It was something she did not care to think about. It led her thoughts down too many new and unsettling paths that she did not wish to explore. Such as, why did she burn at his touch? Why did she allow her feelings to overcome her good sense when he was near? Why could she not bear the thought of returning to Bath? And why did she feel hollow at the thought of never seeing him again?
Determinedly putting all such thoughts out of her mind, she looked around the room. Her eyes came to rest on a number of curious fixtures attached to the walls.
He followed her gaze.
‘Gas lighting,’ he said.
He lit a taper from the fire and then, turning on the gas, he lit it, casting a pure and brilliant light over the room.
‘Goodness,’ said Eleanor, startled by its brightness. ‘I had no idea it was so powerful.’ She turned to him with interest. ‘Had you seen it working before you decided to have it installed?’
‘It wasn’t my idea.’
He motioned her to sit down and she took one of the chairs by the fire. He seemed to be in a mood to talk, and she was interested to learn more about his life.
He took the chair opposite her and stretched out his long legs in front of him, crossing one booted ankle over the other.
‘My father was always interested in new inventions and he was convinced that gas was the future,’ he explained. ‘He saw an article about it in Ackermann’s Repository last year and he had it installed in Silverton House.’
‘I remember seeing the article,’ said Eleanor, who took the popular journal. It was one of the few small luxuries she and Arabella allowed themselves, and they enjoyed reading the articles on modern life as well as looking at the delectable fashion plates. ‘But I thought most people were still convinced that gas is only fit for factories?’
‘There are still one or two problems to overcome,’ he admitted. ‘The amount of heat it gives out will need to be looked at, and there is a noticeable smell, but I still think my father was right. The light is so much brighter than candles that one day I’m convinced it will be in every home.’
Eleanor’s eyes drifted to a portrait hanging next to the door.
‘Is that your father?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘That is the last portrait I have of him. It was painted shortly before his death.’
His death must have been quite recent, Eleanor realized, as he had installed the gas lighting only the previous year. Her sympathy was aroused. Lord Silverton was a strong man, and yet it was evident from his expression and tone of voice that he had loved his father. He was capable of deep feelings.
The thought made her feel strangely vulnerable. If ever he were to fall in love, the woman he fell in love with would experience the full depth of those feelings. It would be no superficial experience, but one that was profound and meaningful.
Fortunately for her peace of mind the door opened at that moment, and Beddows entered the room. The valet was obviously used to turning his hand to a variety of things, as he was carrying a tea tray. Eleanor looked gratefully at the silver teapot.
Although she had recovered from the shock of finding Mr Kendrick’s body, it had been an unpleasant incident and it had left her feeling drained. She welcomed a hot drink.
‘Thank you, Beddows,’ said Lord Silverton.
‘My lord.’ Beddows bowed his way out of the room.
Lord Silverton poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her. ‘Here, drink this,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon feel better.’
‘You shouldn’t be waiting on me,’ she said uncomfortably.
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Oh? Why not?’
‘Because you’re an earl.’
‘I’m also a gentleman - at least by birth,’ he added with a twinkle in his eye, ‘- and a gentleman always waits on a lady.’
She smiled. He was teasing her again!
She took a sip of tea. It was sweet and hot.
‘Ah!’ She felt her strength begin to return.
With her renewed vigour, however, came the recollection that so far they had done nothing about reporting the death of Mr Kendrick.
‘Lord Silverton —’ she began.
‘Lucien,’ he interrupted her.
She looked up, startled.
‘My name is Lucien.’
His voice had softened, and he was looking at her in a disturbingly gentle way.
‘I don’t think . . . ’ she began.
‘That you should call me by my name?’
‘No.’ She turned her cup between her hands.
He had called her by her name several times at Mr Kendrick’s house, and at the time she had not felt equal to remonstrating with him. But now she was capable of doing so, and of resisting him when he asked her to call him by his given name.
‘Why not?’
His eyes were on her, and she knew that he wanted a genuine answer. He was intrigued as to what she thought, and he wanted to know what she had to say.
She put down her cup. ‘Because it is wrong.’
‘Do you believe that?’ he asked.
‘I . . . ’ She had never thought about it. When she did so, she realized that although society believed it was wrong, she did not. But she did believe it was dangerous. Calling him Lucien removed a barrier between them, and just now she needed every barrier she could find. She had been opening up to the undoubted charm of his personality ever since she had set foot in the house, and she must do everything in her power to resist him.
‘I think it would be better if I continued to call you Lord Silverton,’ she said firmly.
‘But I don’t. Lord Silverton, to me, is still my father,’ he explained. ‘He died so recently that I don’t feel I belong to that name. When I am out in society’s ballrooms, I have no choice, but here I like to be myself.’
Eleanor remembered the way Mrs Oliver had constantly used his title, and knew exactly what he meant. Matchmaking mamas liked nothing better than to call him, ‘My lord’, as it reminded them of how eligible he was.
‘I would prefer it if you called me Lucien,’ he said.
The idea was growing more and more appealing. And no one would be able to take exception to it, as no one would hear her. Besides, it would be for one evening only, she thought. Tomorrow she would be on her way.
She nodded. ‘Very well.’
He smiled. This time the smile was not wry, it was a smile of genuine warmth. There was a moment of connection between them. To hide from it, for she found it alarming, she turned the conversation into more practical channels. ‘We must tell the authorities about Mr Kendrick,’ she said.
‘I have a . . . colleague . . . coming here this evening. In fact,’ said Lucien, glancing at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece, ‘he will be here shortly. He is reliable and he will see to all the formalities.’
‘You don’t want to get involved,’ said Eleanor, realizing this was so.
‘No. I don’t want to risk getting entangled with the authorities. And I want to make sure that you are not dragged in. Drayforth will take care of everything.’
Eleanor nodded. She did not want to be mixed up in a murder investigation, particularly not now with Arabella’s wedding fast approaching. There was no point in her rescuing her sister from one potential scandal, only to plunge her into another.
‘Do you think the two men we saw were responsible for Mr Kendrick’s death?’ she asked.
He was thoughtful.
‘It’s possible. But they might have been there on some other errand, perhaps retrieving letters of their own.’
They fell silent.
As she sat sipping her tea, Eleanor felt Lord Silverton’s eyes wandering over her face. He was like no other man she had met before. He was strong and powerful, with an edge of danger, and yet there was evidently much more to him than that.
Not only did he have a sense of humour that she had not suspected, he had a desire to protect her. It was something she had not known before. Her father had died when she had been young, and he
r mother had been an invalid, so that it had been up to Eleanor to manage the household.
Her mother and Arabella had leant on her, and she had never minded because, by virtue of her health and her age, she was the member of the family most able to carry the burdens of life. But it heartened her to know that here was someone who cared about her enough to protect her from unpleasantness.
It made her feel stronger, somehow. More open. Because she knew that if she stumbled he would be there to catch her.
At least until she returned to Bath.
Her thoughts were disturbed by a knock at the outside door and a minute or two later, Beddows entered the room to say that Mr Drayforth had arrived.
‘Very good,’ said Lucien. He turned to Eleanor. ‘I shouldn’t be long. He will not stay for more than half an hour, and then after that we will have dinner.’
He left the room.
Eleanor continued to sip her tea by the fire.
When she had finished, her gaze strayed to the portmanteau which Lucien had left by the table. Whilst he was busy with his guest, she decided to look for Arabella’s letters.
She pulled the portmanteau out into the middle of the room and emptied it in front of her, then set about sorting through the large pile of papers. As she did so she wondered whether she would come across Lucien’s letters. If, indeed, he had been in search of letters.
When she had met him at Mr Kendrick’s house she had been certain of it. It had seemed to explain his strange behaviour when they had first met, as well as his presence at Mr Kendrick’s house, but now she was not so sure.
However, it was still a possibility, and she felt reluctant to find them. It would be the height of bad manners for her to catch a glimpse of their contents, she told herself. But she could not disguise from herself that her reasons went deeper than that. In some way she did not fully understand she did not want to see them because it would hurt her.
But Arabella’s letters had to be found.
She continued sorting through the letters until a faint scent caught her nostrils. She recognised the perfume; lavender. It was one her mother had worn, and one Arabella had often borrowed. It was very faint, but unmistakeable.
She followed her nose, and found a small bundle of letters tied together with a pink ribbon. She pulled the bow and unfastened the letters. Yes! They were Arabella’s. Her task was done.
She gave a sigh of relief. Now that the letters had been found, Arabella’s future happiness was safe.
As she sat back on her heels, her own problem solved, she wondered what to do with all the other love letters. It seemed dreadful that innocent people - innocent, at least, of any crime - should continue to pay because they believed themselves to be in danger of exposure, but that’s just what they would have to do if the letters fell into the wrong hands.
Could she return them to their rightful owners? she wondered. And if so, how should she do it? A direct approach would be fraught with difficulties. Quite apart from having to visit the people concerned, there would be the possibility that they might take her for an accomplice.
She resolved to ask Lucien for his opinion when he returned.
In the meantime she set Arabella’s letters on the table and started putting the other papers back in the portmanteau. As she did so, an unusual document caught her eye. It was on heavy paper, and was written in a clear hand. Troop deployments, supply lines . . .
With a shock she realized that she was looking at secret military information. And then realization dawned. So that was why Lucien had held up the stage. He had done it in order to retrieve stolen military documents.
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He had been in the army, Mrs Oliver had said. And evidently, although he had sold his commission on inheriting the title, he was still helping the war effort. Only this time, in more covert ways.
She was certain she had at last found the answer to the mystery. It was far more likely that he would hold up a stagecoach for the good of the country than for some minor private affair - although she was still puzzled as to why it had been necessary. It seemed easier, on the face of it, for him to have simply arrested Mr Kendrick instead of carrying out a charade. But she knew Lucien well enough to be certain there must have been a good reason for his actions, even if she did not yet know what it was.
She was relieved. Instead of being a wastrel who had engaged in a petty wager, he was a man she could respect. But the realization, instead of pleasing her, unsettled her, because it made him even more appealing. And even more difficult to resist.
She had never had any difficulty in resisting masculine charms before. The gentlemen she had met in Bath, together with those she had met whilst chaperoning Arabella for her London season, had been pleasant enough, but they had been inconsequential. She had never felt a need for them, or had more than a superficial desire to be in their company.
She had enjoyed talking to them and dancing with them, but they had never been important to her happiness. And now here was Lucien, showing her that life had more to offer than she had ever expected. That he was a man she wanted to be with.
It shook her to realize how much she wanted to be with him. He made her feel more vital, more fulfilled, more alive than she had ever felt before.
But in the morning she would leave London, and she would never see him again.
Her heart sank. She could not bear to think of it.
To distract her thoughts, she began to put the rest of the documents back in the portmanteau, but her movements were mechanical, and no matter how much she tried to dismiss Lucien from her mind she found it was impossible.
‘Well?’ Drayforth was sitting back against the desk in the library. ‘Did you retrieve the documents?’
He was a stocky man, small compared to Lucien, although still of medium height. He had intelligent eyes, brown hair, a firm mouth and a decided chin. His clothes were well-tailored and his boots were highly polished. He could easily pass for a man about town. But he was much more than that. Like Lucien, he was involved in the Kendrick affair.
Lucien nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Ah.’ Drayforth let out a sigh of relief.
‘Drink?’ asked Lucien. He was standing by a small table on which stood a selection of bottles, holding a decanter.
‘No, not for me,’ said Drayforth easily. ‘But you go ahead.’
‘No, not for me either,’ said Lucien, restoppering the decanter. ‘I’d rather keep a clear head.’
Drayforth nodded. ‘Save it for after dinner!’ he said.
Lucien sat down in a wing-backed chair and crossed one booted foot over the other.
‘So the hold-up went as planned?’ asked Drayforth, sitting down opposite Lucien.
Lucien frowned. ‘No. In fact, quite the opposite. I held up the stagecoach as arranged, but Kendrick didn’t have the documents on him.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘But our information was definite,’ declared Drayforth. ‘Our intelligence clearly told us that he would be transporting the documents to London in a case.’
‘I know. Which means that either our intelligence was wrong - it does happen - or Kendrick changed his mind.’
Drayforth regarded Lucien enquiringly. ‘Then if he didn’t have them in his case, how . . . ?’
‘I followed Kendrick to London, and broke into his house in Pall Mall.’
Drayforth pursed his lips. ‘Risky,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Perhaps. But it had to be done. I was out of options.’
Reluctantly, Drayforth nodded. ‘I suppose so. Still, as long as you got hold of them in the end, that’s the main thing. You weren’t discovered, I take it? Kendrick didn’t see you?’
Lucien looked moodily ahead of him. ‘There has been a complication.’
Drayforth waited.
‘Kendrick is dead.’
‘What?’ Drayforth started up.
Briefly, Lucien told Drayforth of what had happened tha
t afternoon.
Drayforth let out a low whistle, and reseated himself ‘So someone got to Kendrick.’ He became thoughtful. ‘Do you have any idea who it was?’
Lucien shook his head. ‘No. He was mixed up in all sorts of unsavoury enterprises - blackmail, to name but one - as well as stealing and selling military secrets. He must have had a lot of enemies.’
‘So you think his death had nothing to do with his treachery?’
‘It might have done. But then again, it might not. It seems to me that any number of people might have wanted to see him dead.’
‘It’s a pity. We could have used him. Still, it can’t be helped. If he’s dead, he’s dead.’
‘I haven’t yet notified the authorities — ’
‘You can leave that to me.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that. I don’t want to get involved.’
‘Quite right too. You’d get bogged down with the investigation, and awkward questions might be asked. It’s much better for all concerned if you stay out of it. It will save you the trouble of answering questions, and besides, we don’t want anyone to guess at your involvement with the government. As far as the world knows, you left the army when you inherited your title and you’ve had nothing to do with either the army or the government since. That suits us. It means we can use you whenever necessary for a dangerous mission without anyone suspecting you might be involved.’
Lucien nodded. ‘That leaves the problem of Kendrick. What will you do, have someone "find" the body?’
‘Yes. We’ll make sure it’s someone of unimpeachable character, who also has a good reason for being there. They can claim to have had an appointment with Kendrick and then they can answer all the necessary questions. That way the matter will be dealt with quickly and efficiently.’ He paused. ‘Did you find anything else at Kendrick’s?’ he asked.
‘I’ve brought away a portmanteau full of papers. If I discover anything else of importance I’ll pass it on to the General.’
‘Good. With any luck we’ll get even more than we bargained for. Do you want me to take the documents now? I’ll be seeing the general later on tonight.’
The Silverton Scandal Page 8
