The Mystery of Miss Mason (The Lost Lords Book 5)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “It would be so much easier if he would just seduce me,” she whispered to the empty room. “Because I simply lack the knowledge to manage any sort of seduction of him.”

  Mary laid back on the pillows and stared up at the ceiling wishing desperately that she could be more bold with him. She’d had the audacity to come to Bath alone, to lie to her brother in order to investigate his origins without his knowledge! Of course, that had not gone as intended but, still, she had done it. Why did she lack any sort of courage when it came to advancing her relationship with Lord Wolverton?

  Because he might reject her. That was ultimately it, Mary realized. And whether he did it out of his impeccable sense of honor, or whether he did it because he simply could not align himself in any meaningful way with someone as potentially low-born as she was, made little difference. It would be humiliating regardless and after all that had occurred, she had little enough dignity left to spare.

  A soft knock at the door had her heart pounding. Mary sat up, called out for the person to enter, and knew a moment of bitter disappointment when it was only Miss Masters and not Lord Wolverton. Apparently, she did not hide her response very well because Miss Masters laughed.

  “Is my presence truly so unwelcome then?” the other woman asked.

  “Not at all,” Mary insisted, feeling even more embarrassed and terribly out of her depth. “I was simply—I wasn’t expecting you, Miss Masters, but you are more than welcome.”

  Miss Masters entered the room fully, several gowns draped over her arms. “I see. But I am not as welcome as Lord Wolverton might have been. Isn’t that who you expected?”

  “Not expected,” Mary answered.

  “Hoped, then,” Miss Masters continued. “I must admit that I was rather taken aback when I heard his name. And I’m certain I did not conceal it well. For that, I am terribly sorry, because whatever may have been said about him in the past, no man who cared for you and tended to you as carefully and tenderly as he has could be guilty of such crimes.”

  “He is not guilty,” Mary said adamantly. “I’m certain of it. Even before we studied the ledgers and found the true depths of evil to which Harrelson had sunk, I knew that he was incapable of what he’d been accused of. But I think Benedict is not so certain and I worry that he will make trouble for Lord Wolverton, Miss Masters.”

  “We are to be sisters. You will call me Elizabeth and I will call you Mary. I already have been at any rate, a habit I picked up from Benedict, I suppose,” the other woman said. “These gowns are Lady Vale’s from some time ago. But they are not so terribly out of fashion, I think, and should suffice until we can get some things made up for you. She is somewhat taller than you, however.”

  Mary laughed at that. “As is everyone! I thank her ladyship for the gowns.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I will tell her you said so. Now, I recommend this lovely periwinkle one for dinner. I’ll send a maid to help you take it up. As for your brother and Lord Wolverton, you leave Benedict to me.”

  “And now, I must give you my thanks,” Mary replied.

  Elizabeth waved away the gratitude as she made for the door. As she reached it, she turned back. “I nearly drove Benedict away. I refused him reputedly because I believed that things in my past made me unsuitable for him. But he was remarkably persistent and I am now so very grateful for that. Do not let Lord Wolverton push you away because of his past, Mary. It’s obvious that he cares for you and it is equally obvious that you care for him!”

  “It isn’t only his past, Elizabeth. Benedict is high-born, but I am not. There is nothing in the records we found to indicate that I am anything more than a child plucked from one poverty-ridden slum and placed in another. What on earth could I offer Lord Wolverton?”

  “Love, Mary. You could offer him love… and I think, perhaps, he may need that more than anything else,” Elizabeth said, and then slipped out the door.

  The words hung in the air, echoing long after Elizabeth Masters was gone. Even when the maid arrived to assist Mary with taking up the dinner gown she’d been provided with, she could not put that soft rebuke from her mind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dinner was a strained affair. Benedict sat at the head of the table with Miss Masters to his right and Lord Wolverton to his left. Lady Vale sat next to him, while Mary sat next to Miss Masters and Mr. Middlethorp sat at the opposite end. As the table was not overly large despite the grandeur of the room, it did not feel as if they were having to shout the length of it to engage in conversation. The first course was completed with only the most stilted and painful conversation. By the second course, enough wine had been imbibed that those present had begun to relax to some small degree.

  “Tell me, Wolverton, about the trial,” Mr. Middlethorp suggested as he carved a bit of the glazed ham that graced the table. He offered a selection of it to Mary and she declined. She was over full already from the small amount she had eaten in the first course.

  “What is it you would wish to know, Mr. Middlethorp?”

  “Call me Branson,” he insisted. “We have very little use for formality in this household. We are much too involved in one another’s business to stand on such ceremony. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Mary watched Lord Wolverton out of the corner of her eye. He gave a brief nod and continued, “Very well, Branson. I will answer any questions you have about the trial. If I know the answer, that is.”

  “Who were the lords presiding over your jury?”

  “Fulton, Standifer, Montcray, Villiers, Andover, Sutcliffe, Whitlow and Farnsworth. There were others that I did not know well. Those men I have studied and at least six of those eight had rather unsavory dealings with Harrelson,” Wolverton explained, before sipping his wine.

  Branson Middlethorp frowned. “Obviously, I am not a member of the House of Lords nor have I ever been permitted within their hallowed halls. But I have friends who are and I keep myself quite well informed of the proceedings. To my knowledge, not a one of those you mentioned has ever been a truly active member. They shirk their duties shamelessly… but for your trial. Curious, indeed.”

  “At least four of those have considerable gaming debts,” Benedict stated. “And I am in a position to know, as those debts were incurred at my establishment.”

  “I will make for London and find out what I can,” Branson remarked casually. “But it will not be until the day after tomorrow as that odious little magistrate is coming back tomorrow.”

  “The man who was here this afternoon?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Hillyard,” Lady Vale replied easily. “There was a murder only a few streets away. A workman by the name of Davies, I think it was. I can’t imagine why he thinks we might know something about it.”

  Wolverton went completely still, the tension from him a palpable thing. “Did you say Davies, Lady Vale?”

  “I did. Surely, you are not acquainted with him, Lord Wolverton,” she replied.

  Mary noted the frown that furrowed his brow. He was obviously distressed and she wanted nothing more than to try and soothe his worries, but that would only cause further tensions between him and everyone else in the house.

  “He worked for me,” Wolverton finally said. “I very much fear that I sent that poor man to his death.”

  “Is it the man who came to Wolfhaven Hall yesterday?” Mary asked, recalling the small, skinny man with the furtive manner. Surely, it was not he who had been murdered only a few yards away from them. What was the possibility of that being a random occurrence? Very slim, she realized.

  “Yes,” Wolverton answered. “He was a petty thief and a criminal, but he was very good at ferreting out information. I had sent him to Bath to discover if your brother was still in the city so that I might inform him of your rescue. He reported to me just yesterday that he had, in fact, been recognized as Lord Vale and that he was in residence here. I had then sent him back to the city with instructions to watch Albert Hamilton and report to me on his activities. This cannot
have been just happenstance. Hamilton must be involved.”

  “I reached the same conclusion… well, that it wasn’t a random event and that, somehow, whatever violence had befallen the poor man was related to the shady business we have found ourselves mired in,” Mary said. “I am terribly sorry, Lord Wolverton, but you must not assume guilt or responsibility for this.”

  “How can I not?”

  “Because you did not murder him. It is likely that Albert Hamilton killed the man and the guilt should fall solely upon his shoulders. If this man was a criminal, I can only assume that he knew there would be danger in this task and took it on regardless.”

  Those surprisingly kind words came from Benedict. Given that he had been cold to the point of hostility up to then, Mary was quite surprised by it. But she seconded her brother’s point. “I find it is always best to lay blame where it is actually due, Wolverton. Had you any inkling that he would be in that much danger, you would likely have found a different course. We cannot be accountable for that which we do not know.”

  “You are kind to say so,” Wolverton replied, addressing the comment to them both.

  After that, the meal continued in a very subdued manner, but it was at least companionable. They had just completed the dessert course when the men rose to take brandy and cigars in the library, and the ladies were to retreat to the drawing room for sherry and polite conversation. It was an odd thing for Mary, for those social conventions to be upheld when, for what seemed like an eternity, her life had been darkness and fear. Would she ever feel “normal” again? Did she even want to? She had never been especially naïve, but she had always depended far too much on Benedict to protect her. It had been an eye-opening discovery in many ways to realize that she could actually protect herself. Regardless of the trauma, that was not something she would give up or allow herself to forget.

  As they neared the drawing room which was located at the front of the house, facing the street, there was a great commotion outside. The sound of a woman’s screams ripped through the darkness, loud and terrified. Even in the library, the gentleman heard it and emerged again immediately.

  “What on heaven’s name is going on out there?” Lady Vale asked.

  “I mean to find out,” Mr. Middlethorp said firmly and headed for the door.

  Benedict and Lord Wolverton fell in step behind him, while Mary huddled in the entryway with Lady Vale and Elizabeth, awaiting word on what might be happening.

  “I must be entirely honest,” Mary admitted rather ruefully, “I had not thought Bath such a fertile ground for criminal activity!”

  “There are unscrupulous individuals amongst all classes,” Elizabeth said sagely. “I find that gentlemen are only better at hiding their darker natures than their poorer counterparts. Even then, the truth will always come out.”

  *

  Alex stepped out into the darkness, he and Lord Vale moving forward to flank Mr. Middlethorp. It was quite possible that those screams had been nothing more than the bait in a trap, luring them into an ambush. At this stage of the game, he could no longer predict what Hamilton might do. Clearly, Harrelson meeting his end had set something in motion that none of them could fully grasp.

  “Do you see anything?” Vale asked.

  “Nothing,” Middlethorp responded. “But it was nearby. I’m certain of it.”

  “Well, it is quiet enough now,” Alex replied. “I think we should go inside. I dislike leaving the ladies unattended. I cannot help but feel that this was nothing more than an attempt at distraction.”

  Middlethorp nodded. “I quite agree.”

  As they turned back toward the house, the screams sounded again. In unison, they turned toward the other end of the terrace, where it opened up onto Bennett Street and the Assembly Rooms beyond. There was a woman, running toward them, wearing a pale gown that billowed behind her as she ran. She was wild-eyed, her dark hair flying behind her. There was something strangely familiar about her, something that teased his mind. It was that, more than anything, that held Alex rooted to the spot, watching her approach as she screamed in apparent terror.

  The nearer she drew to them, the more Alex’s heart pounded in his chest. It wasn’t possible. It simply could not be. And yet, he knew it was. Recognition hit him with the force of a hammer, knocking him backwards as he recoiled from the truth of it. The woman rushing toward them was none other than his dead wife. Helena had returned to torment him once more, it seemed.

  She careened wildly down the street, to and fro, occasionally looking behind her as if she were being pursued. And yet, the only person disturbing the peacefulness of the night was her. Alex recognized it instantly for what it was—a ruse.

  It was instinct and breeding more than anything that prompted him to step forward as she stumbled near them. He caught her as she overbalanced and began tumbling toward the hard paving stones. Her face was dirty and bruised, her hair a tangled mass. She collapsed against him in a manner that was befitting any of the finest stages in London. But then, Helena had always had a penchant for dramatics.

  “Alexander,” she cried. “Can it be you? Truly?”

  “I have hardly altered my appearance,” he replied coolly.

  “My dearest husband! I saw the coach pass by my window earlier. I had thought it was Ambrose. I knew that if I could get to him, he would return me to you,” she said breathlessly, continuing on as if his previous reply had not been laced with both sarcasm and disbelief. “But to find you here instead… God be praised.”

  He was fairly certain Helena had never praised God in her life. “Where have you been all this time, Helena? It’s been more than a year!”

  “I was Harrelson’s prisoner,” she whispered on a broken sob. “I found out about the women he had abducted and he locked me away. He said that he couldn’t bring himself to kill me. I was always his favorite, you know.”

  Another lie. “Harrelson has been dead for days,” Alex pointed out. “Why has it taken you this long to come forward?”

  “I was locked in an attic room in a townhouse near here. I saw the coach from the window. The servants Harrelson had paid to hold me prisoner had all fled but one,” she shuddered delicately. “He intended to use the time alone with me to satisfy his dark desires for me.” That statement was accompanied with a sidelong glance at the other gentlemen present. Even in her current state, Helena found it impossible to be anything other than a coquette.

  Middlethorp cleared his throat. “Let us take her inside and then sort the fact from the fiction, Wolverton.”

  “Carry me, my darling,” Helena said. “I fear I haven’t the strength to walk.”

  Alex looked down at her, at the slyness of her gaze even as she schooled her face into a mask of fear and desperation. How he hated her in that moment! For the first time, he wished her truly dead and it shamed him more than a little.

  “I’ll fetch a footman to do so,” Vale offered.

  “Yes, please do,” Alex replied.

  Helena’s face fell. For anyone who did not know her, she would give every appearance of a woman brokenhearted. “Why do you revile me so, Husband? I did not abandon you by choice! I was locked away from you!”

  Nothing further was said as a footman came forward and lifted Helena into his arms, carrying her inside the house. Middlethorp and Vale both looked at Alex. But it was Vale who spoke first, “That is not something I would have bet on. Ever. If your wife is not dead, Wolverton, whose body did you find in the woods?”

  “I can only assume one of Harrelson’s many abductees,” he answered. It was the most logical solution. “This cannot be happening!”

  “It is happening. And for my sister’s sake, I hope you held fast to the honor she attributes to you. For if you’ve made her an adulteress, it will not be my wrath you should fear,” Vale warned softly.

  *

  Mary watched the footman carrying in the unknown woman. She was instantly overwhelmed with empathy, noting the woman’s bruises and her torn, dirty
gown. Had it been just a week since Lord Wolverton had found her in a similar fashion? A week that had altered her forever. A man who had altered her forever, a traitorous voice whispered in her mind. While she hated to acknowledge it, the fact remained that whatever happened between her and Lord Wolverton at the end, her feelings for him would be part of her forever—her feelings and the tantalizing fantasies of what might have been.

  Beside her, Elizabeth Masters gasped in shock. Mary glanced at her and saw that she was looking at the woman not with horror but with recognition. “You know her?”

  Elizabeth turned to face Mary and her expression shifted to one of what could only be described as pity. Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes as she uttered brokenly, “I do know her. Miss Mason—Mary—that woman is Lady Helena Carnahan, the Countess of Wolverton.”

  Mary glanced once more at the bedraggled but undeniably beautiful woman who was being tended to by a maid and a footman. Her gaze drifted toward the men who had entered and stood stock still in the entryway. Benedict looked angry, Middlethorp was inscrutable as always, but it was Wolverton who held her attention. He looked directly at her, and what she saw in him nearly broke her heart. There was bitterness and resentment but, above all, there was resignation. For better or worse, Helena was his wife, and whether he despised her or cherished her, his honor would not allow him to cast her aside no matter what she might have done.

  It was all too much. Everything seemed to crash in upon her at once. It felt as though the room was spinning, as if the floor itself was rushing up to greet her. The world went black and Mary sank gratefully into the respite that darkness provided.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Helena had watched the other woman faint, the petite blonde that Alexander had carried so tenderly earlier that day. She covered her face with her hands and let out a soft sob to cover the smirk that twisted her lips upward. From the moment she had returned home that afternoon, she’d been in whirlwind of activity. She’d had her maid take one of her older dresses out to the garden and literally roll it in the dirt. After all, she could not return from an abduction dressed in her finest, could she? The footman placed her on a lovely upholstered settee and a glass of fortifying brandy was placed in her hands. Normally, it was not a lady’s drink but, under the circumstances, it was clear that something as delicate as sherry just would not do.