by Ann Lacey
As they made their way down to the breakfast room, Thora said to him, “I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you for saving my life.” She paused. “And I do want to do it properly. Perhaps later this afternoon we can talk.”
“We can talk now if you like,” Garren suggested eagerly.
“No, not now. There’s something I must do this morning.”
Since he had only had coffee earlier, Garren joined the group gathered at the breakfast table. Lady Floris and Sandler Leedworthy sat together gazing into each other’s eyes like two lovesick birds while the three younger Langless girls pointed and giggled at the pair. Not surprisingly, Lord and Lady Langless were not present. The previous day had been a tiring day for Floris’s parents.
Lauryn Mayfield and her mother entered the room shortly after Thora and Garren. They immediately went over to Thora to inquire how she was feeling. When they were assured that she doing as well as could be expected for someone who had faced death only the day before, they asked Thora if she wanted to take a walk with them after breakfast. Garren noted that again Thora declined, responding that she had something important to tend to.
When Thora and Garren finished eating, they rose and went to the front hall. There they parted. After promising to chat him with later, Thora strolled out the front door. Glancing out of one of the lower floor’s windows, Garren observed her heading toward the stables. He couldn’t stop wondering where she was going. A short while later, he noticed a carriage traveling in the direction of the village church. There was nothing for him to do but wait. Nyle had returned from his routine visits with his tenants and was in the breakfast room. He wasn’t in the mood to go back upstairs to see Mason. All he could do was hope that Thora wouldn’t be long.
Leaving the manor in her carriage, Thora told her driver to take her to the church cemetery. Beside her on the bench seat sat a fresh bouquet of flowers to place on Ivey’s grave. As the carriage rolled along, she thought about the words she wanted to say to Garren when she returned. She wanted to thank him with more than words, but before she could do that she would have to find out about that woman. The woman who shot him and what role, if any, she played in his life.
The carriage came to a halt and she alighted with the footman’s assistance. Knowing the grass would still be wet from yesterday’s downpour, she had wisely packed a blanket. Waving off the footman’s offer to escort her, she took the blanket and flowers and carried them to Ivey’s resting place then spread the blanket out next to the grave so as not to soil her skirts. She then began clearing away the old and wilted flowers she had placed a few days earlier. As she worked, she talked about the harrowing events of the previous day.
“You can have peace now, Ivey. The man who hurt you is going to the gallows, never to harm anyone again.” Thora placed the new flowers by the headstone, then sat back on the blanket, tucking her legs under her and as she did many a time. With Ivey, she spoke her innermost thoughts. “I have a secret to tell you, Ivey. I haven’t told anyone, not even Nyle, although I think he may have already guessed. I’m in love. Oh, Ivey,” she said softly, “he’s so wonderful. He’s tall and handsome, and I just know you would you would like him.”
Thora paused. She still felt the pain of her friend’s loss, though it had slightly lessened since Viscount Simon-North’s arrest. She signed heavily. “I miss you so much, Ivey. I guess I always will, but you will always live in my heart, my dearest friend.”
Thora’s fingers traced the name craved into the headstone. “I’ll never forget you, Ivey.” A tear rolled slowly down her cheek onto the grass.
For a long time, Thora sat in silent prayer at her friend’s gravesite, then, collecting the blanket and discarding the old flowers, she returned to the carriage and told the driver to take his time going back to the manor. She told him to stop when he neared the house as she wanted to get out and walk.
With Thora gone, Garren impatiently wandered from room to room. He avoided the other guests, as there was only one person he wanted—needed—speak to. Thora. He found himself in the library. He went to the window and stood, just as Thora had done the first day he arrived at Mannington Manor. He smiled, recalling that day when he’d looked up and saw the woman he had almost instantly known he would marry. He was going to ask her this afternoon and hopefully she would say yes. As he gazed out the window, his chest swelled with pride when he saw Thora slowing strolling up the long drive to the front door.
God, she was beautiful with the sunlight kissing her brown tresses with a golden sheen and putting a fresh glow into her cheeks. Suddenly her ocean blue eyes looked ahead and brightened. Since she was still too far from the house to see him at the window, he wondered what or who she was looking at. Lowering his gaze to the front steps, he saw Lord Flemington waving to her. He watched as man left the step and raced down to meet her. They chatted briefly, then to his heart’s distress, Lord Flemington threw his arms around Thora, picking her up, twirling her around, and laughing happily before he gently set her back down on her dainty feet. Lord Flemington was acting like a man in love.
Panic seized Garren and he ran from the library. As he was making his way downstairs, Flemington was coming up the stairs, a huge grin on his face. Spotting Garren, he excitedly uttered, “I’ve just been made the happiest man on earth. She said yes.” Catching sight of Lord Langless on the landing above, Flemington continued his climb, babbling that he was ending his bachelorhood.
Numb with disbelief, Garren stood on the steps unable to move . . . Thora and Avery Flemington. Was that why she had postponed their meeting? She’d wanted time to accept Lord Flemington’s hand in marriage before she broke the news to him? He knew he’d never be able to bear hearing those words from her lips. The woman he wanted for his own was about to tell him she had chosen another. His legs went numb, but he forced them to move. He went to his room then soon informed the servant who answered his bell to have his carriage ready. He was leaving immediately for London. He then began to pack. When he was finished, he went into Mason Greenstreet’s room to tell him he was leaving.
“Leaving? You’re leaving now? Today?” a stunned Mason queried.
Without another word, Garren, his shoulders slumped, strode out of the room. Downstairs, he found Nyle in his study and informed his friend that he had a private matter in London that needed his attention immediately and to please say goodbye to Lady Thora.
“I’m sure Thora will be most disappointed that she missed seeing you,” Nyle finally said.
The two men shook hands.
“I’m in your debt, for solving Ivey’s murder and for saving my sister,” Nyle said sincerely. He added, for Thora’s sake, “You will come back and visit us, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Garren promised untruthfully.
Nyle watched his old schoolchum leave the study in haste and wondered how he could have been so wrong in thinking Garren was about to ask for his permission to court Thora. Poor Thora, Nyle thought sadly. It was not the conversation he thought he’d be having with Huntscliff today. Not the conversation at all.
At that moment Thora was anything but sad. After being spun about by Lord Flemington, who’d announced the news that he had followed her advice and asked Lady Lauryn Mayfield to become his wife, and by some miracle the girl accepted, Thora went to congratulate Lauryn. Lord Flemington told her that she would find his betrothed on the back terrace. Following the path from the front of Mannington Manor that led to the back terrace, she found Lauryn sitting with her mother.
Seeing Thora, Lauryn sprang from her chair and ran with her arms open wide to embrace her. Lady Mayfield shook her head, watching the two friends dance merrily around like schoolgirls. When they had exhausted themselves, they sat down and Lauryn told Thora how very sweetly Lord Flemington had gone down on one knee to propose. Thora gave her a hug and congratulated her again, only this time seriously.
She was still chatting with the Mayfields when Garren stepped into his carriage and told his driver not to spare the whip in taking him to London.
Leaving Lauryn and the Lady Mayfield chin-deep in making plans for the wedding, Thora returned inside and hurried to her room. She rang for Molly. While she waited for her maid, Thora went to her wardrobe and picked out one of her newest gowns. She wanted to look her very best for her meeting with Garren. This afternoon she was going to thank the man, who had not only saved her but who had also stolen her heart, with a kiss that would speak much more than mere words ever could.
With Molly’s help, Thora bathed and dressed and went downstairs to see Nyle, who mostly likely would be in his study, to tell him about Lord Flemington and Lauryn Mayfield’s engagement. With any luck, Garren would be there, too. In high spirits, Thora practically danced into Nyle’s study, only to find her brother in deep contemplation. Hoping to lighten his mood, Thora told her brother of Lord Flemington’s proposal to Lauryn Mayfield and of her part as cupid. She explained how she had helped him by suggesting he memorize poetry and read it aloud to her in order to overcome his shyness when it came to talking to Lauryn. She added that she told him how best to flatter and charm her friend.
“But Thora, how could you?” Nyle said. “He was still a suspect and you coached him in proposing to one of your friends?”
“Oh, Nyle.” Thora’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Don’t you see? Would a man who was a killer of women want to marry one? Of course not. So when he asked me to help him win the woman he loved, naturally I agreed and soon discovered that underneath that gruff exterior is the sweetest, gentlest man I have ever had the pleasure to know.”
“Why didn’t you mention this?” Nyle asked.
“Because,” Thora said, sounding exasperated, “Lord Flemington asked me not to. He was a bit embarrassed.”
Trying to sound casual, Thora asked, “Where is Lord Huntscliff? I do want to thank him for saving me.”
“Garren left for London a few moments ago. There was an urgent matter he needed to attend to.” “When will he be back?” Thora asked with an undertone of hope.
“I don’t know.”
Nyle’s words were like three sharp quills piercing her heart. How could Garren leave without saying a word when she’d made plans to talk with him?
Thora felt her body moving, as if it sensed her need to leave, to be away from her brother’s pitying stare. Getting to her feet took effort, but she forced herself to stand. She had to leave the study as quickly as possible before her tears began to flow. Fighting to keep a firm upper lip, she said shakily, “I . . . I think I’ll go upstairs. I feel a headache coming on. Please make my excuses at lunch.” Then, picking up her skirts, she ran from the room.
At a loss on what to do, Nyle dragged his hand through his hair. He had been certain that Garren and Thora had fallen in love. He’d seen the looks that had passed between them and had seen the fear in Garren’s face when they had returned to the manor looking for Brightington and found Thora gone. How could he have been wrong? Leaving his study, he went upstairs to Mason Greenstreet’s room. It was his turn to do some investigating.
“I don’t understand it. Why would Huntscliff leave so suddenly? Did he say anything to you before he left?” Nyle questioned the man who seemed just as bewildered as himself.
Mason shook his head. “Came as a surprise to me. I would have bet my last shilling that he was going to ask you about—”“To speak to me about my sister?”
Mason nodded. “Did anything out of the usual happen this morning?”
“Only that Lord Flemington proposed marriage to—”
“What? To whom?” Mason demanded, cutting him off.
“Easy, man,” Nyle said, giving him a curious look. “Lord Flemington proposed to Lady Lauryn Mayfield. Seems my sister has been playing matchmaker.”
Mason’s next action had Nyle wondering if the blow to the man’s head had caused him to lose his wits after all, for all at once the private investigator fell back on his pillows and roared with laughter. He rolled back and forth on the bed holding his sides as if they were about to burst.
“What’s wrong with you, man? I don’t see the source of your amusement.” “Don’t you understand?” Mason said between laughs. “Huntscliff and I have been observing Lord Flemington and Lady Thora for days. There were times the two seemed just a bit too cozy. You should have seen his face when he caught Flemington reciting poetry to her. He was madder than a bee caught in a jar, and he thinks . . .” He paused. “Huntscliff thinks it’s your sister that Lord Flemington is going to marry! And now he’s in a stew about it.”
Nyle frowned. “I don’t see your mirth. Poor fellow’s heart must weigh heavy.”
“Poor fellow!” Mason suddenly snapped between laughs. “After what he put me through on this case, I say let him suffer a bit. He’ll find out the truth soon enough.”
“And Thora? Should my sister suffer, too?” Nyle asked.
Mason’s laughter abruptly stopped. “Oh yes, Lady Thora, forgot about her. Rather thoughtless of me,” he said, hanging his head. Expelling a deep sigh, he threw off his covers and, much to Nyle’s astonishment, hopped out of the bed with the exuberance of a man half his age. Padding over to the wardrobe, he began pulling out clothes. Seeing Nyle’s stunned face at his remarkable recovery, he said, “Right as rain. Have been since this morning. But how could I deny Lady Thora her guilt for bashing me over the head and not enjoy having her fuss over me a bit? Besides, I enjoyed watching the smoke pour out of Huntscliff’s ears each time she played nursemaid to me.”
Strangely, Mason’s explanation of feigning injury for Thora’s sake made sense to Nyle. He nodded, acknowledging his understanding, and said, “He’s got a half day start on you. It will be late by the time you get to London. Perhaps it would be better if you left in the morning. I’ll tell my footman to have my carriage ready for you first thing tomorrow.” Smirking, he added, “I’m sure you can suffer through one more day of convalescing.”
As Nyle reached for the door handle to leave he turned. “But whatever you do, get him back here!”
“If I have to strap him to my back and walk all the way, I’ll get him here, Lord Somerville,” Mason said confidently, putting away his clothes and returning to his bed.
At dinner, everyone received the news that Lord Huntscliff had returned to London with surprise. Thora, her brother noticed, did her best to hide her distress and spoke very little. She merely picked at her food, barely sampling a morsel.
“Yes, unfortunately Lord Huntscliff had a business matter that needed his immediate attention,” he informed his guests, “but I have a feeling he’ll be back soon.”
Hearing her brother’s words, Thora gave him a curious glance. Only this afternoon he had told her that he didn’t know when Garren would be back. Was he just trying to give her hope? She stared at her brother, but he just smiled and then turned to talk with Lady Langless.
Clinging to that hope, Thora was able to sleep through the night. Early the next morning, she learned from Molly that the recovering Mr. Greenstreet was making plans to return to London. Stunned, Thora quickly donned her robe over her nightgown and raced to his room.
“You can’t be leaving us, Mr. Greenstreet! Not this soon,” she exclaimed, almost breathless after urgently knocking and gaining entry to his room. “You’ve barely had time to recover. Are you sure it is wise?” she said as he finished his packing.
Knowing her concern for his well-being was genuine, Mason pounded on his chest with his fist. “Fit as a fiddle, Lady Thora,” he assured her. “No need for me to stick around. I have an important task waiting for me in London.”
“Seems everyone has,” Thora muttered under her breath. She then moved closer and kissed his cheek. “I’ll miss you, Mr. Greenstreet, my d
ear guardian angel.”
She spoke the words with such tenderness that his face reddened. Slowly she walked to the door to leave. Without turning and in a voice heavy with emotion uttered, “Give my best to Lord Huntscliff, should you see him.” Then she quickly left the room.
Staring at the closed bedroom door, Mason slammed his travel bag shut, knowing he needed to reach London swiftly for Lady Thora’s sake.
Chapter 10
It was late afternoon and the sun had already begun its decent into the western sky when Mason stood outside on the steps of Lord Huntscliff’s London townhouse. Passersby threw questioning glances at the investigator as he noisily pounded the brass doorknocker repeatedly until finally Jasper, the butler, opened the door.
“Forgive me, Mr. Greenstreet, I only just heard you,” he apologized. The reason for Jasper’s delay became clear as Mason stepped into the front hall. From deep within the townhouse streamed the ear-grating sound of Lord Huntscliff singing, or rather his attempts at singing. Mason grimaced. Huntscliff’s melancholy chanting was so off-key, even a drunken sailor could carry a better tune. “How long has he been like this?”
“Since he arrived home yesterday, sir,” the butler answered. Then, seeming unsure how to phase it, he stumbled with his words. “I’m afraid Lord Huntscliff is not himself, Mr. Greenstreet. When he returned from Mannington Manor, he went straight into the study and poured himself a brandy. Then another. I’m sorry to say that he’s . . . he’s . . .” “Pickled,” Mason said, finishing Jasper’s sentence for him. After receiving a sorrowful nod, he told the butler, “Better make some coffee. I’ll go in and see him.”
“Oh, do be careful, sir,” the servant cautioned. “He threw a paperweight at me the last time I tried to take the brandy away.”