Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  Chapter Thirty

  The night of the ball was warm and fine. William decided the charming character of a duelist would be both romantic and practical as a costume. He could wear a sword with a small, single-shot pistol tucked into his waistband and would, therefore, be well-armed. Dressing entirely in black, with jet buttons and a black silk half-mask, would appeal to women, he thought as he stared at his reflection in the hall mirror before leaving for the Archers’ ball.

  It was just too bad that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  His thoughts strayed to Sarah and the way her soft mouth had felt… He cared about only one woman. Her.

  He thrust the memory away.

  The black was practical, not romantic. He could hide in the shadows more easily, and he was armed. Archer also indicated he would have a pistol somewhere handy, as well as a knife in his sash. He would be dressed as a Caribbean pirate.

  The event was not precisely a costume ball. However, after much persuasion, Lady Victoria agreed that in addition to the masks, a few guests, specifically William and her husband, could wear clothing that would let them carry additional weaponry that was not simply decorative.

  The ball started at nine.

  William arrived early and surveyed the rooms prepared to receive guests. There was a buffet supper scheduled for midnight in the dining room, dancing in the large salon on the first floor, and card tables set up in the small sitting room across from the ballroom.

  As arranged, the Archers had included an extra note in the duke’s invitation, telling him that they were in possession of something he may have lost in 1806. The items would be returned, if he could identify them. He would have the opportunity to do so privately at half past midnight in the library on the ground floor.

  William remained uneasy about the entire affair. Accusing a duke was not something one normally wished to do, although it helped that the Archers were also related to a duke. Nonetheless, if they were left with their word against his, the outcome would not be pleasant.

  Tension made William restless, although there was precious little he could do but wait. He repeatedly walked through all the rooms, searching for vulnerabilities. In the library, he drew the heavy brocade curtains and slipped into the alcove behind them as a test. There was plenty of room without a betraying bulge in the draperies.

  He only hoped the duke would give himself away and end Lady Sarah’s nightmare.

  When he returned to the ballroom, he found it filling rapidly. The guests were chatting excitedly about the unexpected return of Lady Sarah, and there was a lot of speculative gossip whispered in the corners. Archer tried to scotch rumors by spreading the story that she had been sent abroad to Switzerland to recover after the horrors of losing her family. The majority apparently chose to believe she had been locked away in a sanitarium, raving mad, for the last thirteen years after the fire destroyed her reason.

  William glanced around, seeking his host. John Archer was easy to identify in a scarlet mask, crimson jacket, and red damask waistcoat trimmed in gold. A wide gold sash held a brace of pistols at his waist, as well as a sword. William stared harder and chuckled. No ordinary sword for Archer—he carried a curved, elaborately carved scimitar.

  The two ladies of the household swept down the staircase together a few minutes after nine. A more fanciful man would have imagined them to be sea nymphs, still glittering damply from the ocean waves. Lady Victoria was dressed in gray, overlaid with silver gauze that sparkled with diamonds like drops of water amidst the folds.

  Next to her, Sarah was arrayed in a deep blue gown trimmed with pearls that glimmered like the pale smoothness of her bosom. A ruff of silver lace encircled her neck. Her upper face was hidden by a mask of blue velvet trimmed with seed pearls, and her eyes glittered with excitement through the slits.

  William had never seen her more desirable. His heart hammered. He watched, motionless, as she turned away and glided into the crowd.

  Then he forced himself to look away. She wasn’t smiling for him, and it was his duty to watch others this evening, not her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Uncle John told Sarah not to go into the library. And at the time, she meekly agreed to obey him, trying desperately to fit the mold of the perfect young lady. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite carry it off. She had no intention of missing the opportunity to witness the downfall of the man who had tried to kill her. So, she slipped out of the ball and went downstairs to the forbidden library, relieved to get away from the dancing.

  Her feet were in agony after countless men trying to waltz had stepped on them. She could only hope their shins were equally sore after she inadvertently kicked them with almost every step.

  “Mr. Trenchard?” she whispered, rubbing her left foot over her right. Her toes ached. To her disgust, the room appeared to be empty. “Are you here?”

  “Who are you?” a thin man with glasses asked, rising from a chair by the fire.

  “Lady Sarah,” she replied, startled. “Who are you?”

  “Mr. Athelby, secretary to the Duke of Rother.”

  She glanced around uneasily. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have an appointment. If you’re looking for the retiring room, I suggest you ask one of the servants.” He stared at her with cold eyes.

  “I don’t have need of the retiring room,” she replied with abrupt loathing. Something about the man set her teeth on edge. “I have an appointment.”

  He laughed. “An assignation? You’ll have to go elsewhere to meet your lover.”

  “It’s not that sort of appointment.”

  He studied her and then straightened. “You’re that Lady Sarah? The daughter of the Marquess of Longmoor?”

  “Yes, I am.” Sarah’s chin rose. For the first time, she felt a sense of pride. “Now, please leave—I don’t have time for idle conversation.”

  “Well, I had expected a man, but no matter. Apparently, neither of us knew exactly who we were meeting.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Sarah said. The muscles in her shoulders stiffened, but she managed to keep from glancing at either the door or the curtained alcove where William was supposed to be hidden. This was all a tragic mistake. Surely, this pathetic little man did not have the nerve to murder anyone.

  “The papers, you simpering idiot. I’m here for the papers.” He held out his hand.

  “What papers?” she asked. Her eyes flicked back to the curtains. Surely, she was not alone.

  “Hand me the papers, woman!” Mr. Athelby said. He raised a dueling pistol.

  Sarah stared at the gun. A chill slid over her, freezing her in place. She trembled, but managed to reach clumsy fingers into her reticule. She pulled out the only packet she had. It was a small sheaf of very thin papers folded over. Each one held a tiny amount of rice powder. Lady Victoria said Sarah should carry them in case she needed to powder her nose. She couldn’t imagine requiring them.

  She handed him the packet.

  Still pointing his weapon at her heart, he shook them open with one hand. He sneezed and glanced at the innermost sheet as a puff of powder settled around him, coating his sleeve and waistcoat.

  “Blank!” He swore and threw the sheets toward the fire. With an impatient hand, he dusted the powder off his sleeve. “Where are they?”

  “What?” she asked, praying for inspiration. The men had abandoned her. She would have to do something if she wasn’t going to die.

  “The invoices!”

  “Invoices?”

  Mr. Athelby took one of the pillows from a nearby chair and held it in front of his pistol. “Don’t you remember?”

  “No—I—”

  He pulled the trigger. The shot, muffled by the pillow, brushed the silver lace at her neckline. Her hand flew up to her throat. The bullet had just missed her right earlobe. She could still feel the stinging warmth.

  He pulled out a second pistol. “Now, perhaps you’ll remember. Where are they?”

  “What assuran
ces do I have that once I hand them to you, you won’t simply shoot me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

  “You should have considered that before you arranged this meeting, Lady Sarah. Now give me the papers and have done with it. I won’t ask again.”

  “I will—I promise. But I beg of you—I must know one thing. Why? Why did you try to kill me?”

  “You truly don’t remember?” he asked in an incredulous tone.

  “No—I…” She rubbed her scarred temple, almost forgetting whom she faced. Then she gazed at him with wide eyes as she struggled to grasp wispy, smoke-colored memories. “It was you! You were there at Elderwood the night of the fire! I—I saw you run behind the house.”

  “Ah, there you are. Now you see why I can’t leave you to wander around London. I’m very sorry, Lady Sarah.”

  When Athelby raised the second pistol and pressed it into the cushion, she heard the floor creak. Her uncle stepped out from behind the curtains.

  “Athelby!” he said.

  As he spoke, the French doors at the rear of the library opened. The Duke of Rother, followed by William, stepped inside.

  “That is enough, Athelby,” the duke said, his tone harsh. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Your Grace!” Athelby swung around. “I—”

  Sarah ran across the room to William. He put a heavy arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She leaned against him, glad to feel his strength and warmth against her. Slowly, her icy trembling quieted.

  He hadn’t abandoned her after all.

  With a sigh of relief, Sarah glanced up at William’s handsome face. He smiled brilliantly down at her before drawing her even closer.

  “Excuse me,” he whispered, easing her away long enough to retrieve a packet of papers from his pocket.

  Uncle John crossed the room with an arch smile. He took the documents from William and waved them in the air.

  The duke’s expression darkened. He motioned to Uncle John and held out his hand in a preemptory gesture to indicate he wished to see the documents. Her uncle handed them to the duke. After a stern glance at his secretary, he glanced through the invoices with his mouth in a tight line.

  “Athelby, explain these to me,” the duke said at last.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

  “Quit apologizing and present me with your explanation. Immediately!”

  “I believe he may have sold some less-than-fresh supplies to the military,” William said when Athelby seemed reluctant to speak.

  “I had to...You don’t understand—” Athelby stammered.

  “Not to mention the bodies he provided to the physicians’ college,” Uncle John interrupted. “I take it the duke was a trifle short, financially?”

  “Short? I have never had any financial difficulties. What is the meaning of this, Athelby? Do you know what they are talking about?” the duke asked coldly.

  Uncle John cocked his head and stared at the duke. “Are you sure you weren’t having fiscal difficulties?”

  The duke studied first Uncle John, then William, and finally, Sarah. “Well, Athelby?”

  “The Marquess of Longmoor hired a number of your former staff in 1804,” William said. “They claimed you had defaulted on their wages. I should say that was fairly indicative of financial difficulties. If you’ll excuse me for saying so, Your Grace.”

  “What?” the duke asked, his face livid with anger.

  “And I believe Mr. Athelby may have kept the situation from you, Your Grace,” William said.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Athelby replied before turning to William. His face contorted with anger and fear. “His Grace never knew. I—I borrowed some funds from the household accounts. I thought I could pay them back. But I never seemed to be able to collect the money. Then the staff started to complain. When a few left, I had to do something.”

  “You stole? From me?” the duke asked. His voice was calm and controlled, but there was a second of ominous quiet underlining his questions.

  “I never meant for it to go so far—I never expected….” Athelby’s voice trailed off. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

  The duke stared at Athelby with an awful look brooding in his dark eyes. “And the fire?”

  “I had to. Major Pickering traced the grain shipments to us. He was going to go to the authorities, with the backing of the Marquess. I had to protect myself—us! I had to protect us!”

  “My daughter died in that fire!” the duke’s voice ground out slowly as he struggled for control. His hands clenched around the papers. “I thought you loved her—you begged me to allow you to pay your addresses to her. How could you murder her in that fire?”

  “She was about to betray me—it would have blackened both of our names! Think of the scandal!” Athelby grimaced and continued, saying bitterly, “And it wasn’t me she loved. She fancied herself in love with that major—Pickering. She stole those papers and took them to Elderwood, intending to give them to the major. She betrayed you, Your Grace!”

  “No. She acted with honor. You are the one who betrayed me.” The duke turned his shoulder to his secretary in disgust.

  “And when you discovered Major Pickering hadn’t died, and that he had even arranged to meet a survivor from the fire, you killed him,” William said. “And then you tried to kill Lady Sarah because she had the proof and had seen you the night of the fire.”

  “Yes,” Athelby said, trying to move around to face his employer. The duke refused to look at him. “I did it to protect you, Your Grace!”

  The duke made a gesture as if to push Athelby out of his sight. “Stop searching for excuses. You did it to protect yourself. I am deeply ashamed of you, Athelby, and myself. I will have to face the victims—take responsibility for your reprehensible actions. And to think I allowed you to remain in my home all these years.” His voice broke, and he waved Athelby away. “Get him out of my sight.”

  William rang for a footman. When he came, William gave him orders to lock Athelby in the pantry and then send for the constable.

  The duke, his lined face gray and drawn with grief, sat heavily in one of the armchairs flanking the fireplace. He stared hopelessly into the flames. With a quick glance in his direction, William pulled Sarah forward. They joined Uncle John, who lounged near the door.

  “How did you happen to bring the duke here?” Uncle John asked. “How did you know he was not the murderer?”

  “He made no attempt to leave the card room at the appointed time. In fact, I had the devil of a time convincing him to come with me,” William replied softly. “I realized then that not only was he not involved, but in addition, he was completely unaware of what was happening under his very nose.”

  “He must have been aware—he got the note in his invitation—didn’t he?” Sarah asked, confused. She clung to William’s arm, afraid he would abandon her now.

  “In fact, no. Athelby made sure of that. It wasn’t just me he prevented from speaking to the duke,” William said. “He stopped any piece of information that might have alerted the duke to the fact that he had embezzled funds. Or that he then committed a series of crimes to pay back what he stole. The worst of it was murdering everyone at Elderwood that night, simply because the duke’s daughter had arranged to meet Major Pickering and hand over what she had found. I gather the two of them were also planning to elope.”

  When William paused, Uncle John’s knowing gaze flickered briefly over Sarah’s face.

  She felt bereft.

  After a moment, William said, “The marquess apparently agreed to help them, although that is only conjecture at this point.”

  Uncle John shook his head. “My brother-in-law never indicated to us that he had any suspicions. He said he was helping two young lovers and hoped his neighbor, the duke, would not take it amiss.”

  “But Major Pickering survived—” Sarah said.

  “He must have been late,” Willi
am answered, giving her waist a squeeze. “Too late to save her or anyone in the house.”

  The duke stood, rubbing his face. “I can’t believe he would do such a thing. Why, at one time he courted my daughter—my youngest child. He said he loved her. How could he do such a beastly thing to her over a few pounds? Why not come to me and admit his error like a man?”

  “He feared for his position. And I suspect your daughter’s affection and preference for Major Pickering may have sealed her fate—along with the fate of everyone at Elderwood,” William replied gently. “He must have felt doubly betrayed when she not only spurned his advances, but also took proof of his crimes to her beau.”

  The duke’s tired face grew even paler as he asked, “Why did she not tell me?”

  “Would you have listened?” Uncle Archer replied softly.

  The duke was silent for a moment. Then he blinked and straightened. “Well, it is over now. We know what happened, although I almost wish we did not. I—I will have to take responsibility, of course.” The duke offered his hand to William. “Thank you for your assistance. I will not forget it. And Mr. Archer, I think I would like to find Her Grace and go home. The next few weeks will not be pleasant, though they have to be faced.”

  There was nothing any of them could say. The duke’s statement was all too plainly correct.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “I’ll arrange for your carriage.” Uncle John nodded to William and escorted the duke out of the library.

  Alone with Sarah, William turned to find her staring up at him, her gray eyes wide and troubled.

  “Are you sure you are unharmed?” he asked, gently moving her into the candlelight to examine her neck and shoulder. “I thought I heard a shot, before we came in.”

  “You did—but he never hit me. I suppose he wasn’t trying. He only wanted to scare me.”

  “And you were very brave, Sarah—Lady Sarah.” His eyes roved over her dear face, trying to memorize every line, every expression. Time was short now that she was Lady Sarah again. After tonight, he would never see her again.