Major Kurland straightened. “What does any of this have to do with Stanford?”
“I asked his opinion of Mr. Bentley.”
“You shouldn’t be asking him about anything to do with this matter.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is private.”
“But he is a friend of yours.”
“Miss Harrington, if I’d wanted his opinion, I would’ve asked him myself. Now can we get back to the matter in hand?”
“You were the one who started talking about Mr. Stanford.”
“Because you—” He sighed. “I’ve completely forgotten what I came here to say now.”
“Then perhaps if I am proving to be such an unsatisfactory companion you should go and speak to Sophia and Anna.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why? They are surrounded by admirers. They hardly need to speak to me.”
“Because coming here and seeking me out and no one else isn’t socially acceptable.”
“You are in a strange mood this afternoon, Miss Harrington. Who would care or notice whether I talk to you or anyone else?”
“You are about to become a baronet, Major. That makes you a catch on the marriage mart. Haven’t you noticed all the matchmaking mamas smiling at you recently?”
“No, I haven’t because such a thing would be ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“Because”—he glared down at her—“I’m not willing to be married for my title, my lands, or my social position.” He readjusted his grip on his cane. “I’m not exactly much of a catch, am I, Miss Harrington? An awkward cripple who has something of a temper and is afraid of getting back on a horse. Most of these young girls would run away in terror the first time I growled at them.”
“Some might, but not all of them.”
“Because some of them value a title more than the man who owns it. I’ve already learned that lesson from Miss Chingford, Miss Harrington. I refuse to be conned again.” He checked the clock on the mantelpiece. “I must be going. I’ve spent the last few hours at the College of Arms trying to decide how my coat of arms should look and come up with a family motto.”
“How interesting. I’ve never thought about how such things come about before. One just assumes all family titles are old and their meaning resonant with history.”
He half-smiled. “Apparently, including any direct reference to the fortune I inherited from my grandfather’s mills is not appropriate. If you think of anything meaningful I might wish to bestow on future generations of my family, Miss Harrington, please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts with me.”
“I will, Major, and in the meantime, if you do not dislike it, I will further my acquaintance with the Countess of Broughton and Lady Bentley and see if I can discover exactly why she and the dowager were at war.”
“If you must.” He carried on speaking before she could get a word in. “I’d rather wait to see if Oliver confesses all.”
“I wonder whether Lieutenant Broughton will allow you to be present at such an interview?”
He hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“If he intends to send Oliver away regardless, he probably won’t want you knowing the truth, will he?”
“Broughton isn’t like that. He’s quite a disciplinarian and set in his ways.”
“But, as you said, not necessarily with his own family.” Lucy sighed. “I wish Oliver would wake up and confide in you and then you can decide what to do.”
Major Kurland paused as he rose to his feet. “He did say one thing to me, but it didn’t make much sense.”
“I thought you said he hadn’t spoken to anyone?”
“I can hardly call it a conversation. He was merely babbling due to his fever. He insisted that his grandmother should not be allowed to meddle.”
“I wonder what he meant.” She looked up at him. “Maybe my theory is correct and the dowager is the one who poisoned herself.”
“You do have a terrible tendency to leap to the most far-fetched conclusions, Miss Harrington. Oliver might simply have been suggesting he’d taken care of that problem once and for all.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that.”
His complacent smile was particularly infuriating. “Let’s wait to hear what he has to say, shall we?” He bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Harrington. Thank you very much for the tea.”
Chapter 11
Lucy smiled at the Countess of Broughton and poured her another cup of tea. It hadn’t taken her long to gain the countess’s permission to visit her at home. Insisting that it was an honor to be of assistance, she’d tucked a blanket over the countess’s knees and a fine paisley shawl around her shoulders. Being the daughter of a rector had taught her how to care for the bereaved and the lonely, and she sensed the countess was both.
“You are very kind, my dear.”
Lucy patted her black mittened hand. “I’m just doing what my father would wish, my lady. He always insisted that Anna and I place the needs of others above ourselves.” Particularly his needs, but the countess didn’t need to know that.
“An estimable man,” the countess murmured. “Most young women today seem far too intent on pursing their own pleasure rather than caring for their families.”
Lucy had persuaded the countess to give up her place in the large draughty drawing room and take refuge in her sitting room at the back of the house, which not only caught the morning sun, but also was a lot easier and smaller to heat.
“I met a Lady Bentley at my aunt’s house yesterday. She asked to be remembered to you.”
The countess shuddered. “I have no wish to be remembered by her. She and the late dowager ruined many a social occasion for me recently with their ridiculous feud.”
“Lady Bentley referred to some rubies that she believed belonged to her. Is it true that she meant to take the dowager to court over such a small matter?”
“It’s a rather complicated story.”
Lucy assumed her most interested expression and the countess continued. “They came out in the same year and were considered inseparable. Then Maude, my future mother-in-law, set her cap at a certain man, and managed to wring a proposal of marriage from him despite everyone knowing that he really preferred her best friend, Agnes.”
“Oh dear.”
“Lady Bentley was not the sort of woman to accept such a situation. She managed to persuade the man in question to marry her instead. As you might imagine, the dowager didn’t take that very well, and her family considered legal action against the Bentleys. Luckily, it came to naught because Maude met the Earl of Broughton and married him instead. She always insisted that her choice was far superior because she’d married an earl, whereas Agnes had settled for a mere knight.”
“But what does that have to do with rubies?”
“Well, Bentley gave Maude some of his family jewelry during their betrothal, and she refused to give it back after the arrangement ended. Lady Bentley insisted it should be returned to her, and the matter has remained one of heated discussion for the last forty years.”
“So why did Lady Bentley finally decide to resurrect the matter and turn to the law?”
“Because Maude insisted that Agnes had recently stolen the jewels from her. Lady Bentley, of course, denied it, and the dowager took her grievances and decided to air them in front of the ton.”
“I cannot imagine Lady Bentley charging in here and stealing jewelry, can you?”
“No, because the dowager barred her from the house years ago.” The countess shivered and gathered the shawl more closely around her shoulders. “It’s far more likely that my mother-in-law misplaced the jewels and decided to blame her old enemy.”
“And gave you yet another thing to worry about, my lady,” Lucy said gently, and set the countess’s empty cup down beside her. “When do you expect your husband to return?”
“Not for many weeks, my dear. If he decides to come.” The countess sighed. “Although as his mother’s financial affairs were rather complex, i
t might force him to return.”
“Indeed.” Lucy sipped her own tea and toasted her toes on the hearth of the fire. “I presume you won’t wait for him to bury the dowager, then?”
“If it were up to me, Miss Harrington, I’d have my mother-in-law buried tomorrow, but Broughton is insisting we wait until Oliver recovers.”
Lucy looked sympathetic. “It must be very hard for you to deal with this when your own health is so delicate.”
“It is very difficult, indeed, and yet no one thinks of me. Major Kurland has been very kind, but it’s not the same as having one’s family around one, is it?” There was a whining note to the countess’s voice that rose with every word. “Unfortunately, my only daughter is away in Wales awaiting the birth of her second child.”
“So you have no one here to help and support you.” Lucy took a deep breath. “I wonder if I might make a suggestion? I would be more than willing to help you with any tasks that require a more delicate approach. I have a lot of experience in these matters from helping my father’s parishioners.”
That was at least the truth. She could be very helpful to the countess, who appeared to find everything an effort.
“But what of your Season?”
Lucy smiled. “I really came to support my sister. I’m rather too old to expect to find a husband for myself.”
The countess regarded her carefully. “You have many wonderful qualities, Miss Harrington, as does your sister. I cannot imagine you won’t be sought after.”
“Then let me help you when I can. My father would be most disappointed if I didn’t at least offer my services.” Lucy kept going. “For example, I’m sure the idea of setting the dowager’s possessions to rights and cataloguing them for the benefit of the estate would tax your strength enormously. In fact, if I did help to sort out her affairs, we might find those missing jewels again, and settle the matter once and for all.”
“That would be nice.” The countess stared into the fire, her expression thoughtful.
“Then I could aid you with that at least.” Lucy tried to look dependable. “It wouldn’t impede on my social invitations at all.”
The countess patted her hand. “You are very kind. I will speak to Broughton and see if he is amenable to the idea. He seems to hold your family in high esteem, so I doubt he will prevent you from helping me.” She hesitated. “If you are sure, that is? And if your aunt and Mrs. Hathaway can spare you?”
Lucy squeezed the countess’s thin fingers and smiled. “It would be an honor, my lady.”
In an effort to avoid the well-meaning attentions of the staff and Dr. Redmond’s unending lectures, Robert had taken to visiting Oliver’s bedchamber late at night when it was comparatively quiet. He’d even sat with Oliver while the nurse carried out various tasks that required her to leave the room.
After an hour of listening to Foley explaining the delights and downside of the current London property market, he’d finally managed to escape to the relative peace of Oliver’s suite. Having been bedridden himself, he had a particular understanding of the frustrations of the situation and was more than willing to help out. As he approached Oliver’s door he heard voices and slowed his steps. If he wasn’t mistaken, Broughton was in there and speaking quite desperately to his brother.
“Oliver, tell me the truth. Devil take it, tell me! What did you see?”
Robert couldn’t hear the weak answer well enough to make sense of it and took another cautious step closer to the half-open door.
“It didn’t make any sense.” Oliver sounded stronger now. “Why would she—” He coughed, and there was the sound of water being poured into a cup.
“She’s dead, Oliver.”
“Grandmother is?” Robert tensed as Oliver started to laugh. “That’s wonderful.”
Robert’s cane struck the door and he quickly caught it before deliberately rattling the door handle and walking in.
“Broughton?” He turned his attention to the bed, where Oliver lay propped up against his pillows, his face flushed and his eyes glittering. “Good to see you are recovering, Oliver.” He paused. “Am I interrupting?”
Broughton gestured to a chair. “No, please come in. Your appearance is highly propitious. I was about to question Oliver about what happened after Almack’s.”
His brother’s face clouded. “As I said, I had a few drinks and then felt ill. Silas got me a room at the inn. I stayed there until I woke up and realized I was in my own bed again. Where is Silas, by the way?”
“He’s been dismissed.”
“For helping me? That’s typical of you, Broughton, you are far too harsh.”
Broughton sat up straight and stared at his brother. “Aren’t you going to ask what happened to your grandmother?”
“Why should I? She’s dead, isn’t she? That’s the best news I’ve had all week. I’m not going to pretend I cared about her. Everyone knew we were at odds. Did she finally drop dead in one of her rages? I’m just sorry I missed it.” He glanced at Robert. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”
“She died just after you left the ballroom at Almack’s,” Robert said.
“Well, she had been stirring up trouble, hadn’t she? Fighting with Broughton about his choice of wife, with me about my allowance, and with Lady Bentley threatening to take her to court . . .” He trailed off. “What’s wrong?”
Robert glanced at Broughton, who seemed content to leave the questioning to him. “As far as we can tell, she didn’t die of rage but of something far more sinister.”
“Don’t tell me someone shot her in the middle of Almack’s? What a lark! I almost wish I’d stayed to watch.”
Robert winced at the callous tone. “She wasn’t shot. The doctor believes both your grandmother and your brother were poisoned.”
Oliver’s mouth closed and he lay back on his pillows. “Poisoned?”
“Yes.”
“But”—Oliver stared at Robert and then at his brother—“that’s absurd.”
“Did you ever help your grandmother in her stillroom?”
“Of course not! Are you trying to suggest I had something to do with this?” Oliver turned to Broughton. “Aren’t you going to defend me?”
Broughton’s mouth twisted. “I wish I could. You hated her, Oliver. You were seen by one of the maids leaving the stillroom last week.”
“Dammit, Broughton, we were all in there sometimes, even you! She gave me something for my cough, some concoction of rose hips and honey, that’s all.” He fell back against his pillows, his face flushed and his mouth a hard line. “I wanted her dead, but I would never have chosen that route.”
Broughton brought something out of his pocket. “Then why did Smith have this amongst his possessions?”
Robert studied the label on the empty glass bottle, which was covered in the dowager’s distinctive crabbed handwriting.
“ ‘Privet. Use sparingly.’ ” Robert squinted hard and managed to make out the words.
“Maybe Silas killed her! I don’t know! This is ridiculous!”
“I doubt Smith was able to get into the ballroom at Almack’s,” Robert said drily. “This is rather incriminating.”
He wondered what other evidence Broughton was refusing to share with him. It seemed that Miss Harrington might be correct about his friend trying to exclude him from finding out the truth.
“I didn’t kill her, Broughton.” Oliver scrubbed a hand across his face. “I left the ball in a rage, went straight to the inn, and fell ill. That’s all I remember.”
“How much had you had to drink before we even arrived at Almack’s, Oliver? Can you even be sure of what you did?” Broughton hesitated. “It wouldn’t be the first time you have no memory of a night of carousing, would it?”
“Damnation, I think I’d remember if I’d tried to murder my brother and my grandmother!”
Broughton sighed and put the bottle back in his pocket. “I suggest you think about this matter while you recover? When you are prepa
red to be completely honest with me, I will be glad to hear anything you wish to share and will do my best as your brother to ensure that no harm comes to you.” He paused. “Or you might care to wait until our father returns and explain yourself to him.”
Oliver’s face blanched. “Oh God, not him. He’s never been on my side. He believes everything you and Grandmother tell him.”
Broughton stood and patted Oliver’s clenched fist. “Then think very carefully about what you want to do.” He glanced over at Robert. “I think it would be best if we left him to sleep now, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Robert nodded at Oliver and followed Broughton out into the hallway and down to his suite of rooms. “You look better today.”
“Thank you.” Broughton sank into a chair and Robert sat opposite him. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about what I found in Smith’s bags. I wanted to see Oliver’s face when I showed him the bottle.”
“I understand.” Robert kept his gaze on the fire. “Are you still convinced that Oliver is responsible for this matter?”
“After finding that bottle of poison, I’m fairly certain, aren’t you?” Broughton groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe it’s come to this.”
“Don’t give up hope. He hasn’t confessed to anything yet. Perhaps he is innocent as he claims.”
Broughton slowly looked up at him. “Do you think so?”
“There are others who disliked the dowager just as much as Oliver did.”
“Such as?”
“Lady Bentley for one. Wasn’t she threatening to take your family to court?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. But surely that would mean my grandmother would’ve been the one doing the poisoning.”
“That was another possibility that had occurred to me.”
“Good Lord! That my grandmother poisoned herself?” Broughton went still. “She certainly had the knowledge.”
“Maybe she simply meant to scare Lady Bentley and misjudged the dose?”
“That’s a remarkably charitable interpretation of my grandmother’s actions. If she’d meant to kill with her poison, she would’ve been successful.”
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