by D. M. Quincy
Charlton settled into his favorite stuffed chair as Atlas handed him the hose. Charlton dropped his head against the back of his chair and inhaled long and slow. “This is bloody good.”
Atlas took his usual seat opposite his friend. “Where have you been? You look as if you’ve just crawled out of bed.”
“I have. Just not my own.” Charlton waggled his brows. “If you take my meaning.”
“You could not make it more obvious.”
Charlton handed the hose over to Atlas. “I say, is your sister’s husband still in Town?”
“Palmer? I believe he departs on the morrow.” He drew on the hookah, inhaling the rich, mellow flavor. “I haven’t seen much of them. They tend to stay home together most evenings when Palmer is in London.”
A morose expression settled on Charlton’s face. “I expected him to be an old troll with one foot in the grave.”
“Did you truly have hopes in that direction?”
“It seemed possible once. But no longer.” Charlton grimaced. “Not only does Palmer not have one foot in the grave, but with all of that tiresome farmer vigor and strength, he’ll likely outlive us all.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”
Charlton’s eyes met his. “He treats her well?”
Atlas nodded. “Yes, I believe so. Even though theirs is an unusual arrangement, it seems to suit them both.”
Charlton sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world were upon him. “I suppose I should turn my attentions toward finding a countess. We’re not getting any younger, you and I.”
Atlas handed him the hose as he exhaled. “You certainly have a nursery to fill and a title to pass on.”
Charlton sucked on the hose. “If there were an available woman that I cared for the way you care for Lady Roslyn, I would certainly marry her.”
“Not this again—”
His friend interrupted. “Yours are not insurmountable odds.” Charlton blew the thick silvery smoke toward the ceiling. “Unlike mine.”
Up until now, Atlas would have heartily and irritably dashed any suggestion that he could wed Lilliana, but now he wasn’t so certain. After the intimacy they’d shared in her sitting room earlier that evening, things between them felt different, although he couldn’t immediately articulate how. “I suppose none of us can say what the future holds,” he said.
Charlton studied his face. “Has there been a new development in that arena?”
Atlas avoided answering. “Are you here solely to discuss our lusterless love lives, or did you have another reason for visiting?”
“Ah, yes, I did have a compelling reason for rushing over here in the middle of the night.”
“Do you care to share it?”
“I have found the wealthy, titled married lady you are seeking.”
Atlas straightened. “The lady who had a liaison with Davis?”
Charlton smiled smugly. “The very one.”
Anticipation pulsed through Atlas’s veins. “Who is she?”
Charlton puffed on the water pipe hose before answering. “Lady Susan Woodford, Countess of Brandon.”
Atlas had never heard of the woman. “Are you acquainted with her?”
“She’s a beauty. And about thirty years younger than Brandon, her husband.”
“How did she meet Davis? They would hardly have moved in the same circles.”
“He was the neighbor’s footman.”
Atlas slammed his palm down on the arm of his stuffed chair. “That’s why we couldn’t find her.”
Charlton exhaled a long steady stream. “Lady Brandon isn’t known to be particularly free with her favors.”
“How do you know she is the woman we seek?”
Charlton grinned. “I did as you suggested. This evening’s pillow talk yielded some very fruitful results.”
His eyes went wide. “Were you with Lady Brandon?”
“No.” Charlton chortled. “I just told you the lady is not known to be free with her favors . . . although Davis appears to be the exception.”
“If Lady Brandon is truly the lady I seek, I must thank you. I’m most appreciative.”
Charlton smirked. “My information is well worth indisposing you to prepare the nargileh, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would,” he allowed. “Tell me more about this Lady Brandon.”
“She’s young, beautiful, respectable, and of good family . . . a marquess’s daughter. The lady was the shining light of her Season. She had her pick of suitors. Brandon was the wealthiest of them all. She has maintained an impeccable reputation since her marriage a few years back.”
“She sounds like a paragon. But you’re certain she was Davis’s lover?”
“There is no doubt. I have it on excellent authority.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door.
Atlas frowned in the direction of his front hallway. “Who could that be?”
Charlton waggled his brows. “If you truly are expecting an illicit late evening visit, you should have told me as much.”
Atlas scowled over his shoulder at the earl as he made his way into the front hall. “I anticipated nothing this evening beyond solitude and time to work on my puzzle.”
He opened the door to find Olivia Disher, clad in a silky salmon-colored dressing grown with her honey-colored curls loose and flowing.
“Olivia,” he said with surprise.
“Hello, Atlas,” his landlady said. “I do hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all. Please do come in.” He stepped aside to allow her entry. Following her into the sitting room, alarm stirred within him that Olivia might wish to rekindle their very brief affair. “I must caution you that I am not alone.”
“No, indeed,” Charlton called out cheerfully as he rose to his feet. “How delightful to see you again, Mrs. Disher.”
She blushed prettily. “Good evening, my lord. Forgive my intrusion.”
“Not at all,” Atlas said.
She looked from one man to the other. “It is just that I heard a terrible bang coming from Mr. Catesby’s apartments and wanted to ensure all was well.”
“I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Disher.” Charlton had the grace to appear chagrined. “I knocked over a table and some books. Very clumsy of me. I hope I didn’t disturb you too terribly.”
“Not at all, sir. I was not yet asleep.” The hookah caught her attention. “Is this your water pipe, Mr. Catesby?”
“It is. I seem to recall your interest in experiencing the nargileh.”
“Care to try?” Charlton held out the hose. “There’s no time like the present.”
She paused for a moment and then stepped forward and took the hose from him. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to sample it.”
“Go easy since this is your first time,” Atlas advised.
She drew on the hose, held the smoke in her mouth for a moment, and then blew it out. “That’s delightful.”
“I would agree,” Charlton said.
She puffed a few more times before handing the hose back to the earl. “Perhaps I should order a hookah pipe for the shop,” she said, referring to the glass-fronted back room where her customers came to relax and smoke their recent purchases.
“I would certainly frequent your establishment if you did.” Charlton drew on the hookah, exhaling the thick smoke as he spoke. “That way I would not always have to wait for Catesby here to offer it.”
She regarded him with interest. “Then I shall have to seriously consider adding a water pipe. Having the Earl of Charlton visit my smoking room would certainly draw new patrons.”
Charlton chuckled. “Happy to be of service, Mrs. Disher.”
“If you are serious,” Atlas said to Olivia, “I do have an extra hookah pipe stored somewhere at my sister’s house. You are welcome to make use of it for your smoking room to see if the nargileh would be a profitable addition.”
“That is very generous.” Her pretty face lit up, then grew more se
rious. “But I wouldn’t wish to indispose you.”
“Nonsense.” Atlas dismissed her objections. “If it were any trouble at all, I would not offer.”
“Do take Catesby up on his offer, Mrs. Disher,” Charlton urged. “He is a man who speaks plainly. If he says the loan of his heathen pipe is no inconvenience, you may take him at his word.”
“If you are certain,” she said with some hesitation.
“I am,” Atlas said. “It’s settled.”
“Very well, then. I accept.” She favored him with a grateful smile. “Now I shall leave you both to it. I do apologize for the intrusion, but the visit was most worthwhile.”
Atlas gave her a slight bow. “I am pleased you found it to be so. And it was no intrusion. I should apologize for having disturbed you.”
“I think I shall go as well.” Charlton put down the hose and rose to his feet. “I have imposed on Catesby enough for one evening. I’ll walk you down, Mrs. Disher.”
She dimpled prettily. “That would be lovely.”
Atlas saw them out. As he closed the heavy door behind his guests, the sounds of Charlton and Olivia chatting animatedly as they went down together filtered up the stairwell.
***
Lady Brandon lived in a mansion on Park Lane in Mayfair. Hoping the countess would grant him an audience, Atlas walked to the majestic Brandon town home the morning after learning her identity.
He gave his card to the butler and waited just inside the front entrance, a marbled and balconied front hall that rose three stories. There was no denying the lady had wed into a great deal of wealth.
The butler returned and bade Atlas to follow him. Susan Woodford was apparently not a woman who stood on ceremony, given that she received Atlas in her private sitting room.
Lady Brandon was standing by the window when he was shown in, and he saw immediately that Charlton had not overstated the countess’s charms. Susan Woodford was a beautiful woman with golden hair and stunning forest-green eyes that appeared even more brilliant against the moss shade of her gown. A sizable emerald cut in fine points dangled from her neck.
“Mr. Catesby,” she greeted him as the butler withdrew, leaving them alone. “Do come in.”
“Lady Brandon.” He bowed. “Thank you for seeing me. I beg your pardon for this intrusion.”
“Not at all. I have been hoping you would come.”
That surprised him. “Have you?”
“Let us be frank, Mr. Catesby,” she said pleasantly. “One hears things in Mayfair.”
“And what have you heard?” he asked, unsure of where the conversation was headed.
“I understand you are investigating the death of Gordon Davis.”
“I am.”
“Then I will do everything in my power to be of assistance.” She sank down on a paisley upholstered chair and gestured for him to take the matching seat opposite her. “Do join me.”
As he drew nearer, he saw that she was not as composed as her erect posture and fluid, self-assured voice would suggest. Lady Brandon’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. He settled the chair and waited for her to speak.
“Ask any questions you would like, and I will answer them if I’m able. I trust the more . . . intimate details will be kept private.”
“You have my word as a gentleman on that.”
“Very well,” she said. “Your reputation as an honorable man precedes you.”
“Were you well acquainted with Mr. Davis?”
“Yes, we were lovers.”
Her directness took him aback. “When did your intimate relationship begin?”
“Before my marriage. He was a footman in a neighboring house. We met and fell in love.”
“I see. Were you betrothed to Mr. Davis at some point?”
Her smile was wistful. “Yes, I was mad in love with Gordon and was ready to run off to Gretna Green to marry.”
“What happened?”
“The Earl of Brandon asked for my hand.”
So much for true love. “How did Mr. Davis respond when you jilted him?”
“He was hurt and furious. But I am the daughter of a marquess. I realized I could not live a frugal life. You comprehend that I have never struggled nor sullied my hands a day in my life. I would have been a burden to Gordon.”
“What occurred after that?”
“Gordon left, and I did not see him again until several months after my wedding.”
“What did he want?”
“Me, of course. And I wanted him. We loved each other deeply. If circumstances had been different, we would have married and been quite content together.”
“By different circumstances, you mean if Mr. Davis were wealthy?”
“You may think me a shallow woman, Mr. Catesby, and perhaps I am.” She ran a hand down the smooth column of her throat. “But I am also practical. The truth is that the social chasm between us was too large.”
“So you resumed your affair?”
“Yes, we did.”
“May I ask, was your husband aware of your liaison?”
“I believe he was, but it’s hardly the sort of thing one discusses.”
“How did Lord Brandon feel about your having an affair?”
She smiled, appearing truly amused. “Surely you are not a naïve man, Mr. Catesby. Such liaisons are not uncommon among the ton. To be jealous would be unseemly, and I assure you Lord Brandon would never behave in a less than decorous manner.”
“I see.” As long as he lived, Atlas did not think he would ever become accustomed to the cavalier approach peers of the realm took to marital vows and promises of fidelity. “Did your husband not worry you would bear another man’s child?”
“My husband is childless. I am his second wife.” She ran a light finger over the large emerald resting in the valley between her breasts. “The first Lady Brandon had no children. I have promised my husband never to bear another man’s child, and I intend to always honor that vow.”
“How often did you see Mr. Davis?”
“Two or three times a week.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Difference places. When my husband was away in the country, Gordon would visit me here. I would leave the side door unlocked for him, and he would be gone in the morning before the servants awakened.”
It seemed Lady Brandon was as bold as her deceased lover. Both seemed to take what they wanted and damn the consequences. “Did this affair continue until Mr. Davis’s death?”
“No. He broke off with me about three months before he died.” Her eyes clouded. “He was secretly betrothed to the daughter of a wealthy merchant and was determined to remain true to her at least until they were wed.”
So she knew about Elizabeth Archer. “Did Davis tell you whether he loved this merchant’s daughter?”
“No. He did not love Elizabeth Archer. He loved only me, as I have only ever cared for one man—Gordon.” Her voice came perilously close to breaking. She paused and composed herself. “But he wanted to bring himself up in the world, and I could not blame him.”
“And that’s what wedding Miss Archer would do. It would raise him up in society.”
She nodded. “He realized it would be almost impossible to wed a noble girl, even if he did manage to seduce her. He did attempt to ensnare Lord Merton’s daughter, but the girl wasn’t interested in the least. That one has her eyes on a title. And even if Lady Lavinia had been willing, her father most certainly wouldn’t have been. Few lords would allow their precious daughters to marry a footman.”
Profound distaste for the morally challenged Davis began to stir in Atlas’s chest again. “But the daughter of a merchant was easier prey.”
“Yes, but pray do not think too harshly of dear Gordon. He truly intended to be a good husband to her. He told me as much.”
Atlas considered the lady’s words. The man she’d loved for many years had left her for another woman. Atlas supposed people had killed for less. “Were you terribly a
ngry when Mr. Davis ended your affair?”
“Are you wondering whether I was disappointed enough in Gordon’s desertion to be driven to murder? No, of course not. I knew he would eventually come back to me.” Her chin wobbled, and her face came close to crumpling with emotion. “He always had before. His death means he can never return to me.”
Either she was a spectacular actress or her grief was genuine. “Can you think of anyone who wanted him dead?”
“Gordon could be a scoundrel, as you must know by now. I imagine there were more than a few angry papas who would have preferred to have Gordon out of the way permanently.”
“Did you know Miss Archer had become betrothed to another man? That she’d broken with Mr. Davis?”
Her eyes widened. She seemed truly surprised. “I find that difficult to believe. Especially after . . .” She stopped herself.
“After?”
“He and Miss Archer were very close. Particularly so.”
“Are you suggesting he seduced her?”
“He might have,” she hedged. “It would have been a way to ensure a wedding did take place. He’d hoped to get her with child, but it didn’t come to pass. I’m afraid I cannot tell you much about the final weeks of Gordon’s life. What little I learned about how he fared came from a mutual friend in whom Gordon had taken to confiding.”
“Would you mind telling me who this friend is?”
“He is a barrister by the name of Huggins. He keeps a set of chambers at Gray’s Inn.”
Atlas mentally filed the name away. “Have you spoken with Mr. Huggins since Mr. Davis’s demise?”
“I have not.” Lady Brandon studied Atlas’s face. His distaste for the entire business must have been apparent because she added, “You must not think too harshly of Gordon, Mr. Catesby. He had everything: looks, charm, intelligence.”
“Everything but money and social standing.”
“Exactly. You and I were to the manor born. He wanted the life you and I take for granted. In his place, you or I might have behaved the same.”
He flushed. “No, Lady Brandon. I can assure you I would never seduce a young lady for the purpose of trapping her into marriage.”