A Regency Yuletide

by Sharon Sobel

  “How do you explain this then?”

  “I cannot.” Her lower lip wobbled and tears flooded into her eyes. “You must believe me, Lady Priscilla. I have no idea how her gown came to be covered with blood. When I found her already dead, she showed no signs of any wounds.”

  “How long was she alone?”

  Miss Baldwin shuddered. “Are you suggesting that someone came into her room after Lady Symmington left and did my lady harm?”

  “I am not suggesting anything, but there must be some explanation for the state of this gown.”

  “I know none.”

  “Mayhap a servant should be dispatched to intercept the hearse. If the late lady’s corpse was examined to determine how she lost so much blood when there is no tear in her gown, we would have the answer to this mystery.”

  Lord Eastbridge stepped forward and frowned. “Lady Priscilla, I believe this is a matter for the coroner to consider, not you.”

  She recoiled from his venomous tone. Halting Neville before he could fire back a retort, she gathered up the gown. “I will have it sent to him posthaste.”

  “No, she was my wife. I shall have it delivered to him.” He snatched it from her, and she heard lace rip.

  “Take care!”

  “I do not need you two sticking your noses into this, trying to stir up trouble.”

  Neville stepped forward. His hands were clenched by his side. Priscilla knew he was furious at the earl, but remained determined to find the truth.

  “Do you have any idea,” Neville asked in a low and tightly controlled voice, “how the gown could have gotten bloody? Did you see any wounds on Lady Eastbridge when her body was wrapped in shrouds for the trip to your home?”

  “Don’t be absurd!” Lord Eastbridge said, rolling the gown into a ball.

  “You did not see anything?”

  “I left that task to the servants.”

  Neville asked coolly, “Which ones?”

  Shoving the gown into Miss Baldwin’s hands, Lord Eastbridge seemed unaware of her horror. He pointed toward the door. “I have answered enough of your questions. How do I know that you did not arrange for this dress as a Twelfth Night prank, Hathaway?”

  “Have you lost your mind, Eastbridge?” asked Neville with the calm iciness that Priscilla knew was a thin cover for his most heated fury. “What sort of man do you think I am?”

  “Good day, Hathaway, my lady.” Lord Eastbridge turned his back on them.

  “Lord East—” Priscilla began.

  “I said good day.” The earl walked into one of the attached rooms and slammed the door.

  Miss Baldwin stared at the bloodstained dress, then dropped it to the floor. Putting her hand over her mouth, she ran into another room.

  Jeannette picked up the dress. Without looking at Priscilla or Neville, she left, too.

  Priscilla put her hand on Neville’s proffered arm. With what dignity she had left and fighting to keep her anger at Lord Eastbridge’s pigheadedness from exploding, she walked out with him.

  Neville led her to the far end of the half-circle gallery that overlooked the foyer below. Standing in front of the great Palladian window, they could see if anyone came toward them on either floor.

  “I see you were entertaining yourself in fine style while I was riding through snow and wind to get no answers,” Neville said. He looked out at the swirling snow. “Actually I did get one answer. No one sent for the coroner.”

  “Then why were we told that he had been called in and we must stay in case he wished to speak with us?”

  “Someone is lying, Pris. Someone wants to cloud the truth about Lady Eastbridge’s death, betwattling us until we throw up our hands in defeat.”

  Priscilla arched a single brow, as he often did. “Then they invited the wrong guests to this Twelfth Night gala. You and I do not give up when there is a puzzle to be solved.”

  “That bloody gown complicates everything.”

  “Yes.” She sighed as she sat on the windowsill. “I am realizing only now that I did not do more than glance in the direction of the countess’s body. She may have been injured horrifically, but the wounds were hidden by the covers on her bed.”

  “A difficult thing to hide.”

  “I agree, but . . .” She rubbed her palms together. “I wish I had looked more closely.”

  “There is only one thing to do.”

  “What is that?”

  He looked past her out into the storm. “We need to send the coroner in pursuit of Lady Eastbridge’s corpse.”

  Chapter Nine

  PRISCILLA AND NEVILLE sat at one side of their sitting room. Daphne, Leah and Isaac were playing cards on the floor closer to the hearth. The children were focused on their game, so they paid no heed of their elders’ quiet conversation. Neville had suggested he and Priscilla speak in their private chamber, but Priscilla suspected a glass would be pressed against the door as the children tried to eavesdrop. She had learned long ago that holding a conversation where they could choose to listen usually meant that they paid no attention. There was no amusement in not getting the upper hand on their parents.

  And there was nothing funny about the topic she discussed with Neville. “That much blood,” she said, “suggests that the violence against Lady Eastbridge was devastating.”

  “And probably personal.”

  Priscilla wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against Neville’s strong body. “I have been trying not to think of that, but after seeing that gown, I have to agree.”

  “If she was attacked while wearing that dress, we must assume it was someone she knew well. Someone she would allow close to her.”

  “That suggests her family and her servants.”

  “Yes. Which one of those apparently decent people would have slain her?”

  He slipped his arm around her. “Pris, you always see the best in everyone. One of those people is wearing a mask as surely as if they were at the Twelfth Night masquerade. Also spreading lies, although I have no idea why anyone who may have played a part in her death would want the coroner to come here.”

  “Those small idiosyncracies are unsettling, Neville.” She sat straighter and met his eyes. “I would swear that the grief I have seen on Lady Eastbridge’s family’s and retainers’ faces is real. Even though I believe there might be an intimate connection between Miss Baldwin and the earl.”

  “All the more reason for them to put out the countess’s lights.” He arched a brow, giving him a devilish demeanor. “But we need facts, Pris.” “I know, and I hope neither the earl nor that young woman had anything to do with Lady Eastbridge’s death. I—”

  A frantic knock was placed on the door, and Pris stiffened.

  “I will get it.” Neville stood. “Mayhap it is Grove, wanting further information about what you discovered, Pris, before he sets out after the corpse.”

  “And what I found, too!” piped up Isaac.

  “And most definitely you, you hawk-eyed lad.” Neville winked at the boy, then went to the door. Opening it, he said, “Duncan!”

  The spry Scotsman bounced into the room. “I must ask you a great boon. Come to my rooms.”

  “When?”

  “Now!”

  Priscilla came to her feet. “Is something amiss, Duncan?”

  “No! Just come now.” He smiled at the children. “All of you!”

  “Why?” asked Neville. “Duncan, old chap, you are welcome to join us here while we have a comfortable coze.”

  He shook his head. “No. Come with me. Now! You will understand when you get there.”

  Priscilla hooked her arm through her husband’s. “Neville, if you don’t tell him that we will go with him, I believe he will burst.”

  The children pelted Duncan with question
s, and, for once, Priscilla did not chide them for being too curious. She was, too, and she could not imagine why Duncan insisted they come to his rooms in another wing of the house.

  Neville motioned for her to drop back so he could talk to his friend alone. If Neville had hoped that Duncan would be more forthcoming when it was only the two friends in the conversation, he was sorely disappointed. Or so it appeared from the taut line of Neville’s jaw.

  Priscilla almost stepped forward to tell Duncan that this was not the time for one of his hoaxes. She did not, because she and Neville had agreed to speak to no one else about what Isaac had found and the message Whitelaw had been sent to deliver to the coroner.

  When Duncan opened a door and bowed them in, Priscilla was unsure to what to expect. She stepped into the room and stared. The chairs had been arranged in a half-circle, leaving the center of the room empty. Otherwise, the sitting room looked much like the one they had left.

  “Do sit down,” Duncan urged. “I am glad that you are here to witness this.” For once, his eyes did not twinkle with mischief. In fact, his face had taken on a decidedly feverish appearance.

  “Are you feeling unwell?” Priscilla asked.

  He gulped, then motioned toward the chairs in the sitting room. “If you please . . .”

  Steering her children to the chairs, Priscilla hushed their questions. She had no answers to give them.

  She watched as Duncan stood in the very center of the space between the curved row of chairs. He glanced at a clock on the mantel, then at the door. He clearly was expecting someone to arrive in the next few minutes.

  “It seems we are a bit early,” Duncan said.

  “Early for what?” asked Leah before Priscilla could speak.

  “For what is to happen.” His face became gray again. “Or what I hope will happen.”

  This time, Daphne asked, “And what is that?”

  Either Duncan failed to hear her, or he pretended not to.

  Priscilla put her finger to her lips and looked at each of her children in turn. They nodded, but she saw the curiosity burning in their eyes.

  As five minutes became ten, then fifteen, then twenty, Isaac began to shift on his chair. Leah started rocking her feet back and forth. Even Daphne was finding it impossible to sit still. As for Duncan, he kept glancing at the clock, then going to the door. He opened it and looked out before closing it again. He kept repeating the same motions over and over.

  Priscilla turned to Neville. “How much longer do you think he intends us to wait?”

  “I have no idea,” Neville whispered.

  “Did he give you any clue as to why he wanted us to come here?”

  “He said only that there is a great pronouncement he wishes to make.”

  Priscilla’s eyes widened as she glanced from him to Duncan who paced back and forth like a fox trying to find its way through a hedge. “You don’t think . . .?”

  Before Neville could answer, the door opened.

  Aunt Cordelia swept in, as always making an entrance worthy of a diva commanding the stage. She would be deeply offended at the comparison, but it was the only one that came into Priscilla’s mind. Her gown of a deep purple was worthy of a Shakespearian queen.

  “I trust this is vital,” she said in her most vexed tone. “I was busy with overseeing the packing of my bags. As soon as we can leave this dreary place, I wish to be on my way.”

  Duncan walked over to her. His usual jolliness had vanished, and his hands shook. He clasped them behind him until he reached where Aunt Cordelia stood. Then he held one hand out to her.

  “I am—” His voice cracked, and he began again. “I am pleased that you could join us, my dear Cordelia.”

  “Us?” She frowned as her gaze swept over Priscilla and her family. “What is this flummery, Duncan? I—” She gasped as Duncan dropped to one knee in front of her.

  Beside Priscilla, her daughters drew in sharp breaths of anticipation. Priscilla looked at Neville who arched a single brow and began to grin.

  “My dearest lady,” Duncan began, his accent once more deepening into a Scottish burr, “‘tis a fortunate man who chances to find the woman of his dreams. ‘Tis an even more fortunate man who chances to find the woman of his dreams when she can return his favor.”

  “By all that’s blue,” murmured Neville, “the man is utterly addled.”

  Priscilla slapped him on the arm and hushed him. She did the same to Daphne when her oldest began to giggle with excitement.

  “I know,” Duncan went on, “that a fair lass like yeself could do far better than an ole gloach like me, but I ask ye, fair Cornelia, will ye do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Priscilla could do no more than stare at her aunt and Duncan. She half-expected Aunt Cordelia to chide him for speaking of matters of the heart under the circumstances.

  Instead Aunt Cordelia drew Duncan to his feet. She slipped her arm around his and cooed, “Isn’t he absolutely the sweetest man? How could I say no?”

  “So ‘tis an aye?” asked Duncan.

  “Of course it is, darling.” She threw her arms around him and gave him a resounding kiss.

  Neville murmured something that sounded like, “Now he will live beneath the cat’s foot. Poor fool.”

  Priscilla could not argue with that. Duncan would be a henpecked husband, subject to regular curtain-lectures, but he clearly had a true amour for Aunt Cordelia, and theirs would be a love match. He was the only person Priscilla had ever known who could persuade her aunt to toss aside Society’s expectations. Even a bit.

  With her mind reeling at the very idea of actually hearing her aunt cooing, Priscilla gave Aunt Cordelia a hug. She was shocked when her aunt gave her a warm squeeze in return.

  “I wish you every happiness, Aunt Cordelia,” Priscilla said.

  “Thank you, my dear. I knew if I waited another good man would come along.” She scowled in Neville’s direction.

  Priscilla said something trite, then stepped back to let her children give their great-aunt a hug. One of these days, she would not be able to curb her tongue any longer and demand that her aunt stop insulting Neville. Knowing it would be a complete waste of her breath was not what halted her. It was the fact that Neville seemed to revel in discovering what new slur Aunt Cordelia had devised each time they met.

  Giving Duncan a kiss on the cheek, Priscilla welcomed him to the family. He looked about ready to swoon, so she sent Neville to get him a generous serving of whisky. As soon as he tossed it back and went for a refill, Duncan’s normally ruddy coloring had returned.

  “And, my dearest Cordelia,” Duncan said, “I cannot wait for you to see the gift I have had delivered to your country house.”

  “A gift?” Aunt Cordelia sounded as young and excited as Leah. “What is it?”

  Before Duncan could tell her about the statue of the nude lovers, Neville decided this would be a good time for them to withdraw and leave the love birds alone. When neither Duncan nor Aunt Cordelia protested his suggestion that he and Pris take the children back to their rooms, Neville could not help smiling.

  “Are you now my uncle?” he asked as he shook Duncan’s hand before taking his leave. “Unc Dunc, mayhap?”

  “Great name!” shouted Isaac. “Unc Dunc! Unc Dunc!” He began to dance around the room as he repeated the name in a singsong voice.

  When Pris shook her head at him, Neville could only laugh. He had not realized the boy was close-by, but Duncan was chuckling at the joke, too. A storm was brewing on Aunt Cordelia’s brow, however, so Neville decided they should make their escape straightaway.

  The children chattered like a flock of magpies as they went out into the passage. When Daphne mentioned something about the wedding, her brother and sister teased her for being moony. Soon they were giggling together.

>   Walking behind them, Neville put his arm around Pris’s shoulders and said, “Now that was quite the surprise, I must say!”

  “I agree. Do you believe in fairies?”

  He laughed. “Pris, if you are about to say that your real aunt has been spirited away by the fairies and replaced with a changeling, I must remind you that she is long out of her cradle. I have never heard of the fairyfolk stealing a grown woman.” He winked as he leaned toward her. “And if they were want-witted enough to take her, you can be sure that they would have returned her before any of us noticed she was gone. I cannot imagine Titania and Oberon welcoming her into their midsummer’s night’s dream.”

  “Maybe Puck. That trickster would enjoy switching my prickly aunt with this cooing copy.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Did you hear her? Neville, she cooed.”

  “I believe we owe Duncan a tremendous debt, for he has tamed the she-dragon who is your aunt.”

  “Don’t count on that.” Priscilla smiled as she leaned her head once more on his shoulder. “My aunt may mellow when she is in his company, but Aunt Cordelia has never been changed by one of her husbands.”

  “I suspect Duncan is nothing like her previous husbands. I met only the most recent, and he seemed to be forever suffering from the dismals. Or was he simply regretting the decision he had made to offer for her?”

  With a laugh that slid along his skin like a delicious caress, she said, “He was always a grim gentleman. I think he had high hopes for controlling Aunt Cordelia’s assets, but he quickly learned he was mistaken.”

  “Duncan is no fortune-hunter.”

  “Which may be why Aunt Cordelia was giddy at his offer of marriage. He . . .” As her voice faded, she raised her head.

  Lady Symmington was walking toward them at a determined pace. She would have plowed right through the Flanders children if they had not skipped out of the way. They scowled at her back, but the baroness did not seem to sense their anger.

  She halted right in front of Neville. “I have been looking for you everywhere, Sir Neville.”