The Lost Lord of Black Castle (The Lost Lords Book 1)

by Chasity Bowlin

  Edmund rose from the table then, pushing back from it abruptly. “Then let us discuss it now. I’ll await you in the study… assuming you can find your way.”

  After Edmund marched out, Graham sighed heavily. He hesitated for only a moment then placed his napkin upon the table and rose. To Lady Agatha he said, “Excuse me, please. I apologize for leaving so abruptly.”

  “I’m very gratified to see you taking such interest in the estate, Graham,” Lady Agatha said. “It gives me hope that you mean to stay. Doesn’t it, Beatrice?”

  “It does,” she answered. It also meant that when he discovered the nature of the finances of the estate, and how desperately an influx of cash was needed, they’d be further apart than ever. “I need to speak to you, my lord, before you depart.”

  Other than a raised eyebrow and a nod of his head, there was no response. Beatrice rose and followed him out into the hall. She dragged him away from the always listening servants and ducked into a small alcove near the drawing room.

  “You cannot think to go traipsing over the estate with Edmund,” she hissed in a low whisper.

  “Why not?” he asked with all the nonchalance of a man who believed himself invincible.

  “Because someone tried to kill you last night and it could very well have been Edmund!” As obtuse as he was being, she felt like strangling him herself. “If it was not him, there is very little he would do to intercede if another attempt were made today.”

  “And as everyone on the estate knows, I will be with him. He’ll do nothing lest he rouse suspicion,” Graham replied stiffly. “If I didn’t know better, Beatrice, I’d think you were concerned for me!”

  It was clear that any protest would fall on deaf ears. He had decided, after all, and if there were any traits of the old Graham that remained, they were his contrariness and intractability. “Of course, I’m concerned. How could you think otherwise?”

  He arched his dark brows and shrugged, the expression and gesture imbued with equal amounts of sarcasm. “Considering how eager you were to be rid of my company last night, is it any wonder?”

  “Last night, and every time we have behaved so recklessly and with so little restraint, has been a mistake. Surely you see that?”

  “If I were a real gentleman, a dandy in fine clothes with perfect manners, would you still feel that way?” he asked.

  Beatrice’s palm itched with the urge to slap the smugness from his face. “If you were those things, it would not be an issue because I would not have the feelings for you that I do! Do you think that I’ve never had suitors? That men with pretty manners and pretty clothes have never tried to court me? Whatever is between us isn’t in spite of who you are, it’s because of who you are!”

  She turned to walk away, practically stomping her feet in high dudgeon. He grasped her wrist and pulled her back. They were out of sight of the servants, but still within earshot.

  “You madden me. You make me say things and feel things that I cannot even recognize,” he admitted gruffly.

  “I am as out of my element as you. Clearly, of the two of us, you have more experience,” she pointed out.

  He kissed her then, his lips molding to hers so tenderly that it made her ache. Hidden in the shadowy alcove, his mouth moved over hers with exquisite precision. It was not about seduction, for neither of them had time to indulge in such activities. It was affection, caring, tenderness—that kiss encapsulated all the things she wanted most from him and the things that she feared losing far more than just passion.

  When the kiss broke, he spoke softly, his lips only a breath from hers. “No, Beatrice. I have bedded women in the past, to be sure. But what is between us is as new to me as it is to you… that I promise you. Go back to Lady Agatha. I promise to be cautious today. Will that suffice?”

  “It will have to,” she conceded, her own voice tremulous and breathless. Every part of her was in turmoil as she turned and made for the breakfast room. Her hands were shaking and her knees were knocking together but, somehow, she brazened it out.

  If anyone noted the high color in her cheeks when she returned, no one dared comment. As she took her seat, once more, Beatrice noted the long and lingering look that passed between Christopher and Eloise. He excused himself first, if it could be called that when he simply rose and walked out. Eloise made a pretty excuse only a moment later and scurried after him.

  “This house should be filled with happiness now,” Lady Agatha said sadly. “But everyone seems to be at war with one another. Why is that, Beatrice?”

  “People are uncertain… with Graham returned, no one knows their place in the house anymore. He will take over the running of the estate, which has been Edmund’s purveyance. Because the world at large believed him dead, it was always assumed that Christopher would be the heir one day and now that hope is gone for him, leaving him at loose ends like the rest of us.”

  “And you, my dear?”

  Beatrice looked down at her plate. The food was like sawdust in her mouth. “He will marry eventually, as all men of his standing must. And when he does, I will no longer have a place in this household.”

  “He would never allow you to be tossed out!”

  And she could never live beneath the same roof as the woman who occupied the very role she desired so fiercely for herself. But she would not admit that to Lady Agatha. “Wives have ways of changing a man’s mind, Lady Agatha. But for now, things will continue on as they have been. Let us not borrow trouble.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Graham noted the ease with which Edmund sat his horse. He was not a horseman. He could ride, but he didn’t have the gift for it some did, mostly because he’d spent more time on ships than on the backs of the temperamental beasts. Still, he could at least hold his own. Given that they were alone, it was as good a time as any to see what information he could get out of Edmund.

  “Is there good hunting on the estate?” Graham asked casually.

  Edmund frowned. “Of course, there is. I’ve worked diligently with the gamekeeper to ensure it!”

  “Perhaps we could organize a hunt.” Graham uttered the suggestion with the thought that it would give him an opportunity to gauge Edmund’s marksmanship.

  “I do not hunt myself,” Edmund replied with a distasteful sneer. “Smelly, noisy dogs running to and fro, making a racket and a mess! I’ve never had much use for it. I leave that to the gamekeeper and his apprentice! If you wish to hunt, you’ll need to speak to them about it.”

  “I will do that,” Graham agreed reasonably. “Tell me, is there much trouble with poachers?”

  Edmund drew his mount up. “We have no poachers at Castle Black. I have always taken my responsibilities here very seriously and that means ensuring that all aspects of the estate are cared for properly! I don’t like what you’re insinuating!”

  Graham realized that Edmund’s anger stemmed from thinking his management skills were being questioned, rather than any accusations of attempted murder. Halting his own horse, he confronted the man squarely. “I was shot last night. On the estate, just as I’d turned my mount up the drive. If it wasn’t a poacher, it was something infinitely more sinister.”

  Edmund didn’t appear shocked, but it was clear he understood where the line of questioning had been going. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to put a pistol ball in you on a darkened road. I’d simply challenge you to a duel on the field of honor and see you dispatched forthwith! Further, if I had attempted to shoot you, we’d not be having this conversation today. I may not hunt, but I’m a better than fair shot!”

  Edmund wasn’t at all bothered at having been accused of being a murderer. He was offended by being accused of doing a poor job of it. If Graham had needed further convincing that Edmund was innocent of at least that crime, he no longer did.

  “I had to ask,” Graham said. “And for what it’s worth, I believe you. But there are other issues at stake. Beatrice’s near drowning was no accident and she is the only
one who can verify my claims. You understand why that makes you the primary suspect?”

  Edmund’s glare was icy. “I understand it, but I’m no less insulted by it!”

  “Who else stands to gain, Edmund? If it isn’t you, there is only one other… and I know too little of him to even hazard a guess. For the record, of the two of you, he seems less likely to be a villain. I spent the better part of the night scouring the account books for the last decade. I’ve found some interesting discrepancies. I mean to dig until I find the truth. Be forewarned.”

  “I’ll not stay here and be insulted by the likes of you. If you want Castle Black, it’s yours,” Edmund said, his tone cold and brittle. “I’ll be leaving for London now and I will file a petition with the House of Lords to have you declared an imposter. I’ll have Lady Agatha declared mad as I should have done years ago. Castle Black and all that is within it, even your precious Beatrice, will be at my disposal! Enjoy it while you can!”

  Graham watched as the other man wheeled his mount in the opposite direction and took off at a gallop. If Edmund truly went to London, it would at least be one less person he’d have to keep his eyes upon.

  *

  It was afternoon when chaos descended on Castle Black. Mr. Eaves, the man who had been obtained as an investigator to look into Graham’s disappearance arrived from London, no doubt at the request of Edmund. Shortly after, Dr. Warner, whom Graham had gone to fetch, arrived.

  The servants had grown accustomed to having no callers at all. To have two arrive in such short succession put the entire household into a tizzy. Betsy entered Beatrice’s chamber breathless and gasping.

  “He’s very handsome, Miss!”

  “Mr. Eaves?” Beatrice asked, thinking of the shriveled, little man with the enormously large mustache.

  “Dr. Warner! Handsome as the day is long, Miss!”

  It didn’t require skill or deductive reasoning to ascertain that the maid was thoroughly taken with the young doctor. Her face was flushed, her bosom heaving, and a gleam of excitement had lit her eyes that clearly indicated trouble was brewing.

  “Gather the female servants in the kitchen just after tea,” Beatrice said. “I will speak to them. We cannot have all of them falling all over themselves to attend the man. He’ll think he’s come to a madhouse!”

  Betsy ducked her head. “Yes, Miss. Will you be heeding those same sorts of warning for yourself when it comes to Lord Blakemore?”

  “Don’t be impertinent.”

  “I’d just like to know, Miss, if I should come here to perform your morning toilette, or if it should be started in his lordship’s chamber?” the maid replied cheekily. “Or are you still weighing the decision?”

  “Did you come here just to taunt me with my lack of judgement?” Beatrice asked. “Or is there an actual reason for you to be here?”

  Betsy’s smile vanished and she relayed the whereabouts, known and unknown, of the castle’s inhabitants. “Miss Eloise is nowhere to be found, Lord Blakemore and Mister Edmund are still touring the estate. Lady Agatha is napping and Mister Christopher… well, I daresay if we could find Eloise we could find him.”

  Beatrice sighed heavily. “Have the doctor shown to the drawing room and the investigator shown to the library. I’ll see them both shortly.”

  Betsy nodded again and disappeared into the corridor.

  Closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off the headache that threatened, Beatrice rose and retrieved a paisley shawl to ward off the chill in the corridor. It was not her place to play lady of the manor. Yet, she found herself, once more, thrust into that role.

  The physician first, she decided and made for the drawing room. As she stepped into the hallway, she saw Christopher disappearing down the narrow corridor that would lead to the tower. He was not even attempting to be discreet. Someone would have to speak to him, but to do so would be to acknowledge their awareness of his relationship with Eloise and that could only go poorly.

  Beatrice was halfway down the stairs when she paused. Christopher was approaching her, taking the stairs hurriedly. It was impossible she thought. Was she seeing things?

  “How strange,” she said, striving for a casual tone. “I could have sworn I just saw you in the hall.”

  He sneered at her in his typical fashion. “You’re not some heroine in a gothic novel to see spirits in the castle, Beatrice. Get hold of yourself,” he muttered as he strode past her. He didn’t turn toward the tower at all, but in the opposite direction and to his own room.

  Beatrice stood there for the longest moment watching Christopher’s vanishing form as she considered the implications of what she’d just discovered. Had she imagined it? Was the stress of everything causing her to see shadows and figures where none existed? Or was it something more sinister? Was there someone else in the castle, someone unknown to them?

  “It’s all such a muddle!”

  “Talking to yourself?”

  She screeched. There was simply no other word for it. Her hand flew to her heart as she whirled to face the person who had spoken.

  It took little thought to realize that it was the handsome doctor she now faced. Dark-haired, but not so hard featured as Graham, there was a softness to his face that Graham simply did not possess. Still, he was a very attractive man and it was easy to see why he had Betsy in such a flutter.

  “You must be Dr. Warner,” she said breathlessly.

  “I am. Forgive me for startling you, but rather than twiddle my thumbs in the drawing room, I thought I might impose upon you—forgive me, but I did not catch your name.”

  “I did not offer it,” she said. He was charming. More charming than he ought to have been. “I am Miss Beatrice Marlowe. It is unfortunate that Lord Blakemore is not here to make the introductions, but such social conventions must be overlooked in times such as these. Come this way, Doctor, and I will take you to Lady Agatha.”

  They climbed the stairs, heading toward the family wing. At Lady Agatha’s door, Beatrice knocked softly. Crenshaw, her maid, answered.

  “Her ladyship is sleeping,” the woman said, her tone clearly disapproving.

  Beatrice forced a smile as she faced down the veritable dragon of a woman. “Crenshaw, this is Dr. Warner. He’s come from York at Lord Blakemore’s request to treat Lady Agatha.”

  “And is waking her from the rest she needs a proper treatment then?” the maid demanded.

  Beatrice didn’t wish to do battle with the woman in front of a guest, but she’d been left with little choice. “Crenshaw, I might remind you that Lord Blakemore is your employer. He wants Lady Agatha examined by Dr. Warner. When that occurs is at Dr. Warner’s discretion and Lady Agatha’s—not yours. Now step aside or I will have to speak to Lord Blakemore about it.”

  The maid bristled, her broad shoulders drawing back as she lifted her head. “It will be on your head then, if being disturbed thusly brings on a relapse.”

  “Yes, it most assuredly will,” Beatrice agreed quickly. “I’ll leave you to assist Dr. Warner with anything he needs… and I do mean anything, Crenshaw. Do not attempt to interfere with his work. I must go below and greet Mr. Eaves.”

  Leaving the doctor to see to Lady Agatha, Beatrice hurried back down the staircase to the library where the investigator was waiting. A small man, with thinning hair and rough manners, he looked ill at ease in the large, book-lined room.

  “I’m so terribly sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Eaves. I’m afraid Lady Agatha has been unwell. Her new physician had just arrived and I had to take him up to her chamber,” Beatrice said breezily, striving for a tone that was warm and friendly despite the fact that the man unnerved her terribly. She had no idea where on earth Edmund had dug him up, but there was something, well, criminal about him.

  “Not to worry, Miss,” he said, but his tone and his words did not align. His eyes shifted quickly, taking in every corner of the room. “Is Mr. Edmund Blakemore in? I daresay he’s the one I need to see anyway.�
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  Beatrice shook her head. The man made her skin crawl and had from the very first moment she encountered him. Edmund had insisted that he was not only a capable investigator but one of the best. To Beatrice, he’d always seemed more like a criminal than anything else. “No, Mr. Eaves. Edmund is out touring the estate—I assume he sent word to you about the unexpected return of Lord Blakemore?”

  The investigator’s expression hardened. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss, but I’d not be so quick to hand him such a title just yet. These types of folks are only too happy to take advantage of the kind nature of people like Lady Agatha. Grief can make a body do and believe very funny things, Miss!”

  “I assure you, Mr. Eaves,” Beatrice said firmly, “That we have taken the necessary measures to confirm his identity. I’ve no doubt that he is Lord Blakemore and Lady Agatha is fully convinced, as well. I do not need to tell you how detrimental it could be to her health for you to cast such aspersions!”

  He bowed his head and while the gesture might have been one of deference, there was something in his expression that belied it. “I meant no offense, Miss. My apologies.”

  “Would you care for tea, Mr. Eaves?” She did not want to get into another conversation with him debating the merits of accepting Graham at his word or further challenging his claims. It was very possible that she might say something that would damage his case and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

  “Tea would be lovely, Miss. Thank you,” the investigator answered.

  “Let me inform the butler,” she said. “I’ll also check to see if Lord Blakemore and Mr. Blakemore have returned.”

  Stepping into the hallway, she found Hammond, the butler, waiting for her. “Have they returned yet?” she asked.

  “No, Miss, but I did have one of the lads from the stable set out to find them. They were touring the village this morning and the smaller tenant farms this afternoon, so they should not be so terribly hard to find… if it pleases you, Miss, I can show Mr. Eaves to the housekeeper’s sitting area. He is an employee and not a guest, after all.”