A Brush with Shadows

by Anna Lee Huber

  Gage, on the other hand, was a different story. As a gentleman inquiry agent of some renown, he did not suffer the same slights to his character. In fact, the work he undertook as a diversion—for he had no need to earn his living—only enhanced his reputation. Combined with the fact that he was perhaps the most charismatic and attractive young gentleman in all of England, he was practically guaranteed an eager invitation from every hostess in the country. I had feared that our marriage would harm his standing, but thus far our unlikely match had only raised his prominence to almost mythical proportions.

  But apparently this partiality did not extend to his late mother’s family. Watching the trio eye one another, their expressions ranging from wariness to outright enmity, I now better understood my husband’s initial reluctance to come here. Even though it had been quickly overridden, by his own inclination and my admittedly uninformed opinion, it said a great deal about his relationship with the maternal relatives he’d spent much of his childhood with that he wouldn’t immediately wish to come to their aid.

  The dark-haired man was the first to speak. He took a few hesitant steps toward us before resuming a more assured stride. “Gage, is that you?” His mouth curled into an uncertain grin. “By Jove, it is!” He reached out to shake his hand. “Dashed it’s been a long time.”

  “It’s good to see you, Rory,” Gage replied. Much of the hostility he’d directed at the woman had faded from his eyes as he greeted the other man, but there was still a guardedness to his demeanor.

  “And this must be your wife,” Rory guessed. “Grandfather told us you’d wed.” His expression couldn’t help but hold rabid interest, though he did at least try, rather unsuccessfully, to mask it.

  “Yes.” Gage gazed down at me with a glint of protective pride. “Kiera, allow me to introduce my cousin, the Honorable Roland Trevelyan.”

  I offered him my hand, which he clasped respectfully. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Trevelyan.”

  “Likewise, Mrs. Gage.” His pale blue eyes, just a few shades darker than Gage’s wintry hue—obviously a Trevelyan trait—softened with regard. “Is this your first time visiting the West Country?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Before today, I’m afraid I’d never set foot on English soil farther west than Oxford.” I paused to consider. “Unless you count Cumberland. I suppose that’s farther west than Oxfordshire.”

  Rory’s expression turned self-deprecating. “I wouldn’t know. I’m afraid I never was very good at geography.” His eyes flicked to Gage. “Got my knuckles rapped more than a few times for not being able to point out Devonshire on the map.”

  I smiled at his attempt at levity even as his jest failed to amuse the others. Though I didn’t yet know what his relationship with Gage had been like in the past, I couldn’t help warming to the man before me. There was something about his lack of pretension and his almost bumbling charm that made him quite agreeable. He wasn’t as handsome or alluring as Gage, but in this instance I think such slick assurance would have worked against him, making me question his sincerity.

  The click of footsteps crossing the granite floor recalled us to the presence of the other woman in the room, who had observed her son’s greetings with cool detachment. Rory glanced over his shoulder. “Mother, come meet Mrs. Gage.”

  Though past fifty, she was still a remarkably beautiful woman with dark hair sparsely streaked with gray, smooth skin, and flashing dark eyes. I could see now that the lovely gown I’d viewed from a distance was also terribly stylish, and undoubtedly purchased from a London shop. Combined with her rigid posture, elegant coiffure, and what I suspected were artfully applied cosmetics, I began to feel rather unkempt and dowdy in my striped carriage dress of straw, rose, and pale blue. Little as I cared for fashion, I felt grateful my more sophisticated sister had insisted on helping me choose the new gowns for my trousseau before I wed Gage three months prior. Otherwise, I had no doubt the woman before me would have judged me even more harshly than I could see she’d already done.

  She lifted her chin to stare down her nose at me as her eyes gleamed with cold calculation. “But it isn’t Mrs. Gage, is it? Properly you should be addressed as Lady Darby, should you not?”

  It was questioned with quiet civility, but I knew better. So did Gage, though he didn’t even flinch as she skillfully slid the dagger of her insult into his side. She was not the first person to point out this ridiculous bit of etiquette to us. Because my first husband had been a baronet, a higher rank than Gage as a mere mister, by courtesy—though not by right—I was allowed to keep Sir Anthony Darby’s name and rank. To address me as Mrs. Gage would be considered a snub by many in society, but I was more than eager to shed my first husband’s name, regardless of the correct forms of address.

  And so I told her. “Actually, I prefer to take my new husband’s name.” I favored Gage with a loving smile lest she think he had been the one to insist upon this request.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rory’s grin broaden.

  “I see,” the woman replied stonily, though it didn’t slip my notice she hadn’t actually agreed to my appeal.

  “Good evening, Aunt Vanessa,” Gage proclaimed, the sharp glint returning to his eyes.

  Her perfectly arched eyebrows lifted. “Sebastian.”

  I didn’t like the grating manner in which she pronounced his name, absurdly adding an extra syllable, which she accented. I was quite certain she was doing it that way on purpose.

  “Kiera, allow me to present my aunt, the Dowager Baroness Langstone.”

  So she was not a blood relation, but Gage’s uncle’s widow, and his late mother’s sister-in-law.

  “Not that I’m not happy to see you,” she said to Gage after nodding to me, her inflection stating that’s exactly what she meant, “but what are you doing here?”

  I looked up at Gage, wondering how he would take the news that his grandfather had evidently not shared his plans with the other members of the family, but he did not seem surprised. That in and of itself said a great deal.

  “Grandfather sent for me,” he explained, giving us both the satisfaction of startling Lady Langstone. “We’re here to find Alfred.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gage’s aunt and cousin blinked at us in astonishment.

  “Or barring that, at least uncover what has happened to him,” Gage added. When still neither of them replied, he scowled. “Unless he’s no longer missing?”

  Rory was the first to react, his demeanor brightening. “Capital! We could use the help, if you ask me. He’s been gone over ten days now, and while at first I thought my brother was simply off on some lark, he’s begun to worry me.”

  “Grandfather said he walked out onto the moors one day and disappeared?”

  He nodded. “No one’s seen hide nor hair of him since.” His mouth twisted. “At least, no one who’ll admit it.”

  “Why would they keep something like that to themselves?” I asked, not understanding what he meant.

  But before he could answer, Lady Langstone recovered herself. “Then I suppose you’ll wish to stay here?”

  It seemed an odd response to such a revelation, particularly given the fact that Gage had traveled all this way to help locate her missing son. But perhaps that’s exactly why she couldn’t address it. Perhaps her hatred was such that she couldn’t contemplate the fact that Gage was here to lend his assistance, so she turned to safer topics.

  “The emerald chamber, I think,” she murmured, frowning at the tapestry hanging on the wall.

  “No need to go to the trouble. We’ll be more than comfortable staying in Windy Cross Cottage,” Gage interjected.

  Rory darted an uncertain glance at his mother as she lifted her gaze to meet Gage’s.

  His brow furrowed upon seeing their reaction. “Are there other tenants?”

  Lady Langstone turned her head, studying him wit
h one eye as she drew out her words slowly. “No, but the viscount had the cottage demolished.”

  None of what had come before had seemed to disturb Gage, but at this pronouncement he winced. “Demolished! When?”

  She glanced at her son, as if giving the matter some thought. “Oh, a dozen years ago or so. Not long after your dear mother was laid to rest.” She didn’t smile, but nonetheless I could tell how much satisfaction she had derived from relaying this bit of news to him.

  Why it seemed to affect Gage so profoundly, I didn’t know, but I would have liked nothing more than to douse the twinkle in his aunt’s eyes.

  “Then I suppose the emerald chamber will be satisfactory,” Gage replied, not bothering to hide his displeasure any longer.

  The dowager baroness nodded assent and turned to the butler, who I’d almost forgotten still hovered in the shadows behind us. “Hammett, please see to it.”

  “Aye, my lady,” he replied as he stepped forward. “Just as soon as I’ve shown them up to his lordship. Told me to bring them straight up just as soon as they arrived, he did.”

  Based on the defiant curl in Hammett’s lip, I suspected this statement wasn’t strictly true, but whatever his reasons for circumventing Lady Langstone, I wasn’t about to argue with him. I was anxious to meet Gage’s grandfather and to hear his own thoughts on his missing heir and what exactly he believed we could do about it. But I did find it interesting that Gage wasn’t the only one who appeared to be none too fond of the dowager baroness.

  Hammett did not wait for her ladyship’s agreement, but led us past her up the elegantly carved staircase and through the corridors to the master bedchamber.

  As bleak as the exterior and entry hall had been, I still held hope that the remainder of the interior would be more welcoming. After all, my brother-in-law, the Earl of Cromarty’s, castle in the western Highlands appeared somewhat cold and austere from the outside, despite its lovely setting. The soaring hall was festooned with the weaponry of his ancestors—hardly an encouraging first sight for a weary traveler. But once you passed deeper into the castle’s recesses or stepped into the sweeping rooms, you felt the heart and life of the family living there, the echoes of the centuries of clan members who’d resided within its sheltering walls.

  Not so at Langstone Manor. Though the floors were carpeted in plush rugs and the walls hung with paintings and tapestries—some of which I would have liked to pause and examine—there was no light or warmth, quite literally. A chill seemed to have permanently invaded the corridors despite it being the height of summer, and the few windows there were contained such dusky glass that they did little to peel back the shadows. The air was close and thick with must even though the adornments were spotlessly dusted.

  As simple as the configuration of the manor appeared from the outside, the inside proved to be nothing of the sort. Apparently there had been numerous modifications and additions made to the house over the years, though for some reason these alterations hadn’t included many more windows than the original structure boasted. Whether the people residing here had simply wished to lessen their window tax or they’d been determined to hide something within, I didn’t know, but either way the result was a dark labyrinth of corridors and staircases.

  I shivered, pressing closer to Gage’s side, wondering at his relatives, and ancestors, that they’d been so content to live in such environs. The lavish possessions adorning the space had been placed there in an attempt to alleviate the somber atmosphere, but wouldn’t their money have been better spent on widening the windows or reglazing those that already existed?

  My thoughts turned to Gage’s mother. Had she been eager to escape? Was that one of the reasons she’d been so susceptible to Gage’s father’s charms? Though I’d never been on the receiving end of his allures, Gage’s father was supposed to be an even more legendary charmer than his son. As such, there had never been any doubt why she’d fallen for his golden good looks. But I’d wondered at her eagerness to marry someone below her social standing, a man who at the time had been a lowly mister with no hope of ever gaining a title, a man whom her family had threatened to disown her over. Ultimately they hadn’t, though her father had made certain to tie up much of the money she would inherit so that in the event of her untimely death it would go to her children and not her husband, but that had not meant they’d ever been accepting of her choice, merely tolerant. And in the end, her escape had been short-lived. Because of her illness, she’d returned here to live with her son while her husband was away at sea.

  I glanced up at Gage, curious whether he was also thinking of his mother. It was impossible to tell whether his furrowed brow was evidence of reminiscences of the past or anticipation of the interview with his grandfather to come.

  Hammett’s shambling gait finally drew to a stop before a heavy wooden door. He looked back at Gage almost in reproof before lifting his hand to knock. I didn’t understand what had been communicated between the two men, but from the manner in which his jaw clenched, it was apparent that Gage had. From within, we heard the sound of coughing, and then a rough voice called out for us to enter.

  “Master Gage has arrived, m’lord, and his wife,” Hammett announced as he opened the door, and then stepped back to allow us through.

  I’m not sure exactly what I’d expected to find, but it was not the wizened old man leaning back against a mound of pillows in a massive four-poster bed. Gage had described his grandfather as a proud man, a man to whom rules and propriety were very important. So for him to greet us in such a manner meant one thing. He was incapable of receiving us any other way.

  I flicked a glance up at Gage’s stiff features, knowing he must be concerned by the discovery that his grandfather was quite ill. The old man had made no mention of his health in his letter. But then, a man like him wouldn’t.

  Gage guided me a few steps closer, affording me a better view of the man who’d quite possibly had more influence on my husband’s upbringing than his own father. It was difficult to know how much of his appearance had been ravaged by illness and how much was part of his normal aspect. Whatever the case, in marked contrast to his renownedly beautiful daughter and handsome grandson, I doubted the viscount had ever been classified as appealing in all his life. In truth, Gage looked nothing like him. The only feature he might have inherited from his grandfather was his height, though Lord Tavistock’s stature was taken quite to the extreme. Even reclining in bed, he was close to six and a half feet tall, and whipcord lean.

  It was good to see that despite his sickness, his will remained intact. He glared across the room at us with sharp silver eyes, the crystalline color made all the more arresting by being paired with the silver hair slicked back from his forehead. His rather prominent brow ridge and long, thin nose put me in mind of nothing so much as a greyhound or a whippet. And when he spoke, biting off his words in a hoarse growl, it did nothing to dispel the notion.

  “Well, you took your time in coming, now, didn’t you?”

  With all of the tension radiating from Gage, I’d expected him to scowl or snap back, but instead the old man’s surliness seemed to relieve Gage. A fond smile even curled the corners of his lips.

  “Good evening to you as well, Grandfather.”

  “Yes, yes,” the old man replied impatiently. “What took you so long?”

  Gage pressed a hand to my back to move us toward the side of the bed, refusing to be hurried. “Considering the fact that we’ve come all the way from Ireland, and that Father had to forward your message on to me, I would argue we made admirable haste.”

  I didn’t miss the way his grandfather’s mouth tightened at the mention of Lord Gage. “Suspect your father took his time about sending it.” His eyes flicked over me before narrowing on Gage in consideration. “Ireland, hmm?” Then he shook his head as if changing his mind. “I don’t want to know. But now that you’re here, perhaps someone can make hea
ds or tails of this business.”

  Gage’s eyebrows arched. “Maybe. But first I’m going to present my wife.”

  The viscount’s gaze bored into mine as my husband performed the introductions. I suspected he was trying to intimidate me, but any effect his frosty glower might have had was rather diminished by the fact that he was also trying to stave off a coughing fit. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, he thought of me, but I couldn’t help but smile at the crotchety picture he seemed determined to make. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I murmured, offering him my hand.

  It appeared for a moment the viscount might snub me. Then he slowly lifted his hand to clasp mine, allowing me to feel how his tissue-thin skin stretched over his bones even through my gloves.

  “Now that that’s done, you can leave us,” he declared with finality as he turned back to his grandson. “We have family matters to discuss.”

  This was a response I was accustomed to. Most people believed a gentlewoman had no place in a delicate inquiry, be it murder or something more benign. Even with my scandalous reputation, they often balked at my involvement, and I’d expected Lord Tavistock to be no different. As such, since it was his family, I was prepared to follow Gage’s lead, but I’d not expected such an impassioned response.

  “Yes, and she is family now.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, anchoring me to his side. “She also happens to be a skilled investigator in her own right. If you wish to find out what happened to Alfred as quickly as possible, it would behoove you to enlist her help as well.”

  My cheeks warmed upon hearing his praise, and I straightened my spine farther, hoping to help prove his point.

  His grandfather’s eyes flashed with irritation.

  “I’ll tell her everything you say anyway,” he pointed out. “Allowing her to stay simply saves us time.”

  The viscount’s mouth remained clamped in a thin line for several moments longer, but upon seeing that his grandson was not about to relent, he grumbled his concession. “Like I told you in my letter, your cousin Alfred is missing. He walked out of the back garden gate onto the moors eleven days ago and vanished.”