“For which one may say God is indeed merciful.”
He leaned against the wall, stretching out one leg. “Mr. Verney, what do you know of that night?”
Verney opened his mouth then closed it. “The earl and countess gave a party, as I am sure you know. Miss Willow came. Keep in mind, I was not a witness. I did not attend as I was feeling poorly. Would I had not stayed home.”
“Had you already broken with Miss Willow?”
Verney turned white. “You are well informed, my lord. However, I must answer that before that day, the thought never entered my mind. Indeed, I’d made up my mind to marry her. We’d worked closely on the school, and I had every reason to admire and respect her character and her spirit. My affection for her was firm and resolute. If I’d gone, perhaps what happened might have been prevented.” His voice went low. “We might now be married.”
“What prevented you?”
Verney touched his head, scrubbing his hands through the wisps of his hair. “She insisted upon releasing me from my promise.” He let out a breath. “A vicar’s wife must be untouched by stain of scandal. So she told me.”
“You married almost immediately.”
“In my shock, I turned to Alice, my wife, for comfort and found my life’s companion.”
“How fortunate.”
“God works in mysterious ways.”
He studied the vicar and rose. “I’m told there is another Giotto farther down the gallery.” He gestured. “Shall we?” His dissatisfaction never settled, never assumed any comfort among the other bits and pieces whirling about in his head. He did not feel he’d had the full truth from Verney. He wondered if, when the time came, he would have even half as much of the truth from Miss Willow.
Some time after the Verneys departed, Sebastian retreated to his room where he swallowed another sulfurous potion without complaint and endured McNaught’s lecture on the dangers of overexertion. “I’m sending for Dr. Fansher,” McNaught said while he re-rolled the fabric for his bandages. “You need someone to put the fear of death into you.”
Sebastian flexed his arm and paid for the movement in a blossom of pain along his ribs. “Very well.” His wound felt hot. “Call Fansher.”
“Rest, my lord. You must not tax yourself.”
He lay on his bed, legs sprawled while he stared at the canopy overhead. Though he appeared to be doing nothing, his first lieutenant would have known just how deceiving was that appearance. Sebastian focused his thoughts, separating what he knew from what he suspected and both of those things from what he hoped was true.
Andrew’s wife, flighty and self-centered, unhappy in the country and, it seems, in the marriage. Enough to seek comfort in another man’s arms? Andrew would never tolerate such a situation. As for Andrew himself, did a womanizer ever reform? Quite likely, Andrew did have a lover. And he must at least consider the possibility that his mistress had been the desirable Miss Willow. She had James dancing on a short leash. Why not Andrew as well? God knows she had a mortifying ability to remind him how much he enjoyed sexual relations and, worse, put him in a way of wondering whether Andrew had enjoyed her in that same fashion. On the heels of that improper thought, he wondered for himself what she would be like as a lover. Eyes like molten honey, luscious copper hair and a smile that made a man happy just for seeing it. Jesus, what a pleasure that would be. That his brother might have been enthralled by Miss Willow wasn’t at all farfetched.
He drew a long breath and let the world settle around him. Any tendency to overlook or excuse the truth must be ruthlessly suppressed or he might find himself dancing at the end of Miss Willow’s leash, too. And, he might never know who killed his brother. Nothing had been stolen, not jewelry from the two women nor Andrew’s sapphire ring which Sebastian now wore on his own finger. Why would a robber find his way to a salon when he could have gone to the butler’s pantry for the silver? To his mind, the killings had all the hallmarks of passionate motive. He thought it quite likely the murderer had been a lover of one of the three. The delicate Miss Olivia Willow, with her additional injuries, was surely the likeliest candidate.
If he proved the worst, he would see her brought to account. He would.
Chapter Five
January 15
“My lord.” Price cleared his throat. “Mr. McNaught wishes to know if you require a change of raiment for your excursion to Far Caister.”
Sebastian looked at Price from over the top of one of the letters from the morning’s post. “Who is Mrs. Edward Leveret?” he asked.
“I believe, among other things, Mrs. Leveret heads the committee for the establishment of a school for Far Caister’s less fortunate children, my lord.”
He scanned the page again. His brother’s papers tilted in a precarious stack before him, threatening to fall at any moment. “What do you know about Miss Olivia Willow being a teacher?”
“Miss Willow’s name has been put forward for the post of instructress, as it is a task she has previously performed with some success. My lord.”
“And?” He watched Price’s face for signs of an opinion contrary to what he’d already heard but saw only his usual doleful expression.
“Most consider her a worthy candidate, my lord.”
“Do you agree I should approve of her in such a capacity?”
“I would not presume, my lord.”
“She wants money, of course, Mrs. Leveret, but as well she wants the right to tell families that Tiern-Cope has personally recommended their teacher.”
“Most assuredly, my lord.”
His position gave him some responsibility to families like that and to women like Mrs. Leveret. James all but had Miss Willow in his bed. Like as not, she’d be his mistress before the week was out. If it weren’t for James’s priority of interest, more than likely he’d be considering much the same arrangement himself. She was a thoroughly bedable woman. His duty in the matter seemed clear enough. He reached for his pen and scrawled a reply at the bottom of Mrs. Leveret’s note.
Madam:
I cannot recommend her to you.
Captain Sebastian Alexander
As an afterthought, he added, “Tiern-Cope” beneath his signature. He re-folded the note and handed it to Price. “Deliver this.”
Price took the letter. “Your excursion, my lord?”
He put away his pen. “I’ll be there directly.”
“My lord.”
Half an hour later, Sebastian stood with one foot on the bottom edge of the open carriage doorway, his forearm crossed over his thigh. Mrs. Leveret’s letter and his reply to it were absent from his thoughts. One of the drays stamped, iron-shod hooves ringing on the cobbles of the inner courtyard. Both animals were the color of flax. In the whole of the stables there wasn’t an inferior animal to be found. He tugged at his cravat and gave James a sideways glance. “I do not play the lover well.”
“Best learn.” James’s head whipped toward the door, but it was a false alarm. A footman hurried toward them carrying an armload of blankets. Miss Royce wished to shop, and, as Sebastian had already seen, what Miss Royce wanted, Miss Royce got, generally with little more than a smile in payment, but with a frown across that pretty brow if necessary.
If one believed appearances, Miss Willow had, during her time at Pennhyll, become Diana’s dearest friend. Sebastian, cynic that he was, could not help the unworthy thought that Diana’s friendship with the spinster had more to do with the advantage she gained by comparison than on account of any similarity in their characters. Certainly, their looks could not have been more dissimilar and as for their characters, well, he could not imagine that Miss Willow had anything in common with a spoiled beauty like Diana Royce. Olivia Willow possessed a fine mind, however she pretended otherwise.
James stooped to pick up a handful of pebbles. “God knows Diana’s vain enough for a dozen women, Sebastian, but she needs some encouragement.” He tossed a pebble. It skipped over the cobblestone courtyard and hit the rampart wall.
“I intend to marry her, which she well knows if you’ve done your part. Isn’t that enough?”
“For me, yes. But she finds you neglectful. Compliment her. Really, Sebastian. You must play the game.”
“Has it gotten you anywhere with Miss Willow?” Considering what he’d seen already, perhaps it had. She liked to withdraw when people called at Pennhyll, but James never let her alone for long. Beside him, James frowned and threw another pebble. So. “No success yet.”
“Since I do not intend to marry her, the dance is more intricate. Besides, the woman insists on her principles.”
“Perhaps she believes in them.” Then again, the harder a man worked for his prize, the higher the perceived value, and he did not doubt Miss Willow knew that quite well. Every girl who’d been to her first ball knew that much about men.
“Fear not, Sebastian. I aim to bury those principles.”
“Mm.”
“See if I don’t. As for Diana, you have no principles to overcome. You’re going to marry her, for Christ’s sake.” He tossed another pebble. “Tell her you adore her eyes and that her lips remind you of—” The door opened again. Diana appeared, wrapped in an ermine cloak and muff. Miss Willow descended the stairs just behind her. James’s gaze was riveted. “My God, just look at her.”
“Your sister is beautiful. And she’s well aware of it.”
“Not her. Miss Willow. I’m randy every time I see that hair. I want my hands full of those curls and her full of me.” He made a low noise, and Sebastian added his silent agreement to the sentiment. “I do fancy her maidenhead, Sebastian, I truly do.”
The idea that Miss Willow retained her virtue startled him. “What makes you think she has one?”
“Of course she has. A young lady can’t lose her handkerchief without all of Far Caister hearing of it. Believe me, if she’d lost her virginity, everyone would know.” Sebastian frowned, for there was a deal of sense in that. James waved at the door. “Diana, at last. And Miss Willow.” To Sebastian, he said, “I’ve the luck of the devil today, old man. That cloak is hardly thick enough to keep an infant warm on a day such as this. I’ll soon gallantly have my arm around her to keep her warm.” Grinning like a boy in possession of a new top, he turned to Sebastian. “Out, damn principles.”
Like Fitzalan, now the waiting was over, Sebastian stood at attention as the two women came down the last stairs. “No doubt her Cumbrian nativity enures her to the cold.”
“If I should manage to contrive, my dear Captain, to separate from you whilst we tour the village, pray do not wait for us. No matter how badly we are missed. Diana will survive an hour or two or three without Miss Willow’s charming company. And you, Sebastian, might use the time to practice your charms on my sister. Why, you might even try proposing. She won’t say no.”
“If you have your way, James, Miss Willow will find her life and reputation irretrievably altered after you are gone from Pennhyll.”
“I want her,” he said in a low voice. “I will have her. No matter what.” Sebastian raised his eyebrows at that, and James made a face. “Don’t even think it.” He gave a mock shudder. “I’m not that far gone.”
“Are you certain?”
“Sebastian. I can’t marry her. She’s been a governess. She has nothing. Has been nothing since her father died.”
“Then leave her be.”
“I’ll be discreet, if that’s what you’re worried about. And, I’ll find us another chaperone once I’ve got her tucked away someplace convenient.”
“I’d prefer the parish not be burdened with Fitzalan by-blows.”
James shrugged. “I’ll support it. Hell, if I have a dozen on her, I’ll support them all. Does that ease your mind?”
“Jesus.”
He held up a hand. “Peace, Sebastian. Peace. I’m a gentleman, and one way or another, a gentleman pays for his pleasures. With Miss Willow, I find myself inclined to more than my usual generosity. I promise you, if she finds her life altered, it can only be for the better.”
“Without a husband?” Why, in the name of God, was he so concerned about her fate? If Miss Willow let James talk her onto a mattress, what concern was that of his?
James adjusted his waistcoat. “Attend, Sebastian. I’ll show you how to properly woo a female.”
The women reached the carriage. Fitzalan kissed Diana’s cheek and gave his hand to Miss Willow. “Miracle worker, Miss Willow.”
“How so?” Only polite interest, Sebastian noted, frowning again because, damn it all, the pieces did not fit together. Olivia Willow was not what James hoped; the sort of woman who could be seduced out of her good sense. She was as far from being a flirt as Diana was near to being one. In fact, if not for her unfortunate history, he’d have put her in a class with the other young ladies of Far Caister.
James continued to hold Miss Willow’s hand. “I expected another hour’s wait at least before Diana presented herself, and here she is, a vision in white.”
“Thank you, James.”
Diana smiled at Sebastian, and all he could think while he looked at her was she was hardly out of the schoolroom and couldn’t possibly understand anything about a man who’d sailed to hell and back. A bride to be pampered and cherished. A treasure to display. All a gentleman desired in his wife. Trouble was, he could not imagine making love to Diana. The thought left him cold.
James cleared his throat. Loudly.
“Fur becomes you, Miss Royce,” he said. That earned him a grin from James, a tutor proud of his pupil. What nonsense this was. Diana knew very well how she looked. Why did he need to tell her? Since Miss Willow showed no sign of expecting a compliment from him, and, indeed, could not think he would make her one, he said nothing to her, which appeared to suit them both just fine.
In the carriage, Diana settled against the seat, her hair shining dark against a field of ermine. James eyed his sister, then turned to Sebastian and mouthed the words compliment her. But at just that moment, the groom lifted the stairs and closed the door and the delicate combination of opportunity and motivation vanished. Sebastian heard the snap of reins. “Walk on.”
Diana touched her curls then turned so her back was to Miss Willow. “Do fix this for me. My hair shall be wretched in five minutes, I’m sure.” Miss Willow obligingly did something with hairpins with the result that, at the conclusion of the procedure, Miss Royce looked no different than she had before.
Light flashed over Miss Willow’s hair. There must be fifty colors of red, all of them some variation of copper fire. When she finished examining Diana’s hairpins, she put a hand to her mouth to hide a yawn.
“I hardly slept a wink myself last night.” James surveyed the women. “I wonder if the same thing kept us awake, Miss Willow.”
She smiled pleasantly enough, but managed to convey displeasure. “I doubt that, sir.”
“I fell asleep the moment my eyes closed,” Diana said. “What kept you awake, James?”
“A ghost, dear sister.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “Never say so. Truly?”
Sebastian looked away since derision was liable to be fatal to an offer of marriage. Ghosts, indeed. Diana, he was coming to realize, was not about to give up her ridiculous idea of a seance to summon the Black Earl.
Diana buried her hands deeper in her muff and leaned toward her brother and him. “In London, Mama and I attended a seance. Don’t laugh, James. We did, and it was most astonishing. The spirits predicted I would be married before the new year is out, and that I should come to the country to find my husband. They did. They moaned and pounded on the walls, and Lady Fields swooned when they said her late husband wanted her to invest in the three percents. Is that what kept you awake, James? Miss Willow? Oh, do tell.”
Miss Willow shook her head. “Much to my regret, I’ve never seen a ghost. Nor heard one either.”
James’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, now don’t spoil the fun, Miss Willow. As for me, t’was the Black Earl himself I he
ard. Who else could it have been rattling his chains and moaning outside my door half the night?”
“Angry, perhaps, for not investing in the five percents before he died,” Miss Willow said.
“Pish.” Diana made a face and sank against the seat. “You’re such a liar, James. I don’t know why I listen to anything you say.”
“Diana, I am wounded to the quick.”
“If you really saw the Black Earl, what was he like?”
“Quite the hair-raising experience, I confess. I can hardly bring myself to describe the horror.”
“The truth, James, have you really? Miss Willow, make him tell the truth. Besides, I thought the Black Earl only appeared on the anniversary of his death. Did you not say so, Miss Willow?”
James grinned. “I didn’t say I saw him. I said I heard him. Though an Alexander might see him at any time. Tell us, Sebastian, when you saw the Black Earl did he rattle chains and howl at his fate?”
“You saw the Black Earl?” Diana put a hand to her heart.
“Your brother, Miss Royce,” Sebastian said, “heard nothing but the wind and the timbers settling.” What kind of mother would she be, filling her children’s heads with superstitious nonsense? Hell. He might end up with a nursery full of vain, idiot offspring. Miss Willow yawned again, but he suspected she hid amusement behind that forgery of a yawn.
James sighed. “What a pity you have so little imagination, Tiern-Cope.”
The carriage stopped, signaling the end of the drive to Far Caister and, more specifically, their arrival at the Crown’s Ease. Villagers stopped to gape, and shopkeepers appeared in doorways to watch. The coachman’s chest swelled to bursting and the grooms, too, made a show of their duties, snapping down the steps, holding harnesses, shouting instructions to the ostler.
James took in the hubbub with an amused and more tolerant smile than Sebastian. A murmur rose. Diana, wrapped in ermine, flashed an ankle as she stepped down, reaching for Sebastian’s hand. Her gown, peeking from the cloud of ermine surrounding her, proved a confection of green-and-yellow silk gauze that made a striking contrast with her glossy hair. Diana took the adoration in stride, indeed, as her due. She was a beauty, no doubt of that. So, why did she leave him without the slightest stirring of passion? What if he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her? Certainly, he could. Of course he could. Whether he wanted to was another matter entirely.
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