“That reprobate. I wonder what brought the countess to London. Did you manage to discover where she stays?”
“She is Crutchet’s guest in his ancient pile in Richmond.”
Strathairn put down his glass. “The deuce! If I leave now, I’ll likely find her at home.” He glanced at the clock as he moved to pull the bell. “Depending on the traffic, I can be there by four.”
Guy’s smile became bitter. “As her husband almost sent me to a watery grave, I’ll accompany you.”
The carriage made good time, and they alighted just before dusk in a leafy Richmond street close to the Thames. Lord Crutchet’s grotesque mansion sat amid a grove of twisted cypresses. “While I speak to the countess, you make a search of the house,” Strathairn said.
A butler almost as old as Crutchet answered the door. He dithered as he studied Strathairn’s calling card, his eyes widening when Guy leaned toward him, his big hand on the door jamb. “The countess doesn’t receive guests at this hour.”
“She will see me.” Strathairn pushed the heavy wooden door open. The frail, unsteady butler gulped audibly. “Please wait in the antechamber and I’ll ask if the countess will grant you an audience.”
Guy climbed the stairs as another elderly servant, dressed in Crutchet’s livery with baggy hose clinging to his knobby knees, scurried into the hall. “Sir! You cannot go upstairs.”
“Never mind, my good man,” Strathairn said. “Either send Countess Forney to me or my friend will bring her down bodily.”
He bent his head to enter through the low doorway into a musty, heavily beamed room. Velvet curtains at the narrow windows rendered the room as dark as night. The pair of candles on the mantle managed a feeble glow. The house reeked of dust, old age, and chamber pots. He couldn’t imagine the countess enjoying her stay there.
Countess Forney swept into the room in a violet negligee which clung to her curves. “What is that man doing searching the house? On whose authority?”
“Mine, Countess.” Strathairn remembered her as a woman who was aware of the power of her beauty and knew how to use it. She made little deference to widowhood. Her abundant dark hair flowed in loose curls down her back making her appear as if someone had just tumbled her into bed. It would not be Crutchet.
“I make no apology for my dishabille,” she said haughtily. “I was dressing to go out. You have called without an appointment and must take me as you find me. And if you wish to discover where my husband is, you’ve come on a fool’s errand.” She remained standing and did not invite him to sit.
Strathairn folded his arms. “Where is Count Forney, countess?”
“He is dead. I assume you haven’t come to offer your condolences.” She tilted her head. “What, you don’t believe me? It doesn’t say much for your intelligence service, does it? You won’t find him here. So, please, leave.”
“I wish to learn the circumstances of his death, if you please.” Strathairn leaned against the back of a chair, revealing no hurry to quit her company.
Her eyes narrowed. “His ship, bound for Marseilles, sank in a storm in the Mediterranean Sea near Palma.”
“The name of the ship, Countess?”
She shook her head. “My, but your intelligence is inferior. The Sea Serpent. Not a large or particularly seaworthy vessel. But the best he could find at the time.”
“How can you be certain he didn’t reach shore?” Guy walked into the room with a shake of his head at Strathairn. “He might have settled down with another woman somewhere in Spain.”
Her nostrils flared. “Forney would never have left me willingly.” She studied the rings on her fingers. “One of the crew survived and brought me news of him.” She moved toward the door. “Please go. I am still in mourning for my husband.”
Strathairn glanced at the bright silk and blond lace barely concealing her bosom. He remembered Guy said she wore crimson, not black or deep violet in the gambling hell. “Nevertheless, I’d like you to return to Whitehall with us, Countess Forney. Please, would you dress?”
She stiffened. “I have an engagement this evening. There is nothing more I can tell you.”
“Then we shall not keep you long.”
*
The day of Sibella’s betrothal ball dawned wet and dreary. The ballroom at St James’s Square had been subjected to a flurry of preparation for days. Urns of flowers decorated every corner. Crates of champagne shipped from France were chilled in the cellars. The menu for a large quantity of delectable foods was selected. Rooms seldom used were prepared with toiletries in the dressing rooms for the ladies and gentlemen, and extra servants brought up from the country to attend them.
Sibella forced herself to appear happy in her mother’s presence. When alone, she remained unsure of her ability to make Coombe happy, and whether she could be content. She was sure she would never love him. Every time she saw him she made a valiant effort, but always came away troubled. He was perfectly correct in his behavior toward her. She chided herself for being illogical and doubled her efforts to be nice to him. Even her mother found him personable. She had no avenue of escape. She had accepted that Strathairn would not step in and claim her. Her wedding to Lord Coombe was as inevitable as the seasons. She just wished he didn’t unnerve her so. It was as if the real Lord Coombe had not yet revealed himself.
Chaloner had told her how proud he was of her. “You are a sensible woman, Sib,” he said. “And I trust you will be very happy.”
And you are a hypocrite, she’d thought, as she offered him her cheek to kiss. Tired of being called sensible, she was no longer sure it fitted her. Her emotions had been so confused of late. She sighed heavily and chewed her bottom lip as her maid pinned her dress of blush pink embroidered net over white satin. Her hair was pomaded and arranged in loops and pearls graced her throat and ears. She fiddled with an earring and her betrothal ring flashed. The ruby and diamond ring once belonged to Lord Coombe’s mother. He had been at pains to reassure her that Mary Jane had refused to wear the ring as she disliked rubies.
At ten o’clock, the first guests began to arrive. Sibella stood beside Lord Coombe with her mother, Chaloner and Lavinia, to welcome them. In the ballroom, amid a profusion of candles and the glitter of spangles and finery, she danced the first waltz with her fiancé. He led her expertly through the steps, shoulders back, a satisfied smile on his lips. She tried not to compare him with Strathairn. But the differences were glaring. John’s eyes delved deeply into hers when they danced, as if he wished to learn everything about her. Coombe seemed more concerned about the effect they had on those around them. He rarely showed interest in her as a person. Did he consider her an object, a possession?
Her mother said everything fell into place after husband and wife were intimate. She couldn’t imagine the act, her mind closed in horror. Their relationship lacked tenderness and affection as if he only thought of her as a well-born wife with a generous dowry.
As they turned on the floor, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Strathairn. He talked to Lord Fortescue and Hetty, but his eyes rested on her. She held his gaze until they spun away.
Lord Coombe’s fingers flexed in her hand. “Do you and the Earl of Strathairn know each other well?”
“My brothers know him well.”
“Are you ever alone in his company?”
“I imagine so, he often visits.”
“Your friendship with that man is at an end.” She watched in horrid fascination as a vein pulsed in his forehead.
A frisson of alarm spread through her at his sudden display of emotion. Was the real Coombe emerging before her eyes? “I don’t expect I will see much of him.”
“Never. I’m not asking you. I’m ordering you,” Coombe said through clenched teeth. “Neither riding in the park nor dancing with him, nor seen to be talking to him at social gatherings.”
Never talk to Strathairn again? She had at least hoped for that. She fought not to flinch and give him a reason to continue in this vein. �
��I don’t like to be ordered about like a servant.”
“Then behave like a respectable woman. I’m aware that affairs take place among the Beau monde, but please know that I will never countenance it.”
She flushed and wanted to pull away from him. Never had she considered breaking her vows. Marriage was sacred. “I don’t need you to tell me how to behave, my lord.”
His fingers tightened as if he sensed her desire to end the dance. “You obviously do.”
“What has angered you so?” She stared into his eyes, then dropped her gaze feeling as if she had glimpsed something illicit and disturbing.
“I saw how you looked at him. This is our betrothal ball. All eyes are upon us. We need to act with decorum. As every sober member of society should.”
Sober! She screamed silently at the humorless man before her. Impossible to imagine him behaving in a spontaneous and joyful way. He was all about appearances. She had long suspected he hid his true character from her and gave her an unattractive glimpse of it now. She grew certain that it was not love that made him pursue her. Her mind whirled and she shivered as the music ended and he led her from the floor. When he gained control over her and her fortune, he would make her life a misery. A husband was able to lock a wife away or send her to Land’s End or Northern Scotland under guard, or not let her out of the house without an escort. She would have a hard time escaping.
How well had he treated Mary Jane? If only she was able to discover more about his past. Uncovering the truth might set her free.
Chapter Fourteen
Strathairn folded his arms and watched Sibella dance with Coombe. They didn’t look like a couple about to marry. Or even friends. She held herself at a distance from the viscount. “Have you had any dealings with Lord Coombe?” he asked Guy, who stood beside him, alone now, as his wife had left them to talk to friends.
Guy took a champagne flute from a footman’s tray. “No, but Montsimon mentioned him.”
“Go on.”
“Apparently when he was in Paris, he met Lady Coombe’s French cousin. He expressed outrage that Lady Coombe’s death had been deemed an accident and demanded an inquest to be held.”
Strathairn rubbed his chin. “And was there an inquest?”
“Yes. Lady Coombe’s illness and her use of laudanum were blamed for her fall. And you have to admit the accident does sound feasible.”
“Many things sound feasible.” Had he been so intent on pushing Sibella toward a safe marriage, he’d discounted her good sense? She was perceptive and intelligent and might have good reason if she disliked the man. He searched the crowd. “I haven’t seen Montsimon. Is he here tonight?”
Guy shook his head. “He’s in Ireland visiting his estate.”
The waltz ended and Sibella and Coombe left the floor. Sibella looked unhappy and Coombe angry. Strathairn’s fingers curled into his palms, then loosened. It was none of his business, but he burned to hear what Coombe had said to upset her.
“Lady Forney was not seen to be a part of her husband’s treacherous plot back in ’16. But she might well have been,” Guy said, drawing him out of his introspection. “Why was she treated so well at Bow Street and allowed to go free?”
“Irvine is to follow her. The more confident she feels about us losing interest in her, the better.” Strathairn’s gaze remained on Sibella as she and Lord Coombe moved through the crowded ballroom chatting to guests. He swallowed the bitter taste of regret. He never expected to fall deeply in love. Although he’d always admired women for their forbearance in putting up with men’s unfaithfulness, as a youth, he’d been rather contemptuous when lovesick friends turned into fools. And after the war, well…
The Dowager Lady Brandreth approached them. “Strathairn, I must thank you for your dealings with my son, Vaughn. Sibella confessed he’d been missing for some weeks! I was led to believe he was still at his rooms and just being neglectful.”
“I was pleased to, Lady Brandreth. He does well in Yorkshire. I received a letter from him today.”
Her magnificent emerald eyes studied him. “You found him at the race track.”
“Yes, that is true, but—”
“Then he must owe money. Quite a considerable amount, I gather, to send him running from London.”
“No, he owes nothing as it happens, my lady.”
A flash of humor lit her eyes. “I wonder how that can be?”
He rubbed a brow, adopting an innocent pose. “I suppose he has had a certain amount of success at gambling.”
“You can’t pull the wool over my eyes.” She chuckled. “I shall find out the truth. I always do.” She touched his arm. “I thank you sincerely for your generosity.”
Strathairn bowed. “It has been to my advantage. Lord Vaughn is proving a valuable asset.”
She began to walk away, then stopped, turning back to him. “Do you know Lord Coombe well, Strathairn?”
“Can’t say I do, my lady.”
The dowager’s mouth grew pinched, but she said nothing more. Nodding, she left him.
Had she watched Sibella dance with Coombe and liked what she saw no better than he did?
*
Desperate to regain her composure, Sibella excused herself and left the ballroom to go to her bedchamber. She trembled with anger and distress.
Maria hurried after her up the stairs. “What happened?”
“I had words with Lord Coombe. He was quite horrid.”
“What on earth did he say to you?”
“He accused me of being involved with Strathairn and forbid me to have any further contact with him.”
Maria frowned. “He’s noticed you have feelings for Strathairn and is jealous, dearest. One only suffers from jealousy when one is in love.”
Sibella whirled around in fury. “Maria! He accused me of planning an adulterous affair with Strathairn! I admit I might have considered a liaison before marriage but never afterward! Have I given him reason to suspect I would be unfaithful? You don’t understand the level of spite that man is capable of. He hides his true nature well behind a polite exterior. I shall be the recipient of his malice once we’re wed!”
Maria’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”
They entered her chamber and she shut the door. “I must return to his house to search for evidence that he mistreated Mary Jane. Can the leopard change its spots? I hope to find something—a diary or such like. I’ll talk to the maids.”
“But you can’t go to his house unescorted. What reason would you give for being there?”
Sibella thought for a moment. “When do Harry’s parents return from their trip?”
“The duke and duchess arrive home a sennight before our wedding. As you know, their stay in Italy forced us to delay it.”
“They live close to Coombe in Chiddingston. When we visit them, I’ll slip away and ride over to his house.”
“Sibella! Ride across country alone? This sounds fraught with scandal. You might place yourself in danger. A gentlewoman alone and unprotected…”
“It is hardly Bethnel Green, Maria. I’m more likely to run afoul of a bull.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I can outride any trouble.”
“You’re an excellent horsewoman. We were all taught to ride when we could scarcely walk, though it never appealed to me. But how shall I explain your absence to the duke and duchess? I do wish you wouldn’t.”
“I haven’t decided quite how to go about it. Perhaps I’ll plead a headache and beg to lie down in a darkened room.” Sibella sat at the mirror and stared at her pale reflection.
She wasn’t afraid of danger, and she was beyond caring about a scandal. Indeed, a scandal might be the answer to her problems. She would appreciate John’s help, but he would never agree. At times, he was surprisingly straight-laced. No, a scandal wouldn’t serve.
She chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. If she could just convince Chaloner of Coombe’s true nature, he would agree to her breaking the engagement. It would be
done discreetly after Maria’s wedding. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but nor would he wish her to be married to a brute. “I’ll ride across the fields and be as quick as I can. I expect it will take a little more than an hour there and back,” she mused. “Coombe plans another trip to Bristol before your wedding. He will be away for a week. Can you speak to Harry and arrange for us to visit his parents during his absence?”
“There’s already talk because you’ve delayed your marriage to Coombe.” Maria sighed with a worried frown. “Older sisters are supposed to marry first.”
“There’s a good reason for it. Don’t worry, I’ll be most discreet.”
Maria remained unconvinced. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I can’t ask Chaloner to call off the engagement. Coombe would sue for breach of promise. I must have proof! What would you do in my place?”
Maria rubbed her brow. “Probably what you’re about to do,” she said in a sober tone. “Such recklessness is unlike you, dearest. You were always the calm one in the family and the most sensible. You must see a great need for taking such a risk.”
“I do.” Sibella winced. Perhaps if she hadn’t gone like a meek lamb to the slaughter, she wouldn’t be in this position now. She rose and ushered her sister to the door. “Please promise you won’t say a word about this to Harry.”
“Well, of course not! Do you think I would?”
Sibella hugged her. “Goose!” she said in a soothing tone. “You and Harry are so much in love you share every thought. And it’s quite right to do so. I hate asking you to keep this from him, but we shall tell him the whole story later.”
“I do hope there’s a happy ending,” Maria said gloomily.
Sibella straightened her shoulders. There was nothing she couldn’t handle, including Lord Coombe. Was she not a mature, competent woman?
Sibella and Maria returned to the ballroom, and Lord Coombe stiffly claimed her for a quadrille. To onlookers, he must appear the perfect fiancé. Considerate and attentive. Only she saw the unsympathetic light in his eyes when they rested on her. How his lips thinned.
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