A Clandestine Courtship

by Allison Lane

  “Grab her!” shrieked Lady Granger, realizing that the other boats would never arrive in time. “Don’t let her fall.”

  “Sit down, Lucy!” shouted Sir Maxwell, his face red with fury. No one in attendance would dream of offering for the girl now.

  Vincent inched forward, swaying to counterbalance her antics and steady the boat.

  “Get out!” cried Lucy, abandoning the spots. “I hate you.” She slapped him, rocking the boat sharply to the left.

  “Sit down!” Sir Maxwell’s bellow made the onlookers jump, but Lucy ignored him.

  Vincent grabbed the gunwale as the boat swung hard to the right, then lunged forward in an attempt to tackle her.

  “Stay away. Don’t touch me,” Lucy cried, jumping onto the seat. “You’ve caused enough trouble.”

  She retreated another step and fell into the lake.

  Lady Granger swooned.

  Harry arrived and pulled Lucy up by her hair. She choked a couple of times, then screamed.

  “The water can’t be more than waist deep,” Mary called.

  “Thanks.” Harry shifted his grip to Lucy’s arm. “Stand up.”

  She kicked her feet, screaming louder.

  Edwin maneuvered close enough to grab the other arm. They dunked her.

  “Stand up,” growled Harry when she came up sputtering. “You are perfectly safe, but you are making a complete cake of yourself and risk becoming a laughingstock if you do not pull yourself together.”

  One of her feet hit the bottom and she gasped.

  “Stand up.”

  The moment she got both feet under her, they dropped her arms.

  “Now walk.”

  “Poor girl,” murmured Mary

  Lucy slogged toward shore. Her gown clung to her unprepossessing figure. Weeds dragged at her legs. Hair dangled down her back. When she noted the size of her audience, her face flushed.

  Someone coughed. Several of the younger guests giggled.

  “That’s cruel,” snapped Mary.

  “Even though her own silliness brought this on,” agreed James. He glared at the laughers, silencing them. It was the first time John’s reputation had worked in his favor.

  Mary released his arm, backing away a step. He bit back a sigh, feeling how she distanced herself, though not as far as usual. One small step of progress. There was no need to rush, he decided, clasping his hands behind his back so they would remain under his control. The day was already a success.

  “May I get you some refreshments?” he asked, turning from the lake. Most of the company followed.

  A glance over his shoulder spotted servants wrapping Lucy in a rug. Her hysteria revived as they carried her to the house. But no one cared.

  The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully enough. Lucy never did return. The surprise was a play performed by a traveling theater company against the backdrop of the ruins. But while it was quite charming, its drama paled beside Lucy’s theatrics. Lady Granger had gotten her wish. Her picnic was the most memorable event of the summer.

  * * * *

  “I had no idea Frederick was so irresponsible,” said Justin, joining Mary in the drawing room that evening.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you let me leave the country instead of asking me to help with the estate. I should have known better – and would have if you had kept me informed.”

  “Sit down, Justin.” She waited until he reluctantly dropped into a chair. “First of all, leaving the country was your decision. We did not even know of it until after you sailed.”

  “What? I only transferred because Frederick pointed out that I could advance faster in a fighting regiment. We discussed it for months before making a decision.”

  So Frederick had wanted Justin out of the country. Had he hoped to hide his wealth, or was he trying to conceal his dishonorable activities? Justin’s first regiment had been stationed near London. “He did not inform us. But to address your other complaint, his faults were not your concern. Nor was the estate or the barony. Even if you had known exactly how things stood, he would not have welcomed interference in his affairs. Now suppose you explain what brought on this surge of guilt.”

  “I heard stories today,” he admitted. “Frederick and I never got on, which was one of the reasons I bought colors. He wasn’t a particularly nice person, but I was shocked to discover that he all but abandoned you. Carousing in town was bad enough, but he rarely stayed at Northfield even when he was in the area.”

  Their previous talk had dealt mostly with the present conditions and future needs of the estate, she realized. She had said little that would reflect badly on his brother. “It doesn’t matter,” she insisted.

  “But it does. How could he have ignored his responsibilities?”

  “He did not want them.”

  “But why would he waste his life when he could have enjoyed Northfield?”

  “What did you hear that upset you so badly?” she asked. When he hesitated, she continued. “I doubt there is anything you can tell me about Frederick that I do not already know.”

  “He and John were friends.”

  She nodded.

  “Ralph Adams claims that the pair often cheated at cards. There is hardly a lad in the area who did not lose to them, sometimes large amounts. And Mitchell swears they robbed men who had consumed too much wine.”

  “It fits his character.” That explained how Frederick had supported himself in London. But fleecing people was dangerous. Had someone retaliated?

  Justin repeated more gossip, but she already knew the rest. The only surprise was how much the neighbors knew about her private life and Frederick’s – which confirmed her decision not to question the servants. They would never remain quiet about it.

  Once Justin had expended his indignation, she elicited his promise to question Isaac about Frederick’s death.

  “Don’t let him manipulate you,” she warned. “I turned him down this afternoon, and despite his conviction otherwise, I have no intention of changing my mind.”

  “Determined, is he?”

  “Pigheaded.”

  “I knew an officer like that. He refused to believe any intelligence that cast doubts on his battle plans. It killed him in the end. Too bad he took so many good lads with him.”

  She slept better that night than she had in weeks. Justin was nothing like his brother.

  * * * *

  James poured wine before joining Edwin by the fire. Harry had decided to make an early night of it.

  They sat in companionable silence for several minutes while he considered all the ways John could have acquired several barrels of fine French brandy. Edwin finally spoke.

  “Caroline claims John seduced innocents. Lady Northrup banned him from Northfield.”

  “So I’ve heard. Does Caroline know anyone John seduced?”

  He shook his head.

  “Doesn’t it bother you that you cannot understand so much of what she says?” James asked, changing directions. He had not bared John’s worst crimes to his friends, not wanting to reveal the blackest marks on the family name.

  “When she is calm, she speaks quite clearly. Only excitement bothers her, or fear. You probably upset her, but she will grow out of this trouble. It would be gone already if her brother hadn’t provoked her so often.”

  Was Edwin’s interest becoming serious? James frowned. Caroline Northrup was a beautiful girl, but she would never manage in society. What man wanted a wife who could barely function in company?

  Yet he had to admit that Edwin did not enjoy London. He was happiest when grubbing about his estate, digging for antiquities. Before meeting Caroline, he had talked of visiting Shrewsbury, which occupied the site of the Roman town of Viroconium.

  “To prove that her suspicions of you were unwarranted, I told her about that orphanage you set up in Naples,” Edwin continued, swirling brandy so the candlelight sparkled through it.

  “Where did you hear about that?” He deli
berately unclenched his fists. He hadn’t thought anyone knew about the place, and was vaguely embarrassed to be discussing it.

  “Meeker mentioned it,” he said, naming his valet. “Your valet recounted the tale at dinner one night to prove that the staff was wrong when they swore you were uncaring.”

  James turned the subject by asking Edwin about the Roman lighthouse near Dover.

  It was too late to recall the tale, though revealing it served little purpose. No one could verify its truth. And it wasn’t quite as altruistic as Edwin thought.

  His stay in Naples had been delightful, in part because of his odd friendship with the working-class Portinis. Luigi Portini had been a man of many trades, one of which was a guide. His fascinating tales had kept James in the area longer than he had originally intended. Luigi had also been fearlessly loyal. When a band of brigands had attacked them, Luigi had tried to protect his employer, sustaining crippling injuries.

  James had been appalled and unable to suppress his guilt. After all, if he had not asked to visit Mount Vesuvius, they would not have encountered the brigands. So he had hired Luigi’s wife Maria as his cook and housekeeper, hoping that time would improve Luigi’s condition. He had also hired caretakers for Luigi and their eight children. But Luigi never recovered. When Maria died shortly before he left Naples, he had set up a trust to provide for the Portini family.

  Luigi had passed on six years later. The four older children were married or established in business, but he continued to provide for the rest and for two young cousins Luigi had taken under his wing.

  Hardly an orphanage.

  CHAPTER NINE

  James trotted along a narrow lane, heading for the place where John had died. If he was going to start at the beginning, then he must look at the murder site.

  It had snowed heavily on Christmas Day, though it had been tapering off by the time John had gone out. But his errand must have been urgent to drive him into even a waning storm.

  James frowned. The lane was hardly more than an overgrown track, providing access to remote grazing areas and a shortcut to an estate in the next shire, but it was rarely used. It would have been difficult to follow when covered with snow, so why had John been here?

  His horse splashed across a stream and up a hill. A quarter hour later, he reached Brewster’s Ridge.

  What a fool Isaac had been – and still was.

  During his years away, James had forgotten how desolate this area was. That was the memory that had tried to intrude that day in Isaac’s office. Yes, there was ample cover, making the spot perfect for an ambush. The track was barely a yard wide and climbed steeply at this point, forcing horses to slow. Trees and rocks made it impossible to see past the next bend.

  He shivered.

  But though the ridge formed the boundary between estates, he could not recall who owned the next one. The families were not close, meaning that few people used this particular track. No highwayman would know this lane existed, let alone expect to find custom here on a snowy day.

  An ambush meant that the killer had already been in position when John arrived, so he must have known in advance about John’s errand.

  But given the weather, waiting could not have been comfortable. The man would have needed shelter. Dismounting, James tied his horse to a tree and scrambled over the hillside.

  It took him an hour to find it. Tumbled boulders formed a shallow cave. Charred wood remained from an old fire, though James had no way to prove who had built it. The opening faced south, and though trees obscured most of the view, he could see the ford in the distance.

  Harry and Edwin were splashing through the stream. As he watched, they jumped a hedge and galloped out of sight across a meadow.

  He would bet his last shilling that the killer had huddled here, dousing his fire when John reached the ford, then taking up a position to attack.

  But how had he known John would ride this way?

  He must question the staff again. Someone must have heard about John’s plans and mentioned them to others, unless it was a servant who had killed him. But until he knew where John had been headed and how many people had known of the errand, he could eliminate no more names from his suspect list.

  Those already gone had never been serious contenders anyway. This attack bore no marks of a highway robbery gone sour. The attempt Mary had quelled by the quarry made it unlikely that the murder was connected to John’s affairs elsewhere. There had been considerable unrest among England’s working classes for several months now, but it had not started until after John’s death, and it was not aimed at the aristocracy – yet.

  Memories of France flitted through his mind. When he had been in Paris ten years after the worst of the Terror, fear had still lurked in many eyes. Even lords who had thrown their money and support behind Napoleon’s new regime did not feel entirely safe. He doubted much had changed in the ten years since. He hoped to God that England would never face such chaos.

  But he digressed. Perhaps Mary could discover where John had been going.

  The thought brought a smile to his face. Drawing her into this investigation had been a masterful stroke, for it gave him an excuse to see her often without raising her hackles.

  Mary was prickly about anything personal, but he had made progress at yesterday’s picnic. And he would make further progress when he next called on her. Perhaps they could stroll through the gardens where the servants would not overhear. Or maybe they could ride. He would use the murder as an excuse to recall the people they had known and the concerns they had shared ten years ago.

  Sooner or later, he needed to discuss those subjects anyway. John would have targeted those people for his most vicious crimes. Learning the details was his first step toward making restitution, and discussing how best to resolve the problems John had created would soften Mary’s antagonism.

  Lust again snaked through his groin. How long before he could find relief?

  * * * *

  The man crouched in a fern brake, listening.

  Leaves rustled from a passing breeze, then fell silent as if they, too, were listening. The stream flowed sluggishly, almost soundlessly, to his left.

  Patience. He knew all about patience. Watching. Waiting. Always ready to take advantage of the perfect opportunity. The earl would ride this way soon. Had to. The ford offered the shortest route back to Ridgeway from Brewster’s Ridge. That had to be where the earl was heading this day. He had been lucky to catch sight of him as he left the park.

  Not luck, he reminded himself. God was on his side, providing this opportunity so he could find peace.

  This time no one would interfere. Especially not Lady Northrup. He still had not decided if he must take care of her, too. Had she recognized the truth?

  But he had more important matters to consider at the moment. He had planned every step of the accident. A rock would knock the earl into the water, senseless. He would stop the horse long enough to lame it as if a stone had shifted, causing a stumble – he had already moved one. That would be his only moment of risk, for the water might awaken the earl while he dealt with the horse. But it was unlikely, he assured himself. The blow would do more than stun him.

  Finally, he would make sure the earl was lying face down. So tragic…

  He swallowed his fury, forcing stillness onto his body. But he flinched when a fish jumped in the river.

  Hoofbeats approached.

  He hunkered lower, fingering the fist-sized rock in his right hand. Invective swirled through his head, pictures and memories reminding him why he was here. Some people did not deserve life.

  Harsher invective swirled when he realized that the two approaching horses rode away from Ridgeway.

  The earl’s house guests laughed at some joke as they splashed across the ford. But they were not looking for the earl. Just two gentlemen out for a ride, he decided as they jumped a hedge and cantered across a meadow. Yet they posed a complication. He must be quick – quicker than he’d planned. They
might return, and with little warning.

  Silence. The sun inched higher, pressing a blanket of heat onto the earth. An animal scurried through the ferns. Silence.

  He flexed his fingers as faint hoofbeats again approached, but a laugh stopped the anticipation. The earl’s friends were returning – which got them out of the way, he realized, breathing a prayer of thanksgiving.

  Silently shifting, he peered through a low shrub, then cursed.

  Ridgeway had joined his friends.

  Another opportunity lost. Sighing in frustration, he dropped his head to the ground. How much longer until he could rest in peace? Job’s trials were minor compared to his.

  Horses splashed through the ford.

  He did not move until they were gone, but as he crept away to his hidden mount, he was already planning. Next time…

  * * * *

  “I saw one of your tenants today,” said Harry as he and James walked back from the stables. Edwin had stayed behind to talk to his groom.

  “Which one?”

  “Jem Cotter.”

  “Problems?”

  “Not that I know of, but you need to talk to him. He asked me several pointed questions, but what he really wants to know is if you plan to continue John’s policies.”

  “Surely lowering the rents answered that question.” James could still remember Walden’s shock when he had ordered the reduction. The steward’s mouth had worked silently for nearly a minute before he could get words out. And James’s decision to collect no rents this year to make up for past injustices had nearly sent the man into a swoon.

  “Not entirely. Cotter is wary. Perhaps John enjoyed raising false hope because dashing it caused so much pain.”

  My fault again. Or was it? If John had been seeking to hurt him, then he must have expected him to return to Ridgeway. How else would he learn what John had done?

  Yet that was ridiculous. John had never been stupid. After tossing James out and threatening reprisals against innocents, he would never expect him back. Unless he had somehow intended to use the tenants’ plight to blackmail him into permanently leaving the country…

  He had avoided attracting John’s attention when he returned to England, staying in London only long enough to arrange purchase of the Haven. But John could have found him if he’d wanted to – could have kept track of his travels, for that matter.