Instead, he said, “A gentleman named Charlie Ellis. The Baron of Averton. Have you heard of him?”
Phineas rubbed his chin. “Averton. No, I don’t think so. But you know how I am with names.” He stuck his pipe between his teeth.
And before he could stop himself, Leonard blurted, “Did my mother know who he was?”
Phineas frowned. “Did your mother know who Averton was?” Phineas repeated. “Not that I’m aware of, my boy.” He crossed one leg over the other. “Why don’t you ask her?”
Leonard lowered his gaze, ashamed that he had raised the subject. But it was too late to stop now. “I did ask her,” he admitted. “And she claimed not to know the Baron either. But…” He sighed. “I found a handkerchief of hers inside Lord Averton’s house.”
“A handkerchief?” Phineas repeated. “That could have belonged to anyone.”
“No. It was embroidered with a blue anchor.”
Phineas puffed out a cloud of smoke. “And you think your mother is the only person in the country with an anchor embroidered on her handkerchief?” But he had pulled his gaze from Leonard’s. Was refilling his brandy, even though he hadn’t finished the first glass.
“What do you know, Uncle?” Leonard said, sharper than he had intended. “What are you hiding?”
Phineas’s eyebrows shot up the accusation. “What makes you think I’m hiding anything?”
“I’m no fool, Uncle. I can tell by the look in your eyes. The same look I saw in my mother’s eyes when I asked her about the handkerchief.”
Hit with a sudden burst of frustration, Leonard slammed his glass down, the crack echoing across the smoking room. “Whatever this is about, it involves me, and the lady I love.” It was the first time he had spoken aloud of his love for Deborah and it made something jump inside him. And it also made him even more determined to force his way beneath the lies his family was feeding him. He leaped to his feet. “I need answers, Uncle! So does Miss Wilds!”
Phineas heaved himself out of his arm chair and stood with his eyes level with his nephew. For a long time, he didn’t speak. Leonard held his gaze fiercely.
Phineas clenched his jaw, until it shook. “I don’t know what you are implying,” he said darkly, “but your mother is a very fine lady. And she deserves better than to have accusations hurled at her by her son.” He narrowed his eyes and gave Leonard a cold stare. “You would do well to remember that, Your Grace.”
Chapter 28
Deborah drew in her breath and knocked on the door of the parlor. After she had watched her father walk inside after dinner, she had spent a good portion of the evening debating with herself whether to follow him.
It had to be done, she’d decided. Her father needed to be involved in her search to uncover the truth. He and the Duke were both powerful gentlemen. Together, surely, they could piece together what had happened to Lord Averton.
What had happened to Edith…
And then there was that other issue that Deborah was unable to ignore. Her growing suspicion at the Dowager Duchess of Tarsington…
“Father?” She peeked into the parlor. The Viscount was sitting on the lounge with a book in his hand. He smiled at the sight of her.
“Come in, my dear. Is everything all right?”
Deborah felt a faint pang of regret. As children, she and Edith had been so close to their father. He had read to them each night, had played games with them during the day. Now, she could not seek him out without him assuming something was wrong? When had such a shift taken place?
She knew the answer, of course.
After Edith’s death.
The event that had changed everything.
Though the Viscount had not fallen apart the way his wife had, Edith’s death had caused him to build a wall around himself. Deborah understood. Lord Chilson was the head of the household. He had his family name, his title to uphold. It would not do to be seen in pieces. But he had let no one beneath that steely façade. Not his wife, not his daughter. Standing opposite him now, Deborah realized just how much she had missed him. She longed suddenly for that closeness they had shared when she was a child.
She perched on the lounge opposite him and clasped her hands. “Everything is all right, Father.” She hesitated. She had questions for him, of course. But she felt oddly reluctant to ask them. Doing so would only prove that, yes, her relationship with her father had become one in which she only sought him out in times of trouble.
Still, she had to do whatever she could to find the truth. It could wait no longer.
“Father,” she began carefully, “did you know a gentleman by the name of Charlie Ellis? The Baron of Averton?”
Her father set his book on the side table. “Averton. Yes. He’s the fellow who lives up in that old manor house. At the edge of the village.”
Deborah lowered her eyes. She felt oddly reluctant to speak of the bloodstains on the wall of the Averton manor. She had her story ready—it had been the Duke alone who had found the blood, she would tell her father. A gentle lie to protect her betrothed, along with her own honor. She was doing this for Edith, she reminded herself, as the guilt of it reared up inside her.
“When was the last time you saw him?” she asked the Viscount.
He frowned. “It’s been a while,” he said. “Six months at least.”
Deborah straightened. “Six months? Are you certain? No longer?”
Her father rubbed his pointed chin. “Can’t be certain of the date, but I know I’m not far off. Yes, April or May, I think. I came across the fellow at the Earl of Westley’s hunt. In the spring.”
Deborah’s heart began to quicken.
Have the Duke and I jumped to conclusions? Is Lord Averton still alive?
“The Earl of Westley’s hunt?” she repeated.
Her father nodded. He gave a small chuckle. “Yes. The fellow was quite a dreadful shot, if I remember rightly. Brought home nothing but a pair of muddy boots.”
“And did he seem well?” Deborah asked, her mind flickering back to those dreadful splatters of blood staining the doorframe of his bedchamber.
“Apart from the humiliation of it all, he seemed just fine.” The Viscount raised his thick grey eyebrows. “What’s all this about, Deborah? What business do you have with Lord Averton?”
“He—I—” she garbled, her words tangling. “I believe he knew Edith,” she said finally. “And I was…” She inhaled sharply. “I wondered if perhaps he might be able to tell me why she did what she did.”
The Viscount didn’t speak at once. “This Lord Averton knew Edith?” he repeated. “What do you mean, he knew her?”
Deborah hesitated. She had to tell her father the truth. She had come too far for lies. “I found Edith’s diary,” she admitted. “She speaks of her… friendship with Lord Averton.”
Her father frowned. “I see…” He straightened. “Well. Next time I see Averton, I will be sure to ask him what he knows of your sister.” His voice was thin. Was he angry? Upset? Deborah couldn’t read him.
But her heart was drumming against her ribs.
Lord Averton is alive?
What did such a thing mean for their search for answers? Had they been following the wrong path, assuming the Baron had been killed?
She was glad her father asked no more about Lord Averton. If he learned the true nature of the Baron’s relationship with Edith, Deborah knew he would not be happy. And she had no intention of besmirching her father’s memories of his departed daughter.
Besides, there were other things she needed to ask her father. Other truths she desperately needed to find.
“Father,” she began, “why did you betroth Edith and I to the Duke?”
Lord Chilson raised his eyebrows. “Do you really need to ask that, Deborah? The gentleman is a Duke. I wanted the best for my daughters. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You know that.” He looked at her pointedly. “It’s what any father would do.”
“My marriage to the Duke will be of grea
t benefit to you,” she said. “It will increase your status, your standing among the ton.”
“Yes,” Lord Chilson agreed. “Of course. You know that. You always have. But I’m glad you and His Grace are so happy together.” He gave her a small smile. “I’m glad the union can benefit us both.”
Deborah returned his smile. “I’m glad too, Father.” She hesitated, tensely twisting a stray strand of hair. “So my betrothal had nothing to do with the Dowager Duchess of Tarsington?” she blurted.
The Viscount frowned, a deep crease appearing across the bridge of his nose. “What in Heaven’s name are you talking about, Deborah? What would it possibly have to do with the Dowager Duchess?”
Deborah felt suddenly foolish. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just…” She sucked in her breath. “I’m not sure I trust her, Father,” she admitted, before she could hold the words back.
Her father didn’t speak at once. He traced a finger over the delicate embroidery on the arm of the lounge. “I see,” he said, after a long moment. “And is there a basis for this distrust?” His words were curious, not critical.
Is there a basis? Are my suspicions anything more than wild, unfounded accusations?
“Perhaps there’s not, Father,” Deborah admitted. “Perhaps I’m just letting my imagination run away with me.” She swallowed. “Perhaps the thought of my upcoming marriage is keeping me from thinking clearly.”
Her father gave a crooked smile. “Yes. It seems to be having that effect rather a lot of late.” Deborah could tell he was thinking of her escapade to the kitchen. He reached out and pressed a hand to her wrist. “It’s natural to be nervous, my dear,” he said. “But you’ve nothing to fear. The Duke will make a fine husband. And he is clearly very taken with you.” He smiled. “I’m sure you will be very happy.”
The warmth of her father’s hand against her wrist made the restlessness inside Deborah settle a little. “Yes,” she said. “I’m quite sure we will.”
Deborah left the parlor and raced up to her bedchamber.
Lord Averton is alive. Lord Averton is alive.
The thought circled through her head, faster and faster. She had to tell Leonard at once, or she feared she would burst.
She rang the handbell for Sarah.
“I need you to help me escape again,” she said. “This will be the last time, I swear it.”
“I have no doubt that’s a lie, Miss Wilds,” Sarah said with a smile. She planted her hands on her hips and caught her mistress’s eye. “What do you need me to do this time?”
Minutes later, Deborah was racing through the side gate of the manor grounds dressed in her lady’s maid’s gown and cloak. Night had fallen thick and dark, and she made her way through the empty streets, avoiding the pools of orange lamplight, lest they reveal her face to the world. Mist dampened her cheeks and turned her blonde hair into tangled snarls.
She arrived at the Tarsington manor and slipped through the gates.
One day soon I will be able to walk through these gates as the lady of the house.
The thought was almost laughable. She was making a habit of sneaking into this place like a thief in the night.
She crept toward the house. Through a gap in the curtains, she could see a lamp flickering in the parlor. And she could just make out a figure inside.
The Dowager Duchess?
Deborah darted into the shadows. The Dowager Duchess could not, under any circumstances, know she was here.
But how was she to get to Leonard? If she knocked on the front door, Her Grace was bound to hear.
Deborah made her way around the side of the house. She could see the entrance to the servants’ quarters.
No. I couldn’t. Could I?
She knew it would be utterly shameful for the duchess-to-be to creep through the servants’ passage in the night. But she desperately needed to see Leonard. Was burning to tell him all she had learned about Lord Averton. Before she could change her mind, she turned the handle and stepped inside.
She could hear muffled voices and the clink of plates coming from behind the closed doors. Could smell the remnants of the roasted meat that had clearly been cooked for dinner.
Deborah took a tentative step down the hallway.
What am I doing? I can’t just climb up into the main house…
A door creaked open and a young housemaid stepped into the passage. At the sight of Deborah, she gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth in shock.
Deborah held a hand out to reassure her. She had seen the girl several times on her visits to the manor. Knew she would know who she was. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t be afraid.” She pulled back her hood to reveal herself.
The maid’s eyes widened. “Miss Wilds?”
“I’m sorry for sneaking in like this,” Deborah whispered, her cheeks coloring in with embarrassment, “but it’s most important I speak to the Duke. Immediately.”
The maid nodded. “Of course, Miss. I’ll fetch him at once.” She hesitated. “Shall I have him meet you in the garden?”
Deborah’s cheeks blazed.
I will be far too embarrassed to ever be this girl’s mistress…
“Yes,” she said. “Please tell him to hurry.”
Before any more of her future staff could see her, Deborah bolted out of the manor and hid herself in the shadows of the garden. From where she stood, she could still see the lamp flickering in the parlor. Could not tell if the Dowager Duchess was still inside.
After several moments, the door to the servants’ quarters creaked open and the wide-shouldered outline of Leonard appeared.
Deborah smiled crookedly. “I was expecting you to use the front door.”
He grabbed hold of her hands and tugged her toward him. “What’s happened? Are you all right?” Orange light from the lamp above the door flickered on his sharp jaw.
“Lord Averton,” Deborah garbled. “He’s alive. My father knows him. He saw him at the Earl of Westley’s hunt not six months ago.”
Leonard frowned. “Are you certain?”
Deborah nodded. “Unless Father made a mistake. But he seemed rather sure. Said he was a dreadful shot.”
“Did you tell him about Lord Averton and your sister?”
Deborah’s fingers played with edge of his coat sleeves. “Only that I had reason to believe they knew each other. And that I thought perhaps Lord Averton might know why she chose to end her life.” She looked down. “I didn’t want to tell him more. I would hate for him to think badly of Edith.”
Leonard nodded. “Of course.” He let out his breath. “There was clearly some sort of struggle at the Averton manor. But perhaps the Baron wasn’t killed as we believed.”
Deborah nodded. “Perhaps he was just too afraid to go back to his manor in case the men who stormed his house came after him again.” She found herself bouncing up and down on her toes, her thoughts racing. “But why would he then have allowed himself to be seen at the Earl’s hunt?”
Leonard didn’t speak at once. He frowned, as though deep in thought. “We are making a big assumption,” he said after a moment. “We are assuming that blood was Averton’s.”
Deborah’s eyes widened. “You think there’s a chance he was the attacker? And not the victim?”
“It’s possible.”
Deborah chewed her lip. “The farmer said he saw several men break into Averton’s house. Do you think he could truly have fought them off?”
“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.
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