The Suspect's Daughter

by Donna Hatch

  “Yes, sir.” Grant nodded to them. “Good evening.”

  “And my son, Jonathan, who is home for a brief visit.”

  Standing in the corner, Jonathan stared at Grant. Apparently he either didn’t remember or didn’t want to meet the man who’d found him in such a disgraceful state of drunkenness. At least the boy wasn’t three sheets to the wind this evening. He stood on steady feet, and the eyes through which he regarded Grant were clear, but guarded.

  “Mr. Fairley.” Grant crossed the room and greeted the lad as if he were an adult.

  “Apparently I owe you my thanks,” Jonathan said, still wary.

  Grant waved it off. “Not necessary.”

  Standing at Grant’s elbow, Jocelyn supplied, “Jonathan is attending Oxford.”

  “Which college?” Grant asked.

  “Brasenose,” came Jonathan’s reply.

  Grant nodded as if he didn’t find the one word answers impertinent. “Do you row?”

  Jonathan softened. “I do. Did you attend Oxford?”

  “No, we are a Cambridge family, and I left for the war before getting my degree.”

  Jocelyn watched his expression but no emotion revealed itself. Grant had been young, too young, to face such violence. Not that a man of any age should face that kind of horror. She resisted the urge to take his hand.

  Jonathan’s eyes lit. “You fought in the war? Which branch?”

  “Army.”

  “Which battles were you in?”

  “Many.” Grant glanced at Jocelyn with sort of a desperate plea.

  She smiled chidingly, “Jonathan, why don’t you tell us about that professor you said was so fascinating?”

  Jonathan’s shoulders slumped and his mouth set into a mulish line. “Not fascinating. Just entertaining because he’s so easy to distract.”

  Mr. Dawson strode in. “Good evening, all. Forgive my tardiness.”

  “Not at all,” Papa said.

  The late arrival greeted everyone, and they enjoyed a few moments of small talk. Grant remained silent and alert as if he expected them to start a fight or ask him questions he did not wish to answer.

  When Owens announced dinner, Papa led the way with the radiant Lady Everett. Mr. Dawson walked with Aunt Ruby, and Grant offered his arm to Jocelyn. Jonathan strode in alone. Grant’s tension from his arm vibrated through her gloves to her skin. The urge to hold him close, assure him he was safe from the demons that haunted him, zinged through her.

  He glanced at her inquiringly. She slowed her steps. Eyeing her expectantly, he matched her until they fell behind the others.

  “I’m glad you came,” she said softly. “I didn’t think you would.”

  He opened his mouth but closed it without speaking. A brief twitch in his brows told her all she needed to know; he was here because of the case, not because of her. Disappointment stung her, but she rallied. She must stay focused. Persistent and bold. She would win him over eventually.

  She moistened her lips. “Jackson wants to speak with you. He will meet us in the conservatory after dinner. Aunt Ruby will accompany us as a chaperone, but she will withdraw briefly. We can speak candidly then.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “She doesn’t know we need to speak with Jackson, only that I want a few moments alone with you. I think she is trying to make a match of us.” She tried to keep her tone lighthearted as she told her half-truth and snuck a glance.

  His forehead creased in a poorly suppressed wince. Doubt edged in, doubt that his passionate kiss had been filled with the first seedlings of love. It might have been momentary lust. No. She must not doubt. She loved him enough to believe they had a future together, even if he didn’t see it yet or was too afraid.

  She offered him a consolatory smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not trying to trap you into something you don’t want.” Only convince him that he wanted her in his life.

  He stared hard at her, but she focused straight ahead. As they reached the table, he held her chair out for her, and she made a production of sitting and removing her gloves.

  Jonathan behaved himself, acting and speaking like a gentleman. Papa and Lady Everett spoke often, sharing glances of admiration. Jocelyn nodded. Lady Everett could make him happy. And she’d be a fine prime minister’s wife. Aunt Ruby and Mr. Dawson’s friendly banter had everyone laughing. Even Grant unbent enough to smile—not a true smile, but his mouth pulled to one side. Occasionally, Grant offered intelligent comments as topics ranged from hunting to the upcoming coronation of King George IV scheduled for July, followed by the biggest, most ostentatious celebration the country had ever known. Eventually, the subject of reformers arose.

  Mr. Dawson said, “While I applaud the concept, I don’t believe people really change. Most don’t truly wish to.”

  Ruby shook her head. “But we cannot see into a person’s heart. It’s not our duty to judge, only offer opportunities to help people who want to improve their lives. I think people like this Mrs. Goodfellow and her institution are to be commended. Indeed, I make annual contributions to her cause.”

  “That’s all fine and good, but would you really allow a former pickpocket into your home? What’s to stop him from stealing all the silver, or your jewels?” Dawson tapped the tabletop to emphasize his point.

  Ruby gazed back at him almost primly, “If that person has reformed, his own will and conscience would stop him.”

  Dawson nodded. “Perhaps. But rounding up every street urchin, thief, and disreputable person and delivering them to the doors of such institutions will not ensure that a transformation has occurred in their hearts.”

  “No,” Ruby said slowly. “I suppose not.”

  Grant spoke. “A person has to be willing to go, has to want to reform, or they won’t change. They will return to the life they know.” The grimness in his tone suggested he knew this truth first-hand. Another layer around the mystery of Grant Amesbury became visible. “But without reformers, those who want to change will have no help, no opportunity.”

  Lady Everett said soberly. “I agree that no matter how much we want someone to improve themselves, he or she will not do it unless they truly desire it. Some, it seems, simply cannot help themselves.”

  Papa put a hand over hers in understanding of whatever private sorrow Lady Everett suffered.

  Grant fingered the stem of his wineglass. “So it seems.”

  Of whom did he speak? Grant had saved a street urchin who became a loyal friend under the guise of a servant. But as someone who dealt with criminals on a regular basis, Grant must see humanity at its worst. Still, just as Jocelyn reached out to Katie’s sister and to her father’s tenants, Grant also reached out to the downtrodden, lifting those who allowed it. A new kinship for him dawned.

  The silence that followed seemed to draw too much attention to Grant, who valued his privacy. As Jocelyn scrambled for a change of subject, her aunt came to the rescue.

  Aunt Ruby waved her hand in the air. “I hear Princess Caroline, er, Queen Caroline, is returning from the continent soon.”

  Jocelyn shot a grateful smile at her aunt for effectively redirecting the conversation as they debated on whether the king would receive his scandalous desire to annul his marriage and strip the queen of her title before she’d even been crowned.

  As everyone finished dessert, Jocelyn stood. “Ladies.”

  As the hostess in lieu of a mother, Jocelyn walked confidently to the drawing room to leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars and after-dinner male conversation. A servant had built up the fire against an uncommonly cool night.

  Lady Everett took a seat nearest the fire and smiled at Jocelyn. “It was a lovely dinner, Jocelyn. You are always an outstanding hostess. Your future husband will be a lucky man, in more than one way.”

  “How kind of you to say.” Jocelyn admired Lady Everett for a moment. In the soft firelight, her skin took on a delicate, flawless quality. But more appealing was that glow of inner radiance and that elega
nt, gentle demeanor she bore. “As will yours.”

  Lady Everett smiled almost girlishly. “I’m not certain I am to remarry. I hope to, but…” she shrugged delicately.

  So, Papa had not yet made his intentions clear. But at least their relationship appeared to be progressing at an encouraging rate.

  Aunt Ruby spoke. “I always knew our Jocelyn would grow up to be a fine young lady. Will you provide a little music for us, sweeting?”

  “Or course.” Whether Ruby wanted to speak with Lady Everett alone, or she merely wanted Jocelyn to display her talent as a pianist when the gentlemen, including Grant, joined them, Jocelyn could not say. But she went to the pianoforte and played from memory, beginning with her favorite sonatas, to provide soft background music that allowed easy conversation.

  The two older ladies spoke, getting on famously. Of course, Lady Everett had been a family friend for years. Did Aunt Ruby know of Papa’s interest in the lady?

  As Jocelyn concluded a prelude by Mozart, the gentlemen arrived. The very air vibrated with Grant’s presence. Jocelyn ended with a flourish and joined the others.

  With uneven numbers, the game of whist was impractical, so Papa suggested a game of Twenty Questions. Everyone took a turn. Sitting close enough to set her nerves all aflutter, yet properly distant, Grant consumed her attention to the point where Jocelyn could hardly hazard a logical question to ask. Some of the others posed such outlandish questions that by the end of the game, everyone was laughing—except Grant, of course, but he actually smiled a few times—on both sides of his mouth. Oh, my, he was handsome when he shook off his darkness enough to smile. Aunt Ruby noticed and exchanged an appreciative glance with Jocelyn each time.

  “I believe you are the last person to have a turn, Mr. Amesbury,” Papa said.

  Grant paused. “Very well. I have it.”

  “Is it animal?” Lady Everett asked.

  The game continued, with Grant answering only yes or no, a supremely smug light glinting his eyes, until Mr. Dawson guessed, “A book.”

  Grant’s mouth curved and he appeared almost sheepish. “A book.”

  Jocelyn’s mouth dropped open. A book seemed such an ordinary word for Grant to have chosen. “Really?”

  He tilted his head. “Disappointed?”

  “No, I just…do you like to read?”

  “I do.”

  “I do too, I just didn’t think that’d be a pastime you’d enjoy.”

  “I like libraries, too.” Pleasure gleamed in his eyes.

  That moment in the library, when he’d stood so close to her on the ladder, came to her mind. His magnetic pull had been so strong, she’d almost leaned in and kissed him.

  But he liked to read? He hadn’t mentioned that. She couldn’t picture him doing anything as ordinary as reading. But then, she’d never imagined he’d kiss with such knee-weakening passion. Her imagination drifted out of the room. She visualized another parlor, small and peopled by only Grant and Jocelyn. She sat on a settee, reading, next to a fire. Closely enough for their thighs to touch, Grant also read. But after only a few minutes, he grabbed her, dragged her onto his lap, and proceeded to remind her how well he kissed.

  “A shark!” Jonathan exclaimed.

  Jocelyn started. Horrified that her daydream might have revealed itself on her expression, she darted a look at Grant. He watched her, the corners of mouth lifted, and an air of smugness surrounded him. She pressed a hand over her cheeks. He knew somehow.

  At the game’s conclusion, Aunt Ruby stood. “I believe I’ll take a turn about the room. Or better yet, I haven’t visited the conservatory in some time. Do mother’s orchids still grow there?” she asked Papa.

  “They do.” He raised his brows.

  Ruby nodded. “Jocelyn, Mr. Amesbury, do accompany me. My mother used to grow an extensive herb garden outside, mostly for healing purposes, but in the conservatory she cultivated orchids the likes you’ve probably never seen. Do allow me to show them to you.”

  “I’d like to see them,” Grant murmured as he rose and offered an arm to both Jocelyn and Aunt Ruby.

  They left together while the others started a new game. Aunt Ruby glanced at Grant as if planning her next move, but she chatted with them in apparent ease. Jocelyn hoped her aunt’s zealousness to help Jocelyn earn Grant’s affection would not have the opposite effect.

  The conservatory housed not only a plethora of exotic and native plants, but a variety of birds as well. While many conservatories resembled parlors with a few plants, Grandmother’s conservatory always reminded Jocelyn of a garden with a gathering of furniture in the middle. Overhead, the night sky provided a backdrop to the warm, botanical paradise. Jocelyn’s instructions to light the lamps in this seldom-used area had been carried out, with candles and lanterns casting a soft glow over the flora gracing the room.

  Aunt Ruby gestured to a raised planter filled with orchids of every color. “Here are the orchids. Aren’t they lovely? Pity they don’t smell as good as they look.”

  Grant made a show of examining them as if he were truly interested. “Yes, it is.”

  “Oh, dear,” Ruby said. “I just remembered something I must see to. You two stay here and enjoy yourselves. I’ll be back in a while—I’ll leave the door open, of course—and then we can all return to the others together.” With a conspiratorial smile at Jocelyn, Aunt Ruby hurried away.

  Jocelyn pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear, that wasn’t very subtle, was it?”

  “You did warn me.” One corner of Grant’s mouth lifted and amusement lightened his silvery eyes.

  “With any luck, Jackson will be here soon.”

  “I’m already here, miss.” Jackson stepped out from behind an orange tree.

  Grant’s transformation was so profound that it left Jocelyn breathless. He all but snapped to attention, his expression grim, and his eyes so alert, they seemed to leap from his face. He glanced at Jocelyn, but instead of bidding her give him a moment’s privacy to speak with Jackson, he asked, “What have you found?”

  “A few possibilities. A footman leaves in the middle of the night every few days. I tried to follow him last night but lost him. Also, a stable boy seems to hate everyone who isn’t a member of the working class. They are my best leads so far. I’m also keeping an eye on a parlor maid. She’s skittish and has snuck out on occasion, too.”

  Jocelyn mutely watched the exchange. If only she could do something to help. But these smart, capable men obviously knew their roles.

  Jackson continued, “Your boy Clark flirted with the parlor maid, but she told him she’d already given her heart to another. Gave him a right good set down. It’s possible she sneaks out to visit her lover.”

  Grant nodded. “Do you need assistance?”

  “No. I’ll follow her the next time she leaves.” The Runner paused. “I heard about Connolly.”

  Both men sobered. Jocelyn waited for the men to explain, but they seemed lost in their private thoughts.

  Looking from one man to the other, Jocelyn asked, “Connolly?”

  “A Runner,” Grant told her. “He was guarding the warehouse to see who came for the guns.”

  Jocelyn frowned. “The shipment of rifles? You mean the ones shown on the receipt you found?”

  Soberly, Grant nodded. “Connolly was assigned to follow whomever showed up for them.” His jaw clenched. “They killed him.”

  Gasping, Jocelyn put a hand over her mouth. If there had been any doubt that the plot was real and deadly, this removed it.

  Jackson glanced at Jocelyn. “Your butler suspects me of something. He keeps showing up to check on my work.”

  Jocelyn considered how she could help. Speaking to the butler about leaving the new footman alone would only appear strange and even more suspicious. “Let me know if you need to go somewhere you aren’t assigned to be, and I’ll make an excuse to send you there.”

  Jackson nodded. Grant’s gaze rested on her, his mouth relaxing and his eyes softening.
Little thrills of pleasure ran down her spine at his expression.

  “I’d best get back,” Jackson said, “before anyone realizes I’ve spent longer than necessary lighting the lamps in here.” He exchanged glances with Grant before nodding to Jocelyn and leaving.

  One of the canaries allowed to fly free in the room landed on a lemon tree behind Grant and began trilling. Nearby, a fountain kept up a steady song of splashes. The noises and smells of London seemed far distant inside this miniature paradise. Orange blossoms mingled with jasmine and other exotic flowers to create a bouquet of fragrances.

  Jocelyn drew in a long breath. “I should come in here more often. It’s really beautiful.”

  Grant nodded, his focus intense on her face, a small, half smile tugging at his mouth. Her lips ached to press against his lips, and her whole being craved to enfold herself in his arms.

  Trying to keep her voice steady she asked, “What is it?”

  “You surprise me, sometimes.”

  “Only sometimes?”

  That half smile deepened into a three-quarter smile. She almost fanned herself.

  With what she could only describe as a sultry quality to his voice, he said, “Quite a lot, actually.”

  “Do you care to explain?” She admired the shape of his mouth, the silver light in his eyes, the breadth of his shoulders.

  “This case. You’ve been surprisingly calm. Helpful, even.”

  She couldn’t resist twitting him a little. “For a girl, you mean?”

  That three-quarter smiled almost reached a whole smile. “For a girl.”

  “I’m happy to have been a pleasant surprise.” She grinned at him and he almost, almost grinned in return. Her legs wobbled.

  Grant almost grinning. She’d have to record this in her journal. Maybe it could become a state holiday, although she’d rather throw herself into his arms to celebrate.

  In order to keep from collapsing into a pile of mush at his feet, she gestured to the center of the room where several chairs had been drawn together to make a conversation area. “Shall we sit?”

  But he didn’t move. He remained fixed, focused on her. His gaze lowered to her mouth. Warm tingles buzzed across her lips and spread outward. He leaned toward her. She lifted her chin, silently pleading, kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.