The Devereaux Affair: Ladies of the Order - Book 1

by Clee, Adele

  Had anyone else asked, Bennet would have refused. But Julianna had lived at Witherdeen for a year. During that time, she had witnessed his father’s vile temper, had seen the violent outbursts, knew he had a grandiose sense of self-importance and blamed everyone else for his failings.

  “I shall make them available to you when you arrive at Witherdeen but must insist you discuss the contents with no one but me.”

  “Of course.”

  She continued writing in her notebook, and Bennet couldn’t help but wonder what impression he had made. Was the vision before her a terrible disappointment? Had she thought about him often during the last seventeen years? Or, like Giselle de Lacy, was Julianna oblivious to the devastation caused by her departure? Had she made a new friend, found Bennet’s replacement?

  “What of you, Devereaux?” Daventry’s voice pulled Bennet from his reverie. “Was there not an incident with Mr Mullholland some months ago?”

  Bennet gritted his teeth. Mullholland was the youngest son of a viscount, but had the arrogance of an eldest son. The man made his money breeding thoroughbreds and betting on the Turf.

  “Mullholland called me out over an issue of race fixing when my horse beat his at Cleeve Hill, Cheltenham. We settled the matter there and then, choosing a bare-knuckle brawl in the stables, where my timely uppercut to his jaw put him out for two minutes.”

  “Mr Mullholland has every reason to despise you,” Julianna stated.

  “Yes, he lost a substantial sum that day.”

  “And was the race fixed?”

  Daventry’s sharp inhalation reflected Bennet’s shock. Ladies rarely questioned a gentleman’s honour, not openly at any rate.

  Sensing the sudden shift in mood, she added, “Honest men may find themselves victims of blackmail or duped by a corrupt jockey. Men are made and broken at the racecourse, my lord. The question has no bearing on your character. I merely ask if Mr Mullholland had good reason to assume he’d been cheated.”

  “Mullholland’s colt beat mine by a furlong in a race two days earlier. My horse won on the day, at greatly raised odds. Accusations were made against me and my jockey, but the Club ruled in our favour and could find no evidence of race fixing.”

  “Having lost a significant sum, Mr Mullholland must be bitter.”

  “One would imagine so.”

  Silence ensued, though her constant pencil scratching grated.

  She studied her notes, absently tapping her lips with the tip of the writing implement. Bennet might have told her it was an unladylike habit, but he welcomed the opportunity to stare at her mouth.

  “My lord, does anyone else have a grudge against you?”

  Only you, he thought.

  Did she blame him for breaking his promise?

  “Not that I am aware.”

  She took to rubbing her finger over her lips as she thought. “Assuming Mr Daventry agrees, might I come to Witherdeen tomorrow? I would like to observe the staff and examine your father’s journals. I would prefer to have a clear picture before investigating Mr Mullholland and making friends with your mistress.”

  Bennet’s heart raced. “You need to befriend Isabella?”

  “If I am to find the culprit without discussing the threats made, I will need to work covertly. Trust me. Those with a motive will reveal themselves.”

  Bennet stared. It should come as no surprise that a courtesan’s daughter possessed such a calculating mind. Giselle de Lacy’s greatest skill had been manipulation. And yet, he refused to believe Julianna had inherited her mother’s wicked traits.

  “While you’re at Witherdeen, I shall make enquiries into Mr Mullholland’s background,” Daventry said. He leant forward, gathered the handbills, slipped them into the leather portfolio and handed it to Julianna. “And I shall take tea with Lady Perthshore. She is always abreast of the latest gossip and may know if anyone else has a gripe with you, Devereaux.”

  Lady Perthshore often invented tales. No doubt Daventry was skilled enough to distinguish between lies and truths.

  “Then I shall return to Witherdeen and await Mrs Eden’s arrival.”

  The memory of him standing on the gravel drive as a ten-year-old boy flashed into his mind. For an hour, he’d waited in the rain, his sodden nightshirt clinging to his shivering body, praying Giselle de Lacy would have a sudden change of heart. That Julianna would come back to him, back where she belonged.

  “Excellent.” Daventry focused his attention on Julianna. “I shall ensure Bower is fully briefed and will expect your return within the week.”

  “I cannot imagine being at Witherdeen for more than two days,” she said in the indifferent manner of a Bow Street constable. “But will send word if I’m delayed.”

  Two days wasn’t enough.

  Enough for what?

  Enough for him to plead for forgiveness?

  Enough for him to pretend they might still be friends?

  She rose from the chair. “If you will excuse me, I have much to do if I’m to leave for Hampshire in the morning.” She looked at Bennet, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. “Until tomorrow, my lord.”

  “Until tomorrow.” He couldn’t bring himself to say Mrs Eden.

  Bennet watched her as she spoke to Daventry, continued watching her until she left the room. The old feelings surfaced. The flutter of panic that he might never see her again. The ache in his chest at the thought of losing his one true friend. Feelings he had buried long ago. Feelings stamped down by the weight of responsibility, the pressures of his position.

  Daventry crossed the room. He glanced into the hall before closing the door and returning to stand with Bennet. “Beneath Mrs Eden’s confident facade lies a fragile woman who has endured many hardships. I trust you know how her mother died.”

  Of course he knew. “Of a laudanum overdose.”

  Lord Denver’s son had told him one night at White’s. Giselle de Lacy had lived like a pauper, selling herself like a backstreet whore. Bennet had asked about Julianna, and the fop had shrugged.

  Such women are meant to be used and discarded.

  Denver had echoed the sentiment shared by most men. It had taken immense effort for Bennet to keep his fists at his sides and not pummel the living daylights out of the cad.

  “They say her body was so emaciated she was like a bag of bones.”

  “Giselle was sick long before she became addicted to laudanum,” Daventry said with some vehemence. “When she exhausted her funds, she sold Julianna de Lacy to the highest bidder.”

  “Sold her!” Bennet covered his mouth with his hand as his stomach roiled. He should have tried to find her. But what could a ten-year-old boy do?

  “Thankfully, Mr Eden treated her well enough, or so she tells me.” Daventry suddenly gripped Bennet’s shoulder. “It’s obvious she meant something to you once. Her work for the Order is a way to earn an honest income and improve her prospects. I trust you will bear that in mind when she visits Witherdeen.”

  Bennet shrugged out of Daventry’s grasp, annoyed at the man’s hypocrisy. “You fear for her safety, yet place her in precarious situations. There are better ways to earn a living than chasing criminals.”

  In a half-mocking tone, Daventry said, “Do not mistake me for a fool, Devereaux. I knew of your history with Mrs Eden before you arrived today. Just as I knew you had a penchant for women with red hair. The last hour has been about helping Mrs Eden settle into her new role. Why do you think I chose her to help with your dilemma?”

  “Because she’s the obvious candidate given her background.”

  “And because you’re intelligent enough to solve this matter yourself, were you so inclined. I suspect you will work with her to find the culprit, and that means I’ll sleep easier at night.” Daventry’s hair might be as black as Satan’s soul, but his heart brimmed with compassion. “It’s unfortunate she bears an uncanny likeness to her mother, though that’s where the similarity ends.”

  “Julianna is nothing like her mother,�
�� Bennet echoed.

  “People would disagree. I found her sobbing on the steps of the Servants’ Registry. The wife of her last employer recognised her and threw her out. No one wants Giselle de Lacy’s daughter playing governess to the ton’s little lords and ladies. The wife complained, and they barred Mrs Eden from the Registry.”

  The sad story caused a tightening in Bennet’s chest. How many times had Julianna been the object of people’s disdain? “I would offer her a position at Witherdeen if I thought she might accept.”

  “A position as what? Housekeeper? Mistress? Governess to your children when you marry? I’m sure your prospective wife would have something to say on the matter.”

  Bennet threw his hands up. “Then what the hell do you want from me?”

  “Help her solve the case. Help rebuild her confidence. Put her needs before your own. Perhaps be the friend you once were.”

  He wanted nothing more than to rekindle their friendship, to dance with her in the great hall, picnic in the ruins, talk as they used to all those years ago. Helping her would ease the guilt he felt for not caring enough about her welfare.

  “I will assist in any way I can, though she seems determined to keep me at bay. I’m not the sweet boy she remembers.” No, the years had hardened him, made him cynical. “One imagines she’s developed a distrust for all men.”

  “People have abused her trust so many times over the years I doubt she will have faith in anyone again.”

  “Is mistrust not an advantage in your line of work?”

  “It’s a strength when investigating cases, a weakness when it comes to Mrs Eden finding true happiness.”

  Bennet considered the powerful man standing before him. Perhaps Lucius Daventry was a mender of broken hearts, not just the master of a band of ruthless enquiry agents.

  “It won’t be easy,” Daventry added.

  “What? Finding the devil responsible? Mrs Eden seems to think she’ll have the matter concluded within the week.” Though how she would get the culprit to confess was anyone’s guess.

  “No, being friends with a woman you’d like to bed. One only need look at your mistresses to know you’re attracted to Mrs Eden.”

  Bennet inhaled sharply. He might have closed his eyes to shake the thought, but knew his mind would conjure an image of them writhing passionately in bed. The innocent love of a child had quickly become the lustful urges of a man.

  “I made a promise seventeen years ago, a vow I failed to fulfil. I said I would find her when I came of age.” At the time, he’d meant every word. “But—”

  “The months stretched to years, and it’s easier to dismiss a pledge given when one is too young to know better.”

  It was a reasonable excuse but did nothing to ease Bennet’s conscience. “I shall do what I should have done years ago. Befriend Mrs Eden in the hope of rescuing her from her tragic past.”

  Daventry arched a brow. “You mean to restore her faith in humanity?”

  “I mean to show her I’m the one man she can trust.”

  Chapter 3

  Many times over the years, Julianna had imagined herself astride Bennet’s horse, his arms wrapped around her as he nudged the mount along the winding drive back to Witherdeen. She had been but a guest in the sprawling mansion, yet everything about the place carried the comfort of home.

  It wasn’t memories of bricks and mortar that left her heart glowing, but memories of happy times spent with Bennet. The picnics by the lake. Slipping off the rope swing and plunging headfirst into the water. Them running away and hiding amid the abbey ruins, pretending it was their home. A sanctuary away from the constant bickering. A delightful fantasy that fed their minds and nurtured their souls.

  But dreams were figments of the imagination, stories constructed to chase away the darkness and banish despair. The cold, hard reality was that Julianna had never belonged at Witherdeen. Bennet Devereaux was no longer her beloved friend but a grown man of wealth and title. Were it not for Mr Daventry’s benevolence, Julianna would be slaving to the bone at Bethnal Green workhouse, where the only visitors were the anatomists queuing to claim the dead.

  The differences between them were stark amid the light of day.

  They had always been worlds apart.

  Somehow she had to find the strength to live alongside him for the next two days. But she would work from the cottage, only venture to the house when necessary. There was no need to spend any length of time in his company.

  Besides, had Bennet Devereaux not inherited his father’s attitude for casual affairs? Did that not give her every reason to despise him the way she did most men?

  Still, her newfound fortitude did not stop her heart lurching the moment she passed through Witherdeen’s wrought-iron carriage gates. Nor did it stop tears springing to her eyes or destroy the memory of Bennet standing cold and wet in the rain.

  Promise you’ll return if you can.

  When she made the vow, she never dreamed she would return as an enquiry agent, one trying to establish who wanted to murder the master. She’d never expected to see Bennet again.

  But fate had intervened.

  She caught sight of the ruined Augustinian abbey to the west of the house. The grey gothic transepts soared high above the barren winter landscape. The vast arched window no longer held the intricate pieces of painted glass—the religious depictions designed to uplift and inspire. It stood empty, neglected, the soul ripped out to leave but a stone shell. The grimness of the January morning provided the perfect backdrop, for Julianna could not help but draw parallels between her mother’s tragic life and the splendid structure that had suffered a swift demise.

  And then Witherdeen Hall came into view—a majestic building built by Bennet’s great-grandfather—with its sweeping stone staircase and huge loggia supported by impressive Tuscan columns.

  Julianna swallowed deeply.

  It was as if she were a girl again, terrified the new lord would banish her to a cold corner of the sprawling mansion. Still, it was the thought that Bennet might be overly welcoming that left her most afraid.

  She instructed Mr Bower to navigate the cobbled stable yard and deposit her at the mansion’s rear entrance. The staff used the entrance to access the garden and to greet tradesmen and merchants delivering their wares. It would do her well to remember she was employed to perform a service, not befriend the marquess.

  Mr Bower drew the carriage to a halt. Before he’d climbed down from the box seat, Julianna had opened the door and jumped to the ground.

  “Eager to get started, Mrs Eden?”

  The man smiled. Yet it was the scar cutting through his brow that captured her attention. With his dark hair and muscular physique, he resembled Mr Daventry and often acted as a decoy during investigations.

  “I’ve but two days to conclude my business, Mr Bower.”

  It was nowhere near enough time.

  “Then tell me what I can do to help.”

  Julianna kept her voice low. “I believe Mr Keenan is still in charge of the coach house and stables. Find out what you can about the mood of those who work here, but don’t rouse his suspicions. Come to the cottage tonight, and we can discuss all you’ve learnt.”

  Mr Bower nodded and would have replied were it not for the sudden arrival of the housekeeper, Mrs Hendrie, who appeared at the service door somewhat breathless. Her ebony hair might be streaked silver now, the crinkles around her eyes more prominent, her slight frame more fragile, but her smile was just as endearing.

  “Miss Julianna!” Mrs Hendrie abandoned all etiquette. She hurried forward and captured Julianna’s hands. “My, how you’ve grown.” She glanced at Mr Daventry’s elegant coach, at Julianna’s new green velvet pelisse, at the dratted red curls escaping her poke bonnet. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you looking so happy and healthy.”

  Like the walls of Witherdeen, Mrs Hendrie knew all the family’s secrets. She had disliked Giselle de Lacy, despised all women who hopped their way
from bed to bed. And while she had performed her duties with the indifference befitting her station, behind closed doors, she had smothered Julianna with kindness and affection.

  “It’s good to see you again, Mrs Hendrie. I’ve thought of you often over the years.” Memories of the woman’s embrace proved there were loving people in the world. “A lot has happened since I left. I’m a widow now and have come to Witherdeen in a professional capacity.”

  “His lordship said you’re to study the ruins, that he’s commissioned you to write about your findings.” Mrs Hendrie clutched her hands to her chest. “When he mentioned he’d met you by chance in town, my heart almost burst with excitement.”

  Guilt coiled like a serpent of deceit in Julianna’s stomach. After Edward Eden’s death, she had vowed never to lie again.

  “My husband loved history, and we often toured old ruins.” That much was true. “And there’s something special about the abbey here.” There was something special about all those who lived at Witherdeen now.

  “You’re a lady of some means. One must thank Mr Eden for that.”

  Julianna forced a smile. “Were it not for Mr Eden, I wouldn’t have found my way back to you.” No, she might have been sold to someone far worse. Might have had to ply her mother’s trade or join the Covent Garden ladies and sell her soul for a pittance.

  Mrs Hendrie shivered. “Best not stand out in the cold. I’ll escort you to the study. Afterwards, we’ll take a tour of the house.” She cast a nervous eye over Mr Bower’s hulking form. “Seek out Mr Keenan in the stable courtyard. There’ll be a warm welcome there for you, too, I’m sure.”

  Mr Bower inclined his head and climbed atop his box.

  “Come. Best not keep the master waiting.” Mrs Hendrie hugged Julianna’s arm as she led her into the house. “Milford is still the butler here. Do you remember hiding pine cones in his bed?”

  Despite a sudden surge of emotion at being within Witherdeen’s walls again, Julianna laughed. “Milford blamed it on the hall boy. Bennet felt so guilty he had to confess.” And had spent the night in the understairs cupboard by way of punishment. Julianna caught herself. “Forgive me. I shall have to get used to addressing the marquess formally. We’re not children anymore.”