David leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “You already do, silly goose,” he whispered. “Now, go to sleep.”
Clarinda’s eyelashes slowly lowered as she decided David wasn’t making any sense. How could he expect she would ever love another – that she already did love someone else? And how could he expect she would ever make a life with his insufferable brother? So the four of them could make a life together? She couldn’t imagine ...
Four?!
Sure she could hear David’s deep chuckle as she sat up straight, Clarinda was stunned to find Missy opening the drapes to let in the weak March morning light.
“Four, my lady?” her maid replied with a quizzical look as she turned to regard her mistress. A pair of black stockings hung over one of her arms along with a chemise.
Clarinda glanced around the room, at once wanting to burst into tears and laugh at the very same time. Four? How could she explain herself? Four of spades, four pounds, four stone, four-thousand, four buns, four friends, four peas in a pod? Well, there were just two peas in this pod, she thought as she realized her hands were still clasped together over her belly. “The solicitor. Is he coming at four o’clock?” she hedged, hoping her query would steer Missy away from any notion that she looked as if she’d been eating too many cakes at tea time because she was carrying twins.
Missy shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything mentioned, my lady,” the younger woman replied as she went about opening the other set of drapes. “The funeral service is to be at eleven, though,” she murmured. “Do you suppose I might be allowed to attend?”
Clarinda combed her fingers through her mussed hair, realizing she hadn’t braided it the night before. At least it would be hidden under a black hat during the service. “Of course, Missy,” she replied, wondering if all the servants planned to attend their late master’s service.
A rich black crepe day gown, far nicer than the mourning clothes Clarinda had worn the past few days, lay spread out on the coverlet. She wondered how many times she’d be able to wear it before she would be too large with child. With children, she amended, a glimmer of happiness, absent for too long, enveloping her.
Oh, David, you bounder, she thought with a grin. Despite having to dress for his funeral, Clarinda’s mood was lighter than it had been in days. Twins!
Chapter 12
Ghost Talk
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” David said as he walked into the master suite by way of the dressing room.
Daniel started from where he stood at the end of the bed looking up at the painting that hung above the four poster. How could he not have noticed it yesterday when he toured the room? How could he have ignored it twice more during the course of yesterday’s visits to this room, the one time to confer with David’s valet as to whether or not the man would remain in his employ, and then again to change into dinner clothes? It hadn’t been until he was about to climb into bed when he finally glanced up and noticed the painting, really realized for the first time who it featured – and how much of her was featured. “You’re back again, I see,” Daniel answered, pretending he hadn’t been caught staring.
“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” David remarked, turning to glance up at the painting above the bed. “She posed for it. And that one, too,” David added motioning up to the other painting across the room and above the escritoire.
Daniel couldn’t help but glance at the other painting, stunned that he hadn’t noticed that one either. But given that less of her was featured and what was featured was merely a naked back, well, Daniel decided he could be forgiven the oversight. “Yes, well, unlike you, I’ve always known she was beautiful,” Daniel replied curtly.
“Now, now. I’ve given you permission ...” David paused in his comment. “Nay, I have ordered you to marry her, so there’s no need to be curt with me.”
Cocking a mischievous grin in his brother’s direction, Daniel countered with, “I wasn’t being ‘Kurt’, I was being myself. Something you were guilty of doing too much of.”
David chuckled, the deep sound of humor causing Daniel to give him a quelling glance. “What is it?” he asked, wanting his dead brother gone from the room. “Have you come to let me know about the other topic you needed to get sorted before you see fit to depart for good?”
Holding up a finger while his face took on an expression of feigned offense, David nodded. “Indeed,” he answered finally. “I left too soon yesterday to bring it up.” He seemed to ponder how he was going to bring it up when he finally just shrugged and blurted, “It’s about my death.”
The words were simple but said in a way that had Daniel giving his brother his entire attention. He probably would have anyway, given he still found the idea of David’s ghost haunting him a bit ridiculous. He had been wondering if the death was some sort of ruse – that perhaps David was truly alive and well and playing some kind of cruel joke on Daniel and his family. When he’d considered the possibility the night before, it seemed to make more sense than David actually being dead and coming back as a ghost. But seeing David like this, as if he was there but not completely, had him questioning his late-night conclusion. “What about it?” Daniel asked then, his breath held in anticipation of David’s next words.
“I was shot.”
Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed, causing the skin between them to appear as a folded wrinkle.
“If you keep doing that, it will be permanent,” David said, poking his finger into the wrinkle.
Sighing, Daniel pulled his face away from David’s finger. “Damn it, what did you say?”
“I was shot,” David said again, his expression indicating he was as bothered by the thought as Daniel was at seeing him as a ghost. “I know my neck broke when I was thrown from Thunder – he’s my horse – he’s a good horse, by the way. I think you’ll like him,” he commented then, not seeming to realize he had strayed off topic again.
“Who shot you?” Daniel asked, suddenly impatient with his dead brother. And just what was the fascination with the name ‘Thunder’ for a horse? Every man in the ton seemed to have a horse named Thunder.
David shrugged. “If I knew, well I ... well, I wouldn’t be here. I think that’s why I haven’t yet ... departed.” He said the last part carefully, his face displaying a wince before showing a kind of seriousness Daniel hadn’t seen David display since his appearance as a ghost.
“You’re telling me someone shot you, and that’s why your horse reared and you broke your neck?”
David was nodding as Daniel verbalized his understanding of the situation. “Well, my neck broke because I hit the pavement head first. But I’m pretty sure I was already dead when I hit the cobbles.”
Daniel sat down on the bed. Hard. “Where did the bullet enter?” he asked, his brows still furrowing, the resulting fold of skin probably now a permanent feature of his face. Certainly the constable would have noticed a bullet hole in his brother. Or the mortician who was seeing to preparing his body for burial.
“Just below the back of my neck,” David said, turning to show Daniel exactly where as he pushed the bottom edge of his hair aside with a couple of fingers. “It took me awhile to find it, especially since I can’t see myself in a mirror,” he murmured quietly.
Daniel stared at the small hole that was revealed by his brother’s fingers. No blood appeared there, but the hole was black and was centered in the nape of his neck. “Good God, David. You’ve been shot!” Daniel breathed. He resisted the urge to poke his finger into the small hole, thinking perhaps his brother was playing a trick on him and the hole was merely a smear of charcoal. One of David’s fingers gingerly rubbed around the spot, though, and dipped in a bit.
Startled when he saw the end of David’s finger disappear into the hole, Daniel jumped away. As he did so, he caught his reflection in the cheval mirror in the corner, and just as quickly con
firmed what David had just said about mirrors – only Daniel’s own reflection appeared, his face showing what could only be described as shock and horror. “Who would want you dead?” he asked then, tearing his gaze from the mirror and turning it onto his brother.
There had been a brief moment when Daniel was about to chalk up David’s wound to an errant bullet, fired perhaps to bring order in the street or meant for someone else. But David’s death had occurred on a busy street. Certainly someone would have heard the shot, noticed the shooter.
David turned around, his hand coming away from hole in his head. “Well, there’s the question. I have no idea.”
Staring in disbelief at his older, dead brother, Daniel had reason to think his simple claim was bogus. “No idea?” he repeated. “You used to own a brothel. You used to own a gaming hell. Your were a rake. As far as I know, you still are,” he accused, his voice rising a bit until David put up a finger in front of his lips to remind him that Clarinda was in the next room. Daniel lowered his voice. “Who did you offend?”
Given that option, David’s look of innocence was suddenly one of contrition. “When you put it like that ... almost everyone.”
Daniel huffed and rolled his eyes. Perhaps his brother had gotten what he deserved, but he had barely formed the thought when he realized his brother truly hadn’t deserved to die, unless he was guilty of murder or rape or some other heinous crime. “Did you ever commit a heinous crime?” Daniel asked, crossing his arms.
David’s brows furrowed in thought for a moment. “No,” he replied with a slight shake of his head.
“What is the worst thing you did to someone?” Daniel pressed, thinking his brother would eventually come up with some offense that warranted his death. He wouldn’t have been shot unless he’d done something.
Resting a hand on the side of his chin and his elbow in his other palm, David thought for a moment. “I stole Clarinda from you,” he sighed. “Did you shoot me?”
His mouth dropping open, Daniel shook his head. Did the dead truly suffer from a distorted sense of reality? “I was at Norwick Park,” he replied, almost not giving his brother the satisfaction of an answer. “Try again.”
Scrubbing his face with his hand, David thought for another moment. “I beat Sommers at cards last week. First time that’s happened.”
“How much did the baron lose?” Daniel wondered, thinking a huge loss at a gaming table might be a motive for murder.
“About five pounds.”
Daniel blinked. Five pounds? Most card games at White’s required a buy-in higher than ten pounds. “Try again,” Daniel sighed, wondering how long it might take for David to think of someone who had a good reason to see him dead. “What about courtesans or ... mistresses?”
“Don’t have one.” At Daniel’s surprised expression, David gave him a quelling glance. “I had to give up all my vices to marry Clare,” he said defensively. At Daniel’s continued look of disbelief, he added, “I had to, Danny. For Clare. It was a ... condition ... of our marriage. I promised to forsake all others,” he stammered. “She even had investigators following me to be sure I was staying faithful.”
Daniel had to suppress the sudden urge to chuckle. No one could accuse Clarinda of being a milk-and-water miss when it came to her marriage, but the fact that she’d been able to convince a rake to give up his mistresses as well his ownership of a brothel and a gaming hell was a testament to how much David must have wanted her as his wife. Perhaps the man had really loved Clarinda, Daniel realized.
The thought was more sobering than he wanted to admit.
“She would have taken me out to the stables and castrated me if I bedded another woman,” David whispered, a distinct wince appearing as he said the words.
Daniel couldn’t help himself, and he winced in sympathy.
Deciding David no longer had enemies from his days as a bachelor, Daniel tried a different tact. “Did anything happen in Parliament?”
David gave him a sideways glance and then seemed to give the question a good deal of thought. “Well, you probably heard about last year’s Corn Law. That hasn’t been very popular ...”
“You voted against it, if I remember correctly,” Daniel sighed.
“Right,” David agreed, his face displaying deep concentration. “And I rather doubt Liverpool would have me killed over it,” he murmured.
“Have you had an argument with a servant or a tradesman or a ... or a merchant?” Daniel persisted, beginning to understand why someone would want to shoot his brother. At the moment, he was pretty sure he could. If he had a gun at his disposal.
David was obviously considering possible suspects, but his shaking head indicated his inability to come up with a name.
“Christ, Davy, can’t you think of anyone who would want you dead?” Daniel asked in exasperation. “If you didn’t anger someone, is there someone that benefits from your death? Someone who gains something? Some who inherits ..?” Daniel stopped mid-sentence, realizing he was describing himself. “Besides me, of course.”
David’s eyebrow arched up. “And why shouldn’t I consider you a suspect?” he countered, moving so he stood closer to Daniel as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a good marksman, an excellent horseman. You could have made that shot if you were behind me.”
Daniel rolled his eyes and crossed his own arms defensively. “I wasn’t in London the day your were shot. I was at Norwick Park, remember?”
“Oh,” David replied, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Actually, I didn’t think we were done considering Parliament,” he added. “We should be thinking about my enemies in the House of Lords.”
“What enemies?”
The question had David’s face contorting a bit as he tried to think of a duke or a marquess or an earl or a viscount or a baron who might want him dead. “I impugned Wallingham’s honor,” he stated with a nod, “I questioned Baron Sommers’ sanity when he agreed with Prinny on not just one, but two matters before the Lords, and I accused Lord Barrings of cheating at cards.”
Daniel shook his head from side to side, and then stopped. “Wallingham? How did you ‘impugn’ his honor?” Daniel at one time thought of the viscount as a bit of a dandy, best known for his frequent affairs with older widows. But the man was well-liked. Those older widows had obviously enjoyed their time with the man for, according to the gossip in the Society pages of the newspapers Daniel read, Wallingham continued to enjoy a steady stream of willing widows.
“I overheard him saying he was looking forward to our mother’s next visit to London,” David stated, crossing his arms over his chest.
“So?”
“Because, and I quote, ‘I have always wished to plow that delectable creature’s pussy’,” he continued, as if Daniel hadn’t interrupted him.
Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “Ewww!”
“I slapped a glove in his face and said, ‘Over my dead body’, to which he said, ‘Choose your seconds for pistols at dawn’.”
Daniel’s jaw had dropped open and now hung that way. “You challenged Wallingham to a duel? Did you ... shoot him?” he whispered.
“Of course not. I didn’t show up for the duel.”
Daniel shut his mouth. “Why not?”
David shrugged. “Well, for one thing, he didn’t say where to meet him, and I had a full schedule and never had a chance to choose my seconds. Truth be told, I sort of forgot about it. Until the following afternoon when I heard my absence at Wimbledon Commons had been noted. I was in bed at the time when any common duel would have taken place.”
He didn’t add that he was in Clarinda’s bed.
“What did Wallingham say when next you saw him?” Daniel countered, wondering if the viscount really had shot David, or had, perhaps, hired someone to do the dirty deed on his behalf.
; David shrugged. “Challenged me to a game of piquet,” he replied quickly.
“Piquet? To settle a duel?”
His brows furrowing at the odd question, David’s hands spread out. “No, no. Turns out, Wallingham forgot about the challenge, too. He’d had entirely too much to drink when he made the comment about our mother’s pussy, and he forgot all about the duel.”
Daniel gave him an uncertain glance. “So, who made the trip to Wimbledon Commons to witness the duel when the duelists didn’t even show up?” he wondered, his eyebrow arching.
David shrugged again. “I don’t know.”
Sighing loudly, Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and regarded his brother with derision. The man couldn’t even defend their mother’s honor! Perhaps he should force Lord Wallingham to marry her, he considered. That would teach the viscount to keep his comments about ladies’ nether regions to himself. On top of that, Daniel rather doubted his mother would put up with a philandering husband, which meant Wallingham would be unable to continue making all those other merry widows merrier.
“If you were truly shot, I haven’t any idea who I should approach with questions. But, in the meantime, I shall pay a visit to the constable who was on the scene of your death as well as to the mortician who is seeing to your body. I’ll let you know if I discover anything,” Daniel offered, wondering how he would summon David or if his brother’s ghost would just appear when Daniel had news.
“Oh, I’ll just show up when it’s convenient,” David assured him, before Daniel had a chance to ask. “In the meantime, take care of Clare and the babies, won’t you?”
Before Daniel could even respond, David disappeared from the room.
Chapter 13
The Widowed Countess Page 11