I forced myself not to cringe at the epitaph. Elder countess indeed! Another bit of misery Reggie had left me to endure.
Once I got past the denigrating title, I realized they were still fighting over my money. As the only member of the family who had any, of course the useless elder countess would pay for everything. Of all the devious tricks! My gaze drifted over to the sideboard where Crabbe, the butler, decanted wine for the next course. The footman stood nearby, waiting to clear the soup course. It would be unseemly to discuss finances in front of them, but if I ignored these hints, they would assume my consent. I’d intended to wait until after the servants had withdrawn before giving them my news, but now they left me with no option.
“There is nothing dearer to my heart than assisting the family, but I’m afraid my funds are committed elsewhere.”
Delia’s ingratiating smile faded. “Whatever do you mean, dear?”
I’d been bursting to tell them for a week now, and foiling their little trick made it all the more thrilling. “Well, I have some rather exciting news.” I paused, glancing from Delia to Graham and back. “When I was in London last week, I leased a house.”
Delia’s jaw sagged, and I heard Graham choke at his end of the table. When I turned toward him, he was mopping his mouth with a napkin. Clearly breathing, so all was well. “Do you mean you’re leasing a house for the Season?”
“No, indeed. I bought the leasehold. There are eighty years left on the lease, so it required a significant down payment, but my solicitor negotiated splendidly, and, well, it’s mine.” I nearly sang out the words.
Graham stared at me as if he still didn’t quite understand. “A house, you say? A house?”
“Yes!” I clutched my hands together, trying to contain my excitement, but on second thought, why should I? I leaned toward Graham. “Now before you say a thing, you dear man, I know you’d put up with my presence, and never allow me to feel I was in the way. But you are the Earl and Countess of Harleigh now. I no longer serve a purpose here and should move on. You’ve been wonderfully kind during this past year, but I refuse to impose a moment longer.”
Take that, Graham.
“But a house. The cost!”
“Graham.” Delia chided him with a frown. “Pas devant les domestiques.”
I dipped into my soup, hiding my smile behind the fragrant vapors of steam. Not in front of the servants. Exactly why Delia started this conversation in the first place. I was happy to turn the tables on her. They could hardly say what they really thought about my leaving—at least not yet.
“You needn’t worry about me, Graham. My father provided for me well enough to set up a household for my daughter, which is what I should be doing. After all, I must get on with my life, and let the two of you get on with yours.”
My smile faltered as I saw how red Graham’s face had become. Goodness, I’d forgotten he had a weak heart. I should have considered that before giving him such a shock. I certainly had no intention of making him ill.
His brow furrowed as he watched the footman remove the soup bowls. He was working up an argument, but Delia’s voice broke the silence first.
“Are you sure moving to town is the best idea for you and Rose? Not that I want to change your mind, of course.”
Of course she didn’t. No lady of the house wants the former lady of the house hanging around for years on end. I’d been a thorn in Delia’s side since she and Graham moved in here a year ago. It had taken ages for me to earn the loyalty of the staff at Harleigh Manor and now they were reluctant to hand that loyalty over to Delia. No matter how many times I publicly referred the servants and tenants to her, they still came to me with their questions and problems. And I admit, in private, I encouraged them.
There was a battle taking place in her mind between her twin desires—status and money. I had hoped she’d be my champion in this endeavor as I knew she’d be thrilled to be the only countess in residence, and therefore the lady of the house by default. But she had to know it would be much more difficult to wheedle money out of me if I weren’t on hand.
As her decision could go either way, she needed a nudge in the right direction. “I’ll only be a short train ride away, Delia. I’ll see you when you come to town for the Season.”
The footman leaned in at her side, with the main course. She studied my innocent smile as she took a portion of beef. “I must say I’m quite excited for you, but I’d be terrified living on my own. You’ve chosen a good neighborhood, I hope.”
I could have jumped from my seat and cheered. The battle might not be over, but I’d won the first skirmish. “It’s in Belgravia, on Chester Street. Far away from any criminal element. We’ll be moving next week, right after Easter, which reminds me, there are some pieces of furniture I’d quite like to take with me.”
“Of course. You’ll want familiar things in your new home. Why don’t you give me a list and your direction, and I’ll arrange to have them delivered.”
At this, Graham’s complexion seemed to turn from red to green, but he made no further protest. In fact, he said nothing through the rest of the meal, though he never stopped glaring as Delia and I carried on our conversation. I had the niggling feeling this might have been too easy, but right now I was too happy to care.
Chapter 2
A word of advice—when planning an escape, do not alert the guards. I only wish someone had counseled me on this before I opened my mouth. Graham and Delia had a full week to work on changing my decision to move out on my own. I would be losing the protection of the family, they told me, and placing myself into God-only-knew what danger. I would be shunned by good society and bring shame to the family name. Ladies would label me “fast.” Gentlemen would take advantage of me.
I listened to their concerns, but the simple truth was, if they lost control of me, they’d lose control of my money. But they were no match for my resolve, and eventually, moving day arrived, and I found myself ensconced in my very own home.
I loved it. It may well have been the smallest house I ever lived in, but it belonged only to me. I found it perfectly cozy, and cleverly designed to contain everything one would need. The third floor held a spacious nursery-schoolroom, and two bedchambers: one for Rose and one for Nanny. A large reception room, dining room, and library made up the main floor, with four bedchambers and fitted bathrooms above. It even had electric lighting. Very modern. And best of all, I was situated on the end of the row, with Wilton Mews to my side. Therefore, I had an abundance of windows, making the house light and airy. And rather empty. Furnishings were meager. As I glanced around the reception room, I made notes of what I might need to buy, and my list was growing quite long.
My staff was a bit sparse right now too, but I wasn’t quite sure what my needs would be yet. I had Mrs. Thompson, a housekeeper who doubled as a cook. Jenny, the housemaid from Harleigh, came to work for me along with Bridget, my personal maid, and of course, Nanny. Mrs. Thompson brought on a scullery maid and a kitchen boy. No butler, no footmen. Did I need them? It might be handy to have a man around the house for heavy lifting but I could always hire someone on a temporary basis if the need arose, as I’d done with the movers. Time would tell.
“Shall I put the knocker on the door, my lady?”
I turned to see Jenny in the doorway, brass knocker in her hand, and a new rush of excitement made me giddy. “I know this is silly,” I said, my hands making little flutter movements, “but I’d like to place it.”
Jenny flashed her friendly grin. “Not silly at all, my lady. Being as it’s the first time going up on your new house, it makes everything official-like. I’d want to do it myself if it were my house.” She preceded me into the hall, and opened the front door for me. Stepping outside, we came to a halt, and waited, as if the knocker would simply affix itself. The door wore a fresh coat of paint—a deep forest green, which looked well against the white stone façade. On closer examination, I found a peg had been painted over. Aha!
I turne
d the knocker around, looking for some sort of indentation to fit on the peg, when I heard footsteps coming up the walk.
“What-ho! It looks as though I have a new neighbor.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see who belonged to the low-pitched drawl. Oh, no. This could not be possible.
“Lady Harleigh, what a surprise.”
Surprise didn’t begin to describe how I felt as I looked into the face of the Honorable George Hazelton. Horror was more appropriate. And did he just call me neighbor?
I suppose this would be as good a time as any to recount the story of my past relations with him. Only two people have all the facts of my husband’s death. One of them, of course, is the lady in whose bed he died, Alicia Stoke-Whitney. The other is George Hazelton.
* * *
Reggie and I were hosting a shooting party in the country. We’d prepared a joint guest list. Some of my friends, some of his, as well as Graham and Delia. The events of that day were not particularly memorable except for the rain, a downpour that flooded the streams and washed out the road. The shoot was cancelled. Left without a scheduled activity, Reggie and some of the other men played countless games of billiards, and drank rather a lot. By dinner Reggie was sloppy and unpleasant, and most of us went to bed shortly thereafter.
What I will never forget is Alicia Stoke-Whitney shaking me awake in the middle of the night. I blinked several times before bringing into focus the face that belonged to the figure in the white dressing gown, bending over my bed.
“Alicia? What’s wrong?” As I pulled on my own wrapper, she just stood there, mute. Once my eyes had adjusted, I could see she was quite shaken. Alicia was a fair-skinned redhead, and even in the dark, her red nose and eyes told me she’d been crying. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, taking her arm. “What is it, dear?”
“It’s Reggie.” She looked at me in horror. “I really don’t know how to say this.”
Something in her voice chilled me. “What happened to Reggie?”
“Try to stay calm,” she said, patting my arm. “And keep your voice down.”
If she thought that would calm me, she was mistaken. I took hold of her shoulders and gave her a shake. “Alicia, what is it?”
Her lips opened and closed a few times. Then she spoke. “He’s dead.”
The words acted like a dousing of cold water. While definitely wide awake, I was incapable of any sound save a gasp, and a few inarticulate gurgles that were meant to be “Where?” and “How?” My vision blurred. My ears rang. I must have looked as if I were about to faint, because Alicia pushed me back to the bed, pressing my head down uncomfortably into my lap. Her voice shook as she whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
It took a few minutes, but finally the room stopped spinning, and I could hear again. I raised my head to see her tears were now streaming. The first hint of suspicion struck me. Why was she the one to bring me this news? “How did you find him, Alicia? Is someone with him?”
“Frances,” she sobbed. “I can’t tell you how terribly I feel about this.” She sniffed. “He’s in my room.”
I stared uncomprehendingly. “In your room?” I don’t know if I was that naïve, or if the shock was making me particularly dense, but the confusion on my face made her cry all the harder.
“Oh, God, you didn’t know. He was with me, Frances. I’m so sorry.”
It’s not that I didn’t know my husband had affairs—many affairs—but I’d never had the fact so blatantly pushed in my face before. Neither had I ever run through so many different emotions in so short a time—confusion, fear, shock, grief, and finally anger. Good Lord! In our own home? And then he had the nerve to die in her bed. I grew cold at the thought. Damn him!
“Frances.” The urgency in Alicia’s voice brought me back to the moment. “We have to do something.”
We? We have to do something? The two of them had carried on as if marriage meant nothing. How had I become part of the equation again? I took a calming breath. However unfair, I had to admit she was right. We had to do something.
“Take me to him,” I whispered.
We slipped around the corner and down the hall, our dressing gowns swishing against the carpet as we passed the main staircase, and turned into the guest wing and Alicia’s room. I waited while she unlocked the door. My thoughts turned sour. Too bad it hadn’t been locked earlier.
The room was dark, but the hall sconce sent a weak shaft of light across the four-poster bed, where Reggie lay on his back, one arm trailing off the side. I inched toward him, tears welling in my eyes. He did indeed look lifeless. I lifted his wrist and felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
The tears came harder. I blinked them away and choked back a sob. Damn! What was I crying for? For what might have been? I was a fool, an idiot. He would never have changed. He never saw a reason to change. He was lying in another woman’s bed, naked, for goodness’ sake.
Oh, my! He was naked, wasn’t he? Well, I suppose if he could have chosen a way to die, this would have been it.
I turned to Alicia, hovering behind me, and whispered, “What exactly happened?”
“I think he must have had a heart attack. After we . . .” She shrugged, and I suspect she might actually have been blushing, if you can imagine that. My brows rose as I awaited her explanation.
She continued in a hushed voice. “Well, after we were done, we fell asleep. I woke a little while ago, and tried to rouse Reggie, to send him back to his room. But I couldn’t wake him.” She raised her hands to her cheeks, and drew a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. “I can’t believe he did this to me.”
“I hardly think he died to spite you,” I hissed.
“Yes, yes, but he should have been back in his own bed. Then I would not have to deal with this disaster.”
I turned to her in utter disbelief. “I’ve been cheated on. Reggie is dead. You have a long way to go before I’d consider you as the injured party in this.”
In disgust I turned for the door, but she clutched at my arm. “Frances, don’t leave me.” In the dim light, I could see her shaking with panic, and put an arm around her shoulder to calm her, marveling how our roles had just reversed.
I looked over her head at Reggie. “You’re probably right about the heart attack,” I said. “He and Graham both have arrhythmia but Reggie was never good about taking his medication.” And a lifetime of cigars and alcohol didn’t help either.
Drawing a deep breath, I pushed Alicia away. I should thank her for making me so angry. It seemed to clear my head. “I suppose we’ll find out what it was, when we send for the doctor, but we have to move him back to his room first. And we should probably put on his nightshirt. If he’d gone to bed in his own room, he’d be wearing it.”
Alicia scurried around and found his nightshirt trailing from the chair. It took both of us to dress him. I climbed around behind, pushing him to a seated position, while she struggled to get his arms into the sleeves. It was an exhausting business as Reggie was not exactly cooperative. No surprise there. When we’d finished, I fell back against the headboard while I caught my breath and fought another flood of tears. I glanced at Alicia, standing beside the bed, one hand resting on the post. She was only of middling height, and of slim build. A wave of dread spread through me as I realized the truth. “We are not going to be able to move him ourselves. We’ll never get him down that hallway.”
Alicia nodded her agreement. “Whom do you trust then?”
She looked up at me with watery eyes. Was it fear, or did she actually care for Reggie? Either way, it was clear the irony of that question escaped her. Whom did I trust? I hardly knew. “Since we both have a stake in keeping this a secret, I suppose I must trust you, but we need a man.” I considered our options. “Formsby, Reggie’s valet perhaps?”
“No!” Even in the dim light I could see the alarm in Alicia’s face. “Don’t you think I would have called him, rather than you, if I thought he could be truste
d? This is too large apiece of gossip to place in the hands of a servant. And now, Formsby is a servant without a master. He will talk,” she said, emphasizing the words with a bob of her head. “He has no reason not to.”
She made a good point. I struck Formsby from the list and considered the other possibilities. “The only man here with a good reason not to talk is your husband.”
She gaped in astonishment. “Are you mad?”
With a gesture, I reminded her to keep her voice down. “Who else is more likely?” I was becoming more than a little irritated with her again. She helped to create this situation; why couldn’t her husband help us now? I pushed Reggie off my knees, and climbed down from the bed. “Think about it. If any of Reggie’s friends knew of this, they would hold it over our heads forever. We’d be hearing from them anytime they needed money, or a favor. Your husband is our best choice.”
Alicia brushed that idea aside. “Our marriage is hanging by a thread, Frances. He’d use this as evidence against me in a divorce, dragging your family name through the mud as well,” she added, jabbing a finger at me. “There has to be someone else.”
Good Lord. This would be laughable if it weren’t so horrifying.
“Well, we must perform some magic then,” I said, my frustration making me snap at the woman. “We must find a gentleman in this house who is so chivalrous, he would move a dead body for a lady, and has so much integrity, he would never use that favor against her. Is there such a paragon on this earth?”
I looked down and found myself wringing my hands. Forcing them apart I came to a decision. It had to be George Hazelton, my dear friend Fiona’s brother. I knew him socially but not well. He only attended this party as escort to Fiona as her husband was occupied with estate business. When she and I met during our first season, he’d been away at school. Since then he was always at his family’s seat in Hampshire or out of the country on some sort of business.
A Lady's Guide to Etiquette and Murder Page 2
