The Last Lady of Thornhill Manor

by Patricia Haverton

  “Precisely.”

  “And no one has been in here save the physicians, you, your maid, and His Grace’s valet?”

  “Patrick was,” Amalia admitted, frowning, “when he tried to dupe father into signing the contract. But he has no motive to kill Father and did not bring anything for Father to eat or drink.”

  Something nagged at Amalia about what she just said. She could not place it, and it slithered from her grasp. “I have been wondering if Eastcairn is using Patrick to gain either my or my father’s consent for marriage.”

  “Using? How so?”

  “Blackmail.”

  Reggie’s brows shot up. “Oh, no. That never occurred to me.”

  “But now Patrick is missing.”

  “Missing? For how long?”

  “He vanished right after he tried to fool Father into signing the contract yesterday. Eastcairn is gone as well, since Father ordered him to leave for the insult offered in trying to force Father to agree to a marriage.”

  Reggie sat back in his chair, rubbing his injured shoulder. “I am beginning to see a pattern here, Amalia. Eastcairn shows up right after your father falls ill, pressuring you into marrying him. If he is indeed putting pressure on Patrick, that would explain Patrick’s attempt to coerce a signature from your father. Eastcairn may very well be the one behind all of this.”

  Thinking, Amalia shunted her eyes away. “I can see him trying to murder Father, yes; if he is married to me, he is the next Duke. But why would he want you dead? Or kill your mares?”

  “I am his biggest rival.”

  She snapped her gaze back to him, astounded. “Rival?”

  “For your hand.” Rising, Reggie strode toward her and dropped to his knee beside her chair. His bright blue eyes on hers, he smiled, the expression more sad than warm. “I have been such a coward, my sweet Amalia. I never found the courage to tell you how I feel.”

  A feeling of comfort and trust spread through her, a heady rush that made her feel slightly guilty for feeling it. “Reggie?”

  “I love you, Amalia,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I have since I was twelve years old.”

  As she searched his eyes, seeing deep within them the love he held for her, her smile blossomed before she could stop it. “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “Why have you never said so? I mean, well, I do not know what I mean. I should understand.”

  He rested his hand lightly on hers where her maid could see it but not the physicians. “I never believed you could love me the same way. That you would forever regard me as Marshall’s friend, and never a prospective husband.” Glancing away, he whispered, “That you would tell me no, it could never happen.”

  “That is so not true.” When he met her gaze again, Amalia squeezed his fingers. “While I have always loved you as a friend, I did harbor hopes that you loved me as more than that. I, too, feared rejection. I was afraid you only saw me as Marshall’s sister and someone you wanted to protect, but hardly marry.”

  Reggie chuckled. “Alas, but what misery may have been halted had we just spoken sooner.”

  “True.” Amalia giggled. “But when the heart fears to hear that phrase, ‘I can never love you the way you want’, well, I expect it’s hard to speak up.”

  Lifting her hand, Reggie kissed her knuckles, then rose. “I feel as though a tremendous weight has been lifted from me.”

  “Me as well. Now if we can just find a cure for my father, all will be well.”

  Seating himself again, Reggie glanced at the physicians still murmuring over the table and the book. “The Duke is a strong man. Now that we know he is being poisoned, we can take further precautions to prevent it from happening again.”

  “You mentioned that perhaps a servant poisoned my father,” Amalia commented, following his gaze. “Could Eastcairn have placed one of his own people, one willing to commit murder, in this house?”

  “Nothing easier,” Reggie replied. “There are hundreds of servants and Perkins, and I certainly am not belittling him, cannot keep track of them all. In their livery and wigs, all the footmen look alike. And I would believe this is the work of a footman as opposed to a kitchen or scullery maid, we can rule out the cleaning staff, and certainly, rule out Perkins himself.”

  “So how are we to find the culprit?”

  “I suggest we put Mr. Bannock and his son on the task,” he said. “Exclude from suspicion any servant who has worked here for years. Closely examine any who have been hired recently, and search for any who actually have not been formally hired.”

  Amalia frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “In a household this large,” Reggie answered with a small grin, “how easy is it for a man to slip inside, don a uniform and wig and begin work as a footman?”

  “But footmen are trained exhaustively. No workman from the street can behave the same way and know the duties.”

  “True. But that is not to say Eastcairn planted one of his own footmen in here.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  At last, Mr. Hill and Mr. Williams approached the bed. “We think we are onto something,” Mr. Hill told them. “We believe that if we infuse His Grace with plenty of water, wine, charcoal, and ginger root tea, we can flush the toxins from his blood and organs. While we do not know exactly what toxin was used, we feel these might be the best remedy.”

  “But what if the servant somehow planted the poison within your medicines?” Amalia asked, half fearing her father might be made sick again, and this time be too weak to recover.

  “I will discard everything I have and begin fresh, My Lady,” he answered. “Nothing will be out of my sight from now on.”

  “Or mine,” Mr. Williams added. “I will depart right now to acquire the items we need straight from an apothecary and will draw the water myself.”

  “I am so very grateful to you both,” Amalia told them with a smile. “If there is anything else you need, please let either me or Lord Lyonhall know immediately.”

  Both physicians bowed. “The Duke is safe in our hands,” Mr. Hill told her.

  As Mr. Williams hurried out, Reggie stood up. “Perhaps we should speak to Mr. Bannock regarding our suspicions.”

  Amalia eyed him with concern. “Perhaps you should rest, Reggie. You do not look well at all.”

  “He does not, My Lady,” Mr. Hill commented, stepping closer to Reggie and gazing at his pallor with an appraising eye. “My Lord, permit me to take a look at you. Then you should lie down in one of the Duke’s other rooms where I might keep a close watch on your recovery.”

  Reggie glanced between the two of them, his lips quirked in a smile. “I feel as though I am outnumbered. Very well. I cannot protect my lady love properly if I am too sick to do so.”

  Amalia beckoned to Edwina. “We will leave you to some privacy, then, and pay a call on Mr. Bannock.”

  Reggie tossed her a quick wink. “Then, I will see you after I have rested.”

  “You certainly will.”

  Keeping a tight rein on her sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him, Amalia strode from her father’s chambers with Edwina behind her. Closing the door that led into the hall, she grinned broadly at her friend. “He loves me,” she all but crowed. “You knew it all along, did you not?”

  “Of course,” Edwina replied as they strode down the hallway. “You had to discover it for yourself, however. It was not my place to point it out.”

  “You could have.”

  “I saw it in his face, My Lady,” Edwina told her, her own smile wide and happy. “That I did tell you many times.”

  “I know you did.” Amalia paused, thoughtful, gazing at Edwina. “I suppose you are right in that I needed to find out for myself. Just as it was important for Reggie to confess his feelings. Oh, Ed, I am so happy right now. I think I am going to float.”

  “Just do not trip going down the stairs. They are not conducive for floating.”

  Amalia laughed. “With Fathe
r truly getting well again, perhaps he will agree if Reggie asks him for my hand.”

  “I do not see why he would refuse,” Edwina replied as they continued walking. “The Marquess’s bloodline is high enough, and once His Grace knows how you both feel, he surely will say yes.”

  “I do hope you are right. And, of course, if Reggie wants to marry me.”

  Edwina scowled at her. “Now you are being ridiculous, My Lady. The poor man just bared his soul to you. Nor is he drooling over your inheritance.”

  “You are right,” Amalia agreed with a small laugh. “Thank you for pointing that out.”

  “Someone has to.”

  “Naturally, you take that responsibility.” Amalia sighed, happier than she has been in a long time. “Everything is going to be fine from now on, Ed. Just you see. It will all be perfect.”

  Chapter 18

  After sleeping for several hours, Reggie woke to a hungry stomach and word from the Duke’s valet that he had a visitor waiting to see him. Yawning, he stretched as best he could without making his shoulder protest, and he asked, “Who is it?”

  “A Mr. Cowley, My Lord.”

  “I will see him, but downstairs.”

  “Very good, My Lord.”

  The valet bowed and departed as Reggie rose, feeling better for having gotten some sleep. Though his wound still throbbed painfully, he felt that some of the burning sensations had departed. Washing some of the sleep from his face, he went to the Duke’s bedchamber and hovered at the doorway. Both physicians bowed upon seeing him as Reggie glanced toward the Duke.

  “How is he?” he asked, taking a few steps inside.

  “We have gotten water and the remedies down him, My Lord,” Mr. Williams reported. “Though he has not yet awakened, his breathing seems easier and his pallor less pronounced.”

  “Excellent news. I will have supper brought up to you both.”

  “Thank you, that would be kind of you.”

  Leaving the Duke’s chambers, Reggie found Mr. Crowley hovering outside in the hallway. The investigator bowed, but Reggie forestalled him with his lifted hand before he opened his mouth. “I would rather we spoke in private, Mr. Crowley,” he said. “I fear there may be a spy in the Duke’s household.”

  Mr. Crowley’s brows rose, but he said nothing else as Reggie led him to a small guest room, and closed the door behind them. “Before you begin, Mr. Crowley,” Reggie said, “what I am about to tell you must remain between you and me. However, you may inform Mr. Healey.”

  “Of course, My Lord, whatever you say will remain in the strictest confidence.”

  “Someone had been poisoning His Grace. That is the source of his illness.”

  Mr. Crowley’s green eyes went round in shock. “Oh, no. Do you know by whom?”

  “Only a suspicion, which is why this must remain between us.” Reggie paced, rubbing his sore shoulder and growing quite tired of the constant pain. “Lady Gallagher and I believe the Earl of Eastcairn committed the deed, as he has been putting undue pressure on her to marry him.”

  Nodding slowly, Mr. Crowley added, “With His Grace deceased and Eastcairn married to his only living child, he becomes the next Duke of Thornhill.”

  “Exactly. Hence my desire for you to look into his background.”

  “Once, I might have said such a man is above reproach,” Mr. Crowley commented dryly. “However, greed can easily make a mockery of honor.”

  “I do agree with you. I want to know if there is something driving him to murder.”

  “Could he also be the one behind the attempts to kill you?” Mr. Crowley asked, his green eyes narrowed.

  “That is a very good notion, as I am a rival for Lady Gallagher’s hand.”

  Mr. Crowley whistled. “Things are beginning to make a terrible sort of sense.”

  “I agree.”

  “I have discovered who purchased the hemlock, My Lord,” Mr. Crowley went on slowly. “A Mr. Thomas Booker bought a large bag of it, several pounds in fact, from a supplier near the Thames. The supplier I questioned did not ask him what he intended to use it for, as he claimed it was none of his business.”

  Reggie rubbed his shoulder. “I do not know any man named Thomas Booker.”

  “Thus far, I have not been able to find out anything about him,” Mr. Crowley admitted. “He was described as one of the working class and wore common clothing.”

  “I suspect he may be one of the men who tried to kill me.”

  “And rightly so. I have not managed yet to find them in the taverns where ex-soldiers frequent, but nor have I had time to inspect them all.”

  “Anything on Eastcairn’s background yet?”

  “No, My Lord, my contacts have not yet returned to me.”

  “There is another man I want you to look into. The Duke’s nephew, Patrick Miller.”

  “In what fashion?” Mr. Crowley asked, frowning slightly. “Surely he would not be involved.”

  “His behavior is highly erratic and questionable. He made an attempt to coerce His Grace into signing a marriage contract between Eastcairn and Lady Gallagher.”

  “What would he have to gain by such a marriage?”

  “Nothing. Except that he and Eastcairn are close friends, and we are wondering if perhaps Eastcairn is blackmailing him somehow.”

  “What a tangled web of deceit. Yes, My Lord, I will add Mr. Miller to my investigations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything else I should know about, My Lord?”

  “Nothing I can think of at this time.”

  Nodding, Mr. Crowley added with a smile. “I know of ex-soldiers who hire themselves out as bodyguards. You might consider that as an option.”

  “I will,” Reggie replied with a grin.

  Gazing at Amalia across the supper table, Reggie almost forgot the pain of his wound and thought himself the luckiest man alive. She wore a light brown dress trimmed in gold lace, her vibrant brown hair braided and coiled atop her head, accenting her slender neck. Knowing he admired her openly, Amalia blushed bright pink and picked up her wineglass, smiling.

  “The physicians think Father will be awake by the morning,” she said. “They believe he is responding to the treatment.”

  “That is wonderful,” Reggie replied and lifted his own glass. “Here is to His Grace’s full recovery.”

  They both sipped, staring into one another’s eyes. “After supper, will you walk in the garden with me?” he asked.

  “I would like that very much.”

  “Does the name Thomas Booker mean anything to you, Amalia?”

  She frowned, slicing the roast duckling on her plate. “No, it does not. Why?”

  “He purchased several pounds of hemlock.”

  She paused in the act of placing the meat in her mouth, frowning. “He must have killed your mares.”

  “So, I believe. He could easily have slipped into my stables after the grooms went to bed and fed the apples laced with hemlock to them. He would have no need to disguise himself.”

  “That is such a vile and wicked deed,” she snapped, angry on his behalf. “Those horses were innocent.”

  “Believe me, when I catch him, he will pay for every one of them.”

  “Those poor things. Now that everything will be fine, nothing more will happen.”

  Reggie frowned. “Amalia, Eastcairn and Patrick are still out there, uncaught and unpunished. It is far from over.”

  “What can Eastcairn do now?” she asked, puzzled, her fine brows furrowed. “He cannot poison Father. Mr. Bannock will find the footman soon, I certainly will not marry him.”

  “All that may be true,” Reggie replied, knowing deep in his gut that Eastcairn still had cards to play, “but you must not drop your guard. Not until your father is on his feet and until Eastcairn and Patrick are found. If they are innocent in all this, then someone is still out there wishing ill on the Duke.”

  Amalia nodded slowly. “You may be right.”

  After t
hey had finished their meals, and with Amalia’s maid shadowing them as chaperone, Reggie held Amalia’s hand as they strode among the fruit trees and rosebushes. Though it went against protocol to hold hands, Reggie suspected Edwina approved, for she made no comment or put a stop to it. “Perhaps by Christmas, we will be married,” he said, his voice low.

  Amalia pulled him to stop, staring up at him. “Really?”

  “If the Duke approves,” he said. “I have wanted to marry you since I was a youngster.”

  Strolling on, Amalia replied, amusement in her voice. “I had dreamed of marrying you when we were children. I thought you were close to asking me once, just after I turned eighteen.”

  “I was,” Reggie admitted. “I had gained the courage to do so, and then you made a remark about what good friends we all were, and I lost my nerve.”

  Laughing, Amalia said, “I remember that. I intended it to be an encouragement to you. I am sorry it went awry.”

  “So here we are now, good friends and in love with each other both.”

  She turned to him. “Does this mean you might consider kissing me?”

  “Provided your chaperone will not take after me with a pistol.”

  “She approves of you.”

  “Then I would adore kissing you.”

  Bending to her face, Reggie tenderly brushed his lips against hers, his right hand cupping her soft cheek. Pouring all his feelings for her into the loving gesture, he felt her respond, sensed her emotions for him were equally powerful. Breaking their contact, but not pulling away from her, he breathed, “I love you.”

  “I love you back.”

  Reggie kissed her again, then straightened, unwilling to cross too many boundaries of propriety. A swift glance toward Edwina indicated she had watched them kiss, and her slight frown informed him he dared not go further. Amalia saw the direction of his eyes and giggled.

  “I told you, Ed approves.”

  “Even so, I must not cross certain lines. I am a gentleman, after all.”

  Taking her hand again, Reggie felt contentment in merely strolling round the sweet-smelling garden with Amalia, and even his pain could not disrupt it. “I do wish Marshall could be here to see us together. He never said so, but I always thought he approved of a potential match of you and I.”