Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  “No, I spoke with Lizzy. She told me of another departed servant called Maude.” Too late Alexandra remembered Peggy’s propensity to gossip and Tris’s wish that no one learn about Maude. She watched Peggy’s face in the mirror. “I wonder why she wasn’t on your list?”

  “We all thought the old woman was dead,” Peggy said, looking shocked. “Are you certain she isn’t?”

  “Lizzy wasn’t sure, but I hope not. I collect I will find out tomorrow when I try to pay Maude a visit.”

  “You’ll take me along this time, won’t you?”

  “If I’m still not up to riding, most assuredly.” Alexandra turned to her maid, putting a finger to her lips. “Tell no one else, I beg you. You know his lordship doesn’t want me continuing this investigation. I cannot risk any word reaching him concerning my plans for tomorrow.”

  “Mum’s the word,” Peggy promised. “But I do believe the old woman is dead. Why make the journey at all when you’ll most likely put your reconciliation in jeopardy for nothing?”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Hoping to keep her maid in such good humor permanently, Alexandra made a big show of sighing. “I shall think on it,” she told her and rose to collect her bonnet.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  *

  “PEGGY THINKS MAUDE IS dead,” Alexandra told Tristan as he helped her into the curricle. “But I want to try to visit her anyway. You won’t mind, will you? Even if the journey proves to be fruitless?”

  “I said I’d take you, and I don’t intend to go back on my word. But whyever would Peggy say she’s dead?” He climbed up beside her and pulled the hood over their heads to shield them from the bright sun. “I thought no one knew about Maude.”

  She winced. “I mentioned her without thinking. But it’s just Peggy,” she added quickly as he lifted the reins. “I made her promise not to tell, and she also believes that I plan to visit Maude tomorrow, not today. I made the timing very clear.”

  Annoyance tightened his jaw, but he didn’t want to start this outing with a disagreement. As he drove away, he told himself firmly that what was done was done. Nothing untoward was likely to come of it, since it was plain no one was following them. By all appearances, everyone had bought their story that they were off for nothing more interesting than a honeymoon picnic.

  Alexandra took up the silver basket and wrapped their luncheon in one of the large napkins, leaving only the lemon puffs in the bottom. “For Maude,” she explained. “Thank you so much for doing this. It means a lot to me.”

  He slanted her a glance. “It means a lot to me that you were willing to forgo it.”

  “I’m glad,” she said softly and left it at that. They rode silently for a few minutes before she turned to him again. “Would you care for something to eat?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Neither am I. I’m too nervous to eat. This is our last chance…”

  She trailed off, and little was said for the rest of the ride.

  But he hadn’t missed the “our.” Our last chance.

  Like most servants, Maude hadn’t gone far from the place of her birth to find employment. Nutgrove was less than an hour away, an hour Alexandra spent rubbing up against Tristan. Innocent though she had come to him, she was a temptress, and he suspected she knew it. Their kiss earlier that morning had been intended for show, but the feel of her mouth on his had jarred him to the core.

  He wasn’t ready for this—he couldn’t allow her to steal his heart. She was about to come to the end of her search. As she’d said, this was their last chance. Once she believed he would never be free of scandal, it would be only a matter of time before she left him.

  He couldn’t bear to think of that—to think of going on without her. Alexandra’s presence had changed the very substance of Hawkridge Hall, filled it with music and life and lightness that he now knew had been missing for years. Even the servants walked with more spring in their steps and smiles upon their faces. He didn’t want to go back to the way it had been without her.

  He could no longer imagine living there without her.

  He couldn’t imagine living anywhere without her.

  But it was only a matter of time…

  And that, of course, was assuming she was convinced he would never be free of scandal. The other possibility—that she would discover he was guilty of murder—was even worse. Then she would leave immediately. And he wouldn’t be able to blame her.

  Hell, she’d be a fool not to leave immediately.

  So he sat beside her, determined not to succumb to her temptation. Meanwhile, his body reacted to every move she made. Her head on his shoulder prompted him to wrap an arm about her involuntarily. He found himself breathing in tandem with her. Her thigh pressed to his was a constant reminder that she wasn’t wearing drawers.

  All in all, despite his anxiety concerning what she might or might not find, he was rather relieved when they passed the signpost that read nutgrove.

  Alexandra immediately sat straight and called excitedly to an elderly gentleman walking a tiny dog. “Good sir! If I may bother you…might you know the direction of a woman who goes by Maude?”

  And it was the oddest thing…but just hearing Alexandra say “Maude” again, that vague, niggling sense of unease Tristan had felt two days ago came back.

  The old man cupped a hand to his ear. “Eh?”

  “Maude!” she shouted as they rolled along beside him. She turned to Tristan. “What is Maude’s surname?”

  He shrugged. “I never thought to ask.” He’d forgotten her. How was it that he’d forgotten her?

  “Maude!” Alexandra yelled again. “Might you know anyone named Maude?”

  “Ah, Maude.” The man smiled, revealing gaps where he’d lost several teeth. “Down the corner,” he said, gesturing and pulling his dog’s leash in the process, nearly choking the poor little beast. “Turn left. Honeysuckle Cottage.”

  “She’s alive,” Alexandra breathed, hope flooding her brandywine eyes. “Dear God, I hope she knows something that will help us.”

  “It could be someone else named Maude,” Tristan cautioned, that sense of unease growing stronger.

  “It isn’t. I just know it.”

  Somehow he also knew it wasn’t someone else. And in any case, there was no sense arguing the matter, when in a few minutes they’d know for sure. “Honeysuckle Cottage,” he muttered. “That isn’t much of a direction.”

  “The man seemed to think it would do,” she said as they turned the corner. “Look! There it is!”

  Sure enough, about halfway down the lane stood an old stone cottage wreathed in pale-flowered honeysuckle vines.

  No sooner had the curricle rolled to a stop than Alexandra hopped down, basket in hand, and started for the door. Tristan just sat there for a moment, feeling the unease tangle into a knot in his gut.

  Finally, he climbed down and followed her. “You’re supposed to wait to be handed down,” he chided.

  “Oh, bosh,” she said and knocked on the weathered wood. “There are some things more important than propriety.”

  How much she had changed since he first met her.

  She shifted on her feet. “What’s taking her so long? Sweet heaven, I hope she’s home. Lizzy said if anyone saw anything that night, it’d have been she.”

  And suddenly he knew why he’d forgotten Maude. He hadn’t forgotten her. He’d simply pushed her clear out of his mind.

  She’d been the person closest to his uncle. The person most likely to have seen him if he’d sleepwalked into his uncle’s rooms that night.

  The door swung open, and Maude stood on the other side, leaning on a cane and looking much like Tristan remembered her. A faded linen dress hung on her slight frame. She’d always seemed so frail she might break.

  “Good afternoon, Maude,” he said.

  Her pale green eyes widened, looking apprehensive. “Lord Hawkridge?”

  She knew something. She wouldn’t look like th
at unless she knew something. The knot tightened in Tristan’s gut.

  He wrapped an arm around Alexandra’s shoulders and forced a smile. “This is my wife, Lady Hawkridge.”

  Alexandra reached into her basket. “Would you care for a lemon puff?”

  “No. Thank you.” Maude’s blue-veined hand went up to pat her gray curls nervously. “Why are you here?”

  The knot twisted. “We wish to talk to you,” he said. “May we come in for a moment?”

  She looked like she wanted to say no, but then turned abruptly, her cane tapping across the wood floor as she led them inside and to a small table. “These are all the chairs I have,” she said, her voice wavering.

  There were two. And they were rickety. “I’m perfectly content to stand,” Tristan said, helping the elderly woman to sit while Alexandra took the second chair. He made a mental note to send the old nurse some decent furniture next week—that was, assuming he wasn’t locked up in some prison. He’d been the marquess for less than a day before she’d departed, but that was no excuse for not seeing that a long-term employee was comfortable in her retirement.

  Perhaps he’d have done that if he hadn’t forgotten her.

  Maude held on to her cane, still leaning on it even while she was seated. Alexandra reached across the little table to touch her other hand. “I’ve been told you were very close to the last marquess,” she began gently.

  “Y-yes.” The old woman’s eyes looked everywhere but at her.

  “Do you remember anything that happened the night he died?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Tristan stopped breathing.

  “Did you see anyone go into his room?” Alexandra continued. “Anyone who might have done him harm?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Alexandra sent Tristan a startled glance—a hopeful glance—before she looked back to Maude expectantly.

  No further information seemed to be forthcoming. Tristan thought he’d expire if he didn’t breathe. He wished Maude would accuse him already, so he could breathe.

  Alexandra’s gaze darted to his again before her smooth hand tightened over the wrinkled one. “Who was it, Maude?” she whispered, her eyes flooded with not just hope, but a measure of self-protective doubt.

  The cane crashed to the floor as Maude covered her face with her hands. Beneath her cotton dress, her bony shoulders shook with silent, racking sobs.

  Terrified and resigned, Tristan crouched beside her chair. “Maude? What is it?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” came a muffled wail through her fingers. “It was a mistake, I swear it.”

  “Of course it was a mistake, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty.” Ignoring Alexandra’s gasp, he eased Maude’s hands away from her face. “Whether intentional or not, I’m still responsible for his death.”

  His life was over. Or at least it was meaningless, which was the same thing.

  “I’m s-sorry,” Maude repeated. She stared into space, tears rolling down her parchment cheeks. “It was a mistake.”

  Except for the painful knot, he felt dead inside. So dead inside he wouldn’t have thought he’d have it in him to feel sympathy for her. But she seemed so damned miserable. “What was a mistake, dear lady?”

  Her tears flowed faster. “The l-laudanum.”

  Tristan dug a handkerchief from his pocket. “The laudanum?” His memory flashed on the nearly empty bottle he’d taken from his uncle’s rooms and tried to give to Alexandra. You’ll want to take only a little, he’d told her. You can overdose on laudanum.

  He hadn’t thought the knot could tighten more, but it did. He must have poisoned his uncle with that very same bottle.

  “I just wanted him to stop hurting.” Maude took the proffered white square and dabbed her eyes with it, then balled it in her fist, staring at her hands in her lap. More tears splashed down on them. “H-he was coughing. He couldn’t sleep. I gave him too much. Too much. I used all of it.” She was babbling so fast Tristan couldn’t seem to keep up. “Perhaps I gave it to him twice that night. I didn’t intend to. I couldn’t remember. I’m old.”

  “Could you mean…” Her words were confusing. A mist had obscured his brain. He’d stopped breathing again. He took both of Maude’s hands. “Do you think you may have accidentally caused my uncle’s death?”

  She nodded and met his gaze, her eyes reddened. “I should have died instead of him.”

  “No.” He couldn’t catch his breath. His vision clouded. His pulse felt thready and weak.

  “I told you,” Alexandra murmured.

  He was innocent. He hadn’t killed his uncle, after all.

  Relief flowed through him, blessed relief after all these years. He felt a different kind of weakness now, and lightheadedness, too, and giddiness, like Alexandra when she drank too much wine.

  Alexandra. She’d had faith in him all along.

  “Maude.” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Will you tell this to the authorities?”

  She looked back down at her lap. “Th-they’re going to hang me.”

  “I won’t let them.” His knees hurt, but he remained crouched there, holding both her hands, when all he wanted was to collapse in relief. “You did your best, didn’t you? Always. You cared for my uncle when he was a child, then his children, then him again. No one will hang you for doing the best you could. Everyone makes mistakes.”

  He heard a little noise from Alexandra and turned to see her. A fat tear rolled down her cheek, cracking his heart.

  “They’re going to hang me,” Maude repeated.

  “No.” He looked back to the older woman. “I won’t allow it. I promise your safety, Maude, if you’ll only explain what happened to the authorities.”

  She stared at her lap. “You promise?”

  “I do. No one will hurt you. You can come back to live at Hawkridge, if you’d like. We’ll take care of you.”

  A long moment passed when all Tristan heard was the beat of his own heart pounding in his ears. At last Maude lifted her red-rimmed gaze to meet his, her eyes filled with gratitude and relief of her own.

  “I’ll talk,” she said. “I lied to the sheriff before, but this time I’ll tell the truth.”

  Chapter Fifty

  *

  WHEN MAUDE’S DOOR CLOSED behind them, Alexandra and Tris paused on the garden path and turned to each other. And just stood there, looking at each other, for a very long time.

  “Alexandra,” Tris finally murmured. He took the basket from her hand and set it on the gravel, then cupped her face in both hands. He searched her eyes, rubbing his thumbs beneath them as though gently swiping away tears. “I’ve never seen you cry before,” he said softly.

  “I wasn’t crying,” she said as her eyes glazed, proving her a liar. “It was just that when you said everyone makes mistakes…well, I’m sorry for mine, Tris. I’m sorry I was so obstinate that I drove you away.”

  Slowly he shook his head. “I’m not sorry you were obstinate. Look where it led. I was too obstinate to see you were right.” He shook his head faster, harder. “I even thought Maude was telling me I was guilty.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” she reminded him with a watery little chuckle. She blew out a shaky breath. “Goodness, Tris, we did it.”

  “You did it,” he said. “By God, you did it.” Then he swept her up to twirl her in a wide circle right there in the cottage’s little garden.

  Her heart soared. “I told you,” she crowed. “I told you that you weren’t responsible for your uncle’s death.” He set her on her feet, where, unable to help herself, she rose to her toes and pulled his head down for a smacking kiss. “I knew you couldn’t have hurt him. And you haven’t done anything to hurt me, either.”

  “They were accidents. You were right about that, too.” He yanked her close and squeezed her so hard she felt every one of her unhealed bruises.

  “Oof!” she said with another laugh. “Maybe now you have hurt me.”

  “I’m sorry.”
He set her carefully away and bent to retrieve her basket. “But I’ve never been so happy to hear I told you so in my entire life.”

  He led her back to the curricle and helped her climb up. Then he clambered up beside her and pulled her close for a kiss so long and thorough, it completely stole her breath.

  “Let’s go home,” he said, lifting the reins.

  The curricle jerked as they pulled away. She unwrapped their luncheon, spreading the napkin over her lap with all of Mrs. Pawley’s offerings. She was starving. She couldn’t remember ever being so hungry.

  “Everything is going to be so wonderful,” she said, taking a big bite out of a chicken leg. “All of society will have to apologize to you, and my sisters are both going to marry dukes.”

  “Marquesses aren’t good enough?” he asked with a raised brow.

  She slapped a chicken leg into his open hand. “I suppose marquesses will do.”

  They laughed and ate all the way home, talking about their future. Tris still hadn’t said he loved her, but she really didn’t care. She was certain he did, and if it took him ten years to admit it, she would just wait.

  “I’ve never been so happy,” she said as they headed up Hawkridge Hall’s drive. “I never thought I could marry you, and now look at us!”

  The whole world seemed bright in her elation. The sun sparkled on the Thames, the sky had never been a more brilliant blue, and birds trilled in the trees along the drive.

  Tris was more cautiously optimistic. “I’m thrilled to know I’m in the clear, but let’s not celebrate until the authorities have taken Maude’s statement. At the rate the law moves, she could die before they get out to Nutgrove.”

  “Dear God—”

  “I was jesting,” he said with a grin that would have been annoying if it wasn’t so wickedly charming. He pulled up before the steps. “That old woman will probably outlive us both. Besides, I’m going to find the sheriff right now and drag him there directly. But it won’t do to celebrate prematurely. Let me take care of tying up the details, and we can celebrate tonight.”