by Adele Clee
“But you know what that means?”
Oh, he knew. Other than daydreaming about Rose, he’d spent the journey to London considering all the problems at Everleigh. “That the sickness in the house has nothing to do with dangerous spores hiding amongst the linen.” His mocking tone conveyed an element of embarrassment, too. He’d been blind. A damn fool.
“Worse than that, Christian. I believe the tonics and tinctures make the staff ill in order to give the reverend access to the house.”
“That means Wilmslow has been poisoning my staff.”
“Perhaps not Wilmslow, is it not Dr Taylor who administers the medicine? Are the concoctions not made by his housekeeper?”
The heavy feeling in his gut told him Taylor was involved. But why? “What has the doctor to gain?”
“Money? You do pay him for his services?”
Dr Taylor struck him as a man too proud to use underhanded methods to gain money. “Not always, he’s refused payment many times, in part because he is just as frustrated as I am when it comes to the lack of progress made. Or so he appears.”
Rose sighed. “The doctor is guilty of something. I suggest we visit an address listed in the back of the ledger. I had my sights set on the one in Bloomsbury. If we ask the right questions, we may get answers.”
A sudden chill passed over him. Rose’s inquisitive mind might lead her to make enquiries on her own. “Promise me you won’t do anything without me. Do not go tearing around the city, knocking on doors.”
How could he trust her word?
Christian came to an abrupt halt outside a stone memorial surrounded by iron railings at the front and a tall topiary hedge to the rear. Lord Stanton stopped walking and remained a few feet behind.
“You must give me your word, Rose.” Panic infused Christian’s tone. “Do nothing without me. Let me examine the book before we make any rash decisions.” Taylor was in London for a reason. Had Cassandra stolen the book from him? “Promise me.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide, her lips parted. “I promise to wait for you. I know you think my word means nothing, but that’s not true. The only reason I broke my vow on the night of the fire was that I couldn’t bear to think of you hurt and alone.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“Do you know why I came here?”
She shook her head.
“I did not come to find a silly book, or to traipse around looking for answers to the mysteries of Morton Manor.” Blood rushed through his veins at far too rapid a rate. “I came here for you. Nothing else matters to me. Everything else is a mere pebble in an ocean when I consider how close I came to losing you.”
Rose sucked in a breath as her hand came to rest at the base of her throat. “But I lied to you, just like Cassandra.”
“You’re nothing like Cassandra.”
Lord Stanton exhaled deeply, and Christian resisted the urge to turn around and tell him to bugger off. But it was Rose who reacted.
She glanced beyond the iron gate, and then at her brother. “We’re going to read the inscription on the memorial stone.” She didn’t give Stanton a chance to reply.
The hinges creaked as Rose opened the gate and slipped inside. Christian followed.
“I expected it to be a memorial to the fallen heroes of the Warner family.” Rose stepped closer and peered at the inscription. “But unless they had ancestors named Hyperion and Arion, I highly doubt it.”
While curious about the meaning behind the names, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. She wandered around to the back, to the part hidden from view.
“Come and look at this. They’re not names of people, but horses.”
Christian followed her and was about to examine the markings when Rose jumped into his arms and kissed him. There was no time for a slow melding of mouths. Indeed, her tongue skimmed the line of his lips, seeking entrance. He cupped her cheeks, and tilted his head to delve deeper, tried to swallow down her moans of pleasure. Dainty hands moved over his chest, grabbing at his coat, pulling him closer. The scent of roses filled his head while the sweet taste of her mouth seduced his senses. God, her lips were hot, passionate, demanding. When he kissed Rose, the rest of the world melted away.
They broke on ragged breaths, touched foreheads and closed their eyes.
“How long does it take to read a few lines?” Stanton said. “A man was born and died, what more is there to see?”
“Leave them alone,” his wife whispered. “Just give them a minute.”
A shriek pierced the night air, the sound accompanied by raised voices.
“You might want to come and look at this, Farleigh. You’re missing the night’s entertainment.”
Christian opened his eyes and caressed Rose’s cheek. There was only one diversion he sought. Who needed jugglers or fire eaters when the woman before him stole his breath?
“If you don’t come now, Trevane is liable to murder a guest, perhaps even two.”
Christian groaned. Bloody hell. Vane’s scandalous past followed him wherever he went. The man held his temper in check with the flimsiest thread. One wrong word or insult and Vane would rip the place apart.
“Forgive me, Rose, but I am somewhat responsible for Lord Trevane this evening.” Christian had not seen his friend for years, but the bonds formed at school and in those formative years proved unbreakable.
“Come then.” She stepped out of their hideaway and led him to the gate. “You’re not a man who shirks his responsibilities.”
“Don’t ask me how it started.” Stanton gestured to the commotion near the steps leading to the terrace. “In all fairness, your friend attempted to walk away.”
The crowd dissipated to offer a clear view of Vane, his hands gripping the lapels of a gentleman’s coat as he held the fellow a foot or more off the ground. Vane looked set to rip the man’s throat out with his teeth. No one would dare step forward to stop him.
“I must take him home before he beats everyone here to within an inch of their life. I’m not really sure why he insisted on coming.” Christian wasn’t sure why Vane had asked to stay at his house in Berkeley Square when he had a property in London.
“His sister looks distraught.” Rose placed her hand lightly on his back. “We can continue our discussion tomorrow.”
Christian brought Rose’s hand to his lips and planted a quick kiss on her knuckles. “I shall call on you at two. We can study the book and decide how best to proceed.” He stared into her eyes. “And there are things I want to say that require privacy.”
“Until tomorrow.” Rose smiled. “Go now. Save your friend.”
Chapter Twenty
Rose sat at the dining table, buttering her toast and sneaking covert glances at Nicole and Oliver. They sat next to each other as opposed to opposite ends of the table, their chairs so close their arms touched. Oliver muttered something in her ear and smiled. Nicole blushed but shot him a look that said she was game for whatever it was Oliver had suggested.
The affectionate display warmed Rose’s heart. Even in her wildest dreams, she’d never imagined seeing Oliver happy, never imagined ever seeing Nicole again. And now they were a family.
Other than the clink of cutlery on china plates, the house was quiet — at peace. And yet Rose glanced at the door, waiting for a roar of disapproval to ring through the corridor, for her father to come bursting into the room and berate her for some imagined misdemeanour. She could picture his face, all red and puffy, his eyes bulging from their sockets.
“What time did Lord Farleigh say he’d call?” Oliver’s voice broke her reverie.
“I think he said two o’clock.” The distraction helped to calm her racing heart. “Although with the commotion in Lord Warner’s garden, I may have misheard. Either way, I have no plans to leave the house today.”
“What does he want?” Oliver held her gaze while he sipped his coffee.
Nicole gave a bemused chuckle. “You’re a man, Oliver, what do you think he wants?”
The cup rattled on the saucer as Oliver placed it down. “A man doesn’t come to town after all this time unless a lady has given him some incentive. Are you going to tell me what happened during your stay at Everleigh? And I don’t mean you played with the children and ate cake.”
It crossed her mind to lie, or to evade the question. But after her experiences at Everleigh, she’d made a pact with herself to tell the truth. “Do you really want to know?”
Oliver sat up straight. “I do.”
“I fell in love at Everleigh.” The truth of her words filled her chest, the sensation all warm and fuzzy. “I fell in love with the house, with the children,” a chuckle left her lips, “even with Mrs Hibbet.” How she wished she was back there, running around the lawn wearing her blindfold, holding secret meetings with Christian in the study.
“And what of Lord Farleigh?”
Rose paused as an image of Christian’s handsome face filled her head. She could almost smell his cologne, smell the unique scent that clung to his skin. “Oh, I am so in love with Lord Farleigh it hurts.”
Nicole’s beaming smile stretched from ear to ear. “Perhaps it was just as well you did get lost. I have a strange suspicion he feels the same way.”
A weary sigh left Oliver’s lips. “Well, I suppose I’d rather see you wed to Farleigh than Lord Cunningham. I assume he will approach me to ask for your hand.”
“I have no idea what he will do.” Rose bit into her toast, her heart feeling suddenly light and free.
“Perhaps I should pay him a visit—”
“No.” Rose shot out of the chair. “Lord Farleigh must make the decision on his own, without coercion.” He’d been pressured into marriage before and come to regret it. “Promise me you’ll say nothing. Promise me you won’t try to force his hand.”
“Let’s see what the day brings.” Nicole patted Oliver’s arm. “I’m certain, come tomorrow, this will prove to be a pointless conversation.”
Rose settled back in her chair. The clock on the mantel chimed eleven. Good Lord, at Everleigh she’d have eaten her breakfast and done a host of chores by now.
They continued their meal in silence until a knock on the door brought Bradbury carrying the salver. “A letter has arrived, my lord, addressed to Lady Rose.”
“Lady Rose?” Oliver took the note and scanned it before handing it across the table. “Thank you, Bradbury.”
“Shall I wait for a reply?”
Rose shook her head. “I shall call you if I need you.”
The butler bowed and left the room.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Oliver sat forward. “Is it from Farleigh?”
Rose ignored Oliver’s hard stare. “Won’t you at least give me a chance to open it?”
Her heart leapt as she studied the folded paper with her name scrawled neatly on the front. She flipped it over and broke the seal. Unable to contain her excitement she read it quickly, but couldn’t quite believe the words as they formed in her head. Her smile faded, the corners of her mouth pulled down by the weight of her burden. The sudden need to breathe deeply came upon her, and she put her hand to her throat and gasped.
“What is it, Rose? Is it Farleigh?” Oliver would not rest until she’d offered an explanation. “By God, if he’s playing games with—”
“No, it’s not from Lord Farleigh.” In truth, she didn’t know who’d written the note. She swallowed deeply though the large lump in her throat remained. “Just give me a minute to compose myself, and I’ll tell you.”
The tick of the mantel clock pierced the prolonged silence.
“Well, what does it say?” Oliver modified his tone, concern now the overriding emotion. “You can tell me.”
Rose sighed. Oh, she should lie, but only a fool would tackle this problem alone. “It says I’m to come to the Chelsea Physic Garden at two o’clock today. That I’m to wear a coat and breeches, as women are not permitted entrance. That I’m to bring the blue book.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Should I fail in the task, Lord Farleigh and his children will suffer a fate similar to that of his late wife.”
Nicole’s mouth gaped open.
Oliver scrunched his napkin in his fist as he stared at her. “Who the devil sent it?”
“I don’t know.” No one would sign their name to something so threatening. “But he goes on to remind me that a man must watch what he eats and drinks. Poison is an invisible enemy often consumed without knowledge.”
“The Physic Garden is well known as the garden of the apothecaries. They study all means of plants there with a view to creating new medicines.”
And tonics and tinctures, no doubt.
Rose’s heartbeat pulsed hard in her throat. Someone skilled in botany was responsible for the illness at Everleigh. But how was she to pass for a gentleman of science? “What if they see through my disguise and turn me away?”
Oliver slapped his palm on the table, shaking the delicate china. “Don’t think for one moment I’ll let you go gallivanting off on your own.”
What was it about men and power? After a two-year absence, did Oliver think it was acceptable to charge into her life, firing demands? “It is not your choice to make.”
“Does this have something to do with the sickness you mentioned?” Nicole said, not giving Oliver an opportunity to respond.
Everything came back to the sickness. Everything came back to the reverend’s need to search the rooms at Everleigh. “In a way, although I believe there is also a connection to Morton Manor.”
“Morton Manor?” Nicole frowned. “Will we ever be able to put that place behind us?”
“Perhaps only when we discover the true value of the blue book. At first, I suspected Lady Farleigh had a gambling habit, and that it was a record of her creditors. But now it is evident that someone deems it important enough to threaten murder.”
Nicole exhaled. “So, what are we to do?”
Rose recalled the words she’d read three times now. “Under no circumstances am I to contact Lord Farleigh. I’m to go to the garden alone. The instructions are clear.”
Oliver threw himself back in the chair. “And if you think I will let you walk out of here to meet someone capable of these vile and vicious taunts, think again.” He paused and thrust his hand through his mop of ebony hair. “I’ve failed you once before. I’ll not fail you again. If you insist on going, then we’ll come with you.”
“But you can’t. What if he has a boy watching the house?”
“He?” Oliver arched a brow. “You’re certain this person is a man?”
It was not her place to accuse anyone, but she knew she would be meeting either Dr Taylor or Reverend Wilmslow. “I’m certain. Besides, women cannot access the garden.”
One question plagued her thoughts. How did the culprit know she had the book? She’d walked out of the house with it in her hand, but the staff at Everleigh had always assumed it belonged to her. After her brother’s wedding, she’d taken a moment to scour the names on the tombstones in the churchyard in Abberton, looking for a correlation between the names in the book and those of local parishioners. But Reverend Wilmslow had been deep in conversation with Oliver and Nicole.
Nicole cleared her throat. “You’ll not like what I’m going to say, but the book does not belong to you. Should Lord Farleigh not have a say in what happens? Isn’t he the one who’s suffered at this man’s hands?”
If Rose acted on her own without seeking Christian’s counsel, what then? How would he ever trust her again? “You’re right. But Lord Farleigh will do everything in his power to prevent me from going.”
Oliver snorted. “In that case, I find I like him a little more.”
Anger flared. “No part of this is amusing, Oliver. Two women died. The staff at Everleigh suffer from a constant sickness. Lord Farleigh has spent two years living under the misconception that he is somehow to blame for it all.”
Oliver raised his hand. “Forgive me. Let us not argue. Our time is better spent formulating a
plan. Although I am opposed to this meeting in the strongest possible terms, I can see you have limited options.”
Nicole gazed up at Oliver and smiled. “It’s simple. Rose leaves in a hackney cab, and we leave in the carriage half an hour earlier. We call for Lord Farleigh and explain the situation, visit the garden and act as patrons. I assume the garden is open to the public?”
Oliver nodded. “Yes, but it’s as Rose stated. Women are not permitted entrance.”
Rose scanned Oliver’s broad chest. “And therein lies another problem. Where are we to find a coat and breeches to fit?”
“Two coats and breeches,” Nicole corrected as she cast Oliver a sidelong glance. “Don’t think for a moment I’m waiting in the carriage.”
The hackney jerked to a stop in Swan Walk, outside the tall gates leading to the Chelsea Physic Garden. Rose climbed down to the pavement and paid the driver who wasted no time in flicking the ribbons and charging off in search of his next fare.
She tugged on the cravat, tied so tightly she had empathy for those poor souls in Newgate waiting to swing from the gallows. Old stockings padded the hessian boots to account for them being too big, and the thin length of rope tied around her waist worked to keep her breeches up.
There were few houses in this part of town, and although the quiet street was untouched by the hustle and bustle of city life, the stench of the river hung in the air as a constant reminder.
“Ere, sir.” A boy pushed away from the stone wall and came sauntering over, his faded top hat balanced precariously on his head. “Would you be the gent looking for a cure to end all sickness?” He waved his walking cane at the iron gate like the men who stand outside tents at the fair and lure you in with a promise of a mystical sight from the Orient.
Rose cast him a curious glance. “And what would a boy of your age know about it?” Oh, heavens, her voice sounded croaky rather than manly.