A Beastly Scandal

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A Beastly Scandal Page 19

by Shereen Vedam


  As if suddenly realizing what she had said, she stopped short.

  Warmth spread through Rufus, and he wanted to swing her around the entryway and shout for joy. She had as much as admitted that she loved him.

  “There is no need to smile like that, my lord.” She backed away. “I did not mean to say what it may have sounded as though I said. That is, I . . .”

  “What did you not mean to say, Belle?”

  With her head held high and her back straight, she assumed a mantle of dignity that made him want to smile wider as she replied, “All I wanted to convey was that you should reconsider your decision about discharging Mr. Nightingale. It is you that brought your cousin into the conversation and confused me. Now, I must go. Pray do not let me detain you further. Good day, my lord.” She gave a curtsey and ran back to the drawing room.

  Felton approached with his hat, coat, and gloves. The grin on the old retainer’s face matched the one Rufus failed to suppress. Without a word, he accepted his gear and left.

  Already mounted, Phillip waited by the courtyard stairs. Rufus took Goodwin’s reins from a stable boy and sprang onto the horse’s back.

  “By your expression,” Phillip said as they rode away from the estate, “I take it your words with the lovely Lady Belle went well?”

  “She said you were her friend,” Rufus replied.

  His cousin’s eyebrows lifted in pleased surprise. “Truly? That is excellent news, for I consider her mine. A friend, that is. Nothing more.”

  “I know,” he said with smug satisfaction.

  Phillip laughed, and they road along the lane toward the village. “So, where are we off to?”

  Rufus glanced around as he considered the question. He had stayed in London too long. How could he have forgotten the peacefulness of this region? The verdant groves, variegated meadows, and the leafless woods seemed enchanting in their winter melancholy. The cloudless blue sky suggested the storm had indeed passed, though it remained cold enough to mist his breath.

  He reined in to watch two sparrows confront each other on a fence. Each raised its tail and lowered its head so that their entire bodies assumed a more or less horizontal position. One fluffed its feathers, making itself look twice its size.

  The stance reminded Rufus of the Parker boys’ play fight. It was how he often acted in Phillip’s presence.

  “Shall we sup at the Briar Inn?” Phillip asked. “It is almost noon.”

  “A good plan.” Rufus liked the quaint inn and its portly innkeeper. “It will give us a chance to speak about an issue that troubles me.”

  “You wish to confide?” When Rufus glanced at Phillip in surprise, his cousin shrugged and said, “You have not asked for my counsel since we were children.”

  “I have had other matters on my mind,” he said, not sure how to explain his withdrawal from their childhood kinship.

  “For five years?”

  The number shocked him. Had it been that long?

  Trying to live up to his father’s approval, and always failing, must have worn down his desire to expose his hurt. Especially to Phillip, who never displeased his uncle.

  In Rufus’s father’s eyes, Phillip had a knack for proper dress, an arrogance of expression that easily hid his true thoughts, and a gift for befriending the right people. All attributes that his son lacked.

  The sparrows flew by them, chirping to each other, apparently no longer in disagreement. Time he, too, put aside his old hurts and treated his family as family.

  “I need your help,” he said. “There is a rumor going about that I killed Father.”

  “I know,” Phillip said.

  Rufus swung his head to look at him. All this while he thought he was alone on this quest, and Phillip knew?

  “Though the King tried to hush it, the news has spread about all the clubs,” his cousin said. “I squashed as much as I could before I posted here.”

  Thank heavens his mother preferred the countryside. She would not have heard the news yet. The repercussions of this ball multiplied. Not only would it be a distraction, but it might also bring Town gossip into his home and within his family’s earshot.

  He shifted his shoulders as a weight, heavier than before, settled there. “I have a little time to clear my name.”

  “So I heard.”

  Rufus gave a huff. “It might help to tell me what you know so I do not waste your time repeating common knowledge.”

  Phillip chuckled. “That story of a hunting accident seemed strange since Uncle was an excellent marksman, not an inexperienced cub to be caught in the line of fire. What interests me is, why do you search for the killer here, instead of in London?”

  “The leads in Town withered on their vine,” Rufus said, “so I followed the one that pointed me to Terrance Village. My father came here in a hurry shortly before he was killed, but no one seems to know why. I hoped to elicit information from the locals, but I have not succeeded there, either. The villagers are unwilling to confide in me. The only man who did died the day we spoke.”

  “The drunk found in the stable,” Phillip said. “Your suspicion that someone in Terrance Village is involved could be right then.”

  Rufus nodded.

  “What makes you sure that person is not me?” Phillip asked.

  Today seemed a day of shocking conversations.

  “If something were to happen to you, thanks to Uncle’s will, I would gain a more handsome yearly stipend,” Phillip said before he could respond, “and the London townhouse would be mine, since it is not entailed and is willed to me should you die before me. Then my mother need not worry about losing the home she has known all of her life.”

  That last struck home, no doubt as intended, and fully justified. But, dammit, I had a perfectly good reason to do so. And besides, why must I be forced to live with a woman who dislikes me? “I gave her another house. One as opulent as my London townhouse.”

  “It is not her home. Although she may not say so, it hurt her deeply that you did not wish her to reside with you as your father did.” Phillip gave him a serious look. “My point is that with so much to gain, I am the perfect suspect. So why do you not consider me the villain?”

  “Because I trust you,” Rufus said.

  “Can you afford to?”

  “If I cannot trust you, I cannot trust anyone. You are a brother in my heart.”

  They rode in silence from then on. When they came to a crossroad, Rufus drew Goodwin to a halt. “There is one item I must deal with before we sup.”

  Phillip tilted his head and raised an eyebrow in question.

  “My agent, Nightingale, resides in that direction.” He gave his cousin a mischievous look. “He is under the misapprehension that I am about to dismiss him. Indeed, since I read his most recent report, not only do I intend that he continue in my service, but that he run an important errand for me.”

  “Regarding your search for Uncle’s killer?” Phillip asked.

  Rufus shook his head. “No. I am satisfied you and I can deal with that. I owe one of my tenants two Christmas presents. And one for Lady Belle. London is a long ride from here, and Christmas is only a few weeks away.”

  Ignoring his cousin’s obvious curiosity, he laughed and urged his mount toward Mr. Nightingale’s house. “I shall meet you at the Briar in one hour.”

  AFTER SPEAKING with Lord Terrance, Belle could not concentrate on the ball. The chatter between Lady Terrance, Mrs. Jones, and Susie fizzled away.

  She had as much as admitted to his lordship that she loved him. His expression all but shouted that he had understood her meaning and rejoiced in her embarrassment. What a vexing man.

  Belle stood and paced the drawing room from one corner to the other. The walls, furnishings and ornaments confined her at every step. She had only wanted
to ask him to make peace with Nightingale so it would ease his relations with his tenants and villagers. That they feared him hurt her as much as it did him.

  “Belle, what plagues you, child?” Lady Terrance asked.

  When she turned to face her, all three women wore varying degrees of curiosity. “Nothing,” she said and sat beside them. She pointed to the fashion illustrations that Susie held. “That is a pretty shade of rose. A gray border could symbolize a degree of mourning, and yet still show off your coloring to advantage.”

  The discussion veered to the amount of gray or black to be used on the dresses, and Belle’s thoughts again wandered.

  She had come to Clearview to rid this house of its ghost. She had found a way to keep Lady Terrance distracted at night, but had she done anything to make the ghost leave? No. The only time she and the spirit had come face-to-face, she had cowered in fear.

  Had she spent all her time mooning over Rufus Marlesbury to avoid dealing with his father? Possibly. And apparently, her broken engagement had taught her nothing.

  Susie’s animated face and Lady Terrance’s happy chatter drew her gaze. It was easier to concentrate on the troubles of the living than the dead. But by doing so she shirked her duty to this family. It was time she did as she had promised.

  With resolution, she stood, and, as expected, the three women’s attention swerved toward her.

  “I am fatigued,” Belle said. “Will you please excuse me while I rest?”

  “Of course, dear,” Lady Terrance said. “What a sad hostess I am to keep you here when you are tired from your walk. Shall I order our noon meal to be served early?”

  “No, thank you. I am not hungry. Carry on with your discussion. You can apprise me of your ideas this afternoon. I shall be rested by then and eager to go over all the plans.”

  She gave a curtsy and left the room, with Earnest as her shadow. On the third floor, Earnest whined and darted in front of her. He leaned against her legs, forcing her to stop or go sprawling onto the dusty carpet.

  “If you are afraid, go downstairs, Earnest. I must do this.” She picked up her skirts and moved around him. Unhappy he might be, but the wolfhound kept to her side, a comforting bulk.

  She made her way along the twisting corridors, swishing open curtain after curtain from the widely spaced windows to let in sunlight. Dust plumed, and she coughed, but the light broke up the gloom. More importantly, it marked her passage so she could find her way back through the catacomb of corridors quickly if the need arose. She listened for the whisper of a ghostly wind, her skin poised and alert to feel the onset of any unusual chill.

  Memory and instinct guided her to the gallery. She stopped by the portrait of King George and walked to the opposite wall where the late Earl of Terrance’s portrait hung. With tentative fingers, she brushed its bronze frame.

  No spirit swooped through her. No change in temperature.

  The last time she was here, with the curtains closed, it had been dim. Now, framed against the rays of sunlight, the late earl’s sharp countenance loomed, and his eyes pierced her with recrimination. She could tell there had been no leniency in his make up. One either lived up to his expectations or failed miserably. And his son believed he fell into the latter category.

  Earnest trembled. She scratched his ears to calm him, but she, too, was afraid her desire to confront the earl’s ghost might come true. However, she must discover what troubled this spirit. Since extracting information from his family had proved to be a complete failure, she had no choice but to go directly to the source in order to discover what kept the late Lord Terrance earthbound.

  “My lord,” she called out.

  Silence.

  Would mention of his wife draw him out? “Could whatever troubles you be a danger to Lady Terrance, my lord? Is that why you have been visiting her? If so, I wish to help, but you must first tell me how.”

  A cold wind blew down the passageway. Mention of his wife did indeed get his attention. The temperature dropped by several degrees, and Belle tightened her shawl about her shoulders. Earnest pressed himself against her right leg, shivering.

  “You should have gone when I suggested,” she told the dog in sympathy. “Now whatever I experience will be your ordeal also.” She ruffled his fur. “Still, let me tell you that I am more glad of your company now than ever before.”

  His wide-open eyes pleaded for them to leave.

  “Not yet, Earnest,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

  A fiercely cold breeze spun Belle around until she staggered. Using the wall for support, she said, “I am here to be of service, my lord. Please, will you trust me?”

  The air before her wavered. She did not need Earnest’s warning growl to know they were no longer alone.

  “If you will not speak of your wife or yourself, tell me about Mr. Darby. I hear he went to London shortly before you were killed. He died the day before you.”

  A howling echoed down the corridors. Suddenly, the wind whipped the curtains, swishing them closed across one window after the next, barring sunlight and eliminating her safe guide back to the stairway.

  Bad sign. Mentioning Mr. Darby might not have been the wisest course. Too late, she saw the danger she had put herself and Earnest in by approaching the ghost this way. Belle grabbed hold of Earnest’s ruff and leaned against the wall.

  Earnest barked, and she asked the ghost, “What do you want?”

  “Traitor!” The word resounded along the dark gallery.

  “Who is a traitor? Whom did he or she betray?”

  “My country!”

  Doors along the hallway flung open and slammed shut, and inside adjacent rooms, furniture crashed against walls. The spirit’s wrath was beyond anything she had experienced, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil raging in her mind.

  This was not about a restless spirit. This was about a betrayal of the Crown!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Belle’s legs gave way, and she slumped to the floor. She had to tell Lord Terrance about this discovery. Could he already know that his father was murdered? Was that why he seemed so worried? Why his study was in such a mess, with books scattered everywhere? And the library! Mrs. Jones had said that it was in complete disarray and that the butler had told her Lord Terrance had done it. Could he have been looking for clues at Clearview? It made sense that the two rooms he would search first were ones the late earl was likely to have frequented most. If he was looking for clues to his father’s murderer, no wonder he had been against holding a ball. She probably was the distraction he had accused her of being.

  “Does he know?” She scrambled up and ran into the closest room. A puppet show was in progress, as every item in the room swayed in the air. A chair sailed toward her, and she ducked. It struck the wall and splintered.

  “Your son,” she shouted, her breath coming out in white puffs inside the ice-cold room. “Does . . . He . . . Know?”

  Every moving object halted in midair. And then they all crashed to the floor. The chilling room warmed marginally. Great. What a time to leave.

  She ran out into the corridor and shouted, “Come on, Earnest. We have to find Lord Terrance.”

  Skirts lifted, she sprinted along the twisting corridors. She made it to the stair landing before the ghost grabbed her by her shoulders, sending shivers shooting up into her neck. She was raised upward midair like the furniture. Her breath choked to a halt.

  Earnest ran around beneath her barking and jumping.

  “Do not tell,” a hollow voice whispered by her left ear.

  She hung there, petrified that if he released her, she would plummet down the stairs. As quickly as that thought crossed her mind, she shut it out, lest he interpret that as an easier way to ensure silence.

  Belle took a labored breath, knowing that reasoning with his ghostly lo
rdship was unlikely to save her a fall. She tried another tact. “Very well, my lord. My lips are sealed.”

  “Liar!”

  Her temper flared at that accusation, accurate as it might be. “What do you want of me?”

  “Find him.”

  Now that she had time to consider the matter, telling his son of her experience with his father would more likely get her thrown out of Clearview than help her find the traitor.

  “All right. I promise not to tell your son, and I will do my best to find this traitor. But then you must do something for me.”

  The fierce grip loosed enough to get her blood surging.

  “No kisses.” For the first time, there was a note of amusement in the voice.

  Belle’s face flushed hot. She was so mortified, she had the impulsive urge to fight loose so she could tumble down those stairs and break her neck. Instead, she fought the strident urge to slap the father, as she had wanted to slap the son the first time she had met him. But how did one slap a ghost one could not see?

  “You must attempt to go into the Light, my lord.”

  The words seemed to leave him speechless.

  Belle softened her tone. “Your family cannot recover from their grief while you remain earthbound.”

  He released her so quickly there was no time to scream. She landed half on top of Earnest, and desperately tried to gain her balance, but failed. She pushed the dog toward the landing even as she tumbled down the stairs. The worn carpet chaffed her elbows and cheeks. As if in slow motion, she rolled over each stair, her view swerving from staircase bar to ornately carved ceiling to paisley patterned red carpet.

  This is the end. They will find my mangled limbs at the bottom of the stairs. Earnest will howl with grief. My grandpapa will despair.

  Something hard blocked her from rolling past the fourth step. Belle lay there for several moments as she silently thanked whatever object had halted her fall. Once her head stopped spinning, she glanced behind to see what had saved her. Her breath stuck in her throat as she realized she was leaning against empty air.

 

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