by Renée Dahlia
‘I’ll do?’ she whispered. He stopped a few steps away from her. ‘Precisely what will I “do” for?’
‘Please don’t pay Dalhinge’s comment any attention.’ He almost winced at the desperation in his voice.
‘That would suit you, wouldn’t it,’ she said with her hands on her hips. His gaze dropped to her hands as they framed her waist, and he forced himself to move his gaze back to her face.
‘It’s not what you think,’ he said.
‘I think either you or Dalhinge, or both, are fortune hunters, and you’ve been discussing how to catch mine. That’s what I think.’
‘It’s not—’
‘Says every fortune hunter in the history of fortune hunting. I have plenty of experience with this, and I recognise your sort,’ she said. Her words punched over his, and he found himself backing away. She stepped towards him and shook one finger at him. He stood his ground.
‘Dalhinge needs to mind his own business,’ he said. ‘He wanted to know about you, and you interrupted before I could tell him to take his opinion and place it somewhere inconvenient.’
She dropped her hand, then frowned at him. ‘And?’
‘All I want is my own practice. Carlingford Enterprises is my best chance, and I wouldn’t ruin that by imposing on you,’ he said.
She laughed, a burst of surprised noise.
‘Now that was unexpected. You are a fortune hunter of sorts—wanting a piece of our pie for yourself.’
‘Yes. But I will earn it fair and square,’ he said.
She tilted her head to the side and peered up at him from under her eyelashes, as if giving his words serious consideration. Her intelligent gaze sent a shot of heat through him, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. Think of a brass plate with your name on it outside your own office. Don’t think of her as a clever woman challenging you on every level.
‘I don’t believe you are telling me the full story,’ she said. ‘And you can tell your brother that I’m not interested in his schemes.’ The force of her words made him swallow down a lump of guilt. At least she hadn’t heard the entirety of Sanjay’s scheme. She finished her sentence and spun on her heels, once again marching away from him.
***
Claire stormed down the hallway. She’d been here for more than a week, and life had apparently gone on without her. Her skirts swirled around her legs, petticoats whispering against her skin, as she paced away from Mr Howick. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t. Too many men tried to use her to get an advantage from the business, and she’d learnt early in life how to keep herself distant from everyone. Had he brought her here to recover so he could seduce her for her fortune? She shrugged and slowed down, shaking her head. Outspoken, strong women tended to scare men away, so she’d built herself as strong as possible. She stopped. Mr Howick puzzled her because he seemed to enjoy that about her. He looked at her with such heat in his confident brown eyes. If she was weaker, she would have already kissed him, would have let him seduce her, and fortune be damned. But because she had made herself strong, she let herself have a second of disappointment that he stayed focused on his own goals, even after his gaze had swept over her just now. Her skin still tingled at the possibilities in his eyes. Her cheeks warmed and she lay her hand on her forehead. Perhaps she imagined this, and this blasted fever had addled her brains.
‘There you are,’ her brother called out. ‘I was just coming to find you to see if you were well enough to come to lunch. But I see I need not have worried.’
‘Since when have you worried about me?’ she said with a small laugh.
‘You wound me,’ Wil teased. He placed his hand over his heart as his blue eyes danced. She laughed properly this time and pushed him on the shoulder. Her stomach growled, and Wil roared with laughter.
‘I’m famished.’ She shrugged.
‘That’s obvious. What an unladylike sound!’ Wil’s words wiped away her smile.
‘You don’t need to remind me of my failings,’ she said.
Wil’s face sobered. ‘I’m sorry. You must know that Mother’s comments aren’t true.’
‘Let’s not dwell on that. Which way is the dining room?’ she said.
Wil gave her a hard look, but didn’t respond to her dismissal. He waved his hand, showing her the direction. ‘This way.’
After a short walk down yet another corridor in the rambling floorplan, Wil pushed open a door and gestured for her to enter.
‘The architect of this house must have been imbibing in too much Absinthe,’ she whispered as she walked past him.
Wil chuckled. ‘The floor plan is a mess because Belfington House has been extended so many times. The different hallways all come from different eras. Or so I’ve been told.’ Wil tilted his head towards Lord Dalhinge and Mr Howick who were already seated at a long mahogany table. They were deep in conversation and didn’t appear to notice that she had swept into the room. Claire halted, unsure of the etiquette in this situation. Wil brushed against her shoulder, and he cleared his throat loudly. The two brothers looked up in unison.
‘Come along, Dalhinge. Let’s be civilised and entertain our guests,’ said Mr Howick. Claire’s eyes opened wide as Lord Dalhinge stood up. Slightly taller and slimmer than Mr Howick, Lord Dalhinge had the same dark, complicated, intelligent eyes as his brother, and he used them to give her a quick once over. She raised one eyebrow.
‘Delighted to meet you.’ Lord Dalhinge nodded his head, then waved his arm to indicate that she should take a seat.
‘As am I to meet you,’ she replied, bobbing down in a quick curtsy.
‘I am most pleased to see you recovered, Dr Carlingford,’ said Mr Howick. His formal tone gave no indication of their earlier argument in the hall. The footmen bounced into action, and offered the four of them several platters of flat breads, a multitude of little bowls filled with unknown spreads, and a dish of bright yellow rice with chicken pieces, punctuated with green leaves. Claire hesitated, unsure which of the unfamiliar foods to choose. The scents from the different foods were rich, making her mouth water.
‘The breads are called Roti. Take some daal, it’s basically lentils with a few spices. If it’s too hot, you can use the mint yoghurt to cool your mouth,’ said Mr Howick. Her gaze flicked up from the food to stare at his mouth. The shape of his lips as he discussed her mouth filled her with an uncommon heat, and she swallowed. ‘You will enjoy the chicken biriyani with rice. Very flavourful, not too spicy.’ He concluded his summary of the food with a shake of his head. She nodded slowly, and used her utensils to help herself to a small portion of every dish.
‘My apologies for our fare. I should have thought that we had guests, and adjusted our normal menu to suit,’ said Lord Dalhinge.
‘Don’t change for our sakes,’ said Wil. ‘I rather prefer food that has taste over the usual bland options.’ Claire couldn’t look away from Howick as his face lost its joviality and tightened into a forced neutrality. Her own eyebrows pulled together.
‘Dalhinge, I don’t believe you have been properly introduced to our guest,’ said Howick.
‘An oversight on your part,’ said Dalhinge.
‘You do realise that it is poor etiquette to impose on the ill. This is the first chance, since our guest has recovered from her illness,’ said Howick with a half-grin. Claire rather enjoyed watching him tease and taunt his uptight brother.
‘Do continue,’ said Dalhinge in haughty tones. But Claire caught a twinkle in his eye, and realised that his humour was there, just a subtler version of Mr Howick.
‘Lord Dalhinge, may I introduce Dr Carlingford. Of Carlingford Enterprises,’ he said. Dalhinge nodded in her direction, and she bowed her head.
‘My Lord. A pleasure. Thank you for your kind hospitality while I convalesced,’ she said.
‘Howick. Did you just say Dr?’ asked Dalhinge. Beside her Wil fidgeted in his seat.
‘That’s correct, Dalhinge. My sister is a qualified medical doctor,’ gloat
ed Wil. Claire rolled her eyes and glanced at her brother, whose cheeks had a light pink flush across them. Mr Howick picked up a napkin and dabbed it over his mouth as his smile spread across his face.
‘That is an incredible achievement,’ said Dalhinge. ‘I dare say that the illness had no choice but to depart.’
She smiled. ‘Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. Illness comes to us all, and cures are not always easy to obtain.’
‘A pragmatic approach to sickness that presumably comes from your training. No hysteria for you, then?’ Dalhinge asked. He winced as Howick elbowed him, which made Claire grin with her nose wrinkled.
‘Hysteria is largely a condition brought on by boredom. I’m surprised you don’t suffer it. Or do Lords have to actually work in this modern society where business has overtaken land as a key source of wealth?’ she said. Howick grinned, and simply watching his mouth sent a fresh wave of heat surging across her skin. It made her want to say outrageous statements just to get him to smile at her like that.
‘You are not like other girls, are you?’ said Dalhinge. Wil clicked his tongue quietly. A prickle of heat bloomed on Claire’s cheeks. She lowered her chin, glared at Dalhinge, and waved her fork in his direction.
‘Let me stop you there. I am a full grown adult woman. Not. A. Girl. And as to the “not like other girls”. You know what? I am like other women. The only difference is that I’ve been lucky enough to have a father with enough foresight to educate all his children, not just the male ones. If you allowed women to learn more than basic household management, and—God forbid—let them vote—’ she paused, sucking in a deep breath, ‘then you’d discover that I’m just like every other woman out there.’ Howick held his hands in a triangle with his fingertips pressed against his lips. He nodded many times. Dalhinge turned to his brother in a deliberate stare, then twisted back to face her.
‘If I were to take a wife, you are just the type I’d have,’ said Dalhinge. But his eyes weren’t focused on her. Dalhinge stared directly at her brother, Wil, who raised one eyebrow and stared back with a sarcastic tilt of his head. Claire’s gaze flicked between the two as tension hovered in the room. She caught Howick’s expression—his face had deepened in colour and he pushed his glasses up his nose. There was an undercurrent in this room which spoke of events that she’d missed while ill, so she placed her fork on the table and changed the subject.
‘Mr Howick, have you made any progress in my father’s case during this past week?’ she asked.
Mr Howick laid down his utensils and turned to face her. ‘Yes,’ he said.
She held her hands up, spread before her. ‘And what progress would that be, precisely?’
‘Perhaps we should meet for a full progress report after luncheon?’ he said, with a quick sideways glance at his brother.
‘Don’t mind me,’ said Dalhinge. ‘I will leave you to your confidential discussion.’ He wiped his mouth with a napkin, stood, and with a tiny bow of his head to all in the room, he managed to dismiss everyone as he left the room. Was he upset at them, or just being lordly? Claire stared at the closed door that he’d exited through.
‘I spent most of the past week in London, chasing down various details in the case,’ said Mr Howick. His voice cut the tension in the room, and Claire refocused her attention on him.
‘Rest assured, sister dear, your lawyer hasn’t lurked about the house of his birth while you recovered in the revolting pink room. He’s been earning his commission,’ said Wil. Claire twisted in her chair to glare at her brother.
‘Fine, fine. I’ll leave. Perhaps I can annoy Dalhinge some more,’ he said.
Chapter 7
Ravi eased out a small sigh as his brother’s possible lover, and a suspect in his case, left the room. What a mess! When would he have time to discuss that with Sanjay? His shoulders tensed. Dr Carlingford’s glances gave him no clues about what she knew, and given the illegality of the situation, he’d had to work hard during the conversation to keep Sanjay’s secret. Any law that stopped people loving each other was ridiculous, but on the scale of how many daft laws there were, he didn’t think it would be dealt with for a long time. Too long for his brother. A fresh wave of guilt slammed him in the chest, tightening around his heart. He would have to find a bride soon before Sanjay lashed out and got himself arrested. Having a child to teach would give him a reason to keep the estate and its future in perspective. The idea of bringing up his children on the estate, with Sanjay offering sage advice, normally made him wary. Today, in the presence of Dr Carlingford, his heart started to race.
‘Excuse me. The details of the case, if you please,’ said Dr Carlingford.
Ravi sat up straight and refocused on his job, stamping his emotions down. One matter at a time. He must win this opportunity, before he could move forward with fulfilling his obligation to the Dalhinge title. Before he could examine his responses to Dr Carlingford, or wonder about small feisty versions of her scampering happily in the corridors.
‘My apologies. I was just compiling my thoughts,’ he said. She raised her eyebrows. He cleared his throat. ‘Would you like the negative or the positive first?’
‘Tell me the worst. How bad is it?’ she asked. He paused, dismissing the idea of mentioning her brother. Perhaps, he should see if she came to that conclusion herself.
‘I visited both newspapers that printed the race cards, and the results. I sighted the original letters that came from the Hunt Club, and I traced the source of the various telegraphs. Unfortunately, all this evidence points to the Carlingford residence. Either someone in that house was behind this scam, or someone has gone to considerable effort to make it appear like someone in that house did it,’ he said.
‘The telegraphs came from near our house?’
‘No, they were sent from a small post office on the North Road. Anyone with a horse could have travelled there, sent the telegraph, and returned back to their life without anyone being any wiser.’
‘So how did they point to Father?’
‘The person who booked the telegraph handed the choice of words to the postal worker on a piece of notepaper. The postal worker filed the note, and it has the Carlingford Enterprises billhead on the piece of paper.’
She gasped, her eyes wide. ‘But only Father uses those. He keeps them in his desk for special correspondence.’
‘Precisely. It is the key piece of evidence that Officer Wedsley used to arrest your father, and the only proof we have that this scheme originated at your father’s desk.’
‘There is a distinct possibility that someone knew that and used it to set him up. Father has extensive businesses and competitors are always trying to find advantage,’ she said.
‘Can we try to exclude the former first? Who lives with your father, and is it remotely plausible that they might have a motive?’
‘Fine. The Carlingford family consists of Father, Mother, myself, and my brother. You’ve met all of us, bar Mother, but her only motive would be to make more money to gain more status. Her sole goal is to get some randy old Duke to marry me, so she can make that final step into the peerage.’ Ravi blinked at the ferocious tone. Her ears and cheeks were flushed pink, and her hands moved quickly in the air with each word. Her words only reiterated what he already had discovered about her family, except the new information about her mother. No wonder she was so upset when she overhead Sanjay scheming. He swallowed down an apology, and tried to keep on topic.
‘And your brother?’
‘He never outspends his portion, and he tends to keep to himself. Even if he was being blackmailed …’ She paused and shook her head. He narrowed his eyes as the possibility of blackmail entered the picture. He would run it past Sanjay later. ‘No, he’s too clever to get into that situation. Too clever to be discovered if he did try a scheme like this,’ she said with a deep furrow between her finely arched eyebrows.
‘And whoever did this was discovered,’ he said. She glared at him, and he had to bite back a
smile.
‘Hence the question becomes: was the misprint accidental, and therefore the scam was perpetrated by someone in our household? Or was the misprint created to make the scam public, and therefore a convoluted attempt to get Father’s attention away from his business at, presumably, a critical time?’ she said. Ravi could see Dr Carlingford’s brain whirring behind those gold-streaked brown eyes. She tilted her head to the side, and dropped her hands to the table.
‘I know you don’t want it to be your brother, but money tends to make a mockery of loyalty,’ he said. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
‘As evidenced by your lightning quick switch from Woodleyville to us,’ she said. He choked on a laugh, sat up straighter in his chair and tried to get the conversation back to the topic at hand.
‘The level of detail in the letters sent from the faux Hunt Club is impressive. My initial impression was that only someone who worked at a similar organisation could have done this, because the letters conveyed a deep understanding of the administration of a race meeting.’
‘The only thing Wil knows about racing is how to parade in the member’s stand,’ she said. Ravi wondered at the change he heard in her voice. A doubt niggled. His instincts screamed that it couldn’t be her. Or was he blinded by his attraction to her?
‘Does your father encourage a particularly high level of competition between his offspring?’ he asked in a cautious tone. She pinched her lips together.
‘No. That comes entirely from Mother.’ She rested her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. He held his breath. If she started crying, well, he had no idea what he would do. But before he had finished that worried thought, she lifted her head, squared her shoulders, and stared at him with narrowed eyes.
‘You are right. We can’t discount anyone yet,’ she said. Her tight voice had a squeak at the edges of her words.
He pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with the cloth he kept in his jacket pocket. ‘Do we need to visit your father to get a full overview of all the business threats?’ he asked.