Marsdale’s eyes flashed with vicious enjoyment as he politely offered me his arm. “My lady.”
I accepted, and we strolled off toward the forest, for all the world like a couple embarking on a stroll through Hyde Park. Albeit with a percussion pistol clutched at my side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Our return to the castle was greeted with even greater tumult than my last arrival, when we’d learned that Helmswick had been forced from his carriage. At the sight of me striding through the door whole and hearty, Gage hastened forward to pull me into his embrace, despite the onlookers. Such was his evident relief, that Marsdale couldn’t resist making a quip.
“Your wife is the one holding the weapon, Gage. I would think you would be more concerned about me.”
Gage’s cool gaze raked his features. “I trust she only used it out of necessity.”
“Stop it, you two,” I chastised as I passed Tait my cloak. “No one was shot.” I inhaled past the tightness that still lingered in my chest at the memory of what had almost happened. “Fortunately. But there are a number of matters still to be dealt with.”
Helmswick followed behind us, protesting loudly at his ill treatment as he dripped murky water across the floor. The duke flicked one derisive glance at him before ordering a footman to remove him from our sight, and lead him up to a bedchamber different from his usual room attached to Eleanor’s. The footman would see to his needs so that we could question Mr. Warren, who was likely to find himself unemployed in short order. But I trusted the duke to give him a reference. So long as he cooperated.
Meanwhile, Lord John was marched off to his room in the bachelors’ tower, where his brother, Lord Richard, agreed to remain with him until a decision could be made about what to do with him. But not before he answered my query about what he’d done with Renton’s possessions. As I’d suspected, he’d burned Renton’s greatcoat and the monk’s robe he’d worn to confront him, and then discarded Renton’s dented pocketwatch and leather purse in a lochan somewhere between the castle and Haddington.
The remainder of us gathered in the regency gallery, while Bree and Anderley disappeared belowstairs with the other servants to finish preparations for a rather informal dinner.
After briefly explaining the events of the afternoon, and the discoveries made over the course of our investigation, including Helmswick’s bigamy, we sat down to interview Mr. Warren. The duke continued to pace up and down the chamber, under the watchful eyes of the marble busts mounted on the pillars circling the room, still fuming about the earl’s deceit. His mother, the dowager duchess, perched on an armchair in the corner, harrumphing at each new infraction laid bare.
The duchess hastened over to the settee where her daughter sat, staring unseeing out one of the tall windows. She wrapped her arms around her, and Eleanor turned into her embrace, resting her head on her shoulder in the same way I imagined she had as a child. It caused me a twinge of remembrance, for I used to do the same to my own mother before she died.
Gage had already explained to the cowering Mr. Warren why it behooved him to abandon his misguided loyalty to Helmswick and tell us the truth. His gaze flicked from one angry male’s face to another, surrounded as he was by the duke, Marsdale, three of Eleanor’s brothers, and Gage, communicating his understanding without the need for words.
“Now, tell us about Helmswick’s marriage to Mr. Renton’s sister,” Gage ordered, settling back in his chair in an affectedly languid posture.
“I-I don’t know much,” he stammered. “I’d just come to work for him, you see. But I know his parents disapproved, forbade it even. She was a gentlewoman, I believe, but one without fortune or connections.” He shook his head. “However, Helmswick has always been one to get his way.” His features tightened, perhaps with thoughts of other such instances. “So he wed her anyway. In secret.”
“You were a witness?”
“Yes. Me and Renton. From what I could tell, though I didn’t have much to do with her, she was a lovely lass. Gentle and meek, like his lordship’s mother. He promised to set her up proper as his countess as soon as his father died, which he knew wouldn’t be long, given his weak heart.”
“But something made him change his mind?”
“Yes.” He seemed to shrink inside himself. “I don’t know the truth of it. Only what I heard Helmswick say. But he despised Renton. Claimed he tricked him. I don’t know how. But I know she conceived and lost a number of children before they were born. That she had some sort of physical ailment.”
Gage and I shared a speaking glance, both of us thinking of the baby Renton claimed Helmswick had forced his sister to rid herself of. I supposed we would never know the truth about that either. I certainly didn’t trust the earl to tell us.
“He started spending less and less time with her at the cottage he’d given her. Complained she was melancholy, overwrought. That he couldn’t . . .” He broke off, flushing. “That she wept all the time.”
“Why didn’t he attempt to simply annul the marriage?” the duke’s heir, Traquair, demanded.
“He did, but he couldn’t do so without admitting to it having happened in the first place. And Renton wouldn’t allow his sister to sign the papers. He’d been coming to his lordship for money every few months, ever since the vows had been spoken. Had even stolen the parish registry with the proof of the marriage to keep his lordship under his thumb.” He glanced apologetically across the room at Eleanor. “It grew even worse after he married her ladyship. He kept asking for more and more money, as well as things. A horse, a pair o’ Hoby boots.”
I supposed that explained why the corpse had been wearing a pair of boots that appeared to have belonged to Helmswick.
“Even after his sister’s death. He kept coming.”
“That’s why Helmswick traveled abroad so often,” Gage surmised. “To avoid him.”
Mr. Warren nodded, his gaze flicking to Eleanor and back. “One of the reasons.” The other being his mistresses.
Gage swiveled so that he could see Eleanor. “He approached you then, didn’t he?”
This seemed to surprise everyone, including Mr. Warren. Everyone except Marsdale, who perched on the edge of a chair across the room, leaning forward to brace his arms on his knees as if the weight of everything that had been revealed was too much for him to bear and remain upright.
She heaved a weary sigh and nodded. “A few months ago.”
I thought of everything that meant. The reason her brother had been so desperate to stop Renton from speaking to her. Desperate enough to kill him. And yet she already knew. She had already spoken to him, and paid his blackmail.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” her mother implored.
“I didn’t want to burden you.”
“But I could have helped.”
“How? At that point, I didn’t even know what to think, let alone what to do.” She closed her eyes against the humiliation she must still feel. “The man I’d wed, the man I’d come to loathe, was a bigamist. And my marriage to him wasn’t even legal. Our children, his supposed heir, weren’t legitimate.”
“The way I see it, you have two options, my dear,” the duke declared, suddenly grasping the reins of the conversation as everyone fell silent. “Do you want to hear them?”
She gazed up into his earnest face. “Yes, Father.”
He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “We can remain silent about the matter. Hush up the truth and attribute this Renton fellow’s blackmail to another reason. You’ll remarry Helmswick in a private ceremony. Your children will continue to be presumed legitimate and young Georgie will one day inherit the earldom.”
Eleanor sat with her back ramrod straight, her face wan, her lips bloodless. I wondered if she was contemplating the child she carried inside her—Marsdale’s child. From the manner in which he watched her, I felt certain she must be. Would He
lmswick claim the child? And if he did, would he make his or her life miserable because of their true parentage? Not that he seemed to show either of his children much attention or affection, but at least he didn’t scorn them.
The duke clicked his tongue. “Or we can allow the truth to become known. We’ve weathered scandals before. What’s one more?” He cast a gimlet glare at the valet. “Mr. Warren and this vicar who performed the ceremony will bear witness to the event, as well as the fact that the parish registry was stolen to conceal it. I will broker a deal of some sort with Helmswick. One to the effect that I will request leniency from the Crown on his behalf, and allow him to retain your marriage settlement, so long as he relinquishes any rights to you and your children, and signs them over to my care.” Eleanor, as a woman, could not be granted that authority. “And agrees not to pursue charges against John.” He paused in front of her, his eyes warm with the same mixture of love and firmness I remembered my own father exhibiting whenever I’d come to him asking for his help with something I’d bungled, well intentioned or not. “You will be free then to wed again, to whomever you please.” He arched his eyebrows at Marsdale, who straightened from his slouch. “I assume you will come up to scratch this time.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he replied, though his eyes were only for Eleanor.
The duke nodded once decisively—a promise of swift retribution should Marsdale not honor his word. Then he offered his daughter a regretful smile. “In that instance, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do to salvage Georgie’s inheritance. And not being Marsdale’s son, he won’t be able to inherit his dukedom. But he will be loved and cared for, as will young Selina.” He glanced around at all his children who were present. “As you and your brothers have always been. As all my children are.” His gaze resettled on Eleanor, sincere and affectionate. “The choice is yours.”
I studied her face, the way her gaze continued to be drawn to Marsdale’s hopeful one, and I knew which way the wind was blowing. For Marsdale’s sake, I was happy, but I knew the road forward would not be paved with roses.
The duke turned to Gage. “Now, about John.”
Having already relayed all the pertinent facts I’d gathered, I elected to leave the debate over the duke’s son’s fate in Gage’s more than capable hands, excusing myself to retreat to our chambers. From which I had no intention of emerging for dinner. I trudged up the stairs without the aid of anyone, too tired to feel anxious, though careful to mind my step, and staggered through the sitting room door.
Anderley and Bree, who had been standing very close to each other near the windows, suddenly leapt apart. However, I was too exhausted to care what sort of romance was blossoming between them and whether it spelled trouble. I passed them by with barely a glance, raising my hand in dismissal. “Carry on.”
A few short moments later, Bree joined me in my bedchamber, finding me partially reclined on the chaise longue. She gazed down at me in fond scolding, a faint tinge of a blush still cresting her cheeks. “You’ve run yerself ragged.”
“I have,” I agreed. There was no point in refuting the fact, or defending my actions. They spoke for themselves.
She smiled softly. “Let’s get ye changed into somethin’ more comfortable.”
Bree made swift work of removing my day garments, so that when the duchess rapped on the door of my bedchamber a quarter of an hour later, I was once again ensconced on the chaise, this time wrapped in my indigo silk dressing gown with a rug draped over my lap, my detangled chestnut tresses falling over my shoulders. My head still smarted from Bree’s exertions in that area.
A smile curled her lips at the sight of me thus, and she nodded at the neckline of my wrapper where a hint of the lace trim of my nightdress peeked out and my amethyst pendant rested in the hollow of my décolletage. “You look quite fetching, my dear.” She sank down on the chair adjacent. “Sometimes the less the effort, the more it is so.”
I tipped my head in agreement, and sipped from the warm teacup cradled in my hands. The duchess had not come here to compliment my appearance, so I waited for her to state whatever she had come for. Her own appearance was wan, her eyes shadowed with fatigue, and the sparkle that normally lit them noticeably dimmed.
She sank deeper into her chair. “I wanted to thank you, and your dashing husband. But you, in particular. Eleanor told me it was you who stopped John from killing Helmswick.” The frail skin tightened across her features. “And much as I would like to wring the scapegrace’s neck myself . . .” She exhaled wearily. “I understand you saved my son from certain death.”
“You truly didn’t know about Helmswick’s bigamy, did you?”
She shook her head. “Eleanor never told me. Though I wish she had. Surely there could have been something we could do.”
I didn’t question this point, afraid to hear what sort of solutions they might have dreamed up. Just as I didn’t broach the subject of Lord John, and how much she had known or even suspected about his actions. There were some things it was better not to know.
But there was one topic I was interested in hearing her answer to.
“I know who Henry’s father is. His real father,” I clarified, lest she attempt to wriggle out of the truth.
She gave a tense huff of laughter. “He said you would figure it out. Henry did. Not Stephen.” She tilted her head. “I received the impression your father-in-law underestimates you a great deal.”
“You must have known I was married to Henry’s half brother when we met.” Though I was careful to keep my voice and expression neutral, she must have apprehended the emotions roiling beneath.
“Yes, of course. I admit, I’d taken an interest in you from afar as soon as I learned of Sebastian Gage’s attachment to you. How could I not? But I did not contrive our introduction. That was all my goddaughter, Lorna. When she asked me to hire you to paint my portrait, to help salvage your reputation after the revival of your scandal following the discovery of those burkers, well, I jumped at the chance.” She stretched an elegant hand out toward me. “And not simply because of your connection to Mr. Gage. You are quite the gifted artist, my dear. But given the other, I would have been a fool and a coward to say no.”
I tapped my fingernail against the porcelain of my cup, unable to fault her logic, though that didn’t ease my mistrust entirely. “Did you hope Gage and Henry would meet?” I suspected she was not aware they’d already done so, if briefly, during one of our previous investigations.
“I did. I’ve wanted them to meet for some time.” Her eyes slid to the side, her brow furrowing as she seemed to search for her words. “Henry is different from his brothers and sister.” She lifted a hand. “Well, they’re all different in their own ways. What I mean is that . . . Henry doesn’t seem content with the aristocrat’s normal life. He might have gone into the church, but I don’t think that is the life for him either. Perhaps the military, but then he would most likely be dispatched to India or Africa, and I don’t think that’s what he truly wants.” She cast a distressed look my way. “Given Lord Gage’s noble career with the Royal Navy, I feared he might take to the sea, but he becomes rather alarmingly seasick even on a small body of water.”
I frowned. “What do you expect Gage to do?”
“Why, I don’t expect him to do anything. But perhaps he might have some advice to offer him.” She smoothed the silken fabric of her skirt. “Perhaps if he knew something about the other side of his blood it might help. As I understand it, the Gages are rather notorious for their restlessness.”
I didn’t know much about that, not having met any of them besides Sebastian and his father. Lord Gage was the second son of a minor baronet from Cornwall, one with limited resources and connections. Beyond that, he was rather tight-lipped about his family, other than one slip when he’d mentioned that his mother’s family, the Roscarrocks, were rather infamous smugglers and rogues.
“Henry
said Lord Gage forbade the two of you from telling Sebastian.”
She nodded. “I told him he needed to do so before his son realized it on his own. That Sebastian was no fool, and he would see it eventually. But he refused.”
“You could have ignored his wishes.”
Her expression turned resigned. “Yes, but as I’m sure you already know, Lord Gage is not above using whatever resources are at his disposal to get what he wants. And I’m afraid he knows rather too many secrets about the Kerr family for me to tempt him into retaliation.”
My lips tightened in commiseration. After all, it was Lord Gage, my own father-in-law, who had leaked a rather distressing excerpt from my late husband’s journals, simply to help turn the tide of society’s opinion in my favor and elicit their sympathy.
Her brown eyes scoured my features. “Are you going to tell him?”
“Henry has asked me to allow him to do it,” I admitted.
She inhaled a tight breath. “Then I’d best be prepared in case Stephen believes I put him up to it.”
Given the serious nature of the criminal charges her son John currently faced, I found her priorities to be muddled. But then, I didn’t know all the secrets the duchess might hold.
* * *
* * *
I lurched upright, blinking my eyes as I searched the firelit confines of my chamber. I must have fallen asleep after the duchess left, but something had woken me. The loud footsteps and terse words coming from the sitting room told me it had come from that direction. Gage had returned, and he was not pleased. I could guess why.
A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the brighter light of the room beyond.
“I take it the duke is insisting on dealing with matters his way,” I murmured.
He strode closer to stare down at me, his brow furrowed and eyes glittering with residual anger as his gaze swept me from head to toe, lingering over the liberal amount of lace now displayed by the gap in my dressing gown. I surmised his question before he even asked it.
A Stroke of Malice Page 34
