by Donna Hatch
“Have your abigail pack your things. We leave first thing in the morning.”
She nodded, not questioning his use of the word “we.”
Cole made sure she was steady and in the care of her competent, sympathetic maid before telling his own valet, Stephens, to pack for him as well.
He went to White’s to meet his brother Grant, who’d agreed to see him. Inside the club, he found Grant sitting in a comfortable armchair in the shadows. He gave every appearance as if he sat lost in thought and nursing a drink, but a covert alertness to his eyes told Cole that Grant listened to every conversation around him and saw everyone who entered. Grant possessed the uncanny abilities of a chameleon. He could blend in with even the roughest thugs in London’s streets one moment, and consort with royalty the next. Of course, he made no secret of preferring the thugs over the royalty. As the black sheep of the family, Grant delighted in not only snubbing polite company, but grappling in the streets with thieves and murderers.
Cole pulled up a chair and sat. “Grant.”
“Cole.” Grant’s eyes glittered in the firelight. People often remarked that Grant looked the least like the Amesbury brothers. His eyes were steely gray, while the other brothers’ eyes were shades of blue. Grant’s hair was darker, almost pure black, as if reflecting his dark soul. He looked the most hardened with a long, ragged scar that ran the length of his face. He’d come home from the war with it, and had never offered an explanation. He’d always possessed a rather cutting sense of humor, but he’d returned home more caustic, and more closed up.
“Mind telling me why you summoned me here?” Grant growled.
“I need your help.”
Grant’s expression did not change, but he raised one brow slightly and spoke in dry tones. “How quaint. The eldest asking his younger brother for help. Why don’t you ask Jared?”
“He’s indisposed. And I need your particular skills.”
“I see.” Grant sounded bored, but his eyes lit.
Cole paused. “You must keep this confidential.”
“Of course.” Grant waved impatiently.
After glancing around to ensure they were alone, Cole took a breath and plunged in. He described the events as they had unfolded, beginning with the duel and ending with the death of Willard Palmer. Grant listened without interrupting, his expression never changing.
When Cole finished speaking, Grant nodded absently. “You’re right. This is part of a grander scheme. I need to question her, see if there are any other incidents she may believe were unconnected at the time.”
Cole paused. “Ah, I don’t want her to know anything yet—either that she’s in danger, or that I’ve contacted anyone.”
Grant looked disgusted. “You’re in love with her.”
Cole sighed and braced himself for the sarcastic comment he knew Grant’s cynical mind was formulating. “I am.”
Grant made an inarticulate noise of revulsion, but instead of the insult Cole expected, he asked, “Exactly how involved are you with her?”
Now that was a question. Cole hesitated, but knew that if he withheld any information, his brother would unravel it on his own anyway, which would create further complications. Cole grimaced but answered truthfully, not withholding any pertinent information. Surprisingly, no judgmental frown appeared in Grant’s face, only a clear absorption of facts.
When Cole finished, a rare smile touched one side of Grant’s mouth. “You are in a corner.”
Cole let out his breath slowly. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“I’ll begin immediately. Meanwhile, question her discreetly, and keep your eyes open for anyone who might wish the family harm. We have no motives and no suspects, yet.” His eyes glittered at the thought of the hunt.
Cole almost shivered at the feral glint in Grant’s eye. “I’ll send word if I find anything else.”
Grant asked more background questions regarding her parents, nodded, and left without preamble. Cole returned home to dash off a few quick notes and make necessary arrangements. After spending the night pacing and agonizing over decisions he faced, he ensured the groom hitched his favorite horse, André, to the baron’s coach. The servants loaded Alicia’s trunks while she waited in the foyer, dressed in traveling clothes.
She turned soulful eyes upon him. “I posted a message to my husband but he will not have even received it yet. I don’t know what business he had that could not be conducted in London. I thought business is what brought us here.” She clenched together her hands.
“I’m here for you, Alicia,” he said gently.
She glanced at the servants, but they waited at a discreet distance and would not overhear her words. “And may I be assured that you will behave as a gentleman?”
Her question, though valid, stung. He drew himself up. “I give you my word.”
She nodded wearily.
Keeping his word proved easier since he’d arranged for company as they traveled together over the next few days on the way back to Alicia’s former home. Stephens and Monique rode with them in the same coach, which left Cole little opportunity to break his promise. Stephens worked his Romany charm with Monique. They flirted and laughed most of the way, leaving Alicia to stare out of the window and Cole to watch her with growing hunger.
Late one evening after dinner, they relaxed in a sitting room of an inn. The quaint inn felt warm and restful, but the tension in the room mounted. Cole gave up trying to read after he realized he had been staring at the same page for an hour. He turned his attention to Alicia.
Her head bent over her embroidery, her expression serene except for the tiny frown of concentration at her brow, yet she remained unusually quiet.
“Alicia, what troubles you?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “I apologize if I have been poor company.”
He waited.
She lowered her hands and rested her needlework on her lap. “I’m concerned about Robert. And troubled about Uncle Willard’s death. And I… I wish the baron had come with us.”
Cole leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs in front of him. “Do you always speak of him as the baron? Have you never called him by his given name? Even in private?”
Alicia flushed. “No, I suppose not. I never think of him that way.”
“Are you so unhappy with him then?”
She glanced at him sharply and looked away. “No, of course not. I have been content. Why do you continue to ask me that?” Her voice sharpened.
“I only want to see you happy.” Cole braced himself for the tirade he knew would follow—he should not ask such personal questions, he was a reprobate for trying to steal his cousin’s wife, he was without honor—and she would be right on all accounts.
Instead, her voice quieted. “He spends little time at home. And now when I need him, he’s away.” She stopped as if she had revealed more than she thought prudent.
“He would have been here for you if he had known,” Cole suggested as kindly as he could, wishing he had never brought in Nicholas.
“I’m not so sure.”
“You don’t doubt him, do you?”
“I’m not certain of anything.”
“He would never betray you.” When the silence deepened, Cole pressed. “What else ails you?”
She drew a breath. “I feel guilty for harboring such unkind feelings for Uncle Willard.”
Exasperated, he said, “The man practically sold you to the highest bidder.”
“He had few options. Some men simply discard unwanted relations, but he took Hannah and me in.”
Outside, lightning flashed, followed by the slow rumble of distant thunder. A moment later, raindrops pattered against the window. She stared unseeing out into the darkness before speaking again.
“And now, Robert has no other family. His mother died years ago. His sister died as a child. He and Hannah were never close. Armand is gone. Now, his father. He is completely alone.”
“He has you,” Cole s
aid softly.
She turned to look at him as if she had forgotten he was there. Her lips curved in a brave, mirthless smile. “He doesn’t. Not anymore.” She arose, her needlework forgotten. “I believe I shall go to bed. Good night.”
He forced himself to remain still. Not gather her up into his arms and kiss her. Not scoop her up and carry her to his room. “Good night.”
Chapter 25
They pulled up in front of the Palmer manor house. Alicia regarded the structure with mingled dread and affection. Her whole life had been spent here. Joys and sorrows she had experienced here threatened to overwhelm her. As if sensing her rising emotions, Cole reached out and took her hand. He gave it a comforting squeeze. To her surprise, it helped.
As she and Cole alit from the carriage and the servants climbed out behind them, a footman Alicia had never seen before opened the door and a plump, motherly woman greeted them. The estate still appeared slightly understaffed, but at least it was functional. Every surface gleamed under constant care now.
“Good day, My lady. I’m Mrs. Dobbs, the new head housekeeper.”
Alicia introduced Cole as Lord Amesbury, her husband’s cousin. She also introduced Stephens whose teeth flashed against his darkly handsome face, and Monique, whose eyes flitted over the bare interior with a hint of condescension after the much finer baron’s home.
“Your rooms are prepared,” Mrs. Dobbs said. She directed footmen as to where to place the trunks.
Hannah flew to her and broke down in Alicia’s arms. “Lissie!”
“Good heavens, Hannah. Are you ill?”
Hannah’s letters had not reflected her poor health, and seeing her sister thusly was a shock. The pallor of her skin approached gray, and her golden hair had lost all of its former luster. Her eyes looked dull and lifeless and her body felt gaunt.
“Oh, it’s been simply terrible without you,” Hannah sniffed. “And Robert…”
“Where is he? Is he home?” When Hannah could not speak, Alicia glanced at the housekeeper.
“Mr. Palmer is still abed, my lady.”
Alarm began in Alicia’s stomach. “Is he unwell, then?”
“He’s been deep in his cups,” said Hannah. “Worse than ever. He keeps mumbling something about his family being taken from him as punishment for all his past misdeeds.”
“Oh, poor Robert. I will see to him at once.”
Hannah nodded. “I knew you’d make it all right now that you’re here.”
Alicia never failed to be both touched and overwhelmed by Hannah’s trust in her to resolve every problem. “Why don’t you go lie down, Hannah? I’ll see to Robert.”
Alicia knocked at the door of Robert’s room. There was no answer, of course. She opened the door to find a shapeless heap on the bed, reeking of spirits. She threw open the draperies and let the sun shine in.
“Wake up, Robert. It’s tea time.”
An incoherent mumble replied.
“Robert, I have made a very long journey, and I expect a civil greeting. Get up, or I will be forced to take drastic measures.”
The mumble turned into a grumble.
“I shall go and change out of my traveling clothes, and then I will return. If you are not awake by then, you will regret it.”
“Hmmmphmm.”
Alicia went to her old room, and with Monique’s aid, changed into an afternoon gown and re-styled her hair. Overcome by nostalgia, Alicia picked up and set down every object within the room while Monique unpacked her things. Though the last year and a half since she lost first Armand and then her parents had been a difficult, lonely time, there were so many other memories here. On the wall by the window were tiny marks that Maman had made, measuring Alicia’s height as she grew. The window seat, worn and faded, reminded her of rainy days spent reading, or learning embroidery, or simply dreaming. Several books, carefully dusted, remained sitting on the bookshelf.
She picked one up and opened it to find a tiny sprig of violets pressed into the pages, a token of young love her first ever suitor had given her. The top drawer of the desk held the secret compartment where she had hidden many childish treasures over the years.
Her first impulse was to call Cole and share it with him, but that would be inappropriate; respectable ladies never invited gentlemen into their boudoirs. The gentleman she should be inviting to her room was her husband, and for completely different reasons.
What a stubborn fool she had been! She should have accepted Cole’s offer to elope. Her hatred of him had been entirely misplaced. And though the social ramifications would have been unpleasant, as the eldest son of an earl, he would have deflected criticism. If she’d married him, she would be his wife.
Instead, she was married to a man whose face she’d never seen, who, in many ways, remained a stranger—a man she had never tried to accept, but who was good to her. There were things she admired about him, others she loved about him. He was intelligent, kind and patient, and possessed the heart of a poet. She’d never met such a gentle soul. He valued her as a person and never indicated he thought of women as annoyances or commodities. All he needed was a little encouragement from her. Not weeping every time he touched her would be a good place to start. And, more importantly he was not only fond of her, but would be faithful to her because he was a man capable of forbearance.
Unlike Cole. Despite his assurances to the contrary, she did not delude herself into believing that Cole’s life of debauchery would magically transform into one of fidelity after he wed. Her heart could never survive such betrayal by a man she loved.
For a number of reasons, it would be best to nurture her feelings for her husband and avoid developing any sort of feelings for Cole.
Too late.
Frowning, she went back into Robert’s room. As expected, the lump in his bed had not moved. Alicia firmly grabbed the blankets and threw them back revealing Robert sprawled in bed, naked from the waist up. She glared at him. His snoring never broke rhythm. She took the pitcher from the washbasin and carefully poured it over his head and torso.
He came up swearing and sputtering. When he recognized his assailant, he glowered at her, his wet hair dripping into his eyes. “Confound it, woman, are you trying to drown me or give me my death of cold?”
Rubbing a hand over his stubbled face, he staggered out of bed. Despite his state of undress, Alicia kept her gaze fixed unflinchingly on his face.
“Well done,” came a lazy, deep voice from behind her. “You’ve managed to wake the dead, I see.” Cole leaned against the doorframe, dangerous and handsome.
Robert glared at them both. “What are you doing here, Amesbury?”
“I escorted your cousin to your death bed, as it were.” Cole’s grin spread slowly over his face. “Come Alicia, let’s give the man some privacy now that he is back among the living.”
“Have you a valet yet?” Alicia asked Robert.
Robert’s glare deepened. “No. I am having difficulty persuading anyone to work for me. Respected gentlemen’s gentlemen seem to think we are a disreputable lot, what with forcing our family members to marry masked monsters to save ourselves from debtor’s prison.” He muttered another curse and pushed his wet hair out of his eyes.
“No matter. I shall send mine in to aid you with bathing and shaving,” Cole said.
When Robert began to protest, Alicia added, “You certainly look as if you’ve been dead and buried. And you smell the part as well. Let his valet work his magic on you. I shall expect you for dinner, since you are obviously not going to be able to join us for tea.” She eyed him in disapproval.
“Vindictive wench,” Robert grumbled.
Alicia smiled sweetly at him and left the room. She, Hannah, and Cole enjoyed sandwiches and cakes with their tea and chatted about nonsensical things.
Hannah looked dreadful. She even appeared to be losing her hair. Alarm took root and grew quickly. Perhaps she should bring Hannah home with her. But would her fear of the baron hinder a recovery?
/> Hannah went to lie down again in the hopes of taming a headache. After Hannah left, Alicia gave in to the desire to confide in Cole about a suspicion that had begun to grow.
“I’m alarmed about Hannah. I’ve never seen her so ill. And I also fear for Robert.”
His eyes flicked to her in interest, but his expression revealed nothing of his thoughts. “That he’ll drink himself to death?”
“That, too. But I fear that Armand’s death was not coincidental. Please don’t discount my words for the ravings of an overactive imagination, or a hysterical female, but I can’t help but suspect that somehow, someone has arranged all these ‘accidents’ that have beset my family.”
Cole’s expression never flickered. “What do you suspect?”
“Armand’s wound was superficial. You said when you visited him that you were informed that his injury was not life-threatening, no worse than the one you received from the highwaymen. Yet, he grew very ill, so badly that his arm had to be amputated as the sickness spread.”
“Even small wounds can sicken and become ultimately fatal.”
“Yes, but it seems too coincidental when I consider the rest. Then he developed that addiction as a necessity to help him deal with the pain. What’s odd is that he was trying to cut back and eventually quit. So when I found him…” She struggled a moment before she continued, “it was such a shock…” She had to stop again. “And we must consider the accident that took my parents.”
She rose and began to pace. “The carriage was relatively new and yet, the tongue broke, which caused the driver to lose control. We went off the road where the highway runs along the side of a hill. I specifically watched for similar conditions as we traveled here, and the road only runs along a hill in one place, and for only a few miles. But that happened to be where the carriage broke. No one survived, except me, and I was unconscious for days. I might have been left for dead.”
Cole watched her attentively but his face remained inscrutable.
“There’s more. I hadn’t thought it significant until now, but my mother had a bad fall when she was out riding only a few weeks before your duel with Armand. She was an excellent rider and had not fallen in years. The cause appeared to be a worn strap to her saddle, but I am beginning to suspect that it was cut cleverly enough to not appear deliberate.”
