by Heather Boyd
Davis drew close. “What was that, my lord?”
“I was just introducing myself to the victim. I never had occasion to meet the deceased while she lived. She used to add a few lines to Carmichael’s letters occasionally, but that was the extent of our association. I should have come to London more often this past year.”
Davis made a noncommittal sound.
Gilbert drew in a breath and then got to work, noting the arrangement of her limbs, the location of the wound, and the blood smeared around her on the Indian tiles. “Did you read the initial reports?”
“I did. Maid found them together on the floor, Lord Carmichael holding her in his arms. She thought she’d stumbled on a tryst until she noticed the blood.”
“What brought her to this part of the house at that precise moment?”
“A cry for help.”
“From whom?”
“The report did not say.”
“We’ll need to question the maid again and ask about the cry.” He turned to look around. Angela Berry had fallen not far from the doorway. She might have been waiting here for Carmichael, or someone else perhaps.
Gilbert moved away from the door and the body and investigated the perimeter of the room. There was a narrow path behind the potted palms lining the walls. It was possible to walk completely around the room behind them, he discovered. Along the way, he tested every window and doorway latch. The last glass panel gave way with a gentle push, revealing a hidden exit.
“Well, I’ll be!” Davis said as he joined Gilbert. He slipped outside and looked left and right. “Access to the street, and to the mews at the back.”
“I take it Meriwether did not discover this?”
“He looked nowhere but to Lord Carmichael once he arrived.” Davis scratched his head. “There are other suspects in my opinion, my lord…if you’d like my opinion.”
“I would, but first things first. After the maid, tell me who else Meriwether might have spoken to. We need to re-interview everyone about Miss Berry’s movements from the moment she was found to the last time she was seen alive, to be sure they have not been influenced.”
“At least a dozen. There is a footman who is missing though.”
“We need to find him as soon as possible,” Gilbert said, making notes for himself in his pocketbook. “Tell me what else you know.”
“Miss Berry was last seen alive around eleven last night during the height of the festivities of her mother’s ball. There were thirty-three members of the ton invited, most present, and a dozen extra staff hired for the event.”
A hoard of suspects but the wrong one detained. “I’ll need Lady Berry’s guest list as soon as possible. Bring me the maid, and then the housekeeper and the butler, separately.”
“Right you are.” Davis stood straighter. “It’s good to have a proper investigator back in London, my lord.”
“Thank you, but I’m not happy about this at all.” He shook his head and looked down upon the deceased again. “I came for a wedding, not a funeral.”
Chapter 2
Almack’s Assembly Room
* * *
Anna Beasley fanned her hot face as she was led from the Almack’s Assembly dance floor on the arm of a knight in shining armor.
“Thank you for the dance, Miss Beasley,” Lord Wade murmured to her through the slit in his visor.
Anna did her best to ignore the way his armor clanked horribly as he brought her back to her father’s side and offered a bow—shallow, most likely because he couldn’t bend any lower. Dancing in armor hadn’t been easy for him, and she again wondered why he’d asked her to stand up with him in the first place. “Oh, no. Thank you, my lord.”
Lord Wade, a plain-speaking viscount of modest fortune, wasn’t perhaps the partner other ladies might have wished for, but he bore the stamp of approval from the patronesses of Almack’s and that was enough to satisfy Anna. Besides, it wasn’t as if anyone else had asked her to dance that night. She was running out of time to impress, and she couldn’t bear to pass another night as a wallflower, so she had accepted without hesitation. “I had a marvelous time,” she promised him.
Anna adjusted the straps that held her heavy bow and arrows into a better position across her shoulder and smiled warmly at the viscount. Dancing so encumbered hadn’t been easy for her, either. Why hadn’t she just worn a simple mask like her friend Portia had suggested? Something without weapons perhaps might have appeared less threatening, too.
Lord Wade nodded politely to her father and released her. Iron screeched as he turned awkwardly to face the other direction, and then he clanked off into the crowd. She hoped Lord Wade left early tonight—only so he might be spared of the weight of the heavy armor sooner rather than later.
Anna wished for release, too. She had hope that supper would be announced soon, because only then could she divest herself of her costume’s weapons with the patronesses’ blessings.
“Was it dreadful?” Miss Portia Hayes asked in a whisper as she rushed over to join Anna. Miss Hayes, attired all in white, carried a harp upon her hip that she strummed softly as she waited for Anna’s response.
“Of course not,” Anna promised, smoothing her forest-green waistcoat over her gown of similar hue. She was meant to be a woodsman’s lady, rustic and wild. Anna hadn’t been brave enough to leave her dark hair unbound in public, so her maid had braided it so that the long rope of its length draped forward over her shoulder. Surely someone would find her appealing in this costume and look past her habitual blushes to see the woman within.
She fiddled with the long plait and settled it again. “Lord Wade is a competent dance partner, even in armor.”
“You know what I mean.” Portia leveled her with a knowing stare.
Anna did, unfortunately, remembering past conversations with the viscount that had made her uncomfortable for their bluntness. Given her lack of other dance partners, Anna had resigned herself to more of that and was determined to overlook anything untoward he said. Lord Wade never said anything truly beyond the pale yet. Nothing she hadn’t thought herself, really, but would never say out loud. It just wasn’t politic to speak your mind when you were hoping to catch the right sort of husband. Kind, handsome, and sufficiently plump in the pocket. “He said nothing improper to me.”
“He makes my skin crawl whenever he stares at me,” Portia complained.
Anna had heard that statement many times from Portia. She was an heiress with a great belief in her own worth. Anna hadn’t the confidence to refuse to dance with anyone. Portia even believed Lord Wade’s inclusion in the invitations to attend Almack’s from the patronesses a shocking mistake.
Anna feared her own inclusion was an error sometimes, too. But she had a supporter in the ton, a very valuable mentor for a motherless girl in search of a proper husband, and with another birthday fast approaching, Anna needed all the help she could get. Her twentieth year, and the specter of spinsterhood, was nothing to celebrate and everything to fear.
“I think supper is about to be announced,” Anna whispered to change the subject.
“I think you are right,” Portia agreed, staring around them with a serene smile. “Have you seen Lord Carmichael tonight?”
“He wouldn’t ever be admitted,” Anna warned. Lord Carmichael, the very horrid Price Wagstaff, was her father’s godson—and a devil when it came to breaking the hearts of ladies, she’d learned.
“Shall we go down to supper, daughter?” Father asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said obediently. She glanced at Portia. “Shouldn’t you return to your parents, too?”
“I suppose I must,” Portia said, sighing. Portia’s parents were oddly behaved for chaperones—standing at least ten feet away facing the other direction to their daughter. Portia squeezed her fingers quickly. “Are you attending the Williamson ball on Friday?”
“Indeed I am,” Anna exclaimed, holding her father back a moment. “I’ve been looking forward to the ball since knowing ou
r invitation had arrived. Will you be there too?”
“Of course. I’m wearing my new blue silk gown. You should wear your pink muslin.” Portia waved her fingers and finally went off to rejoin her parents.
Father clucked his tongue in disapproval at Portia’s parting advice and drew Anna toward the great stone staircase of Almack’s. “Wear whatever you like to the ball, daughter.”
Anna laughed softly. “I had already decided on the pink, but it’s good to know Miss Hayes will be wearing another color.”
There was nothing worse than appearing to imitate a close friend.
They descended to the ground floor, left her weapons with a footman to collect later and slipped into the supper room. They found the only vacant table, next to a tall gilt pillar, and soon had tea and a plate of little sandwiches each laid before them. Not that Anna was particularly hungry, attending Almack’s always made her too nervous to eat, but she was thirsty and her aching feet were grateful for a respite.
Her father looked at the plates with a forlorn expression. “One must bear the expense to attend, I suppose, but it’s always such a poor offering at supper, isn’t it?”
Anna sympathized. The food was no better than what could be had at home but there was so little of it. She eased closer to him. “Did you remember to eat before leaving home?”
“I did not find the time, unfortunately.” Father looked at her sideways. “You danced well tonight with Lord Wade.”
“Thank you.”
His brow wrinkled. “That is the fifth night you have danced with him in as many weeks, is it not?”
“Sixth.”
Father made a small sound as he bit into a sandwich, something that might have been approval or perhaps merely hunger appeased at last. “You haven’t set your heart on an offer of marriage from him, have you?”
“Father!”
Anna glanced around guiltily, hoping no one had heard his question. It was one thing to talk about suitors in the privacy of home, but another entirely to discuss the matter where anyone might hear.
It appeared no one close had overheard them, but her mentor, Lady Scott, a widow and stickler for propriety, was watching them from across the room. Anna smiled at her quickly. “Lady Scott is here,” she whispered.
He nodded. “She always is.”
“I do hope I have a chance to speak with her tonight.”
Father squinted at the woman. “For what reason?”
“Nothing too important, I promise.” She wanted to ask Lady Scott about Lord Wade’s situation. Lady Scott knew everything about everyone, which had proved very useful so far this season.
Her father shook his head and resumed eating.
She was just starting to feel comfortable when a shadow loomed over them.
“Ah, Miss Beasley,” a familiar, masculine voice mocked. “I thought I saw your beacon-like blush guiding me across the supper room.”
Anna looked up, appalled at his appearance. Carmichael had been fighting at Gentleman Jackson’s again, and clearly had not been the winner this time. His lower lip had a healing cut and there was a yellowish bruise circling one eye. “What are you doing at Almack’s?”
“Why shouldn’t I be here?” He tossed off a loud laugh and turned to greet her grinning father. “I have as much right as anyone, don’t you think, sir?”
The Earl of Carmichael was quite unworthy of treading these hallowed halls, she was sure.
Anna had known him, suffered him, since their parents had forced them into close proximity as children, and she’d endured his company stoically on each and every occasion since she’d made her come out in society.
Father, unfortunately, loved Carmichael like the son he’d never had. He would say nothing about him returning to fight at Gentleman Jackson’s, even if Carmichael had promised that he never would again. “There you are, my boy. I trust you had no trouble when you presented yourself tonight.”
“None at all, and thank you for your assistance in applying to the patronesses.” Carmichael glanced about the supper room, his expression bored. “Not quite as I pictured it.”
“I did warn that you might be underwhelmed, my boy,” Father said with a soft laugh. “Better entertainment in the ring than here.”
Anna glanced between Father and Carmichael, startled that her father would actually help the earl gain entry to Almack’s. Why, the foundations of society must be crumbling beneath them. “I thought you said you hated the very idea of attending Almack’s?”
“You were misinformed.” Carmichael’s expression darkened a moment. “Oh, and here is the friend I was telling you about yesterday, Mr. Beasley. May I present Gilbert Bowen, Earl of Sorenson, to you?”
Father stood, leaving Anna sitting at the table with her cooling tea as he was introduced to a Lord Sorenson of Kent. She’d heard that name before. The older man’s reputation preceded him, and she didn’t care to be introduced to a known scoundrel.
“May I offer condolences on your father’s passing and your elevation to the title?”
“Thank you, Mr. Beasley,” Lord Sorenson murmured in a voice that sounded a bit younger and more vibrant than she’d expected.
Anna stilled. She had not known the Sorenson title had passed to a son. Apparently, there were some things Lady Scott had not told her.
But Carmichael’s friends were in general an unruly and forward lot, most with a known disinterest in pursuing matrimony but would gladly chase any lady in skirts. The apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree.
Despite knowing her interest would be fruitless, she turned her head slightly to glimpse the newcomer discreetly.
Almost out of her line of sight, Carmichael’s friend appeared to be costumed in tight-fitting tan leather breeches, a jerkin of sea green and, to her shock, he wore a bow and quiver of arrows strapped to his back just as she had worn earlier.
He moved slightly, and she could suddenly see Lord Sorenson very clearly. He was young, perhaps younger than Carmichael even, and handsome in a severe way. Carmichael’s friend was not just handsome—he was downright devastating.
Sinful.
His hair, worn long enough to brush the collar of his crisp white shirt, was the color of an angry sunset, his eyes an unusually bright shade of green exactly matched to the shade of her own costume. He laughed suddenly, revealing even white teeth and a wickedly inviting smile that must charm every woman he met.
Anna nearly swooned herself when he pursed his lips the next moment.
She turned back to her plate quickly, suddenly far too warm for even a fan to do her any good. She reached for it anyway and beat air at her face.
“Anna, my dear girl. Forgive me. Where is my mind tonight?” Father caught her hand and hauled her up on shaking legs. “Lord Sorenson, might I present to you my only daughter, Anna.”
Anna lifted her eyes slowly and quaked anew under the force of the earl’s wicked gaze.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Beasley,” Lord Sorenson said after a slight pause.
His deep voice sent a burst of pleasure racing all over her skin. He had a dark voice, the tone of which made her shiver.
The blush that never seemed to go away around handsome men heated anew, and she lowered her eyes quickly. This was a man she ought not to encourage if she wanted to keep her virtue intact. “My lord,” she managed to say before becoming utterly tongue-tied.
Carmichael poked her shoulder. “Lord Sorenson is quite new to Town, Anna, and hasn’t a clue of the fun he’s been missing all these years,” he stated. “Can you believe him once a dull vicar?”
Anna glanced at Lord Sorenson swiftly. He could not be a vicar. Not with those looks or that voice. “No.”
“All true, I swear,” Lord Sorenson promised, his expression amused by her denial.
Anna’s skin heated even more and she glanced down again.
“Sorenson’s been rusticating in the countryside for far too long. I mean to show him the ropes around Town and educate him on t
he pleasures to be found here. I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of him in the coming weeks.”
At most, she’d likely see his back as he slipped away to seduce some bold and foolish woman. Carmichael was notorious for showing his friends a very good time in the capital. He would take Lord Sorenson under his wing and lead him to places Anna should never know about. Poor Lord Sorenson wouldn’t stand a chance of avoiding corruption and vice during his visit. Even a week of Carmichael’s company was bound to ruin him.
“Will you be staying in London long?”
She hoped not, for his sake.
“Not the whole of the season. I must stay as long as required, on business, before returning to Kent for the summer, no matter what mischief my old friend is planning for me,” Lord Sorenson promised with a lofty stare for Carmichael. He looked at her again and his smile returned. “How are you enjoying the season, Miss Beasley?”
Her body seemed to be quivering with each word Lord Sorenson uttered. She took a moment to collect herself before answering.
“Very well, thank you. My friends and I look forward to seeing you at future events.”
Was that too forward? She hoped not.
She looked at Carmichael quickly. “Have you by chance seen Miss Berry tonight?”
Carmichael paled.
“Who?” Lord Sorenson asked.
“She’s a very good friend of mine.” She looked at Carmichael expectantly. He had been flirting with Angela for weeks and months. Anna expected an announcement of an engagement any day now, or to hear he’d broken Angela’s heart.
“Haven’t seen her,” Carmichael mumbled. “Now that introductions have been completed, we’d best return to the ballroom,” he announced suddenly. “Sorenson has promised to dance with Miss Hayes for the next set after supper.”
“Please excuse us,” Lord Sorenson murmured, but threw one last smile toward Anna before he followed after Carmichael.
Anna let out a shaky breath as she watched them go, her stomach twisting with jealousy and longing. Portia Hayes would be just what Lord Sorenson might like. Bold. Daring. Flirtatious. Anna wasn’t at all like that. She didn’t have the knack for turning heads like her friends could.