Ice and Embers (Regency Redezvous Book 10)

by Melanie Karsak

  “I believe he is Lord John Waldegrave,” Marion answered.

  “No,” I rasped out. My throat burned. “No. He is the pretender.”

  “Ah,” the officer mused loudly. “We’ve been looking for him. Don’t worry, Miss McKenna. We’ll get you off the ice and warm in no time. And we’ll deal with this piece of rubbish.” The officer blew his whistle, calling over some of the other Bow Street Runners to take Jacob into custody.

  Marion bent and picked up a bag that had been sitting on the ice. A tuft of dark purple silk stuck out of the bag. It was her Lady MacBeth costume. She’d once told me it was the first role she’d ever played, her first costume, and her very favorite. She always wore the same purple dress whenever she played the part. She’d come back for the costume. To my luck, she’d seen what had happened and, for once, she’d done the right thing. She’d saved me.

  “Marion,” I whispered.

  She shook her head. “Rest, Elyse,” she said then smiled softly at me, a million honest apologies in her expression.

  “The Hawkings’ Workshop,” I whispered up to the man who carried me.

  “Hawkings’ Workshop?” the man asked, looking to his commanding officer.

  “Just off the Thames. There,” Marion said, pointing. “Miss McKenna has friends there.”

  The commanding officer nodded. “Very good. Take her there. Quick about it now. And you, Miss Stovall, I need you to come with me.”

  “Very well,” Marion replied.

  She set her hand on my shoulder for just a moment.

  “Marion…” I whispered.

  “I owed you. I’m sorry for what happened,” she said with a soft smile then turned and left with the Bow Street Runners.

  I closed my eyes.

  Hands moved me from person to person, and soon, I was on horseback.

  I could feel the rocking movement as the horse trotted across the cobblestones. Someone held me tight against them.

  Then, I heard voices.

  I heard the Hawkings’ footman. Then I heard Isabelle and Master Hawking.

  The last voice I heard was Kai’s.

  “I’ve got her,” Kai said. I felt Kai hold me, carrying me. “I love you, Elyse. Rest and get well. I love you.”

  Those sweet words rocked me to sleep.

  That night, I had a vivid dream. In my dream, the icy Thames had broken up and the river began to flow once more.

  Two ships sailed away from London, their sails illuminated by moonlight.

  Standing at the prow of one of the ships was a handsome couple. The man had flowing blond hair. He was joined by a beautiful dark-haired woman. They wore elaborate clothes that were silver and white and trimmed with fine furs and jewels. On their heads, they wore crowns of ice. At the stern stood a boy with dark hair and twinkling eyes. He waved goodbye.

  The ships slipped down the Thames, gliding over the dark waves which glimmered with sparkling silver moonlight. They floated downriver until the ships met the moon’s reflection. There, the vessels were swallowed by the moon. The fair-haired man and his dark-haired beauty disappeared into the other realm.

  Epilogue

  Kai and I stood on the dock watching the final boxes being loaded onto the ship.

  Dressed in a pale yellow gown covered in a blue coat, her hair pulled into a long brown braid, Isabelle rushed down the plank of the ship toward us. She smiled happily.

  “We are nearly ready. I’ve never been at sea before. Papa tells me I will adore it. But I will miss you both,” she said happily.

  “I have a small gift for you. For luck,” I said, handing her an item wrapped in a scarf.

  Isabelle opened the gift at once.

  I smiled as her face lit up when she saw the small hand mirror.

  “This workmanship,” she said, touching the elaborate silver filigree. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “It’s quite magical. I’m told that if you look into this mirror under the light of the moon, it will show you your heart’s desire.”

  Isabelle looked up at me, her curious eyes wide. “You jest, I know, but what a fascinating idea. Elyse, I cannot accept this. It’s too—”

  “I don’t need it anymore. I have my heart’s desire,” I said, beaming up at Kai who was doing his best to look serious. He was failing miserably.

  “Safe travels, Miss Hawking,” Kai told her.

  “Isabelle! We’re ready,” Master Hawking called from the ship. He turned and waved farewell to us.

  “Time to go,” she said, clutching the mirror to her chest. “I promise to keep your magic mirror with me at all times,” she said with a light laugh then she turned to Kai. “Doctor Murray,” she said with a curtsey. “Missus Murray,” she added, curtseying to me.

  Still getting used to the title, my cheeks burned.

  Isabelle ran back aboard the ship.

  Kai and I waited, pausing to wave farewell once more, then we headed to our waiting carriage.

  “Please take us to the Red Slipper Ballet Academy,” Kai told the driver as he helped me climb inside.

  The man nodded.

  Slipping in beside me, and safely out of sight of prying eyes, Kai slipped his arm around me and pulled me close.

  “What is it?” I asked, sensing his discomfort.

  “Nothing. I don’t like to be near the Thames, that’s all.”

  “Near is one thing. On, or under, is quite something else.”

  “Quite.”

  I smiled then stuck my hand out of the window of the carriage. “But today is a warm spring day.”

  “Yes, Missus Murray, it is. And a fine day for ballet. What time will the Waldegraves be by to inspect the academy?”

  “Three. They won’t be longer than an hour. Lord Waldegrave just wanted to see the finished studio. Marve and Lizzie will be there for the tour as well.”

  “Very well. I read in the morning paper that more shooting stars are expected tonight.”

  “A picnic on the roof then?”

  “Shall we make wishes?”

  “Of course. But what will you wish for?”

  Kai thought deeply then said, “That the Thames never freezes again. And you?”

  I reached out and touched his cheek. “Like I told Isabelle, I have all I could have wished for. The course of true love never did run smooth, yet, at last, here we are.”

  “And here we shall always be,” he said, setting a soft kiss on my cheek.

  I smiled then looked out the carriage window as we made the final turn away from the Thames. A soft, sweet breeze whisked across the river, carrying with it the scent of new leaves and spring flowers. I stared out at the water. The wave caps shimmered with golden light as if a thousand faeries danced amongst the sprays. I closed my eyes and breathed in the perfume of spring, felt the warmth of Kai’s body beside me, and felt the steady beat of my happy heart.

  Take a peek at the next Regency Rendezvous Novel

  The Stablemaster’s Daughter

  In the game of hearts, love knows no social boundaries.

  Eight years after she was sent to live with her aunt and uncle in Kent, Henrietta Katherine Graham, the daughter of the stablemaster for the Marquess of Ravenwood, returns to Garring Manor, older, wiser, and more beautiful than ever. Harboring an attachment for the second son, she looks forward to a sweet reunion and is thrilled when her beau resumes their relationship, without hesitation, and proposes marriage,.But her father opposes the match, due to what he refers to as her low birth. Will Henrietta defy her father and societal dictates to follow her heart?

  Lord Ernest Cornelius Frederick Howe values society’s good opinion, but he is shunned after a failed attempt to seize the marquessate in his brother’s absence. When he retires to the family estate, he is shocked to find his childhood sweetheart in residence, and nothing can stop him from renewing their acquaintance. Determined to win his ladylove, he devises a scheme to redefine Henrietta as something she is not, to protect his future wife and satisfy the whims of
the ton, but he risks losing his bride, in the process. Will Ernest flout society to claim the woman he loves?

  Prologue

  London

  October 11, 1812

  A shrill scream reverberated through the house, piercing the quiet, and Lord Ernest Cornelius Frederick Howe bolted upright in bed. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned and wondered if he dreamed the blood-curdling shriek, until another hair-raising shout of alarm had him leaping from bed.

  After pulling on his wool breeches, he donned his silk robe, belted it at the waist, and sprinted, bare-footed, into the hall. A small army of servants ran down the corridor, toward his elder brother’s suite. Curious, Ernest followed suit.

  At the double-door entry to the marquess’s private apartment, the butler loomed, with a grim expression. “My lord, something terrible has happened.”

  “What is it?” Myriad thoughts echoed in his brain, and Ernest swallowed hard. “Is it Barrington?”

  “No, sir.” Ashby shook his head. “It is one of the maids.”

  “What about her?” Ernest pushed past the butler, crossed the sitting room, and rushed into the bedchamber, where Doolittle, Barrington’s valet, averted his gaze and compressed his lips. It was then Ernest glanced at the massive four-poster, and he almost retched. “Oh, my god.”

  Violent crime was the curse of the poor, not the elite of society, and never had he witnessed anything so brutal. Blood trailed from one side of the mattress to the other, with large crimson spatters dotting the once pristine white sheets.

  Lying face up, nude, and prostrate, one of the housemaids, whose name he could not recall in the shock of the moment, had been stabbed to death in Barrington’s bed. Her lifeless eyes fixed on the elegant canopy, with her mouth agape in a silent scream, and never would he forget the morbid sight.

  “Ashby, gather the household staff at the servant’s dining table, and send a footman to Bow Street, for the Runners.” The butler nodded and rushed into the hall. To Doolittle, Ernest asked, “Where is my brother?”

  “To my knowledge, His Lordship never came home last night.” The valet scratched the back of his neck and shifted his weight, as though he was agitated, and that gave Ernest pause. “Often Lord Ravenwood stays out, but it is not my place to inquire after his plans.”

  Reflecting on the situation, Ernest could glean no rhyme or reason to the senseless act, and Barrington had no mistress. In fact, he never entertained courtesans, because it was no secret the elder Howe loved his fiancée, Lady Florence Wilfred.

  Ernest loved someone, once. But that was long ago, and he knew not what became of her, after she was taken from him, when they were but children. He often thought of searching for her, but he never did, because he feared what he might find. That she might have found happiness without him.

  But that was not the issue, at the moment, and he snapped into action.

  So where was his brother?

  “Take the back stairs and wait for His Lordship in the mews.” Ernest lowered his voice. “Tell him what happened, so he is not surprised when he returns to find the authorities in our home. I would not have him caught unaware.”

  “Aye, sir.” Doolittle dipped his chin and exited the apartment.

  A final glance at the horrific scene revealed a knife near the base of the footboard. Peering over his shoulder, Ernest checked to ensure no one witnessed his questionable behavior, as he pulled a handkerchief from the tallboy, squatted, wrapped the bloody weapon in the square of linen, and slipped it into his robe pocket.

  No, it was not the honorable thing to do, but it was the right thing for the situation, and he wagered he would pay for it, later.

  Retreating into the sitting room, Ernest drew shut the double doors and flagged a footman. “Stand guard until the Runners arrive, and permit no one entry.”

  “Aye, my lord,” the servant replied.

  Calm and collected, Ernest strolled back to his chamber, drew forth the knife, and studied the crude but lethal armament. Not for a minute did he suspect Barrington committed the murder, but Ernest would take no chances with his brother’s liberty and his family’s social standing, so he hid the dagger in his armoire.

  At the washstand, he splashed water on his face and cleaned his teeth. His heart weighed heavy in his chest, as he dressed in a crisp white shirt, sans cravat, a dark blue hacking jacket, and polished Hessians. In the long mirror, he scrutinized his appearance and ran his fingers through his blonde hair.

  “I am doing the right thing.” At least, if he told himself that enough, he just might believe it. Yet it seemed some things never changed, because Ernest had spent a lifetime picking up after his older brother, when their relationship should have operated in the reverse. “But Barrington had better have a damn good explanation.”

  With that, he inhaled a deep breath, turned on a heel, and trod into the storm he prayed was not of his sibling’s making. On the landing, two gentlemen conversed with the butler, and Ernest rolled his shoulders when they noted his approach.

  “My lord.” Ashby stepped aside. “These men are from Bow Street.” He pointed to a tall, swarthy looking character. “This is Inspector Kenworth, of the Runners.”

  “Lord Ernest, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, under such inauspicious circumstances.” Kenworth half-bowed. “And may I introduce Special Agent Miles Barrett, of the Counterintelligence Corps. In cases involving members of the peerage, the Home Office requires we notify the corps.”

  “Lord Ernest.” A shrewd but elegantly dressed character, Agent Barrett nodded once. “Your butler explained some of the circumstances surrounding the murder.”

  “Thank you for coming so quickly.” Ernest extended a hand in welcome. “Permit me to show you the body.”

  “Can you provide a list of those who entered the scene?” Agent Barrett brushed past the footman and scrutinized the entrance. “And who discovered the deceased?”

  “My brother’s valet, Duncan Doolittle.” Ernest led the investigators through the sitting room, to the inner chamber. “But before he could warn Ashby, a maid happened upon the body and shouted the alarm.”

  “I will need to interview everyone, beginning with Lord Ravenwood.” Inspector Kenworth paused at the foot of the bed. “Do you know the victim?”

  “Yes.” Ernest swallowed hard, as he glanced at the youthful face bereft of her customary animated smile. “Her name is Ellen, and Ashby can provide additional information regarding her background, as she has been in our employ for a few years. And my brother is not in residence.”

  “Where is Lord Ravenwood?” Inspector Kenworth inquired.

  “I am not sure.” Ernest shuffled his feet. “It does not appear he slept at home, last night.”

  “Can you vouch for him?” Agent Barrett narrowed his stare. “And what of your whereabouts?”

  “I was in my bed.” It was then Ernest realized they viewed him as a suspect, and he was not prepared for that. “But no one can provide proof of what I say, because I slept alone.” Shuffling his feet, he tried to ignore his racing pulse. “As for my brother, I have no direct knowledge of his current location or intimate habits, as I am not his keeper, and he does not share that information with me. But, to my knowledge, he has not been home.”

  And the family could ill afford a scandal, given the tenuous state of the marquessate’s finances, and his father always insisted that blood relations reigned supreme, above all else. It was something he beat into his younger son, with cruel regularity, so Ernest would do everything in his power to protect Barrington.

  “When was the last time you spoke with him?” Using a bull’s-eye lantern, Kenworth scrutinized the carpets, and Ernest pondered the bloody knife hidden in his chamber. Had he missed something of significance? “And did he behave in a suspicious manner?”

  “I am not sure what you mean, because I do not believe, for an instant, that Barrington killed that poor woman.” Ernest checked his tone. “And I took a brandy with him, yesterday evening, at White’s
.” He searched his memory to recall the specifics. “It was about five-thirty, and the rooms were crowded, so there are plenty of witnesses who could support my account.”

  “We will verify that for the official record, Lord Ernest.” Agent Barrett squatted near the footboard and appraised a bloodstain on the counterpane. “It is just routine, and we mean no insult.”

  “Investigative teams should arrive, soon, to commence a sweep for clues and evidence.” Inspector Kenworth stood upright and adjusted his coat. “Until then, we should seal the apartment.”

  “Of course.” Ernest led them to the hall, where he signaled the footman. “Permit no one entry without the expressed permission of Inspector Kenworth or Agent Barrett.”

  “Aye, sir.” The footman nodded and resumed his guard.

  Just then, the valet appeared, and Ernest stiffened his spine. “Please, excuse me.” He waved, and Doolittle strolled toward the gallery. Lingering near a bust of the third marquess of Ravenwood, Ernest folded his arms. “What is it?”

  “His Lordship returned, and he hides in your quarters.” Doolittle opened his mouth and then closed it. “He is innocent, sir. He did not sleep in residence.”

  “I know that.” Ernest peered over his shoulder. “Stay here, and say nothing to the authorities.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Doolittle clasped his hands before him. “And I remain loyal to Lord Ravenwood, as always.”

  “I know that, too.” And it did not surprise Ernest, because everyone loved Barrington. Indeed, he was the golden child.

  Whereas Ernest was the second son, the lesser Howe.

  In mere minutes, Ernest crossed the landing and navigated the corridor to his private accommodation. Careful not to draw attention to himself, he turned the knob, pushed open the oak panel, and slipped into his sitting room, but it was empty.

  “Psst.” In the bedchamber, Barrington partially hid behind a drapery panel and waved. “In here.”