She considered his features again. Even, with a well proportioned nose and a generous mouth. His cheeks were clean shaven and his brow wide and clear. Her first impression had been wrong. She could see no grey in his hair. It shone with vitality. Was he thirty? Perhaps, but not much beyond it. She still couldn’t see the exact colour of his eyes, but they were clearly not brown. He lifted his chin at something Flack said and she caught a fleeting flash of colour. A clear and beautiful blue, like a cloudless summer sky, and surrounded by dark lashes.
His chin tilted further as something evidently caught his eye. She ducked back from the window, her heart thundering in her chest at the thought of being caught out. Had he seen her spying on him? She pressed her back to the wall and refused to look again, but her dresser mirror was tilted to perfection. It gave her a clear view out through the window and down onto the steps. Letting out a breath she hadn’t known she held, she stared at the reflection.
Heavens, but the man was tall. Broad too. Made Phillips look as if he could hide behind a beanpole. Mrs. Grenfell was clearly making more introductions and Benjamin Derwent inclined his head to hear them. The sunlight fell on his face and Madeleine couldn’t suppress the small gasp that left her lips. He looked more like a god than a killer. And certainly not one who would use a trifling little knife to do the deed. This giant of a man would have drawn a broadsword from beneath his coat and cleaved her father’s head from his shoulders, not merely pricked his heart with four inches of fine silver.
Madeleine pressed her cheek against the cool window frame to catch the sound of his voice through the glass. She couldn’t hear his actual words but she heard his exclamation of dismay at whatever Mrs. Grenfell and Mr. Flack told him. News of her father’s death, no doubt. His shock sounded genuine, certainly not rehearsed. Could he have sneaked into the estate late at night? Or even through the open window. Unlikely, given his size. She couldn’t imagine him sneaking anywhere. Someone could have seen him and easily given a description. Men of his stature were few and far between. But he did have a lot to gain. Her gaze rose slightly and swept across the reflected estate. So much land and the beautiful house. How could he not want it all?
She shook the thought away. Her father had mentioned that her mother approved of the scheme with Benjamin Asher Derwent. That meant it had been at least three years in the making. Why hadn’t he acted before now if he wanted Claiborne desperately enough to murder her father over it? Why wait until her father was sick and about to die anyway? It made no sense for the man to have done it, and therefore he probably hadn’t.
A door slammed somewhere in the house and she turned her head as she heard movement and voices downstairs. Probably Mrs. Grenfell gushing again, curtseying and bowing to the imposter while her father still lay cold in his study.
Madeleine shivered. Doctor Finch had told her that it might be some time until they could move the body. New tears trickled down her face. She dashed them away again and breathed in deeply. This was no time for senseless waterworks. There was a murderer in their midst. She would not let them get away with it. Not that she could even guess who it might be. The whole household had been filled with horror. There had been no subtle smiles, no signs of concealed delight.
Mathews would have to question everyone thoroughly. Those with the most motive had to go to the top of the list of suspects. The new Earl of Claiborne had the most to gain. He had to remain on the list even if she didn’t really think it was him.
It took a few seconds for her to realize that she was herself a suspect, and she had more to gain than most. Her freedom! But no one else knew about the proposed marriage plans. Would anyone think to put her on the list? She suddenly remembered her father mentioning the engagement ball. Blast it all! The invitations had already been sent.
And there was the letter her father had held when they argued. Obviously correspondence with his heir. There had been several others in the same hand upon the desk. Anyone who glanced at them would know of the arrangements. Had someone heard her quarrelling with him about it?
She recalled seeing Thomas outside the study door, his dark eyes brooding, intense with something... Anger, pain, disappointment? At the time she had been too distressed to consider why he stood there, but whatever the reason, it was likely that he overheard some of the conversation. Damnation! Of course the man had heard. It wasn’t as if she had thought to control the level or tone of her voice. Why should she? She had wanted to show her indignation at her father’s decision.
But Thomas Leyman must have instantly realized what it meant for him, hence the subsequent disenchanted expression on his face. Was that the reason for him leaving without another word? A star crossed lover too distraught to bear ever seeing her again. She snorted in derision at herself. No, the man might be infatuated but he wasn’t that much of a fool. Besides, he would never have left Milady unless there was good reason.
Murder would be an excellent reason. She shook her head, unable to let herself think of it. He wouldn’t have done it. Thomas Leyman was not a killer. She would stake her own life on it. But even so, she wished she had thought to remove the letters from the study. Mathews was bound to see them. The man was too nosey by half and would probably love to blunder through her father’s particulars with the excuse he was conducting an investigation. And if he heard about her objections, those letters would perhaps put her above Benjamin Derwent on the list of suspects.
The maid carried on snoring but the hall below had become quiet again. She could see the scene in her mind now. Everyone would be in the study, staring at her father’s lifeless body, eyes glued to the knife resting deep in his chest. She swallowed back the nausea that threatened to rise as she recalled how white her father’s knuckles looked clasped so tightly about the handle of the knife. Had he struggled with his murderer? Had he tried to pull it out? Had he called for her as his life slipped away? Her fingertips fluttered over her lips at the horror of the scene she imagined.
Thoughts tumbled over one another and her breaths came hard and fast. Why? Why would someone have done it? The neatness of the study made it look as though her father hadn’t even put up a fight. Did he know his own killer? He must have done or there would have been signs of a tussle, shouts for help. Perhaps the assailant’s actions had surprised him. Her father wouldn’t have simply let someone thrust a knife into his heart. She massaged her temples. Her head ached with the endless rampaging thoughts and the river of tears she had shed. A sleep might help. She glanced at the snoring maid. It certainly seemed to be helping her.
She looked over at the glass standing on her dresser. The sedative Doctor Finch had left her beckoned. Anything to lessen this agony, but even though her heart felt as if it were about to break, she couldn’t drink it. She had never been a wilting violet before and didn’t intend to become one now, whatever the circumstances.
Circumstances? So what were they now she was orphaned? The thoughts came crashing in without respite again. Should she continue packing her bag and leave Claiborne, the only home she had ever known? Should she try to find her place in the world, alone? It had seemed easy to plan such a thing with a rich father at her side, ready to catch her if she fell. Now she wasn’t so sure. Her own purse contained but a few shillings. She hadn’t thought to collect her monthly allowance earlier in the week. There had been no call to rush. It remained lying in her father’s desk drawer. She hadn’t needed the funds immediately and had simply left the money there. Her father might have had his quirks but he was an unfailingly generous man. She could call on him for it at any time for pin money, but she hadn’t needed to. Her dressmaker’s bills were all up to date and she hadn’t made arrangements to meet her friends to buy ribbons or gloves or sashes. They were not on a list of priorities. She only bought them to appear sociable.
Her stomach churned at her extravagance. How much had she spent on unwanted fripperies before? Money that could have been put to better use saving for her future. She rubbed her swollen eyes. Did the mone
y in the desk drawer even belong to her now? Would her new guardian allow her to take it? Was he her guardian? Would her allowance be sufficient to set herself up alone?
She stifled a mocking laugh. What had she been thinking? So many unanswered questions, but one thing was abundantly clear. Her pin money was not enough to keep her. It might gain her a few nights in an inn, or perhaps lodgings for a few weeks, but to set up a school would cost an enormous sum. Money she certainly didn’t have.
She caught sight of her own reflection. Terrified eyes stared back at her. She pressed determined lips together. Being scared was not going to help. She might not have money, but she had a brain, and it gave her an idea. She would be wearing black for a year at least. Could she sell some of her other dresses? She had far more than she needed and someone was sure to love them. They were of the first fashions and finest fabrics. Her father had insisted, and Madame Vincensi had been thrilled. Anger surged as she realized the reason why he had recently ordered so many frocks. How stupid could she be! How blind! They were not meant for the summer season. They were part of her trousseau!
But she wouldn’t need any kind of trousseau now. The dresses could be sold!
She paced as she thought. An idea burgeoning... and dwindling again. Who would she sell the dresses to? She was taller than many of her friends. She looked down at her figure and raised her eyebrows. Fuller too, in several areas. Who would they fit? Not the short, plump women of the town, and no country girl would want them. They were impractical at best and frivolous at worst. Perhaps her dressmaker would be able to help. But Madame Vincensi wouldn’t want to sell second-hand garments. She would only sell her made to measure designs to the wealthiest of clients. Madeleine could just imagine the couturier’s outraged expression if it were suggested that she sell an impoverished woman’s castoffs.
Something sparkled on the tray on her dresser and another idea jumped at her. She ran her fingers over her the diamond necklace and string of lustrous pearls! And there were more jewels in the family strong box. She rarely wore them. They would be worth far more to her as money. What were such ornaments except for useless decoration? She could take everything into town and ask Mr. Tinsley. He had sold her father many of the items in the first place. Surely he would give a good price for the stones.
Her stomach suddenly flipped nervously. If the jewels were still hers. She had a sneaking suspicion that they might not be. But perhaps Benjamin Derwent would allow her to keep them. Her father had assured her that the man was kind and generous. And his features hadn’t made him look like a miser, greedy or penny-pinching.
She huffed out a breath as she wondered how long that attitude would last when he saw what the strongbox contained. Hadn’t her friend Constance only recently discovered how far family loyalty stretched when handed riches on a plate.
She turned away from the baubles, anger and frustration building once again. To be left in such a position, not knowing whether she owned the clothes on her back or, a painful thought crossed her mind, perhaps not the locket that sat on her neck!
Her fingertips danced over the fine gold chain and stopped at the oval pendant. She looked down as she opened it and studied the tiny picture of her mother. Her father had commissioned it not long after the woman’s death. A copy taken from a far larger portrait that hung in the study. Madeleine treasured it. She flipped the glass open and took out the tiny picture, then lifted the necklace over her head. She placed it with the diamonds and pearls. She wouldn’t wear it again until she knew if she owned it. But the picture was hers. It had no intrinsic value. She wouldn’t give it up! She walked to her bed and tucked it beneath her pillow, frustrated again. Why hadn’t her father discussed all this with her sooner? Did he think her a foolish woman, unable to understand the ways of the world?
The ways of the world. The phrase reverberated in her mind. Oh yes, the way of the world was to reward men and leave women at their mercy. Fury suddenly ripped through her once again. Even Doctor Finch had dismissed her from the study, as if he held any authority in this house. He had sent her scurrying to her room as if she were a troublesome child, not a loving daughter, distraught at discovering her father dead.
And he had given her a sedative! A sedative! Lord save her! As if spending a few hours sleeping would magically erase the nightmare that had dawned that day. Foolish man! Did he really think that a simple sleeping draught would remove the pain and desolation in her heart? As if a knife had been shoved between her own ribs and twisted hard. She wasn’t the maid who now sat snoring in her chair. The woman would wake refreshed, the horror behind her. But not Madeleine. Depending on the new Earl of Claiborne’s character, the horror might only just have begun.
She walked around her room as she bit the pain away. This uncertainty was intolerable. She had to make a plan. She must discover the fiend who had robbed her of happiness. Not that catching him would change her current situation, but it might bring her some satisfaction. Mathews would need help. He might be good at keeping the peace when men drank too much, or when neighbours argued over an escaped pig, but a murder was something that required a little more thought and intelligence. She might be a mere woman, not worth considering under normal circumstances, but this was different and at least everyone knew she had brains. Mathews would listen to her. She would be at the centre of the investigation come what may.
But first she had to meet the new earl and see what manner of man he was. Would he want to continue with her father’s marriage arrangements? Unthinkable! She was in mourning. Besides, he didn’t have to agree to anything now that Claiborne was his anyway. He could do as he liked with her. Even demand that she leave instantly. He might be on his way up the staircase right now, ready to throw her from the house with little more than she stood in.
Fear gripped her at the thought. His gentlemanly looks might conceal a brute. Yes, she knew of some. Constance Barnaby lived a hellish life with her overbearing stepbrother, but there was little anyone could do about it. Since their father’s demise, poor Constance had been trapped. Though three years younger than his sibling, Francis Barnaby now owned Bramston Hall. The house, the money, everything. Indulged by his mother, Francis did as he pleased without thought or censure. Once a doting brother who followed his elder sister everywhere, making her play hide and seek, challenging her to a game of chess, asking her to tell him bedtime stories, he now almost ignored the woman. Gave Constance nothing. No allowance, no housekeeping, no way out. She wore the same dresses and jackets since before her father died. Even her skills with a needle and thread could not keep up. Though she would never mention it, on the occasional times Madeleine had seen her she couldn’t help noticing the threadbare cuffs, the repaired lace, even the stitched up holes in the woman’s stockings.
Would Benjamin Derwent be of a similar ilk? Madeleine hoped not. She doubted she could be as quiet and restrained as Constance in the face of such treatment. In fact it might be a good idea to let Derwent know the type of woman she was from the outset. No one was going to tell her how to live her life, when she could go riding, or what clothes she should wear. Decision made, she marched to her door and lugged it open.
Mrs. Grenfell shrieked in surprise and she jumped back from the doorway. Two seconds later Doctor Finch appeared at the shocked woman’s shoulder.
“Lady Madeleine, I was on my way to attend you. Are you all right?”
Madeleine refrained from rolling her eyes.
“Quite, Doctor Finch. Naturally I am distraught, but I cannot shy away from my responsibilities. I have to find my father’s killer. In the meantime, I think Mrs. Grenfell requires your administrations more than I.” She might have said more, but the sound of heavy footsteps made her turn her head to look along the corridor.
The sight of Benjamin Asher Derwent her caused the breath to rush from Madeleine’s lungs. She knew that her position at the window hadn’t given her the best view, but she never expected to see this force of nature now striding towards her. His horse must
have been gigantic to be able to disguise the man’s massive stature.
Taller and broader than any person she had ever met in her life, his presence filled the corridor. His purposeful demeanour consumed all the air from the space. She took a difficult breath, sucking what remained of the air into suddenly starved lungs. His azure gaze remained fixed upon her, his eyes considering, assessing, reaching conclusions, all his thoughts on open display as his pace ate up the distance between them.
Ash had eyes for no one but the woman in black.
“I heard a cry. What happened?” he demanded, a frown furrowing his brow as he reached the group gathered around the door.
Doctor Finch laid his hand on Mrs. Grenfell’s arm.
“The housekeeper thought Lady Madeleine would be asleep. She didn’t expect her to open the door with such vigour. I believe the good woman was startled, my Lord.”
Ash lifted his chin but while his ears acknowledged the man’s words, his eyes never left the woman standing in the doorway.
So this was Claiborne’s daughter. Dear lord, but she was a beauty. Even the deep black of her mourning dress suited her pale complexion. Ash thought of the miniature residing deep within his pocket. The artist needed shooting. The likeness did not do Lady Madeleine any justice at all. Perhaps it might have been an accurate representation some years previously but the tiny painting now appeared woefully inadequate. Not only was her figure fuller and far more shapely, her face had altered subtly too. Her cheeks were more sculpted, her chin more determined, her slender, curving throat and plump rose lips infinitely more kissable.
And there was fire in the woman’s green eyes. Sparks of gold glittered within the emeralds, so mesmerizing that he found it impossible to tear his gaze away. She left him breathless.
An Unexpected Title (Suspicious Circumstance Book 1) Page 7