Slightly Shady

by Amanda Quick

  “Allow me to point out the small flaw in your logic,” Emeline murmured.

  Lavinia glowered. “And what is that, pray tell?”

  “The house is not empty. You and Mr. March are both here. One could hardly ask for more appropriate chaperones.”

  There was a short, brittle silence while that observation took hold.

  Tobias managed to swallow his laughter. He glanced at Lavinia, wondering when it would dawn on her that she had violently overreacted to Anthony and Emeline’s innocent homecoming.

  A close call sometimes had that effect on the nerves, he reflected.

  Lavinia sputtered, turned very pink, and then launched into the only argument left.

  “That is all very well, but you did not know we were here, Emeline.”

  “Well, as to that,” Anthony said diffidently, “we did know you were home. Lady Wortham’s footman escorted Miss Emeline to the front door. When she opened it with her key, she saw Tobias’s hat and gloves and your cloak. She assured Lady Wortham that you were both present, and the good lady gave her approval for me to enter the house with Miss Emeline before she and Miss Priscilla drove away.”

  “I see,” Lavinia said weakly.

  “Evidently you did not hear us arrive in Lady Wortham’s carriage,” Emeline said. “Nor did you hear me tell her that you were home.”

  “Uh, no.” Lavinia cleared her throat. “We heard nothing. We were occupied in the study.”

  “You must have been concentrating on a very important matter,” Anthony said with a deceptively innocent smile. “We made a fair amount of noise, did we not, Miss Emeline?”

  “We certainly did,” Emeline said. “Indeed, I cannot imagine anyone failing to hear us.”

  Lavinia’s mouth opened but no words emerged. She closed it quickly. The pink in her cheeks turned to red.

  Mischief sparkled in Emeline’s eyes. “Whatever were you and Mr. March conversing about that was so fascinating you did not hear us arrive?”

  Lavinia took a deep breath. “Poetry.”

  twenty-one

  Lavinia stood with Joan in the relatively quiet shelter of a window alcove and surveyed the crowded ballroom. She was torn between her concern for Tobias and a sense of triumph. Since there was nothing she could do about the former, she allowed herself to revel in her latest social coup.

  The Colchester affair was everything she could have asked for in the way of a setting for Emeline. The ballroom had been decorated in the Chinese style, with a mix of Etruscan and Indian motifs. Mirrors and gilt had been used in glittering profusion to enhance the effect. Dressed in the deep turquoise gown that Madame Francesca had stipulated for such an occasion, her dark hair swept up in a clever style and trimmed with small ornaments, Emeline looked as elegant and exotic as her surroundings.

  “Congratulations, Lavinia,” Joan murmured. “That young man who just asked to escort Emeline out onto the dance floor is in line for a title.”

  “Estates?”

  “A number of them, I believe.”

  Lavinia smiled. “He appears to be quite charming.”

  “Yes.” Joan watched the dancers. “Fortunately, young Reginald does not take after his father. But that is not surprising, under the circumstances.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Joan’s smile was cold. “Reginald is Bolling’s third son. The first was found dead in an alley behind a brothel. It was assumed he was murdered by a footpad who was never arrested.”

  “I collect that you do not believe the tale?”

  Joan raised one shoulder in the smallest of graceful shrugs. “It was no secret he had a fondness for very young girls. There are some who believe he was stabbed by a relative of one of the small innocents he had debauched. Perhaps an older brother.”

  “If that is the case, I cannot feel any pity for Bolling’s first heir. What happened to the second?”

  “He was in the habit of drinking heavily and going into the stews in search of entertainment. One night he was found facedown in a gutter outside a notorious hell. Drowned in a few inches of water, they say.”

  Lavinia shuddered. “Not a happy family.”

  “No one ever dreamed that young Reggie would inherit the title, of course, certainly not Lady Bolling. Indeed, having done her duty by giving her husband an heir and a spare, she went her own way after the birth of her second son.”

  Lavinia glanced at her. “She took a lover?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you implying that the lover is Reginald’s father?”

  “I think it quite likely. He has his mother’s brown hair and dark eyes, so it is impossible to be certain of his sire. But I seem to recall that Bolling’s first two sons both had fair hair and light eyes.”

  “So the title is likely going to the offspring of some man other than Bolling.”

  Such incidents occurred more often than anyone acknowledged, Lavinia reflected. Among the ton, where marriages were made for a variety of reasons, none of which involved affection, it was only to be expected that a certain number of heirs came into their inheritances via somewhat indirect paths.

  “Frankly, in my opinion it is all for the best in this case,” Joan said. “There is something in the blood of the men of Bolling’s line that is not wholesome. They have a history of coming to a bad end through their own weaknesses. Bolling himself is hopelessly addicted to the milk of the poppy. It is a wonder he has not done himself in with an overdose.”

  Lavinia gave her a quick, searching glance. This was not the first such gossipy tale she had heard from her companion tonight. Perhaps it was a certain sense of boredom induced by their enforced association that had inspired Joan to relate a series of rumors and secrets concerning their fellow guests. Lavinia had learned more about the foibles and scandals of the ton in the past hour than she had in the past three months.

  “For a lady who does not go out much into Society,” Lavinia said cautiously, “you appear to be exceptionally well informed about those who move in the highest circles.”

  Joan tightened her gloved fingers around her fan. There was only the smallest of hesitations before she inclined her head. “My husband made it a point to acquaint himself with information and rumors that he thought might affect his financial affairs. For example, he looked very thoroughly into the background of Colchester’s heir before he accepted the offer for Maryanne’s hand.”

  “Naturally,” Lavinia said. “I would do the same thing if a young man showed a strong interest in my niece.”

  “Lavinia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you really think it’s possible that my husband may have kept the truth about his criminal activities from me for all those years?”

  The wistful quality of the question brought a shimmer of moisture to Lavinia’s eyes. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision.

  “I think he may have gone to great lengths to keep his secrets from you because he loved you so much, Joan. He would not have wanted you to know the truth. Indeed, he may have thought you would be safer if you did not know it.”

  “In other words, he wished to protect me?”

  “Yes.”

  Joan smiled sadly. “That would have been so very like Fielding. His first concerns were always for the welfare of his wife and daughter.”

  Anthony materialized out of the throng. He had a glass of champagne in each hand. “Who the devil is Emeline dancing with now?”

  “Bolling’s heir.” Lavinia took one of the glasses from him. “Are you acquainted with him?”

  “No.” Anthony glanced over his shoulder toward the dance floor. “I assume he was properly introduced?”

  “Of course.” She took pity on him. “Don’t be too concerned. She has not promised the next dance to anyone in particular. I’m sure she would be delighted to take the floor with you.”

  Anthony’s expression cleared immediately. “Do you think so?”

  “I am almost certain of it.”

  “Thank you, Mrs.
Lake. I am very grateful.” Anthony turned away to scrutinize the floor.

  Joan lowered her voice so only Lavinia could hear her beneath the swell of the music. “I thought I heard Emeline promise the next dance to Mr. Proudfoot.”

  “I will take full responsibility. I shall say I made a mistake when I made a note of the names for Emeline.”

  Joan studied Anthony, who was intent on the dancers. “Forgive me for offering advice, Lavinia, but I feel I should point out that if you find Mr. Sinclair unacceptable as a future nephew-in-law, you are not doing him a kindness by encouraging him to dance with Emeline.”

  “I know. There is no money, no title, and no estates in that direction, but I must confess, I rather like him. In addition, I can see how happy he and Emeline are when they are together. I am determined to give my niece a Season or two and a chance to meet a variety of eligible young men. But in the end, she will make her own decision.”

  “And if she chooses Mr. Sinclair?”

  “They are both really quite clever, you know. Something tells me that, between the two of them, they will not starve.”

  The big house was drenched in darkness save for a small fire burning dimly down below in the vicinity of the kitchens. Tobias stood in the shadows at the rear of the main hall and listened for a moment. He heard muffled giggles and a man’s drunken laughter in the distance. Two members of the household staff had obviously found something more entertaining to do than to slip away for the evening.

  Their presence downstairs would not be a problem, he decided. He had no reason to search that portion of the mansion. A man of Neville’s class would have little interest in the area of the house that was the domain of his servants. It would certainly never occur to him to conceal his secrets in a realm he seldom if ever entered.

  In point of fact, Tobias thought as he moved through the gloom-filled hall, Neville had no reason to go to extraordinary lengths to hide anything in this house. Why would he bother? He was lord and master here.

  “Bloody hell,” Lavinia said to Joan. “I just saw Neville and his wife in the crowd.”

  “Not surprising.” Joan looked almost amused by Lavinia’s scowl. “I told you, everyone who is anyone will put in an appearance tonight or risk offending Lady Colchester.”

  “I still cannot believe the sweet old lady who greeted us at the door has the power to terrify everyone in Society.”

  “She rules with an iron fist.” Joan smiled. “But she seems to be quite fond of my daughter. I’d like to keep things that way.”

  For her part, Lady Colchester would not want to lose the large inheritance Maryanne would bring into the Colchester coffers, Lavinia thought. But she decided not to mention the obvious. The higher one went in the ton, the higher the marriage stakes. While she schemed to scrape together a taste of a real Season for Emeline, hoping to attract the eye of a young man who could support her niece in some degree of comfort, Joan was engaged in a strategy more akin to an affair of state.

  She caught another fleeting glimpse of Neville in the crowd and decided it was a good thing he was here. It meant he was not at home in his mansion, where Tobias might accidentally encounter him in the middle of the search.

  She wondered what it was about Neville that had attracted Joan’s interest at one time.

  As if she had read her mind, Joan answered the question. “I know he has the unpleasant look of a hardened rake who has spent too many years pursuing meaningless pleasures, but I assure you that when I first met him he was a very dashing, very handsome, thoroughly charming man.”

  “I understand.”

  “Looking back, I should have seen the streak of greed and selfishness just beneath the surface. I pride myself on being an intelligent woman. But the long and the short of it is that I did not realize his true character until it was too late. Even now I find it difficult to imagine him killing those women.”

  “Why?”

  A small, thoughtful frown drew Joan’s brows together. “He was not the sort to get his hands dirty.”

  “It is often difficult to see into the hearts of others when one is very young and has not had much experience of the world.” Lavinia hesitated. “Do you mind if I ask you an extremely personal question?”

  “What is it?”

  Lavinia cleared her throat. “I realize you do not go out into Society very much, but obviously there are occasions when you must meet Neville in public. How do you handle such moments?”

  Joan smiled with what appeared to be genuine amusement. “You will soon learn the answer to your question. Lord and Lady Neville are coming this way. Shall I introduce them to you?”

  Nothing.

  Frustrated, Tobias closed the journal of household accounts and dropped it into the desk drawer. He stepped back, lifting the candle higher so that it cast its light deeper into the shadows of the study. He had searched every corner and crevice of this room, but he had uncovered no hint of murder or conspiracy.

  Neville had secrets. They had to be someplace in this house.

  It was very odd to find oneself being introduced to a murderer. Lavinia took her cue from Joan. A cool smile and a few murmured words that dripped with ennui. She could not help but notice, however, that Neville never quite met Joan’s shuttered gaze.

  Constance, obviously blissfully unaware of the past her husband shared with Joan, launched immediately into a cheerful conversation.

  “Congratulations on your daughter’s engagement,” she said warmly to Joan. “It is an excellent match.”

  “My husband and I were very pleased,” Joan said. “It is my greatest regret that Fielding did not live to dance at her wedding.”

  “I understand.” Constance’s eyes lit with sympathy. “But at least he had the satisfaction of knowing her future was assured.”

  Lavinia studied Neville’s averted face while she listened to Joan and Lady Neville. He was looking at someone, she realized. There was something unpleasant in his eyes. Very discreetly she turned slightly to follow the path of his gaze.

  Shock clenched her stomach when she saw that he was watching Emeline, who was standing some distance away with Anthony and a small group of young people. As if sensing danger, Anthony glanced toward her. His eyes narrowed when he saw Neville.

  “What a lovely gown, Mrs. Lake.” Constance smiled. “It looks like one of Madame Francesca’s creations. I vow her work is quite unique, is it not?”

  Lavinia managed a smile. “Quite. I take it you are one of her clients?”

  “Indeed. I have patronized her establishment for years.” Constance gave her a politely inquiring look. “You say you are visiting from Bath?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have traveled there many times to take the waters. A charming town, is it not?”

  She would go mad if she had to continue this inane conversation, Lavinia thought. Where was Tobias? He should have returned to the ball by now.

  The giggles and laughter downstairs could not be heard up here on the floor where Neville’s bedchamber was located. Tobias set the candle on the dressing table. Swiftly, methodically, he began opening and closing drawers and cupboards.

  Ten minutes later he found the letter in a small drawer built inside the wardrobe. He removed it and carried it to the dressing table where the candle stood.

  The letter was addressed to Neville and signed by Carlisle. It itemized expenses, costs, and fees for the commission accepted and carried out in Rome.

  Tobias realized he was looking at the business contract that had been Bennett Ruckland’s death warrant.

  Neville took his wife’s arm. “If you ladies will excuse us, I believe I see Bennington over there near the staircase. I have been wanting to have a word with him.”

  “Yes, of course,” Joan murmured.

  Neville whisked his wife away through the crowd.

  Lavinia watched, trying to keep an eye on the pair. It soon became clear that Neville was not headed toward the staircase. Instead, he deposited Constance with a sm
all cluster of women who were conversing near the entrance to the buffet and made his way toward the far side of the room.

  “Forgive me,” Lavinia murmured, “but I cannot help wondering if you went so far as to invite Neville and his wife to your daughter’s engagement ball?”

  To her surprise, Joan actually chuckled. “Fielding told me that Lord and Lady Neville need not receive invitations. I was quite happy to leave Neville off the guest list.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Well,” Joan said, “now you see how one handles the vexing problem of dealing socially with a former lover who may well be a murderer.”

  “You act as if nothing ever happened.”

  “Precisely.”

  Tobias tucked the letter inside his jacket, put out the candle, and crossed the room to the door. He listened intently for a moment. When he heard no sound out in the hall, he let himself out of the bedchamber.

  The cramped staircase designed for the use of the servants was at the far end of the corridor. He found it and started down into the deep well of shadows.

  When he reached the ground floor, he paused again. Silence emanated from the floor below. The two people he had overheard earlier had either fallen asleep or found some other occupation that did not inspire them to giggles and laughter. He rather suspected the latter.

  He had just opened the door of the conservatory when one of the heavy shadows looming in the hall detached itself from the wall. There was just enough moonlight to see the glint of the pistol in the man’s hand.

  “Halt, thief!”

  Tobias dropped to the floor, rolled through the opening, and came up hard against a stone planter. Pain stabbed through his left leg but it was not from a bullet, just the all-too-familiar protest of his old wound, so he ignored it.

  “Thought I heard someone on the back stairs.”

  The pistol exploded, shattering a nearby clay pot. Tobias flung an arm across his face to protect his eyes.

  The man dropped the empty gun and launched himself through the doorway. Tobias staggered to his feet, barely avoiding the charge. Another jolt of pain was all the warning he got before his left leg collapsed on him. He pitched forward, groping for purchase.