A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4)

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A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) Page 10

by Anna Lee Huber


  Lord Gage studied his son and then nodded shortly.

  “I will call on you tomorrow.” Gage turned to me, pulling my arm through his. “If you don’t mind, my dear, I think I should like to retire.”

  “Of course.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Lord Gage interrupted. “I shall accompany you now.”

  Gage stared at him. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Oh, but it is.”

  The pent-up hostility between the two men fairly made the air quiver. I felt the hair along my arms stand on end. I glanced about me, knowing I couldn’t be the only who had noticed.

  “Perhaps we could go now,” I whispered, wanting to escape the avid gleam in the eyes surrounding us.

  Gage did not look at me, but he did wrap a protective hand around mine where it lay on his other arm. As we pushed through the crowd, who parted in the face of Gage’s angry stride, I did my best to keep my head held high. I could hear the sharp click of Lord Gage’s tread following us, and it was like a hammer to my already fragile composure.

  Our outer garments were quickly fetched, and then we were climbing into Gage’s carriage. The night air was cold and I was grateful for the press of Gage’s warm body along my side as he settled into his seat. I stared out the window as Lord Gage sat across from us and the door was latched. The coach rocked as the footman climbed onto the back and then we were rolling forward.

  I blinked as Lord Gage reached over to twitch the window curtain shut.

  “Sebastian, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “I arranged a politically advantageous marriage for you. One I went to great lengths to cultivate, mind you. And not with just some snub-nosed chit, but with the most charming and beautiful debutante in all of England. But instead of the grateful and dutiful arrival of my son in London, I receive a letter telling me you refuse to wed Lady Felicity. And to complete the outrage, in her place you’ve chosen to wed this . . . this butcher’s wife.” He gestured toward me with disgust.

  It was an epithet I hadn’t heard in some months, referring to the years I had spent sketching the dissections made by my late husband, an anatomist and surgeon, occupations commonly derided as butchers and sawbones. So to hear the words hurled at me from my fiancé’s father was like a bucket of ice water being flung in my face. I flinched at the impact.

  “Do not call her that,” Gage snarled.

  “What? The truth?”

  “She is my future wife. Your future daughter-in-law . . .”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Gage appeared momentarily flummoxed by his father’s certainty, and then his complexion flushed bright red. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so furious. “There is no ‘we.’ I am marrying Kiera. I don’t care about any ridiculous rumors about her past. Regardless, if someone decides to dredge them up again . . .”

  So he’d had the same suspicions about his father.

  “I already know the truth. The rest is just nonsense.” He turned to take my hand. “Kiera is loyal, beautiful, intelligent, and talented. And perhaps the most perceptive person I’ve ever met. She’s become a gifted investigator in her own right.”

  I felt a warm glow inside me hearing his praise, and I couldn’t help but smile even under the tense circumstances.

  “Ah, so that’s why you’re marrying her. You can’t handle the inquiries on your own,” Lord Gage snarled.

  I gasped at the nasty comment.

  “Is that why you had her speak with Lady Kirkcowan against my wishes?”

  Gage spoke slowly, biting out each word. “I had her speak to Lady Kirkcowan because I wanted a second opinion. As I said, she is very perceptive, and I wanted to be certain my suspicions were correct.”

  “She’s guilty. I could perceive that in two seconds,” he scoffed.

  “Guilty of what?” Gage argued, ignoring the barb. “You can’t steal your own jewels.”

  “They aren’t her jewels. They all belong to her husband.”

  “Who will only gamble them away,” I couldn’t resist interjecting.

  “A point that could be argued,” Gage insisted. “For he gave them to her as gifts. When a gentleman gifts his mistress with jewelry, it’s hers to keep once she’s been given her congé.”

  “Yes, but unlike his wife, a gentleman does not own his mistress.”

  I stared at Lord Gage in astonishment. While everything he was saying was strictly true, to state it in such an arrogant, callous manner infuriated me. “Do you have no heart?” I demanded. “What is Lady Kirkcowan to do when her husband finally impoverishes her?”

  “That is not our concern.” His eyes narrowed. “Just as the Drummonds are not yours.”

  I glanced at Gage in surprise, wondering how he already knew.

  “Oh, yes,” Lord Gage drawled. “I’ve already heard about your ridiculous accusations.”

  “We’ve accused no one of anything,” Gage argued far more calmly then I could manage. “But what do you know of it?”

  Lord Gage sat back, crossing one ankle over his other knee. “When I was leaving your lodging house, I happened upon Lord Drummond, who, you may not know, is an old friend of mine. We served together for five years as lieutenants on the same ship, and were both made captains within six months of each other.” His gaze swung to mine. “So you can imagine how disturbed I was to discover my son’s . . . fiancée . . .” the word sounded distasteful on his lips “. . . had tried to convince him there was some sort of foul play involved in his wife’s death.”

  “The circumstances surrounding Lady Drummond’s death are suspicious,” Gage defended me.

  His lips curled into a sneer. “Why? Because the perceptive Lady Darby says they’re so? You are to stop this preposterous inquiry at once,” he ordered me. “Lord Drummond is a worthy, honorable man; a decorated war hero. You will not sully his reputation or distress him further by making these baseless allegations.”

  “They aren’t baseless,” I argued. Gage pressed a restraining hand to my wrist, but I did not heed. “You friend is a brute. Lady Drummond was terrified of him.”

  “Of course she was. She was his wife.”

  My mouth dropped open in shock, and I felt Gage jolt beside me.

  His father scowled at him. “Do not look at me like that. I rarely lifted a hand to your mother. I didn’t need to.” His eyes swiveled to me. “Lady Darby, on the other hand . . .”

  Gage actually surged forward in his seat. “Do not even finish that sentence.”

  For a moment I thought the two men were going to come to blows, but Lord Gage held his tongue, albeit begrudgingly from the way he glowered at his son. Gage slowly sat back just as the coach rolled to a stop in front of the Cromarty town house on Charlotte Square.

  I felt nothing but relief to escape the confines of the carriage and the hostility between father and son. Perhaps I should have been concerned about the vitriol Lord Gage was certain to continue to pour in his son’s ears, but as irate as Gage was, I knew there was little chance of him heeding his father’s words. And while I was distressed by the extreme dislike Lord Gage had taken of me without even giving me a chance to prove the rumors wrong, I was wise enough to understand when retreat was better than confrontation—for my own wounded self-esteem and for his heated temper.

  I did not wish him a good evening. From the look on his face, I knew he didn’t want me to, so I happily obliged. Gage helped me out of the carriage and escorted me up the steps to the door.

  “Kiera, I’m so sorry,” he leaned close to tell me.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “No, but I should have at least prepared you. My father is a cold and difficult man when he is crossed.”

  Figgins opened the door to admit us, but before he could take my shawl, Gage requested a moment of privacy. He nodded and disappeared toward the back of the town hou
se.

  “Did you know he was coming to Edinburgh?” I finally asked, as I’d wanted to since the moment Lord Gage appeared before me.

  He sighed. “Not definitively. But I had my suspicions when I did not receive a reply from him after I wrote to announce our engagement,” he admitted. “I knew he would never let the matter rest. It’s simply not his way.”

  So that was where Gage had gotten his hardened determination. In that, at least, he emulated his father.

  “And Lady Willoughy de Eresby mentioned something about seeing him,” he added with a grimace.

  “What did she wish to speak with you about?”

  I could tell from his expression that he did not want to reply.

  “She expressed much the same opinions of our engagement as my father.”

  His words pinched me in my chest even though I knew it was silly of me to care what the fussy society matron thought. “Not surprising.”

  “Yes, but of no consequence. And I told her so.” He leaned forward to press a warm kiss to my forehead just below my hairline. “Do not fret. Father will not prevail in this.”

  I nodded.

  He caressed my shoulders. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.” Then after dropping a quick kiss on my lips, he was gone.

  I stared at the door as it closed behind him, feeling oddly cold and bereft. It was a sensation I had grown accustomed to in the years following my marriage and subsequent widowhood. I realized then that it had been weeks since I’d felt it. Not since accepting Gage’s proposal almost two months ago. It was unsettling to feel it again.

  “My lady?”

  I turned to see Figgins had reemerged.

  “Is everything well?”

  I offered him a tight smile. “As well as it can be for the moment.”

  He nodded solemnly, though he couldn’t have known what I was talking about.

  I turned to allow him to help me remove my shawl. “Is Lord Cromarty in?” I asked, deciding now was as good a time as ever to speak with my brother-in-law. Whatever his response, I doubted it could sour my mood further.

  “In his study, my lady.”

  I thanked him and pattered down the hall to the dark-paneled room at the back of the house.

  “Come in,” he called out at the sound of my knock. He was seated at his desk, his head bent over a sheaf of papers while he massaged his right temple. From the lines radiating across his forehead and the dark circles under his eyes, I could tell he had not slept well the night before and was likely suffering from a headache.

  I waited for him to look up.

  “Kiera,” he sighed, finally taking notice. “My apologies.” He gestured to the stack of papers in his hand. “They bungled the wording on this again.” His brogue had deepened, as it normally did when he was tired. “Did ye need something . . . ah!” He set down the papers to dig through the detritus on his desk. “I saw your note.” He located the letter of introduction I’d requested and held it out to me.

  “Thank you.” I moved forward to take it.

  Philip nodded absently, already becoming absorbed in his documents again.

  I watched him a moment longer, trying to decide whether to broach the topic of Alana’s health and his increased absence. When he never again looked up and resumed rubbing his temple, I decided the matter could wait.

  I slowly climbed the stairs toward my room, feeling the weight of my worries. My body craved the cushion of my soft mattress, but my head was spinning with the night’s revelations. Seeing the light under Alana’s door, I crossed the hall to rap on it softly, and then opened it to peer inside. My sister looked up from the book propped against her rounded belly.

  “Kiera.” Her face brightened. “Come in. Save me from this dreadful novel and tell me about the ball.”

  I smiled at her as I crossed the room to sit in the chair next to her bed. “If the book is so dreadful, why don’t you send Jenny to fetch you another?”

  “Oh, it’s not the book,” she sighed, closing it and setting it aside. “It’s me. I simply can’t concentrate.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Yes, but not helpful.” She tipped her head back and groaned. “I’ve only been confined to this bed for a day and a half and I’m already restless. And yet I’m terrified of moving about, lest the bleeding start again.” Her face was drawn with fear and unhappiness.

  My chest tightened at the reminder of how precarious her situation was.

  Her eyes drifted to the opposite side of the bed, where her husband normally lay, and I felt a stirring of anger that Philip could not read his parliamentary business in bed, keeping her company. But then would they both be worrying that his movements would harm the babe?

  She grimaced suddenly and lifted her hands to gently rub her belly.

  I sat forward in alarm. “Are you in pain?”

  “No. It’s my skin. It’s so dry, and then the baby kicks and stretches.”

  “Well, I think I may be able to help with that,” I replied, suddenly remembering.

  She glanced at me in confusion as I rose to exit the room.

  “One moment.”

  The package from Hinkley’s was still perched on top of my dresser. I carried it to Alana’s room, setting it on the bed next to her.

  “What’s this?” She leaned over to peer inside.

  “Lady Drummond’s last act of kindness.”

  Alana glanced up at me in surprise.

  “I know it sounds morose, but it’s quite possibly true.” I perched next to her and began pulling out the jars. “During our last portrait session Lady Drummond told me how much these creams helped ease her discomfort during her confinements, and she thought they might help you as well.”

  She examined one of the jars. “That was generous of her.”

  “The package arrived two days ago, but in all of the excitement, I forgot about it.”

  I could tell from Alana’s expression that she did not know what to make of the gift.

  “Alana, I’m sorry,” I gasped, realizing how insensitive it was to offer her a gift from a dead woman when she was facing that possibility herself. “I should have thought. If it distresses you, I’ll take it away.”

  “No, no,” she argued. “I just . . . I barely knew Lady Drummond, and for her to make such a considerate gesture . . .” Her words trailed away into tears.

  I reached for the handkerchief on her bedside table and handed it to her, having grown accustomed to her emotional displays. My sister was more weepy than normal when she was expecting a child. I suspected many women were like that.

  She sniffed. “I wish I could thank her, that’s all.” She placed the jars carefully back in the box and I transferred them to the table. “How was your evening?” she asked as she dabbed at her eyes.

  I moved over to the chair, firmly affixing a smile to my face as I launched into a description of Inverleith House and the guests. With all of Alana’s current troubles, I simply couldn’t burden her with more. If she knew how society was whispering about me again, how Lord Gage had treated me so abominably, it would only upset her. And given how protective my older sister was of me, that could be dangerous for her and the baby. So I kept the night’s indignities to myself, and prayed that in this, at least, I was a better actress than Gage claimed.

  When Alana’s eyes had drifted closed, I tiptoed out of the room. I rang for Bree, who helped me out of my evening gown. But rather than slip into my nightdress, I donned an old woolen gown that buttoned up the front. My maid said nothing, having grown accustomed to my midnight forays to my art studio. When I could not sleep—which occurred more frequently than I wished—I painted. It quieted my mind and allowed me to momentarily forget what was bothering me. Though that night, as I worked on Lady Drummond’s portrait, I was reminded it was far more difficult to forget when the person you were pai
nting was the very one whose death so disturbed you.

  CHAPTER 11

  The next day dawned wet and dreary. The rain had begun sometime in the middle of the night, pattering on the roof as I painted in my studio, and it showed no signs of letting up. I sat alone in the dining room and picked at the remainders of my breakfast while I gazed out the window at the leaden skies. The scrape of my fork was the only accompaniment to the steady drum of rain and the clock ticking away on the mantel. It seemed as if I could be the only person in the world.

  The garden at the center of the square was deserted—the weather keeping all of the governesses and their charges inside—and it had been over a quarter of an hour since I’d last seen a carriage. I’d already dismissed the footman, feeling it was silly for him to stand at the sideboard with only me to serve. I suppose I could have attempted to converse with him, but I always felt awkward trying to speak with someone standing across the room at attention while I tried to eat. In any case, I wasn’t feeling very chatty. My mood was much more suited to silent contemplation.

  I didn’t know where Philip was, and I didn’t ask. Alana was confined to her room, and the children were in the nursery three floors above me. So the home I always thought of as lively and filled with sound was suddenly neither of those things.

  I stared down at my half-eaten sausage and toast, wishing I could shake this melancholy that seemed to have descended over the entire house. It was as if we were all holding our breaths, waiting for something terrible to happen, but hoping and praying it never did. Coupled with my grief over Lady Drummond’s death, the lack of real progress in our investigation, and Lord Gage’s treatment of me the night before, it was amazing I’d bothered to roll out of bed this morning.

  I should visit the nursery. The children were undoubtedly in need of some reassurance. They couldn’t help but notice how somber the house had become since their mother had been ordered to stay in bed. And I could use a bit of their indomitable energy and cheer. Philipa and Greer at least were still young enough to trust that when you said everything would be all right, it would be. However, Malcolm was at the age when he was just starting to realize that everything adults told him might not be true. He was eight. The same age I was when I lost my mother.

 

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