Still Wicked

by Ayers, Kathleen

  At a loss as to how to repair things after speaking to her in the garden, Spence had behaved badly. It was never a good thing to allow his pain to evolve into anger, all of which he had unfairly directed at Elizabeth.

  He drank. Gambled. Brawled, uncaring whether one of Jeanette’s inept assassins would find him. In the past, he’d also sought comfort with a succession of bed partners, but he had no interest in other women. Spence blamed Elizabeth for that, too. She’d ruined him. He’d even contemplated returning to the ministry to ask for a post in some far-flung shithole of the British Empire. Nothing worked. There wasn’t enough liquor in all of England to dull the loss of Elizabeth.

  Dolly threatened to lock Spence in his rooms if he didn’t sober up. There was a stack of letters, several from Cambourne House, which needed to be read. His Grace, the Duke of Dunbar, demanded he come to his senses. Porter refused to drive him anywhere.

  When Elizabeth had been gone a week, Spence awoke with a clear head. He worked in his study. Called on his cousin. Read Cambourne’s latest updates on his investigation into the death of Herbert Reynolds and the search for Jeanette.

  After handling all pressing business matters, he’d gone into her suite of rooms, determined to sit quietly and miss his wife. He was so bloody lonely without her. Their one brief conversation, when he’d been so drunk he couldn’t see straight, hadn’t gone well. Ass that he was, Spence had allowed her to think he’d been with another woman, wanting to hurt her. A punishment for rejecting him.

  An enormous armoire stood in the corner of the room, one door partially open. Her maid hadn’t shut it tightly in her hurry to pack Elizabeth’s things. Bertie must have been positively giddy at Elizabeth’s return to her brother. The maid detested him, and rightly so. He’d walked over and opened the armoire, inhaling Elizabeth’s scent, aching for her. A line of dresses and gowns hung neatly inside the armoire. His fingers had trailed lightly over each one. Strange, she hadn’t taken them all.

  Spence had next opened a drawer. The space within had been filled with a variety of chemises. Stockings. A book on gardening her grandmother had given her. The fabric samples she’d insisted would be perfect for his rooms after originally telling him she wouldn’t change anything.

  Hope had filled him at the sight of her things. Perhaps all was not lost. She hadn’t taken everything, nor much more than what would be required for an extended stay. And this morning, among the stack of letters he’d ignored, was a note from the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne.

  “Are you well, my lord?” Porter interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to the present and the matter of the dead man lying at Spence’s feet. “Should I tidy things up?”

  “Thank you, Porter. Your assistance would be most welcome.” Spence clapped his driver on the arm. “Be discreet.”

  Porter looked affronted that Spence would suggest otherwise. “Of course, my lord.”

  “Looks like a common street thug.” He waited for Porter’s opinion.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I don’t believe he was after your purse. My neck’s been prickling for weeks.” Porter looked down the dark but busy street. “The carriage is being watched. You are being watched.”

  Spence nodded, trusting the driver’s instincts. The feeling of being observed had intensified over the last week. Jeanette Reynolds’s determination to end his life had not abated. He planned to mention such to Cambourne tonight, whom he’d promised to meet at White’s. Then he had a ball to attend.

  Cambourne had written Spence of the death of Sister Abigail, the nun who’d written to her sister and inadvertently informed Jeanette of Elizabeth’s whereabouts. The nun’s body had been found on the rocks below a rise of steep cliffs several miles from St. Albans. Sister Abigail had disappeared after selling honey at the market in the nearby village with no trace. But now he knew the nun’s last name, which she hadn’t used since taking her vows. Croft.

  Spence entered White’s and scanned the large room, looking for the Marquess of Cambourne. Absently, his fingers touched the note in his coat pocket from Elizabeth’s grandmother. After he spoke to Cambourne, Spence was going to collect his wife and bring her home, whether she wished it or not. But he thought she did want to come home, at least according to the Dowager Marchioness.

  Cambourne was bound to be unhappy at the thought of Elizabeth returning to her husband. But Spence didn’t give a shit about his brother-in-law’s opinion. Their relationship was never going to be cordial.

  Spotting a massive set of shoulders sitting far above the top of a chair, Spence made his way over, recognizing his cousin and Lord Malden, as well as Cambourne. Malden was married to Arabella, Nick’s sister.

  “Malden. I didn’t expect to see you, nor you, Your Grace.” Spence greeted Malden and Nick. He nodded politely to Cambourne.

  “My sister is a holy terror at the moment as the end of her confinement grows near,” Nick chuckled. “I offered Malden a brief respite lest he be skewered by a hatpin or have a chamber pot tossed at his head, as he did yesterday.”

  “It wasn’t a chamber pot.” Malden sipped at his drink, giving Nick a sideways glance. “You’re embellishing, Your Grace. Merely a glass figurine I was only too happy to see shattered. Something hideous my mother foisted on Bella.” He gave Kelso a shrug. “A minor disagreement.”

  Spence liked Malden, though he didn’t know him well. According to Nick, Malden’s charming, affable personality hid a ruthless nature and shrewd business acumen. All of which doubtless came in handy when dealing with Arabella.

  “You should watch your back, Malden,” Nick said with a smile. “I’m just becoming used to you as a member of the family and would hate to lose you.”

  “Not to worry.” Malden inclined his head. “Bella has poor aim.”

  Spence sat down in the empty chair and waved at a passing servant. “Scotch.”

  “I did wonder if you had changed your mind about coming this evening.” He took in Spence’s evening clothes. “Going somewhere else? A ball, perhaps?”

  He glared at his cousin, not wanting to discuss his marriage, especially not in front of her brother. “I had a small delay. I ran into someone who wished to cut my throat.” He deliberately ignored Nick’s other question. It was none of his bloody business.

  Nick sat up, giving him a curious look. “Unfortunate.”

  “Apparently, someone wants to make Elizabeth a widow.” He took his scotch from the servant’s outstretched hand and shot Cambourne a look. Mainly to annoy the marquess, which Spence always found amusing. Cambourne had been present when Jeanette had made her threat.

  Cambourne raised a brow, and snorted, the small bit of jade he wore dangling from his ear. “I believe Jeanette told my sister she’d look marvelous in black. Not a direct threat,” he looked at Spence, “but she likes to be dramatic. At any rate, you’ve nothing to worry about.” Cambourne crossed his legs. “She spent years trying to kill me and didn’t succeed. Hires the most incompetent thugs one can imagine. A man of your skills has little to fear.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Spence took a swallow of his scotch, thinking how much he’d like to punch the smug look off Cambourne’s pretty face. What was it about the marquess that had grown women sighing over him at every turn? “What news did you wish to impart about your stepmother’s whereabouts?” Spence knew from talking to Elizabeth that Cambourne detested being reminded of his relationship to Jeanette. He’d almost said ‘mother’ but didn’t want to arrive at the Quartermaine ball bloodied from a fight.

  A tic appeared in Cambourne’s cheek, the only indication of his displeasure. “McMannish found most of Herbert’s former servants had disappeared from the area, probably paid off by Langford or possibly Jeanette herself. She did inherit his estate since Herbert had no children. McMannish managed to find the doctor who examined Herbert and signed the death certificate.”

  “And?” Kelso asked. “What information did the doctor impart?”

  “Not much. He w
as dead,” Cambourne returned. “Broken neck after slipping down the stairs of his recently purchased house. As he was leaving the village, McMannish was approached by a Mrs. Laurent. She’d heard he was poking around Herbert’s estate and told him what she knew.”

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, Cam.” Nick rolled his eyes.

  “Mrs. Laurent’s husband was a footman at Herbert’s estate. He left her, and their three children, because he fell in love with Mrs. Reynolds’s nurse. She hasn’t seen or heard from her husband since Herbert’s death. Mrs. Laurent had some choice things to say about the nurse, Miss Croft, though she couldn’t give McMannish a description. She’d never seen her husband’s lover.”

  Kelso didn’t need to ask. He could guess at the footman’s identity. “Gustave Laurent is her husband?”

  “Yes. The same man who helped Jeanette take Elizabeth from St. Albans.”

  “And the nurse? Miss Croft?” Spence rolled the glass of scotch between his hands.

  “There isn’t any trace of her. McMannish was going to try to find out how or where Herbert found her, though I’m not certain that will be very useful at this point. He promised Mrs. Laurent financial assistance, which I’ve taken care of.”

  “I doubt you’ll find anyone who can describe what Miss Croft looks like. She has taken great pains not to be seen by anyone. Jeanette wouldn’t even mention her by name to Elizabeth.”

  “Herbert is unlikely to be the only person to have died while under her care,” Malden interjected in a quiet voice. “She may even have been jailed before.”

  “Agreed,” Nick said.

  “I did confront Langford several weeks ago,” Spence offered. “To warn him away from my wife. He told me she was no longer of interest to him, but he inferred Jeanette hadn’t accepted the situation.”

  “Did you believe him?” Nick asked.

  “I did. Especially in light of me threatening to garrote him myself if he was lying. Langford is also wary of you.” He nodded at his cousin. “And I don’t think he’d risk his own neck for Jeanette’s. It would serve her no purpose to murder me at this point, and yet another attempt was made tonight. I don’t know what she hopes to gain.”

  “She’s mad,” Nick said, his dislike of Jeanette Reynolds clear. “And the mad do things for no reason at all.”

  44

  The Quartermaine ball was a mad crush.

  Elizabeth smoothed her fingers through the mauve velvet of her ballgown and wished to be anywhere but in this ballroom pretending to have a marvelous time. Grandmother, encouraged by the fact Elizabeth had been able to navigate several smaller gatherings, as well as the theater, in the last week, insisted she attend this evening. Lady Quartermaine was an old friend of her Grandmother’s and Colin, Miranda’s husband, had offered to escort them.

  She’d agreed largely because she didn’t wish to spend another evening missing her husband. Elizabeth was still angry at his behavior and terribly hurt. And she detested feeling as if she were in limbo, dangling about with no place to land.

  “Elizabeth, you’re frowning and terribly gloomy. Are you concerned your mother will appear? She wouldn’t dare, you know.”

  “No, I’m of no use to Mother anymore,” Elizabeth reminded her. “And certainly not to Langford.”

  “Perhaps all of this,” Grandmother waved her cane, “is too much without Kelso by your side?”

  That was most certainly true. Her anxiety was roaring in her ears, unsettling her stomach. The need for Kelso had taken on a persistent urgency, especially when faced with an event such as the Quartermaine’s ball. Another thing she was annoyed at him for.

  “You’ve not even danced.” Grandmother clutched her cane and thumped it against the floor to make her point. “Twirl about a bit. You’ll feel better.”

  “Dancing wasn’t taught at St. Albans, a fact I’m certain you’re aware of,” Elizabeth snapped. “And I do not need my husband hovering over me all night like some sort of murderous security blanket. I’m perfectly fine.” Grandmother knew all about Kelso’s past. Elizabeth was still smarting from the fact her grandmother had declined to tell her earlier.

  “I see.” Grandmother pursed her lips at Elizabeth’s sharpness. “So, your stay with us is not temporary? It may be too late for an annulment, but you can lead separate lives. Most husbands and wives in the ton certainly do. In time, if you’re discreet—”

  “Don’t goad me, Grandmother,” Elizabeth replied sharply, somewhat shocked the older woman would encourage her to take a lover. The idea held no appeal for her. “I don’t want an annulment. Nor a discreet gentleman friend. Kelso and I are…bound together, twisted up in each other like a ball of twine. I’ve no desire for our separation to become permanent, no matter our current difficulties.” She lifted her hands in the air. “It’s difficult to explain.”

  “What an interesting way of putting things. If that is the case then you must comprehend, my dear one, you need to express your acceptance of his past. To him. And yes, I know all about Kelso. I have for years.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? It would have been so much better had I known before I came to London. And I have accepted his past, though it has been difficult.”

  “It was not my truth to tell. Nor Miranda’s.” The gloved hands wrapped tighter around the head of the cane. “I believe Kelso needs your forgiveness quite desperately. I am certain he didn’t tell you the truth because he was afraid you would leave him. Which you did.”

  “He was awful to me, Grandmother.”

  “Men are fairly obtuse. What was for you a moment to collect your thoughts, justified, by the way, Kelso saw as a rejection. So he left first. Figuratively speaking.”

  “He allowed me to believe he’d found comfort elsewhere.”

  “I doubt it. Nor do I really think you believe he did. Men such as Kelso rarely give their heart, and once they do, they tend to be notoriously faithful. The ton is filled with reformed rakes. Perhaps he doesn’t believe you love him? You do, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Her grandmother shrugged. “Even so, you went to him the last time. I think it may be his turn. But don’t fret. I’m certain Kelso will collect you this evening.” Grandmother gave a falsely polite smile to a pair of ladies approaching. The older, stick-thin and wearing an unfashionable turban, dragged a girl slightly older than Elizabeth in her wake.

  “Kelso would never come for me here. He detests affairs such as these. As does poor Colin.” Elizabeth snuck a look at her brother-in-law, who was glaring at a gentleman spinning Miranda around the dance floor. Her sister was stunning in a ballgown of forest green, her skirts belling out to show the black lace of her underskirts.

  “Like you, Elizabeth, Colin doesn’t dance, though he cannot claim being cloistered with nuns as a convenient excuse. Kelso will be here.”

  “How do you know my husband will attend tonight?” Grandmother meddled. Often.

  “I sent him a note, my dear. The current situation has gone on long enough.” She held out a hand to the younger woman approaching them, disregarding Elizabeth’s gasp. “Miss Lainscott—” and less welcoming, “—Lady Dobson. A delight.”

  Elizabeth nodded politely to both women. Poor Miss Lainscott looked as bored as Elizabeth was herself with the Quartermaine ball.

  “You look very much like your sister, Lady Kelso,” Miss Lainscott said after the introductions.

  And apparently my grandmother in her younger days. “How do you know my sister, Miss Lainscott?” Elizabeth liked Miss Lainscott immediately and assumed the young woman probably shared Miranda’s love of books. Miss Lainscott’s eyes sparkled with intelligence and her lips held an amused smile as she glanced around the room, clearly unimpressed with the Quartermaine ball.

  “Oh.” Miss Lainscott leaned in. “I was once thought to be a suitable match for Lord Kilmaire. My aunt brought me to a house party at Gray Covington. Which is lovely, by the way.”

  “Really?” This must be the house p
arty Miranda had mentioned earlier to Elizabeth. The one Grandmother had arranged so purposefully.

  “A disastrous venture, though I do like Lord Kilmaire.” She glanced across the room to Colin who was waiting impatiently for his wife to stop dancing. “But one would have to be blind not to see the adoration he has for your sister.”

  “I cannot imagine them apart.” Elizabeth looked over as Miranda stood on tiptoe to whisper something to Colin.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Kelso, I believe I’ll say hello.” With a wave, Miss Lainscott wandered toward Miranda who had seen her and was waving in return. Miss Lainscott’s aunt made a huff of frustration at her niece, excused herself from Grandmother and followed.

  Alone again, except for Grandmother beside her, Elizabeth scanned the crowd for any sight of Kelso.

  She suffered through the small horde of the ton, all of whom came to pay their respects to Grandmother, while asking for an introduction to Lady Kelso. Some of the gentlemen asked her to dance, which Elizabeth politely declined with an array of excuses. After a time, the faces all became a giant blur of color scented with pomades and perfumes. Quite a few of those she met expressed surprise she was Lady Kelso. One lady, done up in a confection of blue silk and ribbon, was so bold as to say she hadn’t thought a gentleman of Kelso’s reputation would ever marry.

  Elizabeth gave the woman an imperious tilt of her head. “Reformed rakes make the best husbands.” Elizabeth waved her fan. “I speak from experience.”

  Grandmother tilted her head, nodding in approval.

  The woman snapped shut her fan, lips drawing into a tight line before disappearing back into the crowd.

  “Lady Cambourne.” Grandmother was greeted by a short, plump woman dressed entirely in purple. “How lovely to see you.”