The Sinister Spinster

by Joan Overfield

  To his chagrin he almost stumbled across several other pairs of lovers, before making his way toward the conservatory. He'd achieved his objective and was making his way toward the door when he saw yet another pair of lovers slipping inside. For heaven's sake, he thought sourly, was he the only man in the house party not to have made an assignation? It was too lowering by half.

  "There, darling," a familiar voice cooed from the shadows. "Didn't I promise I would come? Stop pouting and make love to me."

  The duchess, he realized, his lips thinning in fastidious disdain. It was as well he'd rejected her invitation; it was one that had evidently been extended to most of the household. Not in the least interested in learning the identity of her grace's inamorato, he ducked behind the potted plants, keeping carefully in the shadows until he was able to affect his escape.

  Back in the ballroom, the dancing and merrymaking continued unabated. Not wishing to rouse suspicions, he was careful to dance with several of the ladies, but his attention was never far from the corner where Elizabeth sat with Mrs. Tremaine and several older ladies. That he now thought of her as Elizabeth as easily as he thought of her as Miss Mattingale was another thing that troubled him, for it indicated he had crossed one of the lines of intimacy he seldom allowed himself to cross.

  It was better—safer, he amended with a brutal flash of honesty—to keep that barrier of propriety between them. As she was forever pointing out, she was but a companion and he a marquess. Any hint of anything untoward between them was certain to end in disaster for her, and he was too fond of her to allow that to happen. He had always possessed the ability to bend his more impulsive nature to the iron control of his will; he would simply have to do so now.

  Still clinging to his resolve, Adam rose early the next morning and set out for his daily ride. Most of the household was still abed, recovering from the night's festivities, and he was looking forward to a bruising ride and an entire hour of blissful solitude. He accomplished the first easily enough and was well on his way to enjoying the second when he charged over the crest of the hill and glimpsed a hooded figure trudging through the fields paralleling the road. His eyes narrowed in instant recognition, and he set off down the hill in angry pursuit.

  The figure turned at the sound of his approach, and for a moment he thought she looked as if she might bolt. Instead she squared her slender shoulders, standing her ground as he thundered to a halt a few feet from where she stood.

  "I thought it was understood you would be taking your ease today," he said, scowling as he dismounted.

  "Understood by you, perhaps, my lord," Elizabeth replied in those precise tones he knew meant she was highly displeased. "For myself, I can recall no such conversation."

  "I told you to have a care for your shoulder," he reminded her, lips twitching as he approached her. Annoyed as he was, he still couldn't help but be amused by her recalcitrant nature. He also couldn't help but admire the pride that was as much a part of her as her soft blue eyes and delightfully pointed chin.

  Up came that delightful chin. "And so I have every intention of doing," she told him with a sniff. "But since I do not walk upon my shoulders, I am sure I shall be fine. Good day, sir; you won't wish your horse to grow restive, I am sure." And she turned and stalked away, the conversation clearly finished as far as she was concerned.

  He grabbed the reins of his horse before falling easily into step beside her. "You are bound for the milliner's again, I see," he observed, gesturing at the familiar hatbox swinging from her arm. "How many bonnets does her ladyship possess, if I may ask? Every time I come upon you, you seem to be carrying a hatbox."

  She jerked as if shocked by his observation. "No more than any other lady, I am sure," she said, keeping her eyes firmly fixed in front of her. "But as it happens, this is a bonnet Lady Derring purchased a few weeks past. She wishes to have the ribbon changed to another color, and asked if I would see to the matter for her."

  "And naturally you said you would." The bitter words slipped from between Adam's clenched teeth before he could stop them.

  She turned her head long enough to cast him a puzzled look. "Naturally. I am in her employ, after all."

  "So you are constantly reminding me, but what you haven't said is why it must be so," he said, a burning curiosity to learn more of the secretive woman walking beside him tearing at him. Yesterday he would have excused such interest as no more than his duty, but today he could find no such comfort. His interest in Elizabeth was entirely and deeply personal.

  "Didn't your father make arrangements for you prior to emigrating to America?" he asked, aware of how far over that invisible line he now trod.

  "No," Elizabeth said quietly, "he did not. When I refused to remain with him in America, he made it plain I could expect no further assistance from him. My mother's mother is set well enough and would have been happy to have me remain with her, but I've no wish to batten myself on an old woman. We agreed this position with Lady Derring would serve as a sort of test, and if I do well, Grandmother promised not to oppose me when I sought a more permanent position."

  Adam couldn't say why, but he was greatly relieved. "Then this is only a temporary position for you?"

  She nodded. "For six months. If I manage to survive that long without being given the boot or resigning, I shall be free." She clapped a hand over her lips and cast him a look of such horror that this time there was no holding back the chuckle that seemed to come from deep inside him.

  "Six months isn't so great a time," he said, smiling. "And who is to say, perhaps this ruinous war will have ended by then, and you and your father will have reconciled."

  A look of profound sadness flashed across Elizabeth's face. "Perhaps," she agreed, tightening her hold on the hatbox.

  Adam said nothing, a lifetime of reticence making it impossible for him to speak. He wanted to demand that she explain herself, but he felt hampered as much by the conventions as by his own wary nature. The loss of his parents within months of each other, followed by the mad scramble to gain control over his staggering inheritance had left him wary, and he'd learned to survive by holding himself aloof from everyone and everything. But he was finding he couldn't hold himself aloof from Elizabeth, and it troubled him that she could so effortlessly hold herself away from him.

  Keeping such thoughts private, he escorted her the rest of the way to the milliner's shop. His desire for her company was almost enough to overcome his masculine aversion to such places, but in the end he decided it wouldn't suit. Halting, he laid a staying hand on her arm and gazed down into her face.

  "I'll wait for you there," he said, indicating the inn across the narrow street. "Come and fetch me when you have finished. Do not," he added with a stern look, "even think of returning to Derring Hall without me."

  Her response was a raised eyebrow, followed by a mocking curtsy. "Yes, my lord," she murmured, a lively sparkle in her aquamarine eyes as she tilted back her head to meet his gaze. "Very well, my lord."

  He grinned. "Imp," he accused, flicking his finger down her pert nose. "Just mind you do as I say, else I shall be most displeased."

  Relatively certain she would do as he ordered, Adam led his ever-patient mount over to the inn. He turned him over to the waiting linkboy and was about to leave the stables when he caught sight of an elegant traveling coach. Recognizing the heraldic device painted on the side, he turned and hurried into the inn.

  He hadn't taken but a few steps inside when he heard his name called out.

  "Falconer! Ho there!"

  "Your grace," he said, hurrying forward to greet the older man with the magnificent mane of white hair flowing about his ruddy face who was striding toward him. "What are you doing here? You can't have received my letter already!"

  "Indeed, I have," Arthur, Duke of Creshton, exclaimed, clapping his hand on Adam's shoulder and adroitly guiding him toward the private parlor. "Came tearing down the moment I read it. But let's have a glass of wine, shall we? We've much to discuss,
and precious little time."

  Adam took his meaning and fell silent, holding his tongue until the door had closed behind him.

  "What do you think?" he asked, studying the man he regarded as both a mentor and a friend. For all his bluff ways and hearty manner, the duke was possessed of one of the most brilliant political minds Adam had ever encountered, and he was relieved to have the older man in his corner once again. His grace would know precisely what was to be done and the best way to do it.

  "What I think is that dashed fool Derring ought to be shot," the duke grumbled, his magnificent brows meeting in a scowl as he settled into his chair. "Why the Foreign Secretary saw fit to entrust so much as a piece of foolscap to him, I am sure I shall never know. Fellow has the brains of a flea.

  "Ah, well." He gave a philosophical shrug. "No use wringing our hands now. What's to be done, that's what's important. We discussed it on our way down, and I believe we've come up with just the thing."

  "We?" Adam brightened in relief. "Is Lord St. Jerome with you?"

  "I should say not!" the duke thundered, looking properly shocked. "You must know his viscountess is expecting his heir any day now, and it would take a brace of cannons to dislodge him from his estate. I've Elinore with me."

  "What?"

  "Stands to reason, don't it?" If the duke was offended by Adam's strangled gasp, he gave no indication. "Girl's accepted everywhere, and her being in the house gives us the perfect excuse to slip an agent into place. Daresay no one is likely to notice an extra footman or two about, eh?" He winked at Adam.

  Put like that, Adam had no choice but to agree. "No, I suppose not," he conceded, albeit with a frown. "But still—an agent? You think matters that serious, then?"

  The duke gave a grim nod. "Deadly serious. You must know the Austrians dislike the Russians even more than we hate the bloody Frogs, and it's likely they'll square off over the Polish Issue. Prince Bronyeskin is in to it up to his neck, and because of his closeness to the Grand Duchess we dare not touch him."

  "Are you certain Bronyeskin is involved?" Adam asked, having already given the matter considerable thought. "I've come to know the man, and I can't see him skulking about stealing papers."

  "Perhaps not," the duke said with another shrug. "But he bears watching, regardless."

  "What is your agent's name?" Adam asked, deciding to let the matter drop for the moment. "I should like to meet with him so I can give him the information I have already gathered."

  To his surprise the duke shook his head. "Not the way it's done, I am afraid. Marquesses don't meet with footmen, and if you was to seek him out, people would wonder. You tell me what you have, and I'll see it's passed on."

  The answer was not at all to Adam's liking, but before he could demand a more satisfactory explanation the door opened and a tall woman with her dark chestnut hair pinned back in an elegant chignon stepped into the room. When she saw Adam she gave him a cool nod, her gray eyes indifferent as they swept over him.

  "Lord Falconer," she said, her voice as precise and emotionless as if she were greeting a stranger. "How nice to see you again."

  Adam rose to his feet, his manner equally stiff as he offered her a bow. "Lady Elinore," he said, pride and a lingering hurt he refused to acknowledge making him wary. "You are well, I trust?"

  "There, you see?" The duke chuckled before his daughter could reply. "The two of you can pass a polite conversation without coming to blows. Sure you won't offer for her again, Falconer?" he added, giving Adam a roguish wink. "She might even say yes this time."

  "Papa!" Lady Elinore's pose as a haughty lady dissolved into mortification as she cast her father a horrified look.

  "Don't take on so, m'dear," he responded with a smug chuckle. "I was just having a bit of fun. A blind man can see the pair of you would not suit. And you needn't poker up like a dashed suit of armor, either, my lord," he said, shaking his finger at Adam. "You always were too serious by half."

  Adam could think of no reply. His offer for Elinore and the way she had flung it back in his teeth was still something of a sore point with him. However grateful he might now be that she'd had the good sense to refuse him, it would be some time before he could look upon the incident with anything approaching levity.

  "How is Mary, dearest?" the duke asked after a moment, covering the awkward silence with his usual ease. "Has she recovered?"

  "Yes, Papa. The tea seems to be settling her stomach. We should be able to resume our journey whenever you are ready.

  "Mary is my maid," she added by way of explanation to Adam. "Traveling upsets her stomach."

  "I see," he replied politely, although in truth he did not. Derring Hall was but a mile distant, and it made far more sense to him to press on rather than stopping. But that was Elinore for you, he decided; the woman never did what you expected. Rather like another lady he had recently come to know, he thought, biting back a smile as he thought of Elizabeth. Then he frowned.

  "Have you room in your traveling coach for one more?" he asked, a sudden thought occurring to him.

  "Certainly, dear fellow, certainly," his grace assured him affably. "In need of a ride, are you?"

  Adam shook his head. "Not me, no. I rode in. But Lady Derring's companion walked into town, and I believe she would welcome a ride home. She injured her shoulder yesterday, and I fear she may have overestimated her strength."

  "Then we should be delighted to oblige her," the duke said with a gracious nod. "Where is she?"

  "In the milliner's shop across the way," Adam said, rising to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just go fetch her."

  It was the perfect solution, he decided, making his way out of the crowded inn. Not only would it provide Elizabeth with a ride back to the manor, but it would also give his grace the opportunity to take her measure. However convinced he might be of her innocence, the fact remained that until the real culprit was apprehended, he couldn't completely dismiss her from suspicion. His own feelings for her were so tangled, he feared he'd long since lost his objectivity, and that he knew would not do. For Elizabeth's sake, if she was to be truly exonerated, it was best if that exoneration came from a neutral party. It was the only way she could be completely safe, and her safety was rapidly becoming a matter of paramount importance to him.

  "Consider it done, me darling." Mrs. Treckler gave Elizabeth a saucy wink as she slipped Elizabeth's letter inside the bodice of her gown. "Tom sails tonight, and this will be in America a'fore ye know it. Will there be an answer?"

  Elizabeth thought of the letter she'd written her father and shook her head. "No, Mrs. Treckler, there will be no answer."

  "All right, then," the milliner answered brightly, opening up the box and taking out the bonnet. "And what's to be done with this one, then? Not more fruit? The thing already looks like a bleeding orchard."

  Elizabeth bit her lip, her sadness giving way to amusement at the other woman's good-natured humor.

  "Her ladyship would like a different-colored ribbon, Mrs. Treckler. Something in peach, perhaps?" she said, giving thanks as she often did that her employer was so devoted to her hats. It was because of her devotion that she'd met the milliner and learned of her brother's interesting business; and, of course, carrying Lady Derring's bonnets to and from the manor had provided her with the perfect means of covering her true purpose for the meetings.

  "Peach?" Mrs. Treckler turned the bonnet this way and that, studying it with a knowing eye. "Aye, I reckon that would serve, although I've a lovely shade of pink that would be even better. I'll send a length of it along as well, shall I? That way you'll not need to make another trip. I trust we'll not be seeing as much of you as before?" And she gave Elizabeth a knowing look.

  "That would depend upon her ladyship," Elizabeth answered pedantically, although she thought it unlikely she would be spending quite as much time in the tiny shop. Most of her visits on Lady Derring's behalf had been the result of some gentle hint on her part that there was some problem with one of the c
ountess's many bonnets.

  The door opened behind her, and when she glanced over her shoulder she wasn't surprised to see Lord Falconer entering the shop. She'd been there for almost half an hour, and he'd never struck her as being the overly patient sort.

  "Have you finished?" he asked, walking up to join her.

  "Almost," she replied, more amused than vexed. "Mrs. Treckler and I were just discussing ribbon colors. Which do you think would look best on Lady Derring, peach or a soft pink?" she asked, unable to resist the urge to tweak him. He was behaving in his usual autocratic manner, and in her estimation such high-handedness deserved retribution.

  He refused to rise to the bait. "I am afraid I have little experience in such matters," he replied, taking her arm and guiding her toward the door. He sent a glance back to Mrs. Treckler, who was watching them with obvious interest.

  "Have the bonnet sent to the house when you are done, Mrs. Treckler, if you would be so kind," he said, and then pulled Elizabeth out the door before she could so much as protest.

  "Sir, that was very presumptuous of you!" Elizabeth protested, hurrying to keep up with his longer stride. "Lady Derring will have my head if I return without her bonnet. She plans to wear it this afternoon."

  "Her ladyship can make other arrangements," he replied, his jaw hardening. "I encountered the Duke of Creshton and his daughter, Lady Elinore, at the inn. They're on their way to the Hall; you may ride back with them."

  "What?" Elizabeth skittered to a halt, her eyes wide with horror. "But his grace sent word refusing the invitation!" she cried, imagining the fit of vapors her employer would have upon hearing the news. "He can't come now; it will upset the numbers!"

  He took possession of her arm again and began pulling her along with him. "You're not well-acquainted with his grace, else you'd know he is prone to changing his mind at the last moment," he said coolly. "As for Elinore, there's nothing she likes better than upsetting things."