by Alec, Joyce
“You are being utterly foolish,” she told herself aloud, leaning her head back against the chair and, without having any intention of doing so, falling into a gentle sleep.
Lydia awoke with a start. Looking all about her, she tried to get her bearings and for some moments, could not quite recollect where she was. Her heart beat frantically as she tried to think clearly, recalling with a sudden relief that she was at Lord Paulson’s townhouse and meant to be enjoying a musical soiree. Of course, falling asleep in the parlor was not what a young lady was meant to do. Getting to her feet quickly and muttering darkly to herself, Lydia brushed down her skirts as best as she could, hoping that they were not noticeably creased.
Walking to the door, she took in a long breath, set her shoulders, and walked out calmly. No one else was present, which made Lydia fear that she had spent much too long in the parlor. Surely her mother would not have left without her?
It was with relief that she heard the sound of music coming from the room which she had left some time ago. Not wanting to step inside and interrupt the performance, Lydia decided to wait outside the door until a more opportune moment.
Sighing to herself, she moved aimlessly along the hallway, wondering how long the performance would take to come to a close, only to hear the sound of a loud exclamation.
She froze, her skin prickling with a sudden fear. She had no idea as to where the sound had come from, but the sound itself had frightened her terribly. It had sounded as though someone had been caught off guard, horrified by what they had seen or done. Dare she seek out the sound? Dare she discover what was occurring somewhere within Lord Paulson’s townhouse? He was, as she recalled, a rather peculiar gentleman and if she sought out the noise, she might find some of her questions answered.
But no. Shaking her head to herself and realizing that she would be quite foolish to do such a thing, Lydia hurried back towards the door and made to push it open, only for a loud slam to catch her by surprise. Whirling around, one hand pressed to her heart in fright, she saw none other than Lord Ancrum staggering out of another room a little further up the hallway.
“Lord Ancrum,” she gasped, seeing his pale features and wondering what had occurred. “Is something the matter?” She could barely put one foot in front of the other, but somehow managed to draw closer to him, seeing how he still clung to the door handle, his eyes wide and staring. Was he the one who had made such a loud exclamation? And just what had he been doing or what had he seen that had frightened him so?
“Lord Ancrum,” she said, trying to make him focus on her presence instead of staring wildly about him. “What…”
Her words died on her lips as she turned her head to glance into the room. What she saw stole her breath from her, a silent scream lodging in her throat as she turned her head in horror to stare into Lord Ancrum’s haunted eyes.
Lord Paulson was lying on the floor, his eyes wide and staring. She did not need to see the blood pooling underneath him to know that he was dead. One look into his pale face and unblinking eyes told her that.
And it looked like Lord Ancrum had killed him.
9
“What is that?”
Joseph was standing in the middle of Lord Paulson’s library, his eyes trying to focus on what the dark shape on the floor might be. His heart was pounding furiously and the urge to depart the room without discovering the truth was growing steadily, but he knew he could not show so little strength. Mayhap this was what Lady Starling would need to help free her from Lord Paulson’s clutches, which would then allow him to return his attention to Miss Whitaker.
Joseph had seen Miss Whitaker the moment she walked into the room just behind her mother. The way she had looked up into Lord Paulson’s face had given him hope that she was beginning to get the measure of the man. She certainly seemed intelligent and considered in her thoughts and he had to pray that she would not decide to grow closer to the fellow.
Lady Starling, of course, had not so much as given Miss Whitaker a cursory glance, for her attention had been solely fixed on Lord Paulson. Lord Paulson had come to speak to them both but had not said particularly much to either of them. Instead, he had merely informed them about how much they could expect from this evening and what delightful entertainments he had planned. Joseph had realized that he was meant to be impressed by this and, despite his dislike of the gentleman, had nodded and murmured something about how he was looking forward to it. He had also had to thank Lord Paulson for allowing him to accompany Lady Starling to this evening’s soiree, especially since they had not been formally introduced since that very evening, but Lord Paulson had only laughed and stated that he did not care for such formalities and that Lady Starling was allowed to bring anyone she wished to his events.
He then commented on Lady Starling’s choice of dark green gown, stating, with what appeared to be delight, that she was almost a precise match to one Miss Preston and that he might mistake the two of them were Lady Starling not clearly more beautiful that Miss Preston. Whether or not this had been meant to embarrass Lady Starling, Joseph had not been sure, although he had found the remark rather displeasing. What made it all the worse was that this remark had been followed by a broad wink towards Lady Starling before, mercifully, Lord Paulson had taken his leave, which had brought a flush of embarrassment to the lady’s cheeks.
Joseph had decided, there and then, that Lady Starling’s intention to search Lord Paulson’s house for evidence of a misdemeanor they might use against him was, in fact, the correct course of action. A gentleman who behaved in such a fashion as that did not deserve to continue on as he did. His blackmailing had to be stopped one way or the other.
However, when the time had come to slip from the room and begin his search, Joseph had not known where to start. Thankfully, the drawing room had been rather dimly lit, with the front of the room holding the greatest amount of light so that attention would be given solely to the performers, so it had been easy enough to slip from the room without being seen. Lady Starling had stated that she would wait behind for a few minutes before following his lead, leaving him to go first. Just precisely when she would leave the room was an entirely different matter, for she would have to make sure that she was not seen or, if she was, that she was able to give a simple excuse. Standing in the hallway, he had heard nothing but his breathing, blood roaring in his ears as he had looked all about him and wondered where to go.
His first foray into Lord Paulson’s townhouse had led him into the dining room. That had done him no good whatsoever, although his second attempt, a little further down the hallway, had opened up the study to his delighted eyes. It was a trifle unusual for a gentleman to leave the study door unlocked, but then he had recalled what he knew of Lord Paulson from Lady Starling’s description and realized that an arrogant, proud, and overly confident gentleman such as Lord Paulson would not have even considered that someone might begin to pry into his personal belongings.
Unfortunately, even though he had searched through the room with the greatest of deliberation, his heart pounding for fear that he would be discovered, nothing had caught his attention. The correspondence that he had read had merely been Lord Paulson’s unfinished letter crowing over some accomplishment or other, and letters received praising Lord Paulson or thanking him for his kind invitation or the like. All rather uninteresting and certainly not what he was seeking.
Therefore, he had stepped back into the hallway and had pushed open another door tentatively. Hearing no one within, he had walked inside without hesitation only to see the room had been encased in darkness, with no fire nor candles lit. He had gone back into the study to find a candle or two he might take with him, had successfully found his quarry, and walked back into the other room—which he soon had realized was a library.
However, it was only when he had lit a few more candles all about the room that he had seen the dark shape on the floor.
Now, standing there in the room alone, Joseph felt his heart quickening wit
h a sudden surge of anxiety. He swallowed hard, finding a candelabra and lighting it. Now with five lit flames, he drew near the dark shape, beginning to bend down toward it—only for a horror-filled exclamation to leave his lips.
“No, no!” he whispered, one hand pressed against his heart as his eyes tried to focus on what he was seeing. “That cannot be! He was with the other guests…” His words trailed off, dying on his lips as he struggled to breathe deeply, knowing that this would calm him, but finding himself quite unable to do so. Just what was he to do?
Steadying himself as best he could, Joseph bent down again and set the candelabra near the body of Lord Paulson. The man’s face was as pale as chalk, his eyes wide and staring, facing towards the door from which Joseph had just entered. It was as though his last breaths had been taken as he had watched the person who had killed him walk out of the room.
It was a horrific thought and one that did nothing to aid Joseph’s frame of mind. He closed his eyes tightly, able to suddenly smell the blood that he had spotted pooling from Lord Paulson’s fallen body. The stench became too much to bear, his stomach roiling, and unable to remain where he was, Joseph threw himself to his feet and staggered towards the door.
It flew backwards, hitting the wall hard. He leaned hard against it, one hand holding tightly to the door handle as he swallowed gulps of air, trying to work out what it was he was meant to do next.
It was then that he noticed Miss Whitaker. She was staring at him with wide eyes, one hand pressed against her heart and her face ashen.
And then, she was beside him, her hand pressed against his chest and her eyes searching his face. He could barely look at her, his breath shaking in and out of him as he heard her speak but could not comprehend what she said.
A gasp ripped from Miss Whitaker’s lips as she looked past him into the room, seeing the candelabra light spreading out towards Lord Paulson. She looked up at him, taking a few steps back and letting her hand drop from his chest.
“What did you do?” she whispered, her hand shaking as she pressed it against her lips, her light blue eyes flared with horror. “What did you do, Lord Ancrum?”
“I—I did not do this,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse. “I swear to you that I did nothing, Miss Whitaker.”
Miss Whitaker shook her head and stumbled back, her hand dropping to her side as she moved away from him. He wanted to call out to her, wanted to say that she was mistaken to think that he had anything to do with Lord Paulson’s death, but nothing came from his mouth other than a strangled exhalation. Realizing that his hand was still gripping the door handle tightly, he closed his eyes and forced himself to take in a long breath, letting it go carefully and trying to stand without support. Miss Whitaker continued to back away until she stood at the door to the drawing room, poised to go inside.
“No, Miss Whitaker! Wait, if you please!” His legs were shaking, but he managed to move forward, the door to Lord Paulson’s library swinging closed behind him. “If you alert the guests, then pandemonium will follow.”
Miss Whitaker closed her eyes tightly, one hand pointing out towards him, her whole body shaking. “You…”
His measure of strength was recovering itself quickly now that the shock was beginning to wear off. Now what filled him was the urgency to contain what he had seen so that the guests would not begin to spread the news all across London. With that came the realization that if Miss Whitaker believed him to be the man responsible for the death of Lord Paulson, then it might soon be that the entirety of London society would believe him a murderer. There had to be a way to contain this matter whilst discovering the truth about who had done such a terrible thing.
“I did not kill Lord Paulson,” he said, as firmly as he could. “I was merely in the library for…” He stopped, giving a quick shake of his head, aware that should he confess to the particulars of what he had been doing, then most likely Miss Whitaker would think him all the more guilty. “I came for a brief moment of respite and discovered him here.”
Miss Whitaker had gone a shade of grey that worried Joseph, fearing that she might collapse.
“Come, Miss Whitaker, I must have you—”
“Do not come near me, Lord Ancrum!” She pulled her arm away from him, slamming it hard into the door and letting out a cry of pain. Joseph made to go near her again, only for the door behind her to open suddenly and Lady Templeton to be seen framed in the doorway.
A hush seemed to come over the entire house. There was no music, no singing, laughter, nor conversation, and the tension seemed to heighten all the more.
“Lady Templeton,” Joseph croaked, seeing the flash in Lady Templeton’s eyes. “I just came across your daughter when—”
“If this is what you meant when you said you should make your own decisions and behave as you choose, Lydia, then I must say I am more than disappointed with you.” Lady Templeton’s voice filled the hallway, bouncing off the walls and making Joseph cringe with mortification. “I must say that I—”
Joseph could not bear to see Miss Whitaker so shamed in front of not only her mother but the other assembled guests within the drawing room who, of course, would be listening to every word that came from her mouth. He knew that this was not at all what he had intended, knew full well that Miss Whitaker might refuse to go along with what he was about to do and instead choose to reveal him as the murderer of Lord Paulson even though he was not, but it was the only option left to him.
“I was, at this very moment, offering your daughter my hand in marriage,” he said loudly, cutting Lady Templeton off entirely. “She has not yet given me her answer but I must hope that she will accept me.” Excited murmurings made their way from behind Lady Templeton towards both himself and Miss Whitaker, revealing that the guests of Lord Paulson were, in fact, listening to everything that was being said. He saw Lady Templeton jerk back in surprise, her eyes narrowing and her expression becoming grim. She had obviously wanted to shame her daughter, perhaps in the hope that she would return to the shadowy wallflower that Miss Whitaker was trying so hard to escape from, but Joseph’s sudden interruption had brought an end to all that.
Joseph turned his gaze back to Miss Whitaker, seeing her as ashen as she had been before. She was blinking rapidly, her eyes filled with tears and her hands clenching tightly together as she held them in front of her. Joseph looked deeply into her eyes, his heart thundering furiously as he waited for her response. If she refused him, then she would ruin herself with scandal, although it could be somewhat relieved if she revealed what it was she had seen and placed the blame solely on his shoulders. However, if she accepted him, then he had the hope that she might be able to consider him in a different light. She might be able to trust that, whilst he had faults, he was not the sort to kill a man. Their engagement could easily be brought to a quiet end when the time was right, such as when another scandal eclipsed all else and could hide the ending of their betrothal. His eyes fastened to hers, silently begging her to believe that he was not the killer of Lord Paulson and that, should she give him the chance, he would discover the truth of the matter.
Miss Whitaker closed her eyes and a single tear slipped down her cheek.
“Lydia?”
Lady Templeton’s voice was high and tight, her gaze sliding towards her daughter as she held her head lifted.
“You have not answered Lord Ancrum as yet, I believe,” Lady Templeton continued, her irritation becoming apparent. “Do decide so that we might all return to our business. The performance is not yet at a close.”
“I hardly think performers are of more importance than your daughter’s decision about her future,” Joseph found himself saying, yet again seeing the evidence of how poorly Miss Whitaker was treated by her parents. “For myself, I shall wait for as long as it takes Miss Whitaker to make her decision and I shall not hold anything against her if she refuses me.” He saw Lady Templeton’s eyes narrow all the more but, ignoring her, looked back at Miss Whitaker, who had pressed her cl
asped hands to her mouth, her eyes bright with tears as she looked back at him. Joseph felt the weight of this very moment sinking down upon him, pushing him into the floor. He could not blame Miss Whitaker if she chose to refuse him. She would have every right to step away from this incident and from him. He had not managed to gain her trust as yet.
“I… I…” Miss Whitaker closed her eyes again and let out a shaking breath. “Thank you, Lord Ancrum,” she said, her voice tremulous. “I should be glad to accept you.”
Joseph felt such relief that he practically sank to his knees, stumbling just a little as he took a few steps closer to Miss Whitaker, although he dared not touch her. “I am truly grateful, Miss Whitaker,” he said, realizing that he, too, was still shaking. “Thank you.” He could say nothing else. “Thank you.”
Lady Templeton sniffed in evident disinterest. “Well, if you are both satisfied, perhaps the three of us might attend the rest of the performance.” She turned about and walked into the drawing room, leaving both Joseph and Miss Whitaker standing together. There was no time to say more, no time to explain, for they were expected inside at once.
“Lean on me, Miss Whitaker,” he whispered, seeing her shake her head fervently. “You must. We must make the appearance of contentedness until there is a chance to explain.”
Miss Whitaker swallowed hard, looked as though she would refuse, only to grasp his arm so tightly that it was a touch painful. “What of the… Lord Paulson?” she asked, as he pushed the door open.
“I shall deal with the matter,” Joseph replied, even though he had very little idea as to what he was going to do. “And tomorrow, we shall speak of it all. Might you be strong enough until then?”
