by Anne Ashley
The heavy lids lowered as he remained gazing out of the library window across the large patch of green in the Square. Polite Society no doubt continued to speculate, wondering which of them was in fact responsible for the break up of the marriage. He strongly suspected that the finger of suspicion was increasingly being pointed in his direction, for his Marchioness had swiftly gained a deal of respect for her faultless manners, and impeccable behaviour. She never flirted; she never cast out lures; she never betrayed the least partiality for any one of her young admirers. Yet, there had to be someone, somewhere gaining her favours, he reminded himself again. Not here in London, perhaps…but somewhere.
Beneath the half-hooded lids his eyes began to glint ominously, a sure sign to those who knew him well that his lordship was in a dangerously determined mood.
He swung round sharply and went over to the bell-pull beside the marble grate. While waiting for his summons to be answered, he poured himself a glass of wine, and was in the process of sampling its contents when the butler entered in time to see a hint of disapproval flicker over his master’s wholly masculine, aristocratic features.
‘You rang, my lord?’
‘Where did we purchase this burgundy, Slocombe?’
‘From the usual vintner, the one we have patronised for a number of years, my lord.’
‘In that case I believe it is time we took our custom elsewhere. This wine is decidedly inferior to the glass I was given earlier today.’
‘I shall attend to the matter at once, my lord,’ Slocombe responded automatically. ‘Would there be anything else, my lord?’
‘Yes, send Thomas to me.’
The young footman must have been about his duties in the hall, for no sooner had the butler departed than Thomas slipped quietly into the room.
It was not often that his lordship requested to see him personally. Usually he received his orders directly from Mr Slocombe, so he remained hovering tentatively by the door, racking his brain to think of what he might have done to displease his master.
Having seated himself at his desk, Julian was in the process of writing a brief note, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the task in hand as he said, ‘You may recall that two weeks or so ago, I sent you with a letter to a certain house across the river in Greenwich.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You remember the precise whereabouts of that house?’
‘I do, my lord.’
‘Excellent! Because I wish you to go there again now. If you should be fortunate enough to find Mr Jonas Finch at home, kindly request him to return with you here at once. If he should be away, then give this letter to his good lady wife, instructing her to hand it to Finch immediately on his return.’
After sealing the brief missive, he placed it into his young servant’s hand, instructing him to attain what largesse he might require for the hire of a hackney carriage from Slocombe, and then turned his attention to the neat pile of letters awaiting his attention on one corner of his desk.
It might have been pure imagination, but he suspected that far more mail was being left these days for his personal consideration. No doubt his efficient young secretary had noticed that he had been more willing to take a keener interest in the day-to-day running of his affairs in recent weeks. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as he reached for the topmost letter. He had needed to keep himself occupied, to try anything to take his mind off that beautifully packaged problem which had been besetting him of late.
He continued to work his way steadily through the pile, responding to some in his own bold, flowing hand, while leaving instructions on others for his secretary to attend to. He had reduced the pile considerably, when the door opened and Slocombe announced the arrival of the person he most wished to see.
‘Ah, Finch!’ Rising to his feet, his lordship reached out to shake the hand of the small, stockily built individual whose grey eyes were as penetrating as his own, before requesting him to be seated in the chair positioned in readiness by his desk. ‘I trust my servant didn’t drag you away from urgent business?’
‘Nothing that cannot be set aside, m’lord,’ he answered, his shrewd eyes following the Marquis’s progress across the room in the direction of the decanters.
‘Brandy is your particular poison, if my memory serves me correctly.’ Julian poured out two glasses of the amber liquid, handing one to his visitor before seating himself behind his desk once more, and taking a moment to study the contents of his own glass.
‘You may recall, Finch, many years ago, when you were employed as a Runner, you made an intensive search for my wife.’
‘I do, sir.’ Nothing in the ex-Runner’s weatherbeaten features betrayed what was passing though his mind, as he continued to hold his lordship’s steady gaze. Since leaving the Runners some years ago, and setting himself up in business as a private investigator, he had earned himself a reputation for discretion, which was perhaps one of the reasons why he had been so successful in his chosen profession. ‘And with no success, as I embarrassingly recall.’
‘That was no fault of yours,’ Julian responded, thereby assuring his visitor that he held him in no way to blame. ‘You were tireless in your efforts, as I remember, for which I was extremely grateful.’
Picking up his glass, Julian went over to stand by the window once again. ‘You may or may not be aware,’ he went on after a moment’s thoughtful silence, ‘that my wife has unexpectedly turned up again.’
‘Aye, sir. I had heard. Popped up out of the blue, as yer might say,’ he quipped, and noticed the faint smile tugging at one corner of his lordship’s mouth.’
‘It might be more accurate to say, out of the green, Finch. I have discovered that my Marchioness has been living across the sea in the Emerald Isle.’
The ex-Runner’s brows rose sharply. ‘Little wonder, then, that we never found no trace of her.’
‘No, it isn’t at all surprising,’ his lordship agreed, taking a further moment to study the liquid in his glass, before tossing it down his throat in one appreciative swallow. ‘What does amaze me is that she managed to survive. Her past is shrouded in mystery; her present is something of an enigma too. With your help, I intend to solve the conundrum. Both of them, in fact.’
If there was a man under a considerable strain, and doing his level best to conceal the fact from the world at large, then it was the man who was now resuming his seat on the opposite side of the desk, Jonas Finch decided. He had glimpsed the underlying tension in him all those years ago, when the young Marchioness had disappeared without trace. He had detected it again when his lordship had required his services a few weeks before to locate the whereabouts of that unfortunate woman, but it was more noticeable now. His lordship was like an over-wound spring, ready to snap.
‘Since my wife’s unexpected arrival in London several weeks ago,’ his lordship continued, ‘she has made at least two trips out of town to my certain knowledge. She intends to make a third.’ His grey eyes held the ex-Runner’s steadily above the desk. ‘I want to know where she goes, whom she sees, where she stays.’
‘I understand, my lord.’
‘You do, do you?’ His lordship’s rasping laughter cut through the air like a knife. ‘I certainly wish I did, Finch… My God, I wish I did!’
His admirable control did not desert him entirely, and he quickly had himself in hand once more. ‘I believe she plans to leave London tomorrow, or the day after.’ His eyes narrowed speculatively, as he fixed his gaze on an imaginary spot on the wall behind his visitor’s head. ‘If she follows the normal pattern, she’ll remain away four or five days, and travel by hired carriage. As she has a perfectly good conveyance of her own, I can only assume that she doesn’t wish to be recognised leaving the city, and the direction she takes noted.’
‘Which would suggest, my lord, that she has something to hide.’
‘It does indeed,’ Julian agreed. ‘Secretive she may be, Finch, but she’s no fool, so do not make the mistake of und
erestimating her. Find out what you can, but don’t take your time about it. If my wife begins to suspect that she’s being watched…’
‘Don’t you worry, my lord. I’m an old ’and at this game. I’ll discover what I can and get back to you in a few days.’
Jonas Finch turned out to be as good as his word, and as a result of his findings, the Marquis himself left the city, travelling in a westerly direction, four days later.
Having decided to dispense with the services of his valet, his lordship had ordered a small bag to be packed in the unlikely event that he should remain away overnight. He doubted very much that the need would arise. In fact, he hardly knew why he was embarking on this short journey in the first place.
Staring absently through the window at the last rows of straggling houses on the outskirts of the city, he turned over in his mind the conversation he had had with the estimable Mr Finch just a few hours earlier.
‘Are you certain about that?’ he had queried, after the ex-Runner had disclosed that her ladyship was staying in a house situated on the outskirts of a small market town some thirty miles from the capital.
‘Quite certain, sir. The landlady of the Blue Boar Inn was the friendly sort, a born gossip. The type of person we like to meet in my line of business, as you might say. She told me that the house belonged to Mr Whittam, a lawyer in the town. He and his good lady wife are enjoying a protracted holiday in Scotland, visiting their many relations up there. Seemingly he was only too happy to lease the house during his absence, and a certain Mrs Stapleton, a—er—brave major’s young widow, is having the use of it until the owners return in the summer.’
‘And there’s no one else living in the house?’
‘No one, my lord, excepting the servants.’ Finch had assured him. ‘Apparently, the Whittams’ cook-housekeeper remained to take care of the place. And there’s also an Irish groom and a boy staying in the house, so the landlady informed me. Seemingly they’re your wife’s servants, my lord.’
‘And no one else visits the house regularly?’
‘No, my lord. From my bedchamber window at the inn I had a clear view of the place, and saw no one enter or leave the house whilst I was there. As luck would have it, the landlady is a good friend of the Whittams’ housekeeper, so she’d know whether Mrs—er—Stapleton entertains any visitors or not, and, according to what she told me, the young widow sees no one during the short periods she remains at the place.’
Drawing his mind back to the present, his lordship leaned back against the plush velvet squabs, at a loss to understand what could possibly induce his wife to make these frequent visits into the country. There had to be some reason, he told himself. And yet why should he be so determined to discover precisely what that reason was? Why hadn’t he simply paid a visit to his lawyers and started proceedings to terminate the marriage? What on earth was he doing here now? Was he hoping to discover his faithless wife lying naked in the arms of another fawning lover…? Or was the opposite, in fact, nearer the truth?
Unanswerable questions continued to plague him as his powerful team of horses ate up the miles, and it seemed no time at all before his coachman, as previously instructed, drew the carriage to a halt at the outskirts of the small market town of Merton Lacy. His lordship stepped down on to the road, ordered his head groom to await him at the Blue Boar, and then walked towards a red brick house, set a little way back from the road.
The wrought-iron gate creaked on its hinges as he pushed it open, and the gravel crunched beneath the soles of his boots as he walked slowly up the path to the door. He reached out one hand to grasp the highly polished brass door-knocker, cast in the shape of a lion’s head, and then let it slip from his grasp, as he detected the squeals of delight from what he assumed must be a garden at the back of the house.
He turned on his heels, and had almost reached the corner of the building, when a small, sturdy object, racing from the opposite direction, cannoned into him.
Julian grasped the young shoulders, steadying the child and preventing him from falling. It was a moment before the boy raised a head covered in dark brown curls to reveal a pair of wickedly twinkling grey eyes, set in an impishly smiling countenance. Every muscle in his lordship’s abdomen contracted, just as though he had received a physical blow. There was not the smallest doubt in his mind that he was looking for the very first time upon the face of his own son.
Hurriedly approaching footsteps broke the momentary trance-like state, and his lordship raised his eyes to see his wife’s personal maid appear round the corner of the building, and then stop dead in her tracks.
‘Holy Mary Mother of God! ’Tis himself, no less!’
‘It is indeed,’ his lordship responded in a voice that made Mary wish she had donned a thick woollen shawl.
Chapter Five
Seated beneath the branches of a sturdy cherry tree, Jennifer was taking full advantage of the sweetly smelling country air after having suffered the stale atmosphere of the city for more than two weeks. Although engrossed in the sketch she was making of the rolling countryside beyond the garden, she was vaguely aware that someone was approaching across the grass. It was not until the footsteps drew closer, and some detached part of her brain registered that they were too heavy to be those of Mary, that she drew her attention away from the rural landscape, glorious in the late afternoon May sunshine, to cast a glance over her shoulder.
She was on her feet in an instant, the sketch-pad falling from her fingers, forgotten, as she cast an anxious glance towards the house. Then she forced herself to look back at that darkly forbidding countenance looming ever nearer, and knew at once that it was already too late.
‘What are you doing here?’
It was a singularly inappropriate question to ask in the circumstances, and seemingly he thought so too, for he made no attempt to answer, to say anything at all. He just continued to stare down at her, eyes hard, merciless, a look she clearly remembered with chilling clarity from years before.
A surge of blind panic left her feeling as if she might swoon at any moment, but she steadfastly refused to grasp the back of the chair for support. The idyllic life she had built for herself might be in imminent danger of being destroyed completely, and she might be denied any opportunity to try to save it, but she would never again belittle herself by attempting to plead with him, or to justify past actions. No, not a second time! she thought determinedly.
Tapping into that deep well of inner strength, she managed at last to break the hold of that implacable gaze, and swung away to stare across at the rural landscape which had suddenly lost much of its charm. ‘So, you have been keeping track of my movements,’ she announced, stating what ought to have been obvious from the moment she first saw him, like an avenging angel, striding across the grass towards her. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Now, why, I wonder?’
His continued silence proved that he hadn’t the slightest intention of satisfying her curiosity, so she was forced to draw her own conclusions. ‘No doubt you expected to catch me in the arms of some ardent lover.’ She might have laughed had the situation not been so dire. ‘Wasn’t once enough for you, Wroxam?’
She detected what sounded suspiciously like a faint gasp. Had it been anyone else she might have supposed that she had succeeded in inflicting a painful wound, but she didn’t attempt to delude herself. Her husband’s armour was impenetrable. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. You’ll need to search very much harder if you wish to uncover proof of my continued infidelity. You’ll find no languishing beaux here.’
‘No, I discovered something far more damning,’ he rasped, betraying his mounting rage, and she could not in all honesty say, as she turned to look at him again, that she blamed him either. Had their roles been reversed, had he deprived her of all contact with their child, she would have wanted to murder him.
He looked as if it would have afforded him the utmost pleasure to release his understandable animosity in a display of physical violence, but he made no at
tempt to strike her.
‘Why, Jennifer? Why?’ he demanded, his voice still harsh, but noticeably more controlled. ‘Was it because you were so determined to extract some perverse revenge that you denied me all knowledge of my son’s existence?’
In the face of having such an appalling accusation levelled at her, the fact that he had addressed her by her given name for the first time since her return to England seemed totally unimportant. She was about to assure him that nothing could have been further from the truth when she caught sight of her faithful groom striding purposefully in their direction, concern clearly writ across his handsome face.
‘Are you all right, Miss Jenny?’
‘I’m fine, Patrick,’ she assured him, but he was plainly unconvinced, as his next words proved.
‘Are you sure, now?’ He darted a distinctly menacing look in his lordship’s direction and received a less than friendly one in return. ‘It’d be no trouble at all to throw him out.’
She didn’t doubt for a moment that her groom, never having been one to run from a fight, would have enjoyed making the attempt. Whether he would have succeeded or not was a different matter entirely. Both men were of a similar height and build, and although Wroxam was every inch the fashionable gentleman, she didn’t suppose for a moment that he wasn’t capable of defending himself should the need arise. A contest between the two might prove interesting, but in the present situation it could only make matters worse.
‘I’m perfectly all right, Patrick. But I thank you for your concern.’ She cast a fleeting glance towards the house. ‘Do you happen to know where Charles is at the moment?’
