Lord Margrave's Secret Desire

by Samantha Grace

  Mrs. Quince bowed her head. “As you wish, Your Grace. If you will follow me.” She selected a key from the ring at her waist and exited his chambers, politely acknowledging his valet as she slipped past him where he stood inside the threshold.

  Perry and the housekeeper walked in silence along the narrow corridor. Mrs. Quince paused at Geoffrey’s door. “On your command, no one has entered the room. Are you certain you do not want a maid to set everything to order first?”

  “Open the door.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.” Red blotches splattered her neck and cheeks. With her gaze downcast, she wiggled the key into the keyhole. The lock gave way with a clank that echoed in the empty corridor. Father had sold everything, even the thick Aubusson he and Mother had received as a wedding gift.

  Before the housekeeper could scurry away like the frightened mouse she had become under his father’s employ, Perry apologized for his surliness. “I must view my brother’s chamber as he left it, and I need to do this alone.”

  Mrs. Quince smiled timidly. “I understand. You will not be disturbed.”

  “Thank you.”

  Perry stepped inside, and the housekeeper closed the door, forcing him to face the evidence of his failure as a brother. Geoffrey’s room was almost as bare as the corridor. It had been stripped of anything of beauty or value, leaving only a bed, desk, a battered Chippendale chair, and an empty bedside table. He should have seen his brother was in trouble, but Perry had been keeping his distance. His father’s obsession with the actress had been mortifying, and the gossip circulating about his father’s cruelty had sickened him.

  Stop!

  Shrugging off a mantle of guilt and fury, he crossed the room to throw open the drapes. A blinding afternoon sun thrust through the leaded glass panes. He shaded his eyes with his hand and turned to survey his brother’s private space. If there was anything incriminating in the room, it should be easy to find. He approached the desk and yanked open a drawer.

  His brother’s diary and two letters were neatly stacked inside. They were addressed to Geoffrey but did not identify the sender. The seal was unbroken on one of the letters, and neither included the usual markings associated with postal delivery. Had it been hand-delivered?

  He broke the seal and scanned the page. It was filled with numbers. An acidic burn seeped into his belly. Dropping onto the chair, he dug out the second letter to compare. The handwriting on the front matched. Again, the page was covered in numbers, grouped in threes. His mouth grew dry.

  It is encrypted.

  He couldn’t be certain—God, please let me be mistaken—but another explanation evaded him. Unease spread through his limbs. Men with nothing to hide did not receive letters in cipher. Margrave’s accusations echoed through his mind.

  Geoffrey associated with dangerous men. His past dealings place you at risk.

  As a younger man, Perry had been reckless and believed himself invincible. His life had been his to risk. Now, too many people relied on him for their own survival—his sisters, the servants, tenant farmers. He was not his father. He did not abuse nor neglect those entrusted to his care. No one threatened what was his.

  Grabbing the letters and his brother’s diary, he strode from the room. In his own chambers, he jotted a command on a piece of paper and rang for a footman. He thrust the paper in the boy’s hands.

  “Take this to Baroness Van Middleburg. Do not delay.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” He rushed out the door, seeming to sense the urgency.

  Perry was in his study reading his brother’s journal when his butler announced his second cousin’s arrival. “Show her in.”

  Ida swept into the room a few moments later. Her face was screwed up with worry. He stood but did not leave his desk to greet her.

  “I came as soon as I received your summons,” she said. “What has happened? Has one of your sisters fallen ill? I do hope none of them have come down with a chill. It has been a wet summer, and young girls can be careless.”

  How dare she pretend to be concerned? Perry glared. “Sit.”

  “Mercy, the news must be terrible.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, and she took a seat on the window bench. “It is all right. I am strong enough to accept whatever has befallen us. I am here to support you.”

  “Us,” he scoffed. “There is no us, Ida. Do not insult me with your play acting.”

  She drew back, appearing genuinely caught off guard. He wagered she was. She had probably believed she had him hoodwinked, and he had been, but no more. He gathered the letters and walked around the desk to approach the window bench.

  “Are these what you hoped to find in my brother’s chambers, Ida? That is the reason you offered to sort through his belongings, is it not?”

  Color drained from her complexion; the brackets on either side of her mouth deepened. She appeared stricken. “I-I only wished to help.”

  He held out the letters, shaking the sheets of paper when she didn’t accept them immediately. “Take them.”

  A shadow of irritation crossed her face, but it disappeared just as quickly. She reached for the letters and examined them, first one and then the second. Her mouth opened and closed several times. “I am at a loss.” When she glanced up, puzzled grooves were carved across her brow. “What is this?”

  “What is wrong, cousin? Didn’t Geoffrey teach you how to decipher? Perhaps it was a secret kept between my brother and your husband.” Perry took the letters and shoved them into a pocket inside his jacket.

  “None of what you are saying is making sense.” She gently took his hand; her large brown eyes overflowed with confusion and compassion. “Forgive me for overstepping my bounds, but I only meant to help you in your grief. I loved your father like my own brother. I cannot close my eyes to your suffering. Dear boy, I am worried you are not well.”

  His certainty began to falter. Margrave could have been mistaken about his cousin’s involvement. Ida had never shown an inclination for ill will toward anyone. If anything, her behavior was consistent with how she had always been.

  When his mother died, Ida had stayed at the family home for weeks to comfort his sisters. Was it truly odd that she would offer her support now in the wake of his great loss? His brother and father had been murdered. How did one cope with such tragedy alone?

  “Perry.” She squeezed his fingers. He snapped to attention. “Will you please allow me to send for the doctor? He will give you something for your nerves.”

  He pulled free of her grip. “I do not require a tonic for nerves. I crave the quiet of the country and my sisters’ company. I am going home.”

  It would be a brief trip since his presence was required at the Lords, but he needed time alone to study Geoffrey’s diary and search for meaning in his brother’s words. His younger brother’s life had been stolen. Perry wanted to know the reason.

  He returned to the desk to collect the diary then headed for the door, eager to dismiss his cousin and order his staff to ready his travel chariot.

  “I am sorry to have bothered you. You are obviously as ignorant of Geoffrey’s activities as I was. Thank you for responding to my summons promptly.”

  Ida wearily pushed up from the bench when Perry offered to escort her to the front door.

  “Would you like me to take the letters to Lord Van Middleburg?” she asked. “I cannot say my husband will be able to shed light on the mystery, but if it will bring you peace of mind...”

  “That is unnecessary. I will decipher the letters eventually, or find someone who can.” He walked her to the front door, kissed her cheek, and bade her good-bye.

  She frowned. “Are you leaving for home today? You will not arrive before nightfall.”

  “I need respite. This house…” He couldn’t explain, and she wouldn’t understand. His father’s presence was everywhere. It was suffocating. Perry feared he might become as mad as his father if he stayed another night.

  Ida sighed. “I suppose I am wasting breath trying to persu
ade you to wait until morning.”

  “You are.”

  “Very well. I wish you a safe journey.”

  Perry escorted her to her husband’s carriage then informed the butler he would be returning to the country. He and his servants, two postilions on horseback and his valet in the rumble seat, set out for home within the hour. He pulled his brother’s diary from a leather bag. With at least an hour of daylight remaining, he started reading from the beginning again. The first entry was from three years ago.

  Geoffrey was gone, but reading his words brought him back to life in that moment. His baritone voice filled Perry’s head as he devoured the pages; he turned them quickly so as not to lose the thread of the memory. Geoffrey’s first entries had been wry and humorous. Perry chuckled over antidotes about mutual friends, family members, and the occasional busybody or bore they often had encountered in London.

  One such tale was about an arrogant and braggadocios man he had met at the faro table at one of the gaming hells. Geoffrey heard rumors the man was King George IV’s lap dog. When they shared a drink later that evening and Geoffrey had posed the question about the gossip, the man had insisted he held power beyond anything Perry’s brother could imagine. He boasted of his importance as the head of a select group of spies, independent of the Home Office, who answered directly to the King and did his bidding.

  Setting aside the possibility he is most likely cracked, I find it difficult to believe this feral gent is capable of being tamed by anyone. Ambition oozes from his pores, overpowering in its stench. If his claims are true, it smells like opportunity.

  Geoffrey hadn’t explained his meaning.

  Later that summer, Perry’s brother wrote about falling in love. Something rather extraordinary occurred today, his entry began. An Italian opera singer had caught his fancy, and the romantic attachment seemed mutual. Page after page detailed their love affair. Perry’s brother spouted poems and was clearly smitten. Unfortunately, two and a half years ago, the passion that had burned brightly between them was snuffed out when a more important and wealthy benefactor offered his protection.

  After the failed love affair, Geoffrey’s diary became a dumping ground for vitriol. He railed against men like Perry who had inherited their rank through no accomplishments of their own. Geoffrey vowed to make something of himself in order to win back the heart of his one true love, and free himself from their father’s influence.

  Perry closed the book. He no longer recognized his brother in the hateful words. Their contacts had become brief and infrequent over the last two years. Geoffrey had offered various excuses for avoiding the family seat. His behavior made sense now. He had been hiding from Perry. Understanding his brother’s actions did not bring solace.

  Grateful for sunset, Perry tucked the diary back in the bag. He could pick it up again when he had daylight to read by and a good night’s sleep behind him. When he and his servants arrived at the first coaching inn to change horses, the quarter moon hung in the distance, and the sky held the muted pink remnants of a day gone. Perry’s servants made fast work of changing out the horses. He wished the postilions a safe ride back to London before continuing his journey with the hired men and horses.

  He estimated little more than an hour remained until the traveling chariot would turn onto the lane leading home. His sisters would be sitting down to dine when he waltzed inside and caught them by surprise. He was sure to be bombarded with many questions about the Season and his search for a wife. He wished he had something valuable to share.

  He closed the louvred blinds, slumped on the bench, and extended his legs. He was dozing off when shouts jolted him awake. The carriage rumbled to a stop.

  The shouting continued. Perry opened the blind to peer out the forward window, but the carriage lights blinded him. He opened the door to stick his head outside. “Who is causing that commotion?”

  “I think it is highwaymen,” his valet said from the rumble seat; his voice quivered.

  “Damned nuisance,” Perry grumbled and dropped back against the seat, leaving the door open in anticipation of the blackguards coming to demand payment. “Do not resist. They will be on their way soon enough.”

  He had been aware of the risks involved with night travel when he set out, and although he carried a firearm on the road, there was no sense in anyone coming to harm over a few pieces of silver. Everything of value was locked in the safe at the town house. He was digging a small purse from his jacket pocket to appease the thieves when a deafening blast rang out.

  What the devil?

  A horse squealed. The carriage jerked forward and stopped. One of the postilions yelled commands, attempting to gain control of the team. A flash, then another bang followed. A man cried out, perhaps one of Perry’s.

  He dove onto the carriage floor, his large frame bent at impossible angles in the small space. He groped for the pistol at his waist. The coach violently lurched, throwing him against the rear bench. The firearm slipped from his hand.

  “Your Grace!”

  His panicked valet jumped, wisely abandoning his post as the carriage shot down the dark road. The door slammed then flung open again. Perry braced his arms and legs to keep from being tossed around the interior. The wheels bumped over ruts, became airborne, then crashed down with a shudder.

  He struggled to climb from the floor and lost ground when the conveyance careened around a curve. The door flew open and was ripped from the hinges as the carriage sideswiped a tree.

  Loud whoops came from behind, closing the distance rapidly. Perry felt around for the pistol, but it was gone. The sounds of men giving chase grew louder. What did they want? They had met with no resistance. His men had been ready to stand and deliver.

  The crackle of timber splintering wrenched his heart and filled him with dread. The sound crescendoed until it ended with a loud snap.

  I am going to die.

  The carriage veered off the road, racing down an incline and hitting ruts. Perry was thrown in the air and came down hard again. His head smacked against the cushioned wall. One of the front wheels rammed into something unmovable, and the back of the carriage kicked up, tumbling end over end. Perry lost all sense of where he was as he was knocked around like a billiard ball bouncing off the rails.

  When the carriage stopped rolling, it tipped and landed on its side. Perry was on his back, staring at the moon through the missing door. All was quiet, as if even the crickets and frogs were out of breath.

  He lay there drawing in gulps of air and taking inventory of his aches and pains. His head throbbed. Thankfully, he could move his arms and legs. His back was tight, and something uncomfortable was wedged beneath him. It was his leather satchel. Pushing to a seated position, he wiggled the bag out from under him and debated what to do now.

  The horses were gone. The postilions were gone. Even the highwaymen seemed to have abandoned the chase. He was alone and had no idea in what direction was home.

  “Damnation.” He half spoke, half groaned the curse.

  Shifting to his knees, he planted his hands against the sides of the carriage and attempted to stand. Someone clambered onto the carriage and filled the doorway, blocking the moon.

  A faceless man snarled. “I’ll be takin’ those letters, Yer Grace.”

  Perry gritted his teeth and sank back to the ground.

  Damn you, Ida. And damn Margrave for being right.

  Perry lifted his chin in defiance. “I’ve no notion of what letters you reference, but let this be a warning. If you persist in this matter, I will see you hanged.”

  The man sniggered. “The lady sees ye put ‘em in your pocket. Don’t matter none if theys bloody when she gets ‘em.”

  The sound of a hammer cocking reverberated in the closed space. All the air was sucked from the carriage. He was really going to die. Powder exploded with an earsplitting bang.

  Perry jerked.

  There was a thump on the ground outside.

  A few more gunshots echoed i
n the distance.

  Someone yelled, “Run!”

  “Yes, run, you cowards,” a man taunted. “Run away.”

  As their footfalls rapidly faded, Perry patted his body, shocked to realize he was free of extra holes. How had the blackguard missed at that range? Someone was rounding the carriage. A long, low whistle carried on the air.

  “Damn shame,” a voice muttered. “It was a fine carriage.”

  “Who is there?” Perry called. “Announce yourself.”

  “Your Grace, you survived. I must admit it seemed improbable for a bit.”

  The man stepped in front of the forward window. Much to Perry’s relief, the lamps had been extinguished in the tumble rather than setting the carriage ablaze, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the man’s shadow as he knelt beside the carriage. Perry had the strange sense the man was smiling at him through the window.

  “The name is Kane.” The man’s tone was cheerful, friendly. “Lord Margrave sent me. Let’s get you out of there, shall we?”

  “A man is still out there. He has a pistol. He intends to murder me.”

  Suddenly, his rescuer’s voice was like steel. “Not any longer, Your Grace.”

  Eighteen

  Sophia lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and listening to Aunt Beatrice’s deep, rhythmic breathing. It was late, and the inn had grown silent soon after she and her aunt retired. They were one of two parties taking lodgings at the remote location.

  When she was certain her aunt was in a deep enough sleep, she slipped from the bed and donned a cloak, tugging the hood over her head to cover her loose hair. She sensed Crispin sitting outside the door of their room, although he made no noise. The sliver of light underneath the door was dimmer than when she had climbed into bed, as if a shadow fell across the threshold.

  In stocking feet, she tiptoed toward the door. Crispin swung his head in her direction when she stepped into the inn’s corridor and closed the door with a soft snick. He was sitting with his back leaning against the wall. His legs were casually drawn up with his arm draped over a knee. No surprise registered on his face. As she suspected, he was guarding her and her aunt. Her pulse raced a little faster. He had reassured her that they were safe.