by Julia Donner
Lark hurried to clean and pack the shaving kit. “Very popular. His lordship was a member of the duke’s staff during the war. Wellington, you know.”
“Of course, I know, Lark. The United States isn’t on another planet.”
“Most certainly not, my lord. I do hope you’ll allow me to shave you.”
Max went to the window to check the weather and watch the road. “Perhaps. Get on with it about the Asterlys.”
“Lord Asterly is said to be a formidable presence in Parliament. Lady Asterly is known for her salons. Enormously wealthy, which made for a fine match with Asterly. His estate, Marshfield, is not more than a twenty-minute ride on horseback from here. Pretty much gone to ruin until Lady Asterly took it in hand for restoration. That is another thing, my lord. The carriages are in a sad state and quite ancient. They could be repaired, but the only cattle left are too old or meant for farming. You may wish to visit Tattersals while in town. For horses, team and hunter—”
“I know about Tattersals. Tell me more about Lady Asterly.”
“Her ladyship’s father was a banker. Her mother a foreign lady with royal connections they say. None of that matters, actually. Her ladyship is highly respected for her social and political position. Both are on extremely close terms with Wellington.”
“So you’ve said.”
Lark closed the valise. “There is one thing, my lord, and I do not mean this in a derogatory manner, but feel you should know.”
Max turned away from the view to study the valet. Lark now held the valise. His tone sounded vaguely worried but edged with determination. “My lord, you should be advised that Lady Asterly is not anyone to trifle with. She has an unspoken reputation for being retributive.”
“If it isn’t talked about, how can you say such a thing about a lady without verification or reason?”
“My reason, my lord, is for your protection. Verification comes from the rumors none of her staff will ever confirm but have nonetheless been accepted as proven truths. This information was acquired when her ladyship spent a great deal of time in the district whilst supervising the restoration of Marshfield. She provided many opportunities for employment in the district. Members of her London staff often come and go.”
“If not verified by her staff, how do you come by the notion rumors are indeed factual?”
“From the servants of visitors. Certainly not from the Asterly staff. And I should point out that their reticence to gossip has nothing to do with fear. They would protect Lady Asterly with their lives. She…inspires that sort of loyalty.”
Max responded with a grunt and narrow-eyed survey of the valet. “You’ve seen this for yourself?”
Lark opened the door. “This is all from word of mouth, my lord. Everyone who works for them, for her ladyship especially, are fiercely loyal. More importantly, please beware of Mr. Crimm, her major domo.”
Max went through and waited in the passageway. “I should shiver in my boots over a butler?”
Lark darkly replied, “In this case, my lord, most definitely, yes.”
Chapter 9
Entrance to the imposing house in Cavendish Square exhibited an equally impressive vestibule. Max and Sir Cameron weren’t given time to cool their heels. He’d hoped for a pause to appreciate the statuary and paintings, more than the scan allowed as they crossed the foyer. A rendering of a stately country manor drew his attention immediately. The etching on the plaque identified the house as Marshfield. The artist’s name wasn’t familiar
It was a bit of a let down that there was no sign of the curious fellow known as Crimm. Two wigged footmen led them up a wide marble staircase and past the open double doors of a long reception hall to a smaller drawing room. While one footman stood by the open door, the other explained that this was the Green Saloon and announced their names to the occupants inside.
A gentleman with military straight posture stood by a window that faced the street. Max assumed him to be Lord Asterly. When he turned to greet them, his most startling feature was his tanned, weather-worn complexion. Max had seen its like before on men who had spent a great deal of time at sea or in harsh terrain.
The lady by his side removed her hand from his arm. She had pleasant but nondescript features. A quantity of glossy brunette hair had been arranged in a style that appeared casual but Max spied the efforts of a clever maid. The glorious mound of hair had been designed to give the illusion of informality and distract from the clever intellect underneath it. Expressive hazel eyes reflected acute judgment.
Sir Cameron was immediately greeted with fondness. Lark had mentioned that Lord Asterly and his twin, Sir Harry Collyns, had been his childhood friends. Introductions and pleasantries were exchanged. Refreshments were offered and declined. Max did his best to conceal his impatience to learn what he could during this visit while Lord and Lady Asterly quizzed Sir Cameron for the news in Kent.
He sat quietly as Lady Asterly asked Sir Cameron about his wife—where Allison, Lady Bradford, was at the moment and when she would come for a visit. Max had also learned from Lark that Lady Bradford had been unable to relinquish her calling of midwifery but restricted her skills to family and friends.
Memory flashed an image across his vision, a painting at Oakland done by Agnes, the subject her brother and his wife. Sir Cameron stood beside a seated gentle-eyed woman. He’d been posed with his hand on his wife’s shoulder, quite unusual. Married couples weren’t typically depicted with any sign of intimacy or affection. Serenity imbued and flowed out of the painting. The style reminded him of the depiction of Marshfield he’d seen in the foyer downstairs. Understanding bloomed. He looked down at hands he’d kept cupped on his lap to hide a smile. Agnes used another name, hiding her light under the proverbial bushel when she was so astonishingly talented.
A whisper of warning prickled across his upper back and shoulders. When he looked up, his hostess had shifted her attention, pinning him with a piercing regard and a slight smile that wasn’t impersonal but nonetheless, uncomfortably intimidating.
Max admired her subtle skill. Moments before, she hadn’t concealed the warmth of her affection for Sir Cameron, but Max was an unknown. It didn’t matter that he’d been brought into her sphere by her husband’s childhood friend. She would make her own ruling. He prepared himself for dissection.
“I apologize for neglecting you, Lord Loverton. It is quite unfortunate that Minister Rush is unavailable. Such a distinguished gentleman, is he not?”
“Ma’am, you’re speaking of Mr. Richard Rush?”
“The very same. He presents so pleasing a manner that he is invited everywhere. He sent his profound regrets and asked to extend his compliments to you.”
Max sat across from Lady Asterly, whose cerulean gown was beautifully offset against the couch’s vivid green upholstery. Agnes would appreciate the contrast. The sweetness of Agnes’s expression and demeanor distracted him for a moment. Then the thread of the conversation returned.
“Mr. Rush has been a frequent guest here, ma’am?”
“On a few occasions. He and Asterly are famously rude for discussing politics at table.”
Asterly moved to sit near his wife, perching a hip on the couch’s arm. He leaned sideways to make a playful growling noise near her ear. “You’re jealous because you always have to sit next to Wellington.”
Asterly grinned as he looked away from his wife’s frown, explaining with happy disregard for his wife’s disapproval, “He refuses to succumb to her wiles. Rush is too fastidious and well-mannered. My tyrant wife asks pointed questions and then refuses him another morsel of dinner until he responds.”
Fluffing up, his wife snapped, “Asterly, I do not! Behave, sir. Lord Loverton is not acquainted with that which you presume is wit.”
Asterly curved his hand around her wrist. “Shush, Eliza. He’s a man of the world and not easily frightened. What do you say, Loverton? Isn’t she a fierce one?”
She pushed his hand off, but with a smile. “St
op it, Asterly. You’re making our guest uncomfortable, and I have inquiries.”
Asterly made a scowling face and grimly shook his head. “Poor man. Now you’re in for it. She has questions.”
“Not rude ones!” Lady Asterly scolded, and when she turned her attention his way, Max felt ready to be pinned and scrutinized, encouraged by an eagerness to spar with her.
Wearing a deceptively charming smile, she said with sweetness, “Mr. Rush mentioned that your adopted father encouraged you to run tame in the homes of all the American notables. One can scarcely ignore the possibility that you engaged in direct conversation with them at one point or another.”
“Not quite tame, Lady Asterly, but I have had the privilege of introduction to three presidents.”
She smoothed a graceful, long-fingered hand over the blue silk on her lap. No disfiguring wrinkles marred the sheen. She appeared to be savoring the slick texture as she continued, but he saw it as a clever distraction. “Cameron’s letter intimated that you had inquiries of a nature personal and private. In appreciation for all Lady Bradford has done for my husband and myself, please, ask and allow us to be of service.”
Max glanced at Sir Cameron, whose expression made it known that Max was on his own at this point. “Did the letter explain in any detail?”
He forced himself not to squirm when she paused to examine him further before responding to his question, which had been an overused avoidance tactic. It didn’t help that Asterly, his booted foot swinging lazily as he listened, was taking obvious delight in his wife’s parrying tactics.
Lady Asterly’s manner made a change, artifice discarded, now displaying the gravity Max had hoped to find for his quest. “My Lord Loverton, let us be candid. We have a particular villain with whom we share the need for injustices settled.”
“More than injustice, Lady Asterly. I believe he had my parents murdered.”
“Murdered? Then your issue takes precedence over Asterly’s and mine.”
Feeling the brunt of Lord Asterly’s regard, Max carefully asked, “What is the nature of his offense on your side?”
Lady Asterly glanced at Cameron. When she paused, Cameron replied, “As I briefly explained, it involved my mother and sister.”
Max dropped his chin in a nod of acknowledgment. “Then we are of one accord. I would dearly appreciate the opportunity to address Sir Edmund in person.”
“That will not be possible,” Lady Asterly said, “for he’s quite likely dead.”
“I had my suspicions but needed affirmation. According to the estate ledgers, Sir Edmund never left England during the time my parents were in Canada. One must suppose that the deed must have been accomplished by someone else. He wasn’t the sort to do it himself. He would’ve hired someone. That villain may yet live and will have to do to satisfy justice.”
Lady Asterly absorbed his vow then looked up at her husband. “Please have one of the footmen fetch Crimm.”
Max started a bit when Asterly opened the door and a tall, white-haired man waited on the other side. A butler by his attire, but he wore gloves, where men in his position were not required to wear them.
Asterly showed no sign of surprise. “Ah, Crimm, should have known you’d be lurking. Come through.”
The reason for the gloves became apparent when Mr. Crimm stopped beside the couch. His hands were deformed, cruelly bent and contorted. Max suspected part of the result came from boxing. There were obvious signs of his past involvement in pugilism to the disfigurement of his nose, an ear badly damaged and scarring around the eyes. Even so, there was a grandeur to his presence, an elegance unusual in the servant class. Overriding all was the strong impression of razor-like intellect.
Crimm tipped his head in a bow. “My lady, how may I be of service?”
“Sir Edmund. Are we in accord that he is no longer alive? And you may speak openly in front of my visitors.”
Mr. Crimm lifted his chin and paused for only a moment to collect his thoughts. “He was taken aboard the Sea Eagle, impressed as instructed under a fictitious name. Made to act as scullery in the galley, since he had no marine experience. It was verbally reported by Captain Stark that Sir Edmund complained bitterly, was whipped and relegated to the hold in chains for intractable insubordination. He died there of a digestive ailment before they reached land. His remains were disposed of at sea.”
“Thank you, Crimm,” Lady Asterly murmured.
Max studied the butler, whose attention never wavered from the expensive striped-silk wall coverings in his direct line of vision. “Mr. Crimm, are your reports ever inaccurate?”
“No, my lord. Never.”
Max asked, “Lady Asterly, you trust this ship’s captain?”
“He is in my employ. I own the ship. It’s used for commerce between England and the Orient. The new cutter design makes for faster crossings, and to be perfectly blunt, it provides the perfect remedy for the elimination of one’s more vicious adversaries. In my experience, nothing is more conducive to disappearance than regrettable incidents at sea.”
Max didn’t know whether to laugh or feel appalled. “Ma’am, you are…efficient.”
“Only when needs must, my lord. Now to the issue of the murder of your parents.” She regarded her stoic butler. “Crimm, I expect you know the particulars of Lord Loverton’s unfortunate loss.”
Discomfited, Max realized that his purpose for the visit had already been discussed. Thoroughly. This sudden turn was more than a little disturbing. Lord Asterly had dropped his funning manner. He stood straight and sharp-eyed behind the couch. If he’d been brandishing a sword he couldn’t have looked more menacing. The information being discussed was more than inflammatory. His wife was handing over her life and future to a man she’d never met before today, but he physically and emotionally stood behind his wife’s decision.
Lady Asterly said, “If you would continue with your report, Crimm.”
“As you instructed, all ship manifests have been searched. My informants came across four names, which required further scrutiny. Lord Asterly made oblique inquiries in the diplomatic circles. We believe that we have a candidate, a known affiliate of Sir Edmund’s.”
Max stood. “I would be obliged for his name and direction.”
Lady Asterly startled him when she crossed to place her hand on his arm. “Calm, sir. I fully agree that you have just reason to seek this horrible person out, but you must not wreak your justifiable outrage on this criminal.”
Strong feeling trapped a reply in his throat. Sudden realization that his decades-long desire to find this felon was in his grasp. It didn’t seem real. The room went out of focus. Pressure on his arm and a woman’s calm voice intruded.
“Loverton, think well on this. I do understand how dearly you yearn for satisfaction, but you must allow me to see to this. There must be no connection to us or to you and Cameron’s family. Again, I fully comprehend your wish to shoot him down, but that will only lead to scandal. It will reflect on the district also. We are all connected to this. Your parents’ deaths did not go unnoticed.”
“I’d forgotten. Marshfield and the Grange, neighbors.”
Asterly’s experience in war and in politics rang within the warning note of his hard command, “Loverton, keep your head. My family has resided in Kent for centuries. Cameron is connected to Sir Edmund and so are you. If you do as your heart desires, interest in Sir Edmund’s disappearance will be resurrected, and we shouldn’t like to have our district and its favorite hero besmirched by scandal.”
Sadly, Max did comprehend the scope of the possible repercussions. Reluctant, but resigned, he nodded his acceptance. “But I ask that I be told when the man is dead.”
Lady Asterly held out her hand to shake. “I give you my word.”
Within her firm grasp he understood that she would see it through. Steady determination gleamed in her level gaze. He’d met a few women as strong as this one, wives of presidents, survivors of the war, widows with clinging childr
en. His recollection of his mother was nothing like this woman’s fierce resolve. An ache and anger he’d held for so long eased. Time to let go of the past and look to the future.
She removed her hand from his. “And I do hope you will give me the honor of calling you Maxime. I do so love that name, and you must call me Elizabeth.”
He forced down a swallow to release the restriction in his throat. “That will not do, my lady. You must allow me to call you Lizzie.”
She laughed, a delicious female chortle that made Cameron smile and her husband smirk. She held out her hand for his arm.
“You will stay with us, of course. Crimm, have Sir Cameron’s and Lord Loverton’s things brought from the hotel and dinner brought forward an hour. We have country people with us. My lord, I should like to show you paintings done by Sir Cameron’s sister. I came across a landscape of hers long ago and fell immediately in adoration of her technique of capturing the verdant lushness of the countryside.”
They strolled down painting lined corridors, discussing merits, sharing common likes. They halted in front of Asterly astride a sturdy bay mare. The artist’s name was the same as the one in the foyer of Marshfield.
“One of my favorites,” Lady Asterly whispered. “The mare is Ramona, the only female my husband loves almost as much as me. She carried him off the field, even though shot twice and wounded from shrapnel. Stood over him when he fell and savaged a soldier who tried to bayonet an injured man. Disgraceful.”
“Men, and women, I suppose, can become unrecognizable as human when dire circumstances become commonplace.”
“An opinion too philosophical for my taste. A soldier doing his duty deserves respect. My husband was grievously wounded. I don’t care for horses, but I do like Ramona. Isn’t it marvelous how Agnes captures personalities so accurately?”
“She caught the mare’s strength and calm-eyed demeanor. I have hopes Miss Bradford will do a more current rendition of the Grange. And the obligatory portrait.”
“Do you?” Lady Asterly murmured, and in her clever gaze he saw her understanding of all his ingenious comment had implied. “I wish you a pleasant result, Loverton, and forgive the impertinence of suggesting a little reminder.”
