“And this was before or after you compromised her?”
“It was after I spent a night alone in this house with a single man.” Perry’s tone was laced with anger. “And I left because Fox was being so honorable and so determined he was unworthy. He was thinking of your feelings and not mine.”
Her eyes glinted with unshed, angry tears. “I’m sorry, Perry.” The night’s events rushed back upon him and he pulled her close. “She was taken by three men. A big man, who might have been the real John Black, the smuggler, his minion, and a Frenchman.”
Shaldon frowned. “The three men in the skiff.”
Perry lifted her head. “No. Two of them went off and left the Frenchman. Fox shot him before he could shoot me and Pip.”
“Pip.” Shaldon rubbed his forehead. “Pip is the boy Farnsworth mentioned?”
“Yes,” Fox said.
“I see. Or rather, I don’t see. You’ll start at the beginning and leave out nothing. Er, except for the part about compromising my daughter. I don’t care to know those details.”
“Will you give your blessing, Father?” she asked.
He pressed his lips together. “You should not have come here, Perpetua. This is a dangerous business. Fox must keep you alive before any talk of marriage.”
Fox helped her into a chair and seated himself next to her, his stomach roiling. They would chase down these villains, find Carvelle, and puzzle out Lady Shaldon’s murder, before any talk of marriage. Shaldon would give her a chance to come to her senses and cry off from a promise they’d never made.
He’d never felt less honorable in all his days.
The sun was on the horizon when Father rose from the table. Perry lingered, gathering the remaining glasses and cups, stalling until Father was out of sight.
“Leave them,” Fox said. “Jenny can get them later.”
Jenny had already gone up to bed.
“I have a new spirit of republicanism.” She joked but her heart was quaking. The old Fox, the one who kept his thoughts hidden, was back. “And I’m not sure I can sleep. Are you angry with me, Fox?”
“For forcing my hand?” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and reached for the tray. “We’ll talk later. You go to bed.” He headed down the stairs to the kitchen.
She followed him.
He set the dishes to soak and gathered her into his arms.
“You don’t have to sleep in the stables, Fox. You can come upstairs—”
“With your father in the next room?” He pressed his lips to hers lightly and then broke away, taking her elbow. “Come on. I’ll escort you upstairs.”
Reluctantly, she let him lead her, dragging her tired limbs. They’d got to the parlor floor when the sound of a carriage reached them.
“Wait here.” Fox went to the door and peered out.
Perry ducked around him to look. A traveling chaise was coming up the drive, with black-clad outriders in front and behind.
MacEwen came up the drive from the stable and greeted one of the outriders.
“That’s MacEwen’s cousin,” Perry whispered.
“Did I not tell you to wait?” Fox said.
Indignation mixed with apprehension, and she clutched his arm. “And that is one of my father’s unmarked chaises. Charley would not take a chaise. Or Bink. Nor would Bink come after me. That had better not be Bakeley.”
“In a chaise? Your brother?” Fox opened the door and went down the steps.
The chaise door opened to a display of a wine-colored traveling dress. Perry hurried after Fox.
Chapter 24
Fergus MacEwen handed Lady Jane Montfort down and Perry hastened to greet her.
She hugged the older woman, relieved that it wasn’t Bakeley appearing at her door. “Why are you here?” she asked. “Oh, never mind, you are meant to be my chaperone, no doubt.”
Lady Jane held her at arm’s length and looked her over, frowning. “What has happened here?” She turned the scowl on Fox. “You. You’re Mr. Fox. The American painter.”
He bowed. “At your service, ma’am.”
“Fox, this is Lady Jane Montfort, a dear friend of Sirena’s, and my friend as well. Lady Jane, Mr. Fox and I are affianced.” She crossed her fingers. “Father has just given his approval.”
Jane’s scowl deepened and she waved a hand at Perry. “You are not the one who caused this, are you?”
“No,” Perry and Fox said at the same time.
He sent her a look that had shame roaring through her. Because of her foolishness, he was destined to be misunderstood.
And trapped in a marriage he didn’t want.
“You must be very tired,” he said, “and Lady Perry is exhausted.”
Perry nodded. Making peace with Fox would have to wait. “Come then,” she said woodenly. “I’ll take you up.”
Hours later, Perry woke to the sound of movement below stairs.
“We have visitors?” The sleep-slurred voice next to her broke the room’s silence.
Perry sat up. “I believe so.” She glanced at her bed companion.
“I know I’m not the sleeping companion you wished for, my dear, but your reputation will be safer with me,” Lady Jane had said while she’d climbed into bed earlier.
Lady Jane was a spinster poor relation of Lord Cheswick making do on a small inheritance while rescuing young ladies’ reputations. Since she’d moved into Shaldon House, Father also had apparently found a use for her.
Perry rubbed her eyes and smiled. Lady Jane’s bed cap had slipped, and the lacing on her nightrail had come undone, revealing a plump freckled shoulder. She looked like a wanton tavern wench and not at all like a lady of middling years. Straggling across the feather stuffed pillow was a long wheaten plait, the color not much different than Perry’s own, except for some fine lacings of white shot through it.
Perry threw back the covers and went to the window. The morning had gone to gray with a heavy cloud cover, but it was bright enough to be afternoon. A single horse was tied up in front.
Not a Cransdall horse, she decided, unless one of her brothers had arrived on one of the plodders that worked the fields.
She crossed to the dressing room and peeked in. Jenny was up and gone. She would just have to dress herself.
“Come,” Jane said next to her. “We’ll help each other.” She ducked into the dressing room where her trunk had been lodged.
Perry blinked back sudden tears. Her three brothers’ marriages had brought three sisters and this kind, wise woman into their family. Jane hadn’t chided or lectured her about Fox.
She would hate to be cut off from these new friendships.
Fox must keep her alive, Father had said. How hard could that be now, with Father and so many of his men here? This was Yorkshire, after all, and not some Peninsular battleground.
She peeled her nightrail up and caught her breath, a sharp pain stabbing her. She’d almost forgotten.
Well, perhaps there were dangers here, but she’d be safe if she stayed close to Fox. The need to see him, to touch him, swamped her, and she hurried to dress.
Fox ground the beans himself and carried up the coffee tray to the dining table where Shaldon, Kincaid, and Farnsworth sat.
Lady Jane’s chaise had accommodated more provisions, and this one—coffee—they all needed. The faces around the table were haggard from years of such fast travel and long nights and worries.
“I’ll need to leave soon to meet the Lieutenant,” Farnsworth said. “Seas will be calmer. They’ll try again to land tonight.”
“Sit down and join us.” Shaldon motioned Fox to a chair. “Farnsworth has just been talking about his encounter with you in the boat last night.”
Fox’s fingers tensed around the china cup, the warmth of the liquid unable to drive out the chill that went through him.
“Lady Perpetua is a brave girl,” Farnsworth said. “I was relieved to find her so well-recovered.”
Shaldon’s harrumph sent anger sparking through Fox. The man didn
’t appreciate his daughter enough.
“Tell Kincaid and Farnsworth what you and Perpetua learned last night.”
As Fox opened his mouth to speak, a loud knocking at the hall door drew everyone’s attention. The others exchanged a knowing glance.
“Excellent. Things are moving along,” Shaldon said. “Coming to the main door instead of the kitchen, this will be someone of interest.”
Fox set the cup down. “Perhaps it’s Scruggs. Davy and Gaz—”
“No,” Kincaid cut in, shaking his head. “Scruggs would be at the kitchen door, as usual. This won’t be Scruggs.”
“I wonder if Scruggs can still be trusted.” Farnsworth drummed his fingers on the table. “John Black and Carvelle. Perhaps the screws are turning on him and there’s naught to be done but play it out.”
More loud knocking, this time more insistent.
“Well then, let’s find out who is this someone of interest.” Kincaid rose.
“Stay,” Fox said. “Mr. Goodfellow can answer his own door.”
His boot heels clacking along the tiled floor, Fox checked his weapons.
Bang, bang, bang. Only the stoutest of hands could make the thick oaken door rattle thus on its hinges.
Beneath the dark worsted of his unfashionably loose coats, his knives were in place, as was his pistol, all hidden away, and if this was the man who’d harmed Perry…he took a deep breath. He couldn’t kill the man just yet. Shaldon would want to question him.
He pulled open the door. The bright, sweating face of Sir Richard beamed at him.
“Goodfellow,” he said, “good day to you. A fine day to pay a call on a neighbor.”
Sir Richard’s horse, a stout fellow to carry such a weight, nibbled at the bush where it was tied. Otherwise, it seemed the Baronet had come alone.
“Sir Richard.” He beckoned the man and led him to the dining room, his back prickling. The Baronet was big, like the man who’d taken Perry, but that man’d had none of the bumbling softness of Sir Richard. Nor had he heard, in all of his travels, any hint that the Baronet did more than receive bribes from free traders. He’d not even been involved in the case of John Black. That had been another judge, a man from further south.
Kincaid looked up with interest, but Shaldon’s face betrayed nothing. No reaction. Farnsworth sat up. None of the men rose.
“Why, you have guests, Goodfellow,” Sir Richard exclaimed.
Fox looked at Shaldon, who nodded.
“Not exactly guests,” Fox said. “This is my landlord, Lord Shaldon.”
Sir Richard’s eyes brightened. “Lord Shaldon?” He bowed deeply. “Indeed, indeed. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Join us,” Kincaid said, introducing himself and Farnsworth.
Fox pulled out a chair at the foot of the table for the man.
“Well, well.” Sir Richard squirmed and blustered. “Such a pleasure.”
“Indeed,” Shaldon said.
“Fancy me paying a call on old Goodfellow and finding you here. What brings you to these wild parts, eh? A bit of shooting, I suppose. Or, are you here to check on this good young fellow?” He laughed heartily. “I assure you, he’s been a quiet one in the neighborhood. No complaints. No complaints a’t’all.”
Shaldon sat as still as death.
Sir Richard played the buffoon heartily—perhaps the man really was a person of interest.
The Baronet accepted coffee and chattered on about the weather, fishing, the coronation, accepting a few nods and grunts as encouragement.
Fox’s head ached with it and his thoughts went to Perry, glad she was in the capable hands of Lady Jane. For all he knew, that lady might be one of the many who’d served Shaldon during the war years. She had that look of quiet intelligence about her.
Jenny appeared with a fresh pot, and Sir Richard’s eyes flashed, a look then quickly veiled. He glanced from her to Fox and back again.
“That will be all,” Fox said in his best lord-of-the-manor tones. Jenny bobbed a curtsy and he heard her footsteps retreating, and then a few minutes later, growing louder.
His chest tightened. The steps and the rustle of skirts were not Jenny’s.
Lady Jane stepped into the room in a swirl of rosewater scent, clad in a blue day dress, a fichu tied high at her neck, just like the one Perry, who entered behind her, wore over the simple gown that must be another of her mother’s. They’d both dispensed with caps, their hair twisted into simple knots, even Perry’s shortened locks.
Sir Richard jumped to his feet, bumping his cup and splattering coffee. “Well,” he murmured. “Well, well, well.”
“Good morning, or perhaps I should say, good afternoon,” Lady Jane said.
“I trust that you both slept well?” Shaldon signaled, and the ladies took seats down the table from Sir Richard, Perry shielded by Kincaid, and Lady Jane by Farnsworth.
“Yes, indeed,” Lady Jane said. “After such a journey, rest is just the thing.” Her gaze traveled around the table and landed on Sir Richard.
But the man didn’t return the lady’s nod.
A pounding started up in Fox’s ears. Sir Richard’s eyes were riveted on Perry.
Chapter 25
Shaldon had seated his daughter so that the painted over bruise on her face was away from the Baronet’s eye. Fox saw all of that, along with the man’s intense interest in Perry. The creeping feeling that slithered along his spine could not be ignored.
Perry sat taller and shared one long glance at Fox, and then her gaze returned to her father, as if she were studiously avoiding Sir Richard.
Shaldon patted her hand and squeezed it. “Will you go down to the kitchen, my dear? Have the maid bring up a tray so you ladies may break your fast.”
Color flooded her cheeks and she rose. “Certainly, Father.”
Sir Richard’s gaze trailed her as she left and he exhaled loudly. “That is your daughter, Shaldon? Spitting image of Felici…er, her mother.”
Shaldon didn’t so much as blink, but Fox sensed a prickling in the man at hearing his dead wife’s Christian name trip off the oaf’s tongue.
Lady Jane cleared her throat and glanced at Shaldon, who seemed disinclined to take any hints, and then to Fox.
Well, he was the lowest in their noble pecking order, wasn’t he, even lower than the silent Kincaid, but he was the resident tenant here. He made introductions.
“Sir Richard,” Lady Jane said. “We met, many years ago, though I’m sure you do not remember.”
The man studied her. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I don’t. Though beauty such as yours should not—”
“Don’t be silly,” she waved a small hand at him.
Not inclined to accept flattery was the lady, though Sir Richard was right—there was beauty in the contours of her face. The shallow crinkles around her eyes and mouth looked to be the marks of a truly gentle woman who smiled often and looked kindly on many. In her younger days, she wouldn’t have been a fashionable beauty perhaps, but she would have turned some heads.
An interesting face. He would have to sketch her, if she would allow it.
“It was a ball many years ago.” She pinned a clear gaze on Sir Richard. “As I recall, you left early.”
Sir Richard shifted in his chair.
Ah, so, Lady Jane was perhaps not always kind. She could also wield the velvet-clad blade of a society lady, and the fact that she’d parry and thrust with Sir Richard meant Fox’s instinct about the man was correct.
If Sir Richard but laid another long look on Perry…
“I dare say, I don’t remember,” Sir Richard said. “May I inquire how long you will grace the neighborhood with your presence, Shaldon?”
“Our plans are not certain.”
“Surely you must be back in London for the coronation. The King cannot do without you, eh?” He chuckled and sipped at his coffee.
Shaldon did not answer.
Perry and Jenny entered, both setting trays on the sideboa
rd. Perry seated herself and Jenny served the two ladies.
“Bring a plate for Sir Richard, girl,” Lady Jane said.
Jenny ducked and bowed with proper servility—another clever woman—and did as asked.
Sir Richard ignored her, his attention thoroughly fixed on Perry. He wanted an introduction, and damn him if Fox would oblige him when it came to Perry.
“I’m hosting a bit of a fête for the local society to celebrate the coronation, for those of us who cannot attend, and I’d thought to invite Mr. Goodfellow here. But imagine the stir if the great Lord Shaldon would deign to appear?”
Was that sarcasm under that hearty bluffness?
“You are the highest-ranking neighbor around, sir, and one so frequently absent the neighbors would love to meet you, and of course, your guests, and your lovely daughter.”
“When is this event?” Lady Jane asked.
Sir Richard took a bite of toast, chewed, and sipped his coffee. “Next week. ’Twill be a small affair, I fear. Dinner and, er, perhaps a bit of dancing.”
“I fear we cannot promise you next week,” Shaldon said.
“Well, then. You and the ladies must come for dinner. Tomorrow night. I’ll not take no for an answer.”
Shaldon leveled a steady gaze on him. “We shall be honored.”
“Excellent.” Sir Richard caught Perry’s eye. “And I shall particularly like to make your acquaintance, my dear.”
Perry’s eyes narrowed. She set down her fork.
“Your mother was a childhood friend. Used to gallop across my land whenever the notion took her. Always a horsewoman, wasn’t she? Do you share her interest in horses, my lady?”
Perry washed down a bite of toast and glanced at her father before answering. “My brother runs the equine operations.”
“Well,” Sir Richard said. “Of course. No doubt finer than my own, though I dare say there are a few fine mounts in my stable. I should like you to feel welcome to come over any time to ride, and, er, Lord Shaldon, I’d be happy to have you ride any of my mounts.” He stood. “Well then, tomorrow night. Though I am but a widower, I dare say I have one of the best cooks in the county and can spread a fine table. I shall be happy to see you then.”
The Counterfeit Lady_A Regency Romance Page 17