“Well, if not this Mr. Warren, maybe it was another of Helmswick’s servants,” the duke suggested. Though what other servant would be dressed as a gentleman and accompany him to his father-in-law’s home?
I swept my gaze down the length of the table, curious whether any of the others’ thoughts would show on their faces, only to be startled when Marsdale’s regard met mine. I expected to see irritation or smug scorn or even challenge stamped there, but all I could sense was resignation and a slight shade of uncertainty. Perhaps now he would be willing to speak with me, to share what he knew.
My gaze shifted toward Lord John, who picked listlessly at the food on his plate. But for now, we still had some questions for the duchess’s third son.
Sometime later, I slipped from the drawing room, where the ladies had withdrawn after dinner while the men lingered over port, and hearing Gage’s voice further down the corridor, went to join him. He had pulled Lord John aside into the antechamber joining the eastern and southern blocks of the castle on this level.
“Don’t pretend not to understand,” Gage was telling him in a hard voice. His gaze lifted to meet mine as I slipped through the doorway before fastening on Lord John again. “We know Renton didn’t come here simply to demand Helmswick repay a debt of honor. So why was he really here?”
Lord John leaned his head back against the wall behind him to look at the ceiling, almost as if he was imploring God. “I don’t know why I bothered to lie. It’s not as if she doesn’t already know what a scoundrel he is.” He sighed wearily. “Renton intended to blackmail Helmswick.”
“About?”
His head bowed. “He claimed his sister was Helmswick’s mistress. That she’d lived in a cottage at the edge of his Haddington estate. But when he got her with child, he refused to support her and the baby as well. That he sent someone to her to . . .” he shifted his feet “. . . to take care of the matter. Except his sister apparently wasn’t in good health to begin with, and whatever was done merely precipitated her death.”
I placed an arm protectively around my abdomen, feeling an acute stab of pity for the woman, even if she was the earl’s mistress. Unlike some, I recognized that women far too often found themselves in such a position through little choice of their own. And regardless of her status, to then be bullied into ridding herself of her child was horrid. If all this was true, if Helmswick had truly done such a thing to this Miss Renton, then he was even more heartless than I’d imagined.
“What was he threatening to do?” Gage asked with one eye on me, as if he might have to prevent me from crumpling, not recognizing I was growing furious, not weepy. “Tell his wife? The scandal sheets?”
“Both, I guess. Even mentioned trying to sue him.”
“No court would hear it. And even the scandal sheets might balk at printing such a story out of fear that Helmswick would sue them for libel.”
“Yes, well, as I said before, I told him he would have to take the matter up with Helmswick, and then ordered him to stay away from my sister.”
“And did he listen?”
He blanched. “As far as I know.”
Gage’s eyes narrowed. “What color was Renton’s hair?”
“Light brown.”
He flicked a glance at me. “Sandy even?”
“Maybe.”
He arched a single eyebrow.
“I didn’t notice,” he snapped defensively.
It was true, most people didn’t take note of such things when it came to a casual acquaintance, and light brown hair, whether sandy or not, was not a remarkable feature.
Gage crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you write to Helmswick about this Mr. Renton and his accusations?”
“No. But I intended to have a strong word with him about it when he returned.” The frustrated futility stamped across his features seemed to indicate that he knew his brother-in-law little cared what he thought.
“Did you tell Renton about the tunnel or the crypt?”
“Why would I do that?”
Gage shrugged.
Lord John scowled. “No.”
“Did you tell anyone about Renton’s visit or what he said?”
At this question, he faltered. “Well, yes. I was afraid the blackguard might return, and I wanted the others to be on guard.”
“So who did you tell? Your brothers?”
He nodded. “Yes. And Marsdale.”
But although we spoke to each of the brothers individually in the drawing room, and each of them recalled Lord John’s telling them about Renton’s attempt at blackmail, none of them admitted to ever seeing him. Marsdale had retired early, along with Lady Helmswick, so we could not even try to approach them. However, I was determined to confront Marsdale the next day. Even if I had to charge into his bedchamber and suffer through all sorts of awkward innuendos and double entendres.
We might have tried to force him to speak with us that very night, but my ribs and shoulder had begun to ache, and every step seemed to send a jolt of pain through my body. I tried to hide it, but Gage was attuned to me enough that he noticed. I soon found myself escorted to our set of rooms and handed off to Bree’s tender ministrations.
I stood gripping the bed post as she undid the tiny buttons on my gown and unfastened my stays, gritting my teeth when even her careful movements became too much. I was about to order her to chatter like she normally did and distract me, when her tongue finally came unstuck from the roof of her mouth.
“Lord Richard has returned then? And he saw Lord Helmswick a week ago in Paris?”
That she’d already learned this was not a surprise. After all, there had been footmen waiting at the table when this revelation was made. By now, word was bound to have spread through the ranks of the staff.
“So he says.”
She paused a brief second before resuming her light-fingered work. “Ye dinna believe him?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I admitted with a sigh.
“Aye.” Her voice was soft with empathy. “But what does it mean for our investigation?”
She didn’t say the words, but I knew she was thinking of Anderley in cholera-stricken Haddington.
“It means we shall have to reconsider what we know, and figure out who else that body could belong to.” I turned my head to the side to speak with her as she slid my dress from my arms. “I need you to speak with that footman again who saw Lord Helmswick climb into his carriage. Find out if his valet, a Mr. Warren, was with him.” I narrowed my eyes in consideration. “And find out if any of the staff remember what his hair color is.”
“Ye think the body might be his?”
I grasped the bedpost tighter as I stepped out of the pool the gown formed on the floor before Bree swept it away, draping it over the back of a chair. “Maybe.” Lady Helmswick had told us her husband’s valet’s hair was copper, but I didn’t know whether we could trust her. I didn’t know whether we could trust any of them.
I thought of the other potential identity of that body. “I also need you to discover if any of the servants spoke with this Patrick Renton on or about the fifteenth of December, either on the estate grounds or even in the neighboring village. He would have been dressed like a gentleman, but a bit rough.”
“Aye. Anythin’ specific?”
I closed my eyes against a wave of pain as the ties of my stays briefly tightened as she struggled with the tangled ribbons before loosening. “Find out if they mentioned the abbey crypt or the tunnel to him.”
“Aye. Mayhap one o’ those silly maids who mentioned the ghostly monk.”
I sank down on the bench before the dressing table as she draped my wrapper over my shoulders against the chill. “Have you uncovered anything else about this ‘apparition’ in a monk’s robe?”
“Only that more than one o’ them have seen him.” She frowned down at m
y hair as she began to pull pins from it. “And despite their insistence to the contrary, it’s more than likely a man playin’ some sort o’ jest. Probably one o’ the male servants.”
I suspected she was right, for Lord Edward had all but admitted to it. But was that all there was to it? A simple jest? Or was there something more at play?
I asked Gage his opinion as we lay together in bed a short time later. The dose of laudanum Bree had given me had blunted the pain, but I still wasn’t sufficiently healed as to rest my head on his shoulder as I would have liked. So I reclined on my left side next to him, my fingers gently playing with those of his right hand.
He lifted his opposite arm, bending his elbow to tuck his hand behind his head as he searched the shadows above us. “I suppose it’s possible that there’s more to it than simply mischief, though I can’t begin to guess what.” I could feel the tension from the evening’s revelations thrumming through him.
“What did you think of Lord John’s confession about Mr. Renton’s real reason for coming here?”
“Well, I found it more credible than that malarkey about a debt of honor, but it certainly wasn’t easier to swallow.”
Though he didn’t say the words specifically, I could sense his simmering anger. That a woman should have been treated in such a way—and by a gentleman, no less—was an affront to his own heightened sense of honor. He was far from naive. He had seen and experienced some of the worst of man, particularly during his time fighting in the Greek War for Independence. And he unquestionably was aware of the depravity and debauchery that some noblemen perpetuated on those of lesser rank they were supposed to protect. But that did not mean it was any easier to accept each time he encountered it. His integrity, decency, and compassion were some of the reasons why I loved him.
Feeling a swelling of affection, I ran my fingers up the skin of his arm, trying to offer him what comfort I could. “It’s no wonder he didn’t want his sister to know about it.”
“Yes. Lady Helmswick does not strike me as the sort of woman who would wish another to rid herself of her child simply because her husband was the father.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat at the words, pressing my hand against the swell of my stomach.
Sensing my movement, Gage turned his head on his pillow to look at me, the hollows of his eyes little more than smudges in the darkness. “That can’t have been easy for you to hear.”
“No,” I admitted softly. “It’s not something I gave a great deal of thought to before. But now that I’m expecting . . .” I inhaled a swift breath, trying to suppress the emotion threatening at the back of my eyes. Gage rolled toward me, and I slid my left hand up along the sheets to touch his jaw, feeling the rough bristles of hair sprouting there. “I’m so glad you are the man you are, and that I didn’t let my fear keep me from you.”
He smiled and then leaned forward to press his warm lips to my forehead.
“How did I get so fortunate?” I asked to no one in particular as gratitude swelled through me. How different my life would be if Sir Anthony hadn’t died. I could be expecting his child—one made out of duty and fear, rather than love and conviction.
“Because you are who you are,” he replied, in a conscious echo of my own words. “How you are able to dazzle me with your talent and intellect one moment, make me want to tie you to a chair to keep you safe the next, and then be driven wild with the need to kiss you senseless—all at the same time—I’ll never know.”
“Tie?” I challenged, not finding that proposition very romantic.
He smiled. “I never said I would actually do it.” His voice turned silky. “Though you don’t seem to mind when I hold your hands down while I . . .”
“Sebastian,” I gasped into his mouth, as he pressed it to mine.
The moment spun out as his lips moved against mine, until he pulled away to whisper almost in awe, “How I love you.”
My heart swelled, and I pulled his lips back to mine.
* * *
* * *
Given how urgent and unsettled matters were, I was shocked the next morning to discover how late I’d slept. Bree insisted my body had needed it, and there was no shame in that. But still I hurried her along as she dressed me for the day in a skirt of smoke blue, and a Prussian blue military-style bodice with gold buttons and epaulets in the two alternating colors.
Contrary to my slothful start to the day, Bree had already diligently been about her assigned tasks for several hours. She’d managed to speak with the footman who had seen Helmswick depart, and had confirmed both that his valet had accompanied him and that he possessed copper-colored hair. However, she had nothing yet to report on Renton, though she’d chatted with a number of the staff about him.
Gage, it appeared, had also risen early, and gone out only to return a short time later with a letter.
“From Anderley?” I attempted to turn my head to ask Bree, but she held fast to the strands of my hair she was plaiting.
“I dinna think so. But he’s waitin’ for ye in the sitting room.”
“Then I’ll take my breakfast there.”
She finished arranging my hair before following me into the other room with the tray holding my toast, blackberry jam, eggs, rasher of bacon, and tea. Gage glanced up from the writing desk before the window where he sat penning a missive. The drapes had been pulled aside to let in what little light there was. The bright sun from the day before was now blocked by a thick, pewter gray blanket of haze.
“You’ve received a letter?”
“Yes, one moment.”
I settled on the sofa in front of the table where Bree had rested the tray, and I poured out my own tea, having elected to leave my sling off for the moment. Though impatient, I trusted Gage would not leave me waiting if the information contained in that letter was pressing.
A few seconds later, he set aside his pen and turned in his chair to face us. “The letter is from the steward at one of Helmswick’s minor estates. He confessed he has not received any correspondence from the earl in over three months. But that he possessed the address of the home Helmswick usually rents when he is in Paris. I was just writing to a friend of mine who resides in the city, asking him to pay a call on our elusive Lord Helmswick.”
I tried not to show how frustrated I felt that the contents weren’t more helpful, but obviously I was not successful.
He grimaced in sympathy. “I know. I’d also been hoping for more.” He sighed. “But we must be patient. With any luck, we’ll hear from Anderley again today.” He nodded to Bree, who curtsied and returned to my bedchamber, closing the door behind her.
“You must be having similar doubts about how trustworthy Lord Richard’s claim was.” I took a tentative sip of my tea, and then dipped my head toward the desk behind him. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be writing to your friend.”
“Yes, well, it’s difficult to tell just who can be trusted in this family. So I decided it would be better to have confirmation from an outside source.”
“You don’t think Helmswick will answer the letter you sent days ago?”
“I didn’t have his exact direction then.” His mouth tightened with disapproval. “And the earl doesn’t seem to be much concerned about keeping up with his correspondence.”
There was a rap on the outer door.
“I suspect that’s St. Mawr,” Gage said in answer to my questioning look as he rose to his feet. “I know he went off to The Sheep’s Heid late last night. He figured the pub would be fuller at that hour, and he’d get more answers from the patrons while they were in their cups.”
“Perhaps, but one could also argue they’re more likely to take offense and throw a punch.”
Gage shrugged, opening the door. “Your brother can handle himself.”
However, it wasn’t Trevor who stood on the opposite side of the door, but the Earl of Wansford
, the duchess’s lover.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Might I have a moment?” he asked tentatively, his gaze flicking from Gage to me and back again.
“Of course, Wansford.” Gage stepped to the side. “Come in.”
He moved forward in an uncertain manner, seeming oddly self-conscious. Which instantly put me on guard. As a prominent man in politics, and one of the leading arbiters of fashion in his younger days, he was not a figure who was often unsure of himself. Though he was spare with his words, my impression of him was that of a man who commanded the room and attention—when he wished it—without having to do much but breathe. It was that quiet confidence that had first drawn the duchess to him, I suspected, along with his trim waist and distinguished salt-and-pepper hair. But here before me was not that self-assured man.
I gestured toward a chair. “What can we do for you?”
“Well, I learned something that I thought might be useful to you.”
Gage sat beside me. “Oh?”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t normally encourage my valet to gossip, but in this case . . .” He cleared his throat again. “He said one of the footmen told him that a gardener had seen two men wandering through the abbey in the early part of December. That he didn’t recognize them, but he knew the duke didn’t mind allowing people to view the old ruins. He returned to his task, and when he looked up again they were gone.”
Into the crypt. That was meant to be his implication, but I wasn’t going to follow the bait.
And neither was Gage, it appeared. “I see,” he stated succinctly. “Well, thank you for telling us. We’ll look into it.”
Wansford nodded, his gaze darting between us, as the corners of his lips pulled downward. However, I didn’t think his displeasure was directed at us, but himself. Or the duchess.
Gage showed him out, and then turned to lean against the door. His eyes were so sharp with cynicism they could cut glass. “It appears the duchess is determined to blame the matter on tramps and walkers.”
A Stroke of Malice Page 28
