Книга - A Marquess, A Miss And A Mystery
A Marquess, A Miss And A Mystery
ANNIE BURROWS
A staged seduction… …to solve a murder mystery! After one disastrous season Miss Horatia Carmichael avoids the ton—her mind and her tongue are too unfashionably opinionated for her to land a husband! But to find her brother’s killer she must join forces with incorrigible rake Lord Devizes and allow the Marquess to pretend to seduce her for all to see! Horatia knows it’s not real—she’s a plain spinster after all—but as danger grows so does their desire…
A staged seduction...
...to solve a murder mystery!
After one disastrous season, Miss Horatia Carmichael avoids the ton—her mind and tongue are too unfashionably opinionated to land a husband. But to find her brother’s killer, she must join forces with incorrigible rake Lord Devizes and allow the marquess to pretend to seduce her for all to see! Horatia knows it’s not real—she’s a plain spinster after all—but as danger grows, so does their desire...
ANNIE BURROWS has been writing Regency romances for Mills & Boon since 2007. Her books have charmed readers worldwide, having been translated into nineteen different languages, and some have gone on to win the coveted Reviewers’ Choice award from CataRomance. For more information, or to contact the author, please visit annie-burrows.co.uk (http://www.annie-burrows.co.uk), or you can find her on Facebook at facebook.com/AnnieBurrowsUK (http://www.facebook.com/AnnieBurrowsUK).
Also by Annie Burrows (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
A Mistress for Major Bartlett
The Captain’s Christmas Bride
In Bed with the Duke
Once Upon a Regency Christmas
The Debutante’s Daring Proposal
A Duke in Need of a Wife
Brides for Bachelors miniseries
The Major Meets His Match
The Marquess Tames His Bride
The Captain Claims His Lady
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Marquess, a Miss and a Mystery
Annie Burrows
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08922-7
A MARQUESS, A MISS AND A MYSTERY
© 2019 Annie Burrows
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Note to Readers (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:
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To Holly Rose,
who was coming into being along with this book.
Contents
Cover (#u3b9b371f-09b9-58d6-877d-a4ea4ac8be54)
Back Cover Text (#u66e72e94-7045-505a-9581-f545f4838e04)
About the Author (#u8995c9cb-b1a9-5802-973f-30eb4a0fc238)
Booklist (#u7362423f-0a0e-5171-9f9b-59cf5b1ab892)
Title Page (#u28adfabc-9760-5240-9837-e62b02f733db)
Copyright (#u1f9237e7-2e06-5a5d-b124-76eb5cd2e0ba)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u0c0225b2-1eb9-540f-a7ac-4e23ffd5f89e)
Chapter One (#u6bd23b28-e6a2-5559-90b3-0a10c305b8fe)
Chapter Two (#ue8465aee-33b1-506e-8c39-a8a87fdecc35)
Chapter Three (#u97f82384-0ce2-5935-8679-f807a1c88ee9)
Chapter Four (#u0dc02e6b-64f0-586c-a5cc-d60c891ff9e3)
Chapter Five (#uc7e6780d-fe4e-5715-8126-c6a173fc6a2f)
Chapter Six (#u3d00b8ae-b6b1-5674-8665-4abc34774d44)
Chapter Seven (#u5b6b258b-1a9d-58b9-8c60-9862d36d1881)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
There was nothing for it. Horatia Carmichael was going to have to do something drastic.
She peered round at the congregation, who were gathering their prayer books and Bibles together as the Duke of Theakstone’s elderly chaplain mumbled the service to a close, and swallowed. The Duke’s private chapel was awash with lords and ladies. She didn’t think anyone below the rank of viscount had been invited to stay at Theakstone Court for the week preceding his wedding. Apart from her. Which made her feel a bit like Cinderella must have done at that ball to pick a bride for Prince Charming, or whatever his name was. She’d never paid all that much attention to fairy tales. They were always full of pretty people getting unlikely rewards simply for being pretty. Or titled. She’d have been far more impressed if, for once, cleverness had been the virtue that won the prize.
But anyway, even though Cinderella was undoubtedly pretty, she must have felt completely out of her depth walking into a castle packed with titled people. Just as Horatia did, right this minute.
But then desperate times called for desperate measures. Two months it had been since Herbert’s murder. Two months during which she’d waited, with mounting impatience, for the Marquess of Devizes to come and offer his condolences, so that she could pass on the information which could prove vital to tracing her brother’s killer.
But the...the... She wrestled with a suitable word to describe the character of the man who’d been her brother’s best friend and colleague in his clandestine work...and could think of nothing polite enough to voice, not even in her mind, while in a chapel.
But anyway, the point was the...the...she had it! The puffed-up popinjay hadn’t come anywhere near her. And, of course, she hadn’t been able to simply go to him. A lady could not just walk up to the door of a single man’s residence and gain admittance, not without drawing attention to herself. Especially not a single man with the kind of reputation he had. He was the kind of man who could persuade just about any woman into his bed with just one slow smile. And so he did.
Nor would Lord Devizes have welcomed her visit, not even when he heard what she had to tell him. Marching up to his front door in broad daylight, or at any other time, would have drawn the attention of the very people they most needed to outwit. They would have put two and two together and that would have been that.
Which meant she’d had to find some way to approach him that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
The trouble was, since she was in mourning, she couldn’t attend any of the balls or parties where she might have simply walked up to him. Especially since they weren’t the kinds of events she’d gone to very often, even before Herbert’s death. That would have raised as many eyebrows as if she’d gone to one of the gambling hells she knew he attended, or walked into a cock fight, or a coal-heaver’s tavern, or any of the other disreputable places he’d gone with Herbert in pursuit of information. Or so Herbert had maintained. Though she hadn’t forgotten he’d gone to such places even before he’d started looking for the group of people he’d told her were trying to drum up support for the exiled French emperor, Bonaparte.
It was a good job the Marquess’s half-brother, the Duke of Theakstone, had suddenly decided to get married, or heaven knew what stratagems she might have been obliged to adopt. Fortunately, a friend of hers, Lady Elizabeth Grey, had an invitation to the wedding, so all Horatia had had to do was persuade her to bring her along in the guise of a companion. She’d assumed that once here, while everyone was wandering around the grounds, or taking tea, she was bound to find an opportunity for sidling up to Lord Devizes and passing on her translation of the coded letter Herbert had given her, to decipher, the very night he’d been murdered.
But, drat the man, even here she hadn’t been able to get near him. There were too many other females fluttering round him, like so many brainless moths dashing themselves against a glittering lantern. Or pigeons, perhaps. Preening themselves and cooing up at him. Well, whatever type of brainless creatures they resembled, at any given time, he always behaved like a...pasha, surrounded by an adoring harem. As though feminine adulation was no more than his due. He lapped it all up, doling out that lopsided smile of his like a kind of reward to any that particularly amused him, though his lazy-lidded eyes made him look as though he was on the verge of laughing all the time. As though life was one huge joke.
Which made her want to wring his neck. Or kick him in the shins. Or something equally violent, because while he was lounging about, flirting with every female in the place under fifty, the trail that might have led straight to Herbert’s killer was getting colder and colder.
To her left, the friend who’d played fairy godmother to her Cinderella was getting to her feet. Which meant that she would have to do the same. And then follow meekly back to the main part of the house for refreshments. And it was no use telling herself she could approach him over nuncheon, because it was far more likely that she’d feel so out of place that instead of confronting Herbert’s friend, she’d retire to a corner where she’d perch like a little black crow and watch the gaudier females flock round Lord Devizes.
It was now or never. Pushing her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, she got to her feet and shuffled to the end of the pew, then pulled open the strings of her reticule and took out a handkerchief. Behind her, Lady Elizabeth’s mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Tewkesbury, breathed in sharply though her nostrils. Something she was wont to do whenever Horatia crossed her line of sight. The Dowager made no secret of the fact that she disapproved of her daughter becoming so friendly with a mere Miss. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that mother and daughter were barely speaking to each other at the moment, she suspected she would have forbidden Lady Elizabeth from bringing her along.
However, she was here. And Lord Devizes would be sauntering past the end of her pew any second now.
She blew her nose, then thrust her handkerchief back into her reticule, her heart thundering. It was too much to hope he might pause and bid her good morning. He’d had ample opportunity to do so any number of times since his arrival at Theakstone Court. But over and over again, he’d looked right through her. As if she was beneath his notice. As if he didn’t recognise her.
Though why should he? Though Herbert had introduced them, during her one and only Season, while he’d still been trying to persuade her that he could make her ‘fashionable’, Lord Devizes had clearly been highly unimpressed by his friend’s dumpy, dowdy little sister. He’d danced with her just the once. And that clearly only as a courtesy to his friend. Lord Devizes had barely spoken to her during that dance. Had never subjected her to an iota of the charm for which he was so famed, let alone actually progressed to flirting with her.
But never mind that now. This wasn’t the time to indulge in ancient resentment. Especially since he’d treated her no worse than any other of the so-called gentlemen who’d been persuaded to take pity on such a frumpy little wallflower. He was within three yards. A couple more steps and she’d be able to reach out her hand and tug at his sleeve.
Like a beggar, seeking alms.
So, no, she wouldn’t do that. She had to make their contact look accidental, or she’d be drawing attention to her desperate need to speak to him. Which she must not do.
And so, as he drew level with her, she fumbled her Bible off the pew and tossed it at his feet, hoping it would look as though she’d dropped it.
He stopped. Looked at the Bible lying in his path. Looked at her. Placed one hand on his hip and raised one corner of his mouth into a...a cynical sort of sneer.
Her face flooded with heat. The...the...bad name. The swear word. He was making it look as though he suspected her of dropping her handkerchief at his feet, in the age-old way women had of attracting the notice of a man they could not get to notice them any other way. Which she was. But not because she was lovelorn. Surely he could not be as stupid as he looked? Surely he must realise that it was because she was Herbert’s sister that she needed to speak to him? About Herbert? And his work?
Even if he was that stupid, didn’t he have even a modicum of good manners? Surely he could go through the motions of polite behaviour and bend down to pick up her book?
Apparently not. He just stood there, that cynical smile on his face, his mocking eyes regarding her steadily as her face heated with all the pent-up frustration this aggravating man had caused her recently.
‘I can’t believe,’ she muttered, stepping forward, then bending down to reach for her Bible, ‘that Herbert rated you so highly when you cannot even pick up a hint, never mind—’
She’d been going to say my Bible, but unfortunately, at the very moment she bent down to snatch up her Bible, he finally leaned down as well.
With the result that her head clashed with his outstretched arm. And, as she’d been bending down angrily and his arm was the consistency of an iron bar, she bounced off it, then off the end of the pew, and ended up sitting on her bottom on the cold, hard chapel floor.
She heard a lot of muffled sniggering.
‘I cannot believe,’ said the Dowager Marchioness of Tewkesbury, presumably to Lady Elizabeth, although Horatia could not see either of them from the chapel floor, ‘that you could have brought a person like that to a place like this, even if you are—’
‘Mother!’ Horatia heard Lady Elizabeth’s skirts swish as she whirled round in her pew and, to judge from earlier altercations, glared at her mother.
While she glared up at the agent of her misfortune, who was smiling a little wider now as though barely holding back laughter himself.
And extending his arm, as though to offer his help in getting to her feet.
‘I don’t need your help,’ she snarled, ignoring his hand and grabbing hold of one of the finials on the end of the pew she’d just bounced off, which had lots of knobbly bits to give her purchase, instead. ‘Not to get to my feet, not to find Herbert’s—’
‘You are Herbert’s sister?’ He raised one eyebrow, as though the fact astonished him. ‘I never,’ he said, running his eyes over her bedraggled frame, ‘would have guessed.’ Not many people did. Herbert was so handsome and elegant. Even he had laughingly said that while she had all the brains in the family, he had all the beauty.
‘You...’ she stuttered. ‘You...’ Once again, her vocabulary didn’t come up with a word sufficiently insulting to hurl at him that she could possibly use in a chapel.
He lowered his hand. ‘Take your time, Miss Carmichael,’ he said with infuriating calm. ‘I feel certain that you will be able to think of a suitable insult, should you take a deep breath and count to ten.’
The sniggering grew a touch less muffled. Although there was a roaring sound in her ears, now, almost drowning out the sounds of mockery.
She hated him. She really, really hated him. It had been bad enough that he’d neglected to do the decent thing and at least come to visit her, given how closely he and Herbert had been working, to offer his condolences. But to first pretend he did not recognise her, then to make her a laughing stock...
‘There isn’t one,’ she grated. And whirled away before giving him the satisfaction of seeing the tears that were burning her eyes. Tears she absolutely would not shed, not in front of such a...
She strode down the aisle and slammed out of the door of the chapel. And as the heat of the sun struck the crown of her bonnet, she finally let the bad words come. In English, and French and Italian.
And it wasn’t just because he’d humiliated her in front of all those titled people. It was because she’d wasted so much time and effort. Instead of thinking of ways to get in touch with the man Herbert had referred to as Janus, she should have gone on the hunt for his killer herself.
Because it was clear he wasn’t going to be of any help to her. At all.
She was on her own.
As always.
Chapter Two (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
As Herbert’s sister flounced out of the chapel, Nick bent down to pick up her discarded Bible.
Talk about indiscreet. If he hadn’t deliberately goaded her into losing her temper with him, she’d have blurted out her suspicions regarding Herbert’s death in the echoing space of a chapel where even whispers carried further than they had any right to go.
No wonder Herbert had been so protective of her. No wonder he’d worked so hard to shield her from the realities of what his recent lifestyle entailed. She had no idea how to conceal what she was thinking. He’d been able to read every single thought that had flitted across her disapproving little features from the first moment she’d walked into Theakstone Court.
She had no control over her mouth, either. If she’d ever suspected the half of what Herbert had recently uncovered, she’d have blurted it out heaven alone knew where, or to whom.
Worse, to judge from the slip of paper he could see tucked in between the pages of her Bible, she’d been attempting to pass him a note. A note! In full view of the entire congregation.
He took a swift glance at it before tucking it neatly back into place as though he had no interest in it. It took every ounce of his self-control to conceal his reaction when he saw what turned out to be a drawing, rather than a written message. For it was a sketch of the two-headed Roman god Janus. Which just happened to be his code name.
‘Dear me,’ he couldn’t help saying. What the devil was she playing at? Revealing the fact that she knew his identity in such a blatant fashion? He masked his shock with a wry smile as he turned the book over in his hands. And swiftly turned it into a jest.
‘Whatever will the little black crow do without her Bible to beat us poor miserable sinners over the head with?’
His sisters laughed. As did the pair of rather fast matrons at their side who’d been casting him lures ever since they’d arrived.
Lady Elizabeth Grey, however, whirled away from the heated, whispered altercation she’d been having with her mother, with a frown.
‘How can you be so unkind? You, of all people, must know how devastating she found her brother’s death. Is it surprising if she acts a little...awkwardly around his former friends?’
‘The surprising thing,’ he said, slipping the Bible into his pocket while Miss Carmichael’s friend was too busy berating him to notice, ‘is that she is attending such a joyous occasion during what ought to be her period of mourning.’ He couldn’t resist putting a slightly contemptuous tone into the word joyous. Everyone here must surely share his opinion regarding his exalted half-brother’s ridiculous, hasty marriage to an unknown. Especially Lady Elizabeth, who’d been one of the leading candidates for the position of Duchess herself.
‘It isn’t the least bit surprising,’ she said heatedly. ‘She needed to get out of that gloomy little house she lives in and well away from that gorgon of a guardian who is enough to give anyone the fit of the dismals even if they weren’t missing the brother who provided the only bright spots in her existence through his daily visits,’ she said without drawing breath.
Daily? He’d gone there as often as that? Hmm...he’d always thought of Herbert as an exceptionally devoted brother, from what he knew of sibling relationships. Nick’s own sisters rarely did more than give him a nod of recognition, should their paths happen to cross while they were all in London. And it never occurred to him to visit them in their sumptuous town houses, either. Not without an invitation to some sort of formal event. Let alone every day.
They had, it was true, been making a great deal of fuss over him since they’d come to Theakstone Court. But that had more to do with showing their half-brother, the present Duke, that although they’d accepted his invitation to attend his wedding, they’d done so out of deference to his title, not because they’d forgiven him anything, or now considered him a part of the family. Because in contrast to the way they cooed over Nick, they were always icily formal with the Duke.
Not that Nick could blame them. He couldn’t stand the sight of the swarthy, sullen brute himself.
‘Without those visits to give her thoughts a positive direction,’ Lady Elizabeth was saying, ‘she was in danger of going into a decline. I thought a change of scene might lift her spirits. Or at least help her to get over the worst of her unhappiness. Her brother’s death devastated her, as you ought to know, being one of his closest cronies.’
Yes, he supposed he should have considered that. But then, his own family were so distant from each other, it was hard to imagine any of them being devastated should anything happen to him. His sisters would express regret and go into black gloves, but a good deal of their regret would be at having to forgo many of their pleasurable pursuits during the period when they were supposed to be mourning him.
Also, whenever he’d thought about her and wondered how she was coping, he’d always come to the conclusion that the best thing he could do for Herbert’s sister was to stay well away from her. She’d never seemed to have that shiny, brittle coating which every other woman donned like armour whenever they went out in public. She was open and unaffected in her manner. Which gave him the uncomfortable feeling that he could easily tarnish her.
But...had Herbert perhaps been doing more than merely visiting his sister? Was he, perhaps, supporting her? Financially? Now he came to think of it, Herbert had mentioned something along those lines, just after he’d abandoned the attempt to bring her out into society. Something about their fortunes being linked.
Which made a huge difference.
If any other operative had died during the course of an investigation, he would have gone straight round to their dependents to make sure they were not going to suffer financially. He had access to funds to make sure of it.
‘But, as usual, men like you don’t see anything past the end of your own nose!’
With her own nose stuck in the air, Lady Elizabeth flounced off. And in this case, he could hardly blame her. He’d assumed that Miss Carmichael must have an income of her own. Assumed, without double-checking.
He’d blundered there. Possibly rather badly.
He should have gone to visit her, to make sure she was provided for, he could see that now. Only...she was of gentle birth. And a man with the reputation he’d cultivated could not simply call upon a single lady of gentle birth, not without raising eyebrows. Not even if her brother had been his closest colleague.
Though what good would it have done, really? He could easily arrange a pension for a widow of a certain sort of man. But he couldn’t just offer to support a woman of Miss Carmichael’s status. If it ever came out that he was supporting her financially, it would be as good as ruining her.
‘You will, I hope, find it in your heart to forgive my daughter’s manners,’ said the Dowager Marchioness of Tewkesbury, sidestepping along the pew until she reached the aisle. ‘This week is terribly hard for her, considering the hopes we had...’ She left the rest unsaid. The shake of her head expressed her disappointment that the Duke of Theakstone had passed over her own daughter and chosen instead to make a mere Miss his new Duchess.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ he said, giving her the smile he reserved for women of her age and station. ‘It does your daughter credit that she leaps to defend her friend with such...loyalty. And such vehemence.’
The Dowager Marchioness narrowed her eyes to see if she could detect a hint of criticism in his statement. He kept his smile in place, looking directly into her eyes with as much innocence as he could muster. Which wasn’t all that hard. Because, actually, he did admire Lady Elizabeth’s loyalty. Not many people went against the prevailing current to voice an opinion that ran counter to it. And she had drawn his attention to a facet of the case he’d overlooked. He was grateful to her for jolting him out of his own personal malaise and reminding him that there was at least one other person who missed Herbert just as much as he did. For whatever reason.
‘That is so generous of you, Devizes,’ trilled his sister Mary. ‘To overlook such extraordinary behaviour. And I do not mean,’ she said, laying a languid hand on his sleeve, ‘that of Lady Elizabeth, of course.’ She shot an arch look at the Dowager, for everyone knew about her daughter’s shrewish nature. Nick had actually been a little surprised when his half-brother had, apparently, included her on his list of possibilities. And not at all surprised when he’d as quickly crossed her off it.
‘I was speaking of that strange little companion of hers,’ Mary continued. ‘Fancy storming off like that!’
He could understand Miss Carmichael doing so, now, if she was experiencing financial hardship.
Perhaps what she had wanted to say about Herbert related to the way he’d supported her. Perhaps she was finding it hard to make ends meet.
He would ask her, when he returned her Bible to her.
As well as finding out why she had a sketch of Janus in between the pages of her Bible. Had Herbert not been as discreet as he’d claimed? Had he been so close to his sister that he’d let slip some things which should have been kept secret?
Or had she merely stumbled across the picture when she’d been going through his personal effects? He thought he’d cleared Herbert’s rooms thoroughly, but perhaps there had been some papers hidden in a place that only she knew about.
Which changed everything. He’d been determined to carry on shielding her from the people who’d killed her brother, by persuading anyone who might care to see that he had no interest in her and, therefore, no connection to her whatsoever, now that Herbert was dead.
But if Herbert had let something slip...
He had to warn her that if anyone suspected she had information, of any sort, relevant to Herbert’s work, then she would be in danger. Dammit, somebody had killed her brother rather than let him pass on whatever it was he’d discovered that last night.
And Herbert would never forgive him if Horatia became the next person on that assassin’s list.
Dammit, he wouldn’t forgive himself.
Chapter Three (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
Horatia was a few yards beyond the paved area surrounding the chapel, which contained monuments to generations of deceased Norringtons, the family from which the current Duke had sprung, when she became aware of rapid footsteps crunching over the gravel behind her.
She’d been walking so fast, driven by a volatile mixture of anger, humiliation and determination to just show them—whoever ‘them’ might be—that the person she could hear must be determined to catch up with her.
She braced herself to deal with whatever accusations or recriminations she might have to face. And sighed with relief, after glancing over her shoulder, to see that it was Lady Elizabeth who was drawing up behind her.
‘Well,’ said Lady Elizabeth, slowing down to match her pace to Horatia’s, ‘you certainly know how to make an exit.’
Since Horatia could hear a distinct thread of amusement in her friend’s tone, she knew she hadn’t mortally offended her. Still, she owed her friend an apology. ‘I’m so sorry for my...outburst,’ she said. ‘I swore that I would give you what little support I could in the days surrounding the Duke’s wedding. Instead, I’ve just given your mother even more reason to berate you.’
‘At least if she is complaining about your behaviour, she isn’t complaining about mine,’ pointed out Lady Elizabeth with a wry smile.
‘As if you made the Duke fall for Miss Underwood,’ scoffed Horatia. ‘It is obvious to anyone who sees them together that they have eyes for nobody else,’ she added, jerking her head in the direction of the couple who were strolling along arm in arm along another gravelled path which led in the direction of the house. Making Horatia aware she had not taken the most direct route.
‘Ah, but,’ said Lady Elizabeth, aping her mother’s frosty tones, ‘if I had only exerted myself more, I could have eclipsed her.’
Horatia made a very unladylike noise, expressed partially through her nose, to demonstrate what she thought of that particular argument.
‘You cannot make a man fall for you, or even notice you, unless he chooses to do so,’ said Horatia morosely, coming to a standstill. Could she strike out across the lawn and join the path along which the Duke and his intended were walking? Or would that draw even more attention to herself and the fact that she’d shot out of the chapel in such a state of turmoil that she hadn’t even been able to steer her feet in the correct direction?
‘I...had wondered about your, um, fascination with Lord Devizes,’ said Lady Elizabeth, coming to a halt as well. ‘I did not like to say anything, but...’
‘You cannot think that I have a tendre for him?’ Horatia gaped at her. ‘Or that, if I did, I would fling myself at him, like one of the muslin company?’
‘No. Neither,’ said Lady Elizabeth staunchly. ‘Which is what makes your...’ She lowered her head and traced a swirl through the gravel with the tip of her parasol. ‘No, no, I shall not pry. I have enough of people telling me how to live my life to know how detestable that is. Only...’ She paused as if choosing her words with care. ‘I am a little worried. You seem...’
Horatia turned her head away from Lady Elizabeth and studied instead the direction of the path they were on. After a bit there was a fork to the left which would lead back to the house, rather than on to the formal gardens. Which solved her most immediate problem. However, she still wasn’t sure she could confide in Lady Elizabeth about her motives for coming here. Although they called each other friend, they’d only fallen into each other’s company after catching each other rolling their eyes at a particularly fatuous comment made by an extremely pompous Member of Parliament who’d been invited to speak at The Ladies Society for the Advancement of Scientific Knowledge. They’d gravitated to each other over the teacups, then started looking out for each other at various other meetings they both attended. It had only been after Herbert’s death that Lady Elizabeth had started visiting her house and offering what comfort she could. But since Aunt Matilda had always refused to let Horatia’s visitors drive her from her own sitting room, she’d never had an opportunity to tell Lady Elizabeth that she was practically certain that her brother had been deliberately murdered, rather than being the victim of a robbery.
Perhaps it was time she did. She certainly owed her some sort of explanation for the tantrum she’d thrown just now. And since nobody else was taking this path she could speak freely without being overheard.
‘Herbert was murdered,’ said Horatia, setting off once more along their path.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Lady Elizabeth, setting out beside her. ‘And I know how it shocked you. As indeed it shocked everyone who knew him. It is an awful thing that a man may not walk home from...even from the kind of place to which...that is...’
‘He had been to a gaming hell, you mean,’ said Horatia. Which was, possibly, true. But he hadn’t been killed during the course of a robbery. She just knew it. ‘And, yes, he was in one of the poorer parts of London. But it wasn’t—’ she stopped short of saying that it had been no accident. Herbert had been so insistent that nobody knew about her involvement in his work. That it might put her in danger. So...if she told Lady Elizabeth, might it put her in danger, too? ‘That doesn’t mean he deserved to die,’ she finished, lamely, ‘does it?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well, then,’ she continued, focusing on one of her views which was perfectly safe to air, ‘don’t you think that somebody should be trying to find out who killed him? But nobody is! They came and stood in my aunt’s sitting room and droned on about the deplorable dangers of the streets of London at night and said there was nothing anyone could do, that if gentlemen frequented such areas these things happened, that—’ She broke off, as the resentment at the way those men had spoken to her, as though she was an idiot, swelled up all over again.
‘And you thought that Lord Devizes might be able to...what, exactly? It isn’t as if a man like him,’ Lady Elizabeth said with a hint of derision, ‘would stir himself to go looking for criminals, is it?’
Oh, if only she knew! From what Herbert had told her, Lord Devizes had already unmasked a couple of plots against the government and brought several criminals to justice. Because of his rank, and his well-known propensity for pursuing unsavoury pastimes, he could move with ease anywhere from the highest ton parties to the lowest gaming hells without anyone raising an eyebrow. What was more, in society, people regarded him as, well, the way Lady Elizabeth did. As an idle, wealthy, wastrel. They didn’t see the more serious side of his nature, because he kept it so well hidden behind a sort of mask. To look at the amused, indolent expression he generally adopted, nobody could possibly guess what he was really thinking. Or even suspect he was thinking very much at all.
Which was the way he wanted it.
She glanced across the triangular section of lawn to the path which all the other members of the congregation were strolling along. Where he was strolling, with a lady on each arm. And smiling, as though he had not a care in the world. Even though the traitors he and Herbert had been trying to find, the ones responsible for Herbert’s murder, could well be close by.
His assailant definitely came from the ton. Or had connections to someone who had access to state secrets, such as the Duke of Theakstone.
So...perhaps that was why he was playing at not having a thought in his head beyond the formation of the next witty remark. He had to make sure nobody suspected him of being capable of doing anything as strenuous as tackling a traitor and murderer.
Which, therefore, meant she must not do anything likely to expose the serious nature of his secret work either. Including confiding in Lady Elizabeth.
‘He was Herbert’s closest friend,’ she said, dragging her gaze away from Lord Devizes and fixing it on her feet. ‘I thought he might at least have been prepared to listen.’
‘Some people,’ said Lady Elizabeth tartly, after they’d walked in sombre silence for a few paces, ‘prefer not to hear anything unpleasant, though, don’t they? They would rather avoid somebody who is in difficulty altogether than have to talk about things that might make them uncomfortable.’
Horatia flinched at the reminder she was not the only person to have gone through a very difficult time of late and saw that this girl’s own troubles were probably what had made her capable of showing such sympathy when Horatia lost her brother. ‘Yes, you know how...unkind people can be, don’t you? People you thought were your friends?’
‘Yes. But you never really know who your true friends are until trouble comes, do you? Before Papa died, I was the toast of the ton. I was invited everywhere. And then...poof! They all vanished like...like...well...’ she gave a bitter laugh ‘like our fortune. Only a very few people treated me no differently after his...disgrace. Which is why I...’ She tucked her arm through Horatia’s and gave it a brief squeeze. ‘Well, I don’t suppose I need to remind you that I consider you one of my closest friends. No matter what Mama says.’
‘As I consider you to be mine,’ said Horatia, swallowing down a lump of guilt. For although she was swearing friendship, she was holding back all sorts of things from her. And not only about the nature of Herbert’s work and the circumstances surrounding his death. And it was all very well saying she didn’t want to put Lady Elizabeth in danger, but it was more than that. She didn’t really know if she could trust her.
‘I was so angry with Lord Devizes and with Mama,’ Lady Elizabeth said ruefully, ‘for the way they talked about you just now that I rather lost my temper with them both after you’d gone.’
‘I do wish I was not adding to the bad feeling which already exists between you and your parent,’ said Horatia, feeling guiltier than ever. ‘Particularly since so much of what she says about me is nothing but the truth. I am not well born. So I am not really a fit person to be your friend, not if you wish to maintain a fashionable appearance.’
‘But I don’t! Wish to maintain a fashionable appearance, that is. You above all people should know that.’
‘Yes, I must admit that is the one aspect of having to go into mourning I can embrace. It is such a relief not to have to try to work out what colours match with which others. Having to have everything black removes most of the difficulty out of choosing what to wear in the mornings. And during the rest of the day, too.’
‘No.’ Lady Elizabeth clapped one hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you are unfashionable, in that sense...’
‘Nevertheless, it is true. I have never been able to comprehend how it is that in nature there can be brown trees,’ she said, pointing with her free arm in the direction of the woodland on a nearby hill, ‘and green grass dotted with lots of different coloured flowers—’ she indicated the vibrant blooms tumbling from containers standing on the steps leading up to the terrace spanning the length of the house ‘—capped by a brilliant blue sky and it all looks charming. But put the same combination of colours and patterns next to my little body and...’ She shrugged and grimaced.
‘When you are out of mourning, I shall take you shopping. I am sure—’
‘No, please do not bother. Herbert did try to supervise my wardrobe when I first made my come-out. For he always looked so elegant, you know, that he was sure he could bring me into style.’ That was probably one of the reasons he and the Marquess had hit it off to start with. Both of them were beautiful, fashionable young men with a taste for mischief.
‘What happened, then?’
‘Well, do you know, he made the offer while we were at the theatre, just after one of his fashionable friends had turned his arrogant nose up at me for...well, I suppose I had been a touch rude, but then he was such an idiot. Anyway, there happened to be one of those acrobats upon the stage who could wrap her legs around the back of her head. And I felt as if he was urging me to become like her. You know, tying myself into a knot in order to fit in with society’s expectations.’
‘Now that,’ said Lady Elizabeth vehemently, ‘is something I completely understand. The way people expect you to make yourself something you are not in order to gain acceptance.’
‘Particularly men looking out for a bride. None of them wants to know what you are truly like. They just want you to become whatever it is that they want. If you express an opinion that is different to their own, they call you a bluestocking. And if you actually dare to inform a man that his own opinion is based upon a fallacy, then he will say you are a gorgon.’
‘Or a shrew,’ said Lady Elizabeth, pursing her lips. ‘It is only because of my rank that anyone still invites me anywhere.’
‘At least I don’t have to go anywhere I do not wish to any longer,’ Horatia said with satisfaction. ‘Not since Aunt Matilda has given up trying to marry me off respectably.’ Deciding she wasn’t going to tie herself in knots had been the first step along a course that had led, by progressive stages, to her obtaining relative freedom. ‘Nowadays I only ever attend events where I am sure of mingling with like-minded people.’
‘Apart from this wedding. Which I thought,’ said Lady Elizabeth shrewdly, ‘you had agreed to attend more as a favour to me, since you knew how difficult I was bound to find it. Instead...’
‘Ah. Yes. I have to admit, it was not my only motive...’
They reached the fork that would lead straight back to the house. As they turned on to it, Horatia couldn’t help gazing along the immense length of the ornately decorated façade. It made her wonder why the Duke’s ancestors hadn’t called this place Theakstone Palace, rather than Theakstone Court. Its size alone surely qualified it for the title.
‘At least it has meant we can share a suite of rooms, rather than me being left to the mercy of my mother. Last time we were here, as I’m sure you know, we had rooms in the main part of the house,’ said Lady Elizabeth, pointing to the central block, which was about the size of an average cathedral, ‘rather than one of the guest wings,’ she finished with a distinct note of disdain.
Horatia chewed on her lower lip for a moment or two. The suite of rooms she was sharing with Lady Elizabeth seemed very grand compared with what she was used to. But it sounded as if their only virtue in Lady Elizabeth’s eyes was the fact they afforded some sanctuary from her mother.
‘Are you really upset about that?’ Horatia said tentatively.
‘The Duke choosing somebody else, you mean?’
She hadn’t, not exactly, but rather than explain, Horatia took another tack. ‘I know it would have solved a lot of your troubles...’
‘What? Marry that man?’ Lady Elizabeth tossed her head. ‘I would have gone through with it only out of duty to my family. He may be rich, but he is so...’ She shuddered. ‘One would never believe he is related to the Marquess of Devizes, not unless one knew it for an absolute fact. What with one being so dark and satanic, and the other being so fair and charming...’
‘Well, appearing fair and charming can also be an attribute of a satanic creature, according to the Bible,’ Horatia couldn’t help commenting. ‘Such beings are even called angels of light. They set out to deceive people with their charm, don’t they? At least you know where you are with the Duke.’
‘Yes,’ said Lady Elizabeth tartly, as they began to mount the steps to the terrace that ran the length of this side of the house. ‘No longer fit to be housed in the main part of his palace.’
‘Surely that is a good thing. Since it means you are not sharing rooms with your mother.’
‘Touché,’ cried Lady Elizabeth with appreciation. ‘And thank you for reminding me that I ought to be grateful she thinks more of her consequence than she does of keeping a close watch upon me.’
‘What? But she...’
‘You think pouncing upon me whenever I put one toe out of the door is keeping a close watch upon me? You have no idea. Oh. I am sorry.’ Lady Elizabeth looked stricken. ‘Of course you have no idea...’
‘Lady Elizabeth, I scarcely remember my own mother, so if you are about to apologise for being insensitive about my orphaned state, then please, I beg of you, do not.’
‘And I suppose witnessing the relationship I have with my own mother is not likely to make you pine for one of your own, is it? Lord, how I wish that I...’ She pulled herself up short. ‘It is just,’ she said, lowering her voice as they drew closer to the group of people waiting their turn to enter the house through a set of French doors, ‘that if I was an orphan, with no title, nobody would mind if I fell in love with a man with nothing to recommend him but his brains. There is nobody to prevent you from following your heart.’
Something inside Horatia twisted at the mention of following her heart. ‘You are forgetting,’ she said, ‘that even men with brains are governed very much by what they see. They don’t fall in love with awkward little dabs of women with no fashion sense.’ Which meant there was no point, absolutely no point, in hoping such a thing might happen. ‘They fall in love with pretty, witty, blondes,’ she finished, giving her friend a pointed look.
‘It is useless anyway.’ Lady Elizabeth sighed, halting a short distance away from the rest of the churchgoers. ‘Theakstone arranged for Mr Brown to go to Leipzig. And while it is of great advantage to his career, he might just as well have flown to the moon. We will never see each other again, and...’ She stopped on a hiccup that sounded suspiciously like a choked sob. ‘Mama will get her way, I dare say. I shall have to marry someone with money and the standing to overcome the disgrace Papa brought to our family.’
‘I’m surprised she isn’t pushing you at the Marquess, then.’
‘Lord, no. He has the money, but apparently even Mama knows it would be a waste of time attempting to snare such a one. Too slippery to be caught in the parson’s mousetrap. Too busy enjoying himself with the ladies who flock round him and no pressing need to sire an heir. No, she is hoping to match me up with somebody older. With more substance about him. A widower, perhaps, with only daughters.’ She shuddered.
Not for the first time, Horatia thanked her lucky stars she was a mere Miss. Nobody expected her to marry to save the family fortunes. There never had been any fortune to lose in the first place. Herbert had had a small income, which he’d supplemented by doing nominal work at a post gained for him through the influence of a distant uncle.
Until that day he’d come to her with the tale of how he and Lord Devizes had found a brilliant way to earn a little extra. And to serve their country at the same time. Someone, he’d said, tapping his nose to indicate that person’s identity must remain secret, was going to pay any expenses incurred while they rooted out traitors to the Crown. To that end, they’d each chosen their own code names, to keep their own identities secret from anyone who didn’t need to know they were involved in such work. Lord Devizes was to become Janus, because he would present one face to society, and another to the criminal underworld, while Herbert was to be known as Portunus, after the Roman god of keys and doors. When Horatia had frowned in bewilderment, he’d burst out laughing.
‘I’ve boasted that I can unlock any code or cipher anyone could possibly devise.’
‘And can you?’
‘No!’ He’d grinned, then. ‘But you can. You love puzzles and have a knack of solving them. So if we ever come across any coded messages I can bring ’em straight to you. You’ll enjoy doing such work, won’t you? Give you something to keep your mind off...’ He’d grimaced and jerked his head at their aunt, who was jabbing away at her tambour frame at her seat before the fire, embroidering one of her samplers which invariably quoted the sterner verses from the scriptures.
Which reminded her.
‘I don’t suppose you picked up my Bible, did you?’ It wouldn’t do to leave it lying around, where anyone could see the sketch she’d drawn of Janus, to indicate she needed to speak with Lord Devizes in his role as a secret investigator.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Lady Elizabeth distractedly as she removed her bonnet, for, by this time, they’d reached the doorway and there were several maids waiting to relieve the Duke’s guests of their outer wear, so that they could go straight to a reception room where refreshments were being served. ‘I didn’t notice it after you’d gone. I thought you must have picked it up yourself.’
No. She’d been too angry to bend back down again. So...where had it gone? If it wasn’t on the floor of the chapel when Lady Elizabeth had emerged from her pew, then somebody must have picked it up.
She gripped her reticule tightly, for want of any other way to express her sudden spasm of panic. She’d just have to hope that it had been Lord Devizes. That he’d picked it up while everyone else’s attention was on her storming out and Lady Elizabeth and her mother having one of their altercations.
Because if it was anyone else...
No, no, surely she was worrying unnecessarily. Only people who worked for, or with, Lord Devizes knew about his code name. Anyone outside their fraternity would make nothing of a sketch of an ancient Roman deity. Would they?
Although...somebody had discovered that Herbert was on to them. He’d told her, after dropping off yet another of the coded messages, that he was following up a lead that could take him right to the heart of the group of people who were involved in passing information about the state of England’s military power to the exiled French emperor. He’d been close, he’d told her with excitement.
Too close, she’d later realised. So close that whoever it was he’d been tailing had turned round and murdered him.
A chill ran down her spine as she stepped out of the sunshine and into the shaded interior of the house. She fumbled at the strings of her bonnet. She had good reason to believe that Herbert’s killer was going to attend the Duke of Theakstone’s wedding. And if she was going to be hunting that person down on her own, she was going to have to be a great deal more cautious.
Chapter Four (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
Since Horatia and Lady Elizabeth had not taken the direct route back to the house from the chapel, practically everyone who’d attended morning prayers had already reached the yellow salon before them.
Horatia followed in Lady Elizabeth’s wake to the tea table, which was manned by a brace of the Duke’s liveried footmen. Having procured drinks, they then proceeded to another great long refectory-style table, which was piled with all manner of the kinds of things she would have taken on a picnic. There were huge hams, chicken legs, slices of bread, whole boiled eggs and fruit that was so artfully arranged on a sort of pedestal that it would have felt as if she was desecrating it if she dared remove so much as a single grape.
She picked up a plate and handed it over to one of the footmen, pointing out what she wanted rather than helping herself to any of the tempting delicacies on show. Once it was filled, but not piled high, Horatia looked about for somewhere to sit and eat it. Lady Elizabeth had already dutifully gone to sit beside her mother. But there was no way Horatia was going to try to squeeze on to the sofa beside them. The vinegary expression on Lady Tewkesbury’s face was enough to give her indigestion. And there were loads of other chairs dotted about, in little clusters, and sofas set at angles so that the occupants could chat.
Though Horatia had the horrid feeling that what they were chatting about was her. Several times she caught a sly look, or somebody nudging someone else to make them aware she was about to walk by. And, of course, there was Lord Devizes himself, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling females, his eyes following her progress, his mouth slightly tilted in that mocking smile he very rarely went without.
His flirts must all be wondering how she could possibly show her face in public after the scene she’d made in the chapel earlier. If only she had the courage to take her plate and cup up to her own sitting room where she could avoid the stares. Or if only there was a bank of potted plants behind which she could hide.
But there wasn’t. For all his vaunted wealth, the Duke had not a single plant, in a pot, anywhere in this room, never mind a whole bank of them. The best she could do would be to find a corner and hope that once she’d sat down in it, and applied herself to her nuncheon, certain people would find something else to laugh at. She couldn’t help darting the Duke a rather resentful glance before beginning her search. He was standing with a group of men by one of the fireplaces, the over-mantel of which they were using as a shelf for their drinks while they tucked into their food. Which did nothing to improve her mood. It was all very well for men. They could eat standing up and put mantel shelves into use as tables, and all anyone would say was that they were making themselves at home. If she were to do the same...
She resumed her search of the room for a secluded corner and after only a few moments finally spotted a straight-backed chair standing against the wall by a window. It had the advantage of being partially shielded by a heavy velvet curtain. With a sigh of relief, Horatia made straight for it. It was only once she’d sat down that she realised that it was going to be virtually impossible to eat anything while she had her teacup in one hand and her plate in the other. The windowsill was too narrow to be anywhere near as useful as a mantelpiece, as well as being a bit awkward to reach being swathed by such a bulky curtain. Why, oh, why did people not provide their guests with handy little tables? And not just the gregarious ones, who sat upon the sofas in the middle of the room. They were all amply catered for. They had tables to the front of them, tables at their elbows, even tables directly behind the sofa back should they take it into their heads to reach for their teacups over their shoulders.
She was just wondering which of the groups of people who were in possession of tables she could go and join, when the Duke’s intended came bustling over, a little white dog bounding along at her skirts.
‘Miss Carmichael,’ said the dark-eyed, dark-haired, dark-skinned slip of a girl that nobody could believe the Duke would prefer over elegant blonde beauties such as Lady Elizabeth. ‘I am so sorry that I have not had a chance to speak with you before now. I am...’ She hesitated, a tide of pink rushing up her cheeks. And then she took a deep breath as though deciding she might as well say whatever it was she’d thought twice about. ‘As you can probably tell, I am not used to entertaining on such a vast scale. Well, any scale at all, to be honest. But, oh, dear me...’ She waved to a footman stationed at the door. ‘Peter, can you go and fetch a little table for Miss Carmichael? I am so sorry,’ she said the moment he’d strolled away. ‘I should have thought to have a table placed here.’
The girl was so uncomfortable, so clearly out of her depth, that even though Horatia had just been mentally berating her for not thinking of providing a table, she started to feel some sympathy for her. Even though that smacked of disloyalty to Lady Elizabeth.
‘I don’t suppose you expected any of your guests to wish to sit behind a curtain,’ she said by way of a compromise.
‘Oh. But I should have known, since the first time I set foot in this room I only lasted five minutes before... I mean, well, that is, how are you finding things at Theakstone Court?’ Miss Underwood spoke in such a flustered manner that Horatia would have assumed, if she didn’t know better, that the girl was even more unused to polite company than she was. ‘It must be so awkward for you, being here at such a difficult time,’ she then continued. ‘Were you very close to your brother? Oh.’ She coloured up again. ‘That is not the kind of question I should have asked, is it? Oh, where is Peter with that table?’ She looked around with an air of desperation.
And Horatia didn’t have the heart to maintain any sort of hostility at all any longer. After all, Lady Elizabeth herself didn’t seem to begrudge Miss Underwood the Duke. ‘I was very, very close to my brother,’ she said, in an attempt to lay to rest one of her hostess’s concerns. ‘And, yes, I do feel a bit awkward here, but then, to be frank, I was not that much less awkward before. In society, that is. In fact, I rarely went about much, even though I live in London.’
Now it was her cheeks that heated. But at least Miss Underwood looked less uncomfortable.
‘Then it was very brave of you to attend.’
‘Loyal, I should have said,’ drawled Lord Devizes, who had somehow managed to make his way across the room without either of the ladies noticing. Both she and Miss Underwood jumped, though she was the only one to spill tea down the front of her gown. Fortunately, since it was black, the stain would hardly show. Which was yet another advantage of not having to wear the fashionably pale colours Aunt Matilda had insisted she wore in the past.
‘You came, primarily,’ Lord Devizes was continuing, ‘to provide support for your disappointed friend, Lady Elizabeth Grey, did you not? Against the woman who stole her intended from beneath her nose.’ He turned to give Miss Underwood a smile that was just about the most disdainful expression she’d ever seen on anyone’s face.
Which made her want to leap to the girl’s defence. ‘It was as much to my advantage as Lady Elizabeth’s. That is,’ she said, belatedly realising that she’d been on the verge of giving too much away, ‘she thought that getting me out of Town might help to, um, lift my spirits.’
‘I can see that she is doing her utmost,’ he said, indicating the sofa on which Lady Elizabeth was sitting with her mother, at the far end of the room, ‘to do so.’
Sarcastic beast.
‘Well, it must be very difficult,’ put in Miss Underwood, ‘to know what to do for Miss Carmichael. I mean, what with her being in mourning, it isn’t as if she can join in all that much with any of the activities we have planned for the entertainment of our guests this week.’
No, but then she hadn’t wanted to do any joining in. She’d wanted to contact Lord Devizes and let him know what she knew, so that he could bring Herbert’s killers to justice. Once she’d shared all the information she had, she’d planned to stay in her room as much as she could, out of the way of all the festivities, and hand the work over to him.
What a fool she was. She should never have assumed that a man, any man, even a man like Lord Devizes would have been better at tackling the active work. When had any man been any better than her at anything?
Except dressing well and being charming, that was, at which both Lord Devizes and Herbert excelled. Which wasn’t surprising, the amount of time they spent gazing at themselves in mirrors. Why, Lord Devizes was doing so now. Though he was standing close enough to hold a conversation with her, he’d also chosen a spot which gave him a clear view to the mirror which hung between her window and the next one along. And was openly checking out the set of his neckcloth.
‘You were involved in the planning of the entertainment, were you?’ Lord Devizes raised one of his eyebrows in mock surprise at Miss Underwood.
‘I... Well, no, it was more my aunt, as I expect you know, but...’
‘Well, I certainly knew that it could not have been His Grace,’ he said, apparently satisfied with his appearance and turning to direct a sardonic smile in Miss Underwood’s direction. ‘Since he cares nothing for anybody’s pleasure but his own.’
Miss Underwood gasped. ‘That is not true. He is a truly generous host—’
‘I shall have to take your word for it, having never been in receipt of his hospitality.’
‘What?’ Miss Underwood looked completely taken aback. ‘Has he never...? I mean, I know that there is some bad feeling on your side, but...’
Lord Devizes managed to let Miss Underwood know that she’d seriously offended him by letting his smile slip just the tiniest bit and doing something with his eyes that made them look positively freezing. ‘Bad feeling?’ The tone of his voice matched the iciness of his eyes.
‘Oh, um, I see Peter coming over with the table,’ said Miss Underwood, wrenching her gaze away from Lord Devizes and turning to the footman as though he was her saviour. After flapping about for a minute or so placing it in a position that meant Horatia had both cup and plate comfortably to hand, Miss Underwood scurried off with her footman at her side.
Leaving Horatia alone with Lord Devizes.
‘That was a bit unnecessary,’ she said.
‘Possibly,’ he conceded. ‘But I gathered, from your little demonstration in the chapel earlier, that you were desperate to have private speech with me.’
‘Well, yes, I am, but...’
‘Then why waste the few moments we have in questioning my methods? We probably have two minutes, at most, before somebody comes to break up our tête-à-tête. Here,’ he said, holding out the Bible she’d been worrying about. ‘My pretext for approaching you.’
Gone was his fatuous smile and the lazy droop to his eyes. Even his voice had changed. Now she could see the man her brother had worked with. The man whom very few people ever saw when they were in the presence of Lord Devizes.
‘What is so important that you needed to accost me in that fashion?’ he said, in a tone of voice that finally persuaded her that he could really have run the kind of organisation Herbert swore they’d been involved in. ‘Money, is it? I know Herbert supported you.’
‘He did not!’ She was fortunate enough to have a small competence of her own. Along with Aunt Matilda’s jointure, the two ladies managed to rub along in their little house very comfortably, in a financial sense, at least. ‘And if I was in that sort of difficulty, do you really suppose I would apply to you for help?’
‘Then the sketch you tucked in the pages of your Bible really was a message. Herbert must have been speaking out of turn,’ he said, half to himself. ‘What more,’ he said, applying himself directly to her again, ‘do you know about the business beside my code name?’
‘Probably a sight more than you do, since I was the one who unravelled all the ciphers you gave him.’
‘You?’ He looked at her as though he’d never really seen her before, in a searching, piercing way that made her want to wriggle in her seat.
‘Yes, me,’ she said, feeling her cheeks flush. Though why they should do so she could not think.
Or perhaps she could. This was the first time he’d really turned his full attention on her. And it was having a most remarkable effect. She could now see why he was so attractive to so many women, even though she’d never cared for his wispy fair looks before. He had a great deal of...presence, that was what it was. She could not call it charm, since he couldn’t be less charming, insinuating she couldn’t have possibly done so much of Herbert’s paperwork for him. Well, whatever it was about him, it was a bit galling to discover that she was not immune to it.
‘Surely,’ she pointed out, reminding herself that she was a rational, intelligent creature who was in the middle of a very important conversation, and, therefore, had no business melting into the chair, let alone noticing that his eyes were blue, not grey as she’d previously thought, ‘you cannot really think he had the time to work out some of the earlier ciphers he brought to me with all the carousing he did with you? Or the brains, come to that. You knew him at Oxford, didn’t you?’
‘Herbert was clever...’
‘In some ways, yes. But he didn’t have the patience to sit down and work through the thousands of possible permutations each cipher could represent. Don’t you have any idea how many hours such work takes?’
‘I truly sympathise,’ he said in his more typical lazy drawl, his expression suddenly assuming that mask of fatuous insincerity that he’d briefly dropped. And then turned to face the Duke, who was, Horatia saw, approaching them with a look of dark intent on his face. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t my exalted half-brother, His Grace the Duke himself. Deigning to grace us with his presence.’
The Duke came to a halt. His brows lowered still further. ‘I have not come to quarrel with you.’
‘No? You have not come to inform me that I have insulted your poor deluded little bride? Even though, not two minutes after she reported our conversation to you, you come over here when hitherto you have exchanged barely two words with me.’
Horatia got the peculiar sensation that she’d just become invisible. For all the notice either brother was taking of her, she might as well be.
‘I wonder you accepted my invitation to my wedding at all, if that is your belief,’ growled the Duke.
‘Perhaps it will give me more pleasure to be a thorn in your side in person, than to merely express my dislike of you and all you stand for by staying away,’ replied Lord Devizes.
Oh, Lord. Was there anything more uncomfortable than being caught in the middle of what she knew to be a long-standing family feud?
‘I suppose that now you are going to accuse me of, what, upsetting Miss Carmichael? Or attempting to compromise her over the teacups?’
The Duke’s eyes turned to chips of black ice. ‘You had better not attempt anything of the sort,’ he said, evidently taking Lord Devizes’s throwaway remark as some sort of threat.
‘It would be useless to explain, I suppose,’ said Lord Devizes, his own eyes gone as cold as his brother’s, ‘that I was a very close friend of Miss Carmichael’s brother. That I was offering my condolences. And that if it appeared as though I had upset her, it was hardly surprising, his demise being so recent, and the manner of his departure from this life so particularly unpleasant.’
The Duke, who looked as though he’d been robbed of the pleasure of taking his younger brother by the neck and heaving him through a window, muttered his own condolences, before nodding his head and walking away.
‘I suppose that will grant us another minute or so,’ said Horatia, watching the Duke retreat to his fiancée’s side. ‘Even if it was a pack of lies.’
‘It was no such thing.’
‘Oh, please,’ she snorted. Which she knew was a very unattractive habit of hers when talking to men and no doubt contributed to their universal failure to offer for her hand in marriage, but which she simply could not stop. ‘We both know why you have come here. And it has nothing to do with annoying your brother. I apologise for underestimating you.’
‘Apology accepted,’ he said with a smooth smile.
‘Then you are on the trail of Herbert’s killer? I wasn’t sure Herbert had managed to pass on that last note I deciphered for him. I had thought that was why they killed him, to stop you getting it, but since you are here...’
‘That’s enough,’ he said firmly. ‘Good God, woman, have you no sense? You don’t blurt out words like...in public, when anyone can hear.’
‘No, no of course not, I’m sorry, I just...’ She swallowed. ‘And you are right. One of the people in this very room could be...’ She glanced round her nervously. Nobody was standing close enough to overhear their conversation, she was fairly sure. And Lord Devizes had angled his body so that nobody could see all that much of her at all, so they couldn’t even guess what she might be saying. Though it had been careless of her to blurt out what she knew. Particularly after vowing she was going to be more cautious. ‘I know I am not much good at this side of things.’ She was never at ease in groups of people. She was no good at hiding what she felt, or keeping her opinions to herself. Which made her rather unpopular. ‘I just got a bit...that is, I’d thought I was going to have to do it alone. But now, knowing that you are secretly on the trail, that you have even followed them here, just as I have...oh, you have no idea how glad I am.’ She was no longer alone. She could trust Lord Devizes, just as Herbert had done.
Before she could think better of it, she reached out and clasped his hand. Squeezed it and said, ‘Thank you. Thank you. And if there is anything I can do to help you in your search...’
He withdrew his hand abruptly. ‘There is not. You are not cut out for this kind of work. I concede that you may have played a part in Herbert’s success with...that is, that you were more aware of things than he led me to believe, but he would want you to stay out of it.’
‘No, he wouldn’t!’ He’d brought the ciphers to her in the first place because he’d known how much she would enjoy unravelling them. At doing work that not even most men could take on.
But Lord Devizes had turned on his heel and was striding away.
As though the matter was closed.
Chapter Five (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
Nick walked across the room as though he had some destination in mind, though in truth his mind was reeling too much for him to pay attention to such mundane matters as where he was going, or who he’d just smiled at as he’d brushed past them.
Because her claim of being his codebreaker rang with so much truth it was like a peal of bells. Hadn’t he always marvelled at Herbert’s ability to stay up all night drinking, then roll up with a deciphered message the very next day? There had been no denying Herbert’s charm, or his ability to cosy up to some low-life and ferret out his deepest secrets. But he’d wondered, more than once, if his friend might be using someone else to do the hard graft behind the scenes.
Someone like a sister who was so awkward in social gatherings that she’d rather sit at home poring over tables of ciphers. And who doted on her brother so much that she gladly let him take all the credit.
He’d wandered over to the buffet table. Deciding he might as well make it look as if he’d gone there on purpose, he picked up a fresh wine glass and held it out for the footman to fill. His hand, he noted with consternation, was trembling slightly.
He took a deep draught of the fortifying drink and then strolled to the nearest mirror, as though to examine his reflection. He looked calm, thank goodness. Slightly amused, if anything. Which was a relief. He did not want anyone to know that, after his encounter with Herbert’s sister, his heart was pounding with excitement, his mind racing with possibilities. Because this revelation that his codebreaker, his Portunus, still lived, changed everything. If she really was what she claimed, then he wasn’t finished after all.
‘I’m not surprised you need a stiff drink after that little scene,’ came a bitter voice from just below the level of his left shoulder. The fact that his sister, Lady Twickenham as she now was, had managed to approach him without him noticing warned him that he needed to pull himself together. So what if little Miss Carmichael was his Portunus, had been acting as his codebreaker and opener of the doors to all the secrets England’s enemies were trying to pass on to the French? He wasn’t going to be able to carry on his work if he could allow himself to become this inattentive to all that was going on around him in a room.
‘Yes,’ he drawled, turning from the mirror to give his sister back the kind of sarcastic smile she’d expect. ‘It did all rather escalate.’ Had escalated beyond anything a feather-brained creature like she could imagine. Jane’s life revolved around fashion and status and gossip. And she assumed he was as shallow as she.
He’d taken pains to make sure of it. Although recently, he’d been starting to feel the muscles in his face creating smiles that held far more disdain than amusement. And when he checked those smiles in a mirror, more often than not he appeared cynical. Jaded. The way Jane looked all the time.
‘I only wonder,’ she said, ‘that you took notice of such a dowdy in the first place.’
‘It had the effect of annoying His Grace,’ he pointed out, as though that had been his sole intent on approaching his friend’s sister. And Jane, being the kind of person she was, assumed that was what he’d meant.
‘You are a wretch,’ she said with a maliciously approving smile, rapping him lightly on the wrist for good measure. ‘I had wondered why you came, knowing how you must feel about the Cuckoo.’ She darted a look of loathing in the direction of their half-brother.
He followed the direction of her gaze. Their half-brother was looking straight back at them, his beetling brows drawn down into a scowl with which Nick was all too familiar. A scowl which sent his mind flying right back to the first time they’d encountered each other, as boys. In their father’s study, here at Theakstone Court. And the shock he’d experienced upon hearing that the surly, swarthy oaf who’d looked, dressed, and smelled like a farm labourer was going to inherit the house and the title that Nick had been encouraged to believe was his by right. And what was more, that Nick was no longer even going to live here, but in a smaller, distant estate that he’d never even heard of before.
Nick turned his head away, set his glass down on the mantelpiece and raised both his hands to his cravat. Demonstrating, should anyone else be taking note, that he cared more for his own appearance than he did for his half-brother’s opinion. It was an attitude he’d adopted very early on, in order to conceal his devastating pain at being cast off like an old shoe. Oliver might be the first born and the rightful heir, and nowadays also one of the wealthiest men in England, but Nick was never going to let him forget that, once, Nick had seen him standing hat in hand, shuffling his feet in their scuffed boots.
After adjusting the set of his already perfectly arranged neckcloth, Nick returned his gaze to the scowling Duke, raising his quizzing glass as he ran a disparaging eye over the bulky frame in its sombre clothing, before allowing his lips to twist in just the hint of a disdainful grimace, before switching his attention back to his sister.
Who’d so bitterly referred to the Duke as a cuckoo.
But then that was how it had seemed, to start with. As though the moment he’d come to Theakstone Court, Nick and his sisters, along with their mother, had been tossed out of their cosy nest.
The truth was, however, that even though they’d all resented the boy whose appearance had made their father look at them all differently, the analogy fell down under scrutiny. Because no matter where Oliver Norrington had spent the first eleven years of his life, there was no disputing the fact that he was the legitimate first born. And that Nick would remain second best for ever. No matter what he did.
‘Should I,’ said Nick, quirking an eyebrow at his sister’s reflection, ‘ask why you are here, then?’
She gave a little shrug. ‘Anyone who is anyone has been invited. It is the event of the Season. Even the Wortley-Fortescues are posting back from Paris to attend.’
Yes, so they were. He turned to his sister slowly, giving his mind the leisure to ponder that fact before having to come up with the kind of spiteful witticism she would expect.
The Duke had put it about that he had invited so many of the great and good of the land to Theakstone Court because he wanted to introduce his bride to society from his own home, rather than pitching her into the hothouse that was London. Yet, what better excuse could there be for getting all the members of a network together? They could exchange the latest information they’d gathered over a hand of whist, or while out riding in the park, to whoever intended to take it to their paymasters in France. That must have been what Miss Carmichael had meant by her comment about him having the same reason for coming here as she did. She clearly thought he’d come to Theakstone Court on the trail of those responsible for her brother’s death.
And he’d said nothing to disabuse her of that opinion. Because he wanted her to think he was at least as clever as she. Yet only now did he regard the way the room was already thronging with all the noblest and most influential members of society left in England with suspicion. For many of them, as his sister had just pointed out, had already taken advantage of Bonaparte’s defeat and crossed the Channel to see Paris. Or Brussels. Or any other of the cities that had been impossible to visit while Europe had been at war. And once the celebrations for the Duke’s nuptials were done, many more of them would take to ships and flock to the Continent. And only a very few people, who knew that information was being passed to the French, would think anything other than that the fashionable were determined to keep up with the latest trend.
‘I cannot deny that it has also given me a great deal of pleasure to install my own children in the nursery where we all used to play,’ his sister added, with a flash of malice. The sister who’d correctly deduced why he was here.
Because she knew him. She knew that he could, and frequently did, act from petty motives. Over the years, he’d gone from doing his utmost to prove to his father that he was the better son, to creating the biggest scandals he could simply to get the old devil to notice he still existed.
‘Mary did the same. We thought we should make a point, you know.’
‘And what point would that be,’ he said, ‘precisely?’ That they were still pouting over the fact that their father had been unjust and unkind? ‘She was only a babe when we left. She can surely recall nothing of this house, or what it was like to live here.’ He’d only been approaching his sixth birthday himself. Though some things were impossible to forget. Like this room. He let his eyes wander over the nymphs frolicking about the frieze below the elaborate plaster adorning the ceiling. All that yellow. Like sunshine, Mother had always said, although today it put him in mind of lemons and the bitter taste they left in the mouth.
‘We still have more right to be here than...than anyone else.’ She shot a look of sheer loathing at Miss Underwood, who was hanging on to the Duke’s arm and gazing up at him with a worshipful expression. He couldn’t quite believe that any woman could look at any man with quite so much open adoration, let alone a man like the Duke.
‘Especially that by-blow of his.’
‘His what?’ He whipped round to look at her.
‘Oh, didn’t you know? Our perfect brother has blotted his copybook. And rather than making any attempt to be discreet, he has brought the fruit of his misdeeds into his house and is forcing that stupid girl to acknowledge it. And she is making a mull of things, from what I hear. The schoolroom is in total chaos, at any rate, since there is no governess in residence.’
She’d said it at the top of her voice. As though hoping anyone within earshot would hear. Because she was furious. And no wonder. It was bad enough to have been thrown out as though they were chaff. But to hear that Oliver was prepared to bring an illegitimate child here really turned the knife in the wound.
He turned to stare at his half-brother with resentment. Was he doing it to make a point? To tell the world that he held even a bastard in higher esteem than his own legitimate siblings?
By God, he hoped that Miss Carmichael was right. That this week-long celebration of the Duke’s nuptials to a nobody really was a front to disguise the true purpose of gathering this particular set of people here. That among them all was a small group who were dedicated to betraying their country by passing on highly sensitive information to the French. Specifically, to those segments of the French population who persisted in supporting Napoleon Bonaparte and stirring up as much unrest as they could. Who’d do whatever it took to see him restored to power, even if it meant plunging Europe back into a state of warfare.
When he and Herbert had first been alerted to what was going on, he’d leapt at the chance to find out who the traitors were, believing there could be nothing more satisfying than preventing Europe from descending into warfare again. But if the Duke was mixed up in this particular act of treason...then, oh, yes, that would really be something.
Even if the Duke wasn’t mixed up in it, at the very least Nick would stir up a hornet’s nest.
He looked round the room at the wedding guests who’d already arrived. Miss Carmichael seemed to believe that her brother’s killer was here. Possibly in this very room. Why? What did she know that he didn’t?
Hah. Probably a great many things. He’d been so distracted since Herbert’s death that he hadn’t even heard about the Duke’s love child.
He had to pull himself together. The room was teeming with nobles, politicians and high-ranking clergy. Any one of whom could have turned traitor and then had Herbert killed rather than risk exposure. Because Herbert had been getting close. Too close for someone’s comfort, clearly. Else why have him killed?
He altered his stance, just a touch, so that he could see the corner of the room in which Herbert’s sister was sitting. She was nibbling at a slice of chicken, rather disconsolately. Because he’d told her she was no good at this line of work.
And she wasn’t. Yes, she could decipher codes, but she had no talent for the kind of double-dealing that had come to Herbert naturally. She couldn’t sit up all night drinking a potential source of information into a stupor, lulling them into a false sense of security by ladling on the charm. She couldn’t befriend someone and, under the guise of gossiping, gain their sympathy and get them to reveal far more than they should.
And yet she wanted to track down Herbert’s killer. It was why she’d come here. It must be. It certainly couldn’t be for the reason most women would attend a wedding. She wasn’t one of those who went to any lengths to get invitations to the most fashionable events, to get a rich, titled husband. Since she’d stumbled through her first Season without taking, she’d gained a reputation for disliking men. You only had to look at her to see she had no interest in fashion, either.
And from what she said, she had information that, when put together with what he knew, might blow the whole conspiracy wide open.
But how could he involve her in an affair that had become so dangerous that even Herbert, a skilled operative, hadn’t survived?
And Herbert had been so determined to keep her out of things that he hadn’t let anyone, not even Nick, know she was making any contribution to their work at all.
Not so determined, however, that he’d had any scruples about getting her to decipher the coded messages that had occasionally fallen into their hands.
‘Whatever is it about that creature that has you so fascinated?’ His sister’s strident tones broke into his thoughts, making him aware that for the last few minutes he’d been staring at Herbert’s sister, while debating with himself whether he could, in all conscience, bring her on board.
‘I am wondering whether it would be profitable to cultivate her acquaintance.’
‘What, a drab little thing like that? Not your usual style, Nick.’ Though then she grinned. ‘What mischief are you plotting? It has to be something exceptionally wicked for you to get that particular look on your face.’
‘I shall not tell you,’ he said with sincerity. The last person he could tell of his sensitive dealings with government ministers was a gabblemonger like Jane. He might as well take out an advertisement in The Times. ‘But what I can promise you is that our half-brother is not going to like it.’
‘Oh, goody,’ she said. ‘If there is anything I can do to help, you have only to let me know. I would give almost anything to see that smug expression wiped off his face.’
Yes, even to the point of conniving in an innocent damsel’s downfall, by the look she was shooting Miss Carmichael.
Though was he any better? His plans for her were not of the sort Jane assumed. But they would bring her into just as much danger. And not merely of her virtue, but possibly of her very life.
If he was a less selfish man, he wouldn’t dream of involving her. But he was selfish. The work he’d begun with Herbert had given him a sense of purpose for the first time in his life. And he was good at it, too. He simply didn’t want to give it up.
Besides, preventing a war was more important than the welfare of one insignificant female.
Wasn’t it?
Chapter Six (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
The chicken was probably delicious, but to Horatia it might as well have been shoe leather she was chewing. Lord Devizes was just like every other man she’d ever known, apart from Herbert. They thought she could not possibly be of any help with their manly, important work. He’d walked away with a sort of sneer, though how on earth anyone could express disdain by the way they walked she could not say. And then she’d watched him discussing her with his scarily dainty, fashionable sister, to judge from the way they kept glancing at her and laughing nasty little laughs.
The rebuff was doubly hard because at one point he’d more or less acknowledged the contribution she’d made, just before he’d dashed her hopes by pointing out how unfit she was for the kind of work Herbert had undertaken. And then rounded it all off by saying that Herbert would want her to stay out of it.
Which was true, of course. Herbert had been terribly protective of her. He’d stressed how dangerous the people were he hunted down and how important it was that nobody ever find out she was involved in bringing them to justice.
And he’d been right. They were so dangerous that one of them, sensing Herbert was getting close to exposing them, had killed him. But did that mean she was going to just sit back and let them get away with it?
She dragged her eyes away from Lord Devizes, and his titled sister, and gazed round the room, wondering which of these lofty personages could possibly be not only a traitor, but also responsible for the death of her brother. Not that they would have soiled their aristocratic fingers with the dagger themselves. They’d have hired some low, common person to do the dirty work. But somebody here was the one who signed his notes by the code name of The Curé. The presence of Lord Devizes had at least confirmed that much, even if he wasn’t going to share any other information with her. His animosity for his half-brother the Duke was so tangible nothing else could possibly have induced him to attend the wedding.
Just as her thoughts turned to him again, he started stalking in her direction, eyeing her the way she’d imagine a lion would look at its next meal.
‘The chicken not to your liking?’
‘Um,’ she said stupidly, her mouth suddenly running dry. What was he playing at? And why was he looking at her like that? As though...as though he’d like to sink his teeth into her.
‘Come, come, Miss Carmichael, if you are going to mix with the great and good of the land, you are going to have to come up with a wittier response than um when somebody makes a conversational gambit.’
‘Oh...er...’
‘That is even worse. You are making it obvious to all that my presence overwhelms you. And now you are blushing,’ he said mockingly. ‘Gauche. That is what you look. Gauche and ill dressed, and totally out of place.’
Well, she might be a bit gauche, but he was being extremely rude. Deliberately. As though he was trying to upset her. ‘You are not going to scare me off,’ she said fiercely, having suddenly seen what he was about. ‘I have come here to find out who is responsible for...’ She pulled herself up on the brink of saying the words he’d warned her were not to be uttered, and changed them to, ‘You know what...and insulting me isn’t going to make me...cry, or run away, or...or whatever it is you are attempting to do.’
‘Well, well,’ he drawled. ‘Quite the little vixen, when provoked. Perhaps,’ he said in a voice suddenly turned all...caressing, ‘there is more to you than meets the eye.’
Now what was he doing? She narrowed her eyes. He was looking at her the way he looked at all those silly women who fluttered round him, hoping to become his next bed partner. With smouldering eyes. And a smile that she could somehow only describe as inviting. ‘It is of no use ladling on the charm,’ she said firmly. ‘Not when it is so patently insincere. Besides, I have a mirror. I know perfectly well what I look like.’
‘Ah, but I was pointing out that there is more to you than meets the eye. Things that a mirror cannot show.’
‘I am not going to fall for that plumper, either,’ she said. She would have said a great deal more, only Miss Underwood was coming over.
‘I do hope you are, I mean, that everything is...’ said Miss Underwood, looking anxiously between her and the lazily smiling Lord Devizes.
Horatia found that she was clutching her plate in such a tight grip it was a wonder the fragile porcelain had not snapped. Her irritation must be obvious to everyone in the room, while Lord Devizes was lounging against the side jamb of the window, the epitome of cool, calm masculinity. No, no, not cool and calm. Smouldering and confident, that was what his stance portrayed. As if he was sure she was going to be his next conquest.
‘What can you possibly be implying?’ he said, folding his arms across his chest and raising one eyebrow.
Exactly! He could not possibly be attempting to make a conquest of her, no matter how it might appear.
So what was he about? Did he just delight in making sport of poor little dabs of females? Or was it Miss Underwood and his brother he was trying to provoke?
‘Oh, well,’ said Miss Underwood, ‘I am sure it must be very hard for Miss Carmichael to cope with...um, having been so recently bereaved, I mean she must be...and really, we ought to be trying to be more...’
He straightened up. ‘Are you trying to teach me my manners?’ His smile had gone. ‘Miss Underwood?’
‘Of course she isn’t,’ said Lady Elizabeth, who must have also approached while she’d been talking to Lord Devizes. Or at least, fencing with him verbally. ‘Horatia, I can see you have finished with your food. Shall we retire to our rooms now?’
Lord Devizes was smiling again down his perfectly formed nose at her. And no wonder. Not just her hostess, but also her friend, had noticed her mounting annoyance and come dashing to her rescue before she disgraced herself by doing something like flinging her plate to the ground so that she could stand up and launch into a proper duel with him.
‘I suppose,’ she said in a voice that was as humble as she could make it sound, ‘that would be best.’ She got to her feet and set her plate on the side table the footman had brought her, before she could change her mind about turning it into any kind of missile.
‘Best for whom?’
To her surprise, it was Lord Devizes who’d spoken.
‘You may be pretending to be concerned for her welfare,’ he continued, eyeing Miss Underwood in a very disdainful manner, ‘but isn’t it the truth that you want to shuffle her out of the way? So that she cannot bring a shadow to your glittering show?’
Miss Underwood and Lady Elizabeth both gave gasps of outrage.
‘Indeed it is not,’ said Miss Underwood. ‘I could see that you were making her uncomfortable and...’
‘Was I making you uncomfortable?’ He turned to her and gave her one of those knee-melting smiles. And in spite of knowing he was up to something, a part of her, a very small, yet wholly feminine part of her, wanted to sigh and smile back, and say Of course you were not making me uncomfortable. So, of course, she clenched her knees and flung up her chin.
‘I think you were deliberately baiting me,’ she replied.
‘Ah, yes, but after only a very little of that you ceased drooping over your plate, looking as though you wished to shrink behind the curtains, didn’t you?’
Miss Underwood and Lady Elizabeth both looked at her. And then at him.
‘It occurs to me that you are both being overprotective,’ he said. ‘What Miss Carmichael needs is not cosseting and being hidden away, but something to do. Something useful. Something that will occupy her mind. Is that not so, Miss Carmichael?’
The ladies looked at her again. She could see them both reaching the same conclusion. Though they both disliked Lord Devizes, and the way he went about things, on this occasion, he just happened to be correct.
‘I did bring you here hoping that a change of scene would distract you,’ said Lady Elizabeth thoughtfully.
Horatia rapidly reviewed the last words Lord Devizes had spoken. About wanting something useful to do. And about how she didn’t need cosseting and protecting. Did that mean he had changed his mind about keeping her out of his investigative work, while she was here at Theakstone Court? Her heart gave a funny little kick in her chest. She studied his face carefully.
He gave her a surreptitious wink.
If she was going to prove that she could work with him in an active role, then she was going to have to pick up little hints like that and run with them. Although she had no idea what his plan was, he looked as though he definitely had one.
And if she didn’t want to end up trying to track down Herbert’s killer on her own, then she supposed she would have to follow his lead.
‘I do think it might help if I could be useful to you, Miss Underwood,’ she therefore said, ‘in some way. I know I must be a most difficult guest to have at such an event and the last thing I want is to cast any shadow over your enjoyment.’
‘And I just happen to know that Miss Underwood is in dire need of help,’ said Lord Devizes, with a knowing smile.
‘Oh?’
All three ladies turned to him. And as they did so it occurred to Horatia that they must look exactly the way all the other ladies looked when they gathered round him. As if they were hanging on his every word. Though at least none of them had silly looks of admiration on their faces while they were doing it.
‘Yes, I have just learned that the nursery is in a state of chaos.’
The nursery? What did she know of nurseries? Or children of any sort, come to that?
‘Lady Twickenham informs me that there is no resident governess to preside. I imagine that the children must be behaving like little savages while the visiting governesses are battling it out for supremacy.’
Miss Underwood clasped her hands at her breast. ‘I deny...that is, I cannot be everywhere at once...’
‘On second thoughts,’ said Lord Devizes, giving her a considering look, ‘perhaps Miss Carmichael is not the best person to put in charge of such a task. After all, what can a spinster know of children? Or what might keep them out of mischief?’
This calculatedly disparaging remark immediately caused both Miss Underwood and Lady Elizabeth to leap to her defence.
‘I am sure Horatia is perfectly capable of restoring order over some squabbling servants,’ said Lady Elizabeth loyally.
‘Most governesses are unmarried ladies, you know, of good birth and...’ said Miss Underwood at the same time.
Lord Devizes raised his hands, as though in surrender. And then sauntered away, a satisfied smile curving his lips in a way that made Horatia simultaneously want to slap him and applaud him for the masterful way he’d just manipulated them into installing her into the very arena he wished her, for some reason, to investigate.
Chapter Seven (#u14f5cf59-8150-5d25-b52d-73449fe2a343)
‘Lord Devizes is quite correct,’ said Miss Underwood despondently. ‘I really do need to do something about a new governess. Although, I do not regret dismissing the last one,’ she said, raising her chin and shooting his retreating back a defiant look. ‘She was totally unsuitable.’
‘He was also correct in pointing out that I have no experience with children,’ said Horatia.
‘Never mind standing about talking about how clever Lord Devizes is to point out everyone else’s faults,’ snapped Lady Elizabeth. ‘Let’s go up to the nursery and put our minds to solving your immediate problem, Miss Underwood.’
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- Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
- Язык: Книги на английском языке
- Объём: 260 стр. 3 иллюстрации
- ISBN: 9781474089227
- Дата выхода книги: 30 ноября 2019
- Версия: 📚 Электронная книга
A staged seduction… …to solve a murder mystery! After one disastrous season Miss Horatia Carmichael avoids the ton—her mind and her tongue are too unfashionably opinionated for her to land a husband! But to find her brother’s killer she must join forces with incorrigible rake Lord Devizes and allow the Marquess to pretend to seduce her for all to see! Horatia knows it’s not real—she’s a plain spinster after all—but as danger grows so does their desire…
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Видео по теме - Mystery (lyrics) feat. Kathryn Marquis
