"She said that it was not at all odd that I seemed to have captured the attention of Lord Brayleigh, as he doubtless wished to add more Arlingby belongings to his collection." Rowena took a bite of her toast. "I had no idea at all how to respond. I felt a complete fool."
"Oh, my heart," announced Lady Louisa, clutching her handkerchief between bloodless fingers. "Whatever shall we do? All the ton will be speaking of this now. I had hoped it was decently buried."
"So there is an intrigue," said Rowena cheerfully. "You must tell me all about it, Aunt Louisa, or I shall positively encourage Brayleigh the next time I see him."
Louisa moaned. "Rowena, please be sensible. The man is thirty-five and very experienced in the ways of the world. He has had a long string of mistresses and his manner of amassing his collection is infamous. Nothing is safe if he wants it. Surely you cannot wish to associate yourself with such a man."
"But even Brayleigh must marry sometime," observed Rowena airily. "Perhaps I will see if I can catch him. He is both wealthy and fascinating, and I would be the envy of all the ladies if I succeeded." She smiled at her aunt teasingly, but her head was full of the very masculine attractions of Lord Brayleigh. Her waist still seemed to tingle where he had touched it the night before.
"You'd best tell her," growled Lord Belmont suddenly. "If she doesn't hear it from a gossip, she'll nose it out herself. The chit's too curious for her own good."
"Precisely." Rowena smiled dazzlingly at her uncle. "You see, Aunt Louisa, you have no choice."
Lady Belmont heaved a sigh, and then frowned at Rowena. "If I tell you, will you promise to stay away from Brayleigh?"
Rowena considered the question. She wrinkled her nose. "I cannot promise that before you tell me," she said thoughtfully. "But if I think your reasons are good, of course I will stay away from him. I'm not a fool, Aunt Louisa."
"Your father allowed you to become far too impertinent," pronounced Lady Belmont. "It will be the undoing of you yet, Rowena. He should have allowed me to bring you out when you were eighteen and gotten you decently married instead of keeping you locked up at Wroxton with him until he died. He could have ruined your chances of finding a suitable husband, addling your head with all those books that he was forever studying."
"The story, Aunt Louisa?" prodded Rowena, refusing to be diverted.
"Very well." Louisa wiped her mouth and dropped her napkin on the table. "It has to do with your brother."
Rowena put down her toast and looked at Lady Belmont, her eyes wide with astonishment. "Malcolm? But Malcolm has been dead for twelve years."
Lady Louisa squirmed in her seat. She gave her husband an anguished glance, but he kept his head down, ignoring both his wife and his niece.
"Malcolm isn’t dead, Rowena. I believe he is alive and living on the Continent."
The delicate pink in Rowena's cheeks faded. "Alive? Why has no one told me?"
"We all thought it best to let you believe he died," said Lady Belmont. "After all, he can never come home, and it is best if he is not discussed. It was such a terrible scandal."
"Does all of Society know he is alive?" asked Rowena. "What an idiot I must look."
"Oh, it is often presumed he is dead," said Lady Belmont reassuringly. "Though there are stories that he is occasionally seen in Venice or Rome. But he can never return to England. That is why when your papa died your cousin Felix became the next Earl of Wroxton. Malcolm is the rightful heir, of course, but the world has a short memory, until someone like Brayleigh insists on dredging up the past."
Rowena gave her aunt a puzzled look. "Forgive me, Aunt, but you aren’t shedding light on the issue. Why was I told Malcolm is dead, and what does Brayleigh have to do with it? Did they fight a duel?"
"Nothing so ordinary, child. Why, a duel would have quickly been forgotten. No, it’s much worse." Lady Belmont's voice sank to a whisper.
"Then you must tell me, Aunt," said Rowena tartly. "I will try not to faint."
"This is not something to make light of," complained Lady Belmont. "Sometimes I think you have no sensibility at all, Rowena. The whole difficulty came about because of a pearl."
"A pearl?"
"Precisely. A very valuable pearl from India or some such outlandish place. It is the size of a walnut, and has been in your father’s family for generations. It even has a name; the Pearl of-—well, I cannot remember, as it is all just nonsense, but it is positively infamous now. The legend is that a distant ancestor cut it from the crown of a French king in the Hundred Years' War. Your grandfather willed it to Malcolm. It never looked like much to me, but I gather it was quite ancient and very valuable. And so of course Brayleigh had to have it." Lady Belmont shook her head.
"For his collection," said Rowena.
"Precisely." Lady Belmont waved her hands in the air. "That man is mad about rare objects. I sometimes think it is quite unnatural. What does he do with all of it, after all? How many musty old paintings and statues can one actually use?"
"I suppose that depends on how large one's house is," murmured Rowena.
"Well, Brayleigh Park is a huge pile of stone, to be sure," mused Lady Belmont. "And yet, a masterpiece in every room? One would think something a bit more modern might alleviate some of the gloom."
"Aunt Louisa, you are straying from the point. Did Lord Brayleigh buy the pearl from Malcolm?"
"Oh, Malcolm absolutely refused to sell it," Lady Belmont assured her. "He was fond of your grandfather, and the pearl had belonged to the family for generations. He took to carrying it about with him in a small box he had specially made for it, just to taunt Brayleigh. It made him furious. And then one night, when Malcolm was playing in one of those terrible gaming houses, he lost it to Alfred Ingram."
"Malcolm gambled?" asked Rowena.
"Well, he was very young, and all young men are occasionally foolish. He was drunk and had lost all his money, and he pledged the pearl," said Lady Belmont. "Not that I am excusing him, of course. Still, he meant to redeem it, and went the next day to do so. But Ingram refused to give it up. He claimed that Malcolm had pledged the pearl itself, not its value."
"What a terrible man," said Rowena calmly. "I trust Malcolm did not allow Ingram to get away with this?"
"He was distraught," continued Lady Belmont. "And then he discovered that Ingram had kept the pearl because Brayleigh had offered to buy it from him at a value far above its worth. Malcolm was furious. He remonstrated with Brayleigh, but Brayleigh would not give way. He was set on having the pearl."
"What a fuss over a bit of jewelry," murmured Rowena. "The matter seems to have been blown out of all proportion."
"There was always a rivalry between Malcolm and Brayleigh," admitted Lady Belmont. "Malcolm was a year younger than the Earl, and eager to show that he was as dashing and bold. I fear that your brother was sadly hot-headed."
"Do you mean that he provoked Brayleigh?" asked Rowena.
"Of course not," answered Lady Belmont, shocked. "Malcolm was simply over-eager, my dear. And Brayleigh was as cold as an alpine icicle even then. He made Malcolm sadly frustrated."
"But how would Brayleigh's buying the pearl from Ingram make Malcolm leave the country? I don't understand."
"Well, that is because there is much more to it." Lady Belmont lowered her voice. Now that she was telling the story she was enjoying the drama of it. "Malcolm decided to offer Ingram any sum of money he wanted for the pearl. He was quite determined that Brayleigh should not have it no matter what the cost. He drove out to Ingram's house in Merton, and when he arrived, the butler told him Ingram was walking in the orchard. Malcolm went in search of him, and found him dead, shot through the head, a pistol on the ground next to him." Lady Belmont paused for effect.
"Why would Ingram commit suicide when he had so much money coming to him?" asked Rowena curiously.
"He didn't kill himself, he was murdered! And of course, as poor Malcolm stood there, the servants came running up, having heard the shot. They imme
diately assumed that Malcolm had fired the weapon, and it looked very bad for him indeed. The magistrate meant to charge him immediately, and it was all the family could do to get him out of the country or he would surely have been hung."
"And the pearl?" asked Rowena.
"Gone! Absolutely gone. Malcolm swore he didn’t have it, and it wasn’t among Ingram's possessions. Whoever has it is the murderer, of course. And Malcolm believed that Brayleigh killed Ingram for it, maddened by the thought that Ingram might return it to Malcolm."
"But why would Brayleigh kill a man to own something that he could never admit to having?" asked Rowena. "It makes no sense at all. Malcolm may not have killed Ingram, but I cannot believe Brayleigh would be so foolish."
"But he is a collector, child," pointed out Lady Belmont. "It is the ownership that matters, not the ability to show it. He most likely has it locked away somewhere, and looks at it only by himself, in the dead of night. The man has a black heart. Now do you see why you must stay away from him?"
"But there is no proof that Brayleigh killed Ingram," protested Rowena. "The man I met last night was arrogant perhaps, but hardly sinister. Malcolm might have disliked him, but that isn’t evidence that he killed anybody."
"But there could have been no motive for the murder except to obtain the pearl," argued Lady Belmont. "Nothing else was taken. And no one wanted it except Malcolm and Brayleigh. Unless you prefer to think your brother a murderer, you must believe it to be Brayleigh."
"Did Brayleigh accuse Malcolm of the murder?"
"Not at all." Lady Belmont grew quite animated as she spoke, color rising to her cheeks. "Indeed, he urged Malcolm to remain in England and stand trial."
"Then he believed in Malcolm's innocence," said Rowena. "If he was guilty, he would surely have been overjoyed to let my brother take the blame."
Lady Belmont shook her head. "You are entirely too trusting, Rowena. If Malcolm has stood trial he surely would have been hanged. And then there would have been not a bit of suspicion cast on Brayleigh. But with Malcolm fleeing, at least the matter hasn’t been settled. Even now many suspect that Brayleigh is the true murderer."
Rowena considered her aunt's words. "I see no evidence that either of them is guilty," she announced judiciously. "It all seems to be a muddle of misunderstandings and masculine pride to me."
Lady Belmont looked at her as though she had suddenly sprouted wings and flown about the room. "Rowena, you mustn’t say such things. People will think that you have no loyalty to your brother. If you love your brother, you must believe Brayleigh to be guilty."
Rowena tipped her head to one side and considered her aunt's words. "I barely remember Malcolm. I was only eleven when he died--or when this event occurred--and he had lived in London and at Oxford for four years before that. I have regretted his death, but now I find that I do not even need to do that."
Lady Belmont was shocked. "Never let me hear you say such a thing again, Rowena! We all hope that someday Malcolm might be proved innocent. In the meantime, that Monster takes his place in Society, laughing at us behind our backs. You must promise me never to speak with him again!"
Rowena smiled. "Very well, Aunt Louisa. I will behave myself as befits an Arlingby. But I hardly think you need worry; Brayleigh has surely amused himself with me enough. I am certain he has some collecting to do and has forgotten all about me by how."
"I can only hope so," snapped Lady Belmont. "The man has no shame. I trust that Lady Jersey is wrong and he does not intend to pursue you. That would be entirely humiliating."
A mischievous light came into Rowena's eyes. "Perhaps I could marry Brayleigh, and then I would be able to search his house for the pearl. Would that not be the perfect solution, Aunt? Of course, it would be quite shocking of me to turn my husband over to the magistrates, but I would be avenging my brother. Then I would truly be of service to the family."
Lady Belmont gave a little shriek. "Never think of such a thing, Rowena. If you were to marry Brayleigh I would doubtless die of palpitations. The man is evil, I tell you. You mustn’t even consider such a notion."
"I was teasing you, Aunt Louisa," said Rowena soothingly.
"This is not a laughing matter." Lady Belmont gave her a reproving look. "Have I your word that you will stay away from Brayleigh?"
"I will do my best, Aunt Louisa," said Rowena.
"See that you do. And now, we will not discuss this further. With any luck Society will soon find something else to talk of than an ancient scandal."
Rowena returned to her breakfast with a thoughtful air. She had much to ponder. The startling knowledge that her brother was alive was unsettling enough, without finding out that either he or the gentleman she had danced with the night before was more than likely a murderer. Her memories of her brother were faint; he had been kind to her, but the difference in their ages and the fact that he had gone to Oxford when she had been six and then returned home only for holidays, made him seem a stranger indeed. But she had heard enough tales of him over the years to think that he was unlikely to have committed murder.
Lord Brayleigh was another matter altogether. Rowena did not find it startling that people could imagine him killing someone for an ancient pearl. His passion for collecting was well known, and she had experienced only the night before his high-handed ways. He had whisked her away from the gentlemen around her as if there was no question at all that she would dance with him. This was a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted and would let little stand in his way.
And yet, Rowena could not quite believe that he had killed Alfred Ingram. Brayleigh might be overly sure of himself, but he had not seemed evil. Indeed, Rowena had almost fancied that she had detected a mischievous air about him, as though he enjoyed making the ton believe him to be a dangerous man. She sighed. It was unlikely now that she would ever know the truth. She could not possibly pursue the Earl's acquaintance after what she had discovered today.
Chapter 5
Alaric stood in his study, looking blankly out the windows at the London street. One hand absently stroked a small bronze statue that rested on the table next to him. It was the Donatello he had recently won from Mannering, a fine representation of a nude, exquisitely crafted and as sleek as satin to the touch. However, Alaric found that somehow he did not feel that satisfaction with it that he had only the day before. Usually a new acquisition kept him happy for at least two weeks, but he found his joy rapidly ebbing out of him.
Alaric frowned and turned away from the window, his eyes scanning his study. It was a beautiful room, high-ceilinged and handsomely proportioned, furnished with the finest examples of Chippendale's art, its shelves filled with rare and unusual volumes. But today it brought him no peace of mind.
Damn the girl, he thought angrily, picking up a book from the desk. Lady Rowena was, of course, the reason for his disquiet, and it annoyed him that he could not banish her from his thoughts. She inspired in him the same need for ownership that an exquisite work of art did, he realized. He wanted to possess her the same way he did the Donatello, his Rembrandts, the folio of Shakespeare's works. It seemed ridiculous that this should be so.
She was just another young woman, and not even an extraordinarily beautiful one. Blondes were not fashionable, and she was ridiculously fair and her features were certainly not classical in nature. But then he thought of her huge violet eyes and the firmness of her full lips, of the determined way she had lifted her chin when she had objected to his forwardness, and he was lost again. He remembered the feeling of her body pressed up against his, and a tremor shot through him, as he thought of that body naked in his bed. She would be a work of art he could make love to, and he suddenly envisioned her under his complete control. He put the book down with a snap. He had never felt this way with any of his paramours and was not at all certain he wished to now.
She was Malcolm Arlingby's sister as well, which made the entire business far worse. He could hardly pay attention to the girl without causi
ng a great deal of unwanted gossip over a matter that should have been forgotten years before. Lady Belmont had been forbidding last night, and Lady Rowena had surely been warned off by now, if she had not known before about his involvement in the matter of Malcolm’s pearl. His chances with her were as slim as they could be.
But the feelings persisted, and he paced across the room, his anger rising. It was a matter of simple lust, he decided suddenly. He wanted her in a physical sense, he was intrigued by her manner, which was so different from the usual simpering misses he encountered. It was ridiculous to think that there was anything more to it than that. He would simply have to return to Lily’s house that afternoon, he thought. Surely after a few more hours in her company, Lady Rowena would fade into insignificance. A mere girl could not hold a candle to the charms of Lily Magdalene. He smiled coldly and, giving the Donatello one final pat, strode out of the room.
Rowena stifled a yawn as she sat in her aunt's carriage, surveying the assembled ton that crowded the park. It was that hour in the late afternoon when the fashionable world came to Hyde Park to see and be seen, riding their fine horses, tooling about in their carriages, or simply strolling under the trees. It was a brilliant spectacle, with everyone in attendance dressed in the finest fashions, but Rowena, much to her aunt's dismay, found the entire routine utterly boring. Her aunt gave her a reproving look.
"Do try to at least behave as though you are interested," she implored. "It would never do if people were to say you lacked manners."
"I thought I wasn’t supposed to show much enjoyment," objected Rowena. "When I first came to London you told me enthusiasm was only for rustics."
"There is a difference between polite boredom and giving the impression one is about to go to sleep and perhaps snore. Please, Rowena."
"Very well." Rowena adjusted the rim of her engaging chip bonnet and gave a twitch to her to the three tiers of elaborate ruffles and cord work that trimmed the hem of her dress. She smiled prettily at her aunt. "How am I doing?"
A Collector's Item: Rowena's After Dark Regency Romance (The Arlingbys Book 1) Page 3
