Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1)

by Becca St. John

  “You can find so many unique items in London. You were there, just recently, before returning to Manchester?”

  “Manchester’s home. Caroline’s home.”

  “And a busy place for you, no doubt. Admirable of you to take the time to check on your niece.” She smiled. “And how remarkable that you and Sir Michael would find yourselves in the same inn, at the same time, on the same day. I must say, our magistrate was quite amazed.”

  He relaxed and leaned back. “Wild coincidence, isn’t it?” He craned his neck toward the liquor trolley.

  “Sherry?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Help yourself. One for me as well, if you will.”

  “Of course!” He rose to pour them drinks.

  As he leaned over the trolley, she noticed a long, rectangular shape bulging from the outer seam of his trousers. Whatever had the man thought to stuff into his pockets before dinner?

  They were not the only two to arrive early. Sir Michael, who had been waiting in the study, came in shortly after them. Without even knowing why, he did exactly as she’d prompted him to before they went to prepare for dinner. He went straight for the sherry, griping, “I hope the youngsters don’t keep us waiting too long.”

  “Youngsters?” Mr. Howlett asked.

  “Your niece and my nephew, Mr. Howlett,” Eleanor explained. “You know how newly married couples can be. Time gets lost.”

  Mr. Howlett studied his sherry. “Mr. Little was of the impression...”

  “Yes?” Eleanor asked.

  “Nothing.” He looked up with a smile. “Misinformed, no doubt. Man gets things wrong, even with all his fancy education.”

  “Of course.” She looked at her sherry, ran her finger around the rim of the glass.

  “What do they do with the land around here, Sir Michael?” Howlett asked. “Anything under that soil? Anything mineable?”

  “No, we don’t have those resources here. Not like up north, or to the west.”

  “Mars the countryside,” Mr. Howlett boomed. “Doubt the folks down here would allow it, though it brings a pretty profit.”

  Eleanor set her sherry down, and caught Mr. Howlett watching her with narrowed eyes. At least she thought so.

  Hard to say, as it transformed quite quickly to a genial, “I agree, though I hope the children don’t take too long. It was a long hard journey, wasn’t it, Sir Michael?”

  “Very trying,” Sir Michael agreed.

  Caroline stepped into the room on Summerton’s arm. Despite massive bruising, and eyes frighteningly red, she had a subtle glow of rest. Deep rest. Summerton held her hand to his arm, closer than entirely proper. Eleanor would have applauded, if she could have gotten away with it.

  “Uncle,” Caroline offered her cheek to her uncle, who rose to greet her, as Summerton went to the sherry tray.

  “Lady Eleanor, Sir Michael.” She blushed, barely uttering a greeting to them before swiveling to look at Summerton.

  Considering there was a murderer out and about, they were both amazingly relaxed.

  The Dukes of Summerton never relaxed. Not entirely. Nor were they the sort you would call content. However, he was doing a fine imitation of it tonight.

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow. Perhaps she hadn’t needed Sir Michael to throw about innuendos. The evidence was right before them.

  Mr. Howlett noticed as well. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, but the tight look passed in a moment. It happened almost too quickly for her to notice. But notice, she did.

  Of course, there could be any number of explanations. Perhaps he didn’t trust Summerton.

  “Are you almost packed?” Howlett blurted. “No doubt most of your things can follow.”

  “Actually, uncle, there was an upset.” She looked over her shoulder. Summerton stood behind her chair, his hand on her shoulder.

  “A vandal went through her rooms,” the duke explained. “We haven’t found anything missing, but it will take some time to sort out. Thankfully, the duchess was not in the room at the time.” His fingers tightened on her shoulder, and she tilted her head into his hold.

  “What? How?” Robert Howlett boomed. “Outrageous. Someone breached her rooms and you stand there, calm as can be?” He stood. “You need to come home, Caroline. Things like this don’t happen in Manchester.” He strode to the door.

  “Uncle,” Caroline argued. “These things don’t usually happen here. There’s no precedent whatsoever.”

  “Caroline,” Howlett cajoled. “I thought you wanted to come home. You said as much outside, when I arrived.”

  The girl blushed again.

  Eleanor smiled at her nephew’s bride. “I believe you can put that down to a lover’s tiff, Mr. Howlett.”

  “I see, well, be that as it may, you can’t deny the threat of this place.”

  “Do you know? I’ve been thinking about that.” Eleanor jumped in, before Summerton could challenge the man. “You mentioned you had arranged this alliance between Summerton and Caroline because you felt she was in danger. Surely it’s no safer in Manchester.”

  “Of course it is!”

  “Then why do you have a guard? I don’t walk around with a guard, do you, Summerton?” Sir Michael asked.

  “No, never until now,” Summerton confirmed.

  “What do you know about my guards? Prosperous men have to be careful.”

  “Father never had a guard,” Caroline said. “I never thought about that before, but you have Biggs. You’ve always had Biggs and Bart.”

  “Biggs?” Eleanor considered. “I had forgotten that Mr. Biggs was your man. Didn’t he try to catch Roger Little after you were attacked?”

  “It wasn’t Roger Little,” Howlett snapped. He tugged his coat down, smoothing the front of it.

  “Whoever it was,” Summerton said. “Biggs was there, and he chased him. He’s not been seen since.”

  “Perhaps he did this man in,” Howlett suggested.

  “Or the reverse,” Sir Michael speculated.

  “Oh, my,” Lady Eleanor actually leaned back in her chair, ignoring years of deportment. “Oh, my.”

  “I don’t like this.” Howlett stood firm, “I want our girl safe. Look at her—covered in bruises, and her room was violated. Her very room! No comfort in that for me.”

  “Aunt Eleanor is correct. Manchester is no safer,” Caroline said. “And St. Martins offers more security. You said as much earlier. I’m very sorry if it offends you, Uncle, but I won’t leave.”

  “No, no.” He bowed his head, as though the idea weighed against him. “It’s not a matter of offending, but I won’t have you in danger.” He looked up. “That’s all there is to it.”

  “That decision does not lie with you, though, does it?” Summerton asked. “If you had warned me of the danger, lives could have been saved. Trust me, Caroline’s safety is my highest priority.”

  Howlett’s scowl reiterated what he implied, earlier in the day, that Summerton could very well be the very danger feared.

  Hitches stepped into the room. “Dinner is served, your grace.”

  Caroline sidestepped Summerton and took her uncle’s arm. “I will be perfectly fine,” she promised, as she led her uncle to the family dining room.

  Eleanor, partnered by both Summerton and Sir. Michael, held back.

  “Her uncle seems quite concerned with her care,” she noted.

  Summerton snorted.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “He was glad enough to be rid of her. Couldn’t push the wedding forward quick enough.”

  “He thought you’d keep her safe,” Sir Michael said.

  “And out of the way,” the duke reminded them.

  Eleanor studied the two walking ahead. “I tend to believe her father really did want his daughter to have a tour. She said so herself.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Quite a hodgepodge for any man to swallow,” Sir Michael said. “These have not been happy days for St. Martins.”


  And wouldn’t be, until they found the culprit…or rather, culprits. She knew who they were, she just wasn’t certain how many “theys” were in the mix.

  Worrisome.

  Worrisome, indeed.

  CHAPTER 26 ~ Gentlemen, My Wife

  He could not stop looking down the table at Caroline. His wife. In flesh as well as in name. No turning back from either. She would not be leaving with her uncle, and God save him, she would not go on the journey without him.

  He would have to keep her safe. Yet the situation seemed fully out of his control. He had guards, damn it. But that posed its own problem. He’d hired every available man, who was not mired in planting, to walk the forest. He had his own servants and Sir Michael’s minions watching the house. Their servants’ cousins, friends from other counties. Known to a few, but not to all. Too easy for a stranger to slip into the mix. Unacceptable.

  “No!” Caroline held firm. “We will not leave until the murderer is caught.”

  He studied Howlett. Calmer now, trying a different tack. “I didn’t mean to anger you, Caroline, but can’t you see what’s before you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I brought death to St. Martins.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Summerton snapped, earning a fierce glare.

  Did she believe she was solely responsible for all that had happened?

  Eleanor argued. “Apportioning blame is a foolish activity. If you fall from a ladder, do you blame the man who made the ladder? The tree the wood was taken from? Or the rain that watered the tree? Really! A ridiculously fruitless exercise.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Mr. Howlett dabbed his lips. “No one is trying to place blame. I just want to set matters right. You didn’t want the marriage, Caroline. I never should have pushed you, so back you come. To Manchester…”

  “No.” Summerton slapped the table, pulling all eyes to him. “We will not be separated.”

  Again, Howlett tried to soothe. “Now, now, your grace. Think of how selfish your words sound. One heiress is as good as another. You’ll be free to find one who wants you.”

  Did Howlett insult him intentionally?

  “Uncle Robert,” Caroline broke in. “You don’t understand. We are both settled to the match.”

  “Now, now, Caroline, neither of you chose this arrangement,” Howlett soothed.

  “Marriage, Howlett. Let’s call it what it is.” It was time to stop the foolish wrangling. “And you are very much mistaken on one count, Mr. Howlett. From the moment you brought her to my attention, I have been settled on Caroline. There could be no other.”

  Caroline put her fingers to her lips. He thought she might cry. That was not his intention.

  “As you’re being frank? Then let me be direct. We all know she is not a suitable duchess,” Howlett dabbed his lips with his serviette. “Not really.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “Well, she ain’t.”

  “Quite the contrary,” Eleanor interrupted. “Caroline has all the qualities of a duchess, a rare find in this day and age of self-indulgence.”

  “She stinks of trade!” Howlett argued. “And don’t pretend you don’t know the term.” He jabbed the air with his finger. “I just learned of it,” he appealed to Caroline, “after you was married. Heard people talking. They’ve no right. You deserve better.”

  “Oh, Uncle,” Caroline cried, and Summerton could see the man wrapping her up in his own misconceptions.

  “I learned how they treated you at school. Those girls with their hoity-toity airs, looking down their little noses at you, who could buy and sell them ten times over. You need…”

  “How can you know about school?” Caroline asked, bewildered.

  “Mr. Howlett,” Summerton challenged. “No one will ever look down on Caroline again. No one. She is my wife. The Duchess of Summerton.”

  “She’s good enough on her own!” Howlett barked.

  “But she isn’t on her own, is she?” Summerton told him.

  Howlett backed down. “I didn’t mean to imply she was. But I’m here for two reasons. Word is, it’s not safe here. And tongues are wagging that there will be an annulment.”

  Even the breeze, so prominent in this room with its leaks and drafts, stilled.

  “That would be impossible,” Summerton told him, dismissing the subject by dipping into his dessert.

  “Impossible?”

  Summerton looked to Caroline. “Much as it becomes you, you needn’t blush, my dear. In our station, dynasties depend on such information.”

  Howlett’s mouth worked like that of a fish on dry land.

  “Summerton.” Caroline’s blush deepened.

  Eleanor pinned her nephew with a glance. “We are not usually so crude as to speak of such things at the dinner table.”

  He’d let Howlett get the better of him. Or perhaps he just wanted to shout to the world that she was his. Either way, though he knew it was not well done of him, he wasn’t, truly, sorry. “My apologies, Aunt. Caroline, please forgive me.”

  “Well, then,” Sir Michael lifted his glass to the silence. “Perhaps we could turn to the port a bit early?”

  “Yes, of course.” Caroline nodded to a footman, who eased her chair back. “Shall we, Aunt?” she asked Eleanor.

  “She ain’t your aunt,” Howlett bit out with a little too much aggression.

  “She is, through marriage,” Summerton amended. The older man snorted, then lifted his glass and downed what was left in it.

  Hostilities simmering barely below the surface, the men joined the ladies after only one drink. Summerton headed for Caroline, who stood at the piano forte, tapping idly at the keys.

  “Do you play?” They were married, bonded for life, and there was still so much he didn’t know about her.

  She shook her head, “Not well enough to play in front of others. But I enjoy listening.”

  “Do you sing?”

  She shrugged, looking up at him through her lashes. “Passably.”

  Ah, she could sing. “I prefer vocalizing, myself.” He hesitated, not wanting to frighten her. “Caroline, will you stay close tonight? Where I can see you?”

  She lifted her face, leaned into his touch as he traced her cheek.

  “Are you…comfortable…after this afternoon?” he whispered, not knowing how to be more specific or delicate, but she must have understood, for she nodded, her cheek growing warmer.

  “You can’t go back to your rooms tonight.”

  Her eyes snapped to his, wide. Surprised.

  “Are you worried for my safety?” she asked, her voice low, intimate.

  He chuckled. “Yes, of course, but that’s not why I mentioned it.”

  Her blush deepened. He wanted her in his arms, to feel her softness pressed again him.

  Later.

  He sighed, stepped back. “We are poor hosts.” Which he didn’t care two figs about, except plans had been made. “Shall we join them?”

  She took his arm. Eleanor sat on the settee, needlework in her lap. Sir Michael beside her. Mr. Howlett stood looking out the French doors.

  “Care for a game of whist?” Summerton asked, no one in particular.

  “Not me, thank you,” Eleanor declined. “I’ve a bit of a headache.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Caroline said. “Does your abigail have something she gives you for that?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Eleanor promised.

  “If no one objects,” Howlett said. “I’ll just step outside.”

  Summerton had expected as much. Howlett was damn fond of his cheroot. “I’ll have a footman light a torch on the balcony.” He went to the bell pull.

  “No need,” Mr. Howlett said, and opened the door.

  “I’ll join him,” Caroline offered, lifting her shawl.

  “It’s been drizzling,” Eleanor warned. “I just checked.”

  “Not raining now,” Robert said from the threshold. “But suit yourself, little one. Wouldn’t wan
t you to catch a cold.”

  They watched as he crossed into darkness, clouds having obscured any hint of stars or moon.

  Summerton was unsettled by Caroline joining the man. Something wasn’t right. Eleanor sensed it, too, for she said, “A night like this, the rain comes and goes without warning.”

  Eleanor never let anything as mild as rain keep her from a walk.

  Summerton stood between the door and Caroline, unintentionally blocking her.

  Caroline sighed, possibly torn as well. “He manipulated me terribly, before the wedding,” she tried to explain in a soft voice. “Wrong as his methods may have been, it appears he did it for the best of reasons. I was so hateful at the end.” She looked to Summerfield. “This might be a good time to apologize.”

  “You’ll have plenty of opportunity,” Sir Michael suggested.

  “I’m not so certain of that. I think he means to leave in the morning, and who knows when we will next see each other,” she added.

  “You’ll be in communication about the mills, your father’s enterprises,” Summerton reminded her.

  Caroline shook her head. “Uncle Robert will never accept a woman interfering in business. Offends his manly sensibilities.”

  “A little too easily offended,” Sir Michael quipped.

  Caroline smiled at the baron. “So true, but I’ll be able to help. If Mr. Little is still the man of business, I’ll work through his people. They will speak with Mr. Little, who can make Uncle Robert think it’s just two men considering options.” She stepped reluctantly toward the door. “It’s such a dark night.”

  “He’ll understand if you don’t join him,” Eleanor eased.

  “Most probably,” Caroline agreed. “I’ll just walk a little way with him, talk.”

  “Don’t leave the path,” Eleanor admonished.

  “Don’t go out of sight,” Summerton added.

  He walked her to the doorway, to watch as she joined her uncle. Eleanor joined him. “We should have stopped her,” he said softly.

  “I dare say you are right.” Eleanor agreed. “I hadn’t accounted for this.”

  No one spoke, all deep in thought, until Eleanor said, “You should follow them, Summerton. It would be prudent to make sure no mischief happens.”