“Drawing room,” Highcliff said, his tone surly and his expression chilled as he turned and strode toward the door of the library. He made his way unerringly to the drawing room and waited.
In the library, Winn shook his head. Highcliff was a man of mystery, a man of contradiction, and he strongly suspected, a man who was quite tortured under his urbane and fashionable exterior. Stepping out into the corridor, he noted Foster looking at Lord Highcliff in confusion.
“I’ve worked here seven years, my lord. I’ve never seen that man in this house, and yet he seems to know it like the back of his hand,” the butler mused.
“Sometimes, Foster, it’s best just not to question things,” Winn said. “Send a maid to fetch Miss St. James and Miss Darrow, please. And I suppose tea or something of that nature would be appropriate.”
“It would indeed, Lord Montgomery.”
Winn paused. “Have I really had so few visitors to this house in recent years that I’ve actually forgotten what to do with them?”
“Yes, my lord,” Foster said. “I believe you preferred to be entertained elsewhere or to meet with friends at your clubs though that had lessened of late, as well.”
Winn considered it and shook his head at that unfortunate truth. He’d been on the verge of becoming a recluse. “See to the refreshments, Foster.”
“Certainly, my lord.”
Entering the drawing room, he crossed immediately to the fireplace and waited there for the ladies to arrive. Highcliff was still sipping his brandy, heedless of social edicts that prohibited such spirits so early in the day and in mixed company. Winn imagined that Miss Effie Darrow had something to do with that.
A few moments later, Calliope entered along with Miss Darrow. Winn noted that the tension in the room was a palpable thing upon her entrance. She and Highcliff stared at one another like fighters before a match. Miss Darrow looked disapprovingly at Highcliff’s brandy. Highcliff, in turn, arched his eyebrow in challenge as he raised the glass to his lips once more.
“Well, I’ll start,” Highcliff said. “Charles Burney is dead.”
“What?” Callie gasped.
Winn’s expression hardened. “When did you discover this?”
“Early this morning. His body was pulled from the canal at St. James’ Park.”
Winn recalled his previous conversation with Highcliff about the fate of Averston’s lovers. It would seem Burney had fared no better.
“Was it an accident?” Miss Darrow asked. “Please say that it was.”
Highcliff shook his head. “He was dead before he even touched the water. Strangled with his own neckcloth it would seem… or at least that’s what Ettinger—from Bow Street—thinks.”
“We need to confront Averston,” Winn stated. “We need to corner him and demand the truth from him… and offer him the option to deal with the dowager duchess on his own.”
“We’ve no proof,” Highcliff responded.
“There was an incident this morning,” Winn admitted. “A man with a pistol was taking shots at us as we got out of the carriage… after visiting the workhouse. When I caught up with him on the roof of a neighboring house, he inadvertently confessed something in the struggle. He referred to the person who hired him as ‘she’. I’m past thinking that Averston himself is the issue. I’d lay money on it being her all along—the dowager duchess. But without confronting him, we’ll never know for certain.”
“You didn’t tell me that!” Callie said.
“Well, to be fair, we were rather preoccupied with other matters,” Winn replied. “I’ve asked Highcliff to procure a special license and he has agreed. The sooner we are married, the sooner the stakes for taking your life will be raised dramatically. We can’t afford to wait.”
“He’s right, Callie,” Effie said. “I know that isn’t why you’ve agreed to marry. But taking a hastier route to the altar is for the best under the current circumstances.”
“Right,” Highcliff said. “Let’s go speak to Averston and then I’ll set about procuring another special license. I no longer have any favors to call in with the archbishop. They’ve all been spent. Hopefully, he’s simply feeling magnanimous.”
“We need someone here guarding the house,” Winn replied.
“Ettinger has been keeping an eye on Effie. He followed her here,” Highcliff admitted.
Effie let out a startled sound. “You’ve had someone watching me? Spying on me?”
Highcliff whirled on her then, marching toward her in such an obvious fury that Winn was on the verge of intervening. But the other man halted just a foot from Miss Darrow. Still, when Highcliff spoke, his words were harsh and his tone clipped. “I had someone protecting you. And any time I feel that you are in danger, I will have someone protecting you. Do not try me, Euphemia. Do not try me. Do not. Not today.”
“I think it’s excellent that someone is watching the house,” Callie spoke up. “After all, the safety of the children must be our first priority! Don’t you agree, Effie?”
And with that, Effie was painted into a corner. “Certainly. I am in full agreement with that, Callie. You’re quite right. It’s a good idea… no matter the source.”
Highcliff smirked. “No worries, Effie, darling. My ego will survive the beating. As for Ettinger, he’ll be watching everything outside along with his trusted men. There are others still stationed near the school. Everyone should be right as rain.”
“Then we should go before it gets any later,” Callie stated.
“We?” Winn and Highcliff demanded in unison.
“I’m going with you,” Callie stated.
“That’s impossible,” Winn replied, the denial automatic. “It cannot and will not happen.”
“Why? Clearly secrecy is not an option. If it is his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Averston, and not Averston, perhaps my presence will provide enough of a shock that he will be caught off guard and may answer questions more honestly.”
“She isn’t wrong, Montgomery,” Highcliff interjected. “It might make a difference.”
“Well, I’m hardly staying here alone,” Effie said.
“You’re not alone,” Highcliff snapped. “Ettinger will keep you and the children company inside the house.”
“Need I remind you, Lord Highcliff, that I am not someone to be ordered about by you or by any other man!” Miss Darrow’s words and tone were cool, but her eyes were snapping with temper.
“Actually, Effie, it would make me feel so much better if you stayed with the children. I don’t want them to be afraid,” Callie said.
Effie’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Very well. I shall wait here with them. But all three of you will return to this house when the task is done.”
Highcliff sketched a bow that could only be called mocking. “As you command, Miss Darrow.”
Effie’s glare was positively glacial. “I’m going up to monitor the children. I shall see you when you return.”
Highcliff let out a world-weary sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m going to collect Ettinger and set him to guard duty.”
Winn was now alone with Callie. The two of them looked at one another. “What has gotten into them?” Callie asked.
Winn had his theories, but they were hardly appropriate to discuss at that time. Sexual tension. Thwarted desires. He would bet money that both were on edge not because of what had happened but because of something that had almost occurred. “Get your pelisse,” he instructed her. “It’s chilly outside. As for Highcliff and Miss Darrow, let’s just leave them to work things out themselves. We certainly did.”
Callie’s eyes widened. “You don’t think… really? They are in love? They act like they cannot abide one another.”
“I don’t know that I would call it love. I think perhaps they are attracted to one another and fighting it bitterly enough that they are now fighting one another just as bitterly. But leave it be, Calliope. That is not a situation we can fix and any meddling might only make it
worse.”
“I won’t meddle,” she agreed. “Does it constitute meddling to find out what might have occurred?”
Winn couldn’t bite back the grin that her mischievous tone teased from him. “It depends on the amount of fishing you have to do for that information… and if you should discover something, you are bound by the rules of betrothal to share it with me.”
Callie’s lips quirked in return. “The rules of betrothal? I wasn’t aware of any such thing. Were those rules discussed at length prior to my acceptance of your proposal? If not, I can hardly be bound by them.”
Winn reached for her hand, tugging her forward until she stood close enough that he could wrap his arms about her and steal only the most innocent of kisses. Even though it was barely a brush of their lips, he felt the heat coiling inside him. Lust was a familiar sensation to him, but not the incessant, clawing need that she seemed to evoke in him. “What spell have you put me under, Calliope St. James?”
Her reply was uttered on a breathless laugh. “I think perhaps we have bespelled one another.”
The sound of a throat being cleared quite loudly and with little patience prompted them to break apart. Highcliff stood in the doorway looking rather nonplussed by their display of affection. “Ettinger is on his way up to the nursery. A note has been sent round to the Hound of Whitehall.”
That pronouncement hit Winn like a punch to the gut. “The Hound of Whitehall? Why on earth are you in communication with him?”
“Several girls that are students of Miss Darrow have come to be in her care as a result of the Hound rescuing them from… undesirable situations. I thought he’d prefer to have men of his own looking after the school,” Highcliff responded. “And suffice it to say, he and I have an understanding about things that occur within the city of London which he has a vested interest in. This would be one of them.”
“Why?” Winn asked. “What possible interest could he have in all of this?”
Highcliff smiled. “Let’s just say he’s got his own reasons for disliking the Duke of Averston. Now, my carriage awaits.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Averston met his grandmother’s steely gaze as she entered his study. As a rule, they resided in separate households and had as little to do with one another as possible. He was in a foul mood having sent a note round to Burney that morning and not receiving a reply. It hadn’t been an apology per se, but he had accepted that he’d spoken more harshly to the man than he should have and that their disagreement was trifling in nature. It wasn’t love. He didn’t love, as a rule. But it was more than lust, enough so that it bothered him that the young man had not replied. Now, to have his grandmother to deal with on top of that, it was enough to make him want to crawl head first into a bottle of brandy and never come up.
“I’m in no mood for a scolding,” he remarked as she walked in.
“You appear to be quite out of sorts, Gerald.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “You know I prefer to be called Averston.”
“And I’d prefer for you to be married to a respectable young woman with an heir and a spare rattling about in that monstrous nursery upstairs. We shall both have to accustom ourselves to disappointment it seems. Someone has contacted the trustees claiming to be the missing heiress,” she said frostily.
He laughed. “For the twentieth time. Many claims have been made over the years and all have failed to provide any legitimate proof of their claims.”
She stepped deeper into the room, settling herself on one of the chairs facing his desk. “This one may be more problematic than the others. But I’ve taken steps to ensure that it is handled.”
Averston frowned. “You’ve never bothered to involve yourself in these matters before. Which makes me question why this one is different. Do you think there’s a possibility this claimant is the genuine article?”
His grandmother leaned forward, her eyes glittering like shards of broken glass. “It doesn’t matter. Genuine or not, she’s entitled to nothing. Or do you wish to give all this up to the misbegotten by-blow of a French whore?”
“What have you done?” he asked, a sense of dread filling him. “We have acted, for decades now, on the presumption that the child died. But if the child survived, contrary to what my wishes might be, we cannot intercede!”
“Can we not?” she laughed. “I’ve been interceding in events that might bring shame to this family since before you drew your first breath! And if you don’t curb your wickedness and your own licentious behavior, no doubt I’ll be doing so after you have gone. Though there shall be no one left to leave any of it to!”
He’d said it many times, but mostly in ill-received jest. But now, looking into ice-cold gaze of the woman before him, he wondered if perhaps his joke didn’t hold a spark of truth. “Did you kill her?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Veronique Delaine. I know it’s been whispered, but I only ever half-believed it. I thought perhaps it was just rumor and innuendo metamorphosing into legend.”
She reached out, gripping his arm with a strength that shocked him. Her talon-like nails scored his skin and she hissed at him, “I did then as I will do now… what is required. Whatever is required.”
Averston looked at her then, seeing her for perhaps the first time. He’d thought her a controlling, managing old woman. But the truth was so much worse. She was actually a monster. “Oh my God. You did do it… you murdered that woman and left her child to whatever miserable fate might await her.” He was more stunned by the realization than he ought to have been.
“Don’t act so missish,” she said. “Had I not done so, you’d have been a pauper all along. Your worthless uncle would have left every penny to her to be squandered on whatever husband he managed to purchase for his illegitimate spawn. I saved you from that fate, Gerald, by being ruthless and by being willing to take risks. You must be prepared to take them, too, or it will all be for naught.”
There was a knock on the door and the butler entered immediately after. The man’s normally stoic face was pale and white. “Forgive me, your grace, but there are… well, there is a group of people in the entry hall who are requesting an audience.”
“Who the devil is it?”
“The Earl of Montgomery, Lord Highcliff, and there is a young woman, your grace… a Miss St. James.”
“Show them in,” the dowager duchess said. When the butler gave a stiff bow and retreated to do just that, she glared at him again. “You will have to dirty your hands now… or leave me to handle things as I see fit.”
Averston had no notion of what she meant, but he was fairly certain he was about to find out and that things were going to take a turn none of them could be prepared for.
Moments later, the door opened once more and the aforementioned trio entered. Highcliff looked slightly worse for wear, as if the man had possibly had a rough and overindulgent night. Montgomery, as always, appeared quite put together. But it was the woman who held his attention. Even at a distance, he could see her face quite clearly. He could see the uncanny resemblance to the portrait hanging in the hall beyond. And with every step, that resemblance grew more pronounced. If she’d been wearing a robe à la française and had her hair powdered and piled high in the fashion of the past century, she could well have been Veronique.
“I see I am about to be usurped,” he said coolly. It was the strangest thing. He almost felt relief. The thing he’d dreaded for so long, that had hung over his head for almost all of his life, had finally occurred. And all he felt was free. Free of the limitations and free of the grasp of the vicious woman who stood beside him.
“You are,” Highcliff replied. “But that isn’t why we’re here. Are you aware that Charles Burney is dead?”
Averston felt the floor shift beneath his feet. Handsome, full of life, desperate to please and desperate to save his nearly destitute family—Burney couldn’t possibly be dead. “You must be mistaken. I saw him Saturday night at his sister’s debut
. He was hale, hearty and perfectly fine!”
“No mistake,” Highcliff said. “He was murdered. Strangled with his own neckcloth and dumped in the canal at St. James’ Park. He was found floating face down in the water near Birdcage Walk. An area that I believe you are familiar with.”
Averston paled then. “Are you here to blackmail me, Highcliff? You know I haven’t more than a tuppence of my own… and the woman with you will likely take that, as well.”
“We’re not here for you,” Montgomery stated. “We’re here for her. She’s the one who ordered the threat on Miss St. James’ life, she’s the one who ordered Burney to be murdered, and your previous… associates, as well. Nathaniel Barber, Thomas Fairbourne, Samuel Cavender… and others.”
Averston sank into his chair, staring at them in horror as the weight of their accusations sank in. He’d known about Nathaniel. Not about her involvement, but he’d thought it was just thieves and a terrible stroke of luck. He turned to his grandmother, saw her haughty glare. But more than that, he saw the note of triumph in her gaze. It was true. She’d said it herself. That she would do whatever was necessary. “You really are the most vile, wretched creature to ever live. You’d do anything to preserve the appearance of our upright name… even doing murder for the sake of it.”
The dowager duchess sneered at him. “Of course, I would. I killed her worthless whore of a mother years ago. She begged and pleaded, you know?” The old woman smirked at the young woman as she said it. “She promised to take you and run away, to disappear and never see my son ever again. But I knew that he would never allow that. He’d follow her to the ends of the earth. The only way to stop it was to see her dead, to give him a corpse to mourn. To my dismay, you proved much harder to eliminate. She hid you well.”
*
Callie listened to the words of the wicked, evil woman before her with a dawning horror. By circumventing her mother’s instructions, the woman’s dying wish, her life had most likely been spared. The theater would have been the first place her father—and the dowager duchess—would have looked. “You have no remorse for anything you’ve done. Not even for murder.”
What Happens in Piccadilly Page 22
