by Diana Ballew
“Where is she? Has she been buried yet?”
“Yes. In the churchyard. Shall I take you to her?”
Corinne struggled with the information. A tear slid down her cheek before she nodded sharply. “I would be most grateful, Lady Kimpton. Might we go today?”
“If you feel you are up to the challenge I shall be happy to accompany you.”
“Thank you.” A charged silence filled the chamber. “Nathaniel.”
“What?”
“My baby. His name is Brandon Nathaniel.” Corinne raised her chin, as if preparing to fight for the basic right to call her child by Lorelei's brother’s name.
Lorelei blinked quickly and swallowed past a lump in her throat, pleased beyond words. Nathaniel might be all she had left of her brother in the event he was never found. “Yes. Yes, Brandon Nathaniel is a lovely name.”
Thorne escorted the young ladies from his wife’s sitting room, cognizant of little Cecilia’s tightly clinging hand. Once Miss Elvin excused herself to her own chamber, Cecilia’s grip lightened, and she skipped beside him until they reached the dining room.
“Will you make us go back to Papa?” she asked.
Irene’s hand trembled on his other arm as he considered how to answer. He detoured from the dining room, instead walking the girls to his study. He sat in a large chair and lifted Cecilia on his lap. Irene sat on the footstool. “Don’t you miss your mama?”
“A-course,” she said. “But she’s dead.”
Such a gruesome statement. And disturbing from one so young. He glanced at Irene. Not a word passed her lips, but the same question pierced him from her steady gaze. “What did you see when you saw her last?”
“Blood. Her hair was messy,” Cecilia said. Her thumb disappeared into her mouth.
“You said she spoke to you?”
Irene nodded. “Yes, she wanted us to pretend to sleep.”
“Did Lord Brockway say anything in the carriage to you on your way to the Kimpton townhouse?”
“He told us not to worry. He said he would take care of Mama.” Irene dropped her gaze to the hands in her lap.
“Then we must cling to those words. Lord Brockway will inform me of any developments. And I shall inform you.” He spoke sternly. “Am I clear?”
Cecilia leaned her head on his shoulder and pulled her thumb from her mouth. “I do wish to see Mama again.”
“And until we hear differently, I insist we think in a positive manner.”
Irene’s bottom lip trembled. It was the hope in her eyes that let him breathe again.
“Thorne?”
Lorelei stood at the door, beckoning him. “Might we have a word?”
“Of course.” He stood and set Cecilia in his place. With a formal bow that had Cecilia giggling, he said, “Ladies, with your permission I'll leave you in Peg’s care.”
Irene’s lips twitched, and the band manacling his chest loosened. “You may, my lord,” she said. He dropped a kiss upon their heads and stepped into the hall.
“Now. How can I be of service, my dear?”
“Corinne wishes to visit Miss Hollerfield’s grave. Liza is helping her dress.”
“Today? Do you think she is up to such a task?” Thorne frowned. “Of course, I shall accompany you.” He put out a hand to stay her argument. “We still don’t know who attacked Rowena. You will not leave here without Andrews and me. Quince shall remain at the house while we are gone.”
She inclined her head. “If you insist. In any event, I believe this is a step in the right direction.”
Lorelei studied her husband. His fierce gaze was fastened on the passing landscape through the window, brows drawn analyzing some inward puzzle. That inward puzzle was most likely his pondering the identity of the villain who’d killed Miss Hollerfield and attacked Miss Elvin. It was certainly the mystery most occupying her mind.
His broad hand rested on his knee, a hand that knew exactly how to touch her. He turned to her just then and grinned. Her cheeks flamed as if he read her lascivious thoughts.
His gaze shifted to their companion. “How are you holding up, Miss Hollerfield?”
“Well, my lord.” Her quiet words, barely above a whisper, had Lorelei doubting the claim. She covered Corinne’s hand with hers.
Ten minutes later the carriage perched on the lane before the small church. Arched windows pointing towards heaven never failed to soothe Lorelei. Never had she relished the feeling more than in this moment.
Talmadge, the vicar, was a tall, hunched, scraggly man. He rushed out to greet them. Thorne descended the carriage, and Lorelei started forward. Corinne stayed her with a hand. “Lady Kimpton.”
Lorelei sat back against the seat. “Yes?”
“This means so much to me, I-I can scarcely find the words. Would it be so horrific requesting to visit Rowena a-alone?”
Lorelei studied her. She appeared on the verge of collapse, but her gathering the courage to ask for something so personal touched her. Lorelei leaned out the window. “Give us just a moment, gentlemen.” The door pushed closed.
Tears shimmered in Corinne’s eyes. Lorelei could not deny her. “Would you consider letting the vicar stand nearby? I fear for your health. You haven’t allowed time to build your strength.”
“Yes. Yes, thank you, Lady Kimpton. It’s most appropriate for the vicar to assist me. I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful, and after all you’ve done.”
“Not at all, dear. This is a horrendous time for you. I’m just glad we are able to assist you in some way.”
“I suppose Rowena mentioned that Lord Harlowe is my baby’s father.”
“She didn’t tell me,” Lorelei said. “But Lord Kimpton was under that impression.”
Corinne’s gaze fell to her lap. “I see.” She raised her head. “I suppose that’s why you are being so nice to me.”
“I’ll admit I am thrilled to have such a beautiful and perfect nephew. But I would like to believe I would have helped any other in your situation, Miss Hollerfield.”
A tinge of pink flooded Corinne’s face. The sight was not unbecoming. “Thank you, Lady Kimpton. I shall do my best to avoid embarrassing you or ... or Brandon.”
Lorelei smiled. “That is the least of my concerns.” She squeezed the girl’s hands. “We shall speak more of Brandon at a later time. Now, I suggest we attempt to move past this current chapter.” Lorelei tapped the carriage door.
Thorne assisted Corinne, then Lorelei, down the steps. “Vicar, Miss Hollerfield would be most appreciative of you showing her to her sister’s final resting place.”
Talmadge stepped forward and offered Corinne his arm. Thorne started after them, and Lorelei quickly grabbed hold of him. “She wishes privacy, my lord. Perhaps we might discuss your suspicions about who is responsible for Miss Hollerfield’s death.”
He scowled. “I have no suspects. I just wish I did.”
The ride back to Kimpton was somber. Thorne had not lied to Lorelei. He was stymied as to who would wish Rowena harm.
“What is that you are holding, Miss Hollerfield?” Lorelei asked.
Thorne looked out over the rolling hills, now a rich green after all the rain, vaguely listening to the quiet conversation going on about him.
“The vicar gave it to me. He said it was clenched in Rowena’s hand.” She let out a sigh. “It’s a coin of some sort.”
Thorne snapped his head around. “Let me see that,” he demanded. He snatched it from Miss Hollerfield, ignoring the womens’ horrified gasps.
“Thorne! That was most rude—”
Flashes of a cruel, sneering mouth seared his brain; narrowed suspicious eyes, staring from the Tower gates; images of the practiced toss, caught from mid-air. Everything fell into place in perfect, terrifying precision.
The carriage slowed to a stop.
“—Ready the household for London, Lorelei. We leave tomorrow.”
“But, Thorne, Miss Hollerfield isn’t quite up to—”
The alternative wa
s worse if Maudsley was still about. “Tomorrow, Lorelei.”
Chapter 17
Frustration filled Edward at every turn. Precious time had been wasted searching that damned cottage. Not to mention the effort exerted in avoiding Kimpton’s steward, and still he’d come up empty-handed. Turned that drawing room inside out. Nothing. His lucky piece had disappeared.
Fury surged through him with nothing to vent and no one to listen. The delay of his trip to Essex cost another him four days in visiting Hannah’s grave.
He calmed some. At least the visit had proven fruitful. While the rector had been shocked by his request, they’d nevertheless found a couple of sturdy lads to dig up the child’s coffin. And just as he’d suspected. Empty.
The resentment flared, sending his heart palpitating against his ribs. And where the hell had Virginia disappeared to? She’d hidden well—this time. She wouldn’t be so lucky the next. She would regret the anguish she’d caused her faithful, loving husband.
The air was heavy and Edward pushed his horse hard, even knowing he wouldn’t make London. But the Pear and Dragon eased into sight. He secured a room. The minute he ordered stew and whiskey, the downpour let loose, and a deluge of travelers converged upon the inn.
“Maudsley, old man.”
Edward suppressed a groan as Baron Tanner’s heir, George Welton, called his name. He stumbled over, deep in his cups. He slapped Edward on the shoulder, something the lad would never have attempted sober. Edward clenched a fist, somehow stifling the urge to plant it in the younger man’s face.
“Shufflebottom’s been spreading the word that Harlowe was dumped on a vessel for Spain. Wondered if you’d seen him about. Kimpton’s been looking for him, but I’ve not seen either of them about. You don’t mind if I sit, do you?” Welton didn’t wait for an answer and plopped down on the bench across.
“Of course not,” Edward said. His sarcasm was lost on the impudent drunkard. Edward slugged back the whiskey, and motioned to the tavern chit for another.
“Maudsley, hadn’t seen you since the Martindales’ masquerade.” Edward glanced up into Griston’s thin face. “Had a run of bad luck that night, as I recall.” Griston spun a chair from a neighboring table and sat down uninvited.
“So I did. How are you, Griston? I seem to remember the same about you.”
“Yes. The lucky dog that night was Lord Brockway. Most intent, he was. Cleaned house. Bring another round,” Griston barked out. Griston turned a shrewd gaze on him. “What brings you into the Pear and Dragon, Maudsley? This isn’t quite your neck of the woods.”
Edward forced himself to remain motionless. A wave an anticipation stole over him. More glasses hit the table. “On my way home from Essex. Had some business there.” Edward picked up one of the glasses, rolling it between his palms.
“Is that so?”
“Word is Rowena Hollerfield vacated the city. Closed up her town home and disappeared. I heard she is ... enceinte.” Welton shuddered.
“I happen to believe Rowena Hollerfield is not the one with child,” Griston said.
Welton leaned in, his theatrical whisper reeking of gin. Rotgut. “Another woman?”
Griston sat back against his chair, arms folded across his chest. “A beauty, too.”
More glasses filled with whiskey landed on the table just then. Edward dipped his fingers in his pocket and froze; his lucky piece was gone. His fist clenched. He tamped down the urge to hit someone, and Welton’s flaccid face was a tempting target. In the bastard’s inebriated state, he likely wouldn’t have felt a thing.
Welton nodded slowly. “Now that you mention it, I saw Harlowe with a delectable piece leaving Rowena’s town home a few months back. I just put it down to another light skirt.” He shrugged and snatched up one of the tumblers. “Can’t imagine Rowena sharing her territory, if you know what I mean.” He drained the glass and slammed it back down. “It’s deuced strange, thinking on it.”
Edward forced his fingers loose, swiped up his own glass and tossed back the contents. The burn barely mollified him. “And, what is that?”
“Rowena didn’t try hiding the fact she was carrying.”
Griston’s eyes narrowed and he nodded. “Interesting point, Welton. Why would the most lucrative courtesan in town bandy her condition about town? Couldn’t have been good for business.”
Small prickles raised on Edward’s skin as he considered the line of conversation. He stared hard at Welton. “You say Harlowe was seen leaving Rowena’s with another woman who wasn’t Rowena?”
“I am, indeed. Don’t know what it matters none,” Welton said. “But if Rowena is carrying, I put my money on the babe being Harlowe’s bastard.” He laughed, loud and bawdy. “Serves him right, him having that haughty sister of his and all.”
Griston lifted a brow. “Lady Kimpton? What does she have to with any of this matter.”
Welton’s shoulders caved in and his expression turned sulky though he refrained from answering.
Edward’s gut burned with rage. So Harlowe had bedded the daughter Rowena saw fit to raise as her sister. Fathered his grandchild. Grandson. Having Harlowe killed was turning out to be a more fitting crime than Edward could have envisioned. He bit back a bark of laughter. Surely, he could turn this to his advantage. He drummed his fingers on the table.
“Suppose Rowena Hollerfield was covering for another?
Welton snorted. “You mean like a ... a sister?”
Griston stilled, his gaze sharp. “I don’t believe Rowena Hollerfield has it in her to be so selfless.”
Welton shrugged and took another slug of whiskey. “Besides, if Miss Hollerfield did have a sister, she’d a pulled her in the business years ago.”
Edward smiled. “I think she stole a child and has been hiding her.”
Welton’s face screwed up in a comical puzzle. “Whose child would she have stolen?”
“Perhaps yours and your late wife’s?”Griston took one of the remaining glasses and sipped. “You did say you had business in ... where was it? ... Essex? As I recall, that is where the first Lady Maudsley was buried.”
Edward just looked at him.
Griston leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “And, Miss Hollerfield’s “sister” is carrying?”
“Was carrying,” Edward said. “And the girl just had a son. My grandson.”
Welton gaped at the two of them.
“I see,” Griston said. “And what are your plans?”
Edward studied his drink, a small smile touching him. Harlowe would never have the opportunity to touch his newborn son. In fact, Edward saw no reason he couldn’t lay claim to Rowena’s “sister.” He studied Griston with a hooded gaze. The man might be useful. In some way. “I believe I shall have to recognize her as my long-lost daughter. After all, Rowena Hollerfield managed an admirable job of keeping my daughter’s identity hidden.”
Griston’s eyes seared through him, and Edward realized he’d just spoken of Rowena in the past tense. “What makes you believe the girl is your daughter, Maudsley?” He sipped his whiskey. “Why, she could just as easily be mine.” His softly spoken words sent a chill of apprehension over Edward’s skin.
“Rowena Hollerfield happened to be in my employ at the time of my first wife’s confinement.” He tossed back his third whiskey, signaled for another. “Not only that, she disappeared just after Hannah’s untimely death. I would go so far as to speculate that she killed my wife to take my child.”
A smile played around Griston’s mouth. Edward’s fingers itched for his lucky coin.
“Hm. Rowena Hollerfield a murderess.” He nodded. “Yes, yes. Rowena Hollerfield is a most calculating woman. However, it will take an act of Parliament to declare her “sister” as your legitimate daughter, you know.” Again, his eyes turned contemplative. “Might even have to have Rowena testify.” He cracked his knuckles. “Of course, there are ways to make a mere woman talk.”
“Any word on when the child is due?”
“Believe she, uh, gave birth just recently.”
“That so? Word hadn’t even reached London yet. You have some interesting sources, Maudsley.”
Hell. “I happen to learn that Rowena convinced Kimpton to help her. He sent them to his country estates. In fact, my family is visiting with them now. The girl had a boy.”
Welton, who’d been quiet to this point, spoke. “Too bad you can’t somehow claim the boy as your own, eh, Maudsley? It’s widely known you have only girls.”
Edward’s chair crashed back as he reached across the table and grabbed Welton by his neckcloth. “Fancy an early death, do you?” he growled.
A low chuckle reached through his rage. It wasn’t coming from Welton. Welton’s face turned dark red from lack of oxygen.
“The man has a point,” Griston said calmly.
The words penetrated and Edward slowly came to his senses. He released Welton. The man stumbled back and Edward eased back down.
Griston sipped his whiskey, a cynical curl on his thin lips.
“I h-heard t-tell the Duke of Marlborough’s grandson was able t-to inherit through a daughter. Perhaps, perhaps ... ” Welton’s voice tapered to nothing.
Griston grinned. “There’s your solution. And, fear not, I shall keep your secrets.”
Edward narrowed his eyes on the man. “For a fee, of course.”
“Of course.” Griston’s tone dripped ice. He finished off his whiskey. “I’ll draft up the documents for you to present to the prime minister. There are no guarantees, Maudsley. But I have a price. And regardless of the outcome, the price shall remain the same.”
“And the price?”
His grin numbed Edward, inside out. “Does it matter?”
No guarantees. Edward would pay the man’s fee and Griston knew it.
Edward turned a condescending smile on Welton. “I think you just landed yourself a wife, Welton.”
Welton gaped at him, apparently still stupefied by the gist of the conversation. Edward wasn’t worried about Welton. The ideal solution dropped in their laps for keeping Welton quiet.