Trudy’s heart sank. For her part, she’d rather be an ‘ape leader’ than marry without affection and she was struck with humble gratitude that she would not have to. But she knew Dare was right—she must keep out of Laura’s business. This was clearly Laura’s choice. Now, if she could just stop thinking that something must be done...
“Glad you could make time for a game of billiards, Dare. Haven’t seen much of you since you took that ill-advised wager with Littleworth.”
Dare draped his jacket over a chair in the game room at their club and chalked his cue. He gave Morton a curious glance. “You’re in a foul mood. Is it just that you miss my effervescent personality?”
Morton laughed and tugged one dark golden lock that fell over his forehead. “Effervescent? Now, that is not an adjective I would have thought of in context with you, Collingwood.” He squinted one eye and took his shot. The ball banked three times before rolling into the pocket. “I’d have chosen something closer to ‘dour’.”
Dare groaned at Morton’s shot. “Have you been practicing in my absence?”
“Little else to do, y’know. Bradley is behaving like a lovesick swain and I cannot for the life of me determine the object of his affections. Rother, the blighter, has abandoned us for the countryside. Said he’d be back in a few days. Fitzwalter and Stanford are still trying to determine which of them is the father of the baby who was abandoned on their doorstep. Littleworth has made himself scarce, too.”
“I suspect he is lurking somewhere. I’ve seen flashes of him here and there.”
“Aye, and he’s up to something. I’ve thought his challenge a bit convenient. D’you think he wants you distracted?”
“Possibly. If so, he was effective.”
“Seems you and I are the only sane ones left in town.”
Sane? He rather thought he’d been indulging in a very particular sort of madness. His friends would all be agog when he and Trudy turned up married. How would he explain that? Coup de foudre? Ah, well. It looked as if Morton was going to be last of their group to retain his freedom.
“And how goes your particular endeavor? Making progress?” Morton chalked his cue.
“I’m very near to naming the Shadow.”
“You don’t say? Mind giving me a hint?”
“Wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward position. If the name somehow got out before I had proof, I’d have to challenge you on the field of honor.”
“But since we all know your reputation with a blade, I’d be a fool to cross you, would I not?”
“I value your friendship far too greatly to put you in that unenviable position.”
Morton lined up his next shot. “Then, aside from the Shadow, Collingwood, what has been occupying your time? I’ve noted you’ve been often in company with the Carr chit.”
Dare shrugged, hoping for nonchalance. “She confides in me.”
Morton coughed and botched his shot. “Values your opinion, eh? I think there’s something more to it than that. You’re wasting your time there. Everyone knows she cannot marry for quite a while.”
“Your imagination is running away with you. Be patient and you will find out soon enough.” Dare studied the table.
“You cannot say she is confiding in you and then not tell me why. What advice does she seek from a paragon like you?”
“Paragon?” He laughed and eyed his shot down the length of his cue. Did paragons defile virgins? That thought caused him to miss his shot. His friends would be stupefied to know how far he’d fallen in the space of a week and a half. “And I did not say she was seeking my advice. Just that she shares confidences with me.”
“Come now, Dare. What titillating secrets could Miss Gertrude confide?”
“This and that.”
“I know! ’Tis about the wedding, is it not? What in God’s name is it about women and weddings? Gowns, flowers, honeymoons, trousseaux. They all go a bit batty, do they not?”
“I confess, they do. The Carrs have apparently spent a fortune on this particular event. The reception following should prove to be opulent. I believe there will be an orchestra and dancing. Are you going?”
Morton gave him an odd look. “I believe I may be the only peer who has not received an invitation. Would that make me an outcast?”
The thought popped into his head that he’d seen Morton dancing frequently with Laura Carr nearly—what? Four years ago?—when she’d first made her appearance in society. He stood back while his friend took his place at the billiards table. “An oversight, I’m certain. What would be the point in excluding you? But I gather Miss Carr is having second thoughts. Some twaddle about not loving Burke and having loved only once and having been rejected.”
Morton’s shot went wide. He straightened and looked at Dare. “Laura Carr loved? Is this one of Miss Gertrude’s confidences? I must say, that’s a surprise. I’d always heard she is rather cold and distant. Gained a reputation as an ice maiden.”
“And yet Miss Gertrude said her sister cried at her final fitting a day or two ago.”
“Cried?” Morton looked horrified. “Good God! That seems impossible. Will she beg off?”
“Never. Gone too far for that. She told Miss Gertrude that, since she’d loved only once and her beau had turned his back on her, she might as well go through with it. Burke was as good as any other.”
“As good as any other? That’s the devil of a reason to marry. She could have aimed higher. Someone with more money or higher standing.”
“How many times have we said the same thing about our friends’ choices?”
“Burke is a bit of a bounder, from what I hear. Ice maiden or not, a female like Miss Carr deserves better.”
“I agree, but that is her choice, Morton. Not ours. And what is all this to you? I haven’t seen you so much as dance with the woman in years.”
“Because I... that is... she... Deuce it all! She will be utterly wasted on a man like Burke.”
“I agree. But, according to Miss Gertrude, her sister is feeling quite hopeless. Have you ever been hopeless, Morton? Ever felt that nothing mattered anymore, so you might as well do as everyone else wants you to do? As if you are a walking imitation of yourself? That nothing will ever be right again?”
“Enough! At the moment, I feel utterly disgusted!”
“Then perhaps you ought to make your way to the countryside, eh? Rusticate at your estate and see to affairs there. Why dawdle here when there is so little to interest you?”
Morton frowned over his shot. “Perhaps I will. Next week, I think.”
“After the wedding is over? Still waiting for your invitation? Hoping to see all the ladybirds in their finery at the reception?”
“You recently got an invitation, did you not?”
Dare laughed. “It was sent in jest. Miss Gertrude did not think I would accept or she would never have requested her mother send one. I accepted, of course, simply for the pleasure of surprising her. Shall I ask her to send one to you?”
A scowl was Morton’s only answer.
“Are you going to the Halston affair tonight?”
“No. Promises to be another dull affair.” Morton studied his shot and finally dropped his cue on the table. “I concede. I cannot seem to concentrate. And now I am going home to get filthy drunk.”
Dare could do nothing but raise an eyebrow to that.
Trudy handed her embroidered wrap to a footman as they entered the Halston manor and followed her mother and father toward the music room. Lady Alice was to give a performance of a selection of difficult Bach pieces, and then the guests were to adjourn to the ballroom for refreshments and dancing.
Lancelot had disappeared almost the moment they’d arrived. And, beside her, Fiona kept smoothing the drape of her blue crepe-de-Chine gown and fidgeting with her reticule. Trudy would swear she was up to something. For her part, she felt insignificant in comparison to her sister. She rather thought her gown of embroidered green organdy over ivory taffeta made her lo
ok very plain in comparison.
“Oh, I do wish I could have stayed at home with Laura tonight,” Fiona whispered. “I have so much to do.”
“What, for heaven’s sake?”
“I... well, Laura’s wedding.”
“Aside from choosing the color of our gowns and helping with the guest list, Mother has not allowed us many choices. She is seeing to every detail herself. What is it that you have to do, Fi?”
“Dozens of little things. There have been so many fêtes, so many social obligations, since Laura’s engagement was announced, that we haven’t had a moment to ourselves. Tomorrow, the banns will be read for the final time, and then... well, three days later, Laura will walk down the aisle and become Mrs. Burke.”
Trudy recalled Fiona’s secret and lowered her voice. “After the wedding are you going to tell Mother and Father about your secret beau?”
“I intended to wait until after Laura and the colonel depart for India, but I do not think I can wait that long. You cannot have any idea of how this feels—how difficult this is.”
Trudy glimpsed Dare in a group of men by the terrace door. As he met her gaze, his lips tweaked into a faint smile and he gave her a barely perceptible nod. She knew he had just promised to meet her later. Oh, she knew quite well how Fiona felt.
She was nearly consumed with the desire to be with him. To touch him, hear his voice, look into those remarkable eyes and, yes, even to hear him lecture her on the law. There was not a single thing about him that she would change. And she frequently found herself daydreaming about how their nights would be once they were married. How it would feel to lie next to him completely naked. To slide her palms over his warm bare flesh, to breathe the soapy scent of his skin. Perhaps even to taste... Just the thought of such a thing kindled heat to fill her cheeks and make her heartbeat speed.
“Gertrude! You look quite flush. Tell me you are not coming down with some malady.”
She glanced up and found that her mother had turned and was watching her. “No, I was...”
“That would be quite unacceptable, Gertrude. You must return home at once and go to bed. Tell cook to bring you tea and toast.”
“I am perfectly fine, Mother. I only... some errant thought made me blush. I am not feverish at all.”
“Then perish those thoughts, Gertrude. If they are enough to make you blush, they are not becoming to a debutante.”
Debutante? She was two-and-twenty! She should have been married years ago—would have been, had Laura not been so reluctant. Most of her friends were married and many had children of their own. She sighed. She supposed her mother and father would always think of her as the baby. Even Lancelot, because he was male, was accorded more freedom and consequence than she.
“Gertrude?”
“Yes, Mother. I shall banish the thoughts.” If she could.
As they continued their promenade to the music room, Fiona whispered, “Clever, Trudy. That will throw Mother off the scent. Thank you.”
The suggestion of their mother as a fox hound on the hunt made Trudy laugh.
“Oh, look, Robert! There are the Covingtons. We haven’t seen them since their Christmas fête. We must say hello.” Mother turned and gave Trudy and Fiona a stern glance. “Behave yourselves. If you see Lancelot, tell him we are leaving at midnight. He should be ready by then. Otherwise, he will have to make his own way home.”
“Yes, Mother.” Fiona turned to Trudy and whispered, “At last! Escape from the ever-watchful eye!” She waited a moment and pulled Trudy aside. “I’ll see you in the music room. Save a chair for me.”
“But—”
Too late. Fiona was gone in a swirl of blue crepe-de-Chine. Trudy knew if she followed Fi, she’d discover her sister’s secret beau, but she had other things to worry about. She glanced around, wondering if she could find Lancelot to escort her. Before she could turn, a firm hand cupped her elbow and warm breath tickled her ear.
“At last, Miss Gertrude, I find you alone. We seem to miss each other too often.”
“Oh! Mr. Amory.” She hid her disappointment when she realized it was not Collingwood. “I was not aware you’d been looking for me, sir.”
“When did we last dance?”
“At Carlton House, I believe. The Prince’s fête.”
“Ah, yes. Then I suppose it has not been all that long.” He grinned and tapped her shoulder with his silver-knobbed walking stick. “Still, I was hoping to obtain your vow to accommodate me tonight after the performance.”
“Of course, Mr. Amory. I would be delighted to dance with you again.”
“I shall find you when the orchestra begins.”
Trudy recalled her recent conversation with Lancelot. “Oh, did you ever find your watch, Mr. Amory?”
He gave her a quizzical look. “My watch was not lost, Miss Gertrude. It was stolen.”
“Are you certain?”
He frowned. “I am not likely to be mistaken about such a thing.”
Trudy was instantly contrite. She hadn’t meant to suggest he was lying. “Oh, of course not, Mr. Amory. I must have misunderstood. I only thought... well, it must have been very upsetting to have such a personal item go missing. Did you report it to the authorities?”
“Quite all right, Miss Gertrude. Yes, I did report it, but I doubt any of the Shadow’s victims will ever see their property again. In my case, it was not very important.” He favored her with a flourishing bow and turned toward the music room.
Alone again, Trudy puzzled Mr. Amory’s offhand reaction. Even if his watch had little value, even if it had been inexpensive, surely it would have been aggravating to lose such a personal item to a thief. And as for his certainty that it had been stolen by the Shadow, well, she knew that could not be the case. Lancelot would not bother lying to her about such a thing when he’d told her the truth about the rest.
She looked around for her brother but she could not find any trace of him. He’d likely entered one of those chambers of male exclusivity—the billiards room, card room or library. She heard the distant strains of the orchestra tuning their instruments to accompany Lady Alice. The performance would begin soon.
Hoping to catch a breath of fresh air before then, she slipped through the French doors to the terrace. A man and woman Trudy did not recognize were carrying on a quiet argument, and she had no wish to intrude on so private a moment. She stepped down to the garden path and strolled away.
Brightly colored paper lanterns were strung along the pathways, banishing shadows and lending a gay atmosphere. She could still hear the faint sounds of the orchestra coupled with distant laughter and muted conversation. Halting, turning back toward the manor, she took several deep breaths and felt calmer. She was ready to return to the music room though, by now, she’d probably have to stand for the performance unless Fiona saved her a chair.
She was bumped from behind and gasped as her brother brushed past her.
He grabbed her by the elbow. “Go back, Gertie. At once.”
She pulled away from him, angry at his abrupt demands. “What has got into you, Lancelot?
“Just listen to me for once. We need to—”
He looked nearly frantic. What was he trying to hide? Had he robbed someone who was after him? She turned back down the path and rounded a corner, her brother at her heels. She nearly stumbled over a man lying prone across the path, facedown.
She gasped. “Skippy! What have you done?”
“Nothing! I swear it, Gertie. But... but when I saw him, I knew—”
“Who?” She knelt beside the prone figure and shook his shoulder. “Did you knock him unconscious?” And then, when her hand came away red and sticky, she realized it was blood in the man’s hair, not the glow of the lanterns. She stumbled to her feet and turned to her brother. “We must get him help immediately.”
“Too late, Gertie. He’s dead.”
A wave of dizziness washed over her. She reached out to Lancelot for support. “You didn’t... you couldn’t
have....”
“No! Good God, Trudy! I found him this way.”
“Who... who is it?”
“Lord Amory.”
She glanced back at the body. Gray was mixed in with the dark strands and blood. She had just seen Charles Amory! He would have to know. “Someone should... should tell...”
“I was returning to the house to find Lord Halston. He’ll want to send a footman for the watch, and perhaps there is a physician present who... who could either help Amory or confirm that he is dead.”
Oh, he was dead, all right. Trudy was certain of that, and she couldn’t tear her gaze from the body. She’d never seen such utter stillness. Such lack of life. Whatever had once animated Lord Amory was gone now. And the bloody concave wound on the back of his head indicated that this was no mere accident.
But that would mean... murder! And why would anyone want to kill Lord Amory?
“Should we leave him alone?” she asked, thinking it was somehow disrespectful to just leave him lying there.
“You go for help, then. I will stay with him.” He picked up a small object from the ground and pushed it in his waistcoat pocket. “There’s something I must do. Run, Trudy. Find Lord Halston at once.”
She spun around and sprinted down the path to the terrace, panic building in her with every step. If it was murder, could the villain still be nearby? Watching them? She rounded the hedgerow and slammed into a broad, familiar chest. She covered her mouth to hold back a scream.
Chapter Twelve
“OH, THANK GOD you’re here!”
Dare gripped Trudy by her arms and steadied her. She was clearly on the verge of hysteria. Her eyes were wide, her complexion was pale and there was no visible trace of her usual confidence and aplomb. “Good Lord, Trudy! What has you in such a state?”
“He... he is dead. Murdered, I think.” Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears.
“What? Who are you talking about?”
“There was blood.” She looked down and turned her hands upward. “A great deal of it.”
Her palms were stained with the viscous fluid and he removed a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and tried to clean her palm with little effect. She’d need water and soap to remove the traces. When he noted a small blotch of blood on the hem of her skirts, he tightened his hands on her arms to brace her. “Who, Trudy? And where?”
A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors Page 76
