by Anna Bradley
There wasn’t much to do in the gamekeeper’s cottage while they waited for the light to change. Georgiana felt inexplicably shy around Benedict, and he didn’t seem to be much more comfortable than she was. She did notice him staring at her a good deal, but each time their gazes chanced to meet his darted away, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
After their encounter with Kenilworth’s scoundrels, she was as jumpy as a cat at the thought of the duke’s men pouncing on them when they left the cottage, but she was relieved when they were on their way at last, riding the two horses that had been hitched to Madame Célestine’s curricle. Either Benedict’s cautiousness had paid off, or luck was on their side at last, but they made it through the forest without encountering anyone.
But as soon as she got her first glimpse at Lord Draven’s estate, her heart sank. “It looks as if the house is closed.” There wasn’t a soul to be seen, not even a stray gardener, and all the shutters were drawn tight. “It’s sealed up like a tomb.”
“There has to be someone here. Remember, Draven was being taken to his country estate the day we spoke to Mrs. Bury.” Benedict’s brow furrowed as he frowned up at the house. “No, this way, Georgiana,” he added when she set her horse’s head in the direction of the main entrance. “We’ll go in the back way.”
Georgiana followed him along the western edge of the tree line to the stables, which were clean and well-provisioned, but deserted. Benedict led their horses to two empty stalls, then they made their way across the back drive on foot to a door she suspected must lead into the kitchen. Benedict strode up to it and gave it a firm knock, as if he traipsed through the woods to this door every day, and hadn’t any doubt he’d be welcome.
It was some time before anyone answered the knock, long enough so Georgiana’s heart had begun to sink again, but when Benedict knocked a second time, she heard footsteps approach, and a moment later a stout, dark-haired woman with a kindly face answered the door. Her tidy gray dress and the ring of keys at her waist marked her as the housekeeper.
Her eyebrows flew up when she saw them. “My goodness. Where did you two come from?”
“Lord Haslemere, to see Lord Draven.” Benedict stepped up to the door, every inch the distinguished earl who couldn’t imagine he’d be turned away.
“Oh, my lord, I beg your pardon. We’ve been here a week, and not set eyes on a single soul aside from the staff. It startled me, it did, finding you here on the doorstep.” The woman’s hands fluttered nervously. “But I’m afraid Lord Draven isn’t well, and isn’t able to see visitors.”
Benedict raised a haughty eyebrow. “I’m the Earl of Haslemere, and an acquaintance of Lord Draven’s. I’m aware his lordship has had an…unfortunate accident. I’ve come to see how I might help him.”
The woman dropped into a hasty curtsy. “That’s kind of you, my lord, but there’s no help for poor Lord Draven. Not now, leastways, and perhaps not ever again.”
An anxious lump rose in Georgiana’s throat, and she pressed closer to the door. “Perhaps not ever again? Is…is the earl not expected to recover?”
The housekeeper gave a sad shake of her head. “I can’t say for sure, Lady Haslemere.”
Georgiana glanced at Benedict and found him staring back at her with the oddest look on his face, but he didn’t correct the woman, and by the time Georgiana gathered her wits to do so, the moment had passed.
“His poor lordship hasn’t regained consciousness since he was brought here from London several days ago,” the housekeeper went on, oblivious to the sudden tension. “He just lies in that bed, he does, as still as death. The doctor says his injury is severe, and he may not wake up again.”
Without thinking, Georgiana took the woman’s hand. “We’re very sorry to hear of Lord Draven’s misfortune, Mrs….”
“Mrs. Ellery, Lord Draven’s housekeeper. Cook too, if truth be told, but we do what we must, don’t we, my lady? It’s no fuss, really, what with there being just the four of us here aside from Lord Draven.” She leaned forward confidingly. “All of Lord Draven’s previous servants scattered to the winds when his lordship settled in London, you understand.”
Georgiana did understand—far more than Mrs. Ellery imagined she did. “We’ve just come from a long ride, Mrs. Ellery. Might we come inside for a cup of tea?”
Mrs. Ellery blinked. “I beg your pardon, Lady Haslemere. You must think me an utter savage. Please do come inside.”
“Thank you.” Benedict took Georgiana’s arm, and the two of them followed Mrs. Ellery into the kitchen.
“Oh, dear. I didn’t think…the drawing room fire hasn’t been laid. There isn’t much call for it, there being no visitors—”
“That’s perfectly all right, Mrs. Ellery. Lord Haslemere and I are happy to sit in the kitchen.” Georgiana pulled out a chair and seated herself at the massive table in the center of the room. “Aren’t we, my lord?”
“Whatever suits you, my dear.” Benedict gave her a sly wink, then seated himself beside her. “Please don’t go to any trouble on our account, Mrs. Ellery.”
Mrs. Ellery was pouring hot water into the teapot and arranging some biscuits and tea things on a tray. “It’s no trouble, my lord, and you must have your tea, mustn’t you?” She bustled over, placed the tray on the table, and helped them each to a cup of tea.
“You mentioned there are four of you here, Mrs. Ellery.” Georgiana accepted the teacup Mrs. Ellery passed her and helped herself to several lumps of sugar.
“Yes, that’s right. It’s just me and two housemaids, and I don’t mind telling you, my lady, we lose track of each other in this big, grand house.”
“It looks as if someone’s taking care of the stables, as well. I hope you don’t mind that we left our horses in two of the stalls, Mrs. Ellery,” Benedict said.
“Not at all, my lord. Peter, the stable boy, will see to them. He’s but a young one, Peter, but he’s a good lad, and a hard worker. Has a way with the horses, too.” Mrs. Ellery sipped at her tea. “He’s from High Wycombe, is Peter. His family has lived here for years.”
Georgiana glanced at Benedict. “You don’t hail from Oxfordshire yourself, Mrs. Ellery?”
“Oh, heavens no, my lady. I’m here from London. Mrs. Bury, Lord Draven’s London housekeeper, hired me and Martha—she’s one of the housemaids—in London. High Wycombe’s a pretty place, Lady Haslemere, but a bit quiet for my tastes.”
Georgiana gave Mrs. Ellery a polite nod, but her heart was sinking once again. Mrs. Ellery and Martha weren’t familiar with the neighborhood, and wouldn’t be able to tell them anything about Lord Draven, Kenilworth, Clara Beauchamp, or the duel. That left Peter, and the other housemaid.
“Is the other housemaid from High Wycombe?” Benedict asked, stirring his tea with a distracted air, as if he were merely making conversation and the answer was of little consequence to him.
If Mrs. Ellery thought their curiosity strange, she didn’t remark on it. “Rachel? Well, I don’t rightly know where Rachel hails from, now you ask, my lord. She’s…oh, here she is now. Is it time to try Lord Draven’s broth again already, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Georgiana turned to find a housemaid who looked to be about four or five years older than she was standing in the doorway. She was rather pretty, with a smooth, pale face and dark hair tucked under a lace cap.
“Lord and Lady Haslemere were just asking where you’re from, Rachel. Not Oxfordshire, is it?” Mrs. Ellery bustled about the kitchen, preparing another tray with a bowl of broth.
“No, ma’am. Herefordshire. Thank you, ma’am,” she added when Mrs. Ellery handed her the tray, then she turned and left the kitchen without another word.
“She doesn’t talk much, that one,” Mrs. Ellery said, once the housemaid was gone. “But she’s a good girl, for all that, and an excellent nurse to Lord Draven. She takes
such good care of his poor lordship there’s nothing left for Martha or me to do for him.”
Georgiana and Benedict chatted with Mrs. Ellery for a while as they finished their tea, then Georgiana rose from the table. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Ellery. We’ll be on our way now, and let you get back to your work.”
Benedict rose, as well. “Our best hopes for Lord Draven’s recovery, Mrs. Ellery.”
Mrs. Ellery’s face fell at the reminder of Lord Draven’s pitiable state. “You’re very kind, my lord. That’s the best we can do for him now. Hope, and pray.”
“Indeed,” Georgiana murmured. “No, no need to escort us to the front door, Mrs. Ellery. We’ll just nip out the back.”
“Hope, pray, and catch the scoundrels who did this to him and make them pay for it,” Benedict muttered as they bid Mrs. Ellery a final farewell and made their way back across the carriage drive toward the stables. “Despicable villains, beating a man so brutally.”
“Not as despicable as whoever ordered them to do it.” Georgiana thought of Kenilworth’s icy gray eyes and a shudder ran over her.
They entered the stables then, and found a lad of twelve or thirteen years of age brushing one of Madame Célestine’s horses. The other horse had already been rubbed down and brushed and was in a clean stall, munching contentedly on some hay.
“Peter, is it? Good job with the horses, lad.” Benedict strode forward and dropped a coin into the young man’s hand.
Peter’s eyes widened at the guinea resting on his palm. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Mrs. Ellery mentioned you’re from High Wycombe, Peter. Do you know Lord Draven’s family at all?” Benedict asked, stroking an affectionate hand down the horse’s nose.
“Not much, my lord. I don’t remember the earl as was, and this earl,” Peter jerked his head toward the house. “Don’t remember him much, either. He doesn’t come here.”
“You couldn’t have been much more than a child the last time Lord Draven was here,” Benedict said, more to himself than Peter. “Did you ever hear any talk in the neighborhood about Lord Draven fighting a duel?”
“What, ye mean the duel with the duke?” Duels were rare enough, and a duel between a duke and their lordly neighbor a thrilling occurrence in a small village like High Wycombe. Peter brightened considerably at mention of it. “Aye, I heard of it. People say as it was over a young lady.”
“Yes, I believe it was. Do you know what occasioned the disagreement?”
“The way I heard it, both the duke and Lord Draven was in love with the lady. That’s what duels are always about, innit? Nobles fighting over women or money? Begging yer pardon, my lord,” Peter added, flushing.
Georgiana stepped forward as Benedict waved the apology off. “What about the Beauchamp family, Peter? They lived in this neighborhood too, didn’t they?”
“Aye, my lady, but the Beauchamps are all dead and gone now.”
“Do you remember them at all? There was a daughter in the family—Clara Beauchamp. Do you remember her?”
Peter shook his head. “Nay, except I know she were lost somehow, and never found, and the family right sorrowful about it, my lady. My grandmother was housekeeper for the Beauchamps back then, and she used to say as Mrs. Beauchamp died of grief over it.”
“Your grandmother? Does your grandmother still live in High Wycombe, Peter?” Georgiana clasped her hands together, sending up a quick prayer that Peter’s grandmother was still alive, and had an excellent memory.
“Aye, my lady. She’s got a little cottage down Crescent Road way.”
Georgiana looked at Benedict, hope surging in her chest. “Do you suppose she’d mind if we paid a call on her?”
Peter gave them a doubtful look, as if he couldn’t imagine what a lord and lady would want with his grandmother, but then he shrugged, and his face split in a boyish grin. “Well now, I think she’d like that just fine, my lady. I can tell ye where she lives, if ye like.”
“We would, Peter.” Benedict dug into his coat pocket and produced another coin. “We’d like it very much.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mrs. Payne, a tiny, white-haired lady of near seventy years of age, lived in a little white cottage at the end of a rutted road just outside of High Wycombe. Benedict doubted Mrs. Payne received many visitors, but she welcomed them with perfect composure, as if aristocratic strangers appeared on her doorstep every day.
Once they were settled in Mrs. Payne’s tiny parlor with refreshments, Benedict got straight to the point. He and Georgiana had very little time left to get to the heart of the duke’s secret, and Mrs. Payne was their best chance of uncovering it.
“We hoped you’d be willing to talk to us about the Beauchamp family, Mrs. Payne. Your grandson Peter told Miss Har—that is, Lady Haslemere that you served as Mrs. Beauchamp’s housekeeper at one time.”
“That I did, my lord, that I did. She was a dear, sweet lady, never had a cross word to say to anyone. I don’t mind telling you I shed many a tear when she died.”
Benedict gave her a sympathetic nod. “The Beauchamps’ story is a tragic one. Were you attached to the family when their daughter Clara disappeared?”
“I was, and afterwards, too, up until Mrs. Beauchamp’s death. We didn’t talk about Clara after she went missing. Mrs. Beauchamp couldn’t hear Clara’s name without breaking down, and then she became so frail. The poor lady died of a broken heart, Lord Haslemere, and make no mistake.”
“I’m very sorry for it, Mrs. Payne. Mrs. Beauchamp’s grief must have been terrible to witness. Clara vanished the night of Lord Draven’s Christmas ball, I believe?”
“Aye. She was dressed all in white that night. Pretty as an angel, she was, and in such high spirits! It never occurred to any of us we’d never see her again after she left that evening.” Mrs. Payne’s pale, wrinkled hands shook as she sipped from her teacup.
“No, I’m sure it didn’t.” Benedict paused, choosing his next words carefully. “It was a strange evening. From what I understand, something transpired that night that led to a duel between Lord Draven and the Duke of Kenilworth.”
“There was a duel, aye, and a shameful thing two noblemen should behave so disgracefully.” Mrs. Payne sniffed. “But then that’s what happens when two proud, stubborn gentlemen fancy themselves in love with the same lady, isn’t it, my lord?”
The same lady.
Benedict had assumed, along with the rest of London, that the lady in question must be Jane, but what if they’d all been mistaken, and Jane wasn’t at the center of this mystery? What if it was another lady altogether?
What if, all this time, it had always been about Clara Beauchamp?
His heart was pounding as he turned his attention back to Mrs. Payne. “I understand the Beauchamps were close friends of Lord Draven and his family. Were Clara and Lord Draven friends?”
“Friends? Why yes, my lord. I’ve never seen two children more devoted to each other. One couldn’t separate those two for anything. It did my heart good to see them, such dear friends as they were.”
“I didn’t realize Lord Draven and Miss Beauchamp were such…close companions.” Georgiana’s keen hazel eyes were fixed on Mrs. Payne.
“Oh my, yes, and a good thing, too. Clara was a sweet little thing, Lady Haslemere, but innocent as a lamb. Lord Draven took care of her, watched out for her, especially when she became a young lady and the gentlemen started sniffing after her fortune. The Beauchamps had a good deal of money, and every scoundrel keen to get their hands on it.”
Benedict’s eyebrows rose. If Clara was prey to fortune hunters, then the Beauchamps must have had more money than he’d realized.
Mrs. Payne let out a mournful sigh. “It’s a great pity, what happened to Clara. Broke all our hearts, it did, but no one’s so much as Lord Draven’s. He was out of his head over it. He searched everywhere for
her, even after all the rest of us had lost hope. He gave up at last, poor soul, but he’s never got over the loss of her. That’s why he doesn’t come to High Wycombe now. The poor man can’t bear to be here without her.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Payne, but let me make sure I understand you.” Georgiana’s voice was faint. “You’re saying Lord Draven was in love with Clara Beauchamp?”
Mrs. Payne looked surprised. “Why yes, my lady, since he was a boy. He was maddened with grief when she disappeared. Went off to London and got himself into enough trouble there his father fetched him home, then ordered him off to the Continent. Saved his son’s life, I daresay. He would have destroyed himself otherwise. That’s how heartbroken he was over Clara.”
“Clara.” Benedict met Georgiana’s eyes. “All this time, it was never Jane, but Clara.”
Mrs. Payne looked from one to the other of them, baffled. “Jane? I don’t know of any Jane, my lord. It was always Clara for Lord Draven. She was a kind young lady, and a beauty, too, with that white-gold hair and those big blue eyes of hers. She caught the attention of more than one gentleman. But beauty is both a blessing and a curse, and so it proved for poor Clara.”
Benedict placed his teacup carefully in the saucer, his heart still racing. “I’m not sure I understand you, Mrs. Payne.”
“Why, I mean that dreadful business with the Duke of Kenilworth, my lord. Beauty like Clara’s tempts wicked men as surely as it does good ones, though I always thought the duke was more tempted by her money than he was by her face. He didn’t have any back then, you know. He was still a viscount when he first set his sights on Clara.”
Benedict frowned. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Payne, but Kenilworth had already become the duke by the time of Lord Draven’s Christmas ball.” He’d inherited the dukedom the previous summer.
“Aye, he was duke by then, but he set his sights on Clara well before that, my lord. He and Lord Draven were friends, you know. Kenilworth had been to High Wycombe a half dozen times before that party. He took up with Clara…oh, let me think now. She was seventeen, so…yes, it was nearly a year before that Christmas ball.”
