As Death Draws Near

by Anna Lee Huber

  “Don’t pity him too much. He’s also the one who informed Lady Westlock’s maid of your involvement in our inquiry at Gairloch Castle.” Our first investigation together. “And the maid undoubtedly told Lady Westlock, not her husband.” Whom we had blamed.

  I gasped in outrage. “Why, of all the rotten . . .”

  “Yes.” Gage pulled me to my feet. “At the time, he thought he was helping me. But, of course, he only made matters worse.” He spread his fingers through my hair at my scalp. “And pushed me closer to you.”

  It was only then that I realized he’d already pulled out the ribbon Bree had used to secure the ends of my hair.

  “Sebastian,” I protested weakly as he leaned in to kiss me. I sighed as he brushed his fingers down through the intertwined strands, loosening them. At the sound, he deepened the kiss, interpreting it as encouragement, and I didn’t correct him. Because, of course, it was.

  • • •

  The next morning as dawn crept over the eastern fells, painting pink and yellow streaks through the clouds and tinting the dark water of the lake lavender and mauve, we set out for the coast. There was no direct route to the town of Whitehaven through the western fells, so we were forced to go around. Though the road north and then west was by no means an easy one, bouncing and jarring us inside the carriage, so that it was impossible to sleep. Fortunately, the spectacular sights more than made up for the discomfort. In this more rural part of Cumberland there were few villages, and little to interrupt our view of the gorse-strewn hills, tumbling rock formations, and sparkling streams.

  As we neared the coast, the road swung south again. The land gradually flattened into fields of wheat and barley, and homes and shops began to dot the roadside. Even with such an early start, by the time we reached the port of Whitehaven, the sun was well on its way to its zenith. So while Bree and I refreshed ourselves at a dockside inn and purchased a few additional provisions for the journey, Gage and Anderley went to see about chartering a boat to take us across the Irish Sea. We were seated at a corner table in the front room, nursing small glasses of ale, when they returned.

  “We’re in luck,” Gage proclaimed. “I’ve managed to hire the crew of a fishing schooner. Normally they would just be returning with the day’s haul, but they had some trouble with their equipment and had to remain in port last night. They said they’d welcome the extra wages, and still have the chance to bring back a catch with them when they return.” He leaned over to pick up my still half-full glass, nearly draining it in one swallow. He offered the glass back to me, but I shook my head. “They said the seas are favorable, so if you both are ready.” He arched his eyebrows in question as he finished the ale.

  “Yes.” I rose to my feet, smoothing down my straw yellow and rose striped silk carriage dress. “I believe we have everything.”

  Before we could take a single step toward the door, a familiar voice drawled from across the room near the stone hearth. “It is you. I thought it might be, but it was difficult to tell with your head tucked up primly beneath that bonnet, and your maid guarding you like some Scottish terrier. But now that I see Sebastian Gage, I realize it must be Lady Darby.”

  For a moment, I stared in surprise at the man lounging in his chair, his foot propped on the bench opposite as he smirked in satisfaction. Until I remembered how much he enjoyed inciting just such a reaction from people. Particularly me, for some reason. I flattened my expression as best I could.

  “Marsdale,” Gage replied tightly. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  It was a legitimate question. The Marquess of Marsdale was the dissipated son and heir of the Duke of Norwich, and had played a somewhat unsavory role in our first inquiry at Gairloch Castle during a house party my sister was hosting. From what I’d gathered, he spent most of his life trawling between London and various house parties, drinking, gambling and bedding numerous women. Because of his title and his dark good looks, he was allowed to behave so without being entirely ostracized from society. A portside inn in the small town of Whitehaven seemed as dubious a place to find him as I could imagine. Though, the fact that he was seated in the tavern area, drinking a pint, was somehow less astonishing.

  “I could ask you the same thing.” He slanted us a sly look. “Running off to Ireland, are we? Don’t tell me you mean to elope?”

  Considering the fact that I had been a widow, and we were both well beyond the age of consent, the question was absurd. But I suspected that had been his intention. Marsdale loved nothing so much as tweaking our noses.

  “Actually we’re already wed,” I told him. “Two months past. So I’m Mrs. Gage now.”

  I expected to see some sort of reaction from him, but he barely gave us one. His smile merely deepened. Either he was better than I realized at hiding what he did not want to be seen, or he already knew.

  “Well, well,” he murmured, rising to his feet. “I suppose congratulations are in order then.” His steps did not yet weave, but his sallow skin was flushed, making me suspect this glass might not have been his first.

  He reached out a hand to Gage, who reluctantly accepted it. “May I kiss the bride?” He flashed his teeth in a wolfish grin, which made it clear he would not be aiming for my cheek.

  “Only if you want your lip split,” Gage warned.

  He shrugged. “Ah, well. Can’t blame a man for trying with such a lovely lady.” He tilted his head. “And you are still Lady Darby, you know. Perhaps not by right, but by courtesy. Everyone will still address you as such.”

  This was not news to me. I was aware of the idiosyncrasies of the correct forms of address among the British aristocracy. Even so, it stuck like a burr in my side. Society would think it a snub to take away the higher rank I’d been accorded from my first marriage by addressing me as a mere missus, but I was more than eager to shed Sir Anthony’s name. However, I knew that would not happen permanently until Lord Gage passed away and Gage inherited his title, making him higher ranked than my first husband.

  I flicked a glance at Gage, curious how he was reacting to Marsdale’s words. He appeared annoyed, but not upset. After all, this wasn’t the first time we’d encountered this unwanted courtesy, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  “All the same, I prefer Mrs. Gage,” I said.

  Marsdale shook his head. “I’m sure you do. But you know how society is. Such a stickler for tradition.”

  I arched a single eyebrow. “And we all know how important you hold society and tradition.”

  He smiled. “Ah, Lady Darby, I have missed you.”

  I didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning to gather up my reticule and beckon Bree forward.

  “Good to see you, Marsdale,” Gage remarked, making it clear he meant the opposite. “But we really must be going.” He wrapped his hand around my elbow to guide me forward.

  “Wait.” Marsdale’s voice grew more earnest. “Did I hear you say you were sailing to Ireland?”

  Gage hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Might I sail with you?”

  This stunned both of us into silence. We stood stiffly staring at him for so long that the noises of the tavern surrounding us began to filter into my consciousness—the clink of glasses and the scraping of chairs. I watched as the amusement Marsdale ordinarily displayed at having shocked us began to fade to strain. His left eye even twitched, making me realize he was serious.

  “To Ireland? You want to come with us to Ireland?” Gage tried to clarify.

  “Yes.” When Gage didn’t reply, he added, “I’m more than happy to help defray the cost. In fact, I’ll pay for half the charter fee . . .”

  Gage cut him off with a shake of his head. “Why?”

  Marsdale’s tongue seemed uncustomarily tied.

  “Why do you wish to go to Ireland?” Gage’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of trouble are you in?”

  He tried to
laugh off the suggestion, but I could tell Gage was right. “I know my reputation precedes me, but really, Gage. I think you’ve been dabbling in inquiries for too long. Such suspicion.”

  Gage didn’t rise to his bait or release him from his glare.

  He must have realized he was going to have to be forthright if he wished to persuade Gage to let him join us, for he heaved an aggrieved sigh. “It’s nothing. Just a small misunderstanding.”

  “What misunderstanding?”

  Marsdale’s mouth flattened into a petulant line. “Some chit decided to crawl into my bed at Kendal’s house party.”

  Which explained his presence in Whitehaven, fifty or so miles to the west.

  “Which chit? Do you mean a debutante?” Gage asked, his voice rising in outrage.

  “Yes,” he snapped. Then he mumbled, “The Earl of Skipton’s daughter.”

  My eyes widened. Even I knew about the earl’s notorious temper. About his younger days spent as a pugilist, until after a series of tragic deaths the earldom fell to him.

  I glanced up sharply at Gage as a bark of laughter erupted from him.

  “And she entrapped you?”

  It was not an uncommon worry among gentlemen with wealth and titles. More than one young lady had succeeded in forcing a marriage by arranging to be caught in a highly prized lordship’s bed.

  Gage’s humor at Marsdale, of all men, finding himself in such a predicament slowly died. “Or did you coax her there?”

  His scowl blackened. “I know better than to dandle with the virginal young misses, especially Skipton’s kitten. No, the girl and her friend arranged it all.”

  Knowing Marsdale, I somehow doubted this. “And you didn’t encourage her?”

  “Well, of course, I encouraged her. But I never expected she’d actually sneak into my room, the cheeky minx.”

  I lifted my eyes heavenward. At least, he was honest. Inappropriately so. I didn’t dare ask him whether he’d ignored Skipton’s daughter’s invitation once she was in his bed. I didn’t want to know.

  Neither did Gage, apparently, who continued to glare at the marquess. “So you fled.”

  “What else was I to do? Marry the chit? Refuse? If I did that, Skipton would have served me my bollocks for breakfast.”

  “Marsdale, mind your tongue. There is a lady present.”

  He huffed in annoyance. “You grasp my dilemma? It would be best if I left Jolly Old England for a while.”

  “Best for whom?” I scolded. “This girl’s reputation will be ruined.”

  “That’s not my fault.”

  Oh, it was, but I could see he didn’t think so. I turned away in disgust. Perhaps it was for the best. After all, what woman in their right mind wants to be wed to a man like Marsdale? Despite the scandal, I had to believe Skipton’s daughter would be happier in the long run. So long as Skipton didn’t disown her, or worse.

  Gage must have been able to divine my thoughts, for he touched my arm to gain my attention. “Lord Skipton has a temper, but he’s a reasonable man, and devoted to his family. I suspect his daughter will suffer no harm from him.” His eyes hardened as they lifted. “Marsdale, on the other hand, is another matter.”

  Our interloper jumped at this opening. “Precisely. So help a gent out. Save yourself the bother of another inquiry. Or better yet, add soothsaying to your abilities and prevent a murder.”

  Gage stared at him in irritation.

  He smiled hopefully, as if sensing his opponent was yielding. “Come on, Gage. What say you?” His dark eyes glanced toward me. “I can help protect your lady wife.”

  At this, Gage growled. “If you wish to speak with the captain of our ship and arrange passage to Ireland, that’s your own affair, Marsdale. I won’t naysay you. But I won’t help you either. We leave as soon as we board, so if you think to wait for your valet to pack . . .”

  “My valet is following behind with the luggage. I’ll leave a message. He can catch another boat.”

  I blinked in surprise. For a self-indulgent fop like Marsdale to willingly flee the country without his servant and his belongings must mean he truly did fear for his life.

  Gage moved a step closer, exploiting the few inches of height he had over the marquess. “However, if you trouble me or mine, I will not hesitate to dump you overboard.” He stepped back as Marsdale jerked a nod, cupping my elbow with his hand. “As for my wife, I wouldn’t bother trying to ‘protect her,’ if I were you. She carries a pistol.”

  Marsdale looked at me with new interest as Gage ushered me forward, and I smiled viciously.

  CHAPTER THREE

  We hurried along the docks, weaving around crates, fishing nets, and dockworkers loading and unloading cargo. I guessed Gage intended to test the marquess’s resolve, hoping he would fail to keep pace with our quartet, but Marsdale gamely followed. It was only when I stumbled that I realized Gage was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed how fast we were moving. He slowed his steps, guiding me up a narrow gangplank onto the schooner.

  He nodded to a man I guessed to be the captain as we boarded. “We’re ready to sail as soon as you and your men are.” Our trunks must have already been loaded and taken below.

  Soon enough, we were pushing away from the quay and gliding out toward the open sea, with Marsdale in tow. What exactly he had told the captain, I never knew, but he easily negotiated his passage. What was one more when you were carrying four?

  In port, the ship had smelled strongly of fish, as was to be expected, but once the sails caught the wind, thankfully, the stench began to dissipate. I stood at the rail, watching in some trepidation as the coast of England drifted farther away until it was a speck on the horizon. I decided then that perhaps it would be best if I joined Bree belowdecks in the cabin that had been offered for our use. At least then I wouldn’t see the last sight of land disappear.

  Unlike Gage, I had done little sailing, and none out on the open sea. I wasn’t certain what to expect, or how to prepare myself. So I tried to ignore the tiny little flips my stomach was making whenever I thought of the water and the waves. The last time I had been in a boat, I had been at the mercy of a killer and almost drowned. I fought back my quavering nerves and threw myself into helping Bree to prepare our luncheon.

  The cabin was by no means fresh or well appointed, but it was relatively clean, and likely the best accommodations they had on the ship. A pair of narrow bunks were attached to one wall, while a hammock swung across another corner. It brushed Bree’s strawberry blond curls as she sat in one of the chairs pulled up to a battered wooden table nailed to the floor in the center of the room.

  We unpacked some of the food from the hamper they had sent with us from Brandelhow and settled in to enjoy a modest meal. The men would join us soon enough. However, halfway through luncheon, the sea beneath us became choppier, and the churning I had felt in my stomach earlier returned with a vengeance. I began to wonder whether I should have skipped food altogether.

  My struggle must have been obvious, for Gage took one look at my face when he entered the cabin and advised me to come back up to the deck with him.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I protested.

  “It’s the best place for you if you’re feeling ill,” he cut in gently. “The sea air will help.”

  I swallowed against the urge to wretch and allowed him to take my hand and pull me from the room. Without saying a word, we passed Anderley and Marsdale waiting in the narrow corridor.

  He guided me to the rail and pressed a steadying hand to my back. “Pick a point on the horizon and fix your gaze on that,” he instructed me, raising his voice to be heard above the sharp wind.

  “But there’s only water. And it’s constantly moving.”

  “Yes, but that far in the distance, where the sea meets the sky, that point remains fixed. Keep your ey
es on it, and it will trick the rest of your body into thinking the sea is more steady.”

  I inhaled the salty breeze and followed his advice, focusing on that narrow slice of the world. The sea between the ship and the horizon was a slate green, rolling up from the deep to lash out at the boat like a petulant child, while overhead the sky was misty gray, much like the sky in the Highlands after it rained. I could feel the heavy dampness against my cheeks, but far from being unwelcome, it was actually quite comforting. Like having a cool moist cloth pressed to my forehead by the hand of God Himself. Between the wind and the wet, I knew my hair must look a riotous mess, but at that particular moment I didn’t care. The untidiness was well worth it if it would help settle my stomach.

  True to Gage’s assertions, in a mere matter of minutes, the queasiness lessened. By no means did it disappear, but at least it was manageable. I loosened my grip on the railing, flexing my fingers, and lowered my shoulders from where they had crept up around my ears. But I kept my gaze pinned to the horizon, for every time I looked away, I felt my stomach flounder.

  “Better?” Gage asked.

  “Yes. Thank you. But am I supposed to stand here the entire voyage?” I could hear the strain in my voice. After all, we had only just set out. The majority of the journey lay ahead of us, and already I was feeling a bit desperate to reach land. “What am I going to do overnight?”

  He rubbed reassuring circles on my back. “The captain told me we should pass out of the wake of the storm that caused these rough seas as we near the Isle of Man, and then the waters should be calmer.”

  I glanced swiftly to my left, catching sight of several members of the crew working with a length of rope, before I returned my gaze to the horizon. Between gusts of wind, I could catch snatches of conversation and laughter as they completed their tasks of which I knew nothing about. “And how far is it to the Isle of Man?”

  “Oh, a few hours.”

  I could tell he was lying. I knew my geography well, and if we weren’t going to reach Dublin until the following morning, we certainly weren’t going to skirt the south of the Isle of Man in only a matter of hours. Before nightfall, perhaps, on these long summer days, but not before dinner.