A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “There you are,” he said, and took her hand. “Mister Freemont has returned with news.”

  “What did he say?” Her heart raced.

  “I knew you’d be put out if we did not wait for you. If you want to be included, you had better hurry.”

  “Yes, Husband.” Brenna lifted her violet skirts and rushed after him. They were both eager to find out if the trip was successful and to learn any new clues.

  Richard led her into the study, and she saw the two men standing together, sober faced, by the fireplace. They stopped conversing when Richard closed the door.

  Mister Freemont was rumpled from his trip. He’d not taken time to change. The matter must be of some urgency. Brenna sat on a chair and clasped her hands together. “I understand you have information pertaining to the case?”

  Jace and Mister Freemont walked over.

  “Yes.” Mister Freemont drew in a deep breath. “The journey proved to be both puzzling and interesting, though I’m not certain what to make of the information I’ve received.”

  Jace nodded. “It appears as though a member of this household may know more about this case than he’s let on.” Jace ran a hand over his hair. “I sent Freemont to find out if there were any murders in Cambridgeshire during the last ten years, and there was one several years ago. A laundress who worked in the village was found strangled and left in a field.”

  “How dreadful,” Brenna said. Her stomach tightened.

  “What has this to do with Beckwith Hall and my staff? Most have been in my employ for many years,” Richard said.

  “Not your staff,” Mister Freemont replied. “This person attended Cambridge at the time of the murder.”

  Suspicion grew as Brenna dug through her memories for something she’d heard recently. It took a moment for the thought to clear. Her stomach dropped.

  “Who is this person?” Richard pressed.

  Brenna met his eyes, disbelief in her face. “George,” she whispered, and felt her world tilt.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Richard scowled. “What do you mean, George?”

  Finding her voice, Brenna focused on Jace. “George mentioned attending Cambridge a few nights ago, which is why Jace sent Mister Freemont off to Cambridgeshire. Now Jace is convinced he’s the killer.”

  “I’m convinced of nothing at this moment. However, I do find the timing suspicious,” Jace said. “A laundress died there at the same time he was in residence. And a maid died the same time he was in Dover.”

  “That does not make him a killer,” Brenna insisted. George had always been so kind to her. He was becoming a friend. “The image of him strangling a woman, or many women, does not fit my experiences with George.”

  “And he was here at Beckwith Hall during the time of the London murder,” Richard insisted. “He’s lived here for almost three years now, and I have never seen any hint of evil in him.”

  Jace and Mister Freemont exchanged a glance. Jace leaned forward and settled his elbows on his knees. He faced Brenna. “There is more. Through the records, Freemont discovered another interesting fact. There was another man you know who was a school chum of your George Bentley.”

  “Who?” Richard pressed.

  “Clive Everhart.”

  Brenna’s body went cold. She began to shake. Clive spent time in her home, ate her food, was around her son. George, too. George played with James, held him, and laughed with her over James’s funny baby antics.

  Richard came over and took her hand.

  “Calm, love,” he said softly. “None of this means we have a pair of killers in our midst.” But even as he tried to settle her fears, Brenna knew, just knew, that Jace would not be telling them this information if he wasn’t convinced there was some connection between the men and the murders.

  Deep inside her, she drew on her strength. She’d not fall apart, not here, not now. “You think it was Mister Everhart in the nursery.” Jace nodded. “And one of the men was Clara’s lover.”

  “We think so,” Jace said. “When the laundress was killed, Everhart was suspected of the deed. He’d been seen with her in the village. But his father was a baron with highly placed connections. Without direct proof, the matter was dropped.” He sighed. “Had George not mentioned Cambridge the other night, coupled with Freemont’s knowledge, through the Runners’ investigation, of the similar death in Cambridgeshire, we would never have discovered this connection.”

  An arrival of a guard interrupted them. “There is no sign of Bentley,” he said to Jace. “He has slipped away.”

  Brenna’s throat tightened. She swallowed past the lump. “He has fled because of me. I overheard you mention Mister Freemont was in Cambridgeshire and told George this afternoon. I did not think it would cause any harm. He was my friend.”

  “This is not your fault.” Richard placed his hands on her shoulders. He sent Jace a scathing glare. “Why not tell us of your suspicions earlier? You put us all in danger.”

  Jace stood. “You were protected. I made certain of it.” He crossed his arms. “I could not accuse the men of murder without proof. I still have nothing that will see either of them hang.”

  Brenna pushed from the chair and went to the window. She ran through her memories of the months she’d spent here at the hall and her time with George.

  Was it possible that he had hidden an evil soul? Could she have been so wrong about him?

  “Before Freemont’s return, he alerted the Runners to our findings. They have sent men to hunt Clive Everhart. We hope George has not gotten word to him about our suspicions. Everhart is a dangerous man.”

  The guard left, passing Lucy in the open doorway. Her eyes widened, falling on Mister Freemont. She glanced then to Brenna and her stricken face. “I have missed something.” She hurried across the room to Brenna. “What has happened?”

  “Jace and Mister Freemont think George and Clive Everhart are the killers,” Brenna said.

  Lucy twisted to look at Mister Freemont. He nodded. She turned back to Brenna. “I cannot believe that. Not George.”

  Jace briefly explained the situation. Lucy went pale. Brenna led her to the settee, and they sat.

  “What can I do to help?” Richard asked. The strain of the last hour etched lines around his mouth. “I cannot sit by while George and Everhart are loose to kill again.”

  “I agree,” Jace said. “If Everhart has run, we’ll need several men to aid in the hunt.” He turned to Mister Freemont. “Collect six men and have horses saddled. Ask the rest to come into the hall to stand guard. We ride in an hour.”

  Richard pulled Brenna into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I will return safely, love.”

  “You had better.” She smoothed a wrinkle on his shirt. “James and I need you.” She wrapped her arms around him and felt the pair of pistols in his waistband. There was some comfort knowing he was armed. He’d killed a man once. If need be, he’d do so again.

  He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. “I cannot leave you widowed. There are too many young bucks slavering to get into your bed.”

  She smiled. “Remember that, and also take Jace’s experience to heart and keep your head down when the arrows start flying.”

  Richard grinned. “I will.” He released her with a last quick kiss, and Joseph helped him into his greatcoat.

  Before he could turn and follow Jace out, she caught his arm and lifted up onto her toes. “I love you,” she whispered, in his ear. “I always have and always will.”

  Without waiting for his reply, she walked away.

  She loved him? In spite of his ill tempers and the shameful way he’d treated her, for several months from their first meeting to their wedding and after, Brenna had fallen in love with him.

  Richard watched Brenna take James from Lucy and press kisses on his tiny head. His heart tugged. If he survived this hunt alive, he’d make certain she knew she was loved in return.

  For now, he needed to keep his wits about him.


  George and Clive were running and desperate. They’d know they were being hunted and would not hesitate to kill their pursuers to stay free.

  He left the hall. His horse, and Jones and his men, were waiting on the drive. He mounted, and with one last glance at the hall, they were off.

  Richard and Jace led the search. They scoured the forest, the sheep barn, and anywhere they could think of where two men could hide. Nothing led to new clues. “Wherever they are, they will be well hidden,” Jace said.

  “Let us check the abbey,” Richard suggested. They hurried down the road. Though there were signs someone had recently visited the stone ruins, a quick scan of the building turned up no one hiding there.

  “Boys play knights of the keep in this place,” Richard said, his shoulders tightening with his frustration. “Lovers meet here. If George or Clive passed through, their footprints would mingle with any number of others.”

  The men gathered in the overgrown courtyard. “We should spread out and contact your neighbors and give them an update,” Jace said. “Their families and servants need to take shelter in their homes behind locked doors.”

  Richard agreed. He gave directions to the men, and each was assigned several neighbors to contact. They rode away.

  “I’ll feel more confident knowing everyone in the park is watching for the men.” He and Jace returned to the road. They met a pair of Bow Street Runners there. The men shared information and separated again.

  “There is a place we have not checked,” Richard said. In his haste, he’d forgotten the dower house. “My mother’s dower house is at the far end of the property. Brenna and I found clues that someone was meeting there, lovers most likely. The bed was unmade.”

  “Lead on.”

  The ride was not long, but they went slow, keeping vigilant. It would be a horrible ending to their search if either or both of them were shot from their saddles.

  When they reached the small copse of trees, they dismounted. There was no smoke from the chimney, as the day was warm, and no evidence of either boot prints or horses to show that the house was occupied.

  “They would be foolish to hide here,” Jace said quietly. He pulled out a pistol anyway.

  “Yes. However, if George and Clive were dim enough to kill Clara near where they resided, we are not dealing with two brilliant men.”

  “True. Still, they did get away with murder for ten years,” Jace said. “That could not have been all luck.”

  “Then let us find out who is correct,” Richard said.

  Richard claimed his own pistol, and they slowly walked up the short drive. Tiny stones shifted under their boots. As silently as was manageable, they neared the dower house. Richard paused. He could not remember if the curtains on the lower level had been open or closed when he and Brenna were there.

  “Hold,” he said, and Jace stopped. He ran his mind over the last visit. He was now reasonably certain the curtains were open, as he had no issue with seeing into the empty house when they’d explored it.

  “The maids cleaned but would not have closed the curtains,” he said, his voice low. “Someone else has been here.”

  He and Jace bent and closed in on the door. “We have surprise working for us,” Jace whispered.

  Richard nodded. He reached for the door handle. It was locked. “Someone is inside.” He stepped back, met Jace’s nod, and kicked the door off its hinges.

  A feminine scream pierced the dim interior of the house. He ran up the stairs toward the sound, Jace on his heels.

  A shadowy figure met him at the door of the darkened bedroom, an upraised candlestick in his hand. Richard could not get a shot, so he hit the man on the side of the head with the pistol. The attacker crumpled to the floor on his face.

  Richard knelt. The man breathed. He knew by the color of his hair that this was neither George nor Clive.

  Jace brushed by him and went to the bed. He leveled his pistol on the lone occupant. The woman cried beneath the thin sheet she’d pulled up to her chin. Clearly naked, and on the verge of hysteria, she begged Jace for her life.

  “Please do not hurt us,” she said, through sobs. “I have money. I’ll pay you anything you want to leave us unharmed.”

  Her voice broke through Richard’s consciousness, and he turned away from the fallen man, blinking to clear the image of the figure on the bed.

  “Anne?”

  The sheet came down enough for Richard to see the tear-streaked face of his sister. Her eyes widened.

  “Richard?” Her sobs instantly subsided. Her cheeks flushed, likely troubled to be found naked by her brother, though her attention was on the man on the floor. “What have you done?”

  Richard turned and reached for Lockley. Had the man not already been dazed by the pistol blow, he would currently be suffering a beating. He jerked the man to his feet and shoved him onto the bed.

  Clad only in trousers, hastily buttoned and partially open, a familiar face showed beneath his disheveled hair and smeared blood trickling down the side of his face from the cut on his temple. Richard froze.

  This was not Lockley. “Andrew?”

  Anne slid over to check his wound, the sheet tangling around her. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and dabbed the cut with a corner of the sheet.

  “Of course, Andrew.” She shot Richard an accusing glare. “Are you daft, Brother? Did you honestly think I’d actually marry that horrid Stewart Lockley?”

  She cooed and tended the injured Andrew. Richard walked over to stare down at Andrew. Through slit eyelids, his steward stared up at him. Richard felt the hot rage of betrayal.

  “I should kill you, you bastard.”

  Anne eased Andrew back against the pillows and stood up on the bed while clutching the sheet tightly to her bosom. Her hair swirled around her shoulders and red face. “He is my husband, you idiot. I have not been ruined.”

  Jace chuckled and backed out of the room. Richard went over to the nearest chair and slumped onto the stuffed surface.

  “How did this happen?” he asked.

  Anne climbed from the bed. “I will tell you everything once I am dressed and certain you have not permanently damaged my husband.” She pointed to the door. “Now get out!”

  Richard rose, stalked through the house, and went outside to find Jones leaning against his horse, chuckling and shaking his head. Richard’s scowl did not deter the man from his mirth. Instead, it seemed to entertain him further.

  “I have never been more grateful that I do not have a sister,” Jace said, and gave the horse a scratch. “Though the surprise on your face when your nearly naked sister told you of the marriage was most entertaining indeed.”

  Thoroughly exasperated by recent events, Richard was not in the mind-set to shrug off the other man’s good humor.

  “Cease your prattle, Jones,” Richard warned. “Or there will be another murder for the Runners to investigate today.” He collected his reins and swung up into the saddle to what sounded like a cat being strangled behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Brenna heard the front door burst open and hurried to the banister. She looked down to find Richard entering the manor, followed by Jace and two strangers, one, a man wobbling slightly on his feet.

  “You nearly killed him,” the woman said, her arm linked with the wobbling man. “And you expect me not to be livid?”

  “How was I to know you’d turned the dower house into a love nest?” Richard replied, his voice only slightly lower than hers. “You could have sent around a note.”

  “And watch you shoot my husband?” the woman scoffed. “You have always been hotheaded. As it is, we are lucky you were not able to pull off a shot.”

  Their upraised voices carried through the foyer to Brenna—and beyond, she suspected. Her curiosity rose about the woman who was clearly not intimidated by Richard. Their bickering continued unabated as they headed down the hallway and disappeared from sight.

  Interested and unable to hear the con
tinuing argument clearly, Brenna lifted her skirts and ran down the stairs. She saw Richard lead the trio into the drawing room and walked briskly after them. She was lady of the manor, she rationalized, and if something was amiss, she had a right to know what it was.

  “I can do what I wish with my life,” the woman was saying, as Brenna paused in the open doorway. Jace sent her a sympathetic glance and stepped into the hallway. Brenna barely acknowledged him as she watched the woman help the injured man onto the settee. “Who I marry is none of your concern.”

  “It is not the marriage I object to, Sister,” Richard argued. “You’ve been missing for months, without a word, and then you move into the dower house without making your presence known to anyone.”

  Brenna’s eyes widened. So this was the missing Anne. Upon further inspection, she did see a resemblance. And clearly sister and brother shared a similar temperament.

  “We were not hiding from you when we tied the horses around back of the house. We only just arrived this morning after a grueling ride,” Anne said, glowering. “I planned to rest for a bit, then come to the manor and explain myself, well knowing that you would not be pleased with my news. How was I to know that you’d burst in and pummel my husband senseless?”

  This battered man was the horrid Mister Lockley? He did not look at all like she’d expected.

  Brenna needed to defuse the anger before blood was shed. She stepped forward and cleared her throat. Four pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

  Richard sighed. He indicated she join them. She went to his side. He took her hand.

  Anne gave her a look over. Her gaze lingered on their clasped hands. “It appears as if some things have changed during my absence. Would you care to introduce us?”

  “Anne, this is my wife, Brenna. Brenna, this is my sister, Anne.” He turned to the man on the settee. “This is her husband, and my missing steward, Andrew Pearson.”

  “Andrew?” Brenna frowned. “I thought Mister Lockley was her husband.”

  Anne’s mouth thinned. “And I thought my brother would never remarry. It appears we were both misinformed, Lady Brenna.”