The School for Heiresses: 'Wed Him Before You Bed Him

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “They won’t think so. They always suspect the husband first, you know. Their suspicions will prompt them to start asking questions of the servants and your friends and digging into your life. Even if it never goes to trial, it’s going to be a messy business.”

  Exactly what he was afraid of.

  A knock at the door proved to be their butler. “Mrs. Harris’s personal footman is here, my lord,” he said when David let him in. “He insists upon delivering his message to you in person.”

  David’s blood began to pound. Charlotte had sent Terence over here? Confound it all—the runners had probably seen him, too.

  Still, she wouldn’t have done such a thing unless it were urgent. “Send him in.”

  Giles shot David a searching glance. “Either the good widow has heard about the investigation, or she just can’t stay away from you. You’d best tread carefully. It won’t do to have the authorities thinking there is something between you.”

  David groaned. If the police connected him to Charlotte, what assumptions might they make? Though he was innocent of killing his wife, it would arouse even more sticky questions.

  “Is there anything between you?” Giles asked. “As your barrister, I need to know.”

  Should he tell Giles about Cousin Michael, about the fact that Baines’s clerk was his alibi for the night of the murder? If he did, Giles would immediately go to Pinter with it, and David would no longer be a suspect.

  But then his careful courtship of Charlotte would be shot to hell.

  No, he wouldn’t risk that until he had to. Still, he’d better let Giles know about his intentions toward Charlotte. “I’ve asked her to marry me,” David said bluntly. “She hasn’t yet given me an answer.”

  Giles toyed with his glass. “I thought perhaps the wind blew that way.” His gaze met David’s. “I suggest that you keep that bit of information very quiet until this is all over.”

  “Don’t worry—that has already occurred to me.” David paced to the fire. “Nothing will come of this nonsense, you know. I didn’t kill Sarah, and there’s nothing to say that I did. I searched every inch of her rooms, and I’ve gone over that night a hundred times in my head. Frankly, I can’t think of why anyone would kill her. It will probably prove nothing more than an error on the part of their ‘experts.’”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Just at that moment, Terence appeared in the doorway. He started to walk in, then halted when he saw Giles. He turned to David. “My lord, I wish to speak to you privately .”

  Taking the hint, Giles rose and said, “I’ll be upstairs in the study if you need me.”

  As soon as he was gone, David closed the door again. “What’s going on, Terence?”

  Terence handed him a note. David read it swiftly:

  A Mr. Pinter from the magistrate’s office was here today. It is extremely urgent that I speak to you. If you can meet me at ten o’clock tonight at the school’s boathouse, send word by Terence. If not, tell him when and where.

  A chill ran through David as he lifted his gaze to Terence. “What did Pinter want with her?”

  “I wasn’t present for the interview, sir, but she told me that the magistrate’s office seems to suspect you of killing your wife.”

  David crumpled the note in his hand, feeling the room sway about him.

  “She said that their supposition is, and I quote, ‘utterly ridiculous.’”

  The room righted itself. “At least I have one friend left in the world.”

  “I’ll wager you have more than that, my lord. Not everyone leaps to judge a man by what the magistrate’s office says.” When David arched an eyebrow at him, Terence added, “I find it difficult to believe that any man whose servants sing his praises so highly could be a murderer.”

  “Thank you,” David said, oddly moved by the man’s faith in him. “But if she doesn’t believe that I killed my wife, why does she wish to meet with me?”

  “She didn’t tell me that, but I gather that it’s—”

  “Extremely urgent,” he said irritably. “Yes, I know.” He began to feel like a character in a gothic novel. “Did she say what she told the Bow Street runner about my…er…friendship with her?”

  Terence stiffened. “No, sir. But if I know my mistress, she was discreet. She has always been so with her pupils.” Although clearly that wasn’t a part of his mistress’s life he wanted to know too much about.

  Something else occurred to David. “And were you discreet coming here from Richmond?”

  Terence shot him an offended glance. “I should hope I know how to avoid Bow Street runners, my lord. We had to evade them whenever we arranged a prizefight.”

  David had forgotten about that. Fights were illegal and sometimes had to be moved several times to thwart the constables’ attempts to close them down.

  “So don’t trouble yourself about that, sir,” Terence went on. “No one was watching the school, and when I spotted the Bow Street runner in front of your town house and the one in the back, I was careful to slip in through the servants’ entrance when neither was watching. No one saw me, I assure you.”

  Relief swamped him. “Thank you for your trouble.”

  “What about you, sir?” Terence asked. “Will you be able to leave here tonight without being noticed?”

  “I’ll manage it.” He mustered a smile. “I may not be as familiar with constables as you are, but I’ve had to avoid a newspaperman or two in my time.”

  “If you go by the river no one will see you, even if for some reason the magistrate’s office does set a man to watching the school. Any steam packet can bring you right up to the school’s river landing.”

  “I appreciate the advice…and your help in this. Tell your mistress I’ll meet her where and when she specified.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  When the servant didn’t leave, David arched one eyebrow. “Is there something else, Terence?”

  Looking suddenly uneasy, the boxer rubbed the back of his neck. “After my mistress told me what you are suspected of, it occurred to me…that is, I may have information that could help you uncover who really murdered your wife.”

  David instantly went on the alert. “Oh?”

  “I don’t make a habit of gossiping with other servants, you understand, but—”

  “Anything you can tell me will be much appreciated,” David said firmly.

  Terence nodded. “When I was here with my mistress a few nights ago for your dinner, I overheard some servants talking about her ladyship’s activities. But I don’t know if you…I’m afraid what they said about her was a bit unpalatable for a man to hear about his wife.”

  “At this point, nothing I hear about my wife would surprise me in the least,” David said wearily. “Go on.”

  “I gathered that it was believed among the servants that her ladyship had been…showing special favor to the first footman.” Terence actually blushed. “Of a personal nature. If you take my meaning.”

  David’s jaw dropped. He’d suspected Sarah of a number of things, but not that. “You mean she was cuckolding me with George?”

  Terence’s blush deepened, though he stared stoically past David at the wall. “Yes, sir. That was the rumor. I would never have spoken of it except that under the circumstances—”

  “Yes, yes, you were quite right to tell me.” David went to the brandy decanter and poured himself a liberal amount. He took a large gulp, then stood staring into the glass, feeling as if he’d just been punched in the gut.

  Sarah had taken a lover? Under his own roof? When she wouldn’t even share his bed? Oh God, he was going to be sick.

  Not because he cared whom she had slept with or why. It just showed him yet again how blind he’d been about what was going on in his own household.

  But a footman, of all things. Christ!

  “It could be idle servant gossip,” Terence remarked.

  “No,” David said shakily. “It makes sense.” It explained why G
eorge had been shirking his duties since her death. And why the man had always given David an uneasy feeling.

  After Terence left, he couldn’t get the boxer’s revelation out of his mind. How long had the affair been going on? Is that why she’d stopped sharing David’s bed in the first place? It was possible, but he wouldn’t know for certain until he spoke to George. Which he wasn’t ready to do yet.

  First, he would have George followed to see if the man might be the mysterious “source” the magistrate’s office was relying upon. Then he would have the footman’s quarters searched.

  Because there was now no doubt in his mind that George had been the one to take Sarah to Spitalfields to sell her sapphires. Worse yet, if that had somehow blown up in the man’s face, he might just have been capable of murder, too. And he would certainly have had easy access to Sarah’s bedchamber, key or no key, if they had been lovers.

  Of course, others would have, too. Richard had a habit of sneaking in to speak to Sarah without anyone seeing him.

  But Richard would never have killed her. Sarah had been his champion, and he had been her pet. She’d loaned him money and stood up for him to their father. No, Richard would not have killed the goose that laid the golden egg.

  But he might have decided that David had done it and set out to make sure he was hanged for it.

  David clenched his jaw. No matter who was at the bottom of this, he would learn the truth. About who was trying to get him hanged, and who had killed Sarah, if she had indeed been killed.

  First, however, he had to learn what that bastard Pinter had told Charlotte to upset her. And the meeting must be secret, for the magistrate’s office was sure to draw the wrong conclusions. But how to manage it?

  Fortunately, Giles provided the perfect solution to his problem. Later that evening, he and Giles went out. Giles wore mourning and rode inside the carriage, while David, dressed as a footman, rode on the back with another footman. For once, having a brother that looked a great deal like him worked in his favor.

  As they drove off, David noted that one of the Bow Street runners mounted his horse and followed the coach at a discreet distance. When the coach stopped to let Giles out at a popular tavern, the runner settled outside the place to wait—exactly as David had counted on. As the coach drove on to where the other carriages awaited the summons of their masters, David slipped off into the night.

  It took him a couple of hours to reach the school by way of the river, yet even so he arrived a good half hour before the appointed time. He was able to enter the boathouse without being seen, since the door was unlocked. Thankfully, someone had left a lamp burning low on a hook near the door, so he wasn’t forced to stumble about in the dark.

  But “boathouse” proved a misnomer, which explained why she’d chosen to meet in such a spot despite her fear of the river. Though built near the Thames, which could be heard lapping on the bank a short distance away, the structure was self-contained, with a solid wood floor and four good walls. Only the grappling hooks overhead remained to show that it had once been used for boats.

  Now the building was filled with archery bows, quivers of arrows, old furniture, steamer trunks, and lawn-cutting tools. He smiled. Leave it to Charlotte to turn a perfectly good boathouse into a storage and garden shed. Clearly she would never let her charges venture out on the river.

  Unearthing a settee losing its stuffing, he stretched out on it, weary to the bone. He was tired of surprises. Right now he wanted only a chance to see and hold Charlotte, to forget the drama playing out in London. He had to make sure that this hadn’t driven her even farther out of his reach.

  Perhaps he should tell her everything, about Cousin Michael and the rest of it.

  No. If he did, he would have to reveal the ugly secret at the core of his masquerade. Given that he wasn’t even sure how she felt about this mess with Sarah, he couldn’t take the chance of her hating him for it.

  And if Charlotte stopped believing in him…

  The very idea ripped his soul. He was not going to risk losing her by raising the specter of Cousin Michael! With his world crashing down about his ears, he needed her too desperately now. Let them take his dignity, drag his name through the mud—but he was not going to let them take Charlotte from him. Never again.

  Chapter Twenty

  Charlotte hurried to the boathouse, wondering if David had arrived. She had spent the afternoon and evening fretting over Mr. Pinter’s revelations, and she wanted answers. Now.

  When she slipped inside the boathouse, she didn’t see anyone at first. Then she spotted the servant dressed in Kirkwood livery sleeping on a settee. Disappointment coursed through her…until she went over and realized it was David.

  The anger that had been simmering in her all afternoon flared high. Bow Street runners were investigating his entire life, and he could sleep? Oh, that was so like a man.

  She picked up a brick and dropped it on the floor.

  David shot up and glanced about in confusion, then met her gaze. “Charlotte, you’re here. I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Perhaps dressing as a servant addled your senses,” she said as she plucked the powdered wig from his head and tossed it aside.

  At her clipped tone, he narrowed his gaze. He lunged forward and hauled her onto his lap. “Perhaps dressing as a schoolmistress has addled yours,” he countered, bending his head to kiss her.

  “Stop that,” she protested. “We need to talk.”

  “We can talk later,” he growled and took her mouth with his.

  For a moment she forgot her anger. She forgot he had probably lied to her for reasons she didn’t yet understand. Because this she understood, this fire between them. When he was kissing her, he was hers and it was glorious.

  Until he turned to working loose the buttons on her gown. Then she remembered her anger and shoved away to scramble off his lap.

  Closing her arms about her waist, she said, “We have to talk. It’s important.”

  A wary expression crossed his face. “You’re upset.”

  “Upset is a rather mild word for what I am feeling now, I assure you.”

  He rose from the settee and straightened to his full height. “Terence said that you don’t believe I killed Sarah. Was he wrong?”

  “Of course not. I know you would never do such a thing.” Her voice hardened. “But in the course of questioning me about my pupil and my association with you, Mr. Pinter told me an interesting little piece of information that sounds exactly like something you would do.”

  He raked his fingers through hair that had been flattened by the wig, causing it to stand up in odd tufts. “Information about what? Sarah?”

  “About the codicil to her will.”

  When he froze, a look of alarm spreading over his face, she knew the truth. She had desperately been hoping that Pinter was mistaken.

  “And what did Pinter say, exactly?” David choked out.

  She scowled at him. “You know what he said. He said Sarah did not have a will. So it would have been difficult for the thing to have a codicil.”

  “You saw the document.” David’s bland reply was a clear evasion. “Your attorney checked it and said it was legal.”

  That really sparked her temper. She marched up to him with her hands fisting at her sides. “Yes, he did. Unfortunately, when I showed it to Mr. Pinter, he had an entirely different response.”

  “Oh God,” he said under his breath. “You showed it to Pinter?”

  The alarm in his face gave her a twinge of guilt that was swiftly banished by her reminder of what David had done. “What else was I supposed to do? After all, I assumed that my lover would never lie to me about such a thing.”

  Ignoring the look of remorse on David’s face, she went on relentlessly. “Even after Pinter told me that Sarah’s family claimed she had no will, I believed in you. I told him that the Linleys must be confused. I had that blasted document to prove it, after all.” She dragged in a breath, fighting to keep from c
rying in front of him. “But it got hard to deny the truth when Pinter said that your attorney, the one who wrote up the agreement, also stated there was no will.”

  David groaned.

  “So when Pinter asked if he could have the ‘legacy’ document,” she continued, “I did not know how to answer. He is an officer of the law. I did not think I could refuse. And I figured he would take it and discover that he was mistaken about the will.” She stared him down. “But he wasn’t, was he? It is a fabrication. The whole legacy is just one big lie.”

  He did not even bother to deny it. How could he? Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Charlotte. I can explain everything.”

  “Explain? How can you possibly explain such a lie?” She wriggled free, her feelings of betrayal stampeding over her already wounded heart. “I must have been mad to believe you.” A self-deprecating laugh boiled out of her. “What was I thinking? Sarah would never have given the school money.”

  Hugging her waist, she whispered, “But I wanted to have you back in my life so badly, I was willing to overlook the idiocy of what you were telling me.” That was the worst of it. “Because believing it was a lie would have meant you hated me so much that you would deliberately make a fool of me just to pay me back—”

  “No!” he cried, clearly horrified. “Damn it, you know it had nothing to do with paying you back for anything!”

  “Do I?” It was the only explanation that made any sense. “Why else would you pretend—”

  “Not for revenge, for God’s sake! Do you really believe I could make love to you, ask you to marry me, out of revenge for something you did eighteen years ago? Especially when by then I knew why you’d done it?”

  There was logic in that. But it did not answer her question. “So what other reason is there? Are you in league with Pritchard? You did seem to know him awfully well. Did he convince you to help him by lulling me into thinking I should move the school, just so he could get me out of the way?”

  “Now you’re not even making sense,” he bit out. “The only way you could move away from here is if the money is genuine, and it is. Every penny is yours. Legally. It was always yours. If you want it.”