“We won’t torture you,” Scarbreigh insisted, flashing a winning smile. “But we will test and try you.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Bethany replied. “Just remember to go easy on Lady Camille. She isn’t the eccentric I am and doesn’t deserve ill treatment.”
“I knew that long ago,” Scarbreigh said, offering his farewells. Lady Camille’s cheeks glowed with his now-familiar parting bow and kiss in the air above her gloved fingertips.
CHAPTER 19
After Lady Camille went upstairs, Lady Katherine intoned, “I’d forgotten how tiresome courting can be. In future, I’ll let one of the maids follow them.”
Bethany laughed. “Too much ogling going on, I suppose?”
“Indeed. And reams of questions, mostly directed at my niece, but some to me. Necessary when young people begin to learn about each other, I suppose, but I honestly don’t remember Lord Scarbreigh being so serious a conversationalist. He’s always been a mite on the jaunty side, as you’ve pointed out, my daughter. Perhaps it’s the sign of a man ready for domestication.”
Bethany narrowed her eyes in bemusement. “What was so serious it annoyed you?”
“Oh, nothing important. Whether Lady Camille’s parents would welcome him as a visitor. How often and how long she plans to stay at Moorewood and what you and she like to do there. He also had questions for me about your father and Lord Christian and Mr. Collin, especially right before your father and eldest brother went to Belgium. He seemed to miss them far more than I would ever have dreamed. Said he was upset Mr. Collin had gone off to war, and that your father had placed himself and Lord Christian in danger by leaving England.”
The countess turned to Locke. “For a man who's supposedly your friend, he doesn’t seem to know as much about you as I’d have expected, either, although I can’t say I blame him. I’ve had little beyond modest acquaintance with you and couldn’t answer his questions myself.”
Locke smiled and shrugged, although Bethany saw concern on the earl’s face. “I’m a private man, Lady Whitton. In my opinion, the peerage often takes itself too seriously, sometimes not seriously enough, and I dislike being the butt of jokes or the center of frivolous gossip. Scarbreigh’s nearer Mr. Collin’s age and didn’t spend as much time with me when we grew up. I suspect what happened today distressed him greatly. Maybe he’s worried I’m up to some skullduggery and have gotten into trouble—or could cause Lady Bethany trouble. I assure you, my lady, I am not.”
“Well, maybe he is,” the countess retorted, chuckling at her own joke. “Mostly, I think he’s simply a man in love and in a twitter. However, I must say I’m grateful you married my daughter, my lord. I’d have welcomed Scarbreigh for a son-in-law had Lady Bethany accepted his suit, but I fear we’d have endured a lifetime of fireworks.”
“Most certainly,” Bethany said with acrimony. “We’re too alike, both strong willed and opinionated. Lady Camille merely wants to enjoy each day as it comes, and she’s perfectly happy to let the love of her life manage the decisions.” She paused to consider Locke. “You’re getting wan again, my lord. You’d best retire. Sleep well, Mum. I hope you’ll join us for church.”
“With delight. Lady Camille said she will, too.”
When they journeyed upstairs, Locke admitted Bethany to his chambers, pausing to examine her face intently.
“I understand your dread at facing unpleasant memories, Lady Bethany, but I hope you see the importance of it.”
Apprehension dried Bethany’s mouth. “I mightn’t have appreciated it if not for the catastrophe at the park. Now, how can I refuse? I feel somehow responsible for what happened to you.”
“You aren’t. Don’t even think it.”
Mr. Treadwell served them tea again when they were seated, but Bethany ignored hers. Her hands again shook at the prospect of delving into the past, and she had no desire to break any more teacups.
When Treadwell departed, Locke set aside the cold compress the valet had brought for his head and collected her hands in his. He stroked them gently with his thumbs.
“I’ve pondered everything that happened at the park, and I’m certain the two attacks on us were connected.”
Bethany nodded, adding, “As I’m convinced it has something to do with the attack on Shadow on our wedding night, the man who shot at us with the arrow, and the wreckage in my room.”
Locke sighed. “Unfortunately, I agree, my dear. It would help me if you would answer some questions.”
Bethany pressed her eyes shut and breathed deep to ease the dread. “I will do my best.”
“I can ask no more. And if you can’t bear it, we’ll stop.” She nodded, and he continued. “As o’erset as you were, I’m not sure I understood you earlier, but I believe you stated someone did something to you. That they asked questions you couldn’t answer. You also said, ‘I don’t remember my father giving me anything for which someone would want to kidnap me or shoot me.’ Can you explain any of this?”
The dread turned into shame. She hated having to admit she had eavesdropped on more than one of the earl’s conversations at Moorewood, but he would think even less of her if she didn’t and he found out later.
“On the morning of the bowmen’s attack, I overheard the exchange between you and Dimity. When you told him the assailants were after something my Father supposedly gave me or told me, I surmised it was important enough they were willing to either shoot me, to capture me and wrest it from me, or kill me and prevent my ever revealing it.” Seeing his serious look, she added, “I have no such knowledge. If I did, I wouldn’t tell them—but I would tell you.”
Locke looked away, and Bethany was certain he must be disappointed in her. “I didn’t intend to eavesdrop,” she murmured. “It just happened.”
“Like when you were in the dining room and heard my conversation between the twins and Mr. Treadwell, when I returned from the Continent?”
“Yes. I stumbled upon you at the wrong time.”
“But you said someone did something to you,” he urged. “Does that incident have anything to do with why you avoided marriage?”
Bethany felt as if a hand had tightened itself around her throat. How could she get through this? How could she not? Lord Locke deserved the answers, but it would without doubt change everything between them.
“Yes,” she managed.
His fingers squeezed hers. “I can see that it troubles you greatly. When did it happen?”
She managed to answer, “April last year. That night we first met.”
On an exceptional London night with uncommonly clear, dark skies and faint stars overhead. She’d not set foot there since that night. Music resonated in a faraway corner of her mind, laughter, figures dancing that cast shadows across fine draperies on the other side of a tall window. She stated the date and the hour. That her friend Lady Jessica Trent was ecstatic at receiving a dance number with the Earl of Locke. Bethany jealous at not being given the same privilege. Locke whisked off to the game tables by his bevy of admirers and Bethany never seeing him again.
Until he’d come to ask for her hand in marriage, of course.
“And what happened after I left you in the dance hall with Lady Trent?” Locke murmured.
“I went onto the veranda for fresh air; it was sweltering inside. But I think a man was with me. I can’t remember him or his name, just his presence. I believe he invited me to walk with him, and I vaguely remember insisting we have a chaperone. He pointed to a couple on the walkway below us and told me that they were his friends and would join us.”
Her eyes flew open as the all-too-familiar sense of terror ignited within her. She couldn’t bear thinking about it. Rivulets of perspiration rolled down her brow. She could see it as if it had happened yesterday. Shadows in nearby shrubbery. Unyielding hands grabbing her, a gag in her mouth, being dragged somewhere. Fighting to get free; hot, angry tears. Wrists bound together, a carriage nearby. A burlap sack tossed over her head.
Locke’
s gentle touch, his curled finger stroking her cheek, gave her proof she’d spoken these things aloud. “That’s enough, dear heart. You’re too upset. It may take a number of tries to get through it. We’ll try again tomorrow night, if you can stand it.”
Numb enough to not realize he’d pulled her from her chair until he guided her to their connecting door, she felt relief flood her, grateful that the mishap was far enough past it could do her no tangible harm. Grateful when Locke kissed her a gentle good night.
Grateful to escape to her room and let Melissa prepare her for bed.
* * *
Bethany had always loved Westminster Abbey, its architecture and it religious and historical significances. Worshipping there as Locke’s countess now gave it personal importance for her, and memories she’d forever cherish.
Thankfully, their day at home was equally as tranquil and lovely.
Evening brought messengers with written invitations to call on or to receive calls from a host of notables throughout the week. Scarbreigh also sent a missive for Lady Camille, the one Bethany had expected, an invitation to join him for a special evening at his townhouse on Thursday night. Lord and Lady Locke and the Dowager Lady Whitton were included, of course. Lady Camille was in transports over it.
On Monday, Locke and his guests found themselves tossed into the social whirl typical of the “little season.” Several visitors arrived to meet Bethany; Bethany and Lord Locke made visits of their own. Lord and Lady Locke, and Lady Camille and Lady Katherine took walks along London’s most legendary streets where they visited with a good number of the beau monde doing the same. Bethany submerged herself in shopping for Moorewood’s final refurbishments, Lady Camille and Lady Katherine serving as her astute advisors.
Tuesday and Wednesday mirrored Monday, although the evenings differed: one night the theater, the other a concert.
Locke and Bethany collaborated briefly each night, but still she couldn’t see her attackers’ faces in her mental fog, let alone confess what they’d done to her.
Finally Thursday dawned. The morning began the same, with additional invitations, especially for the upcoming weekend’s activities, but a tumultuous afternoon storm sent them hurrying home to escape the rain.
They were surprised to find the Hannaford coach at the curb when they arrived.
“My brothers are here?” Lady Camille wondered aloud. Then she gasped with excitement. “Perhaps it’s my parents. What would bring them to town?”
They hurried inside and found the esteemed Lord and Lady Hannaford—Glen and Eva Camerfield—ensconced in the morning room. With them sat Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas, and Bethany’s chest tightened at seeing the worry lining their faces.
“Dearest Kate,” Lady Eva said, coming to buss her sister’s cheek. The two women looked almost as alike as twins themselves, despite Eva being three years younger and frail from years of illness. “We’ve brought disturbing news.”
Bethany caught the silent warning that passed from the twins and Lord Hannaford to Locke, and her stomach clenched in fear.
“Heavens, Eva, what’s the matter?” Lady Katherine queried.
Lord Hannaford cleared his throat. “We received word from Mr. Drew that your manor was broken into early Monday morning.”
“Whitton’s manor?” Bethany and her mother cried in unison.
“Yes. We insisted on delivering the news ourselves, rather than sending you a post.”
Lady Katherine’s pallor frightened Bethany. She put out a hand to steady her mother.
“Unbelievable,” the dowager countess said, her face twisted with fear. “How much damage did they do? What did they take?”
Lord Hannaford, a rather nondescript man with nondescript grey eyes, pinned Locke with a grim look. He glanced at Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas before responding. “It’s a puzzle, my lady. And is disturbing in its senselessness. It appears little of value was taken. A silver teapot set, the one you’ve had in the library as a conversation piece for so many years I’ve lost count. And a handful of old books Mr. Drew said you left on John’s desk—”
“Books?” Bethany protested. “The ones I gave to you, Mum?”
“I suppose.” Lady Katherine seemed bewildered. “What would anyone do with a dozen old children’s stories?”
“I’ve no idea,” Hannaford interjected. “Unfortunately they did a lot of damage. John’s desk drawers were pillaged, their contents thrown on the floor, furniture overturned, the rugs tossed aside, and the statuary and such were smashed.”
Bethany froze in place. “What do you mean?”
“Your porcelains, my dear. All of them were broken.”
Now it was Locke who braced Bethany as a quiet wail escaped her. They’d destroyed the figurines her brothers had brought her from Europe? Her Dresden dolls from her father? She couldn’t conceive of such maliciousness. There was something more than met the eye about this villainy than just the act itself. Who hated her or the Montgomerys enough to carry it out?
“I’m sorry, dear,” Lady Eva said, coming to stroke Bethany’s arm. “We feared you’d take it hard. Messages of hatred or vindictiveness might have explained it, yet they left none. If damage was their goal, they’d have done much worse; if theft was the reason, they’d have taken more.”
Bethany didn’t realize her mother was crying until Lady Katherine buried her damp cheek against Bethany’s neck and hugged her tight. Bethany hung on, trying to listen to that something that tickled the back of her mind, warning her that this should make sense if only she could remember why.
When they’d managed to collect themselves, Lady Katherine urged Bethany to pack quickly so that they could leave early in the morning.
“Hold tight, Lady Kate,” Lord Hannaford interjected. “There’s no need to rush home. Brought workmen in for you immediately. Might be better if you stay away for a while, let them—and the constable—do their jobs.”
Lady Katherine breathed deep and pressed her kerchief to her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Glen. So kind of you.”
“Come sit and talk, Sister,” Lady Eva offered, leading the dowager countess to a nearby sofa.
Quietly, Lord Hannaford said to Bethany, “Think we’ll head to the library, give you ladies a bit of privacy, my dear. You need time to make as much sense of this as you can.”
She nodded, feeling numb inside but also feeling the hairs rise on the back of her neck at seeing those secretive looks darting between the four men. They had more to discuss than broken Dresden dolls and toppled furniture.
When they’d departed, she sniffed wetly and said, “Excuse me, Mum. It appears I’ve forgotten my kerchief.”
It wasn’t true, but it gave her opportunity to do what she ought not to do. She’d never been one to eavesdrop, even as a pesky little sister following her brothers around. On the other hand, she’d never faced so much misadventure in her life, either, and she wanted answers, even if she had an uneasy feeling she might hear things she didn’t like.
Making sure no servants were nearby, Bethany tiptoed to the library, pressed her ear to the door and concentrated on the rumble of the men’s voices beyond it.
* * *
“Excellent vintage, Locke,” Lord Glen Camerfield, the Earl of Hannaford, said, inhaling the fragrance of his port. “Good for calming the nerves.”
“Only finding a solution to this muck will calm mine,” Locke grumbled.
“Mmm. Any progress with the men you arrested? You’ve a crack team of interrogators.”
“No. Scoundrels may or may not be first-rate archers, but not even Devon has succeeded at finding out who ordered them to shoot Lady Bethany.”
Hannaford sighed then jerked a nod at the twins. “They probably shouldn’t have dragged me into this. You know I’ve been cheerfully out of the field for years. But they wanted my opinion at Whitton before calling the authorities, and after seeing it myself, I understand why. No one with half a brain would believe burglars did it. The swine were obviously searching for a
specific article. Considering the attack on my niece, the ransacking of her room at Moorewood, and the stabbed gelding, there’s no doubt this escapade is, as you surmised, connected.”
Lord Matthew set down his glass and added, “There’s something else. We followed the leads you gave us, Marc, but Nicolas went only as far as Calais. I never even left London.”
“What? I expected both of them would land you somewhere near Paris or possibly into Belgium. I’m convinced these scum are followers of Bonaparte. They’ll stop at nothing to return him to power.”
“Wish we could prove it. Had you followed the clues, you’d have drawn the same conclusion. If there’s a connection to Napoleon, it isn’t direct. We’re convinced something else is going on here, and whatever it is, isn’t good.”
“And Lady Bethany is somehow linked to it,” Locke said, all but tasting the bitterness the thought spawned.
“Yes.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Matthew?” he insisted. “May I remind you that everything we’ve done up to now, from my marrying your cousin and sending her to Moorewood, to making sure she has the utmost protection England can offer without her knowing it, has been based on the premise that Bonaparte’s supporters are after her. If not, then who? There’s no jilted lover, no offended patron, no overzealous devotee stalking her?”
“No.” Mr. Nicolas replied, but added, “Our sleuthing, however, led us back to London and sealed records in underground vaults in the Offices. You can imagine our astonishment after getting them unsealed and upon discovering a connection between the three Whitton men’s deaths.”
“What?” Locke stared at the twin in shock.
“You knew that Mr. Collin’s commission was a fraud,” Mr. Nicolas said.
“Of course.”
“Meant he could travel to and from various destinations with his ‘detachment’, move away from it or rejoin it as needed. In contrast, Lord Whitton’s connection with the Service, as was his heir Lord Christian’s involvement, was secretive investigating but not undercover spying, unlike yours, your father’s or ours, and certainly not like Mr. Collin’s.”
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