“My mother and I had just left my father at the law offices of Charles Conolly and Arthur Hinkley,” she said, calmly going through what had happened, from the moment that she and the Duchess had left the office. “We were walking toward Goldsmith Street.”
“Where were you headed?”
“The Millinery—Featherweights’—It’s run by Mr. Thomas Featherweight, and his wife, Mrs. Miriam Featherweight.”
“And you found the body of John Morton, the Earl of Dansbury,” he said.
“That’s correct,” she replied. “We saw the trail of blood, first. I didn’t think that it was—what it was.”
“Did you see anyone fleeing the scene?”
She thought back. Arabella hadn’t thought to look. She’d just stared at the body in absolute horror as recognition had dawned on her. “No. No one,” she said. “But I didn’t think to look.”
“Few would,” he said, kindly. “It was a shock.”
“Very much so,” she murmured.
“Do you find it odd that the body was located near Mr. Conolly’s place of work?” he asked.
Arabella straightened up, suddenly on edge. That was a leading question if she’d ever heard one. “It’s near to many other individuals’ places of work,” she replied. “Why aren’t you looking at any of them?”
“We note all circumstances,” he replied smoothly.
She stared at him, all the while attempting to keep herself from losing her temper.
What a snake.
“Constable Mills,” she said. “I have known Mr. Conolly for quite some time now. In that time, I have grown to know his character very well. Mr. Conolly would never harm another human being. I can assure you, wholeheartedly, that he is not the murderer.”
“Arabella?” her father said from the doorway. He was scowling darkly. She hadn’t heard him come in.
“What?” she demanded. “You know and trust him. Are we all really going to sit here, while Constable Collins accuses an innocent person of such vile crimes?” She turned her gaze toward the Constable, who was looking down.
“Shame on you, Constable.”
“He does, in fact, have an alibi for the time of death,” the Constable muttered.
“Well, good,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have nothing further to add.”
“Thank you, My Lady,” the constable said. “We will take your statements into consideration.”
Charles didn’t waste any time. He arrived at the Kensington townhome of Lord Dunsmore, private detective, within the hour. The drink with Arthur had steadied him. He knocked on the door, then waited. The townhome had a sleek black door. It was built out of smooth, gray stone. The door was opened by a severe-looking butler.
“Good afternoon,” the butler said.
“Good afternoon. I am Mr. Charles Conolly. I’m here to see Lord Dunsmore, about a case,” he stated, reaching into his pocket for one of his cards. He was prepared to leave one, and then return to his office, to wait. However, the butler stood aside, holding the door open for him to enter.
The butler nodded. “Right this way.”
Charles stepped inside. The house was darkened—all of the curtains were drawn, and there were no candles lit. There was a silence, which spread itself thickly throughout the house.
“He’s in his study, right this moment,” the butler said. “You’re in luck—he’s got no other clients of late.”
“Ah,” Charles said, following along behind the butler. He had the distinct feeling that the butler had seen and heard much. He didn’t seem surprised that Charles was there.
“Sometimes,” the butler went on, “he’s so busy that he has to turn people down.”
The hallways were decorated in muted tones, with paintings of what could only be presumed as Lord Dunsmore’s forefathers. They all frowned at each other from across the hallway. Likely because it was so dark, and they couldn’t see, Charles guessed.
The butler opened a door at the end of the hallway, and sunlight spilled out. “A new client, My Lord,” the butler said.
“Come in, come in,” Lord Dunsmore said, his voice grave.
Charles entered the room, blinking in surprise as he looked around. There were bits of things—newspaper articles, portraits of individuals, notes—all tacked to the wall, with little bits of red strings tying one piece of evidence to another. The curtains were thrown open wide, so that everything was illuminated by the bright winter sunlight.
“It’s quite impressive, is it not?” Lord Dunsmore asked him proudly. He was a young gentleman—not more than thirty years of age. His dark hair was rumpled, and dark circles were underneath his eyes. He was dressed in his dressing gown, but with a pair of breeches and a very wrinkled shirt underneath.
“What is it?” Charles asked.
“Not to worry—it’s an old case, one which may go on for a while yet.”
“Do you have time—?”
“Absolutely! Do sit,” Lord Dunsmore said, gesturing to a chair, upon which books were piled. He removed the stack, bringing it over to a very chaotic desk. Charles sat. “Mr. Landon,” Lord Dunsmore said. “Please, bring us some tea.”
The butler nodded, then disappeared. He was as quiet as a shadow.
“Tell me,” Lord Dunsmore said, fixing Charles with a penetrating gaze. “What brings you here Mr. …?” He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms.
“Conolly. Charles Conolly,” he replied. “My good friend, Arthur Hinkley sent me.”
“Ah! Arthur! How is he doing?”
“He’s well.”
“Good to hear. Now, what can I help you with Mr. Conolly?”
“Of course, My Lord. I’m sure that you’ve heard of the recent string of murders,” Charles said. “concerning the gentlemen of the ton.”
“Yes, yes,” he replied. “I was supposed to have gone to the funerals, but then…” He shrugged, letting it drop as he waved in the direction of the wall, covered in pins, papers, and string.
“Well, I was a suspect of these murders, until another occurred.”
“Oh, good!” Lord Dunsmore exclaimed.
“What?” Charles asked, taken aback by the Earl’s boisterous exculpation.
“Well, that you were proven innocent.”
“Yes, but I think the murderer is trying to implicate me for them,” he explained. “All of them were my clients—I am, or I was their barrister.”
“I see,” Lord Dunsmore said, stroking his chin.
“There’s been another, the body was found very close to my law offices.”
“One thing that I can’t stand is when an innocent person is framed,” Lord Dunsmore stated.
“It happened to my father,” Charles said. “He was hanged for a murder he didn’t commit.”
“Well, not to worry. Now that I’m on the case, we’ll find whomever is doing this.”
Charles breathed a sigh of relief. Even though Lord Dunsmore seemed a bit eccentric, he was clearly on Charles’s side. He needed someone with power on his side. Or else he might end up blamed again, or worse.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After the constable had gone, Arabella had Mr. Blankley set up her archery target out in the back garden. There was a stone pathway, which was a straight shot to the end of the garden. It made the perfect space for Arabella’s archery practice, while in London.
Her winter coat on, she marched out with her things setting them down on a stone bench which sat just to the side of the path. She tugged off her gloves dropping them onto the bench beside her arrows.
Arabella got into her stance squaring herself to the target. She never felt more powerful than when she was aiming an arrow at something. Facing the target, she aimed inhaling the icy air deeply as she pulled back on the string. She exhaled as she let it go. A gust of wind caught at the arrow pulling it off center, but only a little.
She exhaled as the icy wind blew. This was preferable. The chill wind caught at her cheeks making her eyes water a little. It wo
uld keep her from being sad. She couldn’t bear it. She picked up another arrow, nocking it, then pulling back on the string.
She aimed at the target, holding her arrow. She waited for the gust of wind to stop, inhaling until her lungs ached. She let it go, exhaling. It was calming to be out here in the garden. The sounds of humanity were far off and she could think for once.
Behind her she heard the sounds of heavy boots. She guessed that it was likely her father.
“Arabella?” he said.
She turned to face him. “Yes, Pappa?” She grabbed another arrow off of the bench running it through the fingers of one hand.
“I want to apologize,” he said.
“You do?” she asked.
This is a surprise. The Duke of Tiverwell rarely apologizes for anything, ever.
“You were right,” he replied. “I was harsh on Mr. Conolly. He was, in fact, being very kind in a moment when the rest of us were…” He sighed. “Falling to pieces.”
Arabella nodded, waiting for him to explain himself further. She hoped that, perhaps, he was here to let her know that he’d changed his mind. It was a long shot, but she still hoped.
“I do rely on him for help,” he went on. “And I will need to apologize to him, as well. But you were right, as you so often are.”
“Apology accepted,” she replied, smiling.
He smiled back at her. “I came all of the way out here to let you know that your mother and I have invited a few guests for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, Pappa,” she said. “Are any of us really up for entertaining?”
“It’ll be good to get your mind on something else, won’t it?” he responded. “I’ve invited the Duke of Longmire.”
“Why do you like him so?” she asked.
“He’s a respectable gentleman, and a Duke,” her father replied. “He would make an excellent husband for you.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “Not a chance.” She turned away from him, returning to her shooting stance as she nocked the arrow. She was disappointed, deeply.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he asked, even though he sounded proud.
Breathing in through her nose, Arabella pulled back the arrow, letting it loose. She exhaled, watching the arrow as it hit the bull’s eye, directly in the center.
“I’m not stubborn, Pappa. I simply know when I’m right,” she said, turning back toward him. “Now. What is it that you’re hiding from me?”
“What?” he spluttered.
She shot him a look. He should’ve known better than to come to her when she was shooting. It gave her an incredible sense of calm and poise.
“You are,” she said. “You’re afraid of something.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Tell me—is it the murders?” she asked. “You’ve just buried two of your good friends, and now, you’ll bury another.”
He seemed to deflate. When her father looked at her, next, it was with the same stubbornness with which she had looked at him before.
“I’m not afraid of the coward who is attacking us,” he stated firmly. “When he comes for me, I will be ready for him.” As he said it, his hand went to his pocket.
“Pappa,” she said, her heart melting for him.
He raised his chin. “No, Arabella. I refuse to be frightened, or coddled.”
“But—but Pappa do you know who it might be?” she asked setting down her bow and arrow on the stone bench. She tugged her gloves onto her freezing fingers.
“Not the slightest, my dear,” he replied. “Do not fear for me—I’ve done nothing wrong. There’s no reason why I should worry.”
She frowned. Her father turned away from her walking briskly back toward the house. She watched his back as he walked. He was holding his shoulders back, his head high.
What does he know that he’s not telling me?
Charles remained at home that evening. He dined alone. After he had finished, he went up to his study. As far as rooms went, it was on the spare side. He built up the fire for himself then poured a drink.
He sat staring into the fire thinking of Arabella. It seemed almost impossible that he had thought that she could ever…ever be his wife. He should have known.
It was agonizing. He thought of the two times that they had kissed. Now that he knew the touch of her lips, the soft sigh that she made when she pulled away—he couldn’t go back. Everything she did was tantalizing. He wanted to take her to his bed, learn all of the other little things she did when she was pleased. To know that he’d never get that close to her was devastating.
Charles was a proud man. He wasn’t the sort to believe himself to be beneath another. Until they reminded him of his place. It was like a game of chess—he was often checked.
He took a sip of his drink, thinking of Lord Drysdale. He’d been a very kind gentleman. One of the kindest of Charles’s acquaintance. He wondered, who could have had the cruel heart to target him, thus? To run him down, in the dark streets, and then to kill him?
He recalled the appointment that Lord Drysdale had made with him. The Viscount had been talking excitedly, about his pending nuptials to Lady Violet Fanning.
I had never thought that I could be so happy, Lord Drysdale had said, smiling serenely. I had never thought it possible.
You love her, then? Charles had asked, because when gentlemen were in love, they only wanted to discuss how much.
Yes, Lord Drysdale had confirmed. He had, so kindly, avoided any mention of the Duke of Tiverwell and his daughter.
Sitting there in his study, Charles wondered, if he should have asked the Viscount then, if he’d received any more threats. He hadn’t, because it hadn’t crossed his mind, as they had been discussing the arrangements for the Viscount’s life.
But Lord Drysdale had been making up a will. One that included Lady Violet. Charles had met the lady, at her engagement party. She had seemed the perfect life companion to Lord Drysdale. Charles wondered if, perhaps, she knew something. Perhaps she didn’t know that it was significant.
He decided to pay her a visit. After all, he was going to have to, since she would have to be there for the reading of Lord Drysdale’s will. Instead of sending her a letter, perhaps, he would deliver it in person.
“Your dress is lovely, Lady Emily,” Arabella was saying.
“It’s new,” Lady Emily Linton replied. It was a black and cream striped silk, with black lace trim. It was after dinner, and the guests, as well as the Duke of Tiverwell and his family were gathered in the parlor.
“It’s exquisite,” Arabella said. “Just like your taste.”
“You know,” Lady Emily began, and Arabella had the feeling that Lady Emily was about to tell her something juicy, when the Duke of Longmire approached them. Lady Emily clammed up immediately, to Arabella’s disappointment.
“My Ladies,” His Grace said, bowing to them courteously.
“Your Grace,” they both said, curtsying in return.
“I was just thinking how lovely it would be to start a bit of a dance,” he told them gallantly.
“Oh, please, let’s do,” Lady Emily said. Arabella did not feel that dancing was called for, however, she found that she couldn’t possibly say no—not without gaining her father’s extreme displeasure.
Arabella wanted nothing less than to dance that evening and even less than that to dance with the Duke. However, he was already looking at her.
“My Lady, will you do me the pleasure?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied, turning to her mother who was a remarkably good player of the pianoforte. “Mother, could we perhaps prevail upon you to play for us?”
“I’d be delighted,” the Duchess replied, standing up and making her way over. In all, there were five couples who stood up to dance. Arabella was struck by the curiousness of it. How were they out, when two of their friends had recently been killed? How were they dancing and making merry, when so much bad had happened?
I wish C
harles were here. He would have listened to me.
Her mother began with a simple dance—a country song. Arabella looked up into the Duke of Longmire’s face. She felt nothing. Neither love nor distaste. He smiled, however.
“Isn’t this pleasant, My Lady?” he asked, even as they did the sort of hopping steps.
Forbidden Desires of a Seductive Duchess: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 17
