Beauty in Black

by Nicole Byrd

  She smiled sweetly. “I am praying for nothing else. I assure you, my lord, I shall never forget your amazing dedication to my health and happiness.”

  Oh, wonderful. This was just what he needed, more reason to tie her to his side. John shifted a little on the bed. “Umm, I thank you again, but really, you should not be in my bedchamber alone. I do not wish to see any aspersions cast upon your good name.”

  “It is so typical of you to think of me first,” she declared. “But I insisted on a moment alone to express my gratitude. And do not worry about any harm to my reputation, my aunt is just down the hall. Aunt Marianne, you may come in, now.”

  John wondered if he could repeat the summons, with even more urgency. Please come in, he thought. I need you, Marianne, my love.

  Although when she appeared, she was veiled in the perceptible wall of reserve she always affected when she most wanted to efface herself. He was sick of it, John realized. Marianne should not be the one who remained on the sidelines, should not be the one who remained silent when someone else took center stage. She deserved every attention. Would he ever have the power to insist upon it?

  “Aunt has told me of your very kind invitation,” Louisa was saying. “It is so thoughtful of you. I am quite looking forward to seeing your estate for the first time.”

  “Indeed,” he said again.

  She chattered on for a few minutes, while John wondered why on earth he had ever been attracted to her; she was sweet and pretty and as empty-headed as a bandy hen. No, that was not fair, and he knew it. He had simply found someone else, a woman with more depth and maturity with whom the lovely young woman who tried so hard to engage his attentions could not hope to compare.

  He felt sorry for Louisa, and for himself, too.

  “I shall write to my butler today and warn him—inform him—that we shall be coming down at the end of the week.” And to hell with the doctor if he did not agree, John thought. “In the meantime, I hope you will stay indoors, close at home.”

  Louisa’s face fell. “If you insist, my lord.”

  “I’m sure your aunt agrees with me,” he said, and Marianne nodded. “As irksome as I know it is, we must take every precaution.” To him, the prospect did not sound irksome at all. In fact, John wished he could be at home unbothered by the city’s din and crowded streets, but he knew that Louisa would not share his views.

  His fiancée agreed to his and her aunt’s urging, but with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

  When the housekeeper appeared, announcing that tea had been sent to the drawing room for the ladies, Louisa followed the servant. To his delight, Marianne stayed for a moment. But it seemed she only wanted to discuss the mysterious assailant.

  “I have made more inquires about Mr. Alton Crookshank’s movements,” she told him quietly. “My footman has learned that he spent the day of the shooting at his office at the Academy doing research.”

  “So he is accounted for,” John said, knowing he sounded as glum as he felt. Why could he not see the way clear to finding the hand that had held the gun?

  “Not at all, the building has more than one exit, and he is not the most noticeable of men. He’s quiet in his habits, the doorman told my man, and no one remembers just where he was or when he left.” She looked quietly triumphant.

  “Oh, well done,” he told her, enjoying the glow of her cheeks as she relished his admiration. “I have been thinking about our—Louisa’s—situation.”

  “And?”

  “If she has been threatened in Bath and in London, there is no guarantee at all that going to Kent will shake off her attacker or guarantee her safety,” he said slowly.

  “Then you think we should not go?” She looked disappointed, but he was not sure if her disappointment came from his conclusion or the potential cancellation of their trip. He only hoped it was, at least in part, the latter.

  “No, I’m sure that we should. Perhaps, with no crowds to hide in, the man can be identified more easily.”

  “But that means we are using Louisa as bait,” she objected. “Like a bleating goat tied to a tree to lure the tiger from the jungle.”

  He smiled slightly at the anecdote culled from her store of travel books. “I doubt she will bleat, exactly. And she will be in no more danger there than here. Less, I devoutly hope.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Marianne agreed, but she pressed her lips together for a moment. “I simply feel that if something happens, it would be my fault.”

  She had been carrying too much responsibility alone for too long, he thought. He wanted to lift that furrow of worry from her forehead, caress the smooth skin until all care was gone. Oh, bloody hell, how he wanted to touch her!

  He pulled his thoughts back to Louisa. “The first attempt occurred before you took over her care,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, but she is in my custody now.” Marianne met his gaze squarely, and he knew she would always look reality in the face. He felt a moment of pride in her courageous spirit. Amazing how much that delighted him, but perhaps everything about her did.

  “I will be beside you,” he promised.

  And surely something leaped in her eyes at that simple vow.

  Someday, he would be beside her always—he would find a way.

  With the prospect of not only his removal from his brother’s roof but the delightful anticipation of having Marianne Hughes, and Louisa, of course, staying in his house, the rest of the week went by with tantalizing slowness.

  At last the day came when John saw his trunk repacked, and not one but two carriages prepared for the trip. In addition to his own black carriage, which somehow looked faded indeed compared to his brother’s spruce equipage, Gabriel had added one of his own chaises to accommodate all the ladies’ luggage and the two maids who would accompany them.

  John rode in his own carriage, and Louisa insisted on riding with him, which meant that, although John winced at the thought of all the cosseting she would inflict upon him—she had already added two cushions and a hot brick for his feet—Marianne, as the girl’s chaperone, would be included in their vehicle, too. The two maids and the extra luggage rode in Gabriel’s chaise.

  The footman tried to put Runt into the maids’ carriage, but the little dog objected so loudly that she was switched to John’s carriage, instead.

  Louisa looked a bit askance when the small spaniel, panting slightly, curled up at their feet.

  “Just think of her as a foot warmer,” Marianne suggested, a twinkle in her eyes.

  His brother had decided to ride, so he would canter beside them. John tried to tell his brother that his presence was not necessary. “I know you wish to be with your wife.”

  “What, not anxious to spend more time in my company?” Gabriel raised one brow. “I would rather be here, yes, but the doctor assures me that Psyche is out of danger. A friend has come to stay with her, and Circe is very mature; they have promised to send a special dispatch for me at any sign that I am needed. And I do not plan to linger—I will return to London shortly.”

  John had no doubt of that; his sibling had no wish to expend one more moment than necessary in this enforced family reunion.

  “But my wife wishes me to see Miss Crookshank and Mrs. Hughes safely delivered, and I do not want to cause her any anxiety.”

  So they set off, after only two last-minute delays, as Louisa forgot one of her bonnets, and then Sally, a curvaceous lady of very fashionable appearance, came out with a final message from Lady Gabriel. At last the coachman cracked his whip and the carriage moved forward.

  It was a fair day, and John felt his spirits rise as they soon left London’s busy streets behind and rolled through the countryside. From outside the chaise, he heard larks warbling as the birds soared high in the cloudless blue sky, and in the green fields new lambs scurried beside their dams. England in the spring . . .

  John could almost have burst into song, himself. Even if Louisa kept talking—did the girl never shut up?—he could covertly admir
e Marianne from the corner of his eye as he nodded absently in answer to his fiancée’s ceaseless chatter.

  They arrived at the edge of his estate by late afternoon. John was pleased to see his brother, his expression approving, look over the well-kept acreage and neat farmlands.

  “Have you tried the new method of cross-fertilization?” Gabriel surprised him by riding close enough to ask as the carriage paused at the gatehouse while the gate was opened and the coachman got down to check one of the horses in their team, whose harness seemed loose.

  “Yes, I have found it an admirable system,” John answered.

  They had a brief but quite civil conversation about farming methods before the coachman climbed back up to his perch and flicked the reins. Then the chaise rolled forward again, with the other carriage following.

  Within a mile they rounded the final bend and the house came into view. This time Gabriel had no comment to make, John noted, observing his brother covertly through the chaise window. Gabriel looked grim, as if old memories had been revived. But Louisa broke into extravagant praise of the large building. John waited, more interested to hear what the other lady had to say.

  Marianne regarded the large mansion thoughtfully. “It is a handsome building,” she agreed, “with noble proportions.”

  He smiled, relieved that she approved.

  When the carriage drew to a stop, a footman stood ready to open the door and hand the ladies out. John regarded the servant with some jealousy; John would not have the pleasure of helping Marianne down. When he himself eased his wretched arm, protected by its sling but a little sore from the jolting of the journey, out of the chaise, he found the servants lined up to welcome him.

  He spoke pleasantly to them as Runt sniffed at the shrubbery, but it did not escape his notice that the housekeeper looked anxious, the cook hungover, and the butler, Pomfroy, even more glum than usual. Oh, hell, he hoped the house would not be found to be in disorder, the one and only time he had brought guests, and guests whose good opinion he so much craved.

  When they entered the front hall, John saw his house with fresh eyes. What he observed made his heart sink. Obviously, a frenzied last-minute effort had been made to neaten the place, and just as obviously, it did not make up for years of neglect.

  The marble floors had smears where rag mops had missed their mark, and the tall ceilings were shadowed by an occasional cobweb. Even when they went into the drawing room, where at least the dustcovers had been removed from his mother’s furniture—he never used the room himself and it was usually kept shut—he could see that dust darkened the edges of the carpet and the air smelt musty.

  Thankfully, Gabriel remained silent, but his controlled expression did not totally hide his contempt.

  John felt a deep sense of chagrin. “I’m afraid my staff has been somewhat lax,” he murmured to Marianne, who smiled in reassurance.

  “I think that you need a mistress of the house,” she pointed out, her eyes warm as she gazed into his.

  I need you, and for much more than overlooking the household, John thought, but he could not say the words aloud.

  She glanced toward Louisa, who was looking about the room and apparently trying hard to find something to admire. “The—umm—draperies are very handsome,” the younger woman declared.

  For the first time in years John took a good look at the tall windows and their brocade dressings. “They were once, but they are sadly faded,” he admitted. “It was my mother who chose these fabrics, and she has been dead for some time. It all needs replacing—I will have to see to it.”

  How could he have thought of bringing a bride to a house in such neglected condition? He himself had lived a hermit’s life, going from his bedchamber to his study to the dining room and back again, and it had never occurred to him to worry about the dust or grime that was outside his immediate path.

  “Men are not made to be housekeepers,” he heard Marianne murmur to Louisa, as if in reassurance. “As Lady Sealey says, they enjoy a well-kept house, but they have no idea how to bring such a state about.”

  John could hardly argue the point. The housekeeper appeared in the doorway to show the ladies to their rooms, and a footman guided his brother to a guest chamber. John drew a deep breath, hoping the beds had been aired and the linen had no holes.

  He went up to his own room and found the butler waiting to help him out of his coat. “Dinner will be served at six, my lord,” the servant told him. “We did our best on such short notice, but two of the maids ’as quit, and the cook’s complaining again about the chimney needing sweeping.”

  “So why wasn’t it done?” John demanded. “Pomfroy, has the cook been dipping into the best port again? I told you—”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” the man protested. “I kept a close eye on the port, I did. He’s been into the brandy, instead.” He sighed.

  John felt a surge of anger. “I have warned him before. You may inform the man he is on notice. As soon as I can find a replacement, his employment will be terminated.” He could at least do this much to spare his future bride, whomever she might be, John told himself grimly.

  Pomfroy’s dour expression seemed to lengthen his long face even more. “Yes, my lord,” he agreed. “But if I may suggest?”

  “Yes?”

  “You might wait to inform him until we actually have a new cook, my lord, and Corey’s not—umm—mixing up our food?”

  If his own cook poisoned him, he would not have to worry about outside assassins, John thought, not sure whether to laugh or groan. “A good point,” he admitted. “But send out inquiries at once, if you please.”

  The man nodded.

  “Come back in an hour, and I will change for dinner. Be sure that my guests have hot water and all that they need.”

  John lay down upon his bed and shut his eyes, but found it impossible to rest. How could he have been blind to the state of his home, and why had he not taken better care of his inheritance? True, he had only had the house a little over a year since the death of his father, but John could have spent more time seeing to its refurbishment. Perhaps most bachelors did not consider such things, he tried to tell himself, but he worried that the ladies—that Marianne—would receive a poor impression of the place, and he was sure that his brother was smirking, even if Gabriel did not show it openly.

  Bloody hell.

  When a footman came up to fill his copper bathtub with hot water, John gingerly—the doctor had warned him to avoid getting the wound wet—lowered himself into the half-filled tub and managed a quick bath. Then, drying himself awkwardly, he dressed, allowing the butler when he reappeared to help him into shirt, coat, and pantaloons. He usually tied his own neck cloth, but with one hand it was impossible, so Pomfroy, his expression intent, managed the job. Between them all, John was eventually made ready to go down to the drawing room and greet his guests.

  He found the atmosphere in the big room less musky. Someone had directed the windows opened, and the light evening breeze was pleasant as it aired out the room.

  After the ladies rejoined him, he found out who had given the order.

  “Oh, how nice,” Louisa remarked, looking about her. She sank into a chair; the brief rest and change of clothes seemed to have revived her usual cheerful demeanor.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I told the servants to open the windows, my lord,” Marianne Hughes murmured after he had bent over her hand.

  “Please, consider yourself at home and give any order that you think best,” he told her, with more truth to the words than she could imagine. “I’m afraid housekeeping is not my strong point, as you have already suggested.”

  Her cheeks pinked. “It was wrong of me to imply it,” she said, although her eyes still twinkled.

  “If you had seen the house when my mother was alive, it would have looked very different,” he told her.

  Gabriel had entered the room in time to hear his comment.

  “Indeed, our mother kept the place spotless,” he
agreed. “And she kept bowls of lavender in each room, so that the house always smelled sweet.”

  John felt a sudden surge of memory. “So she did. I should revive the practice.”

  “You will have to plant fresh lavender, then,” his brother noted, his tone tart. “I see that my mother’s gardens are sadly neglected.”

  John bit back an angry retort, keeping his voice level. “You have been for a walk, then?”

  Gabriel didn’t answer.

  He had been to see their mother’s grave, John realized. It was located at the end of the gardens in a private family graveyard. Some of John’s anger faded. At least, his brother would have found the grave site well tended; that was one task John insisted was always performed regularly. But Gabriel’s expression was brooding, and his eyes seemed dark.

  Perhaps it was as well that the butler appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served, my lords, ladies.”

  John was forced to offer his arm to Louisa, while his brother took in Marianne. The table looked well with its white linen, the family china, and silver and crystal. Perhaps the silver could have used more polishing, and the flowers in the center looked a bit droopy. He would have to look into the state of the gardens, he realized, hating that Gabriel had seen the estate at less than its best.

  When he took over total control of the estate and had finally had a free hand, John had been shocked once again at the disarray and neglect in which his father had kept it. John had applied his attention to the pastures and farmland and the sad shape of his tenants’ cottages. He had not yet had time to think about the formal garden, but he should have thought to look over the flower beds his mother had planted. What else could go wrong with this visit?

  When the first course arrived, his question was answered. The soup was watery, the pudding hard as any rock dug out of the slighted flower beds. The vegetables were overcooked, and the jellies wobbled.

  When the fish course followed, it was tolerable, but the beef that came next was too brown, and the chicken dry and stringy.