Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Never Trust a RakeDicing With the Dangerous LordA Daring Liaison

by Annie Burrows

  Reluctantly, he folded his paper, put it aside and pulled two more chairs in front of the fire. The day had turned gloomy with spring rains turning the streets into a maze of puddles and mud. His friends would appreciate a warm fire and a hot drink.

  “Bless you,” Wycliffe said as he entered the room. Richardson was fast on his heels and rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm them. Crosley had taken their coats and they looked as if they were prepared to stay awhile.

  Richardson glanced around the room, his gaze stopping on Charles’s cup.

  “Crosley is bringing coffee,” he said and gestured to the chairs.

  Wycliffe settled in with a sigh. “Have you any news?”

  Richardson grinned. “She gave you a set-down, did she not?”

  “I did not give her a chance. We will announce our engagement tomorrow night.”

  “As the proverb says, Keep your friends close—and your enemies closer, eh?” Richardson raised his eyebrows.

  Wycliffe folded his arms over his chest. “Does she know she is becoming engaged?”

  “It was mentioned. She may have other ideas, but they will come to naught. She needs help, and she knows it. She is not foolish enough to refuse.”

  “I am beginning to think I have done Mrs. Huffington a disservice in appointing you to this investigation.”

  “I think you’ve made the very best choice possible,” Charles countered. “Why do you suddenly think I am not the man for the job?”

  “You are starting from a presumption of guilt rather than innocence. Everything you uncover, everything you learn, is tainted by that perspective.”

  “Are you afraid I will build a false case against her?” He couldn’t deny that, in the beginning, the thought had occurred to him. But he wanted to see the true killer of Adam Booth punished.

  “I sense something deeper between you. Do you have a...history?”

  “We flirted during her come-out year, then moved on. As you know, she was quickly engaged to Arthur Allenby.”

  Wycliffe became contemplative. “You did not renew your flirtation after Allenby’s death?”

  Annoyance tweaked Charles when he realized that Wycliffe had a bit more than a suspicion that he and Mrs. Huffington were something more than acquaintances. He was spared the necessity of a reply by the arrival of Crosley with a tray bearing cups and a coffee service. The awkward silence continued as Crosley served them and then departed, closing the library door behind him.

  Richardson broke the silence as he settled back in his chair and sighed contentedly. “There is a subtle note of anger when you speak of Mrs. Huffington, Hunter. I propose you let me take over and you can chase clues.”

  “Not a chance,” Charles growled. The very thought of Richardson cozying up to the woman in question caused a burning in his stomach.

  Wycliffe reached inside his jacket and pulled out a packet. “We will stay the course. The last thing we need at this point is for Mrs. Huffington to hasten back to Kent before we can find an answer.” He handed the packet to Charles. “Here is Lady Caroline’s profile. It goes back to her presentation at seventeen.”

  Charles took the packet and set it aside. “And Georgiana Huffington?”

  “What we know of her is in that file—everything from the time she became Lady Caroline’s ward. She was barely three years of age then. I doubt there is anything worth knowing further back.”

  “Give me a day to look this over.” Charles gestured at the packet. “These events, the deaths, may have nothing to do with Lady Caroline. We cannot ignore the possibility that the answer lies with someone in Mrs. Huffington’s past. I met her the year she came out. Something caused her to change that year. Perhaps there is a clue in that.”

  Richardson finished his coffee and placed the cup and saucer on the tray. “She has no past beyond Lady Caroline. No family at all. Georgiana was the daughter of Lady Caroline’s friend. The woman’s husband, an officer in the Royal Navy, was lost when his ship went down off the coast of France, and she died within months.”

  Charles said nothing, but reserved judgment. All he knew for certain at this point was that things—and people—were rarely what they seemed. And that babies did not just appear out of thin air. No, if he wanted answers, he would have to get them from Mrs. Huffington. As soon as possible.

  “One more thing, Hunter. Have you met Lord Carlington?” Wycliffe asked and waited for Charles’s nod before continuing. “Gossip has it that he and Lady Caroline were sweet on each other her first season. In fact, it was rumored that an engagement was in the offing. Then Lady Caroline’s accident sent her back to Kent to recover. As you know, she did not return until she brought Georgiana for her introduction to society.”

  “You think he might know something?”

  “He may be the only one still living who could fill in the holes of Lady Caroline’s story and know what happened that season. If she had secrets, she might have confided in him.”

  Charles nodded. He’d call on Lord Carlington tomorrow. He glanced at the packet on the table beside him. There had to be something in there—some clue that would explain the odd occurrences.

  “Meanwhile, Hunter, you should know I still have runners looking for Dick Gibbons. He will eventually surface, and when he does—”

  When he does? “You will send for me. I mean to have the pleasure of dealing with that scum myself.”

  Chapter Seven

  Georgiana read her aunt’s will for the third time. She had expected most of what she’d found there—generous bequests to family retainers, instructions for the disbursement of a few personal items to an old friend, a sealed packet to be hand delivered to Lord Carlington and one for herself. The rest and remainder of her worldly goods were to go to Georgiana. Funds, investments, real property and personal effects, including the Betman jewels and Betman Hall, were all to be hers. Generous, certainly. Undeserved, perhaps. But hers, nonetheless. And no mention of the Foxworthys.

  She had long been aware that Caroline’s fondness for her was born more from obligation than any true affection. Still, the fact remained that she’d been closer to the woman than anyone else from the moment she’d been taken to Betman Hall. Their relationship hadn’t been everything Georgiana had longed for, neither had it provided her with a sense of belonging, but it had been enough for a little girl who’d been left in a foundling home for three years before anyone had come for her. Enough for a penniless orphan who’d been destined for a life of servitude and poverty.

  The chime of the tall case clock in one corner of the study pulled her from her musings and she set the personal packet aside with the others and took a sip of her tea, pondering the meaning of it all. Aunt Caroline had never mentioned friends aside from the two to whom she’d left bequests, and those friendships had been maintained through correspondence since her disfigurement. No friends had come to call, nor had she called on them when in town. But one acquaintance, Mrs. Thayer, had agreed to be Georgiana’s sponsor for her introduction to society, as Lady Caroline would not make an appearance herself.

  Lord Carlington’s connection to her aunt was a complete mystery. Lady Caroline had been as close to a recluse as anyone Georgiana had ever known. When they’d come to town, she’d worn a veil and dealt with invitations and other social obligations by mail. She’d even remained behind closed doors whenever anyone called on Georgiana. When had she known Lord Carlington?

  Georgiana now wondered if she had been mistaken in the extent of Caroline’s outside connections. After all, Caroline had never even mentioned the Foxworthy brothers, let alone made a provision for them. But Walter Foxworthy was suing to control it all, and Georgiana into the bargain. Heaven only knew what surprises might lie ahead for her in the next weeks.

  Well, she’d put it off long enough. It was time to deal with Aunt Caroline’s last req
uests. With no small measure of trepidation, she broke the seal on the thick packet with her name on it and dumped the contents onto her lap. No personal items, just three sealed letters with names and addresses on the outside. And a fourth for her.

  She broke the seal on the letter with her name and unfolded the page.

  My dear Georgiana,

  I am sorry to lay this burden upon you, but there is no one else I can trust—only you. I know you will faithfully follow my instructions to the letter.

  You must personally deliver the enclosed bequests, Georgie, lest they fall into the wrong hands. And you must be present when they are opened, lest there be questions. The reason for this will become apparent presently.

  Wrong hands? Whatever could she mean?

  Save the delivery to Lord Carlington for last. He will have many questions for you, but you will have few answers. Tell him, please, that I never stopped loving him.

  There is so much I should have told you, so much I would still like to tell you, but that would be a disservice to you. Please always know that you eased my loneliness and delighted me with your companionship.

  Now and ever, Caroline

  Georgiana glanced at the following pages and sighed. Just more lists and an occasional name. She had no heart for reading more and folded the instructions. She did not know what she’d expected, but surely more than this. Some personal words, some endearment. As always, Caroline had evidenced a gentle kindness, but...but there was something missing. No mention of love, or even of fondness. She’d been an obligation, if not an imposition. She’d known it, but she had wondered if, at the end, her guardian would give her that crumb. I love you, my dear.

  She fought tears as she slipped the stack of letters back into the packet and wondered what it would feel like to be truly loved. For a brief moment in time, she’d thought Charles Hunter had felt strongly for her, but then Lady Caroline had advised her that his emotions were simply the excitement of the hunt. Oh, but they’d been so indescribably thrilling. She’d felt almost as if she were flying for those brief weeks all those years ago—loving, feeling loved. Almost feeling as if she belonged. But she’d never felt it again, nor would she feel it in the future. No more marriages for her. No more hopes of love and a family of her own.

  She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, remembering what Charles Hunter had done to her in his coach. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that was love. Sometimes she suspected he could barely tolerate her. But if anyone had been wronged back then, surely it had been her.

  Was it a mistake to let him pretend they were engaged? Even prepared, he was risking his life. Why would he put himself in such a position? The chase? The passion? The conquest? His love of danger?

  She stood and went to stir the coals in the fire as the afternoon drizzle continued outside the window. She supposed his reasons really didn’t matter. She only needed to know what—or who—was behind her ill fortune. She wanted to obtain justice for her deceased husbands.

  * * *

  Charles handed his dripping hat and coat to Hathaway, ignoring the man’s disdain. He fought the temptation to say something scathing since he did not want to overstep Mrs. Huffington’s authority with her servants, but if she did not handle this man soon, he would.

  “I shall inform Mrs. Huffington that you are here,” Hathaway said, a slight curl to his lip.

  Charles clenched his teeth and ground out, “Never mind, Hathaway. I shall announce myself.”

  “But, sir—”

  He did not acknowledge the man’s protest as he continued toward the library. That much of the house, at least, he was familiar with. She stood as he entered the room and the expression on her face surprised him. Fear? Surprise?

  “Oh! Mr. Hunter. I did not hear the bell.”

  He went to the decanter on a side table and poured himself a glass of sherry as if he was completely comfortable here. In fact, when he glanced at the two chairs facing the fireplace with a small table between them, all he could think of was a day long ago, when he’d sat where Miss Huffington sat now, listening to Lady Caroline tell him in detail how unwelcome his attentions were to her ward. He swallowed the sherry and poured another before facing her, squelching the old anger at Miss Huffington’s cowardice in not facing him herself.

  “Hathaway let me in. I told him I’d announce myself.”

  “I see.”

  Disapproval from her, too? The sherry hit bottom and he smiled with the warmth and confidence it brought. “You had better get used to it, Miss Huffington. Once we announce our engagement tomorrow, people will expect me to become a frequent caller here.”

  “But my servants will talk.”

  “Servants always talk. There is nothing we can do about that but use it to our advantage.” He poured another glass and took it to her before sitting in the vacant chair. “We shall let them believe our engagement is genuine. If we are to carry this off, no one must know the truth.”

  She nodded as she took the glass and sank back against the cushions of her own chair. “Very well. Is that the purpose of your visit here today? To accustom the servants to your presence?”

  “No. I have been thinking about your concern that the answer to this mystery could lie in your past. I’ve come to ask you what you remember.”

  She looked down at the fire. “I do not recall a past, Mr. Hunter. My earliest memories are of seeing Aunt Caroline for the first time and being terrified. I was just a toddler, you see, and did not understand her disfigurement. I thought she was a monster, and when I was taken away with her, I...well, I cried.”

  He recalled seeing the vivid scars on Lady Caroline’s face through the veil she wore, so he could imagine the effect it had had on a small child. He hadn’t been terrified, but he’d been curious. “Did she ever speak of her injury?”

  “Never. I asked once, when I was a bit older, but she struck me and told me to never mention it again. I did not.” Her hand rose to her cheek as if she could still feel the sting.

  “You frequently refer to her as your aunt, yet she was your guardian rather than a blood relation, was she not?”

  She nodded. “Though she was the only mother I ever knew, she had no wish for me to take her name. She said I was born a Carson and should remain so until marriage. And I was a bit old to start calling her mama at that point. We were content with things the way they were.”

  He did not know whether to feel sorry for the lost child she had been, or to be envious of the peace and solitude of such a life. He had a picture in his mind of two women living quietly in the country, without expectations, without intrigue or drama. That is, until Lady Caroline decided it was time for her ward to marry.

  “Do you recall them? Or anything about them?”

  “My parents?” She took a sip of her sherry and looked thoughtfully into the fire. “Just what Aunt Caroline told me. My father was a naval officer and my mother had come from a good family. Aunt Caroline met her through mutual friends and they struck up a friendship at once. When my mother married, Aunt Caroline stood up with them and even became my godmother when I was christened. My father died first, when his ship went down in a Channel storm, and my mother died several months later. I was given to a foundling home while the hospital searched for any remaining family. When there was none, they took Aunt Caroline’s name from the parish baptismal register and notified her.”

  “And this took, what, two, three years?”

  “Yes. Aunt Caroline told me I was no better than a savage when she rescued me. Truly, I have no clear memories of my own. I cannot imagine what my life would have been like had she not come for me.”

  “Where was that? Kent?”

  “Cornwall. A village called Mousehole.”

  Mousehole. The far end of England. A village of pirates and wreckers. The nearest naval garrison to that godfors
aken place was in Plymouth. If she’d been taken from Plymouth to Mousehole, then someone had wanted her lost forever. But who, damn it? And why?

  He’d send Richardson to Kent tomorrow. If he learned nothing, he’d send him to Cornwall. If anyone could ferret out the truth, he could.

  “And that is all you remember?”

  She nodded and her smile was sad. “I do not even have a likeness of them, though Aunt Caroline told me I resemble my mother. If there were ever portraits, they were stolen by authorities or the foundling home. Aunt Caroline said they were all scoundrels, every one.” She clasped her hands together and sat forward in her chair. “Do you really think this is important?”

  “You are the common link between your husbands, Mrs. Huffington. If these incidents are not coincidental, then I’ve come to believe it is your past we must look into.”

  “I was a penniless orphan, Mr. Hunter. What could I have worth killing for?”

  “You were a penniless orphan. From the moment Lady Caroline Betman made you her heir, you could have become the object of envy or resentment.”

  A frown knit faint lines between her eyebrows. “If that is so, then it is the Foxworthy brothers who bear scrutiny. They thought they were Aunt Caroline’s heirs. They have brought suit to become my conservators. Well, the eldest brother has, Walter, I believe.”

  This was a surprise to Charles. He did not like surprises. “And who, perchance, are they?” He placed his glass on the side table before he could snap the fragile stem.

  “Distant cousins of my aunt. I do not think she liked them, since she did not mention them in her will, nor did she ever invite them to visit. Truly, I would not know them if they knocked upon my door.”

  “And they would inherit the bulk of the Betman fortune should something happen to you?”

  “I...I suppose. I do not know much of inheritance laws, but I am certain they would have some sort of claim. After all, they feel it is within their rights to claim conservatorship over the assets and me into the bargain. In fact, if I become engaged again so soon, it would lend credence to Mr. Foxworthy’s contention that I am incapable of rational behavior.”