Someone... Aunt Cecily...what had she said? She surged to her feet. ‘Alex!’
Five pairs of eyes locked on to her.
‘Alex!’ Her breath came in short bursts as her brain scrambled to make sense of an idea that swirled and swooped. ‘Aunt Cecily...she told me your mother had agreed to settle at the Abbey. That she had changed, and wanted to put her children first. So why would your father say that? She wasn’t threatening to leave him...she was going to stay.’
Dominic frowned. ‘She is right. Aunt Cecily told me the same after Liberty and I got married. You are wrong, Alex. That was no motive.’
‘You’ve never told me that before! How do I know you’re not making it up?’
‘Why would I make it up? And when have any of us ever really talked about Mother and what happened? It’s been a taboo subject for years.’
They were nose to nose again. Two brothers. So alike—typical Beauchamp features, like their father and their uncle—and yet poles apart in temperament. Jane glanced at Liberty. Saw her concern mirrored in Liberty’s expression—what if this caused a rift between Dominic and Alex that could never be healed? Jane’s stomach squirmed. It would be her fault, for insisting Alex told the others.
No. It’s the Duke’s fault. Not mine. He’s the one who killed their mother, not me.
And yet, she still could barely credit it. Alex’s father, a cold-blooded killer? Now, if he had been like Lascelles, she might believe...
Her breath seized.
‘Lascelles!’
Alex and Dominic stopped in mid-argument at Jane’s yell, and turned as one to gape at her, as did the other three. She gabbled out her idea in fits and starts, afraid to take her time, petrified they would shoot it down before she could properly explain. When she eventually paused for breath she saw the hope on all five faces in the room.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex hardly dared to hope it could be true. He was the first to respond to Jane’s blurted out idea.
‘So...let me get this straight...you think I could have mistaken Anthony Lascelles for my own father? And that it was Lascelles who killed our mother?’
‘Yes. All the Beauchamps have the same features. I noticed the resemblance when I first met Lascelles, even though his hair is grey.’
‘It was black when I first met him,’ Alex replied, frowning. ‘Like Father’s. But I still can’t believe I would mistake a complete stranger for my own father.’
Lascelles? Could it be? By his own admission he’d been her lover.
While Alex pondered, Liberty spoke. ‘Maybe it was easier to mistake a stranger for your father than someone you already knew? I thought you were Alex when we first met, Dominic, even though now I cannot imagine how I came to make such a mistake. Do you remember?’
A slow smile stretched Dominic’s lips. ‘Oh, yes. I remember being harangued on my father’s doorstep by a hoyden with an umbrella.’
Liberty’s answering smile at that memory—that private moment shared by her and Dominic—tweaked something deep inside Alex. A longing for the same. With Jane. They’d had it at the start of their marriage, until he’d ruined it. As he seemed to ruin everything he touched. Eventually.
‘You and Alex have different hair and different colour eyes but all I saw were those aristocratic features, and that hint of arrogance—’
‘Arrogance?’
Liberty laughed at Dominic’s mock outrage but quickly sobered. ‘I am making a serious point, Dominic.’
‘And you were an adult, Liberty.’ Olivia pulled away from Hugo. ‘Alex was a small boy. A terrified small boy trapped in a scary and dangerous situation. Alex...is it possible?’
Dear God, I hope so.
‘I don’t know. His eyes are very different to Father’s, but I never saw them. Mostly, all I saw was a pair of boots. And when...when...’ He gulped. He was a grown man. He shouldn’t be afraid to say what he saw, even though he hadn’t understood it at the time. ‘When he raped and strangled her, he was in profile.’
‘Luckily for you,’ Dominic said. ‘If you’d seen the colour of his eyes...’
Alex didn’t want to think about what might have happened had the killer spotted him cowering under the chaise longue. He paced the room, thrusting his hand through his hair from time to time. He always thought more clearly when he was active, and the surge of hope he now experienced swept through the foggy tangled mess that had filled his brain for too long. How he wanted this to be true. To be finally free of that baffling mistrust that had dogged his relationship with his father since boyhood.
‘If Aunt Cecily is right and Mother did intend to spend more time at the Abbey, and with us...’ He paused. ‘She didn’t send me back to old Brockley that day. I hid from him, and then sneaked outside, into the copse. She saw me, on her way to the lake.’ He glanced around the room. ‘She walked by the lake every day when she was home, and she always stopped to rest in the summer house. I thought she would send me back to lessons but, instead, sh-she said I could go with her.’
‘You lucky devil!’ Dominic said. ‘I asked to go with her that day, too, but she sent me back to old Brockley. But... I think Aunt Cecily is right. She did seem different—I expected her to snap at me for asking, but she patted my cheek and said maybe we could go out later. She seemed happy, and it’s the only time I can remember her showing any spontaneous affection for me. That was the last time I saw her.’ His voice hitched. ‘Carry on, Alex.’
‘We collected all manner of things as we walked—fir cones and pebbles and sticks and leaves—but when we reached the summer house she wanted to read and so I settled down to play behind the chaise longue.’ The thought then struck him. ‘She wasn’t expecting any one.’
‘So,’ said Dominic, ‘we know it wasn’t an assignation.’
‘Lascelles said he learned of Mother’s death when he was in America, but we only have his word for that.’
‘I wouldn’t believe a single word he ever said,’ declared Olivia. ‘I remember Rosalind was really scared of him, even before he snatched Susie. He would lie about anything if it suited his purpose.’
‘That’s true.’ Alex took another turn around the room. ‘This is all my fault. I should never have allowed myself to be taken in by him—he was always dripping poison about Father and encouraging my distrust. That didn’t surprise me with what I knew of his past but now...how can I know if anything he said about Mother was true?’
‘Do you believe he was her lover, Alex?’ Dominic asked. ‘That’s surely the most relevant question. If he was her lover—and she renounced him to spend more time at home with us, as Aunt Cecily claimed—then that could easily provoke a man such as he into a rage. He could have gone to the Abbey to confront her.’
‘Yes. I’m certain that’s true...he never meant to tell me. He let it slip when he’d been drinking. He said—’
He stopped. His pulse hammered. Anger and disbelief churned his guts as his jaw clenched tight. He’d had him. He’d had his hands on him, and he’d allowed the slippery bastard to escape.
‘Alex?’ Jane touched his hand. ‘What is it?’
‘“She always looked so vital in yellow.” His words. Last night. I should’ve killed him there and then.’
He stared round at the incomprehension of the others, sick rage at his own incompetence battering his heart and his mind.
‘You don’t see it! But I should have realised it there and then. I never told him any details. The only way Lascelles could know Mother wore a yellow gown is if he saw her that day.’
* * *
A messenger was sent to Cheriton Abbey—a two-hour ride to the west of Clystfield Court—to warn the Duke that Lascelles was in the vicinity, and to announce the arrival of his three children, their spouses and his twin grandchildren the next day.
None of them slept much that night. They paced. They talked. The
y planned. They occasionally dozed. But all of them were waiting for dawn and the chance to take action.
Jane and Liberty both went to bed at one point but, within a couple of hours, both were back in the drawing room with the others, unable to settle. Jane watched Alex. His entire focus was on the need to find out exactly what had happened that day in the summer house; the need to find Lascelles; the need to talk to his father.
She recognised his preoccupation; understood it; tried hard not to care that he had no energy left to worry about their marriage, and about her. The threat from Lascelles was immediate. Their relationship could wait. But a small, selfish part of her—a part that, when she thought about it, made her squirm slightly with shame—wanted his full attention and longed for him to make her his priority. When he did come to sit by her on the sofa—ousting a grumpy Romeo, who was nestled between her and Liberty—it was only to say, ‘Why do you not go back to bed? You cannot do anything here.’
And despite knowing he said it out of concern for her, it also felt as though she were being excluded: as though she wasn’t fully a member of the family; as though her support was incidental. Much as she had felt in the last weeks of their marriage, since Lascelles’ arrival.
‘I cannot sleep, so I may as well be here as anywhere.’ She stood up and crossed to the window where there was the faintest lightening in the eastern sky. Soon the servants—who had been sent to bed—would be up and about and, after breakfast, the Beauchamps would set out for Cheriton Abbey.
Alex came up behind her, cupped her upper arms and caressed them through her shawl, encouraging her to lean back into his body. Jane stiffened, resisting him. She couldn’t help it.
‘Janey?’
The pain in his voice raked her, but she couldn’t shake her hurt over his betrayal. The fact he had confided in Lascelles and not her. She faced him, searching his shadowed expression, seeking... She looked away. It mattered not what she wanted from him...it still was no time to make demands. He needed to resolve this business with his father and Lascelles and she needed...yearned...to feel more secure in his feelings for her.
When she’d accepted his proposal she’d thought her love was enough for them both. She hadn’t foreseen how painful that one-sided state would prove to be.
‘Why did you bring Lascelles to Devonshire with you, Alex?’
‘He invited himself along. He turned up with his carriage that morning and...’ He shrugged. ‘I was anxious to get going. By accepting his offer it saved me going to High Wycombe to hire a chaise-and-four.’ He pivoted away, and paced across the room and back again. ‘As it happens, it was fortunate. I might never have discovered the truth had he not let slip about his affair with Mother.’
Jane lowered her voice, not wishing the others to hear their conversation. ‘But you knew my feelings about him, particularly after his cruelty to Mist. And yet you still confided in him. You still travelled with him. Are my opinions...my feelings...so very unimportant to you?’
Alex stiffened. ‘Of course they’re not,’ he hissed. ‘I came to take you home. I—I missed you, Janey. So much.’ He thrust his hand through his hair. ‘Look. I can barely think straight. You have to forgive me, sweet Janey. The alternative...’ His brows snapped together. ‘The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. I know I’ve been difficult to live with, sweetheart, but...please, can we just get to the Abbey and sort out this Lascelles business? I promise I’ll make it up to you. It’s not the time to discuss something as important as our marriage.’
She knew she would forgive him. How could she do otherwise, when he was her husband and she still loved him? But that didn’t mean she would give him an easy ride to her forgiveness. Not this time. Or how would he ever learn he couldn’t always twist her around his little finger? But, at least he’d said their marriage was important, and she hugged his words to her heart.
‘I know it’s not the time to discuss this now, Alex, but please don’t imagine you can conveniently forget this conversation, avoid the subject and slip back into the same relationship.’
‘Darling Janey. I promise I—’
He fell silent when the door opened and a maid entered, and curtsied.
‘Breakfast is served in the dining room,’ she announced and, in the hustle and bustle of breaking their fast and preparing for departure, Alex never did finish that promise.
* * *
The first snow of winter had yet to fall, but every night brought a heavy frost, and the party set off straight after breakfast, hot bricks at their feet. Alex and Jane travelled with Dominic and Liberty, plus Romeo, while Hugo and Olivia were in their own carriage, accompanied by the twins, Julius and Daisy, and Ruth, their nursemaid.
As the carriage rocked over the frozen ruts of the local lanes, Liberty yawned, saying, ‘I am so tired... I feel as though I could sleep for a week. I shall never understand why sleep can elude one all night and yet overcome one once morning arrives.’
The two men were sitting with their backs to the horses, leaving Jane and Liberty facing forwards. Alex caught Jane’s eye, and flicked his eyes towards Dominic. She knew in an instant what he meant. Dominic’s attention was on his wife, his concern clear in his silver-grey gaze.
‘Dominic, why do you not swap places with me?’ Jane shifted until she perched on the edge of the bench. ‘Liberty might be able to sleep if she can lean against you.’
‘Oh, no! I wasn’t hinting for you to move, Jane.’
‘I know you weren’t—you are far too unselfish. But I don’t mind facing backwards, and you need to look after yourself. A nap will do you the world of good.’
Without further ado, Jane stood and Dominic, with a murmured, ‘Thank you,’ swapped places with her. Within moments, Liberty was settled into his arms and both their eyes were closed.
Alex huffed a laugh. ‘We are all totally talked out, are we not?’
‘So it would seem.’ Jane gazed at the passing countryside, glittering with frost.
‘Would you care to...?’
Jane turned to see Alex had shifted position, his arms out, offering to hold her. Uncertainty glimmered in his tawny gaze, and that was enough for her to smile, and to accept by shuffling close to him until she could lean into him, her head on his chest. She breathed in his spicy, musky, unique scent and a feeling of rightness settled over her. This was where she belonged. With Alex. But the air between them still needed to be cleared.
The jolting of the carriage lessened when they reached the toll road and, within minutes, Jane’s eyes drifted shut.
* * *
‘We’re here.’
Jane had been awake several minutes prior to Alex’s announcement, conscious of the increasing tension in the arms that held her, and of the quickening beat of his heart in her ear. The familiar frontage of Cheriton Abbey filled the window, and the only sound was of the stamp of the horses’ feet and the jingle of their bits. The groom opened the door, and they all descended as the Duke himself appeared at the front door, Hector by his side. His tension was clear as he waited unsmilingly for the party to troop past him into the hallway.
‘Where’s Grantham, Papa?’ Olivia broke the silence first. ‘I’m sure none of us expected you to greet us personally.’
‘I sent him to the kitchen to arrange hot drinks. The rest of the men are standing watch. Here and at the stables.’ His silver-grey gaze swept his visitors and paused on the nursemaid. ‘Ruth, take the twins up to the nursery, if you please. You will be taken care of up there. The rest of you...’ Jane saw his gaze linger for a moment on Alex ‘...go to the drawing room. Your stepmother is there.’
The Duchess greeted all of them with a strained smile, and a kiss to the cheek. As soon as they were all seated the Duke crossed to the fireplace and rested one arm along the mantelshelf.
‘Who will start?’ His gaze again settled on Alex. ‘You, Alexander? Do you care to tell me why y
ou saw fit not to warn me Lascelles was back in England?’
A muscle ticked in Alex’s jaw. ‘He asked me not to. He said he wanted to make his peace with you both in person.’
‘And now you doubt that?’
Alex shrugged, his cheeks a dull red, his lips thinned to invisibility.
Tell him!
Jane exchanged a glance with Olivia and saw her own frustration mirrored on her sister-in-law’s face. Old habits... Alex had reverted to the same monosyllabic man he had ever been in his father’s presence, despite what they now knew. Or thought they knew. She glanced at Dominic, who was watching his father and brother with a deep frown. Of a sudden, Alex leapt to his feet.
‘I should like to talk to you alone, Father.’ His gaze swept over the others. ‘Please.’
The Duke’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded curtly. ‘Very well.’
The two men left the room, and a collective sigh whispered through the drawing room as the rest of them released their pent-up breath.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex strode ahead of his father to the study. He crossed to the window, gazing blindly out, as Father shut the door with a snap.
‘What do you have to say to me that you couldn’t say in front of our family?’
He turned to face the man who, his whole life, he had wanted to love unconditionally but who he had always mistrusted. And now he knew why. The others...they thought they’d worked it all out, and Alex hoped they were correct. But for him to know it—to once and for all eradicate that eighteen-year spell of mistrust and fear—he knew he must confront his father with what he remembered. Gauge his reaction. He wanted to believe absolutely, with no room for lingering doubt.
Ironically, he must do exactly what Lascelles had been badgering him to do ever since they left Buckinghamshire. He must confront his father.
Christmas with His Wallflower Wife Page 22
