Nothing to Commend Her

by Jo Barrett

  "My goodness,” she whispered.

  "Something the matter, my lady?"

  "Oh, no, I'm sorry Tess, just thinking out loud.” And what a thought she had.

  She was in love with him. She shook her head faintly, trying to deny the truth, but it was useless.

  Love, it was a simple emotion, one of many, but she'd never thought it would strike her so forcefully and without warning. She'd imagined it to be one that grew with time. Not that she didn't want to love her husband, but she'd assumed, however incorrectly, that it would come with the passing of years, not a mere smattering of weeks.

  "You can go Tess, thank you."

  Her maid gone and shaken by her newly discovered feelings, her head hung low with the weight of her discovery.

  "He cannot love me, and may never,” she murmured. But that didn't mean they wouldn't be happy. He said he wanted her, and that was far more than she'd thought she had when she awoke that morning.

  "It's something to build on,” she murmured and rose to leave, ready to face her unexpected guests.

  She caught sight of a bit of folded paper lying on the floor.

  "Odd,” she said, and bent to retrieve it. She unfolded the note and scanned the writing, her stomach dipping to the floor.

  You will die, and he will suffer, as I suffered.

  Agatha leapt to the door and threw it wide, hoping to catch the culprit, but the hall was empty. Could Tess have left it? Perhaps she had some feelings for Magnus.

  She shook her head at the thought, it didn't seem very likely. If she did, why would she want him to suffer if she cared for him?

  She returned to her room and summoned Barstoke. He appeared within moments.

  "How well do you know Tess?” she asked without preamble.

  "She's been with us since she was a very young, my lady. Has she been remiss in her duties?"

  "No,” she said, tapping the note against her finger tip. “You trust her, I take it."

  "Explicitly, my lady. As I do all of the staff."

  She nodded. “You wouldn't have it any other way, I suppose."

  "No, my lady."

  She heaved a heavy breath and looked the old gent square in the eye. She trusted him, for no other reason than he was an exemplary butler and had been at Bridley Hall for years.

  "I am about to make a rather unusual request of you, Barstoke."

  "Of course, my lady."

  "Someone slipped this note beneath my door,” she said, waving the paper before her. “It is a rather unpleasant note. I need you to alert the household to watch for anything out of the ordinary."

  Barstoke blinked owlishly a moment, his craggy brows high. “Do you wish to include your guests in this—surveillance, my lady?"

  "Most definitely."

  "We shall endeavor to the task."

  "I'm sure you will, and Barstoke, this is to be kept between us. I don't wish to alarm his lordship, is that understood?"

  "Yes, my lady. Completely,” he said and turned to leave.

  There were too many people to watch sufficiently, but she had to at least try. And then again, none of the guests were at Bridley Hall the other night when she'd been pushed. Which meant the person who'd left the cryptic note could've been in the house the entire time.

  "Just a moment, Barstoke.” He turned and waited. “Would you say that it could be possible for someone to get into the house without being noticed?"

  He stared as if she'd said something beyond ridiculous, but it was the only logical conclusion.

  "Someone dressed as one of the servants perhaps?” she suggested.

  Barstoke's back snapped straight. “I'm positive I would notice an unfamiliar face, as would Cook, and any of the other servants. No, my lady. I don't think anyone has entered this house without our knowledge."

  "I see.” She sank into a chair, the note still clutched in her hand. “Thank you, Barstoke. Please inform me of any oddities."

  With a stiff nod, he left.

  If Barstoke was so sure, then that left three other possibilities. The person who wanted her dead was either one of their visitors, which didn't ring true due to the timing of the attempt on her life, one of the servants...or her husband. She shivered at the thought, and prayed for logic to save her from such a horrendous deduction.

  "It would be so unfair to love the man who wanted me dead,” she whispered.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Six

  Agatha poured several cups of tea and handed them to her guests, thankful that none of the horrid ladies she'd encountered at Lord Crittenden's ball were among them. But her nerves remained unsettled as the women chattered on, including her on some level. She had difficulty following the conversation as her thoughts were firmly fixed on her husband.

  He couldn't possibly be a murderer, and yet his first wife was dead. There'd been some odd rumblings amid the ton at the time, but she was certain it was nothing more than nasty gossip. He'd not been accused of any wrong doing, had suffered severely himself. And why would he wish to harm her? Then again, perhaps her newfound emotions were skewing her perception and deflecting any guilt from his direction.

  A laugh, low and rough, weaved its way across the room to her ears. Had that been Magnus?

  She sought him out and found him smiling. Then his gaze met hers and her breath caught in her throat. How could he be the killer? Were his attentions all some cruel attempt to waylay her suspicions?

  "It cannot be easy stepping into another woman's shoes,” Lady Crittenden said, catching her ear. “But you seem quite suited for one another,” the woman said, and patted Agatha's knee. “It was such a dreadful loss for Lord Leighton. George returned from abroad for a time to be by his side, but even he hadn't been prepared for such a sight."

  Agatha felt a slight tearing in her heart. She hurt for her husband, for what he must have suffered. Heaven help her if he proved to be guilty.

  "Are you all right, Lady Leighton?"

  She jerked her head back to the group of ladies around her. “What?"

  "You look upset,” Lady Crittenden said.

  "Oh, no. I'm sorry, my mind wandered a moment."

  "No doubt to your husband,” Lady Crittenden said with a subtle wink.

  Agatha appreciated her sincerity, while desperately tying to hide her doubts regarding Magnus.

  "Lady Leighton, please tell us how you met Lord Leighton,” Miss Barrington said.

  "Oh, yes, do,” Miss Templeton added breathlessly. “Was it terribly romantic?"

  She was caught quite unaware by the question. “Oh, well, um..."

  "Don't be silly, girls,” Lady Templeton said. “You must forget all this romantic nonsense. Marriage must be decided sensibly. Don't you agree, Lady Crittenden?"

  "Oh, my yes, but I would not discount love,” she replied.

  "My dear Gerald and I have been married for twenty years, and it was arranged. We've been quite happy together,” Lady Templeton continued. “I'd understood your own marriage was somewhat of an arrangement, was it not Lady Leighton?"

  "I—well—” Agatha nibbled at her bottom lip and glanced at her husband.

  His gaze lowered to her mouth then back to her eyes, and she would swear she felt his touch from across the room. Renewed warmth ran through her, chasing her doubts away for the moment.

  "No, it wasn't,” she said with a breathy sigh, and turned back to the ladies. “We met by chance at Lord Crittenden's ball, and it was romantic.” Although that stretched it a bit, he'd merely played her gallant and kissed her hand, but for a spinster bluestocking, that was very romantic.

  "Oh, I knew it was a love match. You can tell just by the way he watches you,” the younger Miss Templeton said.

  "Really, Lucinda, you mustn't say such things,” her mother fussed.

  Watches her? She looked to him once more and again he met her gaze warmly. Dare she hope that there was more than want in his eyes...in his heart? Or did his gaze hold something else entirely?


  "Oh,” the girl gasped. “I'm sorry, Lady Leighton."

  She turned and patted her on the arm. “That's quite all right, Miss Templeton. I admire a woman who speaks her mind, as long as it isn't harmful,” she added, thinking of those horrid girls in London.

  Her husband could not be a monster...could he?

  Dinner was a horrible bore, what with his wife at the far end of the table. Magnus had gained a promise from Crittenden that he would not mention Agatha's work, knowing how this set would take that bit of news. The detestable gossip would flow through London with frightening speed. Nothing would be said to her face, he'd warrant, her station keeping her fairly safe, but he'd not have the slightest whisper behind her back if he could help it.

  "Perhaps after we sup, we could have some dancing,” Lady Crittenden said. “Young Miss Templeton is rather accomplished on the piano, is she not?"

  "Oh, my yes,” Lady Templeton gushed.

  Magnus looked to his wife, waiting for her response, but found her gazing off into space instead of paying any attention to their guests. He wondered what she was thinking. She'd seemed quite preoccupied since she'd joined them in the drawing room.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I am sure we would all enjoy such an endeavor."

  "Wonderful!"

  Lady Crittenden's boisterous response and the other ladies sudden excited twittering appeared to bring Agatha from her musings. She pasted on a small smile and sipped her wine. Magnus hid a grin behind his glass as he watched her study and listen to the group, doing her best to determine what she'd missed.

  "I suggest we dismiss with the usual port and cigars after dinner, gentlemen, and join the ladies in the drawing room,” Magnus said. He had a fervent desire to hurry things along so that he might actually have the chance to dance with his wife.

  The last remove taken from the table, they rose and made for the drawing room. Agatha's hand trembled where it sat upon his arm, teasing his doubts, but he refused to let them win.

  She stumbled as they entered the room where chairs had been moved away to allow for dancing.

  "Oh dear,” she whispered.

  "Young Miss Templeton is to play,” he said for her ears only.

  "Oh, thank heavens,” she breathed, a hand pressed to her throat.

  He withheld his chuckle, relieved once again that it was not he that caused her current case of nerves. “You do not play, I take it?"

  "No, not at all. Nor do I paint. I am moderate with a needle, however."

  He covered her hand on his arm. “All you need do is dance with me."

  Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes wide.

  "Unless you do not wish to, of course,” he said, looking away, a sickening feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

  "I would love to,” she said, her voice unsteady.

  He glanced at her face, thinking he would find resolve, but instead found her eyes swimming with questions. Why would she think he would not wish to dance with her? He'd admitted to just the thing that morning.

  Crittenden appeared before them. “Would you do me the honor, Lady Leighton?"

  Magnus relented his hold on her, unaware that the music had begun.

  "Um, yes. Of course,” she replied, and took his friend's hand, but her gaze was on him.

  Did she want him to interrupt, to say her nay? Women are bloody damn confusing creatures, he thought with a frown.

  Lord Crittenden chuckled as he spun Agatha around the floor. “The old boy is green."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Your husband, my lady, is pea green with envy. I can't say the last time I've enjoyed such a sight."

  Agatha smiled. “You are dreadful, you know that?"

  "Absolutely."

  "But I believe you chose me as your partner more to avoid the other ladies than to tease my husband."

  He chuckled and swirled past Magnus, who did indeed look a bit out of sorts. “You are a keen observer, my lady."

  "Thank you, my lord. But I warn you that I shall dance only this once with you. You cannot avoid the inevitable."

  Some minutes later, the music ended, and Lord Crittenden sighed. “A pity,” he said with a bow, and escorted her to her husband's side.

  She didn't miss the clenching of Magnus’ jaw at their return.

  "I suggest you keep her occupied on the dance floor, Leighton, or else another of these gents will claim her for the rest of the night,” Lord Crittenden said.

  Magnus looked at her, and she felt warmed by his gaze. This man could not want her dead. What reason could he possibly have? Who could be made to suffer other than her father?

  "If my wife wishes it, then of course,” he said with a slight nod of his head.

  She extended her hand and smiled. “I insist, my lord."

  His demeanor changed in a blink. He took her hand and pulled her into his arms and twirled her onto the floor to a lovely waltz. She couldn't take her eyes from his, and prayed with her whole heart that he was not the author of the note.

  "You are an excellent dancer,” he said.

  "To be honest, I was afraid I would trample your toes. I've not had much experience dancing."

  He grinned crookedly, a sight she was growing quite fond of. “But you observed."

  She smiled. “Naturally."

  The revelry went on for hours, and the day's events wore on Agatha. Magnus and some of the gentlemen played cards, as Lord Crittenden danced with one of the many ladies in attendance. Although it was apparent he would rather not, he was forever courteous to each of the young ladies.

  "You look unwell,” Lady Crittenden whispered.

  "No, not at all,” Agatha replied, a bright fake smile on her face.

  "Nonsense. I arrived unexpected with a group of friends, turning your house upside down, while you've been married not even a few weeks.” She took Agatha's hand. “I am sorry. I only wanted—well it's quite obvious what I want,” she said with a giggle.

  "That's quite all right, Lady Crittenden."

  "You are very gracious, dear, but enough is enough.” She turned to the other ladies, and quietly told them all that she was going to retire, claiming a headache.

  Each then took the hint and slowly called an end to the festivities, although the men were quite determined to finish their card game.

  Magnus looked at Agatha as she crossed to the door, and once again, she felt warmed by his gaze. She would sleep on this business about the note. The morning would bring clarity to her thoughts.

  He detested cards, but had not missed Agatha's fatigue after several turns around the floor and was pulled into a card game when he insisted she rest. He had to admit, but only to himself, that his leg pained him, and it would not fair well much longer if they continued to dance. But never had he enjoyed anything so much.

  The feel of her in his arms, her flush cheeks, her bright smile, his blood pumped through his veins at an alarming rate, making him want to sweep her from the room and straight to his bed.

  "Your mind is not on the game,” Lord Barrington said.

  "My apologies, gentlemen,” he replied, tossing his cards to the table.

  One of the others chuckled. “What did you expect, Barrington? The man's recently wed. Has his mind on other matters entirely."

  The group laughed at Magnus’ expense, but he forced himself to keep his temper in check. They meant no offense by the jest, but it rankled in light of his true situation.

  "Not to worry, old boy,” Barrington said. “I'm a bit done in meself."

  With somewhat of a consensus among the men, they disbanded their game of cards and followed their wives to bed.

  Crittenden, however, accosted him before he could place one foot on the bottom stair.

  "You must help me,” he demanded.

  "Help you? I've opened my house to you, your mother, and her friends, what more could I possibly do?"

  Crittenden ran a hand through his hair. “I liked it better when you were a bachelor. At least then you cou
ld help diverge some of the ladies."

  A tired chuckle escaped his lips. “I'm sorry, my friend, but this time you shall have to find a way out of the trap on your own. Other than taking yourself off in the middle of the night, I cannot see how you can avoid it."

  They slowly ascended the stairs.

  "You know, I wouldn't mind it quite so much if any of them had the pluck of your wife,” Crittenden said.

  Magnus grinned as they parted ways. Once inside his rooms, he nearly gave in to the urge to rap at her door, but his hand fell to his side. Although his body insisted he seek her out, his head argued the opposite.

  "She is tired,” he murmured. He had his dance, several in fact, and should leave her be. After all, what would he do once inside her room?

  "No,” he said, turning away from the connecting door. He wouldn't be able to stop if he so much as kissed her, his blood still hot from their waltz.

  Through sheer determination, he disrobed for bed, catching the sight of his scars in the mirror. The illusion of Agatha's face, twisted in horror as she spied his tortured body, forced him to spin away.

  No, there would be no nightly visits to his wife's room or to her bed. He couldn't take the chance.

  Had the whole bloody house risen with the sun?

  The ladies were already ensconced at the breakfast table, leaving Agatha unable to disappear into the orangery for a few hours. She'd hoped that their guests would still be on London time, and not rise for hours yet.

  She took her seat and glowered into her tea.

  "Last night was simply lovely,” Lady Templeton said.

  "Oh yes, it was delightful. Especially when Lord Crittenden showed Mary a bit of favor,” Lady Barrington said smugly.

  "I think you're mistaken, Francie,” Lady Templeton argued. “He was quite taken with my Teresa."

  The topic of their conversation strolled through the door, dressed to ride, and nearly fell on his face. “Uh, good morning, all."

  Agatha wanted to laugh. It appeared as if Lord Crittenden had planned to decamp after breakfast, but had been caught. Now she knew why the ladies rose so early. She detected Lady Crittenden's fine work behind this morning's surprise.

  "Good morning, dear,” Lady Crittenden said.

  With a perfunctory kiss on her cheek, he snatched up a plate and filled it.