“Ivy is—in the earl’s—employ.” Lady Sandahl eyed the open door as if it were Heaven’s portal. Angel could feel the countess’s pulse increase with each stumbling step. “Bless you,” the countess announced, but before the words could die within the room, a dark, angry figure filled the door.
“What do you think you are doing?” Her uncle’s voice spoke of menace.
Angel swallowed hard, but she slid an arm about Lady Sandahl’s waist.
“The countess wished to use the chamber pot and change her clothes,” Angel declared boldly. “This way, my lady.” She turned Lady Sandahl’s steps toward the privacy screen.
Lord Sandahl reached for the bell cord. “Such are the duties of my countess’s maid.”
Angel realized too late her decision really was not wise. If Lord Sandahl raised his hand to her, her father would respond with a challenge. She should have maintained her distance. “Likely so, my lord, but I do not believe Lady Sandahl could wait. Your lady knew—”
“That is for me to decide.” The earl’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. “You will remove yourself from my countess’s side.”
“In truth—” Angel began her protest, but a strong masculine hand caught her arm to jerk her into him. Behind her, Lady Sandahl collapsed into a heap upon the Persian rug. An agonizing moan escaped the countess’s lips.
Angel had been prepared for the earl’s anger, but not for the blistering fury he turned upon her.
“Not everyone finds Horace’s brat endearing,” he growled as he tightened his grip upon her arm.
She yanked to free her arm, but the motion threw her off balance when her uncle gave her a second jerk. “I am Lady Victoria Lovelace’s brat also.” Defiantly, Angel’s chin angled high.
A flicker of regret played in the earl’s eyes, before rage replaced it. “Lady Victoria knew no honor!”
“Is something amiss?”
Angel looked toward the still open door to find the imposing figure of Lord Malvern. His broad shoulders filled the space, and a look of hard disapproval crossed his countenance. She was never so happy to see him. “No, my lord. Just a family misunderstanding. I heard Lady Sandahl’s struggling to reach her dressing room, but his lordship prefers no interference from my father’s family.”
The earl pointedly released Angel’s arm, one finger at a time. “I stated publicly I will act as a gentleman, but I refuse to permit others, especially my brother’s family, to enter my countess’s private quarters upon a curious whim. I will not have Lady Sandahl the object of malicious gossip.”
“I am certain Miss Lovelace meant only to be of service to Lady Sandahl,” Lord Malvern said through tight lips. The marquess’s quelling accents proved his reproach knew no depth.
“You rang, my lord?” The countess’s maid entered through the dressing room. More importantly, the woman ignored her mistress upon the floor. It was a very telling moment.
“Yes, Ivy. See to your mistress, and do not leave her side unless I provide you specific instructions to do so.” He watched Lord Malvern rather than his servant’s efforts. “And open the windows,” the earl growled. “My countess cannot recover if she must live in filth. Lady Sandahl requires fresh air.” Angel had the distinct feeling the earl’s posturing was purely for Lord Malvern’s ears.
“Aye, my lord.” The maid knelt beside the crumpled Lady Sandahl. “Come, Countess.”
Angel could hear no sympathy in the servant’s tone. The whole situation grated at her sense of justice.
Lord Malvern offered his arm. “May I escort you to your quarters, Miss Lovelace?”
Angel did not want to leave until she was certain Lady Sandahl would not suffer further, but she accepted the marquess’s arm. Neither she nor Lord Malvern held the right to interfere. The countess was Lord Sandahl’s property to do with as he pleased. It saddened Angel to think her sweet mother might have known such abuse. There but by God’s grace, she said in a silent prayer of thanks.
“Thank you, my Lord Malvern. We missed you at breakfast.” Angel slipped her hand about the marquess’s elbow and permitted Malvern to lead her from the scene.
“Do not say a word,” he warned from the corner of his mouth.
Feeling as if she had performed as a misbehaving child, Angelica dropped her chin. “I apologize,” she whispered, but his free hand covering hers offered a comforting caress.
“I understand,” he said in hushed tones. “You possess a generous heart.”
When they reached her door, Angel glanced behind them to make certain Lord Sandahl did not follow.
“Do you not wish an explanation?”
“Most certainly,” he said. “But not yet. I cannot be seen as tarrying at your door.” Lord Malvern bowed over her hand before reaching for the latch. “Find your father and meet me and Lord Remmington in the garden near the rose arbor. One hour, Miss Lovelace.”
His curt behavior irritated Angel’s rambunctious nature. She presented the marquess a proper curtsey before teasingly saying, “I prefer it when you call me ‘Angel.’”
Her words must have caught Lord Malvern off guard for he did a double take. A smile crossed his lips. “I must remember you do not enjoy making concessions.”
Angel’s chin rose defiantly. “If someone offered a concession, I might not know offense.”
“So noted,” Lord Malvern chucked her chin. “But I will expect you to be in the garden in one hour.” He leaned forward as if he meant to kiss her, and Angel caught her breath in anticipation. “And know, Angel, I prefer for you to call me ‘Hunt,’ or better yet ‘Lucifer.’” And then he was gone as Angel clung to the door- frame, her knees weakened by his closeness.
* * *
An hour later, Angel apprised her father and the two lords of the details of her encounter with Lady Sandahl.
“The countess actually used the word ‘escape’?” Lord Remmington asked in concern.
“Yes, my lord. Twice.” She turned to Lord Malvern. “What do we do? Lady Sandahl appeared to fear her husband.”
“We must practice vigilance,” Lord Malvern cautioned. “What if we erred? This is the first time we have heard of Lady Sandahl’s acknowledging her husband’s censure. Somehow the drama does not feel right.”
Angel’s passion did not approve. “And what if we are correct and do not act?” she challenged.
“From what I know of Carpenter, the countess’s fear would be well placed,” her father added. “My brother is impossible to sway once he makes a decision.”
“We must be circumspect,” Lord Malvern cautioned again. “We cannot simply demand to know more of Lady Sandahl’s health. Any interference upon our parts could be grounds for a duel. Under English law, the countess is Lord Sandahl’s chattel.”
“I pity the woman,” her father observed. “If she has garnered my brother’s ire, she will know no redemption.”
“But we must act before the countess loses her life,” Angel protested. “Lord Malvern, you witnessed Lady Sandhal’s complete exhaustion. Where is your Christian humanity? Papa, surely you recognize the necessity to act soon?”
“I do, my pet, but I think it best if Malvern, Remmington, and I consult with the duke before we act. No one wishes a scandal or for the countess to know Sandahl’s retribution.”
“I care not for the scandal,” she insisted. “I care only for the countess’s safety.”
“We will act, Miss Lovelace. You have my word,” Lord Remmington promised.
Her father squeezed her hand. “Trust us, Angelica.”
“It is essential we prove Lord Sandahl acted with ill intent. Otherwise, the earl will double his efforts to maintain his control of his wife,” Lord Malvern declared.
Angel swallowed her objections. Lord Malvern had that effect upon her. “If it is your wish, my lord. I shall contain my curiosity.”
“Thank you, Angel.” Her father patted her hand, but it was the marquess’s approval she sought.
“Promise us all, Miss Lovelace, that yo
u will practice prudence in this matter until we can contain this madness. Each of us wishes you safe.”
Chapter Fifteen
I cannot send Lord Sandahl from Malvern Hall,” the duke declared.
Remmington, accustomed to quarreling with the duke over political matters, scowled in contempt. “Why ever not? What use is it to be the head of a dukedom if you permit a mere earl his way? I am an earl, Devilfoard, and I have yet to know your condescension.”
“You are mistaken, Remmington.” The duke’s smile was tight with ire. “I permitted Malvern to name you among my guests.”
Mr. Lovelace ignored the posturing between the two men. “If you do not wish to send Sandahl away, I am certain you possess excellent reasons.” He cocked an eyebrow. “However, we must address the issues of Lord Newsome’s disappearance, Lady Arcane’s accidental poisoning, and the physical deterioration of the Countess of Sandahl. A gentleman would never ignore his responsibilities in these incidents.”
Hunt’s admiration for Lovelace continued to grow. Not only had Angelica’s father smothered the argument between the duke and Remmington, he redirected their energies to the problems at hand and challenged Devilfoard and Remmington to cooperate in a gentlemanly response.
Leather creaked as His Grace leaned back in his chair. “This is the most convoluted summer fête the duchess has ever hosted.” He tapped his chin in contemplation. “Is it possible Newsome made a late night journey to London? Most assuredly, when he returned to his quarters, the viscount knew not his right mind.”
“The viscount’s mount and carriage remain in your stables,” Remmington countered. “Lord Newsome would not travel without his comforts, and the viscount’s valet reported his master wore the evening clothes he donned for the supper hour. Nothing else was removed from Newsome’s quarters. Even the viscount’s purse is in the drawer where he left it.”
Devilfoard nodded his understanding, but he sounded irritated when he spoke. “I know you made a thorough search of the estate, but I think it best if we send out more men. For all we know, Newsome could be sound asleep behind a tree. Laudanum has different effects upon each user, especially if the person is not accustomed to the opiate’s consumption. Does the viscount have a history of using the medicinal?”
“Newsome’s man claims the viscount holds no reputation for such indulgences. Other than his love of hunting and time at the gaming tables, the viscount displays few passions or vices.”
“I see.” Devilfoard set his glass aside. “In that case, I will also send riders along the main roads. If the viscount is on foot, he may have convinced a farmer or tradesman to provide him transportation. I will ask my steward to call in at some of the local inns where gambling is permitted.”
Hunt spared his father a quick glance. “As Lady Arcane is progressing nicely, we must concentrate on Lady Sandahl’s evident ‘cry’ for assistance.”
His father peered more closely at those seated before him. “Agreed, but we must not ignore the need for discovering who placed the poison in Lady Arcane’s dishes. Although she agreed to hold her tongue until the culprit is uncovered, Lady Falonwick lodged her dismay with the duchess.”
“I believe a clear connection between Lord Newsome’s performance over supper and the dishes served to Falonwick’s daughter exists,” Remmington offered. “All we require is the capture of the cook’s assistant responsible for plating the soup. Sir Alexander cleared the footman of intentional harm.” The earl raised his chin a notch in posturing. “Such brings us back to Lady Sandahl. How do we secure the lady’s safety without offending the Earl of Sandahl?”
Tension knotted Hunt’s stomach. He held few memories of his father’s stubbornness, but Hunt had no doubt the duke would dig in his heels if they did not handle the situation carefully. Devilfoard wanted no scandal associated with the family name. “Although it would not be the duchess’s wish, could we convince Mother to call upon Sandahl’s countess? As the duchess is the consummate hostess, her attention would be tolerated by the earl.”
Hunt’s heart pounded hard against the wall of his chest. His mother had confessed her dislike for Lady Sandahl. The duchess feared Devilfoard had taken the countess as his mistress. Earlier, Hunt witnessed his parents’ tender exchange, but he wondered if the duchess had addressed her qualms to the duke or whether she had swallowed her censure.
“My duchess, as Malvern stated, is not fond of the Sandahls. That being said, my lady would do what is necessary to resolve this mystery.”
His father did not answer Hunt’s unspoken question, but the duke essentially agreed with him.
“I doubt Angelica will agree with a sedate visit by the duchess upon my brother’s wife,” Lovelace noted with fondness in his tone. “My daughter is of the nature of the knights of old. Angelica would storm into the fray and ask forgiveness afterward.”
“Miss Lovelace’s compassion is one of her more endearing qualities,” Remmington remarked.
And one of the lady’s most annoying ones. Hunt held few doubts Angelica would act as her father described, placing herself in harm’s way. “It appears we are in agreement that Lady Sandahl and Lord Newsome hold a relationship beyond simply speaking acquaintances,” he observed while openly ignoring the reference to Angelica.
Silence hung heavy among them.
“Actually the key to this puzzle is my brother,” Lovelace summarized. “It grieves me to think Carpenter could be involved in this deceit, but from what Angelica described, it appears Lady Sandahl is suffering in the same manner as Lady Arcane, but to a greater extent.”
Hunt noted Lovelace’s pained expression. As Devilfoard wished no stain on the family’s reputation, Lovelace acknowledged another blush upon his.
“The countess has known illness for over a week, an aberration, which I do not understand,” Remmington noted. “Why would Sandahl choose to attack his countess at the duchess’s party? If the earl means to do away with Newsome and the countess, there are more private means. Even our interference may not be enough to bring a halt to the earl’s plans. If Lord Sandahl is to blame, it is likely the countess has already consumed a quantity from which she may not recover.”
“The law is deuced inconvenient in such matters,” Devilfoard announced. “Accusing a peer of an attempted murder could bring scandal to both parties. The House of Lords would try Sandahl, and we cannot assume a guilty verdict would prevail. In truth, if it is as we suspect, Sandahl could cease giving his wife the lethal mix and permit the countess to return to health. As Lord Remmington pointed out, the earl could simply wait for his countess’s demise, and nothing could be proven. People die all the time from consumption or of a fall. A man such as Sandahl could give his wife the French pox or his countess could simply pass in her sleep. Life is not a guarantee.”
Hunt scanned the countenances of the three men with whom he shared confidences. “It seems we know the what, although it would admittedly be difficult to prove, but we do not know why.” He met his father’s steady gaze. “I am confused, sir,” he admitted. “It is more than evident neither you nor the duchess finds the Sandahls good ton. Even so, when we were in London, you spoke often of my joining with Lady Mathild.”
His father’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Sandahl approached me with the idea. Lady Mathild possesses a spotless reputation and an acceptable dowry. As the Sandahls’ home seat is in Cumberland, and neither your mother nor I spend more time in London than is absolutely necessary, we would not be often in company with the earl and countess.” His father’s tone sounded of reason, but Hunt did not think the duke spoke the complete truth. “You displayed no interest in setting up your nursery, so I thought to force your hand.”
“Yet, Lord Sandahl has hopes of his daughter becoming a duchess,” Remmington countered. “We must ask ourselves if your verbal agreement is cause for the earl’s actions.”
“What are you insinuating?” the duke demanded.
The silence in the room grew heavy and awkward. Panic skitte
red down Hunt’s spine. Not many men would dare to question the Duke of Devilfoard, but like his father, Hunt realized the Earl of Remmington was not a man to be crossed. On more than one occasion of late, Lord Remmington had proven himself more of a man than had Hunt. It was bloody humbling to be found wanting so often.
“It appears there is more to your tolerance of Lord Sandahl than you are willing to say, Devilfoard. One cannot help but to question what hold the Earl of Sandahl has over you. I doubt you owe Carpenter Lovelace money. If not wealth, then Sandahl learned one of your deepest secrets, and the earl is using it to place his daughter in Malvern’s way.”
Remmington spoke with such confidence that even Hunt wondered if his friend had struck a familiar chord with the duke. Had not Sir Alexander expressed similar thoughts? Hunt raised his eyes to his father’s steely gaze. If Devilfoard could strike Remmington down, Hunt held no doubt the duke would do so in a heartbeat.
His father’s eyes grew dark and clouded with unleashed anger. “My tolerance of the Earl of Sandahl is none of your concern, Remmington.”
Hunt cringed. His father did not contradict Remmington’s insinuation, which meant his lordship had the right of the situation. Even the duchess, in her unspoken anguish, assumed something similar. It was a sobering thought. The duke would sacrifice Hunt’s future happiness in order to keep Sandahl at bay.
Lovelace cleared his throat. “Perhaps someone might address a question, which is plaguing me.”
Hunt recognized how Lovelace was so successful in his business dealings. The man knew when to sidestep and when to challenge his opponent. Lovelace had learned a talent neither Devilfoard nor Remmington had yet acknowledged. If Hunt had not lost his memory with the accidental blow to his head, he might not recognize Lovelace’s able handling of the situation.
“Certainly, sir,” Hunt said with more calm than he felt. “What would you know?”
Lovelace ignored the stubborn set of the duke’s jaw, as well as Remmington’s angry disapproval. “If it is not an imposition, could you tell me, Devilfoard, when my brother first approached you regarding a possible match between Malvern and Lady Mathild?”
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