by Joan Smith
“Mr. Bratty happens to be my fiancé,” she said, and walked away, wondering why on earth she had said that. Felix had proposed a dozen times, but she had never honored him with an acceptance.
Ravencroft stood looking after her, speechless with astonishment. Miss Bratty involved in a clandestine engagement! He could hardly believe her capable of anything so dashing. So that was why she was worried about folks thinking she was chasing himself. It was hard to conceive of a less likely pair than Felix and Miss Bratty. He was a shocking loose screw and a fool. Miss Bratty was a prude, but no fool. He didn’t envy either of them. But he couldn’t find any reason why it should be a secret. It would take more than Felix’s stupidity to make the heir to a vast estate ineligible. Was the ineligibility on Miss Bratty’s side, then? The lady was becoming positively interesting.
Chapter Six
That afternoon, Amy donned her riding habit and rode over those areas of the neighborhood where a body might be buried or otherwise concealed without being discovered for a week. In the spinney, she dismounted and walked through the trees, looking for signs of the fallen leaves having been disturbed to make a grave. She searched the creek bed, and went into the abandoned daub and wattle shepherd’s hut that marked the border between Bratty Hall and the neighboring estate.
She didn’t think the murder would have occurred in town, or the body be concealed there. No, someone would have lured Bransom to an isolated spot to kill him, perhaps on the pretext of providing information about Alphonse’s English partner. As the shadows began to lengthen, she rode home. Tomorrow she would continue, going farther afield. By rights, the Wolf should be helping her with this important work.
She was extremely unhappy with the treatment she was receiving at his hands. He treated her as if she were a nuisance, when she was the one who had alerted Sir George to the whole business. He laughed at her up his sleeve, mean-mouthed her arrangements at the abandoned house, and didn’t give a thought to her reputation. What did it matter to him if the whole town was laughing at her for scrambling after him? He didn’t understand provincial life. But Alphonse’s partner was some local gentleman, and the Wolf had no hope of finding him on his own.
These angry thoughts were driven completely from her mind when she returned to the Hall and saw a spanking yellow curricle and a team of bang-up grays in the stable. Felix was here. Oh dear, the timing could hardly be worse. He would be pestering her to marry him. She would have the devil of a time getting away from him to search for Bransom’s body. Then a worse thought occurred to her. She had told the Wolf that she was engaged to Felix.
Why had she done such a foolish thing? She just wanted to give that toplofty gentleman a setdown when he was belittling her cousin. She must make sure the two didn’t meet. It was unlikely they would. The Wolf wouldn’t be visiting Bratty Hall. With luck, Felix was just paying one of his dashing visits in the hope of getting money and would be gone by tomorrow or the next day.
She went into the house by the kitchen door. “Your cousin is here, Miss Bratty,” Cook said. Amy had several cousins, but even without having seen the curricle, she would have known who Cook meant. Since Ashworth’s illness, the relatives did not visit so often as before. Felix was the only one on close enough terms to drop in uninvited.
“I saw his rig in the stable. Where is he?”
“He went upstairs to visit his lordship. His valet hasn’t been down to the kitchen for hot water yet, so he hasn’t changed for dinner. P’raps he’s in the saloon, waiting for you. He’s invited company for dinner, some friend he met along the way.”
That was good news. If he had company at home, he wouldn’t go into Easton that evening, as he sometimes did for a game of cards, and possibly meet the Wolf. She went up to the saloon to greet Felix. He stood at the window, a perfect physical specimen of young manhood, with the afternoon sun slanting in on his chestnut curls and his broad shoulders, that were covered in a close-fitting jacket of blue Bath cloth.
Until the Wolf’s arrival in town, Amy had thought Felix must be the most elegant gentleman in London. Mentally comparing his jacket to the Wolf’s, she suddenly found Felix’s shoulders too wide, the waist too pinched for true elegance, and his cravat too high.
Still, he was certainly handsome and elegant. If only he lived up to his appearance! Alas, she knew from experience that appearance was all with her cousin. It was all he cared about, and all he had to offer. He was good-natured almost to a fault, but frivolous, foolish, self-indulgent and frustrating.
He turned at the sound of her approach. A sweet, boyish smile lit his face as he held out his arms to her. “Cuz. Marvelous to see you,” he said, wrapping his strong arms around her. She disengaged herself at once.
“You have been up to see Papa?” she asked.
“I have. Poor devil. He thought I was trying to steal his posset and called me a jackanapes. I wanted to dun him for a hundred pounds. Stutz, my tailor, won’t give me my new jacket until I give him something on my account. Uncle wasn’t in the proper mood to be dunned.” He didn’t know, and Amy didn’t tell him, that she now managed the household money.
“He can’t keep the estate and title from me, though,” he continued. “It will soon be mine. He can’t hold out much longer, poor bleater.”
That inappropriate speech was typically Felix. He just blurted out what was in his mind. Usually he was after money.
“I hear you brought a guest,” she said.
“I didn’t exactly bring him. I chanced on a fellow when I stopped at the Greenman for a wet. Lord Ravencroft. He’s in town looking for a summer house for his yachting. He’s coming to dinner but he ain’t staying overnight, so you need not have a room aired.”
Amy’s heart clenched like a fist. “Staying at the Greenman, looking for a house, you say?” The Wolf. It could be no one else.
“That’s right. Ravencroft is top of the trees. I was amazed he jumped at my invitation for we don’t move in the same crowd in town. He’s into politics. A marquess, but he ain’t using his title here. He’s calling himself Mr. Stanford. He says the sellers raise the price if they know the buyer has deep pockets. Ravencroft is longheaded, up to every rig and racket going. We can call him Ravencroft among ourselves. No harm in that, I daresay.”
“When is he coming?” she said in a dazed voice.
“I told him to come along as soon as he can. He knows we keep country hours. I had best change.” He took a closer look at Amy and added, “And you, too. You wouldn’t want an out-and-outer like Ravencroft to see you in that wretched outfit. He’s a bachelor, you must know. Rich as Croesus. Not that he’d look twice – that is, not that I want you tossing your pretty little bonnet at him.”
Amy’s hand flew to her mouth. She stood in muddied boots and her oldest riding habit, dusty from tracking through the spinney, with her hair all windblown. She turned and pelted upstairs without another word, then rang her bell for a servant to help her dress her hair. She had fallen into the habit of tending to this herself, but with such company as the Wolf, she wanted to make a better appearance.
Oh lord, and if he said anything to simple Felix about their betrothal, Felix would think she had decided to have him. To add to the problem, the Wolf would want to meet Lord Ashworth while he was here. In fact, he was coming for no other reason. She must coach Felix what to say. She was extremely vexed with Felix, Lord Ravencroft, and herself for having created this impossible situation.
Yet beneath her surface irritation, she was aware of a quivering excitement. Lord Ravencroft was a bachelor. How would he behave in a purely social situation? He could not be ragging at her and complaining tonight. He would have to be polite, even a little gallant to the daughter of the house. How he would hate it.
She had Betty dress her hair high on her head, held in place with the pearl combs her papa had given her nearly a decade ago, when she began putting her hair up. She wore her dark green moire gown with her mother’s pearls, and was satisfied when she looked in the
mirror. She was not a beauty, but the word handsome might apply.
“There now, you look fine as ninepence, Miss,” Betty said, smiling at her handiwork. “Mr. Felix won’t recognize you.”
On that left-handed compliment, Amy went to knock at her cousin’s door. Felix had on his shirt and trousers and was just working with his valet on the important matter of arranging the cravat. He came to the door to speak to her.
“You look very chic, Cousin,” he said, sounding surprised.
“Thank you, Felix. You must not let Lord Ravencroft upstairs to see Papa. I have not told anyone in town that he is – is childish,” she said, trying to find a less objectionable word than looney. “I have put about that his heart is bad, as indeed it is.”
“Have no fear. Ravencroft would have no interest in meeting Ashworth. It’s me he’s coming to see.”
Amy doubted that. “I shall go belowstairs now.”
She rushed to the kitchen to confer with Cook regarding what enhancements could be added to the board for dinner. Felix’s good nature had endeared him to the servants. Cook was already making an apple tart, which Amy feared would not impress a dashing marquess in the least. The joint in the oven smelled quite delicious, however, and there wasn’t time to fashion a stylish dessert.
Amy went back up to the saloon, which she studied with the eye of a stranger, wondering why she had not had her papa replace those faded draperies, and had the hole the spaniel gnawed in the chair repaired. It was a fine room all the same, and with a strategic rearrangement of a few lamps, it looked well. She then paced to and fro, imagining a perfectly hideous evening, until she heard the rattle of carriage wheels and the sound of horses in the forecourt, at which time she ran to the sofa and picked up a gentleman’s magazine that Felix had left there.
When Lord Ravencroft was shown in, he found her sitting before the grate in a ladylike state of idleness. He sketched a bow and murmured, “Miss Bratty.”
She did not rise to curtsey, but nodded her head and said, “Lord Ravencroft,” with a triumphant little smile at having discovered his identity. She had always suspected him of being an aristocrat. No one but a lord could behave with such unconscious arrogance.
He strolled in and took a chair beside her. He had not seen her in evening clothes before. His eyes made a slow tour from her head to her kid slippers, missing nothing along the way. Elegant, he admitted. The simple dark green gown was a good choice, enhancing her complexion and showing off those marmoreal shoulders. Those provincial duds she had been wearing hid an interesting figure. Not a voluptuous lady, but well formed, with high, firm breasts and other shapely curves in all the right places.
“Bratty told you I was coming?”
“Yes.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips. She noticed those dark eyes moving over her in a leisurely fashion, and felt a warm tingle of excitement.
“No paroxysms of delight?” he asked satirically.
His tone removed any notion that he found her attractive. “I am very happy you could come,” she said dutifully, but her cold stare belied the polite words.
“Now it is my turn to compliment you on your toilette.” Her hair was really a lovely shade, glinting like a new penny in the lamplight. He decided to enjoy a little flirtation while awaiting Felix’s arrival, “And unlike yourself, I mean what I am saying. You look very charming, Miss Bratty.”
Amy blushed, cleared her throat nervously and said, “Thank you. About Felix – I – that is to say we – No, I told you–” He said nothing, but just studied her with a question lifting his black eyebrows. His first surprise was that she had virtually ignored his effort at flirtation. As she stumbled on, he became intrigued. What on earth ailed the lady?
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and said, “We are not exactly engaged. Papa wants us to marry, and Felix is not averse, but I have not – that is – You must not say anything.” She ground to a halt and looked embarrassed.
“You have not brought yourself to the sticking point,” he said bluntly.
She emitted a sigh of relief and actually smiled. “Exactly. And about your real reason for being at Easton, it would be unwise to mention it to Felix.”
“I am happy to hear you say so. I may assume, then, that you have not confided in him?”
“He knows nothing about it. Have you discovered anything, milord?”
“Yes.” She gave a convulsive leap toward him, her eyes gleaming with interest. “I arranged this afternoon to take a barrel of brandy back to London with me. While doing it, I learned that Cocker and company know nothing of Bransom’s death. In fact, Cocker was of the opinion that he had returned to London.”
“I knew he would say that,” she scoffed.
“Did you also know Cocker doesn’t speak French, other than two or three common phrases?” Her guilty face suggested that she did know it, and was manufacturing an explanation for her former lies.
“Was it not Cocker who overheard the Frenchies?” she asked.
“It must have been one of his men.”
“His men, as you must be aware, are farmers and fishermen and common laborers. They wouldn’t speak French. This rumor of Bransom’s death is either unfounded, or your father has someone he hasn’t told you about working for him.”
Again, Ravencroft had handed her an explanation to see her out of a difficult spot. She frowned a moment as if thinking, then said, “That is possible.”
He waited, scowling. When she had nothing to add, he said, “You must see it is vital that I meet this man. There is no saying what else he knows. If I cannot speak to Ashworth, then you must do it for me. Find out who the fellow is, and where I can find him.”
“I’ll try, “ she said.
Ravencroft was out of reason angry with her for her foot dragging. He felt she was withholding vital information from him, doing it so that she could meddle in the business, to assuage her boredom.
“You live here. Ashworth cannot leave, the man must either come here or write. You handle all his correspondence. How is it possible you don’t know the man?” he demanded. “I think you do know. And if you don’t tell me – “ The threat was left dangling, for at that moment Felix Bratty’s languid footsteps were heard at the doorway.
But before Ravencroft turned to greet him, he saw the expression on Amy’s face, and was thrown into confusion. She wasn’t frightened at his tirade. She didn’t look guilty either. She looked angry and frustrated. Why? What was going on here? He determined that before the evening was over, he would talk to Lord Ashworth.
Chapter Seven
“Welcome to Bratty Hall, Ravencroft. I see you two have met,” Felix said, as he sauntered into the room. “What, you haven’t given Ravencroft a glass of wine, Cuz? Upon my word, that was remiss of you.”
He went to the table and poured three glasses of wine. When they had all been served, he sat down beside Amy and smiled. “Now this is what I call a cozy little party. So what are you Tories up to at Whitehall, Ravencroft?”
“Actually I am a Whig,” Ravencroft replied.
“Eh? No such a thing. Close as inkleweavers with Castlereagh and that lot.”
“In times of war, we must pull together.”
Felix nodded wisely. “Oh, war. There’s the culprit. What do you think of Boney, eh? Ain’t he the fellow, though?”
“A formidable foe,” Ravencroft allowed.
“But we’ll lick him in the end. I daresay you know all the in’s and out’s of the government’s plans. I have seen you lurking about the Horse Guards. Pal of York’s, ain’t you?”
Ravencroft’s lip curled in distaste at being associated with this bungler. “I meet him occasionally.”
“I met him once. The fellow can hold his liquor, to give him due.” As he spoke, he reached for the wine bottle to pass around. Seeing the others had scarcely begun, he filled his own glass and sat back contentedly. “Now this is what I call a cozy little party,” he said again. “You was going to tell us all
about York’s plans for the war, Ravencroft.”
“We would not want to bore Miss Bratty with such dull stuff,” Ravencroft replied.
“What, bore Amy?” Felix asked in astonishment. “There is nothing she would like better. A regular blue stocking. When her nose ain’t stuck in a book, it is in a newspaper. So, have you found the house you’re looking for, Ravencroft?”
“Not yet. I have just begun looking.”
“A deuced odd time of year you’ve chosen for it. We don’t usually get the yacht folks crowding us out of the taverns and driving up prices until the spring and summer.”
“Which is why I chose the autumn,” Ravencroft replied blandly. “The house prices are lower in the off season.”
“By Jove, you are a long-headed fellow. I’ll tell you where there’s a dandy place standing empty. Close to the water, too. Mind you, it needs a little work. The roof is falling apart and the floors are warped. I won’t say the rats haven’t taken over, for they have, but – You know the place I mean, Amy. “
“No, I don’t,” she said.
“That abandoned house of uncle’s toward Easton. It’s rotting away. We might as well get some money from it before it falls down.” Ravencroft stared at this description.
“Papa would never sell it. The land is an integral part of the estate. You know he is against cutting up the estate.”
“We could rent it then, until the old boy – Mean to say, he’s ancient. Can’t hold on much longer. He’d never know the difference.”
Ravencroft cast a commiserating glance at Amy, and forgave her for the angry scowl she wore. “Actually I know the house you mean. I want something larger,” he said.
Felix was prevented from further outrages by the butler’s calling the guests to dinner. Felix sat at the head of a table that could seat twenty-four, with Ravencroft on his right and Amy on his left. Amy tried to introduce some sensible conversation, and Ravencroft tried to abet her, but Felix out-talked them both.