by Lyn Stone
“Grace, Grace, you were once such a delightful girl, quite likeable, and I was glad to have you around. So industrious, so helpful.”
“You tried to kill me!”
He laughed. “I could have, at any time, you know. I kept hoping you would relieve me of that necessity.”
“I hate you!” The angry exclamation had slipped out. Grace knew she needed to make him confess, not leave in a huff. She took a deep breath and clenched her eyes to regain her composure.
“Oh, Grace. And here I came to do my duty,” he said as he pulled a cigar from his pocket. “And to warn you not to persist in your wild accusations.” He proceeded to light the cigar and puff on it, pausing only to add, “I will ruin your life and Morleigh’s if you do.”
“Ha! You’ll be found out soon enough. Caine is going to the gunpowder company. They will remember that you were the one who ordered it and took delivery. That will soundly implicate you in the plot to destroy us.” She moved around the table as he tried to approach her.
“They won’t recognize me, Grace. People see only what they expect to see,” he said with an evil grin. “I went there in disguise. With an eye patch. A private jest, you see. A former soldier who needed the job. He gave me work.” Wardfelton laughed. “And so did your Mr. Harrell here. As a guard. Imagine that.”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Mr. Sorensen obviously thought himself so, too. Well, neither of you were.” She shot him a sly look and repeated the words she had looked up and memorized. Her own idea, an added prod. “Ceci va exactement comme vous avez prévu? Peut-être ma mémoire est meilleure maintenant.”
His expression of shock was worth memorizing every word in the French language, not only the few she had committed. Grace smiled, eyebrows raised, awaiting his response.
For a long moment, he remained silent. When he did speak, his words were calm. “So you were taught. Not very well, Grace. Your French is atrocious.”
“A bit lacking, perhaps, but you may be assured that I comprehend far better than I speak it,” she lied.
“I suppose this is meant to let me know you did overhear us that evening. To answer your poorly phrased question, yes, things are going exactly as planned with only a few minor diversions. And your memory of it is of no consequence at all. I warn you, repeating what you heard between Sorenson and me will gain you nothing. No one will believe it,” he snapped. “No one.”
“That you are a spy? That you committed treason? Oh, I believe some will listen to me!”
He tossed down the cigar and moved around the table toward her, but Grace moved, too, keeping her distance.
“I was never a spy,” he said, clearing his throat, straightening his sleeves and staring down his long straight nose. “The funds I provided the French were only for insurance.”
She pursed her lips and trailed one finger along the tabletop, as if pondering what he said. “Insurance against what, pray tell?”
“In the beginning, I believed that revolution here was imminent. The unrest, the rabble siding with the citizens of France against the nobles posed a credible threat. My inheritance was new then. I merely sought a way to keep what was mine if it ever happened.”
“So Sorensen collected it from you for the French,” Grace said, willing him to admit everything in detail.
He glared to one side, as if remembering the arrangement, perhaps justifying his actions to himself. “Soren Sennelier promised me I would lose nothing after the revolution reached England if I supported Bonaparte beforehand. He nearly beggared me, the bloody fool.”
“Sennelier? So your Mr. Sorensen was a Frenchman,” Grace said, waiting for him to elaborate.
He scoffed. “Yes, but I never spied, Grace. The very thought is ridiculous. Say as much and you’ll be laughed out of London. I am a peer of the realm and I would never spy!”
“You gave the Corsican financial support that aided his cause,” she argued. “That sounds very much like treason to me. What happened when the war ended? Did you refuse to pay when the man blackmailed you? Is that why you killed him?”
He puffed out his chest, indignant. “I did not kill him!”
“Hired it done, did you? And that gunpowder for Caine and me would have provided you distance. What about my parents, Uncle? Your own brother and sister-in-law? Did you distance yourself from that death scene, as well? With poison, perhaps?”
The very thought of it incensed Grace. “Haven’t you enough evil in you to murder face-to-face?” She felt such hatred for him at that moment, such livid anger, she cared nothing about proximity. She saw a trace of regret flicker in his eyes. “How could you kill your own brother?” she demanded.
He looked away from her as he moved around the table. “He should never have threatened me.” His eyes met hers again. “And neither should you!”
She was close enough to strike him, so she did. She dealt him a resounding slap that numbed her hand.
Wall panels flew open and three men emerged, two armed with pistols. Grace yelped as Wardfelton grabbed and turned her back against him. The arm on her neck choked off her breath. “Back away or I will kill her!”
And they did! Grace clawed at his arm to no avail as the three men watched, tensed to interfere, but not moving. “Help!” she cried, struggling.
He was too strong, nearly lifting her right off the floor by his grip on her neck. She cursed the temper that had led her to carelessness. Caine would be furious with her!
Wardfelton was dragging her near the windows. “Open one!” he demanded of the man standing closest to them, the one unarmed official.
Grace could not let the traitorous murderer get away and she certainly didn’t mean to let him take her with him. Why didn’t the men overpower him? He only had an arm around her neck!
She fought, trying her best to twist away or reach behind her and hurt him somehow. Nothing she did broke his stranglehold. Next thing she knew, he had backed through the open floor-length window and dragged her with him.
She didn’t know how he planned to leave with her. Or maybe she did. Teams were tethered to graze at the side of the house, out of their traces for the duration of the celebration. Break her neck, take one horse, scatter the others and he could get away!
“Nooo!” She screamed and kicked backward, hitting his knee. His hold loosened as he cursed her and she bit down hard through his sleeve. The moment his arm jerked, Grace dropped to the ground and scrambled away.
She looked back in time to see Caine plant him a facer worthy of a boxing champion. She winced as Wardfelton stumbled backward and fell against a window left closed, smashing the panes with his head.
Caine rushed to her and helped her up. “Are you daft, woman?” Furious. Just as she had known he would be. He must have come out the front to watch through the windows and would have seen how she disobeyed, letting Wardfelton get too close.
“I went a little mad, yes!” She looked down, extremely put out with herself at her lapse of caution.
Her shoulders drooped as she exhaled sharply. The danger was past but she was a wreck. Shaking with relief, yet angry that the entire day was spoiled. She flapped her arms once in frustration and brushed a hand over her grass-stained gown. “I’ve ruined it.”
“To hell with the dress, Grace! You nearly got yourself killed!” Caine shook visibly, huffing like an angry bull about to charge. “God, when he raised that knife…”
“Knife?” Grace squeaked. “There was a knife?”
Caine caught her as she swayed. “Steady on, Grace. This isn’t over yet.”
Grace leaned against him, holding fast to the front of hi
s coat for a moment. Then she straightened and glanced over at Neville, who was kneeling beside Wardfelton. “How is he?”
Neville shook his head. “Neck’s severed.” Others, including Trent were spilling out the front door to see what had caused the commotion
Explanations must be made. Caine and his family must not suffer the scandal of having a traitor in his wife’s family. She refused to let Wardfelton’s perfidy ruin them.
She ran to Neville and leaned close. “Bury this, Neville. Do not let Caine’s family suffer for it.”
Pretending hysterics, she rushed back and grasped Caine’s arm, muttering swiftly so that none but he could hear, “Clear everyone away as soon as may be. No one must remark the window was broken inward instead of outward.” She pushed away from him, waving her arm in distress as she cried out, “My poor uncle has fallen through the glass! Hurry! Someone fetch the doctor!”
Grace hoped Neville had the presence of mind to remove the knife from her uncle’s hand before anyone happened to see it. “A distraction,” she ordered Caine. “Remember Cavanaugh’s?”
Hand to her head, Grace collapsed against him with a loud, tortured moan. He grabbed her up in his arms and met the gathering crowd with her in his arms, pushing through as he exclaimed in a loud voice, “Please, men, get the ladies back inside! It’s a bloody sight they shouldn’t see! She’s fainted from it! I need help!”
The guests trailed him en masse, hurrying to keep up, concerned for the bride, murmuring sympathy, offering suggestions. Caine carried her into the drawing room, laid her on the divan there and knelt beside her. “Someone, smelling salts, please!”
Grace suffered the sharp smell as he shoved the bottle under her nose. Her sneeze wrecked her attempt to revive with any dignity. She peered up at Caine and sobbed. “Uncle should not have had so much to drink,” she moaned. “I was too late to save him!”
“There, there, dearest,” Caine said, brushing her hair from her forehead and laying a kiss on it. “You cannot blame yourself!”
“No, no, gel!” the earl piped up. “Tippling even before the wedding, he was, and after, too! Hardly ate a bite to soak it up! Damned shame, that, but what can be done?” He began pontificating to the others about the evils of drink, drawing much of the attention away from Caine and Grace. The countess stood by the earl, nodding.
Ten minutes later, Trent strode in. “There was nothing to be done for him,” he announced. “I am very sorry, Lady Grace, but your uncle is dead.”
Grace buried her face in Caine’s vest since no tears would come. Damn Wardfelton. Even in death he had almost ruined her life. She would don no black for that man, no matter what society might expect of her.
Caine stroked her hair. “It is over now, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Let me take you upstairs to recover.”
“Yes, let’s put the poor child to bed. I’ll bring up something to help her sleep,” Mrs. Oliver declared.
Caine lifted Grace again and spoke to the guests in a sorrowful tone, “Thank all of you for coming today to share our joy. I regret such a tragedy marks the occasion for all of us. Please have care on your way home.”
It was a kind dismissal, Grace thought. And necessary. Caine took her to her room and Trent followed them up, closing the door behind him.
“Trent! Get out of here!” Caine ordered. “This is the first chance I’ve had to kiss my bride since the ceremony.”
He laughed. “Kiss her, then, but hurry. You haven’t time to…do anything else…much. The earl insists we meet him in the master suite’s sitting room within the hour, and I wanted to give you my gift before I have to leave.” He handed over two wrapped parcels. He waited. “Well?”
Grace tore off the paper wrapping of hers. Trent had captured Caine at his worst, unshaven, hair tousled, the old eye patch turned up on his forehead. He wore an expression of absolute ennui. It was a perfect likeness, yet so totally unlike the Caine she knew, Grace couldn’t control her laughter.
Caine rolled his eyes at the sight, but he laughed with her. Trent preened at their responses as he pointed to the parcel Caine held.
Caine ripped the paper off and his laughter died. He looked at the picture for several moments, then at Trent and nodded, obviously pleased. “Now that is Grace. A labor of love, wasn’t it?”
“For you both,” Trent said.
Grace tipped the picture so that she could see. “But it’s not funny!” she said, surprised at the way Trent had portrayed her. “Why, I look so…I don’t know…sort of windblown and transported! This is how the two of you see me?” Perhaps how they wished she appeared.
“Exactly the way you look when you ride,” Caine said, nodding.
Grace grinned. “Then I might decide to live on a horse! Thank you!” She gave Trent a quick hug and kissed his cheek.
Trent cleared his throat. “On that pretty note, I believe I shall make my exit. See you in a quarter hour. Earl’s orders.”
Grace barely had time to tend Caine’s fist, repair her hair and brush off her gown. And have that kiss. She could barely tear herself away when Caine ended it.
“We have to go,” he said, “and say good-night to everyone. Then I want you all to myself.”
All the guests had already departed Wildenhurst, except for the Hadleys, Dr. Ackers, Trent, Neville and his wife. The three men who had come at Neville’s behest had taken Wardfelton’s body away to London. Mrs. Oliver kept the staff busy in the kitchens preparing a light supper.
Everyone who remained now repaired to the master chamber’s sitting room as the earl requested. Grace thought it an odd place to gather, but figured his lordship must be too exhausted from the day’s events to meet downstairs.
Hadley took charge once they had all assembled. “This will be brief and to the point,” he declared. “We will put what has happened with Wardfelton behind us now. Life is too short to dwell on unhappy doings.”
No one objected to that— Least of all, Grace. She smiled her thanks to the earl, who looked very like a king holding court.
He smiled back at her as he continued, “I suppose each of you knows that, according to Dr. Ackers, Grace has saved my life, or at least prolonged and improved it. Also, Caine has had the goodness to keep me informed of everything despite my frailties. I thank you, my boy, for your continued deference to the title and for your trust. My wedding gift to you both is joint title to Wildenhurst.”
He handed Caine the deed. Grace curtsied as Caine bowed and thanked him.
“Neville,” the earl said in a strong, sonorous voice, “you and your Miranda shall have the hunting box in Northumberland, since you loved it so as a little lad. Refurbishments were begun when you married and now have been completed.”
He handed Neville the documents for that. “Apologies for my lies to your cousin concerning your character. I had to do something to get him hopping after that Thoren-Snipes debacle.” He grunted a rusty laugh. “If not pushed to wed, I feared he might give up on women altogether.”
“Never the smallest chance of that, sir,” Trent drawled, “but I grant you, he might not have married.”
“All is forgiven, sir,” Neville assured the earl. “Miranda and I thank you for the gift.”
“Now, briefly back to this business with Wardfelton,” the earl said to Neville. “Buried now, is it? I hope maybe you might prevent a scandal?”
“Not a single rumor will emerge,” Neville promised. “I was assured today by my colleague from the War Office that the Regent will be most grateful if treason by one of his nobles is never brought to light.” His questioning gaze went to Dr. Ackers, the only one among
them who might expose the truth.
Ackers nodded. “The earl of Wardfelton bled out from a glass cut through his jugular vein after stumbling through a window. There was liquor on his breath when I examined the body. An accidental death with no indication of foul play that I could ascertain.”
The earl smiled and slapped Ackers on the back. “Fine then, that concludes the business of the day. Everyone who is hungry should repair to the dining room, partake as hastily as possible and be off to London!”
“It will be full dark before you reach Town!” Grace said quickly. “Surely you’ll wait until morning!”
Hadley was nearly to the door, leading the way. “Not possible, gel. The master’s bed here is no longer mine to occupy. Besides, I am still earl and have matters in London long neglected. Come along, Bewley dear, mustn’t dawdle, eh!”
The countess did delay, though, stopping beside Grace. “She was a fool, wasn’t she? You know, the pretty one?”
“Quite right, ma’am, indeed she was,” Grace replied.
“I thought so,” the countess said in her odd, pensive way. “Here.” She handed Grace a small piece of embroidery still stretched in its little frame, then followed everyone else out of the room.
Grace looked down at the gift so off-handedly presented. A ring of jagged and mismatched roses surrounded Grace’s name. The letters were crooked and oddly worked, but the fact that the countess had done this just for her brought tears to Grace’s eyes.
Caine was looking at it, too. “Not the most beautiful thing in the world, is it?” he commented when they were alone.
“Perhaps not on the surface,” Grace replied, holding the piece to her chest and loving it. “But beyond that…”
“So, Mrs. Morleigh, are you hungry?” Caine asked, still standing with his arm around her.
“For once, food is the last thing on my mind,” she replied, her heart full of happiness, anticipation rushing through her like a wildfire.
“Then perhaps it’s time for bed,” he suggested, sliding his arms around her and drawing her close.
