by Allison Lane
But that last was impossible. One of her tasks was to prove that Emily would forgive him. And now was the perfect time. No gentleman could abandon her here. Settling onto the stone bench, she invited him to join her, then turned her eyes to his.
“Tell me about the day Randolph died.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Drew jerked back in shock, but Cherlynn’s hand on his arm kept him from rising. “I need to know why you feel responsible for his death,” she continued relentlessly.
“Why?”
“I can’t explain.” She shrugged. “But it’s vitally important. Trust me. Please?”
“Who told you I killed him?” Resignation sagged into his shoulders even as fear threaded his voice.
“No one else knows,” she assured him. “I was walking in the gardens this morning and thought to visit the Grecian folly. But it was already occupied. I did not intend to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t force my feet away. I am asking for the details because I don’t believe you are capable of murder, and it’s not worth sacrificing your life over an accident.”
His face was stark white. “I never wanted you to find that out, Emily.” Suspicious moisture glinted in his eyes.
“I don’t need protecting from the truth, Drew,” she vowed, tightening her grip on his arm. “Nothing you can tell me could be worse than imagination.”
“Are you sure? What happens when your memory returns, reviving the rules you are now ignoring?”
“Whatever rules limit my life, I will still judge you on the merits. But I cannot judge at all if I don’t have the facts. Please, Drew? Tell me how Randolph died.”
He restlessly paced the folly. “You won’t recall, but for the last four years I’ve split my time between Thurston Park and London. My father and I disagree about many things, so it was easier for both of us. Randolph remained here, assuming the estate’s management when Father’s health began to fail.”
He paused to look out over the Channel. “The arrangement was acceptable to all parties and allowed me to leave immediately after William’s funeral despite Father’s recent attack.”
She nodded, ignoring the break in his voice.
He pulled himself together and continued. “I didn’t return until March. Some business arose that required consultation with Father.” He glanced at her, but she kept her face expressionless. This wasn’t the time to discuss his relationship with Emily. But it might help if she clarified his feelings for Fay.
“Was your father the only reason you stayed at the Park, or did Fay have something to do with it?”
“My dealings with my betrothed are private,” he said haughtily, suddenly becoming the quintessential aristocrat.
“Please, Drew. I have to know everything.” Her pleading softened his eyes, but not his stance.
“I am to bare my soul, though you refuse?”
“I didn’t refuse to explain. I said I can’t. Perhaps that will change once I’m fully recovered. All I know now is that I must understand everything.” It was close enough to the truth that she felt no guilt over her lie.
He walked away, and for a moment she feared he would leave her there. But he moved into a breeze and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Several minutes passed in silence before he returned to the folly. After taking another turn about the floor, he propped his shoulder against a column and again stared at the Channel.
“Fay is the only child of my father’s closest friend,” he said on a long sigh. “Raeburn House is unentailed and will be her dowry. Father and Lord Raeburn often discussed the desirability of a match between Fay and myself, but left the ultimate decision to us. Yet she acted as though the betrothal were carved in stone, assuming that I would succumb to pressure. So she was less than pleased when I informed her five years ago that I wasn’t interested. She tried many wiles to change my mind. When her tantrums and possessiveness grew wearisome, I moved to Thurston Park.”
“So your absence was a way to avoid Fay?”
“That was the impetus for the move, but the advantages of being apart from my father kept me away. And living near Charles, of course.”
She could easily see why he’d left. Fay was spoiled and selfish. Even at fifteen, she had probably been unscrupulous. At twenty, she was deadly. “What is the problem with your father?”
“We’ve spoken of that many times,” he protested.
“None of which I recall.”
He sighed. “We have several. I both love and respect him, but we disagree on nearly everything.”
The love was obvious. Why else would he sacrifice his life to spare his father pain? He wasn’t the type to cower in fear. “Everything?” she asked in surprise.
“I wanted to buy colors, but he refused. Although Randolph would make an unexceptionable marquess should I die, he would not allow the heir near danger.”
She nearly contradicted him, but caught herself. Either he was unfamiliar with Randolph’s true character, or he was skirting the subject out of guilt or respect for the dead.
Again he sighed. “But mostly we disagree about the estate. He refuses to try anything new, despite my successes at the Park. Even Coke’s stunning results won’t sway him. Unfortunately, Coke is a Whig.”
“As are you, I suppose,” she guessed, then noted his nod. “Politics have ruined even more relationships than religion.” That earned her a puzzled stare. Biting her tongue, Cherlynn returned to business. “So you were on your way home to speak with your father. What happened?”
He turned back to the view. “The weather was unusually warm for March. I was so eager to conclude my business that I pressed on rather than stopping for the night. I had outpaced my baggage carriage and was nearing Broadbanks when I caught up with Randolph. Naturally, I dismounted to talk to him.”
“Of course.”
“Not until we exchanged greetings did I realize how foxed he was – nearly three sheets to the wind. Normally, drink only intensified his tendency to sneer at others’ foibles and ridicule pretensions. But something must have already irritated him that evening, for he was argumentative and suspicious from the moment he saw me.”
“Did he start a fight?”
He shook his head. “He was surprised at my arrival, for I hadn’t bothered writing ahead. Thus he immediately assumed that I was sneaking home to check on his stewardship.”
“Why would he care? You already said he was doing a good job.”
“Of course he was!” He glared at her. “Father was satisfied . . .” But his voice trailed away, his expression changing to horror as thoughts raced past his eyes. “Why would he care?” he echoed in a whisper. “He’d been helping for three years before assuming the entire job. Father often praised his efforts. Yet this year, Father was too weak to check on him.”
“Surely, if there was a problem, it would have surfaced by now,” she reminded him, mostly because she did not want to accuse a man she had never met.
“Not necessarily. I’ve been in too much shock to review the books.” Both hands threaded his hair as frustration and horror increased. If Anne’s tales were accurate, Cherlynn had no doubt that Randolph was not the paragon Lord Broadbanks assumed, but Drew could investigate that on his own now that his suspicions were raised.
“Later. Continue the story,” she urged.
He took another restless turn about the folly. “Randolph demanded to know what I was doing here. I explained my business, seeking to reassure him that it didn’t concern him. He disagreed.”
“Why?” She knew she was putting him on the spot, but the truth was too important.
He scowled. “I was considering marriage, but wished to have Father’s blessing before speaking with the girl’s guardian.”
“The proper approach, but hardly Randolph’s affair. You have a duty to secure the succession.”
“It wasn’t his affair, but he exploded in fury, catching me off guard with a blow to the stomach. I knocked him down – as he should have expected, for I was always the bette
r fighter – then demanded an explanation.”
She watched his mind retreat to that cliff top as he continued his tale. He’d forgotten her presence, so she remained silent.
* * * *
Drew shivered.
Randolph had been both drunk and furious – a lethal combination. “You were promised to Fay from the time she was two,” he shouted, staggering to his feet to renew his attack. “She counted on you, doted on you, loved you every day of her life. She wouldn’t even look at the rest of us because of you. And now you plan to jilt her?”
“There was no promise,” Drew countered sharply, panting a little as he sidestepped Randolph’s onslaught. “It was a fantasy fostered by our fathers. Fay has known for years that I wouldn’t wed her, for we discussed it more than once. I won’t let the dreams of two old men trap me into a marriage that would be hateful for both of us. And she can’t seriously claim to love me. She is a manipulative witch who loves only herself.”
“I won’t let you hurt her,” screamed Randolph, kicking out at Drew’s groin.
Drew sidestepped, but couldn’t avoid the blow completely. “The only dream she harbors is getting her hands on the Broadbanks wealth. No matter what lies Fay tells, I know what a woman in love looks like, and Fay doesn’t even come close. If you are so concerned for her future, marry her yourself.”
“She won’t have me,” he gasped, reeling from a blow to the stomach. “Not without Broadbanks.”
“Which proves how little she cares for either of us. Emily will make a better Broadbanks chatelaine than Fay ever could. Fay destroys everything she touches, as this encounter proves. Why else are we fighting over her?”
But Randolph didn’t listen. Like so many men who were the worse for wine, he couldn’t let an idea go once he latched on to it. So he fought on. Before it was over, Drew shoved him over the cliff, falling back to smash his own head on a rock. He did not regain consciousness until Fay arrived.
* * * *
Cherlynn let out a ragged sigh. “How can you call that murder?” she asked softly, ignoring his mention of Emily. He hadn’t even been aware of doing so. “It was an accident. Or at worst, self-defense. He was obviously trying to push you over the side. By killing you, he could have both Broadbanks and Fay.”
His eyes widened.
“Think, Drew,” she demanded. “By his own words, he wanted Fay, but she wouldn’t take him without the title and estate. He let her follow her heart, but when you declined to wed her, he saw only one way to make her happy – by killing you. If he had been sober, the thought wouldn’t have occurred, and certainly would not have taken root.” She uttered the lie with a straight face. Randolph sounded jealous of everything Drew had. For twenty-four years he had been the second son, expected to make his own way while his older brother needn’t lift a finger to acquire untold power and wealth. Many men would scheme to rid themselves of the impediment. But Randolph was dead. There was no point in defaming him now. “If you had lost that fight, you wouldn’t be here today.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, but I could have won without pushing him over the edge. I will forever bear the burden of having deliberately killed him.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I—” He frowned. “How can anyone remember their thoughts when in the heat of an argument?”
“Do you remember pushing him?”
His shoulders sagged. “Not exactly, but Fay saw the end of the fight.”
“That’s why you accepted my amnesia so easily,” she said triumphantly. “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Do you remember hitting your head?”
He frowned before hesitantly replying. “Yes. It all happened in slow motion. I was swearing. I had meant to roll as I hit, but I came down on a rock. There was a blinding pain and a lot of stars. The next thing I knew Fay was bent over me. She had seen the whole thing and agreed that Randolph had clearly been in a belligerent mood. She chided me for shoving him over the side when he paused for breath, but swore she would never tell a soul. She didn’t want her husband to be suspected of killing his brother.”
“And the implication was clear,” she finished. “Either you married her or she would tell everyone that you had deliberately killed Randolph.”
“Exactly. I couldn’t do that to my father. He has always doted on Randolph. The shock of finding me a murderer would have killed him.”
“But you aren’t a murderer,” she swore stoutly. “And I’ll prove it. Show me where this fight took place.”
He started to protest, but shrugged and tossed her back onto her mount.
* * * *
The cliffs where Randolph had died were barely half a mile from the folly. The road turned inland to avoid rough terrain and skirt Broadbanks Hall, but an ancient footpath followed the cliff tops, offering a shortcut to men and horses. Woods crowded the hill, thinning at the edge into a clearing a hundred yards long by twenty yards wide. Gulls soared on the wind while others picked through the rocky detritus piled at the foot of the cliffs, looking for edibles washed ashore.
Drew remained silent as he searched for the exact spot.
“Here,” he finally said. “This is the rock I landed on. Randolph’s body was found just below.”
The rock was a dozen feet from the edge.
“How exactly did you land?” she asked.
He pantomimed his actions, stepped back a pace, then gingerly laid down with his head on the rock.
“You are sure that you landed precisely like that?”
“Positive.”
“Then you are no more guilty of killing your brother than I am.”
“What?”
“How did you fall here, if you were close enough to the edge to push Randolph over?” she asked.
He looked from the rock to the cliff several times. His feet had been angled inland when he awakened.
“Do you see what I mean?” she demanded. “Do it again. I am Randolph. We are struggling.” She stood between him and the cliff. “Fay claimed that Randolph stopped to catch his breath.” She let her hands drop to her sides. “Now shove me over.”
“I see. If I push, you might possibly go over, but I’m not likely to catch you far enough off guard to make you stagger that far. And when I stumble back, I land in the wrong place.”
“Precisely. To land where you did, you must have started here.” She moved to a spot nearly twenty feet from the edge. “I don’t care how drunk he was, a push at this point would not get him anywhere near danger.”
“But he did go over.”
“Of course he did. But the only way you could have killed him was to pick him up bodily and toss him there. Not only would you remember doing so, I doubt he would have cooperated enough to make it possible.”
“So it was an accident after all.” He sounded relieved.
“True, but not in the sense you mean. Since you remember falling, you can’t have been conscious when he went over the side. You would have had to stumble around for quite some time before going down if the fight had been responsible. I think he fell over later.”
“What are you saying?”
“It was an accident, all right. But you were in no way involved. Randolph knocked you into that rock. Perhaps he stumbled afterward, or perhaps his exertions on top of too much wine disoriented him so he turned in the wrong direction. Whatever the cause, he fell on his own.”
“You’re saying that he simply stumbled over the edge after he had knocked me out?” he asked.
“Exactly. You had nothing to do with it.”
“But why—”
“—would Fay swear otherwise?” she finished. “Since she claimed to have seen the fight, she must have heard everything you told Randolph. There was only one way to prevent her dreams from going up in smoke. Once you got home and talked to your father, it would be too late.”
“So she convinced me that I had murdered my brother.” His voice turned deadly.
“Don’t do anything rash,” she said
as he surged to his feet. “You can’t break your betrothal without cause. The scandal would kill your father. And if he has only her word versus yours, whom will he believe?”
She could see the admission in his eyes. Broadbanks would believe Fay over his own son. It hurt, and she longed to comfort him, but she couldn’t. Pulling him into her arms was much too improper for Emily and would only push her own feelings closer to the brink of disaster.
“So what do you propose?” he asked at last, weariness now etched on his face.
“You can’t let her get away with blackmail. But we need to find evidence to either support your claims or call her veracity into question. Jilting her will cause enough gossip without adding suspicion of murder.”
“I will gladly live with ostracism if it rids me of that witch,” he swore.
“I know, but you should try to avoid it. What would it do to your wife and children?”
He gave her a sharp look, but she hid her knowledge of who that wife would be. “Fay was the only witness. What evidence might there be after four months?” he asked.
“If she lied about this, she must have lied about other things. All you need to do is expose one deliberate falsehood.”
“True.” He nodded. “Thank you, Em. You may have just saved my life.”
That was truer than he knew. And perhaps he could uncover some useful evidence. But this didn’t let her off the hook, Cherlynn admitted when she reached her room. If Drew could handle everything from here, why hadn’t Emily returned?
Stupid question. Evidence must exist that only she could find. Am I reading this right, Emily? Impossible though it seemed, there was something that would prove Drew’s innocence.
She shook her head. This seemed an ideal task for the Mission: Impossible team. Too bad she didn’t know enough psychology to set up the kind of mind games that might trick Fay into confessing.
