Does he kiss all his clients?
She stifled a giggled, thinking since most of his clients were surely men, she doubted Elliot had kissed any of them. While sipping her lemonade, she had the opportunity to examine the men in the room as more guests arrived.
Perhaps neither Mr. Talbot nor Mr. Spencer nor Baron Von Braun were the culprits. If not, who else here would hate her so much as to leave such horrible things? Was it possible that one of her female friends had harbored feelings for Gabriel, and was just now playing the woman scorned? More than a year after they’d married?
Then again, she could not imagine any woman doing such a dastardly thing, and Gabriel was deceased. Her attention was drawn to the room’s doorway where Mr. Talbot entered the room with Miss Garvey.
After greeting their hostess, they made a beeline for her. “Is Mr. Baker not with you this evening? I thought for sure we would see him.” Mr. Talbot offered his usual warm smile.
“Yes, he is here.” She turned to where she’d last seen them, but both Elliot and Mr. Glenmoor had disappeared.
…
Elliot took a sip of his brandy and studied the portrait of the distinguished-looking man that Glenmoor had just identified as his great-uncle, Colonel Richard Foxworth, who had fought under Wellington during the Napoleonic wars.
They had left the drawing room when Glenmoor asked Elliot to take a walk with him before the rest of the guests arrived. The room he’d taken him to was two doors down from where the others had gathered, and where the hum of conversation reached their ears. For all intents and purposes, it seemed to be a library, but one wall was taken up with portraits, rather than bookshelves.
“Yes, sir, he was a great soldier. He was my inspiration to join the military, don’t you know? I found I greatly enjoyed the travel involved in the military life, and that is how I became a wanderer.” Glenmoor continued to stare at the likeness of his relative. “Most of the men in my family were in service to the Crown in one way or another. I was raised to believe in duty to my country. ’Twas drilled into me it was the proper thing to do. But nothing inspired me more than the tales about this man.”
Glenmoor cleared his throat a few times, and then as they continued to stare at Colonel Foxworth, he said, “I brought you here for a purpose, Baker. There is a matter I would discuss with you, seeing as how you are a good friend of Mrs. Pennyworth.”
Elliot was caught off-guard by the man’s abrupt change of subject. “What is that?”
Glenmoor turned to him, a slight frown on his face. “Against my better judgment, Mrs. Glenmoor invited that new vicar for dinner one night last week.” He shook his head. “There is something odd about him. I know he is a man of the cloth, but he strikes me as not the forgiving or loving type of vicar.”
“I must agree with you. The few times I have been in his presence, he appeared judgmental and an opinionated arse. Please excuse me for denigrating a vicar, but he insulted Mrs. Pennyworth the last time I saw him.”
“That is what concerns me. He spent much too much time that night asking questions about her. Wanted to know all about Mr. Pennyworth, how long ago he had died, and what her relationship to you was. Things that I was most uncomfortable speaking about.”
Elliot frowned, his senses going on alert. “Did he indicate to either you or your wife what his interest in her was all about?”
“No. Both my wife and I changed the subject several times, but eventually he was back to asking about Mrs. Pennyworth again. It was quite disturbing. I just thought you should know since I did not want to distress Mrs. Pennyworth with this information.” Glenmoor backed away from the portrait and waved his arm. “I think we had better join the others.”
“Yes.” Elliot followed him out of the room and down the corridor. Before they entered the drawing room, Glenmoor stopped once again. “What confuses me about Spencer is why he is even in the church. With his money, he need not earn a living, and he certainly does not seem the type of person anxious to comfort his flock.”
“Money?”
“Yes,” Glenmoor said as they entered the drawing room. “He comes from a very wealthy family. Shipping, I believe. The man is probably worth close to fifty thousand pounds.”
Fifty thousand pounds? That kind of money could buy quite a few diamond bracelets.
Chapter Fourteen
Charlotte had barely settled into her seat in the carriage when Elliot leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees. “I received some interesting news from Mr. Glenmoor this evening.”
“Was that when the two of you disappeared after we first arrived?”
“Yes. He invited me to view the portraits of his ancestors in his library. Since he is so proud of his military heritage, I did not find the request to join him as odd. However, as we viewed Colonel Richard Foxworth, who fought under Wellington during the Napoleonic wars, he told me of a visitor he and Mrs. Glenmoor had recently.”
Elliot looked so serious, Charlotte found herself leaning forward, as well, until their knees were practically touching. “Go on.”
“Mrs. Glenmoor extended an invitation to Mr. Spencer to join them for dinner.”
“The vicar?” Mrs. Glenmoor was ever the gracious hostess, and her events were always well-attended, but why on earth would she invite that strange man?
“Yes, the vicar. Mr. Glenmoor said he was not pleased when his wife told him of the invitation. It appears the man is no more popular with Mr. Glenmoor than he is with us. In any event, while the vicar was at their home, he peppered them with questions about you.”
Charlotte drew in a breath and placed her hand on her chest. “About me?” Her heart began to pound. Why in heaven’s name would Mr. Spencer be asking about her? “Do you suppose…”
“That he is our man? The idea had occurred to me, except for the expensive bracelet that was left. No vicar could afford to purchase such a thing.”
“That’s correct. So, I guess we can assume he is not the one?”
“Not necessarily.” Elliot sat back as their vehicle passed a gaslight that lit up the interior of the carriage, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. “Glenmoor knows Spencer’s family. I’m not sure if that was why Mrs. Glenmoor felt the need to invite him to their home. The vicar is not subsisting on a vicar’s living. He is connected to a very wealthy family, who made their money in shipping.”
“Then he could be the man.” She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or more frightened. Mr. Spencer was not someone to take lightly. “Did Mr. Glenmoor say what questions he was asking?”
“He seemed interested in your background. How long you’d been in London, how long you were married to Mr. Pennyworth, and what, exactly was your relationship to me.”
Charlotte glanced out the window, her heart pounding even harder. Mr. Spencer could very well be the person leaving the packages at her front door. Or—even worse, he could be aware of her problem with Lord Barton. If he had wealth in his background, then he would not have been hired by Barton to find her, but if he was aware of the charges against her, he could use that for some sort of blackmail.
She twisted the cord of her reticule around her finger until she realized her poor finger was growing numb.
“Charlotte? What are you thinking? If Spencer is our man, I can get this taken care of right away. A visit to the vicarage, a few well-placed threats of exposure, and it is all over.”
“Yes. That would be a relief.” Why did she not feel relieved? Because it seemed too easy? Because she now feared that Lord Barton was closing in on her?
“Are you all right?” Elliot held out his hand just as the carriage came to a stop. She ignored his offer and moved to the edge of the seat in preparation to leave. The door swung open, and Elliot stepped out and turned to her. Once again he offered his hand, which she accepted. Only the sound of their shoes crunching on the pathway, then on the cement steps leading to her door, broke the silence.
The mist enveloped them, swirling as they walked, to break apart,
then settle around them like a shroud, causing her to shiver, and fight for air. Fighting a rising sense of panic, she turned to him and offered him what she hoped was a warm smile. “Thank you again for accompanying me. Perhaps this will all be solved post haste now that you have more information on Mr. Spencer.”
Elliot studied her for a minute, and she quelled the need to fidget under his regard. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, perhaps we are at an end. I will speak with the vicar in the morning and report back to you. Will tomorrow at two suffice?”
“Yes. I expect callers, but if you remain behind, we can discuss your visit then.”
He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his index finger, running it down to her jaw, where his fingers framed her face. She closed her eyes at the sensation, wishing all her worries away. She leaned into his hand, finding comfort there. Her anxiety eased as his other hand rested on her hip in a possessive maneuver, drawing her closer. “I must admit your reaction to the possibility of finding the culprit and putting an end to his harassment has been less than I would have expected.”
“I am just tired. Weary to my soul. If it indeed turns out to be Mr. Spencer who, for God knows what reason, has some sort of a fixation on me, I will be delighted to have it end.”
Elliot’s thumb slid over her cheek, in a light caress, bringing attention to the tingling in her nipples, and warmth spreading from her lower parts. She opened her eyes to see him staring at her, a need so raw in his eyes that it should have frightened her, but instead turned the warmth into fire.
He nudged her closer so their thighs touched, his iron muscles against her softness. Even though they were shrouded in mist, she was aware that they stood in public on her front steps. Not wishing to call attention to themselves, she drew back. “Good night. Thank you again.” The words were barely a whisper.
The fire in his eyes dimmed just as the door opened, and Thomas’s cheerful face greeted her. “Good evening, Mrs. Pennyworth, Mr. Baker. Sorry I didn’t see you arrive, ma’am.”
“That’s fine, Thomas.” Without turning back, she entered the house, and Thomas closed the door. She trudged up the steps toward her room, wondering why she wasn’t happy about Elliot possibly solving the case. Did she not want to see the difficulty come to an end?
Why did she feel discombobulated, almost as if she was about to lose something? Of course, she wanted to lose the fear of opening her front door and finding something frightful there. She entered her bedchamber and walked to the window, gazing out at nothing since the swirling mist shielded the entire city, and its mysteries, in secrecy.
Maybe she was concerned about losing Elliot. If the look in his eyes was what she assumed, perhaps he was concerned about losing her, as well.
…
Elliot had accepted the ride in Charlotte’s carriage for his return home. He sat, slumped, in the corner of the vehicle, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones adding a comfortable rhythm to his thoughts.
He’d learned over the last few weeks that despite keeping up his guard, Charlotte had crept into his life in a way he swore no other woman ever would. When he married, he had expected to take a wife for affection and companionship. For building a family and a life together, leaving his heart securely untouched.
A marriage with Charlotte could never be anything except passion and love.
…
The next morning, he approached the vicarage with a mixture of relief and sadness. Once he’d spoken to Mr. Spencer, this case could very well come to an end. He knocked at the door and waited several minutes before he knocked again.
“Who is there?” Mr. Spencer came around the back of the house, pulling off work gloves, and sticking them in his back pocket. “Oh, it’s you, Baker. What do you want?”
Certainly not the best way for a man leading his flock to greet a visitor. “I would like a few words with you if you have time.”
Spencer stood, his feet apart, his hands on his hips, a definite defensive stance. “What about?”
So, he was not going to make this easy. “I would prefer to step inside if it is all the same to you.” The devil take it, the man was annoying. Between his wealth, and lack of compassion for his fellow man, his choice of profession was ludicrous.
The vicar shrugged and turned his back, calling over his shoulder, “Go ahead inside. The first door on your left is my drawing room. Once I clean up, I’ll meet you there.”
Apparently, he employed no servants, or at least no one who took care of the vicarage daily. Elliot let himself in and found the room Spencer had designated. It was a typical small-house drawing room, crammed with the requisite knick-knacks, lace doilies, and numerous miniatures taking up space.
He ran his finger over the top of a wooden table. No dust. Although not readily visible, someone took care of the place. The walls were covered with deep-green and cream-colored striped wallpaper. A plush carpet covered the highly polished wooden floor. The tempting aroma of something cooking—possibly beef—wafted from the kitchen. Did Spencer do his own meal preparation, too?
A strange man.
After about ten minutes, Mr. Spencer appeared, smoothing down his damp hair, which indicated that the vicar had indeed cleaned himself up. He’d changed his clothes, also. Gone were the mud-spattered pants and shirt, replaced with dark wool trousers, a pale blue shirt, and dark vest. He pulled a timepiece out of his vest pocket. “I have only a few minutes, then I am expected elsewhere.”
Well, then. He hadn’t even been invited to sit down.
“I won’t take up much of your time.” Elliot waved to a cluster of chairs in the center of the room, arranged in a semi-circle, as if a meeting had taken place, or was about to. “May we sit?”
Spencer nodded and sat stiffly on one of the chairs. “Why are you here?”
Elliot had not spent a great deal of time speaking with men of the cloth, however, he did not think Spencer’s manner was one that would elicit a great deal of comfort on the part of anyone seeking him out for spiritual guidance.
“Since you are in a hurry, I will come right to the point. I have learned that you have been questioning people, seeking information about Mrs. Pennyworth, and I am here to establish exactly why she is of such interest to you.” There was no finesse in his statement, but the vicar had managed to put him in a frame of mind and temperament that did not allow for diplomacy.
For the first time Spencer seemed to relax, as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. With what could only be called a smirk on his face, he answered, “I am not admitting anything of that nature, but even if I were to satisfy your curiosity, what business is it of yours if I am interested in Mrs. Pennyworth? She is a member of my church, after all.”
The hackles on the back of Elliot’s neck rose. The man was such a prig. Furthermore, why had he relaxed when he told him why he was here? Was he involved in something else that he was anxious to avoid? That, however, was not his purpose here. “If you wish to obtain information on one of your congregants, it seems to me the best way to go about that would be to speak with the person himself, not go behind one’s back to ask questions.”
“And of course, you have a great deal of experience as a vicar?”
His patience completely shredded at the man’s attitude, Elliot stood and loomed over Spencer, his hands braced on either side of the chair, causing the vicar to lean back to look into his eyes. “Take this as a warning, Reverend Spencer. Keep your questions to yourself, and discontinue any further prodding of Mrs. Pennyworth’s friends for information on her.”
Uneasiness settled across his face. “As one of my parishioners, Mrs. Pennyworth—”
“—is no longer one of your parishioners. Furthermore, I have a question for you.” Elliot straightened and tugged on the cuffs of his jacket. “Where did you buy the diamond bracelet?”
The complete look of puzzlement on Spencer’s face told Elliot what he had come to discover. Spencer was not their man. “What br
acelet? What are you talking about?”
Years of dealing with liars, thieves, and numerous other criminals had honed Elliot’s skills in sniffing out untruths. Unfortunately, as much as he would like the opportunity to thrash the man for frightening Charlotte, the Reverend Spencer had no idea of which he spoke. A dead end.
“Nothing.” Elliot turned to leave and got as far as the door. “Good day, Mr. Spencer. I do not plan to see you ever again, and neither will Mrs. Pennyworth.”
“Wait.” The man hopped up and followed Elliot. “I admit I have been asking questions about Mrs. Pennyworth. If you must know, I find her quite attractive and had hoped there might be a chance…”
Elliot’s eyes narrowed. “You began to ask about her before you even laid eyes on her.”
He shook his head. “No. I saw her at St. Jerome’s when I first arrived in London. I make visits there once a week to provide spiritual guidance to the children.”
“Guidance, eh?”
“Yes. Children of dubious parentage need saving from the bowels off hell.” He actually looked as though he believed that twaddle.
Elliot waved his hand. “Continue.”
“I thought perhaps Mrs. Pennyworth might be someone I could court.”
“She’s taken,” Elliot growled.
The vicar backed up, the look on Elliot’s face apparently telling him something. “Yes, right. So it seems.” He opened the front door. “Have a good day, Mr. Baker.”
…
Charlotte put aside her embroidery as Bridget escorted Mr. Talbot and Miss Garvey into her drawing room. She stood and offered Mr. Talbot her hand and was surprised when Miss Garvey drew her into a hug. She’d never realized how very angular and solid-muscled the woman was.
“Thank you for calling.” Charlotte waved to a settee across from two chairs, with a low table in the center. “Won’t you have a seat? If you will excuse me for a minute, I will have Cook send in tea.”
The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 14
