by Diane Farr
“And so we might have known,” interrupted Mr. Montague. “For if ever there was a clumsy fellow, it was Egbert! Why, if Oswald had been behind it all, the deed would have been done months ago—with no one the wiser!”
Serena knitted her brows. “I do not understand,” she said. “Why would Egbert take such a risk? My brother’s death would not profit him—at least not for many years. It is Uncle Oswald who would become the heir, not he.”
Ned leaned forward enthusiastically, ticking the points off on his fingers. “Yes, but don’t you see? Why, that was the only piece of cleverness your curst cousin showed! He knew perfectly well that his father was the only man in England with a clear motive for murdering Richard. He knew everyone else would think so, too! That was the reason he took his father’s traveling coach—wanted the corpse to be discovered in it, I have no doubt! Who would look for further proof? Oswald has too many enemies, and his reputation would hardly stand him in good stead. He might protest his innocence all the way to the scaffold. No one would believe it!”
Vociferous exclamations, questions, and arguments broke out, until Captain Talgarth finally made himself heard once again. “Please—if I may clarify this confusion.” The ladies turned back to him in relief. “What Mr. Montague is trying to explain to you, Lady Serena, is that Sir Egbert did, indeed, have much to gain from your brother’s death—if he could pin the murder onto his own father. For Oswald Kilverton’s place in the succession would, naturally, come to Sir Egbert instead.”
“Oh!” gasped Serena. “Of course! If Richard dies without an heir—and if Uncle Oswald were also out of the way—oh, but it’s—it’s dastardly!”
“Yes,” said Captain Talgarth. “But dastard or no, Egbert Kilverton would surely become the sixth Earl of Selcroft.”
Between Ned and the captain, the ladies eventually heard the entire story. The two gentlemen had been riding down a side road in search of the tilbury when they suddenly spied Jamie galloping toward them on a lathered horse. Ned had recognized Jamie and uttered a furious shout. But Jamie, instead of exhibiting the fear and guilt Ned expected, appeared delighted and relieved to meet Mr. Montague, and pulled his horse up, waving frantically. When they cantered up to him, Jamie poured an excited and urgent tale into their incredulous ears. He earnestly pleaded with them to accompany him back to the cottage, where he greatly feared his master (Oswald) was in need of reinforcements—for from the top of the last hill he had seen Sir Egbert approaching on another road in Oswald’s traveling coach. The threesome then made all possible speed back to the cottage.
Just as Jamie had feared, Oswald’s coach was parked in the cottage’s dirty yard. Sir Egbert was nowhere to be seen, but the door of the cottage was ajar. At Captain Talgarth’s command, they had dismounted at a distance and crept cautiously forward on foot to spy what they could through the casement. As they approached, Jamie saw he would be too short to see through the casement. He immediately disobeyed orders and stole round the front to peep through the open door. From there he saw Lord Kilverton bending over Oswald’s bound and helpless form, and, standing directly behind Lord Kilverton, Sir Egbert fumbling with something in his pocket. When he realized Sir Egbert was pulling out a knife, Jamie did not hesitate. He rushed in and leaped upon Sir Egbert’s back. Simultaneously, the captain reached the same conclusion. He smashed the casement with his pistol, but by then Jamie had knocked Egbert to the ground and away from Lord Kilverton.
“Mercy on us!” cried Lady Colhurst. “Do you mean to tell me that little stableboy who was just here saved my grandson’s life?”
“That’s it,” nodded Mr. Montague. “Pluck to the backbone, that Jamie! I’ve a mind to hire him away from Richard.”
“Well, you won’t do so!” declared Serena, much moved. “I mean to see that Jamie leads a life of ease from this day forward. Think of it, Grandmama! We might never have seen Richard again! I’ll send him to school, perhaps, or turn him into a gentleman’s gentleman.”
Ned regarded her doubtfully. “I shouldn’t think it would suit him, Serena. Not school. And I’d go bail Jamie wouldn’t like the life of a valet, either. Only think of my man Farley! Why, he never sleeps. It ain’t natural.”
“Very well, I’ll set Jamie up in a stable somewhere. The point is—”
“The point is,” interrupted Lady Colhurst, “what has become of Egbert? You never left him on the floor of that cottage!”
Captain Talgarth and Mr. Montague exchanged uneasy glances. “No, ma’am,” said the captain soberly. “Mr. Montague and I—ah—conveyed Sir Egbert to a nearby inn.”
Serena was puzzled. “An inn? Why an inn?”
Mr. Montague took one of Serena’s hands and placed it comfortingly between his own. “There was a surgeon at the inn, Serena,” he said gently. “When Jamie knocked him down, Sir Egbert fell on his own knife.”
Serena gazed up at Ned uncertainly. “Will he be all right, do you think?” she asked.
There was a short silence. Then Captain Talgarth spoke in his usual measured tones. “Sir Egbert is dead.”
Chapter XXIV
At ten minutes to six, Oswald and Richard Kilverton rejoined the company in Lady Colhurst’s drawing room. Both had bathed and rested—Lord Kilverton, in fact, had even slept a little. Jamie had had the foresight to snatch his lordship’s valise from the tilbury. Lord Kilverton, therefore, was the only gentleman present who was arrayed gorgeously, and very correctly, in evening attire.
Oswald Kilverton had not had the luxury of a change of clothes, but his riding clothes had been cleaned with a damp cloth and pressed. His appearance was as neat as ninepence, but he moved slowly and seemed to Lady Colhurst to have aged ten years this day. She pressed his hand in silent sympathy when he bowed over her own. Children were a trial and a tribulation, she thought sourly.
Lady Serena was the only visitor besides her brother who had provided herself with luggage. She had extracted a silken gown from her much-maligned bandbox, and was looking extremely fresh and pretty. This was a circumstance which gratified Lady Colhurst and Mr. Montague, but chafed Lady Elizabeth. Elizabeth could not resist voicing her opinion that Serena’s dressing for dinner, when Elizabeth could not, showed a lamentable want of conduct. Mr. Montague shot Lady Elizabeth a look of disgust, and promptly removed Serena to the other end of the drawing room.
“You know,” he confided, “the more I am around that Delacourt chit, the less I like her. What is this bee she has in her bonnet about you, Serena? She’s forever trying to thrust a spoke in your wheel! Slap me if I don’t speak to your brother about it.”
Serena squeezed his arm with real gratitude. “Thank you, Ned, but I doubt it will do any good.”
Ned’s brows shot up. “Bound to! He’ll soon send her to the right-about. Nothing niffy-naffy about Kilverton.”
Serena shook her head despondently. “Elizabeth will listen to no one. She believes it is her duty to correct my behavior, and nothing can convince her otherwise. Richard tells me he has already spoken to her on the subject. Intolerable, that he finds himself forced to apologize to me for something that is in no wise his fault!”
Mr. Montague studied Serena’s unhappy face with consternation. Indignation welled in him. “If that don’t beat all!” he muttered. “She feels a duty to correct your behavior, does she? And won’t listen to Kilverton? I’ve a mind to speak to her myself! Why the deuce don’t you correct her behavior, Serena? She could take a few lessons from you on—”
He broke off. Serena’s eyes, shining trustfully up at him, somehow caused him to lose his train of thought. Her unaffected gratitude at finding a champion in her brother’s friend was touching.
“Lessons on what?” asked Serena hopefully.
Mr. Montague’s throat tightened. Serena’s small hand still rested on his arm. On impulse, he reached up and covered it with his own. “On charm, and spirit, and sweetness, and everything dear.”
Serena stopped breathing. Rich color flooded her cheeks. “Oh,”
said Serena faintly. She swallowed, and transferred her gaze to Mr. Montague’s cravat. The oddest sensation of shyness gripped her; as if she hadn’t known Ned all her life! As if he were not her dear friend! As if he were something else to her entirely.
Ned’s cravat, although very nattily tied, gave her no clue to his thoughts. She lifted her eyes back to his. They were gazing at her with such painful anxiety, and such tenderness, she again forgot to breathe.
“Oh,” she whispered once more. It sounded foolish, but foolish was how she felt. Foolish, in fact (she suddenly realized) was what she had been all along. Her eyes widened in wonder. Why, she had looked at Ned a thousand times, and never really seen him.
Across the room, an entirely different scene was unfolding. Lady Elizabeth had requested private speech with Lord Kilverton.
He had bowed, and accompanied her to the portion of the room farthest from the fire. Once out of earshot of the others, Elizabeth bestowed a glittering, angry smile upon her fiancé. “You are wondering, no doubt, at my presence here in your grandmother’s home.”
Kilverton’s voice remained neutral. “I own, it did surprise me to find you here.”
“I came with motives of the purest altruism, believe me! When I heard of your preposterous disappearance, I intended to await your return—and your explanation—in Mount Street. Imagine my emotions when I arrived there to find that your sister was determined—in the most headstrong manner!—to actually join in what I deemed a totally unnecessary search for your person—well! I naturally made it my business to accompany her.”
Kilverton sighed wearily. “Naturally.”
“Serena intended to set out in an open carriage, Richard, on the public highway, with no other chaperon than Miss Emily Campbell! I could scarce believe my ears! Of all the foolhardy, improper, hoydenish starts—I could not allow her to expose herself so dreadfully. I therefore—”
Kilverton held up one hand, stopping her. His appearance of weariness had vanished. “Let me understand you, Elizabeth! Did you accompany Serena because you believe your presence in her carriage preserved her from censure? Are you telling me that my sister lacks enough credit on her own, or with some lesser figure at her side, to protect her reputation?”
Elizabeth flushed. “Well, I certainly would not express it in quite those terms—”
“But that is, in fact, a tolerably exact picture of your sentiments!” Kilverton’s voice became almost savage with anger. “Elizabeth, pray allow me to inform you that you are, and have always been, an insufferable, fault-finding, ill-tempered snob—and I will no longer tolerate your criticisms of my sister, my family, my friends, or myself!”
Elizabeth recoiled, almost as shocked as if Lord Kilverton had struck her. “Do you dare speak to me of what you will or will not tolerate? And now, of all times! When your family has become entangled in the most sordid, shameful scandal I have heard in many a year!” She pressed her shaking hands together. “I have tried to make allowances—I have refused to be drawn, on many topics—I have overlooked many instances of what I can only term—oh! So often I have longed to tell you exactly what I think of your manners, your morals, and your conduct! I have shown a forbearance toward you which you do not deserve! In the interests of our future domestic harmony—”
Kilverton uttered a crack of mirthless laughter. “Pray do not let that consideration weigh with you, Elizabeth! You and I will never enjoy domestic harmony, try as we might!”
“It needed only that!” she cried, white with fury. “I have been grossly deceived in you, Lord Kilverton! You are a frippery, vulgar, care-for-nobody! What I have learned this day covers me with shame. I am mortified at the thought of allying myself with you—embroiling my family in this scandal of your cousin’s making! Merciful heavens! How could you think I would view with equanimity a situation which promises to drag your name—and, therefore, mine—into every newspaper in the land? In connection with a murder plot? Every feeling is offended! I would give anything to find myself well out of it!”
Kilverton’s eyes gleamed. “Would you, indeed? That is easily done.”
“Yes!” cried Elizabeth wildly. “And I will do it! Pray accept my sincere regrets, Lord Kilverton, but I find I cannot, after all, accept your obliging offer! I will not marry you!”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she regretted them, but Kilverton gave her no opportunity to retract. He seized her hand and wrung it enthusiastically.
“I honor your decision, Elizabeth—I accept it with the greatest goodwill imaginable! Thank you! I am sure you will live to bless this day.” He turned to walk away and found that the room had gone silent. Everyone’s eyes were upon himself and Lady Elizabeth. As their conversation had grown more heated, their volume had increased, and had eventually attracted the attention of everyone within earshot.
The awkwardness of the moment was broken by Oswald Kilverton, who stepped forward and bowed with his usual aplomb. “Lady Elizabeth, if you would care to return to London rather than dine in—er—present company, I will be happy to offer you a seat in my coach.”
Elizabeth, stiff with mortification, bowed her acquiescence. She found herself unable to meet anyone’s eyes. She took Oswald’s proffered arm and swept from the room with what dignity she could muster, barely nodding to Lady Colhurst on her way out.
After the door closed behind Oswald and Lady Elizabeth, Lady Colhurst’s sharp eyes turned back to her grandson. “Hm! We couldn’t help overhearing, Richard, so I hope you don’t expect us to feign ignorance. Are we to offer you our condolences, or our congratulations?”
Richard smiled affectionately at the anxiety underlying his grandmother’s gruff tone. “Now, how shall I answer that home question?”
“Truthfully, if you please.”
He grinned at her. “I beg your pardon, Grandmama, but I must decline to answer you truthfully. I fear I cannot do so without appearing rag-mannered. As a gentleman, I am sure it is incumbent upon me to contain what I truly feel—a relief so overwhelming, in fact, that it borders on joy.”
Lady Colhurst’s lips twitched, and she visibly relaxed. “Congratulations, then! I am glad.”
Serena ran forward and seized her brother’s hand, peering anxiously into his eyes. “Richard, are you sure? I am so afraid it is all my fault! I would not for the world have made you unhappy. If you like, I will call on Elizabeth tomorrow and—”
“No, no!” said Richard hastily. “You will do no such thing, Serena! In fact, I depend upon everyone here to stand as witnesses, if Elizabeth tries to deny she cried off! Now, there’s a thought to keep a man awake nights.”
Ned strolled over to them. “He’s right, Serena. Dash it all, haven’t we just been saying they wouldn’t suit? And besides—not your affair! Leave well enough alone.” He took Richard’s hand from Serena and wrung it in a brief, painful grip. “Daresay it’s not the thing, but just between ourselves—well! I congratulate you, too, old man. I can’t say I’m sorry to see the last of her.”
“No,” agreed Richard. “Neither can I.”
An idea seemed to strike Mr. Montague. “You know, if it hadn’t been for you getting coshed on the head, and Egbert falling on his knife and all that, you’d still be engaged to that harridan. Reminds me of a piece out of Shakespeare. Can’t recall precisely—not bookish; never was! Something about ‘all things working to the good.’ ”
Lady Colhurst snorted. “It’s from the Bible, you ninny! ‘All things work together for good, to them that love the Lord.’ Well! If Arnsford and that hatchet-faced duchess of his taught their daughters to love the Lord, this is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Ned nodded sagely, unperturbed by her ladyship’s characterization of him. “Proves my point.”
These waters were getting too deep for Serena. She shook her head impatiently. “But, Richard, you have wished to be married for the past two Seasons.”
Richard smiled quizzically at his sister’s worried expression. “I still wish to be ma
rried. Not, however, to Elizabeth.”
“But now I am afraid no respectable female will accept an offer from you. If Elizabeth portrays you as a jilt—”
Ned shouted with laughter. “Not accept an offer from Viscount Kilverton? Heir to the title and the fortune? My dear Serena! The matchmaking mamas will be thrusting their daughters in your brother’s path before the week is out!”
“To no avail, however,” said Richard calmly. “I hope to be engaged again before the week is out.” His grandmother, sister, and best friend stared at him. Lord Kilverton’s eyes lit with laughter. “What, have I astonished you at last?”
Ned frowned severely at his friend. “Stop bamming us! The only female besides Elizabeth I’ve ever seen you take an interest in was some incognita you met in Curzon Street—”
“You will forget that incident, if you please!” interrupted Richard.
Ned’s jaw dropped. “What! Don’t tell me you found her?”
“Very well, I won’t.”
Serena, bewildered, pressed her hands to her cheeks. “What on earth are you talking about? Richard, do you mean that you have fallen in love?”
Kilverton looked a little sheepish. “Well—in a word, yes.”
Lady Colhurst and Mr. Montague exclaimed at this, but Serena glared at her brother in gathering wrath. “Oh! If that isn’t just like you, to fall in love and never say a word to me! Who is she?”
Kilverton’s color heightened. He grinned apologetically. “You will be furious with me, Serena, but really—consider my position! How could I say anything? I was betrothed to Elizabeth! In fact, I still cannot say anything; pray remember that I have not spoken to the lady in question since the end of my—er—entanglement.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed in speculation, but before she could begin guessing aloud, Kilverton’s eyes lit with a sudden idea. He turned impulsively to Captain Talgarth, who had been silently watching all these events from across the room.
