by Cheryl Bolen
When their eyes met, a somber expression stole over Barnstaple’s face, and he slowly shook his head. “I am bereft of words to describe my great sadness over your brother’s passing.”
Alex’s head dipped. “Good of you to come. Do let me have the footman collect your hat.”
“No, I’m not staying. I have no wish to intrude. I suppose I was in hopes you would tell me this was some evil jest. I can’t believe Fordham’s gone. He was in such jolly spirits during the shooting party. He seemed perfectly fit. Pray, what can have happened?”
“I wish we knew. When his man entered his chamber yesterday morning he found my brother dead in his bed of apparent natural causes.”
“Good Lord, I must have just left!”
Alex nodded. “So I have been told. All of you were traveling home by the time his death was discovered.”
Barnstaple kept staring at him as if in disbelief. “What woes have befallen your family in the past few years.”
“Indeed.”
“I . . . suppose he’ll be buried beside Richard?”
Barnstaple, because of his lifelong friendship with Richard, was the only person outside of their family who persisted in calling Alex’s eldest brother by his Christian name after he became the Duke of Fordham. Even speaking of him now caused Barnstaple’s voice to tremble with emotion.
“Yes, this afternoon.”
“I shall be there.” The affected neighbor turned on his heel and left.
* * *
Georgiana could not eat breakfast. She had not been able to swallow a single bite since she had learned of Freddie’s death. She had joined his grace—it was painful to think of another with Freddie’s title—and his friend at breakfast, but Fordham was called away when a neighbor called to pay his respects.
Fifteen minutes later he returned. “Lord Barnstaple had just heard about Freddie,” he explained. “He’d been here the night Freddie died, but the members of the shooting party all left the following morning—not knowing that Freddie was dead.”
The surgeon arrived after breakfast. Alex knew that no matter what Todd had been doing, a summons from the Duke of Fordham always took precedence.
Once more Alex would have to behold his poor, dead brother. He’d thought viewing Freddie’s body would have been easier in a sun-filled room. But light did nothing to alter the fact his brother was cold and dead.
“As you have probably heard,” Alex began, “my brother died in his sleep the night before last. Since there was nothing you could have done to revive him, we felt no need to consult you.”
They had climbed the stairs to the second level.
“But now?” Todd asked, winded.
The white-haired Todd had been serving the Fordham family since the days of Alex’s grandfather. The surgeon had probably witnessed every type of death possible in these past five decades.
Alex’s voice shook when he spoke. “My brother’s fiancée believes he was suffocated.”
Todd nodded. “Suffocation is almost impossible to detect. In some cases blood will appear on the pillow used to do the deed—but that can be easily hidden by removing the pillow of its covering.”
“There’s blood on my brother’s pillow.” That someone deliberately smothered the life from Freddie sent Alex’s gut plummeting. It was bad enough that he was dead, but murdered? Fury bolted through him.
Todd stopped and turned to Alex, a grave expression on his face. “Does the blood appear to have come from the orifices?”
Alex shrugged. He was embarrassed to admit he hadn’t examined the pillow. “I couldn’t look.”
The surgeon clasped Alex’s shoulder. “It’s my job to look; you need not.”
“Then I shan’t.”
When Todd approached Freddie’s bed, Alex stayed several feet behind, watching the surgeon. Just as Lady Georgiana had done, Todd lifted Freddie’s eyelid and studied what it revealed. Alex thought he was also opening Freddie’s mouth, but he could only see Todd’s back. Which was all Alex cared to see.
Lastly, the surgeon lifted Freddie’s head, removed the pillow, and examined it.
Then he came to Alex. “If I were a wagering man, I’d bet that your brother was murdered in his sleep.”
Freddie felt as if a cannon ball had hurled into him. It was a moment before he could speak. “If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will find out who did this.”
Todd nodded solemnly. “I shall keep these findings private.”
“Tell no one.”
* * *
Georgiana watched from her chamber window. Every male at Gosingham Hall from the lowliest groom to the new duke walked in the funeral procession from the magnificent manor house to the family’s temple-like mausoleum three quarters of a mile away. The village priest, dressed in a black cassock, led. He was followed by the new duke and his friend, Lord Slade. Even at such a distance, she could hear the bells from the village church tolling for the shire’s loftiest aristocrat.
As the bells rang, male villagers, some dressed in simple homespun, joined in order to show their respect for the man whose family had owned every plot of land, every crofter’s hut, every shop in the village for the past two centuries.
Before the new duke returned, she pulled herself together. She’d been asking herself who had the strongest motive for wanting Freddie dead. Who had the most to gain?
The answer was simple. Alex Haversham, the ninth Duke of Fordham.
* * *
He felt lower than an adder’s belly after laying his brother to rest in the family vault. For eternity Freddie’s remains would lie next to Richard’s.
Alex would be next. Would he make it past his thirtieth year? Was Freddie’s murderer lying in wait to kill Alex?
“Here,” Sinjin said. “You need brandy.” The two men took their drinks and sat before the fire in Gosingham’s library. The day had grown colder. By the time they had left the mausoleum, the skies had blackened. It was as if earth mourned his brother’s loss.
“You need to come back to London,” Sinjin said. “Being in this house of melancholy will keep your spirits low.”
“You don’t know how low.” Alex turned and eyed his dark-haired friend. Sinjin’s eyes were so dark, they looked black. Just like Lady Georgiana’s. Infuriating woman. “I cannot leave.”
“Give me one good reason why you must stay.”
How difficult it was to say. It was a moment before he could respond. “Freddie was murdered. Smothered by a pillow as he slept.”
Sinjin’s eyes widened. “How could you possibly know such a thing?”
Alex explained Lady Georgiana’s suspicions and the surgeon’s confirmation. “And the pity of it is,” he concluded, “I think she believes I’m the killer!”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“The lady was already predisposed to despise me.”
“That would mean that Freddie must have maligned you when speaking to her.”
Alex shrugged. “Possibly. But there is the fact the Marquesses of Hartworth are staunch Tories.”
“There is that.” Sinjin took a swig of his brandy.
“I care not what that wretched woman thinks of me, but I’m determined to do everything I can to find out who murdered my brother.”
“It must have been one of the fellows at the shooting party.”
“Then we must make a list of those attending.” It still seemed inconceivable that anyone would wish his brother dead.
There was a knock upon the library door, and before he could respond, Lady Georgiana entered the chamber. “May I come in?”
Alex stood as he always did when greeting a lady. “Please do. I’ve been wanting to tell you what the surgeon said. May I offer you Madeira?”
“No thank you,” she answered stiffly as she came to sit on the settee next to Sinjin.
Alex knew she’d rather sit in a bed of vipers than next to him. He took a long drink of the brandy. “It appears, my lady, you were correct in your assumptions about my broth
er’s death.”
For the first instant since he’d met her, she lost her composure. “Would that I were wrong,” she murmured. Then she dissolved into tears.
To his knowledge, this woman had not shed a tear over Freddie’s unexpected death. Until now. And now it was as if the floodgates had collapsed. Her shoulders heaved. Great mournful sobs had been unleashed and showed no signs of retreating.
He had loathed her a moment earlier. Now he wanted to soothe her grief. Strangely, he understood why she had suddenly been overcome with her grief. For he felt the same. He moved to her, offered his large chambray handkerchief, and stood by solemnly as she attempted to blot her tears. He set a gentle hand on her shoulder. He was unprepared for her delicacy. She no longer seemed the overbearing wench.
“I . . . I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Sniff. Sniff. “I’m never such a ninny.”
“You’re not a ninny,” he said tenderly. “Your reactions are completely normal under so sorrowful an occurrence.”
Sniff. Sniff.
“I vow to you I will never stop until my brother’s murderer is brought to justice.”
“Just before you came in,” Sinjin said to her, “Fordham was saying he needed to make a list of all those attending his brother’s shooting party. One of them has to be responsible for the reprehensible act.”
It seemed queer to hear Sinjin so easily slip into calling Alex by his new title, especially since, after all these years, he and Wycliff still referred to Sinjin by the his school-boy name.
She gave one last sniff and blew her nose. “I can help with the list. Freddie wrote me, telling me all those he was expecting. I brought it with me since it’s the last communication I ever received from him.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.
Perhaps she wasn’t as cold as he’d formerly thought. Though he believed he knew perfectly well who had attended the shooting party he wanted her to feel part of the inquiry. “Shall I have Mannings ask your maid to bring it to you?”
She nodded solemnly. “Have him tell Angelique it’s in my reticule. It’s the only letter there.”
Alex rang for the servant, then went to the desk and took out a sheet of vellum. “Our neighbor, Lord Barnstable, was a member of the shooting party. He learned of Freddie’s death sometime after he’d returned to Mayfield Manor. I shall put him at the top of the list, though I’m certain he cannot be a suspect. Known him all my life. He’s not that much older than Freddie, and they’ve always been friends.”
Mannings returned and gave a sheet of foolscap to the lady. Alex watched her as she unfolded it. Though her eyes misted, she kept a firm grasp onto her composure. “Yes, I see Lord Barnstaple on here. Counting the late duke, there were just six men in attendance—besides yourself and Lord Slade.”
“Who were not included in the shooting party.”
The late duke. It did sound less personal than Freddie, less painful for its lack of familiarity. “Freddie’s friend Lord Pomfoy came.”
Her dark eyes lowered. “Yes, he’s listed here.”
Alex added Lord Pomfoy’s name to his own list. “And there was our cousin, Robert Cecil. He’s mad for shooting.”
She nodded. “Yes, he was of the party.”
Alex sighed as he wrote down his cousin’s name. “I shall have to notify him of Freddie’s death. And our sisters, too. I shan’t look forward to that.”
Her brows lowered in sympathy.
“I wish I could help you, old fellow,” Sinjin said, “but I know you’ll want to do that yourself.”
“I believe I will go back to London with you,” Alex said. “I must tell the girls.”
“Yes,” Sinjin said, “I need to return. Parliament calls.”
“Not to mention your bride.” It had only been a matter of weeks since Sinjin had married Jane Featherstone, making both of Alex’s best friends blissfully happy in marriage.
“The only one on the list I know, other than Lord Pomfoy, is Lord Hickington,” she said.
“Can’t say that I know the fellow.” Alex glanced at Sinjin. The two having just arrived at Gosingham the previous day, they hadn’t mingled in the shooting party.
“I used to see him at White’s,” Sinjin said.
Alex wrote down the name Hickington, then eyed her. “You know him through Freddie?”
She shook her head. “No.” After a noticeable pause, she added, “I’ve known him for some years.”
Alex wondered if he’d been a suitor of hers. Her evasive response left much room for interpretation. “Let’s see who’s last on the list.”
“Sir Arthur Fontaine,” she said.
“Ah, yes.” Alex wrote on the vellum. “The friend who took Mrs. Lang . . .” He clamped shut his mouth. He couldn’t bring up Freddie’s former mistress in the presence of his fiancée.
“You needn’t guard your tongue in my presence,” she said. “I know of Freddie’s lady bird.”
Sinjin’s brows lowered. “He spoke to you of such matters?”
“No, of course not. But a lady learns about such things.”
“Then such knowledge will no doubt make it easier on you as you go through my brother’s correspondence. And you must know he ended the association upon his betrothal to you.”
Her eyes misting, she nodded solemnly.
He wrote down the name Sir Arthur Fontaine, who had become the new protector of the actress Mrs. Langston after Freddie dismissed her.
“Now then, let’s discuss possible motives,” Ales said. “In the case of murder, the two chief motivators are for gain of possessions or for love. I realize I’m the one who would benefit the most from my brother’s death, but I am also the person most devastated by his loss—yourself excluded. I have never in my life wanted to be a duke. I will own, having a fortune’s attractive, but having the responsibilities and stewardship of a dukedom were burdens I never would have sought.”
“Not to mention that you loved your brother, and you’re one of the kindest men I’ve ever known—and I’ve know you since you were seven years of age.” Sinjin scowled at Lady Georgiana. “I assure you, his grace is incapable of murder.”
“I prefer to make up my own mind,” she said, glaring at Alex. “I have a question to ask you.”
Alex quirked a brow.
“You weren’t of the shooting party. Do you not think it suspicious that you showed up on the very day Freddie was murdered?”
“Now see here!” Sinjin roared. “How dare you impugn so fine a man with your unfounded accusations.”
“I’m not making accusations. I’m merely trying to determine the truth.” She glared at Alex. “Why did you come to Gosingham?”
“I’ll answer that,” Sinjin said. “The two of us have been charged with drafting a bill supporting penal reform, and since our lives in London are so busy and finding a quiet spot nearly impossible, I am the one who suggested we come to Gosingham. Freddie, as you must know, normally lives a quiet, reclusive life. Or lived.”
“As I said, I’m not making accusations. I’m only trying to discover the truth.”
Alex wanted to redirect the conversation. Any tenderness he’d held for Lady Georgiana moments ago had now leeched away by her abrasive manner. “I wonder if Freddie possessed something someone else wanted.”
“There’s his valet,” Sinjin offered. “Does he not stand to gain two hundred from your brother’s death?”
“Yes, but Freddie was paying him a handsome hundred a year already, and I believe the man was most satisfied with his position. Few jobs are as prestigious as serving as valet to a duke.”
“There is that,” Sinjin conceded.
“Did the late duke leave a legacy for Mrs. Langston?” Lady Georgiana asked.
Alex did not want to answer. One simply did not discuss a mistress with a man’s intended. For that matter, one never discussed mistresses with well-born ladies. Soon, though, Lady Georgiana was bound to find out—from Freddie’s own papers—the extent of his brother’s involvement with th
e well-known actress. Finally, Alex nodded. “Mrs. Langston will get two hundred a year.”
Sinjin’s gaze swept from Lady Georgiana to Alex. “Do you suppose the woman came to the shooting party?”
“I’ll ask Mannings,” Alex said.
“Is not Sir Arthur her new protector?” Sinjin asked. “I doubt the fellow would approve of her renewing an acquaintance with her former paramour.”
“I suspect the new duke has more knowledge of such matters,” she snapped.
“The lady imbues me with qualities I do not possess. As the penniless third son, I’ve never had the funds to be responsible for another’s upkeep.”
Sinjin chuckled. “A man as popular with the ladies as you . . .” He stopped himself and eyed the chamber’s lone female occupant. “Forgive me. I forgot there was a lady in the room.”
“We will never make any progress,” she said, “if you two defer to my gender. I have a brother who has always treated me as if I’m one of the fellows. I assure you, nothing you can say will bring a blush to my cheeks.”
Alex could well believe that. She was unlike any wilting-flower female with whom he’d ever been acquainted. “Can either of you think of any possession Freddie owned that was worth killing for? And especially by any of the five men who were at Gosingham his last night?”
“Seven,” she corrected, her voice as chilled as ice.
“I beg that you remove Lord Slade from your suspects,” Alex said. “A more noble man has never drawn breath.”
“Oh, come now,” Sinjin protested.
She glared at the both of them.
The room went silent for a moment. Finally she offered, “Perhaps there’s another materialistic motive. Freddie had recently paid a great deal of money for a Raphael. Perhaps we could find out if anyone else had been desirous of obtaining it.”
Alex made a note on the paper. “I cannot think of anyone besides me who stands to gain substantially from my brother’s death.”
“Then let’s move on to history’s most prominent motive for murder—love,” Sinjin said.
