“Mark Halesworth! God forbid!”
“You know,” said Claudia, pointing at the portrait of her husband, “I almost think that Justin made his will in such a way that the title and fortune might be brought together. He may have meant well, but I could never marry Mark.”
“I hope not, Claudia. Even I would be better than Fairhaven.”
“Much better, Tony,” she agreed.
“What are you saying, Claudia?”
“I think I am going to ask you to marry me, Tony.”
“You are mad!”
“No. I am quite sane and serious. But there is a condition.”
“Yes?”
“You would have to give up gambling. I will not marry someone I cannot trust.”
“And could you trust me now, if I made you another promise?”
“I think so. Because if you marry me, you would have no more reason to return to the tables. As my husband, you will have all the money you need to restore Ashford and take care of your mother. But if you break this promise, Tony, I will break our engagement. I promise you that as faithfully as I promise my love.”
Tony didn’t move. He couldn’t. He knew he should do something. What? Sweep her into his arms and rain kisses on her face to thank her? It would have felt despicable to take advantage of such generosity. No, he would begin this betrothal honestly, or not at all.
He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. “Claudia, I will make that promise. And not only for Ashford, although that is part of it. I won’t begin this with a lie. Nor can I even begin to thank you right now. But I can tell you that I care for you very much and that I find it difficult at this moment to resist your lips. But I want to prove these things to you slowly, day by day.”
“Then your answer is yes?”
“My answer is yes.”
Claudia let out a long breath. “That was very unwomanly of me to propose, I know…”
“I am glad you did. I don’t know when I would have had the courage. But I must go, or I will break my first promise and have to kiss you.”
“I wouldn’t mind that broken promise, Tony,” Claudia whispered.
“I know, my dear, but first I need to redeem the other.” Tony squeezed her hands and turned to go.
“Wait, my dear. You have forgotten something.” Claudia walked over to her husband’s desk and, opening the drawer, took out three hundred pounds.
Tony blushed. “I hate to take this.”
“But you must.”
“Unfortunately I must,” he admitted. “I will redeem my vowels tonight.”
“You may tell all your creditors that they will be fully paid over the next two weeks.”
‘Thank you, Claudia.”
“Good night, Tony,” she said, smiling at him.
“I will call on you tomorrow. Good night, my lady,” he added, caressing her with his voice.
Chapter 10
After Tony had gone, Claudia perched on the arm of the sofa and looked up at her husband’s likeness. “I am sorry to have to disappoint you, Justin. But I know that Tony and I are well matched.” She smiled up as though Justin had answered her. “Yes, yes, there is a slight difference in our ages and he needs my money—but with all that, there is a chance for real love, I think. It seems I am as much a gambler as Tony, for I am willing to take my chances on that. And I could never have married Mark, my dear.”
“I am very sorry to hear that, Claudia,” said a voice behind her.
Claudia nearly fell off the sofa. “What are you doing here at this hour, Mark? Who let you in?” She was so furious at having her privacy violated that she didn’t even care what he had overheard.
“I came at once when I heard Ashford had escorted you home. I was afraid you would succumb to his wheedling charm, and now I hear that you have. James let me in.”
“Well, I will have to speak with James in the morning,” replied Claudia, getting up and walking to the door.
Mark blocked her way. “Oh, no, you are not leaving yet.”
“Get out of my way, Mark, before I call for James and embarrass us both.” Mark didn’t move.
“Get out of my way,” Claudia repeated.
“Get out of your way? When you have been in my way these past seventeen years! No, my lady, you are going to hear me out,” said Mark, grabbing her by the shoulders and backing her toward the sofa. He gave one shove and Claudia sat down with a gasp.
“How dare you touch me like that! Justin would have horsewhipped you.”
“Yes? Well, Justin is gone, although that was quite a touching monologue I overheard. And Justin was a fool.”
“Justin’s little finger was worth more than every bone in your body, sir!”
Mark kept talking as though he hadn’t even heard her. As though, Claudia thought, she wasn’t even there.
“First, he had to go and marry a seventeen-year-old. Every summer I would dread my visit, worrying that you would at last be increasing. And every summer my hopes would rise again. But then I’d spend the whole year worrying. Of course, after a few years it did seem unlikely, and then, just not possible. No way of knowing, of course, if it was you or Justin to blame, but it is usually the woman’s fault, I understand,” he added contemptuously. “Then when Justin died… Well, that was a wonderful day.”
Claudia made a sound between a laugh and a sob, but Mark just went on as though he hadn’t heard her.
“Until they read the will. Oh, yes, I got the title and the estate. They were entailed, he had no choice. But you…you got everything else, everything I’d worked for and waited for all those years.”
“Justin had worked for it. And Justin gave you more than enough to support both the estate and yourself in style.”
Mark looked down, and the hatred in his eyes frightened her so much that she sank back into the sofa.
“I think you are right about one thing, Claudia. I think Justin set up his will to bring us together. That way, I would have both the title and the fortune.”
“But according to your reasoning, no heir.”
“Who knows what might have happened, Claudia, who knows? But now it is too late. Or is it, my dear? Are you really going to marry that irresponsible boy, Cousin Claudia?”
“Lord Ashford is not a boy, Mark. He is a young man who temporarily caved in under tremendous pressure. He has convinced me that he is to be trusted and, more important, he cares about me. And I care for him. You care for no one but yourself. I always suspected it, but I never disillusioned Justin.”
“How kind of you.” Mark sat down next to her, and only with the greatest effort could Claudia keep herself from shrinking away from him.
“I was hoping Ashford would not redeem himself…or his vowels,” added Mark with a humorless chuckle at his own pun. “But it seems he has.”
“Yes. As of tonight, we are betrothed.”
“And if you marry and should you conceive, then all that money is lost to me forever. I cannot let that happen.”
“You can’t do anything to stop it, Mark.” Claudia started to get up. “Now please go.”
Mark pushed her back down and pinned her to the sofa with his knee between her legs. He cradled her head in his hands and brought his face close, as though he were going to kiss her, but there was no warmth, no humanity, in his cold, shuttered stare. Suddenly, Claudia was very frightened again.
“There is one way to stop you from marrying Ashford, my dear.”
Claudia froze as his thumbs moved gently on her throat, as though seeking her pulse, which, no doubt, was racing. But she would not give him the satisfaction of showing her fear.
“Let me go, Mark,” she said as calmly as she could.
“Oh, no, I can’t let you go and do something as foolish as marry Ashford instead of me,” he whispered.
Claudia shrank even further back against the sofa, wondering whether he meant to ravish her in her own library. Her servants were all in bed, unlikely to hear her if she screamed. It
was only when she felt his thumbs press on either side of her throat, first gently, then harder, that she began to realize that her life, not just her body, was in danger. But surely she thought, as she felt the pressure increase, so that the only sound she was aware of was the roaring of her own pulse in her ears, surely Mark would not really kill her…Tony…she thought. Justin… But neither could help her now. The roar became louder, and then there was only silence.
Mark looked at her limp body and then at his hands. He had never considered himself a violent man; in fact, for years he had been the epitome of self-control, but a cold rage had come over him when he had overheard Claudia’s little speech to Justin. In some strange way, he felt perfectly justified in his action: the inheritance should have been his, was his, and he had no intention of losing it now. Ashford had been the last person seen with Claudia and he would have to make Tony Varden look like the murderer.
He got up and went to his cousin’s desk and pulled every drawer open and scattered some of the contents on the floor. Then he rumpled the small Turkey carpet in front of the sofa and upended a delicately carved table his cousin had brought back from India.
Claudia lay as though she were asleep. “Too peaceful, my dear,” he murmured. “No, I think you will be found on the floor, your gown torn a little, your hair pulled down.” And he suited actions to words, finally lifting her body and dropping it on the rug, where it lay, arms and legs angled awkwardly.
“Ashford enters, asks for more money. You refuse it and tell him you won’t see him again. He kills you quietly and skillfully, as a well-trained soldier might kill a guerrillero.”
Mark’s back was to the door and he was too involved to realize that it had opened. Jim, who had let Tony out and Mark in, had been standing sleepily in the front hall wondering when he could go to bed. Dawson had told him to see the mistress up to her room, but at this rate, she would be up all night and so would he. She was a kind woman, Lady Fairhaven, and he was sure if he looked in on her and asked if she needed anything, she would send him off to bed.
But Lady Fairhaven would never need anything again. Of that he was sure. And there was his real employer, opening drawers, disarranging rugs, and muttering something about Lord Ashford. Jim was not brilliant, but anyone could see what Fairhaven was up to. Lady Fairhaven had been alone when Ashford left, of that Jim was certain, for Tony had even asked him to look in on her. He would never have done that, were he her killer. No, Lord Fairhaven had killed her, and he, Jim, was a witness. Not only a witness but a spy, placed in the household by Fairhaven himself. And oh, God, if Fairhaven saw him now, he might not hesitate to kill again.
He pulled the door slowly and gently closed and tiptoed down the hall. His things? Forget them. Money? He had Fairhaven’s vail, thank God, and a guinea from Ashford, who had been in a happy and generous mood when he left. That would keep him for a while. Right now, he had to get out of the house and lose himself somewhere in London.
Chapter 11
When Lady Fairhaven’s maid knocked on her door the next morning and got no response, she quietly stepped into the room, intending to draw the curtains back. Her mistress was not usually a late or heavy sleeper, but on those rare occasions when she slept in, she appreciated being awakened by the admission of sunlight. The abigail was very surprised to see that the bed had never been slept in.
She had no idea where her mistress might be, although for one minute Lord Ashford’s face came to mind. But that was ridiculous. Lady Fairhaven would never have gone to his rooms alone, much less spent the night. When she got downstairs, she found the butler questioning the other servants about Jim. “He should have been on duty in the breakfast room an hour ago,” said Mr. Dawson, with great annoyance.
“Well, I haven’t seen him this morning,” the housekeeper replied.
“Mr. Dawson.”
“Yes, Mary?” said Dawson impatiently.
“Lady Fairhaven is not in her room—nor has she been there, from the looks of things.”
The butler frowned. “Not in her room? She was with Lord Ashford in the library when I retired last night. Indeed, she sent me up to bed herself. Perhaps she fell asleep on the sofa?”
“Mr. Dawson!”
“Well, we all know what is going on there, Mary. He might have stayed, urn, very late. Although, I must say, when I walked in, the evening did not seem to be heading that way. I’ll go down and see.”
Dawson knocked softly on the library door and then opened it. At first, he could not take in what he saw. Lady Fairhaven lay there indeed, but not peacefully on the sofa. And how could a woman have spent the night on the floor in that odd position? he thought, his mind refusing to take in the reality of his mistress’s dead body.
He leaned down and felt for her pulse. None. Gently running his hand down her face, he closed her eyes and tried to smooth back her hair. After adjusting her gown so it covered her legs, he straightened up and stood there in shock, looking around the room and registering the overturned table and the open drawers of the desk. He was finally drawn to the portrait of his late master, almost expecting Lord Fairhaven’s eyes to turn accusingly on him. But they looked straight ahead, and Dawson would have sworn on his mother’s life that his master’s face had subtly changed. There was a look of tenderness in the eyes that seemed to be saying, “There is no need for sadness, for she has come home to me.”
The butler shook his head to clear it of such foolish fancies, and closing the door behind him, went to face the other servants.
“No one is to go into the library until a constable has been here.”
“A constable!” exclaimed the housekeeper.
“Yes, Mrs. Pitt. It seems…” Dawson cleared his throat. “It seems that Lady Fairhaven has been murdered.”
* * * *
While they were awaiting the arrival of the constable, Dawson questioned the rest of the servants. No, they had heard nothing, all having been in bed for hours on the third floor. William, who shared a room with Jim, said he had gone to sleep immediately and only upon getting up had he noticed that the other bed was empty.
The butler went up with him to inspect the room. “Is anything of his missing, William?”
“No, Mr. Dawson. It doesn’t look like it to me,” said William after a quick glance around the room.
When the constable arrived, he repeated many of the same questions and then closeted himself with the butler.
“Tell me everything you remember about last evening, Mr. Dawson.”
“Lady Fairhaven returned home at about two a.m. She was accompanied by Lord Ashford.”
“What do you know about Lord Ashford? Is he an old friend?”
“Not so much an old friend as a young…admirer,” replied Dawson.
The constable lifted his eyebrows inquiringly and the butler continued.
“Lady Fairhaven had been seeing a lot of this young man and we all assumed that she might eventually marry him. Or at least, that is what it looked like until last night.”
“What do you mean?”
“When they arrived, they went directly to the library and not the drawing room, where it is more comfortable, as though they had business in mind and not pleasure. And when I came in with a tray of brandy, they seemed to be arguing.”
“About what?”
“Lady Fairhaven was refusing to lend the earl any more money.”
“So she has lent him money in the past?”
“Well, the word is that Ashford is badly dipped. Owes the blacklegs and his tailor and chandler, among others.”
“Did Lord Ashford seem angry?”
“More embarrassed, I would say. He turned away from me immediately.”
“And your mistress?”
“My lady was a lovely woman. I have never heard her speak so sharply to anyone. But she was sharp last night.”
“Is that all you know? That she wouldn’t give him the money he needed? Did she refuse to see him again?”
“I don’t know. I su
ppose she could have, but I didn’t hear it. She sent me up to bed directly after I served the brandy.”
“So there was no one else here besides Lord Ashford?”
“No, no, Jim was in the hall.”
“Jim? I haven’t met Jim.”
“No, well, Jim is the new under-footman and I asked him to stay up and see Lord Ashford out and Lady Fairhaven up to her room. But he was gone this morning. Disappeared without even taking any of his things with him.”
“There were no signs of foul play anywhere else?”
“What?”
“Blood or signs of struggle?”
“No, no. You don’t think someone killed Jim too?”
“It is a possibility to consider. But from what I see, no. It may be he had a very good reason to leave.”
Dawson looked puzzled.
“Either he killed Lady Fairhaven, or he saw who did.”
Chapter 12
By noon, most of society was buzzing about the death of Lady Fairhaven. Some had heard that Lord Ashford had been the last to see her alive and gave knowing looks to one another. Others heard that a new footman had disappeared. And bets were being laid at Brooks as to who was the more likely suspect. The odds were clearly in favor of Tony Varden.
Tony himself had heard nothing yet. He had been tempted to go straight to St. James Street and pay off his debts, but then thought better of it. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself, so he just went home. His valet was already in bed, and Tony undressed himself and fell asleep immediately, free for the first time in weeks of nagging worries and guilt and shame. He would not gamble again and he would make Claudia the loving husband she deserved. The fact that he wasn’t in love with her didn’t seem to matter to her, and he had hope that his own feelings would deepen over time.
He slept late and was awakened by his valet shaking his shoulder and saying in a worried voice: “Wake up, my lord, there is a Runner here to see you.”
As he climbed up from the depths of sleep, he had an odd fantasy of a young man, looking like a figure from the Greek games, waiting to meet him. Then it penetrated. “Oh, God, it must be the tailor. He’s laid charges and they are going to take me off to the Marshalsea. Well, thank God, I can pay them.
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