The Captain Claims His Lady

by Annie Burrows

  In fact the longer she thought about it, the more sense it made. Reverend Cottam had spoken at great length about Lord Rawcliffe’s determination to expose him. And what was more, last time Lord and Lady Rawcliffe had come down here they’d rented an entire row of cottages rather than put up at the Three Tuns. And with it being well after the seaside season finished, those cottages were all standing empty. So there was absolutely no need to invite them to stay here.

  When next she saw Captain Bretherton, she was going to give him a piece of her mind. She was absolutely sick of him using her to hide his true purpose.

  But he could be extremely elusive when he put his mind to it.

  * * *

  The next morning, though it was early when she went to his room to attempt to confront him in private, he’d already got up, dressed and gone out.

  Downstairs Cook informed her, with a twinkle in her eye, that he’d gone off to see about that special licence.

  Lizzie sank into a chair, her spirits plunging. Licences were terribly expensive. And Captain Bretherton already had substantial debts. Oh, if only she’d been able to speak to him, in private, before this. She might have been able to save him all that money, as well as his time and effort.

  But before she could express her regrets, Lords Rawcliffe and Becconsall rolled up, with their wives in tow. And when she wasn’t busy seeing to their rooms, and their servants, and their horses, Captain Bretherton was closeted with his friends in one room or another, talking in low, urgent tones, which nobody could make out even if they pressed an ear to the door.

  And then they all rode out to Whitesands Bay to see what the tide might have washed up.

  * * *

  Conversation at dinner on the first night of their stay was stilted, at best. Lady Rawcliffe hardly ate anything and fled back to her room as soon as she could, her handkerchief pressed to her face. After that, Grandfather, Captain Bretherton, Lord Rawcliffe and Lord Becconsall sat over their port for what felt like an eternity while she strove to entertain Lady Becconsall in the drawing room. Lady Becconsall surrendered first, making the excuse that she’d had a long day and wished for nothing more than her bed. And then Sergeant Hewitt came in, and told her that she might as well go up herself, since the gentlemen had called for another bottle.

  Though it wasn’t port that was keeping them in the dining room, she thought darkly as she went upstairs. It was a conspiracy, that was what it was. A conspiracy to keep her and Captain Bretherton apart. Which would probably go on until the moment they were standing before some hapless vicar who believed he was going to conduct their marriage service.

  * * *

  The next morning, she walked into the breakfast parlour, to an atmosphere she could have cut with a knife.

  And then Lady Rawcliffe burst into tears and Lord Rawcliffe hauled her to her feet and half-dragged her out of the room and up the stairs.

  ‘They found Cottam’s body,’ said Captain Bretherton. ‘Becconsall and Lady Harriet, when they went out for their early morning ride. All tangled up in netting and seaweed. He looks...that is, there was no sign of rocks, or ice...’

  ‘If we hadn’t known,’ said Lord Becconsall, ‘we’d have thought it was just an accidental drowning.’

  But it hadn’t been. It had been the result of his attempt to kill her. Lizzie found she had to sit down, rather urgently. Fortunately, there was a chair to hand, otherwise she might have ended up on the floor.

  Captain Bretherton sat down beside her and took her hand. ‘Go and get her some brandy, Ulysses,’ he snapped, sending Lord Becconsall scurrying off in the direction of the sideboard. She pressed her face into his shoulder, for a moment, drawing comfort from his solid warmth.

  But then Lord Becconsall was back and pressing the drink into her hand, and Captain Bretherton was urging her to drink it.

  ‘This must have been a dreadful shock to you, Miss Hutton,’ said Becconsall when she gasped as the pungent spirits hit the back of her throat.

  ‘Yes,’ said Grandfather, getting to his feet. ‘You had best go back to your room and have a lie down. I shall need you, Captain Bretherton. We are going to have a busy day.’

  She was about to say that she had no need to retire to her room like a feeble idiot. Hearing that Cottam had finally washed ashore hadn’t been that much of a shock. Because she’d been waiting for this very thing to happen ever since the boat had overturned.

  Only, her knees were shaking a bit. Whether from the brandy, which she wasn’t used to, or the after-effects of snuggling up to Captain Bretherton only to have him skitter away like a scalded cat, or anger that he would allow Grandfather to send her to her room without uttering a word of protest, when Lord Rawcliffe had looked as though he would have leaped mountains to offer his wife comfort, she didn’t know.

  ‘Let me help you upstairs,’ said Lady Becconsall.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, setting the brandy glass down on the table and getting to her feet. And giving one disdainful sniff as she left the room and the men to their important business.

  As they mounted the stairs she could hear Lady Rawcliffe sobbing. And the low tones of her husband, who’d had no intention of abandoning his wife to her misery.

  ‘Shall I ring for some tea?’ Lady Becconsall asked, when Lizzie slumped dejectedly on to her dressing table stool.

  ‘Fine,’ she said again, only this time morosely.

  It took only a few moments for Cook to arrive with the tea tray. She laced the first cup she poured liberally with sugar and yet more brandy, and urged Lizzie to drink it.

  ‘Then you have a bit of a lie down,’ Cook suggested.

  ‘I don’t need a lie down. And I ought to come and help you in the kitchen...’

  ‘Oh, I’m quite handy, you know,’ said Lady Becconsall. ‘I can help out, I’m sure, if you show me what to do.’

  And between them, they got Lizzie into bed and gave her another cup of brandy-infused tea. And almost before they’d gone downstairs, she fell asleep.

  * * *

  It was the sound of someone knocking on the door which roused her. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, stunned to see that the light had swung round so far that it must be getting on for the time to dress for dinner.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, cursing the brandy for robbing her of almost an entire day. Although, she hadn’t been sleeping well at night. That might also account for her having fallen so deeply asleep.

  Though nothing could account for the sight of Lady Rawcliffe, standing in the doorway, head up, chin out, clutching a handkerchief between her long white fingers.

  ‘I...oh, I didn’t mean to wake you.’ she said.

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Lizzie warily, sitting up and grabbing at the mound of blankets and shawls which went slithering in all directions. It was bad enough being caught sleeping at this time of day, never mind with legs on show. And whatever Lady Rawcliffe had to say was not going to be pleasant, to judge from her militant posture. But could she blame her? The elegant little redhead must have formed a very poor opinion of her the first time they’d met, which had been when she and her husband had been staying in Peacombe for their honeymoon. Lizzie had knocked over a vase of flowers and then set fire to a hearthrug. In the space of about five minutes.

  And now she’d drowned her brother.

  And then spent the entire day in bed in an alcohol-induced stupor.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ said Lady Rawcliffe, coming straight to her with her hands outstretched.

  ‘You are sorry?’ said Lizzie, taking hold of the woman’s tiny hands as gently as she could, suddenly understanding Harry’s comment about being half-afraid he might snap such delicate-looking appendages. ‘No, I am the one who should apologise. If I hadn’t...’

  ‘Fought for your life,’ insisted Lady Rawcliffe. ‘That was all you did. And I have been so ashamed of him, and
of us, for exposing you to such danger, I haven’t known how to face you.’

  Lizzie let out a huge sigh of relief. She’d thought Lady Rawcliffe had been avoiding her because she blamed her for her brother’s death.

  A movement from the doorway caused Lizzie to look in that direction, where she saw Lady Becconsall hovering on the threshold.

  ‘May I come in, too?’

  Though Lizzie couldn’t imagine what she might have to add to the proceedings, she nodded.

  ‘I haven’t known how to face you either,’ she said, slipping inside and shutting the door firmly behind her. ‘But it is no use trying to steer clear of you in a house this size, is it?’

  Oh, she didn’t know about that. Captain Bretherton seemed to be managing it admirably.

  ‘So we have decided to grasp the nettle,’ said Lady Becconsall. ‘And clear the air.’

  ‘The nettle?’ Lizzie looked from one lady to the other, in bemusement.

  ‘Well,’ said Lady Becconsall as she perched on the end of Lizzie’s bed. ‘It will sting a bit when we own up to what we’ve done. Only we did it to spare you, truly we did.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lady Rawcliffe, nodding vigorously. ‘When we heard the plan our husbands came up with, to snare Archie’s killer, we knew we had to do something to protect you from real harm. Especially as it was my fault they thought of using you. I... That is, after we met... I might have...’ She winced as Lady Becconsall jabbed her in the side with one finger.

  ‘That is, I did tell them,’ she said, twisting her hanky between agitated fingers, ‘that you had access to Lady Buntingford. And that if anyone could reveal what had been going on in her house over the last few years, it would be you.’

  ‘Only then my husband got involved,’ said Lady Becconsall grimly. ‘Actually, he was involved from the start. Which was my fault. You see, it all began when my uncle discovered that some of my aunt’s jewellery had been replaced with fake stones.’

  Yes, she’d heard all about that, from Cottam himself.

  ‘Uncle Hugo,’ Lady Becconsall continued, ‘accused her of doing it to pay gambling debts. But she swore she hadn’t. Things between them grew rather unpleasant. And because I owed her a great deal, I vowed to prove Aunt Susan innocent. And, in the course of my investigations, I discovered that something similar had happened in Archie’s family. When his grandmother died, they found that some of her jewellery was paste, too.’

  ‘Archie?’

  ‘You knew him as Mr Kellet. And the old lady who died in Jenny’s care was his grandmother. That was why he felt so strongly about coming to see Lady Buntingford, to find out how she was involved.’

  ‘You thought Lady Buntingford was involved?’

  ‘She had written the references that got Jenny into the house of both Archie’s grandmother and my Aunt Susan,’ said Lady Becconsall.

  ‘But she couldn’t have done,’ said Lizzie. ‘At least, not recently.’

  ‘No, Atlas explained about the seizure. And when we checked, we found out that all those references were written after she’d had it. Once Clement—that is, my brother,’ said Lady Rawcliffe with revulsion, ‘took charge of her correspondence.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lizzie felt a bit sick. The man had been using Lady Buntingford’s helpless state to introduce thieves into the houses of other vulnerable, older ladies.

  ‘Archie must have found out about that, too. And that is why they killed him. Oh, Miss Hutton, you should have seen how devastated our husbands and Atlas, too, all were when they found out. They...they lost all sense of reason. They swore they’d go to any lengths to avenge the death of their friend.’

  Lizzie already knew that much. Captain Bretherton had confessed it.

  ‘Yes. They weren’t thinking rationally when they came up with the plan to send someone to go to Bath so they could, um...’

  ‘Seduce me?’

  The ladies nodded in unison. ‘Well, naturally, we couldn’t have that,’ said Lady Rawcliffe indignantly.

  ‘No, absolutely not. Only we couldn’t openly defy our own husbands. Especially not when we could see how...um...’

  ‘And that’s when I thought of Atlas. Captain Bretherton, I should say,’ explained Lady Becconsall. ‘When I first met him, you see, even though the others forgot to behave like gentlemen, he never did. Even though he was as...well, inebriated as the rest of them.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Lady Rawcliffe, ‘we thought it would do him good, too. He’d been sort of drifting—’

  ‘Sinking, more like,’ muttered Lady Becconsall.

  ‘Yes, so we thought that if only he could get involved in our husbands’ scheme, not only would it do him good, make him feel as if he had a purpose in life—’

  ‘That is, to avenge Archie’s murder—’

  ‘And he would behave with complete propriety toward you, which nobody could guarantee if they hired someone to get close to you so they could find out if Lady Buntingford really had become some sort of criminal mastermind who trained girls to get into the houses of rich ladies so she could amass a huge pile of rubies.’

  ‘Hire someone?’ Lizzie’s stomach had been lurching as the two ladies babbled out a tale she could barely comprehend. Suddenly, Grandfather’s mention of money at Nan’s cottage crept into her mind. But surely he couldn’t have known... He would never have allowed... Lizzie’s thoughts swirled sickeningly. But, no. Bretherton might have betrayed her, but her grandfather would never have gone along with such a thing. Bretherton must simply have told him that he was going to come into some money, conveniently leaving out the terrible reason why. To think that she’d trusted him. Lizzie shuddered with revulsion. ‘You mean, your husbands were going to pay someone to pretend to...to want to...marry me?’

  ‘I know, it does sound awful when you put it like that—’

  ‘Which was why we let Atlas know what was going on. So he could put a stop to the madness. They’d been keeping it all from him, you see, because they didn’t think he was interested—’

  ‘So we had a very loud, very indignant conversation about the plan, right outside the room where he was sitting.’

  ‘And just as we’d hoped, he was so angry that he went charging off and took the job himself.’

  ‘Oh, please, don’t be upset.’ Lady Rawcliffe started patting her arms, which she discovered she’d wrapped round her waist.

  ‘How many men...had they asked about...seducing me?’

  ‘Oh, none! That is, they assembled some likely candidates, but they did not tell them exactly what they were being interviewed for.’

  Lizzie let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in. It wasn’t as bad as they’d made it sound, to begin with.

  Nor had Captain Bretherton taken part in the actual planning of her...humiliation. Her stomach roiled again.

  Captain Bretheron, she had to remember, had only become involved because these two ladies had dragged him into it at the last minute and he’d done it to save her from being callously used by some other, nameless, faceless men...

  But that didn’t alter the fact that in the end, he was going to be financially rewarded for deceiving her. Something inside her went hard. For suddenly she had another explanation for his determination to avoid her the past few days. His estates. His mortgaged estates.

  ‘I...well...thank you for coming to tell me,’ she said stiffly. ‘If you would not mind, I need to get up now and dress for dinner.’

  The two ladies looked at each other.

  ‘Oh, but you do forgive us, don’t you?’

  Lizzie looked down into Lady Rawcliffe’s upturned little face. She’d just lost her brother. And was terribly upset. Yet she’d steeled herself to come in here and make a heartfelt apology for the part she’d played.

  ‘Of course I forgive you,’ said Lizzie. After all, they hadn’t been the ones who’d pla
nned to treat her like some kind of disposable pawn in a bigger game. On the contrary, once they’d found out about the scheme they’d done what they could to ensure she came to as little harm as possible.

  They couldn’t have known she’d fall in love with the man they’d assumed would protect her. A man who had such a warped sense of honour, he would actually go through with marriage to a woman he’d compromised and accept payment for doing so!

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nobody was eating much dinner that night.

  In the case of Lady Rawcliffe, Harry could understand it. Her brother’s body had washed ashore only that morning. The only wonder was that she’d dragged herself down here to dinner at all. She really was a brave, proud little thing.

  But he could not fathom why Lady Becconsall could not meet anyone’s eyes.

  And as for Lizzie...ah, Lizzie! She’d been growing more dejected by the day. No doubt at the prospect of having to marry him. He couldn’t blame her for loathing him, now that the truth had come out. It had only been what he’d expected. But he’d never imagined he wouldn’t be able to walk away from her, leaving her at least with her dignity intact.

  Now that they’d spent the night together, though, she had no choice. With the result that she’d lost her appetite.

  With the ladies doing little more than pushing the food round their plates, it seemed heartless for the men to tuck into the chicken, succulent though it was. In the end it was Colonel Hutton who brought the curtain down on a performance that wasn’t satisfying anyone.

  ‘We may as well all adjourn to the drawing room,’ he growled, tossing his napkin on to the table. ‘And discuss the matter which is occupying so many minds to the detriment of my cook’s finest endeavours.’

  He stalked out.

  The ladies all abandoned their cutlery with evident relief and followed him from the room, which meant the gentlemen all had to get to their feet as well. Becconsall scooped one more forkful of chicken fricassee into his mouth the moment his wife had left the room, while Rawcliffe snatched two decanters from the sideboard.