Still Wicked

by Ayers, Kathleen

  “I doubt Lady Cambourne remembers me. It’s been many years.”

  Elizabeth was just as certain Grandmother would remember Dr. MacGregor. It was abundantly clear Dr. MacGregor had never forgotten her.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Kelso? I believe I’ll find my carriage. I bid you good evening.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. MacGregor. I do hope we’ll meet again.” Elizabeth watched Dr. MacGregor’s tall form disappear from view, wondering exactly what the nature of his relationship had been with Grandmother. She meant to find out.

  “Good Lord, are you planning an assignation with MacGregor?” Her husband’s voice came from behind her. “He’s three times your age.”

  “Sadly, Dr. MacGregor isn’t interested in me, but Grandmother. I believe he’s a friend from her past, one who carried a torch for her. I’d no idea Grandmother might be harboring a scandal. Feathersmith made a point of introducing us.”

  “Of course, he did. He does nothing without a secret motive of his own. I insist you keep your distance from him.”

  “Did you know,” Elizabeth whispered in a low voice, taking in the scowl on her husband’s face, “how lovely your eyes are, Kelso? Like bits of amber. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for ages.”

  Red brushed the tops of Kelso’s cheeks.

  She hadn’t known he was capable of blushing like a schoolboy. The sight delighted her. “Has no one ever told you such before?”

  “No.” His voice was rough as his lips brushed against her temple. “Only you.”

  39

  Spence awoke with a start, his arm immediately stretching out to reach for Elizabeth. She was beside him, snoring softly. Likely exhausted both from performing her wifely duties and the reception this evening. Once they’d arrived home, he’d brought her upstairs, dismissing a disapproving Bertie with a wave of his hand. Spence had peeled the blue silk from her body, pressing kisses along her scented skin while she yawned. He’d put her to bed, unsurprised she fell asleep almost immediately. He’d joined her, tucking Elizabeth’s smaller body into his.

  Now awake, Spence lay unmoving, listening to the house, but all was quiet except for the snores of his wife. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He knew better than to ignore such a warning as it had saved his life on more than one occasion. Taking one last look at his sleeping wife, Spence left the bed and walked to the bedroom window, careful to stay concealed behind the heavy curtains. Elizabeth had big plans for the gardens. She’d been showing him sketches and rattling off the names of plants he couldn’t have cared less about. Most of what she’d done so far was rid the area behind his house of brush and undergrowth.

  His eye caught movement below. A shadow moved behind a pile of dirt and discarded branches. Someone was in the garden. Putting on his discarded trousers, his hand slid beneath the bed where he kept a loaded pistol strapped beneath the mattress. Spence had weapons hidden all over the house. Only Dolly, Porter and Spence himself knew exactly where.

  He padded down the stairs in his bare feet and moved toward the back of the house, only to run into Dolly, wearing a robe that barely covered the expanse of his chest.

  “What the—is that a woman’s robe?” Spence whispered.

  “A window.” Dolly deliberately ignored the question. “Possibly the French doors facing the terrace. I heard glass breaking.”

  “Check the doors and windows. My study.” Spence headed to the terrace doors at the back of the house while Dolly headed to the front.

  Sure enough, someone had broken a glass panel toward the bottom of one door. Unfortunately for them, he had a deadbolt at the top of the doors, unreachable unless you stood at least as tall as Spence. Opening the door, he examined the lock from the other side.

  Spence cursed softly under his breath. This was no random burglary. The bastard had a key. It was still in the lock. When the door hadn’t opened, whoever it was must have thought the door stuck and broke the window in order to reach the knob.

  The snap of a twig drew his attention. Someone was still in the garden. Spence could see very little in the darkness. He stayed quiet. Waiting.

  A stirring of the air around his ear warned him to duck before the slash of a blade nearly sliced into his neck.

  Spence tucked and rolled to the side, landing on his feet. He could just make out the hulking mass moving among the discarded garden trellis. When the man came at him again, Spence fired and heard a grunt of pain.

  The assailant slowed but didn’t stop.

  “Shit,” Spence uttered before the man lunged at him again. He landed a punch to the man’s side, before hitting him in the nose with the butt of the pistol.

  The man rolled away and stood, the knife flashing in the sliver of moonlight coming through the trees.

  Spence began to look for anything he could use as a weapon. He picked up a brick lying in one of the flower beds. The bastard was big, whoever he was. And tough. But not especially skilled.

  “Kelso.” Dolly’s large form came crashing through the front of the garden.

  The shadow facing him uttered a curse, before fleeing into the thick vegetation behind them. Spence followed, but reached the stone wall in time to see the man’s feet disappearing over the top.

  Dolly stomped toward him, pistol raised.

  “I’m here,” Spence called to Dolly. “Our friend is gone.”

  “Who was he?” Dolly nodded toward the back fence. “I heard the pistol shot.”

  “No idea, but definitely not a friend of the ministry. He was too sloppy. Too slow.” Spence thought of the assailant’s size. Could it have been Gustave? He looked over at Dolly, still wearing the woman’s robe, as the two men walked back to the house. The hem barely reached Dolly’s upper thighs.

  “Christ, Dolly. I can see things.” Spence gestured to the bottom of the robe which was flapping open.

  “I grabbed the first thing I could find.” He looked straight ahead, refusing to meet Spence’s eye.

  “Whose robe is that?”

  Dolly’s lips tightened. “Mine.”

  Spence rolled his eyes. “The maid’s?” He assumed it belonged to the dark-haired girl who’d been hired when they first opened the house. The maid had an unpleasant demeanor, but Dolly liked brunettes, particularly difficult ones.

  “No.”

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. Why should I have any idea of what happens in my own home?”

  “A common thief, no doubt, Kelso. Your house was empty for a long time until recently.”

  Kelso reached into his pocket and pulled out the key he’d found in the back door. Dolly assured him he’d checked the references of the recently hired servants, and all of them were solid. But he supposed Jeanette could have bribed one of them. The house had also been full of tradesmen for the last two weeks due to Elizabeth’s renovations. Any one of them could have taken a key.

  “I don’t think so. I found this.” He held up the key to Dolly. “Have all the locks changed tomorrow. Only you and I are to have the keys. And make a set for Porter.”

  40

  “Poor Cousin Herbert.”

  Elizabeth poured herself another cup of tea and gave her sister, Miranda, Lady Kilmaire, a sideways look. “I’m fairly certain Mother is to blame for his death. Or perhaps the nurse. Mother was extremely careful never to mention her by name to me.”

  “And one of your fellow nuns just happened to be related to this mysterious nurse?” Miranda adjusted the skirts of her pale pink day dress and reached for another raisin cake. She looked beautiful and elegant, like a living, breathing rose had come to life in the drawing room. Miranda didn’t even look fatigued from the long journey to London from Runshaw Park, the seat of the Earl of Kilmaire.

  Elizabeth envied her sister’s effortless style and elegance. Miranda could have made a flour sack attractive just by donning it. “Yes. Sister Abigail. McMannish went to St. Albans to question her, but Abigail has disappeared.”

  “Co
nveniently,” Miranda surmised. “By the way, you’re much happier than when you were tending bees and pulling weeds at St. Albans. I have to agree with Mother Hildegard. You would have made a poor nun, Elizabeth. You’re stubborn and have a liking for firearms. And I daresay, your affliction seems much improved.”

  “I even navigated a reception given by a member of the ministry earlier this week,” Elizabeth told her proudly. “I’ve yet to attempt a ball or the theater, and I’m not sure if I will. I don’t dance, which would make a ball awkward.”

  Miranda shrugged. “I suppose Kelso will keep most gentlemen away from you, so that shouldn’t be a worry. He’s quite attractive. In the way I would imagine a pirate or a highwayman to be.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward. “Speaking of attractive men, I met an interesting older gentleman at the reception. Dr. Liam MacGregor. I was introduced to him under the auspices of your interest in ancient civilizations.”

  Miranda clapped her hands. “Is he an Egyptologist? We shall have him to dinner immediately.”

  “Not exactly. He has spent the last several decades in South America.”

  “Well—” Miranda took a sip of tea, “—I’m told they’ve mummies as well, though I’ve never seen one.”

  Miranda had been obsessed with all things Egyptian for years, specifically embalming practices and the creation of mummies. Even her honeymoon had been to Egypt. Elizabeth thought it all incredibly morbid.

  “Dr. MacGregor mistook me for Grandmother.” Elizabeth looked at her sister pointedly. “He called me Donata.”

  Miranda sat down her cup. “How interesting. I wasn’t sure Grandmother had a past.”

  “Yes, and he’s a handsome Scottish gentleman. I’m still trying to work out how to bring them together.”

  “Let me give it some thought as well. We could say Colin’s next book will take place in South America. He might need to speak to Dr. MacGregor under the guise of research.” Miranda’s husband, Lord Kilmaire, was the author of a successful series of books about the adventures of Lord Thurston, a notorious nobleman. Anonymously. “He’s certain to agree. He’s never quite forgiven Grandmother for that dreadful house party, even though it resulted in our marriage.”

  Miranda slid closer to Elizabeth and glanced at the door.

  “Don’t worry,” Elizabeth assured her, correctly surmising her sister was concerned that Kelso would interrupt them. “He’s gone for the better part of the day.”

  Miranda took a deep breath. “Has she been here?” There was no doubt to whom Miranda referred as she sipped her tea. “Sutton told me of her visit to Gray Covington. Our mother is certainly bold.”

  “No. I doubt she would dare, especially in light of the fact that she threatened Kelso. The staff has been told to not allow her in the house or on the grounds.” Miranda was the only other person in the world who knew what it was like to have a mother as awful as Jeanette Reynolds.

  “I still cannot believe she meant to give you to Langford.” Miranda made a choked, bitter sound. “And all so she could achieve her own ambitions. Mother is nothing if not consistent. One wonders why she couldn’t find another duke, or perhaps the prince of a small country, to barter us to.”

  “He was her entrée back into London society. She wished to take her ‘rightful’ place amongst the ton. The hatred in her eyes when she saw Sutton…” Elizabeth trembled slightly. “Mother is quite insane. She was already a horrible person. Possibly she had been mad for years and it went unnoticed. I think Archie’s death only caused her to descend further.” Elizabeth plucked at her skirt. “Do you ever wonder, Miranda, why she didn’t love us? Obviously, she’s capable of such an emotion. She loved Archie.”

  A wounded look shadowed Miranda’s exquisite features. “I don’t know. When I was a child, I didn’t understand why she didn’t love me. Mother only paid attention to me once I had made my debut and become of use to her. And when I shot Archie. She certainly noticed me then.” Miranda cast a sideways glance at Elizabeth. “I’m so glad you were spared seeing the scene she created. I’ve never seen such vile loathing spill from a human being and never hope to again. She screamed and tore at her hair. Looked me right in the eye and asked why it couldn’t have been me that died. That’s something Colin and I have in common.” A sad smile crossed her lips. “But at least Mother didn’t come at me with a carving knife, as his once did.”

  “I mentioned your marriage to her, when she first took me. She contorted violently, Miranda, as if in the grip of a seizure. It terrified me. But after, she seemed to dismiss you both. She called your husband the Irish Pauper.”

  “Poor Colin had not a farthing to his name. I believe the only time he ate properly was at our table. He loved spinning for you the same tales he’d once entertained me with. Do you remember? Gnomes. Fairies. The wee folk? You seemed certain one slept under your bed. Father had to put out a treat for your imaginary gnome nearly every night, then sneak in once you were asleep and eat it.”

  Moisture welled behind Elizabeth’s eyes. She pressed a hand against the sudden pain in her heart. “I miss him, Miranda. So very much. I often think if I hadn’t screamed…possibly things would be different.”

  “You cannot blame yourself for what occurred. Papa wouldn’t wish you to.”

  “But Archie—”

  “Meant to do you harm. Do not deny it. Sutton has told me everything. Yes, Archie only touched your knee that terrible day, but there isn’t any telling what he would have done had you not screamed. The blame, Elizabeth, is Mother’s. Archie was a detestable human being.” Miranda stood, agitated, and began to pace about the room. “You don’t know what else he did.”

  “No,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I don’t.”

  “I was left to deal with Mother once you left. I bore the brunt of her anger at your absence. And I know full well what he meant to do to Sutton and Alex.”

  “Miranda—”

  “Raised by the nuns of St. Albans, I know shooting him may not have been your course of action. After all, your biggest challenge was deciding whether to plant the carrots next to the potatoes.”

  “That’s not fair, Miranda.” She reached out for her sister’s hand and was waved away.

  “You behave as if what I have endured is less than your own pain.” Her sister’s chest heaved, and her voice became rough. “Very few men have deserved to die as much as Archie. Still, it is no easy thing to end another human being’s life. Ask your husband. He knows of what I speak.” Miranda immediately stopped pacing, a gloved hand flying up to her mouth. “Elizabeth—”

  Elizabeth carefully set down her tea, not caring when the cup tipped and spilled across the table. There it was. The thing it seemed everyone knew about Kelso but never spoke of around Elizabeth. The reception they’d attended, with so many of the guests associated with the ministry. He’d made a point of introducing her to everyone at Lendon’s. Dangling from his arm, so to speak.

  Kelso was a courier. He ran errands.

  She rocked a bit with the knowledge, the truth which had been right in front of her the entire time. The pistols. The knives stuck in his boot. The incident at the Wilted Rose. How naïve she was. Or perhaps it wasn’t naivety. She simply hadn’t wanted to know.

  “To be clear, Miranda, I do not think differently of you for removing Archie Runyon off the face of the earth. I also had no idea you’d thought I’d abandoned you to Mother.”

  Her sister bit back a sob. “Elizabeth, I should not have said such a thing about Kelso. I’m sorry.” Miranda rushed over to sit next to her on the couch, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I would have the truth of what my husband is or has been, Miranda. Please.”

  41

  Spence walked into his house. The foyer still smelled of paint, but he saw no new deliveries blocking his way. His wife’s renovation to the bottom floor of the house had been completed yesterday. All the bedrooms had been finished as well, including those belonging to the lady of the house. An expensive re
novation, he’d told Elizabeth, for a room she’d only use to store her clothes and jewelry. He didn’t care to have her sleep away from him.

  A dark-haired maid was absently polishing a bit of the banister with a cloth and doing a poor job of it. She saw him approach, but didn’t bob or greet him politely. He suspected Dolly had hired the maid primarily for her looks, and for the fact she’d come with the original cook. Elizabeth had made Dolly fire the cook, but the maid had stayed.

  “My lord.” Her eyes were dark too, almost too large for the oval of her face. She gave him a bold look, as if sizing him up.

  Brazen little thing. Spence had never been especially interested in tupping the help as his father and grandfather had been. He was even less interested in doing so now.

  “Have you seen Lady Kelso—?” He struggled to remember her name. Elizabeth had stressed to him the importance of knowing his staff’s names. Her grandmother had provided Elizabeth a list of rules concerning the running of a household and that was one of the older woman’s commandments.

  Elizabeth followed Lady Cambourne’s advice to the letter.

  “Jane,” the maid supplied. She pointed to the terrace. “Lady Kelso is in the garden.” She gave him an insolent smile. “My lord.”

  Spence walked past the maid, feeling her eyes on him as he went to the garden. What was Dolly thinking in keeping the girl? True, she was attractive, Spence saw her appeal. But her manner was not appropriate for a servant. After he found his wife, Spence would speak to Dolly about Jane. Whether his friend was bedding her or not, she needed to be sacked, or at the least, disciplined.

  He walked out onto the terrace and down to the gardens, or what would be the gardens. The area was a good size, with several large trees and an oval-shaped pond. Like the rest of the house, there had been little care given to the shrubs and flowerbeds in recent years. Elizabeth had hired an entire team of workmen to clean out the gardens and make them beautiful again. She’d made elaborate sketches of the beds, designing each space with regard to flower color, season of bloom and the like. The garden was Elizabeth’s canvas, the varieties of flowers, her paint. She had also made plans for vegetable and herb beds on the other side of the house.