how troubled she will be about it.”

  Lord Wickton nodded his understanding, his eyes falling to the stack of correspondence that was now on Francis’ lap and on the floor. “Did the baron have any other correspondence with Lord Chaucer?” he asked, bending down to pick up one of the letters, his eyes scanning it quickly. “There is nothing more here, for example?”

  Francis shook his head, a line forming between his brows as he frowned. “No,” he said slowly. “No, there is not. I have found nothing else that was written by the baron.”

  “And that in itself is a little surprising, is it not?” Lord Wickton commented, looking surprised. “A gentleman who is arranging the marriage of his daughter to Lord Chaucer has only written but one letter? That seems quite unusual.”

  “I will admit that it is very strange,” Francis murmured, his mind turning over with thoughts. “Mayhap they met often in person?”

  “I would not think that it would mean only one letter was ever exchanged between them both,” Lord Wickton pointed out, moving back to the study desk and beginning to look through the drawers. “Perhaps he collected the letters and kept them together.”

  “It is possible.” Francis rose to his feet and joined the search, although no further letters were discovered as they continued their investigation. “The only other explanation is that Lord Chaucer did not want the letters to be discovered and, therefore, chose to rid himself of them.”

  “But he did not destroy this one.”

  Francis shrugged. “It could be an oversig
ht.”

  Lord Wickton let out a long breath, looking back at Francis steadily. “We are becoming more and more mired in difficulty, are we not?”

  The truth of that hit Francis hard. It was, undeniably, a particularly arduous situation and as much as he was trying to aid Henrietta, it felt as though he were simply stumbling around in darkness.

  “You should take the rest of the letters with you,” Lord Wickton advised, hearing footsteps coming towards them. “The butler may not be particularly pleased with our continued search here and whilst he will not prevent us, it may be that should we return to continue our search, some of the correspondence will be gone.”

  Francis’ brows shot to his hairline. “You are suggesting that some of Lord Chaucer’s staff were involved in this affair also?”

  “It would make sense, would it not?” Lord Wickton asked, grasping the six unopened letters and handing them to Francis. “They could easily have moved Lord Chaucer’s body for whatever reason.”

  “Or they could be entirely innocent,” Francis commented, putting the letters in his pocket and bending to pick up the rest of the letters that had fallen to the floor. The butler pushed the door open a little more just as Francis was shuffling the letters in his hands, arranging them carefully.

  “I wondered if I might be of any assistance,” the butler offered, bowing at the waist. “I am, of course, greatly troubled by Lord Chaucer’s disappearance and would like to help in any way that I can.”

  Francis considered this for a moment, not quite able to tell whether or not the butler was being truthful. That was the one thing about staff—they were more than able to hide their true feelings, their true expressions, from their masters. Thus, at the moment, it was quite impossible to deduce the butler’s true intentions.

  “Is there a place where Lord Chaucer would keep any letters of particular significance?” Lord Wickton asked, when Francis said nothing. “Anywhere he might place things of interest?”

  The butler hesitated, then walked a little further into the room. “Lord Chaucer often kept important documents in the small compartment here,” he said, pulling back a painting from the wall to reveal a small, open space that was, to Francis’ eyes, entirely empty. “But I fear that there is nothing unusual here.”

  Lord Wickton shot Francis a quick glance, one eyebrow lifted, before walking towards the space to examine it a little closer. Francis set the letters down on the desk, meaning to go and join his friend, only for something to catch his eye.

  Something that quite stole his breath.

  “You are quite correct when you say there is nothing unusual here,” Lord Wickton stated, sounding frustrated. “A few notes, a correspondence with a solicitor whose name I do not recognize, and nothing else.” He sighed heavily and turned back to Francis. “I fear, Newton, that there is nothing here of significance.”

  “And yet, I may have something.”

  The butler turned, his eyes a little wider than before. “Indeed?”

  Francis picked up the letter and waved it in the air. “You might be able to tell me how it is that your master, who has not been seen in a fortnight, was able to open and read a letter dated in the middle of last week.” He let his words sink in, seeing the shock on the butler’s face and the astonishment rippling across Lord Wickton’s features. “Has Lord Chaucer been at home, then? Has he somehow appeared, read his correspondence, and left again? Tell me at once! I must know the truth.”

  His words seemed to shake the butler terribly, for the man paled even more, reaching out to steady himself on the back of a chair with both hands.

  “I do not know,” the butler whispered, his fingers digging into the chair as he fought to hold himself upright. “Truly, I have not seen Lord Chaucer since his wedding day.”

  Francis narrowed his eyes. “Then who else has opened and read your master’s correspondence?” he demanded, seeing the butler shrink back as though he had been slapped. “Tell us the truth and nothing more will come of this.” He waited, but although the butler’s mouth opened and closed, no sound came out.

  Frustration and confusion began to row within his chest, spiking his anger.

  “Come now, man!” Lord Wickton exclaimed, evidently feeling the very same as Francis. “Out with it! We must know the truth.”

  Francis made to speak, made to step forward, when the sound of a scream caught his ears.

  Henrietta.

  9

  Henrietta had not wanted to come searching through Lord Chaucer’s things, but given that they had no idea as to what had occurred or why, it seemed like a wise decision to make and so she had forced herself to walk into his rooms and attempted to search.

  Although what she ought to be searching for was still quite lost on her.

  The bed was still neatly made, the logs and coal in the fire ready to be lit. There was nothing out of place, nothing that caught her eye or made her believe that there was anything strange or unusual. She felt quite useless, moving through the bedchamber with slow, careful steps and feeling herself grow rather unsettled as she did so.

  It was as though she ought not to be here, even though this was her husband’s abode and she, as his wife, had every right to be present.

  Her skin prickled with uncertainty as she turned around slowly, almost as though she expected to see Lord Chaucer storm into the room, demanding what it was she was doing touching his private items, but it was only a small, pale-faced maid that now stood in the doorway.

  “My lady, can I fetch you anything?” The maid bobbed a curtsy, her eyes fixed to a spot by Henrietta’s feet. “Or can I be of help to you?”

  Henrietta hesitated, not quite sure whether she should have any help in this matter at all, although glancing about her, she realized just how large the bedchamber and adjoining room was.

  “I am seeking anything that might help my search for my husband,” she said as calmly as she could. “It may sound strange, but I have no particular idea of what it is I am looking for and, therefore, am at a loss as to how to make the best use of your help.”

  The maid glanced up, uncertain. “You wish to find any sort of clue to his disappearance, my lady?”

  “Yes, that is it precisely,” Henrietta said with a small shrug, finding the maid’s simple presence to be something of a comfort. There was less fear in her heart now that someone else was present, although she had no reason to fear at all, of course. “You can either assist the search and alert me to anything that might be significant, or you may simply stand there and be of an encouragement to me.” She did not tell the maid how she was to be an encouragement, thinking that to explain such a thing to one’s staff was more than a little foolish. Turning her back, Henrietta began to look through her husband’s chest of drawers, finding there to be nothing of significance at all.

  Behind her, she heard the maid open the wardrobe and wanted to point out that there would be nothing to find there, only to realize that the girl might find something of interest in a pocket or two. Turning her mind back to the task at hand, Henrietta continued to search through the drawers, finding only kerchiefs and a few smaller items. Nothing appeared out of place or brought her any sort of surprise. It was all just as she had expected.

  “Oh!”

  Turning around, Henrietta saw the maid staring at something in the bottom of the wardrobe. Her heart began to pound as she closed the drawer firmly, hearing something clatter just behind it but finding herself too caught up with the maid to look to see what it was.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, hurrying towards her. “Have you discovered something of note?”

  Her fingers twisted together in front of her as she approached the maid and peered inside. The maid was frowning, pointing at something Henrietta could not quite make out. The wardrobe was large and the back was extremely dark.

  “Pray, tell me what it is you have found,” she ordered, a little frustrated as she grew increasingly anxious to find out what it was. “I cannot see it clearly enough
.”

  “My lady,” the maid whispered, her hand now shaking just a little. “Do forgive me for I dare not touch it again, but there is something there.” She leaned a touch closer, only to stumble back. “Why is it so very red?”

  Henrietta leaned closer, her heart thumping so loudly she was certain the maid could hear it. Slowly, her eyes began to adjust as she saw a large jar sitting on the floor of the wardrobe. It was sealed tightly but what it held turned her stomach.

  Blood.

  “You found this?” she asked, turning around to see the maid slowly backing away, one hand pressed to her mouth. “You discovered this?”

  “I began to pull it out before I saw what it was,” the maid whispered, looking as though she wanted to get as far away from the jar as possible. “It is not wise to touch it, my lady. Blood can bring all sorts of trouble.”

  Henrietta felt her stomach turn over and forced herself to look away from the wardrobe and the jar, reaching out to steady herself against the bed.

  “Go and fetch Lord Wickton and Mr. Newton,” she said, as steadily as she could. “Pray tell them that I require their presence immediately.” She saw the maid nod and turn away towards the open door almost at once, obviously quite relieved that she had been allowed to depart from this room. Henrietta sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, her mind working furiously. Why would Lord Chaucer have such a horrific thing as that deep within the confines of his wardrobe? Was he hiding it from his staff, or had someone known of it? His valet could have easily stumbled across it had he been looking for something significant, but given the sheer devotion of Lord Chaucer’s staff, Henrietta did not think that her husband would have had to do much other than demand his staff’s silence before it was given. That meant that even if someone amongst the staff knew about this particular item, they would not have dared say a word to any other.