What had happened in Llanglyn that night? Mally stood by the window. And why had Maria disappeared? She cannot have gone with Andrew York. Nor can she have gone to the boring Thomas Clevely. But she had stopped to pack a handcase and had taken a ticket for London.
“Mother, I must ask this. What sort of an association did Maria have with Andrew York?”
“Marigold!”
“Well, it must be asked, mustn’t it?”
“Maria was not enceinte!”
“Can you know that for certain?”
Mrs. Berrisford lowered her eyes sadly. “I cannot,” she whispered.
“So, it is possible?”
“Anything is possible, Marigold. And—”
“Yes?”
“And she was besotted with him. She loved him most foolishly, and—yes, perhaps sufficiently to throw caution to the winds. Oh, dear, if only she would just return, I would forgive her anything just to know that she is safe and well.”
“Did you find out if she actually got on the mail?”
“Yes. She did.”
Mally smiled. “Then she must be all right if she got as far as Hereford and the mail coach. She is up here somewhere, presumably. But why did she not come to me?” Mally stood, and going to the table, poured two cups of coffee from the silver pot. The toast was cold now as she scraped some butter over it and then dipped the spoon into the cook’s excellent lime marmalade. “Come and eat something, Mother, and we shall think of what we can do next. Have a cup of this good Turkish coffee to begin with.”
“Turkish? Oh, my dear, I don’t think—”
“Nonsense, you just taste it before you grizzle. Now then, do you know what Maria was wearing when she left?”
“Oh, dear, the man at the inn in Hereford did say. It was that little spencer, you know the one I mean, trimmed with white fur. A sort of donkey-brown velvet, I think you would describe it. And a cream-colored gown beneath. A straw bonnet.”
“Donkey brown and cream. Not exactly likely to remain in anyone’s memory, is it?” Mally nibbled the toast, staring out at the swaying Michaelmas daisies. “Mother, I think we shall have to send for Mr. Paulington.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Paulington.” Mally thought distastefully of the sly little man with the foxy face and dreadful tweed coat. “He—undertakes to make investigations for people, if you know what I mean.”
“Indeed I do not! What sort of investigations?”
“Well, one of Daniel’s friends thought his wife was being unfaithful to him and he came to Daniel with his suspicions. Daniel knew of this Mr. Paulington and gave his friend his address. And sure enough, within a week or so of having been hired, Mr. Paulington produced evidence of the wife’s infidelities, the times, the places, and the names of the various gentlemen concerned.”
“Good heavens, and you were present at such a conversation?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that was not admirable of dear late Daniel, not admirable at all. It was lax of him to allow you to remain in the room.”
“Oh, Mother.”
“And you think Mr. Paulington may be able to help us find Maria?”
“He can but try. And don’t worry, if Maria took herself to London, then she cannot be another victim of this murderer Llanglyn seems to be harboring at the moment. I will send Digby this very day to Mr. Paulington’s address.”
Mally buttered another piece of toast. She had spoken a little more confidently than she felt about finding Maria. There were countless mails arriving at the Swan with Two Necks each day and countless passengers pouring in and out of each one. Would even the redoubtable Mr. Paulington be able to discover a forgotten memory at the back of someone’s mind?
Chapter 4
Mally surveyed her reflection, tweaking and prinking the blue and white dimity.
Mrs. Berrisford watched her. “Good Heavens, Marigold, you will crease it by fiddling so! Surely Sir Christopher is not going to notice the exact hang of each fold!” She looked around the room. “You’ll live in grand style soon, my dear. I hear tell that the Carlyon estates and house are absolutely beyond this world! Absolutely! And to think that my daughter has snapped him up. The Carlyon marriage. Oh, Llanglyn has rung with the news, I can tell you!”
The Carlyon marriage. “I am marrying him because I love him, not because he is a grand catch, Mother.”
“Of course you are, my dear. But nonetheless you are made. Made.”
Mally picked up her bonnet and put it carefully over her piled curls.
Mrs. Berrisford picked up the engagement ring which Mally had placed on the dressing table. “Great happiness is granted to us all perhaps once, but you, my dear, seem especially fortunate to have it granted twice.”
“Twice?” Mally stared at the ring. “Have I been granted that then?”
Mrs. Berrisford looked up. “Am I wrong then? Are you not as deeply in love with him as you have hitherto stated?”
“Of course I’m in love with him!”
“Don’t snap my head off, my dear, I believe you. Still—not that it matters—he’s got what he wanted and it’s up to him now.”
“There speaks a woman of the world?”
“No, Marigold, there speaks a member of the older generation. I happen to believe, rightly or wrongly, that it is still up to the man to make his wife happy. Not the other way around.” Mrs. Berrisford stood and drew the lace curtains aside. “Ah, I thought I heard something. Sir Christopher is here, my dear.”
Mally’s heart lurched. Would it be all right this afternoon?
***
Chris bowed over Mally’s hand and looked up in surprise as he saw Mrs. Berrisford.
“Why, Mally, I had no idea your mother was visiting you at the moment.”
Mrs. Berrisford threw a pleading look at her elder daughter. Mally smiled at him. “She—she has been upset by the murder of her old friend, Mrs. Agatha Harmon, Chris, and she has come to spend a few days with me to get over it.”
He was concerned immediately, taking Mrs. Berrisford’s hand. “I had not realized. But we must do what we can to take your mind off so sad a matter. I shall see to it that your time here is gay and enjoyable, Mrs. Berrisford.”
She flushed uncomfortably. “Oh, please, Sir Christopher, do not concern yourself with me.”
“And why not?” he said with a smile. Mally watched him. He could surely charm any bird off any tree—
Mrs. Berrisford went pink with pleasure. “Because I am an old biddy who has no wish to play gooseberry to you and Marigold.”
“If you join us in Hyde Park this afternoon it could be that the crush will place us next to an eligible earl,” he teased.
“I do not want an eligible earl, thank you very much.” She tapped his arm with her closed fan. “But thank you for your concern. I shall remain here and chitter-chatter with Lucy.”
She watched him as he picked up his top hat and gloves. He was surely the very picture of everything elegant and fashionable. There was an air of endless quality about Sir Christopher Carlyon, from the full muslin cravat and frilled shirt, to the dull gray coat and brocade waistcoat. A peacock-colored waistcoat, but so perfect. Mrs. Berrisford sighed with satisfaction. Just wait until that sour old Mrs. Clevely saw Marigold walk up the aisle with such a prize! Just wait! Look down her nose at Maria then, would she? Mrs. Berrisford gloated over the forthcoming sweet satisfaction of glorying over the opposition. She studied him again as he handed Mally her gloves. So slender and fine in these new fashions the gentlemen wore these days. Her smile faltered a little as she glanced down at his tight-fitting cream-colored trousers. That was perhaps a fashion she couldn’t approve of, revealing as it did things which were better not revealed! But still, if a man had the figure to follow such a fashion, then she supposed
he was well advised to do just that—for the Lord alone knew what the next foible of the haut ton would be—crimson thigh boots and sailors’ hats, no doubt.
***
The crush in Hyde Park was one of the worst Mally could remember. The last one to compare had been on that rainy day when she and Daniel had driven out in the barouche and the axle had broken, causing the very devil of a jam. She smiled to herself, glancing at Chris—but she could not mention that day to him, could she? Not even as an amusing memory.
She slipped her hand in his and he smiled at her. Just then the carriage come to a standstill and a man on a nervous black horse reined in beside them.
Chris leaned forward suddenly, opening the carriage door. “Richard! Richard Vallender! You old stoat, where’ve you been all these years?”
The other turned at the remembered voice and his thin, dark face broke into a grin. “Chris! It takes a jam in Hyde Park to find you again! You’re getting fat with soft living!” He maneuvered his horse closer, his thin body moving as one with the animal.
Chris laughed. “Fat? Well, we can’t all be human beansticks, can we? Where’ve you been hiding?”
“Here and there.”
“Mostly there, no doubt.”
Richard dismounted and soothed his anxious mount, his glance falling on Mally for the first time. “Won’t you introduce me, Chris? Or are you afraid I’ll snatch her from under your very nose?” He took off his top hat, revealing a mass of thick dark wavy hair.
Chris raised his eyebrow. “Me? Afraid of your prowess in that direction! That will surely be the day the heavens really do rain cats and dogs! Richard, allow me to introduce my fiancée, Mrs. St. Aubrey. Mally, Richard Vallender, of ill repute.”
Richard’s eyes swung to her as he heard her name. “St. Aubrey? Not—?”
Chris nodded. “Daniel’s widow, Richard.”
“But I had no idea he was dead, nor indeed that he had married! Forgive me, Mrs. St. Aubrey, but what happened?”
She glanced unhappily at Chris, but surely this was none of her fault, this twist of the conversation? “Mr. Vallender, Daniel was wounded at Vimiero two years ago and died of those wounds.”
Chris still held her hand. “Richard, you left our circle a long time ago indeed—even I had forgotten it was that long!”
Richard grinned. “A mere lad I was, and all innocence.”
“In a pig’s eye!” Chris pushed his shoulder fondly.
Richard took Mally’s other hand and raised it to his lips. “I take my hat off to you, madam, for to have nailed Chris’s hide to the wall is quite an achievement.”
Chris sat back. “Take your lecherous eyes away, Richard, for she’s mine—you must find your own lady. Unless, of course, you already have.”
Richard’s smile faded. “I did, Chris, I did. But she died.”
“I’m sorry, Richard, truly I am.”
The quicksilver smile was there again as Richard tapped his hat back on his head again. “Well, Mrs. St. Aubrey, you and I may commiserate, may we not? That will surely drive Chris here to distraction, for he does fear my spellbinding charm with the fair sex, no matter what he may say to the contrary!”
She smiled, but was glad as he remounted his restless horse. Had she engineered it the conversation could not have taken a more delicate turn.
Chris looked up at him. “Where have you been anyway?”
“America. But I am back for good now. As a matter of fact, Mrs. St. Aubrey, I am back in Daniel’s neck of the woods. Llanglyn.”
She stared at him. “Does Llanglyn know?” she asked with a laugh.
“Oh, yes. It is perfectly well aware of me, I do assure you!” He smiled at her, but a strange expression passed through his dark eyes. “It was a coincidence really. I intended coming back to England when Gillian died, there seemed no reason to stay over there. I picked up a journal in New York, in a hotel smoking room. And there it was. An advertisement for a castle in Wales, and in a town I had actually heard of, having known Daniel came from there.”
Her eyes widened. “So you are the new owner of Castell Melyn?”
“I have that honor. But I suppose, being Daniel’s wife, you would be bound to have heard of it, wouldn’t you?”
“Mr. Vallender, I was born and brought up in Llanglyn too. But surely there is much needed to be done to the castle to make it habitable?”
“Enough.” He nodded. “Enough indeed. But it’s done now and I’m penniless again. You must come and visit my new domain. I have always wanted to behave like a medieval baron and have feasts in a great hall.”
Chris laughed. “And toss bones to the hounds on the rushes?”
“Something like that. Baron Vallender of Castell Melyn. I have a notion for a title.” Richard looked at Mally again. “You must come to the castle, Mrs. St. Aubrey, and see for yourself how excellently it has been done up.”
“If Chris agrees, then of course I’d be delighted to come.” She smiled at him, liking him for his impetuosity.
“Chris?” Richard grinned wickedly. “Oh, him—yes, I suppose he’ll have to be included, won’t he?”
Chris leaned out to close the door as the crush began to sort itself out. “Old Nick is alive and well—and living in Llanglyn!”
Richard soothed the restless horse again. “Alive and well and impoverished. Where shall I find you, Chris?”
“Pendleton Square. Number four.”
“Nob territory. Will I be shot on sight?”
“No, you’re not in season. Call on me, Richard.”
“I will, you may depend upon it. Good day to you, Mrs. St. Aubrey.”
Chris closed the door as the carriage began to move, and already Richard Vallender had passed from sight ahead of them. “Mally, I never thought I would see him again.”
“How did you meet?”
“On our respective Grand Tours. We all stayed in the same establishment in Venice. Oh, and a fine time was had by one and all. Daniel nearly drowned in the Grand Canal, Richard floated away in a gondola leaving the pole stuck in the mud, and I stood on the bridge helpless with laughter!” He smiled. “We attended Eton together and then somehow Richard was parted from us. I only thought of him the other day.” He tilted her face toward his. “He was right, you know—he was always the very devil with the womenfolk. He’d give me a run for my money, I fancy.”
“With me?” She smiled and kissed him. “I don’t like human beansticks.”
He looked beyond her to the other window of the carriage and grinned. “We are observed. Lady Annabel Murchison, no less. Don’t you feel the daggers in your back?” He pulled her closer for Annabel’s benefit. “Oh, how I enjoy being the object of such jealousy.”
“You rat.” She laughed, glancing behind at Annabel’s crimson face.
“It does my male pride endless good. I’m dining with her father tonight, a small matter of a thousand of my acres he wants to buy. I’ll see how high I can get him—he’s dripping with money.”
“So are you.”
“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart. I don’t want anything of his, so I’m calling the tune. Did you notice that beast Richard was riding, to change the subject like the grasshopper I am?”
“Yes, I noticed it. Some sort of thoroughbred was about all I could say to describe it.”
“Thoroughbred blood, undoubtedly. Rangy. It looked a good goer.” He put his arm around her shoulder as the carriage swayed around a corner and out of the park. “I was thinking the other day that if there was one man in the world I would like for my best man, it would be Richard Vallender. Now he can be, eh?”
“But what of your brother Henry?”
“Henry can go whistle for the honor, I fear. I hadn’t asked him anyway. He’s still with the cavalry somewhere or other, cutting a da
sh if nothing else.”
“You are cruel. Henry is a fine officer.”
“With notions of grandeur. Sees himself as another budding Boney. Perhaps he is.”
“Well, as Henry is a second son with little hope of inheriting when he has such a hale and healthy brother, I think he’s doing very well.”
“Aye,” he agreed, “little brother Harry does well enough—not that I would let him know I think that, for there’d be no living with him.”
She untied her bonnet and tossed it across to the other seat next to her reticule. “I wonder what your Mr. Vallender’s wife was like?”
“If he intends commiserating with you, then you will no doubt find out.”
She glanced at him quickly. “I’m sorry—” she began and felt immediately like biting her tongue off.
“Sorry? Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“It was nothing, really.”
He took a long breath. “Mally, what are you sorry about? God above, we are at it again! Why, oh why, won’t you tell me things?”
She looked away. Because when I do it’s the wrong thing too— “I was going to say that I was sorry the conversation went the way it did.”
“Why should you apologize for that?”
“I don’t really know.” The words fell uneasily into the carriage.
The moments passed, and then he took her hand. “Perhaps we should get around to naming the day, eh? Perhaps that will solve our nit-picking?”
Suddenly the thought of actually having the day set was all wrong, not when they argued and misunderstood each other all the time— Her silence could not be mistaken.
Chris turned her face toward him. “The lack of sound is deafening. Don’t you want to marry me?”
“Yes, yes, of course I do. But we should not argue so much and maybe marriage will not stop it. I didn’t mean to make you think—”
“You—didn’t—mean—to—make—me—think.” He spaced the words slowly and deliberately. “Damn you, Mally! You never do, do you? But that does not stop you doing it time and time again! How ever you managed to make Daniel so perfect and exquisite a wife I’ll never know, for if there is one thing you exceed at it’s bringing a man so low that he could cheerfully cut his own throat as a blessed relief!”
Mally : Signet Regency Romance (9781101568057) Page 3
