He shook his head. “It’s Stoke-Whitney. He’s dead.”
Chapter Twenty-three
We had a great deal of explaining to do once the local authorities arrived, which they did within ten minutes of Stoke-Whitney taking his life. Alicia managed to answer a few questions and confirm her husband had attempted to smother her before she broke down into sobs. By then, the coroner had arrived, and I was allowed to take her away from the grisly scene and its attendant activities. Stoke-Whitney’s room was far too close. The drawing room was exposed to everyone coming and going. I finally took her to the library at the back of the house, where we found a quiet spot, privacy, and a tantalus filled with spirits. After pouring from a decanter of something amber, I joined her on a leather sofa and pressed the glass into her hand.
“This might help with the shock.”
She stared absently into the glass. “I’m not certain I want help with that. Right now, I simply can’t grasp what happened up there. My husband tried to kill me.” She glanced from the glass to me, her eyes wide. “I think I prefer shock for the moment. I’m not ready to come to terms with this—or the lie he lived that led up to all this.”
“You didn’t know about Jane or Irena?”
She looked at me as if I were daft. “Do you honestly think I’d have married him if I’d known he murdered his first wife?”
“I see your point.”
“Arthur and I had more of an arrangement than a marriage. But he held all the power and kept changing the terms. I wasn’t just supposed to be his hostess. I had to help push forward his political policies and support his charities. If I made a mistake or, heaven forbid, embarrassed him, he treated me like a dim-witted child. I always thought I was the bad one, and he was so good.”
She took a healthy swig from her glass and shuddered as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. “I think that’s what has me so bewildered. Regardless of how he treated me, I’d have wagered good money that he really was the virtuous, honorable man he presented to the world.” She turned her confused face to me. “But it was all for show. How did he get away with that?”
I wouldn’t say he got away with anything, considering his present condition, but I knew what she meant. What I wanted to understand was that final exchange between Alicia and her husband. “Were you giving him a signal? Did you know he would take his life if given a chance?” I paused. “And why on earth do you keep a pistol next to your bed?”
“That was Arthur’s idea. He was a public figure, after all, and not always a popular one. I guess I did know one thing about my husband after all these years. He’d rather die than publicly fall from grace.” She shook her head and took another drink. “It seemed to me it was his decision to make, but I regret it now. I’m relieved none of us, not me or the children, will have to go through the circus of a public trial, but part of me still wants the truth to come out.”
“But the truth will come out, not in so public a way, but it must come out.”
Alicia gave me a twisted smile. “You’re clearly not familiar with politics. Just wait and see. His cronies and colleagues in the house will contrive a new story. Money will change hands, and all Arthur’s misdeeds will be buried with him. They’ll remind everyone what a respected member of Parliament he was and garner sympathy to push his morality bill through.”
I stared at her in horror. Could they do this? Could they rewrite the history of Arthur Stoke-Whitney into something good and honorable? Would they practice such a deceit on the public?
“I suppose it’s for the best,” she said. “Still, it seems wrong that nothing will be brought to light.”
I studied her for a moment, wondering, if given a choice, what she’d do. “Something must be brought to light, or Bradmore, Hazelton, and even I may lose our reputations. We must be cleared of Miss Teskey’s murder. I won’t be a casualty of your husband’s lies.”
Alicia slumped against the back of the leather sofa and turned her gaze toward me. “How do you tolerate me? I’d forgotten how Arthur’s misdeeds affected you. What can we do?”
“We tell the story first. And it just so happens, I have a friend in the newspaper business.”
* * *
At some point in the evening, George arrived with Delaney, who consulted with Alicia and tied up loose ends with the local authorities. I stayed the night with Alicia, and together we devised the story for Mr. Mosley’s paper. In our version, Stoke-Whitney fell in love with the actress Irena Teskey. She wanted nothing to do with him, and in a fit of passion, he strangled her. Caught in the grip of remorse and grief, he took his own life a few days later. It was a paltry tale, but no one seemed to notice. The actors from the Hanover Theater gave it credence by recalling they’d seen Stoke-Whitney backstage. Whether they really had, we’d never know.
Nothing was mentioned about Jane Stoke-Whitney or her relation to Irena, though Michael did finally receive a cable from Alexei confirming Jane was Irena’s mother.
Nor did we reveal Stoke-Whitney’s attempt to murder Alicia. I’m sure it’s something the village magistrate wouldn’t soon forget, but he was instructed not to breathe a word. Alicia planned to leave for the Continent with her daughter immediately after the funeral. Perhaps they’d return once the scandal died down.
The story had the benefit of putting a chink in Stoke-Whitney’s falsely gilded reputation without bringing the truth of Irena’s parentage to light, something Alexei was still dead set against. It also cleared both Bradmore and George. And as there was no longer any scandal attached to George, I was no longer guilty by association. The timing could not have been more perfect, as my mother and Rose returned the day after the story ran in the Observer, which was also a mere two days before our engagement party. Those who had sent their regrets earlier in the week suddenly found their schedules cleared and were able to attend, after all.
What a surprise.
However, allowing them to attend the party did not mean I had to forgive or forget. As I watched our guests dancing across the ballroom floor at Robert and Fiona’s home, I felt my resentment dissolve. George and I had opened the dancing, and now I stood beside him on the perimeter of the dance floor. Strains of a waltz flowed around us as dancers streamed past, including Aunt Hetty and Gilliam. I took George’s hand and leaned into his side. This was one of the few times it was acceptable to show affection in public, and I aimed to take full advantage of that.
He smiled down at me. “Do you have any idea what a wonder you are?”
“I haven’t the foggiest. You’ll have to tell me.”
With a laugh, he obliged. “Not only were you instrumental in solving Irena’s murder, but you also caught the culprit and saved a woman’s life.”
“Oh, that. I thought you were marveling at how I brought society to heel.” I waved my hand at the dance floor, filled with glittering aristocrats.
“Quite an accomplishment. I might be intimidated by you if I weren’t secure in the fact that you love me beyond all measure.”
The image of bliss on his face had me chuckling. “Do I?”
“You must. A woman from my past shows up, claiming to be my wife. I saddle you with that woman, nearly ruin your reputation, and get you banned from polite society, and not only do you take it all in stride, but you also forgive me.”
I held up a finger. “Only if it never happens again. Once, I can tolerate, but you cannot make a habit of this.”
George promised and stepped away, in search of champagne, which might have been nothing more than an excuse, as my mother was headed our way, looking surprisingly pleased for once.
“I believe this party is an unqualified success,” she said when she reached my side. “How fortunate that silly gossip about Hazelton died down. I worried it might keep some people away, but this is quite the crush.”
“It was an absurd story. No one should ever have given it any credence.” I raised a brow. “You never believed it, did you?”
Her cheeks reddened. “Well, p
erhaps. For just a moment, you understand.” She raised her chin a notch. “It doesn’t hurt to be suspicious.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
“After all, you wouldn’t be the first woman to fall under the spell of a handsome rascal.”
I smiled. “So, you think George handsome, do you?”
She raised her brows.
“But a rascal?” I let out a tsk.
“I haven’t completely formed my opinion of him yet, but I intend to stay nearby. In the event he does exhibit rascally tendencies, I’ll be on hand to nip them in the bud.”
I heard only one word of that statement, and my playful mood dissolved rapidly. “Nearby?”
“In your house, dear, or should I say Hetty’s? She does take ownership at the end of the month, I believe. I’m sure she won’t mind if I stay on for a bit.”
Good heavens, how long was a bit?
“And I do so enjoy spending time with Rose. Your sister will be back in town soon, and of course, I love being near you.”
“And we love having you, but won’t Father expect you back in New York soon?”
She made a dismissive gesture. “He certainly doesn’t expect me to leave before your wedding. A few more months won’t hurt.”
A few more months? She expected to stay with me for a few more months? Where was George with that champagne?
“Now that we’ve had the engagement party, we simply must start planning your wedding. I have so many ideas. Of course, it must be an elaborate affair, something appropriate to your status.” She placed a hand on my arm. “I’ve spoken to your brother-in-law, by the way. Do you know he told me you don’t have to give up your title? You can remain, Frances, Countess of Harleigh, even after you marry Hazelton. I think that would help with Rose’s prospects once she starts thinking of marriage, don’t you?”
I flicked open my fan and applied it to cool my face. Rose was eight. Just how long was my mother planning to stay?
“We could have arrangements in place by spring, don’t you think?”
Somehow, I’d lost the thread of our conversation. “Arrangements?”
“For your wedding. What do you think of spring?”
I thought of living with my mother’s “arranging” for another four months or so and made a quick decision. Hopefully, George would forgive me. “I’m afraid there won’t be time for an elaborate wedding, Mother. We plan to marry much sooner than that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Indeed? How soon?”
“Almost immediately. Sooner will be better, don’t you think? You and Hetty will have more room in the house, and Rose and I will be just next door.” I felt better as soon as I spoke the words. I loved having my mother in my life, but having her in my house would certainly try my patience. A speedy wedding would bring everything back into balance. I’d be married to George. That was a plus. I’d also gain some distance from my mother. Plus, plus. And . . .
Well, perhaps this particular equation didn’t have a negative.
Author’s Note
This novel is a work of fiction, not of biography or history. The thoughts, words, and motivations of the “real” people in this book are as much a product of the author’s imagination as those of the fictional characters are.
Some of the events mentioned in this work did happen but not necessarily in this time frame. Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich took an extensive tour the United States, but it was in the 1870s not 1899. The actress Fanny Moody played Tatiana in Eugene Onegin, but not in 1899. However, Grand Duke Michael Mikhailovich and Sophie, Countess de Torby did visit London in November of 1899. That visit was the inspiration for this story.
Acknowledgments
A special thanks to all you readers who have enjoyed the Countess of Harleigh mysteries and to the librarians and booksellers who have championed the series.
While writers write alone, there are many people who help bring a book to life. Thanks go to my fellow historical fiction writers and beta readers, Heather Redmond and Clarissa Harwood for their considered comments and suggestions. And to my critique partner, Mary Keliikoa, who shares all my writerly ups and downs. To the many people at Kensington Books who play a role in the final product and its success, particularly Robin Cook, Rosemary Silva, and Larissa Ackerman.
Writing is a joy for me and I will always be grateful to my agent, Melissa Edwards and my editor, John Scognamiglio for taking a chance on me. And to my family and friends for all your love and support especially my husband, Dan, who I love even more than writing.
A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder Page 27
