A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder

by Dianne Freeman

  Her brow furrowed. “I have heard that. Can she hear at all? Should I raise my voice?”

  “I believe she can hear a bit, and she’s quite good at reading lips, but you shouldn’t expect a long conversation with her.”

  Hetty’s disappointment faded when we entered the house and she took in the grandeur of the hall. It was an impressive sight, with the gilding, the paintings on the walls and ceiling of the first duke’s battles, not to mention the murals completely surrounding the staircase.

  We crossed the gray-and-white marble floor to greet our hostess and her guest of honor. I always found Alexandra to be the perfect image of a princess. Her height, bearing, and calm demeanor quietly commanded attention, while her eyes and smile spoke of kindness. She bestowed one of those smiles on me as I introduced Aunt Hetty. After a few pleasantries, we moved on to Sophie, Countess de Torby, who was under siege by a talkative guest. She made a helpless gesture but appeared to need no rescue, so Hetty and I stepped past her and into the saloon, where there were yet more battle scenes and a few ladies who had drifted in from the hall. We’d all await the princess’s signal before entering the dining room.

  We were just looking for a seat when Fiona slipped around a potted palm and touched my shoulder. “We need to talk,” she whispered, her expression unusually serious.

  Hetty waved us off. “Go on, then. You needn’t worry about me. I see plenty of my acquaintances here.”

  Fiona gave me no chance to demur. She linked her arm with mine and led me back to the hall, smiling and nodding as we passed a cluster of chatting ladies, and around the corner to a deserted area near the staircase, where she rounded on me. Her eyes looked positively frantic.

  “Fiona, what’s wrong?”

  Her brows inched even higher. “That’s exactly what I want to know. What is wrong with you and my brother, and what is this ridiculous story of a prior marriage?”

  A jolt ran from my neck to my toes, as if every inch of me were electrified. “How did you find out?” I whispered.

  Fiona gulped air into her lungs like a woman drowning. “Do you mean it’s true?”

  “Of course not. How can you even ask? As you said, it’s nothing more than a ridiculous story, but what exactly did you hear, and from whom?” Fiona was always in possession of the latest gossip, but it shocked me to think Miss Teskey’s claims had already become gossip.

  “Jonesy, my maid, told me.”

  “Your maid? Where did she hear it?”

  “Jonesy has a brother with the Metropolitan Police. He told her of a woman who had been arrested and was about to be locked up until she claimed to be the wife of George Hazelton. At first, he thought nothing of it—people make absurd claims all the time in the hope of avoiding arrest—but the inspector actually took the woman to Hazelton for confirmation. When he returned alone, Jonesy’s brother assumed the woman’s claim was true.”

  I stretched a hand to the banister to steady myself. “A police officer telling this tale to his sister is one thing, but I wonder how much farther the story has circulated.”

  “Difficult to say. He told Jonesy because he knows George is my brother. For that very reason, she threatened him with dire consequences if he ever breathed a word of it to anyone else.” She shrugged. “Thus, it depends on how much this man fears the wrath of his sister.”

  “That’s not very comforting.”

  “I fully appreciate that. I’m sure he wasn’t the only one to overhear the woman’s claim, either.”

  And the more people who heard it, the faster this would spread. I was beginning to rue the day I ever met Miss Teskey—or, more to the point, the day George met her.

  Fiona pulled my hand away from the banister, forcing me to stand up straight. “Since I’ve already heard the rumor, why don’t you tell me the facts? Perhaps I can help.”

  It took a good ten minutes to relay the details of the previous day and this morning. I paced the confined area while Fiona listened in stunned silence until I had covered everything, from Miss Teskey’s arrival at my house to Bradmore’s revelation that he was her husband.

  Her expression brightened. “Then this is no more than the ravings of a madwoman.”

  That sounded a bit extreme now that I knew Miss Teskey better. “Perhaps more the ravings of a confused woman.”

  “Anyone who could confuse those two men must be mad.” She gave my arm a comforting squeeze. “Should this rumor slip out to the public, that’s how we must rebuff it. You can depend on me to do just that.”

  “Thank you, Fi. I still have hope it won’t be necessary, but it’s reassuring to know I can count on your help in squelching any future gossip.”

  “Piffle. I adore you, and my brother, and I refuse to let anyone ruin your happiness.” She held up a finger and, leaning back, glanced around the wall. “I thought it was too quiet in there,” she said. “They’ve already gone into the dining room.”

  We scurried across the hall and sagged with relief when we saw everyone was still finding their seats. It would have been a horrible breach of etiquette to arrive once the meal had begun. I pushed thoughts of Miss Teskey from my mind and prepared myself for the usual conversation about Princess Alexandra’s various and many charities. If one weren’t paying rapt attention, one could find oneself in charge of a committee or handing over a large bank draft. My worries about gossip would have to wait.

  * * *

  Lunch was lavish and long, and if that wasn’t enough, tea was set up in the saloon, where I noticed Aunt Hetty at a table, in conversation with the princess. I found myself in the company of our guest of honor, the former Sophie of Merenberg and now the Countess de Torby, an interesting woman. She and Grand Duke Michael Mikhailovich had married almost a decade ago. Unfortunately, he had neglected to ask his cousin, the czar’s permission, and that had set off a minor disaster in the Romanov family. He had been stripped of his military rank and had been banished from Russia. He hadn’t even been allowed to return for his own mother’s funeral. Some said her death had been brought on by the announcement of his marriage, but I’ve often observed that people who make such cruel remarks rarely have proof to back them up. Obviously, he had been removed from the line of succession, and Sophie would never have the title grand duchess.

  Fortunately for the couple, the czar was not angry enough to cut off the grand duke’s income from the estates he could no longer visit or from his factory. They were understandably insulted, perhaps bereft to be parted from his family, but they lived a happy life. They spent summers in Germany and departed for Cannes every winter, where Sophie was one of the brightest lights of society. They had three healthy children, and Sophie’s uncle had bestowed upon her the title Countess de Torby.

  I hardly thought they’d be happier freezing in Saint Petersburg and living under royal protocol, but who was I to say?

  The countess herself was lovely. Her no-nonsense features—high cheekbones with just the slightest curve to the cheek, straight nose, and brows—were transformed to beauty by the softness in her blue eyes and the cloud of brown waves surrounding her face. She turned that softness on me just as the elderly woman beside me excused herself, allowing Sophie the seat next to mine.

  “We spoke earlier, did we not?” she asked. “When Her Royal Highness made the introductions?”

  “Indeed, we did,” I replied, though indeed we had not. I had hoped for the chance to speak with the countess, and her ploy had saved me the task of finding someone of higher rank to introduce us. We were both countesses, but her husband was a grand duke. Still, hers was a foreign title, so I might have outranked her, but who knew for certain? The pretense that we’d already spoken meant we could dispense with the formality.

  She took a surreptitious glance around the immediate area. We were seated on a curved velvet settee, which backed up to its twin, currently occupied by the princess, Aunt Hetty, and an older matron. “Have you seen the Indian Room?” Sophie asked.

  “Why, no. I haven’t.” My a
nswer was true, but I would have said the same had I seen the room hundreds of times, as it was clear the countess wanted to speak with me privately. “Perhaps you’d care to show it to me?”

  She came to her feet with alacrity. “Of course. I’m sure you will find it most delightful.”

  I allowed her to lead me along the perimeter of the saloon and into another room, which did have an Eastern décor, though the chairs had a more modern and comfortable look to them. My shoes were beginning to pinch, and I looked to the chairs with longing, but she looped her arm through mine, and we wandered through the room instead.

  “I understand you are hosting a relative of my husband at your home.”

  “Yes, I am. Are the two of you acquainted?” It would be extraordinary among the aristocracy for legitimate family members to be on friendly terms with illegitimate members, but one never knew with the Romanovs—or any royalty, for that matter.

  “Not at all. My husband met her long ago, and since she is Alexei’s child, I know of her.” She led me toward a large window overlooking the courtyard. “Apparently, she was raised as a hoyden. Did you hear what she did?”

  We paused when we arrived at the window, and acted as if we were enjoying the view. “Are you referring to the rock-throwing episode?”

  She released a mirthless laugh. “Yes. At least she lives up to her heritage. The Romanovs are all barbarians.” Her gaze narrowed in assessment—of my discretion, perhaps? “With some exceptions, of course.”

  “Of course.” I readily conceded the point. Her husband was a Romanov, after all. “I formed the impression Miss Teskey had little supervision in her youth and was largely left at liberty. Now that she has gained her majority, she is very much on her own. I’m not sure she’s so much hoydenish as untutored.”

  “Hers is an unfortunate situation, but in this case, I’d have to say Alexei has done his best for her.” She leaned in, as if sharing a confidence. “It would have been better for all if he’d left the girl’s mother alone in the first place, but it’s absurd the husband didn’t simply claim the child as his.”

  “I understand the mother died in childbirth.” Unless one chose to believe Miss Teskey’s story of murder. I set that thought aside. “Perhaps the husband couldn’t afford to house and feed another child, especially one he hadn’t fathered.”

  Sophie drew back and gazed at me in surprise. “Perhaps if this were some middle-class family, but my understanding is that was not the case. These were British aristocrats.”

  A fine pedigree didn’t always come with wealth, but I didn’t correct her. “Do you know her mother?”

  “No. Alexei keeps that information very much to himself. But he referred to the husband as an aristocrat, which is why he kept their identities quiet. Now tell me, wouldn’t a typical British lord simply accept the child as his own?”

  “As long as he already had an heir, then, yes, that would be the normal course of action. I suppose that is the whole point of men having affairs with married women. But British men are positively fastidious when it comes to making sure their heir is really theirs.”

  “And in Britain, they are also particular that their heirs be male, so that hardly applies in this case.” She waved a hand, as if it were a minor detail she didn’t think worth discussing. Quite honestly, it astonished me that we were having this conversation at all. What was she getting at?

  “No matter. I think the husband put Alexei to a great deal of trouble all these years and denied the girl a real home.” She let out a little tsk. “The prince tells us she has made some trouble for you and your fiancé.”

  I nearly choked. Some trouble? Yes, one might say that. The countess waited for my reply. “She was under the mistaken impression that Mr. Hazelton was her husband. We have since made her aware of her error.”

  “Thank goodness for that. And just what did she wish so desperately to speak with Michael about yesterday?”

  “She says she’s received threats to her life. She sought her cousin’s protection, but the prince has asked my fiancé to investigate claims.” I gave her a sharp look. “Of course, if your husband wishes to speak with her, we can make the arrangements.”

  She waved a hand. “No, no. I’m sure he’s more than willing to let Mr. Hazelton handle things. The prince says he is very capable.”

  “Of course.” I couldn’t help my disappointment. Her taking me into her confidence had made me think she actually wanted to take some action regarding Miss Teskey. Instead, she had simply wanted a report and seemed content to leave the matter in George’s “capable” hands. Since it was the prince who had arranged George’s involvement, there wasn’t much I could do. I had had quite enough of this conversation and took the first opportunity to excuse myself and find Aunt Hetty. The gathering was beginning to thin, and I was ready to leave.

  * * *

  “I tell you she was positively gleeful to drop everything in George’s lap. All she could say was how inconvenient Miss Teskey was for poor Alexei.”

  Hetty and I had just arrived at home and handed our cloaks to Mrs. Thompson. For the first time since my aunt had arrived in London, I was the first to head to the drinks cabinet. Whiskey would do, I thought. I poured us each a splash before continuing my tirade.

  “And isn’t that just like royalty? Always expecting someone else to handle their problems.” Hetty, seated on the sofa, eagerly relieved me of one of the glasses. She took a sip while I proceeded to pace in front of the tea table. “And how cruel of me to speak of Miss Teskey as a problem. She is, rather, but she’s also a person. A person given over as an infant to strangers to raise and care for as if she were a pet.” I stopped my pacing and glanced belatedly around the drawing room, hoping Miss Teskey wasn’t nearby.

  “I wonder if she’s still in her room.” I rang the bell. Mrs. Thompson would know where she was.

  Hetty glanced at the mantel clock. “We’ve been gone for several hours. Even in her condition, that’s a long time to sleep.”

  Mrs. Thompson opened the door wearing an inquiring gaze.

  “Have you seen Miss Teskey since this morning?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am. She hasn’t left her room, even when the gentleman called for her.”

  “Mr. Bradmore? She refused to see him?”

  “She told me to send him away. That was shortly after you and Mrs. Chesney left for your engagement.”

  I turned to Hetty when Mrs. Thompson had left. “I suppose I should try to speak to her, don’t you think?”

  “She’ll have to face Bradmore sooner or later. He is her husband.”

  I drained my glass, and thus fortified, I headed upstairs to knock on Miss Teskey’s door. There was no answer, but the door was unlocked. I pushed it open and peeked inside, only to find the room empty. Mrs. Thompson must have been mistaken, but where was the woman? I headed downstairs. I knew she wasn’t in the drawing room, and it was unlikely she was in the dining room, so I headed for my library. Perhaps she’d lost herself in a book.

  But that room, too, was empty. I stood near the desk, wondering where I would be if I were Miss Teskey. She’d refused Bradmore an audience when he called, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that she still held George in high esteem. Left alone for the past few hours, she might very well have gone next door to visit with him. I clenched my teeth to suppress my irritation. With Bradmore now in the picture, I’d hoped she’d release her claim on George. Still, Miss Teskey was a stubborn young woman, and in asking for a divorce, Bradmore had not endeared himself to her. Well, I had no intention of leaving her alone with George.

  Since I was already at the back of the house, I could cut through my garden and slip into his through the new gate in our shared wall. I walked around the desk and opened the door to my back garden and immediately wrapped my arms around myself. I’d forgotten how chilly it was out here now that the afternoon was waning and the garden was mostly in shade. It was that shade that made me take a second look at the rosebushes or, more particularly,
the bench next to the rosebushes. Was that shape a person?

  I moved closer. It was a person. In fact, it was Miss Teskey, reclined against the arm of the bench. Heavens, if she’d fallen asleep out here, she must be frozen. I recalled George had said she had a taste for opium. Though I didn’t know where she might obtain it, that was the only reason I could imagine for her sleeping in this chill.

  Leaves crunched under my shoes as I approached her. “Miss Teskey, you must wake up.” When my voice didn’t rouse her, I ignored the sense of dread tickling the back of my neck and touched her arm. I jumped back as her head lolled to the side, revealing angry red marks on her neck—her eyes wide open and sightless.

  Miss Teskey was dead.

  Chapter Seven

  Instinct urged me to action—scream, run for help, check for a heartbeat. Yet my feet had taken root. I blinked away my tears and forced myself to slow my breath. In and out. The marks on her neck suggested she’d been strangled. My hand shaking, I placed my fingers on her neck. Please let there be a pulse.

  No pulse.

  I snatched my hand back and bit down hard on my lip. Control yourself. Somehow, I managed to stumble into George’s garden and tapped on the window of his study. From his desk, he took one look at me and nearly knocked the chair over in his haste to reach the door. I leaned against the house until I heard the crunch of his shoes on the path and felt his hands on my shoulders.

  “My dear Frances. What happened?”

  He looked me over for signs of injury. His hands ran down my arms, then drifted to my waist with the lightest touch to avoid hurting me further. It was too light a touch and landed on a bundle of nerves that had me jumping away with a squeal. Very inappropriate for the occasion. He stared in shock as I slapped his hands away.

  “Stop it, stop it. This is no time to tickle me.”

  “That wasn’t my intention.” He took hold of my arms, examining my face. “Are you all right, then?”

  Indeed, I was. The physical jolt broke me out of my stupor. “There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s Miss Teskey,” I said. “I found her in the back garden.”