“You said that you wanted this one, My Lady?” Annette asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “This very one.”
“Is something the matter, My Lady?” Annette always picked up on Arabella’s moods. It was a relief, in some ways.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I know that my father is hiding something. But I honestly cannot figure out what it is. I have the strongest feeling that it’s putting his life at risk.”
Annette sighed. “Perhaps, you should have a seat, My Lady.”
Arabella frowned, but did as she was told.
“I’ve kept the truth to myself,” Annette admitted. “It was out of fear, you see. That list, which you asked me for? Do you remember?”
“I do,” Arabella replied.
“Every one of those servants was dismissed after they saw or heard something that they shouldn’t have,” Annette explained. “His Grace confronts them in the night, and they leave immediately.”
“What do you mean? See or hear what?” Arabella asked.
“I don’t rightly know,” Annette said. “They’re gone before they can tell anyone else what it is. His Grace is up to something. Something he’s been up to for a very, very long time.”
“How do you know?” Arabella asked. “How have you not been sent away?”
“Everyone downstairs knows,” Annette told her. “That if you see or hear something, you don’t say a word. Not to mention, I was…close with one of the grooms—Michael Strahan. I don’t know if you recall him?”
“Vaguely,” Arabella said, recalling a blond-haired lad, of about eighteen years of age. He had been at Tiverwell Manor for a short time. Arabella hadn’t even noticed when he wasn’t around anymore.
“He heard something, when he was fetching one of the horses. His Grace was in the stables, speaking with someone, thinking that he wouldn’t be overheard.”
“Did you ask him what it was?” Arabella felt as though she were getting very close to the truth. Anticipation made her pulse race.
“I didn’t get a chance to. He only ran in, to let me know that he believed that he was going to be next. He gave me an address, for his mother’s house, here in the city.”
“And he was then gone?” Arabella murmured. Annette nodded.
“That’s not all, My Lady.”
“What is it?” Arabella asked, even though she was frightened of the answer.
“He’s nowhere to be found. He vanished, without a trace,” she said. “His mother says that he never turned up. His letters stopped, right around the same time.”
“When was this?” Arabella asked.
“Three years ago,” Annette said. “As far as I can tell, no one has seen him since I did, that night.”
“You think my father’s the one who did this?” She believed Annette. Her lady’s maid never outright lied to her—and certainly not about something like this.
“Please don’t be angry, My Lady. I do my best to stay away from His Grace.” It was clear by the way that Annette was shaking, that she was terrified.
“I’m not angry,” Arabella replied, taking her maid by the hand. “Thank you for telling me.”
“What are you going to do?” Annette asked.
“I’m going to hire myself a barrister,” Arabella replied, thinking of Charles. She knew that he had most of the information. She would need to find an excuse to get to him.
Charles and Lord Dunsmore were waiting in front of the club for the carriage to be brought around for them. The evening had darkened, the stars hanging above them.
“He’s a rather cocky sort, isn’t he?” Lord Dunsmore asked, referring to the Duke of Longmire.
“He is,” Charles agreed. “Although, I’m inclined to think that he would never intentionally harm another.”
The carriage pulled up, and they both climbed inside. The curtains were still drawn from earlier. As soon as the door was closed, Charles pulled the wig off.
“Are you sure of that?” Lord Dunsmore asked.
“Are you not?” Charles replied. He needed to believe that the gentleman who was going to marry Arabella wasn’t going to harm her. He could never walk away from the situation if he believed the reverse.
“I’m not sure of anything.” Lord Dunsmore was tapping his chin with an index finger as he thought.
“I certainly don’t care for how he speaks about Arabella, but I think he’s not involved in anything untoward,” Charles explained, finally taking the damp wads of cotton out of his mouth. “What terrifies me is that they’re all convinced that it’s me.”
“Not to worry,” Lord Dunsmore assured him. “I’ve never been more convinced of your innocence than I am at this moment.”
“That’s good to hear,” Charles said. “You disappeared for a long while. Did you find anything?” Lord Dunsmore had abandoned Charles, who had had to speak a mixture of French and English, stumbling over both. No one had understood a word that he had said. They all smiled politely, baring their teeth.
Lord Dunsmore shook his head. “No. Just gentlemen playing card games and drinking and smoking.”
“You seem disappointed,” Charles said.
“Well, I was certainly hoping that we would find something more incriminating.”
“But we have the means to contact this Mr. Bones,” Charles pointed out. They had been successful. That was what they had gone to the Millgate Club for in the first place.
“We certainly do, Mr. Conolly.
“When should we?” Charles asked. The sooner that all of this was cleared up, the better. Perhaps, they could even prevent any further murders from happening.
“Soon. Very soon. I am going to do some background research into this Mr. Bones. I don’t like how I feel…under prepared.”
“Well, you know best,” Charles said.
“Sometimes, I do,” Lord Dunsmore admitted. “In some cases, I don’t.”
“You’re not like most gentlemen, if you don’t mind my saying, My Lord.”
“Coming from you, Mr. Conolly, that is a compliment indeed,” Lord Dunsmore said with a crooked grin.
Nemesis had, of course, noted the fact that all of the gentlemen were clients of Mr. Charles Conolly, the barrister. It was late at night when the Murderer broke in to the law offices of Conolly and Hinkley, barristers.
The Murderer had watched Mr. Conolly leave his place of residence, likely out for a night on the town with Lord Dunsmore. Nemesis had then gone to Mr. Conolly’s office, for incriminating evidence.
Through the back door, jimmying the lock with an ice pick. It opened inward. There was a plaque, on the office doors, also locked, but easily opened.
Nemesis looked around, opening the drawer to find a date book. Leafing through the past few weeks, there was a full week, outlining the appointments of Lord Diggar, Lord Drysdale, Lord Danbury, and the Duke of Tiverwell.
Nemesis flipped the pages, rifling through. One name was not present.
How…disappointing. This won’t do! The constables will notice!
One gentleman was conspicuously absent. There would be no link. Although, if Nemesis waited, then it might appear of its own accord. Perhaps the constables would be able to find something that Nemesis had missed.
Nemesis placed the diary into a pocket. All that was left was to drop this somewhere that the constables would find it. Specifically, at the scene of the next murder. It would be singularly damning.
Chapter Thirty-One
There was no time for Arabella to sneak away the next morning. Unfortunately, the Duke of Longmire showed up just after breakfast. He was then closeted away with her father for almost an entire hour.
“Well, they’re certainly taking their time,” the Duchess commented serenely.
“Mother,” Arabella said. “Did Father say something about this to you?”
“Not a word,” the Duchess replied. She continued her work on her needlepoint. This one was of a lighthouse, overlooking a bright blue and gray sea.
> Arabella stood up. She should sneak out now. Leave here, before she became embroiled in whatever plans her father and the Duke of Longmire were making. She could go to Charles.
“Where are you going, my dear?” Her mother looked bewildered.
“Out,” Arabella said. She needed to get out of there, before they came back down. Remaining would mean that she would have to suffer through an audience with the Duke.
The door to the parlor opened, and both Dukes entered. Arabella’s father was beaming proudly. The Duke of Longmire was looking at Arabella, as though he owned her. It made her skin crawl.
“The Duke of Longmire has requested a private audience with Arabella,” her father said. “Come, my dear.” He held out a hand to her mother.
“Of course,” the Duchess said, standing up. She smiled at Arabella. All of her talk about finding a suitable match for her gone.
“No,” Arabella replied, flatly. “I do not want to be alone with him.”
“Listen to what His Grace has to say,” her father replied. “Just listen. Then you are free to say what you will.” As if whatever His Grace the Duke of Longmire had to say was so good that even she couldn’t say no to it.
Her parents left the room. Arabella remained where she was, sitting down with a sigh. It was clear that she would have to suffer through this audience. She folded her hands in her lap. His Grace sat down beside her. He held out his hand for her to take. She glared at him, keeping her hands folded.
He nodded, placing his hand on his leg. “I imagine that this comes to you as no surprise,” he began. “I have requested permission from His Grace, and he has given it.”
“Just ask your question.”
The Duke laughed. “Lady Arabella, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied. To her shock, His Grace laughed, shaking his head, as if she were amusing.
“You are…absolutely hilarious,” he said. “His Grace said that that’s what you would say. I beg you—Please consider me. In all ways, I am able to give you the life that you want, My Lady.” His tone had finally become serious.
“How would you know what I want?” she asked. After all, he clearly had no clue. If he had, then he would have known that she wasn’t free to marry anyone, except for Mr. Charles Conolly.
“You want to have fine horses, a large estate, on which you can walk around, wearing your breeches,” he said. “Not to mention, the weight of the title of Duchess, behind which you can do as you please. Tell me, what type of life would you rather? The life of a barrister’s wife?”
So, he had heard, yet didn’t care. Arabella didn’t know what to say. She had given him her answer. Why couldn’t he accept it and leave? When she was silent, he went on.
“You’ll always be in a small London house. You will never be in the country. There will likely be no horses or no money to feed them properly. That is no life for a lady of your pedigree.”
“What do you know?” she whispered. He was putting Charles down, in an effort to make his own suit appear better. It only served to make her angrier.
“I will return in a week’s time. I have…things to set in order. Consider all that I have said. You’re a smart lady. You know how the world really works. When I come back, I will ask the question again—today’s refusal will be entirely forgotten.”
He bowed to her. She stared back at him. “It won’t change,” she told him. “My answer will be the same in a week’s time as it will in ten years’ time.”
“So you say, My Lady,” he said, putting his hat on his head and leaving.
Arabella remained where she was for a very long time. If things mattered to her, then she would have accepted. Her father, as well as the Duke of Longmire had grossly miscalculated. What mattered to Arabella was love. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t have fine things or horses. She didn’t care at all for her title.
She loved Charles, and she would do whatever it took, deny the Duke of Longmire a thousand times over—if it all meant that she would finally be Charles’s wife. She thought of Charles, undressing her, claiming her for his own. It was worth all of that, and more. She raised her chin, steeling herself for whatever else they planned to throw her way.
When Charles arrived at his office that morning, there was something off. He had a creeping feeling as he entered. It was as though the air had been disturbed.
He walked past Arthur’s office, stopping to check if the door was locked. It was. His friend was running late. Charles found that his own office door was ajar. His heartrate rose as he slowly pushed the door open. He didn’t know what to expect on the other side.
It swung open, to reveal that his desk had been gone through. It wasn’t quite a mess, but everything had certainly been disturbed. Someone had broken in, during the night. Charles felt dismayed.
He began to go through his office, looking for what had been taken. He opened his desk drawer, to find that his date book was gone.
“Charles?” Arthur called out from the back door.
“Yes, Arthur?”
“The lock on the back door has been forced open. Was that you?” he asked.
“No, I came through the front door,” he replied, turning to look at Arthur. “Someone’s broken in, and taken my date book.”
Arthur frowned. “I’m going to fetch the constable,” he said.
“What for?” Charles asked.
“They need to make note of what’s been taken,” Arthur said. “Or else whoever has done this is going to use it against you.”
Charles sighed. “Let me come with you,” he said. They both locked the office, and then left. Charles was terrified. The murderer knew who he was, and that he was a suitable person to blame. For the first time, he recalled the Duke of Longmire’s suspicion of him, the night before.
What if the Duke of Longmire is the one behind this? He’s decided that I am to take the fall.
Charles needed to warn Arabella. He just didn’t know how.
It wasn’t long after the Duke of Longmire’s exit that both of her parents entered the room. Her mother was beaming.
“Well?” her father asked.
“He asked me to marry him,” she said. “But you knew he was going to do that. Just as you knew what my answer to him would be.”
“You said no.” Her father scowled.
“Oh, Arabella,” her mother said, dismayed. “You didn’t.”
“Of course, I did,” she replied. The Duke had insulted the man that she was in love with. Not to mention, the Duke was not the man that she was in love with. How could she have ever said yes?
“He says that he’ll return in a week, my refusal forgotten entirely. I am to consider it, and give him my answer yet again,” she said.
“You’ll say yes,” her father ordered. He was pacing the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
She looked at him. He was like a caged tiger. After what Annette had told her, she found that she was frightened of him.
“You’ll say yes,” he repeated, pausing to look at her. “You won’t ever get a better offer, my dear.”
“I—" She closed her mouth, swallowing nervously.
“There is no way in Hell that you will marry Mr. Conolly. If he truly cares about you, then he will respect that this is the way that your life must go, and he will say nothing of it.”
Arabella’s throat was tight. She refused to cry in front of her father. She clenched her teeth, steeling herself.
“There is no way in Hell that I will marry the Duke of Longmire,” she replied. When she looked at her father, he was grinning at her coldly.
“Is that so?” he asked, his eyes dangerous.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I suppose we’ll see about that,” he said. It was a threat. A chill ran up her spine. She stared back at him, refusing to show her fear. He left the room, slamming the door after him.
Arabella looked over at her mother. “I’ve never seen him this angry before,” she said
, then went back to her needlepoint.
“Mother, you cannot make him force me to marry,” Arabella said.
“I don’t know that I can convince him otherwise,” her mother replied. “It would be best if you spoke to him yourself. Try to make him see your point of view.”
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