A Collector's Item: Rowena's After Dark Regency Romance (The Arlingbys Book 1)

by Alicia Quigley

  Rowena glanced around anxiously as she descended the stairs into the gloomily atmospheric main hall of Brandfon Abbey. Part of her noted with amusement the poorly executed stained glass windows, clumsy copies of ancient chests, and suit of armor sporting components clearly hailing from at least three separate centuries. But she barely felt the humor of it, for although she had managed to avoid Alaric thus far, she was nervous that he might appear at any moment. She had slept very late, partly because she had not wished to encounter him over breakfast, but also because her worries had kept her awake until just before sunrise. She had then sipped chocolate in her room and lingered over her toilette until Lawson’s impatience became obvious. Finally, with no further excuses to keep her from joining the company, she had emerged, and now looked about uncertainly..

  "Ah, there you are, Lady Brayleigh." Lady Brandfon bustled out of the sitting room and looked at her cheerfully. "How delightful. The ladies were just about to take a turn in the gardens. Would you care to join us?"

  Rowena mustered a smile. She could think of few things that might be more tedious, but at least Alaric would be unable to corner her.

  "Certainly, Lady Brandfon, that sounds charming. Your gardens mesmerized me last night, and I would love to see them in the daylight." She paused, wondering if Alaric was lurking nearby. "Before we begin our stroll, could you tell me where the gentlemen are?"

  "Ah, they set out on horseback," said Lady Brandfon. "They don't care for such sedentary pursuits as we ladies do. Shall I send someone to fetch your shawl?"

  "No, I believe I will be fine. It’s a lovely day." Rowena relaxed slightly, relieved that Alaric was not about, but somehow disappointed as well that he had made no attempt to talk to her. Surely he was not going to allow her to speak to Marguerite without a stern lecture on how she must conduct herself. It would be totally unlike Alaric. But perhaps he was more concerned with keeping an eye on Malcolm.

  "Come along then. Lady Bingham is joining us, of course, as is Mrs. Brenderby. I am sure we shall have a delightful time. My gardener is quite remarkable, I believe, and we have many unusual plants not often seen in England."

  Rowena followed in her hostess’ wake, allowing the flow of conversation to wash over her. She barely heard the lively discussion on the relative merits of various varieties of roses, and merely nodded her head and smiled whenever she was prevailed upon for an opinion. She noticed that Lady Bingham also paid little attention to the conversation, but seemed to be preoccupied with other matters. Rowena wondered what fiendish plots the woman was devising.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Lady Brandfon. "Ah, Lady Brayleigh, do tell me what you think. Mrs. Brenderby is of the opinion that this hedge should be trimmed back in order to obtain a better view of the woods. I feel that so broad an outlook would diminish the intimacy of the landscape. Please help us to solve our dilemma."

  Rowena turned towards her hostess, looking absently at the enormous hedge that rose before her and eyeing the woods that lay on the other side of it. It seemed that perhaps Mrs. Brenderby was right, for the wood was definitely more appealing than the heavy privet shrubbery. However, there was also no reason to offend her hostess, as Rowena felt more and more certain that she was unlikely to repeat this visit.

  "I believe--" she began, when there was a sudden explosion nearby. Rowena jumped and turned, and as she did so she felt something fly past her with a whistling noise, passing within inches of her head. She started and stumbled backwards, the color washing out of her face, while Lady Brandfon gave a screech of alarm.

  "Someone is shooting at us," she screamed. "Oh, my goodness, I knew that those poachers would cause problems. I made Sir Peter promise to do something about them, but he is far too lax. Oh, my dear Lady Brayleigh, are you all right?" She rushed to Rowena’s side. "Goodness, you must be faint. My smelling salts must be about somewhere."

  Rowena looked around her, startled by the sudden noise and confusion. With dawning shock, she realized that she had almost been shot. Everything about her began to move very slowly, and her knees felt weak, as though they could no longer support her weight. Mrs. Brenderby was staring at her in horror, and Lady Brandfon was about to enfold her in a damp embrace. She swayed slightly, realizing that the blood draining from one’s face need not be only a literary turn of phrase, and Lady Brandfon urged her down onto a carved stone bench that stood nearby.

  "Goodness. Mrs. Brenderby, come take Lady Brayleigh’s arm. I do believe she must feel faint. Quickly, now. She came so close to being killed. What a horrible thing to have happened."

  There was the sudden thudding of hooves, and then the booming voice of Sir Peter was heard, yelling from near the woods.

  "Did you hear that, hey? Damn poachers, shooting on my land. The gall of them. I’ll have the magistrate down on them."

  There was a moment of silence and then running footsteps approached. Rowena looked up to see Alaric, his face alight with concern, moving swiftly through the tangle of the gardens.

  "Rowena. Rowena, are you hurt?"

  Rowena looked up at him with detached surprise. His eyes were worried, his face very grave. How had he known that she had almost been hit by a bullet?

  "I’m fine," she managed, her voice trembling. "I was merely startled."

  "Startled, indeed, the poor lamb," interjected Lady Brandfon. "She was almost killed. The bullet must have passed within inches of her. It’s mere chance that she isn’t lying dead in front of us now."

  "That’s enough." Alaric’s voice cut through the rising hysteria of Lady Brandfon’s. He looked up as the other men approached.

  "Is anyone hurt?" asked Sir Peter anxiously. "My apologies. Damn poachers. I’ll make sure they’re all hung."

  "How did you know this happened?" asked Rowena.

  "We were riding in the woods, and heard the shot nearby," offered Mr. Brenderby. "And then Sir Peter heard Lady Brandfon scream. It seems he recognized his wife’s voice."

  "Are you all right, Rowena?" Charles was looking down at her anxiously, his eyes very serious. "You weren’t hit?"

  "No, I’m fine, Charles. I will be quite all right as soon as I rest a moment. Don’t be concerned." Rowena gave him a shaky smile.

  Charles shook his head. "Someone should pay for this."

  "I’m sure no harm was intended," said Rowena. "Please, don't fuss over me."

  "It seems that wherever Brayleigh goes there is gunfire," said Lady Bingham suddenly, her voice full of malice.

  "What do you mean by that, Marguerite?" asked Alaric. He glared at her, his face a cold mask.

  "Nothing at all. I’m sure it is only coincidence that violent events occur wherever you go." Marguerite smiled softly.

  "Well, nothing to be done about it, hey?" said Sir Peter, straining to fill the awkward pause. "Come along, Lady Brayleigh. We’ll get you back up to the house and you can rest."

  "I’ll see to my wife, Sir Peter." Alaric stepped forward and lifted Rowena up into his arms as effortlessly as he would a child. "I'll feel more comfortable if I am sure she is safe."

  "Certainly, my boy. Nothing like a husband to care for his wife’s needs, I always say. Is there anything we can fetch for you, Lady Brayleigh?"

  Rowena shook her head, trying to retain her dignity despite being held high up off the ground against Alaric’s broad chest. "Please, don't let this disturb your afternoon. I’ll be fine. Continue your activities."

  "Brave girl." Sir Peter beamed at her. "We’ll see you later, then, hey?"

  Rowena smiled at him as Alaric bore her off through the gardens, his long legs moving at a rapid pace. She looked up into his face, but could read no emotions there.

  "Alaric?"

  He looked down at her, and the grimness about his mouth eased a little. "You are truly unhurt?" he asked.

  She nodded. "I’m fine. I was simply startled, and frightened. It isn’t every day that I’m shot at."

  "I shouldn’t have brought you here," he said, his voice angry. "I kne
w it was a mistake to agree to your wild plot."

  Rowena stared up at him. "You don’t think it was poachers who fired that shot?"

  "No more than I believe that the runaway carriage was an accident," answered Alaric. "This time they have gone too far and they will pay."

  "Who?" asked Rowena. "Do you think Marguerite did this? She was with me the entire time, you know."

  Alaric gave her an enigmatic look. "I think the killer of Alfred Ingram was involved in this, yes."

  Rowena considered his words. "Perhaps she has someone working with her. Voxley is not here with her; perhaps he was hiding in the woods."

  "Perhaps." Alaric had reached the house and he carried her up the stairs to her room, taking the steps two at a time. "You will stay in your room for the rest of the day. I won’t have you in danger again."

  "But I have to speak to Marguerite this afternoon," Rowena protested. "It is imperative that we end this now."

  "Oh, it will end." Alaric glared at her. "But you will not be involved in it."

  "You cannot simply go to her and accuse her. She’ll never admit anything to you. But she thinks me a naive child, and who knows what she might give away."

  "You are a naive child." Alaric's gaze softened as it swept over her. He set her gently on her feet. "You have no idea of the danger you are in."

  "Marguerite can hardly shoot me in the solarium," argued Rowena. "Alaric, you must let me do this. If you don’t, I’ll cause a scene. I’ll find some way to talk to her. You know that you cannot stop me."

  Alaric shook his head. "You are far too headstrong. If I let you go, will you promise to be very careful?"

  "Of course. I am always careful, Alaric. You know I will be very cautious."

  Alaric shook his head. "I have some knowledge of your idea of caution, my dear. The Arlingbys have a different understanding of the word than most of us."

  "Surely you don’t think I am as rash as Malcolm! I can be very discreet, Alaric. It is unkind of you to say otherwise."

  Alaric grinned reluctantly. "Very well. I will allow you to discreetly speak to Marguerite this afternoon. But you must be very careful. Do you promise me you will do nothing to put yourself in danger?"

  "I promise." Rowena sank down on the bed. Now that her victory was won she was feeling tired. "Perhaps I should rest for an hour or two."

  "What a good idea." Alaric eased her back onto the pillows and pulled the coverlet gently over her.

  "Do you promise me that you will wake me up in time?" Rowena asked, her voice already fading.

  "I promise." Alaric sat down in a chair next to the bed and watched as Rowena slowly fell asleep. His hands clutched the arms of the chair as his gaze stayed intent on her sleeping countenance.

  Chapter 41

  Two hours later Rowena entered the solarium, trying her best to look calm and collected. The rest had done her good, but she was not accustomed to gunfire, and had found the experience unnerving, particularly since Alaric obviously believed it had not been an accident. The thought of meeting with the very person who was possibly responsible for two attempts on her life, was doing nothing to calm her down. Although Rowena was certain that there was little Marguerite could do to her inside Brandfon Abbey, she still felt a pang of anxiety.

  "Ah, there you are, Lady Brayleigh. I was beginning to wonder if your courage had deserted you."

  Rowena pivoted and saw Marguerite standing on the other side of the room, gazing at her with an unconvincing smile on her lips. She had obviously arrived early and chosen the best spot to stand in order to convey an awe-inspiring effect, Rowena thought with a reluctant twinge of admiration. Marguerite wore an afternoon dress of frothing white muslin, which might have made her look innocent had the cut left more to the imagination. As it was, the gown contrasted brilliantly with her black hair and blue eyes, and she stood near the huge windows that looked out over the grounds, framed by the vaulting glass and exotic plants that decorated the room. Rowena hastily swallowed her annoyance and stepped forward, attempting to look suitably impressed.

  "I came because I must hear what you have to say," she answered softly. "I must know the truth about my husband."

  Marguerite gave her a shrewd look. "I think you already know the truth. You simply need someone to confirm it. Hasn’t Malcolm already convinced you of his guilt?"

  "Malcolm’s belief that Alaric is guilty is not proof. He has no evidence. I thought that you would know far more about his movements and behavior at the time of the murder. I can’t condemn my husband without knowing the facts."

  Marguerite swept forward and seated herself on a blue velvet sofa, arranging her skirts carefully. She patted the cushion next to her, and Rowena approached her reluctantly, seating herself gingerly next to her enemy. Marguerite smiled.

  "I was very close to Alaric," she murmured. "And I can tell you much of how he behaved at the time. But if you are asking me to clear your husband, I cannot do that. I am quite certain he is Ingram’s murderer. If you are not careful you will be his next victim."

  Rowena stifled the urge to laugh in Marguerite’s face and fought to keep her voice under control.

  "What can you possibly mean? Surely you don’t think he is trying to kill me?"

  "There have been two attempts on your life in the past week," Marguerite pointed out. "Surely that is a bit of a coincidence. Alaric has killed before, and I fear he will do so again."

  "But why would he wish to do away with me? I am his wife."

  Marguerite sighed. "You are either hopelessly naive or very stupid. Alaric married you only to show Malcolm that he could have anything he wants. But he has no further use for you. And if he kills you, it will be a second lesson to Malcolm; Alaric is not someone to be toyed with. Alaric is not interested in young, unsophisticated women. He needs a wife who understands his ways and will give him the freedom he needs."

  "Someone like you?" asked Rowena, unable to keep the tart tone out of her voice.

  Marguerite shrugged. "He should have married me twelve years ago. But yes, I think I would be a much better match for him than you are."

  Rowena shuddered. If she was not totally convinced of Alaric’s kindness, she might find Marguerite persuasive. Marguerite’s apparent willingness to marry a man she believed was a murderer also made Rowena increasingly nervous. The woman was obviously a hardened case.

  "You have no proof that he means to harm me," she protested. "And you have no proof that he killed Ingram, either."

  Marguerite sighed. "Very well. I will tell you everything, and then you will know that I am speaking the truth. On the morning that Malcolm discovered Ingram’s body Alaric left his house very early in his curricle, taking no one with him and telling no one where he was going. But I know he was carrying a pistol."

  "How are you so certain?"

  "I bribed his valet." Marguerite shrugged at Rowena's raised eyebrow. "Alaric and I had had a silly quarrel, and I wished to make it up with him. I was infatuated with him, much as you were when you married him." She patted Rowena’s hand condescendingly. "I quite understand. Alaric has certain, um, endowments that are most appealing. At any rate, I was obsessed with finding him and speaking to him. His valet warned me not to talk to him that day; he said his master was in a towering rage and carrying a pistol."

  "But that isn’t proof that he killed Alfred Ingram," protested Rowena. "That only means that he was armed, for which he might have many reasons. Malcolm had been threatening him, and my brother is very hot-headed."

  "Nonsense. Charles Montfort had come to the house only the night before and told Alaric that Malcolm was to go to Ingram the next day and offer him a large sum of money for the Pearl of Sirsi. He even told Alaric the time Malcolm meant to arrive in Merton. Alaric was very careful to rise before that and leave with plenty of time to spare."

  "How did Charles know of this?" asked Rowena curiously.

  Marguerite waved her hands vaguely. "Charles knows everything that goes on about town. He's s
uch a good-natured fellow; everyone confides in him. It is hard to believe Alaric and he are cousins, as their personalities are so different."

  "And he told Alaric about this? He must have known it would make him very angry."

  "He was trying to show Alaric the futility of fighting over the pearl, that Malcolm, who was the true owner, was determined to retain it. But Alaric wouldn’t listen. He was furious and swore that he would have the pearl no matter what the cost. And you see what the cost was--Ingram's life, Malcolm's reputation, and possibly your life as well. This matter will never be put to rest until Alaric is convicted of his crime."

  "But no one saw Alaric at the site of the murder," protested Rowena. "This is still not proof."

  Marguerite frowned. "Alaric is a clever man. Do you think he would let himself be seen? But he was seen at Ingram’s shortly after the murder. The magistrate had just been summoned and the servants were holding Malcolm when he arrived. He must have been waiting nearby and could not wait to gloat. He is a cruel man, Rowena. He carefully planned to lay the blame upon your brother, and then married you only to hurt your family further. Charles said he was terribly cold when he arrived at Ingram’s, showing no sympathy for the dead man but only saying that he deserved to die for his greedy attempts to play Alaric against Malcolm."

  "Charles was there as well?" Rowena’s forehead creased in thought.

  "Oh, Charles had ridden out to Ingram’s, fearing Alaric might be up to some mischief. He realized he had not managed to talk Alaric out of pursuing the pearl, and he thought his cousin might attempt to interrupt the meeting between Ingram and Malcolm in some way. But he was too late to prevent the murder; his horse threw a shoe on the way there and he was detained."

  "Indeed?" said Rowena. She gazed past Marguerite as an incredible thought began to form in her mind. "Charles seems to have been very involved in this affair."

  Marguerite blinked and gave her an impatient look. "He was concerned for Alaric. For some reason he has a ridiculous fondness for his cousin. It’s not as though Alaric has ever done anything for him."