"There's some that's not to be trifled with, if a gentleman knows what's good for him." The man jerked his head at the window.
On the other side of the pane the shop girl hummed as she worked, unaware of her gallant's possessive defense of her on the cobblestones outside. The man's fist punched Nicholas's lapel harder, a final time. Nicholas inclined his head once in the man's direction and felt the rake of un-slaked hunger as the fellow stomped off down the street, taking the toothsome scent of overheated blood with him.
Chapter Twelve
The sound of wheels on gravel sent Elizabeth hurrying to the second-story window. Another carriage emerged from the woods and clattered up the drive that wound to the elegant country house. It was the third to arrive that morning.
"Is it him?" Elizabeth's mother, Amelia, tried to sit up, the effort precipitating a coughing fit. Elizabeth went to her mother and propped her up with extra pillows. She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed back her mother's silver-streaked hair.
"Probably not," Elizabeth said when her mother's coughing subsided. "The carriage has no crest. It's likely another guest."
"How much longer?" Amelia closed her eyes. The draught Elizabeth had given her a short time ago was taking effect. She would sleep.
"Soon, Mother. He'll have to come soon. The wedding is tomorrow."
Elizabeth returned to the window and pulled aside the lacy pink curtains. Below, the carriage rolled to a halt before the main entrance. Mr. Fosse stepped out and turned to assist his new bride and mother-in-law while a footman helped the coachman wrestle baggage off the top of the vehicle. Amanda was beaming with happiness. Marriage obviously agreed with her. Mrs. Blakely said something to Mr. Fosse and they all laughed, a family well in charity with one another. Elizabeth's heart lightened. Things had turned out well for the Fosses.
"My girl will be married tomorrow....He will take care of you?" Amelia eyes fluttered as she fought sleep. "Is he wealthy? Handsome?"
"Yes, Mother. Lord Devlin is wealthy and handsome." And absent, Elizabeth thought.
Between the well-sprung carriage, the feather bed, and the doctor's carefully timed doses of medication, Amelia Smith had made the journey from London with surprising ease. By the time they'd reached Heaven's Edge, Elizabeth had been so grateful to Lord Devlin for his care of her mother, she'd almost forgotten his previous neglect. But after a week of waiting at the Duke of Marlbourne's country house with no word from their host or his son, any goodwill she'd felt toward her fiancé was gone.
"But is he...kind? Will he..?" Her mother's words were garbled now.
Elizabeth left the window to tuck the blankets around her fragile form. Tomorrow she was to be married, yet she had no answers for her mother's half-formed questions. She knew next to nothing about the man who would soon be her husband, except that he could by turns be thoughtful and thoughtless. What else he was, well, did it really matter? Wasn't it enough her mother would be cared for now regardless of which of them left this world first?
Guilt stabbed through Elizabeth. She should tell him. Devlin had a right to know he was taking on not one dying woman but two, and that he would likely be a bridegroom and a widower in the same season. But there'd been no opportunity. She'd been in the same room with her betrothed only once since he'd announced their engagement in Mrs. Huntington's parlor. That once had been at the Fosse's wedding and there had been no time for private speech between them. Had he intended it that way? He'd ignored her messages, avoided speaking with her in person, and sent another man to escort her from London. Was he already regretting his choice?
"You should be downstairs greeting your guests."
Elizabeth didn't even start at the sound of the doctor's voice, so accustomed had she become over the last week to the way Doctor Bergen came and went without a sound. She would find him suddenly at her side, as if he had been there for a long time studying her. At first she'd found it unnerving. How was it that a door that creaked when one of the maids entered the room never announced this man's arrival?
"It wouldn't be appropriate," Elizabeth said.
"You will be mistress here tomorrow," the doctor said.
"But today I am a guest like everyone else. If Lord Devlin were here I would stand with him to greet his guests, but to do so alone would be--" Elizabeth shrugged. She gestured toward her mother, changing the subject. "How long?"
"A few days, a month perhaps. It's hard to say. She's a strong woman."
"But not strong enough," Elizabeth said softly.
"Death doesn't always win, but in this case it will." Doctor Bergen moved close behind her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Her mother's face was still and peaceful, her skin the color of fine beeswax candles. If not for the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath the quilts... A shiver ran down Elizabeth's spine. She turned toward the doctor, wanting reassurance. Pale blue eyes gazed down into hers.
He was so like Devlin, she thought. Their eyes were differing shades of blue and the doctor's hair was perhaps a little darker, but it curled in the same wild manner at the collar. The two men were close in height with the same slim build. Though Elizabeth imagined Nicholas was a little more muscular than the doctor and Dr. Bergen was a few years older. Still, they could easily have been brothers.
The compassion in those pale eyes began to change into something else, something more compelling. Bergen inhaled deeply. His grip on Elizabeth's shoulder tightened. There was a sharp rap on the door.
"I'll stay with her now, miss." Margaret, the diligent brown-eyed maid Dr. Bergen had selected to assist him in caring for her mother, came into the room.
The doctor's hand dropped from Elizabeth's shoulder. Elizabeth crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders as a sudden chill passed through her. Margaret went to the window and closed the curtains against the late afternoon sun.
"Cook says His Grace and Lord Devlin will be dining with you and the other guests tonight," the maid said.
Elizabeth had been watching the arrivals all day. How could she have missed the duke and his son? Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Margaret shook her head.
"They haven't arrived yet, miss. But word came with the packages delivered in Mr. Fosse's carriage. The packages are all for you, miss. Lennie, the new footman, the one with all the muscles," --Margaret blushed-- "put them in your room. Cook sent Katie to help you with them. She's young, just fourteen, but she's a fine needlewoman, miss, even if she really is a downstairs maid. She's in your room, waiting to see what needs adjusting."
Elizabeth left the maid and Dr. Bergen with her sleeping mother and went through the connecting door to her own room. There were three bedrooms in this wing of the house that looked out on the front lawns. All were connected by doors that led through small dressing areas. Judging by the décor, Elizabeth's room, the one in the center, with its deep burgundy curtains, massive oak bed, and equally large fireplace was the master's bedroom. To each side of it were smaller rooms. The one her mother occupied was done in frothy pink and white linens, the furniture delicate and girlish. The other bedroom sported more rugged furniture and was decorated in a boyish blue. It was clear the pink and blue rooms had been intended for children, the center bedroom for the parents. It was an unusual arrangement. Not only because it implied husband and wife would share a room, something uncommon among the titled class, but also because children of the upper classes normally occupied a nursery some distance from their parents. It was an odd. Yet it was exactly the arrangement Elizabeth would have desired for her own children.
Heat stung the corners of her eyes. Tomorrow she might be a wife, but she would never be a mother. Even if she were to conceive -- a vision of Lord Devlin flashed through her mind and her stomach did an odd flip – there was little chance she would survive long enough to bring the child into the world. Elizabeth pushed the notion from her mind. She'd given up dreams of what might have been long ago. They were a painful waste of time. She would be grateful i
nstead. Grateful that for now they had a roof over their heads and the finest medical care Devlin's money could provide. Grateful for the peace the coming wedding seemed to have given her mother. And perhaps even grateful – she thought of Devlin and her stomach did that odd flip again -- that she might not go to her grave a maiden.
As Margaret had promised, a redheaded parlor maid sat in one corner of the master bedroom. The girl's hands were folded primly in her lap and an astonishing number of boxes littered the floor at her feet. The maid stood, dimples appearing at the look on Elizabeth's face.
"He must have bought out all of London," the girl said. She selected a box from the pile and set it on the bed before Elizabeth. "I'm Katie." She bobbed a curtsy as she removed the box lid, exposing a pair of slippers nestled in tissue. She lifted the slippers from the box and set them on the bed. They were fashioned of pure white silk over-stitched with pearl thread.
The design that reminded Elizabeth of a spider web.
"Aren't they lovely, miss? There's a pair of riding boots and several pair of house shoes as well."
Elizabeth looked at the maid. The girl gave an apologetic shrug. "I couldn't resist a peek, miss. Only at the shoe boxes. You don't mind?" The expression on the young maid's face was so guileless that Elizabeth couldn't help but be charmed.
"I don't mind, Katie."
"Try them on, miss."
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and slid her feet into the white slippers. The fit was perfect. How could he have known?
Katie opened a large flat box. The girl's gasp brought Elizabeth to her side.
Together they lifted out a dress of liquid moonlight, its shimmering silk bodice embroidered with delicate white roses. A circle of the same tiny flowers, this time in pink, danced a few inches above the hem and along the low cut neckline. Elizabeth could almost hear Mrs. Huntington's voice: It's what happens when you go beyond the pink roses. Whatever his failings, her betrothed had a sense of humor. Elizabeth laughed. Katie looked offended.
"But I've never seen anything so beautiful!" the girl exclaimed. "Don't you like it?"
"It's perfect, Katie." Elizabeth smiled her first real smile in months. "Absolutely perfect."
"Good." The deep masculine voice sent a tingle of recognition up Elizabeth's spine. She whirled around.
Devlin stood in the doorway that connected the blue bedroom to hers. His buff-colored breeches and long riding coat were covered with the dust of the road. His hair was windblown, his boots scuffed and muddy. Katie bobbed a curtsy, tucked the gown back into its box, and left, pulling the hallway door shut behind her.
"Thank you," Elizabeth said. She slipped out of the white shoes and pushed them beneath the bed with one stockinged foot, "for the doctor and the carriage and the clothes."
Devlin advanced into the room and what had seemed so generous a space just moments ago, felt suddenly small. He took a seat on the bed and gestured to the counterpane beside him. "We must talk, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth nodded. Entertaining a man in her bedroom, even a man who would be her husband in less than twenty-four hours, was more than irregular, it was scandalous. But Elizabeth was not in a position to complain. Nor did she want to. They did need to talk. He deserved to know the truth.
To avert scandal he'd done the honorable thing. But there was little point in saving the reputation of a dead woman. And that was what she would soon be. She sat beside him, avoiding his gaze by staring at the hem of her dress, beneath which she carefully tucked her slipper-less feet.
"You need not marry me," she began, trying not to think of what she might be giving up and the suffering it would cause her mother. "In the shock of the moment," she blushed, "after finding Mr. Fosse and Miss Blakely like that, you were hurt. I realize you announced our engagement as a way to save face, but you needn't go through with this. It wouldn't be fair."
"You're right, Elizabeth. I haven't been fair."
She looked up then and their eyes met.
"I was upset that night in the garden," he said. "But not because of any deep feelings for Miss Blakely. I assure you I have none, other than a simple admiration for her as a sensible young woman with a good scientific mind. The fact that Mr. Fosse, one of my closest friends, hadn't told me the truth of how he felt for Amanda, that did hurt. He should have known better. But all has ended as it should have, with Leo married to the woman he loves."
"You do not need to marry me," she repeated.
"But I do, Elizabeth. And I will. Tomorrow night you will be mine." He reached out and wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. The expression on his face made Elizabeth's heart race.
"You offered for me because Mrs. Huntington forced you to, because it was the right thing to do, because you thought I would be ruined, but none of that matters because--"
He leaned in close and Elizabeth forgot what she'd been about to say. His hand released the single lock of hair and slipped around the back of her head. He pulled gently. She came to him. His lips pressed against the inside of her collarbone and a delicious shiver ran through her. Her head fell back and she arched toward him. A path of slow fire followed the route his tongue traced up the side of her neck. She barely knew the man; she should be alarmed. Instead she felt mesmerized by the sensations tingling through her.
He released her abruptly. She made a soft mew of protest. When she opened her eyes, he was standing in the open doorway, his back to the room, one hand clenched on the door frame.
"Devlin?"
"I must change for dinner." His voice was strained, guttural. He didn't turn to face her. "The gown of moonlight and roses is for our wedding. There are others that will do for tonight." He started to leave.
"But we didn't talk," Elizabeth said.
"Tonight," he said, and was gone.
Chapter Thirteen
"I had my wife cover the girl with a sheet, but otherwise all remains as it was found, right down to the wash basket. At least so my good spouse assures me." Mr. Dawes trotted across his back lawn, adjusting his paisley waistcoat with one hand, smoothing his thinning hair with the other. A bit of kidney pie, if Fielding didn't miss his guess, road along in one of his sideburns.
"My health being what it is..." Dawes lips tightened against a belch; his cheeks expanded in a toadish puff. "...I've not been able to be of great assistance. But my father was a magistrate, you see, so I know how this sort of business is to be handled and was able to give my good wife the best of instructions. She is gone now to share the harsh news with the girl's family."
They reached the low-slung clothesline. Detective Fielding stepped around a basket of clothing and ducked between two fluttering shirts. No more than three yards distance from the abandoned basket lay a sheet-shrouded figure. Serviceable boots protruded from one end of the white linen. The top of a prim maid's cap was visible at the other. Fielding nodded to two uniformed bobbies and they moved a discrete distance away leaving Lennie Hodges standing alone on the opposite side of the body.
"She's a parlor maid. She wouldn't normally be hanging clothes, but my wife, being of soft heart, allowed the laundress a few days off to care for ailing parents." Mr. Dawes had followed the detective through the drying laundry. "Her name's Penny or Patty or some such. Mrs. Dawes will know, I'm sure."
Lennie dropped to one knee and lifted the sheet away from the maid's face. "What little sun there's been today will be down soon," he said. "Judging from the condition of the body, it probably happened this morning."
"This morning?" Fielding frowned at Mr. Dawes. "And she wasn't found until now?"
Mr. Dawes minced sideways at the detective's tone. "It's the servants' day off. Once they finish their morning duties of course. I don't track such comings and goings, but the household likely thought she'd taken herself off for the day. Found her when they went out to fetch the wash in."
"Seems a footman was the last to see her alive," Lennie said. "Noticed her leaving the house just before dawn with a basket of hanging wash. He was in
the yard walking a visitor's horse."
"You were entertaining visitors this morning, Mr. Dawes?" The man startled at the sound of the detective's voice, though Fielding was certain this time his tone had been as pleasant as Maria's plum pudding.
"One only. Lord Devlin had come to address a point of business for his father. It was his stallion my footman was walking."
"Address a point of business? Before dawn? Did you not find that odd, Mr. Dawes?"
"Deuced inconvenient. But he intended to quit London to travel to his country estate directly after our business was concluded and wanted to make an early start." Dawes glanced down at the body. His skin grayed and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. "I fear I must be excused," he sputtered before dashing back through the sea of furling laundry, the morsel of kidney pie still riding his sideburn.
Lennie scowled at the retreating man, then spat tobacco hard at the ground. "No sign of a struggle," he said. With surprising gentleness he cupped his rough hand against the parlor maid's jaw and turned her head to one side, exposing her neck. "Same as Madame Nanette's shop girl."
Chapter Fourteen
Elizabeth left her mother in Margaret's care and returned to her own room through the connecting door. Katie, who'd been finishing the unpacking, set aside the clothes to peek out the hallway door.
"He's waiting for you near the stairs, miss." The maid cocked her head at Elizabeth. "I was right about the violet gown. It matches your eyes. If I had eyes like yours, I'd make sure that new footman, Lennie, never gave Margaret a second look." Katie closed the door to return to the unpacking. She picked up a white negligee and carried it through the clutter of boxes littering the room, opened a drawer, but didn't tuck it inside. Instead the young maid let the material glide over her hand. "It's like mist," she said and giggled.
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