Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  In fact, he had a horrible feeling that it wasn’t. That this could only result in one or both of them being put in harm’s way. That’s why he would accompany Alexandra on her last interview, much as he hated the idea. He couldn’t let her venture out with only a footman for protection, not when a murderer might be after her.

  Of course, he shouldn’t be letting her venture out at all, but it seemed that somehow she’d managed to wrap him around her little finger.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes shining.

  He nodded shortly. “Whoever is trying to stop you—if not myself—is obviously part of this household.”

  “They were accidents, Tris.”

  “Let’s not go over this again, shall we?” He raised a brow to emphasize his point. “In case someone should try to follow us, I don’t want anyone to know where we’re going or what we’re doing.”

  “All right,” she agreed slowly.

  “We shall say you require fresh air to aid your recovery, so we’re going on a picnic. A honeymoon picnic.”

  “I suppose it won’t hurt to be cautious.”

  “Have you told anyone about Maude?”

  “No. I’ve been languishing in the bedroom since the accident.” When he cocked his head at her, she added, “Maude’s name never came up in the kitchen.”

  “How about Ernest?”

  “Not with him, either. He doesn’t care to talk much. Besides, we’d only just got underway when the strap on the saddle snapped. I didn’t have time to say anything before, and after…well, on the ride home I didn’t feel much like conversation.”

  He supposed she wouldn’t have—she’d have been occupied gritting her teeth against the jarring pain of that ride. “Good. Then no one has any reason to suspect we’ll be doing anything besides enjoying a honeymoon picnic.” He rose, yawning. He hadn’t slept much last night. Having one’s wife offer up the sacrifice of her future happiness tended to disturb one’s equilibrium. “We should both get a good night’s sleep.”

  A hesitant smile curved Alexandra’s lips. “Shall I go up and change into another of my new nightgowns? Or do you wish to come along and help me?”

  “Neither. I’ll be sleeping in the Queen’s Bedchamber again. For your safety.” He leaned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Hearing her disappointed sigh, he raised her chin and met her eyes. “Besides, you’re still entirely too bruised and hurting. When we’ve finished this thing you’ve started, perhaps we’ll both feel better.”

  For a long while after he left, Alexandra just sat in the dining room. She’d thought since Tris was being so kind, he’d want to be with her tonight. And she wanted so much to be with him…or even just in the same room with him. She’d take what she could get.

  He was right: She was bruised, both inside and out.

  On her way from the dining room to the stairs, she nearly collided with Mrs. Pawley.

  “My lady! Will we be seeing you in the kitchen tonight?” The cook’s blue eyes danced. “I expect we shall have a great crowd to assist in the sweet making. There are many who are sad to have missed our little impromptu party.”

  Alexandra hated to disappoint the staff, but a party was the last thing she felt like tonight.

  “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Pawley,” she said, watching the light fade from the older woman’s eyes. “Perhaps another time.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  “I’m so pleased to see you’re feeling more the thing today,” Peggy said in Alexandra’s dressing room the next day.

  “Oh, I truly am.” Alexandra wondered at her maid’s sudden good mood, but she wouldn’t risk ruining it with any questions. “I’m going on a picnic today!” she said brightly instead. “What do you expect I should wear to picnic with my husband?”

  “With your husband?” Peggy flipped through a few dresses, then held up a pretty blue frock for Alexandra’s approval. At her nod, the maid started toward the bedroom, slanting a sly glance over her shoulder. “Aren’t the two of you rather estranged?”

  Following her, Alexandra sighed, supposing their separate sleeping arrangements had prompted much speculation belowstairs. It was so tempting to tell Peggy the truth about everything, but she’d promised Tris she would stick to their story. “I’m hoping a picnic will help us reconcile,” she said carefully as she dabbed on a little perfume. “And—”

  A knock at the door interrupted her.

  “Yes?” she called, hurrying into the dress.

  Tris poked his head in. “Mrs. Pawley has requested your silver basket to fill with our picnic luncheon.”

  A clever ruse to support their story. She fetched the basket and brought it to him. “Please ask Mrs. Pawley to include some lemon puffs,” she said, thinking she needed some sweets to bring to Maude. “I haven’t found a chance to even try them yet.”

  “Will do.” He planted a light kiss on her lips, a kiss that unexpectedly turned into more. He pulled away with a foolish grin. ”Are you about ready?”

  He hadn’t kissed her for days. Her lips tingling, she wondered whether the kiss had been for show or for real. “Almost.”

  He smiled. “I shall wait for you in the curricle,” he said, then walked away.

  She slowly closed the door.

  “It looks like you’re reconciled already,” Peggy commented as she did up her buttons.

  Alexandra blushed. “We’re both trying.” She took a seat at her dressing table so the maid could work on her hair.

  “I wish to apologize for being such a crab the past few days,” Peggy said from behind her. “I admired you so for your investigation, and I was disappointed to find myself no longer part of it.” She deftly twisted and pinned. “Do you expect you could ever forgive me?”

  “Of course,” Alexandra said. Peggy had been her strongest ally until that first time she went off without her, and she’d missed having a woman here at Hawkridge to confide in. “I collect I haven’t been a very pleasant person myself the last day or two.”

  “But you’re the mistress,” Peggy pointed out. “You’re allowed to be a crab.” They both laughed; then Peggy sobered. “I fear for you, though. All the buzz in the servants’ quarters is that someone is after you—perhaps you should be leaving Hawkridge to save your life, not to go on a picnic.”

  The woman’s concern was kindly meant, Alexandra knew, if misplaced. “I know tales of danger have been bandied about belowstairs, but I assure you there’s nothing to fear. A few unfortunate accidents do not a plot make. Besides, my investigation is all but over. I have only one person left to interview.”

  In the mirror, Peggy looked surprised. “Did you fall from your horse before visiting Lizzy, then?”

  “No, I spoke with Lizzy. She told me of another departed servant called Maude.” Too late Alexandra remembered Tris’s wish to keep their final interview secret—and Peggy’s propensity to gossip. She watched the maid’s face in the mirror. “I wonder why she wasn’t on your list?”

  “We all thought the old woman was dead,” Peggy said, looking shocked. “Are you certain she isn’t?”

  “Lizzy wasn’t sure, but I hope not. I collect I will find out tomorrow when I try to pay Maude a visit.”

  “You’ll take me along this time, won’t you?”

  “If I’m still not up to riding, most assuredly.” Alexandra turned to her maid, putting a finger to her lips. “Tell no one else, I beg you. You know his lordship doesn’t want me continuing this investigation. I cannot risk any word reaching him concerning my plans for tomorrow.”

  “Mum’s the word,” Peggy promised. “But I do believe the old woman is dead. Why make the journey at all when you’ll most likely put your reconciliation in jeopardy for nothing?”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Hoping to keep her maid in such good humor permanently, Alexandra made a big show of sighing. “I shall think on it,” she told her and rose to collect her bonnet.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “Peggy thinks Maude is dead,” Alexan
dra told Tristan as he helped her into the curricle. “But I want to try to visit her anyway. You won’t mind, will you? Even if the journey proves to be fruitless?”

  “I said I’d take you, and I don’t intend to go back on my word. But whyever would Peggy say she’s dead?” He climbed up beside her and pulled the hood over their heads to shield them from the bright sun. “I thought no one knew about Maude.”

  She winced. “I mentioned her without thinking. But I made her promise not to tell,” she added quickly as he lifted the reins. “And she also believes that I plan to visit Maude tomorrow, not today. I made the timing very clear.”

  Annoyance tightened his jaw, but he didn’t want to start this outing with a disagreement. As he drove away, he told himself firmly that what was done was done. Nothing untoward was likely to come of it, since it was plain no one was following them. By all appearances, everyone had bought their story that they were off for nothing more interesting than a honeymoon picnic.

  Alexandra took up the silver basket and wrapped their luncheon in one of the large napkins, leaving only the lemon puffs in the bottom. “For Maude,” she explained. “Thank you so much for doing this. It means a lot to me.”

  He slanted her a glance. “It means a lot to me that you were willing to forgo it.”

  “I’m glad,” she said softly and left it at that. They rode silently for a few minutes before she turned to him again. “Would you care for something to eat?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Neither am I. I’m too nervous to eat. This is our last chance…”

  She trailed off, and little was said for the rest of the ride.

  But he hadn’t missed the “our.” Our last chance.

  Like most servants, Maude hadn’t gone far from the place of her birth to find employment. Nutgrove was less than an hour away, an hour Alexandra spent leaning against Tristan, smelling faintly of lemon puffs and the same perfume he’d noticed earlier that morning when he’d kissed her.

  The kiss had been intended for show—he hadn’t meant to get carried away. No, he thought ruefully, that had been his sweet, innocent wife’s doing. She was either a natural born seductress or a very quick study, and gradually…so gradually he was only just beginning to recognize his doom…she’d been spinning a web around his heart.

  Blast it! He wasn’t ready for this.

  Even if he was—hypothetically—prepared to love again, he couldn’t allow himself to fall for her now. She was about to reach the end of her search, see her hopes for their future fade once and for all. She was about to finally accept that her life with him would never improve. After that, it wouldn’t be a question of if she would leave, but when.

  As she’d said herself, this was their last chance.

  And then he’d be left to go on without her. The thought was almost too much to bear. He imagined never getting to touch her or kiss her again. Never knowing where she was or what she was doing. Never knowing if she was happy or if she missed him.

  Alexandra had changed the very essence of his existence, the very substance of his home. Even the servants walked with more spring in their steps and smiles upon their faces. He imagined the music, the light, the life she’d brought with her to Hawkridge Hall—things he hadn’t even realized were missing until her arrival—fading back into a dull, gray hush.

  He didn’t want to go back to the way it had been without her. He could hardly imagine living there without her. In fact, he couldn’t imagine living there without her.

  He couldn’t imagine living anywhere without her.

  Blast it.

  And this, of course, was assuming one of the best possible outcomes, that their interview was merely fruitless. If instead Maude confirmed Tristan’s guilt or, heaven forbid, the true murderer somehow got to Alexandra…

  Well, scenarios could only get darker.

  So he sat beside her in the curricle, upright and tense, alternately praying and cursing the impossible muddle he found himself in, until they passed the signpost that read NUTGROVE.

  Alexandra immediately straightened and called excitedly to an elderly gentleman walking a tiny dog. “Good sir! If I may bother you…might you know the direction of a woman who goes by Maude?”

  And it was the oddest thing…but just hearing Alexandra say “Maude” again, that vague, niggling sense of unease Tristan had felt two days ago came back.

  The old man cupped a hand to his ear. “Eh?”

  “Maude!” she shouted as they rolled along beside him. She turned to Tristan. “What is Maude’s surname?”

  He shrugged. “I never thought to ask.” He’d forgotten her. How was it that he’d forgotten her?

  “Maude!” Alexandra yelled again. “Might you know anyone named Maude?”

  “Ah, Maude.” The man smiled, revealing gaps where he’d lost several teeth. “Down the corner,” he said, gesturing and pulling his dog’s leash in the process, nearly choking the poor little beast. “Turn left. Honeysuckle Cottage.”

  “She’s alive,” Alexandra breathed, her brandywine eyes brimming with excitement. “Goodness, I hope she knows something that will help us.”

  “It could be someone else named Maude,” Tristan cautioned, that sense of unease growing stronger.

  “It isn’t. I just know it.”

  Somehow he also knew it wasn’t someone else. And in any case, there was no sense arguing the matter, when they’d know for sure soon enough. “Honeysuckle Cottage,” he muttered. “That isn’t much of a direction.”

  “The man seemed to think it would do,” she said as they turned the corner. “Look! There it is!”

  Sure enough, about halfway down the lane stood an old stone cottage wreathed in pale-flowered honeysuckle vines.

  No sooner had the curricle rolled to a stop than Alexandra hopped down, basket in hand, and started for the door. Tristan just sat there for a moment, feeling the unease tangle into a knot in his gut.

  Finally, he climbed down and followed her. “You’re supposed to wait to be handed down,” he said peevishly.

  “Oh, bosh!” She knocked on the weathered wood. “This is hardly the time for propriety.”

  How much she had changed since he first met her. She’d always shown remarkable poise, but now she’d gained the shrewd self-assurance of someone much older than seventeen.

  She shifted on her feet. “What’s taking her so long? Dear heavens, I hope she’s home. Lizzy said if anyone saw anything that night, it’d have been she.”

  And suddenly he knew why he’d forgotten Maude. He hadn’t forgotten her. He’d deliberately pushed her clear out of his mind.

  She’d been the person closest to his uncle. The person most likely to have seen him if he’d sleepwalked into his uncle’s rooms that night.

  The door swung open, and Maude stood on the other side, leaning on a cane and looking much like Tristan remembered her. A faded cotton dress hung on her slight frame. She’d always seemed so frail she might break.

  “Good afternoon, Maude,” he said.

  Her pale green eyes widened, looking apprehensive. “Lord Hawkridge?”

  She knew something. She wouldn’t look like that unless she knew something. The knot tightened in Tristan’s gut.

  He wrapped an arm around Alexandra’s shoulders and forced a smile. “This is my wife, Lady Hawkridge.”

  Alexandra reached into her basket. “Would you care for a lemon puff?”

  “No, my lady. Thank you.” Maude’s blue-veined hand went up to pat her gray curls nervously. “Why are you here?”

  The knot twisted. “We wish to talk to you,” he said. “May we come in for a moment?”

  She looked like she wanted to say no, but then turned abruptly, her cane tapping across the wood floor as she led them inside and to a small table. “These are all the chairs I have,” she said, her voice wavering.

  There were two. And they were rickety. “I’m perfectly content to stand,” Tristan said, helping the elderly woman to
sit while Alexandra took the second chair. He made a mental note to send the old nurse some decent furniture next week—that was, assuming he wasn’t locked up in some prison. He’d been the marquess for less than a day before she’d departed, but that was no excuse for not seeing that a long-term employee was comfortable in her retirement.

  Perhaps he’d have done that if he hadn’t forgotten her.

  Maude held on to her cane, still leaning on it even while she was seated. Alexandra reached across the little table to touch her other hand. “I’ve been told you were very close to the last marquess,” she began gently.

  “Y-yes.” The old woman’s eyes looked everywhere but at her.

  “Do you remember anything that happened the night he died?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Tristan stopped breathing.

  “Did you see anyone go into his room?” Alexandra continued. “Anyone who might have done him harm?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Alexandra sent Tristan a startled glance—a hopeful glance—before she looked back to Maude expectantly.

  No further information seemed to be forthcoming. Tristan feared he’d expire if he didn’t breathe. He wished Maude would accuse him already, so he could breathe.

  Alexandra’s gaze darted to his again before her smooth hand tightened over the wrinkled one. “Who was it, Maude?” she whispered, her eyes flooded with not just hope, but also a measure of self-protective doubt.

  The cane crashed to the floor as Maude covered her face with her hands. Beneath her cotton dress, her bony shoulders shook with silent, racking sobs.

  Petrified and resigned, Tristan crouched beside her chair. “Maude? What is it?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” came a muffled wail through her fingers. “It was a mistake, I swear it.”

  “Of course it was a mistake, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty.” Ignoring Alexandra’s gasp, he eased Maude’s hands away from her face. “Whether intentional or not, I’m still responsible for his death.”