“Yes. I don’t keep a carriage.”
“I’m on my way to my dovecote now. Are you going back to the dower house? You can carry that for me as far as the point where our paths diverge.”
He said it matter-of-factly—not quite as if he was conferring a favor, but not at all as if he was asking for one either. It left her nonplussed, given he’d suggested only the night before that she’d tried to poison his brother. But there was something oddly irresistible about the confidence with which he stated the plan, as if she had no choice but to fall in with such a reasonable request.
“I take it you intend to paint something?” she said as they set off together, Jem trailing behind.
“Yes, the door of my dovecote. I want everything to be ready when I move my birds to their new loft.”
“But aren’t they homing pigeons? Won’t they just return to Hampshire?”
His eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Ah, that’s an interesting question. Normally, yes, they would return to their original loft. That’s the instinct that makes homing pigeons so fascinating, so useful, and so valuable as a breed. But because pigeons are such exemplary parents, they desire even more to stay where they lay. If I keep my birds confined until they start a new brood, the hatchlings will become of paramount importance to them, and they’ll view their loft here as home.”
“I wish all men had the same instinct as your pigeons,” Lina said wistfully.
“To return home?”
She gave a weak laugh. “Yes, that. And to stay where they lay. You see, my father left my mother before I was born.”
He nodded. “Pigeons are not only good parents, but also faithful partners. Unless physically kept apart, they mate for life.”
“Then they’re not at all like men.” She meant to sound arch, but the words came out with a bitterness that shocked her.
“Not like some men,” he corrected her. “Take my brother, for instance. He was married to a dreadful witch—I’m speaking figuratively, since to my knowledge she was never a member of an actual coven—but he was as faithful as a pigeon until the day she died.”
Lina listened in silence. For hours after her argument with Win, she’d burned with righteous anger. He must have seduced her. Why else would she have given herself to him, when she’d kept poor Edward at arm’s length for three long years? Why would she willingly make the same mistake her mother had made? She’d been sure, somehow, that Win had promised her they would have a future together, only to change his tune as soon as he got what he wanted. He’d preyed on her, plain and simple.
But then she’d talked with Dr. Strickland, and she’d been dismayed—no, horrified—when the doctor had supposed Win must have forced himself on her. As hurt and angry as she’d been until that moment, the look of alarm on Dr. Strickland’s face when he’d said if he overpowered you had left her all but tripping over her words in her haste to correct him. She’d wanted to explode in a torrent of denials: No, Win would never do that. That isn’t what happened!
It had been an instinctive thing, that urge to defend him. That night in Win’s room—she’d literally been in his bed, kissing him, yet he’d released her and apologized the moment she wanted to stop. No, she could no more imagine protective, responsible Win holding her down and raping her than she could imagine strangling an infant with her bare hands. He wasn’t that kind of man—and he wasn’t the kind of man to do the other despicable things she’d accused him of, either.
In a flash, she’d gone from being furious at him to vexed with herself for having blamed him so unfairly.
She’d already regretted the way she’d treated Win. Now, talking to his brother, she regretted it even more. But it was too late to un-say the things she’d said. She could only hope Win would accept her apology.
Loath to dwell on the thought, she glanced across at Mr. Vaughan and held up the paintbrush. “What color will you paint the dovecote door?”
“Naples yellow. I believe the pigeons will find it pleasing, since it’s reminiscent of the color of a newly hatched squab.”
“How thoughtful.” It seemed a surprisingly sweet choice for a nineteen-year-old gentleman to make.
“I considered Paris green, but it owes its color to a combination of copper and arsenic, and I feared that might remind me of what happened to poor Beauty.”
At the word arsenic, a chill ran through her. For a moment, she’d almost forgotten the poisonings—and that Mr. Vaughan had more reason than most to want her out of the way. How did he know there was arsenic in Paris green paint, and what else did he know about such things? Didn’t Prussian blue paint have some connection to prussic acid?
Casting a worried look his way, she did her best to sound him out. “What is your thinking on the recent poisonings? You don’t really suspect I poisoned Mr. Niven, do you, Mr. Vaughan?”
“No, I think that was most likely someone else.”
“You did suggest the possibility last night.”
“I said you might wish to poison my brother as a pre-emptive measure,” he replied calmly. “But I was speaking in possibilities, not likelihoods. Win is convinced of your innocence, and I trust his judgment.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” She hoped she had nothing to fear from Frederick Vaughan, for she was discovering she rather liked him. She’d never met anyone so free of artifice, and if he was tactless at times, he was also unfailingly honest. Certainly his eccentricities hadn’t marred his good looks. As they’d walked through Malton, he’d drawn interested glances from every young lady they’d passed. And he was clearly devoted to Win. She even liked that he’d held out his paint bucket for her to carry—as if he’d never doubted her ability to manage it even though she was a woman, and a small enceinte woman at that.
Soon they reached the turning-off point where their paths diverged. Jem set the bucket of paint on the ground, and Lina placed the paraffin oil beside it.
“Lady Radbourne, is there any way you can make your sister stop pestering me?” Mr. Vaughan said as he relieved her of the paintbrush.
Oh, dear. It was a good thing Cassie wasn’t here to hear the word pestering. “I’m sorry if she seems a bit eager at times. She’s just trying to be friendly.”
“I’d rather she didn’t. Nothing against her personally, you understand, but it’s difficult to get any work done with her following me to my dovecote.”
Lina blinked at him in surprise. “She’s followed you to your dovecote?”
“Twice so far. And she insists on talking to me while she’s there.”
Lina had thought her sister was more careful of appearances than that, especially after the lecture Cassie had delivered on setting tongues wagging so soon after Edward’s death. “I didn’t know. Yes, Mr. Vaughan, I’ll have a word with her.”
He smiled, and his expression held such an appealing combination of Win’s good looks and his own artlessness, Lina could almost see why Cassie was behaving so imprudently.
* * *
“Are those your warmest gloves?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Good.” Win dredged up a smile for Julia. “All you need is your bonnet, and we can go.”
They left the house together, setting off across the park toward the frozen pond not far from the dower house. It was a gray day, with the gloomy sky matching Win’s mood, though he was determined to appear cheerful for his daughter’s sake.
“When do I put on my skates?” Julia asked, skipping beside him.
“Not until we reach the ice. They’re not made for walking, just for skating.” He had both pairs of skates over his shoulder, hers and the pair he’d bought for Freddie.
“If I learn to skate across the pond, will I be able to skate across the ocean too?”
“The ocean doesn’t freeze, poppet. Only ponds and lakes, and occasionally rivers.”
�
�Why doesn’t the ocean freeze?”
“Partly because it’s very big, with waves and currents, but mostly because the water has so much salt in it.”
“Why does it have salt—”
“Colonel Vaughan!” came a call from behind them.
Win turned. Mr. Channing was striding in their direction. The magistrate was dressed in his usual country tweeds, though his face was set in a determined expression.
“Might I have a word with you?” He tipped his hat to Julia before his eyes moved back to Win. “Privately?”
Win glanced down at his daughter. “Wait here a moment, Jules.”
He’d no sooner stepped off a few paces with Mr. Channing than the older man demanded, “What’s the name of your estate in Hampshire?”
“Hamble Grange,” Win said, surprised by the question.
“Aye, I thought that was it.”
Win’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve just come from Pickering, the closest market town save Malton. I went there to make inquiries about Mr. Niven’s death—namely, to learn if anyone had recently bought prussic acid.”
“And had anyone?”
Channing smiled knowingly. “Now, that’s the interesting part. A parcel arrived at the receiving office in Pickering a little over a week ago, sent from a chemist’s in London. I can’t be sure what was inside it, but it raised suspicion even then.”
“And why was that?”
“It was addressed to a person no one in Pickering had ever heard of—a doctor, in fact.”
“And he collected the parcel?” Win said with interest. “What did he look like?”
“The clerk never saw him. A young boy picked it up, likely just an errand boy.”
“Can you find the boy? If that parcel did contain prussic acid, he could lead us to the killer.”
Mr. Channing shook his head. “The clerk didn’t know the boy, and doesn’t remember much beyond his general size and age. I’ll continue to make inquiries, but I’m not hopeful. It was market day, so the town was full of strangers. There must be any number of brown-haired boys between the age of eight and twelve near Pickering.”
Win frowned. “Well, what about the address on the parcel? Did the clerk remember the doctor’s name?”
“He did.” Mr. Channing’s eyes flicked over Win. “It was addressed to ‘Dr. V. Hamble.’”
Win blinked in surprise. “As in Hamble Grange?”
“That’s right.”
“But I’ve only been in Yorkshire two weeks,” Win said in confusion. “I doubt many here even knew of the existence of Hamble Grange until I arrived. That was quick work, to arrange such a delivery all the way from London.” Win’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Though Mr. Niven knew I owned Hamble Grange. He wrote to me there to inform me of the late earl’s death.”
“You could’ve arranged for the delivery before your arrival here.”
Win blew out his breath. Not this again. He thought Channing had discounted him as a suspect. “To what end? Until you and Niven informed me Lady Radbourne was expecting, I believed I was the rightful heir.”
Mr. Channing nodded slowly. “Aye, that thought had occurred to me too. I was just interested to hear what you had to say on the matter.” He glanced sidelong at Win. “Someone is clearly trying to point the finger of guilt at you, Colonel.”
“It would seem so.” Win threw a dark look in the general direction of the abbey. “Fortunately I intend to leave soon. Whoever it is, he’ll have to find a new whipping boy to take the blame.”
“You’re leaving?” Mr. Channing raised one shaggy eyebrow in surprise. “I was beginning to think you fit right in as master here. You look born to the role, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Looks don’t count for much, though, do they?” Win said with an edge of bitterness. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Channing, my daughter is waiting.”
* * *
Walking with Jem, Lina was only a few minutes from the dower house when a rich baritone echoed from the other side of the rise bordering the path.
“That’s it. Now push off with your back foot.”
Her heart skittered at the familiar voice. “That sounds like Colonel Vaughan,” she told Jem, changing direction.
She paused at the top of the rise, surveying the frozen pond below. Win and his little girl were on skates, both with their backs to her. Though his broken arm was still in a sling, with his good hand Win was steadying his daughter.
“Don’t let go,” Julia said in a panicked voice, clutching his coat sleeve in a two-fisted grip. She swayed on her skates.
“I won’t.” Win’s voice was calm and reassuring. “You’re doing splendidly. Don’t worry, I’m not going to let you fall.”
At the sight of his tall, broad-shouldered figure, a rush of longing ran through Lina. How could she ever have accused him of seducing her? He hadn’t lied to her, or made promises he couldn’t keep, or behaved like the heartless scoundrels who’d taken advantage of her mother. She’d given herself to him freely, because she’d wanted him.
She still wanted him.
“Colonel!” Lina called from the top of the rise.
Win whipped his head around. His startled expression changed fleetingly to a look of pleasure, but the look vanished as quickly as it had come.
“My lady, watch, I’m skating!” Julia called, still hanging on to Win for dear life.
“Yes, I see.” Lina gave Win her brightest smile. “If I’m not mistaken, the first time we met you were in a positive lather because she was in danger of running out on that ice.”
“That was before I talked to Mrs. Phelps, and she assured me that some of the younger servants recently skated on this pond and it was frozen solid.” Though his answer was civil enough, he didn’t return her smile.
With a flicker of disappointment, she directed her friendliness at his daughter. “Is this your first time skating?”
“Yes, my lady. Papa says it’s not just for boys, and my aunts skate very prettily.”
“No,” Lina agreed, “it’s not just for boys at all.”
“Do you skate?” Julia asked, gliding a few feet closer even as Win kept a secure hold on her.
She shook her head. “I never learned.”
“Papa could teach you.” Julia’s cheeks were pink with the cold, and she looked far from confident in her ability, but her happy smile made it clear she was enjoying herself.
“I doubt Lady Radbourne is interested in taking lessons from me,” Win said stonily.
“That’s not true,” she protested. “Perhaps after my—after I’ve put off mourning.” She’d been about to say after my baby is born but had decided it was not only indelicate, but likely to turn Win even chillier when the inheritance was the primary bone of contention between them. Besides, if she gave birth to the next earl, it wasn’t as if Win was likely to linger in Yorkshire just to give her skating lessons.
But she did feel a silly, girlish longing for him to teach her to skate. It would make a fine excuse for him to put his arm about her, and for them to laugh together, and for her to lean into him and enjoy his closeness. Though even if she’d had skates on her feet at that moment, she doubted he’d be as keen as she was. He wasn’t being rude, exactly, but the warmth she’d felt from him before was noticeably absent.
“Perhaps,” Win said in a cold, flat voice that only confirmed her pessimism.
“When I can skate with no help,” Julia told her, “I want to have a fur muff to keep my hands warm, a great big white one with black spots. I saw a picture of a lady with one and she looked very pretty.”
“It’s called ermine.” Win glanced at Lina, then looked away again before addressing her. “For Julia, the chief appeal of taking exercise is alwa
ys the fashion associated with it.”
“I’m sure an ermine muff would be warm,” Lina told the little girl, “but what really makes a lady pretty isn’t what she wears, it’s how she behaves.” She hoped it wasn’t the wrong thing to say. Though she would tell her own daughter as much, she had no doubt Win wished he could make all Julia’s dreams come true, including the ones that featured feathers, fur, spangles and ruffles. At the moment, she and her baby were the chief obstacles to that aim.
“That’s what Nurse Drew says. But this lady’s muff was—oh!” The little girl lost her balance, her feet shooting out from under her.
Win kept his hold on her, preventing her from falling and then righting her again. “I’ve got you, poppet. Try to keep your knees bent just a bit more.”
“Be careful you don’t break your other arm,” Lina told him. She was only teasing, for he looked at home on the ice, and despite conducting the lesson one-handed, he was big enough and sure-footed enough that Julia was in no danger of pulling him over.
There was a time when he would have teased back. Now he merely frowned and said, “I wanted Julia to have some fresh air and exercise today, before we undertake the journey back to Hampshire.”
Lina stared. “The...what?”
“We’re leaving for Hamble Grange before the week is out.”
“I don’t understand. I just walked back from Malton with your brother, and he didn’t say anything about leaving Yorkshire.”
“Freddie has a way of ignoring inconvenient realities for as long as humanly possible.”
“But I thought—”
“That we’d be staying until matters were more settled? I thought so too.” There was an edge to his voice, anger and ruthlessness and hurt all rolled into one. “But I know when I’ve worn out my welcome.”
Lina’s heart lurched. He was leaving, and without a thought for the poisonings or the abbey or whether her baby was a boy or a girl. Without a thought for her. And, worse than that, it was her doing. She’d accused him of seducing her and sneered at his honor.
Her eyes stung. It was on the tip of her tongue to say Win, don’t go. I was wrong to say the things I did. Please forgive me. Even if they had only six or seven more months together, those were months in which she could be happy. She was willing to throw aside every lesson her mother’s mistakes had taught her and become his mistress, if that was what he wanted.
An Heir of Uncertainty Page 23
