“It is clear that the cause of death was the broken neck – and I think that we are agreed that it was most likely caused by the fall from the hayloft. What is still not clear is whether that fall was accidental.”
“Correct. But there are no signs on the body, or her clothes, of the intervention of anyone else. And if someone had manually broken her neck, I would have expected bruising to show that.”
“Very true. I do not think that there is anything else we can learn from the body. Best to lay the poor girl to rest, and continue investigating. But if nothing further is discovered in the next few days, I think that we must declare it an accident, so that all can move on from this tragedy, and enjoy the Christmas season.”
Garrett, looked at them both, and nodded. He was not pleased with the conclusion they had been forced to reach, for it niggled at him, the idea that Molly had simply been clumsy and fallen. That flicker of movement in the hayloft which Lady Eleanor had mentioned… that still made him hope to discover more, to know the truth of it for certain. But the others were right – his suspicions were no reason to hold back from granting the girl a decent burial.
He had sent to her family, notifying them of the sad circumstances, and expected them to arrive the next day. This afternoon, he would send to the vicar, and arrange for her funeral to be held the following afternoon. It occurred to him, then, that if he required all guests and staff to attend the funeral, he might see some telling reactions. For surely, if someone had killed her, they would not be comfortable at her funeral…
“We are agreed, then. I will arrange the funeral for tomorrow afternoon, and, if nothing new comes to light in the next few days, we will declare the cause of death to be accident, so that the living can get on with their lives.”
~~~~~
Baggs stood with all of the other outdoors staff, in the gravelled square which was wrapped about by the U shape of the stable buildings, as the Duke of Kilmerstan addressed them. he was nervous, more surly than usual of late, and tired, for his dreams were haunted by Molly’s face, in those last moments before she had dropped to her death before his eyes.
“I have spoken to each of you separately, about the day of Molly’s tragic death, as I have spoken to each of the house staff, and each of the guests. Yet we have not been able to determine whether Molly’s death was an accident, or something more sinister. Regardless, she will be laid to rest in St Cuthbert’s churchyard in Upper Nettlefold, tomorrow afternoon. As a mark of respect, every single one of you is expected to attend. I thank you for your cooperation.”
Baggs shivered. That conversation with His Grace was not one he would ever wish to repeat. He had felt like he was shaking, and hoped it had not shown, as he had lied, outright, and said that he’d spent the entire morning of that dreadful day in the carriage house, polishing his master’s carriage. He had feared for his life, as he’d watched His Grace’s face, and hoped that he’d been believed. It seemed that he had, but still… the idea of attending Molly’s funeral did not appeal at all. He fidgeted where he stood, his jaw clenched, and his eyes flicking about. But he managed to stay there, until they were all dismissed, and he could go back to his work, and his ongoing efforts to be basically invisible. The men around him gave him a wide berth, for they had all been on the receiving end of his surly nature lately. He ignored them, not looking about. And therefore, he did not see the Duke watching him, as he walked away.
~~~~~
Garrett watched the outdoors staff – as he spoke to them, and then as they dispersed. Most seemed genuinely saddened by it all, and calm, listening, and then simply going back to their work. But there was one cluster of people who caught his eye. Not because they did anything particularly unusual, but because of what they did not do.
They were not speaking to one of their number, in fact, most seemed to be avoiding a specific man. A man who had stuck in Garrett’s mind, from his interview, because he seemed far more surly of nature than most of the grooms, and had been very minimalist in his answers to questions. It might be nothing – he might simply be of that nature, and therefore not make friends easily. But still… he bore watching.
~~~~~
Eleanor started awake, her heart pounding. She had dreamed, again, of Molly’s death. In her dream, as she watched Molly climb the ladder, instead of safely reaching the top, the girl slipped from the top rung, and fell, right before Eleanor’s eyes. It was, she supposed, better than the dreams in which she watched, and saw someone push Molly from the hayloft, sending her to her death.
There was no light, save the faint glow of the banked embers in the grate, and she thought that not too much time had passed since she had retired.
But now she was wide awake, and, truth to tell, not inclined to easily go back to sleep, for those dreams might repeat. She lay there, with no sound but the ticking of the clock on her mantle, for some time. Then, sighing, she slipped out of bed, pulled a wrap about her, and lit a candle from the embers. Perhaps, if she went down to the library, and selected a book to read, she might eventually fall asleep again.
Not sleeping was unusual for her – she had, for most of her life, been blessed with the ability to simply drop into deep refreshing sleep, easily every night, and sleep the night through. This house party appeared to have stolen that ability from her.
The hallways were quiet, the one footman she passed was dozing on his chair, and did not even twitch as she went by. She slipped into the library, feeling almost like a ghost haunting the place, and closed the door behind her. The glow of embers showed from the grate, and Eleanor went forward, looking for the best place to set her candlestick down, so that she might more easily select a book.
She knew exactly which shelf to go to, for she had perused the selection of novels some days before. Once the candle was on a small table, she went straight to the shelf, selected a book by the dim light, which barely reached that far, then turned back towards the fireplace.
And stopped.
“Surprised to see me, my Lady?”
His voice was deep, warm, and resonant, somehow reaching deep into her, and making everything quiver, just like his kiss had. He sat, all relaxed, in a large wingback armchair, one leg negligently hooked over its arm, and a brandy in his hand.
He looked like sin personified, in the most delicious way that she could imagine, with his shirt open, and his cravat cast away on the chair arm.
“I… yes. But no more than I suspect you are surprised to see me. This is not exactly the normal attire, or time of day, in which I visit the library. I am here because I could not sleep, and thought reading might help – but why are you here, so late?”
His lips curled into a wry smile, and her heart beat harder. She really had just been entirely impertinent. He raised the brandy glass in her direction, in a toast of sorts.
“Why am I here, now? Very simply, my Lady, so that I can drown my sorrows without being forced to endure the company of gentlemen who suspect me of murder.”
“Sorrows? What sorrows are you drowning?”
“Apart from the usual one? Of being gossiped about for the sin of existing, as I am? I am drowning the sorrow of knowing that we are both left in an impossible position, as the result of one impulsive moment in a stable. I would, my Lady, have preferred the chance to come to know you better, without everything cast under the pall of murder.”
Did he mean? Could he mean that he wanted to get to know her… as a man did a woman whom he wished to court…? Her heart thundered in her breast, and she licked dry lips. His eyes, so dark that they seemed almost black in the dim light, caught the reflection of the red embers as they shifted, watching her tongue trace her lips. That red reflection made him look as devilish as the rumours painted him. His expression was almost sardonic, self-mocking, as if he was unsurprised at the predicament in which he found himself.
In that instant, she made a decision.
“This morning, before most people were up, I talked to Garrett. I… told him the truth. I fo
und that I could not permit a circumstance where you might be accused of murder, just for the sake of protecting my reputation. To do so would lack all honour, and… I do not wish to see you harmed, in any way.”
She was glad of the dimness, for she could feel the flush rise in her cheeks as she spoke. For a moment, he simply stared at her, and she could not decipher his expression. Then, with precise care, he set the brandy glass down on the small table beside him, and rose from the chair. His movement was fluid, graceful, which was dramatic in such a big man, and in two quick steps he stood before her, mere inches away. She looked up, shaken, yet excited by his closeness.
He took her hand in his – the hand that was not clutching a book – and lifted it to his lips, turning it over and pressing a kiss to her bare palm. The warmth and softness of his lips sent heat to her core, and her lips parted in a gasp. He lifted his lips from her hand, and gazed at her with what looked like hunger. His fingers tightened on hers, and she felt as if everything stood still, as if she could barely breathe.
She wanted, she realised, to be kissed, wanted him to kiss her again, here, where interruption was extremely unlikely. Propriety be damned.
It was as if he was able to read her thoughts. He bent, slowly, and brought his lips to hers, releasing her hand as he did so, and slipping his arm around her, to draw her against him. She went, willingly, her heart singing, and opened her lips to the gentle probing of his tongue, meeting it with her own.
Time passed, and at some point, the book slipped from her grasp, to land unregarded on the floor beside them, and her hands found their way up, such a long way up, to wind around his neck, and tangle in that wealth of wild black hair. She pressed herself against him, and forgot that anything existed except his touch.
When they eventually drew apart, they were both breathing hard, and Eleanor felt quite unsteady on her feet. He met her eyes, and smiled again, that wry, self-mocking smile.
“I also told Garrett the truth, all of it. And then I promised him that I wouldn’t do what I just did. It would seem that, where you are concerned, my ability to keep my word is rather poor. Thank God he is a fair man, and was willing not to instantly haul me in front of your father, and demand that we marry. Not that I object to that idea, mind, lassie, but I’d not have you forced to anything, for one foolish moment on my part. Especially as, no matter what happens here, now, the gossips will destroy my reputation hereafter.”
Eleanor clung to him, as her knees buckled a little. He had just as good as said… Did she want that? Did she want to marry him? She was not entirely sure – but she wanted to find out.
“Garrett said something similar to me – but he did admit that he could not really castigate us without being a hypocrite, for he had kissed my sister well before it was proper, before they married!”
He lifted her, effortlessly, and spun her around, laughing.
“Then, lassie, we’d best not waste his generosity. In public, we’d best be everything proper… but here, now, tonight… let me kiss you one more time, before you take your tempting self back to your bed.”
Chapter Nine
Adair had been sitting in the library, nursing one brandy after another, slowly, for some hours, mulling over his feelings – about everything. He had drifted almost towards sleep, when the click of the door opening and closing brought him back to full awareness. Now, half an hour later, here he was, with Lady Eleanor in his arms, doing exactly what he had promised Garrett he wouldn’t. And he could not regret it. She had, most definitely, responded positively to this kiss – and that after declaring that she had chosen to risk her reputation to save his!
Could it be possible that she was coming to truly care for him? He found that improbable – all of his experience suggested that it was unlikely in the extreme, but… he wanted it to be true. He set her gently back on her feet after the second kiss, rather regretfully.
“You should pick up that book you came for, and go back to bed, my Lady.”
She looked at him, with those limpid blue eyes, and shook her head.
“Not yet. I want… I want to talk to you. During the day, all we can say to each other is stilted socially acceptable nothings. Once, I thought that those things mattered, but now, more and more, I realise that they don’t. All of the gentlemen who I thought so charming last Season really weren’t – they were only interested in either the size of my dowry, or of my bosom. And when they discovered that my dowry is only moderate, many of them suddenly became interested in other ladies. But… you are different. And I don’t understand the way that they treat you. You’re a Duke, after all, and unmarried – that would generally be enough to make a lot of the unmarried ladies follow you about like puppies. But they don’t. Instead they gossip, and whisper dark rumours. Why?”
He looked at her, utterly stunned. It sounded as if she actually cared… he did not, really, know where to start to answer her question. He swallowed, and considered – would she understand?
“Ah… that is… somewhat complicated. It starts with the fact that I’m a Scot – there is a segment of the ton who regard the Scots as uncouth barbarians, no matter how much history we share, or how educated a man might be. And then there is my size. Being a large man is not something I’d wish upon anyone. People assume that being large somehow makes one less intelligent, and less genteel. As if my size and appearance make me automatically a barbarian. When I first went up to Eton, my speech was all Scots, and most of the boys bullied me about it – not physically, after the first few – there are some advantages to size, although that just added to their belief that I was barbaric – but with mockery, and pranks and other nastiness. Kilmerstan and Dangerfield were the only ones, to start, who offered me friendship and support.”
“That is horrible – that they should mock you for being yourself!”
“It is the way of the world – people mock those who are different from them. To survive it, I not only learnt to speak like a ’perfect Eton gentleman’, I also learnt to be subtly nasty back to them. It got me a reputation for being dangerous. And once I was past school… society was not that much different, in how they treated me. There are people who might wish their daughter to marry a Duke – but not a Scots Duke… and they made that clear. For a while, I admit, I sought to deal with it by gambling a little, by drinking, and even by accepting comfort in the arms of some willing widows. That should shock you. But it was true. In the end, they all proved to care nothing for me, and everything for my money.”
She looked at him, and sank into a chair. He dropped back into his, and lifted his brandy.
“Then I suspect you must be a saint, if you’ve been treated like that, for years, and you still manage to be polite.”
He laughed, startled.
“That is one thing I have never been called before! You were right, when you said that society is mostly falsity and self-interest. Did discovering that disappoint you terribly?”
She met his gaze, and nibbled at her lip, thinking – he wondered just what those thoughts were. Then she smiled, and it completely lit up her face.
“I was, at first, but I am not anymore. If they are so shallow, then I do not particularly wish to associate with them. I should have realised sooner – for the way they treated my sister was terrible.”
“Oh?”
“Juliana came out three years before me, being older, and she was nervous, and a little uncoordinated – she laughs now, and says she was like a foal still finding its balance – but they were so nasty – the gossips decided that there was something wrong with her, and spread terrible lies, until she cut her Season short and came home. I did not understand at the time, but I saw it last year, when we came to the summer house party where she met Garrett. She stumbled, once, and it all started again – utter, vicious nastiness. I think it was then that I began to realise that my picture of society was a false fairytale, and the men this last Season just confirmed that for me. I admit – you have intrigued me from the moment we met, because
you behave so differently.”
She blushed prettily as she said it, and Adair felt warmed through by her words, by the very idea that she might look at him, and actually see him, not the ‘wild Scots barbarian’.
He wanted to kiss her again.
He should not.
“My Lady… you should go and sleep. We have Molly’s funeral to attend tomorrow, and it will likely be a long and unpleasant day. I am beyond glad that you see me as different – and not as a fearsome barbarian! – but we will have days and weeks to come to get to know each other better – if you wish that to happen?”
She yawned, and shook her head in annoyance at doing so.
“You are right, I should sleep – and hopefully I will not dream terrible dreams any more. But yes, I do wish it, that we should get to know each other better…”
“Then we shall. Let us hope that the investigation of Molly’s death is soon done. I would hope for a festive season not overshadowed by death any longer.”
“Indeed. And let us hope that no one is falsely accused…”
“By which you mean me, do you not? I certainly do not like being whispered of as a potential murderer – but tell me, truly, why you do not believe it of me, when most everyone else does?”
“Well, apart from the timing, and the fact that I was still in the stables when Molly climbed to the hayloft… you have always been gentle with me, and with everyone else I have seen you interact with, including all of the staff – I simply cannot see you as a violent man – at least not without enormous provocation.”
“I thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your faith in me.”
Smiling, she rose from her chair, and came to him. She bent, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, her fingers stroking his hair aside gently. It was as if she had granted him a blessing, and peace filled him at her touch.
“Let us trust that Garrett will discover the truth. I will leave you now, and seek my bed, as you should seek yours.”
A Christmas Bride for the Duke: Clean Regency Romance (The Nettlefold Chronicles Book 4) Page 7
