Even though she thought him culpable for trafficking in secrets, and grossly misguided in not confessing now Charles was so blatantly there, camped on his doorstep, she was nevertheless starting to view Nicholas with a certain grudging respect. Even more telling, so was Charles.
Nicholas and Culver came out of the cool store; Nicholas closed the door and faced his lordship.
“A dreadful business.” Culver looked shaken. He was a slight man no taller than Penny, and lived for his books. “Not the sort of thing that generally happens hereabouts.”
The sound of a familiar footstep had Penny glancing to the right; Charles strode up from the stables. He saw her, nodded, but went directly to Culver.
Both Culver and Nicholas looked relieved. Culver asked, and Charles confirmed that he believed Mary’s murder was connected to Gimby’s, although he omitted to say why. However, as such, it fell within his brief to investigate. Culver declared that that being the case, he would merely record the murder and await further direction from Charles.
The formalities concluded, Charles and Culver shook hands. Nicholas offered to walk Culver to the stables. The three men parted; watching, she saw Charles wait…as if it were an afterthought, he commented to Culver, “I bumped into a young relative of yours—Fothergill.”
“Oh?” Culver halted, nodded. “Indeed, a connection of my late wife’s. Visited with us as a child and was taken with the area—interested in birds, it seems. He’s a likable enough chap, easy to have about—well, he’s not in much, really, so there’s no fuss in having him. I daresay he was out looking at pigeons through those spyglasses of his.”
“Indeed.”
Culver and Nicholas headed on to the stables. Charles watched them go, then turned and joined her.
“At least that’s Fothergill vouched for.” He waved her into the house. “If he’s connected to Culver, that makes it unlikely he’s here for any nefarious purpose. An amazing coincidence to have a relative one had visited as a child living in precisely the district in which one wished to commit murder.”
“Still”—she glanced at him as they walked down the corridor—“I would have thought you’d ask if he was at Culver House on the night before last.”
“I would have if I could place any reliance on Culver’s word. Fothergill might have been sitting in an armchair within three yards of Culver all night, but I wouldn’t trust Culver’s word for it. Once absorbed in his books, a cannonade outside his windows would probably pass unnoticed.”
She grimaced; he was right.
Norris came to meet them. “Shall I serve luncheon, my lady?”
“As soon as Lord Arbry returns from the stables. Lord Charles and I will wait in the parlor.”
“Indeed, my lady.”
Nicholas joined them in the dining parlor as they took their seats. He went to the head of the table, his face even more graven with care than before.
She glanced at Charles, but he gave no sign. Norris and the footman brought in the cold collation she’d ordered; Charles fixed his attention on the cold meats, cheese, and fruit, and spared Nicholas not a glance.
However, when Mrs. Slattery’s lemon curd pudding appeared and Charles consumed half of it, Penny wasn’t sure he even noticed. He might not be looking at Nicholas, but she was quite sure he was thinking about Nicholas. And about the murderer.
It was Nicholas who broke first.
“Why did you ask about Fothergill?”
Charles glanced up the table, past her, meeting Nicholas’s eyes. He paused for one instant, then said, “Because it seems likely the murderer is one of our five visitors, and at present, all of them are in the running.”
Calmly peeling an apple with a paring knife, he recounted for Nicholas without concealment or evasion not just their hypotheses about the murderer, but all they’d learned from London thus far about the five men in question.
She watched Nicholas. Saw again his puzzlement that Charles should be so forthcoming, sensed beneath it a growing confusion; that, she hoped, would be to the good.
Charles held nothing back. Returning from where he’d found Mary’s body mangled like a rag doll’s and discarded with less care, he’d decided to pull out all stops to convince Nicholas to tell him what he needed to know.
Gimby’s death had been serious enough; Mary’s murder increased the stakes. The game would escalate; he knew it would.
They were running out of time, and the murderer was moving closer. If dropping his guard with Nicholas was what it took to learn what he needed to capture the murderer and bring him to justice, so be it.
His duty was one thing, his allegiance to justice another, yet at the back of his mind he was very aware of an even more pressing, more fundamental need. He had to keep Penny safe. He was grimly aware that that compulsion no longer sprang from a simple, uncomplicated wish to protect her purely for her own sake. Protecting her was now vital to him; she was the foundation of his future—the one thing he couldn’t lose.
So he broke with the tenets of a lifetime and told Nicholas all.
He eventually fell silent. Glancing at Nicholas, he saw him frowning at his plate, clearly deeply troubled.
Beside him, Penny reached across and lifted a slice from the apple he was quartering. He followed the fruit to her mouth. The crunch as she bit into the apple’s crisp flesh seemed to break some spell.
“Lady Carmody’s afternoon tea,” she said. She looked up the table at Nicholas. “It’s this afternoon—we should attend.”
Nicholas blanched. “Oh, surely not. No one will expect—”
“On the contrary,” Penny calmly stated, “everyone will expect us to be there, not least to tell everyone what’s going on. Rumors will be rife, and some will be quite extraordinary, so the truth needs to be told. Aside from all else, our five visitors should be there. In this district, in this season, there’s not so many entertainments that one can pick and choose. And with the news of Mary’s murder widely circulating, avoiding the only gathering in the area would be far more a cause for comment than attending it would.”
Nicholas stared at her; he really did look ill. After a moment, he said, “Perhaps if you and Lostwithiel go…”
It was a question, indeed, a plea, the closest Nicholas had yet come to it. She didn’t respond, wondered.
“No.” Charles spoke quietly but decisively from beside her. His gaze was fixed on Nicholas. “Just think. Mary Maggs was a maid in your household. She went to meet a man she didn’t name but described as handsome and ‘not in the usual way.’ Then she’s found strangled. If you avoid a gathering like Lady Carmody’s, no matter what we say or do, some degree of suspicion is guaranteed to fix on you.”
Nicholas’s pallor was once again faintly green. “That’s…”
“Human nature.” Charles regarded him, not without sympathy. “I take it you haven’t spent much of your life in the country.”
“No.” Nicholas frowned. “I went from Oxford to London—I’ve lived there ever since.”
“Where’s your father’s seat?”
“Berkshire. But he’s been in residence for years—there’s rarely any need for me to be there…”
Watching the expressions flit across Nicholas’s face, Charles wondered what the last—was it regret?—meant. There was clearly some sensitivity between Nicholas and his father—something to do with their treason, perhaps.
He tucked away the notion for later examination. “Regardless, you do need to attend Lady Carmody’s event.” He glanced at Penny. “But there’s no reason we can’t all go together.”
She nodded. Beneath the table, she touched his thigh. “Indeed not. Granville’s pair needs exercising—you can drive me in the curricle, and Nicholas can ride one of the hacks.”
So they went to Lady Carmody’s tea party, and if it was every bit as bad as Nicholas had feared, at least he survived.
“Indeed,” Penny murmured, her gaze fixed on Nicholas as he satisfied Mrs. Cranfield’s and Imogen’s appalled cur
iosity, “he seems to be one of those people who appear to have no backbone, until one leans on him.”
Charles looked down at her. “A shrewd and insightful observation—with which, incidentally, I agree—but unfortunately that very quality is the one most holding us back. Or rather, holding him back from telling us what he knows.”
“Mmm.” They were standing sipping tea at one side of Lady Carmody’s sunken garden. The pool in the center formed a focus for the gathering, the high hedges surrounding the garden providing useful shade. They’d been required to tell their tale numerous times, but then Charles had insisted they needed their tea and moved them out of the ruck; no one had yet had the nerve to follow.
Penny set her cup on her saucer. “The more I see of Nicholas, the more difficulty I have in casting him as a villain of any sort. I know you agree that he’s not the murderer.” She glanced up and met Charles’s eyes, darkest sapphire blue in the sunlight. “But can you truly see him as a traitor, someone who knowingly passed military secrets to the French?”
He held her gaze for a moment, then looked at Nicholas. “Sometimes, people get caught up in affairs without realizing, not until it’s too late. I’ve been wondering if perhaps Nicholas, unaware of the illicit trade his father and yours had undertaken, blithely followed his sire into the Foreign Office, then found himself expected to, as it were, continue the family business.”
She followed his gaze to Nicholas. “That would explain why he won’t speak.”
Charles nodded. “He knows we have no real evidence, yet it’s not just him and his career, but his father’s reputation and the rest of the family’s at stake. As you pointed out, this matter’s a blot that once known would stain all the family, including innocents like Elaine and her girls.”
After a moment, he added, “I can understand why he’s holding against us, but understanding doesn’t make it any easier to break him.”
Indeed, understanding made it that much harder, because they both had a great deal of sympathy for Nicholas’s stand.
As Penny had predicted, all five of their “suspects” were present, all, when discussing the tragedy, had evinced the right degree of revulsion, made the right comments, the expected expostulations.
“Not one,” Charles commented acerbically, “put a foot wrong.”
But only one of them would have been tested, and whoever he was, he was a professional; that Charles already knew and thoroughly appreciated.
He and Penny moved through the crowd, chatting here, exchanging news of their families there. He kept a surreptitious watch on Nicholas, but although Nicholas watched the five “visitors,” he made no move to engage any of them. Even more telling, he didn’t favor one over the other in his observations. Or his peregrinations; he passed each of the five with a nod, a look, and smoothly moved on.
Given he was now convinced he had Nicholas’s measure, that last puzzled Charles. Did Nicholas truly have no idea which of the five was the most likely? If so…
“Damn!”
Startled, Penny glanced up at him. Mercifully, there were no matrons within hearing range. He tightened his hold on her elbow. “You’re feeling faint.”
“I am?”
“You are—we need an excuse to leave now. With Nicholas.”
She didn’t argue, but obligingly wilted against him. He took her weight, solicitously guided her to where Lady Carmody sat. They made their excuses; while her ladyship fussed, Charles collected Nicholas with a look.
He came, puzzled, then concerned when he heard of Penny’s indisposition. He readily agreed they should leave at once; of course he would accompany them.
Lady Carmody was gracious, understanding, and content enough that they’d appeared and thus ensured her tea party was a huge success. She patted Penny’s hand. “Quite understandable, my dear. You are looking rather wan.”
Mrs. Cranfield tut-tutted. “You need a good night’s rest, my dear. Make sure you get it, and leave the worrying to others.”
Lady Trescowthick looked uncertain, but kissed Penny’s cheek and glanced at Charles. “Do take care, dear.”
They made their exit as fast as they dared. Penny held to her pose of an incipient faint until they’d turned out of the drive and were heading along the lane, out of sight.
She exhaled and straightened. Looking at Charles, she noted the rather grim set of his lips. “Why did we have to leave?”
“I’ll tell you when we get back to Wallingham.”
She would have argued and insisted he tell her now, but his tone reminded her there was another with them—Nicholas, to wit. Folding her hands in her lap, she composed herself in patience, and waited.
Her mind ranged back over their departure; thinking of Lady Trescowthick’s puzzled look, she couldn’t help but smile.
“What?” Charles asked.
She glanced at him, but he was looking at his horses. She looked ahead. “I was just wondering when it will occur to them that I’ve never fainted in my life.”
Charles heard the amusement in her voice and bit his tongue. Hard. No need to point out that while those three ladies, who had known them both since birth, might indeed note the oddity of her faint, instead of supposing the faint a sham, they might come up with quite a different reason to account for it.
A reason that, already or at some point in the not overly distant future, might indeed be real. Would be real.
Would she feel faint? Penny? Would she enjoy carrying his children?
He hadn’t even asked her to marry him yet. He told himself he was foolish to imagine he knew any woman’s mind, let alone hers, well enough to predict her answer, yet after last night he felt unreasonably confident. And ridiculously buoyed by the mere thought of her carrying his child.
Almost distracted enough to forget the revelation he’d had in Lady Carmody’s sunken garden. But not quite.
He pulled up in the stable yard, gave the reins to a groom, and handed Penny down. They waited for Nicholas to join them, then walked together to the house.
“That wasn’t as bad as I’d feared,” Nicholas said. “At least their curiosity wasn’t morbid—more that they simply wanted to know, to be reassured they had the facts correct and weren’t falling prey to mere rumor.”
“Indeed.” Penny glanced at Charles as they entered the house. “Now—why did we have to leave just then?”
He met her gaze, then looked at Nicholas. “Could we have a word with you in the library?”
Nicholas blinked. “Yes, of course.”
He led the way. She followed with Charles, wondering; once she’d focused on him, she’d realized he was tense. Annoyed, but not at her.
What had Nicholas done?
Nicholas led them into the library. Charles stood back and let her precede him, then followed and closed the door. Nicholas had gone to the large desk; he sat in the chair behind it.
Charles steered her to one of the chairs before the fireplace. “Sit down,” he murmured.
She did.
He didn’t. He paced to the hearth, turned, and looked at Nicholas.
Nicholas looked back at him, his diplomat’s mask very much in place. The conviction Nicholas had done something she hadn’t noticed grew.
When the silence had stretched as far as it could, Charles said, his tone hard and harsh, “Just tell me this. You aren’t, by any chance, setting yourself up as a target here, are you?”
Nicholas’s expression didn’t change, but his pallor was so pronounced that the slight flush that rose to mantle his cheekbones might as well have been red flags. “I have no idea what you’re suggesting.”
Charles looked at him, then shook his head. “I hope you lie better when negotiating trade treaties.”
Stung, Nicholas replied, “When negotiating trade treaties I deal with diplomats.”
“Indeed, but I’m not a diplomat, and it’s me you have to deal with here.”
Nicholas sighed and closed his eyes. “What I do is none of your concern.”
&
nbsp; “If what you do has any connection whatever to the murderer of Gimby Smollet and Mary Maggs, it’s very much my concern.”
“I have no more notion than you which of those five is the murderer, or even if it is one of those five.”
The words were weary, but definite.
Penny broke in, “Just what did he do?”
Charles glanced at her, exasperation in his eyes. “He waltzed back and forth before their noses as if daring the murderer to come after him.”
A Lady of His Own Page 33
