Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  Nathaniel agreed, relieved to be able to get out of his stained clothing.

  “Shall I dispose of these, Your Grace?” Dacy’s valet asked, holding Nathaniel’s blood-soaked breeches between two fingers. He sniffed with disgust as a few dried flakes drifted down onto the blue-and-gray patterned Oriental rug.

  “No. Put them in a bag. I will take them with me.” Some instinct warned Nathaniel to keep the garments. Disposing of the clothing would appear too suspicious.

  The valet folded them and placed the bundle inside a small portmanteau before handing it to Nathaniel. “Is there anything else, Your Grace?”

  “No.” Nathaniel rushed out, wondering if one of the Bow Street runners had arrived yet. If they had, would they take him into custody tonight? He’d probably be safer in gaol than walking the streets with two fathers desperate for revenge.

  He stiffened when he remembered the events after Bellingham had shot Mr. Perceval, the Prime Minister, in May of eighteen-twelve. The sensational accounts had imprinted the affair deeply upon his young mind.

  Bellingham had been tried and hanged by May twenty-eighth, a mere seventeen days after the murder.

  And evidence was piling up against Nathaniel.

  He had to prove he had not gone mad and set about killing off this Season’s most annoying debutantes. The murderer had to be stopped, and Nathaniel had to find Charlotte.

  What if the murderer found her first? What if she was missing because….

  A sick rage violently shook him. No. He could not think that. She was safe. She had to be, and he would find her.

  And when he found her, she would corroborate his statement that he could not have killed Lady Anne. She could verify he had not had any blood on him when he joined her.

  Racing down the stairs, he stopped mid-way.

  Archer had not been with him when he climbed into his carriage. He had been alone. He swallowed despite his dry mouth.

  Surely, they would see she had already been dead when he found her.

  Wouldn’t they?

  Nathaniel descended more slowly before easing into the sitting room. Archer and Dacy were lounging companionably and swilling brandy from large snifters. To his surprise, a third man sat opposite Archer.

  “Cheery!” he exclaimed, recognizing his old friend from Eton. “What are you doing here?”

  The tall, slender man dressed entirely in black grimaced at the juvenile nickname. He strode forward and shook Nathaniel’s hand. “Saving your hide again, it appears,” Knighton “Cheery” Gaunt said, before he added, softly, “Dodger.”

  Nathaniel flushed at the reminder of his own boyhood sobriquet.

  However before he could say another word, Dacy interrupted. “Cheery?” he asked.

  Gaunt shook his head, leaving Nathaniel to explain. “We were at Eton together. Cheery, here, was a rather dour specimen, and if you want the truth, he always insisted on proving our masters wrong despite the floggings.”

  “But they were wrong,” Gaunt objected with a twisted smile. “Somebody had to actually read the books they flung at our heads. God knows they did not, or they wouldn’t have been so abysmally ignorant of the subjects they were attempting to teach.”

  Dacy appeared unimpressed.

  “Well, damn it,” Nathaniel said. “We were thirteen at the time. And he never even split a grin as far as I remember.”

  “Ah, irony,” Archer said. “Trust a British schoolboy to have a firm grip on the satirical. I suppose that explains ‘Dodger’ as well?” Archer’s ears were sharper than Nathaniel realized and he had heard Gaunt’s soft remark. “I don’t suppose he got that nickname dodging women, did he? Although at that tender age, I would not have thought he had have developed the trait yet.”

  Gaunt smiled. “That one was a bit more mot juste. He managed to dodge most, if not all, of those floggings with that angelic smile of his. Not to mention his uncanny ability to avoid reading anything of consequence while still coming out with top honors.”

  “After you, you mean,” Nathaniel said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I sent for him,” Archer said.

  “You? Why?” Nathaniel asked.

  “I felt we could use his skills.” Archer replied with an air of smugness that set Nathaniel’s teeth on edge.

  “Skills? What skills?”

  Archer and Gaunt exchanged glances before Archer answered. “Second Sons, Discreet Inquiries.”

  “That is your agency?” Nathaniel eyed his old friend again.

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly, Nathaniel remembered reading an account of Knighton Gaunt’s own brush with murder. His father had died under mysterious circumstances that hinted at involvement by his nineteen year old son, Knighton. His elder brother, the heir, was touring the continent at the time. In due course, Knighton had proved his young stepmother had arranged for her husband’s death when he inconveniently discovered her affair with the butler.

  The butler had covered up their deed by trying to implicate Knighton.

  No wonder Gaunt had developed a fascination for discreet inquiries. Not to mention that as a second son, he wouldn’t inherit much and needed an occupation.

  For the first time that evening, Nathaniel felt more optimistic. Gaunt had always been unduly interested in proving things at Eton, and he had managed to avoid murder charges, himself. He might just be invaluable to Nathaniel under the circumstances.

  His tension eased until another set of boots sounded in the hallway. The butler opened the sitting room door and ushered in Mr. Clark.

  “The Bow Street runner, my Lord,” he announced, before shutting the door behind the stout newcomer.

  “Your Grace,” the runner nodded. “I am sorry to see you again under such disagreeable circumstances. I understand there’s been another fatal accident. In your carriage, in fact.”

  “Yes, but I was not in it at the time.”

  “Indeed, Your Grace,” Clark replied evasively. “I have taken a look at the vehicle in question.” His brown eyes stared flatly at Nathaniel. “Do you recognize this?” He held up an oddly-shaped knife with a nearly oval blade.

  “Yes, it is a hoof knife—for shaping horses’ hooves. Nearly everyone with a horse has one. What of it?”

  “It was found on the floor of the carriage.” The runner explained.

  “Well, it isn’t mine.”

  “No, we’ve already ascertained that fact. It appears to be from Lord Dacy’s stables,” Clark said.

  “I didn’t take it.”

  “But you had the opportunity when you and your uncle mounted your horses for your little ride.”

  “Anyone could have picked it up. That proves nothing,” Gaunt asserted.

  The runner nodded and wrapped the knife carefully in a handkerchief before placing it in his pocket. “The lads in the stables claimed one of the grooms, a man called Smythe, had it last.”

  “Did you speak to him?” Nathaniel asked.

  “Of course. I know my duty, Your Grace. He claimed to have put it away with the other grooming devices this afternoon.”

  “Again,” Gaunt said. “That proves nothing.”

  “I understand the young victim’s family has been notified and will come to claim her remains?” Mr. Clark continued.

  “I suppose—” Nathaniel eyed him coldly.

  Dacy interrupted. “I left orders for word to be sent to her parents. We will provide a carriage to take her to their house after the coroner is done.”

  “And you are?”

  “Lord Dacy. This is my house.”

  “So it is.” Clark turned back to Nathaniel. “Would you like to relate what happened?”

  “I don’t know, damn it!” Nathaniel said with exasperation, running a hand through his hair. “My brother-in-law hosted a ball here this evening. I attended. Then, my uncle and I left, ah, for a breath of fresh air.”

  The runner pulled his small notebook from his jacket pocket. “What time was this, Your Grace?”


  “Two AM.” Archer answered. “We took a brief ride before returning here.”

  “What time did you return?”

  “Shortly before four,” Nathaniel replied.

  The officer nodded and wrote the time down. “And then what occurred?”

  “I called for my coachman, Lansbury,” Nathaniel said. “He brought the coach around, and I climbed inside. That is when I found her.”

  “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but why did you not simply return home on horseback since you were already riding?”

  “Because my carriage was here.”

  “So you had a carriage and a horse here?”

  “Well, no. I came by carriage this evening. To attend the ball.”

  “And you, Mr. Archer, how did you arrive?”

  “By carriage, naturally, since I escorted my wife and ward, Miss Haywood.”

  “And they took your carriage home, I presume?”

  “Ah, no. Miss Haywood took the carriage earlier because she was feeling unwell.”

  “Then, your wife is still here?”

  “No,” Dacy interjected. “I sent Lady Victoria home in my carriage.”

  “And that is when you, Mr. Archer, and Your Grace decided to take a ride? At night? In the middle of this ball?”

  What a convoluted mess.

  God knows he was squirming inside, but Nathaniel grimly kept his eyes steady on the runner’s lined face and smiled. “It was—”

  “We had a small wager, if you must know,” Archer inserted smoothly. “And I will thank you to keep it quiet. Lady Vee does not approve of my wagers.”

  “I see. And what was the wager?”

  “That since I am smaller and lighter than His Grace, not to mention a much better rider, that I could beat him in a race from here to St. James park and back.”

  The runner sighed. “Why would you do this at two in the morning while you were both attending an event hosted by your brother-in-law?”

  “Because we made the wager during the ball.” Archer said. “Naturally, it was imperative we come to a decision expeditiously. By riding at night, we could be assured of as little interference along our route as possible.”

  Nathaniel stared in admiration at Archer. His tale sounded almost reasonable.

  “So, since both of you men came in carriages, and made this, ahem, wager while you were attending this event, I must inquire as to whose horses you used?”

  “Most likely mine,” Dacy said, his tone aggrieved. “Tell me you did not lame my two best mounts—”

  “Of course we didn’t!” Archer replied. “I would never lame a horse.”

  A low chuckle escaped from the runner. He shook his head and wrote a few more notes in his book.

  “So, Your Grace, upon your return, you called for your carriage?”

  “Yes. Lansbury brought it around. When I climbed inside, I found the girl. We immediately sent for you.”

  He studied Nathaniel. “By the way,” he asked casually. “Who won the wager?”

  Archer shook his head. “I am afraid my nephew had the honor.”

  After a moment of speechless shock at his uncle’s surprising decision to lose a wager they had not even placed, Nathaniel grinned. At least he tried to grin. His face felt like rock.

  Archer had stretched the truth, and if the runner found out, it would not help Nathaniel prove his innocence. Not at all.

  “Just a few more questions, Your Grace. Did you wear the apparel you have on now to the ball?”

  “These? Good heavens, no.”

  “Where are the clothes you wore?”

  “Here, I….” Nathaniel picked up the portmanteau. “They are stained, I am afraid.”

  “They would be, would they not?” the runner replied softly. “May I look at them?”

  Nathaniel slowly pulled the bundle out. The garments were stiff with dried blood. The runner picked them up and examined them, his expression growing more grim.

  “I sat in the coach before I realized she was there,”

  Nathaniel hastened to explain. “I did not know. It was dark, and I had no way of knowing…. That is to say, the seat was soaked and I did not see it in the dark.”

  “There is blood on the cuffs,” the runner noted.

  “Yes. When I saw there was someone in the carriage with me, I touched her shoulder. I thought she had fallen asleep waiting for me.”

  “Waiting for you?” Clark’s gaze sharpened. “Then this was an assignation?”

  “No, not at all. I was not expecting her to be there. These females—they do that. They have been hiding in all sorts of places. I dare not enter a room without sending in a footman first to search the place.” The words spilled out. Nathaniel clamped his mouth shut, but the damage was already done. Everyone stared at him.

  “I see. These females have been making a nuisance of themselves, have they? Like Lady Anne, perhaps?” Clark asked.

  “No—yes—that is, they have been an utter plague if you want the truth. But I did not kill anyone. I touched her to awaken her, and she fell over onto the floor. I thought she might have fainted. When I checked, I realized she hd been murdered.”

  “Mr. Clark,” Gaunt interrupted smoothly. He moved over to where the Bow Street runner was standing, holding up the discolored clothing. “If you will note, the largest stains are on the seat of the breeches. In addition, take a closer look at the cuffs. Fresh blood, as you must be aware, has a tendency to soak rapidly into material such as this linen shirt and yet, instead of saturating the fabric, it is clotted and smeared.”

  “But look here, Mr. Gaunt, it is soaked through right enough on his right cuff. Which incidentally, would most likely be the hand he used to pull the hoof knife across her throat.” Mr. Clark shook his head. “Poor girl.”

  “Yes, the fabric has absorbed a little, but even you can see it is dark and thick. It was already starting to coagulate when the linen came in contact with her blood.”

  “The blood on his breeches has completely gone through,” the runner pointed out persistently.

  “Yes. Because he sat on a cushion saturated with it. He did not know what had happened. Only a fool or remarkably incompetent murderer would sit down in a pool of their victim’s blood, and then keep their clothes to exhibit to the investigators. His Grace is neither, I assure you.

  “So, we must think more deeply on how this could have occurred. The female probably did secret herself in His Grace’s carriage, hoping to escape notice until it was too late. She obviously hoped he would then be forced to do the honorable thing and marry her. However instead of His Grace, another person climbed into the carriage after her, before she could get seated.

  “This person was behind the girl and pulled her head back to slash her throat, spraying the seats with blood. Then this person pushed the dying girl into the corner, climbed out of the carriage, and closed the door, “ Gaunt continued. “This monster would most assuredly have blood on their cuffs, but the girl’s dress and body would have kept the main effusion of fluid from staining the killer’s clothing. So in fact, the person you seek may have a stained cuff, but the rest of his garments should be fairly clean.”

  “And who do you suppose this person might be?” Clark asked.

  “That is the mystery, I am afraid, and the one which needs resolution. I am convinced of the innocence of His Grace. I will admit that a long delay in finding the man responsible will most likely bring this affair to an unhappy conclusion. However it is the discovery of the truth which remains important to us all,” Gaunt said with masterful calm.

  The runner nodded in agreement. “With two ladies dead and His Grace present at both affairs, it will be difficult and ticklish. I understand he knew both ladies and may have shown some interest in them. Or impatience with their attentions, depending upon the person you interview. In fact, he was seen leaving the gardens in haste after the unhappy discovery of Lady Anne.”

  “There were others in the gardens—I was not the only one. In fact, Miss
Haywood gave me a list of guests who were in the gardens,” Nathaniel said.

  “That goes without saying, Your Grace. And I would be very interested in your list,” Gaunt replied in his dry tone. “But, you were there, as well. Did anyone see you?”

  “Miss Haywood. I was with Miss Haywood in the gardens—”

  “The entire time?” Gaunt asked.

  “No,” Nathaniel admitted unhappily. “Not all the time. But I was with her. She can attest to my innocence.” Except during the period when he had been running from Lady Anne. The crucial time. Or tonight when he found Miss Mooreland in his carriage. “At least she can prove I had no blood on me after Lady Anne’s death.”

  “And where is this young lady, Your Grace?” the runner asked.

  “I—uh, I am not sure. That is, she should be home with my aunt, Lady Victoria.”

  “We shall certainly question the young lady again,” the runner said, writing the name in his black book.

  “Now, regarding the Lady Anne. Did you escort Lady Anne into the gardens the night of her death?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “But you did show a marked interest in the young lady, did you not, Your Grace? Until she started pursuing you?”

  “No more than any other of the hundreds of females I have met this Season,” Nathaniel stated. “In fact, if you want the truth, I was trying to avoid them all.” He appreciated Cheery Gaunt’s remarks, but he wasn’t going to just stand back and do nothing.

  “So, you might have been upset by her interest in you, I gather. Upset enough to dispose of the young lady?”

  “Certainly not. I wasn’t considering the young lady one way or the other.”

  “And why was that?”

  “If you must know, I have been trying to fix my interest with Miss Haywood.” What the hell am I doing? He glanced at Archer to see him smiling blandly in his direction.

  “Indeed,” the runner replied. He didn’t appear impressed by the information. “Then these other young ladies might have presented difficulties to you? Perhaps they made Miss Haywood jealous enough to refuse you?”

  “Certainly not! I am sure she was not even aware of them.”