The Unwanted Heiress (The Archer Family Regency Series)

by Corwin, Amy

  “Ask Suddley to tell Lady Victoria that Miss Haywood and her nephew would like the pleasure of her company this morning,” Charlotte said.

  “Now, Miss?” he asked in confusion, his hand still outstretched.

  “Yes. We don’t want to keep His Grace waiting.”

  “This is absurd,” Nathaniel protested through clenched teeth. “Get down. I will come back another day if you wish to be escorted to some of the ladies’ residences.”

  “I agree. It is absurd for you to protest any further. I am coming with you.” Charlotte settled back against the squabs, adopting a complacent expression. “The matter is obviously settled so don’t be ill-mannered. We shall pay morning calls together. Lady Victoria and I will speak privately with the ladies. Someone may have seen something, and we shall discover it.”

  He sat back again and crossed his arms over his chest. After a moment, he stretched out his legs, once more trapping her between them. “I am perfectly capable of making my own inquires—”

  “Precisely how many women do you hope to compromise?”

  “None—”

  “You cannot question the ladies alone without compromising them. So unless that is your purpose, you must allow us to help you. Young women will be unlikely to speak freely to you, particularly in front of their fathers or brothers. Really, Your Grace, you have no choice.”

  “So you do remember how to address me properly.”

  “When it suits me, yes. And when you aren’t acting like a complete puddinghead.”

  “You know,” he replied in a conversational tone. “You had better pray I am not the murderer. You are making it extremely tempting to have a go at it.” Charlotte snorted.

  Exchanging the quivering Alice for Lady Victoria turned out better than Charlotte hoped. With his aunt in the carriage, Nathaniel mostly kept to his own side, although his knees still rubbed against hers more frequently than seemed quite necessary.

  “I am so relieved you are allowing us to assist you, Your Grace,” Lady Victoria announced after rearranging her skirts in the cramped seat. “We have been so worried. What is it we are to do?”

  One look at Nathaniel’s wry expression made

  Charlotte answer hastily, “We are going to pay calls on the guests who were present the night Lady Anne died. While the duke interviews the gentlemen, we will speak to the ladies.”

  Lady Victoria nodded. “Very good. An excellent plan.”

  Although it sounded reasonable, it turned into more of an ordeal than any of them imagined. Everyone was pleased to have a duke visit, but no one had any new information. Most had not even known about the murder until they read about it in the newspaper or heard the gossip from their lady’s maid while getting their hair brushed and pinned the next morning.

  After the third call, they climbed wearily back into their carriage.

  Lady Victoria smoothed a stray curl straggling over Charlotte’s forehead and remarked, “This has not been terribly effective, has it? It is simply too bad no one seems to have seen anything.”

  “If you’d listened when I indicated it would be useless—” Nathaniel replied, the clenched muscles in his jaw showing his exasperation.

  “One more, just one more interview today,” Charlotte said. There had to be someone who had seen something. Someone who was watching Nathaniel and knew he had not killed anyone.

  “What about Miss Mooreland?” Nathaniel groaned.

  “I am not sure,” Lady Victoria said, eyeing her nephew. “I am inclined to think this is not the proper way to go about this.”

  “I refuse to visit the Moorelands. Her father will think I’ve come to make an offer for her,” he said. “I’ve no wish to go through that again after what happened at the Howard residence.”

  “How was I to know they would believe that your desire to speak with Mr. Howard indicated you were considering offering for his daughter? It was a natural mistake—”

  “Very natural. I warn you, I have no intention of calling on any more families with unmarried daughters above the age of thirteen!”

  “But Miss Mooreland—”

  “Miss Mooreland already entertains ideas about me which I have no wish to encourage.”

  “What I was going to say, if you would allow me, is that Lady Victoria and I can call on Miss Mooreland. There is no need for you to accompany us.”

  “Must we?” Lady Victoria replied, leaning back in the corner of the carriage with her eyes closed. “I cannot believe she would be of any help to His Grace.”

  “I can go alone if you are tired, but I honestly believe she might help us. She is in love with—” Charlotte paused when Nathaniel scowled at her. “She has set her cap at His Grace and watched him closely that night. It is just as valuable to find someone who can say he did not do it as it is to find whoever did do it.”

  Nathaniel smiled grimly. “That does, unfortunately, make sense. However, my aunt is tired. I have already stated I have no intention of visiting any more fathers of marriageable daughters. So if you insist, we will let you out at the Mooreland’s door.”

  “Splendid,” Charlotte said.

  A few minutes later, she was sitting in a lovely sitting room filled with chintz-covered chairs and small tables overflowing with bits of sewing, novels from the lending library, penny dreadfuls and several La Belle Assemblée fashion magazines. Miss Mooreland was struggling with a lapful of ribbons, corded trim and scraps of silk.

  “Oh, Miss Haywood! How lovely to see you again! I beg your pardon, but I was attempting to straighten out my sewing kit.” She broke off when a handful of pearl buttons slipped out of her lap and scattered across the floor. “Oh, no!”

  Charlotte laughed and ran after the buttons, stooping to pick them up. “Here are your buttons, are you planning a sewing project?”

  Miss Mooreland shook her head, her brown eyes merry. “I start many projects and finish very few. My mother says I am quite hopeless and like a magpie, I am too easily distracted by the newest bright thing.” Her eyes flicked to the open magazines. They showed several illustrations of the summer styles with their line of trim down the front and along the hem.

  “I understand completely, I am precisely the same way.” It wasn’t strictly the truth since Charlotte felt duty-bound to finish anything she started, but she did like Miss Mooreland and her cheerful, if messy, morning room.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, do have a seat,” Miss Mooreland indicated the chair opposite her. “I have not seen you since Lady Beatrice’s ball, such a dreadful thing.”

  “Did you know Lady Anne?”

  Miss Mooreland nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Yes. We were good friends, despite our both falling in love with the same man.”

  “The Duke of Peckham?”

  “Yes,” she said, daubing at her eyes with a scrap of blue silk. “Who could help but love him—he is so handsome, so—”

  Aristocratic? Powerful? Rich?

  “Yes, yes,” Charlotte cut her off, feeling annoyed that so many women felt compelled to throw themselves at Nathaniel. “It is difficult, isn’t it? Did you happen to notice Lady Anne following the duke out to the garden before it happened?”

  “Why yes, we followed him together.”

  “You were together?”

  “We went outside together,” she corrected Charlotte.

  “Then what happened?” Charlotte leaned forward, twisting her reticule between her hands. She knew Miss Mooreland had seen something and was determined to ferret it out.

  “Oh, we lost track of His Grace. Lady Anne said it might be easier if she took the path through the yews while I searched near the terrace.” Miss Mooreland smiled. “And I was the fortunate one, for His Grace returned to the terrace, did he not? I observed him speaking with you.”

  “Yes, I vaguely recall—how long did you look for him before you saw him on the terrace?”

  “Oh, I really don’t know.”

  “Just a few minutes?” Charlotte asked. She wanted to shake Miss
Mooreland and demand she tell her everything she knew instead of dragging it out interminably.

  Miss Mooreland stared at the tangle of ribbons in her hands and answered slowly, “They were just starting a country dance when we went outside. When I saw him walk up to the terrace, a waltz was playing. I remember because I love waltzing and wished I had found His Grace earlier so we could waltz.”

  So no one knew where Nathaniel was for at least fifteen minutes.

  “Fifteen minutes is a long time,” Charlotte said slowly.

  Blushing, Miss Mooreland nodded. “I really don’t want to spread rumors.”

  Clutching her skirts to keep from leaping up and strangling her hostess, Charlotte did her best to appear unconcerned. Past experiences with both male and female gossips told her the fastest way to get information was to act bored. “I completely understand. You have so much more restraint than I’ve ever had.” She smoothed her skirts as if preparing to leave. “Well, I—”

  “I heard them arguing!” Miss Mooreland said in a breathless voice.

  Charlotte’s heart stopped. “You heard Lady Anne and His Grace argue?”

  “No—not His Grace, Sir Henry!”

  “You heard Sir Henry arguing with Lady Anne? What were they arguing about?”

  “Sir Henry loved her—I believe he hoped to offer for her. But Lady Anne preferred His Grace. Who would not?”

  “Who, indeed?”

  Once started, Miss Mooreland seemed unable to restrain herself. She leaned forward, her brown eyes bright as she described what she had heard. “It was very distressing, and I did not want to listen. Sir Henry was exceedingly angry and said she had danced with His Grace twice and gone in to supper with him. I am afraid I didn’t stay to hear the rest—I just could not.”

  “I can certainly appreciate your sentiment. Would you mind repeating what you have told me to an inquiry agent?”

  “No. I am sorry, but my parents would never approve.”

  “You could write it down, perhaps. A letter signed by you would do just as well.” At least she hoped it would. “Oh, I could not,” Miss Mooreland insisted, her eyes troubled.

  “You must! Do you want to see the Duke of Peckham suffer from these horrible rumors? You must know they are false. You say you love him, and yet you will not even write a simple note that could help him immeasurably.”

  Miss Mooreland blushed and then frowned, eyes downcast. Heaving a long sigh, she got up and went over to a small desk in the corner near the window. She pulled out a heavy sheet of creamy paper. “I cannot let him suffer, but you must promise no one will know I have said anything. I have been so distraught over Lady Anne—it is such a relief to speak with you about it. However, you must realize if my parents knew I was out in the garden with her, they would never allow me to attend another function without the strictest supervision. I would be ruined!” Her voice broke. “Oh, I miss my Lady Anne so much—you cannot conceive of how hard this has been!”

  “I am truly sorry, Miss Mooreland. I can understand your sense of loss, truly I can,” Charlotte replied, coming to stand near the small desk. “I shall deliver this, myself, to Bow Street. I promise to make them understand they are not to come here or question you further.”

  “Thank you, and I am so sorry. I hope you don’t think this indicates I simply did not care about Lady Anne or His Grace—it could not be further from the truth!”

  Charlotte patted her on the shoulder. “I do understand.”

  When Miss Mooreland finished her brief note and sanded it dry, Charlotte picked it up carefully. She read it through before tucking it into her reticule. Then she bent over and gave Miss Mooreland a hug, deeply aware of the pain of losing a friend.

  As she finally straightened, she thought of Nathaniel and her pulse leapt.

  Would he be pleased she had managed to collect such vital information? The strength of her desire to earn his gratitude unsettled her.

  “Must you leave so soon?” Miss Mooreland asked, daubing at her eyes.

  Charlotte stared at her, surprised by a rush of friendship and pleasure. Miss Mooreland was the woman who stood by her at Lady Diana’s ball and spoke to her when almost everyone else ignored her.

  Pressing her hand, Charlotte said, “I promise I will return, but I must deliver this to Bow Street. I am sure we both agree His Grace is completely innocent of any wrong-doing—”

  “No one would dare to accuse him!”

  “Perhaps. However, we also don’t want the beast who killed Lady Anne to remain free. He might kill another woman.”

  Miss Mooreland’s soft, brown eyes shimmered. “I do so miss her. I am sure you are right. But you will return, will not you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Charlotte smiled, a second rush of affection making her lips tremble. “I will come whenever you wish. I hope you will do us the honor of visiting the Archer residence, too.”

  “I shall be happy to do so, I have always admired Lady Victoria. She is a wonderful woman.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  After a few minutes, Charlotte finally left the Mooreland’s house. Nathaniel’s carriage was outside, however Nathaniel and Lady Victoria were not within.

  The letter in Charlotte’s reticule begged for delivery to Bow Street. So Charlotte ordered the coachman to take her there instead of returning home.

  It took some convincing to get him to drive her to that destination since he had clear orders from the duke to take Charlotte back to the Archers.

  When they finally arrived, Charlotte studied the rough-looking men going to and fro and wondered if this was such a brilliant idea after all.

  When the coachman opened the door, she said, “Would you be so good as to request the individual responsible for investigating Lady Anne’s murder to come outside?”

  “Yes, Miss,” the coachman replied in a tired voice.

  She waited impatiently, too aware that the carriage was emblazoned with the duke’s coat of arms. It made the equipage wretchedly conspicuous. After what seemed like several hours, but was surely only a few minutes, the coachman returned with another gentleman.

  Trying not to be intolerant of the common man, Charlotte nonetheless felt uncomfortable as the man came to stand at the door of the carriage. He looked scruffy and a little...rough.

  “Here he is, Miss,” the coachman said before adding, “Mr. Clark of Bow Street.”

  “Miss Haywood?” the inquiry agent asked. He reached inside his dingy brown jacket and pulled out a small black leather-bound book. A long streak of some brown liquid stained his waistcoat. “You wished to speak to me? Pursuant to the case involving the young lady known as Lady Anne?”

  She studied him. Was he mocking her for interfering in his investigation? His brown eyes seemed curious but guileless. Clutching her reticule, the crisp paper within rustled.

  She leaned toward the door. “I must ask that this interview remain private. I have just come from a young lady’s residence and have information I believe to be critical—”

  “Hearsay—”

  “No. I have a note written by the lady and signed, however we cannot involve her. Her reputation will be damaged if her name is bandied about in the course of this investigation. I would rather you use my name than hers, if required.”

  “Very noble, however this is a murder inquiry. A man’s life may be at stake—”

  “And a woman’s life has already been sacrificed. It is quite unnecessary to sacrifice another’s good name.”

  He sighed and started to slip his notebook back into his pocket. “I cannot promise her name will never be known.”

  “Then substitute mine.”

  “That would be illegal and improper, Miss. If you have evidence from this lady, then hand it over to me. Otherwise, I suggest you return home and allow me to continue my inquiries.”

  Temper flaring, Charlotte compressed her lips to avoid saying anything regrettable. She pulled the letter out and handed it to him. “I promised her she would not be required to come
here,” Charlotte said, her voice cutting as she glanced over his shoulder at the establishment behind him. “Or be questioned. Everything she saw and heard is in this note. She did not witness the murder, however she was the last person with Lady Anne before that terrible man killed her. She heard him arguing with her, even though she did not see him. She knew his voice.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Clark mumbled as he opened the letter and started reading it. His eyes flicked down to the bottom, examining the signature. “Miss Mooreland accompanied Lady Anne to the garden and heard this argument?”

  “Yes, precisely. That is her signed note—”

  “Her statement, in fact,” Mr. Clark interrupted. “This is very interesting.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I shall certainly explore the events outlined herein.”

  “Thank you,” Charlotte said before signaling to the coachman to close the door. Charlotte watched through the window as they drove away. Mr. Clark remained standing on the sidewalk, perusing the letter clasped in his plump, grubby hands.

  Had she done the right thing? Would Miss Mooreland regret trusting her enough to pen that note—her “statement” as Mr. Clark called it?

  When they neared the Archer townhouse, Charlotte felt uneasy enough to decide not discuss the note with Nathaniel. If it did not result in uncovering the murderer, it would serve no purpose. And it occurred to Charlotte that some might believe Nathaniel had somehow connived to get the statement to prove his innocence.

  No matter what happened, it would be more effective if the duke knew nothing about Miss Mooreland and the note.

  Chapter Fifteen

  You may ask a man questions with an honest intention to elicit the truth. — Constable’s Pocket Guide

  That afternoon, Nathaniel and Archer went to White’s for a quiet dinner. They were interrupted by the dead girl’s father, the Earl of Telford. The earl’s haggard face grew dark with anger when Nathaniel had nothing new to report.

  “You are guilty,” the earl said.

  “No. No, I am not. I will find the man responsible. I will not stop until I do.”