A Rake's Redemption

by Cynthia Breeding

  Inis raised her head to stare at him, and Alex gave her a lazy grin. “It is a thought I don’t find repulsive.”

  She arched a brow. “Do ye have a wish to sport that black eye after all?”

  The grin widened. “Not really.”

  “Then there will be nae more such talk. I would like to do what we did again—”

  “So would I,” Alex said wryly.

  “But I will nae accept gifts,” Inis continued and then paused. “Although I guess buying me another truffle now and then would be all right.”

  Alex frowned. “What truffle?”

  …

  Alex forced himself not to push the horse to a trot on London’s uneven cobblestone streets the next day as they neared Dansworth House. When Inis had mentioned a truffle last night, he’d no idea what she was talking about. Now he had suspicions, none of them good.

  “Are ye sure ye want to do this?” Inis asked once they got back to the house.

  “I am positive,” Alex answered. “Go ahead to the library. I want to have a word with Mrs. Bradley and Evans.”

  “I doona think—”

  “Shhh. Humor me,” Alex said and bent to kiss her forehead. “Far too many odd incidents have happened.”

  Evans assured him all staff would be rounded up and placed in the parlor under Mrs. Bradley’s watchful eye. When he spoke to the housekeeper, her expression turned grave. She bade him wait a moment and soon returned with a piece of foil wrapping.

  “I don’t know if this will help, but I found it wadded into a ball under the stairwell three days ago.”

  “Interesting.” He took the paper and placed in his coat pocket. “Thank you.”

  Alex made his way back to the library and took a seat behind his desk. He rarely did that when he talked to his employees, but today he wanted to establish a position of authority. Inis had taken one of the straight-back chairs at the small working table. He almost told her to use one of the more comfortable armchairs near the hearth, but the table was closer to his desk and he liked the idea of having her near.

  The housekeeper sent Mary, Ivy, and Alice into the library individually. Each of them was pale and shaking, but they swore they knew nothing about Inis’s accidents. Watching their faces and gestures as closely as he would a poker player, Alex was inclined to believe them. He’d left the footmen to be questioned by Evans, since they would not have handled the laundry where the spider was found, nor would they have reason to be on the stairs to the fourth floor where the carpet had come loose. He couldn’t imagine any of them sending Inis a truffle, either. More than likely, they would have eaten it themselves.

  Elsie came in next, twisting a corner of her apron nervously.

  “Please sit,” Alex said.

  Her eyes grew round, but she perched on the edge of the chair Alex had placed in front of the desk. She looked as though she would take flight any second.

  “You were the one who brought Miss O’Brien’s laundry to her room when she received the spider bite—”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Let me finish,” Alex said. “I know we already went over this, but I want you to think. Did you see anyone else go in or out of the laundry room before you took the clothes up to Inis’s room?”

  Elsie shook her head. “I saw they were folded, so I thought I’d take them.”

  Alex sighed. He knew the laundry maid had been ill that morning, and a kitchen maid had taken the clothes off the line. She’d said she hadn’t folded them, yet Elsie had found them folded.

  “All right. What about the second accident on the stairs? Did you notice the loose carpet when you took things to the fourth floor?”

  Elsie shook her head again. “I would have reported it, my lord.”

  “Were you on the fourth floor that morning?”

  “No.” Elsie started crying. “I would never harm Miss Inis.”

  “Elsie was in the kitchen that morning,” Inis said. “The maids were all there. Fern’s mop cap got wet, and I came upstairs because she’d left her other one in my room.”

  Alex frowned. “How did her mop cap get wet? Was she not wearing it?”

  “She laid it on the table so she could get some food.”

  Alex lifted a brow. “She didn’t have time to put it on? Was she late?”

  “I doona ken,” Inis answered. “I usually eat earlier than the maids.”

  Alex turned to Elsie. “Do you know?”

  The maid wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Maybe ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes seems a long time to be looking for a mop cap.” Alex made a notation on the paper in front of him. “Now tell me about the truffle.”

  Elsie looked confused. “The truffle you gave Miss Inis?”

  “I did not give her a truffle,” he replied and watched for Elsie’s answer. Her expression didn’t change. “What makes you think I did?”

  “I saw you leave earlier in the day. I just thought…well, I thought you might have bought her a truffle.”

  “I might have thought of it,” Alex said, “but I did not.”

  “Then who did, my lord?”

  “That’s what I want to find out,” Alex answered. “Who prepared the tray?”

  “I don’t know. Fern brought it up.”

  “Fern?”

  Elsie nodded. “She said the cook was about to, but she had to go upstairs anyway.”

  Alex made another notation and asked a few more questions before he dismissed the maid and asked that Mrs. Olsen be sent in.

  The cook entered a few minutes later, still holding a towel. “You wished to see me, my lord?”

  “Yes, please be seated.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, I’ve got pots and pans on the stove,” Mrs. Olsen said. “I don’t want dinner to be burned.”

  “Of course not.” Alex smiled, knowing Mrs. Olsen didn’t like leaving her perfectly capable underlings in charge of anything. “I’ll get right to the point then. Did you make chocolate truffles the day Inis was injured in the park?”

  “I’ve not made truffles since Yule.”

  “Not even a special truffle on that day?”

  Mrs. Olsen frowned. “If I were going to go to the trouble of truffles, I would certainly not make just one.”

  Alex scribbled another note. “Do you recall anyone delivering a truffle to the kitchen?”

  “I didn’t see it.” Her frown deepened. “Do you think one of my helpers stole a truffle from a shop?”

  “No. A truffle was placed on the tray sent up from the kitchen that day, though.”

  She widened her eyes. “There was no truffle on that tray. I prepared it myself. Soup and fresh bread was all.”

  “You are sure?” Alex held up a hand at Mrs. Olsen’s indignant look. “Never mind. I am not doubting your word. Thank you.”

  After the cook left, Alex turned to Inis. “I think it is time we talked to Fern.”

  “Do you really think one of the servants would want to harm me?” Inis asked as they waited for Mrs. Bradley to bring Fern to the library.

  A muscle twitched in Alex’s jaw. “I would say someone might want to kill you.”

  His words sent a shockwave through her and the blood drained from her face. “But why?”

  “That’s what I don’t know,” Alex replied, “but even if the spider and the stairs were accidents, which I doubt now, the truffle needs to be accounted for. I am beginning to think you didn’t lose consciousness because of the bump on your head, but because the bloody truffle was poisoned.”

  Inis stared at him. “Poisoned?”

  “Perhaps. Did anything about it taste strange?”

  “Nae…well, it was a bit bitter.”

  Both of Alex’s brows rose, and he leaned forward. “Bitter?”

  “Aye, but it was dark chocolate—”

  “Many poisons are bitter,” Alex said, “and some are easily obtained. Did you feel ill before you went to sleep?”

  Inis shook her head. “I remem
ber feeling really full and tired. Elsie was saying something and I…”

  “You what?” Alex asked when she paused.

  “I fell asleep in the middle of what she was saying,” Inis replied, “but…I let Elsie have a taste…and the next morning she was ill.”

  The corners of Alex’s mouth tightened as the library door opened and Fern came in.

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You wished to speak to me?”

  “Yes.” Alex didn’t invite her to sit down. “What part of the house were you in the morning Inis was bitten by the spider?”

  “Wherever Mrs. Bradley sent me,” Fern answered and shrugged. “I do not recall.”

  “Was there a reason you left one of your mop caps in Miss O’Brien’s room the Saturday night after the incident?”

  “I took it off and forgot it.”

  “On purpose?” Alex asked.

  The maid frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Inis realized he was watching Fern with an intensity he probably reserved for his card games. He kept his face impassive and his voice neutral. “I have a theory. Perhaps leaving your cap in Miss O’Brien’s room served as an excuse for you to ask her to go upstairs and get the cap after you spilled liquid on the one you were not wearing.”

  Inis thought she saw Fern’s eyes flicker, but it was so fleeting she wasn’t sure. “You are wrong, my lord.”

  “Am I?” Alex asked the question in the same casual voice one might use discussing the weather. “Why did you put the truffle on Miss O’Brien’s tray?”

  “I didn’t. The truffle was already there.”

  “You looked under the napkin?” Inis asked suddenly.

  For a split-second, Fern’s composure faltered, and then the mask slipped back in place. “I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t spill anything.”

  Alex leaned back in his chair. “Mrs. Olsen said there was no truffle on the tray.”

  Fern hesitated. “Then someone else must have added it.”

  “Doubtful,” Alex said. “Mrs. Olsen was going to bring the tray up herself, and she said there was no truffle.”

  “Then she’s lying.”

  Alex lifted one brow. “I am more inclined to believe you’re the one lying.”

  Fern gave him a haughty look. “You’re accusing me of something you cannot prove.”

  “I cannot?” Alex asked, although the question seemed rhetorical since he didn’t wait for an answer. “Several kitchen maids were about. They have already been questioned. There was no truffle on that tray when you left the kitchen with it.”

  “They’re spreading false tales because they don’t like me,” Fern said.

  Alex folded a hand and studied his nails. “Things will go easier if you just confess.”

  Fern’s expression hardened. “To what?”

  He looked up, his face grim. “To wanting to harm—and perhaps kill—Miss O’Brien.”

  “You’ve taken leave of your senses, your lordship.” Fern practically snarled the words. “I don’t have to stand here and take this. I’m leaving.” She turned toward the door only to find it blocked by Evans and Jameson. She turned back to Alex. “Don’t try to trap me.”

  “I think I already did,” Alex answered. “You see, Elsie had a taste of the truffle and became ill afterward. I am quite sure Dr. Baxter can confirm both her reaction and Miss O’Brien’s are results of poison.”

  “You cannot prove—”

  “But I can.” Alex reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a piece of foil. “Mrs. Bradley gave me this a short time ago.”

  Fern’s gaze went to the paper and her face paled. “I have no idea what that is.”

  “It is the wrapper from the truffle,” Alex said. “My housekeeper found it under the stairwell, which is probably where you tossed it after you put the truffle on the tray. The chocolatier is proud of his confection and put his seal on the wrapper. He shouldn’t have trouble identifying you as the one who purchased it.”

  “I…I…”

  “What kind of poison did you use?” Alex’s voice was steely now.

  “I…”

  Inis’s blood chilled. Why would Fern try to kill her? None of the maids were overly friendly, except Elsie, but Inis had made a point not to burden any of them. As far as she could recall, other than the evening Fern sat in her room, they’d only exchanged a few casual words. Inis started to say something, but Alex held up a hand, warding her off.

  “What kind of poison, Fern?”

  Fern looked back to the door, which was still blocked, and then at Alex, who’d risen from his chair and looked about as imposing as the God of Thunder right now. “Out with it,” he said, “before I lose my patience.”

  She slowly sank onto the chair in front of the desk. “Belladonna.”

  Inis frowned. She knew some ladies put drops in their eyes to make them more alluring, but it was expensive. Certainly nothing servants could afford.

  Evidently, Alex thought the same thing. “And where did you get belladonna?”

  The maid remained silent.

  “Why did you want to kill me?” Inis had to know.

  Fern looked down at the floor and shrugged. “It wasn’t personal.”

  “Not personal?’ Alex’s voice rumbled like Thor’s hammer. “Making three attempts on her life was not personal? You wanted her dead.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

  “Then who in the bloody hell did?”

  She didn’t answer. Alex ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Covering up for someone is not going to keep you from being put in the gaol. Do you want to waste your life rotting away so the person who wanted this done can go free? The magistrate might go a bit easier on you if he decides you were only an accomplice.” Alex folded his arms across his chest. “With whom did you conspire?”

  Fern lifted her head, a bitter smile on her face.

  “Your lover. Miranda Locke.”

  The blood in Inis’s veins turned to ice as she stared at Alex.

  …

  The first mate of the French frigate docked on the Thames approached Miranda on the deck where several other passengers were waiting. “Your trunks have been taken to your stateroom.”

  Miranda turned, about to remind him she was a countess and should be addressed as a lady, but she remembered in time she’d assumed another name for this trip. She certainly did not want to call attention to herself. “May I go there now? I’m quite tired and would like to rest.”

  “Certainement. If you will follow me, s’il vous plait?”

  She adjusted her black mourning bonnet so more of her face was hidden and followed the man down a very steep staircase near the stern of the ship and into a short hallway. When he opened a door and stepped aside so she could enter, she silently cursed. The “stateroom” had a narrow cot attached to the bulkhead and a small table bolted to the wall across from it with a gimbaled oil lamp that swung over it. A metal chamber pot sat in brass braces in the corner. The whole place was not even the size of one of her closets, but she dare not complain. She’d been lucky to find a ship leaving for France on such short notice. “Thank you,” she said. “I should not like to be disturbed.”

  “Of course, madame. My sympathies for your loss.” The first mate bowed and shut the door behind him.

  Miranda tossed the bonnet on the bed and took off the plain black cape that covered a drab black gown. She hated the color, but as a grieving widow going to France to collect the body of her dead husband, she could hardly wear anything else. Her more colorful clothing rested in the trunks, along with her jewels and enough cash to sustain her for quite a while.

  She sat down on the hard-backed chair next to the table, not surprised to find it bolted to the floor. She hated ships, but at least it was a short trip. She cursed aloud now that no one could hear. If it weren’t for that idiot maid Fern blundering once again, she would not have to be doing this at all. That Irish bitch should be dead. Now,
her plan to show Alex they were meant for each other had to be put on hold.

  When Fern had come to her two days ago with the news that Inis O’Brien had survived the poisoning, Miranda had refused to pay the stupid girl. She obviously had not put enough belladonna—expensive belladonna Miranda had furnished her with—in the truffle.

  The girl had looked sullen when she left, and Miranda had held no naive beliefs she would remain loyal, even if her sister was in Miranda’s employ. Miranda doubted anyone would believe a maid’s word against that of a countess, especially since Miranda had never had any direct contact with the Irish hoyden. But the scandal of an inquisition was unacceptable. As a precaution, Miranda thought a trip to the Continent might be strategic at this time, although she’d told her husband she wanted to take the waters at Bath for several weeks. He hadn’t questioned her, but then she’d taught him years ago it was much wiser not to.

  She heard the shouted commands of the first mate and the sounds of the crew’s feet on the deck above as they moved to ready for sail. The ship slowly swayed and then rocked from side to side as it caught the current. It gathered speed as the rowers dipped oars, and Miranda gave a sigh of relief.

  She was on her way out of England.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alex lifted the decanter of brandy and poured a healthy portion into his snifter. He took a large swallow, allowing the liquid to light its fiery warmth in his belly and spread to the rest of him. Every muscle was tight. It had been a long and hectic day since they’d questioned Fern, and it still wasn’t over.

  He owed Inis an explanation.

  As if on cue, a soft knock rapped at his door, and Inis entered. He gave her a wary look. She’d hardly spoken after Fern’s confession, and he’d left with the magistrate when Fern had been taken away.

  “Would you like some brandy?” he asked. “Or sherry?”

  Inis shook her head. “Evans said you wanted to see me.”