A Second Chance for Murder

by Ann Lacey

  Catching up swiftly to the others was the boat bearing her brother and Lord Huntscliff. Thora noticed that Garren was rowing. Like the other men, he was without a jacket and Thora looked on with womanly appreciation as the muscles beneath his linen shirt flexed when he pulled on the oars. He smiled and dipped his head slightly, acknowledging her as he effortlessly rowed with smooth, steady strokes. She couldn’t help but chuckle at seeing the intricate pony dangling from the pink ribbon tied around his neck, his good luck charm from Emily Langless. Nyle confidently signaled that he would fill the boat with the largest catch, prompting her to give him a sour face, which sparked his amusement, and he threw back his head and laughed.

  When he finally joined her, Lord Langless gave an exhausted puff. He was tempted to sit and rest, but seeing the competitive resolve in his partner’s eyes and that she had already had a fish on her line, he quickly cast his own line into the water. Much to Thora’s surprise and delight, he soon managed to catch two fish.

  “Indeed, this is a choice spot. At this rate, we’ll need a bushel to hold our catch,” he said.

  “Let’s not underestimate our opponents, my lord,” Thora cautioned, pulling in another fish. “The lake is well stocked and my brother knows a few choice spots that he has yet to share.”

  “My dear girl, I bet they haven’t even cast their lines,” Lord Langless said with a yawn.

  Saying that he was just going to take a short rest, he sat down on the grass and leaned up against a tree. In less than a blink of an eye, he was fast asleep. Thora groaned upon hearing his snoring, almost as loud as his speech. How does Lady Langless stand it? she mused.

  Thinking it best to move further from her noisy dozing partner, Thora took her fishing pole and bucket of bait in hand and continued further along the bank of the lake to a more peaceful spot. Before long, she’d caught three fish. She was just about to cast her line into the water when she sensed a movement behind her. Thinking it was the awakened Lord Langless come to join her, she turned, saying, “The fish are biting here, your lordship, throw in your line!”

  But there was no answer.

  She spun around and saw no one, only trees and shrubs.

  Thora suddenly realized she was alone. Lord Langless was asleep and she was out of ear range of all the others. Goosebumps rose up on her arms and her heart began to pound. She had the eerie feeling that she was being watched. Was someone lurking in the thick woodland behind her? Ready to pounce on her?

  Thora put her hand into the pocket of her skirt and was about to pull out her police rattle when something jumped out from under one of the bushes. Thora gave a short, startled screech, but seeing it was just a harmless rabbit, she released a long sigh of relief and went back to her fishing. By the time Lord Langless woke and found her, she had seven fish to her credit. Feeling refreshed, the older gentleman cast out his line and was able to add two more fish to his tally.

  As the hour at which the four teams had agreed to stop drew near a troop of servants came down to the lake carrying baskets filled with food, drink, plates, napkins, glasses, and silverware. One servant held a large horn and walked down to the edge of the jetty. Taking a deep breath, he blew into the mouthpiece to sound off the signal that the contest was over. On shore, the Mayfield ladies set down their brushes and packed up their watercolors, Lady Langless put aside her needlepoint, and Floris closed the book she had been pretending to read. The three younger Langless sisters, much to their mother’s horror, had taken off their shoes and stockings, lifted their skirts above their ankles, and were frolicking in the water. After receiving a lukewarm scolding from their mother, who could still remember her own frisky romping at that age, the girls put on their stockings and shoes and skipped down to the jetty. Emily and her two sisters anxiously watched the lake for signs of the returning boats. Sighting the first boat, the girls gleefully alerted the other ladies.

  Viscount Simon-North and a very tired-looking Sandler Leedworthy presented a total of eight fish, having tied with four each. The next team to come back and display their catch was Lord Flemington and Marquis Brightington. Together, they had caught an impressive total of ten fish—Lord Flemington four and Brightington six. Marquis Brightington’s look of confidence in winning had the young Langless sisters worried. Their fears proved unfounded when their team arrived and turned in a catch of twelve, Nyle catching five and Garren seven.

  But there was still one more team to give their count. Wearing a smug look on her face when she and Lord Langless returned to the group, Thora proved her boast of being an able fisherman was not an idle one. As a team, she and Lord Langless had a total of eleven. She had caught seven fish and Lord Langless had a tally of four. He and Thora had tied.

  Lord Somerville and Huntscliff had won as a team, but the prize of the Nottingham Reel was undetermined as Garren and Thora were matched in number.

  “Well now,” Lord Langless said as he considered the score numbers, “this does present a problem! Who gets the prize of that new reel?” he asked.

  Before Nyle could respond, Garren spoke up. “For now I suggest leaving the Nottingham Reel in Lady Thora’s safe custody until a compromise can be reached,” he said, flashing his bright white smile at Thora.

  Garren went over to Miss Emily Langless. Taking the good luck charm from around his neck, he handed it back to the nine-year-old, saying, “and thank you for letting me borrow him today. I don’t know how I would have fared without his help.”

  The girl gazed up at him worshipfully and gave him a wide grin, telling him he was welcome to borrow it at any time. Turning to her sisters, she squished her face at them. “I told you my pony had magic!” she proclaimed with childish pride.

  A day out in the open air boosted everyone’s appetite and their overflowing plates bore witness. Even the ladies who had not participated in the sport ate heartily on cold mutton and sliced beef with mushrooms, green beans, potatoes, and a variety of fruit filled tarts and sugar-sprinkled lemon cakes for dessert.

  During lunch Marquis Calder Brightington was heard to complain that somehow the heel of his boot loosened and that he would need to take a trip into the village the next morning to either have it repaired or to buy a new pair. Nyle suggested one of the local merchants who ordered most of his stock from London. Viscount Radley Simon-North asked if he might come along as there was something he needed to post, a package to a cousin for an upcoming birthday.

  “How very thoughtful you are, my lord,” Lauryn said, smiling coyly at the handsome man sitting beside her.

  Unlikely, Garren mused, having overheard. More likely sending a sugarcoated letter to appease one of his married ex-lovers from exposing their affair. God, he hated the man! Marquis Brightington shrugged, saying he didn’t mind having company.

  Thora sat with her fishing partner, Lord Langless, and his daughter, Floris. They were soon joined by Sandler Leedworthy. The poor man seemed drained. He was definitely not the outdoorsman. Thora couldn’t help but notice that each time the man lifted his glass to drink, he winced, and she was certain he would probably be asking one of the servants for some liniment to rub on his sore muscles tonight.

  It was quite a different picture at the next table where Lord Avery Flemington was sitting with Lady Langless and her three young daughters. Lord Flemington showed no signs of fatigue as he animatedly stretched out his arms, demonstrating how he had caught the last and largest fish of his catch. He was a good storyteller, describing his struggle with the spirited trout, and the ladies held on to his every word and appeared to be genuinely entertained.

  When the midday meal was finished and the guests leisurely strolled back to the manor, Thora asked Lauryn and Floris to meet her in her room. Once inside her bedroom, Thora turned to the girls and explained that since Cecilia Boothwell’s terrible tragedy they had not spent any time together.

  “Was it such a t
ragedy?” Floris asked, shocking her companions. “If we’re honest, none of us really liked Cecilia. She was always belittling us, putting herself above us with her haughty advice on how to conduct ourselves, while all the while she was . . .”

  “Floris,” Lauryn broke in. “I might not have been very fond of Cecilia,” she admitted, “but to die so young . . . There’s the tragedy!” The room fell silent.

  “I guess when you look at it like that. I guess you’re right, Lauryn,” Floris stammered, staring at her hands in her lap, seemingly ashamed.

  Thora sensed that Floris was more troubled than embarrassed. “Is something wrong, Floris?” she softly inquired.

  The young girl just shook her head.

  Getting Floris to speak further was like asking a turtle to peek out of his shell. Did she know about Cecilia and Leedworthy? Or was it something graver? Did she suspect Leedworthy had killed Cecilia?

  Thora stared at her friend and suddenly realized, she loves him! Floris is in love with Sandler Leedworthy.

  Trying to lighten everyone’s spirits, Thora exclaimed, “At least we won’t have to hear any more verses from Mrs. Wrightway’s handbook.”

  Lauryn chuckled and Floris gave a weak smile, but Thora still had the feeling that Floris was holding something back, something that had the poor girl terribly worried. She would have to tell Garren about it.

  Changing the subject, Lauryn told her friends that Lord Flemington had asked her to accompany him, with her mother, of course, the next day on a carriage ride. “He’s such a kind man, don’t you think, Thora?” the pretty blonde asked.

  “Yes, Lauryn, beneath all that brawn I do believe there’s a tender, loving heart,” Thora answered with a quaint smile.

  Later that night, Thora met with Nyle, Garren, and Mr. Greenstreet in her brother’s study. The men had been discussing the case when she entered. “So you think Lady Floris is inwardly struggling with some knowledge that may put some light on this case?” Garren asked with a penetrating stare.

  Garren’s words reached her ears and Thora fully understood them, but his intense gaze had robbed her of speech. Those dark coffee-colored eyes were scrambling her thinking. Her eyes lingered on his lips, studying them for far too long. How very full they were, and their movement awakened memories of how it felt when he kissed her the previous evening, rendering her tongue useless. The only response she could offer was a nod.

  “I believe you’re right about your friend, Lady Thora,” Garren agreed. “And I also believe that our killer, if he’s planning a move, will make it very soon. Therefore I urge you to be careful, and it would be most helpful if you give a subtle reminder to the other ladies to continue to be wary.”

  Finding her voice, Thora promised to do so. She then rose to say that she was going to retire. When Garren offered to escort her upstairs, she welcomed his company. The thought that a killer was lurking in the house just waiting for the right moment to strike had her more frightened than she wanted to admit. Garren’s hand on her arm was reassuring, but as they strode down the hall, he suddenly opened a door that wasn’t her room.

  “This isn’t my . . .” she started to say but was tucked into an upstairs closet so quickly her words were cut off. She was further stifled when, once inside, Garren pressed his lips to hers. Two large hands cupped her face, holding her still so his lips and tongue could have his way with her mouth.

  Garren’s unforeseen actions had shaken her but, recovering quickly, she startled herself by absorbing his kiss receptively, causing a soft moan to rise from the back of her throat.

  She slipped her hands under his jacket and around his broad back, feeling the sinewy muscle flex beneath the thin layer of his linen shirt at her touch. Disappointingly, their kiss was short-lived. Garren abruptly broke the kiss and stood motionless, leaving her breathless and puzzled.

  “I hear someone coming,” he whispered.

  Thora strained her ears but she heard nothing. Were his nerves becoming undone? She thought for a moment until the padding of soft footfalls sounded. Good Lord, he has the ears of a trained guard dog! As the person passed, she heard sobbing. But who? Silently Garren inched the door open a crack. Peeking out, Thora saw Floris walking toward her room, her face buried in her hands and her shoulders shaking with heavy sobs.

  So she had been right about Floris. Something was terribly wrong. As the young woman made her way to her room, Lord Flemington suddenly appeared in the hall. Seeing the weeping Floris, he immediately went to her. Words were spoken, but they were uttered so softly that she was certain even Garren was unable to hear them. After a moment, Lord Flemington escorted Floris to her room. The pair stood in the doorway, a few more words passed between them, and then Flemington slid a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and used it to dab away the young woman’s tears. Floris appeared comforted and went inside her room while Lord Flemington turned away and continued down to his own room.

  Garren searched Thora’s face for any sign of emotion in the slim line of light that streamed into the closet from the hall’s lamps. For once, her face revealed nothing, as a clean chalkboard. Nothing to imply that she might have been bothered seeing Lord Flemington give comfort to another woman.

  When Floris and Flemington were no longer in the hall, Thora whispered, “I knew poor Floris was troubled. Do you think I should go to her?”

  “No,” he said, shutting the door and drawing her back into his arms. “Because I’m not going to let you out of this closet until I finish what I started.” His lips met hers in a long, lingering kiss. His passion seeped into her and she returned it with equal measure. When their lips parted, she was breathless and placed her head against his chest. His chin nestled into her hair. He softly murmured her name into her tresses, his breath warming their roots.

  Thora gave a deep sigh and cuddled against him, her hands resting on the broad expanse of his chest. Suddenly her fingers fell on something under the cloth of his shirt. Something felt something raised, an uneven bump—a scar. She lifted her head, her hand still on the lumpy disfigurement. “A bullet wound,” he stated casually as if it was nothing more than a cat scratch.

  “Who?” Thora asked.

  “A woman. A woman I trusted,” he said, his tone bitter. “We better go,” he said suddenly, opening the door carefully to ensure that the hall was empty. He escorted her to her room. At the door, he stared down at her. “Good night, Thora. Sweetest dreams.” Turning his back to her, he left.

  Sweetest dreams. Thora inwardly snorted as she closed the door of her bedroom. How was she going to sleep while thinking about the woman who shot Garren? A thousand questions raced through her mind. Why had the woman shot him? Was it in a fit of jealousy? Did it happen during his days in the Royal Guardians? An occupational hazard? Nyle had never mentioned it to her when she questioned him about Garren? But what was it he said? Garren was always tight-lipped about the women in his life. Was she someone he not only trusted but cared about? An ex-lover?

  Thora uttered a loud groan. Trying not to dwell on the matter, she quickly undressed, washed, then slipped into her nightgown and hopped into bed, but as her head hit the pillow, her eyes refused to close. They conjured images of Garren’s femme fatale. Of course, she was beautiful and blond with long, flowing hair, her voice soft and seductive. There was an invitation in her eyes and a pistol in her hand. What had he done to deserve a wrath so fierce that it’d caused her to shoot him? Oh why didn’t he tell her more?

  Then she thought of something that squeezed at her heart. Was it too painful for him to speak of her? Did he love her? Did he kiss her the same way? Thora’s troubled mind would give her no peace. Hours passed, and she tossed and turned before finally, her imagination overworked, she succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.

  The next morning, the skies were dark and foreboding. A gusty wind whipped through the tre
es carrying with it the promise of a storm. She rang quickly for Molly to help her get dressed.

  When she entered the breakfast room, she found most of the guests already up and enjoying their first meal of the day. Floris, Sandler Leedworthy, and Lord Langless were conspicuously absent from the breakfast table, each having requested to breakfast in their rooms. After pouring herself a cup of tea, Thora joined the group at the table. Viscount Simon-North and Marquis Brightington, she’d learned, weren’t going to let the threatening skies stall their plans to ride into the village. That was not the case for Lord Flemington’s planned carriage ride with Lady Lauryn and her mother. With the likelihood of rain forthcoming, he recommended they postpone the outing and suggested to the two ladies, and Lady Langless, if she cared to join them, that they stay inside and enjoy a game of bridge. The ladies found his suggestion most thoughtful and readily agreed.

  Nyle mentioned that he and Garren, who seemed distracted this morning, would be riding out to visit one of the nearby tenant farmers and hopefully return before the impending storm. Thora inwardly pouted. She wanted to speak to Garren and ask him about the woman who shot him. Now she would have to wait. Damn.

  “It seems everyone has plans this morning,” Thora said as the guests set about their intended activities. Addressing the young Langless girls, she asked, “If you girls don’t have anything to do this morning, would you like to help me with a puzzle I’ve started but haven’t been able to complete?”

  The girls said they would be happy to help her.

  As Thora sipped her tea, she glanced outside. The blowing wind picked up a number of leaves and twigs and sent them whirling. They struck the glass of the window without damaging the glass but for some reason it caused her to shiver. Thora quickly drained her tea and set her cup down. Turning to the Langless girls, she promised to meet them in the drawing room to work on the puzzle, but first she needed to go upstairs for a shawl.