by Anne Stuart
"No doubt you are. You might remember that Adolphus Wingert's eyes are also blue. It shouldn't be too much longer now. Surely you can hold out a few more days."
"I suppose so," she replied with a sigh, rising with leisurely grace from the bed. "So Miss Traherne's name is Elizabeth. I wonder that you should commit it to memory."
There was no expression on the tanned, handsome face. "Wonder away," he said affably.
"She's a nice girl. Far too lively for this crowd and far too nice for a conscienceless rogue like you, Michael Fraser."
"If you had put that pretty shell-pink ear a little closer to the door, you would have heard me trying to get rid of her," he said mildly.
"I heard enough. You forget I've known you for at least five years. You may be able to fool yourself, but you aren't about to fool me."
Michael rose to his full six feet two. "You know, Leonora, I think you're quite right. It is past time you retired. You're beginning to become prey to the most alarming fancies. I should warn you, however. It wouldn't do to underestimate friend Adolphus. I have the vague suspicion he's not the amiable buffoon he appears to be."
"You don't think he's involved?" she said sharply, suddenly all business.
"I haven't made up my mind yet. He could bear some watching, however. I get the impression there's a great deal more brain behind that somewhat asinine expression."
Leonora smiled sweedy. "And it would behoove you to take Miss Traherne a bit more seriously. Sumner Traherne may be a charming idiot, but that girl has a head on her shoulders."
Michael nodded. "I'll do my best to avoid her."
"That might be the wisest course. It would be extremely unfortunate if she were to stick that well-shaped nose of hers someplace where it didn't belong. Were she to come across the wrong sort of information, drastic steps would be taken, Michael."
"Leave the drastic steps to me, my dear contessa." His voice slid ironically around her title. "You have enough of your own to keep you busy." He took her slender, silk- clad arm in one hand and led her gendy, inexorably to the door.
She accepted her congé with good grace. Looking up at him out of thickly lashed eyes, she sighed soulfully. "I could wish this were all over with."
"It will be soon enough," he said with a noticeable lack of sympathy, giving her a gentle shove through the door. "In the meantime try to be a bit more circumspect. I don't have quite as much faith as you have in your powers of dissimulation."
"You're a sweet boy," she said impishly, reaching up and kissing him swiftly on one lean cheek.
The door closed behind her, and she moved swiftly down the hallway on silent feet. But despite Fraser's doubts, she was fully aware of the silent closing of the door at the end of the hall, and she uttered a silent curse beneath her breath. First thing tomorrow she must find out who was stationed in that distant bedroom and who would have seen her kissing Sir Maurice's handsome adjutant somewhere past midnight in the door of his bedroom. He was right; she was getting far too slipshod. Thank heavens it was almost over.
Saturday
Chapter 6
Elizabeth awoke as usual shortly after dawn. It took her a moment or two to remember where she was in the first light, and she squinted around the lofty proportions of her bedchamber with a curious sense of excited anticipation. The source of that excitement escaped her memory as she climbed out of bed and dashed across the icy floor to the meager warmth of the banked fire. Then she looked at the wall and remembered the room beyond with its infuriating and mysterious occupant.
She dressed swiftly in a warm wool dress of dark blue with few enough buttons to allow her to manage on her own. Arranging her chestnut hair in attractive, loose coils, she went off in search of coffee, her slippered feet silent in the empty halls.
It was too early for breakfast to be set up, and so with an unerring instinct and her excellent sense of smell Elizabeth found her way to the busy basement kitchen, where fresh-brewed coffee and an assortment of cinnamon buns still warm from the oven awaited her. The temperamental French chef who was Adolphus's pride and joy was still sleeping the sleep of the just, and in his place was the warm, comfortable figure of Mrs. Kingpin, whose greatest joy was to feed a hungry young lady.
"It's a treat to see you again, Miss Elizabeth," she said fondly. "I was telling that Moosewer Peeyair that we don't see enough of you here at Winfields."
"Don't be getting any ideas, Mrs. Kingpin. I have no intention of taking up residence," Elizabeth said hastily, reaching for a cinnamon bun.
The older woman's flushed face crinkled in disappointment. "Then there's to be no match between you and Sir Adolphus?"
"No match. Can you imagine what his mother would say?" she questioned with a trace of mischief.
"I can indeed. But we at Winfields have learned that it's Sir Adolphus who has the final say when it all comes down to brass tacks. Lady Eifreda can fuss and fume all she wants; Sir Adolphus gets his way."
"He has more than Lady Eifreda to contend with this time," Elizabeth replied, taking a deep drink of the hot, rich coffee. Sumner considered it unpatriotic not to drink tea, but Elizabeth had a passion for the strong brew that was Mrs. Kingpin's specialty. "I have no desire for the match, either. Why wouldn't Brenna do?"
Mrs. Kingpin shook her head. "He won't have any part of her. She's not a bad girl, either, though with that temper of hers and her headstrong ways she might have a bit of trouble. But she'll make someone a fine wife." Mrs. Kingpin's face was deliberately bland.
"Someone like my brother Sumner?" Elizabeth questioned calmly.
"There has been some mention of that possibility," the cook admitted. "She's very good at managing a house, Miss Elizabeth, and she's got a nice touch with the staff. The vicar could do a lot worse."
"You don't have to convince me. It's Sumner who'll do the deciding. As far as I'm concerned, she has my blessing." She drained the thick kitchen mug and held it out for more. "Tell me, Mrs. Kingpin, do you know anything about Michael Fraser?"
"Is that the young gentleman with Sir Maurice? This is the first time he's been here. I gather he's under a bit of a cloud, but he seems like a nice enough gentleman. Has a lovely smile, he does."
"A smile?" Elizabeth echoed.
"And beautiful manners. Always a kind word for the staff. Why, no one minded his questions in the least, so courteous he was in his manner of asking."
"Questions?" Elizabeth's ears pricked up. "What sort of questions?"
"Oh, nothing terribly exciting. He wanted to know about the various entrances and exits to Winfields and whether there'd been any strangers about, and was there any spot a person could hide where he wouldn't be discovered. I presume it had to do with Sir Maurice. We were as helpful as we could be, Miss Elizabeth."
"I'm sure you were," she said grimly.
"He was particularly interested in you, Miss Elizabeth, if you don't mind my saying so. Wanted to know all about that poor drowned Frenchy you found and whether it was a habit of yours to go wandering down by the ocean alone. It seems to me, miss, that he's fair taken with you. Happen he might have an accidental assignation in mind."
Elizabeth's palms were damp with sudden panic. The thought of that cool, aloof soldier asking about her failed to fill her with conceit. He might very well have something outwardly accidental in mind, but she doubted it was a romantic assignation such as Mrs. Kingpin imagined. She cleared her dry throat nervously. "Perhaps" was all she vouchsafed. "What did he want to know about the French sailor?"
"Oh, whether anyone else was seen around the body, whether a ship was seen in the vicinity, that sort of thing." Mrs. Kingpin shrugged. "He also asked whether anyone thought the sailor's death might have been something more than an accident." She shook her graying head. "Such a morbid streak for such a nice young man."
"And what did you tell him?" Elizabeth asked casually, sipping her coffee.
"Why, the truth, of course. That there was nothing the slightest bit suspicious about the entire thin
g. He was just some poor sailor washed overboard during a storm. Unpleasant for you to have to find him, but you've got plenty of pluck, miss, and so I told him: 'Miss Elizabeth wouldn't be the son to go all faint at the sight of a dead man. If there'd been anyone around, she would have seen him.' That's what I told him. And didn't Sir Adolphus himself hold an inquiry, as is his duty as justice of the peace, and declare that everything was at it seemed?"
"Of course." Elizabeth agreed faintly, remembering only too well. She remembered Adolphus's absolute refusal to hear her observations on the matter, blandly ignoring any conflicting evidence, such as the disparity between the rough seaman's clothing and the white, fine- boned hands that had never known a day's hard labor. It was no ordinary sailor Elizabeth had found washed up on the beach at Starfield Cove, his neck at an ominous angle. But no one would listen to her conjectures, and she eventually gave up, missing Jeremy more than ever. He, at least, would have listened to her. Adolphus's belated doubts, confided to her last evening, were too little, too late.
"You don't seem to care for Captain Fraser, miss. He seemed like a very charming gentleman to me," Mrs. Kingpin offered hesitantly.
"Are we talking about the same man?" Elizabeth mused. "The Michael Fraser I met was cold, grim, and rude. I don't think he even knows how to smile." Except in that odiously disturbing way as she stood in front of him with her dress falling off, she amended silently.
"Maybe you went about it in the wrong way. I can't imagine a gentleman being immune to your charms, Miss Elizabeth. If you'd just smile up at him, I have no doubt he'll respond."
"I've tried it several times, Mrs. Kingpin. For some reason he seems to have taken me in dislike."
"Well, it could be that you remind him of his past. He might well have a broken heart; I've heard of such things." Mrs. Kingpin sighed sentimentally and dabbed at an eye with the corner of her capacious apron. "That can often explain a gentleman's moodiness."
"Who has a broken heart?" Brenna's bright voice broke in. "Not Elizabeth, I trust?" There was a malicious gleam in her large green eyes.
"Not I, Brenna. I have a heart of flint; ask anyone. We were discussing the mysterious Captain Fraser. Mrs. Kingpin will have it that I might resemble one of his lost loves."
"I doubt it," Brenna said shortly, taking the seat at the scrubbed kitchen table that Mrs. Kingpin had deserted and accepting a cup of tea.
"How very flattering you are," Elizabeth said in dulcet tones when the kitchen helpers were out of hearing.
"I would have thought you'd prefer to know where I stand," she replied in a sharp voice.
"I would love to know where you stand. I'm afraid I haven't quite figured it out yet. If it's my brother's hand and heart you're interested in, I must tell you that you have my blessing."
"You'll have to give me leave to doubt that," Brenna said cynically.
"Why in the world should you? There is nothing I would like better than to be released from my sisterly duties. I've always expected him to marry sooner or later, and you seem as good a candidate as any. Provided you care just a tiny bit for him."
"I love him!" Brenna shot back, and Elizabeth had no reason to doubt the vehemence of the claim.
"But for heaven's sake why?" she questioned curiously. "He's very handsome, of course, but not clever or terribly wealthy. As a matter of fact, he's a charming, pompous bore with the saving grace of having a kind heart. Why should you be in love with him?"
"I happen to consider a kind heart rather a high priority," Brenna said with great dignity. "And you needn't insult him to try and convince me that you aren't monstrously possessive. Sumner has told me how you've determined to devote your life to him. I suppose when a woman fails to find a husband, there's nothing else for her to do but try to smother the only other men in her life with mindless devotion. It's really rather touching, but I will have to teli you, Elizabeth, that he doesn't need it. Not with me by his side. You can devote yourself to your brother Jeremy when he returns."
Elizabeth took a deep, calming breath, controlling her temper and saving it for her conceited idiot brother. "Are you by his side?" she inquired mildly. "Has he made you an offer?"
"He is about to," Brenna shot back.
Elizabeth hesitated for only a moment and then put her hand on Brenna's tightly clenched one. "I mean it, Brenna. You have my blessing. And you needn't worry that I'd continue to live with you. If Jeremy doesn't need me, I thought of setting up house on my own with my old governess for a companion. Your marriage would give me the excuse I've always needed."
"Sumner will never let you," Brenna said warily.
"Despite what folderol Sumner might have told you, I control my money and my life, not him. I would like us to be friends, Brenna." Warm brown eyes looked into angry green ones for a long moment. "And I will be delighted to dance at your wedding."
A hesitant smile curved Brenna's mouth. "All right. I wouldn't be minding dancing at my own wedding one bit. If we can just keep that harridan at bay. Sumner could barely keep his eyes off the great vulgar creature."
"The contessa' Sumner?" Elizabeth laughed. "I wouldn't worry if I were you. If Sumner is fool enough to prefer her to you, then he wasn't worth the bother in the first place."
"That's easy for you to say."
"I suppose it is. But I know my brother well enough to know that any foolishness on his part will be short-lived. He has a remarkable capacity for self-protection, and he'll know well enough where his future comfort will lie. In the meantime I'll do my best to keep them apart, but you'll have to take it from there. I shouldn't doubt you'll be able to bring him up to scratch before we leave here."
"You'd do that for me?" Brenna breathed.
"For you, and for Sumner. And for myself, too."
Her hand paused over another cinnamon bun, her mind went back to Michael Fraser, and she restrained herself, holding out her hand to Brenna instead. After a final moment's hesitation, the Irish girl shook it, smiling up at her future sister-in-law uncertainly.
"And if you ever need any help, Elizabeth . . ."
"I will let you know. And it may be sooner than you think."
Chapter 7
Tbere was a stiff breeze blowing that morning, tossing the newly budded branches wildly overhead and drying the dew-spangled grounds until the flagstones and the beckoning grasses glistened in the bright sunlight. As Elizabeth stared out the library windows, she had little doubt that it would be hours before the others arose from their slothful beds, and glad she was of it. There wasn't a single member of this oddly assorted houseparty with whom she cared to spend more time, with the possible exception of the mysterious and charming contessa. As for Michael Fraser, he could sleep till doomsday for ail she cared. And probably would, she thought impatiently, wrapping the black silk shawl closer around her and opening the French door. The wind tried to snap it shut in her face, but Elizabeth was nothing if not determined. With a tierce word and a yank she opened it again and slipped out into the windy sunshine.
It was not precisely the weather or the circumstances for a casual walk. Ladies usually strolled the afternoon, accompanied by a maid, a footman, or several other ladies of similar tastes, with parasols over their heads to shade them from the sun and not a breath of wind in the sky. Elizabeth wrapped the black shawl around her head to keep the stiff breeze from yanking her chestnut hair out of its loose pinnings and strode determinedly onward, head down into the wind, her dark blue skirts swirling around her long legs.
"Contessa!" a voice hissed from the underbrush. Elizabeth halted her headlong pace, staring about her. She was at the edge of the second terraced lawn, and at this hour not a soul was in sight. The noise came again, the hissed sibilants sounding not unlike her own name.
"Yes?" she replied uncertainly, peering through the boxwood thicket. "Who is it?" She had unconsciously lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper.
"Who the 'ell do you think it is?" the voice came back irritably as a short, crafty-looking man in mol
eskin trousers and greasy weskit rose up out of the underbrush. "Who else would yer worship be expecting at an hour past daybreak in this 'ere bleedin' garden? I thought you weren't coming."
Elizabeth stared, fascinated. "But I'm not who you—" She broke it off, cursing her own ready honesty.
She had nothing to worry about. The small man let out a short bark of laughter. "Oh, you're not, are you? And why else would a lady of the house, dressed in black, be taking a walk at seven-thirty in the morning on such a windy day if not to meet with Wat Simpkin, may I ask?" he snorted. "I don't blame ye for being careful, Contessa, but I ain't got time to waste."
Elizabeth did her best to look knowledgeable. "Of course," she murmured, pulling the shawl more closely about her.
"First of all, I've got a message for himself from Mr. Fredericks. He's to come down to Starfield Cove this afternoon if he doesn't want certain people to find out what happened there last month."
"What did happen?" Elizabeth found herself asking.
Wat Simpkin's begrimed face creased in an expression of exasperation, and he spat. "Don't come all innocent with me, yer worship. You know as well as I that spying, conniving LeBoeuf met his untimely end down there. Helped along by a mutual acquaintance of ours. Fredericks don't want anyone getting wind of that spot of helpfulness, so he says for me to tell you to send 'is nibs down there, and we'll see what we can do. Any luck finding the paper?"