by Heather Boyd
“You mean I should curry favor with men I have nothing in common with, like you do.” He sighed, resigned to the same old argument with his father and the next slap of the riding crop. His skin still stung from the last stripe, but he gritted his teeth rather than reveal that.
His father glared. “You don’t know the sacrifices I have made to make your way easy in life. You owe me.”
“No, sir,” Quinn bit out instantly.
The crop lashed out again, but Quinn caught it before it connected with his face. He held it, staring into his father’s hard eyes. “I do not owe anyone more than I have already given in the service of my country. I have lost friends because of your ambitions. I’ve often wondered if we lost Mary because of something you had a hand in.”
Quinn released the crop quickly. He’d not meant to accuse his parent of such an unconscionable crime. There were some things even his father would not do in his pursuit of power. He looked to his father, believing the next punishment would be at last one he deserved.
His father paled at the accusation, swallowed quickly, shocking Quinn to the core by the first glimpse of guilt he’d ever witnessed on his sire’s face.
“I had no part in your sister’s death,” Templeton blustered, schooling his features to blankness.
But it didn’t matter. Quinn saw culpability in his eyes.
He observed his father even as he struggled to hide his contempt for the man. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth.” Father’s eyes grew stony. “You’ll never prove otherwise.”
Quinn grew icy cold all over. He’d seen that look before—on the day they’d buried Mary, in fact. Father had a temper, but Quinn had always believed his sisters had been spared the lash of punishment over the years. Had he been wrong? “What did you do to her?”
“I did nothing.”
“But you know why she took her own life, don’t you?”
“I refuse to speak of her with you.”
“And I refuse to speak to you of anything else.” Quinn’s anger grew. “You pursue your own agenda that has nothing to do with what your own children want or need. You should have protected Mary.”
“I did protect her,” Templeton claimed. “The girl was always high-strung. Flighty.”
He swung at his father, but Templeton deflected the blow, sending his fist into the squabs of the carriage.
They stared at each other across the dim interior. It was the first time Quinn had ever attempted to strike back at his father, and it would be the last. He would never be like him. He shook off his father’s touch. “Don’t you dare malign Mary ever again.”
But he knew his father well—his obstinacy was legend. Quinn would get nowhere in a more prolonged confrontation. Templeton would rather die than admit fault in Mary’s death.
It would be wiser to withdraw and continue investigating behind his father’s back, and to that end, Quinn slammed his fist hard on the roof to make the driver stop the carriage.
He trembled in anger as the carriage came to a shuddering halt. It gave him intense satisfaction to notice his father had grown even paler in the last minute. He looked worried, and he should be. Quinn knew now to look for his father’s involvement in Mary’s death.
If Templeton had hurt Mary, he’d pay dearly for what he’d done. Quinn would lash out with his own brand of revenge until he was satisfied Father had been punished enough. There were plenty of ways to hurt him. “Goodbye, Templeton.”
“You are not dismissed,” his father roared as Quinn stepped out in the middle of Bond Street.
“You may not wish to acknowledge it, but we are done, my lord. I have nothing left to say to you, but that will not always be the case. I will have the answers I seek—and soon.”
He set his hat on his head. He would walk the rest of the way to his club while he reviewed what facts he had about his sister. Mary had been in London at the same time as Father the week before her death. She’d returned to Newberry without Templeton and drowned herself the very next morning.
Something had happened in London, and he would find out what it was.
“A woman like her, in her situation, wants only one thing,” Father called. “You will see I am right in this. She uses you!”
It took a moment for Quinn to understand that his father was not speaking of Mary, but had returned to the subject of Quinn’s mistress. The old man was a mule when it came to his own agenda. Quinn knew precisely where he stood with Adele, so he wasn’t worried. She was his future. The only woman he could imagine spending the rest of his life with.
Marrying Adele would not please Father one bit.
Quinn glanced at the store ahead of him. Cabot & Hunter Haberdashery was bustling with activity, and it was a warning to him of the consequences of underestimating Templeton. His father cared for no one, but innocent lives were forever changed by the man’s interference.
Quinn returned to the carriage. “And how will you use me, my lord? Will you destroy my life and the happiness I’ve scraped together to further your own ambitions? I am not your dog to bring to heel anymore. If you want something unpleasant done, do it yourself.”
“I’ll show you who is using who, here,” Templeton threatened.
Quinn turned away in disgust, flicking up a coin to the groom hanging off the back of the conveyance as it began to pass him by. “Next time warn me when it’s not Rutherford,” he called to Harrow.
“I was forbidden, my lord,” the groom said by way of apology.
Typical. Harrow would probably be threatened with dismissal if he tried to warn Quinn. That had happened before, too.
Chapter 7
Quinn heard a strangled sob and glanced toward Miss Dalton. She was so pale, he feared she might faint and topple into the open grave, where her late father waited to be laid to rest.
He eased back a little, discreetly positioning himself closer to the woman and her mother. Her spine straightened as those gathered around the graveside regarded her. He was uncertain if the people attending the burial were true mourners or merely gawkers after gossip.
Funerals were always hard, but this was the first time Miss Dalton had shown her upset since the morning after the fire. He’d never thought her unfeeling, but he did think her strange to fight the release of emotion so commonly felt at such a time.
The vicar droned on, and Quinn listened with one ear, but the rest of his attention remained on Miss Dalton and what she might need from him. To be honest, he was quite worried about what her next request might be, given that she’d already propositioned him—a complete stranger.
When the vicar finished his graveside sermon, mother and daughter held each other. Fingers entwined so tightly, their knuckles showed white. Mrs. Dalton sobbed brokenly as the vicar attempted to speak words of condolence to her.
Miss Dalton put an arm around her mother’s back to hold her up. Her face was blank of emotion, conquered by sheer force of will, he suspected.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “My father would have been honored by your words today.”
“He was an exceptional man. I am sorrier for his death than you can possibly know.”
Miss Dalton gently turned her unresponsive mother toward the waiting carriages. Their steps slow, measured.
Neither lady needed to remain while the coffin was lowered into the ground and covered with earth. But Quinn would. He would ensure her father’s final resting place could never be disturbed by grave robbers.
Although more familiar with burials at sea, he gestured to the men he’d hired and waited while the mortsafe was lowered over the simple coffin. Only then did he allow the grave to be filled, and tossed coins to the men who would remain in the cemetery for the next ten days or so. Further security against those who would defile Mr. Dalton’s final rest.
Mr. Millard Dalton had suffered enough, in Quinn’s opinion.
As he turned from the grave, he noticed Mr. Banks standing nearby.
He moved toward the man.
“Banks, it was good of you to come.”
“I came to see you, actually.” He glanced back toward the carriage briefly. “I called at your home, and your servants were kind enough to give me your directions.”
“Oh,” he said. “Is there a problem?”
“No. I have good news in fact.”
“What is it?”
He winced. “I did not want to speak of this before his widow, but when Dalton’s body was inspected more closely before placed in the coffin, these were found. They were embedded in Mr. Dalton’s very flesh.”
Banks opened up a square of linen to reveal a handful of bright gems.
Quinn gasped. “What the devil?”
“There was what seemed to be some gold inside his charred flesh, too, which makes me suspect that Dalton had these gems on a gold chain around his neck when he died.”
Although his stomach clenched, Quinn picked up one gem, studying the color and shape in the light. “These seem perfect.”
“Yes, I was unsure of what they might be, and took the liberty of having them cleaned by a colleague. Once polished, it became clear what I had in hand was very valuable.” He glanced toward the carriage where Miss Dalton and Mrs. Dalton waited for Quinn. “They should be returned, but perhaps you might oblige me in this errand? I understand the Dalton women are still guests of yours.”
“They are.” Quinn accepted the gems, stuffing them in his inner pocket. “Mr. Dalton was very well loved by his wife and daughter, and Mrs. Dalton particularly seems incapable of making any decisions. There will never be a good time to return these, I fear, but I promise I will do so at the first opportunity.”
“I do understand, but it is not right to allow them to believe themselves paupers. I have it on good authority that you have a king’s ransom there.”
He smiled quickly, exceedingly happy for them. With these gems in their possession, they could be settled in a new home soon. They could live a life of ease, as Dalton would have wanted. He was also relieved Theodora would have no need to begin work for him, or for anyone. “I don’t believe the Dalton women had any idea of this.”
“I wonder why?”
Quinn did too. Those gems would set the Dalton women up for the rest of their lives, though. “I’ll return them to Mrs. Dalton when we reach my home.”
He said his farewells to the investigator and joined the women in his carriage. Mrs. Dalton had turned her face away, and Theodora was curled against her mother’s side. Neither lady acknowledged him. Quinn tapped the carriage roof and got them underway, regarding the pair with concern.
They remained silent until they reached Maitland House. Mrs. Dalton was the first to speak, thanking him for his assistance as she alighted from the carriage. Theodora said nothing at all, merely stumbled up the front stairs and disappeared inside faster than he expected. He held out his arm to Mrs. Dalton, allowing her to lean on his strength as she returned indoors.
“Mr. Banks spoke to me after the burial.”
“Did he?” More tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Indeed.” Once inside, and in private, he revealed the gems to her on his palm. “It seems Mr. Dalton did not leave you without means after all.”
Mrs. Dalton poked at the gems without any real interest. “My necklace? He was supposed to have the clasp fixed for me. How did you come to have them?”
Quinn winced. “I’m told your husband was wearing them when he died.”
Mrs. Dalton sobbed at that and pushed his hand away. “I don’t want them!”
“But they are yours to keep. Madam, nothing is beyond your reach now.”
“All I want is Millard returned to me.” She backed away. “Keep them. I couldn’t bear to wear them again.”
She turned and dashed for the staircase.
“Mrs. Dalton!” Quinn called after her.
She kept going without looking back at him once. He heard her sobs and winced. “Madam, please. I’m so sorry. I had no choice but to tell you.”
Mrs. Dalton waved a hand just before she disappeared out of sight.
Damn. He should have waited to tell Mrs. Dalton about the stones, but how could he allow her to continue to think herself destitute? That would be heartless. He couldn’t have not informed her. The stones were hers by rights, and valuable.
Perhaps he should have told Miss Dalton first, instead, and allowed her to break the news more gently.
He followed Mrs. Dalton upstairs, intending to speak with her daughter next. The doors to his guest bedchambers were closed, as expected, and as he poised outside the first door, Theodora’s, he heard the woman’s heartbreaking sobs inside.
Determined not to further upset the women, he retreated to his bedchamber and the cold hearth next to his bed. He knelt, stretched his hand up inside the chimney, and removed a steel box from within. He pried the lid open and, since it was empty, dropped the stones inside and hid it again. The stones would remain there until Mrs. Dalton asked for their return. He would allow her time to grieve before broaching the subject again.
Chapter 8
“If you don’t mind me saying, Miss Dalton, his lordship has maids who dust and clean for him,” Mr. Rodmell, Lord Maitland’s valet, remarked at Theodora’s feet.
Theodora shrieked, dropped the cloth she was holding and struggled to keep her balance on the chair. The large landscape she’d been peeking behind crashed back against the wall. “Rodmell! Don’t do that.”
“My apologies, but you still should not have been moving the paintings. That is a maid’s job.”
“Clearly they have missed this spot for some time. I found cobwebs here, and now that I know for certain that there are no spiders behind it, I can breathe easily again,” she said, shuddering.
Rodmell appeared less than impressed with her suggestion that there could be unwanted beasties in the library and took the cloth from her hand. “Mr. Layton had no complaints about the room.”
“Lord Maitland’s last secretary may have had no complaints about his books, but probably never lifted his eyes to the corners of the room. He’s been gone for months. The study requires a thorough dusting.” She wiped her gloved fingers down the picture frame and showed Rodmell proof of the dust.
“I’ll have a word with Mrs. Burrows for you and have it attended to,” he said quickly, and then sneezed.
“I would appreciate that.” Theodora wasn’t usually so picky about her surroundings, but wearing mourning colors revealed so much about a home. She already had a dusty hemline and a never-ending urge to rub her nose. The more time she spent in this room alone, the more irritated she was by the inattention to cleaning it. Rodmell helped her down to stand beside him. “What I was really doing before being distracted was looking for some clue as to the location of this charming scene.”
“It is of the Duke of Rutherford’s family seat at Newberry Park in Essex.”
Lord Maitland’s family had a similarly named mansion in the heart of Mayfair—some twenty minutes ride distant from Maitland House. Newberry House was said to be very elegant and quite large. Quinn’s parents, the Earl and Countess Templeton, lived there with the Duke of Rutherford’s blessing along with other members of the family when they came to London.
“Ah, I see. A pretty spot indeed.” Theodora had heard much of the country estate too from a maid who’d grown up there, and she’d discovered a great many landscapes for the area spread around Lord Maitland’s home while she’d been waiting to speak to him. She had thought they may have been of the same location, but hadn’t been sure until now. She pointed across the room. “And who is the merry young woman in that small portrait over there by the fire?”
Rodmell sighed softly. “That is, was, Lady Mary Ford. The master’s younger sister.”
Theodora moved closer. Yes, perhaps there was a similarity she could see around the eyes. She’d heard mention of Louisa, Sally, and two brothers already from the chattering new maid Lord Maitland had seen assigned to her. “What happened to her?”
/> “It is not my place to speak of the dead,” Rodmell said after a long moment of silence.
Theodora whipped around quickly to stare. Rodmell had been more or less an open book until now, speaking expansively of every member of the Ford family with great pride and fondness—except for this one girl. That he would not say very much was telling. It must have been a tragedy that stole her life away.
“When did she pass?”
Rodmell took a step back. “At seventeen. Five years ago, it would be now.”
“So very young,” Theodora whispered. “Was she a favorite?”
“Oh yes. The master and Lady Mary were very close. If there is nothing else, I must return to my duties?” Rodmell asked, appearing ready to flee.
She smiled in understanding. “If you could have someone start on this room today, I would be grateful. I’ll move my work down to the dining room until the chamber is ready for use again.”
Rodmell frowned deeply. “You’ll have to speak to Lord Maitland about that. He prefers to keep his correspondence to the upper levels of the house.”
That struck her as an odd thing to do, but a great many things about Lord Maitland jarred with what she had expected of him. Yet she did need a table to work upon. The only other one large enough to hold all of Lord Maitland’s papers was in the dining room downstairs.
“Well, I could always work on the staircase while I wait,” Theodora mused, but then laughed. “Honestly, Lord Maitland is still out and has left behind no word when he will return from Mayfair, so might we settle on a compromise. He employed me to work, and I cannot in these conditions. I would rather not explain to him that anyone might have been lax in their duties since Layton’s departure. Do you not agree it is unnecessary to bother so great a man with every small detail of how his home is maintained?”
Rodmell eyed her warily, clearly unsure of her reasons for asking. “I do agree,” he said slowly.
