“Pre-wedding nerves,” said Leonard. “I understand, of course. I look forward to hearing from her when she returns from London.” He stood abruptly. “If you’ll permit me, Lord Chilson, I should like to pay my respects at your oldest daughter’s grave.”
The Viscount’s gray eyebrows rose a little. “Yes,” he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. “Of course.”
Leonard gave a nod of thanks, setting his brandy on the side table. “Thank you, My Lord.”
The Viscount gave a short nod. “I shall have one of my footmen take you to the cemetery.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Leonard, climbing to his feet. “I can find my own way there.”
He held out his hand. “Thank you for your time, Lord Chilson.”
Leonard left the manor and began to walk in the direction of the cemetery. This little escapade was not about visiting Miss Edith Wilds’s grave. It was about searching the manor grounds in an attempt to determine whether he was being lied to. He continued on toward the graveyard, in case the Viscount was watching.
When Leonard had sat opposite the Viscount, he had been unable to stop his thoughts from racing, analyzing every word Lord Chilson said, in an attempt to see beneath his steely façade. Was there any truth to the claims that he could not be trusted? That he was a dangerous man? A week ago, Leonard would have found the claim laughable. But the things he had discovered about his mother were making it difficult to trust anybody. Besides, the excuse the Viscount had given for his daughter’s absence was questionable at best.
He reached the cemetery. The earth surrounding the neat rows of graves was gray and brown, narrow paths worn through the grass. Splashes of color in the form of flowers dotted some of the headstones, one much brighter than the others. Leonard made his way toward it. He knew it belonged to Edith.
He stood for a moment at the grave of the lady who had once been his betrothed. A sudden surge of grief welled up inside him for a young lady who had seen no choice but to take her own life. Leonard felt a pang of guilt. Almost three years since Edith’s death and he had never before seen fit to visit her grave. He wished he had a bouquet, a single flower, anything to lay by her headstone. He pressed a hand to the top of the cold stone and closed his eyes.
After several moments, he began to make his way back across the grounds, keeping to the tree line so he might be hidden if anyone from the household were watching. On the far side of the grounds, he could make out the shape of the stables and coach house. He made his way toward them, his boots sinking into the muddy earth as he walked.
The doors of the coach house were bolted shut. Leonard made his way around the side of the building and peeked through a gap in the gnarled wooden wall. Two coaches sat side by side, large and black, painted elaborately with blue and gold. With both carriages inside, the coach house was full. Lord Chilson did not have another carriage, as far as Leonard could tell.
If both the Viscount’s carriages are here, how did Deborah get to London?
A public coach?
It seemed unlikely. Leonard knew the Viscount prided himself on being a fine upstanding member of the ton. Why would he send his daughter all the way to London in a cramped and filthy public coach when he had two fine carriages waiting at home?
The knot inside Leonard’s stomach tightened. Deborah was not in London. He was growing surer of that with each second.
But where is she?
If anything were to happen to her, he couldn’t bear to think how he would cope.
It was almost dark by the time Leonard arrived home. The house seemed oddly still.
He stood for a moment in the entrance hall, trying to gather his thoughts. What reason would the Viscount have had to lie about his daughter’s whereabouts? Perhaps the letter was right, perhaps Lord Chilson couldn’t be trusted. But Deborah was his daughter. The love of his life, and his means to a connection that would see his family’s status soar. Leonard knew there was no way he would hurt her.
He slipped his coat from his shoulders and made his way toward the staircase. A soft sighing across the floor made him whirl around. Appearing beneath the door was another letter.
Leonard flung down his coat and bolted across the room, flinging open the front door. A little boy was scurrying down the front steps and heading toward the manor gates.
“Stop!” Leonard raced after him, his footsteps thundering on the path.
The boy kept running.
Leonard’s long strides caught up to the boy quickly, and he stood in front of the child, preventing him from leaving.
“Who are you?” Leonard asked breathlessly.
The boy hung his head. “I’m no one, Your Grace. Just a messenger boy.” He pulled a coin from his coat pocket. “A man paid me this to bring you the letter.”
“And two more letters before it?” Leonard asked.
The boy nodded, hanging his head.
“Who was this man?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” the boy’s voice was tiny. “He only found me at the market. Asked if I wanted to earn a few pennies. I don’t know his name.”
“What did he look like?”
The boy chewed his lip. “He was tall. He had orange hair, the color of autumn leaves.”
Orange hair? It must be the man I saw at Lord Averton’s manor!
Leonard nodded at the boy. “Thank you,” he said. He pushed the gate open, letting the child escape into the street.
He hurried back inside and snatched the letter from the floor. His heart was thumping as he opened the page.
The words made his breath catch.
Speak to your mother. She knows.
Chapter 32
Leonard tore up the staircase and pounded on the door of the Dowager Duchess’s sitting room. “Mother? I need to speak with you!”
Silence.
Leonard opened the door to peek inside. It was empty. He went next to his mother’s bedchamber, then downstairs to the parlor, calling her name.
“Leonard?”
He whirled around to find Florentina standing behind him with her hands on her hips.
“Why are you so angry?” she asked.
He pressed a hand to her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.” He gulped down his breath. “Do you know where Mother is?”
“Yes.” Florentina began to chew a strand of dark hair. “She’s gone to London.”
Leonard felt something twist inside him. “What? London?”
“Yes,” Florentina blinked. “She said she’s to visit her favorite dressmaker there. To make a gown for your wedding.”
“Did she tell you this?” Leonard pushed.
Florentina frowned at his interrogation. “Yes. She came to see me after my lessons had finished. Told me she was leaving.”
“Did she say how long she would be gone?”
Florentina shook her head. “She just said she would be back soon.” She looked up at him with large dark eyes. “Is something the matter, Leonard?”
He forced a smile. “Of course not. I’m just surprised, is all.” But was he really? After all he had accused him mother of, was it really surprising she had chosen to flee? He kissed the side of Florentina’s head. “Go and clean up. Dinner will be ready soon.”
He waited for Florentina to disappear back up the staircase, then rang for their butler.
“When did my mother leave?” he asked.
“About an hour ago, Your Grace. She asked me to tell you she was sorry she couldn’t speak to you in person. But she said you would understand why she had to leave.”
Leonard clenched his teeth. “And she didn’t say when she’d be back?”
“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. She did not have much to say on the matter at all.”
Hester, Viscountess of Chilson, sat back on the chaise and let out a long breath. A book sat in her lap, but she was far too preoccupied to read it. She had not even gone so far as to open the cover. Instead, she found herself staring out the window into
the misty morning. Through the fog she could see the distant, gnarled silhouette of the apple tree. The place her daughter’s body had been found.
Hester looked away hurriedly. On more than one occasion, her husband had suggested having the tree cut down. Hester had been vehemently against it. She was not sure why. The sight of the cursed thing made her dizzy and sick. But she felt that cutting it down would somehow dishonor her poor lost daughter.
She looked down at the unopened book in disinterest. The house felt quiet without Deborah in it.
“I’ve arranged a visit to London for our daughter,” the Viscount had told her. “I think it will do her good. She’s been very nervous of late.”
Hester had been surprised by her husband’s comments. She knew Deborah had been asking questions about her sister’s death, yes, but her obsession with uncovering the truth had seemed to disappear almost as quickly as it had begun. As far as Hester could tell, it had been replaced by an excitement over her upcoming marriage.
But then, what did she truly know about the inner thoughts of her daughters? She had certainly never expected Edith to do something as dreadful as taking her own life.
Perhaps if her husband thought it best to send Deborah to London for a time, then Hester ought to listen.
The afternoon Deborah had left, Hester had found herself plagued with a dreadful headache. She had taken to her bed, and when she had finally resurfaced several hours later, Deborah had been gone. She had left a short note for her mother, assuring her she was well and that she would be back from London soon.
Still, the absence of her daughter made Hester uneasy. There was an added stillness to the place. Without Deborah here, these halls that had once been filled with childish laughter felt soulless and empty.
A knock at the door yanked Hester from her thoughts.
“Come in,” she managed, pressing a hand to her chest to slow her racing heart.
The door opened to reveal their elderly housekeeper.
Hester managed a smile. “Mrs. Barton.”
The housekeeper nodded morosely. “Good day, Lady Chilson.” She walked slowly toward the Viscountess, her lined face grim. The sight of it made something twist in Hester’s stomach.
“What’s happened?” she asked sickly.
Mrs. Barton didn’t speak at once. “There’s something I must show you, My Lady,” she said finally. “Something of utmost importance.” Her voice was wavering.
Hester frowned. “What is it?” Her heart began to hammer against her chest.
“I’m afraid the things I am about to share with you will not easy to hear,” Mrs. Barton said. “But it is most important that you know them.” Tears spilled suddenly down her cheeks. “I ought to have given this to you a long time ago. And for that, I am more sorry than you could know. But I was afraid. Afraid for my own safety. And for yours.”
“What are you talking about, Mrs. Barton?” Hester’s voice was little more than a whisper. “I don’t understand.”
The housekeeper lowered her eyes. “Everything will soon become clear, My Lady. I only ask that you do not read this immediately. You must give me time to get away.”
“Get away? What are you talking about?”
Mrs. Barton sniffed. “Once you learn these things, I will not be safe. I cannot stay here. I’m sorry.”
Hester stared at the woman. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what Mrs. Barton was about to show her. And a part of her was quite certain that, whatever it was, she did not want to know.
But before she could speak, Mrs. Barton reached into the pocket of her apron. She held out a wad of torn paper. “These came from your daughter’s diary.”
Chapter 33
Leonard rode the carriage toward the Chilson manor. The wheels hissed and thudded along the road, the rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves going some way to stilling his mind. He tried to piece together everything he had learned.
Miss Edith Wilds had conducted an affair with the Baron of Averton, a gentleman who may or may not still be alive. Leonard had found his mother’s handkerchief in the Baron’s blood-splattered house. Had received letters of warning from the same red-headed man who had followed him to the Averton manor. Lord Chilson was claiming Deborah was in London, a thing Leonard was extremely reluctant to believe.
And now his mother was gone. None of this was a coincidence. Of that he was sure. He just had no idea of how the pieces fitted together.
He needed answers. And so he was going to Lady Chilson. Such a thing was risky, Leonard knew. But he could think of nowhere else to turn.
The coachman pulled up a block from the Chilson manor, as Leonard had instructed. He had no thoughts on how he might make it into the manor without the Viscount seeing him, but he knew such a thing would be easier if he did not go gallivanting through the gates in his carriage.
He slipped through the gates on foot. How was he to manage it? Sneak through the servants’ quarters as Deborah had done?
The thought brought a faint smile to his lips, quickly followed by a deep ache. How desperately he needed to find her.
Leonard could hear faint thuds coming from inside the stables. He hurried toward the outbuilding and peered through a gap in the door. A man he guessed was Lord Chilson’s groom was hauling a bag of grain toward the feed bags.
Leonard opened the door a crack. “Forgive me,” he said, when the groom whirled around in shock. “I need to speak to Lady Chilson. Do you think you could arrange such a thing?”
A look of confusion passed across the groom’s young face, but he gave a slight nod. “I imagine so, Your Grace.”
Leonard nodded his thanks. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “And do you think you might arrange such a thing without… announcing my arrival?”
The groom gave a wry smile. “That shouldn’t be too hard. The whole household is in disarray. Seems the housekeeper has just up and disappeared.” He bobbed his head at Leonard. “I’ll find the Viscountess for you, Your Grace. I’ll have the butler bring you to her.”
The groom jogged toward the servants’ quarters and Leonard made his way back to the front of the house. After a moment, the door opened and the butler gestured for Leonard to enter.
He led him upstairs and stopped outside one of the doors.
The butler hesitated a moment. “The Viscountess is… distraught. I’ve no idea what has caused it.”
“Distraught?” Leonard’s heart pounded.
Has something happened to Deborah?
He rapped on the door. When no answer came but a flood of sobbing, he cautiously turned the handle.
Lady Chilson was sitting on a chaise in the corner of the room, tears flooding down her cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen, her skeletal body racked with violent sobs.
Leonard edged toward her. “My Lady?” he said softly, doing his best to disguise his fear. “Whatever has happened?”
The Viscountess gave another loud sob. She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “Lock the door, Your Grace,” she said.
Leonard did so. Then he made his way toward the chaise. Lady Chilson held out a wad of papers, her hand shaking violently.
And Leonard understood at once what they were.
Edith’s diary.
“The missing pages,” he said huskily. “Was it you who had them all along?”
The Viscountess shook her head, under a fresh rush of tears. “No. Someone gave them to me.”
“Who?”
She shook her head, her whole body trembling violently. “I can’t tell you that. I don’t wish to put this person in danger.”
Leonard sucked in his breath. “In danger?” he repeated. “In danger from who?”
Lady Chilson opened her mouth to speak then stopped abruptly, as though she couldn’t get the words out. She shook the pages at Leonard. “Just take them,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Read it for yourself.”
His chest tightening, Leonard took the pages. He sat in the chair opposite Lad
y Chilson and began to read.
“Tomorrow night,” I told him. “I will be ready.”
Three Years Ago
Lord Averton grinned his boyish grin. “I can hardly wait,” he breathed, his nose grazing hers. He pressed his lips into Edith’s, his hot tongue sliding over hers. Edith clutched hold of him, feeling her legs weaken with desire. She felt her lips part involuntarily, deepening the kiss.
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