by Candace Camp
“We’re glad you did,” Tom assured him. Another awkward silence fell. Tom cleared his throat and said, “We’re returning to London this morning. Will you be going there, as well?”
Gregory shook his head. “I’ll stay, at least a few days. I’m hiring some of the locals from Redham to sail out and see if they can find her. Then, of course, there’s...that cave. I don’t even know how to go about that. Um, I suppose the first thing I must do is go to the police. I can’t imagine what people will say about Mother. God, what a nightmare.” His voice roughened, and he suddenly seemed to take great interest in a small scar on the table. Sliding his thumbnail over it, he went on quietly, “I thought all my life that my father abandoned me.”
Desiree reached out and covered his hand with hers, and he raised his head, surprised. She suspected he thought she was being terribly inappropriate. But Gregory would just have to deal with it. “I know. I understand exactly what you mean.”
“Yes. I guess you do. I’m sorry. I must seem quite selfish and shallow, thinking about gossip at a time like this. It’s just that Mother was always so afraid of scandal, so worried about her name.” He let out a short, harsh laugh. “I guess she had every reason to be afraid, given what she’d done.”
“We three are the only ones who know what happened yesterday,” Desiree said significantly.
Tom added, “I have no reason to spread this story around. Nor will the Morelands.”
“Nor the Malones,” Desiree added.
Gregory stared. “But... I mean, after what she did...”
“Lady Moreland’s dead. There’s no one to charge,” Tom said. “What good would it do?”
“I hate that she took my parents from me,” Desiree told him. “I have no liking for her. But he was my father, too, and I don’t want the Moreland name dragged through the mud. No one in either of our families would like that.”
“The police will have to be told,” Tom said. “I mean, you can’t just leave them there.”
“God, no,” Gregory said in a horrified voice.
Desiree shuddered at the thought of the two bodies remaining in their watery grave. “But while you must tell them, I think this could all be dealt with quietly. My brother could help.”
“The gambler?” Gregory’s eyebrows shot up. “How?”
“Brock’s not a gambler—he owns gambling clubs,” Desiree corrected. “But I’m not talking about him. I mean my twin, Wells. You met him the day you were at my house.”
A little to Desiree’s surprise, she saw a twitch of amusement at the corner of Gregory’s mouth. “That’s a diplomatic way to describe it. I don’t understand. How can he help?”
“He knows people who can have things handled quietly.”
“You mean criminals?”
Desiree chuckled. “No. People who are with the government. Although perhaps the two aren’t so different.”
Gregory flushed. “I didn’t mean, that is...”
Desiree took pity on his floundering. “Lord Moreland, I am aware that you don’t know us and are inclined to think that the Malones are a bad lot and out to hurt you. It’s true that we are illegitimate, and we come from the sort of people you would normally have nothing to do with. I’ll admit that we appear odd to just about every layer of society. But we aren’t sinister. And we have no desire to hurt you or the Moreland family.”
“Again, I must beg your pardon,” he replied stiffly. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just don’t know—well, at the moment, I don’t know much of anything. If your brother is willing to help, I would greatly appreciate it. Thank you.” He started to rise, but Desiree tugged at the sleeve of his jacket.
“No. Sit down. I have something else to tell you.”
“Very well.” Gregory looked at her warily.
“I don’t have this will that everyone has been talking about,” Desiree told him.
“It never arrived at our office,” Tom added. “Or anywhere else that we can find. We don’t know where it is.”
“But if it turns up someday, I will give it to you,” Desiree promised. “You needn’t fear we’re going to create trouble for you. We don’t care about Alistair Moreland’s estate. We have ample money. We have no interest in causing scandal. And we’re quite happy to be merely Malones.”
Gregory nodded and thanked her, sat for another awkward moment, then took his leave. Desiree, watching him walk off, said, “Do you think he believed me?”
“Who knows? It’s hard to believe he’s actually a Moreland.”
“Well, you have to consider who his mother was,” Desiree pointed out. “You and I know what it’s like to not have a mother. But it might be even worse to have the wrong mother.”
When Desiree and Tom arrived at the Moreland house that evening, they found not only all the Morelands awaiting them but also Desiree’s brothers and Sid Upton. Desiree went immediately to Sid, taking his hand in hers and saying, “I’m so glad to see you here.”
“Nothing could have stopped me,” the old man said with a grin. “I’ve been waiting twenty-eight years to find out what happened.”
“It’s not a happy tale,” Desiree said, sorrow in her voice.
“I thought as much. But, still, it’s good to know.”
Desiree turned to her brothers, standing beside Sid. “I’m surprised to see you here, Brock. Did Wells have to drag you?”
“As if he could,” Brock retorted. “No. I came because I wanted to hear what happened.”
“Plus, it’s rather difficult to tell the duchess no,” Wells added with a grin.
“She invited you in person?” Desiree asked.
Brock nodded. “She came right into the casino this morning. Said she’d always wanted to see the inside of one.”
The duchess herself swept up to them at that point and demonstrated her persuasiveness by pulling Desiree and Tom to the center to tell their story.
Everyone knew how things began, having heard it the other night at dinner, so Desiree and Tom had only to relate the events of the day before. There was a moment of stunned silence when they finished.
“Well,” the duchess said finally. “I never liked Tabitha, but I would never have thought she was a murderer.”
“I understand why Tabitha killed Stella, then had to get rid of Alistair when he interfered,” Con said. “Falk was blackmailing her, so she killed him, too. But I don’t understand why she pretended that her husband had run off with his mistress. I mean, that created the sort of scandal she wanted to avoid.”
“I don’t think she intended to reveal all that at first,” Tom told him. “She planned to make Stella disappear, and she figured no one would look for Stella, let alone suspect Tabitha. But when she had to kill Alistair as well, she had to somehow explain his absence. There weren’t many options.”
“However much she hated it, it would have been the best choice,” Kyria put in. “The scandal of his infidelity kept people talking about that instead of wondering why Alistair had disappeared and where he’d gone. Plus, it gave Tabitha a reason not to report him missing to the police. People would have been reluctant to ask her direct questions about the details. Society gossiped about it, but everyone would have regarded her as the wounded party. They helped her keep it hushed up officially.”
“Hide her secret inside another, less scandalous secret.” Con nodded. “Makes sense.”
“But what did this Pax chap have to do with anything?” Theo asked. “And why was Tabitha so intent on killing Desiree?”
“I don’t think Pax had anything to do with Tabitha’s schemes,” Tom said. “He wanted the will, and that’s all. His cuff links were with Alistair’s jewelry, and I suppose Tabitha must have paid the coachman with them.”
“I’m not sure Tabitha set out to kill me,” Desiree said. “I think she wanted only to find that envelope. She was worried about w
hat the will might reveal and what the lawyer said in the letter. She was afraid Alistair had given us money, I suppose, which would take something from her son. And she probably thought we were going to blackmail her. After all, Falk had been doing that for years. But then, when we kept digging, Tabitha must have begun to fear that we would discover what she’d done. Especially after we went to the cottage.”
“What I wonder is how Tabitha was able to carry them to that cave,” the duke said with unaccustomed practicality.
“From what she told us, she forced Desiree’s mother to go down to the beach near the cave, and when Alistair tried to rescue Stella, Lady Tabitha shot him, too,” Tom replied. “So she didn’t have to drag the bodies far, and if the tide was in, she could have floated them on top of the water, perhaps. I think that would have made it easier.”
“Tabitha wasn’t small, and I imagine she was rather strong, given all that riding,” the duchess said.
“Aunt Wilhemina said one of Tabitha’s hobbies was archery,” Lilah added.
At that moment, there was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and a man and woman Desiree didn’t recognize walked briskly into the room. From the looks of the man, Desiree suspected he was another Moreland.
“Reed!” Emmeline stood up, beaming, and went to hug him, confirming Desiree’s guess. She turned to hug the woman. “Anna, dearest. Welcome.”
The duke shook his son’s hand. “Reed, my boy, I didn’t realize you were coming to visit.” He looked at his wife. “Did I?”
“No, dearest, we hadn’t the slightest idea.”
“Anna had one of her misgivings yesterday,” Reed said. “It was very vague, but she was sure it was something to do with the Morelands. And I needed to come to London anyway.” He opened the valise he carried and pulled out a large envelope. “It’s the most peculiar thing. Who in the world are the Malones?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“YOU!” TOM EXCLAIMED. “It was you. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? The Moreland businessman, isn’t that what Gregory said?”
“Lord, yes.” Con let out a laugh and came forward to shake his brother’s hand. “Blackstock didn’t mean our office—he meant the Moreland who handles the Moreland business affairs. Of course he’d send it to you. Everyone misunderstood.”
“Well, I still don’t understand,” Reed said in a disgruntled tone. “I’ve had a few matters I’ve worked on with Mr. Blackstock about Alistair’s interest in the Moreland estates—the man created quite a mess when he ran off. But I’ve never heard of these beneficiaries named Malone. It’s very peculiar.”
“So there was a new will,” Tom said.
“No. Well, yes, there was a will written not long before Alistair left, but that’s the standard sort of thing, all to Gregory, et cetera. Except for a clause about a piece of land returning to someone named Paxton. But it’s the trust I’m talking about, the one for a woman and three children named Malone.”
The entire group of Morelands turned to Desiree and her brothers. Reed followed their gazes. “Oh! I say, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t realize—pardon me for talking family business.”
“Reed, these are the Malones,” Tom said. “They’re Alistair’s...other family.”
It was Reed’s turn to be speechless. After a long silence, he said, “I see.”
“I doubt that,” Con laughed. “But let me introduce you to the Magnificent Malones—Miss Desiree Malone. Mr. Wells Malone. And Mr. Brock Malone.”
Reed’s brow cleared. “You own the Farrington Club. And one of the music halls.”
“Yes,” Brock agreed, still looking stunned. “Did you say three children?”
“Yes. Those are the given names. Alistair set up a trust for the three of you years ago—it must have been a few months before he left. Am I to assume that you didn’t know about it?”
“No.”
Reed frowned. “That was the impression I received from Blackstock. I don’t know why he concealed it. It was a terrible dereliction of duty on his part.”
“What was?” Theo asked. “Good God, Reed, get to the point. We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The trust,” Reed replied. “The thing has been in effect for years and years, ever since Alistair signed it. But as best I can tell from his letter, Blackstock never told anyone about it. Never paid out anything. He invested the principal and let it sit there. His letter rambled on about not wanting to die with this sin on his conscience, which is certainly understandable. Apparently, after Alistair ran off, Blackstock didn’t want to tell anyone about the trust because of the distress it would cause Lady Tabitha and Gregory.”
“There you are.” Uncle Bellard beamed. “I didn’t think Alistair was that shallow a young man. He did provide for his children, or, well, he did his best to.”
“It was for your care, entirely separate from Alistair’s estate,” Reed told the Malones. “It made—I mean, it would have made you and your mother independent.”
Tears filled Desiree’s eyes, and she turned to Tom, reaching out for his hand. “This is so...”
“I’m sorry.” Reed looked taken aback. “I’m sure it must be distressing to hear of this miscarriage of duty. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you in that way.”
“No.” Desiree smiled at him, blinking away her tears. “It’s wonderful. It’s the best thing we could have heard.” She turned toward Brock. “You see. Our father did care for you.”
“This can’t be right,” Brock insisted. He turned to Reed. “I’m not Alistair’s child. Only Wells and Desiree are. I was born years before he met my mother.”
“Well, um...” Reed shrugged. “That’s not what the trust says. In the letter, Blackstock called all three of you Alistair’s natural children. It says so in the trust agreement, as well.” Reed pulled a document out of the envelope and handed it to Brock.
As Brock studied it, Uncle Bellard said, “It wouldn’t be impossible, you know. Alistair wanted to marry a young woman, but had to marry Tabitha instead to avoid the scandal. Perhaps that young woman was Stella Malone. And perhaps she bore him a son. There’s nothing to say Alistair didn’t go back to the same woman years later. When were you born?”
“December of 1858,” Brock answered, looking up from the document in his hand.
“There you are. Alistair was married in...” Bellard cast his eyes upward, seeming to search some list in his head. “Yes, definitely 1858. I believe the wedding was May or June. So he was married to Tabitha after March, which would, um, be the pertinent date regarding your birth.” Bellard blushed.
“But... I...” Brock turned to his siblings. “Why wouldn’t they have told me if that was the case?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because our mother had already told you that polite fiction about your ‘heroic’ father who died. Maybe she wanted to wait until you were older so you’d understand,” Desiree suggested.
“I don’t think you can deny it, Brock,” Wells put in, grinning. “Look around you—you look more like these people than either Desiree or I. That’s why our father gave you his ring. It wasn’t to hold for me. It was because you were Alistair’s son. His first son.”
* * *
SOMETIME DURING THE hubbub that followed, Desiree took Tom’s hand and pulled him aside. “I very much like my new family, but right now, I think I’d enjoy a bit of peace and quiet.”
He smiled and they slipped out of the room and walked through the house to the terrace in the rear. Desiree leaned against Tom, and he slid his arm around her shoulders and for a long moment they simply stood, gazing out at the lovely grounds and drinking in the tranquility of the place.
“It’s hard to believe it’s all over,” Tom said.
“Yes. I can’t imagine what we’ll do now,” Desiree replied lightly. She cut her eyes over at Tom, a suggestive smile playing on her lips. “Although I can think o
f a few things we could do to occupy our time.”
Tom’s pulse quickened, and he turned toward her, his voice thickening with desire. “Miss Malone! What an indelicate thing to say.”
Desiree widened her eyes. “Why, Mr. Quick, your mind goes to the most shocking places. I meant planning our wedding.”
Tom tightened all over, and his hand slid from her. “Desiree...”
“What? Don’t tell me you plan to jilt me.” Her eyes danced. “You should remember I have two brothers.”
“Of course not. But we cannot—Desiree, I can’t ask you to marry me now.” He reminded himself that he had to be practical. Desiree, of course, would charge ahead, ignoring any problems.
“If you are planning to bring up that nonsense about me being a Moreland, I shall scream.”
“No. It’s not that. I meant we have to wait...if you’re willing, that is. I’m not yet in a position—I haven’t saved enough for a house for us. I can’t ask you to live in my flat above the agency.”
“I rather like your flat. I have very pleasant memories of it.” Desiree put her hands on his arms, moving closer, and went up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his.
Everything in him quivered. “Desiree, you’re trying to distract me.”
“Am I succeeding?”
“Yes.” He bent his head to kiss her more thoroughly, one hand curving around the nape of her neck. When at last they broke their kiss, he leaned his forehead against Desiree’s, unable to keep his thumb and fingers from moving up and down her neck in a slow, rhythmic caress. “But it doesn’t change the facts.”
